Another structure with an elegant entrance stood quietly in Mandir Wali Gali, half hidden behind years of dust and silence. I paused in front of it, drawn in by its graceful archway and the way the morning light fell across its weathered bricks. There was something about it—dignified, yet almost forgotten. Later, over a casual conversation, my friend from Kasur, Amjad Ali Zafar, shared that this building was once a local Gurdwara. That single detail shifted everything. Suddenly, the structure wasn’t just bricks and mortar—it was a sacred space, once alive with prayers, gatherings, and quiet rituals of everyday faith. Unlike the more prominent Jain temples nearby, this Gurdwara had slipped beneath the surface of memory. And yet, standing there, I felt the presence of stories still clinging to its walls—of families, festivals, and farewells, echoing softly in the narrow lane.
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