PLATFORM: Baltistan's Architectural Heritage: Resistance and Identity Formation in Northeastern Pakistan

The landscape of Baltistan, in northeastern Pakistan, boasts the world’s highest cold desert as well as five of the fourteen tallest mountains on earth. Nestled among the towering mountains are remote valleys which served as important sites off the ancient Silk Route and where Buddhism flourished until Shiʽi and Sufi practitioners from Kashmir introduced Islam in the medieval period. Given the inaccessibility of the area, much remains to be known about the nature of these conversions or the manners in which Islam evolved into its present expressions. Over the past hundred years different stakeholders have laid claim to the religious and cultural identities of the inhabitants of Baltistan, from multi-national Ismaili development networks to the Pakistani government. Despite these seemingly competing agendas, religious structures – even new ones – have conformed to a surprising degree in terms of materials used, styles, and typologies (Fig. 1). Carved wooden screens and columns are often coupled with stupa-like metal spires, giving a distinct profile to the mosques, shrines, and tombs, that are spread across the region.

Fig. 1. Jami Masjid Imamia Ithna ‘Asharia Shigar, completed c.2022. Photograph by Kishwar Rizvi, June 2024 (all photographs, unless otherwise noted, are © Kishwar Rizvi).

Religious identities are mutable, changing according to the particularities of their social and political contexts; similarly, architecture in Baltistan, especially when questions of religious identity, conservation and heritage arise, comes to represent specific histories, its solidity marking moments in time that appear frozen, distant, and unchanging. However, the past and the present do not seamlessly cohere, especially when the motivations for change versus stasis are diametrically opposed. Even within a particular community, some may desire new interpretations of their belief while traditionalists among them may want to hold on to symbols and rituals that they see as fundamental. How may architecture accommodate these differing aspirations and how can it represent the complex histories of a region while allowing for inevitable transformation and adaptation? Baltistan is an important site for exploring some of these questions, given its status as both a frontier zone and a rapidly developing tourist destination (Fig. 2). The built heritage represents both the past and the present, helping residents and investors alike imagine what the future may hold.

The 1947 Partition of India cleaved the Subcontinent. The separation line drawn by British colonial administrators divided long-thriving linguistic and ethnic communities, and remains, to this day, a trauma etched into the land and its cultural and biological ecology. Armed conflicts continue to claim lives along deserts and glaciers, the Himalayan mountains and the Indian Ocean are still zones of unresolved territorial dispute. Compounding these disputes are separatist movements that do not recognize the nationalist projects of either the Indian or Pakistani governments. Given these ruptures, a full account of once unified regions made inaccessible by political boundaries is by necessity incomplete – the history of architecture in Pakistan, India, Bangladesh thus holds within it gaps and absences. This essay suffers, no doubt, from this condition – my birth in Pakistan makes it near impossible to visit sites across the border from Baltistan – but I offer it as an opening into how a born-digital publication may also begin conversations across shared histories and geographies.

Fig. 2. Map of Pakistan and Gilgit-Baltistan. Map by Andreas Benz, accessed July 1, 2024. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International.

Baltistan is a divisional administration of Gilgit-Baltistan, under the supervision of the Pakistani government. Until 1947, the entire district was part of the vast princely Dogra state of Jammu and Kashmir established in 1840. Prior to that, local systems of rule were centered in the three primary valleys of Skardu, Shigar, and Khaplu, which still have linguistic, cultural and some degree of political autonomy. However, the region remains disputed, and liberation struggles in Indian-occupied Kashmir add urgency for the Pakistani government to find solutions for integrating Gilgit-Baltistan into its project of statehood.

Fig. 3. Tourists disembarking a Pakistan International Airlines carrier, Skardu, 2024. Photograph courtesy of Reza Bergemann.

Skardu is the primary commercial gateway connecting Gilgit-Baltistan to the rest of Pakistan (Fig. 3). The town has developed rapidly, with a large public university, a thriving bazaar and, conspicuously, a major military hospital. The Pakistan Army, which has historically been charged with building and repairing major roads and bridges, is deployed throughout northeastern Pakistan because of its strategic importance near the border with India. Countering the presence of the Sunni-majority state are visible markers of Shi’i Islam, with major a monumental Friday Mosque in downtown Skardu, adorned in tile mosaics reminiscent of Iranian architecture (Fig. 4). Notably, although the outward appearance connects the mosque and the community to global architectural trends, it is not typical of the traditional styles in this locality .

Fig. 4. Markazi Masjid Jami Imamiyya, Skardu. Photograph by Zaman ‘Ali, accessed July 1, 2024. Google Maps, open access.

Three buildings will serve as examples of the decisions taken by residents to preserve an ancient architectural typology while also enlivening local craft practices. The first two are among the better-documented structures in Baltistan and allow us to see changes before and after restoration; the third has not changed significantly since its foundation in the seventeenth century and is less well-known among outsiders. In the late 1990s the Aga Khan Cultural Services in Pakistan, often with funding from the local community and the Royal Norwegian Embassy, an arm of the United Nations Development Programme in Pakistan, began renovating historical buildings in the region. Among the first was the Amburiq Mosque in Shigar, a valley fifty kilometers from Skardu (Fig. 5). The mosque is believed to have been founded in the 14th century by the Kashmiri Kubrawi Sufi shaykh, Syed Ali Hamadani. The mosque is a modest, one-room wooden structure with a covered porch (Fig. 6) and a low-pitched roof topped with a protruding four-sided structure capped with a folded metal spire (Fig. 7). The roof elements are reminiscent of Buddhist architecture further south and east, with their tall stupas and pyramidal form.

Fig. 5. Amburiq Mosque, 2024, built 14th c. restored c. 2000. Exterior.

Fig. 6. Amburiq Mosque, 2024. Interior prayer room.

Fig. 7. Amburiq Mosque, 2024. Roof detail.

Pre-restoration documentation shows the severe deterioration of the site, with a collapsed roof and exposed interior (Fig. 8, 9). With little original detailing left to work with, the mosque appears to have been almost entirely rebuilt, from the façade to the roof spire (Fig. 10). The mosque, as the earliest physical marker of Islam’s arrival in Baltistan, was an obvious candidate for renovation, and choosing an “indigenous” style added to its value. The restoration was undertaken soon after the establishment of the Historic Cities Support Programme in 1992 under the aegis of the Aga Khan Trust for Culture (AKTC) and its pilot project, restoring the Baltit Fort in the Hunza Valley (completed in 1996). The perceived loss of the built heritage in Gilgit-Baltistan spurred the initiative, as did the historicist turn that dominated architectural culture in the late 1980s.

Fig. 8. Amburiq Mosque, south façade before restoration, c. 1997. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture /Mathieu Paley (photographer).

Fig. 9. Amburiq Mosque, section through west-east, looking to north, 1998. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture.

Much of the original wooden carving of the Amburiq Mosque, such as the prayer-dedication above the door, was reinstalled upon its completion in 2000 (Fig. 11). It reads, “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is His Messenger. Oh Allah, Bless Muhammad and his Family.” The first half is the basic tenet of faith professing the oneness of God and His prophet and is unsurprising for a building meant to mark the presence of Islam in a changing medieval world. The second points to the devotion to the Ahl al-bayt, or the family of Muhammad, that would have been shared by both Sufi and Shiʽi communities at the time and endures in the region even today. The AKTC has overseen renovations of other mosques in Shigar, such as the 17th century Khilingrong Mosque near the Shigar Fort.

Fig. 10. Amburiq Mosque, completion drawing, east elevation, 1999. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture.

Fig. 11. Amburiq Mosque; window and portal with restored woodwork, 2004. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture / Gary Otte (photographer).

The “recovery” of an authentic past seen in the Amburiq Mosque pushes against the homogenizing tendencies of Pakistani state formation, which forces a particular brand of Sunni Islam. And yet, the decision to build in a supposedly local idiom has a similar effect: of repetition and recognizability, but here as a form of resistance against a normative “Islamic” architecture.

The Nurbakshi Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah in Khaplu (Ghanche District), the second largest town in Gilgit-Baltistan, is located on a hilly, quiet neighborhood, surrounded by residential and commercial buildings. Although called a mosque in English-language publications, the sign above the entrance calls it a khanqah, or a Sufi gathering place; in reality it serves both functions (Fig. 12). The history of the khanqah dates back to the previously mentioned Syed Ali Hamadani and to Muhammad Nurbaksh, a 15th-century shaykh after whom the Nurbakshi order is named. The administration of the building by the “Anjuman-i Muhammadi Nurbakshi of Khaplu,” is inscribed below the foundation text. The terms Muhammadi and Nurbakshi attest to the complex and changing allegiances of the order, which proudly adheres to its Sufi roots, while acknowledging the centrality of Shiʽi Islam in the Khaplu valley.

Fig. 12. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, Khaplu, 2024. Established 15th c. Entrance gateway.

Fig. 13. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Street view.

Fig. 14. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Second floor, showing the collection box for Abbas ‘*Alamdar*,’ a grandson of Prophet Muhammad.

The three and a half-story edifice rises above the streetscape, two floors of which rest atop a solid stone and cement foundation (Fig. 13). The building is a multi-purpose space for prayers and communal rituals, such as meditation and commemorating important dates. The first and second floors have few windows and were likely to have been used to house pilgrims and devotees, with some of the smaller rooms meant for meditation or housing ritual objects (Fig. 14). The top floor, accessed by stairs along the side of the building, is the main prayer space, entered through a columned arcade that is open on all four sides, allowing commanding views of the neighborhood and surrounding mountains (Fig. 15). The intricately carved arcades of the portico lend lightness and transparency to the structure (16). The exterior of the prayer hall, like some parts of the arcade’s ceilings are also carved and painted in bright colors – an unusual distinction of the Chaqchan Khanqah (Fig. 17). In the interior, too, delicate floral and geometric motifs are painted in red, green, yellow, blue and white, further dematerializing the space. Given the severe winters, there are few windows, and yet the patterns and colors of the decorative program brighten the space (Fig. 18).

Fig. 15. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Third floor arcade and prayer hall. Photograph courtesy of Arif Belgaumi.

Fig. 16. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Arcade ceiling.

Fig. 17. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Entrance into prayer hall.

Fig. 18. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah, 2024. Interior view of prayer hall.

The polychrome exterior and interiors are dazzling and unique, but they are not apparent in documentary photographs taken before more recent renovations (Fig. 19, 20). The wooden carvings are there, but the structure appears devoid of color. However, even before the NGO-led wave of “preservation” efforts of the late 1990s, I recall the Chaqchan Khanqah interior columns were notable for their polychromy, though color was selectively utilized. The current use of vibrant paints is, nonetheless, modern and as much geared to the tourism industry as to the local community’s interest in reinterpreting past architectural styles. Like the Amburiq Mosque, the Chaqchan Khanqah tells a story of Sufism’s roots in Baltistan, and as such holds significance for residents while also attracting domestic tourism.

Fig. 19. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah. Exterior view, c. 1973. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture / Max Klimburg (photographer).

Fig. 20. Chaqchan Mosque and Khanqah. Interior view of prayer hall, c. 1973. © Aga Khan Trust for Culture / Max Klimburg (photographer).

The branding of Baltistan as a diverse yet culturally distinct entity outside of the nation-state takes on urgency amidst pressures for development and commercialization (Fig. 21), and the built heritage is presented in the language of rediscovery, survival, and regeneration. The question of authenticity is central to the discussion on architecture in Baltistan because it is raised by local communities themselves, with different stakeholders claiming greater control over the historical narrative than others. Different dialects, religious affiliations, and kinship allegiances based on land settlement patterns mean that any attempt at a representative style will, by definition, fall short. And yet, architecture--the use of timber construction, intricate carving, and stupa-like roofs instead of domes and minarets (the more familiar symbols of global Islam)-- has created a unique identity for Baltistan, bringing it closer to neighboring regions of Ladakh and Kashmir. The message is one of diversity and unity, of allowing for difference to exist within shared cultural and aesthetic spaces.

Fig. 21. New hotels and resthouses under construction in Fairy Meadows, Chilas, 2024.

The Khanqah-i Maulah in Shigar has not received as much attention as the previous two examples, as evidenced by the minimal repairs that appear to have been made to both the exterior and interior (Fig. 22). According to the Urdu and English plaques placed at the entrance to the prayer hall, the structure was founded by Sayyid Shah Nasir Tusi, who arrived in the region from Chinese Turkestan around the turn of the seventeenth century (Fig. 23). One of four brothers who propagated Nurbakshi Sufism, Nasir Tusi settled in Shigar and built several mosques and shrines, of which the Khanqah-i Maulah is the most monumental surviving one, with a construction date of 1023 AH (which corresponds to 1614, but the plaque in English gives 1602, likely its foundation date).

Fig. 22. Khanqah-i Maulah, Shigar, 2024. Completed c. 1614. View of prayer hall through the courtyard.

Fig. 23. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Urdu plaque outside prayer hall.

Fig. 24. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Chinar tree and prayer hall.

The khanqah is in a quiet neighborhood with a towering Chinar (plane) tree in the courtyard (Fig. 24). The prayer hall is accessed through a columned portico, which, interestingly, is reminiscent of wooden talar of the Caspian region in Iran that would inspire the imperial architecture of both the Safavids and the Mughals. The remoteness of Shigar casts doubt on any tangible relationship between the sites, but rather points to the logic of the material – in this case, wood – itself. The interior is a double-height space, with large, intricately carved windows on the walls flanking the qibla wall and mihrab (Fig. 25, 26). Six small doors divide the lower register, opening into small cubical spaces meant for solitary meditation. Although a few are locked and some are used for storage, according to the caretaker, the ritual of confinement, chilla, is still observed by some devotees.

Fig. 25. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Interior view of qibla wall and mihrab in the prayer hall.

Fig. 26. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Interior view of window screen and meditation spaces.

The trabeated ceiling it comprised of horizontal beams arranged in a nine-squared grid, with tightly assembled perpendicular wooden slats. The central square of the grid is further divided into an octagon, the entire woodwork giving the impression of a tapestry. The beams rest on beautifully solid capitals transferring their loads down through tall columns. The skillfully wrought ceiling extends to the portico, giving a sense of continuity between the outside and the inside. (Fig. 27).

Figure 27. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. View of trabeated ceiling.

On one side of the khanqah are stairs that lead to a wide balcony adjacent to the large window screens of the main hall (Fig. 28). As evinced by the prayer carpets laid out on the balcony and the tasbih (prayer) beads and turbah (prostration) stones placed on a tray nearby, regular devotions take place on the balcony when the weather permits (Fig. 29). The space is most likely reserved for women devotees, who are often allocated balcony or alcove spaces within mosques and shrines. The availability of a view from the balcony into domestic spaces right next to the shrine also reinforces the possibility of such gendered use.

Fig. 28. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Exterior of second-floor summer/women’s prayer space.

Fig. 29. Khanqah-i Maulah, 2024. Second-floor summer/women’s prayer space.

The shrine is well-integrated into the urban and devotional fabric of its neighborhood, a testament to its longevity and continued centrality in the life of its patrons. It is, thus, reasonable to question the presence of the Urdu and English plaques, neither of which is remotely related to the local language, Balti. Indeed, language and indigeneity allow insights into understanding the choices made by local and non-local entities when it comes to architectural preservation in Baltistan.

The shrine’s longevity is noted on the plaques, along with a statement about its originality: the end of the English version reads, “There is no change in [the] Khanqah’s constructional material and design for more than four hundred years. Although it has been repaired so many times the material and way of construction is the same.” The plaques state that Nasir Tusi was succeeded by another shaykh, Mir Yahya, who established himself in Shigar and devoted his life to serving the community and the khanqah. His descendants continue to be the caretakers, mutawalli, of the shrine to this day. Indeed, their sustained relationship with the shrine is a clue to why these plaques are there in the first place. Are they there to confirm the originality of the structure (and the claims of the caretakers) or are they there to attract attention (and hence greater resources and increased tourism)? Both scenarios are likely true, and point to sometimes-competing motivations, between preserving local autonomy and garnering national attention.

Fig. 30. Roadside dry fruit store, Gilgit-Skardu Road, 2024.

Rapid commercial development in the service of a booming tourism industry, both domestic and international, puts pressure on what is preserved, by whom, and for whom (Fig. 30). The diversity of cultures and religious practices of the inhabitants of the towns and valleys of Gilgit-Baltistan is also fast coming under threat. Transnational Islam, coupled with the Pakistani nationalist project, have changed the ways in which people dress, pray, and conduct daily life. While the allegiances of residents are not easy for outsiders to always comprehend, the emphasis on Urdu and attention given to presenting an inclusive and moderate identity is one shared by many, even as anti-government protests erupt regularly in the capital and larger towns. Through it all, the built heritage, especially of mosques and shrines, is evidence that the past continues to inspire and give meaning to the present (Fig. 31). Architecture serves as a palimpsest as well as a blueprint, and provides a way of resisting the changes that threaten to alter the unique cultural identities that define Baltistan. How the local communities bring that same sensitivity to preserving the non-human and natural environment, remains to be seen.