Daily Times

Like the host Cholistan desert, Bahawalpur has a very strong magnetic quality to its dusty brown, rather ascetic presence, and the Spartan but decently luxurious engaging ambience. Like a superbly rendered raga, it simply seeps into one’s senses and stays there. The majestic expanse and dignified silence of the Cholistan desert is as overwhelming as is its ancient history, particularly for being a cradle of evolution of civilisation in the region. It is as astonishing as it is true. Harappan and pre-Harappan settlements dot the dry banks of River Hakra and River Sutlej abundantly. Both these rivers are now sadly extinct, the former snatched away by nature and the latter by political incompetence and gross insensitivity. More about this a little later. I was to come back to this desert city again and again in the course of half a century and every time left a part of me behind, wandering over the sands of time, and came out sadder than before. On each occasion, one could sense this austere and gentle dwelling slide slowly into disrepair and ruin, despite a gallant resistance by its people and a belated civic determination by troops garrisoned there on duty.

But for the soldiery much of the grand heritage of Bahawalpur itself would have been vandalized, like what happened to Sadiqgarh Palace and Derawar Fort, a few hours’ drive from there. However, one must appreciate that there are limits to the military’s budget, imagination and discretion. Princely abodes need a royal purse and a more refined aesthetic sense to maintain their glory than what the barracks can pretend to muster. Perforce there had to be gaps in their effort, because the military’s compelling quest for simplicity and functionality is at odds with the superior imperial tastes. Secondly, the boots normally leave what does not seem to serve the immediate purpose of battle worthiness or barracks rigour alone.

That is what happened to the beautifully designed, lavishly constructed and very well stocked Reading Library. It was inaugurated in 1924 by the Viceroy of India, the Earl of Reading, and began to house the central library in 1947 with a rare collection of 24,809 English books, 34,467 Urdu, 4,221 Arabic and 3,271 Persian books, thanks to the vision and magnanimity of Nawab Sadiq Mohammad Khan V, the last Nawab of Bahawalpur. To his credit also are the Sadiq Public School and Islamia University Bahawalpur. May his soul rest in peace.

What a gem of a library it has been, an object of architectural beauty, proportion and spaciousness, besides the wealth of books. It has two sister buildings that house journals and newspapers and children sections. Other than the Quaid-e-Azam Library in Lawrence Gardens Lahore, one has not seen a more magnificent, thoughtfully laid out and raised structure anywhere in the country. When I went to Bahawalpur last March, I was saddened to see its neglected lawns, poorly kept trees and shrubs, and a generally deserted look around the splendid but fading building. I could not venture inside for the fear of possible disrepair and decay of books and furnishings. That pain and loss would have been too much to bear. I ardently wish and pray it is otherwise inside.

At the same time, much that the late State put in place falls within the ambit of the civil authority, which itself is mauled, demoralised and merely surviving. The zoo along with the central park, the imposing State Courts, sprawling Cricket Stadium, Bahawal Victoria Hospital, Sadiq Public School, Jinnah Hall (Municipality Office) and State Secretariat are all in need of attention. Their unkempt but graceful appearances quietly speak of their past splendour. Sadiq Public School wears a comparatively better look, because of the enduring interest and enterprise of its alumni in positions of authority and better management of its assets. It was the mid-1950s when I first accompanied my father to Bahawalpur where he was posted to look after the State’s canals. All one remembers is a laidback, rural town dotted with lavish palaces and some other impressive buildings. What looked more attractive then was the city’s royal zoo and a very well kept central park around it. It was a place of great entertainment. The city itself was simple, neat and the life unrushed. The sun rose in its full desert glory and set like a huge blazing copper saucer equally magnificently. The air used to be typically crisp, clear and invigorating, particularly in winters. Terrible, sweltering summers used to be taxing, more when furious sandstorms would hit the city and superhot kinetic sand grains seemed to burn their way through skin like gunshot pellets.

Then the State was intact and the Nawab ruled with the compassion, grace and dignity of a benevolent, blue-blooded royal. He used to frequently visit the under construction central mosque inside Farid Gate, almost daily. State police officers used to line the route but facing outwards. The Nawab was known for his care for quality and would order instant dismantling of any substandard work at the mosque. This grand mosque today is in unworthy hands like much of the State heritage. Her once fabulous covered bazaar on the ground floor is filthy, overgrown and badly neglected. The mosque itself is running out of its element, disfigured and ill attended. Disfigured and ill attended is the entire former State, it seems. It has had the proud distinction of defeating Mongol invasion, Abdali’s generals and lastly, pillaging Sikh armies a number of times. State troopers fought as allies in Afghanistan, Egypt, Chitral and Transvaal and gave an honourable account.

The police had typically Raj era uniforms with a Fez cap to denote Bahawalpur State Police. They seemed to manage public order in a perfectly effective manner. Robberies, thefts and murders were rare. One never saw a mob, riot or destructive procession, ravaging private or public property. A police baton charge hardly ever occurred and the State forces were never called out ‘in aid of civil power’ like the way it is seen all over the country these days. Roads were narrow and in good condition; a traffic jam did not occur even in the narrow, winding inner bazaars.

(To be continued)

The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan Army and can be reached at clay.potter@hotmail.com