Pre-Partition harmonium by Kartar Singh, Anarkali, Lahore

I came across a harmonium made before Partition, its fading label still carrying the proud words:

KARTAR SINGH
HARMONIUM MAKER
ANARKALLI, LAHORE

and in Punjabi (Gurmukhi):

ਕਰਤਾਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਹਾਰਮੋਨਿਯਮ ਮੇਕਰ ਅਨਾਰਕਲੀ ਲਾਹੌਰ

This simple label tells the story of Kartar Singh, a craftsman rooted in Anarkali, Lahore, whose hands once shaped instruments that became the heartbeat of gatherings. It carries me back to a time when Anarkali and nearby Langa Mandi in Taxali were alive with the rhythm of chisels, hammers, and the fine-tuning of reeds — true hubs of musical instrument making in the city. In those narrow, bustling lanes, craftsmen like Kartar Singh, along with others such as Partab Singh and Rakhi Ram, poured their artistry into harmoniums that would accompany singers, qawwals, and kirtanis across Punjab.

Each instrument bore the unique touch of its maker — the wood carved by hand, the bellows fitted with care, and the reeds tuned with patient precision. Unlike the mass-produced harmoniums of later years, these had a soul of their own, alive with both the perfections and imperfections of craftsmanship.

Partition in 1947 scattered this community of artisans, many migrating across the border to India. With them went the music of their workshops, leaving the lanes of Anarkali and Langa Mandi quieter, their echoes fading. Today, a harmonium bearing a label like that of Kartar Singh survives as more than just an instrument — it is a relic of Lahore’s once-thriving culture of music and craftsmanship, a reminder of a city where melodies were born not just from voices but from the patient hands of its makers.

Shaikh Muhammad Sultan Marg naini (RA): The Deer-Eyed Saint of Lahore

 

Located near the Gari Shahu Railway Flats in Lahore stands a centuries-old banyan tree, its massive roots tangled in time, shading the courtyard of a small but spiritually significant shrine. This is the final resting place of Shaikh Muhammad Sultan Marghbini (RA), a revered Sufi of the Qadri order, remembered not only for his deep spiritual insight but also for his beauty, especially his eyes, which earned him his title.

The epithet Mirg naini comes from the Persian "Mirgh" (deer) and "Naini" (to watch), meaning "deer to watch." It was a name lovingly given to him by his spiritual mentor, Hazrat Shaikh Sadi Shah, who was captivated by the saint's remarkable beauty, particularly his eyes that resembled those of a gazelle—soft, graceful, and filled with divine light.

Shaikh Muhammad Sultan’s spiritual lineage is rooted deeply in the Qadri Sufi order. His mentor, Shaikh Sadi Shah, was a disciple of Shaikh Aqil Shah, who in turn was guided by Mulla Shah. The spiritual chain continued through Khadim Ali Shah, Sulaiman Shah, Khulum Noor Jamal Dehlvi, Shaikh Muhammad Shafi Sudhori, and Shaikh Muhammad Hayat, the latter being a disciple of the great Pir Qamees Ali Shah Gilani.

The Qadri Silsila, founded by Hazrat Abdul Qadir Jilani of Baghdad, is one of the oldest and most widely followed Sufi orders in the Islamic world. It emphasizes love, humility, service to humanity, and complete submission to the will of God. The order is known for balancing the inner path (tariqat) with outer observance (shariat), stressing that spiritual progress must be accompanied by moral discipline. Followers of the Qadri path seek divine nearness through remembrance (zikr), self-purification, and devotion to the spiritual guide (murshid), believing that the saint’s light can help illuminate the seeker’s heart.

This uninterrupted succession of spiritual masters not only reinforced the sanctity of Shaikh Muhammad Sultan’s teachings but also connected him to the broader spiritual and mystical traditions of the Indian subcontinent.

Having received the spiritual blessings and guidance of his mentor, Shaikh Muhammad Sultan rose to immense spiritual heights. He was a rare figure who seamlessly bridged the worlds of the majzoob (those absorbed in divine love and ecstasy) and the salik (those consciously journeying toward God). Among majzoobs, he carried the clarity and composure of a salik, and among saliks, he radiated the divine intoxication of a majzoob. Often lost in sukr (spiritual intoxication), he was known to be constantly immersed in love, ecstasy, and divine absorption.

Shaikh Muhammad Sultan lived during a time of great political upheaval in Lahore. His life overlapped with the reign of Nawab Zakariya Khan, the powerful Mughal governor of Lahore and Multan, followed by his son Shah Nawaz Khan and later Yahya Khan. In 1739, the Persian conqueror Nadir Shah invaded the region, defeating Zakariya Khan and capturing Lahore—a turning point that shook the political and cultural foundations of the Mughal Empire. Despite this unrest, Shaikh Muhammad Sultan remained a tranquil force, drawing seekers toward divine peace.

Shaikh Muhammad Sultan passed away on 1st Shawwal 1158 AH, which corresponds to 24th October 1745 CE. His shrine was constructed by Shah Nawaz Khan, then the Subedar (governor) of Lahore, as a gesture of respect and reverence for the saint. Within the same courtyard, adjacent to his grave, lies a separate and older shrine believed to be that of his mother.

Gurdwara Sat Sang Sabha, RA Bazaar, Lahore

Gurdwara Sat Sang Sabha was a small local Sikh gurdwara located in the heart of RA Bazaar, Lahore. It functioned as a neighborhood place of worship before the Partition of 1947 and is believed to be associated with the Sat Sang Sabha movement, which began in Lahore in 1873 as part of a broader wave of Sikh religious and social reform.

The Sat Sang Sabha aimed to revive Sikh identity, encourage moral discipline, and eliminate superstitious practices by returning to the teachings of the Guru Granth Sahib. It played a significant role in laying the groundwork for the later Singh Sabha movement, which had a transformative effect on Sikh society during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Lahore, as the intellectual and cultural hub of Punjab, was central to this revivalist spirit, and local gurdwaras like this one likely served as nodes for spiritual discourse and reformist activity.

After Partition, with the migration of the Sikh population to India, the gurdwara was abandoned. Today, the structure still survives, though it has been repurposed into residential use. Its architectural elements—such as arched doorways or remnants of the prayer hall—may still offer quiet hints of its original identity, but they are increasingly at risk of being lost to time and urban expansion.

Though modest in scale, Gurdwara Sat Sang Sabha stands as a silent testament to the once-thriving Sikh presence in Lahore and the reformist currents that shaped modern Sikh thought.

Gurudwara Guru Singh Sabha Dharampura, Lahore

This former Gurudwara Guru Singh Sabha archway stands discreetly in the rushy bazaar of Dharampura (now Mustafaabad), Lahore. Once marking the entrance to a small local Sikh place of worship, this arched gateway is the only surviving element of the Gurudwara. Over time, shops have taken over the lower portion, and only the upper part of the arch remains visible above the market crowd. A faded Khanda symbol can still be seen at the top center, silently bearing witness to its Sikh heritage.

The Gurudwara Guru Singh Sabha was historically linked to the Singh Sabha Movement. This major Sikh reform initiative began in the late 19th century to promote education, religious clarity, and community revival. The Sri Guru Singh Sabha Lahore was officially established on 2 November 1879, with key figures like Diwan Buta Singh and Gurmukh Singh playing foundational roles (Discover Sikhism, Wikipedia).

Today, nothing else remains of the original Gurudwara structure—only this lone arch survives, surrounded by commercial activity, stripped of its religious function but retaining deep historical and cultural value.

Dharampura is one of Lahore’s most historic and culturally layered localities. Established in 1583 by Emperor Akbar as a designated settlement for Hindus, it continues to echo its old identity despite being officially renamed Mustafaabad after the 1947 Partition. To this day, locals affectionately refer to it by its original name, Dharampura.

Located between the Walled City of Lahore and the Lahore Cantonment, this working-class area still preserves subtle yet telling signs of its rich, pre-Partition religious and cultural diversity.

A special thanks to Dr. Zishan Ahmed for guiding me to this hidden spot. Without his help, I could not have reached it in a million years—it lies deep within a narrow, overcrowded market bustling with female customers. If you plan to visit, try doing so early in the morning, when the market is still waking up; otherwise, there’s hardly space to place a foot.

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
• 
  

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.

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.