I got back to Dushanbe and was thrown into working on making a film on Tajkistan’s sacred places. This anthropological project was one of the results of four years of research by the Anthropological Centre under Professor Muhammadali Muzaffar. The project was funded by the Christensen Fund USA and was thus something that we had to complete before their planned visit in exactly five days time.
So, F sent me the English text for the introduction which I then edited. Most of it was taken from the English version of the Professor’s books on Sacred Places. But some he translated himself, his English is excellent – so I was just there to put it into native speakers speech and to transform a body of information gleaned from various sources into a continuous text which flowed and would sound right on film.
Then there was footage from two groups of mazars: from Badakhshan and from Sogd, which Farid watched and tried to discover which mazar was being discussed. Sometimes not an easy, or an impossible task. Professor had met with the mazar keepers or mutawwali and listened to their stories about the myths and legends which surrounded their mazar. He had also talked to visitors there, about the purpose of their visit.
The Badakshan mazars were in the high places, centred on springs, trees and sacred stones, those in Sogd were more often the graves of famous people set in city graveyards.
There was a lot to do.
As F watched the films in the evening I sat next to him, not watching the footage but copying out the information from the books, editing the English as he discovered that they were talking about one mazar or another. Mazar of Khoja Abdullohi Balogardon, Mazar of Khoja Ayyubi Ansori, Mazar of Khoja Shakkar Husayn and Mazar of Zaynalobiddin. They were names to conjure with.
The stories were fabulous, talking of men coming out of the river bearing gold and water brought through the rocks of the mountain to gardens, of kings killing their baby sons for looking on the faces of his harem and children disappearing into the mountain but leaving their handprints behind.
And I copied them out of the book, understanding that these were not fables but truth to the mazar keepers as well as F and the Professor.
Each night I slept at the Professor’s house in their visitor’s room, where we had eaten the Eid feast on my first visit.
In the daytimes we went to the radio station, passport in hand to give into the security on the door. Through once grand corridors – worn and torn like most things in Tajikistan. But like many things on the eve of the 20 years celebration being repaired. Remont is everwhere.
Up on the first floor F was working with a young guy who could use the film making program, who went by the great name of Mohammadamin Mohammadaminov (which was difficult to fit into the credits!). He was a sound engineer by trade who was hoping to get into film work.
He worked in an office with two other guys, all of whom seemed to spend their time turning their speakers as loud as possible to do whatever work they were doing, or games they were playing, so that the joint cacophony of sound was annoying in the extreme. I couldn’t write there and in the times where I wasn’t recording, looked for a quieter place to work, in a random person’s office or studio, they must have thought who is this woman!
And my recording, I went down to one of the studios on the ground floor and there, the other side of a soundproof door with glass between me and the engineer and two large mikes in front of me, I recorded the text that I had written the night before, changing tenses modifying words spinning it into a story. And I read it like a story as well. F wanted it slow and so that’s what I tried to do, even if at times it was hard to take the tone of my voice seriously – I sounded like I was reading from the bible. But it was serious, and it was about the sacred. So a certain timbre seemed appropriate, or just laughable depending on your point of view. I leave to people to judge - once its on youtube!
During the recording the most difficult thing was the names, to say them naturally and correctly! Especially those with many syllables. Here I did my best.
After the recording I sat with the sound engineer and J as he deleted my pauses and tried to remedy where I had tripped up or garbled a word or a name. I got better at just repeating the offending phrase, so that less time was wasted trying to cut just that part out of the file. Not an easy task when the sound engineer does not speak English!
And then that file was saved on Mohammadamin’s computer and they took it and meshed it with the visuals to create the film.
I never thought that we would get it done in the time we did. F and I worked all the hours of the day. I felt that somehow I was giving birth to something, so being looked after by the professor and his family with care as I worked hard.
The next day, as I was once again at F's house, collecting my bags, I had lived like a hobo for the last two weeks, with contact lens fluid in one place, cleanish clothes in another and my laptop in the third. It was only my laptop that I was sure where it was! Going with me everywhere like my daemon.
We drank a couple of beers as he had promised in the dark period between days two and three, when it seemed as if we would never finish on time, and watched the film. There were a few points that I would have changed, mostly with what I had done. But in general I was really pleased, as were F and J.
And now it is finished. For a day I hardly knew what to do with myself! I had spent the last five days doing that and the last five days before that with N , so that at no point was I either on my own or able to do my own work.
The last couple of days have been staying with J , who as I write is singing a sweet sad song as she gets ready for us to go to the Professor’s house for lunch.
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Takhte Sangin
After the real work, the writing of notes and the taking of photos there was some time left in the day down in southern Tajikistan and we decided to find the Graeco-Bactrian site of Takhte Sangin which I knew was somewhere on the Amu Darya – which is today the border with Afghanistan. We found the site on my antiquities map, but it was no where near a road. Doubling back on ourselves we crossed the bridge at Shartuz and went down the left hand fork.
Just when we were about to give up hope – and not for the last time, we saw a sign Takhte Sangin signposted towards the cliffs of the Teshik-Tash range as I found out, through dusty fields where no one seemed to be working we snaked our way higher along the bumpy road, south towards the river. We hoped that our letters from the Academy of Sciences would be allow us access to what was surely a military zone. Suddenly we came to the top of the rise between the rocky cliffs and there was the river the Amu Darya of old, and behind Afghanistan hazy in the early evening light. We were quite alone as we took in the scene- wild and remote the river shining in the late sun. Borders are always areas of possibilities, of crossing, another culture and life brushing up against the one you’re in. But the border with Afghanistan speaks of dangers and drug smuggling, P and U were joking about selling N and me at the market across the border.
The road forked and forked again, signs forgotten and as I scanned articles to try and discover a more precise location we found out it was between the Teshik-Tash range and the river – just where we thought. We went down one ‘road’ thankful for the 4x4 until it disappeared in the dust and the same seemed to happen with the next, we knew it was inaccessible hard to reach, defensible at the time on the caravan route guarding the river to the other side of the Oxus from our side Transoxiana, the land which was named by the civilisations to the south. We drove around the cliff face on a treacherous road cut into the rock, unpaved and twisting round, so that we had to almost drive off one side before we swung in, hugging the cliff face, I was glad that P had told me that U was the best driver in TJ – I knew that he drove UN people so just sat back and enjoyed the ride.
We thought we must be on the right road now, but then the road again petered out and was split into mini crevasses and massive rocks. We sat and watched the tame roller birds, not knowing people as we discussed where next. Again we turned back. We could see the towers of the military posts on the border in the background.
We returned almost to where we saw the sign, P and N both assuring me that we would get there, if not today then they were not going to give up. Me too, appetite to find this site had been well and truly whetted. Then turning down another road, there was a boy riding a donkey who pointed us in the direction of a responsible adult – a farmer sweating from the fields, in wellingtons and a broad face from the steppes. He agreed to come with us and show us the way, we said we would only be half an hour, and back we went along the snaking cliff road – again down by the river with the sun lower and the hour later this time. We continued along the rock strewn road. Until two soldiers spotted us, well they could see us all along and beckoned us over, with whistles. We later found out they might have shot us if we hadn’t complied. And then the waiting game started as we explained and reexplained what we wanted and why we had come here, turned tail and returned, to a series of young soldiers posted here in this remote but key location for their military service. We waited for an officer to show our letters to. And waited as the sun got lower. Finally we drove to the camp, what we should have done at first, P reminded us he had said all along, obviously we hadn’t listened or he hadn’t persuaded us with any kind of loud argument!
And there we waited, until we thought that we would just have to go home anyway as it was getting dark when the final higher ranking officer came out, tall and older. N managed to persuade him that if we took one of his men with us to make sure we did nothing stupid could we go?
Mailash!
And then I knew that we would get there. So now we had two hitchhikers along for the ride, a farmer and the soldier, or as we later learnt a worker in uniform, and again we bumped along the road with the river on our right, and a barbed wire fence dotted with signs saying beware of the mines – the pictures left little to the imagination. One of the soldiers was kneeling down machine gun in hand, pointing at an unknown target, not in our direction, but still it was a scene that I had only ever seen on TV before.
And then suddenly in the shadow of a watchtower – we could take photos one way, but not towards the river – suddenly there were columns and ashlar masonry walls, such as have never seen in the Central Asian mud brick architecture.
I imagined the Temple of the Oxus – a fire temple built to a river god, covering the bases as it were, and the site full of gold. Some now in the British Museum and other parts scattered to the winds of the world.
The site is large and as my info said, largely inaccessible between the mountains and the river – on the narrow stretch of valley between the two. It was a Graeco-Bactrian site so founded in the 3rd Century BCE. This temple controlled the river crossing on the ancient caravan routes and information highways between Iran, India, China, Afghanistan and Transoxiana the area we now call Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.
Archaeologists speak of an ancient citadel with palace buildings around a spacious square, paved with large bricks. Takhte Sangin – the name means stone platform, and certainly the stone surprises here, eyes which have been used to clay brick. The temple of the Oxus was built in the 3rd century BCE. It was here that offerings were placed over centuries. Gold, ivory and more gold.
The ‘soldier’ told us that we could take photographs towards the site, but not in the other direction towards the river where a watchpost towered over the ruins.
He pointed out some steps going down in the direction of the river, saying that a few Turkish people had tried to dig under the river(!) I was skeptical about this, would take more than a few people, Turkish or otherwise to dig under that mighty river. What was more likely it was people trying to dig under the mine fields, but why they would do this just under a watch tower seems a bit odd. However with the walls and trenches of the dig, there was better cover here than elsewhere on that dusty river plain.
My friends returned again a few weeks later and noticed that some of the stones had been moved, whether by the army or someone protected by them? Makes me angry that people just think they can do this…
We later discovered that we weren’t meant to be there in this sensitive border area, especially the couple of foreigners. A couple of days prior had been an incident – read a drug smuggling operation so the border area was meant to be well and truly closed.
For anyone else who wants to visit - apparently the way to do it apparently, or that is what we were told, is to inform the military base at Shartuz that you are coming and then they will inform this base. However when my friends did that a few weeks later - there was still a rigmarole to get in. Seems the easiest way to do it is just p-p-pick up a soldier.
We left with the feeling driving back hugging the cliff face on that treacherous road in the dark feeling we truly had an adventure…. Touching a piece of the past rarely seen, especially by foreigners.
Just when we were about to give up hope – and not for the last time, we saw a sign Takhte Sangin signposted towards the cliffs of the Teshik-Tash range as I found out, through dusty fields where no one seemed to be working we snaked our way higher along the bumpy road, south towards the river. We hoped that our letters from the Academy of Sciences would be allow us access to what was surely a military zone. Suddenly we came to the top of the rise between the rocky cliffs and there was the river the Amu Darya of old, and behind Afghanistan hazy in the early evening light. We were quite alone as we took in the scene- wild and remote the river shining in the late sun. Borders are always areas of possibilities, of crossing, another culture and life brushing up against the one you’re in. But the border with Afghanistan speaks of dangers and drug smuggling, P and U were joking about selling N and me at the market across the border.
The road forked and forked again, signs forgotten and as I scanned articles to try and discover a more precise location we found out it was between the Teshik-Tash range and the river – just where we thought. We went down one ‘road’ thankful for the 4x4 until it disappeared in the dust and the same seemed to happen with the next, we knew it was inaccessible hard to reach, defensible at the time on the caravan route guarding the river to the other side of the Oxus from our side Transoxiana, the land which was named by the civilisations to the south. We drove around the cliff face on a treacherous road cut into the rock, unpaved and twisting round, so that we had to almost drive off one side before we swung in, hugging the cliff face, I was glad that P had told me that U was the best driver in TJ – I knew that he drove UN people so just sat back and enjoyed the ride.
We thought we must be on the right road now, but then the road again petered out and was split into mini crevasses and massive rocks. We sat and watched the tame roller birds, not knowing people as we discussed where next. Again we turned back. We could see the towers of the military posts on the border in the background.
We returned almost to where we saw the sign, P and N both assuring me that we would get there, if not today then they were not going to give up. Me too, appetite to find this site had been well and truly whetted. Then turning down another road, there was a boy riding a donkey who pointed us in the direction of a responsible adult – a farmer sweating from the fields, in wellingtons and a broad face from the steppes. He agreed to come with us and show us the way, we said we would only be half an hour, and back we went along the snaking cliff road – again down by the river with the sun lower and the hour later this time. We continued along the rock strewn road. Until two soldiers spotted us, well they could see us all along and beckoned us over, with whistles. We later found out they might have shot us if we hadn’t complied. And then the waiting game started as we explained and reexplained what we wanted and why we had come here, turned tail and returned, to a series of young soldiers posted here in this remote but key location for their military service. We waited for an officer to show our letters to. And waited as the sun got lower. Finally we drove to the camp, what we should have done at first, P reminded us he had said all along, obviously we hadn’t listened or he hadn’t persuaded us with any kind of loud argument!
And there we waited, until we thought that we would just have to go home anyway as it was getting dark when the final higher ranking officer came out, tall and older. N managed to persuade him that if we took one of his men with us to make sure we did nothing stupid could we go?
Mailash!
And then I knew that we would get there. So now we had two hitchhikers along for the ride, a farmer and the soldier, or as we later learnt a worker in uniform, and again we bumped along the road with the river on our right, and a barbed wire fence dotted with signs saying beware of the mines – the pictures left little to the imagination. One of the soldiers was kneeling down machine gun in hand, pointing at an unknown target, not in our direction, but still it was a scene that I had only ever seen on TV before.
And then suddenly in the shadow of a watchtower – we could take photos one way, but not towards the river – suddenly there were columns and ashlar masonry walls, such as have never seen in the Central Asian mud brick architecture.
I imagined the Temple of the Oxus – a fire temple built to a river god, covering the bases as it were, and the site full of gold. Some now in the British Museum and other parts scattered to the winds of the world.
The site is large and as my info said, largely inaccessible between the mountains and the river – on the narrow stretch of valley between the two. It was a Graeco-Bactrian site so founded in the 3rd Century BCE. This temple controlled the river crossing on the ancient caravan routes and information highways between Iran, India, China, Afghanistan and Transoxiana the area we now call Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.
Archaeologists speak of an ancient citadel with palace buildings around a spacious square, paved with large bricks. Takhte Sangin – the name means stone platform, and certainly the stone surprises here, eyes which have been used to clay brick. The temple of the Oxus was built in the 3rd century BCE. It was here that offerings were placed over centuries. Gold, ivory and more gold.
The ‘soldier’ told us that we could take photographs towards the site, but not in the other direction towards the river where a watchpost towered over the ruins.
He pointed out some steps going down in the direction of the river, saying that a few Turkish people had tried to dig under the river(!) I was skeptical about this, would take more than a few people, Turkish or otherwise to dig under that mighty river. What was more likely it was people trying to dig under the mine fields, but why they would do this just under a watch tower seems a bit odd. However with the walls and trenches of the dig, there was better cover here than elsewhere on that dusty river plain.
My friends returned again a few weeks later and noticed that some of the stones had been moved, whether by the army or someone protected by them? Makes me angry that people just think they can do this…
We later discovered that we weren’t meant to be there in this sensitive border area, especially the couple of foreigners. A couple of days prior had been an incident – read a drug smuggling operation so the border area was meant to be well and truly closed.
For anyone else who wants to visit - apparently the way to do it apparently, or that is what we were told, is to inform the military base at Shartuz that you are coming and then they will inform this base. However when my friends did that a few weeks later - there was still a rigmarole to get in. Seems the easiest way to do it is just p-p-pick up a soldier.
We left with the feeling driving back hugging the cliff face on that treacherous road in the dark feeling we truly had an adventure…. Touching a piece of the past rarely seen, especially by foreigners.
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