Kashmir: A thick, white cloud rises from the grounds of the Old University camp in Muzaffarabad, the capital of Pakistani-Kashmir that was devastated by the earthquake that killed more than 86,000 people.
More than 2,000 survivors are crammed into the old sports stadium of the university, which has been reduced to towering mounds of crumbling rubble. Clusters of survivors huddle around small fires desperately warming themselves as the bitter cold night descends. They have run out of bits of wood to burn and so now they burn rubbish.
A potent mix of raw sewage, urine, sickness and the toxic fumes of burning plastic stings the eyes and burns the nose. There are no toilets here, only holes in the ground. With a recent outbreak of over 400 cases of acute watery diarrhoea, a virulent condition that can be seen as a precursor to cholera, the residents have been reduced to defecating along the camp walls.
Muzaffarabad's first rains have mixed the excrement and mud into a thick soup that oozes from the ground, seeping into the tents, huts and shacks.
Children with matted hair wearing filthy rags, their skin crawling with scabies, play on a metal grate. Underneath them sewage froths from an old pipe that burst with the force of the quake.
It is an apocalyptic sight and a ticking time bomb for disease.
"There was a real threat of cholera and we cordoned off an area to cope, but the situation is under control now," said Ishtiaq Ahmad, a senior paramedic with Humanity First, an NGO working on the camp.
"There are only about 50 cases of acute watery diarrhoea now," he said.
Naziran Rahim lies on a dirty mattress smeared with dark brown bloodstains. A small baby bawls as it hangs from her arm. There is a yellow gaping, infected wound on Naziran's foot. An upturned wooden cart acts as the supporting wall for the small shack she has made. She sleeps in here with eight of her children. Every one of them has been ill. "I don't have enough food to feed my children. We're all hungry," says Naziran, whose husband was killed in the earthquake.
"We don't have a tent and my children are sick. It is so cold at night, I'm afraid some of them will not survive," she says.
Outside her hut a tiny squatting child wearing only a miniature fake-fur coat defecates.
"These people are living in the worst conditions you can think of," says Hasham Ullah, a team leader with Humanity First.
"If nothing changes here, people are going to give up. Then they will die."
Above Naziran's head, a dim yellow bulb flickers with each power surge. The camp can now share the city's electricity. Overlooking the far corner of the camp a huge electric palm tree that sprouts out of the main road sparkles luminous orange on tents and nearby a digital city clock flashes the wrong time. Every day a steady stream of survivors arrives at the Old University camp looking for medical aid, food and shelter. They come from the surrounding villages that dot the valleys around the city. Some have walked for days to get here.
"They come down here and realise there are no tents, there is no food," says Dr Altaf Hussein who works in a dark tent filled with sick people. They spill out into the camp, coughing and spitting, clutching infected wounds and broken bones.
The Old University camp is a spontaneous camp that arose when survivors fled the tumbling ruins of their homes for flat ground - a rare commodity in this mountainous land. The government wants to close down spontaneous camps but not all residents want to move.
Jalalabad Garden camp is in a green, leafy park perched above the city in one of Muzaffarabad's most salubrious districts that was once home to government officials. Most survivors here managed to procure tents and there is even a makeshift school.
"This is the cleanest camp there is, and now they want us to move. We will not go," said Manzoor Khan, an electrician whose forehead was gashed by the butt of a gun when he joined 300 others to demonstrate against the camp's closure.
In Muzaffarabad, the desperation and frustration of the survivors is palpable. It has already bubbled over onto the streets in protests that exploded into ugly clashes with policemen beating survivors with sticks and batons.
"They haven't even given us an alternative. They've just said we have to move, otherwise they will beat us again," says Manzoor. His neighbours and friends stand around him, all bearing the marks of beatings. They were on their way to submit a petition when the protesters were intercepted by the police.
"Let them beat us. We've lost everything we had. Tomorrow winter will be here and we don't even have blankets. What else do we have to lose?" Manzoor says.
"Nothing. Our lives now are worth nothing."