A Carpet Ride to Khiva: Seven Years on the Silk Road (4 page)

It was a relief to learn that celebrations here in Khorezm took place, more sensibly, in the evenings. Our hosts in Urgench were Rustam and Mukkadas. This couple – good friends of Lukas and Jeanette – were the pastor and his wife of the only Uzbek Christian church in the region. Despite official
harassment and regular visits from the secret police (formerly the KGB), they had been told by the authorities to register their church but were then denied registration by the same authorities on the grounds that there was no such thing as an Uzbek Christian; that they were both Uzbek and Christians was apparently inconsequential. Considered a threat by the local government, they were also
ostracised by their family and community on account of their faith, and accused of turning Russian. Both of them were determined to maintain their cultural traditions, and keen that their community recognise that they were still Uzbek and proud to be so. Circumcising their sons was a natural part of this, so a trip to hospital and the deed was done.

We arrived outside Mukkadas and Rustam’s
simple mud-brick house at sunset, greeted by the two young boys who hobbled awkwardly, wearing specially-made loose pyjamas. Boys were always circumcised aged three, five or seven, and often brothers or cousins were done together to save on costs. Each guest would congratulate them and stuff bank-notes into their clothing. The weather was freezing, but the abundance of plastic trestle-tables and
chairs made it clear that the celebrations would take place outside. I was looking forward to meeting Rustam and Mukkadas, but they were both busy organising food and Lukas went to help them. Catriona and Jeanette were led to a women’s table, while I was seated beside a group of young men from the neighbourhood. They nodded in my direction but were more concerned with pouring shots from a bottle
in a paper bag, disgusted that their hosts had not provided vodka – their main motivation for being there.

I picked up a slice of melon and discovered it had frozen. A live band blending keyboards and pre-programmed percussion with traditional stringed instruments and a large hand-held drum performed a deafening repertoire, accompanied by a professional dancer in a glittery outfit covered
in jangling metal tassels. Plates of plov arrived and I gratefully ate with my right hand, the rice and carrots warming my fingers. Groups of women – their faces animated by gossip – sat bundled in cardigans and scarves. A table of men nearby were busy toasting each other. My valiant attempts at small talk with other men on my table had petered out into awkward silences. I felt alone; an unnecessary
appendage to the established community around me.

This feeling persisted over the coming weeks. Other than brief forays to museums, I was stuck in the office, succumbing to a blend of boredom, listlessness and loneliness. Remembering my encounter with Zafar the wood-carver and his invitation to visit, I returned to his stall, but it was shut up for winter. The mud-brick madrassahs and city
wall that had glowed bronze in the autumnal sun were now grey and lifeless. Even the bazaar had lost its sparkle. Mounds of bright red peppers, yellow melons and stacks of fresh herbs were succeeded by lacklustre piles of drooping root vegetables. The gaudy sequin-and-glitter dresses worn by local women were now subsumed in layers of grey woollen shawls, the men all wearing uniform black leather
jackets.

* * *

I found colour only in Khiva’s history. Bundled in blankets, over which the occasional mouse scuttled, I curled up in bed reading tales of treachery, intrigue and political manoeuvring between imperial Russia and Britain. Khiva was to play a crucial role in pushing the Russian empire south towards India – their ultimate goal – and experienced three Russian invasions.

The first invasion in 1717 had ended in almost complete annihilation of the Russian troops. Battling against the Khan’s army and running short of water, they welcomed the Khan’s offer of a truce and discussion of terms. The wary Russians were welcomed into the city, the Khan apologising for the paucity of lodgings and explaining that the troops would be separated into smaller groups for more
comfortable accommodation. The Russian generals were suspicious but were overridden by their commander – an Azeri convert to Christianity – who understood the sanctity of hospitality and did not want to cause offence. Once divided, the Russians were promptly slaughtered – a remnant surviving and put to work with Persian slaves building the Mohammed Ghazi Khan madrassah.

The perfect pretext
for a second invasion was provided by the returning diplomat-cum-spy Captain Muraviev. He visited Khiva in 1820 and discovered the city’s bustling slave trade, bolstered by captured Russians. Most of the slaves were Persian Shi’ites – considered worse than infidels by the Sunni Turkmen and Khivans. Turkmen raiders captured them, forcing any Christians or Jews among them, who were considered ‘People
of the Book’, to convert to the Shi’ite faith first, making them infidels and thus worthy of slavery. Those who survived the long desert march were sold in the Khiva slave bazaar. Persian slave girls were the most popular additions to harems, while a young Russian male was considered the hardest-working and worth four camels.

Captain Muraviev narrowly avoided slavery and imprisonment himself.
He held audience with the Khan and was kept for a number of months under house arrest. During his first day in Khiva, he had seen the pitiful faces of Russian slaves in the crowds as they stared imploringly at him. The slaves made contact with him secretly through a message hidden in the barrel of a gun he’d sent for repairs:

‘We venture to inform your Honour that there are over 3,000 Russian
slaves in this place, who have suffered unheard of misery from labour, cold, hunger etc. Have pity on our unhappy situation and reveal it to the Emperor. In gratitude we shall pray to God for your Honour’s welfare.’

Later, Muraviev met one of the unfortunate slaves personally.

The old man’s name was Joseph Melnikov; he had been 30 years in slavery, was the son of a soldier, and had
only been married a week when he was seized by the Kirgiz near the fortress of Pretshistinsk and sold as a slave at Khiva. After 30 years of bitter bondage, when by daily and nightly work he had at length scraped together sufficient money to purchase his freedom, his master cheated him by accepting his savings, and, instead of setting him at liberty, selling him to someone else. (Captain Frederick
Burnaby,
A Ride to Khiva
, 1876)

The Russians had found their pretext, but waited until 1840 before acting. Summoning a vast army, they planned to attack Khiva in winter, fearing the scorching desert summers. Unfortunately they chose the coldest winter for decades and soon their army was decimated by scurvy, snow-blindness, hypothermia and wolves. Eventually they turned back, suffering massive
casualties without even a glimpse of the walled city.

It was clear that the Russians would not admit defeat, and the English stationed in Persia dispatched Captain Abbot to Khiva, hoping he could persuade Allah Kuli Khan to release the Russian slaves (now a mere 300 or so) and destroy any pretext for another invasion. Captain Abbot – a rather dour and mournful character – failed to impress
the Khan and narrowly avoided being buried up to the neck in the desert, a suggestion made by the Khan’s spiritual advisor. With no news from Abbot, a dashing young officer by the name of Richmond Shakespeare was sent to Khiva. He used his charm and eloquence to convince the Khan of an imminent Russian threat – despite their recent defeat – and the need to free all Russian slaves.

Reluctantly
the Khan complied, even releasing favourite slaves from his harem. The liberated Russians followed Shakespeare in a joyful exodus across the desert to Russian territory. The Tsar – privately livid – offered public gratitude to the British for this liberation, buying the Khanate of Khiva 30 more years before the Russians finally invaded successfully under General Kaufmann in 1873.

Trading
Persian and Kurdish slaves continued into the 20th century, ending only under the Bolsheviks. Slaves were not the only source of Khiva’s ethnic diversity. Alexander the Great had conquered Khorezm, his armies taking local wives and leaving a blond-haired, blue-eyed legacy. Invaders from the East had done likewise, and Mongolian features were also present. Some Khivans could pass for southern European,
while others would look at home in China or Indonesia.

* * *

Of the variety of mosques in Khiva, only one was allowed to function. This had been the way during the Soviet era, and the Uzbek authorities were wary of Islam and keen to maintain Soviet standards of control. The working mosque stood beside the Strongman’s Gate next to the fish-selling area of the bazaar. A row of painted
clocks announced the times for praying
namaz
– performed by pious Muslims five times a day, facing Mecca. Beside them
was a government ‘wanted’ poster of
wahabis
or Islamic fundamentalists. I arrived there with Catriona, unsure whether or not infidels were welcome to explore. We were soon put at ease by the gold-toothed mullah who was delighted that foreigners wanted to know more about the origins
of his mosque.

A walnut trader from Khiva, the mullah explained, had once discovered a large bag of gold coins at the bottom of one of his sacks. Assuming the money was cursed, he took the coins to the Khan. The Khan’s advisors – also fearful of a curse – advised the Khan to order a new mosque built with the money in order to alleviate any bad luck. The walnut trader had the money returned
and was granted a plot of land. The mosque took shape but the walls were only half-completed by the time the coins ran out. The resolute trader announced to the city that he would exchange a walnut for each brick provided for the mosque. And this, concluded the mullah, was how the mosque was completed.

I wanted to ask the mullah about religious freedom, but my language was limited and he
grew uncomfortable at the subject. We did find out that during the Soviet era, a complex system of informants had kept tabs on attendees. This system still flourished and anyone younger than an
aksakal
or white-beard was suspected of potential radical tendencies and risked interrogation or worse.

Khiva’s Friday mosque – with similar status to a European cathedral – was built to accommodate
the entire adult male population of Khiva. Its low wooden ceiling was supported by hundreds of carved wooden pillars, with a lamp-post in the middle of this pillar forest bathed in sunlight from the overhead window. The mosque was no longer a place of prayer and was frequented largely by tourists and illicit young couples who had discovered that the steep, dark minaret staircase made an ideal location
for passionate embraces. Unless one wheezed loudly while climbing to the top, it was quite common to catch couples hastily separating and brushing down rumpled clothing.

Gone were the days when the minaret had served for dispatching women suspected of improper behaviour. Adulterous women were trussed in sacks and thrown from the top. A captured Turkmen rebel had also been hurled to his death,
but a combination of crosswinds and his billowing baggy trousers ensured that he survived the fall. This was obviously the hand of Allah and the people assumed he would be spared. Instead, the merciless Khan had the luckless rebel taken back up to finish the job.

There were other draconian punishments illustrated in Khiva’s historic jail, now a macabre museum. Two forlorn-looking mannequins
were incarcerated, surrounded by paintings depicting ways in which they might be sent to the next world. The Hungarian traveller Arminius Vambery witnessed Turkmen rebels having their eyes gouged out, the sword wiped clean on their beards as they groped around in blind agony. Adulterous women not hurled from a minaret were placed in a sack of wild cats which was then beaten until the women were
scratched to death, or were stoned, as witnessed by Vambery:

The man is hung and the woman is buried up to the breast in earth near the gallows, and there stoned to death. As in Khiva there are no stones, they use Kesek (hard balls of earth). At the third discharge, the poor victim is completely covered with dust, and the body, dripping with blood, is horribly disfigured, and the death which
ensues alone puts an end to her torture. (Arminius Vambery,
Travels in Central Asia
, 1864)

Captain Muraviev, who had been so touched by the plight of his enslaved compatriots, wrote about the form of execution in vogue at the time of his visit.

Impalement is carried out in Khiva with still greater cruelty than attends it in Turkey. The stake is of wood and has a rather blunt point,
and, in order that the victim may not die too soon, his hands and feet are firmly bound. As soon, however, as the stake has entered pretty deep into his body, they are released again, when the tortured wretch increases his sufferings by his violent struggles. (Nicolai Muraviev,
Journey to Khiva through the Turkmen Country
, 1822)

* * *

Khiva’s history, though grisly, seemed for the
moment more interesting than its present. In search of excitement, I determined to explore the bazaar further. I learnt where the illicit money-changers loitered – their pockets bulging suspiciously – and where to buy gaudy wooden chests painted in bright magenta and turquoise with ‘May your wedding be blessed’ written on them. Not everything for sale was as it appeared. A stall sold rough wooden
pipes that had nothing to do with smoking. They were inserted between a baby’s legs before it was swaddled and strapped into a cradle, funnelling pee into a clay jar below.

Another stall sold packets of dark green mulch that looked like desiccated spinach. I assumed it was a spice of some kind but was told it was
nuzz.
Sprinkled onto the palm of the hand and tipped back into the cavity between
teeth and bottom lip, this blend of tobacco and something stronger caused a mild high, slurring of the speech and suppression of appetite. Used by all taxi-drivers, it rendered them incomprehensible to my untrained ear. After fifteen minutes or so, nuzz
lost its potency and was spat out. This proved dangerous when sitting in the back of a taxi, and on one occasion a large expectorated globule
blew back, spattering my face.