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Chapter 6 examines the narrative traditions surrounding Aghā-yi Buzurg’s character by exploring later hagiographical accounts about her. This chapter reconstructs the lore and public memory of Aghā-yi Buzurg and shows the continuity of people’s interest and moral investment in her legacy over the centuries since her passing. It closely examines the eighteenth-century Naqshbandī hagiographical compendium Tadhkira-yi Ṭāhir Īshān, which played an important role in the revitalization of Aghā-yi Buzurg’s remembrance in the second half of the eighteenth century in the regions of Khwarazm and Bukhara. This chapter showcases the vitality of Aghā-yi Buzurg’s commemoration in Central Asia in which her perceived sanctity retained its attraction over the course of almost half a millennium.
Chapter 3 contextualizes Aghā-yi Buzurg and her community within the Sufi milieu of sixteenth-century Central Asia by highlighting a particular aspect of this community, ṭarīqa-yi nā-maslūk (the untraveled path), one of the most frequently used designations to refer to the community in the Maẓhar al-ʿajāʾib. This chapter emphasizes the complex nature of “the untraveled path” by exploring the association of Aghā-yi Buzurg and her followers with the Khwājagān–Naqshbandī Sufi tradition. Aghā-yi Buzurg’s community was unique among Sufi groups: first, because it was guided by a woman, and second, because this woman had not been trained by a living master but instead had received her spiritual training from the enigmatic saintly figure of Khiżr, believed to be endowed with immortal life.
Chapter 1 examines the Timurid-era tradition of ʿAlid devotion and its continuation under the early Shibanid dynasty. Tīmūr’s tombstone inscriptions leave no doubt regarding the ʿAlid orientation of the Timurids. The imagery of ʿAlī that links the Chingizid and Timurid genealogical trees in the tombstone suggests the preeminence of ʿAlī’s authority over the legacy of Chingiz Khan in the Timurid legitimation narrative. However, the decline of the Timurid dynasty in the early sixteenth century brought about large-scale religious and political turmoil in the Persianate world. The contest between the newly founded Shibanid and Safavid dynasties facilitated the Shibanids’ development of a self-conscious Sunni orientation in response to the militant Shiʿism promoted by the Safavids, thus furthering Sunni–Shiʿi antagonism.
The Maẓhar al-ʿajāʾib reveals a remarkable world of female religiosity that went beyond mere “spirituality” and shows that Aghā-yi Buzurg exerted communal leadership, competed for spiritual superiority, negotiated with the Shibanid royal court, handled the community’s finances, and dealt with her enemies. In addition to her direct interaction with the Shibanid court and the Bukharan and Khurasani public and religious authorities, Aghā-yi Buzurg’s wide network of male and female allies active in various regions of Mawarannahr tells us that her community operated not on the margins of society but rather in the middle of major, ongoing social and religious events in early sixteenth-century Central Asia.
This book invites readers into the little-known world of female religious authority and gender history in early modern Islamic Central Asia. It tells the story of the sixteenth-century female Sufi master celebrated as Aghā-yi Buzurg (the Great Lady) and her community. This book germinated in my fascination with the life of Aghā-yi Buzurg, who continues to be honored and remembered today in oral traditions associated with her shrine complex in Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Those who visit the shrine are often reminded of the saint’s triumph over her contemporary rival, Mīr-i ʿArab, a prominent public figure whose grandiose madrasa remains active in Bukhara and constitutes a top tourist destination in the region.1
On August 19, 1953, Prime Minister Mohammed Mosaddeq was removed from office by a coalition of Iranians, including Mohammed Reza Shah Pahlavi (r. 1941–79) and members of the armed forces, supported by the United States and Great Britain. The US provided considerable financial, logistical, and organizational support to the coup, which was code-named Operation TPAJAX by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). Although the British had been committed, in one form or another, to removing Mosaddeq since he first became prime minister and nationalized Iran's British-owned oil industry in May 1951, the US did not determine to overthrow Mosaddeq by coup d'etat until spring 1953, shortly after the administration of President Dwight D. Eisenhower came to office.
“Yes, my sin—my greater sin and even my greatest sin is that I nationalized Iran's oil industry and discarded the system of political and economic exploitation by the world's greatest empire. This at the cost to myself, my family; and at the risk of losing my life, my honor, and my property.” — Mohammad Mosaddeq at his tribunal, December 1953
In 2005, on a trip to Iran, I decided to go to Ahmadabad and take a video of the place. I had many reasons for doing so. One was for my own gratification; another was to honor my father. My father, Nosratollah Amini, was Prime Minister Mohammed Mosaddeq's personal attorney, and the only one besides the immediate family who had permission to visit him during his years of house arrest from 1956 until his death in 1967. Even Jawaharlal Nehru of India, who during a visit to Iran had asked to see him, was dissuaded from doing so. He was told that Mosaddeq was sick, which was not true.
Even as it passed its seventieth anniversary, the 1953 coup in Iran has remained a hotly debated political topic. This is true in the public spheres of Iran, which saw its last democratically elected prime minister, Mohammad Mosaddeq, overthrown in the coup, and in those of the United States and the United Kingdom, which helped stage the ouster. There also has been an attempt at historical revisionism about the coup, usually by overemphasizing the domestic factors that led to the coup and placing less importance on the role of the CIA or questioning Mossadeq's democratic credentials. This revisionism has been robustly rebutted by the scholarly community, which has held to a general consensus on the basic narrative of the coup: that it overthrew a popular leader and that it took place with significant interventions from London and Washington. The release of the final batch of US documents related to the coup in 2017 (following many years of undue delay) also bolstered evidence for this consensus. But, although most public debates about the coup center on questions such as the constitutional process of Mosaddeq's dismissal or the relative weight given to domestic and international actors behind the coup, there is another historiographical question that has been subject to widely divergent perspectives in the field: the relationship of the coup to the Cold War. In other words, can the 1953 coup be considered a Cold War confrontation, or is this a misleading frame of reference? Both sides of this argument have often focused on the motivations of coup plotters (mostly those in Washington, DC, and London) and whether they are more readily explained by a genuine fear of the communist movement in Iran or whether this was a rhetorical smokescreen, masking the neocolonial drive for the control of Iran's resources. This tension is not limited to scholarship on Iran. Even as new global histories of the Cold War have grown in recent years, some have cautioned against the use of this framework for understanding politics in the Global South. Jeremi Suri, for instance, speaks of a “group of scholars” who have “questioned the very utility of the Cold War as an analytical concept” by pointing to “the ways in which this geopolitical term privileges state actors in the United States and Europe and neglects local forces of change, many of which had little apparent connection to the basic issues and personalities of the Cold War.” In his analysis of the global place of Algeria's drive for independence, Matthew Connelly suggests “taking off the Cold War lens,” arguing that such a lens did less to shape the views of historical actors (such as the Eisenhower administration) than “those of the historians who have studied them.”
Why did the Egyptian revolution happen? How did it happen? Was it planned? What did it achieve? Was it defeated? These are some of the questions that usually surface in January each year, and during grim anniversaries of the infamous massacres that Egyptians witnessed after the 2013 military coup against Egypt's first elected president.