Unplanned tourism & poorly planned development

THERE is a road from Muzaffarabad to Chakar, Sudhan Gali and Ganga Choti that is, on a clear day, one of the most beautiful drives in Azad Kashmir. Clouds drift low across the mountains, deodar trees stand in long silent rows and the blue water of Zilzal Lake appears suddenly between the hills. It is the kind of road that briefly makes you forget everything else. People who travelled this road fifteen or twenty years ago remember something more than just the view. The forests were denser then. In some places, the trees were so thick that daylight barely reached the road below. These forests were not simply part of the scenery. They protected the mountains, sheltered wildlife and quietly sustained the natural balance of the entire region. Over the years, that balance has slowly weakened. Hotels appeared near the tree line. Shops spread deeper into the hills. Trees disappeared and construction moved forward with little planning. Much of this happened in the name of tourism and development, but very little attention was paid to what these changes meant for the landscape itself. As forests retreated and human settlements pushed further into previously undisturbed areas, wildlife gradually began losing space. This pattern is not limited to Azad Kashmir. Across Pakistan’s northern regions, the same story can be seen. A few days ago, that reality became impossible to ignore. Two men from Sarbala Salmia village near Chakar, Muhammad Rafique and Muhammad Akram, were returning home at night when they were attacked by a herd of wild boars. Both men were critically injured and later died. The incident brought the usual reaction. The Wildlife Department was blamed. The government was criticized. Photographs circulated on social media for a few days. Fear and anger spread quickly and then, like most things in this country, the attention moved elsewhere. But one important question remained behind: why are wild boars increasingly reaching human settlements in the first place? The a