As I approached and stood right by its side, I noticed how it shared its majesty and beauty with the turquoise domes around it in humility. From afar, it seemed to rise through the maze of surrounding buildings. But up close, it completely stood out from its surroundings; it grew larger in my eyes, turning into a delicate column reaching towards the sky on its own. Gathering my courage, I began to climb towards the peak, where green, blue, white, and brown hues were masterfully crafted. After patiently climbing all 118 steps, the ancient city of Khiva, along the Silk Road route, unfolded before my eyes with breathtaking beauty.
The Islamic Hoja Minaret, towering at a height of 56 meters along with its base, is a summit that must be reached to grasp Khiva concretely. And when I say "summit," I'm not just referring to its architectural significance; the minaret's namesake, Islamic Hoja, was one of the most notable figures of the Khiva Khanate that once ruled over Khiva, now a small city in western Uzbekistan:
Ruling from 1511 to 1920, the Khanate, which dominated Khiva and its surroundings, began a close collaboration with the Russians for protection in 1873. Born just before the Russians' arrival, Seyyid Islamic Hoja received both classical madrasa education and Western-style education. Having visited St. Petersburg and Moscow several times, Islamic Hoja was appointed prime minister of the Khiva Khanate in 1898 at the age of 26. Islamic Hoja served first under II. Muhammad Rahim Khan and then under his son Isfandiyar Khan, who ascended to the throne in 1910, also establishing ties with the Khanate family by marrying his daughter to Isfandiyar.
Building the minaret, named after himself, along with the adjacent 42-cell, two-story madrasa between 1908 and 1910, Islamic Hoja became a target of traditional scholars due to his steps towards modernizing education. Finally, he was assassinated on the night of August 9, 1913, by assassins appointed by his son-in-law, Isfandiyar Khan, while returning from a feast organized by his son-in-law... Afterwards, Isfandiyar Khan was killed during a rebellion on October 1, 1918, followed by a brief rule by his son Seyyid Abdullah Khan, and then the Bolsheviks officially annexed Khiva in 1920.
Today, in Khiva, where visitors stroll the streets with joy and reverence, almost every symbol carries the shadow of another assassination and death:
The founder of the large madrasa just west of the Islamic Hoja Minaret, Shirgazi Khan, was killed by his own slaves in 1726. The construction of another symbol of Khiva, the Kalta Minor (Short Minaret), was halted when its founder Muhammad Emin Bahadur Khan was murdered in 1855.
As humans, we are often inclined to romanticize other times than our own, so when reading history, we frequently fall into traps set by our imagination. While constantly fantasizing that the "old days" were always better than today, we often forget the dramas, tragedies, instability, insecurity, chaos and crises, assassinations, enemy attacks, wars, and much more that occurred back then. Exploring the past and dreaming carries no risk because it's like exploring as a tourist. There's no loss in taking sides either.
We are subconsciously led to believe that "old times" would always be pleasant, lucky, and fortunate for us. Yet, if we were to find ourselves in the midst of the events we read about in books, we would never be able to predict which side we would be on, and there is no guarantee that we wouldn't be among the nameless victims of a sudden war. However, no one would ever associate these unfortunate possibilities with themselves.
This is my seventh visit to Khiva. Each time, new windows opened into the soul and character of the city for me. This time, I realized how tightly the shadows of death encompass Khiva. Reflections from yesterday to today.
As you read this, I'll be preparing for a long journey to cross the Kyzylkum Desert. I'll meet you back here on Wednesday with impressions from Bukhara...
