Monday, 20 May 2019

Ancient deities on the Silk Road

Source: National Museum of Korea
This splendid object is a funerary banner, made of hemp-cloth and measuring about 1.9m. It was found in a 7th century tomb in Astana, a huge ancient gravesite in what is now Xinjiang Province, China. The figures with human torsos and elegantly entwined tails are the goddess Nuwa (on the left) and the god Fu Xi who is variously described as her brother, her husband, or both. They were worshipped as far back as the Warring States period (5th to 3rd century BC) and probably much earlier. I love their flamboyant posture, looking as if they are engaged in a happy dance.

Although the Astana gravesite now lies within China, the whole region was once a kind of no-man’s-land, surrounded by deserts (as it still is today) and dotted with small independent city-states that functioned as trading points along the Silk Road. The nearest settlement to Astana was Gaochang but the largest nearby town was Turpan (or Turfan), 35km west, still a thriving centre today.


Nuwa and Fu Xi boast an impressive portfolio of responsibilities and achievements; they are the kind of gods that you want on your side. Nuwa repaired a hole in the universe and saved the world from a catastrophic flood, after which she restored the human race, either by creating people out of mud (in one version) or by coupling with Fu Xi (in a version derived from regional folktales). Fu Xi was the “first of the great sage-kings and the initiator of man’s emergence from his undifferentiated animal state”.  He taught humans to fish and hunt, and is credited with inventing the hexagrams of the I Ching: the symbolic sets of lines used in Chinese religious rituals.

In tombs of the Han Dynasty (206 BC to 220 AD), the pair were often depicted on walls, carvings and banners. Their role was to maintain the order of the cosmos, ensuring a peaceful universe for the deceased in the afterlife. This is reflected in the instruments they hold: a mathematical compass for Nuwa (whose domain is the heavens, which are circular in Chinese mythology), and a set-square for Fu Xi (whose domain is the earth, which is square or angular). It’s been suggested that their presence was meant to give reassurance to the deceased so that he or she would not try to return to the living world. This might explain why the pair look calm and cheerful, unlike the scary tomb guardians of later periods.

Annoyingly, there seems to be no explanation for their serpent tails. The legends simply describe Nuwa as having a human torso and a dragon or serpent’s tail (a surprisingly common feature amongst female deities across several cultures). In the Han period, it became common to portray Nuwa and Fu Xi as a pair with entwined tails, like the Greek caduceus. But no-one seems to know why. 

Amongst its many mysteries, there are two things about this banner that I find particularly interesting. Firstly, it was one of several found in the Astana graves, all from around the same period (examples below). Fu Xi and Nuwa were most commonly found in Han Dynasty burials, so what were they doing in Central Asian tombs 400 years later?  

Sources: National Museum of India (L), British Museum (R)

The likely answer is that they were a reflection of cultural diaspora, where emigrants maintain long-standing traditions from their home country. Gaochang, the nearest town to Astana, had a large ethnic Chinese population. Turpan had a history of diplomatic relations with China, dating back to the Han Dynasty. A consequence of Silk Road trade was that many Chinese businessmen settled in these towns, and in doing so they kept up old traditions like burial practices that dated back for centuries. The same type of cultural memory exists in migrant Chinese communities in South-East Asia today.

The banner also offers an interesting link to Japan’s involvement in Silk Road archaeology. While European names like Aurel Stein and Paul Pelliot are famous as Silk Road explorers (or plunderers, depending on your viewpoint), there were also three Japanese expeditions in the early 1900s, on one of which this banner was discovered. The expeditions were sponsored by Count Otani Kuzui, leader of a major Japanese Buddhist sect. Ostensibly, the expeditions sprang from a genuine interest in religious relics, but the truth was that national pride was also at stake. As a budding regional power, Japan did not want to be outdone by Britain, France, Russia and Germany who were (literally) carving up the Silk Road. The Japanese teams were even accused of spying, an allegation that lingered for decades: you can read about it in Peter Hopkirk’s brilliant book Foreign Devils on the Silk Road

Worship of Nuwa became less common over time, but temples still exist in her honour, and in Hebei Province she and Fu Xi are commemorated in an annual festival that involves eating lots of noodles (perhaps because noodles look like serpents? See below.). For a goddess who mastered mathematics and flood control, repaired the universe, created mankind and survived the Cultural Revolution, none of this should be surprising.  

Source: BBC

Saturday, 4 May 2019

Riding into battle on a rhinoceros

In Vienna recently, I had hoped to see the pages of the Hamzanama owned by the Museum of Applied Arts (MAK). Sadly they are not available to the public but the curator kindly referred me to the Google Arts page containing high-definition images of the full collection. In some ways these are better than the real thing as they can be enlarged for poor aging eyes like mine, whereas original folios can only be viewed in low light. Check out the page here.


You may recall that the Hamzanama is a collection of fantastical stories about Amir Hamza, uncle of the Prophet Muhammad (earlier posts here). Derived from medieval Persian legends, these tales of warriors, demons and giants were hugely popular in Mughal India. The young emperor Akbar commissioned a full set of illustrations which are now recognised as one of the greatest works of Mughal art. I like to think that Akbar, still in his late teens, saw this as his personal superhero comic-book. After the decline of the Mughal dynasty, the 12 bound volumes were lost, probably broken up and sold piecemeal. Fewer than 200 of the original 1400 pages or folios are known to exist today, of which the MAK’s collection of 60 is the largest single holding.

Thinking about the similarity with superhero comics, I was taken by the image above, depicting the warrior Qasim fighting with the evil Kayhur, who is mounted on a rhinoceros. A few of you may have watched the film Black Panther, set in a fictional African country where armoured rhinos are used as mounts in battle (see below). There was some excitement on the internet about “war rhinos”, which someone pointed out had already been used in the film 300 a decade earlier. But as far as I know, no-one in this debate mentioned their appearance in a 16th century imperial Mughal manuscript.



The artists of the Hamzanama show Qasim rather gruesomely decapitating the poor rhino with such force that even Kayhur’s white shield is sliced neatly in half (detail below). The animal appears to be an Indian one-horned rhino, with its trademark big floppy ears. Whatever the artistic merits of the Hamzanama, I’m happier with the film where the rhino is portrayed as a kind of gigantic family pet. It seems to be modelled on an African white rhino, which is also said to be less bad-tempered than the black rhino, though you wouldn’t really want to test this.



Rhinos have never been tamed for riding, of course, but I’m sure the MAK knew this when it purchased the 60 folios at the Vienna World Fair in 1873, describing them as ‘treasure troves of costumes, architecture, devices, vessels, weapons etc, all richly and neatly ornamented’. The seller seems to have been an Iranian prince, though details are sketchy, and in this climate of resentment at Western museums' ownership of Asian art, I don't expect much further clarification. Pages of the Hamzanama have turned up in the oddest places: those owned by the Victoria & Albert Museum were found stuffed into broken window-panes in a Kashmir antique shop. Each page would now be worth over half a million pounds.

I can’t leave without sharing another fabulous and funny image (see below) which supports the ‘superhero’ hypothesis. Two brothers, fighting for the infidel enemy, attempt to frighten the troops by lifting an elephant and tossing it aside. Farrukhnizhad – one of the good guys – sees this and snorts: “Two men to lift one elephant?”. He then picks up the poor elephant himself (the animals really don’t do well here), whereupon the awestruck brothers immediately agree to convert to Islam and join the good side. The name Farrukhnizhad doesn’t have the same ring as Hulk or Iron Man, but for Akbar it probably sounded Marvel-lous.


Reference material: The Adventures of Hamza: Painting and Storytelling in Mughal India, John Seyller and Wheeler Thackston, Smithsonian Institute