The Fearless Woman of Dera Ghazi Khan

: The Fearless Woman of Dera Ghazi Khan
By Hassan Akhtar

In the Saraiki-speaking regions of southern Punjab, names like Tagi and Taga were once common among men and women alike. But with time, they’ve faded away—victims of modernization and linguistic shame. As people began speaking Urdu with their children, their mother tongues suffered. Ancient words and names, once full of meaning, now seem strange and empty to the new generation.

But our story is not about language alone. It’s about Tagi, a woman whose name once echoed across the plains of Dera Ghazi Khan—a tall, striking, and fearless figure who lived by her own code.

Tagi was, by profession, a bandit. Yet she wasn’t the kind you’d imagine lurking in the shadows to harm the helpless. She had her own rules. The villages surrounding her home were her protected zone. She never stole from her own people. Her targets lay far beyond her native soil, where her name carried both fear and fascination.

Legend has it that a young man once fell hopelessly in love with her. He would wander at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous beauty. Tagi always worked alone, and for many nights he failed to find her. Then one fateful night, their paths crossed.

Startled, Tagi demanded to know what he was doing wandering so late. The young man, trembling yet determined, confessed his love and offered to join her in her dangerous adventures. Tagi, however, was already married. She refused him gently—but when he tried to grab her hand, she twisted his arm so forcefully that not only did his passion evaporate, but his bone broke in two places.

That was Tagi—beautiful but unbreakable.

Some time later, Tagi became pregnant. Even that didn’t stop her from her nightly raids. One night, while passing through a graveyard, labor pains struck suddenly. Alone under the cold moonlight, she gave birth to a baby girl. She cleaned herself and the child in a nearby pond, wrapped the infant in her shawl, and placed her gently inside the hollow trunk of a tree before heading out to complete her robbery.

Hours later, the newborn began to cry from hunger. A stray dog, drawn by the sound, managed to pull the baby out of the hollow. Meanwhile, Tagi successfully completed her heist and rushed back to retrieve her child. What she saw froze her in place—the dog was carrying the infant away in its mouth.

She screamed, chased the animal down, and rescued her daughter. The child was alive. Tagi nursed her there under the stars and took her home. That little girl would grow up to be Tagi’s only child—the one pure light in her otherwise dark world.

Years passed. One day, a wandering Pathan tribe camped near Tagi’s village. Their leader possessed two large jars filled with gold coins, guarded day and night by two fierce hounds. The Pathan, full of pride, announced to everyone, “If Tagi or any other thief can steal my gold, I’ll forgive them. But I know they can’t. My dogs never fail.”

Tagi, hearing this, sent a polite message:
“You’re in my territory, and as my guest, I won’t trouble you.”

The Pathan laughed mockingly. His scorn stung Tagi’s pride.

Weeks later, after the tribe had moved to a new campsite, Tagi decided to teach him a lesson—not out of greed, but to settle the score. Her clever mind devised a daring plan. She captured a female dog from a nearby village and, under the cover of darkness, approached the Pathan’s camp.

Long before she reached the tents, the Pathan’s dogs picked up the scent of the female and bolted toward it, barking wildly. Tagi quickly set the captured dog down and slipped silently into the camp.

Inside, the Pathan slept deeply, confident in his dogs’ vigilance. Without making a sound, Tagi lifted the two heavy jars of gold, balanced them on her head, and began her journey back. On the way, she picked up the female dog again, ensuring the two male hounds followed her all the way home.

At dawn, the Pathan woke to find his gold and his dogs gone. Furious and humiliated, he followed their tracks straight to Tagi’s village. There he found his dogs calmly tied outside her house.

He confronted Tagi, his pride shattered. “At least tell me,” he pleaded, “how did you do it?”

Tagi smiled. “Your dogs weren’t guarding your gold—they were guarding their hearts. I simply gave them something they loved more.”

The Pathan couldn’t help but laugh, admiring her wit and courage. He said, “You’ve beaten me fair and square. Keep the gold. Just promise me one thing—leave this life behind.”

Tagi agreed. True to her word, she gave up banditry and lived the rest of her life in peace, raising her daughter with the strength and honor that had defined her own wild youth.

In the villages of Dera Ghazi Khan, her name still lingers in whispers—Tagi, the fearless woman who outsmarted men, beasts, and fate itself.