This post is about the historic Chaukundi tombs located just outside Karachi. Before writing further I must admit that the last time I personally visited Chaukundi was in 1985 but I still vividly remember being fascinated by the stone carvings on these tombs. Following information comes from the tourist books and the Internet search. I’ve tried to include only the information which I could authenticate from multiple sources.

Since seeing is believing so lets start this post by watching the following video clip of Chaukundi tombs I found at the youtube.

If one travels out of Karachi on National Highway N5 - then between kilometer markers 26 and 27, towards the left side – lies an astonishing necropolis from several centuries ago called the Chaukundi Tombs.

Following map approximately shows the location of Chaukundi tombs on N5.

The word Chaukundi means ‘four-cornered’ and it got its name from the 5-star mausoleums of rich and influential people buried here and which are structurally supported by a column at each of its four sides. These columns usually support a dome or a canopy overhead the burial place. Hundreds of tombs stretch for nearly 3 kilometers. Another peculiar thing about these tombs is that they are all oriented in North-South direction.

Although a majority (of structures) consist of graves, there are some pavilion tombs supported by columns as well. Belonging to sixteenth century, the carving is similar to that found in the Samma Cluster at Makli necropolis. [source (3) below]

These tombs belong to Jokhio, Baloch and Burpat (or Burfat) tribes and most of them date back to between 13th and 17th centuries. The thing that makes these tombs stand out is the exquisitely-carved stone work. This stone work is unique to certain areas Sindh and Balochistan. Even though Chaukundi is the largest and most elaborately designed concentration of stone tombs in Pakistan, similar – but not so decorated tombs have been discovered all along the Makran coast and Lasbela in Balochistan and around River Indus delta in Sindh. In Sindh these sites include Malir, Dumlotee, Mirpur Sakro, Gujjo, Thariba, Sonda and Sehwan Sharif.

The graves which belong to women have been decorated with stone carvings of flowers and jewelry which emphasizes the stature and wealth of the departed female. The graves of men have detailed stone carvings of horses, riders and weapons. Also included in the cluster of Chaukundi tombs are Muslim graves which tend to be unadorned.

The carving or motif which is most repeated on these tombs is a three-depth rosette which is most likely developed due to an early representation of the sun. Besides rosette, other carvings include the shapes of zigzags, flowers, crosses and diamonds.

There have been some reports of people stealing or defacing the stone carvings of these historic tombs. I’ve also heard recently that on weekend nights a local pir saayiN (Holy man) conducts services of removing ‘djinns’ from the psychologically disturbed people here. Hopefully both of these activities could be stopped from using Chaukundi tombs as their premises.

Chaukandi tombs is a protected site in the care of Department of Archaeology, Government of Pakistan.

References:
(1) Chaukhandi Tombs: Funerary Art in Sind and Balochistan, Oxford University Press 2003
(2) Insight Guide Pakistan – 2007
(3) Karachi -Illustrated City Guide by Yasmeen Lari – Oxford University Press 2000
(4) Spectrum Guide to Pakistan – 1998

Like so many others, I consider Abdul Sattar Edhi to be amongst the greatest Pakistanis. Indeed, a great human being. A giant amongst men.

At ATP we have written about him often – and just writing about him and recalling his contributions is inspiring. In particular, we did a series of posts on Edhi sahib back in 2007, beginning with two Quiz posts (here and here) with some excerpts from his biography (if you have not seen these, I would highly recommend them) and culminating with our now long-standing search for testimonials on Abdul Sattar Edhi for the Nobel Award. Over time, of course, there have been other posts on Edhi Sahib: Some written in desperation and sadness, and others in awe and inspiration.

Today, we write to share a new essay on Abdul Sattar Edhi which, I think, does do justice to this “living saint” as the article describes him. It is worth reading – not just because it might tell you something new about Edhi Sahib, but because it might help us discover a better part of our own self.

Anyone who has had the pleasure of meeting this man – and I consider myself privileged to have had this honor – cannot come back without being profoundly moved, humbled, inspired, and invigorated by the energy and humanity that Abdul Sattar Edhi exudes. This very feeling is captured in spades in the new article in the British newspaper The Telegraph by Peter Oborne. After reading it, I look forward to seeing the accompanying film by Peter Oborne “Unreported World: Defenders of Karachi,” but not simply because an outsider has validated what we already knew; I do so because this article captured my own feelings on first meeting and long being inspired by Abdul Sattar Edhi and I hope the film will too.

THE DAY I MET A LIVING SAINT

By Peter Oborne

In the course of my duties as a reporter, I have met presidents, prime ministers and reigning monarchs. Until meeting the Pakistani social worker Abdul Sattar Edhi, I had never met a saint. Within a few moments of shaking hands, I knew I was in the presence of moral and spiritual greatness.

Mr Edhi’s life story is awesome, as I learnt when I spent two weeks working at one of his ambulance centres in Karachi. The 82-year-old lives in the austerity that has been his hallmark all his life. He wears blue overalls and sports a Jinna cap, so named because it was the head gear of Muhammad Ali Jinna, the founder of Pakistan.

No Pakistani since Jinna has commanded the same reverence, and our conversations were constantly interrupted as people came to pay their respects. Mr Edhi told me that, 60 years ago, he stood on a street corner in Karachi and begged for money for an ambulance, raising enough to buy a battered old van. In it, he set out on countless life-saving missions.

Gradually, Mr Edhi set up centres all over Pakistan. He diversified into orphanages, homes for the mentally ill, drug rehabilitation centres and hostels for abandoned women. He fed the poor and buried the dead. His compassion was boundless.

He was born in 1928, when the British Empire was at its height, in Gujarat in what is now western India. But he and his family were forced to flee for their lives in 1947 when the division of India and creation of Pakistan inspired terrible communal tensions: millions were killed in mob violence and ethnic cleansing. This was the moment Mr Edhi, finding himself penniless on the streets of Karachi, set out on his life’s mission.

Just 20 years old, he volunteered to join a charity run by the Memons, the Islamic religious community to which his family belonged. At first, Mr Edhi welcomed his duties; then he was appalled to discover that the charity’s compassion was confined to Memons. He confronted his employers, telling them that “humanitarian work loses its significance when you discriminate between the needy”.

So he set up a small medical centre of his own, sleeping on the cement bench outside his shop so that even those who came late at night could be served.

But he also had to face the enmity of the Memons, and became convinced they were capable of having him killed. For safety, and in search of knowledge, he set out on an overland journey to Europe, begging all the way. One morning, he awoke on a bench at Rome railway station to discover his shoes had been stolen. He was not bothered, considering them inessential. Nevertheless, the next day an elderly lady gave him a pair of gumboots, two sizes too large, and Mr Edhi wobbled about in them for the remainder of his journey.

In London, he was a great admirer of the British welfare state, though he presciently noted its potential to encourage a culture of dependency. He was offered a job but refused, telling his benefactor: “I have to do something for the people in Pakistan.”

On return from Europe, his destiny was set. There was no welfare state in Fifties Pakistan: he would fill the gap. This was a difficult period in his life. Shabby, bearded and with no obvious prospects, seven women in rapid succession turned down his offers of marriage. He resigned himself to chastity and threw all of his energy into work.

He would hurtle round the province of Sindh in his poor man’s ambulance, collecting dead bodies, taking them to the police station, waiting for the death certificate and, if the bodies were not claimed, burying them himself. Mr Edhi’s autobiography, published in 1996, records that he recovered these stinking cadavers “from rivers, from inside wells, from road sides, accident sites and hospitals… When families forsook them, and authorities threw them away, I picked them up… Then I bathed and cared for each and every victim of circumstance.”

There is a photograph of Mr Edhi from this formative time. It could be the face of a young revolutionary or poet: dark beard, piercing, passionate eyes. And it is indeed the case that parts of his profound and moving autobiography carry the same weight and integrity as great poetry or even scripture.

Mr Edhi discovered that many Pakistani women were killing their babies at birth, often because they were born outside marriage. One newborn child was stoned to death outside a mosque on the orders of religious leaders. A furious Mr Edhi responded: “Who can declare an infant guilty when there is no concept of punishing the innocent?”

So Mr Edhi placed a little cradle outside every Edhi centre, beneath a placard imploring: “Do not commit another sin: leave your baby in our care.” Mr Edhi has so far saved 35,000 babies and, in approximately half of these cases, found families to cherish them. Once again, this practice brought him into conflict with religious leaders. They claimed that adopted children could not inherit their parents’ wealth. Mr Edhi told them their objections contradicted the supreme idea of religion, declaring: “Beware of those who attribute petty instructions to God.”

Over time, Mr Edhi came to exercise such a vast moral authority that Pakistan’s corrupt politicians had to pay court. In 1982, General Zia announced the establishment of a shura (advisory council) to determine matters of state according to Islamic principles. Mr Edhi was suspicious: “I represented the millions of downtrodden, and was aware that my presence gave the required credibility to an illegal rule.”

Travelling to Rawalpindi to speak at the national assembly, he delivered a passionate denunciation of political corruption, telling an audience of MPs, including Zia himself: “The people have been neglected long enough. One day they shall rise like mad men and pull down these walls that keep their future captive. Mark my words and heed them before you find yourselves the prey instead of the predator.”

Mr Edhi did not distinguish between politicians and criminals, asking: “Why should I condemn a declared dacoit [bandit] and not condemn the respectable villain who enjoys his spoils as if he achieved them by some noble means?” This impartiality had its advantages. It meant that a truce would be declared when Mr Edhi and his ambulance arrived at the scene of gun battles between police and gangsters. “They would cease fire,” notes Mr Edhi in his autobiography, “until bodies were carried to the ambulance, the engine would start and shooting would resume.”

Mr Edhi eventually found a wife, Bilquis, but his personal austerity was all but incompatible with married life. When the family went on Hajj, a vast overland journey in the ambulance, he forbade Bilquis to bring extra clothes, because he was determined to fill the vehicle with medical supplies. Reaching Quetta in northern Baluchistan, with the temperature plunging, he relented enough to allow her to buy a Russian soldier’s overcoat. Later on, when their children grew up, Mr Edhi would not find time to attend his daughter’s marriage.

But Mr Edhi’s epic achievement would not have been possible but for this inhuman single-mindedness. Today, the influence of the Edhi Foundation stretches far outside Pakistan and Mr Edhi has led relief missions across the Muslim world, providing aid at every international emergency from the Lebanon civil war in 1983 to the Bangladesh cyclone in 2007. There are no horrors that Mr Edhi and his incredibly brave army of ambulance men have not witnessed, and the numerous lives they have saved.

The story of Mr Edhi coincides with the history of the Pakistan state. More than any other living figure, he articulates Jinna’s vision of a country which, while based on Islam, nevertheless offers a welcome for people of all faiths and sects. Indeed, the life of Mr Edhi provides a sad commentary on the betrayal of Jinna’s Pakistan by a self-interested political class.

One evening, as the sun set over Karachi, I asked Mr Edhi what future he foresaw. “Unless things change,” he said, “I predict a revolution.”

I finally make it ‘back home’ this winter after a much-delayed hiatus. I hadn’t been able to travel for almost six years now. So getting back to Karachi was particulalry pleasant and memorable.

One thing that I found particularly helpful was this set of 10 Tips for Visiting Karachi preared by The News. It is good advice that many of us sometimes forget:

1. Things have changed: Do not expect Karachi to be the same as when you left it two years ago, ten years ago or possibly in some cases several decades ago. This is a booming town. Traffic has multiplied. New roads, more buildings, underpasses and overhead bridges have been constructed. Distances have increased. There has been a media explosion. Attitudes are changing so are the fashions and the prices of goods. The work culture has also changed along with some of the values you may be expecting to return to.

2. Some things have not changed: The city administration still grapples with an ever-exploding population. There is pollution, chaos and dirt. Gutters still overflow. There are still beggars on the streets. Buses still don’t stop at their designated points. The rickshaws still do not have proper meters. But remember, most of you come from here, and chose to leave. Don’t complain.

3. The city has a life: Don’t think that just because Karachi does not have a number of bars or nightclubs, there is no nightlife. The city may have its share of problems, but its residents can and do enjoy their lives here. There is a lot to do, a number of places to visit and a variety of restaurants to eat at. One can stroll along Sea View, or even take a nighttime boat ride on which you will be served magnificent seafood. Take a ride in a Victoria (taanga) in Clifton. Or better still, have a palmist tell you your future next to Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s Mazaar. There is fun to be had here, provided you are looking for it in the right places.

4. Have some thought for your hosts: Spare them the agony of having to drive you all over town. Hire a radio cab. It costs under Rs2,000 ($35) per day and you don’t have to worry about driving or parking, and you can enjoy the city in air-conditioned comfort and safety. Similarly, if you are staying with relatives or friends, try and make your stay as stress-free and accommodating as possible. Tip the servants generously. If you are staying with parents, see what chores they have pending; if things need mending or fixing around the house help out and get them done.

5. Check out the old and the new: The city boasts some very good museums like Mohatta Palace and the Air Force Museum. The city has several excellent parks like Beach Park, Zamzama Park and now Bagh Ibn-e-Qasim. Check out the shopping malls. Also savour some of the older places like Empress Market (now much cleaner) and Bohri Bazaar. Eat at the more well-known places like BBQ Tonite and Student Biryani. Visit the new cinemas (Cineplex) and the bowling alleys.

6. Take sensible precautions: Don’t overstretch yourself. Take it easy. Also, listen to your hosts. Don’t eat off the Thellas. Only drink bottled water from a reputable company. Don’t walk in dark alleys or roads at night. Protect your belongings in public places. Avoid dodgy food items.

7. Look at the opportunities: If you have time, check out real estate prices and what is on offer. Talk to realtors and also look for investment opportunities. It’s always a good idea to buy property here. This is a good time. The city is witnessing an economic boom. If you can buy something, then purchase and put it on rent. You can even look at buying an office space if your budget is limited or you could think about booking an apartment.

8. Buy sensibly and have realistic expectations: Just because Zainab Market is cheap it does not mean one should overload themselves with imitation designer wear. Also, think about what you need to buy. Keep your expectations realistic. If you buy from Zainab Market, the quality will be dodgy. Look at some of the more expensive items at quality shops like Labels and Khaadi. Spoil yourself and buy some high quality things particularly leather items like bags from Jafferjees or English Boot House (EBH).

9. Check out the local NGOs: See the wonderful work being done by organisations like the Citizens Foundation, Edhi Trust, Sindh Institute of Urology and Transplantation (SIUT) and Layton Rehmatoola Benevolent Trust (LRBT) to name a few. Go and visit the Darul Sukoon or the Marie Adelaide Leprosy Centre (MALC) to see how much work is being done by devoted professionals to help the poor and disabled people. Make a commitment here.

10. Finally, enjoy and don’t compare: Since Pakistan is a third world country, don’t compare Karachi to Dubai or the US. This is your country. Only here could you get away after fighting with the local traffic policemen. The city obviously has its share of problems. But here you are neither a suspicious Muslim nor a second-class citizen. Family values here are as strong as ever. And despite the fact that many people will bug you about their prospects abroad, just remember it is all being done with good intentions. People will make time for you. Though marriage ceremonies start at late hours, people make time to attend them. Forget your country of residence for a while and enjoy Karachi for as long as you are here!

The only thing missing is a direct caution – though #6 seems to cover it somewhat – that cellphone-snatching is a very present and common danger.

There are now two types of people in Karachi: those who carry cool cellphones; and those who have been mugged. Oh, and yes, especially in English-speaking circles, the word “mugged” is now not something you hear about happening in far-away New York City. There is, sadly, very regular occasion to use the word.

(Editor’s Note: This post was first published on January 12, 2007 but much of it remains very relevant today. We hope readers will update these tips and maybe add new ones.)