In the province of Ferghana in 1494, when I was 12-years-old, I became king.” Thus, in a rather matter of fact way, begins Zahiruddin Babur’s Baburnama. The Ferghana valley belonged to Tajikistan then. But those were turbulent times; borders were drawn and redrawn with the power of the sword and thrones changed hands frequently. Consequently the pre-teen, King Babur, was soon chased out of his kingdom. He spent the next two years hiding in the hills around today’s Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan. But throughout this period he remained busy consolidating, recruiting soldiers and having big dreams. That was to be his hallmark all through life; to dream really big and to dare regularly. No wonder his name Babur meant ‘tiger’.
India never learns
By the time he was in his mid thirties he was in Kabul with a force of just about 12,000 men on his way to attack India. One of his generals tried to dissuade him against the enterprise, cautioning him that he was up against formidable odds because the Indian king had a huge army of elephants and men. After listening to him patiently, Babur is said to have responded; “Don’t worry. We will win because Indians never learn from history.” Babur’s 12,000 men defeated Ibrahim Lodi’s force of 1,00,000 in the battle of Panipat. Sadly though today’s Tajikistan has hardly any recollection of Babur. History, unfortunately, has quixotic ways of dealing with its heroes and their roots. In this case, the task turned out to be even more complicated because the largest part of the Ferghana valley now belongs to Uzbekistan, including the city called Andijan where Babur was born.
Breads of Ferghana
Timur means ‘iron’, so even in that respect he scores over Babur whose name means merely tiger. Even otherwise Timur’s was a far flung empire, much larger than Babur’s. Timur may have ventured far but he always returned to his roots. Babur too pined for his roots all his life, but could never go back there. He found the heat of India intolerable and lamented the fact that it had no ice and very little cooked food in its bazaars. On Babur’s table, you could find fresh vegetables and fruits, meat mixed with cereals, roasted sheep and rice flavoured with saffron, though he missed the breads of Ferghana. Centuries later, the cuisine of Tajikistan remains largely the same; meat mingle with salads and stomach soaks vodka with the breads that Babur liked. When you look around Dushanbe the tall chinar and poplar trees momentarily deceive you into believing that perhaps it is Kashmir you are visiting.
The age-old links
Women wear brightly coloured long frocks over tight fitting short pyjamas; probably just as they had done in the 15th century. Their flawless skin tone and sharp well-defined features set them apart from the mongoloid predominance in other parts of central Asia. And they resent the fact that the dynasty founded by Babur is called the Mughal Empire, because that denotes a connection with the Mongols rather than with them. Once there must have been a great intermingling among the people. The slow moving dance, the mushy poetry, the sentimentality of people and the mute, gentle hills all testify that once we must have had a lot in common.
Revisiting Babur
Ages later, we find ourselves living far apart with hardly any contact. A history of relations has been relegated to indifference. As the crow flies Dushanbe is almost as close to Delhi as Kolkata is to it. Alas, crows don’t carry human beings as their passengers. And the airlines are heartless; history, sentiments, people to people contacts rarely enter their calculations when they draw up flight schedules. As a result there are no flights between Delhi and Dushanbe; it takes almost a day to reach Dushanbe via Dubai or Alma Aty. It is a tiring journey, yet when you finally reach there the simple charm of the place and the fresh air intoxicates you. Some enterprising people are already there investing in vast tracts of agricultural lands, mining coal and putting up a luxury hotel too. There are young Indian students as well who do their bit to establish links. Some of them settle down to build a new life there with a Tajik beauty in a colourful frock. Perhaps it is their way of revisiting Babur.
Head before feet
And in this modern day territory of Uzbekistan the greatest hero continues to be Timurlane because he dreamed even bigger than Babur. According to one account he first won the leadership of his tribe thus; “We number fifty to sixty men, so let us elect a leader.” Timur suggested. When the tribesmen drove a stake into the ground Timur said: “We shall run to it, and he who reaches the stake first will be our leader”. They all ran towards it and Timur (since he was lame) lagged behind, but before the others reached the stake he threw his cap onto it. Those who arrived first said: “We are the leaders.” But Timur said: “My head came in first, I am the leader”. In the meanwhile an old man arrived and declared in judgment: “The leadership should belong to Timur; your feet may have arrived first, but before that his head had reached the goal.”
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