However, a recent trip to Thar has led me to embrace this symbiotic relationship that Mazhar had developed for the desert.
 
Almost two months into our stay in Karachi, we finally made our first trip out of the city. Full of excitement, we hopped into the car to begin the six-hour drive heading south-east towards the Thar Desert.
 
The real journey began once we were on the National Highway, driving alongside colourful buses adorned with ornaments and painted with symbolic interpretations of rural Pakistani life. Hoards of men were perched nervously on the bus-tops eager to make their way back home - their faces reflecting their disillusionment with city life and all of its hardships.
 
At times, we had to make way for donkey carts bearing straws, travelling herds and nomads on camels. The journey was further delayed by slow-moving gigantic trucks loaded with sugarcanes.

Soon though, we were passing by lush poultry farms and sunflower fields, their heads bowed towards the sun, a happy contrast to the greens and browns of the flat lands. By now, Karachi's buzz had become a distant memory as we reveled in the serenity, with the melodic voice of Noor Jehan playing in the background.
 
The National Highway is built in such a way that one has to drive through shanty towns. Somehow, industrialisation has trickled to this part of Pakistan, which led to cities sprouting up for the mere purpose of capitalizing on the commercial gains that came along with the highway.
 
“Seedha, seedha” echoed the town people when we asked for directions.

We trudged forward, growing restless by the minute but before long, the expansive desert came into view.

The Thar Desert has been blessed with rain for the past two years, which has led to an overgrowth of marshes and trees. By the time we reached the town of Mithi, night has fallen, but that didn't conceal the small town's charm.

Unlike the shanty towns that we drove through on the way here, Mithi is a thriving city. While it stands on the fault lines, making it prone to earthquakes, the city seems far from being vulnerable. Its people appear prosperous and hardly impoverished as they wander about town.
 
With the help of a flashy signboard directing us, we finally arrived at Thar Guesthouse where we were greeted by a sign that read 'Welcome to you'. The small one-storey guesthouse stood modestly among a row of cement houses. Humble tapestry hung on the white walls of the rooms and thick blankets were laid out on the beds preparing us for a chilly night ahead.

It had also appeared that a band of policemen had been waiting for our arrival. Since it borders India so closely, additional protection is needed for foreigners like us. Prior to making our reservations, copies of our passports and visas had been requested.

Tired from the long journey, after dinner, we tiptoed our way back to our beds, past the sleeping guards whose loud snores broke the deafening silence of the night. A packed itinerary awaited us the following day. 

The next morning, after a breakfast of homemade lassi and freshly-toasted chappati served with light, salty butter, we set out to explore the desert.
 
As soon as we were on the road, with the police patrol driving ahead of us (by now, we've gotten used to their overbearing presence), the Thar's hidden beauty began to slowly unveil itself.

Cacti blanketed the surfaces and peacocks strutted about while wild camels grazed lazily, unfazed by the heat of the scorching sun. Staring out into the roads, eye-tricking mirages soon began to form.
  
Around us, thatched roof huts carpeted the sandy hills. Women in bright, colourful saris gathered at the wells, their arms filled with bangles that went all the way up to their shoulders. Their faces were half-covered by their flowy dupattas shielding themselves from the relentless sun.

Using the old pulley mechanism, they filled their pots with water to the brim, before carefully placing them on their heads. I stared, amazed at how they made balancing these pots an easy feat.

While the women were seen doing chores, the men on the other hand, seemed more interested in standing around idle, chewing paan. But their leathery faces gave way to years of toiling under the unforgiving desert sun.

Chai breaks at small towns like Islamkot and Umarkot meant we had time to explore them. Wherever we went, a trail of children with ginger-coloured hair followed us excitedly, having not made much encounters with tourists. The children smiled shyly as I showed them the pictures from my camera while the older men stared at us blankly.

Most were nomadic speakers of Sindhi, and my knowledge of Urdu (or whatever little of it) meant that communication was mostly limited to non-verbal form. Still, despite this, blank stares soon turned into friendly smiles as we sat down and had chai with them.

The town of Nangarparkar enchanted me the most, with its high - almost fortress-like - walls that seem to guard it from the harsh conditions of the sandy plains.
 
Far from being a storm in the desert, Thar also holds many stories of its own. It's inception as Sindh's jewel is backed by old temple ruins loaded with cultural, religious and historical significance, which were validated by crooked signboards bearing the authority of the Director of Archaeology of Hyderabad.

But even to the untrained eye, these ruins seem half-heartedly restored and some stood on the verge of collapsing.
 
Despite this, walls engraved with carvings and drawings of Hindu gods, elephants and lotus symbols appeared imposing at times. The sandstone marble pillars of the Bhodesar mosque also created a tangible peaceful spirit that captivated us.

Clandestine underground tunnels connected one city to another and the well of Marvi tells the story of the Thar native who was abducted by the King of Umarkot due to her resistance to his demands. These ruins highlight the mystery and romanticism that had once prevailed in these sandy dunes.
 
The ancient mix of religion, sects and castes of Tharparkar - 'desert land of sand ridges' - contributes to the charm that surrounds Thar.

Later on during the day, as we trekked up the sand dunes, fine undulating sands sifting smoothly through our bare feet, we gazed out into the horizon.

In the distance, beyond the sandy hills, lay India's Gujarat state just 30km away. Sublime soon took over. We then laid out our picnic mat and sat for a meal while the guards lazed around on the sand and watched us devour our biryani, which the cook had earlier prepared.
 
Overnight, these rural village men had donned police uniforms and loaded their AK-47s but even then, one can still make out their village swagger and their unpolished demeanor.
 
Soon, darkness took over and on our way back, we saw Mithi turn into a 'city of lights'. Standing before a fort that overlooked the whole city, the city glowed like a jewel, its tiny lights flickering in every hut.

In the distance, we heard music being played; the air was festive, in line with Eid Milad-un-Nabi. Green flags for the Prophet's birthday were hung beside Holi's colourful lights, the Hindu religious festival that was to fall on the following day.

With Hindus making up almost half of Mithi's population, possibly the largest number of Hindu population in Pakistan, this meant that the people of Mithi have been practicing harmony and tolerance for centuries.

This peaceful co-existence of both religions was also seen during partition when Mithi was denied any real bloodshed, seeing that both religious groups sought to protect each other. The only type of migration that took place was only in the form of Hindu elites who crossed the sandy terrains over to India.
 
On the third and final day, as we unwillingly made our way back to Karachi, we watched the desert fast disappearing in the rearview mirror.

One prays that the cultural gem that is Sindh will remain untouched but even this may appear to be short-lived.
 
Already, signs of connectivity have arrived in Mithi and the other districts that make up Sindh. They come in the form of tall towers with cable lines connecting Sindh with the rest of Pakistan. Internet cafes have also sprouted across the towns. Satellite dishes were sold almost everywhere, making cables channels readily available.

Moreover, the roads were being widened and more gas pipes were being installed. Rich in coal reserves, Mithi is also poised to become a future powerhouse of energy.

In the guestbook, a German backpacker had written

“Salaam! In the remotest corner of Pakistan, I had found the most interesting and surreal form of tourism. It was a pleasurable and illuminating experience, except for the constant presence of the police, which is just completely superfluous in this calm part of the country!”

Indeed, the desert has left everyone spellbound, simply by its primitive nature, ancient ruins and its palpable serenity that has stood against the sands of time. 

* Syafiqah Omar is an intern from Singapore at Dawn.com