Salman Rashid, adventurer and prolific travel writer and photographer, who has extensively written about Pakistan telling the tales less told, sights less seen, roads less travelled in addition to adding newer dimension in much trumpeted historic, heritage and geographic stories. Based on his deep research and physical exploration, Salman Rashid has covered everything (ok, almost everything) from Astola in the Arabian Sea to Yarkand on the other side of Pakistan China Border and a whole lot in between. Remember, his latest book The Apricot to Yarkand.

Given my own love for untold stories and respect Salman Rashid has earned, I love to hear first hand whenever I can. This time I met him along with my friend Qazi Hussain, he told us about series of books of days he is doing. The diaries do more than overtake the travelogue. He did Tales Less Told in 2009 and it was very well received. The first book of days was followed by Sights Less Seen in 2010 and Roads Less Travelled in 2011. These diaries are collectors’ delight and one would love them in a bookshelf. I have not written anything on Roads Less Travelled 2011 and am keeping it as a reference book.

In 2011, he is coming up with another thematic diary titled Wheels of the Raj. Coming years diary, that is about to come of the press any time and I am already waiting to lay my hands on, is about railway heritage. Slaman Rashid is an authority on Pakistan Railway heritage. Though presently we can’t relate to most of what he says but his work does fortify the past glory of the Railways in Pakistan.

Images here are from Roads Less Travelled. [From Light Within]

The Apricot Road to Yarkand is a spellbinding tale of journey from Shigar Valley to Yarkand in the North, over the glaciated Mustagh Pass by Salman Rashid. The author is master of conveying what seems to be going on in his heads in gripping prose that is never clichéd.

First, a word about the author. Salman Salman is Pakistan’s foremost travel writer. His passion for writing is matched by his passion for photography. His research, range of visual subjects and narratives make a remarkable combination. In addition to eight travel books, his work appears in leading English language journals. In The Apricot Road to Yarkand, Salman Rashid has also told how he switched his career in the army to become a full time researcher and a writer. (I keep thinking how Salman Rashid would have been in appreciating tactical situation on battle grounds if he was still in army?)

Salman Rashid is a historian in the truest sense. He writes from a knowledge standpoint as opposed to a position biased toward the dominant paradigm and its conquests. A moving writer, Salman reminds the heart of its search for power in a world which has forgotten its purpose for existence. As usual, Salman Rashid, 54 when he undertook the journey, delivers a ton of current information all based on historical research. No one else seems to have half the energy of this man.

In The Apricot Road to Yarkand, Salman Rashid recounts his journey from Shigar Valley to Yarkand and he does so in frank and honest terms. Result of sixteen years of dreaming about everything that sits on the historic route from Baltistan to Yarkand, The Apricot Road to Yarkand is an epic to the essence of exploring mountains, but it is also about of the cultural, geological, and biological make up of mountains, people of that area, human behavior in difficult situations, and history and about joy of about watching purple-gray clouds spreading out like an atmospheric ocean in all directions as far as the eye can see.

Alan Hovaness once wrote, “Mountains are symbols of mankind’s search for God,” and Allen Ginsberg told us, “Things are symbols for themselves.” In The Apricot Road to Yarkand, Salman Rashid allows the mountains to be symbols of the seeking soul and at the same time symbols of themselves – they are encountered as we internalize them in our quest, and they are encountered as they really are: cold, hard, lonely, mighty and sometime hazardous.

The Apricot Road to Yarkand inspires its readers to explore the less explored areas and experience for themselves what only a few had the fortune to discover. Well-written and wonderfully presented, the book is a must read for anyone remotely interested in mountains, adventures or for those who want to find out why a chunk of land was handed over to our best friends. I highly recommend it.

Fellow of Royal Geographical Society, Salam Rashid is author of eight books including Jhelum: City of the Vitasta

Experience to hill station Murree can be a mixed bag. It is popularfor cold pine forests, amidst magnificent mountain scenery that makeit a first choice for a day’s outing or serious hill walking. It iscommon with locals throughout the country as well as foreigners innearby Islamabad on the run from the sweltering heat of plains insummer. And in summers it is crowded like a cinema hall some time.This archetypal hill station is famous for other things too: It is aconvenient political pawn to keep the loyal and or hideout for foreigndignitaries on their way to secret strategic missions elsewhere.

In the Himalayan foothills Murree — known as Malika-e-Kohsar meaningthe queen of hills — was founded as a hill station by the British in1851. Like other cities set up by the British, the town has the Mallfor promenading, parks, churches, schools, clubs and plenty of othercrumbling colonial charms. Remember, during British rule, access tothe Mall was restricted for locals. After independence Murree has onceagain become the summer retreat of the government and since Islamabadbecame the capital of Pakistan in 1962, has expanded rapidly. There isa governor house, other government houses and summer homes of affluentclass from all over the country. The residences are built on thesummit and sides of an irregular ridge, and command magnificent viewsover forest-clad hills and deep valleys, studded with villages andcultivated fields, with snow-covered peaks of Kashmir in background.

Murree town spreads along the top of a ridge for about fivekilometres. At the north-east end is Kashmir Point, with views acrossthe valley of the Jhelum River into Azad Kashmir. At the south-westend is Pindi Point, looking back towards Rawalpindi and Islamabad.Between the two runs the Mall, at the centre of which is the mainshopping area, where visitors flock. Most conspicuous rendezvous inthe town is General Post Office on the Mall.

Apart from odd looking ruins of Murree Brewery (shifted to Rawalpindilong ago), there is an Ecology Centre that was established in 1960 toexperiment with environment friendly agricultural processes such asgreenhouses to grow winter crops. Although fruit and vegetables areimportant crops at the Centre but this institute has playedsignificant role in the mainstream agriculture through its work oncereal rust. The site was specially selected after a thorough surveyby Canadian team of experts that visited Gilgit, Chitral, Swat, Kaghanand Azad Kashmir. The Centre has done some considerable work to extendthe carrying capacity of the land. Other than this, economy of thearea is predominantly agricultural though land holdings are small. Orlocals have some openings in tourism industry that is still in theinitial stages of development.

In addition to sunsets and cloud effects seen daily during the rainsand good weather, trekking or riding in the chair-lifts are Murree’smain amusements. But one can turn the soft jaunt into a dauntingexperience in the name of adventure. Who stops! Like for more daringtypes and those who want to beat the crowds and still enjoy the greenenvirons of Murree, the best is to explore the surrounding areas.There are many defined walking trails in adjoining country that iswell wooded and its scenery attractive: from Islamabad to Tret, fromTret to Ghora Gali (where “dak” horses used to change during Britishera), from Ghora Gali to Murree, from Murree to Barian and ChanglaGali with Swar Gali and Khaira Gali in between and from Changala Galito Nathia Gali through Ayubia and Dunga Gali. From Nathiagali a commontrekking route is to Thandiani with an overnight stay in the way.

Though sometime out of compulsion, I have been walking on Murree-Kakul (Abbottabad) route for sometime. During training in Military AcademyKakul, even fun trips to Murree customarily used to be converted in awalk with big packs (pack point zero eight) instead of trendy andlight backpacks on the back. Out of twenty six items, from needle toblanket to venom antidotes, one was supposed to keep in the packs onlymap and compasses were useful. Rest used to look like an added loadabout as useful wet matches during rain?

But what if sometime one wants to escape into open solitudes, intoaimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, inorder to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to becompelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what? Thatmight be the reason for my once deciding to go back from Murree toKakul cross-country.

Walking a series of hills along the ridge between Murree andAbbottabad is the way to see the green mountain glen, as it requiresto be seen. Murree is over 2,200 meters above sea level whereasAbbottabad lies at the height of 1200 meters therefore walking 70kilometres downhill from Murree to Abbottabad, even cross country,should be an easy option. But it is not. The contours, those thin,maroon lines on maps of the area are not easy to negotiate on ground.That is what I found during my zigzagging along the contours.

First it is a climb. I felt comfortable and warm but every now andthen I had to go a little down too and then “sweat became a fridge.” Inever got warm again. It became soon clear that I could not walkstraight. So I decided to stay at Nathiagalli. Next day, I still hadcold feet but from there on it went down fast and did make it in theevening. Now I have forgotten the agony of carrying the weight of mypack zero eight but till today I have been able to preserve thefeeling stirred by encounter with natural beauty in the way. The wildflowers were big and grass green. It was all very silent. I felt thetrue essence of a place, for seeing without feeling can obviously beuncaring; while feeling without seeing can be blind.

Walking parallel to Khanpur, at the bottom of a visibly used track ina small bowl like gorge one finds a warning sign posted by some NGOconcerned with conservation of wildlife and nature. “Save theWildlife,” it advises. Beneath the images of the different birds foundin the area, independent visitors had scrawled their names and someone had written his own impromptu comments that reads, “Wish you werehere with me.” Very apt! In the way, you also see stacks of animalfodder to be used in winters, villagers coming down the hillsfollowing donkey loaded with dried wood or pruning of trees and an axehanging on side, or carrying the load on heads for use as fire wood,or a rabbit frolicking on the grass, maybe a rat. Or you come acrossred cheeked and friendly kids asking for pencils, their faces bathedin peace. The peace and serenity in the area has a marvellous effecton the nerves.

Most hard core travellers, particularly foreigners, come up with somedaisy character who came “offering them hashish, heroin, sledge, orsomething even more bizarre when they write about their travelexperiences in Pakistan, perhaps in an effort to make their tales richin adventure, absurdity and humour. Or they tell harrowing tales liketheir belongings stolen on gun point. Maybe they think this makestheir stories culturally more erudite. But in this very touristy area(and even during my other long hauls elsewhere), what I could comeacross are many kindnesses from any thing but ordinary people. I wasoverwhelmed by the consideration I was shown during my cross countrywalk by a humble and hospitable local Malik Nawab Khan, an ex serviceman, who offered me food. His home was in a deadbeat place, cluster ofa few houses on my way and away from any where. Exhausted, and wantingto rest my feet we settled for tea. That was one of the best and muchneeded hot cups of hot tea (with solid boiled eggs) that I took. Hehad told me to keep a lemon and suck on it while walking hard and longin hills. It gives strength and quenches thrust. He also said, “Tirethe mountain not yourself.” I realize the folk wisdom in the advicesevery time I walk. And we still are in communication with each other.Malik Nawab remains another reason for me to visit the area morefrequently.

Hunger for nature becomes more intense as one sees pristine wildernessturning into a scarce commodity. Revisiting a place like Murree doesnot put me off. – I find a new and original angle every time! I love it every time.

Images by Hussain Qazi

For added authenticity he said even his great-grandfather was a boatwright. I did not point out that between his great-grandfather and Hazrat Nuh there must have been several thousand years. Quick to see the doubt in my eyes, he said that since his family knows only this craft, it has long been suspected that they go back to those biblical times. That was arithmetic at its simplest, and I could hardly quarrel with it. At forty Ghulam Arabi, having learned the trade at his late father’s knee, himself had twenty-five years of boat-building experience.

He said that he was a Mughal and his sub-caste was Gharu. This latter, he said, derived from the Punjabi or Urdu word for shaping wood. I asked him if his family was called Gharu even in the time of Hazrat Nuh and he looked at me as if I could scarcely have asked a more imbecile question. That, then, was settled: he was a Mughal of the sub-caste Gharu whose family history of ship-building went back to the great Deluge. And so we moved on to less exciting but rather more plausible aspects of his profession.

There were thirty-six different kinds of boats in Pakistan. These included the several types of flat-bottomed punts on rivers and lakes that could either be rowed, poled or fitted with outboard motors. Then there were the large sabot-shaped houseboats (different sizes) of the Sindhu River and Manchhar Lake and there were the different types and sizes of keeled sea-going vessels of the coast. Ghulam Arabi, his brother, two sons, a nephew and a maternal uncle who all work together, could build any of those boats. And they were not the only boatwrights of the country. There were a few dozen other families engaged in the craft.

But they never employed drawings or measurements. There was nothing on paper. Ghulam Arabi and his team had everything in their heads. All that was needed was a photograph and the desired length of the boat and they could produce it. Chaudri Munir, a well-known industrialist from Lahore, brought a catalogue of boat designs complete with measurements and drawings to Ghulam Arabi. He wanted a boat copied and had tried several carpenters in Lahore. But nothing worked. After wasting much time and even more money, Munir turned to Ghulam Arabi.

When our man was offered the catalogue to study, he refused. He simply looked at the picture of the boat, asked how big Chaudri sahib wanted his vessel to be and got his team working. In six weeks flat, Ghulam Arabi had the boat ready to the great delight of his rich client.

We were sitting in the sand of the once great Sindhu River at the ford of Bungla Ichha near Jamaldin Wali in Rahim Yar Khan district. Ghulam Arabi, a native of Chachran fifty kilometres upstream, was taking time off from repairing three or four boats that were soon to be hitched in a boat bridge. Every year between November and March when the river runs low, the boat bridge is strung out and all motor traffic passes over it to Rojhan on the west bank.

The rest of the year, the river being far too wide and with a greater flow for this arrangement, crossings are affected by smaller engine-powered punts. Since these can at most carry a couple of motorcycles and are mainly for passengers, vehicular traffic is routed over Guddu Barrage about thirty kilometres downstream.

Business was good, said Ghulam Arabi. The going rate to build a new vessel was six hundred rupees per foot and a typical twenty foot-long punt took about a month to finish. Charges for repair work, on the other hand, were variable depending on the scale of work. All materials, the timber (always deodar cedar), as well as the nails and other items, were supplied by the client. Ghulam Arabi and his team came with the tools of their trade and their expertise.

The typical work day for them began after the morning prayers and ended with sundown. But though the work day was some five hours longer in summer, daily output tended to be the same throughout the year. The reason according to Ghulam Arabi was the debilitating heat of summer that reduced efficiency.

At the fishing village of Ibrahim Hyderi in Karachi, Ghulam Arabi had learned the science of building keeled marine engine-powered boats. Thereafter he had worked there a full eight years to master the craft. Subsequently he moved to Gwadar where he remained another couple of years working with another ustad. He worked at the two places in order to learn the subtle differences between the Baloch and the Sindhi design.

Time was when there were only single-masted sailboats plying the several fords on the Sindhu between Dera Ghazi Khan and Kashmore. Ghulam Arabi and his team built the last of those sailing boats in the later 1990s. Now there are only these small boats with the diesel engine that for some abstruse reason we call a ‘peter engine’ in Pakistan.

‘The sailing boat took five hours to cross the river. These little powered boats take three quarters of an hour. Now everyone is in a hurry and they just want to get wherever they are going.’

Ghulam Arabi said he had no complaints. Business had been brisk and there were still orders in hand for the coming months. I pointed out that one day a bridge will span this part of the river adversely affecting his business. What will he do then?

‘The fishermen of the Sindhi lakes as well as those of the seaboard will never go out of business. If it comes to the worst, we’ll have to move either to Karachi or to Gwadar. But we will carry on the profession we have followed since the time of Hazrat Nuh.’ Ghulam Arabi, the boatwright, was spot on. He and others like him will never run out of work.

For those who take their chance for the first time to the city, it might sound too good to be true but Dera Ghazi Khan (D G Khan) in the past was known as Dera Phullan Da Sehra — ‘land of flowers’. “The canal skirted its eastern side, fringed with luxurious gardens of mango trees, while ghats lined the bank, thronged in summer by numerous bathers.

Ghazi Khan Mirani son of a Baloch chieftain Haji Khan founded the city on his own name on the tract between Suleman Range and River Indus in 1474. Bannu-Dera Ismail Khan-Jacobabad, famous trade route of the ast ran through the city. It developed into a very beautiful and prosperous city of that time. Till 1758, eighteen princes of the Ghazi Khan’s family successively ruled the city and bore the names of their ancestors”, wrote Mr. Bruce in his account in 1869. Kalhoras, Durranis, Mughals, Abbasis and Sikhs also exercised control over the city before it fell to the British.

Mighty River Indus had been steadily and gradually shifting its course westwards for a long time. D G Khan remained on the mercy of the River and great floods occurred in 1812, 1833, and 1842. It was completely washed away in 1856. The River now flows over the site of ancient dwelling.

The founder Ghazi Khan Mirani would not be able to recognize the ‘new’ city that was planned by British engineers on the principle of ‘Grid Iron Pattern’ – all roads and streets meeting at right angle – and built on present location between the period from 1900-1910 about 15 Kilometres downstream on the bank of Manika Canal near the tomb of Ghazi Khan Mirani.

Let us just assume it: D G Khan was a great town on the bank of Indus in fifteenth century. Does the town even exist? Yes, only in history books. Many things combine to show that D G Khan was a gem in the time gone by.

One of the most exciting buildings of the past is the tomb of Ghazi Khan Mirani. The tomb was built in fifteenth century on an octagonal plan, like shrine of Shah Rukn-e-Alam in Multan, with battering walls and corner turrets. Standing in front of the tomb, dismayed, I could feel the depredation and vandalism that would have few parallels. Dome and upper story of the tomb have vanished. The main entrance to the chamber of the tomb is in the East with two smaller doors in the northern and western directions are stripped of the gates. There are 11 mud graves inside the tomb and a graveyard has spread around the tomb. The walls are pitted. The pitchi cari and calligraphy inside the tomb is also fading. The slabs of stone painted with floral and geometric designs are falling. Once magnificent and imposing tomb is now sinking in ground. No body comes to lay flower or pay respect to the dead Baloch Sardar. In the past it had also been used to keep the animals. Relics of the tomb are certainly precious.

Unfortunately, currently, D G Khan, more than any other Pakistani city, lacks sensitivity to its heritage. The condition of temples, dharam shalas and gao shalas is even worse. Most of them have been converted into residential quarters, some are being used as waste receptacles and from few others even the bricks have been taken away. “To retain the heritage and history of the city, at least two temples situated east of Tounsa-D G Khan Road and whatever is left of Ghazi Khan’s tomb should immediately be declared as protected monuments”, says Hashim Sher Khan, a social activist who has written to many national and international agencies including UNESCO for this purpose, “but to no avail” he adds. D G Khan of Waderas, Sardars and Tumandars and patriots like Sher Muhammad who made world Pakistani as part of his name seem to be on its way to decline.

Hashim Sher Khan says, “Dera Ghazi Khan is the cultural capital of Pakistan. It is not only geographically situated on the junction point of all the four provinces but is also a place where their cultural traditions meet”. Besides legendary hospitality, the most famous cultural symbols I encountered in the city during my stay are hamachas and tabaqs.

A son of the soil, Dr Ghulam Fareed once narrated a tale about his childhood to Raza Ali Abdi (BBC). The tale reads, “Big charpoys (coats) are found in every nook and corner of the city. These coats serve as open drawing rooms in the localities. There was one big coat in front of our house too. The day I left D G Khan for higher studies, I saw people sitting on that coat: talking, relaxing, and sharing. I saw the same people sitting, doing same things, once I returned from England after 15 years. Only they had gone a little old.” D G Khan is famous for big charpoys locally known as Hamachas throughout the country.

Another thing for which D G Khan is famous is tabaq meaning cooking utensil with wide mouth. Nanbais prepare meat and beef dishes in these utensils. British traveller Alexander Bern who came to D G Khan in 1936-37 wrote that there were 1597 shops in the city out of which 40 were of nanbais. Once the new city was inhabited, the nanbais also migrated and set up their shops in Pathar Bazaar. Now most of them have developed and converted their shops in modern eating joints but you can still find any thing from Nalli Nihari for breakfast to Siri Pae for dinner if you like. The only difference is that Tabaqs are made of cast iron instead of clay these days. Names of Ustad Allah Yar, Ustad Qader, Ustad Allah Ditta and Ustad Muhammad Siddique who were the best Tabaqis of their times are still remembered with respect.

As per the legend, the throne of Prophet Hazrat Suleman (A S) once landed on the hill range known as Suleman Range. Next to the city on the route to Quetta is Fort Munro Peak in Suleman Range. The first thing that came to my mind after turning on a rocky road to Fort Munro from village Khar (or Kharar) was a famous couplet that was composed by poet Mustafa Zaidi who was once a Political Assistant in Fort Munro. The poet lived here soaking up the scenery and isolation while contemplating his own future and love life. He composed, “Inhe pathroon pe chal kar agar aa sako to aao, mere ghar ke raste main koi kahkashan nahin hey”. The going on the road these days is bad that gets worst in case of a light shower. Later, I also visited the library that was established by Mustafa Zaidi but now it has been converted into an office of some government department. By the way, who wants to read these days?

Those who take their chance to cross the River Ravi from Saghian Bridge to go to Sheikhupura in the suburbs of Lahore have to pass through the flower nurseries. Also, along the road has come up a Flower Market near Saghian Bridge. After turning on Sheikhupura-Sargodha Road from the Chowk where a beautiful replica of Hiran Minar (The Deer Tower) has been made, you drive along the bumpy two-way road lined up on both sides with smoke emitting factories of different kinds: fabrics, chemicals, glass, and paper pulp. At places the pungent whiff reminds as if one is driving on Grand Trunk Road near Kala Shah Kaku. Wall chalking, religious and or commercial slogans – is another thing that one notices all along the road to Sheikhupura.Jehangir Abad turned Sheikhupura is situated in Ravi-Chenab corridor and fast turning from a market agricultural town to an industrial city. Adjacent to Lahore, the town is surrounded by old places like Sangla Hill (old Sakala), Nankana Saheb (birth place of Baba Guru Nanak) and Jandiala Sher Khan (last resting place of Waris Shah).

Hunting grounds were an important part of the physical environment of Moghal emperors. The place where the town stands today was one of Jahangir’s (Prince Salim) princely dominions during his father Akbar’s reign. The town was founded by Jehangir, near village Sahu Malli, during his rule in 1607. The king declared the barren jungles adjoining the place as royal hunting ground. After the death of king’s darling deer Mans Raj, this hunting ground was changed into a protected sanctuary and hunting was prohibited. In the memory of his favourite antelope, the king also constructed an octagonal tower in 1607 at the foot of the grave of the deer. In 1620, a square lake like pond and Baradari was added to the monument. A causeway with its own gateway connects the pavilion with the mainland and minaret. At the centre of each side of the tank, a brick ramp slopes down to the water that used to provide access for royal animals and wild game. Later he conferred the entire area upon Sikandar Moin.

A special feature of Hiran Minar is its location and environment: the top of the Minar is perhaps the best place in the province of Punjab to get a feel for the broader landscape and its relationship to a Moghal site. Looking north from the top of the Minar, one can see a patch of forest which is similar to the scrub forest vegetation of Moghal times, while to the west are extensively-irrigated fields, a product of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, but similar in size and appearance to the well-irrigated fields of the Moghal period. The Lower Chenab Canal has turned the land into one of the most fertile area in the country now.

In eighteenth century, Nadir shah and Ahmed shah Abdali passed through Jehangir Abad once they came to attack India. Punjabi poet Syed Waris Shah had composed some pointing details of the attacks and conditions of the society of the time in his classic folk romance Heer Ranjha. Sikh came to the power in the later half of eighteenth century when Moghal authority weakened after the death of Aurangzeb Alamgir. It is during Sikh rule that the name of the town was changed from Jehangir Abad to Sheikhupura.

Sheikhupura was separated from Gujranwala and declared district in 1920 with Sharq Pur and Khankah Dogran as two of its tehsiels. Electricity came into the town in 1931. During independence movement, Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah addressed a huge crowd in Sheikhupura while going to Faisalabad (then Layal Pur) in 1942. Later, the geographical boundaries of the district were again changed in 1962. The remains of once majestic Sheikhupura Fort, constructed by King Jehangir, reminds of the times gone by. Five storied building of the Fort speak of the expertise of its architects. The Moghul Fort was built in 1619 for use as a hunting lodge. The Fort is built of bricks rather than stone, a common feature of Moghul forts. The Fort was later used by Sikh Princess Rani Nakayan and her private quarters are decorated with superbly preserved frescoes depicting dancing girls, hunt and court scenes and images of Guru Nanak. History has it that Arbeel Singh fired one hundred rounds on the Sheikhupura Fort to break in. During Ranjeet Singh’s time, the Fort was renovated. Some of the murals are still there on the walls of the Fort. Around the Fort, some wood carving on doors, windows and balconies of old havelies can be seen being eaten by termite.

Maharani Jind Kaur (some time called Rani Jindaan), who was described by Lord Dalhousie as the only woman in the Punjab with manly understanding and in whom the British Resident foresaw a rallying point for the well-wishers of the Sikh dynasty, was kept under close surveillance in Sheikhupura Fort. Henry Lawrence laid down that she could not receive in audience more than five or six sardars in a month and that she remain in purdah like the ladies of the royal families of Nepal, Jodhpur and Jaipur. Maharani Jind Kaur was later exiled from the Punjab. She was taken to Firozpur and then to Banaras. Her annual allowance, which according to the treaty of Bharoval had been fixed at one and a half lakh of rupees, was reduced to twelve thousand. Her jewellery worth fifty thousand of rupees was forfeited; so was her cash amounting to a lakh and a half. The humiliating treatment of the Maharani caused deep resentment among the people of the Punjab. Even the Muslim ruler of Afghanistan, Amir Dost Muhammad, protested to the British, saying that such treatment is objectionable to all creeds.”

Old Rai Pur and now famous Nanakana Sahib, a birth place of Guru Nanak and last resting place of Waris Shah in Jandiala Shekhan are also claims of Sheikhupura to international fame. Gazetteer of the district written by British reads, Nanakana Sahib was then in the heart of jungle thirty miles from the nearest railway station and on the anniversary of the Guru’s birth was visited by a few hundred pious pilgrims. These days much more Sikhs from all over the world visit the birth place of Baba Nanak.

Despite being near Lahore, the town has not developed and all the civic facilities are over burdened. Over crowding, population increase, litter, and power outages have all played a part in turning small hamlet into a teeming sprawling slum. Moghal King who founded it would not be able to recognize the town if he comes back. There are no sufficient healthy recreations in town and people of Sheikhupura go to Lahore to have an eating experience at Food Street, for celebrating basant bash or for other recreations. The main road that passes through the town was once landscaped on both sides. Now the landscape and green strips along the road have vanished. The bifurcation railing in the middle of the road has broken down at places and people have made crossing points there. Completion of Jinnah Park was very festive for the residents of Sheikhupura but now it gives a repulsive look rather than that of a recreational place. On entering the gate one realizes that the park is not being maintained. Result: polythene bags and wrappers are scattered every where, the grass has not been mowed, there are no flowers, and benches are broken and dusty. A rehriwalla who sells ‘Dahi Bhallay’ in front of the park says, “I used to do much better business when the park was newly completed but now no body comes here.”

The main attraction of the town is a Hiran Minar Complex. Aside from common visitors, foreign dignitaries, guests of the federal or the provincial governments, who visit Lahore, are sometimes taken to Hiran Minar in Sheikhupura for a short break. It is also on the schedules of some tourist operators. But the monument is not being maintained properly and local population is not benefiting from it. Given proper care, it could be turned into a real restful facility for locals as well as foreigners.

What Sheikhupura really needs is: an identity, completion and commissioning of bypass, some grass in Jinnah Park and along the road and development of Hiran Minar.