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Razi, Awhaduddin. Hakim Nama or Ijtima‘-i ‘allama (The Philosopher’s Treatise), together with his Dhayl-i Sayr al-‘ibad and other extant poems. Edited with Introduc- tions in Persian and English by Nasrollah Pourjavady. Tehran, Iranian Institute of Philosophy, 2005. 164 pages. The Persian Isma’ili poet Hakim Nasir Khusraw (1004-1077) is known as the first major philosopher-poet to express Neoplatonic metaphysics and psychology in his poetry. Following Nasir Khusraw, another famous poet, Hakim Sana’i of Ghazna (dc 1131), though best known for his mystical poems, particularly in his Diwan, is also credited with having based his allegorical mathnawi, Sayr al-‘ibad ‘ila’l-ma‘ad, on the Neoplatonic idea of the soul. But after Hakim Sana‘i, this philosophical type of poetry in classical Persian literature was superseded by mystical love poetry in popularity, stature and sheer volume of works produced, so much so that many today consider mystical love poetry as the definitive form of Persian poetry. Yet even after the rise of mystical love poetry, there were poets who did continue the tradition of mystical-philosophical mathnawis. In recent years, a number of these works have come to light, particularly through the pioneering discovery and editing of obscure manuscripts conducted by Nasrollah Pourjavady. For example, one such work, the mystical-theological mathnawi by Mubarakshah Marvarudi (d. 602/ 1206), entitled Rahiq ut-tahqiq (The Pure Wine of Realization), is the only known mystical mathnawi composed in the period between Sana‘i and Fariduddin ‘Attar (1142-1221) (Tehran: Iran University Press, 2002). In Hakim-nama or Ijtima‘-i ‘allama (The Philosopher’s Treatise), Pourjavady has brought together into one volume three philosophical works in poetic form by the otherwise unknown philosopher-physician Hakim, or Tabib, Awhaduddin Razi, a contemporary of the philosopher-scien- tist Nasiruddin Tusi (d. 672/1274). All three works are philosophical allegories; two are in mathnawi form and one, the longest and the one whose double title is applied to the volume as a whole, is of mixed prose and poetry. In addition, gathering as much material as he can to shed light on this Awhaduddin Razi, Pourjavady also includes three quatrains whose authorship he has been able to identify, as well as Nasiruddin Tusi’s 53-line mathnawi response to Razi’s second mathnawi. These selections reveal a poet who belongs to the same poetic tradition as Nasir Khusraw, presenting Neoplatonic philosophy in poetic form. As he details in his Persian introduction but not the English, Pourjavady searched for multiple copies of each text, as well as any previous scholarly studies, to produce the editions in this volume. The Hakim-nama itself appears to be extant solely in a compilation manuscript written and assembled in Herat in 854/1450, now housed in the Ayasofya Library held in Suleymanie Kutuphanesi, in Istanbul, with a microfilm copy in the Central Library of the University of Tehran, upon which this edition is based. The second of the three works, the mathnawi, Dhayl-i Sayr al- ‘Ibad (Supplement to Sana’i’s Sayr al-‘Ibad) is based on a comparison of two manuscripts, one in

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Lâleli Library in Süleymanie Kütüphanesi, in Istanbul and one in Ayasofiya, both on microfilm in the University of Tehran. The second mathnawi, Tabaddul-i surat-ha (Altering Exterior Forms), also had two sources: one manuscript in the Tehran Majlis (Parliament) Library and previously reported on by Sa‘id Nafisy, and one discussed by Abu’l-Qasim Ansari Kaziruni in his Sullam as- samawat. The three quatrains also benefit from the editor’s review of multiple manuscripts lo- cated, variously, in the British Library, Tabriz (Library) and the National Library of Tabriz, all with microfilm copies in the University of Tehran’s Central Library. The lion’s share of this volume, more than sixty pages, is taken up with the Hakim-nama (pp. 39-111), which consists of a dialogue between the Universal Intellect (the neo-Platonic nous) and humankind’s rational soul (nafs-i natiqa), in which the soul requests the Intellect to explain the meaning of Being as a whole and also her own essence, powers and purposes. Structurally, Razi opens the work with a fifteen-page introduction in mixed prose and poetry, describing and illustrating with excerpts and a diagram what the work will entail, as well as dedicating it to Shamsuddin Juvayni, the Sahib diwan. The work itself consists of four Discourses, each with several parts or chapters. Generally, each discourse begins with a prose selection, followed by a response or restatement in poetry. While the alternation between prose and poetry is evenly balanced, the purpose of either varies, with one sometimes being the question and sometimes the answer. Razi does not lock himself into one genre for any of the voices, including his own autho- rial voice. The Introduction and Discourse One begin with the soul declaring that since she has now reached a certain degree of self awareness, she now wants the insight of intellect, arguing that he should help, “since your essential activity is naught but bestowing awareness on beings.” Intellect replies that since she has become a seeker and has requested his help, he will. In response to her question about her own nature, he explains the five simple substances, the Universals: Universal Intellect, Universal Soul, Matter, the Seven Heavens, and Simple Natures. Discourse Two explains the five levels of composite substances: elements, minerals, plants, animals, and human being. In- tellect explains that only human beings are able to attain gnosis (ma‘rifa) because only they pos- sess the rational soul. Having understood her own role in creation, the soul then asks, in Discourse Three, for more of the secrets of creation, Intellect describes the relation between the individual and the Universal, the need for Prophets; proofs of divine commands and prohibitions, rewards and punishments, and the path toward salvation, explaining the foundational principle that since everything came into being in the same way, everything is subject to the same laws. The single command of creation that binds everything together also makes knowledge of the laws possible. Discourse Four describes the next stage of knowledge, that is, embodying the purpose of knowledge, which is the moral development of the soul and the acquisition of divine virtues through the performance of ethical actions. While the Hakim-nama uses a mixture of prose and rhymed couplets to describe the most profound philosophical ideas, Razi’s Dhayl-i sayr al-‘ibad is entirely poetry inspired by Sana’i’s famous poem, Sayr al-‘ibad (The Spiritual Journey of the Servants). The central story of this 182- couplet mathnawi is the poet’s encounter with a shepherd playing a reed flute (nay), and the tale the reed tells. As Pourjavady points out in his introduction, the contrast to Persian literature’s most famous reed tale, the opening of Rumi’s Mathnawi (composed roughly at the same time) is note- worthy. Both relate how they have been cut from their reed-bed home. But, while Rumi’s flute complains of separation and yearns to return to its source and Beloved, Razi’s flute rejoices that it enjoys this union every time it sits on the shepherd’s lips and the breath of his Beloved flows through and revives him. In an interesting twist on the uses of poetry, the reed declares that wis- dom is not found in poetry but in the words of those called hakim, the philosopher-mystics who speak in an allegorical way. Besides this irony, the admonition and the story itself can only be nar-

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rated while the shepherd is playing the flute. That is, life and truth both can only be expressed when both lover and beloved are united, and not simply yearning. Beyond the interest of the story itself and its place in Persian literary history, this mathnawi’s opening line reveals the poet’s allegiance to the school of Neoplatonic Persian philosophical poetry, which also shows inspiration by the philosophy of the Ikhwan al-Safa):

Ay, khudavand-i jism u jan u khirad Bish az in murgh-i fahm bar naparad.

O Lord of Body, Soul and Intellect! The bird of understanding flies no higher than this.

Here the poet calls upon the first of the three Neoplatonic hypostases, that is, the One who is Lord of Universal Intellect and Universal Soul, as well as Lord of Body, or the substance of the material word. Thus in the first distich, the poet encompasses God and the totality of his creation, material and spiritual. In the second, he acknowledges that human understanding can do no more than state this fact; it cannot understand the ineffable essence of the One. The allegory of the second mathnawi, Tabaddul-i surat-ha, launches immediately from the opening line, about a ball of wax which the poet molded into beautiful forms. Three children observe and comment on the change of forms. The first, and youngest, saddened when the first shape disappears, is consoled by the second child with the admonition that the wax is still there. The third and wisest child advises that both matter and form are still there, though in a new shape. The poet himself steps in with the conclusion that all being is one and the same substance and that only the exterior forms of things change. Consolation comes in knowing that the essence of all forms is the same and unchanging, and that nothing truly perishes. By digging through library collections and unearthing these unique examples of philosophical poetry, Pourjavady has not only provided a service to the field of Persian literature in general, but has found important raw material for the articulation and analysis of the school of Persian philosophical poetry, an entire and separate tradition of Persian poetry which deserves and requires study on its own terms: its vocabulary, values, aims and methods. Awhaduddin-i Razi’s Hakim- nama and his two accompanying mathnawis are a significant step in that direction. Alice C. Hunsberger, Program in Religion, Hunter College, New York

Alexandre le Grand en Iran. Le Dârâb Nâmeh d’Abu Tâher Tarsusi traduit et annoté par Marina Gaillard, Paris 2005, De Bocard: Persica 5, ISBN 2-7018-0175-3 The Darab Nameh by Abu Taher Tarsusi (ca. 11th-13th century) is an exponent of the genre of medieval Persian popular romance, the dastan. The date of composition of this work and also the authorship of ‘™arsusi’ (variants of his nisba are ™ar†usi and ™usi) are still under discussion.1 In the last few years, the work has received increasing scholarly attention: N.B. Kondyreva translated the Darab Nameh (Moscow: Ladomir, Nauka) into Russian in 2000, and more recently (in 2005), Marina Gaillard translated the work into French. Both annotated translations were based on Z. ∑afa’s edition of the work (2 vols., Teheran, 1344-1346/1965-1968, reprints in 1977 and 1996). Unlike the title of the book Darab Nameh (‘Book of Darab’) suggests, two-third of the story is not about King Darab, but is dedicated to the life and exploits of his descendant, the protagonist 1 Marina Gaillard cautiously takes the position that it cannot be excluded that Tarsusi indeed lived during the Ghaznavid period, which lasted from 977-1186.

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Eskandar Zo l-Qarneyn, the Persian name for Alexander the Great. The first third of the narrative gives the story of Eskandar’s ancestors. On his father’s side Eskandar descends from Bahman- Ardashir and Homay, via their son Darab. On his mother’s side he is the grandson of Filqus, the king of Rum (Philip of Macedon), and the son of the latter’s daughter, Nahid, who was given in marriage to Darab. This part of the narrative has not been translated, but summarized (pp. 93-96), like some other sections of the text that Gaillard chose to render in concise form. One of the reasons for ap- plying this method is the length of the story — which fills 1157 printed pages —, and another is the intention to provide readers and scholars with those parts of the narrative that are the most common and particularly interesting for comparison with other specimens of the rich Alexander tradition in Persian and other languages. This technique is regularly applied to texts of this genre for practical reasons,2 although necessarily it disregards the inconvenience of the reader’s depend- ency on the translator’s choice. Gaillard has accompanied her translation of the Darab Nameh with a valuable introduction, which sheds light on such aspects as the (semi-oral) genre, origin, cultural and historical context, intertextuality and nature of the characters. Her remarks about the simultaneously existing oral and written forms and the variety of audiences, at local courts as well as settings with common people, demonstrate the wide-ranging function and subsistence of this genre. At the same time she notes that the term ‘popular’, may be misleading because it does not do justice to the rich knowledge of some of the story-tellers, especially in the case of Tarsusi. His composition not only shows ac- quaintance with a variety of sources, but also his familiarity with a great many literary genres and cultural stock-in-trade. Furthermore, the introduction informs the reader accurately, and at the same time conveniently in broad lines, of the background necessary to understand and appreciate this kind of literature. I would like to make only some minor comments. Discussing the origins of the narrative (13-17) Gaillard does not consider some fairly recent developments in this field, for instance regarding the hypothesis of the Pahlavi intermediary translation of Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Alexander Romance, launched by Theodor Nöldeke in 1890, which is contested not only by Frye (1985) but also quite seriously by Ciancaglini (2001).3 Gaillard’s own point of view in these matters could certainly have contributed to this debate and it could have explained her mysterious remark about an Armenian translator — to whom she ascribes the translation from Greek into Pahlavi — which she puts forward as common knowledge. As for the 9th century Arabic translation of Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Alexander Romance from Syriac, which Gaillard and others considered to be lost, recent research has shown that this Ro- mance has been preserved in at least three manuscripts. I have been able to trace these three manuscripts in the past years.4 In my publications I discuss these recent developments; it is obvious

2 Also in Abu ™ahir Tarsusi. Darab-nama, or the Book of Darab. Translation into Russian and annotated by N.B. Kondyreva. Moscow: Ladomir, Nauka, 2000. Accordingly, Arabic popular epics, the siyar, of- ten appear in eclectic translations, like for example: Lena Jayyushi, The Adventures of Sayf Ben Dhi Yazan. An Arabic Folk Epic, Bloomington: Indian University Press, 1999. 3 R.N. Frye, ‘Two Iranian Notes’, Acta Iranica 24 (1985), 186-187 and C.A. Ciancaglini, ‘gli antecedenti del Romanzo di Allesandro’, La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale. Il “Romanzo di Alessandro” e altri scritti, eds. R.B. Finazzi and A. Valvo, Alessandria: Edizione dell’Orso, 1998, 55-93, and idem, ‘The Syriac Version of the Alexander Romance’, Le Muséon. Revue d’études orientales 114/1,2 (2001), 121-140. 4 See F. Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, diss. Leiden 2003, 1.6.4-1.7 and ‘Alexander the Flexible Friend. Some Reflections on the Representation of Alexander the Great in the Arabic Alexander Romance’, The Journal of Eastern Christian Studies, 55/3-4 (2003), 195-210. At present I am preparing an edition with English translation of the Arabic Pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance on the basis of these manuscripts. The text clearly represents the Vorlage for the Ethiopic Alexander, which was edited and translated by E.A. Wallis Budge. See E.A. Wallis Budge, Life and Exploits of Alexander the Great. Ethiopic His- tories of Alexander by Pseudo-Callithenes and other Writers, I (edition), II (translation) London, 1896.

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from the contents of these manuscripts, containing the Sirat al-Malik Iskandar, Dhu ’l-Qarnayn (‘The Biography of King Alexander, the Two-Horned’) that this text is intermediary to the Syriac and Ethiopic recensions of Pseudo-Callisthenes. It is also evident that this information will open new perspectives with respect to the sources of Ferdowsi’s history of Alexander in the Shah Nameh. Gaillard had to make many difficult decisions in translating the Darab Nameh into French. First of all, the narrative was meant to be recited for an audience and therefore composed in a certain style which is not necessarily appealing to a modern reader. It contains many formulaic phrases, variations in stylistic level, depending, for example, on the author’s intention one time to expose instructive, and another time romantic issues. Faced with these difficulties the editor chose to adapt the style of the narrative in her translation on certain points, without, however, affecting the flavour of the original. She achieved her aim, in presenting a balanced, well legible and au- thentic narrative. In order to facilitate the reader and investigator of the Persian text she has maintained the division in chapters made by the editor of the Persian text, although she did not fully agree with this arrangement. Therefore, some changes have been made in the captions to these chapters, which seems a good compromise, although an even more detailed division in rubrics would have been preferable. For example, in the chapter ‘De l’Égypte à l’Occident’ (‘From Egypt to the West’ (373-382)) a section is devoted to the construction of a tower on the seashore and a mirror, the details of which are very reminiscent of the complex of stories attached to the Pharos of Alexan- dria. In many writings, the construction of this firehouse has been attributed to Alexander.5 Since there is neither caption within the chapter indicating these constructions, nor any reference in the general index pointing to them, the motif is completely untraceable, and very likely to escape the attention of readers with a comparative interest, unless they are prepared to read meticulously through the whole book. All the same, Gaillard’s approach made it possible to compare Tarsusi’s Darab Nameh with its counterpart in Arabic, the popular romance entitled Sirat al-Iskandar (‘Story of Life of Alexan- der’), which is ascribed, amongst others, to Ibrahim ibn Mufarrij aÒ-∑uri.6 Both narratives appear to have much in common, a fact that hitherto inevitably had to remain unnoticed, since there were no accessible translations or summaries for both of these works. Apart from several motifs, which exclusively occur in these two narratives, the texts both suffered from a disregard by scholars for similar reasons, such as their assumed mediocre literary quality of plain and repetitive prose. No proper criteria had been developed to appreciate the narrative style of this kind of texts until the last decades. Moreover, the romances share the intangible character of the protagonist, Eskandar, whose manners puzzled Gaillard, and whose image she deems not representative for the heroic genre. Eskandar is portrayed as an impulsive, hesitant, nearly infantile character, missing the necessary skills to improve his limited knowledge and intelligence. On the other hand Eskandar is carrying out a religious mission, i.e. he strives to convert the nations of the earth to Islam. If this

5 See F. Doufikar-Aerts, ‘Alexander the Great and the Pharos of Alexandria in Arabic Literature’, The Problematics of Power. Eastern and Western Representations of Alexander the Great, eds. Ch. Bürgel and M. Bridges, Bern: Peter Lang, 1996, 191-201. See also H. Thiersch, Pharos: Antike, Islam und Occident. Ein Beitrag zur Architekturgeschichte, Berlin / Leipzig, 1909. 6 In Chapters 4 and 5 of my study on the Arabic Alexander tradition, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, diss.Leiden 2003, I have classified the Sirat Al-Iskandar (‘Story of the Life of Alexander’) as belonging to the genre of Arabic popular romances, as described by M.C. Lyons, The Arabian Epic, 3 vols., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. I also published a sizable English summary in Chapter 7 of Alexander Magnus Arabicus, diss. Leiden, 2003. An English translation of Alexander Magnus Arabicus is to appear at Peeters, Louvain 2007. I am currently preparing an edition of the Sirat Al-Iskandar, which never has appeared in print.

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ambivalence in his character were due to the fact that Tarsusi’s composition had to reconcile two quite different traditions, that is to say Iranian resentments against the ‘king of Rum’ and the asso- ciation of Alexander with the Two-horned messenger (Zo l-Qarneyn), mentioned in the Koran 18:82, as Gaillard suggests, there remain two questions: how can we explain that Alexander’s character in Sirat Al-Iskandar is so similar, although the Iranian national sentiment does not play a role in the Arabian context? And why do other Iranian epics, that also had to reconcile these aspects, not represent him likewise with the character of an ‘anti-hero’? I hold the view that the way has been paved now for a renewed study into both popular romances, Tarsusi’s Darab Nameh and the aÒ-∑uri’s Sirat al-Iskandar, which may put the shared elements, such as the character of the protagonist and other common aspects that until now could not satisfactorily be explained, in a different light. Finally, to give an example of the style of this translation and the narrative, I quote two passages from Gaillard (121): La vieille femme commença: “Je l’ai trouvé dans une tente à la porte du cloître de l’homme le plus pieux de notre temps, le sage Aristote.” Et elle rapporta toute l’histoire de la chèvre qui allaitait l’enfant [Eskandar], du lion qui se tenait à l’entrée de la tente, de la bague, de la lettre et du collier de perles. À ce récit, Nâhid se mit à pleurer et pensa: “À qui puis-je dire que cet enfant est le mien? Personne ne me croira. Et si j’en parle au roi, il s’imaginera que je suis amoureuse de cet enfant et que j’allègue quelque prétexte. Si seulement ma mère était encore en vie, que je puisse en parler avec elle! Ce sont les mères qui trouvent ce genre de solution.” C’est ce qu’elle se disait, tout en versant des torrents de larmes. “Noble dame”, lui dit la vieille, “pourquoi pleures-tu?” “Mère”, répondit Nâhid, “c’est mon enfant que tu as élévé. Et la lettre, le collier de perles et la bague, c’est moi qui les avais laissés.”7 This scene may exemplify the style of the narrative. We can, for instance, observe the repetition of the detailed list of objects, such as letter, ring, and pearls, which is a common stylistic feature of these epics. At a cursory reading it seems a simple discussion between two women. Nevertheless, it evokes a sense of drama. A subtlety which is most striking, is the fact that Nahid ponders that only a mother would be capable of solving her problems, sighing: ‘if only my mother were still alive’. In the next sentence, she addresses the old woman as ‘mother’, while before she was calling her ‘grandmother’, which, apparently, refers to her yearning for a mother figure, to whom she can unburden her heart. Such details make the narration rise beyond the level of plain story-telling. Another passage is about Alexander’s first encounter with Plato, who has withdrawn himself from the world on a mountain in solitude. It runs as follows (259-60): Alexandre s’avança au-dessus du visage de Platon en se demandant comment le réveiller sans que celui-ci lui fasse quelque réflexion ou qu’il se lève et s’en aille. Il s’approcha, lui posa la main sur le flanc et le secoua en disant: “Lève-toi, car les sages ne dorment pas beaucoup.” Platon se réveilla, s’assit, et ses premiers mots furent: “Ô petit-fils de Philippe, les rois n’ont jamais méprisé les sages. Tu devrais me laisser dormir pour que le registre de mes actions soit un peu moins rempli et que, dans l’autre monde, on en ait moins à lire. Car dans la religion du Tout-Puissant, dormir est un acte louable:

7 “The old woman began to tell: ‘I found him in a tent at the door of the monastery of the most pious man of our time, the sage Aristotle.’ And she reported the whole story about the goat that nursed the child [Eskandar], about the lion that stayed at the entrance of the tent, about the ring, the letter and the string of pearls. When she heard this story, Nahid started crying and she thought: ‘To whom can I tell that the child is mine? Nobody will believe me. And if I tell it to the king, he will think that I am in love with this boy and that I try to use it as an excuse. If only my mother were still alive, then I could have talked to her! Mothers are the ones who can find solutions in such cases.’ This is what she said to herself, while weeping a rush of tears. ‘Dear lady’, said the old woman, ‘why do you cry?’ And Nahid spoke; ‘O dear mother, the child you raised is my son. And the letter, the string of pearls and the ring, were left behind by me.”

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pendant que tu dors, on ne note rien sur ton registre, et il reste blanc. Et maintenant, puisque tu m’as réveillé, fuis, si tu ne veux pas brûler!”8 This is one of the scenes in which suspense is created by interweaving admonition, religion and enigma. Only in the next passages it becomes clear why Plato advises Alexander to flee: at the moment of Plato’s awakening a huge fire-spitting dragon raises its head over the mountain, setting it on fire. This story-telling technique causes a remarkable effect. At first it seems as if the instruc- tion to run away is a moral rebuke, because Alexander has disturbed the philosopher’s state of re- tirement. Eventually, it turns out that the command to flee is just a prosaic incitement to make him escape from danger. These two instances give an idea of some methods used to enliven the narrative. It would not have been out of place if Gaillard had devoted a separate section to the style and narrative techniques of this (type of) romance as well. Nevertheless it should be emphasised that this versatile translation of the Darab Nameh d’Abu Taher Tarsusi has been made with dedication and care. This translation is definitively a welcome contribution to the study of Alexander, and at the same time, it makes available a formerly hidden treasure of world literature to a wide audience. Faustina C.W. Doufikar-Aerts Leiden University

Thomas Loy, Jaghnob 1970 — Erinnerungen an eine Zwangumsiedlung in der Tadschi- kischen SSR, Reichert Verlag, Wiesbaden 2005 (isbn 3-89500-424-3), 130 pp. This book is one of three books that have appeared recently in a new series on memories of Cen- tral Asia (Erinnerungen an Zentralasien). Jaghnob 1970 is a fascinating account of a remarkable case of forced migration in the former Soviet Union. Thomas Loy brings back to life the vicissi- tudes of the migration of the Yaghnobis from the Yaghnob valley in Tajikistan in the years 1970 and 1971. Ample room has been given to the personal experiences of the victims of this operation, and the recollections of those involved are central to the book. Loy has combined oral history with a meticulous research of a variety of written sources concerning the Yaghnobi migration. Through this approach, he has thoroughly laid bare the details of a particularly disastrous historical event. In Tajikistan, the case of the forced migration of the Yaghnobis does not stand alone, but forms part of a monstrous operation, which had been started in Stalin’s era. In the former Soviet Union, forced migration was not only a common means to achieve ambitious economic targets, but also formed an ideal strategy to reshape society in accordance with the political ideals of the day. In Central Asia, people from different backgrounds have been moved from one place to another in order to work on newly reclaimed land since the 1930s. The migration in Tajikistan usually took place from the mountainous areas to the flatlands, where the Soviet government was constructing extensive farms for cotton production. Amongst the thousands of Tajiks who had to move to a new home involuntarily, the Yaghnobis form an exceptional case. Linguistically and culturally the Yaghnobis are a separate group within Tajikistan. Until 1970 they lived in around thirty villages in the remote Yaghnob valley. The Yaghnob River is a tributary of the Zarafshon River; the most nearby town is Aini, at present situated in the Sughd province in the north of Tajikistan. The people who used to live in

8 “Alexander came up close to Plato’s face wondering how he could wake him up, without the other’s objection or causing him to stand up and leave. He approached, touched him at his side and jolted him awake, saying: ‘Wake up, because philosophers don’t sleep much.’ Plato woke up and sat, and his first words were: ‘O grandson of Philip, kings never show disdain for philosophers. You should have left me sleeping. Then, the record of my deeds would be filled less and, in the other world, they would not have to read so much. In the religion of the Almighty sleeping is a commendable activity: while you are sleeping, nothing is registered in your record, so that is stays blanc. But now, that you woke me up, flee, if you don’t wish to burn!’”

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the Yaghnob valley speak an Eastern Iranian language, named Yaghnobi. This language is the last surviving remnant of Sogdian, once a major language in Central Asia. The supremacy of Sogdian came to an end a few centuries after the advent of Islam in Central Asia. From the tenth century onwards, New Persian gradually became the principal language of Central Asia, alongside a number of Turkic languages which are at present predominant in most Central Asian republics. The Yaghnobi language has been preserved in the isolated and distant Yaghnob valley only. The forced migration of the entire Yaghnobi community, consisting of more than 3000 people, was a tragedy which not only caused deep human suffering, but which also put the Yaghobi language and culture in severe danger. The idea to move the Yaghnobi community from its mountain retreat took shape during the late sixties of the 20th century, even though it was already sufficiently clear at that time that forced migration in general had failed as a means to achieve economic targets. In the spring of 1970 the people living in the valley of Yaghnob were forced to leave the mountains in order to start work on the cotton fields in Zafarobod, in the plains bordering Uzbekistan in northern Tajikistan. Zafarobod was destined to be a symbol of progress, and the Yaghnobis were promised jobs, good housing and schooling, and a better future for themselves and their children. Until the 1970s, the people of the Yaghnob valley had been working in a traditional manner on their small patches of land, without advanced mechanical equipment or electricity. Since there was no paved road lead- ing into the villages of the valley, goods had to be transported on foot or by making use of don- keys or helicopters. This way of life was not seen as useful by the authorities and at the time a great input of labour force was needed elsewhere in Tajikistan. Year after year the preset goals of cotton production were not achieved, for there were very few people in Tajikistan who migrated voluntarily to the new farmlands. The Yaghnobis, not backed up by any administrative authority, were an easy prey. As soon as the decision to remove the Yaghnobis from Yaghnob had been taken, helicopters landed in the midst of the valley and within a few days time everything seemed to have been arranged. Hur- riedly the families of the first few villages were taken away by helicopters to the district town Aini. From there buses transported them to the farms of Zafarobod. They had to leave behind al- most all of their possessions and their livestock. This operation took no more than a few days. Before Nawruz 1970, the first group of Yaghnobis found themselves living in an entirely different climate, under circumstances that were far from ideal, without the facilities they were told to look forward to whilst still in Yaghnob. Many groups were to follow, until the last village was emptied in September 1971. No one was able to remain in the Yaghnob valley. The newly established sowchozes in Zafarobod were not prepared for this influx of new labour forces. The Yaghnobis were neither instructed nor supported, and had to live in temporary dwellings without electricity or clean water. Many of them, especially the elderly and the children, died in the first years after their migration to Zafarobod. When circumstances did not alter, a large number of desperate Yaghnobis decided to return to Yaghnob. Between 1973 and 1975 a number of Yaghnobis remigrated, without permission from the authorities. They tried to rebuild their community in Yaghnob, but they were too few and too scat- tered. Their dwellings had suffered badly from their absence and were partly demolished. They could not rely on their livestock as they used to do before, since it was all gone: they had been forced to sell their farm animals for a mere trifle to the collective farms of neighbouring Aini. In all the interviews a deep resentment against this ‘robbery of livestock’ is expressed. It is remarkable however that the interviewees blame not so much the Soviet authorities in Dushanbe or Mos- cow for all they suffered as a result of the migration, but much more the local authorities from Aini, whom they see as chiefly responsible for the entire operation. The first secret remigration did

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not succeed. Many families who had returned to their native villages were once again by force brought back to Zafarobod in 1978. Today, the great majority of Yaghnobis still live in Zafarobod: around 6500 persons, against the 420 persons who are at present living in a number of villages in Yaghnob. Of the thirty villages existing before 1970 in the Yaghnob valley, only seventeen are still inhabited. In his book, Loy describes the circumstances of the forced migration in detail, basing himself on archive material, newspapers and interviews with those concerned. Loy has started his research in 2001, 30 years after the forced migration of the Yaghnobis. He was just in time, so it seems, to obtain first hand information from those who were then the principal targets of the migration, the adult male heads of the extended families. Once they were convinced or forcibly re- moved, their families had no option but to follow. The Yaghnobis were lured out of their valley by vain promises and empty threats. They were told that the valley was in danger of imminent landslides. Landslides are a great danger to villages in many areas of mountainous Tajikistan, and there were few families who willingly left their homeland because of this. But there was not much of a choice. Despite the yearning for their homeland, the interviewees who are still in Zafarobod today do not deem it an option now to return under the present uncertain circumstances in Tajikistan. Besides, they would have to leave their children, the second generation, who are not so eager to return to the harsh life in the mountains. Loy has interviewed men from the three main areas where Yaghnobis live at present, i.e. the Yaghnob valley itself, Zafarobod, and Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan. All in all he has interviewed 24 men originating from Yaghnob, but many of these men were accompanied and supported by other men during the interviews. In the discussions different views emerge on how ex- actly things took place and how people coped with their new lives. Despite their ongoing ordeals, the interviewees speak of Soviet rule with nostalgia and reverence, and solely blame the local authorities from Aini. In general, many of the Yaghnobis interviewed by Loy seem to have resigned in their fate. The second generation, the children of the migrants, have adapted themselves to the conditions of their new homeland, and seem more content than their parents. Those of the second generation who have remigrated with their parents seem to be eager to leave Yaghnob again, because they find it hard to deal with the conditions of life in Yaghnob. Even though the Yaghnob valley is inhabited again, it is obvious that the situation of before 1970 will never be restored. The interviews show painfully clear how a large group of people has been made subject to certain economic and political goals, without much consideration for the long-term effects on their individual lives and on the society in which they live. The phenomenon of forced migration and its implications in Tajikistan has never been the subject of systematic research. This first in-depth study forms a multi-faceted and meticulous re- construction of what was no less than a human catastrophe. Loy shows how the case of the forced migration of the Yaghnobis may be placed in a broader context and how it has affected the past and the present of Tajik society. Migration continues to play a role in present day Tajikistan: a programme to move people from the Pamir Mountains to the plains of Kurghan-Teppa was developed in 2003. To illustrate his poignant account of the Yaghnobis, Loy has included a map and a number of photographs of people and documents, and lists with useful information on the people he has been able to interview. The contrast between the idyllic photograph of a family in the mountains of Yaghnob and the awesome picture of the road to Zafarobod (p. 17) is particularly striking, and so are the pictures of the original migration documents of the Yaghnobi migrants (muhojiron) included in the appendix. It would be worthwhile to collect more interviews and eyewitness ac- counts, more photographs and more information on the way of life of the Yaghnobis before and

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after the migration, and to make this material accessible in whatever way possible. Thomas Loy sets a great example and it is to be hoped that his significant monograph will be followed by similar studies on aspects of the history of Tajikistan. Jaghnob 1970 certainly shows the value and the necessity of recording memories as long as they are still alive. Gabrielle R. van den Berg Leiden University

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