August 24, 2004

Mirrored tiles and feather dusters

Mashhad, Iran

Mashhad. Holiest city in Iran. Home to the shrine of Imam Reza, eighth Shiite imam and direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammed. Imam Reza was murdered in 817AD and his shrine has been a place of pilgrimage ever since.

As an obvious foreigner I was stopped at the outer entrance to the vast site and assigned an escort from the Office of International Relations. I was not allowed to enter the vast mosque or inner shrine but I could go to the library and museum and pick up a couple of books. I selected "The Truth About Christianity", a cogently written tome with many well thought out arguments in favour of Islam. Despite its compelling thesis however I ultimately decided to opt for a religion that offers a flush toilet.

We left the library and headed for the museum. At the museum my escort left me to ponder the haphazard collection old doors and paintings. No sooner was he gone that I slipped back out and around to the vast mosque. Mostly open-air and with about a dozen entrances it was not hard to get lost amongst the crowd. Could I enter the shrine?

Stepping through the throng of pilgrims in the mosque I work my way towards the inner sanctum. The forbidden doorway lies ahead. It's now or never. I remove my shoes and join the masses squeezing through the doors. We shuffle together. No-one stops me. The inside opens up in a dazzling display of tiny mirrored tiles. Like living on the inside of a mirror-ball. A voice to my left calls out a cry of praise. Others return the call. Attendants with brightly coloured feather dusters tap the heads of mis-behavers. I shuffle past but do not feel a tap. We work our way through the rooms. Men cover the floor, praying, reading the Koran, or simply sitting still. Everywhere the mirrored tiles. Round another corner. Another cry of praise and response. The tomb looms ahead. A golden cage surrounded by an impossible crush. Children are passed overhead to kiss the elaborate bars. Men are weeping, laughing, smiling. The river of humanity flows on, taking me past the tomb. Back to the outer rooms. More bright walls. More chants. Sunlight streams in through the entrance door. I stumble out on to the carpet of the open air mosque, sun bright above me. Minarets towering overhead. People everywhere. I put my shoes back on. Across the courtyard and out. Back on the streets of Mashhad. Food, carpets, hawkers, noise, cars, crush. Back to reality.

Posted by David at August 24, 2004 11:57 PM