The ruins proclaim

Published November 7, 2021
The writer is a lawyer and columnist from Okara.
The writer is a lawyer and columnist from Okara.

I GREW up in land so rich that when it rained, the elders told stories of ancient coins sweeping out of the mud, signifying the buried remains of lost empires. Over 2,000 years ago, when London was a primitive Roman outpost and New York was wilderness, Alexander led an army of 50,000 Greeks through the Khyber Pass and into its fertile plains. It was known then as ‘Okaan’, a name eponymous to the lush green trees that dotted it, evolving later to ‘Okaanwali’ before settling into the now recognisable Okara. Over passing centuries, the trees might be the only thing that stayed the same.

This land evolved rapidly from its prehistoric roots in the Indus Valley civilisation, changing hands from the Maurya Empire to the Greeks, the Mughals to the Sikhs, and ultimately from British rule to Pakistan. The remnants of Okara’s ancient history still standing, though, are few and far apart. Most notable among them is Bhumman Shah — a palatial structure with a haveli and gurdwara built in the heart of Depalpur in the 1600s, it stands as a lingering memory of Sikh rulers long departed.

Greater than its physical trappings are the stories held between its walls. Baba Bhumman Shah was a legendary saint, venerated by the Sikh community and mythologised across religious lines into somewhat of a Punjabi superhero said to bring sparrows back from the dead, make cobras disappear, and revive farmers’ lost crops. His langar flowed endlessly, feeding the poor free of cost. When a Muslim landlord, Chaudhry Lakha Wattoo was arrested by Punjab’s governor, his mother sought Bhumman Shah’s blessings for his release. Once these blessings bore fruit, Lakha and his numerous tribesmen were so grateful that they gifted Baba Bhumman Shah an entire village for his religious activities.

The story of Gurdwara Bhumman Shah contains the story of Pakistan.

The building’s historical significance is comparable to the Taj Mahal — and had the stroke of Radcliffe’s pen marked the border a few miles west, its upkeep might have been as well. Bhumman Shah is in a state of near total disrepair. Its furnishings have been looted. Rooms that might have been suites in a five-star hotel or exhibits in a museum of Punjabi history are occupied by settlers and storefronts. Murals that wouldn’t be out of place selling for millions at a Sotheby’s auction in Paris are cracked and fading above the smoke of street food vendors. With every passing day that Bhumman Shah gathers dust, it suffers a fate crueller than ransack or demolition — it is forgotten.

Just as its history encapsulates the rich culture of rural Punjab, in many ways the story of Gurdwara Bhumman Shah contains in it the story of Pakistan: ruthlessly exploited by external powers, lovestruck with the glory days, struggling with identity, and now mostly inhabited by people who’d just like to get by. Inflation eats at our economy like termites at the haveli’s tapestries. Elected leaders stashed wealth in offshore havens over the years just as the gurdwara’s occupants disappeared with its contents. Foreign enemies often realise that they don’t need to attack us to make life worse — we’re perfectly capable of doing that to each other when left to our own devices.

Just because a building is crumbling though, doesn’t mean its destiny is dust. It was Mohsin Hamid who said: “The ruins proclaim, the building was beautiful”. In every fading fresco is the memory of a dazzling piece of artwork. In every grim remnant of what once was, a lingering possibility of what can still be. The fates of the gurdwara and the country it found itself in are both far from certain, mired with past failings, and yet seductively open to an upward trajectory. An ever-present glimmer of hope tells the optimist within us that all it takes would be one determined initiative to break the pattern of wilful ignorance and set things moving in the right direction.

If the powers that be were to open today’s paper, feel inspired by an opinion piece about an old building, and decide to devote some resources to its restoration, a national treasure would be saved from once inevitable demise. Bhumman Shah’s artwork would shine bright again, Sikh devotees would congregate the gurdwara’s halls, a village’s economy would be reinvigorated, and visitors would flow through the two-hour journey from Lahore. But then again, have the powers that be ever cared about the suggestions of columnists?

They might feel that investing in poetic sentimentalism of the past lies low on the list of political priorities. But to paraphrase Pakistan’s greatest novelist, and son of Okara, Mohammed Hanif, “what are we if not the sum total of our memories?” You could be rich in culture beyond global comprehension. You could have historical palaces lying forgotten in your countrysides. You could have ancient coins sweeping out of your mud, signifying the buried remains of lost empires. But if you don’t care enough to pick them up, your destiny is dust.

The writer is a lawyer and columnist from Okara.

Twitter: @hkwattoo1

Published in Dawn, November 7th, 2021

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