A 250-Year-Old Police Chowki 1, Kasur

In April 1763, during the Baisakhi festival at Amritsar, Brahmins from Kasur sought help from the Sikh leadership against the oppression of the Afghan governor, Usman Khan. Responding to their plea, Hari Singh Bhangi, a leader of the Bhangi Misl, led Sikh forces in a bold military campaign against Kasur.

Despite concerns about the Pathans’ stronghold, the Sikhs resolved to act after consulting the Guru Granth Sahib. Gathering a force of nearly 24,000 soldiers, they moved swiftly. Scouts disguised as merchants discovered that the Afghan defenders were hiding underground to escape the heat. Using this intelligence, the Sikhs launched a surprise noon attack, overwhelming the defenders. Usman Khan and 500 Afghan soldiers were killed, and the city was heavily plundered, yielding riches of gold, silver, and jewels.

([References: Wikipedia - Battle of Kasur (1763), SikhInsight - Battle of Kasur 1763])

🏛️ Establishment of Police Chowki 1

Not sure about the exact year, but following the victory, the Bhangi Sikh leadership established Police Chowki 1 in Kasur as part of their governance and administration of the city.

This historic police outpost served as a center for maintaining law and order, collecting taxes, and administering justice, reflecting the Sikhs’ broader approach to consolidating power in newly captured territories.

Uniquely, Police Chowki 1 has continuously served its original purpose for more than 250 years, surviving through Sikh rule, Mughal decline, British colonial rule, and the formation of modern Pakistan.

⚔️ Continued Sikh Engagements with Kasur (1763–1794)

Between 1763 and 1794, Kasur remained a focal point of Sikh military campaigns. Notably:

• Jhanda Singh, son of Hari Singh and leader of the Bhangi Misl, led multiple expeditions against Kasur. In 1771, alongside Ganda Singh and Sahib Singh Bhangi, he responded to reports of atrocities committed by the Pathans of Kasur, launching a significant attack that resulted in the city's temporary subjugation.
• Despite these efforts, the Pathan chiefs managed to reassert control over Kasur by 1794, marking the end of this phase of Sikh dominance.
• 
  

Restoration Efforts and Recent Advocacy by Amjad Zafar Ali

Thanks to the dedicated efforts of Amjad Zafar Ali, a local heritage advocate, public attention was drawn to the historic value of Police Chowki 1. His work helped raise awareness and highlighted the need to protect and preserve this important piece of Kasur’s history.

Police Chowki 1 is older than the reign of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, older than the full period of British colonial control over Punjab, and dates back to a time when the Mughal Empire was taking its last breaths in India.

It stands today as a living and breathing monument to Kasur’s rich and layered past.

([References: Kasur District Government - Our History, SikhiWiki - Bhangi Misl])

📚 References

• Gupta, Hari Ram. History of the Sikhs, Volume 1. S.N. Sarkar, 1939.
• Wikipedia: Battle of Kasur (1763)
• SikhInsight: Battle of Kasur 1763
• Kasur District Government: Our History
• SikhiWiki: Bhangi Misl

Shri Hari Har Mandir: The Forgotten Soul of Kasur’s Glorious Past

Once the largest and most revered Hindu temple complex in Kasur, the Shri Hari Har Mandir was far more than a place of worship. It thrived as a pulsating center of community life, spiritual devotion, and even anti-colonial resistance. Today, its story lies forgotten, buried under layers of occupation, decay, and the relentless march of time.

The origins of Shri Hari Har Mandir trace back to a vibrant era when Kasur flourished as a multicultural town, home to Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, and Jains alike. The temple was founded by Bawa Hari Har, a local spiritual figure whose life remains shrouded in mystery. While the exact date of construction remains uncertain, the Mandir Tank—an essential element of Hindu temple architecture—was constructed around 1870 A.D., ingeniously sourcing water from the Kasur Branch of the Bari Doab Canal. This remarkable engineering effort served not just ritualistic purposes but also stood as a symbol of faith seamlessly blending with functionality.

The sprawling complex boasted not only the sanctum and sacred tank but also a Dussehra Ground, where grand festivities once echoed through the town, and a residential block, likely sheltering temple caretakers and visiting pilgrims.

By 1880, the Mandir had come under the stewardship of Mahant Sersati Das, a man revered not just for his religious leadership but also for championing social reform within Kasur’s Hindu community. In 1900, leadership passed to Gopi Das, who nurtured the temple’s legacy until 1918, when an internal dispute resulted in the controversial and unlawful appointment of Pritam Das. The dispute escalated all the way to the Lahore High Court, a testament to the temple’s immense influence within the local Hindu hierarchy.

Yet Shri Hari Har Mandir’s role extended far beyond spirituality. During the turbulent days of the Kasur Martial Law of 1919, following the horrific Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, the temple became a covert hub of anti-British activities. Underground meetings and secret mobilizations unfolded within its walls. Though largely forgotten today, historical records and fading oral traditions affirm the temple's passionate involvement in India's freedom struggle.

The cataclysm of 1947 changed everything. As Hindus fled newly partitioned Pakistan for India, the Mandir was left abandoned. The sacred tank, once alive with religious rituals, dried up. Yet, in its emptiness, it found an unlikely rebirth—local children turned it into a vibrant playground, and it became a favorite arena for Pehlwani (traditional wrestling).

In a poignant twist of history, the 1960s brought a momentary cultural renaissance when the tank played host to none other than the legendary Ustad Mehdi Hassan. His soul-stirring ghazals, resonating off the ancient bricks, briefly reawakened the Mandir's spirit, blending the sacred with the sublime beauty of music.

Author

Bastian

Tragically, the fragile remnants of the Shri Hari Har Mandir suffered a devastating blow in 1992, after the demolition of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, India. In the wave of retaliatory violence that swept across Pakistan, the Mandir’s tower—the crown jewel of its architecture—was completely destroyed by an enraged mob, delivering a near-fatal blow to its sacred legacy.

Before destruction (not my image) taken  from internet archives

Bastian

Today, little remains of the original splendor. The once-holy tank survives but is now choked with garbage, its waters long gone and its spiritual essence lost to neglect. Near a crumbling staircase leading to the dry pond, a solitary bastion still stands—a silent, stubborn witness to what was once a magnificent fortified complex. Its faded bricks whisper tales of grandeur, of resilience, of a Kasur that once celebrated pluralism with pride.

It is heartbreaking to witness a site of such historical, architectural, and communal significance reduced to silent ruins—ignored by authorities, overwhelmed by encroachments, and slowly being erased from collective memory. Yet, for those who pause, listen, and look beyond the dust, the spirit of Shri Hari Har Mandir still lingers, quietly reminding us of the city’s once-glorious past.

A Pointed Cinquefoil Arch of Brick in Old Kasur

Located in the narrow streets of Kasur’s Kot Rukandin area, this forgotten archway, captured with a fisheye lens due to the cramped street, reveals a striking example of ornamental brickwork from the past. The arch is a pointed cinquefoil—a five-lobed, scalloped design rising to a subtle point, often seen in Indo-Islamic architecture. At its base, the arch springs from a pair of petal-shaped elements—not mere corbels, but carefully crafted springing points where the curve of the arch begins. A small plaque above the door identifies the building as belonging to the late Mistry Muhammad Hussain. 

Each brick appears hand-laid with precision, creating a flow of layered curves and recessed detailing. Despite decades of wear, the craftsmanship endures—faded, cracked, but undeniably graceful—a quiet echo of the architectural finesse that once defined many of Kasur’s historic dwellings.

Ram Thaman Village: Forgotten Fortifications and Fading Havelis

I first visited Ram Thaman village in the summer of 2022, drawn by the historic shrine of Baba Ram Thaman, a 16th-century Vaishnav saint whose spiritual legacy still resonates across the plains of Punjab, Pakistan. Like many others, I came expecting to explore a sacred site — one deeply associated with Guru Nanak Dev Ji and celebrated for its Vaisakhi fair. Still, I never imagined stumbling upon the ruins of an ancient fortified settlement.

That first visit resulted in a modest travel blog article highlighting the village's spiritual side. At the time, I did not know the fortifications. No one spoke of them, and the structures were hidden behind everyday life. But that changed in the spring of 2025 when I returned with the curiosity of a storyteller and the lens of a heritage enthusiast.

It was during this second visit that the forgotten walls of Ram Thaman began to whisper their story.

Led by a kind local elder, I was shown narrow alleys and crumbling corners that revealed the archaeological remains of a once fortified village — parts of tall boundary walls, rounded bastions, weathered gateways, and crumbling havelis. In some places, I noticed fading jharokas, traditional overhanging balconies, peeking out from between cement blocks. Intricately carved decorative arches and floral motifs — now veiled in whitewash — hinted at the craftsmanship that once defined this place.

These architectural elements built most likely during the 18th century, told of a village that was once prosperous, protected, and proud — a piece of Punjab’s lost architectural heritage.

Though not widely recognized as such, Ram Thaman was indeed a walled village, with highly fortified structures and a strategic layout that gave it a unique standing in regional history. Only fragments remain today, and even those are fading — but for a traveler who looks closely, the story is still there.

Of course, Ram Thaman is far more famous for its spiritual heritage than its fortifications. The shrine of Baba Ram Thaman lies at the village’s heart, spreading across 22 acres and historically featuring a large sarovar (sacred pond), temples, and a samadhi (memorial). For centuries, this site has attracted pilgrims from Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim communities — especially during the colorful Vaisakhi Mela — making it a symbol of interfaith harmony in South Asia.

The landscape of the village changed drastically after the Partition of 1947. As Hindu and Sikh families migrated to India, Muslim refugees from across the border settled here. They began living within the shrine complex and the fortified structures, slowly transforming the landscape. Over time, old architecture was repurposed or built over. Fort walls became walls of homes. Bastions became store rooms. Jharokas were plastered shut.

When I walked the narrow streets of Ram Thaman in 2025, the layers of history were barely visible — but still there. If you're passionate about Pakistan’s heritage tourism, offbeat travel, or the vanishing history of Punjab, Ram Thaman is a place that deserves your footsteps and your curiosity.

This blog isn’t just a travelogue — it’s a reminder that history often hides in the places we least expect. I am grateful to the welcoming villagers who allowed me into their homes and stories and helped me uncover this overlooked gem of Punjab’s cultural heritage.