The first memory of my home town is a small peaceful town with reasonable population encircled by hills and mountains, a road slithering on the North East Mountains to join it to Peshawar. I used to watch traffic lights on this road at night. The sight of traffic lights on that road fascinated me and I took them for fire worms chasing each other. The sound of water stream called Kohat Toi, coming from the North West out skirt of city, and howling of wolves which scared me to death and made me to take refuge in my grandma’s bed.
I was accustomed to see sun rising and setting behind the mountains. I thought it hiding behind mountains. The mountains not only bounded my city but also spectrum of my vision. I never thought there would be any world beyond these mountains. A clear blue sky on which I used to find different shapes and figures whenever a cloud happened to sail on it, the sound of wind mill coming far of a distance, busy in crushing grains, the street on which my home was located where I used to run bare footed and a shop on the corner of that street with glass jars full of colorful candies in its shelves. The sight of these jars stirred up my temptation to filch a hand full of candies from them but I never had courage to take a step with this intention.
The town bearing all these specifications is my home town. Kohat is the name of my home town. It is in KPK province of Pakistan. The word Kohat is Hindko word which means the market surrounded by mountains. The district is bounded by the mountains and hills. The intervening open valleys between the hills are seldom more than eight kilometers in width.
The town centers around a British-era fort, various bazaars, and a military cantonment, Kohat cantonment the most beautiful cantonment of Pakistan. Its dwellers loved to walk on its Mall Road in the evening and consider it a great recreation. But with the invasion of Taliban this beautiful cantonment is sealed for...