Unwinding the Clock - A Walk Through History

Epictober 2011: Experiencing Pakistan - Post 3 of 8
I recalled my brief trip to Lahore the year before when I went there for a conference. The afternoon the conference ended, I was touring around the city in a taxi before my flight back home that evening. The car was going down one of the many roads and my friend, who was sitting next to me in the backseat signaled to me: “There’s Minar-e-Pakistan on your left.” The spontaneous photographer in me took hold and I started taking photos of the structure paying no heed to my surroundings. “You idiot,” she nearly slapped me, “you’re missing the great wonders on your right!”

I tore my eyes away from the left and looked right just in time to see the grand red walls and minars of the Baadshahi Masjid passing away. Then came the Lahore Fort and the gates to the old city, and as soon as they had appeared, the speeding car had swept them out of sight leaving my mouth open in awe.

History has always excited me. Not the type of history where I have to go through Ayub Khan’s policies that made Pakistan the leading race horse in the economies of Asia during the sixties; not the type of history where I pore over texts explaining how Newton discovered gravity and fine-tuned the laws of motion; and not the type of history where I have to gauge the importance of the industrial revolution in propelling us to the modern era. No!

That kind of history is nice and important too, but what excites me about history are its tangible bits and pieces which have stood the test of time. They weathered wind and rain, riots and battles, fires and earthquakes, and the shifts of culture and tradition. For me, Lahore stands as a shining example of that kind of history and it was perhaps because of that excitement that I wanted to visit it.

Buying that bus ticket to Lahore turned out to be one of those gut feeling decisions that turn out to be the best thing you ever did. An unexpected reunion with friends and a trip to old Lahore were the big highlights. I found Lahore to be a cultural jewel, fashioned and carved carefully over many centuries with close attention to intricate details. It is clear that Lahoris love their city, and have conserved old and interesting traditions, places and their stories.

Old Lahore was on the agenda for Saturday and I didn’t want to waste a minute in the morning. I took a dip in mosquito repellant, packed my camera, some water, and almost dragged one of my friends with me who was taking forever to get ready.

Musical instruments dating back to the Mughal era

A short rickshaw ride took us to Lahore Museum which was housed with fantastic treasures. The museum was a great reminder of the shared history of the people of the sub-continent. Relics belonging to the Gandhara civilization, giant Buddha statues, old Muslim calligraphy on stone, Sikh temple stupas and idols of Hindu deities from centuries past were all preserved here. The cultural heritage was also keenly kept here, from old musical instruments, intricately carved ivory, and hookahs to the fashions of the day which included heavily embroidered robes to fancy shoes. An armory of sorts also drew attention to the brutal aspect of history here, with the various styles of armor, swords, and guns on display. The museum also highlighted some small tributes to the soldiers from India who were sent to fight Britain’s war in World War I.



A Buddha Statue from the Gandhara civilization



The museum was almost like a time capsule, encompassing the various empires, civilizations and people who lived in the sub-continent over millennia, up to the point of the colonization by the British Empire and the struggles of the freedom movement. The exhibits showed all that we choose to ignore in this country, a shared inheritance and the need to co-exist. Sectarianism and discrimination among minorities does not need to be the daily occurrence it is today.

Still lost in the museum thoughts, we made our way towards the Baadshahi Masjid in the early afternoon. Rickshaw drivers were demanding insanely high rates to transport us to what was clearly a popular tourist destination. Soon, we were winding through small streets of the old, walled city surrounded by older buildings on the right with the Baadshahi Masjid towering on our left. The driver took a few detours through the winding streets of the old city and stopped next to a side entrance to the Masjid. It was a large, towering, old gate large enough for elephants to pass through but was closed except for a side door for people to go in.

Resting against a wall, just inside the main prayer hall

We stepped into the sunlight of the outer courtyard with the Alamgiri gate of the Lahore Fort on our right and the large archways to the Masjid’s inner courtyard to our left. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I recalled the brief glimpse of this Masjid I had caught last year. I had made it, but as we hurried inside I realized, not quite. We just missed the afternoon prayers, an opportunity I had hoped to avail. After I prayed on my own, I finally decided to relax for a bit and took it all in.

The Masjid had been the largest one in the world since construction in the 17^th century all the way to 1986. This had been the jewel in the crown of Aurangzeb’s empire, and I felt simply overwhelmed when contemplating the great achievement that his engineers and architects had achieved in their day. My friend and I started our walk back across the long, inner courtyard of the Masjid to the outside amid many tourists, snapping pictures and taking in the views. Back in the day, trade caravans en route from India to Central Asia could see the Lahore Fort and Baadshahi Mosque from miles afar before the main city came into view. Indeed, it was a true spectacle of its day.

A small girl, one of many leisure visitors, stands in
front of the big, red wall of the Masjid

We reached the outer courtyard and explored it more fully. The Alamgiri Gate was now opposite us, with some gardens in the middle. Although a Masjid, it had become so popular as a tourist hotspot that some small ice cream vendors and food stalls had also opened up to capitalize on this small market. Some old graves were also located here, one prominent one marking the resting place of the great poet, Allama Iqbal.

We made our way around the left side toward the Alamgiri gate of the Lahore Fort, amid a throng of people, mostly traffic from the food area. The gate on this left side, before the Alamgiri Gate, had a sign attached. Known as the Roshnai Gate, it was used only by noblemen and royalty in its day. The description excited my imagination as I saw nobles passing through the gate on elephants. The River Ravi used to flow through the gate, so it used to be illuminated at night to ease the nobles on their way into the Complex. It bewildered me, the thought of a river flowing through here. Throughout history, nature has shaped the way we adapt to the environment we live in. However, the thought that the growth of Lahore and development into the modern age actually caused the Ravi to change its course over time was a bit hard to swallow.

The Alamgiri Gate of the Lahore Fort

I saw a Pakistan flag blowing in the wind on top of the Alamgiri Gate as I approached it, the white stone distinct from the red of the Masjid, and carved with intricate design. That entrance to the Fort is not in use today, but I still found myself walking up to the high doors in a trance. Huge, wooden, double doors large enough for elephants to go through were locked shut. The rusty, iron bars and bolts that interlaced through the wood were the locks on a lost age. I walked right up to them, and pushed at the small side door, in the misplaced hope that it would open. The heavy timbers were jammed from the other side, so I just gave a knock on the door of the Mughals and walked away.

Imposing view of the Baadshahi Masjid from the Alamgiri Gate.

Unfortunately, as my friend and I walked toward the tourist gate of the Lahore Fort, we were denied entry. A guard informed us that a VIP delegation was visiting the old city so the Fort, the Shalimar Gardens, Sheesh Mahal, the Samadhi of Ranjit Singh, and other sites were all closed for the day. Bitterly disappointed, we had to turn back. My friend was not in the mood to visit the Wagah Border or go up to the Minar-e-Pakistan. In my state of disappointment, I heeded him and we headed back to the hotel for a little rest before going out in the evening with the other people I was staying with.

Some of the artwork inside Cooco's Den in old Lahore.

For a day’s stop in Lahore, I actually had a lot to take back. That evening, we returned to the old city again much to my surprise. We went to eat at Cooco’s Den, located right next to the Baadshahi Masjid, which shed light on another interesting part of Lahore’s history. The restaurant was decorated with great pieces of art; it was owned by an artist who used to work here while her mother ran a brothel in the building. The rooftop of Cooco’s Den gave some breathtaking views of the Baadshahi Masjid, Lahore Fort and the old city. Sitting on the rooftop exposed the many visages of the city: the mystical, the grand, and the profane which happened behind closed doors.

However, due to the many mosquitoes on the rooftop, dengue phobia took over us and we went to eat at another nearby restaurant, Andaaz, instead. During this time, I got the opportunity I had missed during the day and prayed Isha in congregation at the grand Masjid. I heard Azan while still on the rooftop of Cooco’s Den, and it continued as I made my way into the Masjid with another friend. The difference in acoustics was remarkable, and the sound overwhelmed the ears reaching a heart-warming crescendo I hadn’t anticipated before. My friend also noticed the difference in acoustics and enlightened me to the brilliant engineering of the structure. We went to one of the two long corridors of the Masjid, which was actually a line of long, arched hallways supported by many pillars. My friend took a place at a pillar under one of the small hallways, and asked me to place my ear at the diagonal pillar in the same hallway. He called my name into the pillar, and much to my surprise, I heard it back at the other end. The little experiment bore testament to the great sound engineering of the Baadshahi Masjid, and the architectural skills of the Mughal era.

The Masjid looked especially beautiful at night, the domes were lit up in soft lighting, and the courtyard was bathed in a flood of light under a clear starry, sky. We prayed in congregation, but I witnessed an irony that one of the world’s largest masjid’s had but a single row of worshippers. I believe there were only around 25 of us, in a masjid which boasts a capacity of over 5000 worshippers. The red stone shone pale under the soft lighting of the Masjid. Although it looked beautiful, it carried a sad kind of beauty. The place seemed hollow for a masjid. It attracted scores of people every year, but it was mostly tourists, photographers and backpackers. The real hustle and bustle of the great Baadshahi Masjid seemed to have been lost and buried behind the sealed doors of the Alamgiri Gate.

The old city had carried the traditions of the tabooed brothels and the red light district through the generations, but it seemed the grand masjid had lost its way as it transcended through these years. Although the architecture had stood the test of time and changed the course of a river, it had evolved from a place of worship into a tourist hotspot; a mere photo on our Rs. 500 bill. I wonder what Aurangzeb’s true vision was for the legacy he had left behind, and the visions of other rulers who had reigned over this illustrious city in ages past. History excites me, and a walk through this park of history had given me some food for thought. I could not help but wonder what Aurangzeb would have said about all of it had he answered to my knocks on the doors of the Alamgiri Gate that afternoon.

Beautiful view of the well lit courtyard and domes of the Baadshahi Masjid from the rooftop of Cooco's Den