For folks driving eastward from Delhi, the expressway to Meerut is a great experience—India’s widest access-controlled road of its type. But for history buffs, there is greater joy in plunging into the countryside to seek nuggets of the past rather than symbols of modernity.
Such a journey, especially in winter, is a drive through Sugarcane Country. The road passes through a scenic landscape—sugarcane fields on one side and a canal on the other, punctuated irregularly by brick kilns. At some spots, the air is tinged with the pungent smell from sugar-processing factories. More acceptable is the jaggery sold by roadside hawkers, each claiming to offer purer wares than his neighbour.
Somewhere amidst these unchanged fields, Meerut district gives way to Baghpat. On the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) list for Baghpat is the intriguingly named “Mound known as Lakha Mandap” in Barnawa. On reaching the site, the only fragment of Barnawa’s past that still stands seems to be a mosque, which is said to date to the Mughal era. However, layers of whitewash make its inscription unreadable, so one takes the caretaker’s word and moves on.
A peculiar hillock beckons outside town—a solitary rise surrounded by flat fields, with no other hills in sight, near where the Hindon and Krishni rivers meet. This is not a hill but a mound, as confirmed by the ASI signage. On one side is a medieval chhatri, said to be the tomb of a Sufi called Badruddin Shah—but there is no grave. A path on the other side leads to what looks like the mouth of a tunnel, which is said (as per Mahabharat legend) to be the escape route used by the Pandavas and their mother when fleeing a burning palace. Welcome to Varnavat—better known locally as Barnawa—just one of the oddities in a region that includes iconic sites like Sanauli, where ancient chariots were unearthed.
Half an hour away is Sardhana—a Christian island in a sea of Jat and Muslim peasantry. Ask anyone here today about Farzana Zeb un-Nissa, and you may draw blank stares. Ask about Begum Samru, however, and you’ll get a look of pride.
Originally a dancing girl, Farzana married a European mercenary who received Sardhana as a jagir. After his death, she took charge and ruled until her death in 1836. Her services to the Mughal emperor even enabled her to build a haveli in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk.
During an anarchic time when Mughal authority was crumbling, the Begum played her cards astutely. Initially allied with the Marathas, she switched to the British after their 1803 victory. After converting to Christianity, she built churches in both Sardhana and Meerut—and even wrote to the Pope to request a bishop. The Sardhana church is a grand blend of Italian and Islamic design. Now known as the Basilica of Our Lady of Graces, it became a minor basilica in 1961 and is considered the largest shrine of its kind in North India.
This unique East-West confluence is also reflected elsewhere in Sardhana. The Catholic cemetery here contains tombs with more Islamic than Christian styling—possibly the result of Christian soldiers marrying local Muslim women. Sardhana remains a remarkable outpost in the heart of Sugarcane Country.
Not all heritage has fared as well. About an hour northeast of Sardhana is Mujhera village in Muzaffarnagar district. The ASI list describes an “Octagonal wall” here. Replace the “a” in “wall” with an “e,” and you get closer to reality: a massive, intact baoli (stepwell). The octagonal well shaft remains, though vegetation is beginning to take over, and the structure is no longer in use.
Mujhera is also home to four imposing Mughal-era tombs of red sandstone and marble. These belong to a family of Sayyids who were told to trace their lineage directly to the Prophet, who migrated here from what is now Iraq. The local community respects the site, but that alone may not be enough to preserve these structures over time.
Twenty-seven kilometres south, on the road back to Meerut, lies perhaps the biggest disappointment of the trip. Raised on stories from the Mahabharat, one arrives at Hastinapur dreaming of ancient palaces—only to find a semi-excavated mound that once served as the Kuru capital. Today, Hastinapur is better known for its Jain temples.
Adding some levity to the scene is the sight of nearly every shop here keeping a stout stick—or lathi—handy. It’s not for security but for driving away monkeys eager to snatch food and belongings. Perhaps a lingering spirit of the Kauravas?
Finally, one reaches Meerut, a city where much of the ancient and medieval past has been buried under chaotic urban growth. Still, with effort, you can find remnants of the Mughal, post-Mughal, and British periods. One such treasure is Shahpeer ka Maqbara, built in 1628 by Empress Nur Jahan. Its red sandstone was hauled from near Agra, underlining the Sufi’s significance. Graceful jaalis and stone arches still draw pilgrims.
Another gem is the dargah of Najaf Ali Shah. Less fortunate is Abu ka Maqbara, the tomb of Abu Mohammad Khan, Meerut’s governor, who died in 1688. Once surrounded by a garden, the site is now hemmed in by squatters and shelters goats instead of glory. A possible case of karmic revenge?
Meerut played a crucial role in 1857’s First War of Independence, a history honoured at the Shaheed Smarak and Museum. Several 19th-century temples still survive—the Digambar Jain Temple, Kali Paltan Temple, and Panchmukhi Temple, among others.
Wander further, and you’ll spot old Havelis and civic structures like the Mukandi Devi Dharamshala, built in 1915 by a wealthy merchant, and Meerut’s Town Hall, built in 1886 by the British. Their architectural styles and red sandstone echo changing regimes. The nearby Clock Tower (Ghantaghar) is now both a heritage marker and a traffic bottleneck.
The city also retains a substantial military presence dating back to colonial times. In the cantonment, you'll find St. Joseph’s Cathedral, originally built by Begum Samru in 1834 (though heavily modified since), and St. John’s Church, built in 1819 as a British Army garrison church. Inside is a massive pipe organ shipped from England—now sadly silent. Next door is a British-era cemetery, the oldest graves dating to 1803.
These are merely glimpses into a region where nearly every village hides a slice of history. But a word of caution: if you stumble upon the horrifying black goo used to make jaggery in some pits here, you might swear off sweets forever. In Sugarcane Country, perhaps it’s best to stick to the heritage.
