On the highway of archangels
The Bamiyan Valley from one of the monastic cells carved into the cliff next to the Buddhas
Developing a tourist industry probably isn’t a high priority in the reconstruction efforts in Afghanistan at the moment. IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) would probably put off even the most daring of GAP year students. But the idea might not be quite as daft as it sounds.
A few weeks ago, The New York Times reported on fighting in the Nuristan region of Afghanistan where soldiers were struck by its extraordinary beauty. The country also has a fascinating history and tradition of warm hospitality. In 1970 Peter Levi, an English Jesuit priest, classical archaeologist, and poet set off to uncover some of these riches with his friends, Bruce Chatwin, the travel writer and his wife Elizabeth.
Levi wrote his journey up in The Light Garden of the Angel King, a book which demonstrates both his archaeological training and poet’s eye for the landscape. The title of the book is taken from the inscription on the tomb of the Emperor Babur. The Emperor began the mogul invasions of India, but despite the attractions of the Subcontinent, nonetheless demanded to be buried in the place closest to his heart: Kabul. The overblown poetry of the full inscription gives a flavour of Levi’s sympathies:
Only this Mosque of Beauty, this Temple of Nobility, constructed for the Prayer of Saints and the Epiphany of Cherubs, was fit to stand in so Venerable a Sanctuary as this Highway of Archangels, this Theatre of Heaven, the Light Garden of the Godforgiven Angel King whose Rest is in the Garden of Heaven, Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur, the Conqueror.
Next, Levi and Chatwin head off to Afghanistan’s other well-known tourist attraction, the Buddhas of Bamiyan. He mentions that Victorian explorer Sir Henry Yule described the arid landscape as having a ‘horrid aspect’, but irrigation seems to have improved the valley since and Levi writes of it as ‘dusky and peaceful’. They spend time around the Buddhas and in the shrines that honeycomb the cliffs and then explore more of the valley.
It turns out that there is more than just the standing Buddhas to explore, especially for an archaeologist like Levi. The Shah-i-Golgola, or city of the screams, was a thriving city until it was razed by Genghiz Khan (hence the screams). The great Khan reached the city after overrunning the Shahr-i-Zohak, a fortress at the other end of the valley, that, incredibly, is said to also be the site of a Greek acropolis (according to Nancy Hatch Dupree, the legendary specialist in Afghan archaeology and author of numerous guidebooks to the country).
Levi hunts down and even stumbles upon archaeological tit-bits throughout his trip. He’s forever remarking on the various ‘wares‘, ‘layers‘ and ‘mounds’ (common archaeological terms) of each site. Although I don’t know much about archeology, and haven’t even watched Time Team very often, I was fascinated by what he finds out. It is common knowledge that Alexander the Great passed through Afghanistan on his way to India, but his empire is only one of those that left their mark (and shards).
Alexander may not have been in the country for very long, but the Greek influence was felt for centuries afterwards. The Mauryan Empire of the Indian Buddhist Emperor Ashoka replaced the Greeks and together with the indigenous Gandhara kingdom produced the Indo-Greeks and the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom. Then there were the Kushans, an empire that started in Central Asia, which somehow got in there too. Of course we shouldn’t forget the Persians, wandering Chinese monks and that’s even before the Islamic Invasion of the country and the numerous empires that have ruled it under that religion. Of course, in the nineteenth century the Sikhs and British had a go too.
The ‘tall, elegant, shadow-cut, biscuit-coloured pencil’ that is the Minaret of Jam is their next stop, which they somehow reach on horse with Levi himself suffering from appalling dysentery. From there they fly to Herat, which in the far west of the country, is the most Persian city. Blue minarets still tower over the city, like ‘big brick cigarettes stormed by swarms of cobalt and turquoise butterflies’, despite the British demolishing many masterpieces of Islamic art in the nineteenth century to improve the line of fire against a potential Russian invasion.
After a few stops in southern Afghanistan – Kandahar is so ferociously hot that it’s impossible to think – Levi and Chatwin head off to the North East, where the ‘greatest archaeological wealth’ of the country lies. They take in Surkh-Kotal, a Kushan city and Balkh, a site of early Islamic treasures. While staying in Kunduz, Levi meets some fellow poets and becomes involved with the local amateur dramatics society. At their Nashir Theatre, most performances are farces, and Levi be-friends Wazir Mohammed who holds Charlie Chaplin in the highest regard.
Levi and the Chatwins however don’t rest in one place for very long, they soon shoot off into the north east of the country. The speed at which they travel, alongside Levi’s keen interest in archaeology and problems with Farsi contribute to one of the shortcomings of the book – the lack of depth in the portrayal of any of the characters he meets. There are many short sketches, but no rounded portraits. Some of these brief encounters, however, can be utterly charming:
‘I offered one of the old men a pinch of English snuff; he took a huge pinch like a charge of gunpowder and sneezed and wept and beamed with happiness and came later to ask for more, because he said his eyes were bad and the doctors despaired of them, and none of the medicines had such an excellent effect on them as this powerful snuff. We became fast friends and he introduced me to his friend who asked me with a speculative eye where I came from. A country called England, I said. Oh yes, he said, England; would that country not be near Kabul?’
As they leave the archaeological heartland of the Uzbek north of the country, the landscape and Levi’s focus starts to change. The book starts to reveal what ideal hiking territory Afghanistan had in 1970. They take a short walk in Badakhshan Province, in the Pamirs, where the hills appear in the morning like ‘piles of fine dust’. This walk is really a preparation for a longer walk in Nuristan. Meaning ‘Land of the Enlightened’, the province was previously known as Kafiristan, or the land of the unbelievers, until 1895 when King Abdur Rahman invaded the region and converted the local people. The paganism of the region got the Victorians dreaming, and the idea grew up that the inhabitants were descended from the remnants of Alexander’s army. (Rudyard Kipling later sculpted this idea into The Man Who Would Be King.)
Levi, and his party walk up the Kamdeh and Kamdesh Valleys where the US Army are now involved in heavy fighting. The valley is beautiful, but wild. The Kamdesh houses are balanced on precarious precipices and the men walk around barefoot, carrying long handled axes. They do, however, encounter a shepherd with his head wrapped in a wreath of flowers who proceeds to sings them songs.
Finally, Bruce and Elizabeth Chatwin fly off to Pakistan, and Levi at last gets a permit to visit the site of the most important Hellenistic city in Afghanistan – Ay Khanoum. The site is in the north of the country near Kunduz, and he bumps into his old Thespian friend, Wazir Mohammed. The man has grown sad as his theatre company had become riven by internal divisions and broken up.
Levi and the Chatwins stayed in a hotel at the foot of the Kamdesh valley after their wlk in Nuristan. The place is run down, but Levi still manages to ’sincerely recommend this hotel to anyone intrepid enough to reach it.’ It is a sentiment that I’m sure he would apply to Afghanistan itself. The Afghanistan, that is, before the advent of IEDs.
(Image courtesy of MastaBaba on Flickr)
Tags: Afghanistan, Alexander the Great, archaeology, Ashoka the Great, Babur, Bamiyan, Herat, Minaret of Jam, Nancy Hatch Dupree, Nuristan, Peter Levi