The Pakistan Army is in the middle of its largest ever operations against Taliban forces in the troubled region bordering Afghanistan. Up to 2.5 million are believed to have fled the once quiet, scenic mountain ranges. At a camp in Risalpur, 50 miles south of some of the fiercest battle zones in the Swat valley, I talked to schoolgirl Mannu.

Among the bare dwellings of Risalpur's industrial area, buildings donated to the displaced by local businessmen that have been transformed into miniature cities, I met eleven-year-old Mannu, a fearless young student unfazed by the traumas that have, for the time being at least, destroyed her ancient village community.

"We have been here now for five to six weeks," she tells me, at first shy. "My father is a farmer, he tends (peach and apricot) orchards ... just like his parents did."

Swat is famous for its rich array of fruit and other cash crops. People here have been doubly affected by the current conflict. Not only has the fighting made them homeless but it started at the height of the harvesting period.

Mannu is from a village near Mingora, the largest city in Swat and one of the epicentres of the clashes between the Taliban and army. Although the conflict has been going on for some months, it was only recently that Mannu's family decided to leave.

"One night there was a series of explosions on the outskirts of the village," she explains. "There was shelling before, but this time it was so close. Everyone was in a panic."

Mannu's entire village, around 13 families or 200 people, decided to flee their homes the next morning. They made the journey - men, women, children and the elderly - on foot from Mingora to the outskirts of army-controlled Mardan, a distance of around 30 miles through mountainous terrain.

Adding to their woes were the many, often randomly announced army curfews that meant villagers risked being shot on sight by soldiers.

Mannu and her family managed to reach Mardan unhurt.

This wasn't the first time Mannu had risked her life. On the strong urging of her parents, Mannu had dared to seek an education in a region of Swat where the Taliban openly forbade women from doing so.

"I'm not afraid of going to school," she says defiantly when asked about her studies. The Taliban often threatened girls like Mannu with death or other violence, as evidenced by the over 200 schools destroyed in Swat. Yet Mannu kept going to her school, the Al Azhar College, one of the few that remained open as the Taliban swept into Swat.

"The Taliban say they want Sharia [governance under the laws of Islam], but what kind of Sharia is this - killing and looting? It is just a game to them."

I ask her whether she hopes to return to her village and complete her studies.

"There is a poem we recite now, it is the only way we can express our grief," Mannu says, suddenly animated.

Then she starts to sing.

"Lord of the world, oh God, I would like to tell you something.

My sweet Swat has caught on fire, not just from one side but from everywhere.

The fire has engulfed everything - our people, our customs, our schools, our markets.

But no one knows how to douse these flames.

My beautiful Swat, with its valleys and peaks, its perfumed flowers, all have lost their lustre.

In every direction there is war. The people who laughed, who sang, are now silent.

The once majestic and peaceful River Swat has dried up.

The beautiful and pure landscapes, the trees and the plants. They have been burnt too.

The beautiful town of Mingora, your markets all lie destroyed.

Our hopes and dreams, our way of life, all has been lost in the flames.

I pray to you God, bring back the paradise, the peaceful Swat I remember."

The displaced communities live a rudimentary life typically huddled in cramp dwellings or tents without running water or electricity.

Their present fate stands in stark contrast to their former lives, typically as farmers, teachers, mothers, tradespersons and students.

The people of Swat and the Bajaur tribal areas, where most of the displaced come from, are mountain people not used to the extreme summer heat of the lower lying districts of Mardan, Nowshera and Peshawar where the largest camps have been established. Diahrroea and water borne diseases, exacerbated by the heat, are very common, particularly among the young.

Yet the resilience of these people who have lost so much is as powerful as their collective tragedy.

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