Chapter 4 Religious Emotion and Embodied Piety in the Ottoman Turkish Hajj Accounts of Evliyā Çelebī (1611–c. 1683) and Yūsuf Nābī (1642–1712)

In: Narrating the Pilgrimage to Mecca
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Yahya Nurgat
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Abstract

This chapter investigates the embodied experiences of hajj pilgrims in the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. Through a close examination of five important pilgrimages undertaken between 1671 and 1744, the author focuses on the emotional responses elicited by sensory engagement and ritual practice within the sacred spaces of the Ḥaramayn. From fear and guilt to serenity and fulfilment, hajj pilgrims experienced a range of emotions. At the same time, multisensorial interactions endowed the hajj with added power, meaning and significance.

The chapter gives careful consideration to important junctures of the hajj journey, and ends with a comparative assessment of pilgrim experiences in Mecca and Medina. Important emotional modalities are highlighted which are conspicuous in their presence across each of the travelogues under discussion, thus demonstrating how hajj journeys undertaken by Ottoman pilgrims between 1671 and 1744 occurred within a shared register of interactions and emotions. The chapter affirms the hajj as a powerful experience in and of itself for seventeenth- and eighteenth-century pilgrims, and emphasizes the role of the hajj as an important practice in the Ottoman religious landscape.

1 Introduction

After the defeat of the Mamluk Sultanate in 1516–1517, the duty of administrating the hajj passed into Ottoman hands. As a result, unprecedented numbers of Turkish-speaking pilgrims from the central lands of the empire (Rūmīs) began to undertake the pilgrimage by land and sea, seeking to fulfill the fifth and final pillar of Islam. A diverse range of evidence survives to this day as a testament to their peregrinations, from the khans and cisterns dotting the hajj road between Üsküdar and Medina (via Damascus) to the hajj guides produced by Rūmī scholars for their Turkish-speaking audience. While handwritten copies of these guides number in the thousands, comparatively (and perhaps surprisingly) few narrative hajj accounts in Ottoman Turkish survive from the first three centuries of Ottoman rule in the Hijaz. The accounts of Evliyā Çelebī (1611–c. 1683) and Yūsuf Nābī (1642–1712) stand as notable exceptions in this regard, providing an invaluable descriptive account of the hajj from the perspective of two Rūmī pilgrims who undertook the hajj just seven years apart from one another.

A self-styled ‘wandering dervish and world traveller’, Evliyā was born in 1611 and raised in Istanbul (Evliyā 2010, 146).1 As the son of the imperial goldsmith Dervīş Meḥmed Ẓıllī Agha (d. 1648), Evliyā was apprenticed to the personal imām of Murād IV (r. 1623–1640), Evliyā Meḥmed Efendī, who tutored him in Qurʾan recitation. He was also educated in a wide variety of arts and sciences at the Topkapı Palace School (Enderūn), where he graduated as a cavalryman (sipāhī) in 1638. Evliyā’s real passion, though, was to be ‘world traveller’ (seyyāḥ-ı ʿālem), which he was able to pursue by means of his inherited wealth, high family status, and court connections. His travels across the breadth of the Ottoman Empire and beyond are recorded in his Seyāḥatnāme (‘Book of Travels’), which covers ten volumes, and is ‘a key text for all aspects of the Ottoman Empire at the time of its greatest extension in the seventeenth century’ (Evliyā 2010, x). Evliyā’s hajj journey is covered in the ninth volume, where he describes setting out from Istanbul in May 1671, and after taking an extremely circuitous route, arriving in Jerusalem in January of 1672. His next major stop was Damascus, from where he travelled to Medina and Mecca with the Syrian pilgrimage caravan. Finally, after completing the hajj in April 1672, Evliyā departed Mecca for Cairo with the Egyptian caravan.2

While Evliyā might be said to have grown up in the palace, Nābī was a relative latecomer.3 He was born in 1642 in Ruhā (modern-day Şanlıurfa, south-eastern Anatolia) to a distinguished religious family claiming descent from the Prophet Muhammad. He arrived in Istanbul in 1665 at the age of twenty-three, one of many aspirant literary figures drawn to the Empire’s capital city from the provinces (Woodhead 2011, 154). Through his literary ability, Nābī was able to gain the patronage of a close companion of Meḥmed IV (r. 1648–1687), the vizier Dāmād Muṣṭafa Paşa (d. 1685). Nābī initially served as the latter’s secretary and thereafter as his steward (kethüdā). In 1678, after thirteen years in Istanbul, Nābī resolved to embark on the pilgrimage to Mecca. He set out in a small private caravan from Istanbul, passing through Konya, Urfa, Damascus, Jerusalem and Cairo, where he joined the Egyptian pilgrimage caravan. After returning from Mecca (via Medina and Damascus), Nābī composed an account of his journey for presentation to the Sultan, calling it Tuḥfetü’l-Ḥaremeyn (‘The sanctuaries’ gift’). He chose to do so in the elaborate, artistic Ottoman Turkish prose style known as inşā, and also incorporated occasional verses of poetry. While Evliyā’s work appears to have remained unread until 1742, when it was brought from Cairo to Istanbul and copied, Nābī’s Tuḥfe achieved more immediate popularity, a reflection of his prominence in the Ottoman literary landscape and his renown as a master of verse and prose. The Tuḥfe’s popularity endured into the eighteenth century, with most Turkish-speaking scribes, high officials, and littérateurs possessing a copy of the work (Shafir 2020, 20).4

This chapter investigates the themes of religious emotion and embodied piety in the hajj narratives of Evliyā and Nābī. Together, these two lines of analysis provide a useful means of reconstructing the lived, embodied hajj experiences of two Rūmī pilgrims belonging to the same ‘emotional community’, defined by Barbara Rosenwein as ‘largely the same as social communities,’ and which could include families, neighbourhoods, institutions, and royal courts (Rosenwein 2010, 11). As Rosenwein explains, a researcher looking at an emotional community seeks above all to uncover their systems of feeling, the emotions that they value, devalue, or ignore, and the modes of emotional expression that they expect, encourage, tolerate, and deplore (ibid.). This is not to deny the bio-psychological aspects of emotions, but rather to also consider that emotions are socially constructed and historically situated discourses (Lutz and Abu-Lughod 1990, 7. Cited in El-Sayed 2016, 29). Probing religious emotion, meaning any emotion ‘which refers to God or something else transcendent: thus joy in the Lord, fear of the Lord, awe before Being, reverence for Life, and so on,’ (Roberts 2007, 493) is thus particularly beneficial as a means of understanding how Evliyā and Nābī’s broadly shared cultures shaped their emotional discourse. At the same time, the chapter considers how emotion and belief are embodied and performed in the hajj narratives of Evliyā and Nābī. It does so in order to avoid perpetuating a false dichotomy between mind and body, one consequence of which is ignoring the embodied nature of ritual and religious belief and practice (Werbner and Basu 1998, 4). Sensational forms can be described as central to the making of religious subjectivities, which resonates strongly with Kenneth George’s discussion of people as ‘thinking and feeling subjects in the world, as well as being subject to the cultural and ideological formations that make up their world’ (Meyer 2008, 129. See also George 2008, 175–176).

Undoubtedly then, any investigation of religious emotion and embodied piety is not without its challenges; analysing travel narratives of any kind entails the careful navigation of the author’s ‘community affiliation, religion, ideology, and other culture-specific discourses and practices such as Sufism, myths, folk traditions, natural and geographical phenomena, cultural scripts, social norms, and power relations’ (El-Sayed 2016, 66). Therefore, as well as examining the emotional and bodily modes that dominate the hajj accounts of Evliyā and Nābī, this chapter also investigates how their historical and cultural context might have influenced their experiences and their writing. For example, it considers the impact of the aforementioned hajj guides, which reveal how their authors felt the hajj should be undertaken and are thus prescriptive in nature. The accounts of Evliyā and Nābī provide a more descriptive counterpoint, allowing us to examine how advice given by hajj guides might have influenced the lived experiences of pilgrims. As well as the impact of hajj guides and other texts (sacred and otherwise), the chapter also considers the impact of contemporary material and visual culture. Finally, the chapter considers the context of production of both hajj accounts, especially since travel writing is in many respects a communicative act and a social practice, in which the traveller’s emphasis on specific emotions and emotional experiences is ‘shaped by the travel book’s context of production, the relation between the traveller’s web of social networks and his intended audience’ (El-Sayed 2016, 87).

2 The Hajj and Desire (şevḳ) in Early Modern Ottoman Culture

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Figure 4.1

Multi-tile panel depicting the Kaʿba and the Grand Mosque. Located in the prayer-niche of the Mosque of the Black Eunuchs in Topkapı Palace, Istanbul. Dated 1666–1667

Image: Yahya Nurgat

In his Islam and the devotional object, Richard McGregor describes how ‘the hajj remained deeply grounded in the visual and material life of all Cairenes’ (McGregor 2020, 20). The same can be said of Istanbul, a city which after 1517 joined Cairo and Damascus as points of assembly and departure for the hajj. Beginning in the 1640s, ceramic tiles depicting the Kaʿba and the sacred landscapes of Mecca and Medina were installed in mosques and other public settings (Maury 2013, 143–159). At least five such tiles were installed at different locations within the Topkapı Palace in the seventeenth century (see fig. 4.1 for an example). Popular prayer books like the Dalāʾil al-khayrāt (‘Guides to the Blessings’) and the Enʿām-ı șerīf also carried depictions of the Prophet’s Mosque and his tomb in Medina, as well as the Kaʿba and the Grand Mosque in Mecca (Göloğlu 2018, 323–338; Roxburgh 2011, 33–41).5 For members of the Ottoman elite like Evliyā and Nābī, it was not unusual to come into contact with fragments of cloth previously adorning the Kaʿba or the Prophet’s burial chamber (ḥujra) (Tezcan 2017). Even pilgrims of more modest means could return home with vessels of sacred Zamzam water, and, according to Evliyā, water from the wells of Medina too (Evliyā 2012, 147–153). The effect of Zamzam water on aspiring pilgrims is perhaps best represented in a passage from the memoirs of the English slave Joseph Pitts (d. c. 1735), a resident of Ottoman Algiers in the late seventeenth century and who undertook the hajj with his master in c. 1685:

(…) many Hagges carry it home to their respective Countries, in little latten or tin Pots, and present it to their Friends, half a Spoonful, it may be, to each, who receive it in the hollow of their Hand with great Care and abundance of Thanks; sipping a little of it, and bestowing the rest on their Faces and naked Heads; at the same Time holding up their Hands, and desiring of God, that they also may be so happy and prosperous as to go on Pilgrimage to Mecca.

Pitts 2012, 196

Pitts’ description is a pertinent example of an artifact from the Holy Cities mediating remembrance and longing. Artifacts of this kind were ubiquitous in Ottoman society and certainly even more so in the elite surroundings that Evliyā and Nābī inhabited.

In their writing on the hajj, Evliyā and Nābī could draw on a broader Ottoman literary culture of celebrating the Holy Cities of Islam. Authors like Meḥmed el-Yemenī and Ebü’l-Fażl el-Sincārī composed Turkish-language works on the virtues (feżāʾil; Arabic: faḍāʾil) of Mecca, which were reproduced in both plain script and with elaborate calligraphy and illuminations (el-Yemenī 2017; el-Sincārī).6 Authors could also compose history-topographies of the Holy Cities, like the Meccan qadi Quṭb al-Dīn al-Nahrawālī’s (d. 1582) al-Iʿlām bi-aʿlām balad Allāh al-ḥarām (‘Reports on the luminaries of Mecca, the sacred land of God’) (al-Nahrawālī, 1857). During the seventeenth century, his work was the most popular in the genre, and he paid particular attention to Ottoman patronage in the Ḥaramayn. Quṭb al-Dīn dedicated his work to Sultan Murad III, and at the behest of the vizier ʿĀtiḳ Meḥmed Paşa, Bāḳī Maḥmūd ʿAbdülbāḳī (d. 1600) produced a Turkish translation (Kātib Çelebī 1941, vol. 1:126). A similar type of patron-client relationship can be seen in the Risāle-i Mekkiye, a brief work in the format of a letter describing the medrese professor Fevrī’s (d. 1571) pilgrimage journey of 1545–1546, with eulogies to its recipient and patron, the renowned biographer ʿĀşık Çelebī (1520–1572). The Risāle was much like Nābī’s work in that it features highly literary, elaborate prose interspersed with sections in verse. The similarities do not end there; as Menderes Coşkun explains, ‘Fevri’s main object in this letter was to give ʿĀşık Çelebī a literary portrayal of his observations and experiences in the Hijaz,’ as well as to sing the praises of his patron (Coşkun 2000, 95). Nābī sought to do the same for his own patron, the Sultan (and perhaps also Dāmād Muṣṭafa Paşa), to whom he presented his work, as well as for his wider audience. As for Evliyā, his section on the hajj differs from other parts of his travel writing in that he dedicates long passages to the feżāʾil of the Ḥaramayn (the two Holy Sanctuaries of Mecca and Medina). He also mirrors contemporary guides by writing extensively on the proper way to execute the ritual of hajj and the ziyāra of the Prophet Muhammad. However, his detailed descriptions of landscapes, buildings and amenities, and his long passages describing his own experiences and interesting episodes that he witnessed, are a feature of all ten chapters of his Seyāḥatnāme.

While Nābī was a bureaucrat and poet at the Ottoman court, Evliyā was a seasoned traveller, for whom even a six-month break from his travels in Istanbul ‘was like a prison’ (Evliyā 2010, 293). Yet both hailed from environments that instilled them with a desire to see the Holy Cities and to undertake the hajj. Nābī was born and raised in Ruhā, held (especially in Ottoman culture) to be the birthplace of Prophet Ibrāhīm, who the Qurʾan describes being given the responsibility of building the Kaʿba and announcing the hajj to mankind. Ruhā is also the site of the Balıklıgöl (‘Fish Lake’), believed to be the place where Nimrod threw the Prophet Ibrāhīm into a fire with the flames miraculously turning into water and the logs transforming into fish. Having himself been born and raised in Ruhā, Nābī maintained a special connection to Ibrāhīm. This, in turn, contributed to his long-held desire to visit the Ḥaramayn: ‘From my childhood onwards whenever I have heard the description of the sanctuaries I felt a strong desire to go there (…)’ (Coşkun 1999, 174). Nābī’s connection to Ibrāhīm’s birthplace meant that he made sure to incorporate Ruhā into his hajj journey. Evliyā too maintained a connection to the hajj from childhood; his father was the chief goldsmith of the Sublime Porte and had installed the Spout of Mercy (Mīzāb al-Raḥma, known to Ottoman Rūmīs as Altın oluk, ‘Golden spout’) on the roof of the Kaʿba at the Sultan’s behest (Evliyā 2010, 294). According to Evliyā, when his father returned to Istanbul, he ‘uttered a benediction and prayed that I be vouchsafed pilgrimage to Mecca’ (ibid.). Evliyā thus traced his desire for the hajj to his own familial ties, and held it to be his utmost ambition in relation to his great love of travelling.

From the textual and oral to the visual and material, a range of mediums stirred a sense of longing and desire in aspiring pilgrims. These mediums also shaped expectations and aspirations vis-à-vis the pilgrimage, thereby mediating the eventual hajj experience of pilgrims. As an account of the hajj, Nābī’s Tuḥfe represents his own mediated hajj experience, but was itself a mediating force with the capacity to influence the conceptions and experiences of others. Thus, says Nābī, he composed his Tuḥfe as a source of renewed desire for those who had already undertaken the hajj (vesīle-i şevḳ-i cedīd), as well as to intensify the yearning of those who were still yet to do so (Nābī 2002, 163). To reiterate this idea, Nābī shares a verse of the Ottoman scholar and poet Zekerīyāzāde Yaḥyā Efendī (1552–1644): ‘Have the lovers’ eyes ever seen a light the like of the Kaʿba?/ The one who has seen it and the one who has not: both are desirers of its beauty’ (ibid.). The verse demonstrates that the sense of yearning associated with aspirant pilgrims could apply as much to the hajj is as it did to those who had never laid eyes on the Kaʿba.

A popular verse attributed to the Ottoman poet Naḥīfī (d. 1738), and one which Evliyā quotes in his hajj account, states: ‘God shows mercy to all who are granted the Kaʿba (Kaʿbe naṣīb olsa)/ For God invites those most beloved to Him to His House’ (Evliyā 2005, 350). As Charlotte Maury points out, these verses emphasize the spiritual value of the hajj, framing the pilgrim as a personally invited pilgrim to the House of his Beloved as opposed to a traveller simply fulfilling a religious obligation (Maury 2013, 150). Interestingly, the verse features on at least two representations of the Grand Mosque on ceramic, underscoring the potential of these public depictions to stimulate viewers with a desire to visit the Kaʿba.7 Nābī too frames the hajj as an invitation (daʿvet; Arabic: daʿwa) to God’s own guesthouse (ziyāfethāne) (Nābī 2002, 160). In contrast, one who does not receive an invite is bī-naṣīb (‘ill-fated’ or ‘unfortunate’). Would-be pilgrims thus desired to be one of these select invitees, and certainly did not want to be in the category of the bī-naṣīb. Nābī emphasizes that his own desire to visit the Ḥaramayn was of a different order, since it left him restless (rāḥat-güdāz) (ibid., 162). This served only to intensify his sense of gratefulness upon fulfilment of this desire; Nābī expresses ‘a thousand thanks’ (hezār şükür) to God that he was not deprived (bī-naṣīb) of the happiness of seeing the Kaʿba (ibid., 256).

The idea of longing for the hajj is brought to life by a unique ritual to be performed at ʿArafa, as recommended by Evliyā. Pilgrims were to form heaps out of stones, or something similar from the soil, each dedicated to a loved one that had been left behind at home. For each heap, one was to stand up, face the Kaʿba and say ‘come, come, o so-and-so,’ and thereafter invoke God, saying ‘I invite so-and-so, O Lord, please accept.’ Evliyā says that as a result, ‘by the command of Allah, the person who you invited will certainly come to the Kaʿba in his lifetime’ (Evliyā 2005, 355). This intriguing ritual emphasizes that one who had successfully reached ʿArafa felt privileged to have been invited there, and felt fortunate enough to share that invitation with others.8 Nābī also emphasizes that to be present at ʿArafa is a blessing (niʿmet); on this day, one might pray for their own absolution but also thereafter pray for their friends and loved ones. Similarly, to be present on the day of ʿArafa is a happiness (saʿādet), which only increases because one might be able to pray for those who had requested prayers to be said on their behalf (Nābī 2002, 290).

The key metaphor used to communicate desire in Ottoman discourse, and which features heavily in the texts of both Evliyā and Nābī in relation to the hajj, is the idea of rubbing one’s face (yüz sürmek) on the beloved object. The symbolism of rubbing one’s face emerges perhaps most powerfully in Evliyā’s account of his time in Medina, where he shares the wording of a calligraphic inscription close to the Bāb al-Salām (‘The Gate of Peace’) in the Prophet’s Mosque:

The custom of the Arabs is that if someone is a great prince,
It is usual to let slaves go free at his graveside.
You who are the pride of the world and prince of this world and the next,
God forbid that he who rubs his face on your grave should not go free.
Evliyā 2012, 53

In some cases, face rubbing was intended literally, and encouraged, for example when clinging to the Multazam and kissing the Black Stone. At other sacred sites (ziyāretgāhs) too, rubbing was a means of attaining blessing (baraka), as in the case of the Station of the Messenger (Maḳām Ḥażret-i Resūl) located on the outskirts of Medina. Evliyā explains that in this location, ‘the imprint of his [the Prophet Muhammad’s, yn] exalted head remains on the floor,’ leading pilgrims to ‘rub their faces on this holy place’ (Evliyā 2012, 27–28). However, in other cases, Evliyā wrote of wanting to rub his face on the ḥujra’s latticed enclosure while simultaneously asserting that touching and kissing the enclosure was strictly discouraged (Evliyā 2012, 4).9 In both cases, the phrase was intended to communicate the intense desire to visit the Holy Cities. Nābī uses it to describe a desire for the Ḥaramayn filling his imagination, saying: ‘O Lord, when will I rub my face on the gates of Medina and Mecca? Sometimes Mecca and sometimes Medina, let me adopt both as my place of dwelling’ (Nābī 2002, 254). The same idea of face rubbing is also used by him to describe the eventual fulfilment of this desire:

A thousand thanks to God, who has not deprived me of seeing the sacred place, and of rubbing my forehead on the earth of the sacred territory before passing away from this world.

Coşkun 1999, 174

3 Entering Mecca: Emotion and Demeanour

In the accounts of both Evliyā and Nābī, yearning is a changing emotion and one which escalates especially when nearing each of the Holy Cities. Physical landmarks serve to increase the anticipation of pilgrims, who respond primarily by moderating their physical demeanour and conduct accordingly. For example, the process of entering Mecca is depicted by Nābī as a gradual one, in which pilgrims become ever more eager as they near the Holy City (Nābī 2002, 254–255). The sight of Mecca’s gleaming mountains from afar endows pilgrims with renewed vigour in hurrying to the Kaʿba, despite having endured the rigours of the mostly desert road from Cairo. He describes pilgrims undergoing a collective rejuvenation, together hastening in the direction of the Noble Sanctuary (ibid., 254). Emphasizing the connection between seeing a physical landmark and physiological and emotional responses, Nābī says that pilgrims collectively fell to the ground at al-Tanʿīm (known to Rūmīs as ʿUmre), where two milestones marked the boundary of the outer sanctuary (Ḥaram) area of Mecca, with some even proceeding barefoot (ibid., 255). Evliyā describes pilgrims descending their mounts at a later stage, when the minarets of the Sacred Mosque came into view from the Muʿallā cemetery on the city’s outskirts. For Nābī, pilgrims were driven ‘with desire’ (şevḳiyle) to descend their mounts, whilst in Evliyā’s account, pilgrims proceeded on foot out of veneration and respect (taʿẓīmen ve teʾeddüben) (Nābī 2002, 255; Evliyā 2005, 348).

In Nābī’s telling, desire gave way to ecstasy as pilgrims moved ever closer to realizing their long-held aspiration of worshipping at the Kaʿba. He emphasizes the intensity of desire at this stage by saying that the ‘ecstasy of Divine love’ (cezbe-i maḥabbet-i Ilāhiyye) caused pilgrims to forget their wealth and loved ones, with their priority instead to attain a portion of God’s forgiveness (Nābī 2002, 256). Upon first sight of the Kaʿba, Nābī says that ‘natural order of the mind was completed disrupted’ (şirāze-i şuʿūr biʾl-külliye güsiste olup), with his senses scattered in all directions (ibid., 259). In the immediate vicinity of the Kaʿba, Nābī thus emphasizes bewilderment and astonishment as leading emotions. He reinforces this by saying that for a time, he simply stood by the Bāb al-Salām in bewilderment (ibid., 268). Indeed, he says that the Black Stone acted as a magnet drawing him towards the Kaʿba, without which he would not have found the strength to move from the Bāb al-Salām (ibid.).

Evliyā too describes being moved by the sight of the Kaʿba, yet his thankfulness upon reaching Mecca was of a different order; it stemmed more from a sense of relief than a fulfilment of anticipation, since the torrential rain faced by the caravan in Muzayrīb (a major place of assembly 26 hours from Damascus) had delayed the caravan by some days. Indeed, the Syrian amīr al-ḥajj Hüseyin Paşa sacrificed animals upon entering Mecca in gratitude for arriving two days before ʿArafa, for, as Evliyā explains, the pilgrims had otherwise given up hope of making the hajj that year (Evliyā 2005, 345). At the same time, Evliyā’s entry into Mecca was somewhat overshadowed by Hüseyin Paşa’s business with the rebellious Sharīf of Mecca. His narrative portrays an initial ṭawāf undertaken in haste in order that the issues with the Sharīf could immediately be resolved prior to the commencement of hajj. While Evliyā’s association with the amīr al-ḥajj was generally of great benefit to him, it could also serve as a distraction to his performance of worship, as in the case of this initial ṭawāf.

Curiously in Evliyā’s account, local, in-person guides (delīls) are portrayed as essential mediators in maximizing the emotional benefits of hajj ritual. He advises that the first thing to do when entering Mecca’s sacred precincts was to procure a delīl ‘even if you are an ʿālim and [are able to, yn] perform saʿy and ṭawāf on the basis of reading hajj guidebooks.’ This is, he explains, because it is:

easier is go hand in hand with a delīl around the four sides of the Kaʿba, repeating whatever the delīl recites, thus completing ṭawāf and saʿy with pleasure and [eventually, yn] completing the hajj with freedom from worry.

Evliyā 2005, 350 and 351

Evliyā clearly felt that relying on delīls would free pilgrims from concerns about where to go, what to recite, and whether they had missed any steps, all of which would lead to a more pleasurable pilgrimage. However, some Turkish guidebooks disagreed; Sinān el-Rūmī (d. 1592), author of the most popular Turkish hajj guide (up to the early nineteenth century), was the first to caution against following a delīl around the Kaʿba, arguing that this would take away from the necessary huşūʿ (Arabic: khushūʿ; inward and outward humility and attentiveness) required in ṭawāf (Sinān el-Rūmī, fols. 51b–52a). And writing in the same period as Evliyā, Murād ibn Dervīş (alive in 1690) was similarly critical of the practice, arguing that there was little benefit to parroting formulas in Arabic, the meanings of which Rūmī pilgrims were unlikely to understand, and that reciting supplications (duʿāʾ) aloud would disturb other pilgrims. Murad instead urged pilgrims to supplicate with whatever transmitted duʿāʾ they had already committed to memory, and to petition God in their own tongue for whatever they desired (Murād el-Bendī, fol. 44a).

Just as pilgrims are portrayed as entering the Holy City with a potent initial gaze at the Kaʿba, so too are they described as exiting while keeping their gaze locked upon this landmark until the last possible moment. This even meant walking backwards when exiting the Holy Sanctuary, so that one could see the Kaʿba as long as it was possible to be seen (Evliyā 2005, 409; Nābī 2002, 319). Nābī notes that his initial ṭawāf had been performed with great pleasure and speed whereas the farewell ṭawāf was performed with a sense of reluctance (Evliyā 2005, 367–368; Nābī 2002, 317). What prevented this sorrow from overcoming pilgrims was the consolation of being able to visit Medina. The thought of meeting the Prophet was a source of comfort (tesliyet) and of renewed desire (şevḳ-i cedīd) (Nābī 2002, 322). Pilgrims also had a sense of happiness having attained God’s mercy through the hajj (ibid., 317). The sorrow of departure is represented by Nābī in the tears of pilgrims as they bid farewell to the Kaʿba, and might be contrasted with the tears that were shed upon first sight of the Kaʿba. The latter appear to have stemmed from a sense of being overwhelmed at both the sight of the Kaʿba and from the emotion of realizing a lifetime goal. These are described by Nābī as ‘tears of happiness’ (sürūr), in contrast to the ‘tears of sadness’ (ḥüzün) he shed while performing the farewell ṭawāf (ibid.).

4 ʿArafa: Sights, Sounds, and Emotional Benefits

The centrality of ʿArafa to the hajj is well-known; according to one hadith, the Prophet said that ‘the hajj is ʿArafa’ (al-Ḥajj ʿArafa) (al-Nasāʾī 1986, 5:256). Hajj guides emphasize that the day is one in which God is determined to forgive His petitioning slaves ‘who have come to Me dishevelled and dusty, from every faraway pass, longing for My mercy.’10 While Nābī and Evliyā both emphasize this feature of ʿArafa, they also discuss its more varied emotional benefits. As mentioned above, yearning and desire are ever-present features of the hajj, and this is especially true of ʿArafa; Nābī reiterates that pilgrims on the day of ʿArafa itself were consumed with desire and hurried to the plain of ʿArafa, avoiding delay or wasting time with resting. This physical hastening conveys the urgency felt to maximize the limited time (noon to sunset) one had to worship and petition God (Nābī 2002, 279). Nābī associates the day of ʿArafa with visible forms of emotion, including bodies trembling and weeping with remorse (nedāmet), in the hope of attaining God’s forgiveness (ümīd-i gufrān) (ibid., 285). He emphasizes this remorse as a collective emotion, though each pilgrim entreated God according to their own capacity (ibid., 287).

In Evliyā’s telling, the eve of ʿArafa (the eighth of dhū al-ḥijja) was itself a sacred night, during which ʿArafa was lit up with thousands of candles. Evliyā calls the effect of this nūr ʿalā nūr, thereby provoking a deliberate ambiguity between temporal and divine light (Evliyā 2005, 355). Throughout the early modern period, hajj pilgrims did not practice the sunna of staying the night at Minā prior to the Day of ʿArafa, and instead stayed the night at ʿArafa. Interestingly, Evliyā portrays Minā as more of a marketplace and a site of festivity. Indeed, Minā was known to most Rūmī pilgrims as a bazaar or marketplace (‘Minā Pazarı’). This was in contrast to the night before ʿArafa, which Evliyā identifies firmly as one of worship: he says that some pilgrims busied themselves with undertaking ziyāra of nearby sacred sites, some worshipped privately in their tents, and some even went to ʿArafa in order to worship there (ibid., 355–356).

Both Evliyā and Nābī convey collective experiences by describing sounds; Nābī says that the clamour and outcry of pilgrims petitioning God on the night of Muzdalifa (on the ninth, following the Day of ʿArafa) reached the sky (Nābī 2002, 295). Evliyā described pilgrims similarly on the eve of ʿArafa; he says that the sound reached the heavens, as all the slaves of God busied themselves in worship in anticipation of the Day of Vigil (wuqūf) (Evliyā 2005, 355–356). Both writers also convey the visual spectacle of ʿArafa, primarily by comparing ʿArafa to ʿAraṣāt, the latter being the plain on which humanity is to be gathered for the final judgment. This was especially so because of the sea of people (ādem deryāsı) in shroud-like white cloths, each of whom were focused on their own account with God and oblivious to their surroundings (ibid., 355). Nābī describes the iḥrām as a potential shroud when first wearing it: ‘As long as I live this is my clothing, and if I die it is my shroud’ (Nābī 2002, 253). At ʿArafa however, the iḥrām is framed more directly as a shroud (kefen-i iḥrām), since the day of ʿArafa resembles the Day of Reckoning (ibid., 286). Indeed, he says, the noise of ʿArafa was such that it surpassed the sounds that would be heard on Judgement Day (ibid.).

In Nābī’s account, the main contrast between ʿArafa and ʿAraṣāt is that in the former pilgrims can find new life; he says that all pilgrims at ʿArafa were deceased, and it was through ʿArafa that they returned to life. Their hearts were now filled with happiness (sürūr) and tranquillity (ḥużūr) as they returned to Muzdalifa. This return (ifāḍa) is thus clearly associated with a sense of emotional cleansing and a new lease of spiritual life (ibid., 293). Similarly, the moment of removing the iḥrām is described by Nābī as ‘the dead removing their shrouds from their bodies and taking the decree of life into their hands.’ This rebirth is cemented in Nābī’s telling by pilgrims donning their best clothes to celebrate the Feast of Immolation (Kurban Bayramı), and further emphasized by the wearing of perfume and the grooming of hair, all acts forbidden during iḥrām (ibid., 301).

As well as sürūr and ḥużūr, Nābī emphasizes his own sense of gratefulness to God for allowing him to experience the Day of ʿArafa (ibid., 292). The hajj is mentioned in the Qurʾan as ‘a source of guidance for all people’ (hudā li-al-ʿālamīn), and Nābī emphasizes his own lost state prior to his pilgrimage.11 His gratefulness thus derives from the fact that God satisfied his desire to visit the Holy Cities and did not leave him in a lost state of yearning (ibid.). By saying that he witnessed rainfall at ʿArafa, Nābī further connects the place and time of ʿArafa to God’s mercy. Rain itself is seen as a source of mercy and blessing, and Islamic tradition holds that supplication is more efficacious under rainfall. Interestingly, in Evliyā’s account, rain is described as an annual occurrence, though it takes place at the end of the hajj, when God sends a great rainfall to cleanse Minā after thousands of animal sacrifices have been made there.

Evliyā is at his most effusive when describing ʿArafa, which he calls a mountain illuminated by the light of paradise due to it being beloved to God. Indeed, Evliyā says that the more one looks at the mountain, the more contentment and happiness (ṣafā ve sürūr) they will gain (Evliyā 2005, 354). Emphasizing its powers of absolution, Evliyā advises pilgrims that when departing ʿArafa, they should not look back, for this is where sins have been left behind. Indeed, he says, some scholars say that the wisdom behind departing ʿArafa after sunset is that so no one becomes blind from seeing the sins, which by this point have taken the form of insects (ḥaşerāt-ı zünūbu) that slowly dissolve into the mountain (Evliyā 2005, 359). Evliyā also emphasizes the sacrality of Minā, connecting the remarkable sights, sounds, and smells found there to the hajj itself. For example, he says that trade at Minā is steeped in good-will; traders host patrons with rose water, fine perfume and incense, and invariably present them with a complimentary gift. This is because every person at Minā is thankful for having accomplished the hajj, and is thus consumed by love and happiness. Having shown diligence in their worship and having exerted themselves at ʿArafa and Muzdalifa, pilgrims thus spend the two days and two nights at Minā in enjoyment (ẕevḳ) and pleasure (ṣafā) (ibid., 366). For this reason, says Evliyā, even with the great crowds of people, no person complains to another about congestion (ibid., 364–365).

5 Ziyāra of the Prophet Muhammad: Visual Cues and Bodily Piety

Evliyā and Nābī’s passages on their ziyāra of the Prophet Muhammad in Medina are among their most emotive. The accounts are also notable for their emphasis on bodily piety. In many ways, their entry into the Prophet’s city appears to mirror the entrance into Mecca. Both narrators portray the trees and fortress walls of Medina as a powerful visual spectacle, which elicited significant shifts in the emotions and demeanour of the pilgrims. In response to their first sight of the Prophet’s city, Evliyā suggests that pilgrims descended their mounts and offered their first greeting to the Prophet Muhammad. He narrates these events in the third person present simple tense, thereby suggesting that what he says is the normal behaviour for a pilgrim, which he himself practiced and which future pilgrims ought to follow as well. In other cases, he adopts the imperative form, such as when advising pilgrims not to neglect asking for the Prophet’s intercession once Medina and the dome of the mosque come into view. Similarly, this suggests that Evliyā did so himself and strongly recommended others to do the same. Indeed, at the conclusion to his advice, he stresses that ‘I carried out my visit to the Prophet (…) in this manner’ (Evliyā 2012, 163).

Perhaps the most important visual step in the process of entering Medina was the dome of the Prophet’s tomb. Nābī says that pilgrims began weeping as soon as it came in to view (Nābī 2002, 323–324), while Evliyā emphasizes that ‘the gleam of the gilded pinnacle on the dome’ rendered the plain of Medina ‘light upon light’ (nūr ʿalā nūr), thus dazzling the eye of the beholder (Evliyā 2012, 19). Here, Evliyā once again utilizes the Qurʾanic terminology from the well-known Verse of Light (Qurʾan 24:35), which possessed great currency in Ottoman culture and was often represented in images and calligraphy. He is clear that the dome, as an extension of the Prophet himself, was the source of light in this instance. Here too, Evliyā evokes the well-known name by which the city was (and continues to be) known, a name which both he and Nābī use in their respective accounts: ‘the Illuminated City’ (Medine-i Münevvere; Arabic: al-Madīna al-Munawwara). Evliyā further describes the moment when the dome of the Prophet comes into view as ‘quite a marvel’, since a change comes over not only the pilgrims but the animals too:

The camels that were exhausted suddenly become strong again and grumble like thunder, the horses whinny and the mules and donkeys cry out (…) It is then impossible to hold the animals back, but they head toward Medina at great speed.

Evliyā 2012, 19–21

By extending the sense of anticipation to the animals, Evliyā conveys the great magnetism of the Prophet, which captivates man and beast alike.

By proceeding directly to the Prophet’s tomb once inside the city walls of Medina, pilgrims demonstrated their reverence for him: It was improper to see to worldly affairs without first undertaking the ziyāra. For example, while Evliyā was outside the fortress walls of Medina, he spent time visiting other sacred sites associated with the Prophet and his companions. However, once he had entered the city’s Egyptian Gate and was within its walls, Evliyā makes clear that he proceeded directly to the tomb of the Prophet without delay. Evliyā also narrates an even greater level of devotion on the part of some pilgrims, who apparently donned the pilgrim’s garb even before entering Medina. Pilgrims would ordinarily enter iḥrām after exiting Medina at a place known as Biʾr-i ʿAli (‘ʿAli’s well’, known also as Dhū al-Ḥulayfa). Yet, some ‘lovers’ chose to do so beforehand as ‘a sign of separation from all that is worldly and as a form of turning to God’ (ibid., 21). According to Evliyā, some pilgrims wanted to have this total sense of separation even while undertaking the ziyāra of the Prophet. Indeed, he himself was among these lovers, explaining that he visited a bathhouse in a suburb of Medina prior to his visit to the Prophet’s tomb where he cleansed himself and emerged ‘barefoot and bareheaded, free from all worldly attachments’ (ibid., 29). The idea of being barefoot and bareheaded was an important one for Evliyā, as can be seen in his advice that one also visit the martyrs of Uḥud in this fashion; those who did otherwise would be ‘committing an impropriety’ (bī-edeblik olmuş olur) (ibid., 160–161). He went as far as to say that one should only visit Uḥud at dawn, since being barefoot and bareheaded would be impossible at any other time of the day (ibid., 159–161).

Nābī emphasizes his own reverent demeanour while walking within the Prophet’s city, saying that he was like a ‘lifeless shadow’ rubbing his face on the ground of Medina (Nābī 2002, 327). This humble disposition only intensified once pilgrims entered the Prophet’s Mosque. Evliyā emphasizes that while the ‘lovers’ (ʿuşşāklar) entered the Bāb al-Salām of the Prophet’s Mosque and proceeded on foot, he in fact lay his ‘sinful face on his precious ground and crawled in fish-like without using hands or feet’ (Evliyā 2012, 29). Thus, Evliyā suggests that his love was even greater than the other ‘lovers’ of the Prophet, embodied not only by walking barefoot but also by lowering his entire body to the ground.

Significantly, both Nābī and Evliyā describe their ziyāras as an experience that was as corporeal as it was an out-of-body one. Bodily conduct was clearly of great importance while standing in front of the Prophet’s tomb; both writers describe expressing their respect and humility by placing their hands upon their chest and slightly bowing their bodies. Both also emphasize the need for appropriate manners and decorum (edeb; Arabic: adab). Along with this emphasis on the outer, Nābī and Evliyā describe experiencing significant inner transformations; Evliyā explains that he ‘nearly fainted’ when praying for the Prophet’s intercession (Evliyā 2012, 31). Nābī says that he experienced a loss of senses (şuʿūr güdāz ile) as he made his way through the Bāb al-Salām (Nābī 2002, 333). Both writers thus convey a sense of being overwhelmed, which in turn conveys the intense sacrality of standing before the Prophet. In Nābī’s case, it is a reaction quite similar to his first view of the Kaʿba. Evliyā certainly seems to attribute his reaction to the sheer momentousness of the situation, saying that once he came to himself, he chose this moment to complete a Qurʾan recitation that he had previously left off at chapter 112 (thus two short chapters short of completion): ‘I brought these noble recitations as presents worthy of the Prophet and, rubbing my face in the dust at his felicitous foot, begged for his intercession’ (Evliyā 2012, 111). Here too, Evliyā deploys the vivid imagery of rubbing his face humbly at the Prophet’s feet, thereby powerfully symbolizing his love and devotion.

Nābī’s poetry while describing his ziyāra features extensive praise of the Prophet, his salutations (ṣalavāt and selām) placed upon him, and perhaps most importantly, his desire to be granted the Prophet’s intercession (şefāʿat; Arabic: shafāʿa) with God (Nābī 2002, 333). Yet Nābī emphasizes that this was conditional on displaying the requisite edeb and on appropriately greeting and praising the Prophet. Nābī certainly felt that he had fulfilled these conditions, and thus described his great happiness at fulfilling his lifelong dream of rubbing his face at the intercessory threshold of the Prophet (ibid., 334). Another symbol of submission and humility was that, as a final act, pilgrims ‘retired backwards according to etiquette’ (edeb üzere) (Evliyā 2012, 30). And even after this initial ziyāra, Nābī emphasizes that he did not spend much time resting, and that all pilgrims expended maximum effort on continuously seeking the Prophet’s intercession at his tomb (Nābī 2002, 341).

Pilgrims are described as departing the Prophet’s city in the same way they entered it, gazing at the dome atop his tomb (Nābī 2002, 354). To convey his sadness (hicrān) on the day of departure, Nābī utilizes a powerful metaphor, saying that this heart was in as many pieces as the various gates of the Sacred Mosque of Medina (ibid., 349). This was also another juncture at which tears were shed profusely and where the pain of goodbye upon both mind and body was such that it could not be put it into words (hāric-i ḳudret-i ḳalem-i ter-zebāndur) (ibid., 349 and 354). Nābī describes his bodily demeanour as much like his final ṭawāf of the Kaʿba, which he says was performed slowly and reluctantly as opposed to his first one, performed with vigour and enthusiasm. He explains that he exited the Prophet’s Mosque while sorrowfully and repeatedly throwing glances back at his tomb, and with his neck visibly bent over in sorrow, until finally he passed through the door (ibid., 354). While pilgrims travelling with the Cairene caravan visited Medina only once on their return journey, pilgrims travelling via Damascus did so twice. Yet, despite knowing that they would be able to return to Medina, Evliyā alludes to a similar level of sadness on the part of pilgrims departing Medina for Mecca, saying that they were all weeping as they entered iḥrām at Ali’s Well (Evliyā 2012, 165).

Both Nābī and Evliyā deposited hand-written plaques at the Prophet’s tomb prior to their departure, thereby forging a longer-lasting, material connection to the Prophet, and tempering the sorrow they felt at parting from him. Evliyā left two pieces of calligraphy in large letters, one which read, ‘A fātiḥa12 for the spirit of the world traveller Evliyā’ (seyyāḥ-ı ʿālem Evliyā rūḥiyçün el-fātiḥa) and another reading: ‘Intercession, o Muhammad, for Evliyā, year 1082’ (şefāʿat yā Muḥammed Evliyāʿya sene 1082) (ibid., 57). Nābī copied a poem expressing his devotion to Muhammad onto a plaque and hung it facing Muhammad’s grave (Nābī 2002, 341). Nābī himself wrote his ‘sorrowful petition’ (ʿarż -ı ḥāl-i derd) on paper in beautiful writing, which he hung in front of the Prophet’s tomb. By describing his offering as an ʿarż-ı ḥāl, Nābī frames it as a petition offered to a sultan, much in the same way that his (and Evliyā’s) physical demeanour whilst undertaking the ziyāra echoed the way in which subjects were expected to behave before the Sultan (ibid.). The practice of composing these calligraphic plaques appears to have been a popular one; Evliyā explains many such plaques had been composed by scholars and placed above the iron railings of the Prophet’s tomb. As well as his calligraphic offerings, Evliyā also set up a large crystal oil lamp in the Prophet’s Mosque, of which he explains there were 7000 altogether. This was another lasting bond he formed with the Medinan sanctuary; not only would this enhance its light, it would also enable the various residents and visitors to Medina to ‘read the Qurʾan and engage in religious discussions until the morning prayer’ (Evliyā 2012, 57).

As members of the Ottoman elite, Evliyā and Nābī could access experiences not ordinarily available to the average pilgrim. While the Kaʿba was opened to all on the tenth of dhū al-ḥijja, entering the ḥujra was a privilege reserved for nobles and dignitaries. Nābī was able to do so as an honorary member of the ferrāşīn, imperially appointed custodians of the Prophet’s Mosque. As with his entry into the Kaʿba, Nābī’s entry into the Prophet’s tomb was undoubtedly an emotional highpoint, and one for which he thanked God profusely. To emphasize that it fulfilled a lifetime’s wish, Nābī thanked God for not depriving him of this honour before his death (Nābī 2002, 342). Evliyā was also able to enter and clean the tomb of the Prophet as part of the entourage of Hüseyin Paşa. This was an experience in which Evliyā embodied his love through haptic engagement; he explains that he ‘kissed the ground and prayed for the intercession of the Prophet.’ Yet the experience was also one that he says was mentally disorientating: ‘From pure love I was intoxicated and bewildered’ (Evliyā 2012, 105). In this way his entrance into the tomb mirrored his first ziyāra, where an initial, highly bodily engagement was followed by a sense of overwhelming.

6 The Seyāhatnāme and Tuḥfe as Mediators of Pilgrimage Experience

Evliyā differs from Nābī in that he devotes entire sections of his account to explicating how to undertake the rituals of the hajj. In doing so, he mirrors hajj guidebooks of that period, which instructed pilgrims on correct ritual practices and also sought to shape their demeanour and emotional states during the execution of each ritual. The edeb of undertaking the ziyāra was important enough for Evliyā that he devoted a lengthy passage to explaining ‘the form and manner of the visit (…) in detail’ (Evliyā 2012, 30–31). His advice especially resembles that of Sinān el-Rūmī, whose guide Evliyā was acquainted with from at least his time in Bitlis in 1655–1656 (Evliyā 1990, 290) and from which he appears to have drawn heavily in this section. Yet much of the advice is also his own; for him, the ziyāra was an act of love, and thus descending one’s horse or camel upon seeing the trees of Medina was something done by the ‘sincere lover’ (ʿāşıḳ-i ṣādiḳ olan) and was ‘a matter of love’ in itself (ʿaşḳa dāʾir bir şeydir) (Evliyā 2012, 19–20). He further advises that during the five-hour downhill stroll between the pilgrims’ first view of the city and their eventual arrival, all should busy themselves with reciting ‘the noble ṣalavāt-i şerīf’ the simplest form of which is ‘O God, bless Muhammad and his people!’ Thus, even before stepping foot inside Medina, pilgrims would already be engaged in Prophetic devotion. Evliyā also advises his readers to follow him in first visiting a bathhouse to perform a major ablution and thereafter put on clean clothes and apply perfume. Pilgrims were then to ‘enter into the Prophet’s presence with solemnity and sincerity and avoid unseemly behaviour’ (ḥüzn-i ḳalb ile derūn-i dilden niyāz-mend olarak vara, ammā bī-ebedlik etmeye) (ibid., 88–89). It was not enough for pilgrims to have a submissive demeanour; by recommending an elaborate process of physical cleansing, Evliyā advocates for pilgrims to come before the Prophet in the right physical state too.

Significantly, Evliyā insists that pilgrims be accompanied by an in-person guide while undertaking the ziyāra, paralleling his advice for pilgrims in Mecca: ‘You cannot do this without a guide (…) You should repeat everything the guide recites, standing in humility with both hands placed on your breast’ (ibid., 89). For Evliyā, employing a guide would ensure that pilgrims stood in the correct place and recited the most efficacious formulas in a moment of great importance. These high stakes are driven home by Evliyā when he says: ‘(…) you are coming into the presence of the foundation of the world and the pride of mankind, whose intercession you must seek’ (ibid.). For the cultivation of a proper emotional habitus, Evliyā gives his own advice; he recommends that pilgrims approach the Prophet’s tomb ‘bowed down and shedding tears’, though a lack of emotional control was unacceptable even in this poignant moment; Evliyā warns that ‘you should not grasp the railing or cry out’ (ibid.). Thereafter one was to begin sending salutations and blessings on the Prophet before asking for his intercession with God. Here, Evliyā mirrors Sinān in saying, ‘Just as one would come into an audience with the Sultan, so with a hundred times more respect should one enter into the presence of the Prophet’ (ibid.). Framing the Prophet as a sultanic or kingly figure, albeit one deserving of ‘a hundred times more respect’ than a temporal ruler, emphasizes the solemn etiquette required of visitors to his tomb. The stakes were raised even higher by Evliyā’s assertion that the Prophet ‘is not dead, he has only exchanged one world for another.’ One’s respect and solemnity would be embodied by their proceeding ‘slowly and deliberately’ (ibid.). This contrasts with the greater speed with which one initially approaches and enters the city.

In some instances, Nābī’s Tuḥfe too resembles contemporary hajj guides. Nābī himself might have engaged with such literature, implemented it in his own hajj and passed on his own advice for future pilgrims. He states that on the first day of the hajj (the day before ʿArafa), pilgrims must stand to attention and avoid excessive rest (Nābī 2002, 274–275). Comments such as these are designed to cultivate a particular habitus within the future pilgrims in his readership, as well as to convey the gravity of this time to the audience. On other occasions, Nābī communicated his personal emotions, or the collectively experienced emotions of his pilgrim group. This too would have indirectly shaped the experiences of future pilgrims, while his advices were a much more direct form of instruction.

Despite their associations with the Ottoman hierarchy, both Evliyā and Nābī were unafraid to communicate some of the more negative aspects of the hajj, perhaps in the hope of effecting change or to prepare pilgrims for the challenges they might face. For example, Evliyā criticizes the upkeep of the hajj road:

If the rulers made an effort and kept good care of the road from Damascus to Medina, one could manage without camels and cover the stretch on horseback in comfort. May God grant ease!

Evliyā 2012, 19

Nābī mentions pickpockets operating at the fairs of Minā (Nābī 2002, 309) as well as severe overcrowding at the Black Stone and during entry to the Kaʿba. For the latter, he says many pilgrims were squeezed together as if in a vice, and alludes to loss of life as a result. Nābī describes staying back from the Kaʿba for fear of his own safety, instead looking on with longing (ḥasret) and hopelessness (nā-ümīd) (ibid., 305). At the same time, in Nābī’s narrative, potentially negative situations are avoided, or more usually, turned into positive events. For example, when discussing the crowding and chaos usually associated with the return (ifāḍa) from ʿArafa to Muzdalifa, Nābī says that this was avoided as the Egyptians took over the reins of the Syrian maḥmal and vice versa, thus removing them from a potential competition (müsābaḳat) with one another (ibid., 293). And, as a sign of ultimate acceptance, Nābī does eventually enter the Kaʿba, suggesting that as a result of his sorrow he was beckoned into the Kaʿba by a voice calling ‘enter inside, o so-and-so’. Here again, Nābī emphasizes above all his gratitude, saying that without God’s acceptance of his prayers, he would not have been able to set foot inside the Kaʿba (ibid., 306).

7 Conclusion

This chapter has explored religious emotion and embodied piety in the hajj narratives of Evliyā Çelebī and Yūsuf Nābī, two Rūmī pilgrims belonging to broadly the same ‘emotional community’. Both writers had long held associations with the hajj, whether through a father who had helped to furnish the Kaʿba or as a result of growing up in the city of Ibrāhīm. The hajj was deeply grounded and memorialized in Ottoman literary, visual, and material culture, all of which would have deepened these associations. Nābī’s Tuḥfe and Evliyā’s Seyāḥatnāme are firmly situated within this tradition; both are a celebration of the hajj and an articulation of what pilgrims ought to experience and achieve through the pilgrimage to Mecca. As self-narrative, both works are undoubtedly a ‘communicative act’ and a ‘social practice’, but this does not necessarily limit their utility in a historical examination of hajj practice. Instead, the manner in which the authors present themselves and their experiences (what might be called ‘self-fashioning’ (Reddy 2009)) reveals a great deal about the register of emotions and bodily interactions within which the hajj was imagined and realized in early modern Ottoman society. Evliyā’s hajj account also maintains a noteworthy emphasis on pilgrim propriety, and seeks much more directly to shape the conduct of future pilgrims.

One of the few pre-modern Muslim thinkers to frame the hajj as a collection of emotional, mental, and physical stages was Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 1111) in his magnum opus, the Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-dīn (‘The tevival of the teligious sciences’). Al-Ghazālī talks of yearning (shawq) for the Kaʿba, of recalling the shroud (kafn) when donning the iḥrām garments, and of venerating the Kaʿba when first laying eyes upon it. Much of this is echoed in the hajj narratives of Evliyā and Nābī, although their work maintains its own historical and cultural specificities, or ‘contemporaneity’ (Brunner 2017, 270. Cited in Kateman 2020, 387). In other words, we might say that Evliyā and Nābī provide their own set of emotional, mental, and physical stages, framed as part of their own experiences and with the potential to both directly and indirectly mediate the expectations and experiences of future pilgrims. Their stages might be said to begin with yearning, longing, and desire (şevḳ and ārzū), followed by a sense of anticipation as pilgrims near the Holy Cities. A sight of the Kaʿba or the Prophet’s tomb might provoke ecstasy (cezbe), a loss of senses, or a general bewilderment. The vigil at ʿArafa is characterized by repentance and remorse, and upon its conclusion, pilgrims feel a sense of happiness (sürūr) and tranquillity (ḥużūr). At the conclusion of the hajj and the ziyāra, the most prominent emotions are gratefulness and thankfulness (şükür).

In both accounts, these varied emotions could be embodied in equally varied ways and usually through interaction with the physical landscapes of the Ḥaramayn; a first visual clue of the Holy City is invariably followed by pilgrims quickening their pace with renewed vigour. A second, more pronounced clue is followed by pilgrims humbly proceeding on foot, perhaps even barefoot as a reflection of their love. Locking one’s gaze is represented as a sign of devotion in the case of the Kaʿba and the ḥujra; pilgrims even walked backwards in order to keep their eyes on the beloved object as long as possible. Initial acts of worship are performed with greater speed: pilgrims eagerly enter cities and hasten to undertake the necessary rituals. In contrast, final acts of worship are performed slowly and reluctantly, signifying pain and sorrow. When departing sacred sites, tears might be shed as a marker of sorrow, though tears of a happier kind were also often shed when first encountering the landmarks of the Ḥaramayn. At ʿArafa especially, the donning of the pilgrim garb symbolizes temporary death, while the return to everyday clothes, as well as the practice of grooming and applying perfume, signifies the rebirth of pilgrims and their new lease of life. Especially at Medina, reverence is embodied by the placement of hands on one’s chest and the slight bowing of one’s body.

1

For Evliyā’s time in Medina, I cite the following, translated edition: Evliyā Çelebī. Evliyā Çelebi in Medina. For Evliyā’s time in Mecca, translations are my own, based on volume nine of the Yapı Kredi Yayınları critical edition: Evliyā Çelebī. Evliyā Çelebi Seyāḥatnāmesi.

2

The biographical information in this paragraph was taken from Evliyā Çelebī. An Ottoman traveller, x–xxiii and 292.

3

For Nābī, I rely on Menderes Coşkun’s critical edition: Nābī. Manzūm ve mensūr Osmanlı hac Seyāḥatnāmeleri. Translations are my own unless quoted from Coşkun (1999). For an introduction to Nābī and his work see the introduction to Coşkun (1999) as well as Coşkun (2000).

4

The biographical information in this paragraph was taken from Coşkun 1999, 101–144 and Woodhead 2011, 143–158.

5

The Dalāʾil was a collection of prayers for the Prophet Muhammad by the Moroccan scholar Muḥammad Sulaymān al-Jazūlī (d. 1465). It enjoyed remarkable popularity especially between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries across the Muslim world. For more, see Witkam 2007.

6

Since al-Sincāri’s work is unpublished and exists only in manuscript form, I have not provided a date of publication. The same applies for Murād al-Bendī’s Delīlü’l-mütaḥayyirīn and Sinān al-Rūmī’s Menāsik. For manuscripts, I cite folios in place of pages from a printed edition. Al-Sincāri’s date of death is not known, however his work features in a number of unpublished manuscripts from the early eighteenth century. For example, the manuscript cited here, from the Berlin State Library, was copied in 1709.

7

One is in the holdings of the Benaki Museum (Benaki Museum, Athens. Inv 124) and the other in the Louvre, dating to c. 1675 (Musée du Louvre, Paris. Inv OA 3919/558). See Maury 2013, 150. Evliyā’s quoted wording: ‘Her kime Kaʿbe naṣīb olsa Hudā raḥmet eder/ Sevdiği kişiyi Ḥak hānesine daʿvet ider’ (Evliyā 2005, 350). The wording on the tiles is slightly different to that quoted by Evliyā: ‘Her kime Kaʿbe naṣīb olsa Hudā raḥmet ider/ Her kişi sevdiğini hānesine daʿvet ider.’

8

The practice is also mentioned by Murād Dervīş, a late seventeenth-century hajj guide author, who calls it a blameworthy innovation (bidʿet; Arabic: bidʿa). See Murād, fol. 31b–32a.

9

‘Might I roam the world? Might it be vouchsafed to me to reach the Holy Land, Cairo and Damascus, Mecca and Medina, and to rub my face at the Sacred Garden, the tomb of the Prophet, glory of the universe?’ (Evliyā 2012, 4).

10

A hadith narrated by Ibn ʿUmar (d. 693) in the Muṣannaf of al-Sanʿānī (d. 827), 5:15 (Hadith 8830).

11

Verse 3:96. As translated in Abdel Haleem, The Qurʾan.

12

Al-Fātiḥa (‘The opening’) is the first chapter of the Qurʾan, and is in the format of a brief liturgical invocation. In this context, it may denote a short supplication with or without the recitation of this chapter.

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