Gilded
Serpent presents...
Or perhaps the duel began with the Safavid enforcement of Shia’ Islam as the state religion of Iran at the beginning of the 16th century, which led to the criminalization of public dancing and other “secular arts”, and the exile of many dancers, singers, and musicians from Iran. I decided that one means of investigating this hypothesis was to learn the dance and culture of areas with a strong Iranian cultural heritage, but a different religious heritage. Such areas can be found in Central Asia, specifically in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, as they were never part of the Safavid Shia empire, but were part of an earlier Iranian Empire at a time when Iranian culture was considered the most beautiful and the most worthy of imitation.
On a study trip to Uzbekistan in 2002, I learned a dance[2] that is performed to a particular piece of music called “Munajot” (“supplication”, in Arabic). The music for this dance is played at Uzbek weddings, and was composed to accompany the singing of a classical mystical poem by the beloved Uzbek poet, Navoi. In this poem, Navoi evokes the images of our longing for God the Beloved, and our inability to reach God: a young woman goes to meet her lover in a moonlit garden, but he does not arrive to meet her; she suddenly sees him and is happy; but then she realizes it was just an illusion, and he was never there. That this dance is performed as a portrayal of a highly-regarded classical, mystical poem is a powerful illustration of a current difference between Central Asian dance practice, and that of Iran. In Iranian culture, mystical poetry of the classical period is considered the highest form of art; by comparison, traditional dance is not even considered an art. In Central Asia, however, these two elements – dance and mystical poetry – can be fused in a combined artistic form that expresses the deepest emotional longings of a people. Such a fusion would never take place in traditional Iranian dance. In 1999, I had an opportunity to meet Makhingul Nazarshoeva, the director of a performing group from eastern Tajikistan. Makhingul agreed to teach me if I could come to Badakhshan, and intrigued me by saying: “We always dance to mystical poetry; we call it maddoh". She said that they even dance at funerals, with the funeral procession to the cemetery led by dancers, "because it’s not a sad occasion, we are happy, our friend is with God". I became determined that I would get to Badakhshan someday to learn more about the music and dance of this area, and this intriguing fusion of dance and poetry. A few years later, I found myself in the company of my long-time friend Sharlyn Sawyer (the director of Afsaneh Art and Culture Society) on our way to Badakhshan with a fully-paid grant, on the first of many trips to Tajikistan, and studies with a variety of dancers and musicians.
I’ll leave out the details of the 20+ hour trek in a 4-wheel-drive vehicle to Badakhshan from Dushanbe, the capital city of Tajikistan, to Khorog, capital of the Badakhshan Autonomous Mountain Region: the stony and bumpy dirt road, with frequent deep pot-holes; the rain runoff washing out the road, forcing us to drive down the cliff face, across a river, and back up again; the mere 3 hours spent sleeping in a room with 15 fully-occupied beds; the teahouse breakfast of green tea and Twinkies. When we arrived in Khorog at 4:00 pm on a Friday afternoon, we were exhausted, elated, and hungry.
Badakhshan is the land of the high Pamir mountains, with peaks to 22,000 feet, and narrow river valleys; these valleys start around 7,000 feet, and go up towards the sources of the rivers, the melting snow at the peaks of the mountains. Habitation is only possible at the bottom of these river valleys, with agricultural cultivation taking up as much of the narrow flat plain as possible, and then up the steep hillsides as necessary. Life is difficult: there is no indoor plumbing at all in the villages, electricity only in some places, and that only for a few hours a day. Water comes from the nearest pipe that has been stuck into the side of a hill. Toilets are of the outdoor squatter variety. Winters are harsh: snow can fall very thick, and temperatures get very low. Cooking in summer is done on outdoor fires, on an indoor tandoor in the winter.
Khorog, a town of 25,000 people, by far the largest of Badakhshan, is a little more modern, with flush toilets, part-time running water, and electricity that is somewhat more available than in the villages. But it is still fiercely hot in the summer, and closed to the outside world by the snows in the winter. With the aid of our guide, translator, and soon, friend, singer and musician Samandar Pulodov, we soon found Makhingul, and the next day she was with us, giving me my first lesson in ‘Rapo’, the national dance of Badakhshan. The name ‘Rapo’ refers to many things: a rhythm, a melody, and a style of dance. It can be choreographed or improvised, a solo or couple dance, a dance of flirtation, or a mystical dance. Rapo is a dance that Badakhshani children learn at home and in school. In its many variations, it has a continuity of features that make it easy to recognize: the music has a distinct and unique musical meter, that starts at a slow tempo and ends fast; the steps at the beginning are confined to the beginning of the dance, and not used later; the final part includes spins of a uniquely Badakhshani type. Rapo turned out to be a great beginning for my studies of Badakhshani culture. Being able to dance Rapo in people’s homes showed that I was capable of and serious about learning their culture. It expressed non-verbally my appreciation of Badakhshani life and proved a gateway to communication. When we danced Rapo together, we became, for a moment, just human beings, more alike than different, expressing our joy in movement. End of part I In part II Robyn talks about life in Khorog and her experiences in Badakhshani villages.
Footnotes-- [3] Islam has two major divisions, or sects: Shia’ and Sunni; the majority of Muslims are Sunni. The Shia’ sect is further divided into those that believe that the 12th Shia’ imam was the last (these are often referred to as “Twelvers”), and those that believe that the 7th Shia’ imam was the last (“Seveners”). The Seveners are also known as the Ismailis. Iran after the Arab conquest was originally Sunni; it became predominantly Twelver Shia’ with the conquest by the Safavid dynasty in 1501 CE. Central Asia is largely Sunni; as noted above, Badakhshan is Ismaili (Sevener Shia’). For further reading, see A Short History of the Imailis by Farhad Daftary, Marcus Weiner Publishers, 1998. [4] Badakhshan is the eastern-most portion of Tajikistan. It is almost completely filled with high mountains (a part of the Pamir range) and fast rivers. Due to the lack of arable land, it is sparsely populated. Due to the harshness of the climate and the extreme difficultly in getting there and back (even today!), is experiences considerable culture isolation, and therefore has maintained many cultural practices distinct even from the rest of Tajikistan. The population are largely Ismaili, and speak Iranian languages more closely related to ancient Sogdian than to modern Farsi (the principle language of modern Iran) or Tajik Have
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In
more than three decades of studying Iranian dance culture,
both in Iran and in the Iranian Diaspora,
I have been struck many times by the many contradictory attitudes
that Iranians seem to have about dance. A woman, for example,
may say she loves dance but does not know how, and yet when
persuaded onto the dance floor reveals herself as a highly
proficient dancer. Parents want their children to learn
to dance, but not to dance in public or as a profession. It
seems that many Iranians don’t see dance as an art form at
all, but more as an occasional social activity. And yet
they do appreciate really good dancing, and give honor to
the professional dancer whose performance reflects what they
value in their culture.
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for more?
