Salikuddin Dissertation 2018

Sufis, Saints, and Shrine: Piety
in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507

The Harvard community has made this
article openly available. Please share how
this access benefits you. Your story matters
Citation Salikuddin, Rubina Kauser. 2018. Sufis, Saints, and Shrine: Piety
in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507. Doctoral dissertation, Harvard
University, Graduate School of Arts & Sciences.
Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:41129127
Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH
repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions
applicable to Other Posted Material, as set forth at http://
nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-
use#LAA
Sufis, Saints, and Shrine: Piety in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507
A thesis presented
by
Rubina Kauser Salikuddin
to
The Department of History and The Committee on Middle Eastern Studies
In partial fulfillment of the requirements

For the Degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
In the Subject of
History and Middle Eastern Studies
Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts
May 2018
© 2018- Rubina Kauser Salikuddin
All rights reserved.

Dissertation Advisor: Roy P. Mottahedeh Rubina Kauser Salikuddin
Sufis, Saints, and Shrines: Piety in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507
Abstract
This dissertation is a study on piety and religious practice as shaped by the experience of
pilgrimage to these numerous saintly shrines in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Timurid Iran
and Central Asia. Shrine visitation, or ziyārat, was one of the most ubiquitous Islamic devotional
practices across medieval Iran and Central Asia, at times eliciting more zeal than obligatory
rituals such as the Friday congregational prayer. This dissertation makes use of a broad source
base including city histories, shrine visitation guides, compendiums of religious sciences, court
histories, biographies of Sufis, endowment deeds, ethical or moral (akhlāq) treatises, and
material culture in the form of architecture and epigraphical data. This work contributes to a
better understanding of how Islam as a discursive tradition informed and was informed by the
piety and religious practice of medieval Muslims of all classes. It challenges a vision of a
monolithic Islamic orthopraxy by showing how the very fabric of Islam in medieval Iran and
Central Asia represented both continuity with an Islamic past and a catering to local and
contemporary needs.
The aim of this study is three-fold. First, it argues that the forms of ritual prescribed in
the Timurid shrine manuals largely coalesced into a coherent program in this period and reflect a
vernacular understanding of shrine visitation found in the more scholarly Islamic literature. It
also demonstrates how the performance of the physical practices and oral litanies of the ziyārat
formed part of the habitus of a pilgrim. Second, the hagiographic stories of the holy dead revered
at these shrines represent tangible ideals of pious living for society to imitate. They point to the
centrality of esotericism, miracle-working and a rigorous adherence to the Sharia in constructing
-iii-
Dissertation Advisor: Roy P. Mottahedeh Rubina Kauser Salikuddin
this template. For example, a major part of the saintliness of Abū Yūsuf Hamadānī, an important
saint buried in Samarkand, stems from his extreme religious observance. He is said to have made
the Hajj thirty-three times, finished the Qur’an over a thousand times, memorized over seven
hundred books on the religious sciences, received over two hundred and sixteen scholars and
spent most of his life fasting. On the other hand, the patron saint of this same city, Shāh-i Zinda,
is revered for his supernatural powers and his relation to the Prophet Muḥammad. This amplified
reverence for the Prophet Muḥammad and his family demonstrates the increasing precedence of
shrines of people genealogically linked to the Prophet Muḥammad as objects of veneration by
the largely Sunni populations in the Timurid period.
The third and final aim of this dissertation is to provide a map of the actual places of
pilgrimage and establish the importance of the “locality” of saints in creating a shared identity
and history using the methods of Geographical Information Systems (GIS). It traces the ways
that pilgrims would move through their cities to visit the various shrines scattered across the
landscape. The journey to some shrines fell well within the normal daily movements of an
inhabitant of a particular city, while other journeys proved more arduous, pointing to the
possibility of a varied ziyārat experience. While many shrines were presented as single locations,
there are instances when a pilgrim is advised to make a circuit of many important shrines in a
certain area or of a certain type of holy person (e.g. prophets). The routes and spaces, along with
mosques and madrasas, are embedded in a sacred geography of the city.
-iv-
To my parents
Dr. Mohammed Salikuddin and Mrs. Naseem Salikuddin
for their unwavering support and infinite kindness
-v-
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ......................................................................................................................... vii

A Note on Transliteration and Dates ....................................................................................... viii
Figures .................................................................................................................................................... ix
CHAPTER 1: Introduction .................................................................................................................... 1
CHAPTER 2: The Shrine as a Center of Timurid Piety and Ritual ..................................... 35
CHAPTER 3: Stories of Saints: Pious Exemplars and Collective Memory ...................... 79
CHAPTER 4: Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid shrine ........................................................... 152
CHAPTER 5: The Geography of Sanctity .................................................................................. 186
CONCLUSION ...................................................................................................................................... 234
Bibliography........................................................................................................................................ 238
-vi-
Acknowledgements
This dissertation comes at the end of a journey that was much longer than imagined. I am
thankful and grateful to God to have had the privilege to undertake this journey and to the many
people who also made it possible.
I have benefitted greatly from a number of mentors and teachers at Harvard. I owe many
thanks to my indefatigable advisor, Prof. Roy P. Mottahedeh, for his continued support,
generosity in reading multiple drafts of chapters and offering of wise guidance throughout this
process. I thank Prof. David Roxburgh for opening up the beautiful world of Timurid art and
architecture. I am also grateful for the kind feedback I received from Prof. Cemal Kafadar and
Prof. Ahmed Ragab.
I am thankful to family. To Asif for his unending patience, encouragement and role as my
head cheerleader. To Azher for his humor and expert help in many parts of this work. To
Tamanna for always being my sounding-board. To my parents for allowing me to take this
wrong turn into the study of history and supporting me always. To my father-in-law for his
positivity and prayers. And most of all to my two babies, Mahrukh and Faiz, who made writing a
dissertation very hard but make my life so much brighter.
-vii-
A Note on Transliteration and Dates
Transliteration for Persian and Arabic words will follow the IJMES Transliteration System for
each respective language with the following changes: the terminal ta-marbuta in Persian words
will be represented with the letter “a” and not be followed by an “h.” With the exception of
proper names of people and places, Persian and Arabic words that are transliterated will also be
italicized. Words and names that have been generally accepted into the English language will not
be transliterated according to this system nor will they be italicized. Some examples include:
sayyid, Sunni, Shi‘i, masjid, hadith etc.
Dates will be given with the hijrī date coming first followed by the Common Era date. For
example, the death date of Timur would be given as d. 807/1405.
-viii-
Figures
Figure 1: Wide View of Herat Shrines Map
Figure 2: Shrine Sites Mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl Chart
Figure 3: Map of Samarkand. From J.M. Bloom and S. Blair, eds. The Grove Encyclopedia of
Islamic Art and Architecture, Vol. 3 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 170.
Figure 4: Hawż at the Shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn, Samarkand. From Harvard Fine Arts Library,
Digital Images & Slides Collection 1990.19721, downloaded May 2018.
Figure 5: Close-up View of Herat Shrines Map
Figure 6: List of Major Shrine Sites Chart
Figure 7: Map of Walled City (Herat) and Immediate Environs, from T. Allen, A Catalogue of
the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat (Cambridge, MA: Aga Khan Program for
Islamic Art at Harvard University and MIT, 1981).
Figure 8: Elevation Profile Journey to Darb-i Khush & ‘Abdullāh Taqī
Figure 9: Elevation Profile Journey to Khiyābān & Fakhr al-Dīn Rāzī
Figure 10: Mazār of Abū al-Walīd, Qariya-yi Āzādān. From Harvard Fine Arts Library, Digital
Images & Slides Collection d2009.02875, downloaded May 2018.
Figure 11: Elevation Profile Journey to Abū al-Walīd
Figure 12: The Shrine Complex of ‘Abdullah al-Anṣārī at Gāzurgāh. From Harvard Fine Arts
Library, Digital Images & Slides Collection 1981.24487, downloaded May 2018.
Figure 13: Example of Vaulting in the Jamāt Khāna of the Shrine Complex of ‘Abdullāh al-
Anṣārī at Gāzurgāh. From Harvard Fine Arts Library, Digital Images & Slides
Collection 1979.12869, downloaded May 2018.
Figure 14: Elevation Profile Journey to Gāzurgāh & ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī
-ix-
CHAPTER 1: Introduction
The Iraqi ascetic, ‘Ali ibn Abī Bakr al-Harawī (d. 611/1215), compiled one of the earliest
listings of important shrines around the Muslim world. More of a travelogue than a guide
to ritual, Harawī’s Kitāb al-Ishārāt ila Ma‘rifat al-Ziyārāt focuses largely on Greater
Syria, but does make mention of lands further eastwards. Harawī apologizes for his brief
treatment of Iran and Central Asia saying, “should we have compiled the names of all the
righteous and scholars in the eastern provinces of Iraq, Khurasan, Transoxiana, Fars,
Azerbaijan…they would have filled volumes.”1 If this was true in Harawī’s time, the
abundance of shrines simply multiplied in the years after his death. The Ilkhanids and the
Timurids both oversaw wide scale building and rebuilding of mazārs (shrines and
mausoleums) of important religious figures. These shrines could be found in almost every
city and dotted the countryside as well.2
This dissertation is a study on piety and religious practice as shaped by the
experience of pilgrimage to these numerous saintly shrines in fourteenth and fifteenth
century Timurid Iran and Central Asia. The hagiographic stories found in shrine manuals
illuminate important ideals of piety of the time. I argue that they point to the centrality of
a seemingly incongruent mix of esotericism, miracle-working, and a rigorous adherence
to the Sharia in constructing a template for pious living. The figures and ideas examined
here reveal that it took much more than miracles to prove sanctity; lineage, scholarly
1
‘Alī b. Abī Bakr Harawī, A Lonely Wayfarer’s Guide to Pilgrimage: ‘Alī ibn Abī Bakr Harawī’s Kitāb al-
Ishārāt ila Ma‘rifat al-Ziyārāt, trans. J.W. Meri (Princeton: Darwin Press, 2004), 266.
2
See: S. Blair, “Sufi Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Early Fourteenth Century,” Muqarnas, vol. 7
(1990), 35-49; Lisa Golombek, "The Cult of Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Fourteenth Century," in
Near Eastern Numismatics, Iconography, Epigraphy and History: Studies in Honor of George C. Miles, D.
Kouymjian, ed. (Beirut, 1974), pp. 419-30; Golombek, The Timurid Shrine at Gazur Gah (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1969), 227; R. D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in
the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-1889 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 356.
-1-
Chapter 1: Introduction
learning, and issues of collective memory remain the most important issues to medieval
Muslims.3 My work contributes to a better understanding of how Islam as a discursive
tradition informed and was informed by the piety and religious practice of medieval
Muslims of all classes. It challenges a vision of a monolithic Islamic orthopraxy by
showing how the very fabric of Islam in medieval Iran and Central Asia represented both
continuity with an Islamic past and a catering to local and contemporary needs.4
Dynamism of Islamic Piety
In this examination of piety and practice, themes of the discursive construction of ritual
and sanctity take center stage. How were people and places imbued with a level of
sanctity that elevated them above others? How did the ritual engendered by such sacred
people and places develop over time? These questions speak to the aims of historical
inquiry that looks at change over time and attempts to explain why things change in the
ways that they do. Here there is a focus on the ways that ideas of sanctity and pious ritual
changed during the Timurid period and in turn what role these changes played in the way
that this belief was enacted and experienced by medieval Muslims.
3
Theories on collective memory and cultural memory propose that a group can hold on to and perpetuate
memories of its past across time by use of textual, architectural, and commemorative ritual practice. In the
case of shrines, political and religious figures with ties to particular shrines had an incentive to nurture a
sanctified narrative of the shrine and its saint for their own financial, religious, or political goals. For
example, the family of a saint may try to cultivate a particular collective memory that keeps their relative in
the memory of the community through spreading pious anecdotes about the saint and building up his shrine
extensively to attract pilgrims. This issue will be further examined in Chapter 3.
4
This work benefits from the frameworks and methodologies in other excellent works on medieval Muslim
shrines and on piety in general such as: Christopher Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the
Veneration of Muslim Saints in Late Medieval Egypt (Boston: Brill, 1999); Josef W. Meri, The Cult of
Saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2002);
Richard J.A. McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt: The Wafa Sufi Order and the Legacy of
Ibn ‘Arabi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004); Daniella Talmon-Heller, Islamic Piety in
Medieval Syria: Mosques, Cemeteries and Sermons under te Zangids and Ayyūbids (1146-1260), Jerusalem
Studies in Religion and Culture (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007); Robert McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia:
Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-1889 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 1991).
-2-
While the Qur’an offers various examples of sanctity and God consciousness,
these ideas were continuously open to interpretation by religious scholars and
practitioners alike. The language of sanctity has also always been dynamic. In a study of
sainthood and sanctity, Michel Chodkiewicz examined the varied vocabulary used in
discussing exemplary piety, in addition to the use of terms such as walī (saint) and
walāya (sainthood), the Qur’an also makes use of aṣhāb al-yamīn (Companions of the
right side of God) and muqarrabūn (those close to God).5 Most importantly the traits and
behavior that established one as a saint or especially pious soul changed over time for
many complex reasons. In the earliest centuries of Islam as a religion, asceticism and
renunciation were held up as the greatest social ethic. Early Muslims, fearful of the
punishments of the afterlife, devoted their pious work to strict obedience to God and
shunned the comforts and even work of worldly life. Christopher Melchert highlights the
centrality of these ideas of piety pointing to “inscriptions from the seventh century such
as graffiti and funerary monuments [that] so stress appeal for divine forgiveness and hope
of entering Paradise that virtually no other character of the new religion can be
discerned.”6 This shift was a result of a several possible causes, including the growing
population of Muslims7 and the rise of a new form of mystical piety.8 By the thirteenth
5
Michel Chodkiewicz, “La sainteté et les saints en islam” in Le culte des saints dans le monde musulman,
eds. H. Chambert-Loir and Cl. Gillot (Paris, France: École Français d’Extrème Orient, 1995) 15.
6
Christopher Melchert, “Exaggerated fear in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition,” Journal of the Royal
Asiatic Society 21.1 (July 2011): 285.
7
Melchert points to an early move away from this sort of renunciant piety by the 3rd/9th century when
Muslims “ceased to be a small elite at the top of society, living off tribute.” (Melchert, “Exaggerated fear
in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition,” 298) Melchert argues that as the Muslims became the majority
in various areas, they were forced to participate in the mundane activities of life that required them to work
for a living and had less time to live as aloof ascetics.
8
Melchert, “Exaggerated fear in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition,” 297-299.
-3-
century C.E., mystical trends and Sufism were clearly ascendant in informing ideas of
piety.9 Asceticism did remain a part of Islamic piety and conferred a certain level of
sanctity to the practitioner. Other forms of piety, however, such as presumed inheritance
of familial and spiritual lineage, scholarly achievement, and supernatural and miraculous
abilities grow in importance throughout the fifteenth century. These changing aspects of
piety and conveyors of sanctity are apparent in the discourse on shrines and the saints
interred in these places. The shifts suggested by Melchert and others is vividly illustrated
in the vitae of some of the most popular and most visited saints of the Timurid period.
Pilgrimage and the Place of the Shrine
The place where such pilgrimage-related sanctity is experienced and ritual enacted, the
mazār (shrine) is also essential in understanding the changing trends of Islamic piety.10
Religious practice and piety in Islam is often linked to the institution of the masjid. It was
often the first building erected in cities newly under Islamic rule and from the earliest
times served as a central place of religious and ritual life. Communal prayers, official
sermons, spiritual exercises such as the practice of i‘tikāf (spiritual retreat usually
undertaken in the masjid) and even religious learning all took place at masjids. Many
Muslims would engage in i‘tikāf and spend the last ten days of the month of Ramadan in
the masjid. Given the centrality of these activities, especially that of the communal
prayer, to Muslim communities, the masjid remained one of the most important religious
9
Richard J.A. McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt: The Wafa Sufi Order and the Legacy
of Ibn ‘Arabi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004), 4.
10
While mazār is the most used term for shrine, the shrine guides studied in this dissertation talk about
shrines and graves using a variety of different terms in including: marqad, dargāh, madfan, turbat, ḥaẓīra,
imāmzāda. There are variances in the meaning between these terms; however, a consistent vocabulary of
shrines does not exist in the shrine guides.
-4-
spaces. However, over time, other institutions developed that also gave space to Islamic
ritual and piety including the madrasa or Islamic college, the khānaqāh which often
served as a meeting place and residence for Sufis, and the mazār (shrine). Indeed these
edifices were often built and utilized in interconnected complexes. This was a distinct
development from the seventh/thirteenth century onwards.11 Peter Gottschalk argues that
sacrality was constructed and experienced in various ways in Islamic religious spaces. He
characterizes the shrine as an “energized place” which the pilgrim may “recognize as
emitting a self-actualizing power, either because of the location itself or some object
present there.”12 He further marks off the ritual of these spaces as evidence of “the
devotee’s interest in obtaining some result, usually by tapping into the power being
discharged.”13 In contrast, the masjid is a “non-energized place” that elicits great
reverence but what is sacred about it is its focus on an intangible, supernatural power.14
For the purpose of this work, I argue that the shrine held just the same level of
importance and ubiquity as the masjid in the daily lives of Muslims; this is particularly
true in the Late Middle period in Iran and Central Asia. The shrine also brings up issues
of gender. Much of the writing on shrines focuses on male saints, written by male writers,
who may occasionally mention a woman here and there. Often, women only become the
focus when they are condemned for improper behavior. These issues will be addressed in
a later chapter.
11
See for example: Sheila Blair, The Ilkhanid Shrine Complex at Natanz, Iran (Cambridge, MA: Center for
Middle Eastern Studies, Harvard University, 1986); Sheila Blair, “Sufi Saints and Shrine Architecture in
the Early Fourteenth Century,” Muqarnas 7 (1990): 35-49.
12
Peter Gottschalk, “Introduction,” in Muslims and Others in Sacred Space, ed. Margaret Cormack
(Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 7.
13
Gottschalk, “Introduction,” 7-8.
14
Gottschalk, “Introduction,” 8-9.
-5-
The visiting of shrines of the holy dead has a long history among Muslims. In the
central Islamic lands, Muslims followed traditions of Christians and Jews of the area and
built upon this bedrock their own rituals and practices. Arab geographers point to the
existence of funerary architecture and shrine visitation in the tenth century. Among Sufis
the visiting of the shrines of their masters had become an important form of pious
practice. The tenth-century Sufi figure, Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Sijzī, was to have said: “What
is most useful for the novice is keeping company (ṣuḥba) with the righteous, imitation of
their actions, moral qualities and virtues, visiting the graves of the Friends of God, and
performing service on behalf of the companions and comrades.” 15 Daniella Talmon-
Heller, in her work on medieval Syrian piety, shows that there was already a growing
popularity of ziyārat to saintly tombs in the twelfth century.16 Ḥamd Allāh Mustawfī in
his fourteenth-century text Nuzhat al-Qulūb lists many of the shrines in the cities he
surveys. In this work, there is a focus on shrines of Ahl al-bayt (members of the family of
the Prophet Muḥammad) and those of the ṣahāba (companions) of the Prophet
Muḥammad, but also includes important religious and political figures.17 Indeed, the
architectural record shows that many places in Khurasan and Transoxiana experienced
building booms in two distinct periods, the first in the eleventh and twelfth centuries and
then again in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. For example, the shrine complex of
15
Abū ‘Abd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī, Tabaqāt al-ṣūfiyyya ed. Nūr al-Dīn Shurayba (Cairo, 1953), 255, quoted
in Fritz Meier, “Khurasan and the End of Classical Sufism,” in Essays on Islamic Piety and Mysticism
trans. J. O’Kane (Leiden, Boston, Koln: Brill, 1999), 193.
16
Daniella Talmon-Heller, Islamic Piety in Medieval Syria: Mosques, Cemeteries and Sermons under te
Zangids and Ayyūbids (1146-1260), Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture (Leiden, Boston: Brill,
2007), 4.
17
Ḥamd Allāh Mustawfī, The Geographical Part of the Nuzhat al-Qulūb, trans. G. LeStrange (Leyden: E.J.
Brill Imprimerie Orientale, 1919).
-6-
the Shāh-i Zinda in Samarqand experienced its largest building projects during these two
periods.18
The building and patronage of shrines by the Ilkhanids was continued under the
Timurids and other contemporary rulers in Iran and Central Asia in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. While, like the Mamluks, the Timurids had no concerted religious
policy, they did style themselves as Muslim rulers keen on protecting and promoting
Islam.19 This impulse is seen most clearly during the rule of Shāhrukh, the son of Timur.
Shāhrukh tried to find ways of both making use of his father’s charismatic authority and
forging his own bases of authority, specifically by using the rhetoric of Islam and the
Sharia. One manner in which this was accomplished was through the patronage of
religious buildings by the ruler, his family members, and other members of the
government. We find in the Timurid period a great many older shrines being refurbished,
new saints’ resting places discovered and built up as shrine cities, and other shrine-related
building projects. Does this upsurge in building necessarily indicate a concurrent rise in
shrine-centered piety among the general populace? It seems more likely that the building
projects rather reflect the trends of piety at the time than vice versa. As Christopher
Taylor argues, rulers often simply followed suit and tailored their projects of piety to
reflect the sentiment and actions of their populations.20 While the nature and function of
the construction of Timurid religious buildings has been well studied by historians of art
18
Roya Marefat, Beyond the Architecture of Death: The Shrine of the Shah-i Zinda in Samarqand, 86-88.
19
Jonathon Berkey, “Mamluk Religious Policy,” Mamluk Studies Review 8.2 (1999): 7-22.
20
Christopher Taylor, “Reevaluating the Shiʿi Role in the Development of Monumental Islamic Funerary
Architecture: The Case of Egypt,” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 5.
-7-
and architecture, there is a need to examine the religious and social context of the
construction and the subsequent culture of piety and society that flourished there.
There is much scholarly debate as to the origins of this practice and continued
interest in how Muslim rulers and religious people came to terms with monumental
commemoration of graves in spite of Prophetic and shari‘i injunctions against it. Oleg
Grabar argues that while it would be “easy to assume that Islamic memorial and funerary
construction was but a continuation of the numerous traditions of the pre-Islamic or non-
Islamic worlds,” this does not really do justice to the varied practice of shrine visitation
and the even more varied forms of funerary architecture.21 Taylor reassesses the long
tradition of scholarship that placed the origins of commemorative funerary monuments
with Shi‘i inclinations in the mid-ninth-century, and then further with the Fatimid
political concerns in Egypt. He leaves open the possibility of multiple points of origin, as
the cult of saints and funerary practices are diffuse and complicated issues that simply
cannot be explained by political or sectarian interest. 22 While citing examples of
commemorative funerary structures contemporary with the life of the Prophet
Muḥammad, Taylor also allows for pre-Islamic and context specific influences to Islamic
funerary practices.23
Galina Pugachenkova, while not stressing the Shi‘i origins of funerary
architecture, does follow the general consensus of art historians such as K.A.C. Creswell,
21
Oleg Grabar, “The Earliest Islamic Commemorative Structures, Notes and Documents,” Ars Orientalis 6
(1966): 7.
22
Architecture: The Case of Egypt,” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 1-10.
23
Taylor refers al-Waqidi’s anecdote about the burial of a companion of Muḥammad, Abu Basir (d. 628-9),
and the subsequent mosque that was constructed over his grave. Taylor, “Reevaluating the Shi‘ī Role in the
Development of Monumental Islamic Funerary Architecture: The Case of Egypt,” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 4.
-8-
Oleg Grabar and others that the earliest examples of this sort of architecture began with
the Abbasid Caliphate. She argues that Central Asia became one of the first places to
adopt “this innovation” and by the tenth century the Samanids began erecting
mausoleums for Samanid royalty. From this period on, a tradition of building shrines to
both secular royals and holy men developed in the area and two “basic types of
composition” grew dominant: “one with a central dome and the other with a portal
dome.” 24 Pugachenkova further connects the formal aspects of the building with pre-
Islamic Soghdian traditions. The Arab-Ata mausoleum in the Narpai district of the
Samarkand region, an early Samanid tomb to a holy man who perhaps was a part of the
early Arab conquest, combines Soghdian traditions with growing Islamic ones to create a
particular type of mausoleum that may have influenced the form of later shrines. The
melding of architectural styles from the pre-Islamic period with those of the Islamic
period is mirrored in the cultural significance that pre-Islamic entities continued to hold
during the Timurid period. This idea will be examined in detail in Chapter 3’s discussion
of cultural memory.
Funerary architecture was not the only example of commemorative building by
Muslims. The Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem is an important instance of a religious
memorial spot that was not a tomb. The architecture of the Dome of the Rock was
influenced by its Byzantine antecedents in the area, particularly tombs of Byzantine
martyrs. From the Umayyad period, the Dome of the Rock had been come an important
24
G.A. Pugachenkova, “The Role of Bukhara in the Creation of the Architectural Typology of the Former
Mausoleums of Mavarannahr,” in Bukhara: The Myth and the Architecture, ed. by A. Petruccioli
(Cambridge: Aga Khan Program for Islamic Architecture at Harvard University and the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology, 1999), 139-140.
-9-
place of visitation. Gülru Necipoğlu characterizes the Dome of the Rock as a “multifocal
pilgrimage complex,” in which:
[b]y the conclusion of the Umayyad period (661-750), the

commemorative structures of the precinct had become enmeshed
within a nexus of memories, bearing witness to the saturated
sanctity and redemptive power of the complex and to its special
place within the divine plan, extending from the creation to the
end of time.25
The Dome of the Rock was distinct in the type of interest it garnered from
pilgrims and patrons alike. It was an important pilgrimage site for people of Greater Syria
and beyond, connecting them to the greater eschatological narrative and to hopes of
divine forgiveness. It also served to give legitimacy to the Umayyad caliphs as they were
custodians of a major Islamic religious site, even when their religious standing was
contested by others, particularly from Mecca and Medina. This is one of the underlying
reasons for the great architectural development of the Dome of the Rock and the
surrounding complex. By the twelfth century, there was evidence that the Dome of the
Rock was beginning to be understood as an eschatological site. Pilgrims came to it both
to enjoy the beauty of the religious site but also to be connected to the realities of the
hereafter. Nerina Rustomji argues that pilgrims visiting the Dome of the Rock and other
religious spaces “knew of the Garden promised to them in the Qur’an and may have seen
its approximation on the walls and within the religious space of the mosques.”26 The
culture that develops later around shrines of the holy dead in many ways recreates the
sorts of building projects and devotion first found at the Dome of the Rock.
25
Gülru Necipoğlu, “The Dome of the Rock as Palimpsest: ‘Abd al-Malik’s Grand Narrative and Sultan
Süleyman’s Glosses,’ Muqarnas 25 (2008): 17, 19.
26
Nerina Rustomji, “The Garden and the Fire: Materials of Heaven and Hell in Medieval Islamic Culture”
(Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2003), 255.
-10-
Regardless of the origins of shrine construction and subsequent shrine visitation,
it is clear that by the eight-ninth/fourteenth-fifteenth centuries ziyārat had become
widespread in the eastern Islamic world. This study demonstrates how the everyday
practices of shrine visitation were integral to the Islam and religious practice of Timurid
period Muslims. While legal and other religious scholars did weigh in on the practice,
and often even participated, they did not as a rule have dominance over it. A great many
factors worked together to create a culture of shrine visitation that included shari‘ī
concerns, supernatural and miraculous occurrences, elite patronage, and local interest and
support of the shrine.
The Timurid Period (ca. 1370-1506 C.E.)
The context of the post-Mongol Islamic East, particularly the time and place of Timurid
rule and neighboring Qaraqoyunlu and Aqqoyunlu rule, provides a particularly rich site
to explore the contextual world of shrine based piety. The Timurid period follows the
turbulent Mongol invasions and largely non-Muslim rule of the former Islamic
heartlands.27 The important Khurasanian cities of Balkh, Herat, and Nishapur were
leveled to the ground.28 The most lasting legacy of the invasions was the murder of the
last Abbasid caliph, Mu‘stasim bi’llāh, and the destruction of his capital city, Baghdad.
The memory of this loss was elegized extensively by religious scholars, historians, and
poets.29 Along with the great physical destruction of commercial areas, irrigation,
27
Most of the early Ilkhanid rulers were not Muslim. This changed with the conversion of Ghazan Khān (r.
694-703/1295-1305) to Islam.
28
David Morgan, Medieval Persia, 1040-1797 (London, New York: Longman, 1988), 57.
29
See: Mona Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate: A Transregional History (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2017).
-11-
agriculture and loss of life, there was also a sort of psychological and spiritual trauma for
Sunni Muslims. They were now without their caliphate, which had been an important
symbol of religious authority and unity. This loss left a void to be filled by new
mechanisms of authority and legitimacy which religious and secular leaders alike
struggled to create.
Timur’s late fourteenth-century brutal conquests west of Transoxiana rivaled
those of the Chingissids a century before him. Timur (d. 807/1405), the great military
strategist, conquered as far as western Iran and Iraq, but these lands were not to remain in
Timurid hands long after his death. Rather, in the fifteenth century, these lands were
ruled briefly by the Mongol Jalayirids, but mostly by two Turkmen groups: the
Qaraqoyunlu and the Aqqoyunlu. Shāhrukh (d. 851/1447), Timur’s son, had held together
much of the lands conquered by his father, but by the rule of Sulṭān Ḥusayn (d.
912/1506), only Khurasan remained in direct Timurid control. In the late fifteenth
century, the western part of Iran was largely under Turkmen rule and the areas under
Timurid rule in the east had become increasingly decentralized, with various local sultans
related to Sulṭān Ḥusayn.30 The entire late middle period was far from politically stable.
Whether under Ilkhanid rule, local rule (for example the Karts of Herat, Muzaffarids of
Tabriz, etc.), or later Timurid and Turkmen rule, cities and their environs faced a constant
parade of changing princes, each of whom felt that their first act should be the levying of
new taxes upon the already spent population.
Interestingly; however, this period was also one of great cultural, artistic, and
architectural flowering. Maria Subtelny says of the Timurids:
30
Barthold, Four Studies on the History of Central Asia, vol.3 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1956), 11.
-12-
In the history of medieval Islamic Central Asia, the Timurids

represented the embodiment of the synthesis of Turko-Mongol
steppe charisma and Persian city culture… The cultural
legitimacy of the Timurids stemmed from their city (as opposed
to steppe) orientation and above all from their continuation,
despite their Turko-Mongol background and Turkic language, of
the Islamic Persian literary tradition.31
Subtelny attributes this rise in patronage partially to the expanding use of the
soyurghal during this period. From its establishment and rise under Timur, the Timurid
state was characterized by a “high degree of fiscal decentralization.”32 One of the main
mechanisms of this decentralization was the issuance and use of soyurghals, which were
made up of land granted by the central authority to elites and amīrs along with tax
immunity for these lands. This was the main way that the Timurids, and the neighboring
Aqqoyunlu, held on to power. While this system created problems, such as an empty
royal treasury due to lack of taxes paid, it did spread out a great deal of land and wealth
among many elites.33 These elites in turn had the material wealth to patronize a great
number of cultural and artistic endeavors, which is evidenced by the increased levels of
patronage for the arts and architecture, particularly the patronage of shrines and shrine
complexes. Many shrines that are the focus of this study were built, rebuilt or augmented
under the auspices of Timurid princes and princesses, viziers and other wealthy patrons.
Similarly, many of the scholars and poets whose writings provide the primary sources of
31
Maria Subtelny, “The Poetic Circle at the Court of the Timurid Sultan Ḥusain Baiqara and its Political
Significance” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1979), 149.
32
Maria Eva Subtelny, “The Challenge of Change: Centralizing Reforms and their Opponents,” in Timurids
in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007),
100.
33
Subtelny goes into detail on the centralizing reforms that were instituted by Sulṭān Ḥusayn’s deputy,
Majd al-Dīn, that were largely aimed at curbing the tax immunities granted to the elite. His efforts were
predictably opposed by those elites, particularly ‘Alīshīr Navā‘ī who used these grants and waqfs in the
building of many religious edifices in Herat, and ultimately centralizing reforms were not possible. See:
Subtelny, “The Challenge of Change: Centralizing Reforms and their Opponents,” 74-100.
-13-
this study were patronized by this same Timurid nobility. Even across dynastic lines, we
can attribute similar interest in cultural and religious production to the Aqqoyunlu and
other Timurid rivals.
Economically, these areas largely depended upon agricultural production.
Pastoralism and commercialism also contributed to a lesser degree. The predominance of
agriculture is important because agricultural land and water supplies connected to it made
up much of the religious endowments (waqf) that supported religious institutions of the
time. Leading religious scholars, Sufis, and members of ahl al-bayt who served as
trustees and administrators (mutawallī) of religious endowments were able to become
wealthy landowners and increasingly powerful due to changing taxation privileges given
to them by the Timurids. Robert McChesney says of this period, while large endowments
had existed in the past, the fifteenth century saw the foundation of a number of extremely
vast endowments in Samarkand, Bukhara, and Herat in particular:
Waqf grants also provided a durable vehicle for carrying out

public policy in several areas. In the most obvious way, the
establishment of a large public waqf was a visible expression of
support for a certain religious and intellectual tradition. The
mosques, madrasahs, and khanaqahs maintained by waqf income
and the staffs and users of these institutions whose salaries and
stipends were paid from waqf revenue all perpetuated a cultural
tradition.34
According to Subtelny, the widespread use of waqf also seemed to “provide a
solution to Timurid political and fiscal dilemmas by allowing donors (many of whom
were members of the Timurid military elite) a high degree of independence from state
interference, not to mention high social prestige, and at the same time it assured the state
34
Robert McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-
1889 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991), 37.
-14-
a steady, albeit not very high, flow of revenue.”35 Traditionally, a charitable waqf would
be designated to benefit a madrasa, khānaqāh (Sufi lodge), or a mosque. In the Timurid
period, a great number of shrines to either religious or political figures became the object
of awqāf (sing. waqf), attesting to the importance of shrines and shrine visitation at the
time.36
Matthew Melvin-Koushki characterizes the Timurid religious environment as
suspended between two extremes: with the “stultifying conservatism of the scholarly
establishment” on one side and the “antinomian decadence of groups such as the
Ḥurūfiyya” on the other.37 While this may be an exaggeration of the situation, what is
clear is that there was a wide spectrum of religious belief and practice that was present in
this period. Khurasan and Transoxiana had always been home to conservative forms of
Sunni orthodoxy. A. Bausani in a discussion of Abū Hāmid al-Ghazālī of the Seljuk
period, characterizes him as representative of “that solid, clear Khurāsānian Sunnism that
has been for centuries the religious milieu in which the greatest Iranian geniuses, literary
and otherwise, have been bred.”38 By the ninth century, Khurasan had become an
important center for Sunni scholarship. Bosworth points out that “there is a large
representation of Khurāsānī scholars in such literary biographical worlds as Tha‘ālibī’s
35
Maria Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran
(Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007), 154.
36
Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran (Leiden,
Boston: Brill, 2007), 151.
37
Matthew Melvin-Koushki, “The Quest for a Universal Science: The Occult Philosophy of Ṣā’in al-Dīn
Turka Iṣfahānī (1369-1432) and Intellectual Millenarianism in Early Timurid Iran” (PhD. diss., Yale
University, 2012), 15.
38
A. Bausani, “Religion in the Seljuk Period,” in The Cambridge History of Iran vol. 5: The Seljuk and
Mongol Periods ed. J.A. Boyle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 286.
-15-
Yatīmat al-dahr and the continuations of Bākharzī and Iṣfahānī.”39 Khurasan was home
to the early hadith compilers al-Bukhārī (d. 256/870), Muslim (d. 273/886), al-Tirmidhī
(d. 279/892), as well as important theologians, especially of the Ash‘arī school. Roy
Mottahedeh notes that:
It has been noticed in passing, but nowhere, to my knowledge,

discussed in detail, that four of the six ḥadīth books considered
‘canonical’ by the majority of the Sunni tradition are from
Khurasan and the immediately neighboring parts of Tansoxiana,
namely al-Bukhārī (d. 256 AH) and Tirmidhī (d. 270 or 275 or
279 AH). The other two are from provinces immediately
neighboring Khurasan: Abū Dā’ūd al-Sijistānī (d. 275 AH) and
Ibn Mājah al-Qāzwīnī (d. 273 Ah.H.) if we understand
Qāzwīn/Qāzvīn, as most geographers do, to be part of al-Jibāl.40
Mottahedeh credits the predominance of hadith scholarship in the region to
motivations of scholars of jurisprudence to base their interpretations of Islamic law on
hadith instead of on reasoning (ra’y).41 Seljuk patronage of religious institutions,
particularly madrasas, in the area continued the ascendancy of Khurasanian religious
scholarship. The Seljuks also “spread this Khurasanian system, including its preferred
hadith books, to the central lands of western Asia.”42 Following the death of Timur,
whose legitimacy was largely based on his charisma and military prowess, his successors
found their legitimacy in their adherence to Sunni orthodoxy. Timur’s son Shāhrukh paid
special attention to bolster Sunni ‘ulamā’ during his reign; one way was through the
39
C.E. Bosworth, Khurāsān,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam Second Edition, eds. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. vanDonzel, and W.P. Heinrichs (Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009).
40
Roy Mottahedeh, “The Transmission of Learning: The Role of the Islamic North East,” in Madrasa: Le
Transmission du Savoir dans le Monde Musulman, ed. by N. Grandin and M. Gabroieau (Paris: ap Éditions
Arguments, 1997), 66.
41
Mottahedeh, “The Transmission of Learning: The Role of the Islamic North East,” 71.
42
Mottahedeh, “The Transmission of Learning: The Role of the Islamic North East,” 72.
-16-
foundation of Sunni madrasas with particular curricula favoring the Ḥanafī and Shāfi‘ī
schools.43
In this period we see institutionalized forms of Sufism rapidly growing in
importance, the relationship between religious men and leadership changing, messianic
and apocalyptic ideas and groups becoming popular, new conceptions of political
legitimacy and social relations, and great demographic change. Among the many reasons
behind these widespread changes to the religious milieu was the break down and
subsequent dissipation of the Nizārī religious and intellectual tradition in the greater
society following the thirteenth century Mongol invasions. Shahzad Bashir argues that
this Nizārī legacy and that of other less well known traditions “became the intellectual
progenitors of the Ḥurūfiyya and other messianic movements which gained prominence
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in the Islamic East.”44 Partly fueled by the social
and cultural disorder due to the political environment and the rise of popular Sufism,
groups such as the Ḥurūfiyya became more representative of the intellectual and religious
climate of the time rather than of esotericism.
An important aspect of both popular Sufism and messianic groups was the
centrality of a charismatic shaykh or leader. Between the ninth and eleventh centuries
C.E., there was a shift in the way that mystic knowledge was transmitted between the
shaykh and his student, with a growing emphasis on the authority of the shaykh. Fritz
43
See: Maria Subtelny and Anas Khalidov, “The Curriculum of Islamic Higher Learning in Timurid Iran in
Light of the Sunni Revivial under Shah-Rukh,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 115.2 (April 1,
1995): 210.
44
Shahzad Bashir, “Deciphering the Cosmos from Creation to Apocalypse: The Ḥurūfiyya Movement and
Islamic Esotericism,” in Imagining the End: Visions of Apocalypse from the Ancient Middle East to
Modern America, ed. A. Amanat and M. Bernhardsson (London, New York: I.B Tauris Publishers, 2002),
171.
-17-
Meier shows the slow change from a shaykh al-ta’līm to a shaykh al-tarbiya to occur in
many places, but most strikingly in Khurasan.45 The shaykh’s elevated status only
continued to rise over the next few centuries, reaching its pinnacle during the Timurid
period. In the fourteenth and fifteenth century, the status and abilities of the shaykh are
presented in the most extravagant language in Timurid hagiographical works.
Intercessory and messianic claims were popularly ascribed to many Sufi leaders. Devin
DeWeese shows that these sorts of claims were particular to this period and were extreme
in nature because they are cut out of later hagiographical works.46
The period has also been characterized as a time of confessional ambiguity in
which the divisions between what was seen as Shi‘i and what was seen as Sunni were not
as rigid. Ahl-i Bayt or members of the Prophet Muḥammad’s family, particularly ‘Alids,
were accorded great status by Sunnis during this time and their shrines became important
pilgrimage centers. Historians have differed as to what this actually meant in terms of
sectarian adherence. Did this signify a slow creep towards the Shi‘ism of the Safavids or
was it Sunni cooption of the charisma associated with the Ahl-i Bayt? These ideas will be
further examined in a later chapter.
This short summary of the religious situation during the Timurid period
establishes it as intensely dynamic and positions it as an excellent setting to examine how
piety and ritual developed and played out. The popular pious activity of grave visitation
illuminates the intersection between the motivations of different sectors of Timurid
45
Fritz Meier, “Khurasan and the End of Classical Sufism,” in Essays on Islamic Piety and Mysticism, ed.
& trans. J. O’Kane (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 1999), 191-2.
46
Devin DeWeese, “Intercessory Claims of Ṣūfī Communities during the Fourteenth and Fifteenth
Centuries: Messianic Legitimizing Strategies on the Spectrum of Normativity,” in Unity in Diversity:
Mysticism, Messianism and the Construction of Religious Authority in Islam, ed. O. Mir-Kasimov (Leiden,
Boston: Brill, 2014), 199-200.
-18-
society: that of the political rulers, religious elites (the ‘ulamā’), Sufis, and the general
population of pilgrims and devotees of various shrines. The groups both shared and
negotiated the borders of ritual practice at shrines which resulted in a vibrant religious
tradition.
Literature Review
The political and intellectual history of the Timurids has been well charted by many
historians over the past few decades.47 Similarly, studies by art historians of the art and
architecture of the entire post-Mongol Iranian world are well-developed. Extensive
analyses of the shrine structures, layouts, and uses in works by art historians bring to life
the shrines only mentioned in written sources. Sheila Blair, in her study on early
fourteenth-century shrine complexes of locally important saints and Sufi orders, similar
to the type visited and described by Ibn Battuta, demonstrates their importance for the
dynamic life of Sufis. Unlike the secluded ribāts of earlier centuries, these Sufi shrine
complexes were, as Blair notes, “social establishments in which the place of the dead was
commemorated by veneration of the living. They were attractive, lively spots, more
popular than scholarly or official foundations.”48
47
For studies on Timurid history: B. Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2007). Manz, The Rise and Rule of Tamerlane (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989).; M.E. Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation
in Medieval Iran (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007).; H.R. Roemer, “The Successors to Timur, in The
Cambridge History of Iran vol. 6, eds. P. Jackson and L. Lockhart (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1986), 98-145.; J. Woods, “The Rise of Timurid Historiography,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies
46.2 (1987), 81-108.; J. Woods, The Timurid Dynasty, Papers on Inner Asia (Bloomington: Indiana
University, 1990).; I.E. Binbaş, Intellectual Networks in Timurid Iran: Sharaf al-Dīn ‘Alī Yazdī and the
Islamicate Republic of Letters (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016).
48
Sheila Blair, “Sufi Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Early Fourteenth Century,” Muqarnas 7 (1990):
46-7.
-19-
Lisa Golombek further elaborates the social space provided by the shrines, calling
them “little cities of God” (as opposed to the “great cities of God” represented by the
larger shrine towns of Mashhad and Qom, the former of which houses the tomb of an
Imam and the latter of which houses the prominent daughter of an Imam). She shows the
multipurpose nature of these sites, in which there were separate living and bathing areas
for students, Sufi adepts, and pilgrims; meeting places for Sufis, mosques, madrasas,
cisterns from which water was freely distributed, large kitchens to feed all the various
visitors and residents of the shrine complex. The large scale building of shrine complexes
is a testament to the great wealth of both patrons and Sufis. These religious structures
were also built carefully and with good materials that has enabled many of them to last to
this day, while other structures such as palaces, markets, baths, and caravanserais have
largely disappeared.49 They were also repaired more scrupulously. In crowded cities with
little room for new building, refurbishing older religious edifices was just as important to
wealthy patrons. This in itself is a testament to the importance of religious building (or at
least the cultural capital it engendered) to these patrons.
From the Ilkhanid period there was a renewed interest in building shrines to
honor local saints.50 If there existed a contemporary saint who had students, disciples, or
family in a city (e.g. Natanz, Pir-i Bakrān), then a mausoleum was built to honor him
bringing political benefit and socio-religious prestige to the patron and his family. If a
local saint did not exist in the contemporary history, then devotion to one from the past
could be renewed (e.g. Bisṭāmī, Aḥmad-i Jām) and new buildings could adorn his shrine
49
Lisa Golombek, The Timurid Shrine at Gāzur Gāh (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1969), 15.
50
In the earlier Seljuk period there had also been great shrine building and rebuilding projects, after which
there is less evidence of widespread shrine-building until the Ilkhanid period.
-20-
and make it function as the other locally based ones. Golombek concludes that “the
phenomenon of the Little Cities of God was therefore due not to the power and influence
of individual shaykhs exercising this on their following, but to a climate that fostered the
creation of shrine-centers with the attributes described. The tomb of the shaykh was, so to
say, more a ‘peg on which to hang the hat’ rather than the source of impetus.”51 This idea
that the actual life of the saint was less important than how he was actually remembered
and subsequently venerated is central to this dissertation. As mentioned above, there was
a particular set of ideals and topoi used to give sanctity to a saint in fourteenth- and
fifteenth-century hagiographies. This is addressed at length in Chapter 3.
The religious history of the period has also been studied by many scholars. Older
studies, such as the chapter on Timurid period religion in the Cambridge History of Iran
by B.S. Amoretti, have read the religious history of the Timurid period as one of a
gradual trend towards Shi‘ism, particularly among aberrant currents in society, and that
eventually culminated in Safavid Shi‘ism of the sixteenth century. While the theme of a
certain ambiguity between Sunni and Shi‘i beliefs and practices in this period is a helpful
heuristic device, seeing the period as merely the path to Safavid Shi‘ism obscures the
complexity of Timurid religion. Hamid Algar also disagrees with Amoretti’s position,
arguing instead that Sunnism generally prevailed in the Timurid period; Timur was
clearly a Sunni as were almost all of his successors. Besides areas that had already been
centers of Shi‘ism, no new territory came under Shi‘i rule in this time. Similarly, Algar
gives a more nuanced approach to the Shi’ism found in the different messianic and Sufi
51
L. Golombek, "The Cult of Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Fourteenth Century," in Near Eastern
Numismatics, Iconography, Epigraphy and History: Studies in Honor of George C. Miles, ed. D.
Kouymjian (Beirut, 1974), 429.
-21-
movements of the period. While many groups had leanings towards various aspects of
Shi‘i belief and practice, the most important and influential order of the time remained
the Naqshbandiyya, which was well-known for its adamant claims to Sunni orthodoxy.52
There are a great many works relating to Sufism and messianic movements during
this period. From the excellent studies by Shahzad Bashir, Hamid Algar, Devin
DeWeese, Jurgen Paul, JoAnn Gross, Ahmet Karamustafa and others we get a vivid
picture of much of the religious landscape, particularly of the institutionalized Sufi
ṭarīqa, messianic and apocalyptic trends, and the diffusion of both “orthodox” and
antinomian charismatic figures.53 Scholars such as Jamal Elias and Omid Safi have
provided certain theoretical frameworks to study Sufism and religious piety. For
example, they have proposed moving beyond an understanding of Sufism based largely
52
H. Algar, “Religions in Iran (2): Islam in Iran (2.2) Mongol and Timurid Periods,” Encyclopedia Iranica;
For more on the Naqshbandiyya see: H. Algar, “The Naqshbandī Order: A Preliminary Survey of Its
History and Significance,” Studia Islamica, No. 44 (1976), pp. 123-152.; D. DeWeese, “The Eclipse of the
Kubravīyah in Central Asia,” Iranian Studies Vol. 21, No. 1/2, Soviet and North American Studies on
Central Asia (1988), pp. 45-83.; J. Paul, Doctrine and Organization: the Khwājagān/Naqshbandīya in the
First Generation after Bahā’uddīn (Berlin: Das Arabische Buch, 1998).; A.F. Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the
Prophet: The Indian Naqshbandiyya and the Rise of the Mediating Sufi Shaykh (Columbia: University of
South Carolina Press, 1998).
53
See: S. Bashir, Messianic Hopes and Mystical Visions: The Nūrbakhshīya Between Medieval and
Modern Islam (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003).; S. Bashir, Sufi Bodies: Religion and
Society in Medieval Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011).; S. Bashir, “Enshrining Divinity:
The Death and Memorialization of Fażlallāh Astarābādī in Ḥurūfī Thought,” The Muslim World 90.3/4
(Fall, 2000): 289-308.; A. Papas, “Soufisme, Pouvoir et Sainteté: Le Cas des Khwâjas de Kashgarie (XVI2-
XVIIIe siècles,” Studia Islamica 100/101 (2005): 161-182.; H. Algar, “Some Observations on Religion in
Safavid Persia,” Iranian Studies 7.1/2 (Winter-Spring, 1974): 287-293.; H. Algar, “Jāmī ii. And Sufism,”
Encyclopedia Iranica, 2008.; J. Paul, Doctrine and Organization: The Khwājagān/Naqshbandīya in the
Generation after Bahā’uddīn (Berlin: Abrabische Buch, 1998).; A. Karamustafa, God’s Unruly Friends,
Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Period, 1200-1550 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994).;
J. Gross, “The Economic Status of Timurid Sufi Shaykh: A Matter of Conflict or Perception?” Iranian
Studies 21.1/2 (1988): 84-104.; D. DeWeese, Islamization and Native Religion in the Golden Horde: Baba
Tükles Conversion to Islam in Historical and Epic Tradition (University Park, Pa.: Pennyslvania State
University, 1994).; D. DeWeese, “Shamanization in Central Asia,” JESHO 57.3 (2014), 326-363.;
DeWeese, “Sacred Places and Public Narratives: The Shrine of Aḥmad Yasavī in Hagiographical
Traditions of the Yasavī Ṣūfī Order, 16th-17th Centuries,” The Muslim World 90 (Fall, 2000): 353-376.;
Yasavī ‘Šayḫs’ in the Timurid Era: Notes on the Social and Political Roels of Communal Sufi Affiliations
in the 14th and 15th Centuries,” Oriente Moderno 15.76 (1996): 173-188.
-22-
upon the interior world of distinguished mystical scholars and poets and their writings, by
focusing rather on the social role of Sufism in particular historical contexts.54 The
intellectual history of various Sufi brotherhoods (tarīqāt) as well as on the ‘ulamā’ have
been done; however, there has not been as much work on the actual content of “popular”
piety and the practice of shrine visitation ritual in this period.
Robert McChesney set the standard for studying the history of an individual
shrine with his work on ‘Alī’s tomb in Mazar-i Sharif. His use of narrative histories and
documentary sources, and especially awqāf for the tomb, allowed him to present the
social and religious importance of this shrine in the midst of political turmoil.55 More
recently, May Farhat has offered a comprehensive history of the shrine of ‘Alī al-Riżā in
Mashhad from the tenth to the seventeenth century. She addresses the reasons behind the
shrine’s popularity before Safavid rule. The religious complex that housed the saint’s
tomb was similar to other Central Asian shrines both typologically and in terms of elite
Timurid patronage.56 Sunni veneration of this ‘Alid shrine was similar to the types of
veneration they showed at shrines of Sufis and other saintly figures and speaks again to a
widespread culture of shrine piety.
This dissertation brings forward both ideas of popular religion and practice, but
also shows how people from all levels of society participated in this arena and had shared
experiences. In response to works on piety, such as Marina Tolmacheva’s work on
54
See for example: J. Elias, “The Second Ali: The Making of Sayyid Ali Hamadani in Popular
Imagination,” Muslim World 90.3-4 (September, 2000): 395-419.; O. Safi, “Bargaining with Baraka:
Persian Sufism, ‘Mysticism’ and Premodern Politics,” Muslim World 90.3-4 (September, 2000): 259-288.
55
R.D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-
1889 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991).
56
May Farhat, “Islamic Piety and Dynastic Legitimacy: The Case of the Shrine of Ali al-Rida in Mashhad,
10th-17th Century,” (Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 2002).
-23-
medieval female piety and the Hajj which present Islamic piety as unchanging and
remaining constant over many centuries and places, this study will take into account the
changing meaning of symbols, beliefs, and ritual with explicit regard for context.
Medieval Khurasan and Transoxiana under Timurid rule created a particular environment
that fostered a particular form of piety which forms the subject of this work. This
dissertation follows in the line of other similar projects, particularly that of Christopher S.
Taylor’s In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyara and the Veneration of Muslim Saints in
Late Medieval Egypt which focuses on shrines and popular practice in Mamluk Egypt.
Similarly relevant is Josef Meri’s work on Syrian shrine pilgrimage by Jews and Muslims
also during the Mamluk period and Daniella Talmon-Heller’s Islamic Piety in Medieval
Syria: Mosques, Cemeteries and Sermon under the Zangids and Ayyubids. Even more
extensive is the study of the spread and development of Islamization, ritual practice and
shrine visitation in North India; South Asianists have produced a great number of rich
studies that provide models for my study.57 Beatrice Manz has made the most
comprehensive use of grave visitation guides during Shāhrukh’s rule, presenting two
chapters on the subject in her Power, Politics, and Religion in Timurid Iran. However,
she agrees that the sources are far from being exhausted, and an in-depth study of the
place of shrines in Timurid religious practice needs to be done. Indeed, both Meri and
57
For selected works on Indian Sufis and shrines see: R.M. Eaton, “Sufi Folk Literature and the Expansion
of Indian Islam,” History of Religions, Vol. 14, No. 2 (Nov., 1974), 117-127.; C.W. Ernst, Eternal Garden:
Mysticism, History, and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Center (Albany: State University of New York Press,
1992).; C.W. Ernst, Early Chishtī Sufism and the Historiography of Conversion to Islam in South Asia
(Arizona: Middle East Studies Association of North America, 1991).; S. Digby, “The Sufi Shaykh and the
Sultan: A Conflict of Claims to Authority in Medieval India,” Iran 28 (1990), 71-81.
-24-
Grabar have called for more in depth studies of shrines and their associated ritual in
particular contexts.58
Many of the questions of religious meaning that this dissertation examines have
been raised in a different context by Devin DeWeese in his study on the Islamization and
Native Religion in the Golden Horde. He looks at conversion narratives of the Golden
Horde and how the point of Islamization is later conflated with ethnic origins. By
examining how conversion was later interpreted by the Muslim Golden Horde, DeWeese
provides a framework for searching for how a medieval Islamic society understood its
religion and ritual. Similarly, works by Caroline Walker Bynum on medieval European
piety make use of cultural anthropology to understand the symbolic world of the
medieval society she studies. In Holy Feast Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of
Food to Medieval Women, Bynum uses sources about European women who were often
seen as unique or unusual in their time as well as stories of saints. Both of these types of
figures may not at first glance represent the general population; however, their stories and
the way they engaged people at the time can provide insight into the sensibilities and
aspirations of those who were either listening to or reading these stories. The women who
took their fasting to extreme levels correspond to similar, but less intense, practices on
the part of ordinary women.59 In a way similar to narratives in the Muslim world, the
vitae of saints found in the primary sources tell us far more about the attitudes towards
58
Josef W. Meri, The Cult of Saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria (Oxford, New York:
Oxford University Press, 2002); 285.; O. Grabar, “The Earliest Islamic Commemorative Structures, Notes
and Documents,” Ars Orientalis, Vol. 6 (1966), 12.
59
C.W. Bynum, Holy Feast Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1987). and Wonderful Blood : Theology and Practice in Late Medieval
Northern Germany and Beyond (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007).
-25-
religion and piety held by the audience of these stories than they do about the actual
historical figures presented.
Primary Sources
The main sources used for this dissertation are shrine visitation guides that became
widespread during the Timurid period. They grew out of local and regional histories
which were usually written in the form of biographical histories of a city, highlighting all
the important people of said city. Local histories, usually in the form of biographical
dictionaries of a city’s illustrious inhabitants and mostly in Arabic, were well established
as a genre in Iran by the fourth and fifth/tenth and eleventh centuries. There was
apparently a “boom” in local histories around 1000 C.E.60 Local histories are diverse in
their subject matter: local chronicles often focused on local political events and earlier
Arabic city histories highlighted the important ‘ulamā’, particularly hadith scholars, who
either lived in the city or had visited at some point in their lives. Gradually in the Seljuk
period, these texts were more likely to be in Persian. A new literary genre of shrine
manuals or guide books (kitāb al-ziyārat or kitāb al-mazārāt) highlighting the important
merits (fażā’il) of a city and deceased saintly men (and occasionally women) whose
shrines ennoble the city, developed from this tradition of local histories. Shrine guides
follow the same format as earlier biographical works; however, they are usually much
more hagiographic in nature and also include detailed descriptions of the saint’s shrine
and miracles that occur there long after his death. These guides seem to fall somewhere
between a standard local history and hagiographical works such as ‘Abd al-Raḥmān
60
Jurgen Paul, “The Histories of Herat,” Iranian Studies 33.1-2 (Winter/Spring, 2000): 97-98.
-26-
Jāmī’s hagiography on important Sufis, Nafaḥāt al-uns min al-hażrāt al-quds. The
expansion of this new genre to facilitate the growing importance of the baraka of
deceased saints is a testament to a shrine-centric piety that was also developing.
The shrine manual narrows the focus of biography to covering those of the holy
dead of a city and are hagiographical in nature. They vary in the subject matter that they
include, some have extensive stories of the life of the deceased saint before his death,
others give anecdotes of post-mortem miracles that occur at the shrine of a saint, while
most entries give almost no information on the saint and focus rather on the location of
the shrine. I use the following seven manuals to provide a comprehensive picture of
shrine based piety: Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda on the city of Bukhara, Qandiyya on the city of
Samarkand, Rawżāt al-Jinān wa Jannāt al-Janān on the city of Tabriz, Tārīkh-i Yazd
and Tārīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd on the city of Yazd, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va marṣad
al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya on the city of Herat, and Tārīkhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf on the city of
Mazar-i Sharif and Tārīkh-i Yazd and Tārīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd are not strictly speaking
shrine guides in the same way as the other works. Both of these texts could be considered
general local histories and fażā’il works; they start with a history of Yazd under the
Timurids and also includes a listing of all of the important buildings in the city, with
particular emphasis on religious buildings. It is in this section that we find a rather
lengthy exposition of Yazdī shrines and stories of those buried there.
Most of these shrine guides are from the areas of Khurasan and Transoxiana,
however, Tabriz and Yazd are from west of this region. I am including them in this study
because alongside the other guides, they comprise the corpus of extant shrine guides of
the Timurid period of lands under Timurid control. For this reason, I argue that the broad
-27-
similarities in the context of these cities and their relationship with local ziyārat is
beneficial to this study. As mentioned above, I use these shrine guides not as sources for
the actual lives of the deceased saints, but rather in order to highlight the important ideals
of piety and sanctity in the period in which they were written. These guides present trends
and patterns of behavior that are specific to the Late Middle Period in Iran and Central
Asia. Alongside the shrines of well-known Muslim scholars and saints, we find local
sacred or supernatural sites such healing springs and ancient, pre-Islamic sites.61 As they
speak to a somewhat broad audience of pilgrims, often in basic Persian, they inform us of
the types of piety and signifiers of sanctity that were readily acceptable to the types of
people who would make pilgrimage to the shrines mentioned in the manuals. As Richard
McGregor argues, “there is no body of religious literature equal to it as a window onto
Islamic conceptions of sanctity and devotion,” and this is how Timurid shrine visitation
guides are used here.62
In all the cases save one, the author of the manual is known. This allows us to
take into account the biases of the author when evaluating a particular manual. For
example, Ḥāfiẓ Ḥusayn Karbalā’ī Tabrīzī (d., the author of Rawżāt al-Jinān wa Jannāt
al-Janān, a shrine manual for the city of Tabriz, wrote his work during the early Safavid
period in exile in Syria. His work is colored both by a deep nostalgia for the city of his
birth but also a deep prejudice against the Safavids and Shi‘ism. Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i
Sultāniyya wa Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya, the Herati shrine guide and one of the
61
For example both an alleged healing spring and a 4,000 year old sacred site later became the site of an
important masjid and mazār in Herat, the Masjid Gunbad-i Khwāja Nūr.Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i
Sulṭāniyya wa Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya (Tehran: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Irān, 1973), 51.
62
Richard McGregor, “Intertext and Artworks- Reading Islamic Hagiography,” Studies in
Religion/Sciences Religieuses 43.3. (2014): 426.
-28-
earliest examples of this genre, was written by Sayyid Aṣīl al-Dīn ‘Abdullāh Wā‘iẓ
Ḥusaynī for the Timurid ruler Sulṭān Abū Sā‘īd Gurkhānī (r. 863-873 AH/1458-1469
CE). As an official work by a scholar patronized by the Timurid ruler, this shrine guide
reflects a somewhat official version of shrines and shrine visitation in Herat. Wā‘iẓ also
makes sure to include lengthy praises of the Timurids, interestingly pointing out the many
shrines that Timur and Shāhrukh had visited during their reigns.
Therefore, while I argue that the way shrines and saints are described in the
manuals tells us of broader religious ideas of the time, it is also important to note that the
individuals who wrote them also had their own agendas. The authors are not the only
ones with an agenda that colored the hagiographies; shrine caretakers, local rulers, and
others had a stake in the pilgrimage game. A well placed ‘Alid shrine could lead to a
great uptick in pilgrims and thus revenues for the city and many inhabitants. With all of
these issues in mind, these manuals are used carefully to assess the religious mindset of
the people of their age as best as possible.
These shrine guides make up the heart of the dissertation; however they are used
in conjunction with other types of literature from the period. Dynastic histories such as
Khwāndamīr’s Ḥabīb al-Siyar and local histories such as Isfizārī’s Rawżat al-Jannāt help
to add context to the shrine manuals. Other religious texts in the form of akhlāq literature,
Sufi biographical dictionaries, hadith literature, and other theological works provide
understandings of shrines and piety from ‘ulamā’ that functioned at a different level than
those who penned the shrine manuals. Documentary sources, such as letters and waqf
(endowment) deeds are also used. These sources taken together and supplemented with
inscriptions from and maps of various shrines and shrine complexes create a
-29-
comprehensive picture of shrines and shrine-based piety. The uses, biases, and limitations
of each of these sources will be discussed as they arise.
Methodology
This dissertation examines three central aspects of the pilgrimage experience: ritual, story
and place in order to illuminate the religious and cultural life of Muslims of the time. It
follows an idea presented by Jonathan Z. Smith that Josef Meri adapts to his study of
Syrian shrine pilgrimage, stating that these three aspects are key to engendering
sanctity.63 The physical and psychological nature of ritual is the first part of the
experience, its ethical and sacramental components and meanings give context to the
practice of shrine visitation. Second, the hagiographic stories of important saints and
religious figures highlight the ideals of piety at the time. And last, the spaces of shrine
complexes and the routes of pilgrimage undertaken by pilgrims speaks to the concrete
experience of moving around and inhabiting space. This experience of space was
informed by all of the other aspects of pilgrimage. These aspects, all seen in concert, add
to an understanding of the complex social, cultural, and religious lives of medieval
Muslims.
This study also follows the theoretical understanding of Islamic practice and
tradition as put forth by Talal Asad. It places the practice of shrine pilgrimage and the
discourse surrounding it in the context of a greater Islamic discursive tradition. In terms
of the language used, the frames of reference and authority mobilized by authors of
63
Josef Meri, The Cult of Saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria (Oxford, New York: Oxford
University Press, 2002), 15. See also: J.Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1987).
-30-
shrine manuals, and even in the very architecture of shrines, it is clear that this practice
was understood and simultaneously influenced by the Islamic discursive tradition. In line
with Ovamair Anjum’s understanding of the way in which various Islamic traditions are
connected to a larger idea of Islam, i.e. by seeing the “emphasis on connectedness by
these Islamic subtraditions as a conscious, rational mode of participating in an Islamic
discursive tradition rather than as an unthought or unconscious deep structure waiting to
be discovered by modern scholars.”64
In the discussion of shrine pilgrimage, this dissertation engages in longstanding
debates about the nature and role of ritual, belief, and practice in the lives of Muslims. It
looks at ideas of efficacy, embodiment, community and identity building, liminality, and
normativity in terms of shrine visitation. Marion Holmes Katz in a study on the Hajj
highlights a few different approaches to ritual by religious studies scholars. She argues
that while some may use “core theological principles to define Islamic normativity” and
then present Islamic ritual practice as corresponding directly to this theology, she sees a
more dynamic model of ritual practice and Muslim attitudes towards it. She also finds
that pre-modern Muslim scholars struck a balance between a focus on the ethical aspects
of ritual and the efficacious.65 Like much of Islamic ritual practice, shrine visitation
included a certain schematic of recitations, invocations, and physical practice which
developed over time. I argue that shrine visitation guide books by the Timurid period
offered an almost codified sequence of ritual practice for the pilgrim to undertake as part
of the experience. These actions and recitations are based on Qur’anic verses, hadith
64
Ovamir Anjum, “Islam as a Discursive Tradition: Talal Asad and His Interlocutors,” Comparative
Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 27.3 (2007): 662.
65
Marion Holmes Katz, “The Hajj and the Study of Islamic Ritual,” Studia Islamica 98/99 (2004): 127-9.
-31-
reports of the Prophet advising Muslims on what to do at graves, hadith of the Shi‘i
Imāms, and on accumulated local practice and tradition. How these actions were
interpreted and understood by both pilgrims and the ‘ulamā’, with special emphasis on
ritual efficacy and expectations of intercession, will be explored in more detail in Chapter
2.
Chapters
This dissertation is divided into four main chapters which work together to present a
comprehensive picture of shrine-based piety and what it meant for Muslims in the Later
Middle Period. Following this introductory chapter is Chapter 2; The Shrine as a Center
of Timurid Piety and Ritual. This chapter examines the prescribed ritual and prohibitions
of shrine visitation. It makes use of shrine guides and city histories for Bukhara,
Samarqand, Herat, Yazd, Tabriz, and Mazar-i Sharif composed in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries. Other types of sources such as works of fiqh, hadith, religious science
(e.g. Pārsā’s Faṣl al-khiṭāb), and general histories also make clear the form and history of
shrine-based ritual.
The next chapter, Chapter 3; Stories of Saints: Pious Exemplars and Collective
Memory, follows an idea that was well examined in Taylor’s study of Cairene tombs in
The Vicinity of the Righteous: that the way sanctity is discussed and constructed informs
how piety was viewed in a particular period, as well as gives a view to the religious
“thought world” at the time.66 The hagiographic sources and shrine manuals from the
Timurid period are rich with detailed sketches of saintly men and the occasional woman.
66
Christopher Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the Veneration of Muslim Saints in Late
Medieval Egypt (Boston: Brill, 1999), 80.
-32-
While often reflecting more of an idealized typology than the real life story of a medieval
person, these stories offer much to the historian of society and culture. The qualities and
behaviors that the shrine manuals and other biographical literature of the period bring to
the forefront, give evidence of the qualities and behaviors that were important to society
at the time.
Chapter 4 Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid Shrine examines the ways that the
Prophet Muḥammad and his family were regarded in medieval Iran and Central Asia.
Religion in the post-Ilkhanid period has been described in many different ways over the
past few decades. Scholarship was largely geared towards discovering how and why the
Shi‘ism of the Safavid period was possible, given a previously largely Sunni population
in Iran. Historians and scholars of religion argued for an inherent Shi‘i inclination even
among those who identified as Sunni during this interim period (i.e. post-Ilkhanid but
pre-Safavid, encompassing the Timurids and Turkmen dynasties among others). Sufism
was seen as the conduit through which the Shi‘ification of Sunnis was possible. Shi‘ism
so influenced Sufism that the two were seen as interchangeable.
Early on, Hamid Algar wrote against these trends and posed a situation where
Sunnism could exist alongside a special Alid loyalism without espousing Shi‘i
theological and doctrinal beliefs. Marshall Hodgson called it “Alid loyalism”, Moojan
Momen called it “tashayyu al-hasan,” and most recently Mathew Melvin-Koushki
introduced the helpful term “imamophilism,” and it is through this lens that the religious
atmosphere of Timurid Iran and Central Asia can be best understood. Chapter 4 looks at
the role of ‘Alid shrines and the importance of Sayyid saints as objects of veneration by
the largely Sunni populations in the cities examined in this dissertation. It argues that the
-33-
sort of ‘Alidism found in scholarly works, such as that of Muḥammad Pārsā, Rūzbihān
Khunjī and other prominent scholars of the time, is reflected in the more widespread
practice of shrine visitation.
Chapter 5; The Geography of Sanctity focuses on the actual places of pilgrimage
and the importance of the “locality” of saints in creating a shared identity and history.
The saints, the places that were important in their lives, and their final resting places help
to create the history of the area. There is a type of shared view of the past, rooted in these
saintly figures and their shrines, that presents an interesting type of regional history.
While many shrines were presented as single locations, there are many instances when a
pilgrim is advised to make a circuit of many important shrines in a certain area or of a
certain type of holy person (e.g. prophets). The routes and spaces are embedded in a
sacred geography of the city. Understanding the medieval experience of journeying along
these routes and visiting shrines gives us a better sense of ziyārat. Finally, I will offer
some concluding remarks on piety and ritual practice during the Timurid period in Iran
and Central Asia.
-34-
CHAPTER 2: The Shrine as a Center of Timurid Piety and Ritual
Josef Meri, in his study of the cult of saints in medieval Syria, argues that sacred space
and sacred topography are made by “story, ritual and place.”1 Each of these three aspects
works in tandem to imbue a space with sacrality. This chapter is concerned with the place
of ritual in making the shrine a sacred space. Ritual provided pilgrims with both a
corporeal and a spiritual dimension to the ziyārat and made the body just as important in
the practice as the mind or heart. This chapter will interrogate the category of ‘ritual’ and
then examine the different methods of ritual practice presented in Timurid shrine
visitation guides.
Ritual was first made into a descriptive category and term of analysis by
European scholars in the nineteenth century who thought that an understanding of ritual
would lead to the discovery of the origins of religion. They set ritual apart from the
mundane activities of daily life by associating ritual practice with sacred myth and saw it
as a universal human activity. As is true with most objects of academic study, the ways
that ritual has been defined and used have changed over time, but as Catherine Bell
argues, most theories of ritual center around the question as to whether “religion and
culture were originally rooted in myth or in ritual.”2 In most cases, ritual was understood
as a symbolic act and these symbols could be read or decoded for meaning. Émile
Durkheim counted rituals (or rites) among the essential features of religion, they were
central in separating the sacred from the profane as well as cultivating religious emotion.
1
Josef W. Meri, The Cult of saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria (Oxford: Oxford University
Press), 2002, 14. Also See: Daphna Ephrat, “The Shaykh, the Physical Setting, and the Holy Site: the
diffusion of the Qadiri path in late medieval Palestine,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great
Britain and Ireland 19.1 (January 2009): 1-20.
2
Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimension, 3.
-35-
Chapter 2: The Shrine as a Center of Timurid Ritual and Piety
On this latter point, Durkheim argued that “rites are a manner of acting which take rise in
the midst of assembled groups and which are destined to excite, maintain, or recreate
certain mental states in these groups.”3 Even as rites were seen as an important part of
religion, Durkheim and others privileged belief over ritual, arguing that the latter required
the former. A new focus on ritual arose with the work of cultural anthropologists such as
Victor Turner, Clifford Geertz, and others. While their predecessors had been focused on
deciphering the origins of religion and decoding the myth behind ritual, the
anthropological approach was more concerned with the role and purpose of ritual in the
structure of society and culture. Still others, such as Vincent Crapanzano, were more
focused on the individual’s understanding and approach to ritual than in larger societal
concerns .Crapanzano emphasized the embedded complexities and ambiguities of ritual
that did not easily translate into particular meanings.4
Talal Asad moved the discussion of ritual away from a focus on symbolic
meanings to an analysis of the practice of ritual. For Asad, ritual “is directed at the apt
performance of what is prescribed, something that depends on intellectual and practical
disciplines but does not itself require decoding. In other words, apt performance involves
not symbols to be interpreted but abilities to be acquired…”5 Asad’s characterization of
ritual as embodied practice that disciplines and socializes the body in a particular way is a
useful lens through which to understand ziyārat ritual. In a recent interview, Asad
elaborates on his idea of ritual:
3
E. Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life quoted in K. Thompson, Emile Durkheim
(London, New York: Tavistock Publications, 1982), 125.
4
Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions, 57.
5
Talal Asad, Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam
(Baltimore, London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), 62.
-36-
It was not meaning that was taught first but just a way of life and
a way of inhabiting one’s body, of relating to other people, and of
learning certain kinds of ritual. Even when one is taught in words
it’s not really the symbolism of ritual that matters…6
The significance of ritual to a devotee is based on the quotidian and natural nature
of the ritual. Its effectiveness in being incorporated into the life of the person relies upon
this naturalness. Courtney Bender argues that “habit, comportment, language, emotion
and so on are naturalized through the ongoing, daily disciplining of the body in specific
ritual events and in multiple social interactions. The thoroughly socialized body inhabits
a world in which it knows how to move, and does so in such a way that its movements
appear thoroughly natural and transparent.”7 Embodiment of ritual practice is also closely
related to Bourdieu’s concept of habitus, in that “what is ‘learned by the body’ is not
something that one has, like knowledge that can be brandished, but something that one
is.”8 A practice-oriented approach to the study of religion centers on this particular
understanding of ritual as the individual’s embodied practices and brings forward how
these are part of his/her way of being. This approach takes into consideration the
discourses that inform and limit the practice of an individual alongside the ways in which
actual individual practice and belief informs those same discourses.9
6
Irfan Ahmad, “Talal Asad Interviewed by Irfan Ahmad,” Public Culture 27.2 (2015): 261.
7
Courtney Bender, “Practicing Religions,” in Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies, ed. R.A. Orsi
(Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 283-284.
8
Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1980), 73.
Quoted in S. Mahmood, “Rehearsed Spontaneity and Conventionality of Ritual: Disciplines of Ṣalāt,”
American Ethnologist 28.4 (Nov. 2001): 837.
9
One current example of an excellent work that utilizes a practice-oriented approach and Bourdieu’s theory
of habitus is Helena Kupari, Lifelong Religion as Habitus: Religious Practice among Displaced Karelian
Orthodox Women in Finland (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2016).
-37-
With regard to the social dimension of ritual, Bell argues that ritualization is a
strategy used to construct specific power arrangements and relationships that are central
to certain forms of social organizing. It is important to figure out who has control over
the ritual, how it can be used to dominate participants, and how their power is limited and
constrained. Expanding upon the importance of ritual with regard to social relations,
Turner argued that ritual worked on an ongoing basis by which a community continually
renewed itself.10 While those with power—in the case of ziyārat this would include
authors of shrine guides, influential scholars, patrons, and shrine administrators—could
and did attempt to dictate practice, they did not hold a monopoly on it. They were
constrained by tradition, both of a trans-local and local type, and by practitioners
themselves. Those in power could not successfully impose rules and practices that
strayed considerably from locally acceptable ideas on what constituted proper ritual.
Some examples below will show how those who did advocate against popular ritual
practices were often ignored. As will be apparent in this dissertation, ritual and ideas of
piety were shaped by many different agents, including those in power, religious scholars,
and the community of lay Muslims.
Central to understanding ritual as an activity that stands apart from daily,
mundane activities of life is its association with the sacred. What is sacred has also been
categorized and defined in a myriad of ways. Early scholars of religion describe the
sacred as a stable category that includes everything positively connected to God, gods, or
the supernatural. The early twentieth-century social scientist Arnold Van Gennep argues
instead that the sacred is not an absolute attribute, rather it is relative and changes
10
Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 39.
-38-
depending upon the situation; most importantly, he shows how ritual defines the sacred
rather than only reacting to it.11 Jonathan Z. Smith has elaborated this idea in a discussion
of the sacred as a focusing lens:
The ordinary…becomes significant, becomes sacred, simply by

being there. It becomes sacred by having our attention directed to
it in a special way…there is nothing that is inherently sacred or
profane. These are not substantive categories, but rather
situational or relational categories, mobile boundaries which shift
according to the map being employed. There is nothing that is in-
itself sacred, only things sacred-in-relation-to.12
In another work, his influential To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual, J.Z.
Smith further questions traditional ideas of sacred space as an absolute entity. To Smith,
ritual is not a response to something that is already sacred; instead “rituals function in
much the same fashion as the architecture of sacred places. Just as the built environment
performs a focusing activity, ritual also directs and focalizes attention.” 13 This idea of a
shifting sacred defined by ritual and other parts of the religious experience is a helpful
way to understand how ziyārat ritual contributes to the process of sacralization. Mazār
(shrine) sites could be in almost any location and not necessarily connected to pre-
existing narratives on the sacred. That is, a religious site like the Ka‘ba in Mecca was
steeped in a sacred history linking the space and its ritual to pre-Islamic prophets as well
11
12
Jonathan Z. Smith, “The Bare Facts of Ritual,” History of Religions 20.1/2 (August-Novemner, 1980):
115.
13
Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago, London: The University of
Chicago Press, 1987), 103-104.
-39-
as to the Prophet Muḥammad.14 In many mazārs, the ritual practices of ziyārat are central
in marking the space as sacred and legitimizing narratives about the saint interred there.
For example, in the popular shrine of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib at Mazār-i Sharīf there is a long
period of time when the site is supposedly forgotten, essentially losing its sacred status
until its “rediscovery” in the Timurid period. The shrine again becomes sacred partly
because of ziyārat rituals that recommence at the site.15
Ritual and Worship in Islam
The category of ‘ritual’ is problematic in the context of pre-modern Islam as well. Roy
Mottahedeh argues that while it can be a useful tool of analysis for historians, it did not
exist as an “overt category” in the medieval Islamicate world. He suggests understanding
ritual in terms of ‘ibādat, from the Arabic root ‫ د‬-‫ ب‬-‫ ع‬meaning to serve or worship (a
god). Mottahedeh translates ‘ibādat as “divine services” that encompass all actions that
“express the relationship and attitude of an individual to God.”16 This issue with ritual as
a category is not only a problem in the study of Islam. Catherine Bell contends that the
“idea of ritual is itself a construction, that is, a category or tool of analysis built up from a
sampling of ethnographic descriptions and the elevation of many untested assumptions; it
14
See: Marion Katz, “The Hajj and the Study of Islamic Ritual,” Studia Islamica 98/99 (2004): 95-129.;
William Graham, “Islam in the Mirror of Ritual,” in Islam’s Understanding of Itself, ed. Richard G.
Hovannisian and Speros Vyronis (Malibu, CA: Udena Publications, 1983), 53-71.; Juan Eduardo Campo,
“Authority, Ritual and Spatial Order in Islam,” Journal of Ritual Studies 5 (1991): 65-91.
15
See: R.D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred years in the History of a Muslim Shrine,
1480-1889 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991).
16
Roy P. Mottahedeh, “Faith and Practice, Muslims in Historic Cairo,” in Living in historic Cairo: past
and present in an Islamic city, eds. F. Daftary, E. Fernea, and A. Nanji (London; Seattle, WA: Azimuth
Editions in Association with the Institute of Ismaili Studies; University of Washington Press, 2010), 116.
-40-
has been pressed into service in an attempt to explain the roots of religion in human
behavior in ways that are meaningful to Europeans and American of this century.”17
In recent years there has been increasing interest in the study of the nature and
meaning of various Islamic rituals, from the Hajj pilgrimage in Mecca to the five daily
ṣalāt (prayers). Questions of ritual efficacy, sacramentality, and mythic commemoration
arise in this discussion. Much as other religious studies scholars, early scholars of Islamic
ritual and practice framed their work in terms of a search for the origins. There was a
great deal of interest in determining how much of Islamic practice had been influenced
either directly or in response to Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and the religious traditions of
the pre-Islamic Arabs. There was less interest in understanding how ritual actually
functioned in the lives of Muslims and in their society. Current scholarship is more
attuned to these latter questions and there has been a great deal of literature in the past
decade about Islamic piety and the meaning of Muslim ritual. For example, in her study
of the Hajj, Marion Holmes Katz shows how medieval Muslim scholars saw no
incoherence in defining the rituals of Hajj as ethical necessities requiring no other
justification than being a commandment of God while simultaneously discussing the
mythic histories of each act and the exact sorts of reward a Muslim could expect if he/she
completed them properly.18 In this article, Katz critiques, on one hand, William Graham’s
treatment of Hajj ritual as “an exercise in pure obedience to God devoid of any concept of
ritual efficacy or mythic reenactment” and on the other, Juan Campo’s characterization of
17
18
Marion Holmes Katz, “The Hajj and the Study of Islamic Ritual,” Studia Islamica, No. 98/99 (2004): 95-
129.
-41-
Hajj ritual as ultimately political in nature.19 In another work on the Muslim ṣalāt or
prayer, Katz shows the dual nature of the ritual: it encompasses both “the texture of the
individual’s relationship with the divine” as well as “the concrete efficacy” of the
practice.20
This chapter will use the terms ritual, worship, and ‘ibādat, with all the limitations
of this category in mind, in discussing shrine visitation. Ziyārat or ziyārat al-qubūr, the
visiting of shrines and the rituals that it entails, was perhaps one of the most important
and widespread Islamic, devotional practice or “divine service” performed by Muslims
across the medieval Near East and Central Asia, at times eliciting more zeal than
obligatory rituals such as the Friday prayer. The veneration of saints and the visiting of
shrines played a central role in religion in this time for all segments of society. The shrine
(mazār, lit. place that is visited) can be seen as an arena of culture and religion, alongside
other public places such as the mosque or the bazaar. Sultans and nobility showed their
reverence to saints living and dead at shrines,21 Sufis gathered in these sacred spaces to
19
Marion Holmes Katz, “The Hajj and the Study of Islamic Ritual,” 98-99.
20
Marion Holmes Katz, Prayer in Islamic Thought and Practice (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2013), 36-37.
21
Sufis and sultans had a complex relationship at this time; certain Sufi saints had great power and
influence among the people and could negotiate on their part with the Sultan and/or his representatives. In
one instance we find the Naqshbandī shaykh Khwāja Ahrār almost ruling Samarqand. One of the most
interesting and common relationship we find is one of the Sufi giving legitimacy to the Sultan while he in
turn gives his patronage, in the form of building and endowing a khānaqāh (Sufi lodge) or a shrine. For
more on this reciprocal relationship see: O. Safi, "Bargaining with Baraka: Persian Sufism, 'Mysticism,' and
Pre-Modern Politics." Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 259-288.; B. Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in
Timurid Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), chapters 6-7, pp. 178-244.; M.E. Subtelny,
Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran (Leiden, Boston: Brill,
2007), chapters 5-6, pp. 148-228. For Khwāja Ahrār see: J. Paul, “Forming a Faction: The Himayat System
of Khwaja Ahrar,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 23, No. 4 (Nov., 1991), pp. 533-548.;
J.A. Gross, “The Economic Status of a Timurid Sufi Shaykh: A Matter of Conflict or Perception?” Iranian
Studies, Vol. 21, No. 1/2, Soviet and North American Studies on Central Asia (1988), pp. 84-104.; J.A.
Gross, “Authority and Miraculous Behavior: Reflections on Karāmat Stories of Khwāja ‘Ubaydallāh
Ahrār,” in The Legacy of Persian Sufism, ed. L. Lewisohn (London: Khaniqahi-Nimatullahi Publications,
1992), 159-71.
-42-
learn from their masters and to undertake spiritual exercises, students gathered to listen to
lectures, and common pilgrims came as well to listen to preachers and partake in the
baraka of the shrine.
Origins of Ziyārat
There is much scholarly discussion as to the exact origins of this practice and continued
interest in how Muslim rulers and religious people came to terms with monumental
commemoration of graves, whether secular or religious, in spite of what many scholars
saw as Prophetic and shari‘ī injunctions against it. The earliest form of formalized ziyārat
was the cult of the Prophet Muḥammad, whose burial place became an important site of
prayer by the second/eighth century. The role of the Prophet Muḥammad and the mythic
status accorded to him by Muslims grew as time passed. As the person of Muḥammad
became more central to the faith of Muslims, so too did reverence for places and even
people (see Chapter 4 on the importance of Ahl-i Bayt) connected to him. In light of this,
it seems natural that his final resting place, which had also been his home when he was
alive, would take on a sacred status and become a place of visitation. Indeed the widely
revered Sunni scholar, Abū Hāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111), reiterates a hadith of the
Prophet Muḥammad saying: “Whoever visits me at Medina, seeking thereby a reward
from God, for him shall I intercede and bear witness of the Day of Arising.”22 Similarly,
other aspects of the Prophet Muḥammad’s life were amplified, especially that which had
supernatural associations. For example, the isrā’ and mi‘rāj (night journey and ascension
22
Al-Ghazālī, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, Book XL, The Revival of the Religious
Sciences (Kitāb Dhikr al-mawt wa mā ba‘dahu: Ihyā ‘ulūm al-dīn), trans. T.J Winter (Cambridge: Islamic
Texts Society, 1989), 113.
-43-
to Heaven) of the Prophet became a focus of popular piety and Sufi inspiration.23
Celebrations of the birth of the Prophet (mawlid) and the visiting of ‘Alid tombs soon
became common as well.24
Requirements for levelling the grave (taswiya al-qubūr), not building over them,
and prohibiting prayer at graves are found in the hadith sources and were actively used to
support attacks against ziyārat. The most well-known and strident opponent of visiting
graves and shrines was the thirteenth/fourteenth-century Hanbali jurist Taqī al-Dīn
Aḥmad ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328). Ibn Taymiyya first and foremost challenged the idea
of specific shrines and graves being favored as places of prayer, particularly of du‘ā’
(supplication) which he saw as a central part of ‘ibādat.25 With exception to the holy
places mentioned by the Prophet—various sites in Mecca associated with Hajj, the
Prophet’s masjid in Medina, and al-Aqṣā in Jerusalem—no other place should be held up
as especially efficacious in having supplications answered. Traveling long distances in
order to visit a grave was also brought into question by the late-fifteenth-century scholar,
Fażl Allāh b. Rūzbihān Khunjī and will be discussed below. Ibn Taymiyya vehemently
proscribed the practice of praying near graves because it was reminiscent of pre-Islamic
23
Mi‘rāj-nāmas were common in the medieval period and were often used to help teach Islamic norms to
newly converted populations. They are quite interesting in that it is often possible to discern which
populations they were written for: whether Zoroastrians or Jews, the details and even structure of the story
of the Prophet Muḥammad’s mi‘rāj are adapted to speak most convincingly to that particular community.
See: eds. C. Gruber and F. Colby, The Prophet's Ascension: Cross-cultural Encounters with the Islamic
Mi'rāj Tales (Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 2010). and C. Gruber, The Ilkhanid Book of
Ascension: A Persian-Sunni Prayer Manual (London : Tauris Academic Studies, 2009).
24
Interestingly, Shi‘i theologians and jurists never had any sort of problem with either grave visitation,
intercession, or the building of large funerary structures. These tensions are found constantly in the
discourse of Sunni ‘ulamā’. For more on this see: T. Leisten, "Between Orthodoxy and Exegesis: Some
Aspects of Attitudes in the Shariʿa Toward Funerary Architecture," Muqarnas 7 (1990): pp. 12-22.
25
C.S. Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the Veneration of Muslim Saints in Late
Medieval Egypt (Leiden, Boston, Koln: Brill, 1999), 174-175.
-44-
and Christian practices. His final argument against ziyārat stemmed from his rejection of
the idea of intercession:
The heart of the problem, he argues, lies in people’s inability to

accept that God could or would hear the prayers of anyone as
insignificant as themselves without the agency of intermediaries
in closer proximity to God…In responding to this widespread
perception, Ibn Taymiyya explains that even if a prophet were
closer and more important to God than are average individuals,
that only means that God would give the prophet or saint a
greater reward than He would give others. It does not imply the
God would give individuals anything more than they deserved in
their own right, simply because they beseeched Him through the
agency of a prophet rather than appealing to Him directly.26
Early Western scholarship on ziyārat and shrines often began by confronting this
seeming contradiction. For example, K.A.C. Creswell concluded that the practice of
erecting shrines or any sort of edifice over a grave to be contrary to Hadith strictures and
counted the tomb of al-Muntasir (d. 248/862) by his Greek mother as the first such
mausoleum, indicating a non-Islamic source for the practice.27 There is also a long
tradition of scholarship that placed the origins of commemorative funerary monuments
with Shi‘i inclinations in the mid-ninth-century and with the Fatimid political concerns in
Egypt. Taylor argues that there is no real proof in these claims. The rise of funerary
architecture and its associated ziyārat practices across the Muslim world is much more
complex than being simply a Fatimid invention; the practice probably had multiple points
of origin. Most importantly, the rise of the cult of saints within Sunni Islam played a large
26
Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the Veneration of Muslim Saints in Late Medieval
Egypt, 174-175.
27
K.A.C. Creswell, The Muslim Architecture of Egypt, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-1959), 138.
-45-
role in influencing ziyārat.28 The fact that this sort of funerary architecture was so
widespread and commonly accepted raises the question as to how much early Muslims
were really against tomb construction. Varying accounts persist in the hadith record itself
as to the practice of leveling graves and the existence of markers at cemeteries. Yusuf
Raghib tells of a companion of the Prophet, Abū Baṣīr, being buried in 628-9 C.E. and
gives an anecdote from al-Wāqidī’s Maghāzī stating that a mosque was constructed over
his grave by new converts to Islam who were unaware of the Prophet’s restrictions of
funerary architecture. Raghib takes this as one of the first instances of funerary
architecture, and this occurred during the life of the Prophet.29 He then tells of the
discovery of the sarcophagus of the ancient Prophet Daniel in Khurasan during the
caliphate of ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb. ‘Umar is said to have ordered the sarcophagus to be
buried in a river. Abū Ḥāmid al-Andalūsī claims that a chapel was constructed on the
banks of that river commemorating the Prophet Daniel by name. It is unknown, however,
what the actual funerary architecture of these figures might have looked like and whether
these examples were simply outliers in a long line of leveled graves.
Proponents of ziyārat saw the practice as having roots in the Quran and hadith
which mention the Prophet, angels, scholars and holy men as potential intercessors
between ordinary Muslims and God.30 It seems a natural progression to give special
28
Architecture:The Case of Egypt,” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 1-10.
29
Y. Rāghib, “Les premiers monuments funeraires de l’Islam,” Annales Islamologiques vol. 9 (1970): 22-
23.
30
S.E. Marmon, “The Quality of Mercy: Intercession in Mamluk Society,” Studia Islamica, No. 87 (1998),
126. While the intercession of the Prophet Muḥammad for believers on the Day of Judgment is a well-
established and largely accepted idea in Sunni eschatology, other forms of intercession (particularly that of
saints who have passed away) remained a contested issue. Ibn Taymiyya and others went as far to prohibit
even requesting intercession at the grave of the Prophet. However, most ‘ulamā’ and general practice
during the Middle Periods seems to agree upon that intercessory powers could be accessed at shrines.
-46-
esteem to these figures after their death. In some cases, there is the belief that their
intercessory powers are even stronger after death, leading people to visit graves. It must
also be noted, however, that intercession was not the main impetus for grave visitation, at
least in normative terms. The shrine guides and other sources propose the primary benefit
of visiting graves and shrines goes to the deceased, who is comforted by the visit. The
reward to the pilgrim comes from the moral lesson they might learn as well as from
rewards for performing a pious action. Numerous hadiths reiterate the importance of
visiting the graves of Muslims, both family and others, as a central pious practice for
Muslims. There is an emphasis on remembering death and the fleeting nature of worldly
life in these instances as well as praying for the souls of the deceased. Imām Abū Hāmid
al-Ghazalī recounts an anecdote about ‘Amr ibn al-‘Āṣ who when seeing a graveyard
immediately prayed two rak‘at (sequences) of supererogatory prayer. When questioned
on this practice, he replied: “I remembered the people of the graves, and what has come
between them and such acts, and wished to draw closer to God by praying thus.”31 In
another account in the Ihyā’Ulūm al-dīn, al-Ghazālī quotes Ḥātim al-Aṣamm:
“Whosoever passes by a graveyard and neither thinks about himself nor prays for its
occupants has betrayed them, and himself also.”32 Al-Ghazālī does not stop at visiting
graves only for reminding one of death and praying for the deceased. He also advises that
“visit[ing] the tombs of the righteous in order to obtain blessings and a lesson is
desirable.”33 The idea that the pilgrim could accrue blessings from visiting the dead
becomes more and more important as time passes as the belief in intercession by saints
31
al-Ghazālī, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, 102.
32
33
-47-
becomes more widespread. Timurid shrine guides and other sources of the period
reproduce some of the ideas found in al-Ghazālī’s work but also provide their own
explanations of the origins and permissibility of ziyārat, which will be discussed in more
detail below.
Islam as a practiced and experienced phenomenon is not defined wholly by
theology and jurisprudence. Classical Islam as constituted by these jurisprudential texts is
not necessarily reflected in the experience of Muslims living in various places and time
periods. The law did play an important role in the lives of Muslims in premodern Iran and
Central Asia, but as in other areas, it did not hold a monopoly on religious authority nor
did its privileging indicate a dual system of popular and scholarly piety. Marion Katz
argues that “legal analysis, affective engagement, and mystical speculation have been
complementary components of the piety of vast numbers of individual Muslims,
including scholars.”34 Regardless of legal prescriptions against the building of tombs, the
reality was that from the early period, they were built and venerated as holy places. Over
the centuries, it seems that there was a growing acceptance of the practice; indeed, the
visiting of graves for various purposes was never in question. The spiritual and physical
apparatus of ziyārat, with its domed buildings, guide books, hagiographies, rituals, votive
offerings simply increased over time as a testament to the widespread popularity of the
practice. This work argues that it is more interesting to focus on how pilgrims understood
the rituals and experiences involved in their pilgrimages and what role this played in their
own individual and community’s lives and experience of religion than to dwell on the
legal issues involved.
34
Marion Holmes Katz, Prayer in Islamic Thought and Practice (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2013), 8.
-48-
Timurid Shrine Guides
As mentioned earlier, this period saw a rise in a new literary genre of shrine guides
highlighting the important merits (fażā’il) of a city and deceased saints whose shrines
ennobled the city. While the bulk of these guides are concerned with presenting the
faithful with vitae of saintly men and the locations of their shrines, many of the guides
also begin with a justification of ziyārat and an account of the proper methods of ziyārat
ritual. This convention was not unique to Persian language shrine guides of post-Mongol
Iran and Central Asia. Rather, Sunni shrine guides existed in Egypt and the Levant as
well, developing at roughly the same time as Iranian and Central Asian texts. Shi‘i
guides, however, developed much earlier. By the third/ninth century, there was a call for
ziyārat to Ḥusayn’s tomb in Karbala, particularly on ‘Ashura and then on the fortieth day
after his martyrdom.35 Some of the earliest Shi‘i guides extant date from the tenth century
and contain detailed ritual and formulae regarding purification; for example,
recommending ghusl (or a ritual bath) in the Euphrates for those going to Karbala. 36
They also discuss the various prayers, prostrations, and votive offerings necessary to
complete ziyārat of important Ahl-i Bayt figures.37 These guides attribute the rituals to the
Imams, especially Muḥammad al-Bāqir and Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq.38 While these guides existed
at a very early date, the organized visitation of shrines by Shi‘is and the corresponding
shrine literature grew exponentially beginning in the Safavid period. The structure and
35
Yitzhak Nakash, “The Visitation of the Shrines of the Imams and the Shi‘i Mujtahids in the Early
Twentieth Century,” Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 155.
36
Ibn Qulawayh, Kāmil al-ziyārāt, trans. S.A. Husain Rizvi (Mumbai: As-Serat Publications, 2010), 175.
37
See: Ibn Qulawayh (d. 980-1), Kāmil al-ziyārāt.; Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan al-Tūsi, Misbah.; Rashīd al-
Dīn b. Tāwus, Misbah al-zā’ir.
38
Josef Meri, “A Late Medieval Syrian Pilgrimage Guide: Ibn al-Ḥawrāni’s Al-Ishārāt ilā amākin al-
ziyārāt,” Medieval Encounters 7.1 (2001): 4-7.
-49-
content of these Shi‘i guides differ a great deal from the ones examined for this chapter.
A most telling difference is the incumbency of ziyārat to Husayn’s tomb and the tombs of
other Imams. For Shi‘is it was a requirement, much like the Hajj pilgrimage, to travel
long distances to make ziyārat to the tombs of the Imams and other members of Ahl-i
Bayt. Because ziyārat then was a required act of worship or divine service (‘ibādat) it
makes sense that the guides give a very detailed explanation of the ritual necessary to
render the act valid. Another clear difference lies in the types of supplications (du‘ā) that
the Shi‘i pilgrims were supposed to recite: these litanies are full of direct requests for the
intercession of the deceased and a subsequent cursing of all those who had wronged
Ḥusayn and the Ahl-i Bayt. While there is no call for cursing one’s enemies in the Sunni
guides in this study, the question of intercession is a continuing issue for them.
One of the most characteristic features of the Timurid-period shrine guides
examined here, and which would continue to be a feature of later guides in both Central
Asia and South Asia, was a special section outlining the proper conduct of a pilgrim, both
in terms of ritual actions, litanies, and etiquette. While a certain degree of variation exists
between the instruction portions of each manual, the overall schematic of ritual is largely
continuous. Besides citing various hadith to prove the validity of certain instructions, the
guides have little to say about the origins of these ritual prescriptions. Nor does it seem
that their audience expected such citations. By the fourteenth century a general program
of pilgrimage to local and regional shrines had developed and become widely accepted. It
consisted of a mix of formulae from hadith sources and other anecdotal sources,
including the hadith of the Shi‘i imams, but perhaps largely formed from oral traditions
which were then finally compiled and written down in this genre of shrine guides.
-50-
Because these guides consist of a combination of sources, reflecting the written
traditions of the ‘ulamā’ and more “popular,” localized accounts, a vivid picture of
religious life from the period comes across. It is clear that the binary divisions of elite and
popular piety do not track well onto this context. These categories are not mutually
exclusive nor do they stand in opposition to each other; it is hard to even say that either
represents some monolithic or even coherent group. They provide different approaches
that continually influence each other. As Devin DeWeese argues with regard to the shrine
and shrine narratives of Aḥmad Yasavī, the Timurid guides debunk the “common
conception that sees popular hagiographical traditions as crude and debased versions of
more purely spiritual prototypes,” and show how they were incorporated together and
understood in a more holistic way by pilgrims and scholars of the period.39 In the case of
shrine ritual, the guides are trying to impose proper conduct on what must have been
quite diverse practices of shrine visitation. These guides, like sermons, preachers,
storytellers, were involved in the transmission of religion and culture and their discourse
had to be relevant and understandable to world view of the community that formed their
audience. The guides themselves are influenced both by the practice that is happening at
shrines and whatever sort of norms the author is deriving from his own education and the
general milieu of the ‘ulamā’ of that time.
The rituals performed during shrine visitation share the language and manners of
other rituals in Islam, such as prayer (ṣalāt) and the Hajj pilgrimage. Those embarking on
ziyārat must be in a state of ritual purity and make wużū’ (ablution) which is a
requirement for almost all Islamic practices, from reading the Quran to entering a masjid.
39
Devin DeWeese, "Sacred Places and 'Public' Narratives: The Shrine of Ahmad Yasavi in Hagiographical
Traditions of the Yasavi Sufi Order, 16th-17th Centuries," Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 367.
-51-
The litanies recited at the shrines are those found in the Quran, hadith of the Prophet,
hadith of the Imams, and in works of religious scholars. While the method of shrine
visitation is not treated in jurisprudential texts in the same way that the hugely important
obligatory prayer (ṣalāt) is, the shrine guides present the method of visitation using some
similar language. For example, behavior deemed praiseworthy, such as the shrine
visitation itself, is called mustaḥabb or recommended. The fiqhī (legal) category
mustaḥabb is not a required activity. However, the person performing the action accrues
reward for it although neglecting it does not cause harm to his/her record in heaven.
Other mustaḥabb actions include the supererogatory (nafl) prayers and giving sadaqa
(charity beyond the required zakāt). Similarly, behavior that is undesirable, such as
kissing the graves and sleeping in cemeteries, is designated makrūh or disliked. By virtue
of its use of common language and common symbolic actions, such as holding ones
hands up in supplication or circumambulating a shrine, ziyārat is presented in the same
way that other ritual behavior in Islam is understood and presented as one among many
similar acts of ‘ibādat. This common language both gives it clear legitimacy and a certain
normalcy. The prescriptions for recitation and action are readily understandable and
implementable by pilgrims because they are not very different from other daily practices
and behaviors. In fact there is nothing about them to render them as a special category
apart from the other sorts of ‘ibādat that a person may undertake on a regular basis. In
this way they are readily incorporated into the habitus of a Muslim devotee. He or she
would already have the litanies and physical practices associated with the ziyārat in his or
her daily repertoire of personal religious practice. Key parts of ziyārat practice, such as
ritual ablutions (ghusl, wuḍū’), prayer, supplications (du‘ā’) and recitation of extremely
-52-
popular chapters of the Quran, already make up many other forms of regular ‘ibādat. For
example, as stated above, the pilgrim had to take the ritual bath and make ablutions in
much the same way that he/she might do so for the Friday congregational prayer.
Similarly, the recitation of popular suwar (sing. sura, chapters) from the Quran, such as
the Fātiḥa, Ikhlāṣ and Yā Sīn at shrines would not have been considered an extra effort as
these verses are recited at various times throughout the day. Making supplications, asking
for forgiveness, and even giving greetings to the inhabitants of the grave used language
and practices that were part of a Muslim’s daily life.
While there is shared language and even practices in common between ziyārat
and obligatory worship such as the ṣalāt and Hajj pilgrimage, it should be made clear that
they were separate categories in the legal sense. In many cases the acts prescribed as
ritual are called ādāb-i ziyārat and kayfiyāt-i ziyārat-i qubūr (manner or mode of visiting
graves).40 Ibn Karbalā’ī in Rawżāt al-Janān wa Jannāt al-Janān titles his section on the
ritual of ziyārat: Tarīq va Qā‘ida-yi Ziyārat-i Qubūr (Ways and Rules of Practice in the
Visiting of Graves).41 In this way, the ritual of ziyārat is clearly demarcated from that of
the Hajj pilgrimage which is referred to as mansik (pl. manāsik). From the root ‫ ک‬-‫ س‬-‫ن‬
we get words related to devout practice and asceticism, but from an early period it was
used to refer to the rites of Hajj. In comparison to the types of ritual practice
recommended for pilgrims, the manāsik of Hajj is a more involved process. For men,
special garments (iḥrām) must be worn, there are various restrictions on what can be
40
See for example: Aḥmad ibn Mahmūd Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i
Bukhārā, ed. A.G. Maʻānī (Tehran: Kitābkhānah-ʾi Ibn Sīnā, 1960) 10, 12.
41
Ḥusayn Karbalāʹī Tabrīzī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān vol.1, eds. J.S. Qurrāʹī and M.A.S.
Qarrāʾī (Tabrīz: Sutūdah, 2004), 5.
-53-
done during Hajj, the process takes multiple days and involves multiple sites. Ziyārat
could be as easy as walking a few meters to a local shrine and reciting a few greetings
and supplications. While it is true that certain shrines may have been far away and
required more effort on the part of the pilgrim, it is hard to imagine any ziyārat being as
arduous and costly as traveling to Mecca and making the Hajj pilgrimage, particularly
from as far away as Samarkand.
Ritual and Behavior
Proscribing behavior and establishing proper forms of worship were important to the
‘ulamā’ of this period; this is especially apparent when it comes to the widespread
practices of shrine visitation. Evidence of ‘ulamā’ interest in this regulation of ziyārat is
found in more places than one would imagine. Not only do many of the shrine visitation
guides of the period begin with lengthy introductions on the permissibility and correct
manner of ziyārat al-qubūr, other sources from the period also contribute. One interesting
example is found in the Mihmān-nāma-yi Bukhāra: Tārīkh-i Pādishāh-i Muḥammad
Shaybānī of Fażl Allāh b. Rūzbihān Khunjī, a late-fifteenth-century Shāfi‘ī jurist, written
for the Uzbek leader Shaybānī Khān at the beginning of the sixteenth century. This work
is a beautifully written narrative of events during the early Uzbek conquests in the late
fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, but as Ulrich Haarmann notes, “this work defies
any formal classification.”42 In the midst of discussions of troop deployments and
descriptions of the natural landscapes of Central Asia, Khunjī places a lengthy discussion
of ziyārat in a section about the army nearing the sacred precincts of Mashhad. He gives
42
U. Haarmann, “Khundjī,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009).
-54-
various hadith supporting the validity of ziyārat and argues that while the practice of
visiting graves was wholly in the Prophetic tradition, current ziyārat customs found all
over Iran and Central Asia were rife with innovation (bid‘at) and forbidden practices.
Some examples of bid‘at according to Khunjī include: rubbing of dust from the site on
ones body, kissing the tomb, and circumambulation or performance of tawāf around the
shrine.43 A major reprehensible innovation of the time is the traveling of long distances to
visit particular tombs on specified days.44 Khunjī argues that this practice contradicts the
Prophetic hadith promoting travel to the three major mosques, the Ka‘ba in Mecca, the
mosque of the Prophet Muḥammad in Medina, and Masjid al-Aqsā’ in Jerusalem.45 In
these arguments we find echoes of Ibn Taymiyya’s rejection of ziyārat practice discussed
above. While Khunjī does not near Ibn Taymiyya’s wholescale rejection of shrine
visitation, he is troubled by many of the same issues. Khunjī’s vision of ziyārat most
likely resembled a pared down ritual along the lines of that described by Abū Hāmid al-
Ghazālī who states in his Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn:
It is the preferred practice when visiting a grave to stand with

one’s back to the Direction of Prayer [qibla] and to orient oneself
towards the countenance of the deceased before greeting him.
The tomb should not be rubbed, touched or kissed, for such are
the practices of the Christians.46
43
Fażl Allāh ibn Rūzbihān Khunjī-Isfahanī, Mihmān'Nāmah-ʹi Bukhārā: Tārīkh-i Pādishāhī-i Muḥammad
Shaybānī, ed. M. Sutūdah (Tehran: Bungāh-i Tajumah va Nashr-i Kitāb, 1976), 333-4.
44
The special days commemorating either the birth date or more frequently the death date of a saint was
has been called many different things in the context of medieval Central Asia and Iran, including mawāsim,
mawlid, and ‘urs.
45
Khunjī, Mihmān'Nāmah-ʹi Bukhārā, 335-6.
46
al-Ghazālī, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, 113-114.
-55-
Khunjī says that in his time people have come to prefer ziyārat al-qubūr over the
visitation of the aforementioned holy mosques of Islam. The fear that these important
places and the central ritual of Hajj would be overshadowed by local pilgrimage sites is a
constant issue for many religious scholars in this period. Indeed, many of the
condemnations against perceived heretics such as the Ḥurūfiyya (and even of the Shi‘is)
include the preference of their shrines over the Ka‘ba and the performance of Hajj-like
rituals at these shrines. While this practice was often censured by scholars like Khunjī,
even many mainstream sites were described in ways linking them to the Hajj. For
example, a shrine in Samarkand, the Mazār-i Juzaniyān was known as the Ka‘ba of
Mawarannahr.47 In Tabriz, there are two shrines to saints from the time of the Prophet
Moses; it is said the ṭawāf (circumambulation) of these shrines is a blessed endeavor.48
Khunjī’s condemnation also gives evidence to the growing establishment of
special days to visit the shrines of specific saints to commemorate their lives and receive
special baraka and intercession in the later middle period. Up until the mid-thirteenth
century, most ziyārats were private affairs in which personal reasons determined the
timing. Daniella Talmon-Heller shows that, with exception to the mawlid of the Prophet
Muḥammad, special festival days to visit shrines are mentioned very rarely in sources
from the Ayyūbid period, whereas, these abound in later sources.49 The shrine guides do
not speak specifically to the idea birth and death days of saints as special times to visit.
47
Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Khalī Samarqandī, Qandiyya va Samariyya: Dū Risālah Dar Tārīkh-i Mazārāt
Va Jughrāfiyā-Yi Samarqand, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Muʾassasah-ʾi Farhangī-i Jahāngīrī, 1989), 31.
48
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1 27-8.
49
Daniella Talmon-Heller, Islamic Piety in Medieval Syria: Mosques, Cemeteries and Sermons under te
Zangids and Ayyūbids (1146-1260), Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture (Leiden, Boston: Brill,
2007), 207.
-56-
They largely speak of more broadly Islamic special days, such as Fridays, the Day of
Arafat, ‘Āshūrā.50 However, most of the guides are careful to include specific death
dates, including the day, for the saints they mention, which may have led people to prefer
to visit on those commemorative days. This is likely an early stage in the popular custom
of visiting the shrines of saints on the anniversary of their death.
Maqṣad al-iqbāl-i sulṭāniyya wa marṣad al-āmāl al-ḥaqqāniyya , an early
Timurid shrine visitation guide, is a presentation of the holy shrines and places of Herat
and is representative of the form later guides take. 51 It was compiled by Sayyid Aṣīl al-
Dīn ‘Abdullāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī Wā‘iẓ in 864/1460 for the then Timurid
Amīr Sulṭān Abū Sa‘īd Gurkānī (r. 863-873/1459-1469). Maqṣad al-Iqbāl was based on
an earlier History of Herat (Tārīkh-i Harāt, the Tabaqāt al-Sūfiyya of Hazrat Khwāja
‘Abdullāh al-Anṣārī (also called Tabaqāt Mashāyikh-i Harāt in this source) and from
other books, as well as the author’s own knowledge of Herat and its history. We find
mention of Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ in Khwāndamīr’s general history of the Timurids, Habīb
al-Siyār.52 He was a native of Shiraz but came to Herat during Sulṭān Abū Sa‘īd’s reign;
he and his family enjoyed close ties with both Sulṭān Abū Sa‘īd and his successor, Sulṭān
Ḥusayn. He was said to be extremely eloquent and preached once a week at
Gawharshād’s Madrasa and during the month of Rabī‘ al-Awwal, he had the privilege of
telling the story of the Prophet’s birth. Khwāndamīr notes that he was celebrated for his
knowledge of Quran commentary and hadith, though it seems that he did not write any
50
See for example: Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 11.
51
Jurgen Paul, “Histories of Herat,” Iranian Studies, 33.1/2 (Winter-Spring 2000), 102.
52
Though it was begun much earlier, Habīb al-Siyar was completed in 1524 and presented to the Safavid
sultan.
-57-
sort of major works on either. He is known for two works, one on the life of the Prophet
Muḥammad and Maqṣad al-Iqbāl, which Khwāndamīr tells us was “known by all.”53
After a lengthy praise of Sultān Abu Sa‘īd, Wā‘iẓ begins a discussion of the
permissibility of visiting graves. Reflective of the Ḥanafī orientation of much of his
audience, Wā‘iẓ attributes this permissibility to Imām Abū Ḥanīfa, eponym of the
juridical rite most popular in the area, noting that the Imām deemed the practice of
ziyārat acceptable and not a sinful activity.
Wā‘iẓ presents a more liberal program than that of Khunjī in that many acts
condemned by the latter are not condemned outright in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl. However, he
does repeat some of the same issues voiced by both Khunjī and al-Ghazālī. Wā‘iẓ and
other authors of shrine guides specifically use the legal term makrūh, meaning disliked or
objectionable, when listing all actions that are prohibited during pilgrimage and
mustaḥabb for actions that are deemed desirable. For example, Wā‘iẓ and Ibn Karbalā’ī
deem kissing the grave objectionable.54 In Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, the Bukharan scholar
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ refers to al-Ghazālī’s Iḥyā’ Ulūm al-dīn in recommending that one
stand with his/her back facing the qibla (the direction faced during Muslim prayers) and
face towards the grave when greeting the deceased. This is meant to differentiate between
the canonical prayer and visiting of shrines in a very clear way, i.e. facing the opposite
direction. Like Khunjī and al-Ghazālī, Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ also cautions against rubbing,
kissing or even touching the grave, asserting that this was a custom of Christians.55
53
Khwandamīr, Ḥabīb al-Siyar Tome 3, Part 2, trans. W.M. Thackston (Cambridge: Harvard University,
1994), 518.
54
Ibn Karbalā’ī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān vol.1, 9.
55
Muīn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 13.; al-Ghazālī, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, 113-
114.
-58-
Avoiding behavior that mimics that of other religions is a concern from many religious
scholars, particularly in the case of ziyārat. Because many ziyārat traditions developed in
areas where there was a preexisting culture of veneration of saints, shrines, and the holy
dead, religious scholars tried to mark Islamic traditions as separate from those of other
religions. Shrines that were shrined by other monotheistic religions, particularly in
Greater Syria, were also sometime a concern for those who wanted to maintain strong
boundaries between religious traditions.56
Pilgrims are also prohibited from eating, drinking, laughing, and creating a festive
atmosphere at cemeteries and shrines. This prohibition is reinforced in almost all of the
guides. The emphasis shrine visitation guide authors placed on this prohibition leads one
to believe that much behavior to the contrary was likely taking place at shrines. The
social and festive aspects of the ziyārat experience often come through in the descriptions
of individual shrines. For example, in one description of the normal goings on at the
shrine of Taqī al-Dīn Dādā Muḥammad in Yazd, we find an interesting mix of activity. In
addition to the typically pious actions of ḥuffāẓ ceaselessly reciting Quran, pilgrims
listening to a sermon, and students of religion receiving a lesson, there is also a Sufi
samā‘ program (ẕikr or remembrance of God, usually including music and singing) and
poetry being enjoyed by the local elites.57
Women were major participants in visiting graves and shrines in Iran and Central
Asia; however, not all religious scholars agreed that this was allowed. Here again, we
find Khunjī attempting to limit the scope of ziyārat. While he clearly sanctions ziyārat
56
See: Josef Meri, The Cult of Saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria (Oxford, New York:
Oxford University Press, 2002).
57
Aḥmad ibn Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī Kātib, Tarīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Intisharāt-i Ibn Sīnā,
1345/1966), 163.
-59-
within certain parameters as a wholly Islamic practice, he questions the permissibility of
women’s participation in pilgrimages.58 Sound hadith that show both Fāṭima, the
daughter of the Prophet Muḥammad, and ‘Ā’isha, a favored wife, visited graves in
various contexts prevent Khunjī and others from declaring it harām (impermissible) for
women to perform the ziyārat, so most deem it makrūh.59 Wā‘iẓ presents both sides of
this argument and leaves final judgment to God. He references the well known hadith of
the Prophet Muḥammad forbidding women from visiting of graves followed by the
abrogation of this command as the Prophet is reported to have later allowed them to visit
graves. Wā‘iẓ concedes to the permissibility of women visiting but says that it is better
for them to avoid it, siding with more conservative elements of society.
The place of women at shrines is another major point of interest in all of the
guides; the authors, in varying degree, seem worried about the intermixing of men and
women during ziyārat and the problems that could arise from such freedom. An anecdote
in Tārīkh-i Yazd confirms their worst suspicions, reporting that an unmarried couple was
seen fornicating upon a grave.60 Women in the Timurid period were in general more
visible than in other Muslim societies. Upper class women could be seen in mixed
company in various situations, especially literary gatherings. They also did not
necessarily practice strict veiling.61 Some guides of the period do not even mention the
permissibility of women attending graves, taking it for granted that they would
58
M.E. Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran
(Leiden: Brill, 2007), 192-3.
59
Khunjī, Mihmān-nama, 332-3.
60
Ja‘far ibn Muḥammad al-Ḥusaynī Ja‘farī, Tārīkh-i Yazd, ed. Īraj Afshār (Tehran: Bungāh-i Tarjuma va
Nashr—i Kitāb, 1338/1960), 154.
61
Pricilla Soucek, “Interpreting the Ghazals of Hafiz,” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 43 (Spring,
2003): 130-131.
-60-
participate. However, there is often a greater restriction on their behavior, particularly in
regulating the manner of female mourning and lamentation. One justification for limiting
female mourning was the idea that excessive negative emotions at graves could give
discomfort to the deceased. Again the shrine guides refer back to al-Ghazālī’s assessment
and instructions on women at public shrine sites:
They [women] frequently utter defamations at the graveside, so

that the advantage of their visit does not outweigh the harm it
causes. Neither do they shrink from displaying themselves and
playing up their charms in the street, and these are serious
matters, whereas the visitation of graves is a Precedent [sunna].
How can such things be tolerated for the sake thereof? Certainly
there is no harm in a woman going out in chaste garments such as
will ward off from her the eyes of men, but on condition that she
restrict herself to praying, and avoid any discoursing by the
grave.62
While wailing and dramatic exhibitions of grief were frowned upon, a certain
level of seriousness and decorum is required of the pilgrim. Wā‘iẓ, for example, stresses
the solemn nature of this endeavor. He echoes Imam al-Ghazālī, though not explicitly, in
characterizing pilgrimage to graves as a time to be sad and reflect upon death and the
afterlife.63 While much of the hagiographical sections of shrine guides center on the
material benefits of ziyārat on the pilgrim, the introductory sections provide multiple
reasons to undertake ziyārat. They frequently remind the would-be pilgrim that ziyārat is
an opportunity to reflect on death and more importantly perform rituals to alleviate the
suffering of the deceased, both in the grave and in the afterlife. While this and other
62
Ghazali, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, 112.
63
Ghazali, The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, 101.
-61-
Timurid guides give some space to the necessity of reflection, the Timurid ziyārat was
not a wholly somber experience. As mentioned above, there is evidence of upbeat
behavior, picnicking at shrine sites, and general feelings of lightness. For example, in a
Yazdī shrine the following is said to have occurred on a regular basis:
Every day āsh was distributed to the fuqarā’ and masākin at the
shrine (mazār), and the shrine was always filled with people
reciting Quran and there was always light and brightness
(rawnaq) there…64
This environment is quite different from the ideal presented in a sixteenth-century
shrine guide for Damascus. The author of this Damascene shrine guide, Ibn al-Harwānī,
devotes much of the work discussing exactly how the pilgrim should reflect and feel in
the presence of such virtuous saints:
Then he exhorts himself with that, and he rebukes and scolds

himself from falling short and abandoning inner struggle (jihād)
for it. He [weeps] (yabkī) and [endeavors to] weep (yatabākā)
[sic]. When he sees that from himself, he occupies himself with
supplication (du‘ā’) for the state of his faith and his afterlife and
asks God to repair his condition [and] soul…65
Here the focus of the pilgrimage ritual is on self-evaluation and self-recrimination
in hopes of salvation in the afterlife. The same rituals of Quran recitation, supplications
(du‘ā’), and greetings to the deceased may have been performed in both the Damascene
shrines and those in the Timurid realms, however, the general atmosphere and experience
of the ziyārat differ greatly. Ibn al-Harwānī’s emphasis on grief and sadness at the state
64
Aḥmad ibn Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī Kātib, Tarīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Intisharāt-i Ibn Sīnā,
1345/1966), 158.
65
Ibn al-Harwāni, 77.
-62-
of the believer’s soul is pronounced in ways not present in Timurid shrine guides. In
Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ refers to both eschatological themes and the
spiritual health of the pilgrim in a more positive way. He cites a hadith where it is
mentioned that those who do ziyārat to the graves of others will have angels making
ziyārat of them after they die.66 Both Rawżāt al-Janān wa Jannāt al-Janān and Tārīkh-i
Mullāzāda share the advice of the Prophet Muḥammad on the ways to achieve a softer
heart. After showing kindness to orphans and visiting the sick, the Prophet Muḥammad
says that the heart can be softened through the ziyārat of the dead.67
Many of the guides for the Levant and Egypt, mostly from the Mamluk period, do
not give a specific course of action for pilgrimage. They list permissible and prohibited
actions, certain litanies, the importance of intention, and how to comport oneself on
ziyārat. In contrast, by this period a certain set methodology for shrine visitation had
developed in Iran and Transoxiana, somewhat more in line with the ritual presented in
earlier Shi‘i guides. To varying degrees, the steps of ziyārat, the duties and prohibitions
for a pilgrim, and helpful litanies are outlined in these texts. The following sequence (or
some variant) of ritual practice is found in most of the guides under consideration and is
taken from a shrine guide for Bukhara completed by Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ in the first half of
the fifteenth century.
First, while still at home, the pilgrim should make ritual ablutions (wużū’) and
perform two cycles of supererogatory (nafl) prayer; in each cycle he/she should recite
Sura Fātiḥa once, Āyat al-Kursī once, and Sura Ikhlāṣ three times. The pilgrim should
66
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 11.
67
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 11.; Ibn Karbalā’ī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān vol.1, 5.
-63-
form the intention that the reward of the prayer go to the deceased. Then in a state of
ritual purity, the pilgrim should make his or her way to the grave. Upon arriving at the
grave, the pilgrim should always stand facing the deceased with the back towards the
qibla and he/she should give a specified greeting to the deceased: “And upon you peace,
O Muslim and believing inhabitants of the grave, May God have mercy on those of you
who have gone before us and those of us who will come later on, you are our
predecessors and we are your successors, and may we follow you if God wills”.68 Some
approximation of this greeting to the inhabitants of the grave is present in all the guides
and is found in most of the books of sound hadith. For example, in a hadith found in the
Saḥīḥ Muslim, the Prophet Muḥammad is commanded to seek forgiveness and intercede
for the inhabitants of the cemetery of Baqī‘ or Jannat al-Baqī‘. When he questions the
Angel Gabriel as to how to do this, Gabriel supplies him with a greeting much like the
one mentioned in Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda.69
During the duration of time spent at the grave or shrine, the pilgrim should praise
and glorify God (taṣbīh), make supplications (du‘ā), and utter penitential phrases
(istighfār) for the self and the deceased and then return home. There is a great deal of
flexibility to this prescription, depending upon who the deceased is and what sorts of
supererogatory worship the pilgrim can and desires to undertake.70 The mid-sixteenth-
century Tabrizi guide, Rawżāt al-Janān wa Jannāt al-Janān, repeats these instructions
68
Wa ‘alaykum al-salām ahl al-diyār min al-muslimīn wa’l-mu’minīn raḥima allāhu al-muqaddimīn
minkum wa’l-muta’akhkhirīn minnā, antum lana salaf wa nahnu lakum khalaf wa tabi‘’ūnā in shā’ allah
bikum.
69
Sahih Muslim, Book 4: Kitab al-Salah, Number 2127.
70
Mū‘īn al-Fuqarā’, Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 10-11.
-64-
verbatim. As the Tabrizi manual is a much later example of this genre, it seems to
indicate that the format above had stabilized and become more normative by that time.
The author of Maqṣad al-Iqbāl recommends that the pilgrim properly greet the
deceased with a formulaic greeting similar to the one given in Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda above.
The pilgrim is also enjoined to recite the Quran because this gives ease and happiness to
the inhabitants of the grave. The introduction makes no mention of any additional types
of ritual worship at the grave, but does emphasize that the deceased’s soul is aware of
what transpires near him or her and can sense the state of pilgrims who visit. Wā‘iẓ also
indicates that there is the possibility of interaction between the deceased and the pilgrim
in the following anecdote: he mentions the story of one Shaykh Abū Isḥāq Murshidī who
was teaching his student the Sahīh Bukhārī (an important book of canonical Sunni hadith)
but died before instruction could be completed. Because the two were both of mystical
inclination (ahl-i dil) this did not pose an impediment. They continued to meet at the time
of their lessons, this time the student presented himself at his master’s grave, and soon
completed the Sahīh Bukhārī.71 This same anecdote is mentioned in most of the shrine
guides examined.
The sequence of ritual outlined above is a generally straight-forward approach to
the ziyārat and it is sequencemost commonly found in the shrine guides. However, there
are often additons given to this ritual in other places in the shrine guides. Even in the
staid Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, the author gives another possible sequence of ritual for a
pilgrim visiting the holy shrines of Bukhara which adds a special focus to the act of
giving of charity during the pilgrimage: When the pilgrim leaves his house he should
71
Aṣīl al-Dīn ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad
al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqānīyah, ed. R.M. Haravī (Tihrān: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1973), 9.
-65-
recite: “There is no God but God, He is one and has no partner, He is owner of the world
and of all praise, He gives life and He gives death, He is alive and does not die, from His
hand comes good, He has power over all things, He is the first and the last, the apparent
and the hidden, He is the all-knowing.”72 Along the way to the shrine or cemetery he/she
should give charity in the amount that is possible. Finally upon arrival to the gravesite,
the pilgrim should recite: “O God, I ask for goodness in my entering and seek refuge in
you from evil, O Lord let me enter in truth and let me exit in truth, and grant me from
yourself a helping authority, we enter in God’s name and have complete faith in Him.”73
Then the pilgrim should enter the area of the tomb or grave.74 In addition to mentioning
the giving of charity, this sequence is less focused on the deceased and includes no
particular greeting for him/her. Rather, the focus is on the pilgrim and the seeking of
goodness from God for this particular ritual act. In this ritual experience, the shrine and
its saint serve as a place where the sacred is amplified, or where it is focalized to
paraphrase J.Z. Smith, such that the Divine is present to hear the needs of the pilgrim.75
Because of the fragmentary nature of Qandiyya, there is not a clearly delineated
treatment on the ritual process of ziyārat in Samarkand. Instead, there are a couple lines
early in the text that direct the pilgrim in his/her ziyārat of Qusam ibn ‘Abbās. The
pilgrim should make ghusl and then head towards the Iron Gate of the city (Darvāza-yi
72
Lā illaha illā allāh waḥdahu lā sharīka lah lahū’l-mulku wa lahū’l-ḥamdu yuḥī wa yumītu wa huwa
ḥayyun la yamūtu biyadihi al-khair wa huwa ‘ala kulī shayin qadīr huwa’l-awwal wa’l-akhīr wa’l-ẓāhir
wa’l-bāṭin wa huwa bi kulli shayin ‘alīm.
73
Allahumma innī as’aluka khayr madkhullī wa a‘ūdhu bika min sharrihi rabb idkhilnī madkhul ṣidq wa
ikhrajnī makhraj ṣidq wa aj‘al li min ladunka sulṭānan naṣīran bismillāhi dakhalnā wa ‘ala’llāhi
tawakalnā. This prayer derives in part from the Qur’anic ayah 80 in Sura 17.
74
Mū‘īn al-Fuqarā’, Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 12.
75
J.Z. Smith, To Take Place, 103-104.
-66-
Ahānīn). There the pilgrim should enter the monastery of Muḥammad ibn Wāsi’,who was
part of the Islamic Conquest of the area under Qutayba ibn Muslim in the second/eighth
century. At this monastery, the pilgrim should pray two rak‘at of nafl prayer. Anything
he/she asks of God at this point will be granted.76 Throughout Qandiyya, the pilgrim is
told about small masjids and monastic cells to pray in during the ziyārat of the saints of
the city.77
Deep within the hagiographic sections of the guide for Herat, Wā‘iẓ presents a
different prescription for ritual behavior in a narrative about a Herati tomb popularly
called Qabr-i Surkh (or the Red Grave) located outside of the walled city in Qariya-yi
Sāq Salmān. The author recommends that anyone that wishes to visit this tomb “should
make ghusl (ritual bath) and wear new clothes and then go to the tomb.” He also says to
take 1000 small pebbles. At the tomb, after completing two rak‘at nafl (cycles of
supererogatory) prayer, sit facing the grave and set your concentration to the Prophet
Muḥammad and send greetings and prayer upon him 1001 times: “Ṣallallāhu ‘alayka yā
Rasūl Allāh (Prayers upon you, O Messenger of God).” After each time you say this,
place one pebble next to the grave. When all the pebbles are done, ask what you desire
(murād-i khud) and upon your returning, sweeten the mouths of three dervishes. Your
desires shall surely be fulfilled.78 This sequence of practices shares many commonalities
with the more general schema advised at the beginning of Maqṣad al-Iqbāl, primarily in
terms of maintaining a state of ritual purity and praying two cycles of supererogatory
prayer. This particular course of action is recommended at a shrine for which Wā‘iẓ gives
76
Samarqandī, Qandiyya va Samariyya, 28.
77
Samarqandī, Qandiyya va Samariyya, 29-30.
78
Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya, 68.
-67-
only a location and no information on the inhabitant of the grave (qabr), indicating
perhaps a popular pilgrimage site of unknown provenance. The addition of counted
ṣalawāt upon the Prophet Muḥammad, asking God to fulfill one’s wishes, and the feeding
of dervishes pose a telling deviation from the plainer ritual sequences mentioned above.
While the ritual mentioned earlier fulfilled common prescriptions on visiting the dead
(holy or otherwise) that called for a remembrance and focus on death and the plight of the
deceased, the ritual mentioned here reflects the socio-historical context of Iran and
Central Asia in this period. There was an increased devotion for the Prophet Muḥammad
as well as a more substantial presence of dervishes and antinomian figures; their
inclusion in what was probably a common ritual around shrines represents their
importance and ubiquity.79 Including the Prophet Muḥammad and dervishes in such a
widespread ritual practice as ziyārat shows that focusing on these more tangible figures
was probably easier than the more esoteric focus on death and the afterlife that was
advised by the Damascene shrine guide author, Ibn al-Harwānī mentioned above.
Similarly, by explicitly referring to the fulfilment of personal needs or desires, the shrine
guide is engaging the pilgrim on a more worldly level.
All of the shrine guides in this study share a similar manner of presentation: in the
introductory sections usually entitled “Kayfīyāt-i Ziyārat al-Qubūr” or something similar,
they outline ritual sequences focused upon praying supererogatory prayers, reciting and
reading important passages from the Quran and thinking about the importance of death.
In Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ even writes this section in Arabic instead of the
79
Antinomian figures held a popular appeal from their origins in the thirteenth century on to the modern
period. The Timurid period was particularly interesting as the Timurid amirs, beginning with Timur
himself, patronized various antinomian shaykhs. For more on antinomianism in Islam see: Ahmet T.
Karamustafa, God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period, 1200-1550 (Salt
Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994).
-68-
Persian found in the rest of the guide, perhaps to add to its authoritative nature. However,
in the hagiographical sections, there is much more attention given to the fulfillment of
personal needs and to the idea of intercession. For example in the entry for Shāhzāda Abū
al-Qāsim b. Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, the son of the sixth Shi‘i Imām, Wā‘iẓ mentions that
‘Abdullāh al-Anṣārī recommended visiting the shrine on Friday evening in order to have
one’s prayers answered. He advises that a pilgrim should come to the shrine with the
intention of ziyārat and recite Surah Fātiḥa and Surah Ikhlāṣ. He or she should then give
the blessings of this to blessed soul of Shāhzāda Abū’l-Qāsim and then request from God,
the Bestower of Needs, all that he or she desires.80
From these particular rituals, we can get a better sense of why people may have
made the pilgrimage, apart from simply following local religious norms as expected of
members of this particular community. Throughout the shrine guides we find evidence of
benefit to the pilgrim that goes beyond the commonly accepted themes of giving ease to
the deceased and raising the spiritual status of the pilgrim. There is tangible and worldly
benefit that the pilgrim can access through the ziyārat, he/she has a better chance of
having his/her supplications answered in the vicinity of the holy dead and could even find
physical and mental cures in sacred spaces. For example, in Samarkand there was said to
be a special fountain that was actually a heavenly fountain mentioned by the Prophet
Muḥammad. It is called Jūy-yi Āb-i Raḥmat and making ghusl (ritual bath) in its curative
waters would end any sadness you might have and if you were sick, the waters could heal
your body.81 In Qandiyya there are various important places linked to the supernatural
80
81
-69-
figure of Khizr. The guide advises pilgrims to pray at these sites to ensure success in
life.82
After various readings from the Quran and other forms of ẕikr (remembrance of
God through the repetition of various litanies), du‘ā’ is the most prominent practice
highlighted in the shrine guides. Du‘ā’ is an “appeal, invocation (addressed to God)
either on behalf of another or for oneself.”83 It is one of the most common, daily practices
in which a Muslim might engage. It can come at any time: at the conclusion of salāt,
before and after meals, when entering or exiting a place, during travel, when in need of
something and so forth. Because of the flexibility of this practice, scholars and Sufis alike
addressed the proper adab (etiquette) of making du‘ā’. These works aimed to help
supplicants ensure that their du‘ā’ had the best chances of being received and granted by
God. The adab of du‘ā’ included proper intention, ritual purity, and finding the right time
and place to make du‘ā’. For example, Islamic scholars have recommended making
du‘ā’ while in sujūd (prostration) or at the time of the aẕān (call to prayer) during salāt
(canonical prayer).84 Also, special days, such as the Night of Power during Ramadan
(Shab-i Qadr) or the night commemorating the Prophet’s ascension to Heaven (Shab-i
Mi‘rāj) are commonly associated with greater chances of having one’s du‘ā’ answered.
Making du‘ā’ at sacred places, such as the Ka’ba in Mecca or near important places from
the life of the Prophet Muḥammad in Medina is said to be particularly efficacious.
82
83
Gardet, L., “Duʿāʾ,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
84
Gardet, L., “Duʿāʾ,”, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, eds. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
-70-
With regard to du‘ā’ in the shrine guides, a similar approach is taken where place
and time are important for the efficacy of the du‘ā’. Shrines served as sacred spaces
therefore du‘ā’ at these sites is one of the central parts of ziyārat ritual. A great many
shrines listed in the guides are described as being places where one’s du‘ā’ would be
answered. For example in Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, there is said to be two graves near the
shrine of Abū Bakr Ḥāmid, if one were to stand between these two graves and make
du‘ā’ (du‘ā’konad) it will surely be answered (mustajāb).85 In Herat, the shrine of
Shāhzāda Abū al-Qāsim b. Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq is promoted as a place where one’s du‘ā’ will
be answered, particularly if they are made on Friday nights as recommended by
‘Abdullāh Anṣārī.86 To counteract staunch Hanbali critique of intercession, Wā‘iz makes
use of Herat’s patron saint, the 11th C. conservative Hanbalī Anṣārī, as his mouthpiece
condoning the practice. Similarly, as mentioned earlier, Wā’iz used a statement of Imam
Abū Hanīfa, again symbolic of Sunni conservatism, to show that it is praiseworthy to
embark on such pilgrimage. He also remains ambiguous stating that du‘ā’s are answered
and needs are fulfilled without giving the precise wording for the du‘ā’, which could
easily include phrases of tawassul. While the guides remain cagey on the subject, other
sources speak to the reality of saints as intercessors. In one example, Timur and Amir
Husayn sought intercession and the help of the spirit of the deceased saint Khwaja
Shamsuddin at his shrine in Khuzar.87
Many saints are also described as being mustajāb al-da‘wāt or one whose du‘ā’
are accepted by God. An Indian saint buried in Herat’s famous Gāzurgāh cemetery,
85
Mū‘īn al-Fuqarā’, Tarīkh-i Mullāzāda, 65.
86
Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya, 13-14.
87
Yazdi, Zafarnāma vol.1, 67.
-71-
Khwāja Khayrcha is described as one whose du‘ā’ are accepted by God because of his
great spiritual insight.88 These claims about the saint are an important hagiographic tool
in creating sanctity around the saint. However, in terms of ritual practice, it suggests to
the pilgrim that engaging in du‘ā’ at this particular site is particularly efficacious. As God
always answers the du‘ā’ of Khwāja Khayrcha, this special state extends to the pilgrim
through the proxy of the deceased saint.
The Naqshbandī shaykh, Muḥammad Pārsā was a well-known Bukharan scholar
and Sufi in the fifteenth century. His writings about ziyārat also highlight the importance
of getting both this-worldly and otherworldly gain through the practice. Among his works
is Faṣl al- Khiṭāb in which he presents proper devotional practice for Sufis and Muslims
in general. Faṣl al- Khiṭāb has been described as a compendium of the religious sciences
both esoteric and exoteric89; Pārsā explains topics ranging from proper condition for
having īmān, tawḥīd, the attributes and characteristics of God to the miracles of saints
(awlīyā’) and the Imams as well as eschatological issues of the mahdi and the messiah.
Pārsā came from a family of religious scholars and was probably known in his time more
for his scholarship in hadith than as a central figure of the early Khwājagān/Naqshbandī
Sufī brotherhood. For this reason, much of Faṣl al-Khiṭāb is written as a compilation of
Prophetic hadith and the hadith of the Imams. There are actually lengthy sections on the
special status of the Imams and Ahl-i bayt as well as how to best revere them. This latter
item is of interest to this chapter as it provides a different source of acceptable practices
and motivations of shrine visitation. Muḥammad Pārsā represents the highest level of
88
89
Beatrice Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran, 77.
-72-
religious scholar and Sufi at this time, while many of the writers of shrine guides were of
a more middling level. Indeed the style and language used by Pārsā is indicative of a
more scholarly audience than that of the shrine guides. Pārsā treats the Imams with the
utmost reverence and gives their hadith (at least the hadith selected by Pārsā) equal
weight to that of Prophetic hadith. This behavior is not an aberration, but rather is
representative of the confessional ambiguity present in the post-Mongol Islam of Iran and
Central Asia, which will be discussed further in the next chapter.
His treatment of ziyārat gives a clearer picture of the transactional nature of the
ritual. Much like hadith dealing with other ritual practices, in which a believer is
guaranteed reward from God for his/her religious devotions, those who perform ziyārat to
the tombs of certain Imams and other members of Ahl-i Bayt are promised various
rewards such as the forgiving of sins and fulfillment of worldly need. For example, Pārsā
quotes a hadith of the eighth Imam ‘Alī b. Mūsā al-Riḍā: “Whoever sets out for ziyārat of
me [Imam al-Riḍa], his du‘ā’ will be answered and his sins forgiven. Whoever makes the
ziyārat of Baqī’[where many Companions and Shi‘i Imāms are buried], it is the same as
if he made ziyārat of the Prophet [‘s tomb].”90 The promise of reward beyond the basic
partaking in the baraka of a shrine is found in all of the shrine literature examined here
and seems to indicate that the ritual of ziyārat was understood to have a ritual efficacy in
which the pilgrim received more than spiritual elevation. He or she was promised reward
in the afterlife for this pious action.
The important issues of tawassul or intercessory powers of saints are not
discussed openly in the introductory sections of the shrine guides. The possibility of
90
Khwāja Muḥammad Pārsā, Faṣl al-khiṭāb, ed. J. Misgarnizhād (Tihrān: Markaz-i Nashr-i Dānishgāhī,
1381/2002-3), 626.
-73-
intercession is alluded to through the intermittent discussion of supplications being
answered. The issue of intercession was an important point of debate even in the Later
Middle period. It was one of the main aspects of ziyārat that polemicists such as Ibn
Taymiyya and Ibn al-Ḥājj, and even to some degree Imam al-Ghazālī, found
questionable.91 As in many of his objections to ziyārat of saintly shrines, Ibn Taymiyya
was worried about too much Christian influence tarnishing Muslim ritual practice and
beliefs. He says of intercession:
If one says: ‘I ask [the saint or prophet], on account of his being

closer to God than me, to intercede on my behalf in these matters
because I implore God through him just like the sultan is
implored through his intimate associates and attendants, then this
is among the actions of the polytheists and Christians.92
While this objection remains a background issue even in the more broadly
permissive Timurid shrine guides, it seems clear that hopes of intercession, having one’s
supplications answered, and attaining worldly and other worldly gain was a primary
motivation for many pilgrims embarking on ziyārat. Throughout the biographical
sections of the Timurid shrine guides, pilgrims are advised that by requesting their needs
in the vicinity of a saintly figure, they are more likely to get what they ask for. There is a
clear indication that the saints themselves are the intermediary though which these
supplications become more effective. In one place, the author of a shrine guide casually
mentions that there is a particular shrine that local Heratis visit primarily for intercessory
purposes. The entry for Shāhzada Muḥammad ibn Farukhzād Khaqān, who was
“martyred” as he fought alongside Abū Muslim during the Abbasid Revoltion, is one of
91
See Maribel Fierro, “The Treatises against Innovation (kutub al-bidā’),” Islam, 69 (1992): 204-246.
92
Ibn Taymiyya, Majmū‘ fatāwā, quoted in C. Taylor, In the Vicinity of Righteousness, 174-175.
-74-
the few in which it is mentioned that the people of Herat would come to his shrine in
search of intercession (tawassul mī jūyand) and to achieve their goals.93
In addition to the recitation of litanies and making supplications, physical
movement is just as significant a ritual in ziyārat. In many cases, the shrine guides call
for circumambulation (ṭawāf) of the shrine or multiple shrines. As mentioned above,
Ruzbihan Khunjī and other Islamic scholars objected to this aspect of ziyārat ritual as it
impinged upon the holy rites (manāsik) of the Hajj pilgrimage. Regardless of objections,
the shrine guides are filled with references to circumambulation. In Tabriz, there are two
shrines to saints from the time of the Prophet Moses; it is said the ṭawāf
(circumambulation) of these shrines is a blessed endeavor.94 Similarly in Samarkand it is
said that anyone who does ṭawāf of the shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn receives the reward of
completing the Hajj pilgrimage seventy times.95 That the visiting of this shrine is held is
greater esteem than visiting the Ka‘ba in Mecca would have definitely raised the ire of
opponents to the practice of ziyārat, but it is presented in a very matter of fact way in
Qandiyya. This indicates that pilgrims saw no problem in revering their local saints and
shrines. Indeed, the reverence for the sites related to the greater history of Islam are not
neglected in shrine guides. One of the major pious acts of saints mentioned in the
hagiographical sections of the shrine guides is the completion of Hajj. Many saints were
deemed saintly for their ability to go on Hajj, often multiple times. To be able to
undertake the arduous and expensive journey was seen as a sign of favor by God upon the
saints; but, this was a favor not bestowed on the majority of the medieval Muslim
93
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqānīyah, 50.
94
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 27-8.
95
-75-
population who could not make the trip to Mecca themselves. Instead they could visit and
circumambulate local shrines and derive benefit from ziyārat in a much more accessible
manner.
According to Wā‘iz, under certain circumstances the canonical prayer (ṣalāt) is
allowed near the grave, but one must make sure not to face the grave.96 This is contrary to
prescriptions found in all other guides. Critics of ziyārat often pointed to praying at
shrines as a sign of shirk and heresy. The authors in the other guides are very careful to
repeat that prayer is forbidden at the shrine and should be done at home, in a masjid, or
other permissible location. This was another aspect of ziyārat that Ibn Taymiyya found
problematic: prayer at shrines could lead down a slippery slope to shirk (associating
others with God). Praying in the vicinity of shrines was avoided by the building of small
masjids and rectories in graveyards and shrine complexes. These places often became
incorporated into the ziyārat ritual. As mentioned above, ritual began at the home where
the pilgrim would undertake ritual ablutions and make some supererogatory prayers
(nafl) and then head out in the direction of the shrine. Physically moving across space
was part of the ritual process. Along the way there would be stopping points for
additional ritual practice. Qandiyya, for example, in many instances directs the pilgrim
towards special prayer sites that come before the destination shrine.
The dead were understood hierarchically. The holy dead were at the top of this
hierarchy, with Ahl-i Bayt at the very top. Throughout all the works there are hints in the
introductory chapters as to the difference between visiting the graves of your parents and
visiting the shrine of a companion of the Prophet or a holy saint. In Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda,
96
Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya
-76-
describing the holy shrines of Bukhara, the author recommends to always begin ziyārat at
the tomb of a prophet if there is one to be found in the cemetery.97 In the introductory
chapters of Rawżat al-Janān, the Sunni scholar, Ibn Karbalā’ī clearly delineates the
importance of the holy dead and asks for a special amount of respect when visiting their
resting places. He presents different sorts of greetings and litanies to be used for different
categories of saints depending upon their importance.98 As a reader or listener learns of
the hagiographic tales about the holy dead in each city, it becomes clear that there are
differences in the sanctity of various saints. Some well-known saints, those with
particular lineages, those with great scholarly output are singled out and much is written
about both their importance in life and their importance in death as sacred sites that can
benefit the pilgrim as well. These difference are even more clearly visible in the types of
architecture that were built at shrines, the more elaborate funerary architecture is found at
sites of saints that were accorded great respect. This idea will be discussed in more detail
in Chapter 4.
In conclusion, the ritual found at shrines in the Timurid period varied from place
to place, and even shrine to shrine. However, the most common forms of ritual, that of
making supplications for oneself and the deceased while being in a state of ritual purity,
reciting important parts of the Quran, giving charity, wearing new clothes, performing
ṣalawāt upon the Prophet Muḥammad, and feeding dervishes were not complicated acts.
They were all rituals that were common to Muslims of this time and could be found in
other aspects of ‘ibādat in their lives apart from ziyārat. The ease and commonness of
97
Mū‘īn al-Fuqarā’, Tarīkh-i Mullāzāda, 12.
98
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 8-9.
-77-
these rituals, alongside the abundance of shrines on the physical landscape of Timurid
cities, illustrates the ubiquity of ziyārat in the lives of medieval Muslims in Khurasan and
Transoxiana. These factors made it a natural part of their day, in which the ritual of
ziyārat was an ingrained habitus for these pilgrims. They did not have to prepare greatly
when undertaking the ziyārat as they already knew most of the litanies and practices
necessary for it. It was as Talal Asad says, “just a way of life and a way of inhabiting
one’s body.”99
99
Irfan Ahmad, “Talal Asad Interviewed by Irfan Ahmad,” Public Culture 27.2 (2015): 261.
-78-
Chapter 3: Stories of Saints: Pious Exemplars and Collective Memory
Islamic hagiographical literature has a long history in the Middle East and Central Asia.
Stories of the pre-Islamic prophets, the Prophet Muḥammad, and all variety of religious
figures were widespread. Early Muslims busied themselves with collecting stories from
the life of the Prophet Muḥammad and his companions (ṣaḥāba). With the rise of hadith
scholarship, ‘ilm al-rijāl became an important religious science in order to verify the
authenticity of chains of narration (sing. isnād). This focus on the biographies of
important religious figures formed the template for both future hagiographical studies as
well as non-religiously focused works of history. Hagiographies of martyrs, hadith
transmitters, jurists, righteous rulers, and mystic miracle workers were common in the
Late Middle Period. As such, they provide the historian with ample source material on
the people who were considered important. As John Renard argues, these Islamic
hagiographical sources offer a great treasury of “insights into the religious and ethical life
of Muslims.”1 Timurid period shrine guides present both well-known and unknown
figures as saints worthy of ziyārat and in doing so reflect religious ideals of that time.
Through the descriptions of saints’ lives, their recurring acts of piety and the miracles
ascribed to them, we gain a view of what was important to Sunni Muslims in Timurid
Iran and Central Asia.
Richard McGregor points to the problematic nature of hagiographic literature,
namely that it “dissimulates the creative gesture at its origin by appearing to be simply a
1
John Renard, Friends of God: Islamic Images of Piety, Commitment, and Servanthood (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2008), xiii.
-79-
collection of eyewitness accounts rather than a literary and artistic creation.”2 In using
shrine guides not as sources on the actual lives and history of the men and women
mentioned in it, but rather, as an exploration of the religious worldview of the author and
his time period, these works become more reliable sources. Even when biographies of
older figures are recycled, copied from other works, and presented anew, they come filled
with representations of what was important for the period at hand. Biographers are also
bound by contemporary social conventions, the worldviews of their time, the source
material available to them, and other biases that limit all writers. Bringing forth these
biases and social conventions can further illuminate religious ideas of the time. Historians
who make use of hagiographic material have convincingly argued for the benefit of such
sources while understanding the dangers inherent in them. For example, while Patrick
Geary acknowledges that the vitae of saints are largely composed of topoi instead of fact:
they are nonetheless differentiated in the choice and arrangement

of topoi; and while little can be learned from vitae in the way of
specific factual data, changes in religious devotion and attitudes
towards a great variety of activities can be inferred from
differences in subject matter, types of miracles, and structure of
vitae of different periods.3
The biographies of deceased saints found in shrine guides are particularly
interesting because they purport to reflect a more inclusive evaluation of the saints,
written for an audience larger than one’s Sufi brethren. The audience of shrine guides
includes all those who might want to undertake ziyārat to the shrines of these saints.
2
Richard McGregor, “Intertext and Artworks: Reading Islamic Hagiography,” Studies in Religion/Sciences
Religieuses 43.3 (2014): 426-7.
3
Patrick Geary, Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1991), 10.
-80-
Because of this more “popular” orientation, the biographies in shrine guides can shed
light on how sanctity was constructed and understood in more general terms. In order to
do this, this chapter focuses on shrine guides and common trends among them. The
hagiographies in the guides will also be contrasted with those found in other types of
hagiographical texts of the time, such as Jāmī’s Nafaḥāt al-Uns and Fakhr al-dīn ‘Alī al-
Kāshifī s Rashaḥāt ‘ain al-ḥayāt.
Valāyat or Vilāyat and the associated term valī (plural awlīyā’) are used here to
denote sainthood and saint respectively. These are contested and difficult terms. They
have roots in the Quran but came to encompass a larger meaning over centuries of
religious and mystical scholarship. Many modern scholars have discussed the
philological aspects of the term and its applicability to the political, legal and religious
spheres of Sunni society.4 It denotes spiritual and/or temporal authority and is applied in
different ways in these aforementioned spheres. Still another dimension of this term is
found in Shiism in relation to a special loyalty due to the Imams. Valāyat comes from the
Arabic root ‫ ی‬-‫ل‬-‫ و‬which means “to be near, adjacent, contiguous to.”5 In the religious
sense it points to the close and intimate relationship a particular religious person has with
God that marks him/her as special; in this case Valāyat is often translated as sainthood.
The oft cited verse in the Quran, “Behold! Verily the Friends of God [Awliyā’ Allāh] are
those on whom fear cometh not nor do they grieve,”6 is used by later Sufis to underscore
4
See: Gerald T. Elmore, Islamic Sainthood in the Fullness of Time: In al-‘Arabī’s Book of the Fabulous
Gryphon (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 1999), 109-130.; Mawil Y. Izzi Dien and P.E. Walker, “Wilāya,” in
Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel,
W.P. Heinrichs (Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009).
5
Mawil Y. Izzi Dien and P.E. Walker, “Wilāya,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition.
6
Qur’an, 10:62.
-81-
the presence of sainthood in the very fabric of Islam; however, the idea developed over
the course of many centuries. By the Late Middle period the valī was understood as the
one who has the status of valāyat and is translated either as saint or as a friend of God.
Sainthood and saint are terms taken from Christian theology but are used here in a
somewhat different way. The lack of a formalized hierarchy approving the sainthood of a
figure marks the Islamic saint apart from the Christian saint. However, the saint’s social
function as the pinnacle of piety and his/her proximity to God along with his/her
miraculous nature and his/her ability to confer baraka (blessings or grace), whether dead
or alive, shares many parallels with a Christian saint and justifies the usage of this
terminology in the Islamic context.
While valī and valāyat became commonly used by the Late Middle period, there
were many terms used to describe sanctity. Michel Chodkiewicz points to the Quranic
usage of terms such as aṣḥāb al-yamīn and muqarrabūn as other indicators of sanctity
and nearness to God.7 The shrine guides for Timurid cities do not always make explicit
use of the word valāyat or valī, rather they allude the fact that the religious figure is a
saint, for example by saying that he/she is among the arbāb-i kashf (masters of the
Unveiling) or that quṭb-i rabbānī (divine pole) or ṣāḥib-i karāmāt (miracle worker). This
is not to say; however, that awliyā’ is not used at all. In some instances, such as in Ibn
Karbalā’ī’s Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, there is an extensive use of the term in
ways found in most Sufi works on valāyat at the time, particularly that of Jāmī. This
similarity makes sense because Ibn Karbalā’ī was a Kubravī Sufi himself. He also
devoted the last couple chapters of his shrine guide to the biography of his Sufi master
7
M. Chodkiewicz, “La sainteté et les saints en islam” in Le Culte des Saints dans le Monde Musulman, eds.
H. Chambert-Loir and Cl. Gillot (Paris: École Français d’Extrème Orient, 1995), 15.
-82-
and to a short history of the order. Ibn Karbalā’ī speaks highly of the awlīyā’ in Tabriz
throughout the introductory sections of his guide as well as in the biographical section.8
He reiterates the centrality of awlīyā’ to humanity by arguing that the world itself is only
upright by the order of God because of the existence of the select from among the anbīyā’
(messengers), awṣiyā’ (guardians), awliyā’, urafā’ (gnostics) and ‘ulamā’, counting the
saints as important as these other religious figures.9
In other shrine guides, these terms are often largely undefined because
valī/awliyā’ had become so widespread by this time and authors could justifiably assume
that their audience would understand exactly what they were talking about. The author
will often preface sections of their guide by stating that the following section will discuss
the most important of awlīyā’ of the particular city.10 The term comes up again in the
biographies of the deceased figures, where the designation of valī is one of many epithets
used for the figure. For example, in Maqsad al-Iqbāl, Mawlāna Jalāl al-Dīn Zāhid
Marghābī is described as “quṭb (pole) al-awlīyā’ wa’l-awtād (lit. tent pegs, indicates an
important category in the Sufi hierarchy of saints)” as well as “the greatest of his time
and a scholar of the zāhir and bāṭin (exoteric and esoteric).”11 In another entry in Maqsad
al-Iqbāl, Zayn al-Dīn ‘Alī Kulāh is described as undoubtedly (bilā shak) one of the
awlīyā’, but no additional information is given to explain why he is considered as such.12
8
Ḥusayn Karbalāʹī Tabrīzī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, eds. J.S. Qurrāʹī and M.A.S. Qarrāʾī
(Tabrīz: Sutūdah, 2004), 17-18.
9
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Jinān, vol.1, 18-19.
10
See for example: Aṣīl al-Dīn ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i
Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, ed. R.M. Haravī (Tihrān: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1973), 11.
11
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 45-46.
12
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 76.
-83-
Again in this case, the author assumes his audience would either readily understand why
a figure would be a saint or that the details were unimportant.
One of the earliest presentations of a coherent doctrine of valāya is found in al-
Ḥakīm al-Tirmiẕī’s (d. ca between 318/936-320/938) Kitāb khatm al-awlīya. In it, he
discusses the difference between nubuwwa (prophethood) and walāya (sainthood): a
prophet receives inspiration (wahy) from God through an intermediary spirit (Gabriel, for
example, in the case of the Prophet Muḥammad). It is required for all believers to accept
the truth of this. In contrast, a saint, through mystical exertions, receives inspiration
(ilhām) from God that induces a sort of peace in his/her heart. It is not obligatory for
Muslims to accept the valāya of a saint nor is the “authority of sainthood…binding upon
the believing community” as is the authority of a Prophet.13 Ḥakīm al-Tirmiẕī also
articulates one of the many versions of a special assembly of saints, which is present in
the hadith literature. This assembly, with its hierarchy of saints is a recurring theme in the
hagiographies of the Timurid shrine guides and will be discussed in more detail below.
Sainthood was most famously explicated by the Andalusian mystical philosopher Ibn
‘Arabī (d. 1240), whose definitions were widely popular and accepted in the Later
Middle Period. He divides up prophecy (nubuwwa) into two aspects, one with a
legislative component and one that is more general. The former ended with the death of
the Prophet Muḥammad; however, the latter (nubuwwa ‘āmma) is the same as valāya and
exists to guide humanity after the Prophet Muḥammad’s death.14
13
Richard J.A. McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt: The Wafa Sufi Order and the Legacy
of Ibn ‘Arabi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004), 10-11.
14
McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt, 23.
-84-
Nūr al-Dīn Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī (d. 1492) begins his Nafaḥāt al-uns min al-
hażrāt al-quds, a hagiography of Sufis from the eighth century to Jāmī’s present fifteenth
century, with a clarification of the terms valāyat and valī that follows the consensus of
Sufis until his time. Hamid Algar has said that Jāmī “represented a summation of the
learned and spiritual traditions of the Persian-speaking world, especially Khorasan, on the
eve of the transformations wrought by the Safavid conquest.”15 This is very much the
case in his explanation of the concept of valāyat. He divides valāyat into two categories:
the first is valāyat-i ‘āmma which is accessible to all believers.16 He refers to the Quran
to better explain this category: “Allah is the valī of those who believe. He brings them
from the darkness into the light.”17 The second category is valāyat-i khāṣṣa and is
reserved for those elite among Muslims who achieve mystical union with God. Jāmī
presents a long discussion of the intricacies of fanā’ and baqā’ and quotes other
important scholars to establish the importance of this union in determining a valī of this
category. This definition is akin to one given by Abu’l-Qāsim al-Qushayrī, where a valī is
one “who takes care of God’s worship and piety.”18 In much the same language as that
employed by Ibn Karbalā’ī, Jāmī too contends that the awlīyā’ are second only to the
Prophet Muḥammad in importance and they are the reason for baraka (divine grace) on
earth.19 The valāyat-i khāṣṣa reflects the category of saint found in the shrine guides;
however, the shrine guides often define a saint’s sanctity using a combination of his/her
15
Hamid Algar, “Jāmī ii. And Sufism,” in Encyclopedia Iranica, 2008.
16
Nūr al-Dīn ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī, Nafaḥāt al-Uns min Ḥażarāt al-Quds, ed. Maḥmūd ‘Ābidī (Tihrān:
Ītilā‘āt, 1382/2003), 3.
17
Qur’an, 2:157.
18
Abū’l-Qāsim al-Qushayrī, Risala, quoted and trans. McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval, 18.
19
Jāmī, Nafaḥāt al-Uns, 15.
-85-
religious knowledge and the righteous and miraculous life he/she led rather than on the
technicalities of his/her mystical journeys.
William Chittick argues that in the mainstream Islamic tradition it is generally
thought that “God chooses as his friends those who embody the best qualities of the
human race.”20 This chapter will examine the “best qualities” necessary for the
construction and understanding of sanctity in the context of Timurid shrines. What sorts
of saints were accorded the most veneration and for what reasons? What does this tell us
about the ideals of piety and practice in Timurid Iran and Central Asia? This chapter is an
attempt to understand more clearly what was considered religiously important by Sunni
Muslims in this period.
Construction of Sanctity: Saints as Exemplars
Saints are generally presented and remembered as the best of their time, either in general
terms or for more specific achievements. For example, a saint can be described as the
best of scholars, the most ascetic, the most pious and in other superlative forms. For
example, Shaykh Abū Ya‘lī ibn Mukhṭār is described as among the “akābir al-dīn”
(grandees of religion) and “afāżil-i ‘ulamā’-yi ahl-i yaqīn (one of the most virtuous of
mystical scholars).”21 It seems natural that only the best of the best would find mention in
hagiographical works. However, the way their superiority is expressed is important. As
discussed above, for many elite Sufis, achieving true union with God and going through
the proper stages of this process were central in defining who was a true valī. The shrine
20
Chittick, Ibn ‘Arabi: Heir to the Prophets (Oxford: One World Publications, 2007). 12.
21
-86-
guides have a much looser definition and excellence in any number of religiously
important areas seems to be sufficient to confer sanctity on a person.
In many instances, particularly when not much else is known about a saint, it is
enough to say that he is worthy of ziyāraṭ simply because he is a valī (e.g. “Az asḥāb-i
vilāyat būda”).22 The implication is that because he is close to God for whatever
undisclosed reason, he is of religious importance. This lack of specificity may be
purposeful, as what exactly makes one a valī is contested and often persistently vague.
Michel Chodkiewicz argue that Sufi writers have “an evident desire to be discreet on the
subject of what constitutes valāya per se” and may therefore not incline to define their
terms.23 The more usual case is that the figure in question will be introduced and
discussed in glowing terms specifically praising his/her excellence. This may be due to
more information being available to the author regarding the background of the deceased
saint or in order to cater to the desires of the author’s audience. When a figure is known
as a scholar of one or more religious sciences (fiqh, kalām, tafsīr etc.) or as a Sufi, he/she
is most often described as being the best in those things. If it is unknown exactly in which
field his/her religious training lay, he/she might be said simply to be superior in the
exoteric (‘ilm-i zāhir) and esoteric (‘ilm-i bāṭin) sciences. The author of Tārīkh-i
Mullāzāda puts this in a slightly different way; a scholar-saint is most frequently referred
to as an important or greatest “‘ālim wa ‘āmil (scholar and doer of good acts).” Another
way that the excellence of a saint is stated is in praising his/her high degree of
achievement: Khwāja Abū Ḥafṣ Aḥmad ibn Ḥafṣ (d. 217AH) is said to have the highest
22
23
Chodkiewicz, Seal of the Saints: Prophethood and Sainthood in the Doctrine of Ibn ‘Arabī (Cambridge:
Islamic Texts Society, 1993), 33.
-87-
rank (daraja-yi a‘lā) in ‘ilm (knowledge, scholarship), ‘amal (good works), quwwat-i
mujāhadat (strength of his exertion), ṣafā-yi ḥāl (related to the purity of his mystical
state), and zuhd (asceticism).24 In another example, where it is clear that the saint is not a
known scholar but rather his pious worship and abstinence is highlighted, he may be
described simply as “az akābir-i zaman-i khud (among the grandees of his/her time).”25
These various superlative designations speak to the important categories upon
which a saint was judged: knowledge, pious action, importance to the community, and
Sufism. One or more of these categories reoccur throughout all of the shrine guides in
justifying the sanctity of a saint. Many of the virtues discussed below, such as excellence
in the esoteric (bāṭin) and exoteric (żāhir) sciences, asceticism, and leadership in the
community are presented in superlative form to explain the sanctity of particular saints.
The Herati saint, Shaykh Abū Ismā‘īl ibn Ḥamza Ṣufī also known as Shaykh ‘Amawiyya
(d. 444AH), was the “Shaḥna-yi Mashāyikh-i Khurāsān (representative or leader of the
Khurasani shaykhs)” because he had achieved perfection in knowledge, chivalry and trust
in God (‘ulūm, futuwwat, tawwakul).26 Another Herati shaykh, Mawlāna Niżām al-dīn
‘Abd al-Raḥīm (d. 738AH) is described as the imam of his time (imām-i asr) and the
authoritative jurist of his era (mujtahid-i dahr). He is also called the most reliable
(mu‘tamad) person of his time.27
24
Aḥmad ibn Mahmūd Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā, ed. A.G.
Maʻānī (Tehran: Kitābkhānah-ʾi Ibn Sīnā, 1960), 18.
25
26
27
-88-
In the Tabrizi guide, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, we find explicit
articulation of the importance of these special figures: the author states that the
uprightness of the world (qiyām-i ālam) by order of God is through the existence of the
select (bar guzīda) from among the anbiyā’, awṣiyā’ (guardians, executors), awliyā’,
‘urafā’ (gnostics), and the ‘ulamā’ who are in Tabriz.28 Here the inclusion of the word
bar guzīda meaning select or chosen is important; it means that only the best or very
particular people from among these groups hold this high position that sustains the earth.
In a concrete example of this special status, Ibn Karbalā’ī credits the preservation of
Tabriz in the face of a particularly disastrous earthquake to the presence of so many of
these select religious figures.29 This helps to explain why we might find a constant
reference to the best or greatest person of a particular group or characteristic. Authors of
shrine guides describe the saints interred in their cities as being part of this select group
of religious people by extolling their greatness and special nature. The elevated status of
a saint contributes to their position as a figure to be admired, emulated, and most
obviously visited through ziyārat.
In addition to religious personages, there are a few occasion where secular kings
are mentioned. In the case of the Samanid kings buried in Bukhara, their exemplary status
comes from their superiority in combining justice and piety in their rule. Those kings and
members of the family that were also religious scholars or performed some sort of
spectacular public act of piety are specifically mentioned as such, as this aspect simply
adds to their importance.30 Sulṭān Ismā‘īl (d. 295/907) was remembered for his strict
28
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 18.
29
30
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 25-27.
-89-
adherence to the time of the prayer, in one instance jumping off his horse to pray when he
heard the aẕān.31 His father, Aḥmad ibn Sāmān (d. 250/864) was a scholar and was said
to have related hadith on the authority of various tābi‘īn (the generation that came after
the death of the Prophet Muḥammad but were contemporaries of his Companions)
including Sufyān ibn ‘Uyayna, a well-regarded hadith scholar of the second/eighth
century.32
Importance of Established Scholarly Networks
Achievement in hadith sciences and jurisprudence was an important indicator of sanctity,
particularly given its early importance in Khurasan and Transoxiana. ‘Alī ibn Abī Bakr
al-Harawī (d. 611AH/1215CE) said: “[there is] none finer than those of Harat, Balkh and
Sijistan for their dedication to the [religious] sciences and hadith.”33 With the shrine
guide for Samarkand serving as the exception, almost all the other guides are dominated
with saintly muḥaddiths (scholars of hadith science) and jurists, or saints having at least
some connection to the ‘ulamā’ class. When such a pedigree could not be established, it
became equally important that the saint was either in contact with such ‘ulamā’, that
members of the ‘ulamā’ spoke highly of him/her either during his life or posthumously,
or in the very least, that ‘ulamā’ of greater learning were buried in his/her vicinity. All of
these points could serve to bolster a saint’s importance with regard to his ziyārat.
31
32
33
‘Alī ibn Abī Bakr al-Harawī, A Lonely Wayfarers Guide to Pilgrimage: ‘Alī ibn Abī Bakr al-Harawī’s
Kitāb al-ishārāt ilā ma‘rifat al-ziyārāt, trans. J.W. Meri (Princeton: Darwin Press, 2004), 32.
-90-
In Herat we find Imām ‘Abdullāh al-Wāḥid ibn Muslim, the son of Abu ‘l-
Ḥusayn Muslim ibn Ḥajjāj ibn Muslim al-Qushayrī (d. 261/875), compiler of the well-
known canonical book of hadith, the Saḥiḥ Muslim. Besides this exalted lineage, he was
also known for his own scholarship in the hadith sciences and is mentioned in Shaykh
‘Abdullāh Ansarī’s Tabaqāt for his accomplishments in this field.34 Another Herati
scholar with ties to important figures of the early Islamic jurisprudential and hadith
tradition is Hażrat Khwāja Abū al-Walīd (d. ca 3rd/9th C.) He was renowned for being
among the great scholars of both esoteric and exoteric sciences and most importantly for
his ṣoḥbat (companionship) with Imām Aḥmad ibn Hanbal (d. 241/855) and his role as
Imām al-Bukhāri’s (d. 256/870) teacher. Aḥmad ibn Hanbal was the eponymous founder
of one of the four Sunni schools of law and Bukhārī was another important Sunni hadith
compiler, his Ṣaḥīh Bukhārī is one of the six canonical books of hadith. Abū al-Walīd
was considered a great scholar in his time; his popularity is evidenced by the three
thousand mourners who attended his funeral prayer. He continued to be a popular figure
after his death. Though his grave existed from the time of his death in the third/ninth
century in Qariya-yi Āzādān outside of the city of Herat, the shrine and tomb in existence
during the Timurid period were built earlier in the fourteenth century by the Kartid rulers
of Herat.35 It is said the Shāhrukh visited this tomb every Wednesday evening and that
34
35
The Karts were a powerful local dynasty that ruled Herat during the Ilkhanid period and preceded the
Timurids. Their relatively long reign was from 643-791/1245-1389. For more on the Karts see: Beatrice
Manz, “The Rule of the Infidels: The Mongols and he Islamic World,” in The New Cambridge History of
Islam, Vol. 3: The Eastern Islamic World, Eleventh to Eighteenth Centuries, ed. D.O Morgan and A. Reid
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Lawrence Potter, “The Kart Dynasty of Herat: Religion
and Politics in Medieval Iran” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1992).
-91-
everyone should go regardless of rain or snow.36 His shrine was an important ziyārat
destination for Heratis and a good number of later saints were buried either around his
shrine or on the route taken to visit his shine.
Shaykh Abū ‘Abdullāh Mālānī (d. ca. late 4th/10th C.) was considered among the
best of the shaykhs of Herat during his life and was esteemed for the fact that he had
ṣoḥbat with the shaykhs of the Hijaz. His tomb in Tilqān-i Mālān was well visited by
many Heratis, most famously by Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Ansārī, patron saint of Herat, on
Wednesdays.37 Another important Herati scholar from the fifth/eleventh century is
celebrated after his death for his excellence in scholarly pursuits during his life. Shaykh
Yaḥya ibn ‘Umar Sijistānī (d. 433/1042) was said to have known perfectly the exoteric
and esoteric sciences. He trained Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Ansarī so well that no one could beat
him in any scholarly debate or dispute.38 The great Ash‘arī theologian and exegete, Imām
Fakhr al-dīn Rāzī (d. 606/1210) is said to have been buried in the Khiyābān area near the
Ahl-i Bayt shrines of Herat.39 Because his various disputes with the Mu‘tazalīs, Fakhr al-
dīn Rāzī ended up in Herat under the protection of the Ghurid Sultan, Ghiyās al-dīn
Muḥammad. Ghiyās al-dīn was so impressed by Fakhr al-dīn’s learning that he changed
the juridical rite of the congregational masjid in Herat to Shāfi‘ī and made it a pulpit from
which Fakhr al-dīn could give naṣihat (advice) every Friday to the Muslims of the city.
The position and esteem given to the saint are largely evidenced by the Sultan’s treatment
36
37
38
39
As is the case for the shrines of many famous figures, there are multiple sites that purport to be the final
resting place of Fakhr al-dīn Rāzī. During the Seljuk period a mausoleum was built in what is present day
Kunya-Urgench in Turkmenistan.
-92-
of him and his illustrious burial location. The author of Maqsad al-Iqbāl does not go into
detail about Fakhr al-dīn Rāzī’s many scholarly achievements, indeed, his entry is much
shorter than some more unknown figures mentioned in the shrine guide. Maqsad al-Iqbāl
only mentions that Fakhr al-dīn Rāzī was among the great imāms of his day and a prolific
writer.40 While the entry speaks to Fakhr al-dīn’s importance as a preacher and teacher in
Herat, it says nothing of his role as a philosopher or even as a kalām scholar (theologian).
Of course, when speaking of important scholars, Shaykh al-Islām Ḥażrat Khwāja
‘Abdullāh Ansārī (d. 481/1088) must be included. He was one of the most important
figures in the Timurid construction of religious identity, particularly in Herat. His shrine
at Gāzurgāh outside of Herat had been an important site for Sufis and travelers since the
tenth century C.E. However, the real commemorative building programs did not begin
until the time of Shāhrukh. Previous dynasties of Herat, such as the Karts, had preferred
patronizing Turbat-i Jām over Gāzurgāh. In 1425, Shāhrukh gave the order for the
construction of a lavish shrine in the form of the orthodox ḥaẓīra (lit. enclosure, in this
case indicates an open air shrine) commemorating the Hanbalī scholar and Sufi.
Shāhrukh’s choice of ‘Abdullāh Ansarī reflected his own project of creating a new
religious identity for his rule. In his attempts to present himself as a sharia-minded,
orthodox ruler, Shāhrukh took on various overt symbols of orthodox Islam and Sunni
religious institutions. He and his wife, Gawhar Shād, patronized a great number of
madrasas, masjids, and mausoleums, as well as patronized living orthodox Sunni
scholars.41 A sort of cult to Ansārī had already existed in some form in Herat prior to the
40
41
A great deal of historical scholarship has examined the religious program of Shāhrukh. See: Maria Eva
Subtelny, “The curriculum of Islamic Higher Learning in Timurid Iran in light of the Sunni Revival under
-93-
building of his haẓīra, however, Shāhrukh’s patronization of the figure simply increased
his esteem and importance to Herat.42
Jāmī in his Nafaḥāt al-Uns min ḥaḍarāt al-Quds gives ‘Abdullāh Ansārī’s
genealogy and specifically mentions two of his important ancestors. One is Abū Ayyūb
al-Ansārī, the companion of the Prophet Muḥammad and host of the Prophet when he
first emigrated to Medina. A descendant, or possibly even a son, of Abū Ayyūb, Abū
Manṣūr Mat al-Ansārī came to Khurasan with Aḥnaf Qays during the caliphate of
‘Uthmān and settled in Herat. Jāmī has a long section on ‘Abdullāh Ansārī with a
particular focus on the miraculous nature of his birth and life, and most importantly there
is a lot of information on the hadith scholarship he undertook.43 Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, in his
Herati shrine guide, similarly focuses on ‘Abdullāh Ansārī’s hadith scholarship, quoting
the saint saying of himself: “I memorized over three hundred thousand hadith with
thousands of isnād (chain of transmission), which no one else in my time cold do.”44 The
shrine guide also gives a listing of the important teachers and companions of Ansārī
including Abū’l Ḥasan Kharaqānī, and Ḥażrat Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Taqī.45 Again, the
centrality of ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī’s religious knowledge and interaction with other important
Shāh-rukh,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 115.2 (Apr.-Jun., 1995): 210-236., Subtelny,
Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran (Leiden, Boston: Brill,
2007)., Beatrice Manz, Power, Politics and religion in Timurid Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2007)., Maria Szuppe, Entre Timouirides, Uzbeks et Safavides: Questions d’histoire Politique et
Sociale de Hérat dans la première moitié du XVIe siècle (Paris : Association pour l'avancement des études
iraniennes, 1992).
42
Lisa Golombek, The Timurid Shrine at Gazur Gah, Vol. 15 Art and Archaeology Occasional Paper
(Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum, 1969), 83.
43
Jāmī, Nafaḥāt al-Uns, 336-7.
44
45
-94-
scholars is highlighted throughout his entry in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl. The shrine guide
presents ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī as a great but largely generic scholar of hadith and
jurisprudence, without any emphasis on the specificities of his scholarship or on his
Hanbalī orientation. In contrast, Jāmī makes evident Anṣārī’s particular prejudices
against theologians (mutakallimūn), those who followed the school of Abū al-Ḥasan al-
Ash‘arī (d. 324/936), and the aṣḥāb al-rāy (proponents of independent legal reasoning,
usually indicating Ḥanafīs). He would not narrate hadith from anyone thought to belong
to any of these categories.46 There was no reason for pilgrims to know of the intricacies
of ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī’s scholarship, it is enough to know that he was a learned man and
generally considered orthodox.
Throughout Maqṣad al-Iqbāl, there is a constant reminder of the importance of
scholars of religion, an importance that was recognized long before the Timurid period.
‘Alī ibn Abī Bakr al-Harawī in the twelfth century CE said there is “none finer than those
of Harat, Balkh and Sijistan for their dedication to the [religious] sciences and hadith.”47
In the Herati shrine guide, Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ makes mention of hundreds of saints, many
of which are connected to religious scholarship. If the saint’s actual training or work is
unclear, it was enough to mention that they were among the muḥaddithūn, fuqahā’ and
huffāż of their time. This is the case for saints such as Imām Abū al-Ḥasan Kurdī (d. 255
AH) and Imām Abū ‘Alī Ḥāmid.48 The latter is also described as a great mujtahid
(authoritative jurist) and preacher, speaking to both his high level in jurisprudence as well
46
47
al-Harawī, A Lonely Wayfarers Guide to Pilgrimage, 32.
48
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 18, 21.
-95-
as his ability to convey his knowledge to common people and elite alike.49 Utilizing their
knowledge in the education and edification of the people adds to the prestige of these
saintly scholars. Another example of this phenomenon is Mawlāna Nūr Allāh Khwārazmī
(d. 838 AH), who is described as “‘alāmat al-‘ulamā’ fī al-‘ālam (the sign or emblem of
scholars in the world).” He was particularly skilled in “'’ulūm-i usūl va furū' (the sciences
of jurisprudence and its applications)” of fiqh and spent a long time teaching these
sciences in the Masjid-i Jāmī of Herat. Shāhrukh made him the khaṭīb (preacher) of that
masjid. His knowledge was so vast that he never repeated the same Friday khuṭba
(sermon), a feat described by the Aṣīl al-dīn Wā‘iẓ as extremely out of the ordinary.
Perhaps more amazing is that every Friday he would be seen composing that day’s
khuṭba on his way to the masjid.50
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ organizes his Bukharan shrine guide in reflection of the
importance placed on religious knowledge in constructing sanctity. Bukhara was well-
known for its commitment to religious learning. The title of its shrine guide, Tārīkh-i
Mullāzāda (The History of the Son[s] of Mullas), points to the importance of religious
scholarship in the lives of the saints presented. The first section of Mullāzāda lists
religious scholars before it moves on to those saints who were more mystically inclined.
There were a great number of scholars of jurisprudence and hadith listed in this first
section. Among the important Sunni scholars are: Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Bukhārī al-Ghanjār
(d. 412/1021), a hadith scholar and author of many books including Tārīkh-i Bukhāra;
Abū Bakr ibn Ja‘far al-Bukhārī (d. 325/936) was a mujtahid (authoritative jurist) and
49
50
-96-
muḥaddith; Abū Muḥammad ‘Abdullāh bn al-Ḥārith al-Sabẕamūnī (d. 340/951) was the
faqīh of the Samanid court and his hadith lessons would attract over four hundred people;
and Sayf al-Dīn al-Bākharzī’s (d. 659/1261) work as a faqīh and muḥaddith is presented
before further information of his efforts to spread the Kubravī Sufi order is given.51
Another important category of scholar the qāżī or judge can be found in
abundance in Timurid cities. In the hazīra of Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī in Gāzurgāh there
is a section called the Maqbara-yi al-Qużżāt where a great number of Herati judges are
buried. For example Qāżī Jalāl al-dīn Maḥmūd, known as Malik al- Qużāt (King of the
Judges), was the Qāżī al- Qużżāt or head judge in Herat in the eighth century AH. He is
celebrated for holding this position and being excellent in matters related to giving
judgement and upholding the sharia.52 A similar place exists in Bukhara where a number
of important judges are buried. The large shrine complex known as the Mazār-i Qużāt-i
Sab‘a is the space where seven great judges are said to be buried. It is said of them:
“every one of them was a sun of his own time and during their lifetimes and tenure as
judges they never inclined towards deviation.”53 Interestingly, many of these figures were
also accorded with the title “ṣāḥib-i karāmat” in addition to their achievements in the
religious sciences; for example Abū Shu‘ayb al-Sajārī (d. 400 AH) is described as “imām
muḥadith ṣāḥib al-wilāya wa’l-karāma,” hitting upon three of the most important
qualities of sanctity found in this period: hadith scholarship, nearness to God, and
enacting miracles. The importance of miracles to saints will be discussed below.
51
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 27-42.
52
53
Mu'īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 56-7.
-97-
Mufassirs (Quran exegetes) and other religious scholars are also praised for their
learning and their written works are sometimes noted; however, they are not given the
same level of esteem as jurists and hadith scholars. Similarly the additional scholarly
pursuits of Quran memorization and excellence in recitation (qirā‘āt) are also widespread
among many of the saints mentioned in the shrine guides. In Gāzurgāh, there is an area
where the Khalvatiyān are buried and one saint of this order, Shaykh Żāhir al-dīn
Khalvatī (d. 800 AH), is greatly esteemed as the best reciter of the Quran in his time and
the teacher of other important Herati Quran reciters such as Mawlāna ‘Uthmān
Ziyāratgāh. 54 It was said of his greatness that there was none that could match him (in
terms of recitation) under the heavens.55
As mentioned above, Qandiyya, the shrine guide for Samarkand, is not as
focused on scholarly saints as a guide like Mullāzāda. However, the ubiquity and
importance of religious scholars ensures that they make an appearance in Qandiyya as
well. One example is at a monastic-type cell across from the Ribāṭ-i Ghāziyān, where
many martyrs are buried. This particular cell is said to belong of Khiżr, the mysterious
sage mentioned in the Quran who is a mainstay of Sufi lore because of his vast mystical
knowledge. If one prays (du‘ā’) at this cell, all hardship will be lifted from him/her. The
author gives evidence for this benefit by referring to Abū Mansūr Māturīdī (d. 332/944)
and his student Khwāja Abū al-Qāsim (d. 342/953-4), a well-known Ḥanafī jurist. As a
54
The Khalvatī order is Sufi ṭarīqa said to have been founded by ‘Umar al-Khalwatī (d. 800/1397) in
Azerbaijan. Early shaykhs of the order, particularly Yūsuf al-Shīrwānī, helped to spread the order through
Khurasan and attracted the patronage of the Aqqoyunlū ruler, Uzun Ḥasan in Tabriz. The order got its name
from its emphasis on regular retreats (khalvat) from society for contemplation and worship. The order
spread throughout the Muslim world, but was most popular in the Ottoman realms. See: A. Knysh, Islamic
Mysticism: A Short History (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2000), 264-271.; J.M Abun-Nasr, Muslim
Communities of Grace: The Sufi Brotherhoods in Islamic Religious Life (London: Hurst & Company,
2007), 119-122.
55
-98-
result of praying at this site, these two scholars achieved excellence in their respective
fields of kalām (theology) and hikmat (sciences, medicine).56
A good deal of well-placed name dropping finds its way into many of the
biographical entries. As shown in some of the cases above, there is often a real
connection between the saint being described and the other scholars being used to
highlight the greatness of the saint. However, in a case such as that of Khwāja Abū Ḥafṣ
Aḥmad b. Ḥafs b. al-Zabrqān b. ‘Abdallāh b. al-Baḥr al-‘Ajallī al-Bukhārī, Muin al-
Fuqarā’ finds it relevant to mention that he was born in 150 AH, the same date as the
birth of Imam Shāfi‘ī and the death of Imam Abū Hanifa, thus bringing up the importance
of those two important juridical schools in Bukhara.57 Not all saintly men were part of
these scholarly networks. But excellence in these fields remains an important indicator of
saintliness, so a pious non-scholar is made more saintly by the fact that scholars are found
buried around him. One example of this is the tomb of Khwāja Jundī in the southern part
of Bukhara. While Khwāja Jundī was known for being extremely pious and humble, there
is no mention of any scholarly learning on his part. Instead, the author notes that a great
many members of the ‘ulamā’ and mashāyakh were buried near him.58
Saints and the Hierarchy of Sufism
The idea of an assembly of saints is said to have origins in hadith literature from the early
period of Islam. The most in depth early presentation of this assembly can be found in a
56
Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Khalī Samarqandī, Qandīyya va Samarīyya : Dū Risāla dar Tārīkh-i Mazārāt va
Jughrāfiyā-yi Samarqand, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Muʾassasah-ʾi Farhangī-i Jahāngīrī, 1989), 29-30.
57
Mu'īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 18.
58
-99-
work by Ḥakīm Tirmiẕī, a native of Tirmiẕ (currently Termez in southern Uzbekistan).
Ḥakīm Tirmiẕī made use of a hadith of ‘Abdullāh ibn Mas’ūd which describes an
assembly of 356 saints, in which 300 are like the Prophet Adam, 40 are either like the
Prophet Moses or Prophet Noah, 7 are like the Prophet Abraham, 5 are like the Angel
Gabriel, 3 are like the Angel Michael, and 1 is like the Angel Israfil in terms of their
nature and role in the hierarchy. Among these saints, the highest position is occupied by
the quṭb, the axis around which everything pivots. Other figures in the hierarchy are the
abdāl (the replacements), the awtād (tent pegs), ṣiddīqūn (sincere ones) and others. When
members of the upper levels die, they are replaced by those below them. Tirmiẕī argued
that these saints were necessary to the existence of the earth and the protection of the
Muslims.59 This hierarchy was elaborated by many others after Tirmiẕī, most famously
Muḥyi al-dīn Ibn al-‘Arabī known as al-Shaykh al-Akbar (d. 638/1240), the prolific
mystical philosopher from Andalusia. Ibn ‘Arabī’s treatment of the subject became
widespread and popular after his death, especially in Iran and Central Asia. William
Chittick says evocatively of Ibn ‘Arabī’s influence that his “doctrines and perspectives
did not have the limited, elite audience that one might expect. They also seeped down in
the nooks and crannies of Islamic culture.”60 He argues that while most Sufis did not read
Ibn ‘Arabī’s works or necessarily fully understand them, “those with an intellectual
calling, who often ended up as guides and teachers, spoke a language that was largely
fashioned by him and his immediate followers.”61
59
McGregor, Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt, 11-13.
60
Chittick, Ibn ‘Arabi: Heir to the Prophets, 3.
61
Chittick, Ibn ‘Arabi: Heir to the Prophets, 3.
-100-
In Jāmī’s Nafaḥāt al-Uns he specifically quotes Ibn ‘Arabī with regard to the
hierarchy of saints, sometimes referred to as the Assembly or Fellowship of the Circle
(Ahl al-Dā’ira). In an introductory chapter entitled “Al-qawl fī aṣnāf arbāb al-wilāya” on
the different types of masters of vilāyat, Jāmī attributes the barakāt (blessings, grace)
present on earth to the existence of four thousand saints. The true state of these four
thousand saints is concealed from even themselves such that they do not know the beauty
or importance of their place in the world. After them, there are three hundred saints called
the akhyār (good, religious ones), forty abdāl, seven abrār (righteous, pious ones), four
awtād, three nuqabā’ (leaders), and one that is the quṭb or ghaws (the pole). Each of these
last types knows his state and that of others in this group.62 When discussing the abḍal,
Jāmī renders Ibn ‘Arabī’s section on them in his Futūḥāt Makiyya into Persian, saying:
“the world is divided into seven climes and there are seven chosen ones called abdāl that
take care of each of the seven climes. I [Ibn ‘Arabī] met and greeted them all in the
ḥaram (sanctuary) in Mecca. They returned my greeting and I spoke with them. I have
never met anyone like them except for one man in Konya.”63
Ibn Karbalā’ī in his Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān discusses this hierarchy
of saints in almost exactly the same way as Jāmī in Nafaḥāt al-Uns. Ibn Karbalā’ī
describes the supernatural hierarchy as containing the three hundred akhyār, forty abdāl,
seven abrār, four awṭād, three nuqabā’, and one qutb that sits atop the hierarchy. He
makes reference to Ibn ‘Arabī and his Futūḥāt Makiyya and quotes the same anecdote
that Jāmī quotes above that Ibn ‘Arabī had met one of the abdāl in Mecca. He gives
62
63
-101-
further information on the status of the abdāl: There is one badal (pl. abdāl) for each of
the seven climes that are chosen by God. They are all known to one another but remain
hidden, unseen and unheard by other people. They are said to meet twice a year, once on
the Day of Arafat and once during the month of Rajab. Finally, when one dies he is
replaced by another one who is appointed by the leader of his time.64
This complicated esoteric hierarchy is fully embraced in the fifteenth and
sixteenth century shrine guides. Saints are singled out as the quṭb (pole, axis) of their
time or as one of the awtād (tent pegs) upon which the survival of the world depends.
These appellations are peppered throughout the shrine guides without any explanation or
definitions. We can assume that readers and listeners of these guides would understand
what this terminology meant or at least recognize the importance of them in rendering a
person saintly. In Qandiyya, the section on the Manāqib-i Khwāja ‘Abdī Darūn outlines
many of the amazing characteristics of this Samarkandi saint. He is quoted recounting
meeting forty aqṭāb (sing. quṭb), many abdāl and awtād, as well as Khiżr and the Prophet
Iliyās (whose importance will be further discussed below). Meeting with these secretive
and illusive figures is a sign of ‘Abdī Darūn’s great importance and sanctity.65
Many of the saints interred throughout medieval Timurid cities were understood
to be part of this mystical hierarchy. For example, Shaykh Abū al-Layth Fushānjī, a
Herati shaykh who died late in the fourth century AH, is described as “Qutb al-waqt va
shaykh-i abdāl (the pole of his time and the shaykh of the replacements).” The fact that
he was counted as being from among the ‘urufā’ (sing. ‘ārif, gnostic) and sādat (sing.
64
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 18-20.
65
Samarqandī, Qandīyya va Samarīyya, 81.
-102-
sayyid, from the family of the Prophet Muḥammad) is standard for this particular group.66
Another Herati saint, Khwāja Mukhāfī who lived during the time of Khwāja Ansārī in the
fifth century AH, is deemed worthy of ziyārat because he was the qutb and ghaws of his
time and place.67 Bābā Khamīr Gūr Abdāl had his position in the hierarchy in his very
appellation, he was said to be among abdāl of his time and spent much of his life in
contemplation at the Cemetery in Khīyābān north of the Herat’s city center.68
When there is no evidence that a saint had connections to these important figures
during their lifetime, they may be seen visiting the site of the shrine after the death of the
saint. One example can be found at the Maqbara-yi Satājīya, a family tomb whose
inhabitants are described as leaders of the world. Their tombs are described as a gathering
place of the awtād and abdāl. One Khāvand Tāj al-Dīn, who was a member of the Satājī
family, tells this story: “on Friday, after the prayer, I went to do ziyārat at these tombs. I
saw a young man sitting at this mazār crying. The light of friendship upon his clear
temple was evident so I asked him about his state but he did not reply. I returned on
Saturday and saw him in the same place, in the same state. I entreated him and he said, ‘I
am one of the abdāl that by way of my leaving my manners I have gone far from them
[the other abdāl].’ I asked: ‘what are you doing in this place?’ He said: ‘every Thursday
and Monday they gather in this noble place and I am of the hope that I come upon
companionship with them again. On Monday morning I went and did not find that young
man and I never saw him again.”69
66
67
68
69
-103-
One of the most important members of the Satājī family was Mawlānā Jamāl al-
Dīn Satājī, who was described as “ṣāḥib-i walāyat va karāmat”, scholar of tafsīr and
hadith, and also part of the hierarchy of the supernatural hierarchy. During the time of
Chingiz Khan, in the year 618 AH, Jamāl al-Dīn went to Khujand to see Shaykh
Muṣlaḥat al-Dīn, who was the Quṭb al-Awtād. Shaykh Muṣlaḥat al-Dīn was said to have
lived much longer than the standard lifespan of a man because he was waiting for the
next quṭb to replace him. When Jamāl al-Dīn came to Khujand, Shaykh Muṣlaḥat al-Dīn
was free to die because he had met his replacement (i.e. Jamāl al-Dīn).70
Omid Safi and other scholars of Sufism of the past few decades have
problematized and challenged older theoretical models “which privilege the mystic’s
‘quest of a personal experience of God’ over their larger social and institutional roles.”71
The recounting in this section of each saint’s place in the Sufi spiritual hierarchy here is
less focused on the role of this particular status on their mystical journey, but rather on
the importance placed on such appellations by their society. That a figure was accorded
the status of pole or even a position lower on the hierarchy (e.g. badal) was more than
enough reason to draw pilgrims to their shrine. In many cases, no further information was
required or given in the shrine guides. That this confusing terminology and idea of a
mystical hierarchy is so prevalent in the shrine guides speaks to the religious worldview
of pilgrims in the Timurid empire, who are drawn to mystical lore of an unseen hierarchy
of almost magical figures. It is interesting that this lore is based on the scholarly writings
70
71
Safi, Omid. "Bargaining with Baraka: Persian Sufism, 'Mysticism,' and Pre-Modern Politics," Muslim
World 90.3 (2000): 260.
-104-
of respectable religious scholars of Islam; this illustrates the interconnected nature of elite
and popular religious thinking.
Esoteric
Jāmī’s most important measure of a person’s saintly nature was whether they had
achieved a connection with God. As stated above, this connection was not as central in
the hagiographies found in the shrine guides. The connection between God and his
intimate, the saint, was important in another way. A great many figures are described as
mustajāb al-du‘āt, or those who have their supplications answered by God.72 A pilgrim
would eagerly visit the shrine of a saint whose prayers were answered by God seeking
intercession on his/her behalf. The nature of the saint’s journey to God was less important
than knowing that the saint had achieved this nearness in ways that were beneficial to
others. In some cases, the relationship of the saint to God is given in ways that outwardly
state their benefit to the pilgrim, but in most cases, this relationship is just mentioned.
The reader or listener can infer what benefit will accrue from visiting this particular
saint’s shrine. The most general way the spiritual aspect of a saint’s life is given is by
stating that he/she was excellent in both the exoteric and esoteric sciences (‘ilm-i ẓāhir va
bāṭin). In these cases, no specific information or evidence is given to support these
claims; this is also the most ubiquitous statement made about almost all the saints.
Among these saints whose spiritual states are mentioned is Imām ‘Usmān Dārānī
(d. 280/893) was known as a “great Sufi” who was particularly skilled in “the exoteric
72
-105-
and esoteric sciences (ilm-i ẓāhir va bāṭin) and in the art of Sufism (fann-i taṣawwuf).”73
Khwāja ‘Abd al-Raḥīm, a teacher of Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī, is also lauded for his
spiritual achievement, it is said that his “states (ahwālāt) and levels (maqāmāt) were
beyond limit and description.”74 Another contemporary of Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī,
Shaykh Aḥmad Kūhadastānī is simply said to have been among the “aṣhāb-i
(companions of) vilāyat.”75 This characterization occurs frequently as well and points
directly to the saintly nature of the figure by highlighting his/her close relationship or
“friendship” with God.
Many of the descriptions of saints utilize categories present in the hierarchy of the
spiritual journey. The various levels (or maqām) that a mystic undertakes on his spiritual
path can be found in many biographical entries. Of Mawlanā Jalāl al-Dīn of Bukhara, we
are told that he had achieved the maqām of mujāhada and riyāżat.76 Darvīsh ‘Abdullāh
(d. 838 AH) is described as a “sālik fayāż bi la shak” and that even though his status as an
awlīyā’ was hidden and veiled from people, his maqāmāt (sing. maqām) were still known
to those around him.77 Another example of a saint who was extolled largely for his
mystical achievement is Ḥażrat Khwāja ‘Alī ibn Muwaffaq Baghdādī (D. 265 AH), who
is mentioned in Herat’s shrine guide, ‘Abdullāh Ansārī’s Tabaqāt Ṣūfiyya, and Jāmī’s
Nafaḥāt al-Uns min ḥaḍarāt al-Quds. In other entries on a saint, there have been various
differences between the shrine guides’ portrayal of a saint and that presented in Jāmī’s
73
74
75
76
77
-106-
more highbrow hagiography. However, in the case of ‘Alī ibn Muwaffaq Baghdādī, the
entries match up almost verbatim, perhaps both being influenced by earlier Sufi tabaqāt.
It would be tempting to hypothesize on whether Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ copied this directly
from Jāmī’s work, however, the shrine guide was written for for the Timurid ruler Sulṭān
Abū Sā‘īd Gurkhānī (r. 863-873/1458-1469) before the completion of Nafāhat al-Uns.
Both works point to his yearning to be close to God to the eschewal of all else; he is
quoted telling God to send him to hell if he worships God in fear of hell and to bar him
from heaven if he were to worship in hopes of heavenly reward. He wants instead a mere
glimpse of God. The desire to worship God only for closeness to him is common in Sufi
circles and this particular statement has been attributed to many early Sufis, including the
well-known Rābi‘a al-‘Adawiyya. Alī ibn Muwaffaq Baghdādī’s status was further
elevated by his soḥbat (companionship) with Dhu’l Nūn Masrī (d. 245/859), the famous
Sufi and among the most venerated early saints of Islam.78
Ibn Karbalā’ī, the author of Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, was himself a
prominent Sufi and member of the growing Kubravī order. This is reflected in his
approach to his Tabrizi shrine guide, in which there is a greater emphasis on the Sufism
and genealogical lineages of the saints of Tabriz.79 For example, in his biography of
Ḥażrat Khwāja Muḥammad Khūshnām, popularly known as Khwāja Khūshnām, he calls
him “ṣāḥib-i kashf (unveiling) va ilhām (divine inspiration),” indicating the high levels of
mystic knowledge he has attained. Other shrine guides would generally leave it at that.
78
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 16-17.; Jāmī,
Nafaḥāt al-Uns, 120.
79
Devin DeWeese, “Stuck in the throat of Chingiz Khan: Envisioning the Mongol Conquests in some Sufi
Accounts from the 14th to 17th Centuries,” in History and Historiography of Post-Mongol Central Asia and
the Middle East: Studies in Honor of John E. Woods, eds. J. Pfeiffer and S.A. Quinn (Wiesbaden,
Harrassowitz, 2006), 37.
-107-
However, Ibn Karbalā’ī goes further by tracing Khwāja Khushnām’s spiritual genealogy,
though Ḥażrat Akhī Farjzinjānī back to companions of the Prophet Muḥammad.
Farjzinjānī is important because he is credited with being the first person to bring the Sufi
way (ṭarīq-i sulūk-i ṣūfiyya) to Azarbaijan.80
In the city of Herat, an interesting trend is discernible as to the types of saints
being accorded that honor over the course of time. Saints who died later, in the mid-9th
century A.H. are more likely to be described as “majẕūb (drawn to God directly,
ecstatic)” than ones that had lived in earlier periods. In Maqsad al-Iqbāl stories of saints
such as Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Majẕūb who died sometime in or after 838 AH. He is said to
have been a scholar of both fiqh and hadith but at the end of his life he spent much of his
days on a mountain in an ecstatic state (majẕūb shuda) and sat with others like him
(majẕūbān).81 This entry is followed by another saint called Bābā Zakariyya Majẕūb,
whose death date is not mentioned but was probably around the same time in the mid-9th
century AH. There is nothing more on Bābā Zakariyya Majẕūb than a focus on his
ecstatic state: he was famous among the majẕūbān and is said to have spent much of his
time in this state at the head of Khīyabān Street, which is now the site of his mazār.82
This follows a generally established tradition where saints were buried and venerated at
the sites which held importance to them during their lives. Abdī Darūn’s shrine complex
is on the site where he is said to have taught students in Samarkand and ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī
of Herat is buried at Gāzurgāh near the khānaqāh (Sufi lodge) where he began his
spiritual and religious studies as a child. Here it seems that the place where the ecstatic
80
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol. 2, 1.
81
82
-108-
states of Bābā Zakarīyyā Majẕūb occurred hold the same importance as places of
religious and spiritual training, giving evidence to a trend in championing the immediacy
of mystical experience to at least the same level as the more common esoteric religious
behavior. From the early period of Sufism there had been differences in practitioners’
approaches to taṣawwuf (mysticism). Ahmet Karamustafa describes various early strands
of mysticism as follows:
The early mystics of Baghdad and Basra in lower Iraq, for

instance, harboured some antisocial and iconoclastic tendencies
side by side with socially and legally conformist ones. Celibacy,
vegetarianism, avoidance of gainful employment, withdrawal and
seclusion, as well as a certain proclivity for outlandish behavior
on the part of some mystics, must have raised eyebrows, even
though these practices and beliefs—notably samā‘ of the Sufis of
Baghdad, which was a blend of music, poetry and dance—may
have been legally and theologically suspect in the eyes of some
traditionalist Muslims.83
Bābā Ḥasan Abdāl Turk was called “darvīsh-i majẕūb.” Before he was a dervish,
he was on officer in the military. However, when he returned to Herat from fighting, he
gave his horse, weapons and all that he possessed to the dervishes that resided at Pul-i
Injīl (an area near the bridge on the Injīl canal, north of the old city of Herat). He then put
on the rough garment of the dervishes, either made of leather or fur and went to the
Cemetery at Khīyābān to live. It is said that all the residents of Herat, be they Tajik or
Turk, would come out to see him at the cemetery. He is buried in that same area and after
his death the pilgrims continued to visit him.84 Bābā Jamāl Majẕūb was considered
“among the honored majānīn (madmen).” He had originally been a schoolmaster, but
83
Ahmet Karamustafa, “Antinomian Sufism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Sufism, ed. L. Ridgeon
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 101.
84
-109-
after he arrived at the state of ecstasy, he spent most of his time between canals of the
city. He would recite Quran and du‘ā’s as he cleaned the water in the canals and often
people would join him in this work. His shrine was well visited.85 Stories of the strange
things that ecstatic saints did in their ecstatic or entranced states are given as evidence
that they had indeed achieved these special states. For example, Bābā Majd Dīvāna of
Yazd is described as a “majẕūbī sālik (ecstatic seeker)” and is said to have broken all of
his teeth when in a state (ḥāl).86
Miracles
Perhaps one of the most important and visibly discernible signs of sanctity of the time
was the miracle (karāmat) of the saint. This miracle could happen during the life of the
saint or after his death. Even when not much is known about a saint, the entry for him
will often contain the phrase ṣāḥib-i karāmāt, or one endowed with miraculous power,
and that suffices to make his tomb worthy of ziyārat.87 Miracles surrounding saints and
their shrines are discussed in various religious texts of the time. For example, in Rashaḥāt
‘ain al-ḥayāt (Beads of dew from the source of life), a hagiography of the Naqshbandiyya
focusing particularly on ‘Ubaydallāh Aḥrār, many miraculous occurrences are mentioned
throughout. It was completed in 909/1503 by the Herati Fakhr al-dīn ‘Alī ibn Ḥusayn al-
Wā‘iẓ al-Kāshifī, also known as al-Ṣāfī. While it focuses largely on issues of lineage and
traditions of the order, it also mentions miracles and shrines of various saints.
85
86
Nashr—i Kitāb, 1338/1960), 163.
87
See for example: Mu'īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 20, 28.
-110-
‘Ubaydallāh Aḥrār used to tell people about the cries “Allāh, Allāh!” he heard emanating
from the tomb of Zangi Ata.88 In another anecdote, Shaykh ‘Abdullāh Khūjandī recounts
the following story: “‘Quite some time before joining the fellowship of the venerable
Shāh Naqshband, I had experienced a powerful attraction. During my visit to the tomb of
one of the saints, I heard a voice telling me: ‘Turn back. The object of your quest will be
realized twelve years later, in Bukhārā!’” He heeded this advice which culminated in his
imitation to the Naqshbandiyya through Isḥāq Khwāja.89 The few miracles mentioned in
this work are usually linked to posthumous miracles that occur at the grave of a saint. As
seen in the latter anecdote, the miracles often guide a Sufi to his rightful place on the
mystical path. The miracles mentioned in the shrine guides are more numerous and
varied. They can serve to guide a saint or a novice to the mystical path, but they are more
likely supposed to elicit wonder and amazement on the part of the pilgrim.
In post-Mongol local histories we find an increased focus on saintly men and their
shrines, however, as discussed above, earlier interest in hadith transmitters and other men
of religious learning is retained as well. The inclusion of miracles, regardless of number,
is an indication of a shift in religious authority. During the Later Middle Period, the saint
is depicted as a miracle worker, as opposed to modern hagiographical works in which the
saint is saintly for his charismatic preaching and instructing.90 For this reason the
miraculous nature of the saint in life as well as the miracles that have been encountered at
88
ʻAlī ibn Ḥusayn Kāshifī Ṣafī, Rashaḥāt 'Ain al-Ḥayāt, Beads of Dew from the Source of Life: Histories of
the Khwājagān, the Masters of Wisdom, ed. & trans. M. Holland (Ft. Lauderdale, FL: Al-Baz Publishing,
2001), 5.
89
Ṣafī, Rashaḥāt 'Ain al-Ḥayāt, 10.
90
Nile Green, “Making a Muslim Saint: Writing Customary Religion in an Indian Princely State,” 18.
-111-
his shrine serve to render the saint as authoritative and legitimate.91 Jāmī’s introduction to
Nafaḥāt al-Uns contains multiple sections dealing with the proof of karāmāt-i awlīyā’
(miracles of saints) as well as the different levels of miracles (i.e. the difference between
those of saints and those of prophets). Jāmī begins the section entitled “al-Qawl fī ithbāt
al-karāma li’l-awlīyā’” (On Affirming the Miracles of Saints), stating that the karāmāt-i
awlīyā’ is true according the Quran and all of Ahl al-sunna wa’l-jamā‘a agree on this
point. In addition to other proofs, he uses part of verse 37 of Sura Āl ‘Imrān and the
commentary (tafsīr) on the story of Mary receiving miraculous sustenance from God as
proof (ḥujjat) of the possibility of miracles. His line of reasoning is based on
differentiating between the miracles of prophets, which was a universally agreed upon
idea, with the miracles of saints. Jāmī argues that because Mary was not a Prophet and
was still a party to a miracle, then special non-prophets, or saints, could receive their own
brand of miracle from God.92
Visions of Muḥammad, ‘Alī, and Khiżr are all central to the miraculous nature of
these saints. In addition to curing the sick and having lions guarding him, one of the
karāmāt of Khwāja ‘Abdī Darūn that is described in great detail (much more so than in
the case of more interesting miracles) is the fact that he regularly saw the Prophet
Muḥammad and ‘Alī in visions. He also is said to have spent Friday and Monday
evenings in conversation with Khiżr, the Prophet Ilyās, Ghaws-e A‘zam ‘Abd al-Qādir al-
Gīlānī, abdāl, and other men of the Unseen.93 Khiżr, the Prophet Ilyās and Prophet Idrīs
91
This may have more to do with religious legitimacy than with authority, as outward forms of authority
can deem seemingly similar miracles as either orthodox or heretical based on their own power alone, the
content is not relevant.
92
93
-112-
come up a few times in the shrine guides, most famously as companions of the
Samarkandi patron saint, Shāh-i Zinda, who is credited with many miraculous qualities.
Khiżr, Ilyās and Idrīs are said to have been raised up to heaven while they were still alive
and continue to be alive there.94 They also seem to have the ability to move around to
different places and therefore spend time with Shāh-i Zinda at the bottom of his well. He,
like them, is understood to be still alive many hundreds of years after their normal earthly
life. Most often, the presence of Khiżr at a shrine represents it’s sacred and miraculous
nature. For example, the author of Tārikh-i Yazd reported hearing from other awlīyā’ that
Khiżr was seen at a grouping of shrines in Murīyābād outside of Yazd.95 The presence of
these figures in the lives of saints is used as miraculous validation of the saints’ special
status.
Sometimes a vision of the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream could increase the
ziyārat of a particular tomb. This occurs in the well-known dream-based discovery of the
shrine of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib in Balkh, thereafter known as Mazār-i Sharīf. It also
frequently occurred around less popular shrines. For example, in Bukhara someone said
he saw the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream. The Prophet said to him: “O fulān did you
make ziyārat to the tomb of ‘Alī Bukhārī?” When the man replied in the negative, the
Propet Muḥammad said: “Perform ziyārat of him because everyone who makes ziyārat of
him, it is as if he has made ziyārat of me.”96
94
Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam, 202.
95
Ja‘farī, Tārīkh-i Yazd, 166.
96
-113-
Ibn Karbalā’ī mentions a female murīd (disciple) of Sarī Saqaṭī (155-253/772-
867).97 This nameless murid tuned saint had a son who was said to have drowned in a
body of water. When Sarī Saqatī brought news of this to her, she said that this is not
possible and God would not do such a thing. Sari Saqati repeats the news and she repeats
her doubt. Then she asks to be taken to that body of water where she calls out to her son.
She finds him in the water and pulls him out alive. Sarī Saqatī asks Junayd how this is
possible to which Junayd replies: “this woman is a favored person (ri‘āyat
kunanda)…nothing happens to her except that she knows it is happening; so when she
was informed of her son’s death she knew that it had not happened and that she must
reject it and say: ‘Khuda-yi Ta’ala nakarda ast!’ (God has not done such a thing!) And
Allah in reality is the knower of all states.” 98 In this story the orthodox position on
miracles is reinforced, that these are merely supernatural events that occur through the
permission of God. The intermediary or saint does not make them happen of his or her
own ability, rather they are granted the miracle by God. In this way the miracle is an
especially visible marker of God’s favor and closeness to a saint.
A common trope in the conversion stories of many Sufis and religious figures
includes some sort of miraculous happening that irrevocably changes their course in life.
In Herat, there was a cobbler from Egypt known as Darvīsh Dād Bābū or Darvīsh Ḥājī
Muḥammad Maṣrī. He was practicing his trade when one night he put the skins he needed
to work on in a bin. The next day, when he woke up the skins had already been trimmed
97
Sarī Saqaṭī was an important ninth century Baghdadi Sufi who was known to an excellent teacher and
spiritual master. He attracted many students particularly from Iraq and Khurasan, including both Sufi
adepts and laypersons. See: B. Reinert, “Sarī al-Saḳaṭī,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. by
P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E.
98
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol. 2, 2.
-114-
and prepared. This miraculous occurrence changed his life: he experienced a special state
(ḥāl), repented, and turned towards the path of Truth (rāh-i ḥaq).99 Other saints’
destinies were preordained from their birth or at a young age. Shaykh al-Islām Ḥażrat
Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī, renowned for his sacred lineage, scholarship, ascetic ways,
and spirituality, had his greatness miraculously foretold on the day of his birth. A wise
woman in Fūshanj near Herat said that on the night that Anṣārī was born, she met with
Khiżr. He told her that tonight in Herat a child is being born who will fill the east and
west with his virtue (fażl).100
Special communion or control over animals is another miraculous power of many
saints. Shaykh Abū Bishr Guvashānī, a contemporary of Anṣārī, was said to have a
pigeon that would descend from his cage to speak with this saint.101 ‘Abdī Darūn, in one
anecdote the saint’s special connection to the hawż at the shrine. It was at this location
that ‘Abdī Darūn would give lessons; however, it was sometimes hard to hear him over
the noise of the frogs that lived in the pond. The blessed saint in an unusual burst of anger
shouted at the frogs that this space was either for him or for them. From that point on,
they left his pool and never returned.102 Abdī Darūn was also said to be protected by
doting lions, both during his life and after his death. Similarly, a sayyid in Yazd had a
special connection with lions. Imāmzāda Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī, a descendent of Imām
Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, lived under Abbasid rule. In the place where he is now buried there was a
thicket (bīsha) in which lived a lion who caused much disturbance and scared away
99
100
101
102
Samarqandī, Qandīyya va Samarīyya, 78-9.
-115-
people who needed to pass. One day the imāmzāda passed by this thicket and the
normally ferocious lion came near to him and kissed his foot. The imāmzāda petted the
lion’s back and the lion placed his head on the imāmzāda’s hand. From this point, the
area became passable for the townspeople once again. After some time the lion came to
the imāmzāda, put his head down at the feet of the saint and died. The imāmzāda buried
the lion in that very spot and asked to eventually be buried in front of the resting place of
the lion.103
Saints are often able to travel great distances in an instant. This ability is
reminiscent of the Prophet Muḥammad’s night journey and ascension to heaven (Isrā’ va
mirāj). He was said to have travelled first to Jerusalem in an instant then ascend to
heaven from there. The Prophet Muḥammad returned back to his bed from his
supernatural trip to find that it was still warm. We see this sort of miraculous travel in the
lives of many saints. Shaykh Abū Naṣr Khamcha Ābādī (d. 500 AH) had been living as a
hermit in a thorny tree for twenty years when a young man came to him and said, “O
Shaykh, today is the Day of ‘Arafat, go make Hajj!” The shaykh replied, “I am so far
from ‘Arafat.” The young man replied, “This is ‘Arafat.” At that moment, ‘Arafat
appeared before them and the shaykh went towards it and met with the other pilgrims
there. When he turned to return to his tree, neither the young man nor his tree was there.
Shaykh Khamcha completed the rituals of Hajj and then lived near the Kaba for ten years.
After ten years, he performed ziyārat of the Prophet Muḥammad in Medina and stood
facing the tomb to greet the Prophet. He received an answer back from the tomb,
“’Alayka al-salām yā Abū Naṣr (and peace on you O Abū Naṣr or I call out to Abū
103
Ja‘farī, Tārīkh-i Yazd, 131-2.
-116-
Nasr).”104 Later, this saint also met with the Prophe Muḥammad who encouraged him to
go to Herat and marry a particular believing woman. The Prophet promised him three
sons even though the shaykh was already one hundred years old. However, it is said that
all of the Prophet’s predictions came true and he lived for another twenty-four years in
Herat with his wife and three sons.105 In this saint, we see a great variety of miraculous
occurrences throughout his life: from the ability to travel great distances in an instant, to
the ability to speak with the Prophet Muḥammad, and the miracle of long, fertile life.
Another saint, Shaykh Abū Naṣr Harawī (d. ca. 4th /10th C.) could send his voice and
power ahead of him in order to punish his students. Once he had a group of students
whom he forbade from going on Hajj one year and they went anyways. While they were
travelling to Mecca, the shaykh sent a hindrance upon them to stop their journey. Then he
sent his voice to call them back home. Those that heeded this call and returned home
were forgiven and those who disobeyed were devastated by a destructive wind
(samūm).106 This story could have varying effects of members of the audience, for those
Sufi novices, this would serve as a warming to always obey their murshid (guide). For the
lay pilgrim, it was another tale that reinforced the miraculous nature of the saint to which
he/she made ziyārat.
Miraculous healing was also the domain of saints and their shrines. Indeed finding
a cure for some ailment or for infertility often motivated pilgrims to make ziyārat. The
shrine guides reinforce these beliefs by introducing saints with healing powers. Imām
104
Grammatically speaking, after the yā, Abū would be written as Abā as it would need to be in the
accusative case. However, in spoken language it would still be pronounced Abū. I would argue that the
slightly informal and conversational nature of the shrine guides lends to more informal language use than a
text like Jāmī’s Nafāhat al-Uns. This might explain why the text retains the ū instead of ā.
105
106
-117-
Abū Bakr Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ismā‘īl’s shrine was said to have cure those who
came to it. The saint during his life was also a well-known ‘ālim and faqīh. Mawlana
Jamāl al-Dīn Maḥbūbī, also called Ṣadr al-Sharī‘a, was of an elite ‘ulamā’ family of
Bukhara, who also served in leadership positions in the city. He tells a story of a young
man in Samarkand who was blind and the doctors could not figure out how to cure him.
One day he had a dream in which he was told to go to Bukhara. He heeded this, went to
Bukhara and performed ziyārat of Imām Abū Bakr Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ismā‘īl.
Thereafter, he regained sight in both his eyes.107 The soul (rūḥ) of Imām ‘Abdullāh al-
Wāhid ibn Muslim, son of the famous hadith complier, was said to elicit sharm
(bashfulness) in birds, while his shrine was a place of healing. It was reported that a dog
with a broken foot was healed there.108
However, a saint is more often presented as a miracle worker with no evidence of
his actual miracles. It seems to be a default appellation added on to many saints’
biographies. When an actual miracle is articulated, it is usually a posthumous one perhaps
more clearly demonstrating the sanctity of the grave site rather than the saint himself. In
this vein we find special lights being seen over the grave or animals either protecting the
grave or keeping clear of it in respect. The fact that some indication of karāmāt was
necessary even when none could be reasonably found or substantiated points to how
important the mere presence of something miraculous was to the religious sensibilities of
the time. The shrine guides are replete with these references and represent a moderate
perspective on religion of the time. In contrast, the miracles of Aḥmad Yasavī given in
107
108
-118-
the writings of his followers are much more fantastic. Devin DeWeese describes his
miracles as “grand, spectacular miracles of conjuring storms, turning men into dogs,
miraculous flight, and calming fires.”109
Good Works and Asceticism
Abstinent practice and asceticism were early markers of piety for Muslims of the first few
centuries of Islam or the late seventh and eight centuries C.E. Christopher Melchert says
of these formative years:
The dominant mood here is plainly ascetical; that is, it has to do

with the piety of obedience to a transcendent God, not
communion with an immanent God. Far from rejoicing in
communion with God, these pious Muslims are depicted as
finding so little comfort in the thought of God’s presence that
they would rather vanish and never be judged than go to the Last
Judgement and be saved.110
This fear articulated by Melchert manifested in extreme renunicant and ascetical
behavior on the part of early Muslims. They were pessimistic about both this world and
their other-worldly prospects and channeled this pessimism into rigorous pious activity
such as self-mortification through limiting sleep and food intake. Melchert notes a change
in the ninth century CE when a new mystical piety based in an optimistic outlook
gradually developed.111 This period saw a waning in the emphasis placed on self-
mortification and asceticism as markers of piety.
109
DeWeese, “"Sacred Places and 'Public' Narratives: The Shrine of Ahmad Yasavi in Hagiographical
Traditions of the Yasavi Sufi Order, 16th-17th Centuries." Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 356.
110
Christopher Melchert, “Exaggerated fear in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition,” Journal of the
Royal Asiatic Society 21.1 (July 2011): 294.
111
Melchert, “Exaggerated fear in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition,” 299.
-119-
The shrine guides of the Timurid period reflect this shift in piety as well. As
stated above, Tārikh-i Mullāzāda refers to many saints as “‘ālim wa ‘āmil (scholar and
doer of good acts).” However, what makes up the good acts goes beyond earlier ideas of
asceticism. Zuhd or asceticism is not as central to a saint’s sanctity as one may imagine.
There are many cases of figures being renowned for their abstinent ways; however, it is
usually a secondary quality, with excellence in the Islamic sciences of hadith and law or
achievement in spiritual states being more prominent. Often the details of a saint’s ascetic
behavior is not described, the guide may just mention the existence of asceticism in his or
her life. For example, Shaykh ‘Abdullāh ibn ‘Arwa (d. 311 AH) spent eighty years in
zuhd and warā‘.112 Another saint buried in Herat who lived more almost five hundred
years after Ibn ‘Arwa, Pīr Qavām al-dīn Tabrīzī (d. 828) was described as being one of a
kind in solitude, asceticism and trust in God” with no further illustration of these qualities
in action.113 The cases of asceticism found in the shrine guides reflect more moderate
ascetic tendencies than those found in other hagiographical literature. Saints are usually
described as being rigorous in the practice of Islamic ritual obligations, such as
congregational prayer, the Hajj pilgrimage, and earning a living from halāl means. A few
anecdotes speak of disciplining the body by limiting sleep and food, but there is a clear
preference for moderation in terms of asceticism.
Abū Bakr ‘Abd Allāh ibn Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī ibn Tarkhān al-Balkhī (d. 333 AH)
was said to have been the most ascetic during his time (zāhidtarīn), everyday his
nourishment was something small and nobody could match his exertions (mujāhada).
112
113
-120-
Khwāja Imam Abū Bakr Tarkhān said that for thirty years his one wish was to know the
taste of a grape. One of his followers had a garden and in the service of his shaykh
wanted to give him some. The Khwāja refused the offer, saying he would feel great
shame (sharm) in front of God if for such an indulgence after thirty years. The halāl
quality of food was of central importance to many saints: Pīr Surkh was a disabled man
who would sit outside a shop on a major Herati street in summer and winter. He would
pray and ask nothing from anyone. People would still give him food all the time,
however, if he was doubtful of the provenance of the food or the giver he would not eat it
even though he had no other sources of nourishment.114 The concern in only consuming
that which was wholly halāl was an important issue for holy figures during the Timurid
period. It was an easily discernible but not ostentatious (as in the manner of qalandars and
antinomian dervishes of the time) manner of expressing piety. Timur was said to have
used this concern as a test for true saints. Michael Paul Cornell in his study of the
Ni‘matullāhī Sufi order in Taft recounts one such occurrence: Tīmūr wanted to disprove
the sanctity of Shāh Ni‘matullāh and use this as cause to banish him from the kingdom.
Part of this plan consisted to serving the Sufi shaykh food that was ḥarām (illicit). Shāh
Ni‘matullāh was able to sense that the food was not halāl and rejected it. This anecdote is
taken from a hagiographical work on Shāh Ni‘matullāh and uses this as further proof of
the saint’s truly blessed nature.115
Abū Yusuf Hamadānī, the prominent Naqshbandī Sufi leader, is also said to have
been a great ascetic of his time because he never went against the sharia and lived
114
115
Michael Paul Cornell, “The Nimatullahi Sayyids of Taft: A Study of the Evolution of a Late Medieval
Iranian Sufi Tariqah” (Ph.D. diss. Harvard University, 2004), 61.
-121-
according to the example of the ṣaḥāba of the Prophet Muḥammad and those who
followed them. He went on Hajj thirty-six times and completed the Qur’an one thousand
times, in the 107 steps it took to get from his home to the masjid, he would complete the
Qur’an. He spent most of his time fasting and when he did eat, he would prepare a simple
meal of bread, vinegar and salt by himself. He would only eat meat every forty days and
would never eat food prepared in the bazaar.116 His focus on wearing and consuming only
that which was halāl became a cornerstone of Naqshbandī teaching.
Sleep was another bodily comfort that had to be overcome by some saints. The
Bukharan saint, Shaykh Shab-i Bīdār did not sleep for forty years and used all that extra
time in ‘ibādat.117 Shaykh ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī Tahmānī (d. ca late 200s
AH) combined both of these forms of disciplining the body and spent seventy years
fasting by day and staying awake by night. He lived off the earnings of his wife’s
spinning.118
Hospitality and generosity were also important signifiers of a pious person and
did not require any renunciant behavior. Al-Imām al-Shahīd ‘Umar b. ‘Abd al-Azīz was
known to treat others with great hospitality and had such exemplary behaviors such as
praying all of his five obligatory prayers in congregation, freeing six or seven slaves
during Ramadan, and completing the entire Quran each day of Ramadan. On Eid-i
Qurbān, he was said to have sacrificed 100 sheep for himself and for the family of the
Prophet, slaughtered 10 bulls by his own hand, and then sent 900 more sheep to the
116
117
118
-122-
homes of all of the ‘ulamā’, fuqahā’, fuqarā’, and ṣulhā’.119 Imām ‘Alī ibn Isḥāq, a
Samarkandi saint, is buried in the famous cemetery of the ‘Azīzān. His shrine is
celebrated as one of the most important in the city: the anonymous author of Qandiyya
makes it clear that ziyārat of the shrine of ‘Alī ibn Isḥāq is particularly efficacious for
those who have needs to be fulfilled. The author reiterates that all of the akābir
(grandees), salāṭīn ( sing. sulṭān), ‘ulamā’ and ḥājatmandān (those in need) come to this
location for have their needs fulfilled. While much information is given on the benefit of
the shrine, very little biographical information is given for ‘Alī ibn Isḥāq. His sanctity is
largely based on the fact that he gave most of his wealth for the pleasure of God.120 The
emphasis of his piety is in his generosity in giving in the name of God and religion.
Others were similarly generous but often gave in order to help those in their community
who were in need. These instances will be discussed below.
Worldly needs and pleasures were not the only things to reject in order to become
an ascetic. Given the great prestige and even wealth that came with Islamic scholarship
and Sufi leadership in the medieval period, it too became an object of renunciation. Abū
‘Abdullāh Ḥāshid ibn ‘Abdullāh al-Ṣufi al-‘Ābid al-Bukhārī (d. 246 AH) was said to
have achieved great knowledge and fame along with it. When he was going to
Transoxiana, he stopped at the Oxus and threw all his books in. From this point on he
turned his back on scholarship and became an ascetic.121
Many of the hagiographical anecdotes that comprise the shrine guides present
saints partaking in customary Islamic practices. For example, the completion of the Hajj
119
120
121
-123-
pilgrimage to Mecca was seen as an extremely important signifier of piety. At the time,
the journey to Mecca from as far east as Bukhara would have been a long, arduous and
expensive endeavor. That anyone could complete it once or more amazingly multiple
times was seen as a great achievement and dedication to pious practice. Ḥażrat Khwāja
‘Alī ibn Muwaffaq Baghdādī (d. 265) was said to have completed the Hajj pilgrimage
seventy-four times.122 The great ḥāfiẓ (memorizer of the Quran) and trainer of most of the
ḥuffāẓ (sing. ḥāfiẓ) of Khurasan, Mawlāna Ẓahīr al-dīn Ghūrī (d. 733 AH), had a great
many accomplishments. However, the shrine guide gives equal space to his completion of
Hajj seven times with his work as a ḥāfiẓ.123 Another figure who showed excellence in
various scholarly fields, Imām Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn al-Fażl ibn Ja‘far al-Bukhārī, as
mentioned above, was a hadith scholar and an authoritative jurist, but Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’
places almost as much importance in the fact that this saint came back from Hajj alive
and well.124
Other practices that the saints would have had in common with their fellow
Muslims include praying the obligatory prayers, maintaining a state of ritual purity, and
fasting. Darvīsh Musāfir Khīyabānī, who name literally means the traveling dervish, is
clearly a figure of some importance because he is buried in the revered ḥazīra of the
descendents of Ḥażrat Ḥamza ibn ‘Abd al-Muttalib, across from the madrasa of Gawhar
Shād in the Khīyabān area of Herat. He is lauded for his mystical achievements as a “pīr-i
kāmil” and “ṣāḥib-i ḥāl.” In terms of his asceticism, it is said the Darvīsh Musāfir prayed
122
123
124
-124-
all of his obligatory prayers for forty years in a state of ghusl (ritual purity).125 This
indicates that he probably abstained from sexual relations and any other activities that
would require ghusl. Much of ascetic practice by this period can be considered under the
umbrella of Sufi or mystical practice. The striving, spiritual exercises, and seclusion
undertaken by Sufis is given as signs of their ascetic piety. For example, Sayyid ‘Alī
Shabarghanī (d. 838 AH) was considered among the zuhhād (ascetics) of his time
because of his “mujāhadāt va riyāżāt” and that he would often sit in the ‘abā’īn, a forty
day period of spiritual practice and worship.126
Protecting the Interests of Society
The Timurid period sources are full of stories of Sufi shaykhs and other religious figures
standing up to the powerful in defense of the needs and interests of members of their
communities. The letters of the well-known Samarkandi Naqshbandī shaykh Khwāja
‘Ubayd Allāh Aḥrār demonstrate this behavior in a few different ways. Firstly, Aḥrār,
like other religious figures of the time, believed that it was incumbent on him to use his
power to ensure that rulers followed the norms and practices set forth in Islamic law as
well as create a peaceful environment. In a letter addressing Sulṭān Ḥusayn Bāyqarā (r.
1469-1506), Aḥrār writes:
After the statement of supplication, the petition of this faqīr is

this: it is not hidden from the radiant, informed mind of his
Majesty that this faqīr’s only thought is for the princes to attain
felicity in the two worlds, in the fullest and most perfect manner,
through conformity to the Sharī‘a. Accordingly, the request is
always for nothing but conformity and obedience to the Sharī‘a
125
126
-125-
of [the Prophet] Muḥammad, the Messenger of God, (May the

blessing of God be upon him and his family). Especially at this
time when the Muslims are experiencing difficulties on both
sides [Khurāsān and Mawarannahr], nothing other than
requesting peace comes to mind. Therefore, the bearer of this
letter of petition [ruq‘a-yi niyāz] was sent so the servitors of [his
Majesty’s] court would turn attention to the business of peace so
the Muslims on both sides [Mawarannahr and Khurāsān] are
freed from suffering. We trust that this request will not be denied.
Peace!127
This was a standard request by people of religion to the ruling class. In the midst
of constant fighting within the Timurid ruling family and against other groups such as the
Aqqoyunlu, there were lots of instances where this type of intervention was warranted. N
some examples, Aḥrār is shown to beseech and even threaten the Timurid ruler in
Samarkand to stay and defend the city from encroaching armies in order to prevent the
inhabitants of the city from being enslaved.128 Jurgen Paul expounds upon the nature of
this protective relationship between Aḥrār and those who were part of his “faction.”
Because of the spiritual and financial privileges that Aḥrār enjoyed, he was able to confer
various types of intervention between those under his protection and the royal court or the
dīvān. This often came in the form of tax relief.129 In other interactions with the court,
Aḥrār and those in positions similar to him were likely to make particular requests for
individual people to be protected after the death of their father, secure passage for them,
or even for them to receive a book.130
127
Khwāja Ubaydallāh Ahrār, Letter No. 19, in The Letters of Khwāja ‘Ubayd Allāh Aḥrār and his
Associates, ed. & trans. J.A. Gross and A. Urunbaev (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2002), 100-101.
128
Jurgen Paul, “Forming a Faction: The Himāyat System of Khwāja Aḥrār,” International Journal of
Middle East Studies 23.4 (Nov., 1991): 539-540.
129
Paul, “Forming a Faction,” 537-543.
130
See for example: Ahrār, Letter Nos. 332, 389, 194, 216.
-126-
A similar sort of interest in helping out the people of one’s community is found in
the shrine guides; indeed this quality was an important component of sanctity. The saints
mentioned in shrine guides helped their communities in various ways, from saving their
cities from destruction, making sure their neighbors were fed, and spreading proper
religious advice among the elite and common people. As stated earlier, it some ways
these saints’ very existence is seen as the reason for good on earth, their being furthers
the interests of the community. In a specific example, Ibn Karbalā‘ī credits the saints of
Tabriz with preserving the city from great destruction during a particularly severe
earthquake.131 Another example of the saint saving their city from destruction occurs in
Herat where Khwaja ‘Abdullah Ansārī’s teacher Ḥażrat Khwāja Abū ‘Abdullāh Taqī al-
Sijistānī al-Harawī (d. 460AH) served his fellow Heratis in an almost supernatural way.
A man who was considered one of the abdāl (from the supernatural hierarchy discussed
above) came to the city and an act of injustice was committed upon him. This member of
the abdāl made a negative prayer against the whole city before leaving it. Thereafter,
there was a terrible fire in Herat that could not be put out. It took the tears of Khwāja
Taqī to finally quench the fire and save the city.132
Khwāja Ḥalīm al-dīn Daymūnī (d. 416) of Daymūn, a village near Bukhara, was
involved in a situation common in the dry environment of the area. It was said for six
years Daymūn did not receive water, instead the water from Jūy-i Naw flowed directly to
Jūy-i Mūliyān, the brook made famous by Rudakī. After much anger on the part of the
residents it was redirected to their town and the first land it was sent to was that of
131
132
-127-
Khwāja Ḥalīm. When the Khwāja was informed of this he said that it was a mistake and
that there were many other people ahead of him who had a right to the water and perhaps
these people had remained silent out of shyness. He did not farm his land for the three
years that it was watered in this way in favor those more in need of it.133 Throughout the
guides there are many examples of saints giving away their wealth in order to feed the
needy in their communities. Mawlāna Jalāl al-dīn Maḥmūd Zāhid Marghābī (d. 772) who
lived in the town of Marghāb-i Herat, outside of Herat, was said to distribute five donkey
loads of grain, sometimes up to 100 mann (medieval unit of measurement), each year
during the time of harvest. He continued this practice until his death and there was never
a shortage of grain to feed the poor.134
The most widespread way that saints mentioned in these shrine guides helped
their communities was through the dissemination of proper Islamic knowledge and
advice. They are said to have spent their time giving proper naṣīḥat (advice, counsel) to
all the people of the city. The authors of the guides repeat that these saints were important
in giving counsel to both the elite (khāṣṣ) and common people (‘āmm). For example,
Mawlāna Jalāl al-dīn al-Qāyānī (d. 838 AH) is said to have “helped Muslims by giving
advice (naṣīhat) at the Congregational Masjid of Herat.”135 Shārukh was so impressed by
his work that he gave him the position of muḥtasib, an important role that entailed
enforcing public morality and inspecting the commercial dealings of the marketplace. He
was also revered because he was said to have worked hard to “further the way of the
133
134
135
-128-
sharī‘a” and reduce the influence of the “bad mazhabān,” meaning the Shī‘īs.136 Another
Heratī similarly helped protect the interests of his fellow Sunnis , Shaykh Zayn al-dīn al-
Khwāfī (d. 838 AH) was said to have tried to “suppress unbelievers and bad
mazhabān.”137 A perhaps more spiritually uplifting legacy of Zayn al-dīn al-Khwāfī is the
awrād (sing. wird, supererogatory litanies performed on a regular basis) he composed to
be recited at the time of the pre-dawn prayer (Fajr) and the late afternoon prayer (Asr). It
was said that these were widely recited by both the elite and common people of Herat.
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ says that these awrād were very auspicious for those who recited them
and purified so many hearts.138
Lineage, Localization of Sanctity and Cultural Memory
Daphna Ephrat in her study of Qādirīs in late medieval Palestine introduces the idea of
“localization of sanctity,” which is an articulation of the way that hagiographic narratives
embed a saint within a particular “local community of believers and render his elevated
figure concrete.”139 Some saints are saintly precisely in terms of their importance or
service to the city in which they are buried. These saints are distinctly connected to their
particular city and are central in that city’s conception of itself and its history. Shrine
guides from the Timurid period very much follow this idea of “localization” and present
saints as representative of what is good in their particular cities. Here there is a tendency
136
137
138
139
Daphna Ephrat, “The Shaykh, the Physical Setting, and the Holy Site: the diffusion of the Qadiri path in
late medieval Palestine,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 19.1 (January
2009): 1-2.
-129-
to seek out special people, places, and objects as distinctively sacred precisely because of
its local nature. This section will look at the ways that the saintly narrative embeds the
saint firmly in the city where he or she is buried and helps create a sense of local identity
and cultural memory around his person and shrine. Because the lineage, whether based
on blood relation, spiritual ties, or shared knowledge, is an important and recurring theme
in the shrine guides’ creation of saintly figures, it will be further discussed in this section
as well.
The idea of collective or cultural memory as a tool to understanding group
identity has been widespread in the past few decades, particularly with respect to the
study of modern nationalism. However, it can prove equally helpful when interrogating
medieval understandings of collective identity, albeit making use of different interpretive
strategies. Theories on collective memory and cultural memory propose that a group can
hold on to and perpetuate memories of its past across time by use of textual, architectural,
and commemorative ritual practice. This memory of the past is a mediated memory,
where remembering, forgetting, and recasting of the past for various reasons is constant.
In this regard, cultural memory, while tied to the past, has a very presentist orientation. It
can help us understand how communities living in these Timurid cities conceptualized
the relationships between their own spaces and that of the outside world and to get a
sense of what and how local ideals were linked to a sense of belonging to their particular
places.
The shrines, the hagiographical stories found in shrine guides, and the practice of
shrine visitation all work to establish and perpetuate a particular collective memory. The
shrine as a physical monument to a certain ideal or historical event represents a concrete
-130-
point of memory. As James Young argues, “a monument necessarily transforms an
otherwise benign site into part of its content, even as it is absorbed into the site and made
part of a larger locale. In this way, a monument becomes a point of reference amid other
parts of the landscape, one node among others in a topographical matrix that orients the
rememberer and creates symbolic meaning in both the land and our recollections.”140
While the building of the monument, or in our case the shrine, likely involves official
governmental or religious backing, which seek to create a particular cultural narrative and
memory, the reception of the monument is not fully directed by their authority. The
shrine especially caters to personal forms of ritual and is open to reinterpretation by the
people who visit it.141 The mythical narratives attached to the shrine and to life of the
shrine’s saintly inhabitants serve to reinforce the importance of the monument within the
history of place it is in. The retelling of these stories, the continued visitation of shrines,
new miracles at these holy places all signal of ongoing presence of the saints and their
baraka in the city, and by analog, of God’s goodwill towards the city and its inhabitants.
This all works to increase the importance of holy shrines in the everyday life of people.
This schema fits with Jan Assman’s perspective on cultural memory being made up of
fixed points in time that reflect important events and people of the past that remain
relevant through ritual and texts:
These fixed points are fateful events of the past, whose memory
is maintained through cultural formation (texts, rites,
monuments) and institutional communication (recitation,
practice, observance). We call these ‘figures of memory.’ In the
140
James E. Young, “Memory and Counter-Memory: Towards a Social Aesthetic of Holocaust
Memorials,” in After Auschwitz: Responses to the Holocaust in Contemporary Art, ed. Monica Bohm-
Cuchen (Sunderland: Lund Humphries, 1995), 84.
141
Christine Allison, “Addressivity and the Monument: Memorials, Publics and the Yezidis of Armenia,”
History & Memory 25.1 (Spring/Summer 2013): 146.
-131-
flow of everyday communications such festivals, rites, epics,

poems, images, etc., form ‘islands of time,’ islands of a
completely different temporality suspended from time. In cultural
memory, such islands of time expand into memory spaces of
‘retrospective contemplativeness.142
Aleida Assmann spells out the processes necessary to create lasting cultural
memory that works to bind a community together. Among the processes that are pertinent
this study are: the “employment of events in an affectively charged and mobilizing
narrative,” which is apparent in the hagiographical anecdotes presented in the shrine
guides. These “affective” narratives must also be accompanied by “visual and verbal
signs that serve as aids of memory,” sites and monuments that present palpable relics”,
and “commemoration rites that periodically reactivate the memory and enhance collective
participation.”143 The popular practice of ziyārat kept the memory of the saints and their
respective histories alive in the lives and minds of pilgrims. Further, the miracles such as
holy lights, communion with the dead, healing, that occurred at these shrines continued to
make this history present in the ongoing memory of the community.144
The normative as well as instructional nature of shrine guides must be emphasized
here. These guides inform and shape people’s memory of the city’s past greatness, its
place in a greater narrative of Islam and the Arab Conquest, development of Sunni legal
theory, flourishing of Sufi groups. Because the guides explicitly and implicitly delineate
the acceptable parameters of sanctity, they only deal with a particular set of shrines and
142
Jan Assmann and John Czaplicka, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” New German Critique 65
(Spring/Summer, 1995): 129.
143
Aleida Assmann, “Transformations between History and Memory,” Social Research 75.1 (Spring,
2008): 55-56.
144
Another example of this can be found here: Eric Nelson, “Remembering the Martyrdom of Saint Francis
of Paola: History, Memory and Minim Identity in Seventeenth Century France,” History and Memory 26.2
(Fall/Winter 2014): 76-105.
-132-
holy locations, the ones that fit or can be made to fit into their vision of sanctity. Often
locally revered sites such as healing streams or other natural phenomena are left out of
these guides. Other aspects of local cultural memory are effectively excised in these
sources, and while glimpses of this are present in other places, they are difficult to
recreate.
In some places in the shrine guides, however, it is possible to see the interaction
between textual sources and local knowledge in informing the guides’ author. When a
very popular shrine’s provenance is unknown, the shrine guide author will often defer to
local narratives on the shrine. In Tabriz is a shrine attributed to either Usāma ibn Sharīk,
who was martyred at Kūh-i Sahand or to Zayd ibn Fārqid. The author’s teacher told him a
story of a local hadith scholar, Mawlānā Ibrahīm Salmāsī said that one night he saw the
man who was buried in this area in a dream and asked him his name. The man replied
that he was indeed Usāma ibn Sharīk. The author’s teacher double checked this
information in other textual sources (the Masābih and Tārīkh-i Guzīda) to confirm the
identity of the saint buried at Kūh-i Sahand.145 This sort of narrative occurs in many
places throughout all of the shrine guides and speaks to the discursive methods used by
the authors. When they had textual sources proving the identity of a saint, they would
make use of them. However, if confronted with a popular shrine that had no textual
support, they would make use of local narratives by stating the “grandees say that such
and such saint is buried here.” This sort of interplay between “official” sources and local
sources is part of what makes up cultural memory. As Patrick Geary has argued:
Written and oral memory blend together, as oral traditions are

incorporated into a written text, which is then circulated among
145
-133-
those responsible for oral memory. These elders then corrected

and revised, but probably also incorporated into their oral
memory the essential content…which itself underwent
subsequent revisions based on criticisms advanced by these
memory experts.146
In the retelling of the biographies of saintly figures, the shrine guides create a
history of place for their respective cities. They feature the best and the brightest that the
city had to offer and remind their audience that they too partake in this greatness because
the baraka of these figures continue to bless their shrines and the city at large. One of the
main ways that a legacy of local sanctity is created in the shrine guides is through a
reliance on ideas of lineage. Lineage, or nasab in Arabic, had long been an important
factor in determining the worth of a person, including religious figures. In his work on
social order and society in Buyid Iran and Iraq, Roy Mottahedeh explains the importance
of heredity and its relation to a person’s worth:
Virtually everyone agreed that heredity had some influence on a

man’s capacity, and most men believed that it had a great
influence. Groups of people presumed to have a common
ancestry were believed to have special talents through the
influence of their heredity.147
Mottahedeh further shows that simply having a particular lineage did not aid a
person in their societal worth. A person was also the inheritor of all the good works
accomplished by their ancestors. People had to build up their own cache of good deeds
(ḥasab) but their individual deeds were augmented by those inherited from their
forefathers. The ideas of nasab and hasab contributed to a societal assumption that
146
Patrick Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First Millennium
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 11-12.
147
Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society (London, New York, I.B. Tauris
Publishers, 2001), 98.
-134-
greatness was a hereditary quality and those of noble or holy pedigree were born with a
special skill set. This did not mean that social mobility was impossible, there are many
stories of those of less than noble birth achieving great heights by their own work.148 But
often those stories are told in a way to show that a particular saint achieved his station in
spite of an inauspicious pedigree.
The importance of genealogy is not unique to the Buyid period or even to Muslim
societies. Many societies all over the globe and across time have used forms of genealogy
to make sense of their pasts and presents. In the case of Muslim societies, the focus on
lineage is often traced back to pre-Islamic Arab interest in genealogy and kinship ties.
This interest continues in the early Islamic period and spreads with the advance of
Muslim empire. The new administration of Muslim territories required registries to
record those related to the Prophet Muḥammad, those who fought in the conquests, etc. in
order to pay out pensions.149 Important families that existed in Iran and Central Asia prior
to the conquest retained their importance as well, for example dihqāns or notable
landowners continued to play an important role in society following the conquest.
The shrine guides often provide genealogical information on the saints they
present. Almost always listed at the beginning are the descendants of the Prophet
Muḥammad, the Ahl-i Bayt. They hold the highest and most holy place for Muslims at
this time and will be discussed in more detail in the following chapter. While the most
reverence and honor is reserved for the Ahl-i Bayt, differing levels of importance is given
to those whose lineage can be traced back to a companion of the Prophet, a member of
148
Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership, 99-101.
149
Sarah Bowen Savant, “Introduction,” in Genealogy and Knowledge in Muslim Societies: Understanding
the Past, ed. by S.B. Savant and H. de Felipe (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2014), 3.
-135-
the armies of the Islamic conquest, Abū Muslim and his army during the time of the
Abbasid revolution, religious and spiritual figures of earlier periods, pre-Islamic Iranian
nobility, and even important local families. By linking a saint’s importance to prominent
figures from the past and from other historical narratives, the shrine guides participate in
creating a shared cultural memory that link all of these narratives in a new way to
represent their particular cities and regions.
Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda works to link the city of Bukhara with the larger history of
Islam by trying to find descendants of the Prophet Muḥammad or his companions among
Bukhara’s holy dead. For example in an account of Khwāja Abū Ḥafṣ al-Kabīr, there is
an aside stating the some people believe that a son of ‘Uthmān b. Affān and/or a son of
Abdullāh b. ‘Abbās are also buried in that area. For this latter claim, the author relies
upon uncited popular Bukharan accounts, rather than epigraphical and historical accounts
he uses for Khwāja Abū Ḥafṣ and others.150 Here we see again how popular stories about
the shrine informed the shrine guides just as much as the guides informed the stories
about the shrines. Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ is aware that some of the saints in his work may not
actually be buried in Bukhara; however, he quotes Khwāja Muḥammad Pārsā in saying
that whether or not a saint is actually buried at the shrine, the pilgrim must proceed as if
they are actually there in order to partake in the baraka and rewards of ziyārat.151 Here
we see how different types of sources, those scholarly and those popular, are intertwined
in the narrative presented in shrine guides. The use of locally held knowledge with that of
locally-based ‘ulamā’ reflects the complexity of pious belief and religious experience at
150
151
-136-
this time and how they inform ideas of cultural memory. Because this transmission of
knowledge was not a one-sided endeavor, its effectiveness in speaking to large segments
of society was greater.
Samarkand’s patron saint, Shāh-i Zinda Qusam ibn ‘Abbās has a special position
largely based on his relation to the Prophet Muḥammad. The significance of this will be
further explored in the following chapter, however, the connection to the Prophet
Muḥammad though blood serves by proxy to connect Samarkand to the greater history of
Islam. Sayyids, of course hold, a great deal of religious authority and legitimacy in
medieval Islam. It has been argued that in post-Mongol period, particularly during the
Timurid period, there was an increased political legitimacy and importance accorded to
sayyids.152 But more importantly, Qusam ibn ‘Abbās was a Sayyid with great local
importance in Samarkand. He was part of the early Islamic conquest and the subsequent
governing of the city. His supposed martyrdom at the hands of infidels serves to bolster
his status as a great Samarkandi and Islamic hero.
As mentioned above, the first part of Qandiyya may be an adaptation of an earlier
12th C. Arabic Qandiyya compiled by Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Jalīl Samarkandī. There is
a difference as to how Qusam ibn ‘Abbās is presented in the beginning and how he is
presented later in the Persian text. At the beginning, presumably reflecting its 11th and
12th C. context, the author is content to present Qusam ibn ‘Abbās as the Prophet
Muḥammad’s cousin and a participant in the early conquest. 153 The theme of the Islamic
conquest as a foundation myth is found in many early local and city histories of Iran and
152
Shahzad Bashir, Messianic Hopes and Mystical Visions: The Nūrbakhshīya between Medieval and
Modern Islam (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), 34-6.
153
Jurgen Paul, “Histories of Samarkand,” Studia Iranica 22 (1993), 77-81.
-137-
Central Asia. So important was this event that cities competed on the basis of which city
was conquered first.154 The later tales of the Shāh-i Zinda and its associated lore of
seeming martyrdom at the hands of the infidel king of Samarkand are not found in the
Arabic manuscript fragments studied by Jurgen Paul, but do make up a large part of the
Persian Qandiyya. The story of how Qusam ibn ‘Abbās became the Shāh-i Zinda by
jumping in a well and remaining hidden but alive, waiting for the return of Christ to make
his own similar return is explicated in detail in Qandiyya. This focus on the messianic is
found in various places in Timurid shrine guides, but is almost always coupled with a
more orthodox characterization. In this case, not only will Shāh-i Zinda come back when
Christ returns and rule Samarkand for forty prosperous years, he is also important to
Samarkandis because he is the first to have taught them about the Islamic prayer, fasting,
paying of alms, and the canonical Hajj pilgrimage.155
One of the longest segments of Qandiyya is an exciting tale of the discovery of
Shāh-i Zinda’s supernatural dwelling at the bottom of a well at the time of Timur. By
including this nearly contemporaneous account of the Shāh-i Zinda tale, Qandiyya brings
the memory of the early Islamic saint much closer to the realities of the Timurid
audiences. In this tale, Timur sends a member of his army, Hudā, down the well to find
Shāh-i Zinda. Hudā encounters a magical lair of beautiful gardens, sumptuous fruits, and
legions of souls from the Unseen. At the end of his journey he encounters Shāh-i Zinda
enthroned between Khiżr and the Prophet Ilyās. Shāh-i Zinda is upset by this intrusion
and makes Hudā promise never to speak of the wonders he has seen. If he does divulge
154
Ann K.S. Lambton, “Persian Local Histories: The Tradition behind them and the Assumptions of their
Authors,” in Yād-Nāma: In Memoria di Alessandro Bausani, vol. 1, eds. B. S. Amoretti and L. Rostagno
(Roma: Bardi Editore, 1991), 229.
155
-138-
the secret of Shāh-i Zinda, he and all of his subsequent progeny till the Day of Judgment
will be blinded. Hudā is shocked by such a tragic curse and tries to convince Shāh-i
Zinda that if he doesn’t tell Amir Timur what he wants to hear, he will be killed and his
progeny will be killed. Shāh-i Zinda is unmoved by these arguments but does give Hudā
some solace by telling him that the positive side of blindness is that the angels Munkir
and Nakir will not question the blind in their graves. Hudā is not particularly appeased,
but makes his way out of the magical well with a difficult decision to make. He avoids
telling Timur the truth of what he had seen in the well for many years until finally he is
convinced to speak of it. He thinks that because so many years have passed, Shāh-i
Zinda’s curse will no longer be in effect. However, as he completes the fantastic tale, two
drops of water fall from the sky blinding him and his progeny till the end of earthly time,
establishing Shāh-i Zinda’s miraculous power and messianic authority.156 This shrine was
one of the most popular sites of visitation for all levels of Samarkandi society. Timurid
elites built heavily in this area, creating a winding and intricate maze of shrines and other
adorned buildings to the north of the city. Timur is said to have visited the shrine every
time he returned to his capital.
‘Abdī Darūn is another well-known Samarkandi saint whose shrine was a
frequent place of ziyārat during the Timurid period. Qandiyya makes use of the well-
known faqīh and theologian, Abū al-Manṣūr Māturīdī to explain the saint’s importance
with respect to Islam and Samarkand. Māturīdī states that one of among the successors
(tābi‘īn) is buried in Samarkand and his name is Sayyid Amīr ‘Abdī b. Muḥammad ‘Abdī
b. ‘Uthmān b. ‘Affān, thereby establishing ‘Abdī Darūn’s relationship to the third caliph
156
-139-
and important companion of the Prophet Muḥammad, ‘Uthmān b. ‘Affān.157 It is said
that his predecessors came to Samarkand during the second round of conquest after the
defeat of Shāh-i Zinda. Conflicting accounts of ‘Abdī Darūn’s genealogy develop
throughout Qandiyya and it is difficult to be certain of exactly which account is most
reliable. However, it is clear that the saint’s importance is linked to his association with
figures from the early history of Islam in Arabia and with the Islamic conquests.
Genealogy and connection to the Islamic conquest is not enough to sanctify ‘Abdī Darūn,
his orthodox role as a qāżi and his miraculous nature are also important.
Ibn Karbalā’ī in Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān begins his work on Tabriz
with a chapter on all of the ṣaḥāba of the Prophet Muḥammad that were buried in and
around the city. Most of these people were also part of the Islamic conquest of Tabriz and
many were martyred in the wars to take the city. He prefaces this section with a long
meditation on the etymology of the word ṣaḥāba and why these people were important
figures in the transmission of religion. The latter part of this discussion alludes to the
bringing of Islam to Tabriz by the ṣaḥāba, an act for which they especially are revered.158
The first ṣaḥāba mentioned in this chapter is Usāma ibn Sharīk al-Tha‘labī al-Zabīyānī,
whose mazār was the “most illuminated of mazārs in Tabriz.”159 He was a well-known
transmitter of hadith and his riwāyat (transmission) is found in many of the important
books of hadith. Ibn Karbalā’ī goes as far to list a few of the hadith transmitted by Usāma
ibn Sharīk. Hadith scholarship was an important indicator of sanctity and the closeness of
this figure to the Prophet, the original source of hadith, establishes his high position in
157
158
159
-140-
Tabriz. With that in mind, it is interesting that Ibn Karbalā’ī spends much of the entry on
the military aspects of Usāma ibn Sharīk’s career. He was a soldier with the first Muslim
army that came to Azerbaijan but failed to conquer it, Ibn Karbalā’ī maintains that “there
are few places in Azerbaijan that do not have some traces (nishān) of these grandees of
religion (buzurgvārān-i dīn).”160 Usāma ibn Sharīk and all those martyred with him are
buried at the place of their martyrdom, Kūh-i Sahand. After their failed attempt to subdue
the area, another army was sent allegedly led by Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥanafiyya and
‘Abdullāh ibn ‘Umar. Much of their force was martyred and now their resting place is a
shrine to which local Tabrizis make ziyārat regularly. This expedition, however, was
successful and Tabriz was conquered (fatḥ shudan) for Islam and “the days of sharī‘a
rule.”161 Ibn Karbalā’ī continues to list the various companions of the Prophet
Muḥammad in the area, including Amīr Maẓar ibn ‘Ajīl, Qays, and Farqad ibn Zayd. One
of the ṣaḥāba is Abū Dujāna Anṣārī, buried in the Khalījān village at a fortification
known as Ḥirz-i Abū Dujāna. The author says that he is not sure about the burial of Abū
Durjāna at this site because there is no reliable sources nor books that attest to it. Instead
he relies on oral reports and traditions (afwāh wa’l sunna) of the peasants who live in this
region. While Ibn Karbalā’ī is not certain of who is buried in this important shrine, he is
sure that some ṣaḥaba or tābi‘īn (successor, the generation that followed that of the
Prophet Muḥammad and his companions) is buried here because it is clear that this is “a
place of quiet and purity (rawḥ o ṣafā’), where people’s du‘ā’ are answered and where
160
161
-141-
they seek their claims from this purified shrine (turbat-i mazkī). Wa Allāhu a‘lam (And
God knows best).”162
After a long listing of ṣaḥaba and tābi‘īn buried in and around Tabriz comes an
interesting entry. Burkh Aswad was among the saintly figures from the time of the
Prophet Moses. Ibn Karbalā’ī says that he was from among the awlīyā’ of his time and
mentions an anecdote about him: there is a drought facing the Banū Israel and no amount
of prayer is bringing forth rain until Burkh Aswad makes a particular du‘ā’ three times
and the situation is resolved. Ibn Karbalā’ī says that there is another unnamed saint from
the time of Moses buried here as well. The tawāf (circumambulation) of these shrines is
said to be a blessed endeavor.163 Burkh Aswad is an interesting historical and religious
figure from the pre-Islamic period. He serves to anchor Tabriz more securely in the
history of Islam; the city did not just join the fold of Islam at the time of the Islamic
conquest, rather, it is a site in the greater origin myths of Islam going back to the Prophet
Abraham, a forefather of Moses. Also hearkening back to the time of Abrahamic
prophets, Bukhara was home to an important shrine area, called Mazārāt-i Chasma-yi
Ayyūb. Instead of commemorating the resting place of the Prophet Ayyūb, who
corresponds to the Biblical Job, there is a special fountain to which he gives his name and
the area surrounding it. Similar to Tabriz, this area that connects the city to an Abrahamic
prophetic history is also the resting place of many saints who are important to the local
history of the city. Mazārāt-i Chasma-yi Ayyūb is the resting place for some of the great
families of Bukhara, such as the family of Jamāl al-dīn Maḥbūbī (d. 747/1346).
162
163
Ibn Karbalāʹī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1 27-8.
-142-
Jamāl al-dīn Maḥbūbī was also known as Ṣadr al-Sharī‘a. He and his family held
the position of ṣadr and rā’is (official leadership positions) for the city for many
generations.164 They were well respected scholars of furū‘ (branches of jurisprudence).
Jamāl al-dīn for example was author of many works on Ḥanafī fiqh such as a sharh
(explanation) on the Hidāya of al-Marghinānī, a twelfth century compendia on Ḥanafī
fiqh that became an authoritative and widely accepted source in Central Asia. He was
said to be the descendant of Ubada ibn al-Ṣāmit, a companion of the Prophet Muḥammad
and one of twelve men appointed as nāqib of the inhabitants of Medina during the time of
the second conquest of Aqaba. Ubada ibn al-Ṣāmit was also a military commander in
Egypt during the caliphates of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar.165 Many members of this family are
buried in Mazārāt-i Chasma-yi Ayyūb, held up as important religious exemplars for both
their distinguished lineage and their religious scholarship.166
Much of the significance of the Islamic conquest and the settlement of Muslims in
formerly Zoroastrian areas comes from the long religious shift that took place in the area.
In one Herati example, the victory of Islam over Zoroastrianism is celebrated. A saint
whose death date is not mentioned, Khwāja Kātib, was a religious scholar and wrote
works on the circumstances that led to the revelation of specific Quranic verses (asbāb
al-nuzūl). He came to Herat to proselytize among the Zoroastrians who lived there and
from his hard work, Islam flourished in Herat. His shrine was not a minor one; it was
right outside the important city gate of Darb-i ‘Irāq and it was said that light emanated
164
R.D. McChesney, “Central Asia’s place in the Middle East: Some Historical Consideration,” in Central
Asia meets the Middle East, ed. by D. Menashri (London: Frank Cass Publishers, 1998), 46.
165
Mu'īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, 24, EI2,
166
-143-
from his grave on Friday evenings. Shāhrukh visited the shrine of Khwāja Kātib every
year, perhaps as a symbol of his devotion, whether politically or sincerely motivated, to
establishing proper Islam in Herat.167
A celebration of pre-Islamic local notables and even royalty also informs the local
cultural memory. In one case, the pre-Islamic and Islamic can exist together with the
figure of Dihqān-i Soghdī. His name indicates his elite descent from landowners from the
ancient Iranian area of Sogdia. However, he is also said to have been buried with a hair of
the Prophet Muḥammad, adding great Islamic relevance to his shrine.168 In another
example, Sulṭān Ismā’īl, the Samanid king, was a client of the Amir al-Mu’minīn and
also a descendant of the Kayani king Bahrām Chūbīn.169 Sulṭān Ismā‘īl in particular is
singled out for his righteous devotion to God. The story goes that Sulṭān Ismail was
hunting with his retinue when the call to prayer rang out from the mosque. The Sultan
stopped and ashamed of the fact that he was astride a horse as the muezzin remembered
God, quickly came down and answered the call to prayer. After his death, the Sultan was
seen in a dream where he was questioned about his status in the afterlife. Sultan Ismail
replied that it was for that one good act of answering the call to prayer, that his other
misdeeds had been forgiven.170 The Samanids and their extensive shrine complex are a
significant aspect of Bukharan memory, so they are adorned with religious epithets as
well. Many are described as scholars and righteous men and leaders.
167
168
169
170
-144-
Similarly important were those figures connected to the Abbasid Revolution,
another decisive point in the history of Islamic civilization. For example, Khwāja Abū al-
Qāsim was the imam of his time and connected to Abū Muslim Marvazi.171 More is
known about Shāhzada Muḥammad ibn Farukhzād Khaqān, who was among the
assistants of Abū Muslim and was martyred in this role. He is buried close to the well-
traveled gate Darb-i Khush and his entry in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl is one of the few in which it
is mentioned that the people of Herat would come to his shrine in search of intercession
(tawassul mī jūyand) and to achieve their goals.172
With regard to the connectivity of the regions under Timurid rule, it is clear that
these areas share a long history and experienced many similar events such that it makes
sense to group them together. The geographer al-Muqaddasī (d. 990 CE) defines the areas
of Khurasan, Sistan, and Transoxania as al-mashriq (eastern lands), linking these areas
together as a connected region.173 While this definition leaves out western parts of Iran
that may have shared a cultural history with the mashriq, it is still a helpful category.
Elton L. Daniel says of the idea of regionalism and of Khurasan and Transoxania in the
“classical period” in particular:
‘regionalism; in the strict sense should be understood as a

concept implying a high degree of political, economic and
cultural autonomy. One can detect a great many examples of
provincialism or localism or nativism in the Islamic east…but
171
172
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 50, Another
example where this phrase “tawassul mī jūyand” is used is for the great Sayyid shaykh Abū ‘Abdullāh al-
Mukhtār, who will be discussed further in the next chapter. See: Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i
Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqqāniyya, 18-19.
173
Elton L. Daniel, “The Islamic East,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam vol. 1: The Formation of
the Islamic World Sixth to Eleventh Centuries, ed. By C.F. Robinson (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2010), 448.
-145-
there are far fewer areas that can be said to have a truly regional
culture and history in this way. Of these, the region par
excellence of the Islamic east was al-mashriq as understood by
al-Muqaddasī, i.e. Khurāsān and its adjacent territories.
Tremendously important both as a critical frontier province and
an avenue for trade, it developed into a centre of political and
cultural development that rivalled the centre of the caliphate
itself.174
Taking into account the idea of regionalism, we can trace similarities in how the
Timurid cities presented in this study came to understand their respective histories.
However, based on distinctions between the cities and taking into account the biases and
perspective of shrine guide authors, there are various differences in content and emphasis
in this understanding as well. For example, Bukhara was long a center of Sunni hadith
sciences and Ḥanafī jurisprudence and theology, which is reflected in the hagiographies
presented in Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda.
Elton Daniel argues that the cultural accomplishments of the Islamic east,
particularly the influential work of religious figures such as Abū Ḥanīfa and al-Māturīdī,
must be understood as part of the greater culture of Islam. He further contends that “it
would seem pointless to try to distinguish their work as representative of regional rather
than metropolitan culture.”175 Perhaps this was the case at the time in which these figures
were flourishing; however, as time went on, there is a divergence in their place in
regional memory as opposed to a greater Islamic memory. It is true that Abū Ḥanīfa and
other religious scholars held an esteemed place in the history of Islam outside of the
Khurasan and Transoxania; however their place in in the cultural memories of the cities
that claim them reflects a more personal attachment and importance. Even by the twelfth
174
Daniel, “The Islamic East,” 449.
175
Daniel, “The Islamic East,” 501.
-146-
century, there is evidence of a “reification of the regional Sunni scholarly tradition of
Khurasan-Transoxania at its broadest and most inclusive, disregarding divisions between
madhhabs within the region.”176 Shahab Ahmed, in a study of a bibliography for a text
that would have probably been used to prepare sermons, shows a reliance on authors
primarily from Khurasan and Transoxania. Similarly the shrine guides of the Timurid
period rely on important regional figures, such as Abū Mansūr Māturīdī, Abdullah al-
Ansārī, al-Bukhārī and others, in various ways throughout the texts. They are present as
sources for ritual, for the biographies of saints, and as proof to the sanctity and at times
miraculous nature of certain shrines. An anecdote mentioned above about the miraculous
power present in an old monastery of Khiżr uses Māturīdī as proof of its efficacy.177
Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, which focuses on the saintly tombs in and around Bukhāra, is
one of the earliest extant Timurid shrine guides. One would expect this guide to mirror
many of the themes and ideas found in Qandiyya, as Samarkand and Bukhara are
relatively close geographically and share much in common historically, and it does,
particularly in terms of reverence for the family of the Prophet Muḥammad and those
connected to the early history of Islam. However, for various reasons, it is much less
exciting. Perhaps because of its author’s background as a religious scholar, the stars of
this work are all involved in hadith compilation and the development of Sunni
jurisprudence, particularly Ḥanafī jurisprudence. Mullāzāda refers to a few tombs of
important Shāfi‘ī jurists and followers of that school; however, it so happens that there is
176
Shahab Ahmed, “Mapping the World of a Scholar in Sixth/Twelfth Century Bukhara,” Journal of the
American Oriental Society 120.1 (2000): 43.
177
-147-
no longer any remnant of these tombs left behind.178 This speaks to the very Ḥanafī
centered nature of Bukhara. In the extensive introductory chapters where the legality and
praiseworthiness of ziyārat is outlined, Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ relies upon and refers to
important Ḥanafī texts such as Shaybānī’s al-Jāmi‘ al-Saghīr and a Khwarazmian text
Qunyat al-munya ‘alā madhhab Abī Hanifa by Abū Rajā Najm al-dīn Mukhtār b.
Maḥmūd al Zāhidī al-Chazmīnī (d. 658AH/1260 CE) among others.179 Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’
also quotes Khwāja Pārsā in support of claims that it is wājib (obligatory) to maintain
proper behavior at shrines.180 Itzchak Weismann characterizes Khwāja Pārsā as a “scion
of a renowned family of Ḥanafī ‘ulamā’ of Bukhara,” following the same model as many
of the sources used by Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’.181 Throughout the work, as evidenced in the
section on Scholarly Networks above, there is also a focus on the tombs of important
legal theorists and qāżis of the Ḥanafī rite. In these cases, the actual scholarship is less
important than establishing a connection with authoritative and elite scholars. Bukharans
could take pride in the scholarship of their city and how it influenced the entire Islamic
world.
The shrine guides of Timurid cities are replete with saints whose importance goes
beyond the piety they model for society. Their very being, as a companion of the Prophet,
a descendant of the soldiers of Islamic conquest, or even as the son of Persian nobility,
holds great consequence to the cultural memory of the city of their death and burial. As
178
179
180
181
Itzchak Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya: Orthodoxy and Activism in a Worldwide Sufi Tradition,
(London, New York: Routledge, 2007), 18
-148-
their shrines and their residual baraka decorate the city, pilgrims come to these spaces
and remember, relive the event commemorated by the saint. They can partake in the
connection the saint provides to greater narratives of pre-Islamic and Islamic history, and
they continue to renew the cultural memory by visiting and practicing the rituals of
ziyārat.
Conclusions
The most common description given to saints for whom no other information is known is
that said person was perfect in knowledge, action and asceticism. ‘Ilm, ‘amal, and zuhd
form a much used trope throughout the Timurid shrine guides. Occasionally there is some
added information about a saint’s karāmat and/or aḥwāl. The order of this trope is not
accidental; it reflects the hierarchy of sanctity as understood by the shrine guides,
knowledge of the religious sciences is largely presented as the most important signifier of
piety. This is explicit in Tārīkh-ī Mullāzāda and is true to differing levels in the other
shrine guides. It is also perhaps representative of the place of asceticism in the religious
culture of this time. Clearly, it held importance but was not the central focus of pious
practice as had been the case in other time periods.
In the earliest period, the saintly were companions of the Prophet Muḥammad and
then those involved in the Arab conquests of the seventh and eighth-centuries. Later,
particularly between 1200-1500, there was an increased focus on scholarly figures and
mystical Sufis. This shift, as Christopher Taylor argues, “mirrored the increasingly
important role of both the ‘ulamā’ generally and the popularization of Sufi ṭarīqas
-149-
specifically.”182 The shrines that were important to pilgrims in these important Timurid
cities reflect their devotion to the saints interred there. The sanctity of these saints are an
almost incongruent mix of scholarly achievement, mystical acumen, miracle-working,
and coveted genealogies. By understanding which aspects of the life and religious
practice established their sanctity, we get a better idea of what these pilgrims valued as
examples of piety. It also reveals the religious “thought world” of these medieval
Muslims. Their understanding of religion was deeply rooted in these ideas of orthodox
Sunni scholarship, a reverence for the family of the Prophet Muḥammad and those
connected to the family, and to the ability to see the work of God in the miracles and
mystical states of his favored friends, the saints. This picture also lends itself to a certain
flexibility, where pre-Islamic successes could still be celebrated, local magic could be
incorporated into one’s religious worldview, and local knowledge was as important as
scholarly authority.
What is most interesting is that there is a sense conveyed in the shrine guides that
the history and traditions linked to the shrines were experienced in a very personal and
intimate way. Figures that are part of the larger Islamic narrative are localized and made
pertinent to the situation of the city in which they are buried. And though the manuals
prohibit pilgrims from rubbing the dust of the shrines upon themselves, the repetition of
this prohibition makes it clear that this was an oft occurring activity. The act of rubbing
the dust, which represents what is left of the corporeal aspect of the saint, upon one’s own
body is an extremely intimate act. The hagiographical narratives of the guides are not
182
Christopher Taylor, In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the Veneration of Muslim Saints in Late
Medieval Egypt (Boston: Brill, 1999), 89.
-150-
merely scholarly studies of saints, but a tool that assisted pilgrims in establishing a
particularly close relationship with the saints and shrines of their cities.
-151-
CHAPTER 4: Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid Shrine
The religious atmosphere in the post-Ilkhanid period has been described in many
different ways over the past few decades. Much scholarship has been geared towards
discovering how and why the Shi‘ism of the Safavid period was possible given a largely
Sunni population in Iran prior to the sixteenth century. Historians and scholars of religion
have argued for an inherent Shi‘i inclination even among those who identified as Sunni
during this interim period, especially among those who also espoused Sufi beliefs and
practices. Hamid Algar has argued against the idea that Iran was already trending towards
Shi‘ism well before the rise of the Safavids. He poses instead a situation where Sunnism
could exist alongside a special ‘Alid loyalism without embracing Shi‘i theological and
doctrinal beliefs.1 Marshall Hodgson called it “‘Alid loyalism,” Moojan Momen called it
“al-tashayyu al-ḥasan” (a good or moderate towards Shi‘ism)” and most recently
Matthew Melvin-Koushki introduced the helpful term “imamophilism” which accords the
Imams a special place in Sunni devotion.2 All of these characterizations speak to the
contested nature of Sunni orthodoxy in the Middle Period and reveal a spectrum of
beliefs and practices that do not necessarily fit with modern sectarian delineations.
This chapter examines the role of ‘Alid shrines and the importance of sayyid
saints as objects of veneration by the largely Sunni populations in major fifteenth-century
Timurid cities. It argues that the sort of imamophilism found in scholarly works, such as
1
Hamid Algar, “Sunni Claims to Imam Ja‘far al-Sadiq,” in Fortresses of the Intellect: Isma‘ili and Other
Islamic Studies in Honour of Farhad Daftary, ed. Omar Ali-de-Unzaga (London and New York: I.B. Tauris
Publishers, 2011), 87-9.
2
Marshall Hodgson, Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 1 (Chicago:
The University of Chicago Press, 1974), 372; Moojan Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History
and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985), 96; Matthew
Melvin-Koushki, “The Quest for a Universal Science: The Occult Philosophy of Ṣā’in al-dīn Turka Iṣfahānī
(1369-1432) and Intellectual Millenarianism in Early Timurid Iran” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 2012), 8.
-152-
Chapter 4: Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid Shrine
that of Rūzbihān Khunjī and prominent Sufis such as Muḥammad Pārsā and Nūr al-Dīn
‘Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī, is reflected in the more widespread practice of shrine visitation
and its associated hagiographic literature. As John Renard argues, Islamic hagiographical
sources offer a great treasury of “insights into the religious and ethical life of Muslims.”3
Timurid period shrine manuals present both well-known and unknown figures as saints
worthy of ziyārat and in doing so reflect religious ideals of that time. In the descriptions
of saints’ lives, their progress on the mystical path, recurring acts of piety and miracles
ascribed to them, a view of what was important to the Sufi writers of the manuals and
their lay audiences becomes clear. In this chapter I will explore shrine guides not as
sources on the actual lives and history of the men and women mentioned in them, but
instead as a window to the religious worldview of the authors and their time period.
In the last chapter, I outlined the many different reasons saints and their shrines
were considered holy. Shrine guides present saintly biographies in order to demonstrate
the walāya of these figures and therefore prove that they are worthy of ziyārat. Important
qualities of a saint include his/her mystical and miraculous accomplishments as well as
ascetic practice. However, even these qualities are overshadowed by a recurring theme of
devotion to the family of the Prophet. Many of the narratives try to link the saint in
question to the Prophet Muḥammad and his family in various ways: from presenting the
saint as a sayyid and member of the Ahl-i Bayt to merely being buried in the vicinity of a
supposed distant relative of the Prophet Muḥammad, from having the honor of seeing the
blessed face of the Prophet to being buried with a few strands of his hair. Whether the
3
John Renard, Friends of God: Islamic Images of Piety, Commitment, and Servanthood (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2008), xiii.
-153-
genealogies and stories are true or not, it is helpful to see the different ways that a special
devotion to the family of the Prophet is framed for a popular audience.
The shrine guides for the cities of Herat, Samarkand, Bukhara, Yazd, Tabriz and
Mazār-i Sharīf are replete with many more narratives linking saintly men to the Prophet
Muḥammad, ‘Ali, and other members of Ahl-i bayt in a variety of both straightforward
and inventive ways. These narratives are informed by many types of sources and speak to
the different ways that veneration of Ahl-i bayt was constructed and understood. This
chapter explores the traditions and sources of this veneration and draws conclusions as to
what extent and why this became popular way to express religious sentiment in the
medieval Islamic East.
Devotion to the Prophet Muḥammad and Ahl-i Bayt
Among Muslims in general, regardless of sectarian variation, there has always been some
sort of devotion to the person of Muḥammad. From the earliest oaths of fealty to his
leadership to the development of a great legend about his prophecy, he is the central
figure of Muslim devotional life. The Qur’an firstly points to Muḥammad’s exceptional
nature, reiterating the importance of the Prophet as a mercy for the worlds upon whom
God and his angels send blessings.4 As Annemarie Schimmel notes, alongside the
command to obey God, there is the adjacent call for Muslims to obey their Prophet.5
While the Qur’an provides the basis for obedience and veneration of the Prophet, the
entire science of hadith compilation is proof of the centrality of the Prophet Muḥammad’s
4
Qur’an, 21:107 and 33:56.
5
Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger: The Veneration of the Prophet in Islamic Piety,
(Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1985), 25.
-154-
words and actions to early Muslims. Not only did the huge task of collecting and
verifying hadith become an honorable undertaking for the nascent ‘ulamā’, but great
crowds would gather to hear these prophetic traditions.6 Schimmel argues that traditions
of reverence for the Prophet Muḥammad that developed over the first few centuries of
Islam were central to Islamic piety.7
All aspects of the Prophet Muḥammad’s life became foci of veneration. For
example, in the late eighth century, the Abbasid caliph Harun al-Rashīd’s mother turned
the Meccan home in which the Prophet Muḥammad was born into a sort of oratory.
Those who came to Mecca for the Hajj would also go and visit this home in reverence.8
David Roxburgh’s study of medieval pilgrimage certificate scrolls gives evidence for a
shrift in these scrolls that reflect the a new importance in the visitation of the Prophet
Muḥammad’s tomb. While scrolls from the Seljuk and Ayyubid periods depicted the
Prophet Muḥammad’s masjid in order to signify Medina, by the ninth/fifteenth century,
Medina was illustrated by the tomb of the Prophet Muḥammad.9 This indicates a growing
interest in the person of Muḥammad in addition to the foundational edifices and
institutions of Islam as a religion. As time went by, the mawlid of the Prophet, or the
celebration of his birth, grew larger and more festive across the entire Muslim world. The
Fatimids of Egypt are known to have celebrated the Prophet Muḥammad’s birthday as a
state holiday; moreover, it was celebrated both formally and informally all over the
6
Ahmed El-Shamsy, “The social construction of orthodoxy,” in The Cambridge Companion to Classical
Islamic Theology, ed. by Tim Winter, 2008, 110.
7
Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger: The Veneration of the Prophet in Islamic Piety, 25.
8
Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger: The Veneration of the Prophet in Islamic Piety, 145.
9
David Roxburgh, “The Pilgrimage City,” in The City in the Islamic World vol. 2, ed. by S.K. Jayyusi, R.
Holod, A. Petruccioli, and A. Raymond (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008), 764-770.
-155-
medieval Islamic world. The Fatimid celebration of mawlid was probably predated by
Imami Shi‘i mawlids and it is unclear as to when exactly Sunni practices of mawlid
began. Marion Holmes Katz speculates that they probably stemmed from early Imami
influence.10 The author of the Herati shrine guide, Sayyid Aṣīl al-dīn ‘Abdullāh Wā‘iẓ,
played a role in Herat’s mawlid celebrations. His importance as a sayyid and eloquent
speaker is evidenced by the fact that during the month of Rabi‘ al-Awwal, the month of
the Prophet’s birth and death, Wā‘iẓ would tell the story of the Prophet’s birth to the
people of Herat as part of the mawlid celebrations in that city.11
Similarly the Prophet’s grave also became an important site of reverence and
visitation as well as the grave sites of members of his family. In the early years after the
death of the Prophet Muḥammad the important spaces of his life and death were not
necessarily viewed as sacred by Muslims. The need to commemorate and celebrate his
life and his final resting place developed over the course of more than three centuries
until the city of the Prophet (Madinat al-Nabī) became one of the foremost sacred spaces
in the Islamic imagination.12 Particularly during the early ‘Abbasid period, the caliphs
pushed forward the importance of the person of Muḥammad and his family in a bid to
secure their own importance over the jurist and ‘ulamā’ classes. Because their claims to
descent from the family of the Prophet Muḥammad was foremost in their assertions of
legitimacy and religious authority, a more energetic devotion to the Prophet and his
10
Marion Holmes Katz, The Birth of the Prophet Muḥammad: Devotional Piety in Sunni Islam (London
and New York: Routledge, 2007), 4-5.
11
Khwāndamīr, Habīb al-Siyār Tome 3, Part 2, trans. W.M. Thackston, (Cambridge: Harvard University,
1994), 518.
12
See: Harry Munt, The Holy City of Medina: Sacred Space in Early Islamic Arabia, Cambridge Studies in
Islamic Civilization (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014).
-156-
family was necessary.13 Visiting the resting place of the Prophet Muḥammad eventually
became recommended as a part of the Hajj pilgrimage, clearly establishing the central
place of Muḥammad as one of the main foci of religious devotion.
The Prophet’s family proved an equally compelling focus of veneration across
time as well. In an oft-cited Ḥadīth al-Thaqalayn (the hadith of the two weighty things),
the Prophet Muḥammad tells his community that after his death, he leaves for them the
Qur’an and his Family as guidance and salvation. The second weighty thing, the family
of the Prophet Muḥammad, becomes increasingly important in the lives of ordinary
Muslims throughout the medieval period. In addition to this hadith, there are many
instances in the Qur’an and hadith speaking to the importance of Ahl-i Bayt to the
Muslim community. Indeed the early schisms among the community were centered on
whether rule should fall to the family of the Prophet or to others. While the nascent Shi‘is
clearly emphasized the centrality of the ‘Alid branch of the Ahl-i Bayt, the Sunnis as well
cultivated a special connection to the family of the Prophet. Even as they downplayed the
political importance of Ahl-i Bayt, Sunni leaders and scholars still respected many
members of the family as religious and sacred figures. Timurid historical chronicles even
endeavor to show that the ruthless Timur was a good Muslim in part for his efforts to
“honor sayyids.”14
13
Munt, The Holy City of Medina: Sacred Space in Early Islamic Arabia, 161.
14
Khwāndamīr, Habīb al-Siyār, 106.
-157-
Sunni Islam and ‘Alid loyalism
Marshall Hodgson wrote early of the phenomenon of “‘Alid loyalism” which he defined
as
the varied complex of special religious attitudes associated with

loyalty to the ‘Alids—not only reverence for the ‘Alids
themselves, but certain exalted ideas about Muḥammad’s person
and the supposition of a secret teaching he transmitted specially
to ‘Ali, and so on—whether these attitudes appear among Jama’ī-
Sunnīs or among those who, by explicitly rejecting the jamā‘ah,
identified themselves as Shī‘īs in the proper sense.15
Hodgson’s characterization of ‘Alid loyalism pays heed to the esoteric component
central to the importance of Ahl-i Bayt, particularly the person of ‘Alī. There is a special
esoteric charisma attached to these figures that translates to intercessory and other sacred
powers. While this may have been a problematic issue for Sunni rulers who wanted to
deny the Imams political leadership, the stakes are much lower after the death of such
figures. In death, the Sunni leader, administrators of Ahl-i Bayt shrines, and pilgrims are
free to make use of the deceased’s baraka, intercession and other powers without
changing the status quo political situation. The Family of the Prophet Muḥammad could
be understood and revered in purely spiritual terms in this construction.
What Hodgson labeled ‘Alid loyalism, Robert McChesney calls “’ahl al-
baytism,” giving a succinct explanation of it:
For people who in times of political confrontation could identify

themselves as defenders of the caliphal rights of Abū Bakr,
‘Umar, and ‘Uthmān and the reputation of ‘A’ishah, there was no
contradiction in pilgrimage to the shrines of the eighth imam at
Mashhad or of ‘Alī at Balkh. Political issues required political
responses, spiritual questions spiritual responses. The Family of
the Prophet represented intercession, hope of salvation, a rallying
15
Marshall Hodgson, Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 1, 372.
-158-
point for public opinion, and consistently the most visible icon in
the daily religion of the great bulk of the population.16
Ahmad Moussavi in an article on Sunni-Shi‘i rapprochement argues that in the
fourteenth and fifteenth century the idea of “al-tashayyu‘ al-ḥasan or moderate Shī‘ism
and the practice of exalting the virtues of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib somewhat in the Shī‘ī
manner gained momentum among Sunnīs.”17 Moojan Momen further connects this trend
with the proliferation and success of the Sufi orders in this same period. Sufi leaders were
able to draw analogies between their own authority and the personal charismatic authority
of the imams and other members of Ahl-i Bayt.18 Moreover, to support their authority
they often asserted the ‘Alī was their founder. This authority was further bolstered by
real, imagined, or spiritual heirship to the Prophet Muḥammad and members of his
family. They also could not claim vilāyat for themselves if they did not firstly attribute
vilāyat to members of the Prophet’s family.
While this ahl al-baytism or al-tashayyu’ al-ḥasan was strongest in the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries, devotion to the Prophet and all things connected to him has a long
history as discussed above. More specifically, local and regional histories from tenth- to
thirteenth-century Iran, from which the later Timurid shrine manuals developed, also
work to connect Iran to the larger Islamic narrative through the figures of the Prophet and
his family. In a study of local histories of Qum, Mimi Hanaoka shows how the authors of
16
R. D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-
1889 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 34.
17
Ahmad Kazemi Moussavi, “Sunnī-Shī‘ī Rapprochement (Taqrīb),” in Shi‘ite Heritage: Essays on
Classical and Modern Traditions, ed. Lynda Clarke, Binghamton, NY: Global Publications, 2001, 305.
18
Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism, 96.
-159-
these texts worked to forge a local identity that was also legitimated by its ties to
Prophetic authority through his hadith and through his family and companions.
[Local histories] reflect this impetus to preserve this nominal

idealized identity of a united Muslim umma. By focusing to a
large extent on the Sahaba and Tabi‘un, pious notables, saints and
pious exemplars and their tombs, and sacred etymologies and
dramas, local Persian histories articulate a local identity that is
closely tied with the Companions who were embodiments of
authority and reflected the early Islamic community untied
around Muḥammad.19
The thirteenth century marked a turning point for much of the Islamic lands. The
Mongol invasions served a fatal blow to the ‘Abbasid caliphate and left the idea of a
universally recognized Sunni caliph greatly diminished. However, both the conquest and
subsequent Il-Khanid rule had varying effects on Shi‘i areas. Some cities, such as Ḥilla, a
main Shi‘i center, submitted to the Mongols and were not destroyed. Momen argues that
the weakening of Sunnism, through its loss of its caliph, religious leaders, and
scholarship, led indirectly to a relatively more strengthened Shi‘ism.20 At the very least,
Shi‘ism could now work on a more level playing field because Il-Khanid rulers favored
neither sect over the other and were generally tolerant of divergent religious beliefs.
Various Il-Khanid rulers showed different religious inclinations, some holding to Mongol
religious beliefs, some to Buddhism; Ghazān showed Shi‘i leanings while Oljeitu is said
to have converted openly to Shi‘ism and Abū Sā‘īd was a Sunni.
The change in the religious climate in terms of sectarianism was also apparent in
the scholarly writing of the time. While scholarly disputes between Sunnis and Shi‘is
continued, the polemical tone decreased. This allowed more borrowing and discourse
19
Mimi Hanaoka, “Umma and Identity in Early Islamic Persia” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2011),
22.
20
Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism, 91-2.
-160-
between the sects. For example, Shi‘i ‘ulamā’ such as Allama al-Hillī borrowed from
Sunni methodology with regard to hadith literature.21 Sufis also were able to engage more
openly in the incorporation of Shi‘i esoteric themes into their own worldviews,
particularly making use of Ahl-i Bayt figures and notions of charismatic religious
authority.
The cooption of Ahl-i Bayt by patently Sunni Sufis is quite clear in Muḥammad
Pārsā’s writings on the Imams and Companions of the Prophet. As a hadith scholar and
member of the Khwājagān, the precursors of the Naqshabandiyya Sufi brotherhood,
Pārsā was an influential member of the Bukharan ‘ulamā’. In his encyclopedic Faṣl al-
Khiṭāb there is a section titled “Fażāil-i Khulafā’ va Ahl-i Bayt.” It is telling that the two
groups are discussed together and makes it clear to readers where Pārsā’s loyalties lie. He
first clarifies that Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq was “the best person (afżal al-nās) after the
Messenger of God” and while the Ahl al-Sunna wa’l Jamā‘a united under him, others
such as the Shi‘is and the Mu’tazilites (rawāfiż va akthar al-mu‘tazila) did not.22
Throughout the following section, Pārsā reiterates the great position of Abū Bakr, which
is in line with his Naqshbandī affiliation which claims spiritual descent from the Prophet
though Abū Bakr. He does not go into detail on the fażā’il of either ‘Umar or ‘Uthman
but jumps to ‘Alī, calling him the “seal of the Rightly Guided Caliphs (khātim al-khulafā’
al-rāshidīn)” and crediting him with the completion (or perfection) of the caliphate
(khilāfa) just as the Prophet Muḥammad completed the prophecy (nubuwwa).23 By
21
Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism, 95.
22
Khwāja Muḥammad Pārsā, Faṣl al-khiṭāb, ed. J. Misgarnizhād (Tihrān: Markaz-i Nashr-i Dānishgāhī,
1381/2002-3), 459.
23
Pārsā, Faṣl al-khiṭāb, 459-60.
-161-
mirroring language used to describe the Prophet Muḥammad (khātim), ‘Ali’s importance
is shown as clearly stemming from his connection to the Prophet.
Throughout this section (faṣl), the merits of Ahl-i Bayt are interspersed with the
merits of other companions of the Prophet Muḥammad (ṣaḥāba), indicating that Pārsā is
trying to show that fealty to both parties is important and there is no difference in it. To
him, all the early Muslims, particularly the companions of the Prophet Muḥammad, must
be accorded the same sort of respect and reverence. This sentiment is undercut by special,
longer sections on the merits of ‘Alī and the need for a distinct love for the Ahl-i Bayt.
While cautioning believers to not favor one group over another, he reiterates that the love
for Ahl-i Bayt is compulsory (wājib) and should be as overflowing as the love one has for
one’s own family.24 These ideas are followed by a later section discussing the merits and
methods of making ziyārat to the tombs of the Imams as well as special notes on the
manāqib (virtues) and other details on the Imams (see Chapter 2). Much of his section on
the method of making ziyārat is based on hadiths of al-Riżā, ‘Alī ibn Muḥammad al-
Hādī, and Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq.
More so than any other Imam, Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, the sixth Imam, has been credited
with being central in the consolidation of Imami Shi‘ism because of his contribution to
important concepts such as the need for taqiyya and the idea of naṣṣ to establish a
successor, and his copious narration of hadith. However, Hamid Algar argues that he was
just as important a figure to non-Shi‘i groups from the early Islamic period:
[N]early all the early intellectual factions of Islam (with the

exception perhaps of the Khārijīs) wished to incorporate Ja‘far al-
24
Pārsā, Faṣl al-khiṭāb, 462. In some manuscripts of this work, this discussion of love for Ahl-i Bayt is
followed by some lines of poetry by Sa‘dī on the importance of sayyids and the cultivation of love for
them.
-162-
Ṣādiq into their history in order to bolster their schools’ positions.

This is hardly surprising, for he enjoyed widespread prestige and
respect in an age when neither Sunni nor Shi‘i Islam had fully
crystallised and he had significant dealing with many beyond the
circle of followers for whom he was imam in the distinctively
Shi‘i sense of the terms.25
Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767), whose school of law dominated the Timurid lands, in
particular was associated with Ja‘far and transmitted hadith from him. Many Sufi groups
in the Mongol and Timurid period continued to revere Imam Ja‘far as well as other
Imams because of their direct genealogical links to the Prophet Muḥammad. Algar
cautions that these groups and people were not proto-Shi‘is, rather their aim “was to
detach the imams from Shi‘ism entirely and claim them instead for the Sunni tradition.”26
Algar points particularly to the work of Naqshbandīs such as Pārsā and ‘Abd al-Raḥmān
Jāmī as key to this process, in which they simultaneously celebrate the twelve Imams and
denigrate Shi‘ism as a false religion.27
The Timurid Elite and ‘Alid Loyalism
The Timurids, as other Turco-Mongol rulers before and following them, had a deep
preoccupation with genealogy. Given the nature of their rule and the populations they
ruled over, their accounts of their own genealogy is complex and incorporates many
seemingly conflicting threads. Most interesting is an origin myth which combines
Mongol religious symbols with Islamic ones. While in one telling found in
Khwāndamīr’s Ḥabīb al-Siyar, Timur is said to have descended from Alanqoa, who in
25
Hamid Algar, “Sunni Claims to Imam Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq,” 77-8.
26
Hamid Algar, “Sunni Claims to Imam Ja‘far al- Ṣādiq,” 87.
27
Hamid Algar, “Sunni Claims to Imam Ja‘far al- Ṣādiq,” 89-90.
-163-
turn was a descendant of Japheth, a son of Noah.28 However, in The Secret History of the
Mongols and on an inscription that Ulugh Beg had made for his grandfather Timur’s
tomb, we find a more fantastical rendition of Timur’s genealogy. Here, Alanqoa was
impregnated by a supernatural light and gave birth to three sons.29 In the account on
Timur’s sepulcher this light is identified as being one of the sons of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib,
inextricably tying the Timurids to the Ahl-i Bayt, explicitly through the line of ‘Alī.30
Because of the fragile nature of tribal groupings, tribes like Timur’s Barlas were made
more cohesive by these special genealogical myths.31 This conflation of supernatural
forces, Mongolian history, and Islamic religious figures tracked well on what Thomas
Lentz and Glenn Lowry call the “heterodox frontier milieu” from which the Timurids
arose.32 In another genealogy studied by Kazuo Morimoto, the Timurids are shown as
descendants of Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥanafiyya.33
Beyond symbolic reverence to the family of the Prophet, the Timurids actively
built and renovated ‘Alid shrines in their lands. Shāhrukh and Gawhar Shād’s extensive
building projects in Mashhad were carried out to demonstrate their participation in the
general piety of al-tashayyu‘ al-ḥasan that was widespread in their domains. Whether a
28
Khwāndamīr, Ḥabīb al-Siyar, vol. 3
29
The Secret History of the Mongols is a thirteenth century narrative epic that tells the origins on the
Mongols, beginning from mythical times to the age of Chingis Khan. It was written for Mongolian nobility.
30
Oleg Grabar, Islamic Visual Culture, 1100-1800: Constructing the Study of Islamic Art Vol. 2
(Aldershot, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate/Variorum, c. 2006), 78-9.
31
Beatrice Forbes Manz, The Rise and Rule of Tamerlane (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University
Press, 1989), 33-35.
32
Thomas W. Lentz and Glenn D. Lowry, Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the
Fifteenth Century, 28.
33
Kazuo Morimoto, “An Enigmatic Genealogical Chart of the Timurids: A Testimony to the Dynasty’s
Claim to Yasavi-‘Alid Legitimacy?” Oriens 44.1-2 (2016): 145-178.
-164-
calculated political move, an expression of true pious feeling, or both, the building of a
lavish Friday mosque next to the shrine was, as May Farhat argues, “a signpost for
Timurid power as legitimate rulers of the Islamic world.”34 Mashhad is of course the site
of the great shrine complex of ‘Alī al-Riżā who was buried in the small town of Tus in
203/818. Revered by Shi‘is as the eighth Imam, he was an interesting figure for Sunnis as
well. The ‘Abbasid caliph, al-Ma’mūn, designated him as his own heir, suggesting that
this would bring an end to sectarian differences. However, shortly after this nomination,
Imām ‘Alī al-Riżā suddenly died and was buried in Tus next to the grave of the ‘Abbasid
caliph Harūn al-Rashīd. The Timurids were not the first Sunni dynasty to build at the
holy site: there is textual and architectural evidence of various Ghaznavid, Seljuq,
Khwārazmshāhid, and Ghurid patrons. And while some scholars have argued that
Shāhrukhid patronage of the shrine in Mashhad was to mollify Shi‘is in his realm, Farhat
instead convincingly argues that the shrine was seen by the Timurids not as a site but
rather as an Islamic one in general terms. Her theory follows that of Algar in presenting a
case of an appropriation of a Shi‘i figure for a largely Sunni audience. Making use of
Ḥāfiz-i Abrū’s account of Imam al-Riżā and his use of a popular title for the Imam (the
Sultan of Khurasan), she states:
In short, Ḥāfiz-i Abrū’s presentation of Mashhad inscribes the

Timurid patronage of the shrine within a normative Islamic
narrative that underscores continuity between Shāhrukh’s reign
and his predecessors, furthering his legitimacy as the rightful
ruler of the Muslims world. Shi‘i claims to Mashhad are
expunged, but following Il-Khanid practice, the spiritual
authority of the descendants of the Prophet as intercessors, and
34
May Farhat, “Islamic Piety and Dynastic Legitimacy: The Case of the Shrine of ‘Alī b. Mūsā al-Riḍā in
Mashhad (10th-17th Century)” (Ph.D. Diss., Harvard University, 2002), 7.
-165-
the charismatic power of sayyids as carriers of baraka, are

recognized and held in reverence.35
Another important patronage project undertaken by the Timurids was that of
‘Ali’s tomb in Balkh. While the historical evidence for this tomb is much more
circumspect than that of Imam ‘Alī al-Riżā in Mashhad, Timurid focus on it follows the
same logic outlined above. The discovery and development of the shrine in Mazār-i
Sharīf is examined in detail by McChesney in his Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred
Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-1889. The earliest extant account of ‘Alī’s
burial there is attributed to Abū Hāmid al-Gharnātī’s Tuhfat al-Albāb, a mid-sixth/twelfth
century work. It says that village elders saw a vision of the Prophet Muḥammad leading
them to the sacred tomb of his cousin and son-in-law. Aside from a few references to the
shrine in later works, the site is largely forgotten until the Timurid period. Mention of the
shrine of ‘Alī is found in many Timurid sources, including Jāmī, Isfizārī’s Rawżāt al-
Jannāt fī Awṣāf Madīnat-i Harāt, Lāri’s Tārīkhchah-i Mazār-i Sharīf, and later in
Khwāndamīr’s Ḥabīb al-Siyar.36 Each basically reiterates the twelfth-century story,
blames the Mongol invasions for the disappearance of the tomb, and gives an account of
the rediscovery of the tomb in 885/1480-81. According to Lārī37 and Khwāndamīr, a
descendent of Abū Yazīd Bisṭāmī showed the local Timurid governor a text about the
shrine, whereupon the governor gathered his notables and found the actual tomb of ‘Alī
with an epitaph, presumably from the time of Sanjar, giving his name and relation to the
35
Farhat, “Islamic Piety and Dynastic Legitimacy: The Case of the Shrine of ‘Alī b. Mūsā al-Riḍā in
Mashhad (10th-17th Century),” 75.
36
McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-1889,
30.
37
‘Abdul Ghafūr Lārī, Tārikhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf (A Short History of Mazār-i Sharīf), ed. Mayel-i Haravi
(Kabul: The Historical and Literary Society of Afghanistan Academy, 1970), 25-29.
-166-
Prophet Muḥammad. Right away the site became a place of ziyārat, votive offerings, and
healing of the sick. The Timurid ruler, Sulṭān Husayn Bayqara is informed and has a
domed shrine built around it and endowed it with various properties.38 It became an
important pilgrimage site during the Timurid period and differed from local pilgrimages,
in that, as was the case for the shrines of Mashhad and that of Khwāja Anṣārī in
Gāzurgāh, people began to travel long distances to visit it. Lodging, markets, and other
buildings necessary to accommodate this sort of pilgrimage grew up around the shrine
and proved financially lucrative for both the Timurid elites and the shrine
administrators.39 A further discussion of the importance of this shrine and Lārī’s work on
it is presented below.
It was not unusual at this time to base the location of a holy shrine upon a dream
or even on hearsay. But it is interesting that the Timurids would find perhaps the most
important shrine after that of the Prophet Muḥammad in their own lands, especially when
Najaf as the resting place of ‘Alī had been established long before. Again, this
rediscovery and building up of a shrine of the most premier member of the Ahl-i Bayt
illustrates Timurid appropriation and recasting of someone central to the Shi‘i narrative.
It catered to the strong pro-‘Alid feelings present in the area but again translated those
feelings through a Sunni prism of practice. Farhat categorizes this ahl al-baytism as a
form of piety “under the rubric of structures mentales of very long durée” and not
38
Robert D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine,
1480-1889 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 27-34.
39
Maria Eva Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran
(Leiden: Brill, 2007), 213-19.
-167-
stemming from any particular religious or political system.40 While Algar is correct in
reading Pārsā’s and Jāmī’s appropriation of the Imams and the Ahl-i Bayt in ways that
consciously exclude Shi‘i claims, the general populace was probably less conscious of
these facts. The figures of Ahl-i Bayt for them present another way to connect to the
greater Islamic narrative in palpable ways that were discussed in the last chapter. That
these holy figures were interred in their hometowns connected them directly to both their
sacred baraka and to the history of Islam and its Prophet Muḥammad.
Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid Shrine
The sections above have demonstrated the different ways that Ahl al-Baytism and a sort
of ‘Alid loyalism among Sunnis had permeated various levels of medieval society. For
the purpose of this dissertation, the most important space of the diffusion and
performance of Ahl al-Baytism is the site of the Timurid shrine (mazār). The mazār
transcended all class, tribal, and even linguistic differences and served as a place of
worship for all members of a particular city or region. In parsing the ways that attachment
to the Family of the Prophet was articulated and practiced at this inclusive site, we get a
broader sense of this sort of pious devotion.
In the hierarchy of holy dead, being of the House of the Prophet was a sure way to
catapult the deceased to the highest position. In fact, many of the shrine guides under
study here are composed in such a way as to place Ahl-i Bayt graves at the beginning, and
then further categorize them based upon the closeness of the relation to the Prophet and
how sure the author was to the authenticity of these claims. For example, Maqṣad al-
40
May Farhat, “Islamic Piety and Dynastic Legitimacy: The Case of the Shrine of ‘Alī b. Mūsā al-Riḍā in
Mashhad (10th-17th Century),” 76.
-168-
Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya opens with ‘Abdallāh b. Mu‘āwiyya b. ‘Abdallah b. Ja‘far al-Ṭayyār
(d. 134 AH), the great-grandson of Ja‘far al-Ṭayyār, and “Shāhzāda” Abū al-Qāsim b.
Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, a son of Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq. Both will be discussed in detail below.
Tārīkh-i Yazd opens with a long narrative of what seems to be the only named
imāmzāda to be interred in the city: Imāmzāda Muḥammad b. ‘Ali b. ‘Ubaydallāh b.
Aḥmad al-Shi‘rī b. ‘Alī al-‘Arīḍī b. Ja‘far Ṣādiq (d. 424/1032). The designation
“imāmzāda” has a different meaning than “sayyid,” the former refers to both a descendant
of a Shi‘i Imam and the shrine of that person. A sayyid is someone who can trace their
lineage to the Prophet’s family through a various genealogical lines.41 Ja‘far b.
Muḥammad b. Ḥasan Ja‘farī prefaces his discussion of this imāmzāda by saying during
the Abbasid times, when there was a lot of religious extremism (ghuluww) and members
of the family of ‘Alī were being killed, this particular imāmzāda left Baghdad for
Khurasan covertly in the manner of wandering dervishes. Upon arriving in Yazd, he took
up work at a blacksmith shop. One night the, probably Buyid, governor of Yazd saw the
Prophet Muḥammad in a dream. The Prophet said to him that a son of mine has come to
Yazd, treat him kindly such that many sayyids (sādāt) of his line will be found in Yazd.
The next day the governor looked for the imāmzāda but didn’t find him. So the next night
he again saw the Prophet Muḥammad in a dream and was given the location of the
imāmzāda. The governor had trouble convincing the imāmzāda to see him until he told
him about his dream of the Prophet Muḥammad. Eventually, they met and the governor
gave his daughter to the imāmzāda in marriage, along with a house in what is now known
as Kūcha-yi Husaynīyān and two tracts of land in rural areas. Imāmzāda Muḥammad b.
41
A.K.S. Lambton, “Imāmzāda,” in Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinriches, Brill Online, 2016.
-169-
‘Ali b. ‘Ubaydallāh b. Aḥmad al-Shi‘rī b. ‘Alī al-‘Arīżī b. Ja‘far Ṣādiq and the unnamed
daughter of the governor had lots of sons and flourished in Yazd.42
In another anecdote about the imāmzāda, we learn of his miraculous taming of a
fierce lion. The lion is a recurring motif in discussions of members of the Ahl-i Bayt,
Abdī Darūn a sayyid buried in Samarkand was protected by a lion both in life and death.
Lions are common in Shi‘i literature where they are accorded a special status for their
size and power, which can be used to command obedience to the Imam or in protection of
the Imam. The lion sometimes also has occult powers which help the Imam to converse
and command the beast.43 Sunni writers, as evidenced here, also made use of lions when
speaking about Imams and imāmzādas. In the place where he is now buried there was a
grove or thicket (bīsha) in which lived a lion who caused much disturbance. Fearing the
lion, people would avoid going that way. The imāmzāda went to investigate one day, and
as he neared the grove, the lion came close to him and kissed his foot. Whereupon, the
imāmzāda petted the lion’s back and the lion placed his head on the imāmzāda’s hand.
Thereafter, people were able to pass through the area and collect wood and reeds from
there. After some time this lion came and put his face at the feet of the imāmzāda and
died. The imāmzāda buried him in that spot and asked that when he passed away that he
should be buried in front of the resting place of the lion, which he was at his death in 424
AH. Now there are said to be over one thousand descendants of this imāmzāda adding
their baraka to Yazd, fulfilling the promise made by the Prophet Muḥammad in the
dream of the Būyid governor. From the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries, the tomb
42
Nashr—i Kitāb, 1338/1960), 130.
43
See: Khalid Sindawi, “The Role of the Lion in Miracles Associated with Shī‘ite Imāms,” Der Islam 84.2
(2007), 356-390.
-170-
structure was built up, tiled and retiled, and additions were added. It became a premier
site to be buried for religious and political elites of Yazd. The author of Tārīkh-i Yazd
supplies his own personal testament that out of the many shrines in the vicinity in which
he has prayed, a special light was only visible from the tomb of the imāmzāda.44
Yazd’s burial sites were not filled with many imamzadas, as the one mentioned
above was the only one that the author of Tārīkh-i Yazd writes about. The story of his
escape from Baghdad, attempts at obscurity in Yazd, discovery via a Prophetic dream and
connection to Yazd’s leaders follows well established tropes about holy men. His lineage
is all that is needed to secure his holy status; this lineage is so important and apparent that
even a wild animal, the lion, bowed to his sanctity. It is also important to note that the
governor of Yazd honors this member of Ahl-i Bayt and gives him gifts, land, and his
daughter’s hand, but there is no inclusion of the imāmzāda in the governance of Yazd. He
remains a figure to be revered by the pious but separate from the political realm.
Samarkand’s best saint is Shāh-i Zinda (The Living King) Qusam ibn ‘Abbās,
who is honored and given importance first and foremost for his connection to the Prophet
Muḥammad. He is described as a cousin of the Prophet Muḥammad, the son of
Muḥammad’s beloved uncle ‘Abbas. Furthermore, Qandiyya accords him an even greater
honor, as the last person to see the face of the Prophet Muḥammad before he died. This
makes Qusam ibn ‘Abbas, the sayyid par excellence of Samarqand, even before the
terrific Shāh-i Zinda tale can be developed. While other sayyids are mentioned
throughout Qandiyya, Shāh-i Zinda’s shrine remains one of the most important and most
visited. The shrine complex around the mazār of Shāh-i Zinda was built and lavishly
44
al-Ḥusaynī Ja‘farī, Tārīkh-i Yazd, 130-132.
-171-
decorated by the royal women and other members of Timur’s family, endowing many
family shrines in the vicinity of the saint. The striking complex at the edge of the city
draws the pilgrim’s eye up the winding maze of shrines and small masjids. 45
Another important member of the House of the Prophet Muḥammad in
Samarkand is ‘Abdī Darūn, who is mentioned at three different points in Qandiyya. The
earliest mention, at the very beginning of the text, may reflect a Persian paraphrase of the
earlier Arabic work. Thus, it can serve as a point of reference to see how the story of this
man grew and developed over the centuries. In his first appearance in Qandiyya we only
hear that his shrine is one of the four most important shrines to visit in Samarkand after
one has made ziyārat of the blessed tomb of Qusam b. ‘Abbās: “in the traditions it has
come down that anyone who makes pilgrimage to the four Muḥammads will attain all his
hopes.”46 ‘Abdī Darūn is the first of these illustrious four Muḥammads. This short notice
on ‘Abdī Darūn indicates that while he was understood to be an extremely important
saint, not much of his history and relation to the city was known.
Subsequently in Qandiyya; however, a more detailed legend of his origins and
miracles is developed. In the second mention of ‘Abdī Darūn, Qandiyya makes use of the
well-known faqīḥ and theologian, Abū al-Manṣūr Māturīdī to explain the saint’s
importance with respect to Islam and Samarqand. Māturīdī states that one of among the
successors (tābi‘īn) is buried in Samarqand and his name is Sayyid Amīr ‘Abdī b.
Muḥammad ‘Abdī b. ‘Uthmān b. ‘Affān, thereby establishing ‘Abdī Darūn’s relationship
45
Roya Marefat, “Beyond the Architecture of Death: The Shrine of the Shah-i Zinda in Samarqand” (Ph.D.
diss., Harvard University, 1991), 75-6.
46 46
Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Khalī Samarqandī, Qandiyya va Samariyya: Dū Risālah Dar Tārīkh-i
Mazārāt Va Jughrāfiyā-Yi Samarqand, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Muʾassasah-ʾi Farhangī-i Jahāngīrī, 1989),
30.
-172-
to the third caliph and important companion of the Prophet Muḥammad, ‘Uthmān b.
‘Affān.47
After Qusam b. ‘Abbās was said to have been defeated, 48 it was necessary to
launch another expedition on the part of the Arabs to subdue Samarqand. According to
Qandiyya, the “chahār yār” decided to send a large force to the area under the leadership
of someone by the name of Shāhzāda Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān or Muḥammad ‘Abdī or Mālik
Azhdar or Ḥazīma, there are many reports citing different names for this leader.49 The
first name given, Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān, was a son of ‘Uthman, the third caliph based in
Medina.50 The narrative continues and the unknown author of Qandiyya seems to find the
account naming Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān as the leader of the Arab force to Samarqand as the
most reliable. Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān, in the narrative, defeats the infidels of Samarqand and
becomes the “khalīfa” of the city. His pedigree is given later in the story, he is said to be
the first son of ‘Uthman b. ‘Affān and Ruqayya, the daughter of the Prophet Muḥammad.
If Muḥammad ‘Abdī is a nickname for Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān, then according to the earlier
mention of ‘Abdī Darūn’s full name (Sayyid Amīr ‘Abdī b. Muḥammad ‘Abdī b.
‘Uthmān b. ‘Affān), ‘Abdī Darūn is the grandson of ‘Uthmān b. ‘Affan and Ruqayya and
the great-grandson of the Prophet Muḥammad.
47
48
This story of the conquest of Samarqand may also be spurious. There was never a real Muslim presence
in Samarqand during the life of the Prophet Muhammad. A Muslim presence in Samarqand is more certain
by the time of the governorship of Qutayba b. Muslim, who was an Arab commander under the Umayyads,
and achieved success in Transoxania during the caliphate of al-Walīd (r. 705-715). See “Samarkand,”
Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online, 2012); C.E. Bosworth, “Kutayba b. Muslim,”
Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online, 2012); Hugh Kennedy, The Great Arab Conquests:
How the Spread of Islam Changed the World We Live In (New York, Boston: Da Capo, 2007), 448.
49
The name of a person would not necessarily indicate their status as a sayyid or not because one’s
standing as a sayyid could be passed through the mother and not be present in one’s name.
50
“Uthmān b. ‘Affān,” Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online, 2012)
-173-
However, as Qandiyya continues trying to explain the genealogy of ‘Abdī Darūn,
we get conflicting accounts. He is also said to be the nephew of Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān, the son
of his sister and a Qurayshī nobleman, which could still make him a great-grandson of
the Prophet Muḥammad;51 however, Qandiyya never explicitly refers to him as the great-
grandson of the Prophet Muḥammad, perhaps because the accounts are confusing or
because they are untrue.52 As having a lineage directly linking to the Prophet of Islam
became increasingly cherished, it may not have been enough for a saint to have been of
the tābi‘īn, especially only through the controversial figure of ‘Uthmān; adding a possible
link to the Prophet Muḥammad increased the saint’s holiness and made him somewhat
more amenable to pro-‘Alid sensibilities. In the last section that mentions ‘Abdī Darūn,
he is reported to be the cousin of Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān, so it is clear that some sort of familial
relationship needed to exist between this early Arab Qurayshī conqueror and ‘Abdī
Darūn, but the exact relation between the two is lost in history.53
Herat, Shāhrukh’s capital, was blessed to provide the final resting places for many
members of Ahl-i Bayt. Maqsad al-Iqbāl al-Ṣultāniyya follows the general schema of
other shrine manuals and opens with its strongest members of Ahl-i Bayt. First is
‘Abdallāh b. Mu‘āwiyya b. ‘Abdallah b. Ja‘far al-Ṭayyār (d. 134/751), the great-grandson
of Ja‘far al-Ṭayyār, an elder brother of ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib. This ‘Abdallāh was declared the
Shi‘i Imam shortly after the death of Abū Hāshim around the time of the ‘Abbasid
51
52
Ruqayya’s only son is said to have not lived past childhood, making it impossible for her to be the
mother of Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān and his unnamed sister. Sa‘īd b. ‘Uthmān is most probably the son of ‘Uthmān
from a different wife. See W.M. Watt, “Rukayya,” in Encyclopedia of Islam, Second Edition (Brill Online,
2012).
53
-174-
Revolution by a faction that did not end up winning. He rebelled against the ‘Abbasids
successfully for some time, but eventually Abū Muslim had the governor of Herat kill
and decapitate him. Ṣultān Muḥammad Kart had a dome built over his tomb in 706/1306.
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ assures pilgrims that this site is exceedingly sacred and is visited every
Friday evening by the souls of the almost supernatural aqṭāb and awtād. The second great
imāmzāda is a son of Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, Shāhzāda Abū al-Qāsim b. Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq. His
shrine is one of the few shrines to be singled out with special instructions for ziyārat of it:
The way to make ziyārat here is as follows: come to the fixed dome
and with the intention of ziyārat, recite Sura Fātiha and Sura Ikhlās.
Then give [the blessings of this recitation] to the soul, full of grace.
And from this ask for your desires and aims (murādāt va maqāṣid)
from God, the Bestower of Needs.54
If one completes this simple practice, Herat’s patron saint, ‘Abdallāh al-Ansarī promises
that the pilgrim’s prayers and needs will be fulfilled. A similar reward is promised to
those who visit the shrine of Sayyid Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Mukhtār (d. 277/890). He had all
the qualifications necessary of a saint in this period: he was of the great mashāyikh of
Herat, he had perfected his knowledge, his miracles (karāmāt) and transcending of the
customary norms of the world (khawāriq-i ‘ādāt) were well known. However, most
importantly he was a Ḥusaynī sayyid, counted as a descendent of the Prophet
Muḥammad’s grandson and great martyr of Karbala, Ḥusayn. This fact, along with his
achievements, made his shrine a place of intercession (tawassul), where the inhabitants of
Herat would go to attain their wants and needs.55 While many shrines are said to be
54
Aṣīl al-Dīn ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī Wā‘iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad
al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqānīyah, ed. R.M. Haravī (Tihrān: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1973), 14.
55
-175-
special places where a pilgrim could attain his/her desires, a very few use the term
tawassul; it indicates the saint’s high level of closeness to God and accords them an
intercessory power close to that of the Prophet Muḥammad. Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Mukhtār’s
biography is followed soon after by that of his son, Sayyid Abū Y‘alā ibn Mukhtār.
Sayyid Abū Y‘alā was considered among the greatest religious scholars of Herat. He was
a zāhid, ‘abid and “ṣāḥib-i karāmat.” However, Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ begins his biography
with and focuses on Sayyid Abū Y‘alā’s genealogy. He comes from a “pure and good
family,” descendants of the Prophet Muḥammad. His grave is at the foot of his famous
father’s shrine, again reminding the pilgrim of the importance of this saint’s illustrious
family.56 Another son of Abū ‘Abdullāh al-Mukhtār is found in Herat, Faqīh ‘Usmān
Marghazī. Presumably he had some sort of religious and juridical training given his
name, faqīh (jurist), but, there is no mention of his scholarly endeavors in his biography.
Instead, the shrine guide focuses on his family and the fact that he was most famous for
never spitting in Herat because it was the resting place of so many pirs.57
It was common for families to be buried in the same place, particularly local
families of importance. Local families who rose to prominence did so based on their
connections to the ruling class, their excellence in religious scholarship, or by their
genealogical ties to the Prophet Muḥammad. Their importance in life followed them in
determining how their shrines were later received after their deaths. As mentioned in the
last chapter, families such as the Satājī family in Bukhara were revered in life and death
for their excellence as jurists as well as their esoteric achievements. Many of the main
56
57
-176-
members of the family are buried in the same location in Bukhara, the Maqbara-yi
Satājiyya. Similarly, families of ‘Alid descent are often buried together and celebrated for
their genealogical significance. Teresa Bernheimer, in her study of 4th-5th/10th-11th
century ‘Alid families in Nishapur and elsewhere, argues that at that time, simply having
genealogical ties to the Prophet Muḥammad was not enough to garner esteem. ‘Alids
cultivated prestige by excelling as scholars of religion, as this sort of scholarship was one
of the main modes to gain prestige.58 This remains partially true in the case of ziyārat in
the Timurid period. Many of the Ahl-i Bayt shrines featured in the shrine guides include
saints who also had scholarly leanings or saints who had participated in the Islamic
conquests, but, the focus of the biographies is on their descent from the Prophet, or ‘Alī,
or from an Imām.
In other cases, all that is known of a saint is that he/she was a descendent of the
Prophet Muḥammad. For example, in Herat there was a dome in the Tiflikān area around
which there were three unnamed graves. Nothing is known of who exactly is buried there,
but the author of Herat’s shrine guide assures us that they must be from among the great
mashāyikh and sādāt of Herat. Proof of the greatness of these saints is the well-known
fact that a continuous light falls upon pilgrims who visit the shrines on Friday nights. 59
And while Qandiyya gives detailed accounts of its most famous members of Ahl-i Bayt,
Shāh-i Zinda and ‘Abdī Darūn, other figures receive much less attention. For example,
there is mention of the “sons of Amīr al-Mu‘minīn Ḥusayn” in the Gurestān-i Jākardīza
58
Teresa Bernheimer, The ‘Alids: The First Family of Islam, 750-1200 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 2011), 83-84.
59
-177-
in Samarkand.60 Only their resting places are mentioned, their names and their virtues in
life are forgotten, but they remain important sources of baraka and intercession because
of their noble lineage. This particular cemetery, which is also the resting place of the
famous jurist and theologian, Abū Manṣūr Māturīdī and well-known Ḥanafī jurist and
scholar, Burhān al-dīn al-Marghinānī (d. 593/1197),61 was said to be the greatest of
cemeteries after that of Baqī‘ in Medina and Mu‘allā in Mecca.62
Ibn Karbalā’ī opens his work directly tying the practice of ziyārat to a physical
imitation of the Prophetic practice of seclusion (khalwat) in the Cave of Hira while
awaiting revelation.63 His first section pointedly begins with the mention of the shrines of
“Aṣḥāb-i Sayyid al-Mursalīn” or the Companions of the Prophet. In many texts, both
shrine manuals and religious compendiums such as that of Muḥammad Pārsā discussed
above, the Companions and the Family of the Prophet are discussed together, implying
that they are equal in their sanctity and closeness to the Prophet Muḥammad. Ibn
Karbalā’ī on the other hand had reason to be set himself and his city away from anything
too Shi‘i. He wrote his work, Rawẓāt al-Jinān, in exile, driven away from Tabriz by the
Safavids. By the time he was writing in the early 1500s, the Safavid attempts towards the
Shi‘ification of Iran had limited the previously existing ambiguity and changed the way
that Ahl-i Bayt was talked about.
60
61
The great legal scholar Burhān al-dīn al-Marghinānī was from a very important and influential scholarly
family in Samarkand. He is most well-known for authoring Al-Hidāya, which was a shortened version of
his Kitāb Bidāyat al-mubtadī. Al-Hidāya became the central authoritative compendia of Ḥanafī law and
was an important part of the madrasa curriculum in Iran and Central Asia and later in South Asia.
62
63
Ḥusayn Karbalāʹī Tabrīzī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, eds. J.S. Qurrāʹī and M.A.S.
Qarrāʾī (Tabrīz: Sutūdah, 2004), 14.
-178-
That being said, Ibn Karbalā’ī’s work does, however, include figures related to
the Prophet Muḥammad. In the first section on the Companions of the Prophet who had
come to Tabriz as part of the Islamic conquest is a saint named Amīr Maẓar ibn ‘Ajīl who
is said to have been a descendent of Abū Muttalib, the grandfather of the Prophet.64 He
shared a bloodline with the Prophet but was not an ‘Alid or an imāmzāda. Nevertheless,
his lineage is still closely connected to that of the Prophet. This is similar to the way that
the ‘Abbasids justified their rule by their descent from the Prophet Muḥammad’s beloved
uncle and son of Abū Muttalib, ‘Abbās.65 ‘Abbās also helped raise and protect the young
orphaned Muḥammad for some time. Samarkand’s Qusam ibn ‘Abbās is similarly related
to Muḥammad via his father ‘Abbās. Amīr Maẓar ibn ‘Ajīl is revered for his participation
and eventual martyrdom during the Islamic conquest; Ibn Karbalā’ī writes at length on
the importance of martyrdom to Tabriz and most of the saints in the long first chapter
were martyrs. This particular mazār is among the select shrines singled out as especially
a place of ziyārat for the local people of the area who always made it a focus of their
supplications, hopes, and requests. The author and presumably the local pilgrims compare
this site to that of the Ka‘ba and make ṭawāf of it in hopes of attaining their desires.66
The shrine guide for Bukhara, Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, also follows a different format
than the three other manuals. Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ does not front end his work with all the
possible imamzādas and sayyids of Bukhara, but rather includes them in discussions of
the neighborhoods in which they are interred. They are not set apart from other awlīyā’
64
Ibn Karbalā’ī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 25.
65
See: Hugh Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates: The Islamic Near East from the Sixth to
the Eleventh Century, Second Edition (Harlow, England; New York: Pearson/Longman, 2004).
66
Ibn Karbalā’ī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va Jannāt al-Janān, vol.1, 25.
-179-
but for their merit and the interest in their narrative. However, in the introductory section,
sandwiched between a discussion on the kayfiyāt (manner) of ziyārat and the ādāb
(courtesies) of ziyārat, the most important shrines are mentioned. Bukharan tombs of
prophets, such as the Prophet Ayyūb, should be visited first if they are present in the area
of ziyārat. Similarly, Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ notes that it is said that a few blessed hairs of the
Prophet Muḥammad can be found in a few graves in the city: that of Qāżī Imām Sha‘bī,
Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Barqī, Dihqān Sughdī, Sayyid Imām Zarangar, and Sadr Shahīd
Husām al-Dīn.67 It is implied that these two should be visited first and that they have a
special status as holders of the relics of the Prophet Muḥammad. Various relics of the
Prophet Muḥammad, and other prophets, such as hairs, nail clippings, body parts,
clothing, and footprints were and remain important vessels of baraka. These relics
provided yet another connection to the Prophet Muḥammad and speaks again to his
person as the focus of medieval Muslim devotion.
Buried somewhere near the end of the book comes one Sayyid Abū al-Ḥaṣan
Hamadānī, who was popularly known as Sayyid Pāband (d. 895 AH). His lineage links
him as a descendent of ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib; however, the discussion of his importance does
not linger on this genealogical fact. Rather, the author of Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, lauds this
saint for his excellence in matters of sharia, tarīqat, and haqīqat. His Sufi credentials
show his spiritual lineage connecting him to the great Junayd al-Baghdādī. He is further
renowned in Bukhara for his asceticism and finally for his martyrdom.68 His scholarly
merit, strong Sufi lineage, and pious asceticism are deemed more important to his walāya
67
Aḥmad ibn Mahmūd Mu'īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā, ed. A.G.
68
-180-
than his descent from ‘Alī. This is in line with the presentation of the respected holy dead
of Bukhara, in which these aspects of a saint’s narrative are emphasized.
The Timurids were not simply content with patronizing their local Ahl-i Bayt
shrines and the great shrine city of Mashhad. As mentioned above, during the rule of
Sulṭān Ḥusayn (r. 1469-1506), the long-hidden tomb of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib in Balkh was
re-discovered, turning the formerly unknown village of al-Khayr or Khwāja Khayrān into
the famous pilgrimage city Mazār-i Sharīf. One of the many contemporary sources on
this discovery and the subsequent ziyārat that arose is that of ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī’s
student, ‘Abd al-Ghafūr Lārī’s Tarīkhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf. While this work is focused
on an important Timurid period shrine, it differs in many ways from the shrine guides
used in this study. Lārī’s manner of presentation and the language he uses is evidence that
his audience was not as wide and inclusive as that of the shrine guides. He uses the
flowery, and at times convoluted, poetic prose found in many Timurid works, that would
not have been easily accessible to large audiences as a work like Qandiyya may have
been. Like the shrine guides, Tārīkhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf gives an account of the
importance of the saint—in this case ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib—Lārī’s work, however, gives a
longer and more detailed account of both the hagiography of ‘Alī and the development of
the shrine itself. He begins his work on Mazār-i Sharīf with a long praise of ‘Alī and
reminds readers of the high esteem the Prophet Muḥammad had for his cousin. Lārī
foregrounds his discussion of the importance of ‘Ali in Islam with the mention of hadiths
such as “I am the city of knowledge and ‘Alī is its gate (anā madīnat al-‘ilm wa ‘Alī
bābuhā)” and the Prophet Muḥammad speech at Ghadīr Khumm: “For whoever I am his
-181-
master, then ‘Alī is his master (man kuntu mawlāhu fa-‘Alī mawlāhu).”69 These were
well-known hadith and pervaded Sufi literature, for example, man kuntu mawlāhu is
found in a famous poem praising ‘Alī by the Indo-Persian poet Amīr Khusraw Dihlavī (d.
725/1325).70
The praise of ‘Alī for his relation to the Prophet and for his own virtues is central
to Lārī’s explanation of the importance of the shrine at Mazār-i Sharīf, but, he also shows
the power of Ahl-i Bayt in general. Lārī recounts the story of the discovery of the tomb of
‘Alī in this small town near Balkh based on a dream local elites had of the Prophet
Muḥammad. Everyone is ready to accept the dream as definitive proof that the tomb is
indeed the final resting place of the Prophet’s cousin. However, one jurist (faqīḥ) remains
recalcitrant. That night, this faqīḥ has a dream in which he is beaten by many sayyids
with ‘Alī looking on. Following this experience, he too comes to accept the validity of
the initial dream of the Prophet Muḥammad.71 In this anecdote, Lārī conveys the
importance of the members of the family of the Prophet Muḥammad in protecting the
legacy of one of their most important ancestors and in turn their own importance. Indeed,
one of the major factors in the continuing relevance of Ahl-i Bayt shrines in the Timurid
period was through the proper administration of these sites, usually under the
management of Ahl-i Bayt families and descendants of the saint. In this task, they had a
vested interest, one that overlapped with the interests of Timurid elites who wished to
69
Lārī, Tārikhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf, 21.
70
In contemporary South Asia there is a popular qawwalī or devotional song that uses this phrase. The
qawwalī is usually attributed to a poem by Amīr Khusraw. See for example: Amy Catlin-Jairazbhoy,
“Sacred Songs of Khoja Muslims: Sounded and Embodied Liturgy and Devotion,” Ethnomusicology 48.2
(Spring/Summer, 2004), 266.
71
-182-
establish their legitimacy as Muslim rulers in creating a flourishing ziyārat program to
their shrines.72
Much like the shrine guides and city histories of the medieval period, Tarīkhcha-
yi Mazār-i Sharīf centers the city and the shrine within the Islamic narrative. Balkh
becomes “Qubbat al-Islām”73 and shrine is the “qibla-yi ‘arab va ka‘ba-yi ‘ajam.”74
Pilgrims are encouraged to visit and take from the healing baraka of the site and feel the
presence of one of the most esteemed figures of Ahl-i Bayt, regardless of whether the
body of ‘Alī actually lies in that tomb. Shahzad Bashir argues that this particular Ahl-i
Bayt shrine goes beyond just connecting pilgrims to Islam and its saintly figures, but also
represents a “piece of Heaven on earth because of the special character of the person
buried in it.”75
Conclusions
To follow the trajectory of early Islamic sources, i.e. hadith, sīra, etc., and their
interpretations by the ‘ulamā’, it seems that a focus on the person of the Prophet
Muḥammad and subsequently on those related to him would be a natural outgrowth of the
charisma of the Prophet and the development of such literature. The form and substance
72
There is much excellent work on the financial, infrastructural, and agricultural importance of ziyārat and
shrines in the Timurid period. See: Maria Eva Subtelny, Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and
Acculturation in Medieval Iran (Leiden: Brill, 2007); Robert McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four
Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-1889 (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1991); Beatrice Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2007).
73
74
75
Shahzad Bashir, Sufi Bodies: Religion and Society in Medieval Islam (New York: Columbia University
Press, 2011). 210.
-183-
of such reverence, however, is tied to the context of the Muslim community in question.
While earlier periods may have shown their reverence to Ahl-i Bayt through respect for
their work as hadith scholars and the like, the post-Mongol Timurid and later periods
were instead poised to show reverence through an emphasis on ziyārat and honoring the
dead. Similarly, in the context of tashayyu al-ḥasan, the recasting of ‘Alid shrines as
places worthy of Sunni ziyārat simply concretizes the appropriation of Ahl-i Bayt for
Sunni narratives of legitimation and piety.
In the last chapter the theme of collective or cultural memory was discussed,
demonstrating the need for cities far from Islam’s origins in the Hijaz to connect to a
global sacred history. This was done by celebrating those people who brought Islam to
places such as Khurasan in the early conquest period, the figures of Abū Muslim and the
participants of the ‘Abbasid Revolution, and most importantly through the relics of the
Prophet and the bodies of Ahl-i Bayt. Any connection to the Prophet and his family would
impart their sacred nature to the ground and community of the city that claimed their
shrines. The piety shown at these shrines united the citizenry of Bukhara, Samarkand, and
Herat with the larger Muslim community across time and space. This communal identity
was particularly important following the social and political ruptures of the Mongol
conquest and rule. The Timurids, with their particular brand of Turco-Mongolian and
Perso-Islamic identity politics, played an active role in cultivating this Islamic element of
their own identity. It served as another mode of legitimation for their often precarious
rule.
The way that these different manuals present sayyid saints reflects the breadth of
belief and practice in medieval Islamic societies. The authors of these texts also show
-184-
their own biases and affiliations in their discussions of members of the Ahl-i Bayt. Both
of these issues play a role in the different ways that Ahl-i Bayt shrines are approached in
the shrine guides; whether they are centered based largely on their lineage or if their
lineage is secondary evidence of their sanctity, after their prowess in battle or their
achievements as scholars. However, in all cases the importance of this noble lineage is
clearly one of the main indicators of sanctity in all of these Timurid cities.
-185-
CHAPTER 5: The Geography of Sanctity
This chapter will examine issues of geography with relation to sanctity and shrines in the
Later Middle Period. It considers the comprehensive role of place in the Timurid ziyārat
experience. The goal is to understand how scholars, rulers, government officials, and
pilgrims imagined and inscribed a sacred geography upon their cities and suburbs. My
approach is similar to that of Ethel Sara Wolper’s consideration of “how the placement,
orientation, and structure” of dervish lodges in pre-Ottoman Anatolia changed the spatial
hierarchy and religious culture of the region.1 Wolper argues that the location of dervish
lodges and their increased accessibility changed their function and meaning for local
residents. Here, the location and accessibility of shrines in Timurid cities, particularly
those of Herat, will be examined to better understand their position in Timurid piety and
religious practice. Timurid shrines share a similar orientation with the dervish lodges
studied by Wolper in that a number of shrines that were maintained by large Sufi orders,
such as the Naqshbandiyya, also served as lodging for travelers, particularly Sufis. 2 When
place is taken into consideration along with ritual and story, which were the focus of
earlier chapters, a comprehensive idea of the ziyārat experience becomes clearer.
Before getting into the value of geography for this study, a short note on the
concept of sacred space or place is in order as these are terms that will be used
extensively in this chapter. Jonathan Z. Smith categorizes a sacred place as any place that
serves to focus a particular type of attention upon it. Through this focused attention and
1
Ethel Sara Wolper, Cities and Saints: Sufism and the Transformation of Urban Space in Medieval
Anatolia (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), 3.
2
See, for example, a discussion of Ibn Battuta’s use of lodging near shrines during his travels: Ian Richard
Netton, “Arabia and the Pilgrim Paradigm of Ibn Battuta: A Braudelian Approach,” in Seek Knowledge:
Thought and Travel in the House of Islam (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1996).
-186-
Chapter 5: The Geography of Sanctity
specialized rituals, the particular place becomes sacred.3 Smith’s theory of sacred space
runs counter to traditional ideas that held that a space’s sacrality was a pre-existing and
absolute characteristic inherent to the place itself. In the course of this chapter, it will
become clear that shrines or mazārs in the Timurid period reflect Smith’s understanding
of sacred space. Shrines and other religious spaces were made sacred through forms of
commemorative architecture, hagiographical texts, the waqfs and other indemnities
granted to saintly families by the political elite, and the continued visitation and practice
of ritual at these shrines by local and non-local populations. Their physical location in
and around cities had less to do with their sacred nature; rather the ziyārat of it imbued
the space with sacredness and in turn gave the city something to hang its identity and
importance upon.
The study of geography in the humanities, and in history in particular, has been
finding new applications. This project makes use of some basic Geographical Information
Systems (hereafter GIS) mapping tools through ArcGIS software that has been made
available by Harvard University’s Center for Geographic Analysis in order to better see
the data presented in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya,
Herat’s shrine guide. GIS mapping technology makes it easier to spatially analyze
complex data. For example, it can bring forward connections between buildings, terrain,
urban layout, narrative sources, movement, politics, and religious ideas in new ways. By
mapping important shrine sites in relation to other important medieval buildings, city
walls, and the natural topography of Herat certain spatial patterns become visible. A map
when layered with the memory and historical narrative of the text gives almost a material
3
J.Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Religion (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago
Press, 1987), 104-113.
-187-
sense of the movement and experience of Herat’s inhabitants’ interactions with local
shrines.
In utilizing GIS tools with the generalized data that can be extracted from
medieval shrine guides, various problems and limitations must be considered. Even
before getting to the limitations of the sources, problems of granularity are central. For
security reasons detailed maps and satellite images of present-day Afghan cities are not
available for unclassified use. Therefore, I had to use maps with more general contours
with the GIS software in this study. This lack of precision in the maps is compounded by
the often very general location information of shrines and other edifices presented in the
sources. For example, sometimes a partial or vague location is given or the guide will say
a shrine is located in a very large garden but with no specific location. In terms of data
collection, I combined the data from primary sources, especially Maqsad al-Iqbāl, with
Terry Allen’s very useful A Catalogue of the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid
Herat and currently existing buildings and proximity to easily identifiable features found
on modern maps to plot out many important sites. The digitizing was done in ArcMap
with two feature classes in a geodatabase: the walled city (shahristān) boundary is a
polygon and shrines are presented as points. As will be evident below, I also calculated
various elevations and distances in order to comment on the type of journey that a
pilgrimage might have entailed. Elevation profiles were created using GTED 7.5 arc
density with 3D Analyst Extension. Distances were calculated using projected data from
WGS 1984 World Mercator- EPSG:3395.
-188-
Place and Collective Memory
The interconnectedness of place, memory and ritual has been the focus of many
works on medieval ziyārat: including the previously cited Josef Meri’s The Cult of Saints
among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria and the more recent Making Space: Sufis
and Settlers in Early Modern India by Nile Green. In this latter work, Green brings texts
and geography together in something he calls “spatializing texts and textualizing space.”4
In recognizing the centrality of space in creating history and memory, there is an added
dimension to the traditional temporal framework of history. Green looks at the physical
and imaginary places and routes created by Sufis moving to India in the early modern
period in order to understand how these places, along with texts and holy men (both
living and deceased) worked to influence “identity, memory, and belonging.”5
Specifically, he argues that a celebrated deceased saint:
[t]ransformed into an eternal saint in this way, as miraculous

patron or even genealogical ancestor of his client community,
through this spatial process of enshrinement the blessed man
became a ritualized and textualized fastener of fragile collective
memory to the enduring stability of the landscape.6
While the Timurid empire proved much more hospitable to Islam and Sufism as
opposed to the foreign status it held in many parts of India in the early modern period,
Green’s assessment of the importance of saints and their shrines to identity and collective
4
Nile Green, Making Space: Sufis and Settlers in Early Modern India (New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2012), 5.
5
Green, Making Space: Sufis and Settlers in Early Modern India, xiv.
6
Green, Making Space: Sufis and Settlers in Early Modern India, 4.
-189-
memory is still relevant. Shrine guides and other literary sources from the Timurid period
are important in the historical production of space and of geographical knowledge.
The study of geography has a long history in the Muslim world and the subject
was an important one to early Muslims. This interest in geography has been attributed to
a variety of factors, including Quranic motivations, the early Islamic conquest, and
expansion, and the needs of pilgrims undertaking the Hajj pilgrimage.7 Indeed travel and
mobility across geographic space is one of the defining characteristics of early Islamic
history, where even the calendar begins with the migration of the Prophet Muḥammad
from Mecca to Medina.8 Travelers and explorers, such as Muqaddasī (d.) and Ibn Battuta
(d. 1377), used their own travels as great source material for the geographical works they
composed. Medieval Muslim geographic works were influenced by the idea that the
world was created by God in the most orderly fashion in which the divisions of land and
water into seven climes was part of the divine wisdom. Pourahmad and Tavallai argue
that for medieval Muslim geographers “the religion, culture, and even the race of
inhabitants of each realm were in harmony with its natural conditions, and reflected the
particular status and nature of its ‘partner’ planet,” linking each space with the cosmos.9
Zayde Antrim argues that the faḍā’il literature and topographical histories of the ninth to
eleventh centuries provide another insight into early Muslim “discourse of place.”10 This
7
Ahmad Pourahmad and Simin Tavallai, “The Contribution of Muslim Geographers to the Development of
the Subject,” Geography 89.2 (April, 2004): 140.
8
Finbarr B. Flood, Objects of Translation: Material Culture and Medieval “Hindu-Muslim” Encounter
(Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009), 1.
9
Ahmad Pourahmad and Simin Tavallai, “The Contribution of Muslim Geographers to the Development of
the Subject,” Geography 89.2 (April, 2004): 143.
10
Zayde Antrim, Routes and Realms: The Power of Place in the Early Islamic World (Oxford, New York:
Oxford University Press, 2012), 34.
-190-
discourse was made up of practices that allowed for writers, and presumably their
audiences, to make concrete a geographical imagination that located the important
Muslim cities of the period amidst its physical and cosmological location as well as in its
place in the sacred history of Islam. The importance of physical centrality and
connectivity is evidenced by the geographer Ibn al-Faqīh’s contention that Baghdad was
a more suitable capital for the caliphate than Damascus because of its central location and
connectivity with the eastern lands of Islam. While understanding the clearly ‘Abbasid
partisanship in this argument, it also shows how the discourse of space could be used in
political ways.11 Centrality was also important in the sacred sense, such that Mecca and
Jerusalem continue to occupy a central place even with the political capital moving to
Baghdad because of their cosmological and sacred importance.12 Finally, Antrim
characterizes the geographical worldview of Muslims in the ninth to eleventh centuries as
rooted in notions of salvation. Cities are described and envisaged “spatial manifestations
of prophethood, bearing witness to the divine will and revealing signs of its fulfillment,
or lack thereof, in their stones, just as prophets did in their words and deeds.”13
Timurid geographies can also offer similar insight into the geographic
imagination of that period. Mu‘īn al-dīn Muḥammad Zamchī Isfizārī’s long history of
Herat is similar to the hybrid topographical and faḍā’il literature of the third to fifth/ninth
to eleventh centuries studied by Antrim. This work, Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-
i Harāt , begins with topographical discussion of the city and its environs. Isfizārī
11
Antrim, Routes and Realms: The Power of Place in the Early Islamic World, 41.
12
13
-191-
establishes Herat’s sacred nature by first naming it: “Balada-yi Ṭayyiba-yi Harāt.”14
Right away, Tayyiba invokes connections to the holy city of the Prophet Muḥammad,
Medina, which is often simply referred to as Tayyiba. Combined with the continual
references to Herat as a part of heaven, the terms jannāt and bihisht are used throughout,
Isfizārī’s focus on the sacred nature of the city is clear. He continues with evocative
analogies comparing the city to all that is sacred and great, for example, the heavenly
scents permeate the city, the great ‘ulamā’ and virtuous people congregate there, and it
remains the goal of all famous rulers to reign from Herat.15 After praising the city, he
establishes the importance of religious figures and religious buildings to the city. The
entire second chapter of Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt is a tribute to Jāmī
for his excellence in religion. Christine Noelle-Karimi argues that Jāmī “personifies the
spiritual excellence fostered by the religious environment of Herat and in turn enhanced
its importance.”16 Following this, is a third chapter on the greatness of Herat’s Friday
congregational masjid. After some greatly exaggerated praise of the masjid, Isfizārī
explains the various architectural details of the structure itself, particularly focusing on
the arches of the masjid that allow the praises of God and the call to prayer be heard
clearly throughout the building.17 Even as he talks about the seemingly boring
architectural design elements, his prose throughout the work evokes the sounds and
14
Muḥammad Isfizārī, Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt vol. 1, ed. M.K. Imam (Tehran:
Danishgāh-i Tihrān, 1959), 19.
15
Isfizārī, Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt vol. 1, 19.
16
Christine Noelle-Karimi, The Pearl in its Midst: Herat and the Mapping of Khurasan (15 th-19th
Centuries) (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2014), 18.
17
Isfizārī, Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt vol. 1, 33.
-192-
smells of each place he describes, such as other important masjids,18 the bazaars, and the
gates of the city. While there is a sacred orientation to Isfizārī’s work, he also gives as
much weight to the non-religious edifices of the city. Noelle-Karimi ranks the top three
spaces of Herat according to Isfizārī as first, the Masjid-i Jāmi‘, then the Citadel of
Ikhtiyār al-Dīn which represents an important defensive structure, and lastly the city
walls and bazaar.19 These three types of structures represent the important elements of the
Timurid city: the religious, the military, and the economic. In addition to these elements,
a discussion of the various garden pavilions where Timurid royalty and elite preferred to
live, like the Bāgh-i Jahānāra and the Bāgh-i Zaghān, adds to the unique character of this
important Timurid city. It represents a continuation of forms that were present prior to
Turko-Mongol and then specifically Timurid rule, in terms of mosques and bazaars, but
adds the element of suburban circles of garden pavilions unique to Turko-Mongolian
elites.
Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū was commissioned by Shāhrukh in 1414 to write a geography of
Khurasan, which centered Herat as the political and religious capital of the Timurid
empire.20 Because of the rules of patronage, Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū’s work is clearly written to
praise the actions of his patron, Shāhrukh, while also trying to present an accurate
geographical representation of the area Shāhrukh ruled. His work, Jughrāfiyya-yi Ḥāfiẓ-i
Abrū, is more focused on the commercial and agricultural aspects of Khurasan, with less
emphasis on religious edifices. His geography begins with a long description of the
18
Isfizārī, Rawżāt al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt vol. 1, 34-5.
19
Noelle-Karimi, The Pearl in its Midst: Herat and the Mapping of Khurasan (15 th-19th Centuries), 20-21.
20
Noelle-Karimi, The Pearl in its Midst: Herat and the Mapping of Khurasan (15 th-19th Centuries), 15.
-193-
topography, including the borders, mountains, and plains of Khurasan.21 He then moves
on to a discussion of the importance of Herat within the region of Khurasan, stating that
in previous times, for example during the reign of the Seljuk Sanjar (r. 512-552/1118-
1157), Nishapur had great importance and Herat was not given as much notice. However,
Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū in clear praise of the capital of his patron, argues that in the current period
(i.e. Timurid), Herat has become superior in every way.22 In his discussion of Herat,
Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū focuses on its suburbs and hinterlands (tawāb‘i va navāḥī) districts
(bulūkāt), villages (qarīya), provinces (wilāyāt), rivers, canals and all the important
features of the area.23 In his discussion of each district and the villages located within
them and Herat’s neighboring provinces, Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū puts emphasis on the farmland and
its viability in each area as well as on the good repair of bridges and canals.24 He also
presents points of history he deems relevant to the place. For example in a discussion of
Bādghīs, he mentions that the area used to be very populated but the armies of Chingīz
Khān killed scores of people and destroyed property. Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū writes of his hopes
that the current ruler will restore the population and buildings to their former glory.25
While Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū’s work was concerned with the aspects of Herat’s geography
that could provide material sustenance to the region’s inhabitants, the shrine guides had a
different focus. By their very nature, the guides established which religio-historical
anecdotes, which sorts of saintly people and which sacred places held importance to the
21
Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū, Jughrāfiyya-yi Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū: Qismat-i rub-‘i Khurāsān, Harāt, ed. Mayil Haravi (Tehran:
Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1349/1970), 3-4.
22
Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū, Jughrāfiyya-yi Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū, 7.
23
24
See for example: Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū, Jughrāfiyya-yi Ḥāfiẓ-i Abrū, 16-17.
25
-194-
inhabitants of a city. All of these aspects, but most tangibly the creation of sacred spaces,
contributed to the collective memory of a city or region, or what Nile Green calls
“memory space.”26 Each city described in the shrine guides under study in this work is
presented as excellent and unique. As discussed in Chapter 3, part of the identity of the
inhabitants of each city was rooted in a collective memory and history of their city’s
greatness, often going back to pre-Islamic times. A good deal of a city’s virtue lies in its
physical topography and its great buildings. For example, a stream in Samarkand called
Juy-i Āb-i Raḥmat about which many interesting stories are told. It is said that from this
Juy-i Āb-i Raḥmat is connected to a spring of heaven (bihisht) finds its source from that
heavenly spring. Another narration places this heavenly spring under the grave of the
Prophet Daniel who is said to be buried in Samarkand.27 These two tales demonstrate
how the physical topography, the built architecture (Daniel’s grave), and eschatological
ideas all play a role in the collective identity and memory of Samarkandis.
Tabriz is deemed to have become a real city when it was built up during the reign
of Harūn al-Rashīd in 170AH, this building program attracted many people to this
“illuminated city.”28 Various earthquakes destroyed the city, one in 244/858 during the
reign of al-Mutawakkil (r. 232-247/847-861) the Abbasid caliph and another in 433/1041
during the reign of the Abbasid al-Qā’im (r. 422-467/1031-1075).29 Each time, the city
26
Green, Making Space: Sufis and Settlers in Early Modern India, xii.
27
Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Khalī Samarqandī, Qandiyya va Samariyya: Dū Risālah Dar Tārīkh-i Mazārāt
va Jughrāfiyya-yi Samarqand, ed. I. Afshār (Tehran: Muʾassasah-ʾi Farhangī-i Jahāngīrī, 1989), 29.
28
Ḥusayn Karbalāʹī Tabrīzī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va-Jannāt al-Janān vol.1, eds. J.S. Qurrāʹī and M.A.S. Qarrāʾī
(Tabrīz: Sutūdah, 2004), 16.
29
Al-Qā’im, though he held the title of caliph, remained largely irrelevant to the rule of the empire. By his
ascension to the seat of the caliphate, all real power was held and wielded by the Buyids who were in
control of Baghdad.
-195-
recovered only when the buildings were rebuilt. After another destructive earthquake for
which a date is not given, one Amīr Wahasūdān ibn Muḥammad30 was again rebuilding
the city and one of the most important parts of his rebuilding projects was that of
rebuilding the Masjid Jami of Tabriz. In an act mirroring a story from the life of the
Prophet Muḥammad, the last stone was ceremoniously placed in a corner completing the
Masjid-i Jāmi‘. This act was celebrated with the sacrificing of 300 cows, goats, and
sheep.31 Yazd too did not find much patronage, and therefore not much building activity,
during the Umayyad and Abbasid periods. From the Saljuq period to its zenith under the
Timurids, Yazd came into its own architecturally when it had princely patronage.32
Aḥmad ibn Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī Kātib notes very early on that there was not a ruler of Yazd
that did not build extensively there, clearly taking pride in his city’s great buildings.33
Tārīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd and the slightly earlier Tārīkh-i Yazd both have chapters focused on
all the different buildings of Yazd and speak in a way that reflects the importance of these
buildings to the identity and memory of what Yazd was.34 The longest chapters are
devoted to religious buildings, particularly funerary structures, attesting to their central
importance in the built landscape of the city.
30
Wahsūdān ibn Muḥammad, erroneously mentioned as Hasūdān in Rawżāt al-Jinān va-Jannāt al-Janān,
was of the Sallarid or Musafirid dynasty and ruled Azerbaijan until 356/967.
31
Tabrīzī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va-Jannāt al-Janān vol.1, 16-17.
32
Isabel Miller, “Local History in Ninth/Fifteenth Century Yazd: The Tārīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd,” Iran vol. 26
(1989): 75-76.
33
Aḥmad ibn Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī Kātib, Tārīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd, ed. Īrāj Afshar (Tehran: Intishārāt-i Ibn Sīnā,
1966), 7.
34
Renata Holod-Tretiak, “The Monuments of Yazd, 1300-1450: Architecture, Patronage and Setting”
(Ph.D. Diss., Harvard University, 1973).
-196-
Bukhara’s importance is in some part attributed to the shrine of Prophet Ayyūb or
Job consecrating Bukhara’s very soil, which was discussed in an earlier chapter.
However, here I would add that the architecture of the shrine itself was an important
component to Bukhara’s local identity and memory of itself. A story of a prophet is one
thing; a shrine to a prophet is a much more concrete manifestation of God’s grace upon
the city through making it the resting place of one of his prophets. Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda
boasts of both a naturally occurring spring connected to the Prophet Ayyūb and his man-
made tomb, both of which attracted local pilgrims.35 The site also became a coveted place
to be buried for the city’s elite, thus, we find members of the Maḥbūbī family buried
closest to Ayyūb.36 The Maḥbūbīs were a well-known and important family of Ḥanafī
scholars who held the role of ṣadr and rā‘īs of Bukhara for many generations.37 The ritual
of ziyārat occurring over and over again established and perpetuated a particular cultural
and collective memory.
Herat was considered the center and heart of Khurasan at least as early as Kartid
times. Herat’s centrality and importance was largely due to its favorable location and
climate. These geographical characteristics made up a portion of the local pride
inhabitants had for their city and its blessings. Similarly, religious buildings, as a central
part of the city’s landscape, fed into local pride and its collective memory. The historical
narratives of the period recount the glory of rulers partially based on their great building
35
Aḥmad ibn Mahmūd Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā, ed. A.G.
36
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā, 24-25.
37
For more on the Maḥbūbī family and other powerful ‘ulamā’ families of Bukhara see: R.D. McChesney,
“Central Asia’s Place in the Middle East: Some Historical Considerations,” in Central Asia Meets the
Middle East, ed. D. Menashri (London: Frank Cass & Co. Ltd., 1998), 43-48.
-197-
programs, particularly of religious buildings. Christine Noelle-Karimi, in her work on
Herat, argues that many authors of local histories focused on religious buildings as
symbols of Herat’s greatness. Isfizārī, for example, places Herat’s masjids, particularly
the Friday Masjid, in a central position for its nurturing of religion and spirituality of the
city’s inhabitants.38 Other contemporary historians placed importance on the city’s
khānaqāhs and madrasas. Herat’s mazārs were even more plentiful and widespread than
its masjids, khānaqāhs, and madrasas. They played an extremely important role in
continually connecting local inhabitants to Herat’s long history.
Ubiquity and Significance of Shrine Locations
In much of the literature on shrines, they are spoken of as being ubiquitous across urban
and rural landscapes. The cataloguing and mapping of the shrines mentioned in Maqṣad
al-Iqbāl, a shrine guide for the city of Herat, give support to these claims. Indeed, shrines
are found in almost every corner of the city and in almost each of the villages and
gardens around the city. The fact that shrines were to be found everywhere indicates that
they were easily accessible to inhabitants of the city, regardless of where they were
residing. The following map (fig. 1) shows the distribution of some shrines mentioned in
Maqṣad al-Iqbāl and reflects the fact that shrines in general were widespread across
Herat and its surrounding areas.
38
Noelle-Karimi, The Pearl in its Midst: Herat and the Mapping of Khurasan (15 th-19th Centuries), 18.
-198-
Figure 1: Wide View of Herat Shrines Map
-199-
In the map above, I have divided the shrines represented into three categories
based on my assessment of their relative importance: primary, secondary, and tertiary
shrines. Shrines that had lots of information about who visited, the importance of visitors,
numerous burials in the vicinity, or that belonged to well-known figures, particularly Ahl-
i bayt were given primary status. While primary shrines did exist in other locales, for
example Gāzurgāh and Ziyāratgāh, the majority of them are clustered in and around the
walled city of Herat. As can be seen in this map, certain areas had a greater concentration
of shrines mentioned in the shrine guide. The author of this shrine guide commissioned
by a royal patron might well have decided to focus on certain shrines favored by his
patron and omit others. Shrines may have existed that were not included in specific
guides for this reason and based upon other biases or inclinations of shrine guide authors.
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ may have simply left out various shrines that he did not know about or
that did not fall in line with the official religious line of the Timurids. The guide does,
however, attempt to be comprehensive. In the 209 entries, only seven shrine locations are
listed as unknown or simply not mentioned. The 202 remaining entries present over 70
discrete shrine locations. The following table (fig. 2) shows the many different sites
where shrines could be found in Herat and the surrounding areas.
-200-
Bāgh-i Āhū 1 Fīrūzābād St. 1

Bāgh-i Akhī Zargar 1 Pul-i Dil Qarār 1
Bāgh-i Safīd- 1 1 Pul-i Mālān 1
Bāgh-i Zāghān 4 Pul-i Nigār 1
Bāgh-i Zubayda 3 Qariya-yi Ashkavān (or Asfaghān) 3
Bāzār-i Khush 1 Qariya-yi Āzādān 2
Between Darb-i Iraq and Darb-i 1 Qariya-yi Bashurān 1
Firuzabad
Buluk Gozareh 7 Qariya-yi Buzdān-i Injīl 1
Burj Sam’ānī 1 Qariya-yi Dādishān 1

Burj-i Kharligh 2 Qariya-yi Dastjird 1
Chahār Sūq 1 Qariya-yi Ghūrān 1
Chashma-yi Mālān 1 Qariya-yi Gavāshān 2
Darb-i Fīrūzābād 3 Qariya-yi Jaghartān (or Jaqartān) 2
Darb-i ‘Irāq 3 Qariya-yi Kahedistan 2
Darb-i Khush 18 Qariya-yi Kamāl al-Dīn 1
Darb-i Malik 2 Qariya-yi Kasul 1
‘Īdgāh 6 Qariya-yi Khwāja Surmaq 2
Fīrūzābād Bāzār 1 Qariya-yi Kūfān 1
Gāzurgāh 23 Qariya-yi Kūrt 1
Ghāzān Neighborhood 1 Qariya-yi Mālān 2
Hawż-i Māhiyān 1 Qariya-yi Murghāb-i Harāt 1
Herat (in the walled city, exact location 3 Qariya-yi Nabāẕān (or Nawbādān) 1
unknown)
Kalār Girān 1 Qariya-yi Pūrān 1
Khiyābān 32 Qariya-yi Salīmī 1
Khwānchābād 6 Qariya-yi Saq Salmān 1
Kucha-yi Saq Salmān 1 Qariya-yi Sarvistān 1
Kuhandiz-i Masrikh 4 Qariya-yi Shakībān Suflā 1
Kūh-i Sayyid ‘Abdullāh Mukhtār 4 Qariya-yi Sham‘ān 4
Mahalla-yi Qużat 1 Qariya-yi Tīzān 1
Maqbara-yi Darb-i Khush 3 Qariya-yi Ziyāratgāh 5
Maqbara-yi Khiyābān 4 Sham’a Rīzān 1
Masjid-i Jāmi‘ 4 Ṭiflikān Neighborhood 4
Masjid-i Gunbad-i Nūr 1 Til-i Qutbiyān 1
Masjid-i Shuhadā’ 1 Tilqān-i Mālān 1
Maydān-i Abd al-Raheem Mālānī 1 Village between Buluk Ghurwān and Bāshān 1
Mirān Neighborhood 1 (Total) 202
Figure 2: Shrine Sites Mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl Chart
-201-
What all of this detail makes clear is the ubiquity of shrines. Depending upon
where one lived, worked, or spent time, a locally placed shrine could be visited with little
additional travel. Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ lists many outlying villages and their shrines;
however, he does not list all of the villages found in Allen’s A Catalogue of the
Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat. Allen lists 260 villages around Herat. He
derives this number through a reading of many Timurid period sources but cannot
actually locate a good number of them. The discrepancy between this large number and
the 26 villages mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl can be attributed to a number of
possibilities. It is most likely that names of villages have changed over time and that
other villages simply have disappeared. Another possibility is that many of the villages
listed by Allen but not Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ are very far from Herat. They either may not
have been counted as being part of Herat’s environs by Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā‘iẓ or he may have
been unaware of the local shrines in these villages. The practice of ziyārat to local shrines
was so widespread at this time, it seems likely that most villages of any real size would
have had a local shrine or would have been close enough to a shrine in a nearby village.
With regard to the villages mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl, the saints and their
shrines range in level of importance according to the shrine guide. For example Qariya-yi
Purān has a shrine for a very important saint named Mawlana Jalāl al-dīn Abū Yazīd
Purānī (d. 862/1457) who was known as one of the aqṭāb, or poles, of the community and
Abd al-Raḥmān Jāmī was said to have served him during his life and visited his shrine
often after his death.39 The majority of entries on shrines in these outlying areas,
however, portray less important saints. For example, Imām Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq Sughdī
39
Aṣīl al-Dīn ʻAbd Allāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī Wā’iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad
al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya, ed. R.M. Haravī (Tehran: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1973), 90-91.
-202-
(d. 305/917), buried in Qariya-yi Buzdān-i Injīl, is described only as an important
renunciant (zāhid) with no other biographical details, though his shrine was known as
“Qibla-yi Ḥājāt” or the “direction to turn for one’s needs”.40 Qariya Sham’an is home to
the shrine of Khwāja Shād Gham for whom no biographical information nor death date is
known. However, his shrine is considered locally important and called “Ka‘ba -yi
Murād” or the “Ka‘ba of one’s wishes.”41 One of the few women mentioned in Maqsad
al-Iqbāl, Bībī Jaghartānī has a shrine in Qariya-yi Jaghartān and is only known as being
among the servants or worshippers of God of her time (‘abidān-i zamān-i khud) and her
shrine attracted many seekers (ṭālibān) of her grace (fayż).42
This particular distribution of shrines across Herat and the outlying areas was not
entirely intentional. Generally shrines developed in an organic manner and for a
multitude of reasons. The most cited reason for the building of a shrine in a particular
place is that the place was important to the life of the saint that is buried at the shrine. It
could be the home of the saint, his/her place of seclusion, or the location of a miracle.
Because holy figures might be found almost anywhere during their life, it makes sense
that their shrines too were scattered throughout the city and its environs. One particular
saint in Herat, Bābā Zakariyya Majẕūb (d. ca. 9th C. A.H), is buried at the head of
Khīyabān Street where he spent most of his days in an ecstatic state.43
Abdī Darūn’s shrine in Samarkand provides an example that is very common in
determining the location of a shrine. Samarkand had experienced a great flurry of
40
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā’iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya, 20.
41
42
43
-203-
building activity from the moment that Timur made it his capital until his death in 1405.
After the first decades of the fifteenth-century, great structures such as the Shāh-i Zinda
complex, the Gūr-i Amīr, the shrine at Rūḥābād, and the mosque of Bībī Khānum as well
as many garden pavilions had already been built and become important parts of
Samarkand’s landscape. After his father’s death, building grand structures remained
important to Shāhrukh and many subsequent Timurid princes; Shāhrukh’s own son Ulugh
Beg built widely in Samarqand.44 It is probably during this second period of building that
the shrine and khānaqāh of ‘Abdī Darūn was built; however, the exact patron of the
Timurid period shrine is unknown.45
The shrine was built upon the site of the original grave and mausoleum of the
saint. If this original mausoleum was built in the twelfth century, during the Saljuq period
as has been argued, then it was located very far to the southeast of the original city of
Afrāsiyāb (fig. 3). With regard to the city (Samarqand) that developed after the Mongol
destruction of Afrāsiyāb and the new Timurid walls of this city, the shrine is still outside
of the main urban center and outside of the city walls. In the fifteenth-century, there was
great growth in Timurid metropolitan centers and a great many suburbs soon came to ring
the original urban cores.46 Samarqand is no exception and indeed the burgeoning
population spread outwards from the city centers. Timur and his descendants also seemed
to favor building and residing in great gardens that surrounded the city centers. It is
44
Donald Wilber, “Qavam al-Din ibn Zayn al-Din Shirazi: A Fifteenth-Century Timurid Architect,”
Architectural History, Vol. 30 (1987), 32.
45
Lisa Golombek and Donald Wilber, The Timurid Architecture of Iran and Turan vol. 1 (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1988), 267.
46
Lisa Golombek, “The Resilience of the Friday Mosque: The Case of Herat,” Muqarnas 1 (1983): 95.
-204-
among one such garden, the Bāgh-i Fīrūz, that the shrine complex of ‘Abdī Darūn and
that of the nearby ‘Ishrat Khāna developed.47
A: Afrasiyāb, B: Old Citadel, C: Shāh-i Zinda, D: Registān, E: Iron Gate, F: Gūr-i Amīr,
G: Gok Saray, H: observatory, I: namāzgāh, J: Shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn, K: Ishrat Khāna,
L: 17th C. namāzgāh, M: Madrasa of Ulugh Beg, N: Madrasa of Shīr Dar, O: Madrasa of
Tilla Kar, P: Bībī Khānum Mosque, Q: Bībī Khānum mausoleum
Figure 3: Map of Samarkand. From J.M. Bloom and S. Blair, eds. The Grove
Encyclopedia of Islamic Art and Architecture, Vol. 3 (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2009), 170.
47
Karoly Gombos, The Pearls of Uzbekistan: Bukhara, Samarkand, Khiva (Budapest: Corvina Press,
1976), 65.
-205-
No waqf or other document exists to accurately explain why the shrine of ‘Abdī
Darūn was built so far from the old city of Afrāsiyāb. However, the Samarqandī shrine
manual Qandiyya-yi Khurd mentions ‘Abdī Darūn teaching at the site where the current
shrine sits. He most likely taught out of his home as was common in the early Islamic
period and it was just as common to build a saint’s tomb either at the site of his home or
place of teaching. While no textual sources point to the exact reason why someone during
the reign of Ulugh Beg decided to build onto the existing foundation and structure, there
is precedent for this sort of action. From the time of Shāhrukh and increasingly so under
his successors, renovation and refurbishment of architectural structures became an
important princely and noble endeavor. Lisa Golombek demonstrates this tendency in her
work on the Friday Mosque in Herat, which was continually renovated. She also
mentions the great number of monuments, bridges, and other buildings that ‘Alī Shīr
Navā‘ī either rebuilt or repaired. There was a sense among these elites that patronage and
upkeep of civic and religious buildings was an important responsibility.48 And as
mentioned in earlier chapters, the financial incentives of such building projects made
them popular among elite members of Timurid society.
‘Abdī Darūn had links to the earliest periods of Islam, the Arab conquest of
Transoxiana, and a possible relation to the Prophet Muḥammad; therefore, his tomb
would be seen as a valuable site to build on. It is likely at this time that there was still a
continued reverence for the saint and any Timurid ruler or bureaucrat could increase
his/her prestige by building there.
48
Golombek, “The Resilience of the Friday Mosque: The Case of Herat,” 95-102.
-206-
The ‘Ishrat Khāna was built later, most of it was complete by 1464, and it was
purposefully built across from the shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn, in order that the royal dead
buried there could partake in the baraka and shafā‘at of the saint. The question of why
another location was not chosen arises, perhaps one closer to either the urban center
where Gur-i Amīr was located or in the northeastern suburbs of the city in the Shāh-i
Zinda complex, where many other royal women were entombed. There could be a
number of reasons this location was chosen, one being the space needed to build such a
grand structure. Shāh-i Zinda as well seems to have been quite crowded and the shrines
built there are of a more modest size compared to ‘Ishrat Khāna. Also, one might
consider that Ḥabība Ṣultān Begūm had the ‘Ishrat Khāna built for her beloved daughter
who died very young.49 The charming atmosphere of Bāgh-i Fīrūz may have suited her
idea of a child’s afterlife better than other possibilities. 50
‘Abdī Darūn’s shrine was built in the vicinity of an important hawż (pool) that
figured into the life and miracles of the saint (see Chapter 3).51 Because this pool
continued to be an important part of ‘Abdi Darūn’s shrine complex and created a tangible
49
50
The way in which medieval Europeans understood the nature and place of their children has been the
subject of long debate among Medievalists; however, this question is just beginning to be asked of the
Middle East, Iran and Central Asia. Some studies of medieval Europe that raise this question include:
Goody, The Development of Marriage and the Family in Medieval Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1983), 324.; Hanawalt, The Ties that Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 364.; Herlihy and Klapisch, Tuscans and Their Families: A Study
of the Florentine Catasto of 1427 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 404.; Kuehn, Law, Family
and Women: Toward a Legal Anthropology of Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1991), 430.; Aries, Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life (New York: Random House,
1962), 448.
51
-207-
reminder of the saint’s legacy. Pilgrims who visited the shrine complex could touch this
very pool and enjoy the quiet around it (fig. 4).
Figure 4: Hawż at the Shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn, Samarkand. From Harvard Fine Arts
Library, Digital Images & Slides Collection 1990.19721, downloaded May 2018.
It also speaks to the importance of water in shrine culture, be they canals,
fountains, rivers or the bridges that facilitated crossing these bodies of water. Similar to
the ubiquity of shrines at gates and intersections, many important bridges in Herat were
flanked by a shrine. Khwāja Awwalīn’s tomb is found near Pul-i Nigār, where
interestingly it is said that riders cannot pass through there because of his sanctity.52
Khwāja Chahār Shanba’s shrine is near Pul-i Dil Qarār.53 Khwāja Rukh is buried near
Pul-i Mālān.54 Pools such as that found at ‘Abdī Darūn’s shrine and fountains were
common around shrines. These served to cool the usually hot areas, provide water to
thirsty pilgrims, and generally add comfort to the pilgrimage experience.
52
53
54
-208-
The fact that shrines existed in almost every locality, not just in congested central
locations, also tells us about the situation of builders and patrons of shrines. A great many
shrines were built during the Timurid period and patrons often had to find creative ways
to raise new building works. One strategy was to simply build in the open spaces in the
outer suburbs and outlying towns of important cities. For example, the area called
Ziyāratgāh became an important place of pilgrimage during the Timurid period. Earlier it
had been a far off outpost of Herat, but with the building efforts that capitalized on
preexisting popularity of the site, Sultan Ḥusayn added to the number of shrines and
religious sites in the area in the latter part of the fifteenth century.
Mazārs were often built around other religious buildings or connected to other
buildings, such as a masjid, a khānaqāh, or a madrasa. Its main function was as a
religious building so it makes sense that this would be the case. In terms of the spatiality
of the religious experience of ziyārat, those who came to the shrine would take it in as
part of the landscape of piety. Often times it was built of the same materials, endowed by
the same patrons, designed by the same architects as to evoke a sense of connectivity
between the different edifices. In practice, it was quite normal to have a mausoleum
contained within a khānaqāh or a madrasa. This added to the baraka and importance of
the khānaqāh or madrasa. We see examples of this throughout Herat. Shaykh Kamāl al-
Dīn ‘Abd al-Razzāq al-Kāshānī was buried inside of the Khānaqāh al-Zaynī al-Māstarī,
which itself was located near the Masjid-i Jāmi‘ of Herat.55 Here we see all three
important religious structures in the same vicinity. Golombek, in her study of Gāzurgāh,
55
Terry Allen, A Catalogue of the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat (Cambridge, MA: Aga
Khan Program for Islamic Art at Harvard University and MIT, 1981), 154; Faṣīḥ al-Dīn Aḥmad Khvāfī,
Mujmal-i Faṣīḥī vol. 3, ed. M.N. Naṣr Ābādī (Tehran: Intishārāt-i Asāṭīr, 2008), 49.
-209-
discusses similar incidences in other Timurid regions: the ḥaẓīra enclosure that houses
the tomb of the famous Sufi Shaykh Khwāja ‘Abd al-Khāliq Ghijduvānī in Ghijduvān
contains a madrasa and there is a building that seems to be a masjid with a funerary
enclosure in front of it at Anaw for Shaykh Jamāl al-Ḥaqq al-Dīn.56 For practical
purposes, this arrangement offers devotees the convenience of visiting all three with
relative ease. The clustering of buildings was a common practice for Timurid patrons.
This was particularly true if a popular site, whether a tomb or other pilgrimage site, was
already in existence, it was easy for a ruler to erect new buildings to capitalize on that
popularity. Beatrice Manz points to several incidences of this during the Timurid period,
including extensive building during Timur’s reign around the tomb of Shāh-i Zinda in
Samarkand and Sultān Ḥusayn’s building activities at Ziyāratgāh, which was already “a
popular pilgrimage and burial spot.”57
‘Alī Shīr Navā’ī’s famous Ikhlāsiyya complex in the Khiyābān area of Herat was
one of the most extensive grouping of religious buildings, including a masjid-i jāmi‘, a
madrasa, a khānaqāh, a dar al-huffāz, a dar al-shifā’, and a bath. The aforementioned
structures, along with a residence and small garden for his personal use, were built and
endowed during the life of ‘Alī Shīr and after his death. His mausoleum became a central
part of the complex as well.58 The owner of a waqf was often interred at or around the site
of their endowment, another example is found in the madrasa of Gawhar Shād, the wife
56
Lisa Golombek, “The Timurid Shrine at Gazur Gah: An Iconographical Interpretation of Architecture”
(Ph.D. diss., The University of Michigan, 1968), 241.
57
Beatrice Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2007), 192.
58
For extensive details on the Ikhlāṣiyya Complex see: Allen, A Catalogue of the Toponyms and
Monuments of Timurid Herat, 94-97.
-210-
of Shāhrukh. Terry Allen and other art historians describe it as a “muṣalla ensemble” that
was endowed and built by Gawhar Shād in the Khiyābān neighborhood of Herat near Pul-
i Injīl between 1417-1438/820-841 AH.59 Within this complex is a mausoleum in which
Gawhar Shād and many members of the royal family related to her were buried,
including her brother, a few of her sons, and a grandson. Because this was a royal tomb
as opposed to one of a religious figure it is not mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl. However,
the mausoleum was probably built in the vicinity of a religious building, the madrasa, in
order to connect it to the religious atmosphere of that building. This aligns with the very
common practice of building royal mausoleums as well as graves and graveyards of
regular and elite people around the mazārs of holy saints. The Ishrat Khana, a secular
tomb built to house royal women and children in Samarkand, was built right across from
the shrine of ‘Abdī Darūn, an important saint linked to the family of the Prophet
Muḥammad.
As discussed above, shrines were found all around Herat and its environs, yet, the
ones listed in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl are all concentrated around the walled city and a few other
locations. Of the 202 known locations mentioned in the shrine guide, 150 of them were
located in just 14 general areas. The majority of shrine locations are concentrated within
a few key areas: in the Khiyābān area north of the walled city, in Gāzurgāh a few miles to
the northeast of the walled city, around Darb-i Khush, within the walls of the city (shahr
band), in the Guzara district (bulūk) particularly in an area known as Ziyāratgāh, at Īdgāh
north of the city, Khwāncha/Khwānchābād just outside of Darb-i Fīrūzābād, around the
other gates of the city and a few important gardens (bāghs) (figs. 5 and 6).
59
Allen, A Catalogue of the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat, 122.
-211-
Figure 5: Close-up View of Herat Shrines Map
Shrines Indicated in Map:
1 ‘Abdullāh ibn Ja‘far al-Ṭayyār

2 Shāhzāda Abū al-Qāsim ibn Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq
3 Fakhr al-Dīn Rāzī
4 Gawhar Shād Masjid
5 ‘Abdullāh Taqī & Maqbara-yi Darb-i Khush
6 Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī & Gāzurgāh
7 Takht-i Mukhtār (Kūh-i Mukhtār)
8 Abū al-Walīd (Qariya-yi Āzādān)
9 Eidgāh
10 Darb-i Khush Area
11 Khwāja Kula
12 Mazār-i Shuhadā’
13 Bibi Siti Rukh & Bazār-i Khush
14 Imām ‘Abdullāh al-Wāḥid ibn Muslim
15 Khwāja Chahārshamba
-212-
Shrine Location Number of Shrines

Khiyābān 40
Kuhandaz-i Masrikh- 4
Maqbara-yi/Gurestan-i Khiyābān- 4
Gāzurgāh 23
Darb-i Khush 21
Maqbara-yi Darb-i Khush-3
Within Walled City 18
Masjid-i Jāmi‘-4
Ṭiflikān Neigborhood-4
Ghazān Neighborhood-1
Shama‘ Rīzān Neighborhood-1
Qużāt Neighborhood-1
Mirān Neighborhood-1
Chahār Sūq-1
Darb-i Fīrūzābād Bāzār-1
Darb-i Khush Bāzār-1
Buluk Gozāra 12
Ziyāratgāh- 5
Īdgāh 6
Khwānchābād 6
Darb-i Qutb Chāq/Qutb Chāq St. 5
Darb-i Malik 2
Darb-i Fīrūzābād 3
Darb-i ‘Irāq 3
Kūh-i Sayyid ‘Abdullāh Mukhtār 4
Bāgh-i Zaghān 4
Bāgh-i Zubayda 3
TOTAL 150
Figure 6: List of Major Shrine Sites Chart
-213-
(A: Darb-i Khush, B: Darb-i Firūzabād, C: Darb-i ‘Irāq, D: Darb-i Malik, E: Darb-i Quṭb
Chāq/Qipchāq, F: Masjid-i Jāmi‘)
Figure 7: Map of Walled City (Herat) and Immediate Environs, from T. Allen, A
Catalogue of the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat (Cambridge, MA: Aga
Khan Program for Islamic Art at Harvard University and MIT, 1981). (lettered location
markers added here for clarity)
-214-
Places such as Khiyābān, Ziyāratgāh, and Gāzurgāh already had mazārs before
the Timurid period. Under the Timurids, particularly Shāhrukh, these areas grew
considerably in terms of the building of funerary and religious structures. This was part
of the Timurid efforts of establishing their legitimacy as Sunnī rulers of a largely Muslim
population. They were able to capitalize on already existing devotion to local saints and
their shrines and simply direct it in the directions they wanted. In this way, Khiyābān
became a very important suburb, filled with religious buildings and more than 40 shrines.
These included the main Ahl-i Bayt shrines of 'Abdullah ibn Mu'awiyya ibn 'Abdullāh b.
Ja'afar al-Ṭayyār and Shāhzāda Abū Al-Qāsim b. Ja'far al-Ṣādiq as well as a ḥaẓīra of the
descendants of the Prophet’s uncle Ḥamza ibn ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib. Places such as Qarīya-yi
Āzādān, Khwānchābād, and Kūh-i Mukhtār became popular places of ziyārat during the
Timurid period because of contemporary and near-contemporary saints being buried
there.
Most of these shrines are located in public and accessible locations. For example,
many shrines can be found near the important bazaar areas of Herat and around the
various gates of the walled city, particularly Darb-i Khush. In Timurid period texts darb
and darvāza are used to mean gate; in Maqsad al-Iqbāl, the author almost exclusively
refers to the main gates of the city as darb. The walled city of Herat was surrounded by
five important gates: Darb-i Khush, Darb-i ‘Irāq, Darb-i Fīrūzabād, Darb-i Malik, and
Darb-i Qipchāq or Qutb Chāq (see Fig. 5). All traffic into and leaving the walled city
(shahr band) would have to pass through these gates and bring inhabitants into the areas
where shrines were prevalent. Similarly, every Friday, the majority of male inhabitants of
-215-
the city would be attending Friday prayers at the Masjid-i Jāmi‘ in the walled city,
bringing them to the vicinity of still more shrines.60
Mazārs were considered public spaces in the same way that the bazaar was a
public space. Both fulfilled important functions of society and were present in the day to
day lives of inhabitants of the region. The bazaar was necessary for the sale and purchase
of comestibles, clothing, and other items. However, the bazaar area was used in other
ways as well. Using various descriptions of public gatherings, such as wedding and birth
celebrations, public trials and investitures of government officials, Michele Bernardini
argues that the bazaar served as a special space for ceremony. This ceremonial space was
open to both the commoners and the elite, unlike more exclusive ceremonies that took
place in Timurid garden pavilions in the city suburbs.61 Shines similarly can be viewed as
dual purpose spaces. Some were easily accessible and frequented often or as needed by
local residents. These would be the shrines with the lowest level of travel friction. Indeed,
these were the shrines that were present all around local residents, the one they would see
on their way to the vegetable market or to the Friday Mosque for prayer. The way certain
shrines are described give evidence to their connection to everyday activities of urban
residents. For example, the Herati shrine of Fakhr-i Sānī is located “outside of Darb-i
Khush, near a bāzārcha (small market) that is on your left as you are leaving the city.”
60
Oher congregational mosques did exist around Herat including the Masjid-i Jāmi‘ of Gawhar Shād’s
madrasa, the masjid at ‘Alīshīr’s Ikhlāṣiyya complex, Masjid-i Gunbad in Ziyāratgāh, and masjids in many
of the villages surrounding the city. For more on the Friday mosque see: Lisa Golombek, “The Resilience
of the Friday Mosque: The Case of Herat,” Muqarnas 1 (January, 1983): 95-102.
61
Michele Bernardini, “The Ceremonial Function of Markets in the Timurid City,” in Environmental
Design: Journal of the Islamic Environmental Design Research Centre 1-2, ed. A. Petruccioli (Rome:
Dell’oca Editore, 1991), 92.
-216-
The Mazār-i Dokhtarān is also outside of Darb-i Khush and close to the caravanserai in
that vicinity.62
Friction and Liminality
The movement of people across space is an important consideration in terms of
pilgrimage. As discussed in an earlier chapter, many scholars counted the journey to a
shrine as part of the sacred ritual. Departure from home as well as the actual walk to the
shrine was couched in ritualistic terms complete with the appropriate litanies to
accompany the activity. But how exactly did people set forth on pilgrimages to local and
not so local shrines? Did they travel long distances regularly to complete ritual
supplications at particular shrine or were they more likely to frequent local shrines? Long
distance travel was an important part of medieval life; however, it was not the reality for
most people. Islamic scholars have had a long tradition of traveling to far places in order
to gain and share religious knowledge. As one historian puts it, for some Islamic scholars
the long journey was a sort of “metamorphosis” necessary to validate one’s status as a
scholar.63 Similarly, there is ample evidence of people who had enough wealth to make
the expensive journey to Mecca to perform the Hajj pilgrimage. For the majority of
Muslims in the eastern Islamic world, however, local and regional pilgrimages were as
far as they traveled.
To help evaluate the difference in a pilgrim’s experience of visiting various
shrines, concepts found in transport geography are helpful. Transportation geography is a
62
63
Houari Touati, Islam and Travel in the Middle Ages, trans. L.G. Cochrane (Chicago: Chicago University
Press, 2010), 1.
-217-
sub-category of geography and is focused on the mobility of people and things. Central to
this approach is the idea of friction of distance or friction of space. Any sort of constraint
placed upon transport, such as long distance, topography, time, costs, administrative
borders, serve as a sort of friction to transportation and limits the movement of a
person.64 When trying to ascertain how far people may have regularly traveled in order to
make ziyārat, taking the friction of distance into consideration is important. The friction
of distance and the financial and security costs involved served to limit how far people
could easily travel. With this in mind it helps us to better understand trends in the sources
that liken local tombs and religious places to important universal Islamic places, such as
the Ka‘ba in Mecca. The majority of medieval Muslims could not make the long and
expensive trip to Mecca, so they found circumambulation of other shrines fulfilling.
While the sources are clear that making the pilgrimage to Mecca made a ḥājī (one who
has performed the Hajj pilgrimage) worthy of special honors, visiting other religious
places might be nearly as important. For example, the more convenient pilgrimage to
Mashhad became increasingly popular during the Timurid period.
Under the patronage of Shāhrukh, his wife Gawhar Shād, and other elite
Timurids, many public religious buildings were constructed in Mashhad in the fifteenth
century and the city became a major pilgrimage hub. The number of pilgrims attracted to
the tomb of ‘Alī al-Riżā’s tomb grew dramatically during this period. As was argued in
the last chapter, the shrine to this Shi‘i Imam did not impede Sunni veneration. Rather,
Sunni appropriation of ‘Alid and Shi‘i spaces was extremely common such that Timurid
patrons actively sought out possible ‘Alid shrines to either build or renovate. Mashhad
64
Jean-Paul Rodrigue, The Geography of Transport Systems (New York: Routledge, 2017),
-218-
provided a great opportunity for Timurid elites to showcase their patronage and devotion
to religious architecture, particularly that which was connected to a mazār. Even before
the great building projects during Shārukh’s reign, Mashhad already had a special place
with regard to pilgrimage. Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo, the Spanish ambassador who met
with Timur in Samarkand, visited the tomb of ‘Alī al-Riżā and called it the “chief place
of pilgrimage in all these parts…” He continued saying:
[A]nd yearly come hither people in immense numbers of pious

visitation. Any pilgrim who has been here, on returning home to
his own country, his neighbors will come up to him and kiss the
hem of his garment, for they hold that he has visited a very holy
place.65
This reverence for pilgrims who visited Mashhad is similar to that accorded to
those returning from Hajj. Mashhad’s special place for Khurasanian pilgrims was
celebrated by the widespread belief that making pilgrimage to it during the time of Eid
al-Adha (the feast of the sacrifice) was equal to the Hajj.66 The historical sources also
show that Shāhrukh made repeated pilgrimages to Mashhad in order to show his pious
devotion alongside his ostentatious patronage of buildings in the city.
Mashhad and other important regional shrines, such as that of ‘Alī at Mazār-i
Sharīf which became important at the end of the fifteenth century, required a long
journey that would not have been frequently undertaken by most Muslims because of the
distance, cost, and time commitment involved. Because so many shrines, including those
connected to Ahl-i Bayt, companions of the Prophet Muḥammad, and early saintly
65
R. G. de Clavijo, Embassy to Tamerlane: 1403-1406 (New York, London, 1928), 185.
66
See Khwāndamīr, Ḥabīb al-siyar, 4: 324. And May Farhat, 84.
-219-
figures, were abundant in Herat, it is likely that people were able to fulfill their ziyārat
needs locally. As shown above, there was a shrine of some importance to be found in
practically every place a person might find themselves. As such, many local sites were
also spoken of in terms likening them to the Hajj in Mecca and even to visiting the tomb
of the Prophet Muḥammad in Medina. The lower level of friction to travel with regard to
local sites made them more accessible to inhabitants of a particular city. Language
comparing local pilgrimage to Mecca or Medina adds a dimension of specialness or even
liminality to the experience of visiting particular shrines. For example the Maqṣad al-
Iqbāl calls the shrine of Khwāja Shād Gham, located in Qariya-yi Sham‘ān, “Ka‘ba-yi
murād.” In Samarkand, the shrine Mazār-i Juzaniyān is called the “Ka‘ba of
Transoxiana.”67 Ibn Karbalā’ī makes it clear the mazār of Amīr Muẓar ibn ‘Ajīl was
particularly an important place of ziyārat for people who lived in Tabriz. They visited the
shrine of this saint, said to be a descendant of the Prophet Muḥammad’s grandfather, Abū
Muṭṭalib, in hopes that their wishes and supplications will be fulfilled. Ibn Karbalā’ī
compares this shrine to the Ka‘ba and states that local pilgrims would circumambulate
(ṭawāf) the shrine as part of their ritual practice.68 Even shrines that were not referred to
as a Ka‘ba of its region still may have held a special esteem beyond that of other shrines
in the area. One caveat to this discussion is that the use of ka‘ba in Persian literature did
not always have a religious resonance. However, in the case of shrine guides, which had
clear religious content and motivations, one can argue that the use of ka‘ba be taken at
face value.
67
68
Ibn Karbalā’ī, Rawżāt al-Jinān va-Jannāt al-Janān vol. 1, 25.
-220-
I argue here that even among the local shrines, there was a difference in the
ziyārat experience and, therefore, some important shrines that were not explicitly referred
to as special still could have had a special status based upon factors increasing friction of
travel. Using shrines in Herat as a test case, I calculated the elevation profiles of a few
different routes to certain shrines in order to understand what the journey to each shrine
was like. For this exercise, I compared the distance and elevation involved in traveling to
four popular shrine areas: Gāzurgāh, Darb-i Khush area and the shrine of Hazrat Khwāja
Abū ‘Abdullāh Taqī al-Sijistānī al-Harawī , shrine of Hazrat Khwāja Abū al-Walīd in
Qariya-yi Āzādān, and the Khiyābān area around the shrine of Fakhr al-dīn Rāzī. I chose
these particular shrines and shrine areas because of the way in which they are presented
in the Maqṣad al-Iqbāl. Gāzurgāh, Khiyābān and Darb-i Khush have the largest
concentrations of shrines in Herat as well as are home to very famous and popular saints.
The shrine guide also highlights how well-visited these places were, how people wanted
to be buried in these areas, and also uses these places as reference points when giving
directions to other shrines.
The shrine of Hazrat Khwāja Abū ‘Abdullāh Taqī (d. 460AH) is located right
outside of Darb-i Khush, the eastern gate of the walled city (dar birūn-i darb-i khush).
Both Shāhrukh and Sulṭān Husayn were said to have built up this shrine and frequently
visited it, sometimes together. Taqī was a Hanbalī and a Sufī and one of ‘Abdullāh
Ansārī’s teachers. His excellence in sharia and ṭarīqa as well as his ample miracles
established his position as an important Heratī saint. Also, in the general vicinity of his
shrine, around Darb-i Khush, there are a total of 21 shrines mentioned in Maqsad al-
Iqbāl. I would argue that the presence of Taqī and the other important and sometimes
-221-
more secondary shrines in this area made it a popular ziyārat location. To model a
possible trip a pilgrim might make to get to the shrine of Taqī, I plotted a course from the
center of the city, at the Chahār Sūq to the shrine itself outside of Darb-i Khush. Because
a road existed connecting these well-visited points it seems reasonable that this could
have been a possible path taken by a pilgrim. Obviously, pilgrims lived, worked, and
came from many different parts of Herat and its outlying areas. Because of the
impossibility of plotting every possible permutation of travel, I am using a model route to
make various observations about travel to shrines in Herat. The elevation profile for this
route (Chahār Sūq to Darb-i Khush/Mazār-i Khwāja Taqī) shows that the distance was a
little bit more than one kilometer and showed no significant changes in elevation (fig. 8).
This indicates a pretty flat and easy walk between the two points.
Figure 8: Elevation Profile Journey to Darb-i Khush & ‘Abdullāh Taqī
-222-
The next shrine considered is that of Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī. Al-Rāzī was a well-
known twelfth-century theologian and exegete who wrote a great many works on kalām
(theology). Herat’s shrine guide gives him a rather short entry based on his importance in
the scholarly world and for the number of other saints buried around him, but does say of
him that he was “among the great imams and ‘ulamā’ of his day” and that because of the
great esteem he held in the city, Sultan Ghiyās al-Dīn Ghūrī (r. 558-598/1163-1202)
made the Masjid-i Jāmi‘ of Herat Shāfi‘ī so that al-Rāzī could preach there and give
“nasīḥat” to the Muslims of Herat.69 The general area where he is buried in Khiyābān
was also where important sayyids such as ‘Abdullāh ibn Mu‘āwiyya ibn ‘Abdullāh ibn
Ja‘far al-Tayyār and Shāhzāda Abū al-Qāsim ibn Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq were buried. Because of
the great building projects undertaken by the Timurids, including Gawhar Shād’s
madrasa and ‘Alī Shīr Navā‘ī’s great Ikhlasiyya complex among others, Khiyābān
became a growing neighborhood for funerary architecture. Maqṣad al-Iqbāl lists 40
shrines in the immediate area, making it an oft-visited site. The elevation profile for this
area, and specifically for Takht-i Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī as it is called in the sources, is
taken from Darb-i Malik (fig. 9). Darb-i Malik makes a reasonable starting point as it
provides the most direct road to the shrines in the Khiyābān area. From Darb-i Malik, the
shrine of al-Rāzī is a little less than 1.5km and the elevation is negligible, only about 20
meters. This would indicate that this particular path was also one that would not be too
arduous on pilgrims traversing it.
69
-223-
Figure 9: Elevation Profile Journey to Khiyābān & Fakhr al-Dīn Rāzī
Figure 10: Mazār of Abū al-Walīd, Qariya-yi Āzādān. From Harvard Fine Arts Library,
Digital Images & Slides Collection d2009.02875, downloaded May 2018.
Khwāja Abū al-Walīd was buried near the town where he lived; Qariya-yi Āzādān
(fig. 10). Ziyārat of Abū al-Walīd was popular in the Timurid period: in order to make
clear where certain more secondary or tertiary shrines are located, the author of Maqṣad
al-Iqbāl says that they fall along the way to the mazār of Abū al-Walīd. In another
instance, the shrine of Shaykh Abū al-‘Alā’ is mentioned as an important shrine where
pilgrims go after they complete their ziyārat of Abū al-Walīd. To plot out the elevation of
the journey to this shrine, I used Darb-i Malik as my starting point and plotted a course
that passed through Bāgh-i Zaghān based on the information Maqsad al-Iqbāl gave about
the other shrines that come along the way to Abū al-Walīd. The resulting elevation was
-224-
not significant, about a 10 meter rise over the course of the first kilometer of the
approximately 2.5km journey (fig. 12). The distance is greater than ziyārat opportunities
closer to the walled city, near Darb-i Khush and in the Khiyābān area. Nevertheless, the
actual journey would not be too taxing in terms of elevation.
Figure 11: Elevation Profile Journey to Abū al-Walīd
The last example reflects a different sort of travel experience for pilgrims.
Gāzurgāh was perhaps one of the most important ziyārat destinations in Herat during this
period and was home to the shrine of Shaykh al-Islam Hazrat Khwāja ‘Abdullāh Ansārī
(d. 481 AH) as well as many other saintly figures and members of the nobility. For the
Timurids he was a patron saint of the city and called the Pīr of Herat. Maqṣad al-Iqbāl
counts him as the quṭb (pole) of his time in the mystical hierarchy discussed in an earlier
chapter. Gāzurgāh is located about 2.5km northeast of the walled city of Herat at the foot
of the Zanjīr Gāh mountains. This area was already a waystation and place of visiting
before Anṣārī’s shrine was first built up by Shāhrukh in 828/1425.70 It was frequented by
Sufis and other spiritual seekers for various reasons and this earlier purpose continued to
influence Gāzurgāh in the Timurid period as well. Because of its distance away from the
70
For an extensive treatment of Gāzurgah’s history and architecture see: Lisa Golombek, The Timurid
Shrine at Gazur Gah (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1969).
-225-
busy city and its cooler climate due to its proximity to a mountain and water sources, the
shrine complex retained a peaceful atmosphere (figs. 12 and 13). This peaceful
atmosphere is important in the following discussion of the pilgrimage experience to
Gāzurgāh as a liminal one.
Figure 12: The Shrine Complex of ‘Abdullah al-Anṣārī at Gāzurgāh. From Harvard Fine
Arts Library, Digital Images & Slides Collection 1981.24487, downloaded May 2018.
Figure 13: Example of Vaulting in the Jamāt Khāna of the Shrine Complex of ‘Abdullāh
al-Anṣārī at Gāzurgāh. From Harvard Fine Arts Library, Digital Images & Slides
Collection 1979.12869, downloaded May 2018.
The elevation profile for Gāzurgāh roughly follows the road Khiyābān-i Sulṭānī
that leaves the city from Darb-i Khush and passes through Bāgh-i Safīd in a northeasterly
-226-
direction (fig. 14). This follows directions given in Maqsad al-Iqbāl which hints at this
being a good way to get to Gāzurgāh. This route is almost 4km in distance with a steady
increase in elevation when one gets about 1km outside of town. The elevation from this
point on is quite substantial, rising almost 90 meters. This would prove a long and taxing,
but not prohibitive, journey. This elevation is greater, and therefore more taxing, than that
of going to the shrine of Shāh-i Zinda in Samarkand, which had some elevation and an
appearance of even more elevation based on the way the buildings are arranged.
Figure 14: Elevation Profile Journey to Gāzurgāh & ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī
Geographers have calculated an average distance that a person would easily travel
in a day. In modern studies, this sort of data helps researchers figure out the best places to
place public transportation, retail locations, and other essential places. While the
distances given vary considerably, a commonly estimate found in the literature regarding
foot travel in the United States of America is around 0.25mi or 0.40km. In contrast, the
premodern person would naturally have walked a much greater distance daily. Jean-Paul
Rodrigue estimates that the premodern person probably walked about 5km a day and
could complete this distance in about 1 hour.71 In the medieval Middle East and Central
Asia, people were more likely to walk to fulfill their daily needs rather than make use of
71
Jean-Paul Rodrigue, The Geography of Transport Systems (New York: Routledge, 2017),
https://people.hofstra.edu/geotrans/eng/ch2en/conc2en/ch2c1en.html.
-227-
animals or wheeled transport.72 Based upon Rodrigue’s estimate of 5 km being a
reasonable amount of walking on a daily basis, the majority of the shrines in Herat could
be easily visited on foot on a normal day. Indeed, the advice for visiting shrines
recommends weekly visits on particular days and the brief ritual performed at the shrine
adds little extra time to the visit. When these short excursions occur in the context of
other daily tasks, such as visiting the mosque, the markets, neighbors, they become non-
taxing parts of daily life.
In contrast, making the longer journey out to Gāzurgāh indicates something out of
the daily norm. The round-trip journey itself exceeds the daily 5 km walking limit, the
elevation increases considerably during the walk making it more difficult, and because
Gāzurgāh was primarily a huge necropolis it did not lend itself to other daily tasks of life.
The experience of ziyārat of ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī and other important saints at Gāzurgāh,
which of course includes the journey to the shrine, can be understood as a liminal
experience. The term liminal, particularly in conjunction with ritual practice, is most
commonly attributed to the work of Victor Turner. I use liminal here loosely in
accordance with the way that Turner explained it, as an ambiguous space that is “betwixt
and between the positions assigned and arrayed by law, custom, convention, and
ceremonial.”73 His definition focuses on the way that religious adherents move away
from the mundane into the liminal which allows for a special encounter with something
other than self, and finally returning to communitas which is remade by the liminal
72
Richard Bulliet, The Camel and the Wheel (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), 227.
73
Victor Turner, “Liminality and Communitas,” in A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion, ed. M.
Lambek (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2002), 359.
-228-
experience. In communitas the constraints of society are reaffirmed and the person
returns to the normal structures of life.
Liminality in the case of medieval ziyārat is a physical movement from one’s
mundane space to the blessed spaces of the mazār. It is in this space, consecrated by its
saintly inhabitants interred underground, that God and other supernatural beings are
thought to be responsive to the needs of the pilgrim.74 This sort of liminality had to have
been present in every shrine that was thought to be sacred regardless of the where the
shrine was located. However, I argue here that the physical separation of certain shrines
from people’s everyday life, made ziyārat of that particular shrine more liminal, more of
a break with the mundane than the more easily accessible shrines. In the earlier chapter
on ritual, I examined the ways that much of the ritual connected with ziyārat mirrored
regular, daily practices of Muslims, thereby making ziyārat part of one’s habitus.
However, here the added dimension of space and movement through space makes clear
that there was more involved in the ziyārat than just ritual utterances. In this case, the
journey takes on more importance because of the time and even monetary investment
necessary for a longer, more arduous ziyārat.
These longer ziyārats are often presented in ways to maximize the time invested
in undertaking it. Maqṣad al-Iqbāl discusses possible circuits of shrines to be done in one
long ziyārat. These circuits inevitably end or begin with the more important shrines of
Herat. For example, the way to Gāzurgāh is one of the longest treks a pilgrim might
make. On their way to Gāzurgāh, other shrines come along the road and pilgrims are
74
This idea comes from Edmund Leach’s explanation of Turner’s liminal stage of ritual, where ritual is
necessary to transform time and space into something that is transformative and sacred. See Catherine
Bell’s discussion of Leach in: Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, 44.
-229-
advised to visit these as well. The way that shrines were alternatively spread out and
clustered together facilitated this. For example, if Gāzurgāh’s many important shrines,
such as that of ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī and of the Mazār-i Khalvatiyān was the goal of a
pilgrim, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl helpfully provides information on other shrines that come along
the way as one travels to the further site of Gāzurgāh. For instance, the shrine of Hazrat
Khwāja ‘Alī ibn Muwaffaq Baghdādī (d. 265 AH), a Sufi saint who had been a
companion of Dhu’l-Nūn Maṣrī and is mentioned in Anṣarī’s tabaqat work, is located on
Quṭb Chāq “near the road to Gāzurgāh (rāh-i Gāzurgāh) and Bāgh-i Safīd.”75 The shrine
of Muḥammad Māhrūī falls along the way to Gāzurgaāh, outside of Darb-i Khush.76
The journey to Khwāja Abū al-Walīd’s shrine in Qariya-yi Āzādān similarly is
part of a circuit of shrine visitation. As one travels out of the walled city, the Mazār-i Sar-
i Kucha is said to come at the head of the road that goes from Shād Bara on the north side
of Bāgh-i Zaghān on the way to the mazār of Abū al-Walīd.77 This shrine’s name is based
solely upon its location, there is no biographical information on who may be buried there,
though the author believes that the mazār belongs to a sayyid, or descendant of the
Prophet Muḥammad. Its importance comes from its location along the way to Abū al-
Walīd’s shrine and it is likely this made it easy for pilgrims to stop there on their journey
to Abū al-Walīd. The shrine of Pīr Qavām al-Dīn Tabrīzī (d. 828/1425), a virtuous
ascetic, is said to have been buried “along the pilgrimage way (rāh-i ziyārat) to Abū al-
Walīd.”78 No other information is given on the location of this mazār, Wā’iẓ expected
75
Aṣīl al-Dīn Wā’iẓ, Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya, 16-17.
76
77
78
-230-
his audience to know what he meant because this path was a popularly traversed one.
Similarly, the mazār of Shaykh Abū al-‘Alā’ is given importance because of its proximity
of that of Abū al-Walīd. Wā’iẓ says that this shrine belongs to one of the important
awlīyā’ but the only additional information given is that pilgrims come to this shrine after
they complete the ziyārat of Abū al-Walīd.79
The guides often allude to the various circuits or courses of shrine visitation.
Wā‘iẓ mentions the various shrines that Shāhrukh and Sulṭān Ḥusayn would visit during
their reigns. As discussed above, this is helpful in highlighting some of the most
important or most-visited shrines during the Timurid period, but it also hints at the
sequence of shrines visited in one journey. We are told, for example, that twice a year
Shāhrukh would make a circuit of the shrines of Herat, including that of Sultān Majd al-
Dīn Ṭālib.80
Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda, a shrine guide for Bukhara, is organized in such a way as to
encourage the visitation of many shrines in one visit. It is structured based on shrine
location, unlike Maqṣad al-Iqbāl which presents shrines chronologically based on death
date of the saint. For example, Mullāzāda opens with the important shrines around Til-i
Khwāja and gives information on the important saint, al-Shaykh al-Islām Khwāja Abū
Ḥafs and the various saints buried around him.81 Throughout this work, the locations of
shrines are given in a manner that makes it easy to follow if you are simultaneously
undertaking ziyārat. Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’, the author of Mullāzāda, will give the name and
biography of an important saint in a particular location, and then list the neighboring
79
80
81
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda: Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā, 19-20.
-231-
shrine or state that the shrine in front of this one is such and such. Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā’ also
reiterates the importance of prioritizing shrines connected to the Prophet Muḥammad and
other prophets. For example, he says that if you go to a cemetery or place with many
shrines, you must first visit those shrines that belong to a prophet or are significant to the
Prophet Muḥammad. In Bukhara there are a few strands of the Prophet Muḥammad’s hair
said to be buried with five important saints, their shrines are listed as important visitation
sites.
Ziyārat in Samarkand is also written about in terms that encourage visiting
multiple sites in one journey. For example, in a section discussing the shrine of Shāh-i
Zinda, Qandiyya recommends that the pilgrim head towards the Iron Gate (Darvāzā-yi
Āhanīn) and pray nafl or supererogatory prayer at the monastery of Muḥammad ibn Vasī’
before going to other shrines.82 Throughout this guide, the unknown author exhorts
prayer at a number of little monasteries and masjids that are located near graveyards and
shrines. In one case he gives support to this practice by linking a particular small masjid
to Khizr, a supernatural figure mentioned in the Qur’an and important to both Sufi and
folk traditions.83
The grouping of certain shrines together based on proximity or importance and
the grouping of various religious buildings together shows the interconnected nature of
the religious architecture of the city. Inhabitants of a city had many different
opportunities to visit, pray at, and experience sacred spaces. Shrines were an important
part of people’s daily life as well as part of special excursions. The fact that these spaces
82
83
-232-
could be simultaneously ubiquitous and liminal adds to their importance in the religious
experience of medieval Muslims. Perhaps no other religious architecture could have such
a complex significance in people’s lives. Their increased accessibility and visibility in
Timurid cities, along with the relative flexibility of ritual involved in ziyārat, helped to
center them in the religious culture of the time. That they could be both everywhere and
yet remain special, made mazārs distinctive sacred spaces where one could go to fulfill
all sorts of spiritual and material needs.
-233-
Conclusion
Ziyārat was a ubiquitous demonstration of religious piety in the medieval lands under Timurid
rule. It provides a point of analysis through which medieval piety and religious practice can be
examined. Ziyārat was made up of particular ritual behavior, often alongside a well-constructed
saintly narrative, and a tangible space that commemorates the saint. These three aspects were
central to the discursive construction of a sanctified place and illuminate important ideals of
piety of the time. In other words, ritual, story, and place were centrally important in weaving
together the fabric of piety in this time. As a practice, this ritual incorporated movements and
litanies that were well known to Muslims of the time. The Fatiha or Sura Yāsīn could drift easily
from the lips of the pilgrim. Similarly the journey to local shrines was, for the most part, an
everyday occurrence. So many shrines covered the cities and neighboring villages, that it would
have been harder to avoid a shrine than to intentionally seek one out. This ubiquity and
convenience of ziyārat makes it clear that while the spiritual aspects of this endeavor may have
been liminal and otherworldly, the physical and corporeal aspects were very much quotidian.
The characterization of ziyārat as a routine or ordinary experience is balanced by elements of
liminality inherent in the practice. The sacred nature of shrines and the physical movement to
shrines located some distance away from the activities and spaces of a pilgrim’s normal life
create a feeling of liminality.
The saintly narratives upon which the greater part of this study focuses point to the
centrality of a seemingly incongruent mix of esotericism, miracle-working and a rigorous
adherence to the Sharia in constructing a template for, as Christopher Taylor puts it, an
“ascendant paradigm of exemplary piety”.1 Taylor’s work on Egypt in the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries demonstrates the importance of qualities such as a mastery of personal
1
Christopher Taylor, In the Vicinity of Righteousness, 89.
-234-
Conclusion
desire, poverty, generosity, eccentricity, and a resistance to unbelief and hypocrisy. In the case of
Timurid biographies of saints, it took much more than a few miracles to prove sanctity; lineage,
scholarly learning, and issues of collective memory were among the most important issues to
medieval Muslims. When a saint is presented as integrally part of the city or region he/she is
buried in, as well as having great virtues by way of religious knowledge, participation in the Sufi
hierarchy of saints, fighting in the early Islamic conquest, or by descent or connection to the
Prophet Muḥammad, he/she proves worthy of ziyārat. Conversely, shrines that were already well
visited are often included by the authors of shrine guides with spurious biographies fitting this
worldview manufactured for them.
Lastly, the physical journey of ziyārat and the spatial placement of shrines throughout
medieval cities are as equally important as the ideas of ritual and saintly narratives. The
Timurids, in particular, with their grand building projects and artistic innovations, participated in
creating a unique ziyārat experience for those in their realms. While neighborhood shrines may
have remained untouched by Timurid patronage, most of the shrines and shrine complexes were
built and rebuilt or augmented in some way during this period. It provided pilgrims with different
levels of experience; the local ziyārat could have been a quick visit to a nearby mazār en route to
the market. However, more involved ziyārats were also possible without having to leave one’s
own city. Other important shrines placed outside city walls and away from busy metropolises
made for more of a liminal pilgrimage experience.
Shahzad Bashir says of the medieval mazār:
It should be noted that there is no absolute one to one correspondence

between the reputation of a master and the scale of a shrine built for him
immediately after his death. If and when shrines would be constructed
and become focal points for visitation and patronage depended
ultimately on the confluence of masters’ reputations and the interests of
those willing and able to sponsor them. Overall, then, what matters is
-235-
Conclusion
that shrine construction and visitation were significant cultural

preoccupations in this historical context as a whole. As in the case of the
great masters’ personalities, the reputation of a shrine depended, in the
last instances, on the production of narratives about the site that could
well add to the posthumous reputation of maters but were also
independent venues for socioreligious elaboration…What mattered was
the production of a compelling narrative, backed up by the interests of
those in power. The shrines can then be seen as new physical
manifestations ---new ‘embodied’ forms—that were first justified
through narratives about their material connection to saintly persons’
bodies but then took on lives of their own in new symbolic and ritual
contexts.2
The popular pious activity of grave visitation illustrates the intersection between the
motivations of different sectors of Timurid society: that of the political rulers, religious elites
(the ‘ulamā’), Sufis, and the general population of pilgrims and devotees of various shrines. The
groups both shared and negotiated the borders of ritual practice at shrines which resulted in a
vibrant religious tradition. The ‘ulamā’ of this period had been long conditioned in condoning
and giving legitimacy to things that they might not have in the past. From accepting Mongol rule
to the widespread practices and beliefs that came with both the Mongols and the Turko-
Mongolian groups that pervaded the Later Middle period, the scholarly and religious class was
extremely accommodating. It is only normal that they would also lend legitimacy to the
widespread practices of ziyārat, while trying to maintain some semblance of control over the
practice. We see strains of this control in the shrine guides early presentations on the manner of
ritual, in prescribing proper behavior and giving acceptable litanies for the pilgrim to recite.
However, in many cases, this careful presentation gives way to a more inclusive description of
the behavior that was likely to be taking place at Timurid shrines. The practices of seeking
saintly intercession, healing, and worldly benefit was normalized and even formalized by certain
litanies and advice found in the shrine guides.

2
Shahzad Bashir, Sufi Bodies, 211.
-236-
Conclusion
The ‘ulāmā’ and Sufis also benefitted from shrine visitation, whether financially or
through the spread of their religious ideas. Similarly Timurid elites pushed forward their own
plans of controlling the narratives of orthodoxy in their domains and proving their own
legitimacy through their construction and patronization of various shrines and saints. The
audiences of shrine guides written by scholars and the visitors of the great shrine complexes built
and maintained by Timurid rulers did not just idly accept the ziyārat as presented to them. The
pilgrims too participated in the construction of what was sanctified and what was important to
them in terms of the holy dead. The shrines visited and revered by the pilgrims, the oral
narratives provided by the pilgrims for shrine guides, and the types of activities performed by the
pilgrims at the shrines are all part of the discussion of piety and religious practice.
Through the study of the shrine and all that went into making it a central part of medieval
Muslim religious life, we gain more insight into the moral imagination of people at this time. The
religious ideals that were important to them and the ways they incorporated these ideals into their
daily practices and even into the sacred topography of their cities, makes what their lives might
have looked like a little clearer. It is my hope that this work contributes to a better understanding
of how Islam as a discursive tradition informed and was informed by the piety and religious
practice of medieval Muslims of all classes. It challenges a vision of a monolithic Islamic
orthopraxy by showing how the very fabric of Islam in medieval Iran and Central Asia
represented both continuity with an Islamic past and a catering to local and contemporary needs.
-237-
Bibliography
Primary Sources
Aḥrār, ʻUbayd Allāh ibn Maḥmūd, The Letters of Khwāja ʻUbayd Allāh Aḥrār and His
Associates. Ed. M.E. Subtelny and A. Urunbaev. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2002.
Ibn ʻArabshāh, Aḥmad. Tamerlane or Timur, the Great Amir. Ed. & trans. J.H. Sanders. Lahore:
Progressive Books, 1976.
Awfī, Muḥammad. Javāmiʻ al-Ḥikāyāt va Lavāmiʻ al-Rivāyāt. Tehran: Dānishgāh-i Tihrān,

1335.
Babur, Zahiruddin Muḥammad. The Baburnama: Memoirs of Babur, Prince and Emperor. Ed.
W.M. Thackston. New York: Modern Library, 2002.
Ibn Battuta, The Travels of Ibn Baṭṭūṭa. 5 Vols. Ed. & trans. C. Defrémery, B. R. Sanguinetti,
and H.A.R. Gibb. Cambridge, England: Published for the Hakluyt Society at the University
Press, 1958-2000.
Chekhovich, O. D., Ed. Samarkandskie Dokumenty XV-XVI . Moskva: Izd-vo Nauka; Glav. red.
vostochnoĭ lit-ry, 1974.
Chekhovich, O. D., Ed. Bukharskie Dokumenty XIV. Tashkent: Nauka, 1965.
Dawlatshāh Samarqandī. Tadhkirat ash-Shuʻarā. Ed. E.G. Browne. London: Luzac, 1901.
Fakhrī, Sulṭān Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad Haravī. Tāẕkirah-ʾi Rawz̤ at al-Salāṭīn, va Javāhir al-
ʻAjāyib. Ed. S.H. Rāshidī. Ḥaydarābād, Sind: Sindhī Adabī Būrd, 1968.
Faṣīḥ Khvāfī, Faṣīḥ al-Dīn Aḥmad. Mujmal-i Faṣīḥī. 3 Vols. Ed. M.N. Naṣr Ābādī. Tehran :
Intishārāt-i Asāṭīr, 2008.
Khunjī-Isfahanī, Faz̤l Allāh ibn Rūzbihān. Tārīkh-i ālam-ārā-yi Amīnī. Eds. V. Minorsky and
J.E. Woods. London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1992.
Khunjī-Isfahanī, Faz̤l Allāh ibn Rūzbihān. Mihmān'Nāmah-ʹi Bukhārā: Tārīkh-i Pādishāhī-i

Muḥammad Shaybānī. Ed. M. Sutūdah. Tehran: Bungāh-i Tajumah va Nashr-i Kitāb, 1976.
González de Clavijo, Ruy. Embassy to Tamerlane, 1403-1406. Ed. & trans. G. Le Strange. New
York: Harper, 1928.
Gruber, Christiane J., Ed. & trans. The Ilkhanid Book of Ascension A Persian-Sunni Prayer
Manual. London: Tauris Academic Studies, 2009.
-238-
Bibliography
al-Ghazālī. The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife, Book XL, The Revival of the Religious
Sciences (Kitāb Dhikr al-mawt wa mā ba‘dahu: Ihyā ‘ulūm al-dīn). Trans. T.J Winter.
Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1989.
Ḥāfiẓ Abrū, Jughrāfīyā-yi Ḥāfiẓ Abrū: Qismat-i Rub-ʻi Khurāsān, Harāt. Ed. R.M. Haravī.
Tehran: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān. 1970.
Harawī, ʻAlī ibn Abī Bakr. A Lonely Wayfarer's Guide to Pilgrimage: ʻAlī Ibn Abī Bakr Al-
Harawī's Kitāb Al-Ishārāt ilā maʻrifat al-Ziyārāt. Ed. & trans. J.W. Meri. Princeton, N.J.:
Darwin Press, 2004.
al-Haravī, Sayf ibn Muḥammad ibn Yaqūb. Ta'rīkh Nāma-i-Harāt. Ed. M.Z. Siddiqi. Calcutta:
Khan Bahadur K. M. Aaadulláh, Librarian, Imperial Library, 1944.
Ibn Isfandiyār, Muḥammad,ibn al-Hasan. An Abridged Translation of the History of Ṭabaristān.

2 Vols. Ed. & trans. E.G. Browne. London: E.J. Brill ;B. Quaritch, 1905.
Isfizārī, Muḥammad. Rawz̤ āt Al-Jannāt fī Awṣāf-i Madīnat-i Harāt. 2 vols. Ed. M.K. Imam.
Tihrān: Danishgāh-i Tihrān, 1959.
Ja‘farī, Ja‘far ibn Muḥammad al-Ḥusaynī. Tārīkh-i Yazd. Ed. Īraj Afshār. Tehran: Bungāh-i
Tarjuma va Nashr—i Kitāb, 1338/1960.
Jāmī, Nur al-Din Abd ar-Rahman. Nafaḥāt al-Uns min Ḥaḍarāt al-Quds. Ed. M. ʻĀbdī. Tehran:
Ītilāʻāt, 2004.
----------. Nāmahʹhā va munshaʾāt-i Jāmī. Tihrān: Mīrās̲ -i Maktūb, 1999.
----------. Bahāristān. Tihrān: Iṭṭilāʻāt, 1989.
Karbalāʹī Tabrīzī, Ḥusayn, Rawżāt al-Janān va Jannāt al-Janān, 2 vols. Eds. J.S. Qurrāʹī and
M.A.S. Qarrāʾī. Tabrīz: Sutūdah, 2004.
Kātib, Aḥmad ibn Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī. Tarīkh-i Jadīd-i Yazd. Ed. I. Afshār. Tehran: Intisharāt-i Ibn
Sīnā, 1345/1966.
Khvānd Mīr, Ghiyās̲ al-Dīn ibn Humām al-Dīn. Ḥabīb as-Siyar, Tome Three: The Reign of the
Mongol and the Turk. 2 Vols. Ed. & trans. W.M. Thackston. Cambridge, Mass.: Dept. of Near
Eastern Languages and Civilizations Harvard University, 1994.
Lārī, ‘Abdul Ghafūr. Tārikhcha-yi Mazār-i Sharīf (A Short History of Mazār-i Sharīf). Ed.
Mayel-i Haravi. Kabul: The Historical and Literary Society of Afghanistan Academy, 1970.
Mu‘īn al-Fuqarā', Aḥmad ibn Maḥmūd. Tārīkh-i Mullāzāda:Dar Ẕikr-i Mazārat-i Bukhārā. Ed.
A.G. Maʻānī. Tehran: Kitābkhānah-ʾi Ibn Sīnā, 1960.
Mustawfī, Ḥamd Allāh. The Geographical Part of the Nuzhat al-Qulūb Trans. by G. LeStrange.
Leyden: E.J. Brill Imprimerie Orientale, 1919.
-239-
Bibliography
Narshakhī, Abū Bakr Muḥammad. The History of Bukhara. Ed. & trans. R.N. Frye. Cambridge,
Mass.,: Mediaeval Academy of America, 1954.
Pārsā, Khwāja Muḥammad. Faṣl al-khiṭāb. Ed. J. Misgarnizhād. Tehran: Markaz-i Nashr-i
Dānishgāhī, 1381/2002-3.
Ibn Qulawayh. Kāmil al-ziyārāt. Trans. S.A. Husain Rizvi. Mumbai: As-Serat Publications,
2010.
Ṣafī, ʻAlī ibn Ḥusayn Kāshifī, Rashaḥāt 'Ain al-Ḥayāt, Beads of Dew from the Source of Life:
Histories of the Khwājagān, the Masters of Wisdom. Ed. & trans. M. Holland. Ft. Lauderdale,
FL: Al-Baz Publishing, 2001.
Samarqandī, Muḥammad ibn ʻAbd al-Khalī. Qandiyya va Samariyya: Dū Risālah Dar Tārīkh-i
Mazārāt va Jughrāfiyā-yi Samarqand. Ed. I. Afshār. Tehran: Muʾassasah-ʾi Farhangī-i
Jahāngīrī, 1989.
Ibn Taymīyah, Aḥmad ibn ʻAbd al-Ḥalīm. Iqtiḍāʾ al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm mukhālafat aṣḥāb al-
jaḥīm: Ibn Taimīya's Struggle Against Popular Religion. Ed. & trans. M.U. Memon. Hague:
Mouton, 1976.
Thackston, W. M., Ed. & trans. A Century of Princes: Sources on Timurid History and Art.
Cambridge, Mass.: Aga Khan Program for Islamic Architecture, 1989.
Wā‘iẓ, Aṣīl al-Dīn ʻAbdullāh ibn ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al-Ḥusaynī. Maqṣad al-Iqbāl-i Sulṭāniyya va
Marṣad al-Āmāl-i Ḥāqāniyya. Ed. R.M. Haravī. Tehran: Bunyād-i Farhang-i Īrān, 1973.
Yazdi, Sharaf al-Din ‘Ali. Zafarnama, 2 vols. Ed. M. ‘Abbasi. Tehran: Amir-i Kabir,
1336/1957–8.
Secondary Sources
Abun-Nasr, J.M. Muslim Communities of Grace: The Sufi Brotherhoods in Islamic Religious
Life. London: Hurst & Company, 2007.
Ahmad, Irfan. “Talal Asad Interviewed by Irfan Ahmad.” Public Culture 27.2 (2015): 259-279.
Ahmed, Shahab. “Mapping the World of a Scholar in Sixth/Twelfth Century Bukhara.” Journal
of the American Oriental Society 120.1 (2000): 24-43.
Algar, Hamid. “The Naqshbandī Order: A Preliminary Survey of Its History and Significance.”
Studia Islamica 44 (1976):123-152
----------. “Religions in Iran (2): Islam in Iran (2.2) Mongol and Timurid Periods.” Encyclopedia
Iranica, 2008.
-240-
Bibliography
----------. “Jāmī ii. And Sufism,” in Encyclopedia Iranica, 2008.
----------. “Sunni Claims to Imam Ja‘far al-Sadiq.” In Fortresses of the Intellect: Isma‘ili and
Other Islamic Studies in Honour of Farhad Daftary. Ed. O.A. de-Unzaga. London and New
York: I.B. Tauris Publishers, 2011: 77-102.
Allen, Terry. A Catalogue of the Toponyms and Monuments of Timurid Herat. Cambridge, MA:
Aga Khan Program for Islamic Art at Harvard University and MIT, 1981.
Allison, Christine. “Addressivity and the Monument: Memorials, Publics and the Yezidis of
Armenia.” History & Memory 25.1 (Spring/Summer 2013): 145-181.
Allsen, Thomas T. Commodity and Exchange in the Mongol Empire: A Cultural History of
Islamic Textiles. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997.
Amanat, Abbas and Magnus Thorkell Bernhardsson. Imagining the End : Visions of Apocalypse
from the Ancient Middle East to Modern America. London, New York: New York: I.B.
Tauris, 2002. Print.
Amitai-Preiss, Reuven. "Sufis and Shamans: Some Remarks on the Islamization of the Mongols
in the Ilkhanate." Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 42.1 (1999): pp.
27-46.
Anjum, Ovamir. “Islam as a Discursive Tradition: Talal Asad and His Interlocutors.”
Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 27.3 (2007): 656-672.
Antrim, Zayde. Routes and Realms: The Power of Place in the Early Islamic World. Oxford,
New York: Oxford University Press, 201.2
Asad, Talal. Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and
Islam. Baltimore, London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993.
Assmann, Aleida. “Transformations between History and Memory.” Social Research 75.1
(Spring, 2008): 49-72.
Assmann, Jan and John Czaplicka. “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity.” New German
Critique 65 (Spring/Summer, 1995): 125-133.
Barthold. Four Studies on the History of Central Asia, vol.3. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1956.
Bashir, Shahzad. "Enshrining Divinity: The Death and Memorialization of Fazlallah Astarabadi
in Hurufi Thought." Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 289-308.
----------. “Deciphering the Cosmos from Creation to Apocalypse: The Ḥurūfiyya Movement and
Islamic Esotericism.” In Imagining the End: Visions of Apocalypse from the Ancient Middle
East to Modern America. Ed. A. Amanat and M. Bernhardsson. London, New York: I.B
Tauris Publishers, 2002: 168-184.
-241-
Bibliography
----------. Messianic Hopes and Mystical Visions: The Nūrbakhshīya Between Medieval and
Modern Islam. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003.
----------. Sufi Bodies: Religion and Society in Medieval Islam. New York: Columbia University
Press, 2011.
Bausani, A. “Religion in the Seljuk Period.” In The Cambridge History of Iran vol. 5: The Seljuk
and Mongol Periods. Ed. J.A. Boyle. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968.
Bell, Catherine. Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions. New York: Oxford University Press,
2009.
Bender, Courtney. “Practicing Religions.” In Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies, Ed.

R.A. Orsi. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012: 273-295.
Berkey, Jonathan Porter. Popular Preaching and Religious Authority in the Medieval Islamic
Near East. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2001.
Berkey, Jonathon. “Mamluk Religious Policy.” Mamluk Studies Review 8.2 (1999).
Bernardini, Michele. “The Ceremonial Function of Markets in the Timurid City.” In

Environmental Design: Journal of the Islamic Environmental Design Research Centre 1-2.
Ed. A. Petruccioli. Rome: Dell’oca Editore, 1991.
Bernheimer, Teresa. The ‘Alids: The First Family of Islam, 750-1200. Edinburgh: Edinburgh
University Press, 2011.
Bianchi, Robert. Guests of God: Pilgrimage and Politics in the Islamic World. New York:
Oxford University Press, 2004.
Binbaş, I.E. Intellectual Networks in Timurid Iran: Sharaf al-Dīn ‘Alī Yazdī and the Islamicate
Republic of Letters. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016.
Blair, Sheila S. "Sufi Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Early Fourteenth Century." Muqarnas
7 (1990): pp. 35-49.
Blair, Sheila. The Ilkhanid Shrine Complex at Natanz, Iran. Cambridge, Mass.: Center for
Middle Eastern Studies, Harvard University, 1986.
Bourdieu, Pierre. The Logic of Practice. Trans. Richard Nice. Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1980.
Bosworth, C. Edmund. "Sistan and its Local Histories." Iranian Studies 33.1/2 (2000): pp. 31-43.
----------. Khurāsān.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam Second Edition, Eds. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. vanDonzel, and W.P. Heinrichs. Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009.
Bulliet, Richard. The Camel and the Wheel. New York: Columbia University Press, 1990.
-242-
Bibliography
Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to
Medieval Women. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987.
----------. Wonderful Blood : Theology and Practice in Late Medieval Northern Germany and
Beyond. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007.
Campo, Juan E. "Shrines and Talismans: Domestic Islam in the Pilgrimage Paintings of Egypt."
Journal of the American Academy of Religion 55.2 (1987): pp. 285-305.
Chittick, William. Ibn ‘Arabi: Heir to the Prophets. Oxford: One World Publications, 2007.
Chodkiewicz, Michel. “La sainteté et les saints en islam.” In Le culte des saints dans le monde
musulman. Ed. by H. Chambert-Loir and Cl. Gillot. Paris, France: École Français d’Extrème
Orient, 1995.
----------. Seal of the Saints: Prophethood and Sainthood in the Doctrine of Ibn ‘Arabī.
Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1993.
Cornell, Michael Paul. “The Nimatullahi Sayyids of Taft: A Study of the Evolution of a Late
Medieval Iranian Sufi Tariqah.” Ph.D. diss. Harvard University, 2004.
Creswell, K.A.C. The Muslim Architecture of Egypt, vol. 1. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-
1959.
Daniel, Elton L. “The Islamic East.” In The New Cambridge History of Islam vol. 1: The
Formation of the Islamic World Sixth to Eleventh Centuries. Ed. C.F. Robinson. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2010: 448-505.
DeWeese, Devin. "Sacred Places and 'Public' Narratives: The Shrine of Ahmad Yasavi in
Hagiographical Traditions of the Yasavi Sufi Order, 16th-17th Centuries." Muslim World 90.3
(2000): 353-376.
----------. Islamization and Native Religion in the Golden Horde: Baba Tukles and Conversion to
Islam in Historical and Epic Tradition. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University
Press, 1994.
----------. “Intercessory Claims of Ṣūfī Communities during the Fourteenth and Fifteenth
Centuries: Messianic Legitimizing Strategies on the Spectrum of Normativity,” in Unity in
Diversity: Mysticism, Messianism and the Construction of Religious Authority in Islam. Ed.
O. Mir-Kasimov. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2014:197-219.
“Stuck in the throat of Chingiz Khan: Envisioning the Mongol Conquests in some Sufi Accounts
from the 14th to 17th Centuries.” In History and Historiography of Post-Mongol Central Asia
and the Middle East: Studies in Honor of John E. Woods. Eds. J. Pfeiffer and S.A. Quinn.
Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, 2006: 23-60.
-243-
Bibliography
Dien, M.Y.I. and P.E. Walker. “Wilāya.” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Eds. P.
Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Leiden: Brill, 1960-
2009.
Elias, Jamal J. "A Second Ali: The Making of Sayyid Ali Hamadani in Popular Imagination."
Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 395-420.
----------. "Sufi Saints and Shrines in Muslim Society: Introduction." Muslim World 90.3-4
(2003): 253-8.
Elmore, Gerald T. Islamic Sainthood in the Fullness of Time: In al-‘Arabī’s Book of the
Fabulous Gryphon. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 1999.
El-Shamsy, Ahmed. “The social construction of orthodoxy.” In The Cambridge Companion to

Classical Islamic Theology. Ed. T. Winter. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008:
97-118.
Ephrat, Daphna. “The Shaykh, the Physical Setting, and the Holy Site: the diffusion of the Qadiri
path in late medieval Palestine.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and
Ireland 19.1 (January 2009): 1-20
Ewing, Katherine Pratt. Arguing Sainthood : Modernity, Psychoanalysis, and Islam. Durham,
NC: Duke University Press, 1997.
Farhat, May. “Islamic Piety and Dynastic Legitimacy: The Case of the Shrine of Ali al-Rida in
Mashhad, 10th-17th Century.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 2002.
Fierro, Maribel. “The Treatises against Innovation (kutub al-bidā’).” Islam, 69 (1992), 204-246.
Flood, Finbarr B. Objects of Translation: Material Culture and Medieval “Hindu-Muslim”

Encounter. Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009.
Gardet, L., “Duʿāʾ.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. Eds. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis,
C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009.
Geary, Patrick. Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages. Princeton: Princeton
Golombek, Lisa. "Mazār-i Sharīf - a Case of Mistaken Identity?" (1977): 335-43.
----------, and Donald Newton Wilber. The Timurid Architecture of Iran and Turan. Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1988.
----------."The Cult of Saints and Shrine Architecture in the Fourteenth Century." In Near
Eastern Numismatics, Iconography, Epigraphy and History: Studies in Honor of George C.
Miles, Ed. by D. Kouymjian. Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1974.
----------. The Timurid Shrine at Gazur Gah. Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum, 1969.
-244-
Bibliography
Gombos, Karoly. The Pearls of Uzbekistan: Bukhara, Samarkand, Khiva. Budapest: Corvina
Press, 1976.
Gottschalk, Peter. “Introduction.” In Muslims and Others in Sacred Space, Ed. by M. Cormack.
Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013.
Grabar, Oleg. "The Earliest Islamic Commemorative Structures, Notes and Documents." Ars
Orientalis 6 (1966): pp. 7-46.
----------. The Formation of Islamic Art. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973.
----------. Studies in Medieval Islamic Art. London: Variorum Reprints, 1976.
----------. Islamic Visual Culture, 1100-1800: Constructing the Study of Islamic Art Vol. 2.
Aldershot, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate/Variorum, c. 2006.
Green, Nile. “Making a Muslim Saint: Writing Customary Religion in an Indian Princely State.”
Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 25.3 (2005): 617-633.
----------. Making Space: Sufis and Settlers in Early Modern India. New Delhi: Oxford
Gross, JoAnn. “Authority and Miraculous Behavior: Reflections on Karāmat Stories of Khwāja
‘Ubaydallāh Ahrār.” In The Legacy of Persian Sufism. Ed. L. Lewisohn. London: Khaniqahi-
Nimatullahi Publications, 1992: 159-71.
----------. The Economic Status of a Timurid Sufi Shaykh: A Matter of Conflict or

Perception?” Iranian Studies 21.1/2, Soviet and North American Studies on Central
Asia (1988): 84-104.
Gruber, Christiane J. and Frederick Stephen Colby. The Prophet's Ascension: Cross-Cultural
Encounters with the Islamic Mi'rāj Tales. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010.
Halevi, Leor. "The Paradox of Islamization: Tombstone Inscriptions, Qurʾānic Recitations, and
the Problem of Religious Change." History of Religions 44.2 (2004): pp. 120-152. Print.
----------. Muḥammad's Grave: Death Rites and the Making of Islamic Society. New York:
Columbia University Press, 2007.
----------. "Wailing for the Dead: The Role of Women in Early Islamic Funerals." Past &
Present.183 (2004): pp. 3-39.
Halverson, James L. Contesting Christendom: Readings in Medieval Religion and Culture.

Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2008.
Haarmann, U. “Khundjī.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Ed. P. Bearman, Th.

Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Leiden: Brill, 1960-2009.
-245-
Bibliography
Hanaoka, Mimi. “Umma and Identity in Early Islamic Persia.” Ph.D. diss., Columbia University,
2011.
Hasan, Perween. "The Footprint of the Prophet." Muqarnas 10, Essays in Honor of Oleg Grabar
(1993): pp. 335-343.
Hassan, Mona. Longing for the Lost Caliphate: A Transregional History. Princeton: Princeton
Hodgson, Marshall. Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 1.
Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974.
Huda, Qamar-ul. "Celebrating Death and Engaging in Texts at Data Ganj Bakhsh's 'Urs." Muslim
World 90.3 (2000): 377-94.
Jolly, Karen Louise. “Popular Religion in late Saxon England: Elf Charms in Context.” in
Contesting Christendom: Readings in medieval religion and culture. Ed. by J.L. Halverson.
Plymouth: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc., 2008, 57-66.
Jong, F. De. "Cairene Ziyāra-Days: A Contribution to the Study of Saint Veneration in Islam."
Die Welt des Islams 17.1/4 (1976): pp. 26-43.
Karamustafa, Ahmet T. God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle
Period, 1200-1550. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994.
----------. “Antinomian Sufism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Sufism. Ed. L. Ridgeon. New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2015: 101-124.
Katz, Marion Holmes “The Hajj and the Study of Islamic Ritual.” Studia Islamica 98/99 (2004):
95-130.
----------. Prayer in Islamic Thought and Practice. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2013.
----------. The Birth of the Prophet Muḥammad: Devotional Piety in Sunni Islam. London and
New York: Routledge, 2007.
Morimoto, Kazuo. “An Enigmatic Genealogical Chart of the Timurids: A Testimony to the
Dynasty’s Claim to Yasavi-‘Alid Legitimacy?” Oriens 44.1-2 (2016): 145-178.
Keddie, Nikki R., Ed. Scholars, Saints, and Sufis; Muslim Religious Institutions in the Middle
East since 1500. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972.
Kennedy, Hugh. The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates: The Islamic Near East from the
Sixth to the Eleventh Century, Second Edition. Harlow, England; New York:
Pearson/Longman, 2004.
Knysh, Alexander. Islamic Mysticism: A Short History. Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2000.
-246-
Bibliography
Lambton, A.K.S. “Persian Local Histories: The Tradition behind them and the Assumptions of
their Authors.” In Yād-Nāma: In Memoria di Alessandro Bausani, vol. 1. Eds. B. S. Amoretti
and L. Rostagno. Roma: Bardi Editore, 1991: 227-238.
Lapidus, Ira M. Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1984.
Leisten, Thomas. "Between Orthodoxy and Exegesis: Some Aspects of Attitudes in the Shariʿa
Toward Funerary Architecture." Muqarnas 7 (1990): pp. 12-22.
Lentz, Thomas W. and Glenn D. Lowry. Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and
Culture in the Fifteenth Century. Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum of Art;
Washington: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989.
Mahmood, Saba. “Rehearsed Spontaneity and Conventionality of Ritual: Disciplines of Ṣalāt,”

American Ethnologist 28.4 (Nov. 2001): 827-853.
Manz, Beatrice Forbes. Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran. Cambridge: Cambridge
----------. The Rise and Rule of Tamerlane. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.
Marefat, Roya. “Beyond the Architecture of Death: The Shrine of the Shah-i Zinda in
Samarqand.” Ph.D diss., Harvard University, 1991.
Marlow, Louise. Across Boundaries : The Interpretation of Dreams in Islamic Lands.

Cambridge, Mass.: Center for Hellenic Studies Trustees for Harvard University, distributed
by Harvard University Press, 2008.
Marmon, Shaun E. "The Quality of Mercy: Intercession in Mamluk Society." Studia Islamica.87
(1998): pp. 125-139.
McChesney, R. D. Central Asia : Foundations of Change. Princeton, N.J.: Darwin Press, 1996.
----------. Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480-
1889. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991.
McGregor, Richard J.A. Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt: The Wafa Sufi Order and the
Legacy of Ibn ‘Arabi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004.
----------. “Intertext and Artworks- Reading Islamic Hagiography.” Studies in Religion/Sciences

Religieuses 43.3. (2014): 425-38.
----------. “Central Asia’s place in the Middle East: Some Historical Consideration.” In Central
Asia meets the Middle East. Ed. D. Menashri. London: Frank Cass Publishers, 1998: 25-51.
Meier, Fritz. “Khurasan and the End of Classical Sufism.” in Essays on Islamic Piety and
Mysticism. Ed. and Trans. by J. O’Kane. Leiden, Boston, Koln: Brill, 1999.
-247-
Bibliography
Melchert, Christopher. “Exaggerated fear in the early Islamic Renunciant Tradition.” Journal of
the Royal Asiatic Society 21.1 (July 2011).
----------. "The Transition from Asceticism to Mysticism at the Middle of the Ninth Century
C.E." Studia Islamica.83 (1996): pp. 51-70.
Melville, Charles. "The Caspian Provinces: A World Apart Three Local Histories of
Mazandaran." Iranian Studies 33.1/2 (2000): pp. 45-91.
----------. "Persian Local Histories: Views from the Wings." Iranian Studies 33.1/2 (2000): pp. 7-
14.
Melvin-Koushki, Matthew. “The Quest for a Universal Science: The Occult Philosophy of Ṣā’in
al-Dīn Turka Iṣfahānī (1369-1432) and Intellectual Millenarianism in Early Timurid Iran.”
PhD. diss., Yale University, 2012.
Meri, Josef W. The Cult of Saints among Muslims and Jews in Medieval Syria. Oxford: New
York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
----------. “A Late Medieval Syrian Pilgrimage Guide: Ibn al-Ḥawrāni’s Al-Ishārāt ilā amākin al-
ziyārāt.” Medieval Encounters 7.1 (2001): 3-78.
Miles, George Carpenter and Dickran Kouymjian. Near Eastern Numismatics, Iconography,
Epigraphy, and History : Studies in Honor of George C. Miles. Beirut: American University
of Beirut, 1974.
Momen, Moojan. An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism.
New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985.
Morgan, David. "The Mongols in Iran: A Reappraisal." Iran 42 (2004): pp. 131-136.
----------. Medieval Persia, 1040-1797. London, New York: Longman, 1988.
Mottahedeh, Roy. “The Transmission of Learning: The Role of the Islamic North East.” in
Madrasa: Le Transmission du Savoir dans le Monde Musulman, Ed. N. Grandin and M.
Gabroieau. Paris: ap Éditions Arguments, 1997: 63-73.
----------. “Faith and Practice, Muslims in Historic Cairo.” in Living in historic Cairo: past and
present in an Islamic city. Eds. F. Daftary, E. Fernea, and A. Nanji. London; Seattle, WA:
Azimuth Editions in Association with the Institute of Ismaili Studies; University of
Washington Press, 2010: 104-11.
----------. Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society. London, New York, I.B. Tauris
Publishers, 2001.
Moussavi, Ahmad Kazemi. “Sunnī-Shī‘ī Rapprochement (Taqrīb),” in Shi‘ite Heritage: Essays

on Classical and Modern Traditions, ed. Lynda Clarke, Binghamton, NY: Global
Publications, 2001.
-248-
Bibliography
Munt, Harry. The Holy City of Medina: Sacred Space in Early Islamic Arabia, Cambridge
Studies in Islamic Civilization. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Nakash, Yitzhak. “The Visitation of the Shrines of the Imams and the Shi‘i Mujtahids in the
Early Twentieth Century.” Studia Islamica 81 (1995): 153-164.
Gülru Necipoğlu, “The Dome of the Rock as Palimpsest: ‘Abd al-Malik’s Grand Narrative and
Sultan Süleyman’s Glosses,’ Muqarnas 25 (2008): 17-106.
Nelson, Eric. “Remembering the Martyrdom of Saint Francis of Paola: History, Memory and
Minim Identity in Seventeenth Century France.” History and Memory 26.2 (Fall/Winter
2014): 76-105.
Noelle-Karimi, Christine. The Pearl in its Midst: Herat and the Mapping of Khurasan (15th-19th
Centuries). Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2014.
Papas, A. “Soufisme, Pouvoir et Sainteté: Le Cas des Khwâjas de Kashgarie (XVI2-XVIIIe

siècles.” Studia Islamica 100/101 (2005): 161-182.
Paul, Jürgen. "The Histories of Herat." Iranian Studies 33.1/2 (2000): pp. 93-115.
----------. "The Histories of Isfahan: Mafarrukhi's Kitāb Maḥāsin Iṣfahān." Iranian Studies 33.1/2
(2000): pp. 117-132.
----------. “Forming a Faction: The Himayat System of Khwaja Ahrar.” International Journal of
Middle East Studies23.4 (Nov., 1991): 533-548.
----------. “Histories of Samarkand,” Studia Iranica 22 (1993): 69-92.
Potter, Lawrence. “The Kart Dynasty of Herat: Religion and Politics in Medieval Iran.” Ph.D.
diss., Columbia University, 1992.
Pourahmad, Amhad and Simin Tavallai. “The Contribution of Muslim Geographers to the
Development of the Subject.” Geography 89.2 (April, 2004): 140
Pourshariati, Parvaneh. "Local Historiography in Early Medieval Iran and the Tārīkh-i Bayhaq."
Iranian Studies 33.1/2 (2000): pp. 133-164.
Pugachenkova, G.A. “The Role of Bukhara in the Creation of the Architectural Typology of the
Former Mausoleums of Mavarannahr.” In Bukhara: The Myth and the Architecture. Ed. A.
Petruccioli. Cambridge: Aga Khan Program for Islamic Architecture at Harvard University
and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1999.
Rāghib, Yusuf. “Les premiers monuments funeraires de l’Islam,” Annales Islamologiques vol. 9
(1970): 21-36.
Renard, John. Friends of God: Islamic Images of Piety, Commitment, and Servanthood.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008.
-249-
Bibliography
----------. Windows on the House of Islam: Muslim Sources on Spirituality and Religious Life.
Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1998.
Robinson, Francis. "Other-Worldly and this-Worldly Islam and the Islamic Revival. A Memorial
Lecture for Wilfred Cantwell Smith." Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 14.1 (2004): pp.
47-58.
Rodrigue, Jean-Paul. The Geography of Transport Systems. New York: Routledge, 2017.
Roxburgh, David. “The Pilgrimage City.” In The City in the Islamic World vol. 2. Eds. S.K.
Jayyusi, R. Holod, A. Petruccioli, and A. Raymond. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008: 753-774.
Rustomji, Nerina. “The Garden and the Fire: Materials of Heaven and Hell in Medieval Islamic
Culture.” Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2003.
Sabra, Adam Abdelhamid, 1968-. Poverty and Charity in Medieval Islam : Mamluk Egypt, 1250-
1517. Cambridge ;New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000.
Safi, Omid. "Bargaining with Baraka: Persian Sufism, 'Mysticism,' and Pre-Modern Politics."
Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 259-88.
Savant, Sarah Bowen. “Introduction.” In Genealogy and Knowledge in Muslim Societies:

Understanding the Past. Eds. S.B. Savant and H. de Felipe. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 2014: 2-7.
Schimmel, Annemarie. And Muḥammad is His Messenger : The Veneration of the Prophet in
Islamic Piety. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985.
----------. Mystical Dimensions of Islam, 35th Anniversary Edition. Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 2011.
Shoshan, Boaz. Popular Culture in Medieval Cairo. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1993.
Sindawi, Khalid. “The Role of the Lion in Miracles Associated with Shī‘ite Imāms.” Der Islam
84.2 (2007): 356-390.
Smith, Grace Martin, Carl W. Ernst 1950-, and International Conference on Saints and Sainthood
in Islam. Manifestations of Sainthood in Islam. Istanbul: Isis Press, 1993.
Smith, Jane I. "Concourse between the Living and the Dead in Islamic Eschatological
Literature." History of Religions 19.3 (1980): pp. 224-236. Print.
----------. "Reflections on Aspects of Immortality in Islam." The Harvard Theological Review

70.1/2 (1977): pp. 85-98.
Smith, J.Z. To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual. Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1987.
-250-
Bibliography
----------.“The Bare Facts of Ritual,” History of Religions 20.1/2 (August-November, 1980): 112-
127.
Soucek, Pricilla. “Interpreting the Ghazals of Hafiz.” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 43
(Spring, 2003): 146-163.
Spuler, Bertold, 1911-, and M. I. Marcinkowski. Persian Historiography and Geography:

Bertold Spuler on Major Works Produced in Iran, the Caucasus, Central Asia, India, and
Early Ottoman Turkey. 1st Ed. Singapore: Pustaka Nasional, 2003.
Storey, C. A. (C. Persian Literature; a Bio-Bibliographical Survey, by C.A. Storey. London:

Luzac, 1953.
Subtelny, Maria Eva and Anas Khalidov. “The Curriculum of Islamic Higher Learning in
Timurid Iran in Light of the Sunni Revival under Shah-Rukh.” Journal of the American
Oriental Society 115.2 (April 1, 1995): 210-236.
Subtelny, Maria Eva. Le Monde este un Jardin: Aspects de l’histoire Culturelle de l’Iran
Médiéval. Paris: Association pour l’avancement de etudes iraniennes, 2002.
----------. “The curriculum of Islamic higher learning in Timurid Iran in the light of the Sunni
revival under Shāh-Rukh.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, 115.2 (April-June
1995), 210-236.
----------. Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval Iran.

Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007.
----------. “The Poetic Circle at the Court of the Timurid Sultan Ḥusain Baiqara and its Political
Significance.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1979.
Szuppe, Maria. Entre Timouirides, Uzbeks et Safavides: Questions d’histoire Politique et Sociale
de Hérat dans la première moitié du XVIe siècle. Paris : Association pour l'avancement des
études iraniennes, 1992.
Talmon-Heller, Daniella. Islamic Piety in Medieval Syria: Mosques, Cemeteries and Sermons
under the Zangids and Ayyūbids (1146-1260), Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture.
Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2007.
Taylor, Christopher Schurman. In the Vicinity of the Righteous: Ziyāra and the Veneration of
Muslim Saints in Late Medieval Egypt. Boston: Brill, 1999.
Taylor, Christopher. “Reevaluating the Shiʿi Role in the Development of Monumental Islamic
Funerary Architecture: The Case of Egypt.” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 1-10.
Terletsky, N. "A Little-Known Work about a Bukhāra Mazār." Manuscripta Orientalia:

International Journal for Oriental Manuscript Research, vol.12 no.2 12.2 (2006): 8-35.
Thompson, K. Emile Durkheim. London, New York: Tavistock Publications, 1982.
-251-
Bibliography
Touati, Houari. Islam and Travel in the Middle Ages Trans. L.G. Cochrane. Chicago: Chicago
Turner, Victor. “Liminality and Communitas.” In A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion. Ed.
M. Lambek. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2002: 358-374.
Weismann, Itzchak. The Naqshbandiyya: Orthodoxy and Activism in a Worldwide Sufi Tradition.
London, New York: Routledge, 2007.
Wolper, Ethel Sara. "Khidr, Elwan Celebi and the Conversion of Sacred Sanctuaries in
Anatolia." Muslim World 90.3 (2000): 309.
----------. Cities and Saints: Sufism and the Transformation of Urban Space in Medieval
Anatolia. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003.
Woods, John. “The Rise of Timurid Historiography.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 46.2
(1987): 81-108.
----------. The Timurid Dynasty, Papers on Inner Asia. Bloomington: Indiana University, 1990.
Young, James E. “Memory and Counter-Memory: Towards a Social Aesthetic of Holocaust

Memorials.” In After Auschwitz: Responses to the Holocaust in Contemporary Art. Ed.
Monica Bohm-Cuchen. Sunderland: Lund Humphries, 1995: 78-102.
-252-

Salikuddin Dissertation 2018

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Salikuddin Dissertation 2018

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Sufis, Saints, and Shrine: Piety

in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507

Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:41129127

Rubina Kauser Salikuddin

The Department of History and The Committee on Middle Eastern Studies

In partial fulfillment of the requirements

All rights reserved.

Sufis, Saints, and Shrines: Piety in the Timurid Period, 1370-1507

centrality of esotericism, miracle-working and a rigorous adherence to the Sharia in constructing

shrines of people genealogically linked to the Prophet Muḥammad as objects of veneration by

the largely Sunni populations in the Timurid period.

mosques and madrasas, are embedded in a sacred geography of the city.

Dr. Mohammed Salikuddin and Mrs. Naseem Salikuddin

for their unwavering support and infinite kindness

Acknowledgements ......................................................................................................................... vii

CHAPTER 1: Introduction .................................................................................................................... 1

CHAPTER 2: The Shrine as a Center of Timurid Piety and Ritual ..................................... 35

CHAPTER 3: Stories of Saints: Pious Exemplars and Collective Memory ...................... 79

CHAPTER 4: Ahl al-Baytism and the Timurid shrine ........................................................... 152

CHAPTER 5: The Geography of Sanctity .................................................................................. 186

CONCLUSION ...................................................................................................................................... 234

people who also made it possible.

Prof. Ahmed Ragab.

dissertation very hard but make my life so much brighter.

sayyid, Sunni, Shi‘i, masjid, hadith etc.

example, the death date of Timur would be given as d. 807/1405.

Figure 1: Wide View of Herat Shrines Map

Figure 2: Shrine Sites Mentioned in Maqṣad al-Iqbāl Chart

Figure 5: Close-up View of Herat Shrines Map

Figure 6: List of Major Shrine Sites Chart

Figure 8: Elevation Profile Journey to Darb-i Khush & ‘Abdullāh Taqī

Figure 9: Elevation Profile Journey to Khiyābān & Fakhr al-Dīn Rāzī

Figure 11: Elevation Profile Journey to Abū al-Walīd

Figure 14: Elevation Profile Journey to Gāzurgāh & ‘Abdullāh Anṣārī

city and dotted the countryside as well.2

This dissertation is a study on piety and religious practice as shaped by the

experience of pilgrimage to these numerous saintly shrines in fourteenth and fifteenth

a seemingly incongruent mix of esotericism, miracle-working, and a rigorous adherence

Muslims.3 My work contributes to a better understanding of how Islam as a discursive

Muslims of all classes. It challenges a vision of a monolithic Islamic orthopraxy by

Dynamism of Islamic Piety

that this belief was enacted and experienced by medieval Muslims.

these ideas were continuously open to interpretation by religious scholars and

Pilgrimage and the Place of the Shrine

discharged.”13 In contrast, the masjid is a “non-energized place” that elicits great

performing service on behalf of the companions and comrades.” 15 Daniella Talmon-

tradition of scholarship that placed the origins of commemorative funerary monuments

cannot be explained by political or sectarian interest. 22 While citing examples of

commemorative funerary structures contemporary with the life of the Prophet

Galina Pugachenkova, while not stressing the Shi‘i origins of funerary

Funerary architecture was not the only example of commemorative building by

Muslims. The Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem is an important instance of a religious

influenced by its Byzantine antecedents in the area, particularly tombs of Byzantine

pilgrimage complex,” in which:

[b]y the conclusion of the Umayyad period (661-750), the

Rock was beginning to be understood as an eschatological site. Pilgrims came to it both

Regardless of the origins of shrine construction and subsequent shrine visitation,

it is clear that by the eight-ninth/fourteenth-fifteenth centuries ziyārat had become

support of the shrine.

The Timurid Period (ca. 1370-1506 C.E.)

Timur’s late fourteenth-century brutal conquests west of Transoxiana rivaled

new taxes upon the already spent population.

architectural flowering. Maria Subtelny says of the Timurids: