Bahawalpur is one of those places where history comes alive. Nestled on the edge of the Cholistan Desert, it’s a city that pulses with the echoes of royal grandeur, ancient forts and stories carried on the wind. That royal grandeur, the ancient forts and the stories—those are the whispers you hear most of the time. But once a year, those whispers are drowned out by the thunder of the Bahawalpur Jeep Rally.
I wasn’t just a spectator that year. I was part of it. And nothing—no story you hear in a chai dhaba, no adrenaline-fueled clip on social media—can prepare you for the grit, the grind and the sheer glory of that rally. You have to experience it, feel it, be there.
People often ask why anyone would make the trek to the edge of a desert to watch jeeps race through sand. Those who’ve been there, though—those who’ve felt that desert wind slice across their face—know this is more than just a race. It’s a ritual. A celebration of courage, engineering and human will.
Why Bahawalpur? Why Jeep Rally!
The Bahawalpur Jeep Rally—part of the Cholistan Desert Rally series—started in 2005. Over the years, it’s become one of South Asia’s top off-road motorsport events. Drivers from all over the country—and beyond—bring their modified machines to battle the terrain and each other.
That’s not a road trip. That’s where steel meets sand. Where man and machine dance at the edge of control.
My friends Tayyab and Umair were with me on this escapade. The kind of friends who don’t ask “why” when you pitch something wild. They just ask “when are we leaving?” We left Lahore before sunrise, jeep loaded, playlist ready. The drive to Bahawalpur took us across Punjab’s patchwork of cities, fields and dusty roadside stalls. As we got closer to the desert, the air got drier, sharper. You could tell the desert wasn’t far.
We arrived in Bahawalpur by afternoon, checked into a guesthouse and rested up for the jeep rally the next day. Or rather, we were already racing in our bones.
Day of the Rally: Engines, Energy & Euphoria
There’s something primal about the sound of engines in the morning. It’s like a war cry. By 7 AM the jeep rally site was buzzing. Jeeps lined up like beasts in a cage. Mechanics tightened bolts, checked fluids. Drivers walked around like gladiators before battle—nervous, hyped, focused.
Spectators, locals and tourists alike had gathered in droves. Entire families had set up camp. Food stalls were frying parathas and kebabs. Children ran barefoot, mimicking jeeps with their arms outstretched. This wasn’t just a sporting event—it was a full blown festival.
Then the start. One by one the jeeps launched into the desert, engines roaring, tires digging into the sand. The dust they kicked up formed ghostly trails, tracing their path like desert brushstrokes. Every turn, every jump, every sudden climb had us gasping and cheering.
The Track: A Trial by Sand
The jeep rally’s track is no joke—226 kilometers of unforgiving terrain, across dunes, rocky patches and winding trails. It’s designed not just to test the driver’s skill but the soul of the vehicle itself. One wrong move, one second of hesitation and you’re buried axle deep in sand.
But here’s the thing: it’s not just about speed. It’s about rhythm. The way a driver reads the land, listens to their machine and responds in real time. It’s a language not many speak but those who do—you can see it in their eyes. They’re not driving. They’re dancing.
Desert Dust and Local Legends
As the jeeps tore across the desert like hungry beasts, we moved to different vantage points, chasing better views like nomads chasing shade. Each spot told a different story. At one bend, we saw a modified Land Cruiser claw its way out of a ditch that looked like the earth itself had tried to swallow it. At another, a Suzuki pickup—yes, a humble Suzuki—zoomed by with unexpected grace and got a loud cheer from the crowd. In this jeep rally, it wasn’t always about horsepower. It was about heart.
The crowd had its own rhythm. Locals in shalwar kameez, their heads wrapped in cotton scarves, stood beside city slickers with DSLR cameras and neon vests. You could feel the unspoken bond—a shared awe. And the pride in the air? It was thicker than the dust.
A man next to us, a weathered farmer from a nearby village, pointed towards one of the jeeps with a gleam in his eye.
“Woh mere bhatijay ka hai,” he said with pride. “Second baar participate kar raha hai. Khud tayar ki hai jeep.”
That jeep didn’t win. But it didn’t need to. It was already a story of grit and village-built engineering—Pakistan’s own brand of brilliance.
Cholistan’s Backdrop: Where History Speaks
In between the madness, there were quiet moments of beauty that caught us off guard. Cholistan Desert isn’t empty—it’s eloquent. In the distance, the crumbling outline of Derawar Fort stood like a guardian of centuries. It reminded us: before the jeeps, before the roads, this was a land of kings and caravans.
We took a break from the jeep rally heat to visit the fort for a bit. Standing before those massive walls, we felt the weight of history. Umair, who always had a poetic streak, said,
“Yaar, yahaan toh lagta hai waqt bhi ruk gaya hai.”
He was right. It did feel like time had stopped there.
Even the jeep rally, with all its speed and noise, seemed to bow down to this ancient land.
The People Behind the Madness
As the day wore on, we met some of the real heroes behind the scenes. Volunteers in bright vests were directing spectators. Medical teams were on standby. Local police were keeping things in order despite the chaos. And the drivers—those crazy daredevils—were taking quick interviews, sharing tips and posing for selfies with young fans. No ego, just energy.
We spoke with a female driver from Karachi, one of the few women participating that year.
“Log kehtay hain desert jeep rally ladkiyon ka kaam nahi,” she laughed, “Par jab aap dune par hotay ho, toh sirf aap aur steering wheel hotay hain. Aur koi nahi.”
She didn’t win, but she won every heart that heard her story.
These events aren’t just about speed. They’re about breaking norms, shattering molds and proving again and again: Pakistan has stories that need no polishing—they shine raw.
Food, Fire and the Festival Feel
As the sun went down the jeep rally slowed down. The racing stopped but the jeep rally festival came alive. Bonfires popped up everywhere. Food stalls went into overdrive. The smell of chapli kebabs, siri paye and masala chai filled the air.
We joined a group of locals around a fire. They were sharing stories, laughing, even singing old desert songs. The stars above seemed to stretch on forever and for a moment it felt like we were a part of something ancient—older than rallies, older than forts.
Tayyab leaned back and sipped his chai and said, “Bhai, jeep rally toh bahana hai. Asli maza toh yahaan ki hawa aur logon mein hai.”
And he was right. The jeep rally was the beat but the soul was the people. The land. The experience.
Lessons from the Desert
We left the jeep rally the next morning, our clothes still dusty, our shoes sandy and our hearts full.
The Bahawalpur Jeep Rally isn’t about luxury or comfort. It’s not your curated Instagram vacation. It’s raw, rugged and real. It tests your endurance not just as a driver but as a traveler, a listener, a witness.
It reminded me—and all of us—that the best journeys aren’t the ones where you see new places. They’re the ones where you come back a little more aware, a little more alive.
Beyond the Race: What the Jeep Rally Taught Me
The Bahawalpur Jeep Rally wasn’t just a weekend thrill—it stayed with me long after the dust had settled. It wasn’t the speed, the machines or even the desert that carved a space in my soul. It was something more: the essence of the place. The quiet wisdom of the dunes. The humble pride in every handshake. The fearless beauty in every engine’s roar.
In our cities we chase moments—deadlines, uploads, upgrades. But in Bahawalpur time stretches. It doesn’t hurry. It waits. The desert has seen centuries come and go, empires rise and fall, kings ride in and fade into dust. It doesn’t shout to be seen—it just is. And maybe that’s the real lesson the jeep rally taught me: that power isn’t always about acceleration. Sometimes it’s about being.
You don’t conquer the desert. You earn its respect.
The Ride We’ll Never Forget
Of course, every journey becomes something more when shared with the right people. Tayyab, with his non stop banter and sudden wisdom. Umair, quiet but sharp, the kind of guy who sees more than he says. Together we weren’t just three friends on a trip. We were witnesses to something bigger.
We laughed till our ribs hurt. Got lost more than once. Burned under the sun. Slept under stars. Shared silence that meant more than words ever could. And when the jeep rally ended, when the jeeps were packed and the crowd thinned out, we sat on the hood of our own humble ride, watching the last light fade.
“Yeh safar dobara repeat hoga,” I told them.
And they didn’t say anything.
They didn’t need to.
The Jeep Rally Ripple: More Than Entertainment
There’s something quietly revolutionary about events like the Bahawalpur Jeep Rally. They don’t just bring people together. They ignite places. They breathe life into forgotten corners of the map. Hotels fill. Local businesses thrive. Mechanics, guides, cooks, and even kids selling cold drinks by the roadside—all become part of the pulse.
It’s not just about tourism—it’s about recognition. Bahawalpur isn’t just a pit stop on the way to somewhere else. It is the destination. And it deserves to be known not just for what it was in the past, but for what it’s becoming—a bridge between history and the future.
As Pakistan dreams forward, we need more of this. More events that celebrate our landscapes. More stories that travel across borders. More reasons for the world to see our country not just through headlines, but through the raw, real adventures we live every day.
Tips for Fellow Travelers
If you’re planning to attend the Bahawalpur Jeep Rally next year—or any jeep rally in Pakistan’s vast deserts—here’s what I wish I knew:
- Travel light, but smart. Bring sunscreen, a scarf for dust, and a reusable water bottle. Comfort matters in the desert.
- Respect the land and its people. You’re a guest in a place older than your imagination. Listen more than you speak.
- Support local. From food stalls to jeep mechanics, buy local. Tip well. Appreciate openly.
- Stay after the race. Spend an extra day exploring. Visit Derawar Fort, meet local artisans, or just sit and breathe the desert air.
- Don’t just document—experience. Your phone can wait. The moment can’t.
Final Thoughts: Where the Road Leads Next
The road back from Bahawalpur was long, and oddly quiet. No engines roaring. No sandstorms in our wake. Just the hum of the road and the echo of what we’d just lived.
I looked out the window and thought about how much of life is like a rally. You prep, you launch, you stumble, you rise. You’re never fully in control, but you keep steering. Sometimes, it’s the detours that give the best view. And sometimes, you need to get lost in the dust to find your direction.So if you’re reading this and wondering if a jeep rally in a far-off desert is “worth it”—don’t overthink it. Just go.
Go for the thrill.
Go for the history.
Go for the silence between sandstorms.
Go to remember that Pakistan isn’t just a place on a map—it’s an unfolding story. And you? You’re a part of it.
Until next time, Bahawalpur—thank you for the dust, the dreams, and the drive.
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