Legend of Timur's Grave

Samarkand also houses the remains of the great Timur in the Gur Emir building. From a distance this looks like a giant fluted tulip, its dome delicately resembling the tightly folded petals decked out in lapis blue. The dome is studded with fine gold and blue tiles and rises out of an octagonal base. No expense was spared on this mausoleum to a legend, with walls of jasper and of alabaster. Inside lie the remains of the great Timur, as well as those of his three sons; Omar Shaik, Miranshah and Shakh Rukh and his grandson Mohammed Sultan. His gravestone is beautiful in the simplicity of its design – a single piece of dark green jade. According to folklore, the tomb is inscribed with the caution that anyone opening it will bring upon their country an invader worst than Timur himself.

And did that act let slip the dogs of war? It’s said that in 1941 a Russian archaeologist set out to determine whether the remains in the Gur Emir really were those of the great Timur. Whilst enjoying a glass of chai prior to beginning work on the tomb the archaeologists ran into 3 old men in a chaikana nearby – they warned the Russians that ancient manuscripts foretold the scourge of war being unleashed should anyone destroy the remains. In typical cocky fashion the expedition pooh-poohed this mumbo jumbo and got stuck in. The date was 21 June, 1941. Hours later they received the news that Hitler had invaded the Soviet Union. Chilling stuff.
The other well known sight in Samarkand is the Shah-i-Zinda on the slope of the ancient Afrosiab. This is the graveyard of the rulers of the city and is spread out like a necklace on the hillside. This road of the dead wends its way across the dusty land to the central sacred place of the complex – the mazar (grave) of Kussam-ibn-Abbas a cousin of the Prophet Mohammed who came to Samarkand during the Arab invasion in the 7th Century and stuck around to convert the local Nestorian Christians. He was later was killed for his beliefs. Legend states that he is immortal and continues to live here, lending his story to the original name “Shah-i-Zinda” meaning “the Living King”. Indeed, in the Middle Ages a pilgrimage to Shah-i-Zinda was equivalent to the Hajj to Mecca.

The graveyard itself is a cluster of necropolises piled on top of the crown of a hill. It contains buildings from the 11th to the 19th century and is renown for the exquisite quality of the early tilework. Unfortunately this fame is proving its undoing. In an attempt to ‘restore’ Shah-i-Zinda the Uzbek government are callously hacking off the original tiles and replacing them with a gaudy new variety. We saw this devastation at work – heaps of cracked, ancient tiles being thrown into the rubble by builders – with no care or though of the artistry and skill taken to create them. Never mind the loss of hundreds of years of art. This was painful to witness and, although in years to come the Shah-i-Zinda will no doubt sparkle and welcome visitors from far and wide – is will be a shallow shell of its former, historic self.