Uyghurstan سَفَرنامَہ
Two Uyghur men outside Id Kah Mosque, Kashgar (East Turkistan) © Abid Iqbal
Compassionate and gentle eyes on which perched warm, scattered dust. Reluctantly, I uttered ‘Asalamun Alaykum (peace be upon you), which instantly connected me with two older Uyghur men outside Id Kah mosque in Kashgar. My brother Abid and I were mesmerised by their chivalry, mannerism and soft-spoken behaviour. He asked if they could be photographed, and they tenderly accepted. Their faces have been imprinted in my memory.
I first encountered East Turkistan while travelling through Italy, where I saw images of Kashgar in a bookstore. Sadly, it has taken me over 10 years to write and reflect on my journey from Chitral to Kashgar. I still struggle to articulate my experience, partly because it profoundly influenced me; it had emblems of knowledge and wisdom that revitalised my association with Tasavvuf.
Over two million Uyghurs, including artists, musicians, scholars and writers, have disappeared and been put into concentration camps. However, minimal action has been taken by governments to pressure the Chinese authorities. The West is again looking the other way due to China’s growing economic and trading links. Uyghur music, dance, and literature embody and celebrate the spirit of Islam, which has significantly contributed to popular culture.
On my recent trip to Chitral last year, I was reminded of these two Uyghur men while strolling in the Shahi bazaar. I encountered an older gentleman who resembled the Uyghur. He wore a traditional chogha (long coat), and his eyes betrayed countless of stories. At first, I wanted to approach him but then decided to walk away. Chitral is that rare place where I can access this unknown intimacy and affection.
For me, visiting East Turkistan felt like being reconnected to a familiar past. The place had features of Central Asia, Persia, and South Asia amalgamated unexpectedly. The backdrop of the Hindukush landscape effortlessly slipped into the Karakoram, silently merging into the oasis of Tarim Basin. It was like an older version of Chitral (in the past, Chitral was called little Kashgar). Kashgar felt like the older brother, who was more mature and had centuries of wisdom and sophistication. This was a part of the world which had been overlooked for decades. Yet everything about this city spellbound me.
The striking atlas (silk cloth) and felt textiles carried memoirs of my ancestors. The Sunday livestock market awakened the child in me as I gazed amidst hundreds of older men. That was the first time I felt a sense of brotherhood; not knowing a single person, not speaking their language, but there was a sacred relationship of mutual love, compassion and generosity. This was out of my comfort zone, yet I was not made to feel out of place; this was rare. I witnessed this.
The yeasty aroma of Uyghur nan bread with glittering sesame seeds; the sweet and sour Laghman noodles served with steaming cups of hot water left a perfumed taste in my mouth. The smoky whiff of lamb skewers to the sweet and sharp watermelon ice cream was like an extension of my first encounter with Chitral.
The artistry of Uyghur sign boards in Arabic lettering gave me something to ponder. My eyes loitered on a series of paintings performing the muqam, which transported me to a mehfil of traditional Chitrali music. It all captivated, enchoing the past, like I had visited this place before. This was another Huzun moment.
The Chinese may be trying to erase Uyghur culture, heritage, and language but forget that memories cannot be erased. The reality is that minimal effort and attention has been given to the Uyghur genocide. People like Imran Khan were too busy strengthening their ties with the Chinese, but the truth remains that no country can elevate its economy by supporting the perpetrator (the current government is much worse). Why would you build economic relations with a tyrant government committing a crime against humanity? Where is the justice and accountability in that? Which moral and ethical framework do countries like Pakistan, UAE and Saudi Arabia follow? They all belong to a fascist regime that instigates oppression and gives rise to Islamophobia. That is the truth.
As I write this, pain fills my heart for the millions of Uyghurs who have perished; unknown in them was an artist, writer, a poet, farmer, teacher and a shopkeeper. So there was beauty and thousands of years of history, knowledge and heritage that the world conveniently sits back and watches being destroyed.
I play a track from Sanubar Tursun; her haunting yet melodious voice transmits me to an abandoned land. Occasionally I dream about visiting Yarkand, and then my mind races to think what would happen if Baba Siyar, the epic poet from Chitral, met Nuzugum, an iconic heroine in Uyghur’s recent history. She is a symbol of the nationalist movement which fought the Manchu-Qing empire in the 1820s. Her tomb is situated in the Uyghur region of eastern Kazakhstan.
I leave with the heart wrenching poem by Uyghur poet Nurmemet Yasin ‘ The Call of Nuzugum’ translated by Aziz Isa Elkun.
Where are you our heroic men?
Let us go to the desert,
The brave hunter finds freedom there,
It flows in his spirit and his blood.
The reeds sing a desert song,
Horses neigh on the horizon.
The heroic people who once lived by the sword,
Now lie quiet beneath the earth.
The floating moon becomes a beautiful girl,
Telling a story in the blue* sky,
Oh the reed bed fiercely burns,
And with it the hopes of a whole nation.
We are listening to it silently,
Not only with our ears but in our hearts,
The sand encroaches on the fertile lands,
But we are the real sandstorms.
Let us go to the desert,
There the delicate moon is telling a tale,
Perhaps it is a book of warriors,
Containing many beautiful myths.
It would be not strange to meet,
Freedom’s son, heroic Chin Tomur*
Let us live in a free world,
Singing desert songs all our lives.
*Refers to the East Turkistan flag, which has a crescent moon on a blue background.
*Chin Tomur is a legendary Uyghur hero who defeated foreign enemies.
