More than two weeks after the earthquake struck this part of Pakistani Kashmir, Kevin Baker, an Australian doctor with Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF), was the first outsider to reach the forlorn hamlet after a lung-bursting climb up a hillside.
Seen from across the valley it looks like a rural idyll.
Up close it's a different story, one all too common in the stricken areas where the Pakistan Army is still clearing main roads destroyed or blocked by landslides.
"You are the first people to come here, and you've brought hope that there is someone in the world willing to help us," Gulzari says through a broken-toothed smile, brushing a strand of hennaed hair back under her shawl.
A grandmother who thinks she's 75 but isn't sure, Gulzari shows Baker contusions on her neck and shoulder. Soft tissue injuries that will be better in a few weeks, says Baker.
She lost her husband and three grandchildren, but five survived.
With what's left of her family, Gulzari sits among the stalks of threshed maize on a terrace cut into the slope. The sun dries mattresses before the evening chill sets in and they must spend another night under the stars.
They have food for a few more days, with a couple of chickens, goats, a cow and its calf.
Neighbour Rahmat Jan is luckier. She at least has a roof, with sheets for walls.
"Life was difficult before the earthquake. Now it is hopeless. Whatever time we have now is a bonus," says the 60-year-old, who lay in the rubble next to a dead friend for seven hours before relatives pulled her out unscathed.
So far, the official death toll from the October 8 quake is over 53,000, but the United Nations and a host of aid agencies fear a second wave of deaths once the Himalayan winter bites in Kashmir and Pakistan's North West Frontier Province.
Baker's boss, Marc Joolen, MSF's Operations Co-ordinator, flew over Bagh district a day earlier to get some perspective on how much relief work had been done at the southern end of the quake's death zone in Pakistani Kashmir.
Visiting, to report back to Brussels, the Dutchman was blunt.
"It's crap - there are hardly any tents distributed so far," he says as the helicopter swoops over ridge after ridge dotted with sloping tin roofs atop the rubble of caved-in walls that used to be houses.
"It seems the higher you go the worse it gets," Joolen says as the Russian pilot spins the helicopter away from the Line of Control dividing Kashmir between Pakistan and India.
In places people run out waving white handkerchiefs, hoping the helicopter will bring salvation. Joolen tells the pilot not to go any closer for fear of blowing away the cotton and plastic sheets the destitute villagers are using for makeshift shelter.
Back at base, MSF has erected a cluster of blue tents alongside the shell of a partly constructed building that is serving as a warehouse and canteen. Spirits are kept up by a stereo playing some of Bob Dylan's less sorrowful songs.
Next door are the remains of a school. The bodies of up to 40 children still lie under the rubble, packed down by the thick cement roof that fell on them.
Sonia Peyrassul, the on-the-ground leader of the 30-strong MSF team, considers what has to be done in Bagh during the few weeks before winter strikes in mid-November.
"There are some places where nobody's gone, and places where everybody is," Peyrassul says. "We are still evaluating little by little, while so much is needed right now."
The mission cannot move forward much until it gets relief supplies, starting with tents and tool kits people need to build shelters from the wood and stone lying in the ruins.
Peyrassul can only hope that the promised supplies come soon.
For now, MSF teams have set up clinics in three villages in the hills west of Bagh, from where they explore nearby valleys for desperate communities like the one Baker found.
Most patients have already received first aid, but medics are still dealing with some severe fractures, and the very young and the very old are being stretched in on charpoys, the rope beds characteristic of the region.
The most common task is cleaning and dressing re-infected wounds, although there have also been some cases of scabies, an infectious hair and skin disease caused by parasitic mites that attack people suffering from a lack of proper nutrition.
Some families are coming down from the mountains, their toddlers tied to the saddles of hardy little ponies, but many are staying put, unwilling to abandon their belongings or the few cattle, goats and chickens they have left.
People are suffering from the listlessness symptomatic of post-traumatic shock, but they face a stark choice: build shelter from the ruins or leave before the winter comes.
Meanwhile, the Pakistan Army, which is leading the relief effort, the United Nations and non-government organisations have to deliver whatever they can to hundreds of places like Jheer Bandia, where there are no roads, and the terrain is unsuitable for helicopter drops, especially in bad weather.
"There's your delivery system," Joolen thinks aloud as he spots hundreds of mules and ponies in army paddocks on the flood plain a few miles west of Bagh.
But, during a five-hour drive to Islamabad down narrow, rutted roads, over steel bridges with wooden planks instead of tarmac, he passes only a handful of trucks carrying aid.
"I don't know where all the relief supplies are going - but it's not to Bagh."