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Tale
8 - Pakistan/Iran/Turkey - by Malik
Cappadocia
At first look, I was disappointed. There was nothing except
brown hills and rocks. Soon I realised that they looked like
the Ku Klux Klan. These were conical in shape, which resembled
hoods and head to heal garments. They had windows or ventilators
looking like dark eyes. On reaching near, I noticed openings
leading inside. It took me some time to realise that Cappadocia's
charm lies beneath the surface.
Tourist turnout was astonishing, many had come from cities as
far as Istanbul. Mostly they were in groups with prepaid packages
escorted by smart English speaking guides. Perhaps, I was the
only solo traveller, without a package, with no one to turn
to in case of distress. I followed one group and listened to
the guides narratives. I changed group before being noticed
and got the whole story in pieces, without incurring a dime.
I visited a place called Goreme which was really a sight. It
had eight levels going underground. The passages were lit with
bare light bulbs. Tourist voices echoed inside the hollowness.
It got cooler and cooler as I went down. At the bottom, I felt
reasonably cold and wished I had my leather jacket. I had to
crane my neck to look up to see the sky, eight floors above.
At night, I stayed in a cave-lodge to get a taste for the history.
Everything looked normal except the insects and flies. Luckily,
I had plenty of insect repellent. I applied it well over my
body. It was so effective that even the housekeeper dared not
enter. Next morning, I had to wash my body three times before
joining the others for breakfast!
"Anyone for Konya?", I asked around. No one stirred
except two young Turkish girls. They turned out to be research
scholars writing a paper on Sufism and told me that I could
accompany them. Who would not? They were such striking beauties.
The only problem was that if I tried to speak to one, the other
also chipped in. It reminded me of a pizza shop in Pretoria,
South Africa where they said, "Buy ONE, get ONE free".
Konya
The taxi was heading towards Konya, the home of the Whirling
Dervish. The first dervish was Jalaluddin Rumi, a reknowned
scholar. One day, walking by the goldbeaters' shop, he became
enchanted by the sound of hammers. As he uttered "Allah,
Allah", he heard it echoed back. In a mounting state of
ecstasy, Rumi began to turn and whirl.
A whirling Dervish Dancer-Konya
The two girls, Nilufar and Lale, were engaged in heated discussions.
For my benefit, they translated in English, a message of Dervish:
Even if you deny your oaths a hundred times, come! Our
door is the door of hope, come! Come like you are!".
In the evening, the taxi reached Konya. While the girls headed
for the shrine, I scanned the area to secure a place to stay
at. I got a room above a café. It was Sunday evening.
The café was jammed packed with Turkish men watching
a football match on TV. They were crying, singing and jumping
on tables. "Football-mania" was going on live.
Next morning I went to the shrine which had a mosque, dance
hall, dervish living quarters, a school and tombs. In the dancing
hall, the dervishs were whirling. Drums, violins and flutes
were pounding out an insistant rhythm. Dervish skirts were swirling
horizontally, higher and higher. With their faces rapped, they
seemed to free themselves from the gravity. When the skirts
spun above their heads, they slowed down to let them fall, symbolising
material sacrifices and surrender. Right arms were raised and
left arms lowered down, a gesture of reconciliation between
heaven and earth. Across a brief silence, there were cries of
"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!" (God is Great!).
In the evening, I went to a lokanta (restaurant). There was
a wide variety like sav tava (grilled lamb, tomatoes, onions,
bell peppers and garlic with rice pilaf). This could be washed
down with ayran (a salty yoghurt drink) and finished with a
dessert, borek (cheese filled pastry). Indeed, Turkish foods
were very tasty.
I stayed at Konya for two days and took a bus for the next town.
My ultimate destination was Ankara. Travelling by bus was much
more pleasant for non-smokers like me. Smoking was banned on
all buses nationwide. From the bus window, I saw summer homes
and summer grazing of herds of animals. I stopped at two places.
This afforded me an opportunity to look around the nearby villages.
It was very pleasant to see the rounding up of animals for milking
and weaving of carpet in artistic designs. There were goats
in large number, famous Angora breed, looking majestic as if
they owned the place. People were working in the fields with
families. They would call me over to share lunch or have a cup
of tea. A young man from a wedding party ran out and invited
me to join them in their ceremonial dance. Women picking cherries
forced me to have some. None spoke English but conveyed their
best wishes and prayers through body language.
Hafeez ur Rahman Malik, Karachi-Pakistan.
Submitted: 27 December 2002
Next: Tale 9 - Pakistan/Iran/Turkey |
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Malik
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