Nagarparkar: “Our land and mountains are being abandoned. When we lay claim to them, we are punished, branded as anti-state and traitors,” declares Allah Rakhio Khoso, the fiery leader of the Karoonjhar Sujag Forum. His voice is laced with defiance, his spirit unyielding in a decades-long war for Karoonjhar—a mountain that whispers the ancient tales of survival and belonging. For over thirty years, Khoso, along with his people, has spearheaded a resistance against forces far mightier, forces with an insatiable hunger to raze their sacred heritage for the cold gleam of granite.
Since 1990, the relentless march of mining operations has gnawed at the soul of Karoonjhar. In recent years, that insidious hunger has intensified. Granite—a silent promise of wealth—beckons those in power, yet the mountain’s cries have been met with fierce local resistance. For a brief moment, their voices were enough to make the Sindh government pause. However, the silence of the machines was fleeting. The thirst for granite has proven too tempting, the power of wealth too seductive. Even as the mountain is devoured inch by inch, the government flickers between half-hearted retreats and renewed assaults.
That said, the people of Nagarparkar are not merely fighting for rock and soil. For them, Karoonjhar is a mother. It sustains them, feeds them, and shelters their spirits. When asked about the desecration of their mountain, their eyes well with unspoken grief. They know the price of resistance, and still, they fight.
A man, barely in his thirties, stood silent before this journalist. His eyes darted between the Ranger’s menacing gaze and the horizon where Karoonjhar loomed. Fear tied his tongue. It was clear—speak too much, and the price would be dear. In this land, their land, speech itself is a crime. The irony gnaws like the mining machines—here, in Sindh, entry into one’s own home is not a right but a privilege, granted only by the hands of those in uniform. Without the precious “entry paper,” even the people of Nagarparkar are strangers on their own land.
The checks, the suspicion, the relentless surveillance—it all makes it nearly impossible to raise a voice against the desecration of Karoonjhar. And yet, the fight rages on.
Karoonjhar: The Last Stand of an Ancient Legacy
“Karoonjhar is as old as the world itself,” declares a Sindh High Court ruling, echoing the sheer gravity of what is at stake. The mountain, an elder in the world’s long history, is more than just stone and dust—it is a witness to three billion years of existence. Purano Parkar, which translates to ‘Old Parkar,’ a book that recounts the ancient history of Karoonjhar Mountain tells of empires that rose and fell, how the mountain “sheltered the exiled Pandavas, and held sacred temples within its towering shadows.” Here, where the earth cradles history, the people fight for more than a piece of land—they fight to protect the veins of their ancestors.
In every jagged rock and whispering stream, the tales of Karoonjhar come to life. Bheem Godh, Bheem Talao, Arjun Baarh—these names are not mere relics but living memories of the Pandavas’ exile. Each stone is etched with the past, each temple a marker of devotion, crumbling not by the hands of the locals but by neglect, by a government more interested in carving profits from its ancient bones.
Khoso’s voice quakes with emotion as he points to a part of the mountain that, to him, appears human. “Look,” he says, “The mountain speaks to you.” His eyes shimmer with tears as he gestures towards what the government so callously wishes to destroy. “They want to erase it all,” he says, his voice breaking. “For their greed.”
The boundary between life and Karoonjhar is inseparable. It is not just a place; it is the lifeblood of the people of Nagarparkar. For Parsar Thari, a humble herb seller, the mountain is survival itself. “For them, it’s just a mountain. For us, it’s life,” he declares with the weight of generations on his shoulders.
Khoso criticized the government for claiming to construct small dams, calling it a farce. The government, he said, merely turned old streams into dams with some construction and even removed stones from mountain for these projects. “If they start mining tomorrow, how will they fill their dams?” Khoso asked, pointing out that water comes from Karoonjhar and warning that the state is threatening the mountain’s natural pathways.
A Cold Betrayal
The Sindh government, despite its proclamations and legislation, has not just betrayed the people of Nagarparkar—it has betrayed the very land it claims to protect. Advocate Sajjad Ahmed Chandio, a stalwart in the legal battle for Karoonjhar, does not mince words. “It is betrayal,” he says, recounting how the government gave mining permits, only to retract them under public scrutiny, slithering in and out of legality like shadows. “They reversed the orders only when the court demanded an explanation,” Chandio reveals, each word heavy with disdain.
This is not just a legal battle but also a fight for identity, a fight against the desecration of one of the last ancient sanctuaries on earth. Karoonjhar was declared a protected forest in 1965, but in 2021, the government twisted the law to justify mining in the name of progress. Progress—what a sickening word when it means stripping the earth of its soul.
Even international agreements like the Ramsar Convention, meant to shield Karoonjhar under the umbrella of global heritage, have been brushed aside. Mining continues, inch by inch, clawing at the heart of Karoonjhar. The mountain, Chandio argues, cannot be divided like some piece of cake.
The government’s attempts to separate Karoonjhar from Kharsar are laughable. Kharsar, just a small village at the mountain’s base, is as much a part of Karoonjhar as its towering peaks. “This entire range is Karoonjhar,” Khoso pleads, but his words fall on deaf ears.
A People Forgotten, A Mountain Ravaged
The Sindh government, in an almost absurd irony, promises basic human rights like drinking water and hospitals in exchange for the people’s silence. But the people of Nagarparkar know better. They remember the lies fed to the Thar coal communities, the hollow promises of prosperity. “We’ll live poor,” says Mustafa Ghulam defiantly, “But we’ll never let them cut Karoonjhar.”
And then, in whispered tones, comes the mention of the Frontier Works Organization (FWO)—the shadowy arm of the military. Few dare speak the name outright, but everyone knows its presence. Like a specter, it hovers over Karoonjhar, always looming, always watching. The locals dare not defy it, yet their resistance speaks volumes. Even under the threat of displacement, they refuse to bow.
A source claims that powerful groups have threatened to replace locals with outsiders if they resist continued mining. It is unusual that people from Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa are settling in Nagarparkar, despite water shortages, poor facilities, and a struggling economy, raising questions among the locals.
A Song of Defiance, A Cry for Justice
Saddam Hussain, once a loyal supporter of the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), now stares at a broken promise. “Bilawal Bhutto promised to protect Karoonjhar,” he says, his voice filled with disappointment. But when the election dust settled, it was the PPP that handed the mountain over to the miners.
In August, a glimmer of hope appeared—recommendations to halt all mining, even in the Kharsar area. Yet Khoso knows better. He knows that without declaring Karoonjhar a national heritage site, the fight is far from over.
“They’ll never leave Karoonjhar,” Khoso says, his voice a quiet storm. “Even in death, the government will want to destroy it.”
Read About The Rise News
Please follow our comment policy.