Chapter - 2
PEAKS PROTECT THE DESERTS
We reached the border gates at around nine in the morning. After having
exit-dates stamped on our passports we entered the Iranian immigration office.
The side-wall of the building had a large picture of Imam Khomeini painted
in shocking red and green colors. Quite a number of sign-boards were installed
every where, inside the building and out on the road also, which said that
women have to cover themselves according to the Islamic rules, and movie
cameras are not allowed to be accompanied inside the country.
"You hav Kamira?" Our luggage was thoroughly checked by a line
of officers for things best known to them, and almost everybody asked the
same question.
"Yes!" I showed them the hand bag containing my photography equipment.
After assuring them that the camera which I had could do still photography
only, they would smile and let me move on to the next counter. The process
took about twenty minutes before we came out in the open yard across the
building. We hired a double-cabin Toyota pick-up van, the only transport
available to go to Zahidan, apart from a bus, which moved only when it became
full of passengers.
The road was so smooth and the vehicle so well maintained that it was speeding
at 170kmph despite the air-coditioning on and I could write about it in
my diary. A friend of mine who was serving some two years back in the border
security force at Taftan, once told me about the incident of a Swedish couple,
entering Pakistan via same road. After crossing the border and roaming around
for about half an hour, they came to my friend who was closely watching
their movements.
"Where is the road?" The man asked him.
"I've been here in this part of the country for the last two years
and even I haven't seen one yet. I am sorry to inform you that there is
no road for next four hundred kilometers," said my friend and the Swedes
returned to Iran by the next bus.
Taftan is the only safe International border of Pakistan, which connects
her with most of the developed world. The first impression one gets about
the country after travelling at a speed of 170kmph on Iranian roads, and
finding no road at all in Pakistan, is beyond explanation. The Pakistani
immigration office right in front of the huge building of Iranian offices,
consisted of two small rooms only. There was no lounge at all for the travellers
and people were sitting on the ground, in the shade of the office walls,
waiting for their turn.
We passed the Air Force Base of Mir Jawa, which had been a Pakistani territory
till 1959. There was a wild story told by the people in Taftan that after
Mir Jawa had been handed over to Iran, one Pakistani plane landed here by
mistake; because the pilot still had an old navigational maps.
We reached Zahidan after forty five minutes of drive and our guide Zafar,
took us straight to Hotel Saleh. Most of the people living around Taftan
border were allowed by both the offices to move across, without any passport
or visa. It was a mutual agreement between them. These people had lived
here for centuries before the borders were made. Our guide was also one
of those people. His assignment was to take us to Zahidan and help us buy
the bus tickets for Isfahan. A common friend in Taftan had requested him
to accompany us.
We decided to take an early lunch, as we had to leave for Isfahan right
away. The lintel soup, Chilo Kebabs and white rice were specially cooked
with spices and hot chillies according to Pakistani tastes. Iranian cuisine
has no place for chillies or spices and most of the foods revolve around
plain boiled vegetables and rice. I asked the waiter to bring us any Iranian
speciality and the bowl he brought had to go back almost undisturbed.
After lunch Zafar took us to his cousin's house where he wanted us to consult
him about our onward journey. His cousin, Akbar suggested us to go to Tehran
by air and we opted against it right away. After making some telephonic
inquiries about the bus and taxi fares and the time they take to reach Isfahan,
it was finally decided that a taxi would be the best option. The fares of
the taxis were very low as compared to those in Pakistan because of very
cheap petrol. They take half the time the busses normally take for the same
distance. The cab service was called and five minutes later, a long black
car with some Persian trade mark on it and a smart driver clad in black
shirt and trousers of very shiny material was present at the doorstep of
Akbar's house.
Before starting our journey we requested the driver to take us around the
city. The crossroads and the roundabouts were big enough to host huge parks
in the center. They were decorated with monuments and statues. These structures
belonged to some older days as the styles and the message in them did not
fit to the Shah or Khomeini periods.
The moment we got out of the city limits, we were engulfed by a vast desert.
Most of Iran is situated on a vast plateau comprising, The Great Salt desert
and The Great Sand desert known as Dasht-e-Kavir and Dasht-e-Lut respectively.
The plateau is surrounded by high mountains, whish check the damp Mediterranean
or Caspian currents from reaching the interior. Due to this reason, the
country has an annual precipitation of below 300mm. The dominant dryness
which extends into Afghanistan in the North and Pakistan in the East has
given rise to irrigation through the method of digging the Qanats2 or Karezat3
to gain access to the underground water.
The date of settlement on the Iranian plateau dates back to the Neolithic
Age. Three different city states of Parthians, Medes and Persians were,
however established after the Aryan races from Caucases immigrated to the
plateau during the second millennium BC. Cyrus, The Great, an Achamenid
was able to lay the foundation of the first empire in Persia by 539BC. In
those days, the Medean states had become a super power of the region, after
destroying the great Assyrian empire with the help of Babylonians, Lydia,
Greek settlements of Asia Minor and Babylon. With the traditional Aryan
skill of distant attacks by archery, his generosity with his subjects and
the rule of law, Cyrus was able to crush the might of the Medean states.
Later his son Camyses II continued the process of expansion and added the
conquest of Egypt to the Persian crown.
Later Darius known as the King of Kings, was the one to seize control of
what could be called a world Empire. He replaced Pasagardae, the capital
established by Cyrus and founded two new capitals: one at Susa the ancient
city of Elamites and other the Persipolis in Marv desert. Susa was the administrative
capital and Persipolis also called as Takht-e-Jamshed was considered as
the ceremonial capital. These two cities were connected by a royal road
to the Ionian coast, to cover a distance of two thousand miles. It is believed
that a message could be delivered at the most distant most places on the
road, by switching horses at different checkpoints, within a week. Darius
also introduced the "Golden Daric4". Twenty Satrapies5 under Persian
Empire were run by different Governors appointed by Darius himself, who
paid taxes to the King in the shape of Golden Daric.
During these days, Zoroaster had started preachings of a religion which
was established as state religion by Darius and probably, as a result of
royal patronage Zoroastrianism spread rapidly. It is not clear whether Zoroaster
preached of a monotheistic faith of Ahura Mazda-the god of light and the
sacred fire only or of a dual faith alongwith Ahrima-an antigod for darkness
and evil, as it is found today. Scientists believe that, Darius adopted
Ahura Mazda only and never added religion to territorial imperialism. Even
today this religion is practised by the minority Parsees in Iran, Pakistan
and India.
When I ducked down to sleep in the back seat of the cab, Ijaz and the driver,
of coarse, were awake and sitting in the front seats. The car was moving
through the curvy landscape of the desert spread on both sides and the hot
wind and sand was blowing across the open windows of the car. At 0400hrs,
I woke up to the honk of a car in the rear. The car was parked in front
of an open gate of a railway level-crossing. Ijaz and the driver were sleeping
in their seats. Quite surprised, I woke them up and later Ijaz told me that
they had to stop because the gate was closed. They felt so tired and sleepy
that both of them dozed off, while waiting for the train to pass and it
seemed that they had slept for almost three hours. The gate opened, the
train passed with all its noise and we three kept on sleeping. We were crossing
Dasht-e-Lut and most probably no vehicle had passed this road during these
three hours or maybe they thought that our car had some problem and overtook
silently.
Next morning at around 1100hrs we reached Isfahan, given the name of Nisf
Jahan6 by the Saffavids, who declared the city as their capital in 1000
Hijra7. The city remained the capital of the Persian Empire till 1788AD.
The taxi driver dropped us at the first roundabout of the city and vanished.
We couldn't ask him to take us to the city center; because it involved very
complex Gardans8 of Persian language. We managed to hire another cab and
reached Ayatullah Madani Road. The famous Mehmonsara-ye-Abbassi or Abbassi
Hotel and the Bazar-e-Soltani, the plaza which hosts the commercial center
of the city, stood facing each other on this road. The plaza contained lots
of shops, show rooms and travelling agencies. Right next to the Abbassi
hotel, rising from a grove of trees, a glazing blue tomb of Madrese-ye-Chahar
Bagh could be seen. The tree covered dual carriage-way of Chahar Bagh Abbassi
Road, perpendicular to Al Madani Road was the main shopping center of the
city.
The food and travelling costed half the price, it would in Pakistan. We
took lunch in the nearby restaurant and went to the Shaheed Rijae Park.
Ijaz stayed there and I went to ask the room rents of the hotels situated
in the vicinity. The bigger hotels charged rent in US Dollars only from
the foreigners. As Iran had devalued the dollar, therefore living in such
hotels was a very expensive luxury. A Dollar costed thirty two Pak. Rupees
and a Pak. Rupee costed seventy Iranian Rials. This meant that a Dollar
should cost 2240 Rials; but the Government had set a rate of exchange of
700 hundred Rials to a Dollar. A room in a very good hotel costed 44000
Rials for Iranians but around 140,000 Rials for us due to the official set
exchange rate. We went on to find a hotel where the payments could be done
in Rials. The best choice was to go to a Musafir Khana9. We found a reasonable
one in Chahar Rah Qasar by the name of Qayam. After putting our luggage
in the room we came out and reached Al madani road again.
It was a pitiful site to see the woman, covered in long black cloaks despite
the scorching heat. It was also astonishing to see them wearing skin tight
Lewis Jeans or knee high skirts under these cloaks, when the wind would
reveal the insides and you are lucky to watch it. Ninety percent of the
men wore beards. Most of the shops were being run by the men. Some women
were also seen as sales girls or desk clerks in the shops or offices and
they were also wearing the same black dress. I once read a book, written
by an American woman who dressed like a man and travelled through Iran to
study the Iranian culture of the late twenty first century. I wished I could
dress like a woman to know the feelings of these women, moving in the streets.
They looked like slaves who are forced to move around covering themselves
so heavily in this hot climate. Despite the fact that the Hijab-e-Islami10
was strictly followed, an altogether different experience could be encountered,
while travelling in a taxicab. There was a rare concept of hiring a cab
all by yourself. Anybody could stop an already hired taxi and jump in. I
couldn't find anybody to show it to me; but I had also heard that moving
in private cars was not allowed in the city centre and only cabs or the
busses were to be used. There was a huge parking lot outside the city limits.
The basic idea was marvellous as in this way the world-wide problem of finding
a place for parking was overcome successfully. Once we hired a taxi and
I was sitting in the back seat. All of a sudden the taxi stopped and three
girls hopped in the back seat with me. Four people sitting in the back seat
of a car is normally very uncomfortable for everybody. Moreover, I was afraid
of being caught, violating the hijab-e-Islami. I decided to go to the front
seat and sit with Ijaz. One of them stopped me from doing so and asked me
to remain sitting there; because the traffic police doesn't allow two men
sitting in the front. They kept on giggling all the way, maybe discussing
my ignorance about so simple traffic rules. The one sitting next to me smelled
of "Prophecy" and tried her best to transfer the perfume on my
chest and thighs, when she left.
After browsing for about half an hour or so we entered a travelling agency
in the Bazar-e-Soltani and decided to ask prices of any guided tours of
the city. The guide knew very good English as he had worked as an interpreter
to some Minister during the days of Shah's Government. He offered an entire
four hour tour of the city in his personal car, visiting some half a dozen
places, for just six US dollars.
"You are travelling during the best days for tourism in Iran. You should
consider yourselves lucky." He said when I couldn't believe in the
offer he had given to us.
We asked for the booklet in which a list of the historic places was given.
Some of the places were even more than ten kilometers away from the city
center.
"You sure the cost is six dollars for two of us, including the petrol
for the car and you will also tell us about the features of the places we
visit?" Ijaz was still doubtful.
"Yes Sir! I am sorry if I sound ridiculous; but that's the way it is.
I don't mind if you want to give me more." He was laughing at us now
as if we were kids who had been given some money for the first time in their
lives and didn't know how to purchase things from a shop.
"O.K. I'll give you fifteen dollars and after the tour we'll take our
luggage from the Musafar Khana and go to the Bus terminal. You'll help us
buy the tickets for Shiraz. How about that?" We had not planned when
to leave Isfahan as yet and the idea came to me at that very instant. Ijaz
also agreed and the guide had nothing better to do in the evening.
Travelling on Chahar Bagh Abbassi road Northwards and turning right from
Chahar-rah Takhti, Hasan Arya took us to the Friday Mosque first. The mosque
was said to be the largest in Iran and was full of examples from the Persian
architecture from the eight to eighteenth century. There was a bazarcha11
adjoining the mosque, where carpets, flowers, perfumes and artistically
carved utensils were being sold.
From the mosque we went to visit the ruins of a fifteen hundred years old
fire temple. When Muslims came for the first time in Isfahan they demolished
most of the Zoroastrians' fire temples. This temple however stayed as it
is; because it was situated quite far from the city on the top of a hill.
It was made of sundried mud-bricks and got destroyed itself by centuries
of snow and rain falling on it or (maybe) by a constant decrease in the
number of people, visiting it.
Lots of Armenians migrated to the interior cities of Iran and Turkey during
a war between the two countries in the seventeenth century. The Armenian
community later established a church in New Jalfa on the Southern side of
the river. After staying a while at the two story bridge of thirty three
arches-a masterpiece of Structural Engineering of the seventeenth century,
we came to Jalfa region. The main gate of Kalisa-ye-Vank, the Armenian Cathedral
was situated in a small street and the facade was a mixture of Muslim and
Christian styles of architecture. The fresco work inside was marvellous
and depicted themes of Old and New Testaments The works needed restoration
as the candle soot had discolored most of them. Photography was allowed
without the flashlight only. I had forgotton to bring along a fast film
with me and didn't have much time to prepare my camera and tripod for bulb
photography, therefore a combination of f/4 and 1/90sec. was the only choice
left to shoot the candle lit interior.
The Armenian Museum building situated in the premises of the church contained
a splendid collection of manuscripts going back to the eleventh century.
Most interesting were the tenth and eleventh century specimens of Quran,
Gospel and the book of Cannon written in Armenian languages on parchments.
A portrait of The Prophat, Abrahamt by Rambrant was also on display. More
than six hundred years old palliums, cloaks, helmets, stoles, beautifully
carved crosses, belts and monstrances used by different priests of those
times were on display, depicting Armenian, Turkish and Persian styles of
artwork.
Later we came to the Khaju bridge built on the concept, that as the river
under it called Zayandeh Rud is born from a large number of small fountains
and streams similarly the bridge is also supported by a large number of
very small sized arches. It was a foot bridge and was some seventy meters
long. A small exhibition of paintings and photographs was held in between
the arches and a lot of people had come to watch them. A few couples were
sitting on the stairs, with their feet dipped in the cold rushing water.
Children were throwing stones in the fast flow of the foaming river. Some
pink faces of school girls, inexperienced in handling and moving around
with the cloaks, had lightened the monotonous noise of water with their
echoing giggles and high pitched quickly delivered sentences. We spent some
fifteen minutes on the bridge during which an old man sitting on the stairs,
caught my attention more than once. He had dropped his head sideways and
was sitting with his legs crossed close to his chest and tightly held by
his arms. He was dressed in very shabby clothes. I tried to photograph him
with my 200mm lens from a distance. He somehow noticed it, looked towards
me and even gave me a faint smile.
There was something very philosophical or mystic about this man and I wanted
to talk to him. Hassan Arya had other plans, as he had to take us to a couple
of other places before it got dark. Ijaz and Hasan were waiting for me by
the car and I was still standing with this old man.
"Its bad to keep your companions waiting. There will be more to see
in this world." He said, his eyes still fixed on the water. When I
came back to sit in the car, I looked towards him once again and he was
gone. There are so many stories untold in this world. People live with them
buried in their hearts. There are some who are seen in everyday life as
if they don't have any at all and it can't be so. There are others like
the old man I saw that day, who have lost in their untold stories. I often
think of God, Who has created so many different peoples alongwith so many
different stories. The man kind of made me sad. I just wished him a happy
story when he left that bridge.
"How can I have a look at the method of carpet weaving, that is so
famous all over the world?" I asked Hassan.
"No problem! We can go to the Esfahan School of fine arts and you can
see it for yourself." He was trying to recall the shortest way to reach
the school.
The incharge of the carpet weaving section was a graceful woman, who could
speak very good English. She must have been in her early forties. She told
us that during the days of shah, more than $20,000,000 worth of hand woven
carpets were exported to United States alone in a year. The variety was
enormous and she told us that almost every district in Iran has its own
traditional pattern of weaving. She showed us a carpet hung from a giant
steel loom tubing, with more than twenty girls working on it. The quality
of the carpets was judged by the color scheming and the number of knots
per square inch. There were carpets which even had more than four hundred
knots per square inch. We thanked the lady and came out.
After rocking the shaking minarets some eight kilometers out of the city
we asked Arya to show us the University. We took a short drive passing the
buildings and different departments of the University called Danish Gah-e-Esfahan
and came back to the inn.
The old woman at the counter wished us a safe journey and asked us if we
would be coming back. She also wanted to know how much she would get if
she came to work in Pakistan. I discouraged her by telling her that we don't
have jobs for women. She couldn't believe in me and forgot to ask for the
extra money which they normally do.
Arya took us to the bus terminal and bought two tickets for us. The bus
was to leave at 2300hrs and there were about two hours to wait. We let Arya
leave us when he had told us the registration number of the bus after inquiring
it from the ticketing clerk.
We kept roaming around the terminal. There were some shops and a restaurant
inside the building. The counters for different cities had very smart boys
standing behind them. I approached one of them and asked him to keep our
luggage in his custody while I was having my dinner. He suggested me to
take the dinner behind the counter next to him and he'd ask the waiter to
bring it here whatever we needed. That was a bit awkward place for having
a dinner, but there was no other choice. We couldn't take our luggage into
the restaurant. We sat down on the chairs and ordered for the food. The
counterman also took his food with us on our request. After the food we
kept sitting there watching TV until the bus arrived. He came with us to
the bus and helped us load our luggage in the side compartment. He also
told the conductor to take good care of us and left kissing our cheeks. |
