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On a forgotten Highway
Lodhi Mosque of Begumkot is a fine example of 15th century architecture and a priceless reminder of the forgotten greatness of Eminabad
By Salman Rashid
After annexing the entire subcontinent, the planners of the Raj laid out the new alignment of the Grand Trunk Road that ran from Bengal to the Khyber Pass and beyond. Strictly speaking, it was hardly a ‘new alignment’ because it generally followed the old road. But every here and there, because of problems of widening and suitability for wheeled traffic, it had to be shifted to this side or that of the ancient highway of which we first hear three centuries before the birth of Christ.
From Lahore en route to Wazirabad (Gujranwala did not exist then) the road swung past a town called Saidpur. Under the Lodhi kings (1451-1525), and certainly even earlier, this was a rather prosperous way station with a good inn or two handling a substantial volume of transiting traffic. This was that same town that came to be called Shergarh after Sher Shah Suri ousted the spineless Humayun and eventually Eminabad after a nobleman of Akbar’s court.
My theory that this was a busy staging point receives credence from William Finch, that peripatetic English merchant who spent three years travelling about India between 1608 and 1611. He writes that on the way from Lahore to ‘Raulpendee’ one stops at the serai of ‘Eminbade.’ Finch being a merchant and not a geographer or travel writer mentions nothing more of his Eminbade, nor indeed does any other traveller of that period.
British road-builders shifted the Grand Trunk Road some eight kilometres to the south of Eminabad. With that, and also because of the laying of the railway line, the rice trade that once enriched the town, moved to the new market of Kamonke. From a busy market junction and way station, Eminabad virtually overnight became a neglected little town in the countryside of the newly established Gujranwala district. All that recalls its past splendour are a couple of glorious havelis – one of which is some three hundred years old. But a few kilometres to the east of town in the locality known as Begumkot there is one priceless reminder of the forgotten greatness of Eminabad.
Smack by a huge pond that measures about two hundred metres square and reflecting in its placid blue waters is a brick building with a squat dome. Famous as the Lodhi Mosque of Begumkot, it is a fine example of 15th century architecture. Because the last twenty-five years of Lodhi rule were troubled by the growing threat of the looming presence of Babur, the mosque was obviously built in the earlier and more prosperous years that the Lodhis had seen. I would therefore assign it the period of the 1470s. This would make this among the oldest surviving mosques in Pakistan.
Archaeologists would tell us lay-people that they see evidence of Jehangir period work around the pond, particularly in the ramps leading to the water. But I am certain that this pond was here long before the mosque was built, because across the rutted road there is another pond with some obvious Hindu features. Emperor Jehangir may have ordered some renovation work.
When I first saw it back in 1991, it was in a state of neglect with collapsing arches and a large irregular tear in its dome. But the interior of the dome still preserved some very interesting cut-brick corbelling, pendentive and squinches. The bricks were bare and the plaster or whatever frescoes that would have lent colour to the interior were all gone. Shortly after that the Department of Archaeology bolstered up the more badly damaged arch which kept the structure from collapsing. But not equipped to repair the intricate corbelling of the dome, the Department thankfully left that part alone.
Facing the facade of the mosque is a walled in compound. Unkempt and thickly overgrown, the compound contains two graves. One of these is said to have been the wife of Ahmad Beg Khan, a Moghul who was passing by this way when his wife took ill and passed away. It is after this unknown Begum that this little suburb of Eminabad has been known as Begumkot.
As for the Khan himself, he served emperor Jehangir as governor in Kabul as well as Kashmir. At one point he fell out of favour and was confined for a short while in the fort of Ranthambore. Released again, he was sent back to Kashmir when he promised to conquer for the crown Tibet and Kishtwar within two years. He failed to keep the timetable and was once again unceremoniously removed from office. In the summer of 1618, shortly after this disgrace he died. Referring to his death the Tuzk e Jehangiri refers to him as the governor of Kashmir, an office he had already relinquished to Dilawar Khan Kakar. This was perhaps the king’s way of acknowledging the past services of the man.
We do not know where Ahmad Khan’s death occurred. But certainly during his tenure in Kabul and again in Kashmir he would have several times sojourned at the halting place of Eminabad and there might be some truth in the death and burial of his wife in front of the Lodhi Mosque.
Over the years I have returned to Begumkot several times, the last time being about eight years ago. From a derelict hulk, the mosque has moved on to become, once again, a place of worship, but the compound of the Begum’s tomb remains as unkempt as ever. The tank has never been devoid of water for, as a local elder told me, it is deeper “than three men standing one upon the other’s shoulders.”
The setting with the ruins, the picturesque pond and the lovely acacia and shisham trees makes for a perfect picnic. But I have never seen anyone there – not even the young men of Eminabad. Strangely enough, the importance of the monument is also not generally recognised. I wonder how long before Eminabad also falls into the maelstrom of ‘development’ and some sharks find the historical pond a waste of real estate. Then, even before students of architecture and history can avail the opportunity of appreciating it, the Lodhi Mosque and the Begum’s enclosure will be gone.