Lamenting the decay

Seventeenth-century philosopher Giambattista Vico considered respectful disposal of the dead to be one of the three foundational rituals at the core of every human civilization.¹ Burial sites, therefore, are not merely physical structures but also serve as archives of stories, of communities that no longer exist, and people who inhabited that region in the past. The architecture of these sites provides a window into the evolution of Karachi as a city. However, much has been lost with the passage of time and due to a lack of interest in preserving the city’s history.

I remember as a child, while driving towards Thatta from Karachi on the National Highway, my mother would gesture towards a mysterious place on the left side of the road, beyond the Foundation for Advancement of Science and Technology (FAST) University. She said this place was Chaukhandi, a place no one in my family or friends had ever visited. In my adventurous adolescence, a friend and I decided to visit this place to discover its mysteries. As we hopped off the minibus, a narrow street between a basti (a densely populated slum) and a truck stand led us to an unwalled complex of hundreds of intricately carved tombs. Unlike any graves I had ever seen, they rose like stepped pyramids of sandstone, each one unique and meticulously crafted.

The place was deserted, the silence broken by barking stray dogs. A few men in rags huddled beside a group of graves, perhaps smoking drugs. Battling feelings of unease mixed with wonder and excitement, I insisted to my friend that we must leave before dark. Before leaving, we captured countless photographs to memorialize our adventure.

Much later, I learned that the Chaukhandi tombs date back to between the 15th and 18th centuries. Their origins remain unknown. Historically, no human settlement had existed in their close vicinity. People claim the graves might belong to an earlier generation of a Sindhi or a Baloch tribe, perhaps Kalmati, Jokhio, or Jam. The first official documentation of these tombs appeared during the colonial era by the British in the mid-19th century.

There is a debate about the meaning of “Chaukhandi.” Some historians believe it indicates a place of origin (like “Lahori” for someone from Lahore), based on an inscription reading: “Jam Murid bin Haji Sahib Chaukhandi.” However, a tomb from a later period at another site in Karachi bears: “This Chaukhandi is on Malik Mureed Khan Kalmati bin Babar Khan.” Therefore, others suggest that the word Chaukhandi may describe the architectural style of these tombs or may simply mean “grave” in a local dialect.

The inscriptions and motifs on these graves are different from those of other sandstone graves in the coastal regions of Sindh and Balochistan. Some of the graves in Chaukhandi feature mounted horsemen, weapons such as swords and bows, and hunting scenes, presumably belonging to men. Others display necklaces, bracelets, and rings, attributed to the graves of women. Images of living creatures carved alongside Arabic religious calligraphy is an anomaly as Muslim religious spaces traditionally disapprove of images of living beings. This may reflect an amalgam of pre-Islamic and Islamic traditions in Sindh. In the early 20th century, Dutch archaeologist J.P. Vogel wrote that these tombs were dissimilar to Muslim graves around the world.²

Since my adolescent adventure, I have visited Chaukhandi thrice. Each time I noticed with dismay and sadness the gradual erosion of the tombs, the inscriptions grown fainter and a few carved slabs vanished, probably stolen. This reflects government and public apathy towards the preservation of heritage. With Karachi’s land becoming increasingly attractive for real estate builders, the site has also seen various attempts at encroachment by them.

Chaukhandi is not alone in being neglected in Karachi. The graves of the legendary Morro and his brothers, immortalized in Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai’s magnum opus Risalo, now lie abandoned under the concrete shadow of Gulbai flyover. Elsewhere, the Bene Israel graveyard and Abraham Chowk (now called Cheel Chowk) graveyard in Lyari are covered with thorny bushes, a distressing memorial to the city’s once-vibrant Baghdadi and Bene Israel Jewish communities of merchants and architects before their exodus from Pakistan in 1948.

Karachi’s once‑affluent Parsi community has also dwindled, and their last Tower of Silence (Zoroastrian funerary site) in DHA Phase 1 now stands as a stark reminder of their fading presence from a city they actively built and called home. In the famous Gora Qabristan (cemetery for Christians) in Karachi Cantonment, the tomb of Lady Phyllis Louise Lawrence, who established the first midwifery college at The Lady Dufferin Hospital in Karachi, is besieged by encroachments. Its elegant Mughal-style structure of white ivory marble has disintegrated. It was replaced in 2007 with a yellow sandstone building that resembles the Chaukhandi style, but that too is in shambles.

Urdu poet Jaun Elia (d. 2002) once observed: “Material remains alone cannot carry a civilization’s legacy; there must also be a chain of stories and traditions linking the past to the present.”³

The decay of sites such as Chaukhandi is especially tragic. The stories have long been forgotten and now even their material signposts are slipping into oblivion.

References:

1. Vico G. The New Science. Bergin TG, Fisch MH, translators. Ithaca (NY): Cornell University Press; 1948.
2. Khan AJ. Chaukhandi Tombs: A Peculiar Funerary Memorial Architecture in Sindh and Baluchistan (Pakistan) [doctoral dissertation]. Venice: Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia; 2010.
3. Elia J. Tehzeeb 2. In: Ansari KA, editor. Farnood: Jaun Elia kay Inshaiye aur Mazameen. Lahore: Al Ahmed Publications; 2012. p. 374.