Lahore, a city steeped in history, has witnessed the ebb and flow of empires, religions, and cultures. Before the partition of 1947, it was a vibrant mosaic of Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs, living side by side. Among the many forgotten relics of this era are the Shamshanghats—Hindu cremation grounds—once scattered across the city. With the exodus of Hindus during partition, these sacred sites were gradually abandoned, and over time, they faded from both memory and the landscape.
The Lost Shamshanghat of Taxali Gate
One of these forgotten Shamshanghats was situated outside the Taxali Gate, west of Lahore. Historian Kanhaiya Lal, in his *Tareekh-e-Lahore*, described this site as a prominent cremation ground for the Hindu community. Originally, the Shamshanghat lacked an enclosure, but during British rule, a large boundary wall was constructed, with the eastern gate serving as the main entry point. A Peepal tree stood by the entrance, where the deceased were placed before being moved to the cremation area.
The space was simple but functional, featuring an arched corridor built by Rai Mehla Ram for the guards. There was also a small pond constructed for ritual baths after cremations. This Shamshanghat, like many others, disappeared with time as urbanization encroached upon its grounds. By the time the old Ravi River, which once flowed near the Taxali Gate, changed course, the Shamshanghat was lost entirely. During an excavation near Lady Wellington Hospital, remnants of its walls were uncovered, revealing traces of the British-era Lahori bricks and the tall wall of the pond. I was fortunate to capture photographs of this long-forgotten site.
Gopal Nagar: A Shadow of the Past
Gopal Nagar, located near the Children's Hospital and Gulab Devi, still retains its pre-partition Hindu name, though few know its history. Once a Hindu-majority locality, it was home to a lesser-known Shamshanghat. After 1947, the site was sold, and houses were built over it. My friend, a resident of this area, shared eerie stories of paranormal experiences linked to the Shamshanghat that once stood beneath her home. The stories passed down by the elderly still echo, even as the physical evidence of the cremation ground fades.
The Eerie Fields of Bhasin
Bhasin, a village east of Batapur, holds a different kind of memory. Known for the Battle of Bhasin in 1800, the village also had a large Sikh population before partition. Havelis and Samadis (Sikh memorials) from that era still dot the landscape. Just a few kilometers from the Indo-Pakistan border lies a forgotten Shamshanghat, where Hindu cremations were once performed. The atmosphere around this site is unsettling. Locals avoid it, even during daylight, due to its association with paranormal events. When I visited, the earth still bore traces of the past, scattered with the ashes of those who were once cremated here, giving the place an empty yet haunted feeling.
Though the Shamshanghats of Lahore have disappeared from the city’s bustling landscape, their presence lingers in the shadows, in the stories of those who remember, and in the rare fragments that reappear from the past. These forgotten sites are more than just cremation grounds; they are silent witnesses to Lahore’s complex, layered history, where the boundaries between the living and the dead, the past and the present, remain hauntingly blurred.
