On 5 September 2025, the Times of Central Asia published an article titled “Trans-Afghan Railway: Can Uzbekistan Build a Railway Through Afghanistan to Reach the Sea?” Reading it stirred something deep within me. The piece was not just about steel tracks or trade corridors – it was about dreams, history, and the future of a region I have long been passionate about: Central Asia.
I am not a political analyst; I am an engineer by training and a student of history by passion. Having worked in Afghanistan and witnessed the landscape of its geography and politics up close, I feel a personal connection to the idea of connectivity between Pakistan and Central Asia by rail. This is not just a policy debate for me – it is a lifelong vision tied to my family history, my professional journey, and my fascination with the region’s rich past.
When the Soviet Union withdrew its last troops from Afghanistan on 15 February 1989, ending its long and bloody war, the region entered a new and uncertain chapter. That very moment coincided with the beginning of my own career. Just two months earlier, I had started my first job as a Junior Engineer. For me, the Soviet withdrawal was not only a historical milestone; it was also a symbolic reminder of how deeply Afghanistan and its neighbors were tied to global currents of power, conflict, and change. Standing at the threshold of my professional life, I wondered how this region – so often defined by wars – might instead be remembered for bridges, trade, and railways.
My fascination with Central Asia is also deeply personal. From my mother’s side, my family traces its lineage back to Bukhara. This explains why many families in Pakistan carry the name Bukhari, as their ancestors once migrated southward from that historic Central Asian city. History was not abstract for me – it lived in the stories of my elders and in the books I devoured as a student. In my school years, I read the Baburnama twice. These memoirs of Zahīr ud-Dīn Muhammad Bābur, the founder of the Mughal Empire, fascinated me. Born in Andijan in the Ferghana Valley (modern-day Uzbekistan), Babur’s life was a reminder of how Central Asia and South Asia have always been linked – through migration, culture, politics, and ambition.
In 1992, I made my first trip to Tashkent. The journey was more than a visit; it was a pilgrimage to the heart of a region I had admired from afar. That first encounter left an indelible mark on me, and more than three decades later, my passion for Central Asia remains unending.
Long before modern projects and international agreements, history itself carved the routes of connectivity. The Khyber Pass, lying between present-day Pakistan and Afghanistan, has for centuries served as a gateway between Central and South Asia. Caravans laden with silk, spices, and stories once passed through its rugged cliffs. Empires – from the Mughals to the British – understood its importance. And in the 20th century, the British undertook one of their most ambitious engineering feats in the region: the Khyber Railway.
The Khyber Railway, opened in 1925, was not just a track; it was a statement. Built to connect Peshawar with Landi Kotal near the Afghan border, the railway required 34 tunnels, numerous bridges, and ingenious engineering to cut through the treacherous landscape. The line rose from 1,500 feet at Jamrud to 3,500 feet at Landi Kotal, using zigzag “W”-shaped turns where locomotives had to push and pull simultaneously. Among its tunnels, the Kafir Tangi tunnel was the longest, a marvel of its time. The project cost millions of rupees, but its true price lay in the politics of the Afridi tribes, whose cooperation was essential.
British officials like Colonel Gordon R. Hearn and Victor Bailey worked on the design, but equally important were the negotiations with local tribes. Initially resistant, fearing the railway would curtail their freedom, the Afridis eventually agreed after incentives such as tribal allowances, contracts, and employment opportunities were offered. The lesson was clear: railways could not be built by force alone; they required trust, incentives, and shared prosperity.
The Khyber Railway was inaugurated on 21 November 1925, with great ceremony. It was later extended to Landi Khana, just two miles short of the Afghan border, but closed in 1932 at the insistence of the Afghan government. Though trains no longer run through the Khyber Pass, the railway remains a symbol of what is possible when vision, engineering, and political will converge.
Fast forward to modern times. In 1997, the Asian Development Bank (ADB) launched the Central Asia Regional Economic Cooperation (CAREC) Program, aimed at encouraging economic cooperation and connectivity among Central and South Asian countries. The dream was ambitious: to revive the ancient Silk Road through modern transport corridors, linking landlocked Central Asian states to markets and ports. Among the envisioned routes were Corridor 5 and Corridor 6, which pass through Pakistan and Afghanistan, connecting Central Asia to the Arabian Sea.
Yet, more than two decades later, much of this vision remains on paper. Few recall that on 7 July 2010, a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) was signed in Islamabad between the governments of Pakistan and Afghanistan to explore railway cooperation. The MOU was never fully implemented, a victim of shifting politics, conflict, and bureaucracy.
Despite geographical proximity and strong demand, trade between Pakistan and Central Asia remains minimal. Pakistan’s exports to the Central Asian Republics (CARs) accounted for less than 1% of their imports in 2016. Afghanistan, with which Pakistan’s trade had nearly doubled by 2015, saw a 30% drop in flows in just two years. While these figures are not current, they highlight the long-standing underperformance of regional trade despite repeated policy initiatives.
Pakistani products such as surgical instruments, textiles, fruits, rice, sugar, and cement are in demand, yet face barriers of logistics and connectivity. The road between Peshawar and Kabul, passing through the Khyber Pass, still serves as a crucial artery – part of CAREC Corridors 5 and 6 – but without rail integration, its potential remains underutilized.
Among the boldest modern projects is the Trans-Afghan Railway, designed to connect Mazar-i-Sharif in northern Afghanistan to Peshawar in Pakistan via Kabul. The project was first discussed during the visit of Uzbekistan’s Deputy Prime Minister Sardor Umurzakov to Pakistan in September 2020. On 27 December 2020, the heads of state of Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan signed a joint appeal to the World Bank for financing. In February 2021, Tashkent hosted the first trilateral joint working group, which produced a roadmap for cooperation. By 2022, Pakistan and Uzbekistan had agreed to expedite the project through the creation of a special purpose vehicle (SPV).
If completed, the Trans-Afghan Railway would provide the shortest route from Central Asia to Pakistan’s deep-water ports at Karachi and Gwadar, reduce transport costs for landlocked economies like Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan, and revitalize Afghanistan’s role as a bridge rather than a barrier.
Pakistan itself inherited a rich but underutilized railway network. The first line was built in 1861, connecting Karachi to Kotri. By 1947, Pakistan inherited 5,048 miles from the colonial North Western State Railway. Extensions were made in the 1950s and 70s, but since then, progress has stagnated. Today, road transport dominates, while the freight share of rail has steadily declined. Problems include deteriorated infrastructure, outdated rolling stock, inefficient pricing, and poor customer orientation.
The China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) offers some hope. Plans to upgrade Main Line 1 (ML-1) and eventually Main Line 3 (ML-3) could modernize the backbone of Pakistan Railways. If linked with the Trans-Afghan Railway, these upgrades could position Pakistan as the natural gateway for Central Asian trade.
The story of the Khyber Railway offers timeless lessons. The British learned that infrastructure projects in tribal and contested regions succeed only when local communities are offered economic incentives, employment, and inclusion. Today, regional governments must heed the same lesson. Connectivity cannot be imposed; it must be built on trust and shared prosperity. For Afghanistan, that means involving local communities in construction and ensuring they benefit economically. For Pakistan and Central Asia, it means prioritizing mutual trade and people-to-people contact over short-term politics.
In a world increasingly defined by regional blocs and trade corridors, the fate of Central and South Asia depends on whether they choose connectivity or isolation. For Central Asia, access to Pakistan’s ports could dramatically reduce transport costs and boost competitiveness. For Pakistan, greater trade with Central Asia could diversify markets and reduce dependence on limited partners. For Afghanistan, railways could turn geography from a curse into a blessing, making it a crossroads of commerce rather than a battleground.
As I reflect on my own journey – from reading the Baburnama as a student, to working as a young engineer during the Soviet withdrawal, to traveling to Tashkent in 1992 – I see how deeply my life has been intertwined with the history and destiny of Central Asia. Almost 35 years after the independence of Central Asian states, much of the railway connectivity remains unrealized. Yet my dream endures: to one day see a train departing from Tashkent or Mazar-i-Sharif, crossing Kabul, passing through the Khyber, and arriving in Pakistan. That train would not just carry goods; it would carry hope, peace, and the promise of prosperity for millions.
The vision of railway connectivity between Central Asia and Pakistan is not a new dream. It is rooted in centuries of history, from Babur’s migrations to the Khyber caravans, from the British-built railways to the CAREC corridors of today. What makes this dream urgent now is that the region can no longer afford missed opportunities. Landlocked economies need access; Pakistan needs new markets; Afghanistan needs stability. Railways offer all three.
For me, this is not an abstract policy idea. It is a personal passion, a professional interest, and a historical calling. The Times of Central Asia article reminded me that the dream is alive. And as someone who has lived, worked, and dreamed in the shadow of this region’s history, I still believe: the future of Central Asia and Pakistan lies on the tracks of a railway yet to be built.
The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the publication, its affiliates, or any other organizations mentioned.
