The Melons of Samarkand: Tales of love which transcended races and empires
In 1333, Ibn Battuta, the great traveler from Morocco, finally arrived at the Silk Road city of Urgench (which he called Khorezm) on the banks of the Amu Darya river. After the grueling 30-day march across the desert by camel-drawn wagons from Saraichiq, on the Ural River near the Caspian Sea, he wandered into a crowded market, and there he tasted the most delicious melon of all his travels.
“There are no melons like Khorezmian melons, maybe with the exception of Bukharian (From Bukhara — a city in Uzbekistan) ones, and the third best are Isfahan (Modern day Iran) melons. Their peels are green, and the flesh is red, of extreme sweetness and firm texture. Surprisingly, they cut melons into slices, dry them in the sun, put them into reed baskets as it is done with Malaga figs, and take them from Khorezm to the remote cities in India and China to sell. They are the best of all dried fruit.”
Babur, the first Mughal emperor, was raised on a Central Asian diet that placed tremendous emphasis on the many fruits that passed through the region. Above all other fruit, the melon was most prized by Babur’s people, for whom the fruit was synonymous with home.
While he was conquering northern India, Babur lamented the paucity of the fruit available in his new kingdom. In the Baburnama, his memoir, he remarked
“There are no good horses, no good dogs, no grapes, musk-melons or first-rate fruits, no ice or cold water, no good bread or food cooked in the bazaars”
He had melons of Central Asia rapidly transplanted in India, but during Babur’s lifetime, these had limited horticultural success. To the homesick Babur, the fruit was a means of connecting with his long-lost homeland; according to the Baburnama, he wept upon tasting one.
Not to be outdone by these two, I decided to have my own tryst with the melon. I did not have to search, as melons are ubiquitous in Uzbekistan.
And here comes my (not-so) hallowed judgement — Even centuries later, the fruits in Uzbekistan, and specifically the melons of Samarkand are outstanding. Eating the melon in itself is a layered experience. At first, you marvel at the mere existence of such a fruit in this day and age. Then, you are overcome by the amount of juice that is now flowing from the fruit, dripping from your mouth and soaking into your shirt. Finally, the melon makes its complete presence felt as a smorgasbord of experiences — Luscious, juicy and sweet — it has the effect of lulling ones’ tongue into a trance — where each bite of the melon only makes the trance deeper. An encounter with a Samarkand melon is a slow burn seduction, akin to the Tango. You are drawn to its alluring madness, experience the tantalization of senses and it finishes with a flourish. In the post melon bliss, you have a goofy smile on your face, slick with contentment and awash with desire. The melon has been the highlight for many a meals of mine, and sometimes they have been the meals themselves.
A few thousand years from the times of Ibn Battuta and Babur, the poet Imtiaz Dharker penned these lines
“I ask if he can find the way to
Samarkand, where they sell in
the market the sweetest melon in
the world. He nods.
I tasted it only once,
I tell him, the one
my friends brought back
by a circuitous route,
Samarkand, Frankfurt, Delhi,
Bombay, the fruit ripening
in transit halls and departure lounges
along the way, growing harder
to carry, heavier
and heavier with juice.
It was my birthday, so
I put a candle in, brought
it out after dinner to the table
where it glowed like the gem
of the east, the pearl of the world,
until we cut it through
its deep cold heart.
The juice burst in our mouths
and we became a part
of its singing,
the poem that ripened
inside the skin.
The mad mogul driver nods
again, as if he hears and
understands.
He is willing enough to try but
somehow loses the way and
never finds the city at the
crossroads of the world, never
reaches the river Zarafshan.”
I for one have been fortunate enough to traverse the river Zarafshan, dwell in the beauty of Samarkand, and feast upon its melons.
This post is a part of the larger series of posts under ‘Tales from the Silk Road’. Follow me for my stories on travel in Central Asia.
