January 3, 2004

The process of demolish-and-rebuild is part of the construction industry and is always going on. There is no doubt that the owners have the right to decide the life span of the buildings they possess. No law can hinder this right nor any municipal regulation stop them from doing as they please. But, in modern times, the feeling for culture has given a moral right to preservationists and pressure groups to interfere and prevent the destruction of private buildings that have acquired a historical value over the decades.

That is why you read every day about campaigns to protect old buildings on The Mall in Lahore and along the well-known streets of Karachi, although these buildings are never more than a 100 years in age and do not constitute antiquities. But one aspect of modern enlightenment is that these structures have come to acquire a place in our cultural consciousness, they remind us of a happy or even unhappy past, and hence the belief that they should be allowed to stand.

All these palatial buildings, mansions and sometimes institutions attract public attention because they are located right before the eyes of the people who look at them every day and who maybe give a few seconds of their thoughts to their future, their utility, their decay, their features undergoing obliteration. Those who look at them say to themselves, “I wonder how long that thing is going to last. It sure is a great reminder of old times.” At the same time there are thousands upon thousands of ancient buildings in the heart of old cities that are gradually crumbling to pieces but nobody is bothered about them.

Living in Islamabad I am painfully conscious of the state of disrepair and dereliction that afflicts old residential and other buildings in Rawalpindi. I don’t know why Rawalpindi and Islamabad are described as twin cities by newspapers. Even where twins are not identical there is some likeness between the pair. There is no likeness between Pindi and Islamabad. In fact it would be difficult to find two more dissimilar cities anywhere in the world. One is the typical old Pakistani city while the other has no parallel in Pakistan and might as well be located in Europe. And, in respect of the topic of this piece, i.e. the story of ancient buildings, the two are as different as black and white.

The process of the life and death-like decay of Rawalpindi can be traced from the complexities and contradictions in its architecture. The presence of the historical past in Pindi resonates in crumbling old architecture which represents various outlooks — the desire to banish the past with its stories of murder and arson at Partition, the greedy grabbing of evacuee property by the local Muslims, ignorance about the cultural heritage of the city by official quarters, and the usual apathy of the common citizen towards anything old and antique.

Newspaper writers says that a number of senior citizens who were witness to the destruction in August 1947, are concerned at the disappearing architecture of Rawalpindi. Calling themselves custodians of the city’s history in the absence of any official guardians, they, and among them the Chaudhry family in particular who claim their status as Pindiites from 1765, are deeply worried. Tariq Azam Chaudhry, a prominent lawyer, cries his heart out for conservation and preservation of old relics.

Mr Chaudhry said in an interview some time ago that the Tehsil of the Sikhs, a massive building, was demolished after independence. The destruction of a fine house belonging to Sardar Kirpal Singh, the last Tehsildar of the community, was followed by the pulling down of the gurudwara of Bhai Maan Singh. The haveli of the Raja of Poonch in Namakmandi was pulled down recently to make way for construction of new shops in the city. He says’ the Nirankari sect of the Sikhs originated in Rawalpindi, but unfortunately the upper storey of the Nirankari Darbar, their headquarter, has been without a roof for the last many years.

Then there is the huge complex called Bagh Sardaran which houses the local office of the Special Branch, Punjab. It is full of many big and small buildings. Once upon a time the Bagh also contained the Hardit Sigh Library, unbelievably well-stocked for a city like Rawalpindi, and a ‘janj ghar’ for holding weddings and housing ‘baraats’ from outside and for other social ceremonies of the Sikh community. There was also an impressive guest house but this was destroyed by a fire.

Today the crumbling walls of the buildings inside Bagh Sardaran are a living example of official and civil neglect. The government is not moved because they have never been declared protected monuments, while the organisations of local citizens are too engrossed in other matters to pay any attention to this architectural heritage of Islamabad’s twin city. Whatever structures remain standing are deteriorating rapidly, and with the passage of time and with the effects of climate and indifference may disappear any day.

Take another example. There was on the road passing in front of the Rawalpindi Medical College a small structure in a spacious courtyard. This was the acknowledged cremation ground for Hindus and Sikhs of whom there is a sprinkling in Rawalpindi, unlike other areas of Punjab. One fine day they were told that the place had been allotted to some influential person and that they had better find some other location to cremate their dead. This was a most heartless act, and it was only when the Hindus started agitating that the Deputy Commissioner found an alternative site for the purpose.

It may be noted that Pindi was a great and prosperous centre of Sikhs before partition, as you will infer from the number of buildings named in this piece. The stately old President’s House too, now housing the Women’s University, was the residence of two rich brothers with an extensive business in Kashmir, mainly devoted to timber. The Sikhs were the life and soul of the region, and whereas in Lyallpur (now Faisalabad) it was the rural areas that had been developed by them, in Pindi they were mostly concentrated in the city.

There is another fine building about which Mr Tariq Azam Chaudhry is deeply concerned and feels frustrated. In the narrow streets of Bhabra Bazaar, about a kilometre away from Committee Chowk on Murree Road, stands the once majestic haveli of Rai Bahadur Sujan Singh. Constructed in 1893, its walls have started developing cracks and it appears to be coming apart at the seams. Once the residence and a veritable museum of art objects belonging to the Sujan Singh family, all that is left of the building is empty rooms. Incidentally, the building called Lal Haveli, made famous as his political HQ by Sheikh Rashid, federal minister and “Son of Rawalpindi,” was saved by him and a dozen other families to whom portions were allotted by the Evacuee Trust Property Board.

Incidentally, Mr Chaudhry is still in correspondence with Gurbachan Singh, the eldest son of Sardar Sohan Singh, another important Sikh of old Rawalpindi, about this and other buildings in the city. This haveli too has been used for various government offices, also as a residence for Kashmiri refugees, and now, in a strange transformation, it is to be replaced by the building of the Dr A.Q. Khan Science College for Girls. Here is modernity sweeping away a precious relic. The physical condition of the haveli is bad, while all electric fittings and decorative adornments were pulled out and sold by the refugees.

While the government and the local gentry will say that the haveli should be pulled down, Mr Chaudhry, an incurable conservationist, insists that it should be repaired and protected. He is not bothered by its future use. His concern is that the national heritage should not be treated like this. Once the building is restored to its original grandeur, he is sure some national use can be found for it. Do readers think we shall ever have a government that is willing to spend millions on structures like these?