The Many Faces of Iran

Khatam (marquetry) boxes from Isfahan

By Heidi Noroozy

Every year, Tehran hosts a folklore festival that celebrates Iran’s vast ethnic diversity. For seven days, the locals get to sample cuisines from every corner of their country, check out displays of colorful handicrafts, and experience a small slice of life in villages and nomadic communities from the Caspian Sea to the Persian Gulf, from the Afghan/Pakistani border to the Zagros Mountains.

By some stroke of luck, my latest trip to Iran coincided with that festival, and I spent a sunny afternoon with friends one day, wandering about the grounds of the Bahman Cultural Center, where we sampled Kurdish koloocheh (a kind of flat doughnut) and sipped tea in a nomad’s tent whose sides were draped with colorful carpets. We watched a Qashqa’i tribeswoman make butter by gently rocking a cream-filled sheepskin suspended from a makeshift wooden frame. When night fell and the dancing demonstrations began, the master of ceremonies kindly saved me a seat right in front of the “stage” (a clearing in the crowd), which not only gave me an unobstructed view of the dancers but also a deafening proximity to the Qashqa’i drummer.

Like any nation with a long history, Iran’s diverse population reflects the country’s geographic shifts, with borders expanding in one period and shrinking in another, with entire communities being relocated to suit a leader’s political ambitions.

There are too many ethnic groups to describe in one short post, but here are a few that I've encountered on past visits:

Azeri dancers at the Bahman Cultural Center
in Tehran

The Azeris, or Azerbaijanis, are the largest minority, accounting for 15 to 25 percent of the population. They occupy four provinces in the northwestern part of the country—Eastern Azerbaijan, Western Azerbaijan, Ardabil, and Zanjan—and speak a Turkic language. If you’ve been following the news of the Iran earthquake that took place last month, its epicenter lay near Tabriz, the capital of East Azerbaijan. Azeris refer to themselves colloquially as “Turks” (torki), and most are Shia Muslims. They are well integrated into society and play important roles in business and politics. Many merchants at the Grand Bazaar belong to this ethnic group, and their language can be heard throughout the marketplace. The Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, is half Azeri, with a father from Tabriz.

The Kurds are a Sunni Muslim minority whose territory spans four countries: Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. The Kurdish populations of all four countries have pushed for autonomy from their governments in a desire to form their own independent nation. But even non-separatist Kurds in Iran are fiercely proud of their heritage, as I discovered on a trip through the Zagros Mountains. Close to midnight, my companions decided to stop by the side of the road—to stretch their legs, they said. We drove up a short dirt track to wide plateau, where they cranked up the CD player. After piling out of the car, we formed a line and danced to the rhythm of a lively Kurdish folk tune—with me stumbling along to keep up with the fancy footwork. The leader took my scarf and twirled it through the air as the line wove back and forth under a bright moon. When headlights signaled an approaching vehicle, one man reached through the window and silenced the CD player. We stood motionless under the starry sky until the other car had passed.

Iran has several Christian minorities, the largest of which is the Armenian community. This ethnic group traces its history back to the 16^th century when its members got caught up in a war between the Persians, led by Shah Abbas of the Safavids, and their Ottoman neighbors. As part of a “scorched earth” policy to prevent the Ottomans from launching attacks from Armenian villages, Abbas depopulated the border region and resettled the people in his nation’s interior. Because the Armenians were known for their artistic skills, he used them to help build his new capital of Isfahan, and the city’s Jolfa neighborhood is still a center of Armenian life in Iran. It has an Armenian school, 12 churches, and the beautiful Vank Cathedral.

Making butter in a sheepskin

The Qashqa’is hail from a nomadic tribe that traditionally led a pastoral life, following their herds of sheep from summer pastures in the mountains near Shiraz to winter quarters along the Persian Gulf. Today, most of them have abandoned the nomadic life, but they are still known for their skill in weaving colorful textiles, using homespun wool and natural dyes. Gabbeh, a movie by the Iranian filmmaker, Mohsen Makhmalbaf, paints a lyrical (if fictionalized) picture of life in a Qashqa’i tribe.

My husband is an ethnic Persian, but his extended family includes Kurds and Azeris. Through their eyes, I’ve learned about different cultural practices, languages, and—best of all—cuisines, which together form the colorful patchwork of Iran’s multicultural society.

Guess Their Religion—The Fire Worshippers of the Atashgah

The Ateshgah temple compound (photo by Nick Taylor)

By Supriya Savkoor

Here we are, in a fairly small, poor town, standing on a not-so-narrow peninsula jutting about 40 km into the Caspian Sea. Its population is only about 200,000. See those old oil rigs and industrial plants off in the distance? They’re mostly abandoned by the Soviets, though some are operational. Head a few hours north, we’d be in Russia itself. Directly west is Armenia. Wedged between the two is the former Soviet republic of Georgia, as well as a tiny border with Turkey. And over there, due east just across the sea, is that curious country of Turkmenistan. Wanna catch a 10-hour ferry ride just to get about 180 miles (roughly 300 km) across? Wait, no international banking in Turkmenistan, you say? Fine, shall we head south into Iran instead? Except what about our visas? Too bad, cause Tehran’s only 300 miles south of here, and we’d only be driving along one of the world’s most gorgeous coasts to get there. Next time. For now, let’s check out one of the more unusual sights around here, shall we?

We’re plop in the middle of little Surakhani, a small suburb outside Baku in Azerbaijan, yet another former Soviet republic. Had you already guessed this? I’m not sure I would have, my knowledge of the Caucasus being painfully limited. Thankfully, my blogmate, Edith McClintock, here at Novel Adventurers, is taking care of that for all of us. But it’s still embarrassing. Not only is Azerbaijain the largest country in the Caucasus, but like Turkey, it’s considered an important crossroads in which east (western Asia) meets west (eastern Europe). It was also the first democratic and secular Muslim country in the world and remains very secular and progressive to this day. And it’s one of the birthplaces of mankind, sitting right at the heart of several ancient civilizations. The earliest films, operas, and theater all hail from this fascinating country as well, and its unique folk traditions, music and dance, go back at least a thousand years.

If being a cultural hotspot weren’t enough, Surakhani—which means “the region of holes” or could refer to the red glow that once emanated from its natural gas reserves—is, quite literally, a geophysical hotspot as well. The Soviets sucked much natural gas and petroleum from the country, back when the rich, dark petroleum literally oozed from the ground, yet two-thirds of the country is still rich in these natural resources. If all its other milestones weren’t enough, natural oil fires once literally rose from the ground as if by magic.

Issued in 1919, an Azerbaijani postage stamp with an
image of the Fire Temple (Scott Cat. no. 9)

Which brings us to the Atashgah, also known as the fire temple of Baku. The area around Baku is filled with ancient mosques and cemeteries, not to mention the remnants of the many invasions this region has experienced. UNESCO has certified literally dozens of World Heritage sites in this area, and the Atashgah is a notable one. Some 15,000 tourists—pilgrims, really—visit the temple annually.

Of course, I didn’t bring you here just for the heck of it. This temple has an unusual pedigree. Not only because notables like Marco Polo and Alexander Dumas visited it or that the Russian czar, Alexander III, reportedly observed religious rituals there. But because of its dubious religious origin.

Many consider the Atashgah Zoroastrian, the ancient Persian religion Heidi and I both keep harping about in this space. Fire, a central element of the Zoroastrian faith, perpetually burns at the center of the temple, of course, and the name of the temple itself hails from the Persian  word for fire, “atash.” For years, an “eternal fire” burned at the Atashgah’s main altar. Turns out it sat right above a natural gas field, causing spontaneous bursts of fire through seven natural surface vents. An incredible natural phenomenon if you ever get to see one. In fact, Azerbaijan has some of the most concentrations of such “natural fires” that spring up around the country. The natural gas under Atashgah became exhausted in 1969, after about a hundred years of Soviet over-exploitation of the area’s natural resources, but ever since, the Baku municipality has piped in gas to keep the fire burning and keep the tourists and pilgrims happy.

Eternal flame in the Atashgah

The compound, compared to a castle in some descriptions, is shaped like a pentagon, with little cottages for the monks who stayed there and a fire altar at the center. The government has since turned the temple into a museum, and in addition to its UNESCO designation, the Azeri president declared it a state historical-architectural reserve in 2007. Zoroastrian symbols at the old temple abound. A Naskh inscription over the entrance to one of the cells uses a couplet to announce the visit of Zoroastrians from Isfahan in the 18^th century. (There's a 10th century atashgah in Isfahan, in fact, one of the few still in Iran, I'm guessing.) The trident sitting atop the Azeri temple structure is thought by some to be a symbol of the Zoroastrian concept of the “good thoughts, good words, and good deeds” Heidi wrote about on Monday. The compound may have been ravaged by Islamic armies during the conquest of Persia, and it’s thought that the “locals” may already have been worshipping around the “seven holes” even before the Hindus arrived.

Yes, not only have Zoroastrians worshipped here over the centuries, but so have Hindus, Sikhs, and Buddhists. That’s the real rub. The temple might not even be Zoroastrian originally, but Hindu. Sure, the temple’s right in the middle of Central Asia, not even South Asia, and sure, today there aren’t more than a few hundred Azeri residents of Indian descent. Modern scholars and old writings indicate Indian merchants did a lot of trade along this part of the Silk Road, settling down and forming a sizeable community in the late Middle Ages, possibly around the late 1700s. Many of the woodworkers building the trading ships at the time were Indian as well. The growing Indian population may have been responsible for building the temple or renovating an existing one into a Hindu one. Over the centuries, many have written of it primarily as a Hindu temple though. Even historians who are Parsi, that is descended from the Zoroastrians who’d migrated to India, believe it was always a Hindu temple.

Inscriptions from the Atashgah in Baku, with both a Hindu
invocation in Sanskrit as well as a Persian couplet.
From A. V. Williams Jackson’s 1911 book,
From Constantinople to the Home of Omar Khayyam. {PD-US}

And the physical evidence validates it as well. Fire is a common element of both faiths, as is the trident (known as a trishul, as in the one  Lord Shiva carries). But most telling are the Sanskrit and Punjabi inscriptions peppering the structures around the compound. The tribute to the Zoroastrians from Isfahan has its share of typos, and right above it, inscriptions pay tribute to Lord Ganesha and a Hindu goddess known as Jwala Ji—in Sanskrit. Both these inscriptions note the modern calendar year of 1745, the likely date the temple was erected. And get this. Followers of Jwala Ji have long paid tribute to the goddess by lighting either seven or nine fires, much like the fires coming through the seven “holes” under the altar.

There's another really curious little factoid, a side note, I have to share about this place too. If you've read some of my previous posts (such as this one), you may remember mention of the shared ancient history between the Indians and Persians (all Aryans). It turns out a 10th-century Persian geographer by the name of Estakhri wrote that fire worshippers lived not far from Baku. Another 10th-century scholar—Armenian historian, Movses Kaghankatvatsi—confirmed that information, referring to a province called (unbelievably) "Bhagavan." The translation of that word back in the medieval Albanian Caucasus was the "field of gods" or the "fire gods." But what makes this just so fascinating is that in India, regardless of whatever faith you practice, Bhagavan is pretty much the literal translation for God. Wow.


But back to the fire temple of Baku. 

One after another, Europeans visiting the area in the 17^th and 18^th centuries mention the “brahmins,” the “Indian ascetics,” or the worship of the Hindu fire god, Agni, they observed at Atashgah. Some noted distinctions such as the priests’ strict vegetarian diets or their wearing of tilaks on their foreheads. The fire ritual Czar Alexander III observed was, by all accounts, a Hindu one.

Around the time the Russians arrived to cash in on the oil, the Indian traders and merchants began migrating back to their homeland—mostly from the Sindh and Punjab regions of modern-day Pakistan. In their place came Zoroastrians of Persian origin who’d settled in India and came back to ancient Persia to help restore and maintain the temple. Among the many visitors to the temple each year are thousands of Zoroastrians who revere the sacred grounds regardless of which faith built it.

Iranian Zoroastrians at the fire temple in Baku