A recent trip to Taxila filled me with a mix of awe, disappointment and confusion.

The newly constructed D-12 Margalla Avenue now provides a direct route from Islamabad to Taxila Museum. This set the stage for a day full of surprises. The museum, with its colonial-style architecture, surrounded by majestic trees and charming side buildings, is a captivating sight. In stark contrast, the city outside has transformed into a bustling hub of new commercial enterprises, and relentless traffic.

Once inside the museum, we were quickly approached by a self-appointed guide, who eagerly offered to lead us through the exhibits. He began with a grand introduction to the museum`s history, but soon shifted to a recent highlight: the arrival of a `tooth of Buddha.

As he dramatically repeated the word `Buddha`s tooth`, we suggested he use the simpler Urdu term, daant, since we weren`t foreign tourists and preferred straightforward language over an overly embellished English-Urdu mix. His storytelling, though passionate, often leaned toward exaggeration, especially when recounting the history of Buddhism in Taxila. However, what stood out more was his clear focus on monetary gain rather than delivering accurate information.

One wonders if these guides receive any formal training before being appointed by government departments.

The relics of Taxila Museum have the magic to transport you to a distant realm one that feels almost suspended in time. They tell the story of a region rich in history, much of which lay buried and largely unexcavated until colonial explorers unearthed it. The artefacts whisper the vernacular history of long-lost communities their daily lives reflected in jewellery, pottery, gemstones, weapons and, most significantly, their religious beliefs, captured in sculptures of gods and goddesses. These pieces offer a glimpse into an ancient world, its traditions and faiths carved and preserved in stone.

Yet, despite this wealth of history, the museum guides often dilute the experience by fixating on trivial or poorly presented details, sometimes even distorting facts.

HISTORIC SITES IN PERIL The state of the excavation sites was even more telling. As we moved on to two other sites, the actual ruins from which these artefacts were excavated, our disappointment grew.

At Sirkap, a sprawling area home to ruins dating back to Greek times, we came across a signboard that was particularly disheartening. It was riddled with errors, poor research and sloppy writing, full of typographical mistakes.

The site itself holds the remnants of a Jain temple, a sundial etched in the ground and a two-headed eagle stupa, all shrouded in historical intrigue. Yet, according to the sign, this was supposedly the site visited by one of Christ`s twelve apostles, surrounded by a jumble of absurd and inaccurate information. It was a glaring example of how negligence and misinformation can overshadow such rich heritage.

Even more concerning is the state of the Dharmarajika, a Unesco heritage site, located about three kilometres from the museum. Upon reaching the entrance, we were met not by an official caretaker, but by a gatekeeper guarding a private residence, belonging to a prominent figure a saheb of our times.The site, meant to be a shared historical treasure, is now enclosed by high walls and surrounded by the owner`s sprawling orange orchards, raising troubling questions about access and preservation. Curious about the situation, we approached the gatekeeper to learn more, who offered an intriguing account.

According to him, the property owner had constructed a boundary wall and gate, effectively restricting access to the stupa, claiming that the original path now ran through his land. The gatekeeper quoted his employer, who defended the gate as a measure to keep out trespassers and addicts.

However, he assured us that visitors and archaeology department employees were still allowed entry.

The proprietors, with their possessive attitude, view visitors not as seekers of history, but as intruders on their claimed territory. How can individuals be permitted to claim private ownership over spaces of such historical and cultural importance? Unesco`s 1972 World Heritage Convention, ratified by 167 nations including Pakistan, established guidelines for safeguarding natural and cultural treasures. Later, the 2001 UNESCO Underwater Convention reinforced the idea that cultural heritage should not be viewed merely through a local, ethnic or national lens. Taxila itself was designated a World Heritage Site in 1980, a recognition of its immense historical significance.

A SELECTIVE VIEW OF HISTORY Let us not overlook that Taxila was a crossroads of civilisations a place where diverse cultures converged, interacted and shaped one another. Though more frequently described as a commercial centre, Taxila was more than a passageway for Indian travellers: it was a hub of cross-cultural and intellectual exchange.

The remains of monastic cells provide a testament to the scholarly life that once flourished here. As the heart of Gandhara, Taxila attracted great intellectuals, including Panini (4th century BCE), a native of the city. Artistic reliefs link Gandharan culture to Hellenistic influences from Alexandria, while the discovery of ink pots from the turn of the Common Era suggests the presence of scribes and a thriving literary tradition.

As an entrepôt facilitating long-distance trade between India and Central Asia, Taxila was a vital centre of learning, frequently referenced in Buddhist Jatakas as a place of great intellectual significance. Described as a `flat and well-watered road`, it was a thriving network of Buddhist stupas and monasteries, strategically located beyond the urban centre.

The Dharmarajika stupa, constructed during Ashoka`s reign in the 3rd century BCE, and sites like Kalawan and Jaulian (built between the 2nd and 5th centuries CE)highlight its deep Buddhist connections.

Far from being a static relic of the past, Taxila was a dynamic place, shaped by a fascinating blend of deities and spiritual traditions, seemingly free from overt political ambitions.

Today, we selectively embrace aspects of our past, and often curate a history that is both inconsistent and romanticised. Yet, in our efforts to preserve a sanitised historical narrative, one that prioritises religion, tradition and an Islamic cultural identity, many of these relics and their stories are overlooked.

As one stands at these sites, they bear the marks of neglect, overtaken by local guides who follow relentlessly, their presence far from welcoming. The sacredness of the place seems lost, its spiritual aura dimmed, if not entirely diminished.

Undoubtedly, the widespread destruction of cultural legacies both tangible and intangible has already taken a devastating toll. Architecture, sacred sites, landscapes rich inheritage,folklore, dialects,languages, music, dance and indigenous arts have all suffered irreparable loss. While much of the cultural history we are taught is a carefully curated narrative, what about its material traces? This is where critical questions arise.

For instance, do we have any regulations governing urban development near heritage sites? How do we safeguard these relics and archaeological sites, which hold the power to tell our true history? Can we expect any preservation from a system driven by capitalist greed? How do we protect them from those who see them not as cultural treasures, but as lucrative real estate opportunities? The issue at hand is far greater than just preserving ancient ruins it is about preserving our own past. A society disconnected from its history is far less free to shape its future. Regrettably, the systems meant to protect and excavate such sites remain scattered, ineffective and ignored.

Taxila`s past is one of vibrant intellectual and cultural exchange. Yet today, it stands at risk claimed, neglected and forgotten.

This situation reflects not just the neglect of a heritage site, but a broader cultural and moral decline. Its fate raises urgent questions about how we choose to preserve history and what it means for our future.

The writer is a lecturer in the department of Humanities at COMSATS University in Islamabad. She can be contacted at ayesharamzan83@gmail.com