Kasur Junction Railway Station: A Forgotten Crossroads of Colonial Punjab

 

Kasur Junction Railway Station is located in Kasur city, Punjab, Pakistan. It was once an important railway junction during the British colonial period, connecting major cities like Amritsar, Firozpur, and Lahore.

Kasur’s significance as a railway station began in the early 20th century. The Amritsar–Patti Railway Company Limited was incorporated on 12 April 1905 as a private venture. By 1906, a broad gauge line—5 ft 6 in (1,676 mm) wide—was constructed between Amritsar and Patti.

In 1910, the line was extended to Kasur, increasing its total length to 54 miles (86 km) and officially making Kasur a junction station under the North Western Railway (NWR). This positioned Kasur as a key point in the regional railway network.

Broad gauge (BG) became the standard in British India for main railway lines, especially in agriculturally and militarily significant regions like Punjab. The wider gauge allowed for heavier loads and faster speeds, making it ideal for both passenger and freight traffic.

In Punjab, most of the major railway lines—including those connecting Lahore, Multan, Rawalpindi, and Faisalabad—were laid as broad gauge. Kasur’s integration into this network allowed it to be a major link between eastern and western Punjab before Partition.

The Punjab Mail and Kasur’s Role

The Punjab Mail, one of the oldest and most prestigious trains in the subcontinent, originally ran from Bombay (now Mumbai) to Peshawar, stopping at Bhopal, Jhansi, Agra, Delhi, Bhatinda, Firozpur, Kasur, Lahore, and beyond.

Kasur was a scheduled stop, making it part of a continuous line that carried passengers, mail, and cargo across vast distances. The train symbolized the unity of British India’s rail infrastructure. Today, the Punjab Mail still runs in India, terminating at Firozpur, but its extension to Kasur and Lahore ended with the 1947 Partition.

Impact of Partition and Decline

With the Partition of British India in August 1947, the railway line from Kasur to Patti and Amritsar was abruptly severed by the newly formed border between India and Pakistan. Kasur, once a dynamic junction, became a terminus.

Post-Partition:

• Cross-border services ceased permanently.
• Railway infrastructure east of Kasur became defunct or was dismantled.
• Kasur was left with only a branch line to Raiwind and Lahore, and the frequency of train services drastically declined.

Current Services

Today, the station serves limited passenger traffic. The main train currently operating is:

Kasur Express

• Route: Lahore – Raiwind – Kasur
• Type: Local passenger
• Track: Broad gauge
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No long-distance or freight services currently run from Kasur.

Kasur Junction once played a key role in connecting Punjab’s eastern and western regions. It facilitated the movement of people, goods, and ideas, linking Amritsar to Lahore and beyond. The station's history reflects both the infrastructure ambitions of the British Empire and the fragmentation caused by Partition.

Its present-day quietness contrasts with the energy of its past, but the station continues to stand as a symbol of what once was—a reminder of an era when borders didn’t interrupt rail lines, and Kasur was part of a continuous, living network of rail travel.

References

1. Indian Railway Commercial Manual, Government of India Press, 1906.
2. Report on the Administration of the North-Western Railway, 1905–06.
3. Ian J. Kerr, Engines of Change: The Railroads That Made India, Oxford University Press, 2007.
4. Government of Pakistan, Pakistan Railways Heritage Report, 2015.
5. Amritsar–Patti Railway Company Ltd., Company Registration Documents (1905).
6. South Asia Railway Atlas, Quail Map Company, 2020 Edition.

Richardson & Cruddas and the Colonial Water Tank at Kasur Railway Station

I’ve always been drawn to forgotten places — the ones where time lingers in the walls, where rusted bolts and fading paint still whisper stories of past. That curiosity recently led me to Kasur Railway Station, built in 1906 during British India, a place that still holds firm despite the passage of 118 years. The strength and durability of its colonial-era structures stand as a remarkable example to the engineering standards of that time, built not just to serve, but to endure.

As I explored the station, my eyes caught an overhead cast iron water tank, rising above the platforms like a relic from another age. Weathered but resilient, it instantly sparked my curiosity. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a barely legible but still proud inscription on its side:
"Richardson and Cruddas – Makers – Bombay.

Richardson & Cruddas was established in 1858 in Bombay (now Mumbai). It quickly rose to prominence as one of the premier engineering and fabrication firms under British colonial rule. The company specialized in heavy iron and steel structures — water tanks, railway bridges, turntables, and machinery — and played a foundational role in building the infrastructure that powered the expanding railway networks of British India.

These overhead water tanks, like the one I spotted at Kasur, were vital during the steam engine era. Strategically placed at major railway stations, they provided the water needed for locomotives to operate. Their robust construction and industrial design were not only functional but have proven incredibly durable — many, including this one in Kasur, still stand today even though their use has long since faded.

After the Partition of 1947, Richardson & Cruddas continued its operations in independent India. Unlike many other British-era companies that vanished or were absorbed, Richardson & Cruddas adapted to the changing political and industrial landscape. It remained a key player in India’s infrastructure development, expanding its range of services to include steel structures for power plants, refineries, ports, and public works.

In the post-independence decades, especially during the nation-building period of the 1950s and 60s, the company thrived. However, by the 1990s, amid growing liberalization and competition, its dominance began to wane. Today, while its industrial might has diminished, its name still resonates in engineering circles, and its ironwork continues to quietly survive in places like Kasur, Delhi, Lahore, and Mumbai — relics of a shared past.

Indo-Saracenic Harmony in Kasur

The façade tells a quiet story of two worlds meeting—British-style pilasters and cornices bring a sense of formality and order, while the arches and windows carry the soul of local craftsmanship. It’s as if the building itself is in conversation, blending colonial grace with the warmth of indigenous tradition, an example of Indo-Saracenic architecture. This mix wasn’t just about style—it was how Punjab’s old families made foreign architecture their own, shaping it to suit their lives, their weather, and their roots.

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.
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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.