Title: In
Xanadu – A Quest
Author: William Dalrymple
Publisher: Penguin, 2004 (First
published 1990)
ISBN: 978-0-143-03107-9
Pages: 302
Dalrymple is always welcome for an
Indian reader. Most of his books are on Indian topics or very much related to
its ethos in a subtle way. In fact, he enjoys a rather high level of tolerance
from desi readers as against many western authors when they go on a critical
assessment of the experiences they had had in this country. Dalrymple do
present many of his experiences in a not too flattering light, but the
recounting will be in such a caressing way that not even overly sensitive
people get offended by it, as they can clearly see the love and affection the
author possesses towards this ancient nation. However, the present book is the
very first one from the author’s able hands and depicts his journey across the
breadth of Asia, retracing the footsteps of the 13th century
Venetian merchant, Marco Polo from Syria on the west to Xanadu (Shang-tu) in
the east of China. The journey covers 19000 km mostly across deserts and arid
zones of Central Asia amidst a string of neighbouring countries hostile to each
other or actually at war. Polo had undertaken the trip obliging a request from
Kublai Khan, the grandson of Genghis Khan, who established Mongol rule over
most of Asia. Kublai Khan requested religious philosophers from the Pope and in
a bid to proselytize the emperor, Polo obtained a sample of oil from the lamps
glowing in the Church of Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem so as to present it as a
relic. Even this little detail was noted and copied by the author before
beginning his own version of the epic travel.
Polo began the trip in 1271 with
the oil sample and Dalrymple illuminatingly point out the profane activities
and inter-church rivalries between various congregations which are allowed to
offer services at the Holy Sepulchre. He notes with amusement at the
irreverence of the young prefect entrusted with topping up of oil in the
ever-glowing lamps from which he managed to obtain a small quantity. He
declares that there is nothing magical in the oil, that it is ordinary
sunflower oil and passes some lasciviously oblique comments about the author’s
lady companion, even while inside one of the holiest shrines of Christianity.
This is also one of the factors which led the author to claim that for 2000
years, Jerusalem has brought out the least attractive qualities in every race
that has lived there. The holy city has had more atrocities committed in it
than any other town in the world (p.18). These remarks apply equally well to
any holy city of any religion.
Polo traveled from Jerusalem to
Syria on his onward journey, but that is unthinkable in today’s Middle East. If
Israeli visa is stamped on the passport, Syria and Iran will not let you
through. So the author and his friend went back to Cyprus and boarded a ferry
to Syria. He describes with a high sense of humour his travels along pot-holed
roads of Turkey and marvels at the civilizational progress it had obtained in
the middle ages. The Shifaiye Medresse was built in 1217 as a medical school
and there was nothing remotely comparable in Europe at this time, even the
outstanding Italian medical school at Salerno. European architecture, or many
facets of it, like the pointed arch which is a key feature of Gothic style is
derived from Islamic architecture.
Traveling in 1986, while the Iran
– Iraq war was raging and amidst a xenophobic Persian mindset nourished by the
revolutionary mullahs, journey through Iran proved irksome to the author.
Professing strict adherence to medieval dogmas and codes of practice, both him
and his girlfriend found Iran to be rigid, playing mullah’s speeches in public
transport systems and irksome for women. It is however, to be noted that the
people were as friendly as any other and helpful, though the author finds them
to be possessing a tinge of effeminacy (p.162). Polo’s route turned to
Afghanistan from there, but it was inaccessible to Western tourists because of
the Soviet occupation of the country and the vast minefields they had set up on
the border regions. Instead, they traveled through Pakistan towards north to
catch up with the ancient caravan route.
The traveling party was put to
great trouble by the intricate rules of Chinese bureaucracy. Most of the route
through which they traveled was strictly off limits for foreigners in 1986.
Local police harassed them and arrested them on more than one occasion.
Dalrymple humorously narrates how they managed to hoodwink the not-so-alert
policemen and continued their travel by hitch hiking, too afraid to use public
transport. Such foolhardy acts of defiance was bound to end up in long prison
sentences in undemocratic countries like China, but the author and his readers
were fortunate enough to survive to tell and hear the story. China seems to be
justified in taking such precautions as the route coincided with one of China’s
nuclear testing sites and the author claims to have observed people suffering
from harmful effects of radiation. The veracity of the claim could not be
proved however. The team experienced their greatest despair when they were
again arrested near Shang-tu (Xanadu, in Coleridge’s poem) – their final
destination. Having come 19000 kilometers, only to be arrested and deported
just 8 km from the ruins of Kublai Khan’s medieval palace was heartbreaking.
The police took pity on them and transported them to the ruins in their own
vehicle, but didn’t allow to photograph the place. Dalrymple managed to pour
the oil he’d collected from Jerusalem over the ground where the Great Khan’s
throne was supposed to stand.
The author gives a little too much
attention to finer details of architecture whenever he is near a dilapidated
structure, whether it is a disused mosque, damaged Medresse or a caravanserai.
He is quite adept on the nuances of architecture and delights in presenting the
similarities and contrasts between various schools of architecture, which is
not so close to the hearts of readers.
Dalrymple is so adroit in delightful depictions of travel
experiences, and his narration of travel in China in 1986, the year in which he
actually traveled there, is quite revealing by comparison with today’s
realities. Beijing was still a city of bicycles when they reached there and its
transformation to a bustling metropolis is mind boggling. Perhaps if the author
would care to retrace the entire journey and note the changes alone, that
itself would prove to be another classic in travel writing. The book contain a
set of monochrome plates of sights on the way and is graced with a good
glossary.
The book is highly recommended.
Rating: 4 Star