The Golden Weights of Hazrat Hasutili (RA)

Silsla Suhrawardiyya 

16/03/2025

حضرت حسوتیلی

Long ago, a group of travelers waded through the shallow waters of the Ravi River. As they reached the middle, one of them felt something solid beneath his feet. Curious, he reached down and pulled out a weight made of pure gold. Surprised, the group searched further and discovered more—one weighing a full seer, another half a seer, and a smaller quarter-seer weight, all crafted from gold.

The discovery stirred conflicting emotions. While some were tempted by greed, one man remained steadfast in his integrity. He declared, “I know the rightful owner of these weights. They must be returned.” True to his word, he carried them to the grain market and handed them over to their original owner. The owner, however, was left bewildered by their return.

These weights belonged to Hazrat Sheikh Hasan Kanjadgar, better known as Hasutili. The man who retrieved them was an honest grain merchant. Hazrat Hasan was a devoted disciple of Hazrat Shah Jamal (RA) and operated a grain business in Chowk Jhanda, near Lahore’s Mori Gate.

Years earlier, he had sought the blessings of his spiritual guide. Hazrat Shah Jamal, with his keen insight, advised him, “Hasan, always weigh grain with honesty.” The words struck a chord. From that day forward, he not only stopped under-weighing but went a step further—he allowed customers to weigh their own grain. Some took an honest measure, while others, driven by greed, took more than their share. Yet, an extraordinary phenomenon occurred—those who weighed fairly found their grain increased, while those who took extra realized their grain had mysteriously diminished upon reaching home.

As a result of his unwavering honesty, Hazrat Hasan’s business flourished. Prosperity followed him to such an extent that he eventually had his weights made of gold.

One day, he presented these golden weights to his mentor, Hazrat Shah Jamal (RA), saying, “By following your guidance, my business has been blessed so abundantly that I have crafted my weights from gold.”

His mentor, observing his devotion, responded with a simple but profound command: “Take these and throw them into the Ravi River.”

Without hesitation, Hazrat Hasan obeyed. He cast the precious weights into the river, trusting the wisdom of his guide.

The following morning, an unusual event unfolded—the very same golden weights were found once again in the river, just as at the beginning of the story. When Hazrat Hasan retrieved them and presented them once more to Hazrat Shah Jamal (RA), he humbly said, “Hazrat, as per your instructions, I threw them into the river. Yet, they have returned to me.”

His mentor smiled and replied, “This was a test of your sincerity. Not only did you abandon deceit, but you also let go of what was rightfully yours for the sake of honesty. That is why your wealth was blessed. Because your earnings were pure, even when cast into the river, they could not be lost.”

These words profoundly moved Hazrat Hasan. His heart overflowed with spiritual enlightenment, and he chose to renounce worldly pursuits. He devoted himself entirely to the service of Hazrat Shah Jamal (RA) and immersed himself in worship and ascetic practices. Over time, he reached remarkable spiritual heights, performing miracles and gaining widespread reverence.

A contemporary of Hazrat Madho Lal Hussain (RA), Hazrat Hasan Kanjadgar,

passed away in 1023 Hijri (1616 AD), four years after the death of Aurangzeb. His final resting place is on the road from Qila Gujjar Singh to Mayo Hospital, Lahore. His shrine continues to draw visitors, and his annual Urs (spiritual commemoration) is held with great devotion.

Even today, lamps are lit in his memory at Chowk Jhanda, where his shop once stood. More than four centuries later, his legacy of honesty and righteousness continues to shine brightly, inspiring generations to come.

Destruction of Shalimar Garden in the Era of Lehna Singh

Once a symbol of imperial elegance, Shalimar Garden thrived under successive rulers, reaching the height of its glory during Muhammad Shah's reign. It stood as a living testament to the grandeur of Mughal artistry—a sanctuary where nature and architecture coexisted in perfect harmony. Yet, as history took its course, the garden's fortunes began to fade. Tumultuous reigns, marked by neglect and greed, reduced this masterpiece to a shadow of its former self.

In the western section of Bagh Faiz, within the heart of its Baradari, an exquisite jade water tank once stood. This was no ordinary feature—it was a marvel of craftsmanship, its serene presence enhancing the garden's allure. During a time of political instability, Hafiz Muhammad Azeemullah, a descendant of Mehr Mahanga and the devoted caretaker of Shalimar, emerged as its unlikely protector. Recognizing the tank's cultural significance, he erected a vine trellis over it, hoping to shield it from the grasp of opportunists and preserve it for future generations.

But fate was unkind. Saeed, a man driven by greed and malice, betrayed the garden’s sanctity. With ill intent, he revealed the existence of the precious tank to Lehna Singh, one of the Sikh rulers of Lahore. Blinded by his own avarice, Lehna Singh ordered the tank removed and sold to craftsmen, scattering its beauty like the petals of a withered flower. The desecration continued, as fountains that once brought life to the garden were uprooted and sold to metalworkers. Bit by bit, the very essence of Shalimar was stripped away.

In 1766, after a prolonged resistance against Ahmad Shah Abdali's Afghan forces, Lahore fell under the rule of three Sikh leaders: Lehna Singh Majithia of the Bhangi Misl, Gujjar Singh of the Bhangi Misl, and Sobha Singh of the Kanhiya Misl. The trio divided the city, with Lehna Singh governing the Lahore Fort and the Walled City. However, their disregard for Lahore's heritage ignited outrage among the city's honorable citizens.

Prominent figures like Nabi Bakhsh and Kareem Bakhsh, deeply connected to Lahore's cultural legacy, were grieved by the destruction. To them, the reckless pillaging of the garden symbolized not only the collapse of a beloved landmark but also the erosion of the city's cultural pride. Determined to act, they sought a savior for Lahore.

In a pivotal moment, they turned to Maharaja Ranjit Singh, a rising force in Punjab known for his vision and leadership. They invited him to take control of Lahore, with one crucial condition: the restoration of Shalimar Garden. Misr Mehtab, another influential advocate, joined their cause, recognizing the garden's value as a symbol of resilience and heritage. Their plea, recorded in the annals of Nawan Kot, marked the beginning of a new chapter for the garden.

When Maharaja Ranjit Singh arrived in Lahore, he brought with him not just authority but a vision for preservation. True to his word, he made the restoration of Shalimar Garden a priority. Through his efforts, the garden was revived, its fountains flowing once more and its grandeur restored.

Today, Shalimar Garden remains a jewel of Lahore, whispering tales of glory, despair, and revival to all who walk its paths.

Thandi Sarak, Sundar Das Suri, and Savitri Sahni

Tucked between the verdant Mayou Gardens and the prestigious Aitchison College lies a shaded avenue connecting Canal Road with Davis Road. Known fondly as Thandi Sarak (The Cool Road), it earned its name from the towering trees that form a leafy canopy, keeping the temperature refreshingly lower than in most parts of Lahore. This serene stretch has long been a refuge for those seeking a peaceful escape from the city's urban chaos.

In the year 80s, my Nana would take me on his bicycle from Mughalpura, navigating the calm and shaded path of Thandi Sarak to reach Lawrence Garden. The road’s solitude, fresh breeze, and the gentle rustling of leaves are memories I cherish deeply. It was a time when Lahore was a city of open spaces, not yet consumed by its transformation into a sprawling concrete jungle.

Years later, while exploring the historical names of Lahore’s roads, I discovered that Thandi Sarak had a much richer past. It is originally called Sundar Das Road. Intrigued, I stumbled upon an article by Majid Sheikh in Dawn, which unraveled the remarkable legacy of Rai Bahadur Sundar Das Suri, the man behind the name.

Who Was Rai Bahadur Sundar Das Suri?

Rai Bahadur Sundar Das Suri, MA, was a distinguished figure in pre-Partition Lahore. As Punjab’s Chief Inspector of Schools, he was instrumental in advancing education and worked closely with luminaries like Lala Lajpat Rai and Professor Ruchi Ram Sahni. His efforts significantly shaped the academic landscape of the region, including the expansion of Aitchison College and addressing the educational needs of Punjabi students.

The area now known as Zaman Park was originally called Sunder Das Park, named after his family. By 1942, the colony housed six homes, all belonging to members of the Suri family. However, the Partition of 1947 uprooted the family, and much of their contributions to Lahore faded into obscurity.

The Trailblazing Daughter: Savitri Sahni

Amidst Sundar Das Suri’s legacy, his daughter Savitri Suri stands out as a remarkable figure. Born in 1902 in what is now Zaman Park, she later married Professor Birbal Sahni, a pioneering palaeobotanist who founded the Birbal Sahni Institute of Palaeosciences (BSIP) in Lucknow, India.

Tragedy struck shortly after the institute's foundation in 1949 when Professor Sahni passed away. Despite this devastating loss, Savitri dedicated herself to fulfilling her husband’s vision. For over two decades, she served as the institute’s president, transforming it into a leading center for palaeobotanical research. Her tireless efforts earned her the prestigious Padma Shri award in 1969, one of India’s highest civilian honors.

A Road Rich in History

While Thandi Sarak still retains its lush greenery and cooling breezes, its deeper historical significance often goes unnoticed. Sundar Das Road is more than just a shaded avenue—it is a quiet reminder of Lahore’s vibrant intellectual and cultural legacy.

Beneath the leafy canopy lies a story of pioneering educators and scientists whose contributions transcended borders. It speaks of a Lahore that once nurtured visionaries who shaped education and science across the subcontinent—a legacy worth remembering and celebrating.

Nostalgia in Driving to Office

The daily commute to the office feels like traveling through time, each road a chapter in Lahore’s history. Starting from the Grand Trunk Road, I turn onto Queen Mary Road, then Durand Road, weaving past Shimla Pahari to reach Abbott Road. At the first signal, Montgomery Road cuts across, and further ahead, McLeod Road appears, buzzing with life.

A left turn takes me to Cooper Road, its quiet charm contrasting with the lively Mission Road on the right near the Orange Line station. Passing Hall Road and Napier Rd, I reach the GPO, where Mall Road begins its grand stretch. On the Right reveals Thornton Road, then Maclagan Road unfolds, leading to Library Road. Finally, I turn onto Church Road, arriving at the office.

These roads, named in the British era, remain unchanged, as silent witnesses to a transformed city.

NEHRU PARK IN LAHORE

 

In December 1929, Jawaharlal Nehru was elected President of the Indian National Congress during its annual session in Lahore. It was here, on December 19, that the historic Purna Swaraj (Complete Independence) resolution was adopted. This pivotal moment marked a turning point in India's struggle for freedom, as the Congress formally rejected Britain's vague promise of dominion status in the Irwin Declaration and demanded full independence. Frustrated by stalled negotiations and colonial exploitation, the resolution fueled a nationwide movement, culminating in the declaration of independence on January 26, 1930—later celebrated as India’s first Independence Day.

A lasting tribute to this event exists in Lahore's Krishan Nagar: Nehru Park, where Nehru raised the Indian flag to mark the call for freedom. Remarkably, the park's name has remained unchanged for 94 years, a quiet reminder of this historic milestone, now in the heart of Pakistan.

Lahore, steeped in history, also hosted the landmark Lahore Resolution at Iqbal Park on March 23, 1940. This resolution called for the creation of an independent state for Muslims in British India, ultimately leading to the establishment of Pakistan in 1947.

Despite its significance, Nehru Park is often overlooked in the collective memory of the city. Eleven years before the Lahore Resolution, it was the site where the Indian National Congress boldly shifted its stance, demanding complete independence from British rule—a moment deeply embedded in the subcontinent’s shared history.

The Forgotten Fair of Footsteps: The Honorary Shrine of Sakhi Sarwar and Rai Bahadur Seth Ajudha Peeshad’s Dharamshala in Lahore

(I could not have written this article without the guidance and invaluable insights of Dr. Zishan.)

November 2024

Once upon a time, Lahore hosted a unique and vibrant event, often called the Fair of Footsteps. Officially linked to the arrival and meditative practices of Hazrat Sakhi Sarwar in the city, the fair was, in truth, a curious mix of eccentricities and oddities. Originally held near the Baradari of Wazir Khan in Bagh Nakhlah, it was relocated outside Lahori Gate after the establishment of a Sikh cantonment displaced it from its original location.

The relocation transformed the stretch between Lahori Gate and Anarkali Police Station into a bustling hub of frenetic activity. A chaotic mix of people thronged the area, drummers roamed with instruments slung around their necks, singing and celebrating. The crowd was diverse, even controversial, as performers and prostitutes mingled freely with individuals from all walks of life.

At the heart of this lively gathering stood Chauki Sakhi Sarwar, believed to mark the meditation site of Lakh Daata Hazrat Sakhi Sarwar. However, as Nur Ahmad Chishti noted, the chauki was allegedly a fabrication by the “Pherais” to exploit the saint’s legacy for personal gain. Over time, as the fair declined and the Pherais could no longer profit, they sold the property.

The new owners, Sanatan Dharmis, transformed the site into a Dharamshala in memory of their late father. A *Dharamshala* is an Indian religious rest house, with *dharma* meaning "religion" and *shala* meaning "sanctuary." These rest houses are primarily built for pilgrims and often serve as religious endowments. The building, an architectural jewel of its time, bore the following inscription:

Dharamshala

In honor of the esteemed Rai Bahadur Seth Ajudha Peeshad, Honary Magistrate in 1934,

This monument was built by his devoted sons: Seth Ram Rattan, Ram Narayan, and Shadi Lal,

To preserve their father's legacy.

Established on the 5th of November, 1937, in New Anarkali, Lahore.

The Partition of 1947 disrupted the Dharamshala's serene existence. Migrants moved in, partitioning its open courtyard with makeshift walls to create cramped living spaces. Over the years, whispers of the Fair of Lakh Daata’s Footsteps resurfaced, intertwined with the site's forgotten history.

My good friend Dr. Zishan explored the place a few years ago and shared its story. A resident woman claimed to have received a divine sign in her dream, urging the revival of the chauki. Acting on her vision, a modest shrine was built in the loft, draped in a green cloth inscribed with sacred verses. An annual celebration on the 12th of Rabi-ul-Awwal was initiated to honor the saint.

Intrigued, I decided to visit the site in November 2024, wandering through the narrow, bustling streets of Anarkali Bazaar. The building was in an advanced state of decay, as Dr. Zishan had described. Its crumbling walls and faded arches stood as silent witnesses to a forgotten legacy.

Pushing open a creaking wooden door, I stepped into the dimly lit interior. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint echo of my footsteps. A narrow staircase led upward, where a sliding gate marked the entrance to the shrine. Beyond the gate lay a small, honorary grave—a symbolic reminder of Sakhi Sarwar’s meditation site. Surprisingly well-kept, the tomb was adorned with mosaic glass, suggesting that someone still cared for the sacred space.

As I stood there, a strange heaviness enveloped me. The air was thick with the weight of forgotten stories, unspoken prayers, and an aura of solemn reverence. The modest shrine, hidden within this dilapidated structure, seemed to radiate an enduring spirit. Walking back through the neglected arches, I couldn’t shake the sense that I had brushed against something profound—a fragment of Lahore’s layered history that lingers quietly, waiting to be remembered.

A forgotten Mughal Era Architecture in Lahore that no longer Exists

2018

( All pictures are taken by me, kindly respect copyrights. Please respect these rights and do not use the images in any vlogs, articles, or other media without permission)

Many are familiar with the graceful Mian Khan Tomb and Baradari, a well-preserved 17th-century structure at Shiwala Chowk in the Singhpura area of Bhogiwal, Lahore. This baradari is the resting place of Nawab Mian Khan, son of Nawab Saadullah Khan, the distinguished Prime Minister of Lahore under Emperor Shah Jahan.

Adjacent to this historic site stands the "Baradari Wali Masjid," also attributed to Nawab Mian Khan. Although its architecture may lack the grandeur of other Mughal-era buildings, it remains a significant historical landmark. Growing up in this area, I watched the mosque transform over time. Its once-beautiful domes and intricate arches—originally crafted with Mughal-era bricks—were gradually obscured by layers of cement plaster due to limited preservation efforts. Fortunately, I managed to capture its original beauty in photographs.

Inside the mosque, a small room to the south serves as the Imam’s residence, though this space is closed to the public. The square structure, with its slightly sunken plinth below the natural soil level, resembles a Mughal tomb. Its walls, reaching 10 to 12 feet in height, rise to meet corner squinches that support an interior dome, while the roof appears flat from the outside. Mughal-style niches, and small recessed alcoves typical of the era, adorn the interior, adding to its elegance and reinforcing its connection to the grand architectural tradition. Sadly, the entire building has been whitewashed, blending it into the surroundings and repurposing it as a mosque for the local community.

One intriguing tale, shared by local elders, tells of an escape tunnel within this Mughal-era room, rumored to have provided a quick escape during times of attack. Though the entrance to this tunnel remains visible, it has been sealed for as long as anyone can remember, leaving its true age, purpose, and length a mystery.