Be still, dear wild dancing heart! I chide it that it’s being ridiculous. I am no novice traveller. I have travelled all my life, been to countless countries, places many have not even heard of.

“But this is the first time to the Minaret of Jam,” it whispers gleefully.

Yes, true. And I let it dance away, and smile at it fondly. If it were not for this crazy heart of mine, I would be leading a pretty dull life.

Dear reader, I am about to start a 7-day road trip across Afghanistan’s remote heartland to see its most glorious treasures, including the 12th Century Minaret of Jam. The latter, the very reason why I had travelled all the way to Afghanistan in the first place.

It will take me one-and-a-half days through nothingness to reach the minaret, and then another one-and-a-half days off-road driving to reach civilization, namely Herat.

Here’s to once-in-a-lifetime journeys! ❤

DAY 1: MONDAY, 23 OCTOBER 2023: BUDDHIST BAMYAN IN THE HINDU KUSH

I had heard of the Hindu Kush Mountains all my life. Those glorious towering granite, diorite, and schist masses which spread for 800 kilometres, with its core in Afghanistan.

And here I am today, standing on these very same mountains on a high pass, just like many others have. Alexander the Great, Mahmud of Ghazni, Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Babur … and Ibn Battuta, the 14th Century Moroccan travel writer.

I like to think of Ibn Battuta and myself as kindred spirits. He is also credited for giving this mountain range its name. Battuta dubbed them Hindu Kush, meaning Hindu Killer, because the slaves from the Indian subcontinent, who were on their way to Turkestan, died here from the freezing cold.

UNESCO-listed Bamyan, the 6th Century Buddhist centre nestled in the Hindu Kush Mountains and home to the Hazara people, is not far from here. Hazaras are an Afghan ethnic minority [9 percent] with oriental features. They have always been forward-thinking; their women enjoying more rights and freedom than their Pashtun sisters.

The Hindu Kush Mountain Range, at an average elevation of 4,500 metres, cuts across central and eastern Afghanistan.

Bamyan Niches, a 6th Century Buddhist site, along with the other archaeological remains in Bamyan Valley, is Afghanistan’s second UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was listed in 2003, a year after the Minaret of Jam.

An Afghan tourist exploring the Bamyan valley.

We all know Bamyan as the site of the gigantic Buddhas [38 metres and 55 metres high] which the Taliban blew up in March 2001. Truth be told, the effigies had been vandalised before as well. Mughal emperor Aurangzeb smashed their faces in the 17th Century and the Persian ruler Nadir Shah chopped off the large Buddha’s legs in the 18th Century. Genghis Khan, for all his brutality in the region, chose to leave this Buddhist site unscathed.

It is very quiet as I walk alone by the sun-drenched mountain face pockmarked with hundreds of caves; the two empty Buddha niches towering over me. Despite the desecration, it is not difficult to imagine how it must have been like 1,500 years ago.

The 7th Century Chinese pilgrim-traveller Xuan Zang describes the site vividly in his ‘Great Tang Records on the Western Regions.’ He writes that the Buddhas’ robes were painted red, their faces covered in gilded masks, and over 1,000 monks looked after the complex which included some 10 convents and 50 temples.

Those little caves up on the mountain wall were once used as meditation cells. When the site ceased to function as a Buddhist centre in the 10th Century, the locals turned them into their homes.

Across the valley from me are the ruins of Shahr-e Gholghola, the City of Screams, a 12th Century Ghurid citadel. In 1221, Genghis Khan’s favourite grandson was killed by a spear. In a fit of rage, Khan slashed every living being in the city, and their screams could be heard for miles around.

There is another Ghurid city overlooking mud-brick houses and potato farms that I climb over as well. Shahr-e Zohak, the Red City, named after the Persian serpent-haired hero Zohak used to be a key trading post on the Silk Road. Locals tell me its soil is red because it is smeared with the blood of the endless wars that have racked these mountains since time immemorial.

The Ghurid cities Shahr-e Gholghola across the Bamyan niches [above] and Shahr-e Zohak [below] were both razed to the ground by the marauding armies of Genghis Khan in 1221.

DAY 2: TUESDAY, 24 OCTOBER 2023: DARIYA AJDAHAR AND BAND-E AMIR—HAZRAT ALI AND NATURE AT WORK

It gets cold at night in the Hindu Kush Mountains, even under three thick blankets. I can see snow on the distant peaks from my window. Winter is not too far away, I guess.

There is no electricity in Bamyan province. One manages with solar power which operates on limited hours to ensure availability.

I tear myself out of bed and make my way to Dariya Ajdahar, a massive fossil hillock, in a setting so raw, yet so stunning I can only gasp in awe. There is more gasping in store for me. This time over the turquoise blue lakes of Band-e Amir.

Both the sites are associated with Hazrat Ali, Prophet Mohammed’s son-in-law and the fourth Caliph. According to legend, Ali first put-up barriers to create six lakes high up in the mountains. Thereafter, he slayed a cruel dragon who gobbled virgins and camels, and was making the residents’ lives miserable. The wounded dragon turned into a petrified mound, Ali’s slash showed up as a slit across its length, and the dragon’s tears gushed from that moment on in the form of a spring.

Band-e Amir is beautiful. The haunting type of beauty intrinsic to remote mountain deserts.

I find myself a bench, put my camera away, and look out at the still blue waters. There is not a soul around, once again, other than the chirping of a lone bird.

Band-e Amir, Afghanistan’s first national park, comprises of six mountain lakes in the Hindu Kush Mountains. Band-e Haibat [Lake of Grandiose] is the biggest, deepest, and most accessible of these lakes.

Dariya Ajdahar, the colossal fossilized remains of a legendary evil dragon. Hazrat Ali slayed the dragon after he finished creating Band-e Amir [the Ruler’s Dam].

DAY 3: WEDNESDAY, 25 OCTOBER 2023: I ONLY NEED TO TRAVEL TO SLEEP WELL

It has been a long bumpy day on the road today, up and down high mountain passes, over serpentine roads which clung to golden splintered cliffs.

By the time I reach Ghor in the evening, the capital of Ghor province, my legs are happy simply to be on still ground.

There is a heavy stench of blood and raw meat in the only hotel in the city into which I check in. My room is on the second floor. The floor is ironically labelled VIP and has two rooms in addition to mine. One is for my driver and fixer/ translator. The third room, with a huge pile of bedraggled shoes outside, is where the entire hotel staff sleep.

I am the only woman in the hotel. And most likely, the only Indian the staff have ever seen.

Like most of rural Afghanistan deep in the mountains, there is no electricity, it is freezing, and no one speaks English or Hindi. It also appears that the bed-sheets in my room have not been changed for a while. After much sign language I manage to at least get fresh sheets.

Down the corridor is the bathroom, sans light or bathing facilities, with squat toilets. It gets tricky at night. I have to use my phone torch to reach it, draped in my dusty long black abaya so I do not transgress any local etiquette.

Strangely enough, I sleep like a log cuddled inside the much used by very many, blankets.

It’s the season of apples.

Petrol station en-route to Ghor.

One traveller meets another two travellers on the Hindu Kush Mountains.

DAY 4: THURSDAY, 26 OCTOBER 2023: MINARET OF JAM, THE RAISON D’ETRE FOR IT ALL

After some four hours on the road, the last bit through deep dark narrow gorges, I know I am close to the Minaret of Jam. I stare out of the window, my heart in my mouth, for that first glimpse of it.

So, what is the big deal about this minaret? I was asked this all the time when I decided on this journey.

Apart from being an essential part of an intrepid traveller’s bucket-list for its sheer beauty and inaccessible location, it is the minaret’s intriguing history that warranted its listing as Afghanistan’s first UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2002.

Not much remains of the powerful Ghurid dynasty which ruled Afghanistan in the 12th Century and made the first significant inroads into the Indian subcontinent. Except for a portal in the Great Blue Mosque in Herat, Qutub Minar in India, and this wondrous minaret that once stood in the middle of the Ghurid summer capital Firozkoh, meaning Turquoise Mountain.

Eight hundred years ago this valley, where the Hari River and Jam River meet, was a bustling town in which the visual and literary arts, and theology flourished. Sultan Ghiyasuddin and his younger brother Muhammad Ghori, two of the most powerful men in Central Asia at that time, ruled from here in the summers.

But in 1223, like the rest of Central Asia, it fell to the Mongols and was razed to the ground by Genghis Khan’s son Tolui. Everything was destroyed, but by some miracle, this one single 65-metre-high minaret survived the siege, the subsequent abandonment of the city, and centuries of being lost to history and the world.

With the entry ticket for foreigners, and the Taliban security at Minaret of Jam.

When historians were trying to figure out the purpose of Qutub Minar in Delhi, the existence of the Minaret of Jam, built in 1194 as a Victory Tower, came to light. Their research revealed that while the Minaret of Jam celebrated Ghurid Victory over Hindustan in Afghanistan, five years later in 1199, the laying of the foundation stone of Qutub Minar celebrated that same victory, on the conquered lands.

Built of fired mud-brick, the 3-storeyed cylindrical Minaret of Jam atop an octagonal 9-metre-wide base, is a high point in Ghurid architecture, decorated in exquisite calligraphy and geometric motifs. The only colour on the edifice is the band of glazed turquoise tiles in the first section with Sultan Ghiyasuddin’s name in Kufic script.

Scholars are doubtful how many more years the minaret will survive. It is already leaning at a precarious angle. Recent wars have not helped UNESCO’s conservation efforts.

So, this is why I am here, on an October afternoon, in the middle of nowhere.

Barring a group of brightly-clad Pashtun girls and a handful of Taliban soldiers, I have the place all to myself, as usual. There are demands to be photographed and shy retreats followed by peals of laughter. Meanwhile, the autumn sun wraps the towering minaret in a golden glow, and turns the blue glazed tiles into glittering jewels. It is surreal, to say the least.

Neither I, nor my camera, seem to tire of the minaret. In these few hours that I am here, in a rare remnant of medieval Firozkoh, I am back in time, back in another world. “Happy, dear heart?” I whisper to it, in case my voice breaks the spell.

Minaret of Jam is all that remains of the 12th Century Ghurid summer capital Firozkoh, meaning Turquoise Mountain.

Made of fired mud-brick, the 65-metre-high minaret is covered with geometric and floral motifs typical of the Ghurid style. Sultan Ghiyasuddin’s name is etched out in glazed blue tiles in Kufic script, the only colour on the minaret.

Pashtun woman at the Minaret of Jam.

DAY 5: FRIDAY, 27 OCTOBER 2023: FROM DARKNESS TO THE LIGHT OF CHISHT

I arrived late last night in Chisht. My driver Sher Aga had to be hypervigilant over the slippery desert-sand cliffs which dropped straight to the Hari River far below. The dirt roads were bereft of any kind of barriers.

Unlit as far as the eye could see, the darkness was broken only by a sole moon shimmering in the sky and its twin in the river, and the occasional headlights of an unregistered shared taxi. By the way, registration of vehicles is not mandatory in Afghanistan.

My lodging this time is a three-roomed inn with mud walls and an outhouse loo, flanking a windy highway. By now, bathrooms have become immaterial. My priority is blankets which my room has the warmest so far.

When I wake up with the sun, I cannot believe how well I am sleeping, or how healthy I feel. My tummy, bladder, throat, and head are all at their best behaviour, even though there is no comfort as such or fancy meals. In fact, some days, there are no meals. Only a staple breakfast of fried eggs, Afghan bread, and black tea.

Khoistan Shariq, my inn in Chisht.

Chisht is the hometown of the Chishti Sufi saints who settled in Ajmer, Delhi, and Agra [in India] from the 12th Century onward. My fixer/ translator Obaid has never heard of the Chishtis and is clueless about any site associated with them. This morning, I am the guide. We soon learn the Chishti complex [10th – 12th Century], comprising the mausoleums of Khwaja Abu Ahmad Abdal Chishti, Khwaja Abu Muhammad Chishti, Khwaja Naseeruddin Abu Yusuf Chishti, and Khwaja Qutubuddin Maudood Chishti, along with their khanqahs is not far; just next to the bazaar.

A lone lanky Taliban guard walks over to me, asking me where I am from. “Hindustan.” His bony face immediately breaks into a warm smile; he nods his permission for me to wander around.

I wonder if Chisht’s Sufi saints’ descendants ever made their way back from their new homes and lives in India. I wonder if I will ever find my way to where my ancestors lived across the Indus River. For now, nothing matters. Except being here, in this moment.

Tombs and khanqahs of the Chishti Sufi saints [10th to 12th Century]. From top to bottom: Khwaja Qutubuddin Maudood Chishti’s mausoleum, Khanqahs of the Chishti saints, and Khwaja Abu Ahmad Abdal Chishti’s mausoleum.

DAY 6: SATURDAY, 28 OCTOBER 2023: FROM EARTHQUAKES TO TIMURID GLORY AND BACK TO EARTHQUAKES IN HERAT

It is 4:57 AM. Everything in my room in Herat city is shaking. My bed, the table next to it, and my phone on it. I tell myself it is just a dream, but everything is still shaking. It is an earthquake 3.2 on the Richter Scale.

I have a busy day ahead of me. Very different from the past five days of roughing it out on an offroad trip through the Hindu Kush and remote mountain desert villages, exploring Afghanistan’s only two UNESCO World Heritage Sites, first national park, and Chishti Sufi centre.

With a suave Persian Herati as my city guide, the day is about 15th Century Timurid opulence, courtesy the Timurid Sultan Shahrukh Mirza, his wife Gawhar Shad, and Sultan Husayn Bayqara. Having decided to shift the capital from Samarkand to Herat, the Timurids left no stone unturned in beautifying the city recently devastated by first Genghis Khan, and then Tamerlane.

Up came the stunning Musalla Complex, Shahzade Tombs, and Khwaja Abdullah Ansari Complex. Jami Masjid, aka the Great Blue Mosque and Ikhtyaruddin Citadel got a splendid makeover. The royal family covered the whole city in exquisite tilework, befitting its role as not just their capital, but a centre of Persian arts and culture. They seemed to be determined to make it glorious enough for a traveller after 500 years to be still captivated with the city.

Herat’s Great Blue Mosque or Jami Masjid was built by the Ghurids in the 12th Century. The stunning tile-work on it is the legacy of the 15th Century Timurids.

My ‘sightseeing’ is interspersed with a stroll through exotic bazaars, an aluminium foil-wrapped burger, and some incredible coffee. In-between there is also one more earthquake. This time one of 4.5 in which life simply carries on, unperturbed. We are at the Great Blue Mosque. In front of it are rows of tents from the catastrophic four earthquakes measuring 6.3 each which took place just two weeks ago.

Late at night, 11.57 PM to be exact, there is another earthquake. It is also the strongest I experience in Herat at 5.0.

It does not last for more than a few seconds, but they seem to be the longest seconds I have ever lived through. I get out of bed, pack my luggage, wear my abaya, and then lie down again. In case I need to evacuate the hotel, I am ready.

The gigantic Ikhtyaruddin Citadel traces itself back to 330 BC and Alexander the Great’s victory over the region.

Gawhar Shad’s Musalla Complex originally comprised of madrasas, mosques, and mausoleums with 20 minarets piercing the sky. All that remains now is her own impressive mausoleum and five, albeit wobbly, minarets.

An ensemble of poetic Timurid tile-clad buildings, the Khwaja Abdullah Ansari Complex is dedicated to Herat’s 11th Century patron poet-saint.

DAY 7: SUNDAY, 29 OCTOBER 2023: BACK TO KABUL WITH A PARADIGM SHIFT

It turns out there is no need to evacuate the hotel. When I peep out of my room in the morning, I see the hotel staff busy going about their tasks as usual. “These were just after-shocks from the earthquakes two weeks ago,” they assure me with a comforting smile.

Earthquakes have a tendency to create a paradigm shift in one’s entire mindset. Coming so close to possible death, so close to losing everything—can be life-changing. Not that I had much to lose. Just a backpack and cabin bag. But what about my dreams, my goals. Was I ready to lose those? Was I ready to lose the music my heart danced to?

With this thought and my content heart by my side, I get on the plane for Kabul, as well as reach the end of my Afghanistan series.

– – –

Thank you for accompanying me on my journey through Afghanistan. In case you missed any of my posts in the series, here they are:

1. Taliban Afghanistan, a solo Indian woman traveller, and help from unexpected quarters
2. Travel shorts: Hazrat-e Mazar, Afghanistan’s most sacred site
3. Top 15 memorable things to do in Kabul, Afghanistan’s capital
4. The complete travel guide to Ancient Bactria and Silk Road’s fabled city: Balkh
5. Photo essay: In search of Kandahar, the Taliban’s former capital
6. A guide to solo travel in Afghanistan for the Indian traveller
7. Ghazni and its indomitable Sultans
8. Persian Herat and it hidden wonders
9. Travel diaries: From Bamyan to Herat via the Minaret of Jam [this post]

Travel tips:

• Accommodation: Please note these were often the best or only available lodgings – Noorband Qalla Hotel [Bamyan], Wasim Hotel [Ghor], Khoistan Shariq [Chisht], Amiri Hotel [Herat].
• Recommended restaurants: Shamama in Bamyan for delicious kebabs, and Afghan Coffee in Herat for fabulous coffee.
• A big shout out to my fantastic driver Sher Aga, a Hazara from Bamyan, and fixer/ translator Obaid, a Pashtun from Mazar-e Sharif. Obaid was also my local tour operator [+93 77 842 6816].

[Note: This blog post is part of a series from my solo travel to Afghanistan for 18 days in October 2023. To read more posts in my Afghanistan series, click here.]