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This episode we will discuss various embassies to and from Yamato during the reign of Takara Hime, with a particular focus on the embassy of 659, which occured at a particularly eventful time and happened to be extremely well-recorded fro the period by Iki no Hakatoko, who was apparently on the mission to the Tang court itself. For more, check out our blog post at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-123 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 123: Embassy Interrupted.   Iki no Hakatoko sat in his room, gazing out at the city.   It was truly an amazing place, filled with all kinds of people from around the world.  And yet, still, after 9 months of confinement, the place felt small.  Sure, there he hadwere visits from ranking nobles and dignitaries, but even the most lenient of house arrests was still house arrest. But that didn't mean that he had nothing to do.  There were books and more that he had access to—many that had not yet made it to the archipelago, and some of which he no doubt hoped he could bring back with him.  And of course, there was paper, brush, and ink. And then there were the experiences he and others had acquired on this mission to the Great Tang.  From the very beginning the missionit washad been plagued with disaster when they lost half of their ships and company mission to rogue winds on the open seas.  Now they were trapped because the Emperor himself wouldn't let them return home.  They had experienced and seen so much, and that provided ample material for one to catalogue. As the seasons changed, and rumors arrived that perhaps his situation would also something would change soon, Iki no Hakatoko spread out the paper on the desk in front of him, dipped his brush in the ink, and began to write.  He wrote down notes about his experiences, and what had befallen him and the others.  He had no idea who It is unclear whom he thought might read it, and if he was intending this to be an official or personal record, but he wrote it down anyway. Hakatoko He couldn't have known then that his words would eventually be captured in a much larger work, chronicling the entire history of Yamato from its very creation, nor that his would be one of the oldest such personal accounts records to be handed down.  His Itwords  wwould only survive in fragments—or perhaps his writing was simply that terse—but his words they would be preserved, in a format that was still being read over a thousand years later.     Last episode we finished up the story of Xuanzang and his Journey to the West—which is to say the Western Regions -- , and thence on to India, or Tianzhu, where he walked in the footsteps of the historical Buddha, studied the scriptures at the feet of venerable teachers, such as Silabadhra at the Great Monastery of Nalanda, and eventually wound up bringingbrought back hundreds of manuscripts to Chang'an to , which he and others be translated and disseminated, impacting Buddhist thought across East Asia.  HisXuanzang's travels lasted from around 629 to 645, and he was still teaching in Chang'an in the 650s when various student-monks from Yamato  arrived to study and learn from him, eventually bringing back his teachings to the archipelago as part of the Faxiang, or Hossou, school of Buddhism. Before that we talked about the visitors from “Tukhara” and “Sha'e” recorded in the Chronicles.  As we noted, these peopley were morest likely from the Ryukyuan islands, and the names may have been conflated with distant lands overseas – but regardless, .  Whether or not it was a mistake, this it does seem to indicated that Yamato had at least an inkling of the wider world, introduced through the continental literature that they had been importing, if not the direct interactions with individuals from the Korean peninsula and the Tang court. This episode, we're going to talk about some of the relations between Yamato and the continent, including the various embassies sent back and forth, as well as one especially detailed embassy from Yamato to the Tang Court that found itself in a bit of a pickle.  After all, what did you do, back in those days, when you were and ambassador, and your country suddenly went to war?  We'll talk about that and what happened. To reorient ourselves in time, we're in the reign of Takara Hime, called aka Kyogoku Tennou during her first reign, who had reascended to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu.  The Chroniclers would dub her Saimei Tennou in her second run on the throne. From the very beginning of her second reign, Takara Hime was entertaining foreign envoys.  In 654, the Three Han of the Korean Peninsula—Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla—all sent ambassadors to express their condolence on the death of her brother, and presumably to witness her ascension.  And in the 8th month of her reign, Kawabe no Maro no Omi, along with others, returned from Chang'an.  He Kawabe no Maro no Omi had been the Chief Ambassador to the Tang on an embassy sent , traveling there in the 2nd month of the previous year.  Originally he had been He was under the command of the controlling envoy, Takamuku no Obito no Kuromaro, but Kuromaro who unfortunately died in Chang'an and so Kawabe no Mari no Omi took over his role. That same year, 655, we know that there were about 100 persons recorded in Yamato from Baekje, along with envoys of Goguryeo and Silla.  These are likely the same ones we mentioned back in episode 117 when 150 Baekje envoys were present at court along with multiple members of the Emishi. Silla, for their part, had sent to Yamato a special hostage , whom we know as something like “Mimu”, along with skilled workmen.  Unfortunately, we are told that Mimu fell ill and died.  The Chronicles are pretty sparse on what this meant, but I can't imagine it was great.  After all, the whole idea of sending a hostage to another nation was as a pledge of good behavior – the idea being that the hostage was the idea that they werewas valuable enough that the sending nation wouldn't do anything too rash.  The flip side of that is if the hostage died, Of course, if they perished, the hosting country lost any leverage—and presumably the sending nation would be none too pleased.  That said, people getting sick and passing away was hardly a hostile action, and likely just considered an unfortunate situation. The following year, in 656, we see that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla again all sent ambassadords were all sent to offer “tribute”.  The Chronicles mention that dark purple curtains were drawn around the palace site to entertain the ambassadors—likely referring to the new palace site at Asuka no Wokamoto, which probably was not yet fully built out, yet.   We are given the name of the Goguryeo ambassador, Talsa, and associate ambassador, Ilchi,  in the 8th month, Talsa and Ilichi, with 81 total members in the Goguryeo retinueof the embassy.  In seeming response, Yamato sent an embassy was sent to Goguryeo with the likes of Kashiwade no Omi no Hatsumi as the Chief Ambassador and Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwasuki as the Associate Ambassador.  Other names mentioned include We also see the likes of Inugami no Shiromaro, Kawachi no Fumi no Obito—no personal name is given—and Ohokura no Maro.  We also see thea note in the Chronicles that Yamato ambassadors to the quote-unquote “Western Sea”—which seems to refer to the Tang court, but could possibly refer to anything from the Korean Peninsula west—returned in that same year.  The two are named as Saheki no Muraji no Takunaha and Oyamashita no Naniha no Kishi no Kunikatsu.  These are both families that were clearly involved in cross-strait relations , based on how they are frequently referenced in the Chronicles as being associated with various overseas missions.  but  However, we don't seem to have clear evidence of them when these particular individualsy leavingft on this mission.  “Kunikatsu” mightay refer to an earlier ambassador to Baekje, but the names are different, so that is largely just speculation.  In any case, Uupon their return, they are said to have brought with them a parrot.  This wasn't the first parrot the court had seen—that feathery traveler had arrived in 647, or at least that is the first parrotinstance  we have in the written record -- .  Aand that one came from Silla as part of that embassy's gifts. Continuing on, in 657, The following year there was another group of ambassadors returned coming  from the “Western Seas”, in this case coming back from—or through—Baekje.  Thisese wasere Adzumi no Muraji no Tsuratari and Tsu no Omi no Kutsuma.  The presents they brought back were, of all things:  one camel and two donkeys.  And can you imagine bringing a camel back across the sea at this point?  Even if they were using the larger ships based on continental designs, it still must have been something else to put up with a camel and donkeys onboard, animals that are not exactly known for their easy-going and compliant nature. Speaking of boats, we should probably touch on what we *think* they were usinghas been going on here.  I say *think* because we only get glimpses  of the various boats being used in the archipelago, whether from mentions in or around Yamato, archaeology, or artistic depictions, many of which came from later periods., and wSo while it is generally assumed that they the Yamato were using Tang style vessels by the 8th and 9th century, there does not appear to be clear evidence of exactly what kind of boats were being used during the early earlier periods of contact. A quick note on boat technology and navigation: while travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, wasn't safe, it would have been possible with the vessels of the time.  Japan sits on the continental shelf, meaning that to the east where the shelf gives way to the Pacific Ocean with the Phillippine Sea to the south, the waters are much, much deeper than they are to the west.  In deep waters, waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor, meaning they can build up much more energy and require different kinds of technology to sail.  In shallower areas, such as the Sea of Japan, the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea or the Korean Straits to the west of the archipelago, there's more drag that dampens out the wave effect – it's not that these areas are uniformly shallow and calm, but they are calmer and easier to navigate in general.  Our oldest example of boats in the archipelago of any kind are dugout canoes, .  These are logs that are hollowed out  and shaped. , and tThese appear to be what Jomon era populations used to cross to the archipelago and travel between the various islands.  Though they may be considered primitive, without many of the later innovations that would increase stability and seaworthiness—something I'll touch on more a bit later—, they were clearly effective enough to populate the islands of the Ryukyuan chain and even get people and livestock, in the form of pigs, down to the Hachijo islands south of modern Tokyo.    So they weren't ineffective. Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor.  Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves.  This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves.  That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well. We probably should note, however, that Japan sits on the edge of the continental shelf.  To the west, the seas are deep, but not nearly as deep as they are to the east, where continental shelf gives way to the Pacific ocean, with the Philippine Sea to the south.  These are much deeper waters than those of the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea, or the Korean Straits.  The Sea of Japan does have some depth to it, but even then it doesn't compare in both size and depth. Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor.  Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves.  This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves.  That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well. All this to say that travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, were all things that were likely much easier to navigate with the vessels available at the time, but that doesn't mean that it was safe. Later, we see a different type of vessel appear: .  This is a built vessel, made of multiple hewn pieces of wood.  The examples that we see show a rather square front and back that rise up, sometimes dramatically, .  There are with various protrusions on either side. We see examples of this shape , and we've seen examples in haniwa from about the 6th century, and we have some corresponding wooden pieces found around the Korean peninsula that pretty closely match the haniwa boat shapesuggest similar boats were in use there as well, .  Nnot surprising given the cultural connections.  These boats do not show examples of sails, and were likely crewed by rowers.  Descriptions of some suggest that they might be adorned with branches, jewels, mirrors, and other such things for formal occasions to identify some boats as special -- , and we even have one record of the rowers in ceremonial garb with deer antlers.  But none of this suggests more than one basic boat typevery different types of boats. In the areas of the Yellow and Yangzi rivers, area of modern China, particularly in the modern PRC, the boats we see are a little different.  They tend to be flat bottomed boats, possible evolved from  which appear to have been designed from rafts or similar .   These vessels would have evolved out of those used to transport goods and people up and down the Yellow and Yangzi rivers and their tributaries.  These boats y had developed sails, but still the boats wwere n'ot necessarily the most stable on the open ocean.  Larger boats could perhaps make their way through some of the waves, and were no doubt used throughout the Yellow Sea and similar regions.  However, for going farther abroad, we are told thatcourt chronicles note that there were other boats that were preferred: . These are sometimes called  the Kun'lun-po, or Boats of the Kunlun, or the Boats of the Dark-skinned people.  A quick dive here into how this name came to be. Originally, “Kunlun” appears to refer to a mythical mountain range, the Kunlun-shan, which may have originated in the Shan-hai-jing, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, and so may not have referred to anything specific terrestrial mountain range, ally.  Italthough the term would later attach be used to describe to the mountain chain that forms the northern edge of the Tibetan plateau, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin. However, at some point, it seems that “Kunlun” came to refer to people -- .  Sspecifically, it came to refer to people of dark complexion, with curly hair.  There are Tang era depictions of such people, but their origin is not exactly known: it might .  It is thought that it may have have equally referred to dark-skinned individuals of African descent, or possibly referring to some of the dark-skinned people who lived in the southern seas—people like the Andamanese living on the islands west of modern Thailand or some of the people of the Malay peninsula, for example. It is these latter groups that likely were the origin, then, of the “Kun'lun-po”, referring to the ships of the south, such as those of Malay and AsutronesianAustronesian origin.  We know that from the period of at least the Northern and Southern Dynasties, and even into the early Tang, these foreign ships often , which were often plyingied the waters from trade port to trade port, and were the preferred sailing vessels for voyages to the south, where the waters could be more treacherous.  Indeed, the Malay language eventually gives us the term of their vessels as “Djong”, a term that eventually made its way into Portuguese as “Junco” and thus into English as “junk”, though this terms has since been rather broadly applied to different “Asian” style sailing vessels. So that leaves us with three ship types that the Yamato court could have been using to send these embassies back and forth to the continent: .  Were they still using their own style of native boat as seen on haniwa,, or were they adopting continental boats to their needs?   If so, were they using the flat-bottomed boats of the Tang dynasty, or the more seaworthy vessels of the foreign merchants?. Which were they using?  The general thinking is that IMost depictions I have seen of the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang court, depict them as t is generally thought that they were probably using the more continental-style flat-bottomed, riverine vessels.  After all, they were copying so much of what the Sui and Tang courts were doing, why would they not consider these ships to likewise be superior to their own?  At least for diplomatic purposes.  I suspect that local fishermen did their own were keeping their own counsel as far as ships are concernedthing, and I also have to wonder about what got used they were using from a military standpoint for military purposes.  Certainly we see the Tang style boats used in later centuries, suggesting that these had been adopted at some earlier point, possibly by the 650s or earlier. Whatever they used, and while long-distance sailing vessels could Sailing vessels could be larger than short-distance riverine craft, this was not a luxury cruise.  , but conditions on board were not necessarily a luxury cruise.  From later accounts we know that they would really pack people into these shipspeople could be packed in.  It should be noted that individual beds and bedrooms were a luxury in much of the world, and many people probably had little more than a mat to sleep on.  Furthermore, people could be packed in tight.   Think of the size of some of these embassies, which are said to be 80 to 150 people in size.  A long, overseas journey likely meant getting quite cozy with your neighbors on the voyage.  So how much more so with a camel and two donkeys on board a vessel that was likely never meant to carry them?  Not exactly the most pleasant experience, I imagine – and this is not really any different than European sailing vessels during the later age of exploration.. So, from the records for just the first few years of Takara-hime's second reign, we see that there are lots of people going back and forth, and we have a sense of how they might be getting to and from the continent and peninsula.  Let's dive into Next, we are going to talk about one of the most heavily documented embassies to the Tang court, which set out in the 7th month of the year 659.  Not only do we get a pretty detailed account of this embassy, but we even know who wrote the account: as in our imagined intro, , as this is one of the accounts by the famous Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko, transcribed by Aston as “Yuki” no Muraji. Iki no Hakatoko's name first appears in an entry for 654, where he is quoted as giving information about the status of some of the previous embassies to the Tang court.  Thereafter, various entries are labeled as “Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko says:”, which   This would seem to indicate that these particular entries came are taken directly from another work written by Iki no Hakatoko and referred to as the “Iki Hakatoko Sho”.  Based on the quoted fragments found in the Nihon Shoki, itthis appears to be one of ourthis oldest Japanese travelogues.  It , and spends considerable time on the mission of 659, of which it would appear that Iki no Hakatoko was himself a member, though not a ranking one.  Later, Iki no Hakatoko would find himself mentioned in the Nihon Shoki directly, and he would even be an ambassador, himself. The embassy of 659 itself, as we shall see, was rather momentous.  Although it started easily enough, the embassy would be caught up in some of the most impactful events that would take place between the Tang, Yamato, and the states of the Korean peninsula. This embassy was formally under the command of Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza.  It's possible In the first instance it is not clear to me if this isthat he is the same person as the previously mentioned associate envoy, Sakahibe no Iwasuki—but the kanji are different enough, and there is another Sakahibe no Kusuri who shows up between the two in the record.  However, they are both listed as envoys during the reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, and as we've abundantly seen, and it wouldn't be the first time that scribal error crept in. has taken place, especially if the Chroniclers were pulling from different sources. The ambassadors took a retinue with them, including members of the northern Emishi, whom they were bringing along with them to show to the Tang court.  TheThey also  embassy ttook two ships—perhaps because of the size of the retinue, but I suspect that this was also because if anything happened to the one, you still had the other.  A kind of backup plan due to the likelihood something went wrong.  And wouldn't you know it, something did go wrong.  You see, things started out fine, departing Mitsu Bay, in Naniwa, on the 3rd day of the 7th month.  They sailed through the Seto Inland Sea and stopped at Tsukushi, likely for one last resupply and to check in with the Dazai, located near modern Fukuoka, who would have been in charge of overseeing ships coming and going to the archipelago.  They departed from Ohotsu bay in Tsukushi on the 11th day of the 8th month. A quick note: Sspeedboats these were not.  Today, one can cross from Fukuoka to Busan, on the southeast corner of the Korean peninsula, in less than a day.  The envoys, however, were taking their time.  They may have even stopped at the islands of Iki and Tsushima on their way.  By the 13th day of the 9th month—over a month from leaving Kyushu behind -- , the  ships finally came to an island along the southern border of Yamato's ally, Baekje.  Hakatoko does not recall the name of the island, but o On the following morning, around 4 AM, so just before sunrise, the two ships put out to sea together to cross the ocean, heading south, towards the mouth of the Yangzi river.  Unfortunately, the following day, the ship Iwashiki was on met with a contrary wind, and was driven away from the other ship – with nothing known of its fate until some time afterwards.  Meanwhile, the other ship, under the command of Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza, continued on and by midnight on the 16th day, it arrived at Mt. Xuan near Kuaiji Commandary in the Yue district, in modern Zhejiang.  Suddenly a violent northeast wind blew up, and p.  Tthey were saileding another 7 days before they finally arrived at Yuyao.  Today, this is part of the city of Ningbo, at the mouth of the Qiantang river, south of Shanghai and considered a part of the Yangzi Delta Region.  This area has been inhabited since at least 6300 years ago, and it has long been a trade port, especially with the creation of the Grand Canal connecting between the Yangzi and the Yellow River, which would have allowed transshipment of goods to both regions. The now half-size Yamato contingenty  left their ship at Yuyao and disembarked, and made their way to Yuezhou, the capital of the Kuaiji Commandary.  This took them a bit of time—a little over a month.  Presumably this was because of paperwork and logistics: they probably because they had to send word ahead, and I suspect they had to inventory everything they brought and negotiate carts and transportationfigure out transportation., since   Tthey didn't exactly have bags of holding to stuff it all in, so they probably needed to negotiate carts and transportation.  The finally made it to Yuezhou on the first day of the 11th intercalary month.  An “intercalary” month refers to an extra month in a year.  It was determined by various calculations and was added to keep the lunar and solar years in relative synch. From Yuezhou, things went a bit more quickly, as they were placed on post-horses up to the Eastern Capital, or Luoyang, where the Emperor Tang Gaozong was in residence.   The Tang kept a capital at Luoyang and another to the west, in Chang'an.  The trip to Luoyang was long—over 1,000 kilometers, or 1 megameter, as it were.  The trip first took them through the Southern Capital, meaning the area of modern Nanjing, which they entered on the 15th day of the month.  They then continued onwards, reaching Luoyang on the 29th day of the 11th month.  The following day, on the 30th day of the 11th intercalary month of the year 659, the Yamato envoys were granted an audience with Emperor Tang Gaozong.  As was proper, he inquired about the health of their sovereign, Takara Hime, and the envoys reported that she was doing well.  He asked other questions about how the officials were doing and whether there was peace in Yamato.  The envoys all responded affirmatively, assuring him that Yamato was at peace. Tang Gaozong also asked about the Emishi they had brought with them.  We mentioned this event previously, back in Episode XXX117 , how the Emishi had been shown to the Tang Emperor, and how they had described them for him.  This is actually one of the earliest accounts that we have describing the Emishi from the Yamato point of view, rather than just naming them—presumably because everyone in Yamato already knew who they were.  From a diplomatic perspective, of course, this was no doubt Yamato demonstrating how they were, in many ways, an Empire, similar to the Tang, with their own subordinate ethnicities and “barbarians”. After answering all of the emperor's questions, the audience was concluded.  The following day, however, was something of its own. This was the first day of the regular 11th lunar month, and it also was the celebration of the Winter Solstice—so though it was the 11th month, it may have been about 22 December according to our modern western calendars.  The envoys once again met with the emperor, and they were treated as distinguished guests—at least according to their own records of it.  Unfortunately, during the festivities, it seems that a fire broke out, creating some confusion, and .  Tthe matters of the diplomatic mission were put on hold while all of that went on. We don't know exactly what happened in the ensuing month.  Presumably the envoys took in the sites of the city, may have visited various monasteries, and likely got to know the movers and shakers in the court, who likely would have wined and dined them, inviting them to various gatherings, as since they brought their own exotic culture and experiences to the Tang court. Unfortunately, things apparently turned sour.  First off, it seems clear that the members of this embassyy weren't the only Japanese in the court.  There may have been various merchants, of course, but and we definitely know that there were students who had come on other missions and were still there likely still studying, such as those who had been learning from studying with Master Xuanzang, whose journeys we mentioned in the last several episodes.  But Wwe are given a very specific name of a troublemaker, however:  Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro, and we are told that he was aa servant of Han Chihung, who .  Han Chihung, himself, is thought to have possiblymay have been of mixed ethnicity—both Japanese and ethnic Han, and may .  Hhe may have traveled to the Tang court on or around 653. , based on some of the records, but it isn't entirely clear. For whatever reason, on the 3rd day of the 12th month of the year 659, Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro slandered the envoys, and although .  Wwe don't know exactly what he said, but the Tang court caught wind of the accusations and found the envoys guilty.  They were condemned to banishment, until the author of our tale, none other than Iki no Hakatoko himself, stepped up, .  He made representation to the Emperor, pleading against the slander.  , and tThe punishment was remitted, .  Sso they were no longer banished.  However, they were also then told that they could no't return home.  You see, the Tang court was in the middle of some sensitive military operations in the lands east of the sea—in other words they were working with Silla to and invadeing the Kingdom of Baekje.  Since Yamato was an ally of Baekje, it would be inconvenient if the envoys were to return home and rally Yamato to Baekje's defense. And so the entire Yamato embassy was moved to the Western Capital, Chang'an, where they were placed under individual house arrest.  They no doubt were treated well, but they were not allowed to leave, and .  Tthey ended up spending the next year in this state. of house arrest. Unfortunately, we don't have a record of just how they passed their time in Chang'an.  They likely studied, and were probably visited by nobles and others.  They weren't allowed to leave, but they weren't exactly thrown in jail, either.  After all, they were foreign emissaries, and though the Tang might be at war with their ally, there was no formal declaration of war with Yamato, as far as I can make out.  And so the embassy just sat there, for about 9 months. Finally, in the 7th month of 660, the records tell us we are told thatthat tThe Tang and Silla forces had been successful: .  Baekje was destroyed..  The Tang and Silla forces had been successful.   News must have reached Chang'an a month later, as Iki Hakatoko writes that this occurred in the 8th month of the year 660.  With the Tang special military operation on the Korean peninsula concluded, they released the envoys and allowed them to return to their own countries.  They envoys began their preparations as of the 12th day of the 9th month, no doubt eager to return home, and left were leaving Chang'an a week later, on the 19th day of the 9th month.  From there, it took them almost a month to reach Luoyang, arriving on the 16th day of the 10th month, and here they were greeted with more good news, for here it was that they met up once again with those members of their delegation who had been blown off course. As you may remember, the ship carrying Iwashiki was blown off-course on the 15th day of the 9th month in the year 659, shortly after setting out from the Korean peninsula.  The two ships had lost contact and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza and his ship had been the one that had continued on.   Iwashiki and those with him, however, found themselves at the mercy of the contrary winds and eventually came ashore at an island in the Southern Sea, which Aston translates as “Erh-kia-wei”.   There appears to be at least some suggestion that this was an island in the Ryukyuan chain, possibly the island of Kikai.  There, local islanders, none too happy about these foreigners crashing into their beach, destroyed the ship, and presumably attacked the embassy.  Several members, including Yamato no Aya no Wosa no Atahe no Arima (yeah, that *is* a mouthful), Sakahibe no Muraji no Inadzumi (perhaps a relative of Iwashiki) and others all stole a local ship and made their way off the island.  They eventually made landfall at a Kuazhou, southeast of Lishui City in modern Zhejiang province, where they met with local officials of the Tang government, who then sent them under escort to the capital at Luoyang.  Once there, they were probably held in a similar state of house arrest, due to the invasion of Baekje, but they met back up with Kiza and Hakatoko's party. The envoys, now reunited, hung out in Luoyang for a bit longer, and thus .  Thus it was on the first day of the 11th month of 660 that they witnessed war captives being brought to the capital.  This included 13 royal persons of Baekje, from the King on down to the Crown Prince and various nobles, including the PRimiePrime Minister, as well as 37 other persons of lower rank—50 people all told.  TheThese captives y were delivered up to the Tang government and led before the emperor.  Of course, with the war concluded, and Baekje no longer a functioning state, while he could have had them executed, Tang Gaozong instead released them, demonstrating a certain amount of magnanimity.  The Yamato envoys remained in Luoyang for most of the month.  On the 19th, they had another audience with the emperor, who bestowed on them various gifts and presents, and then five days later they departed the Luoyang, and began the trek back to the archipelago in earnest. By the 25th day of the first month of 661, the envoys arrived back at Yuezhou, head of the Kuaiji Commandery.  They stayed there for another couple of months, possibly waiting for the right time, as crossing the sea at in the wrong season could be disastrous.  They finally departed east from Yuezhou on the first day of the fourth month, coming to .  They came to Mt. Cheng-an 6 days later, on the 7th, and set out to sea first thing in the morning on the 8th.  They had a southwest wind initially in their favor, but they lost their way in the open ocean, an all too commonall-too-common problem without modern navigational aids.  Fortunately, the favorable winds had carried them far enough that only a day later they made landfall on the island of Tamna, aka Jeju island. Jeju island was, at this point, its own independent kingdom, situated off the southern coast of the Korean peninsula.  Dr. Alexander Vovin suggested that the name “Tamna” may have been a corruption of a Japonic or proto-Japonic name: Tanimura.  The island was apparently quite strange to the Yamato embassy, and they met with various residents natives of Jeju island.  They, even convincinged Prince Aphaki and eight other men of the island to come with them to be presented at the Yamato court. The rest of their journey took a little over a month.  They finally arrived back in Yamato on the 23rd day of the fifth month of 661.  They had been gone for approximately two years, and a lot had changed, especially with the destruction of Baekje.  The Yamato court had already learned of what had happened and was in the process of drawing up plans for an expedition back to the Korean peninsula to restore the Baekje kingdom, and pPrince Naka no Oe himself was set to lead the troops. The icing on the cake was: Tthe reception that the envoys received upon their return was rather cold.  Apparently they were had been slandered to the Yamato court by another follower of Han Chihung—Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Tarushima—and so they weren't met with any fanfare.  We still don't know what it was that Tarsuhima was saying—possibly he had gotten letters from Chihung or Ohomaro and was simply repeating what they had said. Either way, the envoys were sick of it.  They had traveled all the way to the Tang capitals, they had been placed under house arrest for a year, and now they had returned.  They not only had gifts from the Tang emperor, but they were also bringing the first ever embassy from the Kingdom of Tamna along with them.  The slander would not stand.  And so they did what anyone would do at the time:  They apparently appealed to the Kami.  We are told that their anger reached to the Gods of the High Heaven, which is to say the kami of Takamanohara, who killed Tarushima with a thunderbolt.  Which I guess was one way to shut him up. From what we can tell, the embassy was eventually considered a success.  Iki no Hakatoko's star would rise—and fall—and rise again in the court circles.  As I noted, his account of this embassy is really one of the best and most in depth that we have from this time.  It lets us see the relative route that the envoys were taking—the Chronicles in particular note that they traveled to the Great Tang of Wu, and, sure enough, they had set out along the southern route to the old Wu capital, rather than trying to cross the Bohai Sea and make landfall by the Shandong peninsula or at the mouth of the Yellow River.  From there they traveled through Nanjing—the southern “capital” likely referring, in this instance, to the old Wu capital—and then to Luoyang.  Though they stayed there much longer than they had anticipated, they ended up living there through some of the most impactful events that occurred during this point in Northeast Asia.  they And that is something we will touch on next episode.  Until then, thank you once again for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

This episode we will finish up the travels of Xuanzang, who circumnavigated the Indian subcontinent while he was there, spending over a decade and a half travelings, visiting important Buddhist pilgrimage sites, and studying at the feet of learned monks of India, and in particular at Nalanda monastery--a true center of learning from this period. For more, check out our blogpost page:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-122 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 122:  Journey to the West, Part 3 The courtyard at Nalanda was quiet.  Although hundreds of people were crowded in, trying to hear what was being said, they were all doing their best to be silent and still.  Only the wind or an errant bird dared speak up.  The master's voice may not have been what it once was—he was definitely getting on in years—but Silabhadra's mind was as sharp as ever. At the front of the crowd was a relatively young face from a far off land.  Xuanzang had made it to the greatest center of learning in the world, and he had been accepted as a student of perhaps the greatest sage of his era.  Here he was, receiving lessons on some of the deepest teachings of the Mahayana Buddhist sect, the very thing he had come to learn and bring home. As he watched and listened with rapt attention, the ancient teacher began to speak….   For the last two episodes, and continuing with this one, we have been covering the travels of the monk Xuanzang in the early 7th century, starting around 629 and concluding in 645.  Born during the Sui dynasty, Xuanzang felt that the translations of the Buddhist sutras available in China were insufficient—many of them had been made long ago, and often were translations of translations.  Xuanzang decided to travel to India in the hopes of getting copies in the original language to provide more accurate translations of the sutras, particularly the Mahayana sutras.  His own accounts of his journeys, even if drawn from his memory years afterwards, provide some of our most detailed contemporary evidence of the Silk Road and the people and places along the way.  After he returned, he got to work on his translations, and became quite famous.  Several of the Japanese students of Buddhism who traveled to the Tang dynasty in the 650s studied under him directly and brought his teachings back to Japan with them.  His school of “Faxiang” Buddhism became known in Japan as the Hosso sect, and was quite popular during the 7th and 8th centuries.  Xuanzang himself, known as Genjou in Japan, would continue to be venerated as an important monk in the history of Buddhism, and his travels would eventually be popularized in fantastic ways across East Asia. Over the last couple of episodes we talked about Xuanzang's illegal and harrowing departure from the Tang empire, where he had to sneak across the border into the deserts of the Western Regions.  We then covered his time traveling from Gaochang, to Suyab, and down to Balkh, in modern Afghanistan.  This was all territory under the at least nominal control of the Gokturk empire.  From Balkh he traveled to Bamyan, and then on to Kapisa, north of modern Kabul, Afghanistan.  However, after Kapisa, Xuanzang was finally entering into the northern territories of what he knew as “India”, or “Tianzhu”. Here I would note that I'm using “India” to refer not to a single country, but to the entirety of the Indian subcontinent, and all of the various kingdoms there -- including areas now part of the modern countries of Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka.  The Sinitic characters used to denote this region are pronounced, today, as “Tianzhu”, with a rough meaning of “Center of Heaven”, but it is likely that these characters were originally pronounced in such a way that the name likely came from terms like “Sindhu” or “Induka”.  This is related to the name of the Sindh or Indus river, from which India gets its name.  Xuanzang's “Record of the Western Regions” notes that the proper pronunciation of the land should be “Indu”.  In Japan, this term was transmitted through the Sinitic characters, or kanji, and pronounced as “Tenjiku”.  Since it featured so prominently in the stories of the life of the Buddha and many of the Buddhist sutras, Tenjiku was known to the people of the Japanese archipelago as a far off place that was both real and fantastical. In the 12th century, over a thousand stories were captured for the “Konjaku Monogatarishu”, or the “Collection of Tales Old and New”, which is divided up into tales from Japan, China, and India.  In the famous 9th or 10th century story, “Taketori Monogatari”, or the “Bamboo-Cutter's Tale”, about princess Kaguya hime, one of the tasks the princess sets to her suitors is to go to India to find the begging bowl of the Buddha.  Records like those produced by Xuanzang and his fellow monks, along with the stories in the sutras, likely provided the majority of what people in the Japanese archipelago knew about India, at least to begin with. Xuanzang talks about the land of India as being divided into five distinct parts—roughly the north, south, east, west, and center.  He notes that three sides face the sea and that the Snow Mountains—aka the Himalayas—are in the north.  It is, he says, “Wide in the north and narrow in the south, in the shape of a crescent moon”.  Certainly the “Wide in the north and narrow in the south” fit the subcontinent accurately enough, and it is largely surrounded by the waters of what we know as the Indian Ocean to the west, the east, and the south.  The note about the Crescent Moon might be driven by Xuanzang's understanding of a false etymology for the term “Indus”, which he claims comes from the word for “moon”.  Rather, this term appears to refer to the Indus River, also known as the Sindh or Sindhus, which comes from an ancient word meaning something like “River” or “Stream”. Xuanzang also notes that the people of the land were divided into castes, with the Brahman caste at the top of the social hierarchy.    The land was further divided into approximately 70 different countries, according to his accounts.  This is known broadly as the Early Medieval period, in India, in which the region was divided into different kingdoms and empires that rose and fell across the subcontinent, with a total size roughly equivalent to that covered by the countries of the modern European Union.  Just like Europe, there were many different polities and different languages spoken across the land – but just as Latin was the common language in Europe, due to its use in Christianity, Sanskrit was the scholarly and religious language in much of India, and could also be used as a bridge language.  Presumably, Xuanzang understood Sanskrit to some extent as a Buddhist monk.  And, just a quick note, all of this was before the introduction of Islam, though there were other religions also practiced throughout the subcontinent, but Xuanzang was primarily focused on his Buddhist studies. Xuanzang describes India as having three distinct seasons—The hot season, the rainy season, and the cold season, in that order.  Each of these were four month long periods.  Even today, the cycle of the monsoon rains is a major impact on the life of people in South Asia.  During the rainy season, the monks themselves would retreat back to their monasteries and cease their wanderings about the countryside. This tradition, called “Vassa”, is still a central practice in many Theravada Buddhist societies such as Thailand and Laos today, where they likewise experience this kind of intensely wet monsoon season. Xuanzang goes on to give an in depth analysis of the people and customs of the Indian subcontinent, as he traveled from country to country. So, as we've done before, we'll follow his lead in describing the different locations he visited. The first country of India that Xuanzang came to was the country of Lampa, or Lamapaka, thought to be modern Laghman province in Afghanistan.  At the time it was a dependency of Kapisa.  The Snow Mountains, likely meaning the Hindu Kush, the western edge of the Himalayas, lay at its north, while the “Black Mountains” surrounded it on the other three sides.  Xuanzang mentions how the people of Lampa grow non-glutinous rice—likely something similar to basmati rice, which is more prevalent in South Asian cuisine, as compared to glutinous rice like more often used in East Asia. From Lampa he headed to Nagarahara, likely referring to a site near the Kabul River associated with the ruins of a stupa called Nagara Gundi, about 4 kilometers west of modern Jalalabad, Afghanistan.  This was another vassal city-state of Kapisa.  They were still Mahayana Buddhists, but there were other religions as well, which Xuanzang refers to as “heretical”, though I'm not entirely sure how that is meant in this context.  He does say that many of the stupas were dilapidated and in poor condition. Xuanzang was now entering areas where he likely believed the historical Buddha had once walked.  In fact, Lampa was perhaps the extent of historical Buddha's travels, according to the stories and the sutras, though this seems unlikely to have been true.  The most plausible locations for the Historical Buddha's pilgrimages were along the Ganges river, which was on the other side of the subcontinent, flowing east towards modern Kolkatta and the Bengal Bay.  However, as Buddhism spread, so, too, did stories of the Buddha's travels.  And so, as far as Xuanzang was concerned, he was following in the footsteps of the Buddha. Speaking of which, at Nagarahara, Xuanzang mentions “footprints” of the Buddha.  This is a Buddhist tradition found in many places.  Xuanzang claims that the Tathagatha, the Englightened One, or the Buddha, would fly, because when he walked the land itself shook.  Footprint shapes in rock could be said to be evidence of the Buddha's travels.  Today, in many Buddhist areas you can find footprints carved into rock conforming to stories about the Buddha, such as all the toes being of the same length, or other various signs.  These may have started out as natural depressions in the rock, or pieces of artwork, but they were believed by many to be the actual point at which the Buddha himself touched down.  There are famous examples of these footprints in Sri Lanka, Thailand, and China.  Of course there are also traditions of creating images of the footprint as an object of worship.  Images of footprints, similar to images of the Great Wheel of the Law, may have been some of the earliest images for veneration, as images of the Buddha himself did not appear until much later in the tradition.  One of the oldest such footprints in Japan is at Yakushiji temple, and dated to 753.  It was created based on a rubbing brought back by an envoy to the Tang court, while they were in Chang'an. Like Buddha footprints, there are many other images and stories that show up multiple times in different places, even in Xuanzang's own narrative.  For example, in Nagarahara Xuanzang also shares a story of a cave, where an image of the Buddha could be just barely made out on the wall – maybe maybe an old carving that had just worn away, or maybe an image that was deliberately placed in the darkness as a metaphor for finding the Buddha—finding enlightenment.  This is not an uncommon theme in Buddhism as a whole.  In any case, the story around this image was that it had been placed there to subdue a naga. Now a naga is a mythical snake-like being, and  we are told that this particular naga was the reincarnation of a man who had invoked a curse on the nearby kingdom, then threw himself from a cliff in order to become a naga and sow destruction.  As the story went, the man was indeed reborn, but before he could bring destruction, the Buddha showed up and subdued him, convincing him that this was not right.  And so the naga agreed to stay in the cave, where the Buddha left an image—a shadow—to remind the naga any time that its thoughts might turn to destruction. Later in his travels, at a place name Kausambi, Xuanzang mentions another cave where the Buddha had subdued a venomous dragon and left his shadow on the cave wall.  Allowing for the possibility that the Buddha just had a particular M.O. when dealing with destructive beings, we should also consider the possibility that the story developed in one region—probably closer to the early center of Buddhism, and then traveled outward, such that it was later adopted and adapted to local traditions.  From Nagarahara, Xuanzang continued to the country of Gandhara and its capital city of Purushapura, aka modern Peshwar.  This kingdom was also under vassalage to the Kapisan king.  Here and elsewhere in the journey, Xuanzang notes not only evidence of the historical Buddha, but also monasteries and stupas purported to have been built by King Kanishka and King Asoka.  These were important figures who were held in high regard for spreading Buddhism during their reign.  Continuing through the region of Gandhara, he also passed through Udakhand and the city of Salatura, known as the birthplace of the ancient Sanskrit grammarian, Daksiputra Panini, author of the Astadhyayi [Aestudjayi].  This work is the oldest surviving description of classical Sanskrit, and used grammatical and other concepts that wouldn't be introduced into Western linguistics for eons.  Daksiputra Panini thrived around the 5th or 4th century BCE, but was likely one of the reasons that Sanskrit continued to be used as a language of scholarship and learning even as it died out of usage as the day to day language of the common people.  His works and legacy would have been invaluable to translators like Xuanzang in understanding and translating from Sanskrit. Xuanzang continued on his journey to Kashmira, situated in the Kashmir Valley.  This valley sits between the modern states of Pakistan and India, and its ownership is actively disputed by each.  It is the namesake of the famous cashmere wool—wool from the winter coats of a type of goat that was bred in the mountainous regions.  The winter coat would be made of soft, downy fibers and would naturally fall out in the spring, which the goatherds harvested and made into an extremely fine wool.  In the 7th century and earlier, however, the region was known not as much for its wool, but as a center for Hindu and Buddhist studies.  Xuanzang ended up spending two years in Kashmira studying with teachers there.  Eventually, though, he continued on, passing through the country of Rajpura, and continuing on to Takka and the city of Sakala—modern day Sialkot in the Punjab region of modern Pakistan.  Leaving Sakala, he was traveling with a group when suddenly disaster struck and they were accosted by a group of bandits.  They took the clothes and money of Xuanzang and those with him and then they drove the group into a dry pond in an attempt to corral them while they figured out what they would do—presumably meaning kill them all.  Fortunately for the group, there was a water drain at the southern edge of the pond large enough for one man to pass through.  Xuanzang and one other went through the gap and they were able to escape to a nearby village.  Once they got there, they told the people what had happened, and the villagers quickly gathered weapons and ran out to confront the brigands, who saw a large group coming and ran away.  Thus they were able to rescue the rest of Xuanzang's traveling companions.  Xuanzang's companions were devastated, having lost all of their possessions.  However, Xuanzang comforted them.  After all, they still had their lives.  By this time, Xuanzang had certainly seen his fair share of life and death problems along the road.  They continued on, still in the country of Takka, to the next great city.  There they met a Brahman, and once they told him what had happened, he started marshalling the forces of the city on their behalf.  During Xuanzang's stay in Kashmira, he had built a reputation, and people knew of the quote-unquote “Chinese monk”.  And even though the people in this region were not necessarily Buddhist—many were “heretics” likely referring to those of Hindu faith—the people responded to this pre-Internet “GoFundMe” request with incredible generosity.  They brought Xuanzang food and cloth to make into suits of clothes.  Xuanzang distributed this to his travel companions, and ended up still having enough cloth for 50 suits of clothes himself.  He then stayed at that city a month. It is odd that they don't seem to mention the name of this location.  Perhaps there is something unspeakable about it?  Still, it seems that they were quite generous, even if they were “heretics” according to Xuanzang. From the country of Takka, he next proceeded to the kingdom of Cinabhukti, where he spent 14 months—just over a year—studying with the monks there.  Once he had learned what he could, he proceeded onwards, passing through several countries in northern India until he came to the headwaters of the sacred Ganges rivers.  The Indus and the Ganges rivers are in many ways similar to the Yellow River and Yangzi, at least in regards to their importance to the people of India.  However, whereas the Yellow River and Yangzi both flow east towards the Pacific Ocean, the Indus and Ganges flow in opposite directions.  The Indus flows southwest, from the Himalayas down through modern India into modern Pakistan, emptying into the western Indian Ocean.  The Ganges flows east along the base of the Himalayas and enters the eastern Indian Ocean at Kolkatta.   At the headwaters of the Ganges, Xuanzang found a Buddhist monk named Jayagupta and chose to spend the winter and half of the following spring listening to his sermons and learning at his feet. From there he continued his travels, and ended up being summoned by King Harshavardhana of Kanyakubja, known today as the modern city of Kannauj.  Harshavardhana ruled an immense state that covered much of the territory around the sacred Ganges river.  As word of this strange monk from a far off land reached him, the King wanted to see him for himself.  Xuanzang stayed in Kannauj for three months, completing his studies of the Vibhasha Shastra, aka the Abhidarmma Mahavibhasha Shastra, known in Japanese as the Abidatsuma Daibibasharon, or just as the Daibibasharon or the Basharon, with the latter two terms referring to the translations that Xuanzang performed.   This work is not a sutra, per se, but rather an encyclopedic work that attempted to speak on all of the various doctrinal issues of its day.  It is thought to have been authored around 150 CE, and was influential in the Buddhist teachings of Kashmira, when that was a center of Orthodoxy at the time.  This is what Xuanzang had started studying, and it seems that in Kannauj he was finally able to grasp everything he felt he needed to know about it in order to effectively translate it and teach it when he returned.  That said, his quest was not over.  And after his time in Kannauj, he decided to continue on. His next stop was at the city of Ayodhya.  This was—and is—a city of particular importance in Hindu traditions.  It is said to be the city mentioned in the epic tale known as the Ramayana, though many argue that it was simply named that later in honor of that ancient city.  It does appear to be a city that the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, visited and where he preached.  It was also the home of a famous monk from Gandhara who authored a number of Buddhist tomes and was considered, at least by Xuanzang, a proper Boddhisatva.  And so Xuanzang spent some time paying homage to the places where the Buddha and other holy figures had once walked. “Ayodhya” appears in many forms across Asia.  It is a major pilgrimage center, and the city of “Ayutthaya” in Thailand was named for it, evoking the Ramayana—known in Thai as the Ramakien—which they would adopt as their own national story.  In Silla, there is a story that queen Boju, aka Heo Hwang-ok, wife to the 2nd century King Suro of Geumgwan Gaya, traveled to the peninsula all the way from the foreign country of “Ayuta”, thought to mean Ayodhya.  Her story was written down in the Gaya histories and survives as a fragment found in the Samguk Yusa.  Members of the Gimhae Kim, Gimhae Heo, and Incheon Yi clans all trace their lineage back to her and King Suro. From Ayodhya, Xuanzang took a trip down the Ganges river.  The boat was packed to bursting with some 80 other travelers, and as they traveled towards a particularly heavily forested area, they were set upon by bandits, who rowed their ships out from hiding in the trees and forced the travelers to the shore.  There the bandits made all the travelers strip down and take off their clothing so that the bandits could search for gold or valuables.  According to Xuanzang's biography, these bandits were followers of Durga, a Hindu warrior-goddess, and it is said that each year they would look for someone of particularly handsome features to sacrifice to her.  With Xuanzang's foreign features, they chose him.  And so they took him to be killed.  Xuanzang mentioned that he was on a pilgrimage, and that by interrupting him before they finished he was worried it might be inauspicious for them, but he didn't put up a fight and merely asked to be given time to meditate and calm his mind and that they perform the execution quickly so that he wouldn't even notice. From there, according to the story, a series of miracles occurred that ended up with Xuanzang being released and the bandits worshipping at his feet.  It is times like this we must remember that this biography was being written by Xuanzang's students based on stories he told them about his travels.  While being accosted by bandits on the river strikes me as perfectly plausible, we don't necessarily have the most reliable narrators, so I'm going to have to wonder about the rest.  Speaking of unreliable narration, the exact route that Xuanzang traveled from here on is unclear to me, based on his stated goals and where he was going.  It is possible that he was wandering as opportunities presented themselves —I don't know that he had any kind of map or GPS, like we've said in the past.  And it may be that the routes from one place to another were not always straightforward.  Regardless, he seems to wander southeast for a period before turning again to the north and eventually reaching the city of Shravasti. Shravasti appeared in our discussion of the men of Tukhara in Episode 119.  With the men of Tukhara there was also mentioned a woman from Shravasti.  While it is unlikely that was actually the case—the names were probably about individuals from the Ryukyuan island chain rather than from India—it is probably worth nothing that Shravasti was a thriving place in ancient times.  It was at one time the capital city of the kingdom of Kosala, sharing that distinction with the city of Ayodhya, back in the 7th to 5th centuries BCE.  It is also where the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, was said to have spend many years of his life.  This latter fact would have no doubt made it a place of particular importance to Xuanzang on his journeys. From there he traveled east, ending up following the foothills of the Himalayas, and finally came to some of the most central pilgrimages sites for followers of the historical Buddha.  First, he reached Lumbini wood, in modern Nepal, said to have been the birthplace of Prince Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha.  And then he visited Kushinagara, the site where the Buddha ascended to nirvana—in other words, the place where he passed away.  From there, he traveled to Varanasi, and the deer park monastery, at the place where the Buddha is said to have given one of his most famous sermons.  He even visited the Bodhi tree, the tree under which Siddhartha Gautama is said to have attained enlightenment.  He spent eight or nine days there at Bodhgaya, and word must have spread about his arrival, because several monks from the eminent Nalanda Monastery called upon him and asked him to come to the monastery with them. Nalanda Monastery was about 80 km from Bodhgaya.  This was a grand monastery and center of learning—some say that it was, for a time, the greatest in the world.  It had been founded in the 5th century by the Gupta dynasty, and many of the Gupta rulers and others donated to support the monastery, which also acted as a university.  After the fall of the Gupta dynasty, the monastery was supported by King Harsha of Kannauj, whom Xuanzang had visited earlier.  It ultimately thrived for some 750 years, and is considered by some to be the oldest residential university—meaning that students would come to the temple complex and stay in residence for years at a time to study.  According to Xuanzang, Nalanda hosted some 10,000 monks. Including hosts and guests.  They didn't only study Buddhist teachings, but also logic, grammar, medicine, and divination.  Lectures were given at more than 100 separate places—or classrooms—every day.  It was at Nalanda, that Xuanzang would meet the teacher Silabhadra, who was known as the Right Dharma Store.  Xuanzang requested that he be allowed to study the Yogacharabhumi Shastra—the Yugashijiron, in Japanese.  This is the work that Xuanzang is said to have been most interested in, and one of the works that he is credited with bringing back in one of the first full translations to the Tang dynasty and then to others in East Asia.  It is an encyclopedic work dedicated to the various forms of Yogacara practice, which focuses on the mental disciplines, and includes yoga and meditation practices.  It has a huge influence on nearly all Mahayana schools, including things like the famous Zen and Pure Land schools of Buddhism.  The Yogacharabhumi Shastra is the earliest such encyclopedic work, compiled between the 3rd and 5th centuries—so even if the monk Faxian had brought portions of it back, it was probably not in the final form that Xuanzang was able to access. Silabhadra, for his part, was an ancient teacher—some put his age at 106 years, and his son was in his 70s.  He was one of the few at Nalandra who supposedly knew all of the various texts that they had at the monastery, including the Yogacarabhumi Shastra.  Xuanzang seems to have been quite pleased to study under him.  Xuanzang stayed at the house of Silabhadra's son, Buddhabhadra, and they welcomed him with entertainment that lasted seven days.  We are told that he was then given his own lodgings, a stipend of spices, incense, rice, oil, butter, and milk, along with a servant and a Brahman.  As a visiting monk, he was not responsible for the normal monastic duties, instead being expected to spend the time in study.  Going out, he was carried around by an elephant.   This was certainly the royal treatment. Xuanzang's life at Nalandra wasn't all books: south of the monastery was the city of Rajagrha, the old capital of the kingdom of Magadha, where the ancient Gupta kings had once lived, and on occasional breaks from his studies, Xuanzang would venture out to see the various holy sites.  This included the famous Mt. Grdhrakuta, or Vulture Peak, a location said to be favored by the historical Buddha and central to the Lotus Sutra, arguably the founding document of Mahayana Buddhist tradition. After all, “Mahayana” means “Greater Vehicle” and it is in the Lotus Sutra that we see the metaphor of using different vehicles to escape a burning house.   We've already talked a bit about how the image of Vulture Peak had already become important in Japanese Buddhism: In Episode 112 we talked about how in 648, Abe no Oho-omi had drums piled up at Shitennoji in the shape of Vulture Peak. But although the sightseeing definitely enhanced his experience, Xuanzang was first and foremost there to study.  He spent 15 months just listening to his teacher expound on the Yogacarabhumi Shastra, but he also heard expositions on various other teachings as well.  He ended up studying at Nalandra Monastery for 5 years, gaining a much better understanding of Sanskrit and the various texts, which would be critically important when it came to translating them, later. But, Xuanzang was not one to stay in any one place forever, and so after 5 years—some 8 years or more into his journey, he continued on, following the Ganges east, to modern Bangladesh.  Here he heard about various other lands, such as Dvarapati—possibly referring to Dvaravati, in modern Thailand, as well as Kamalanka and Isanapura.  The latter was in modern Cambodia, the capital of the ancient Chenla kingdom.  Then Mahacampa—possibly referring to the Champa region of Vietnam—and the country of Yamanadvipa.  But there was still more of India for Xuanzang to discover, and more teachings to uncover, and so Xuanzang decided instead to head southwest, following the coast.  He heard of the country of Sinhala, referring to the island of Sri Lanka, but he was urged not to go by ship, as the long journey was perilous.  Instead he could stay on relatively dry land and head down to the southern tip of the subcontinent and then make a quick hop from there across to the island.  He traveled a long distance, all the way down to Kancipuram, the seat of the Pallava dynasty, near modern day Chennai.  From the seaport near Kancipuram, it was only three days to Sinhala—that is to say Sri Lanka—but before he could set out, he met a group of monks who had just arrived.  They told him that the king of Sinhala had died , and there was a great famine and civil disturbances.  So they had fled with some 300 other monks. Xuanzang eventually decided not to make the journey, but he did talk with the monks and gathered information on the lands to the south, on Sri Lanka, and on the islands south of that, by which I suspect he may have meant the Maldives.  While Sri Lanka is an area important to Buddhist scholarship, particularly to the Theravada schools, this likely did not impress Xuanzang, and indeed he seemed to feel that his studies in Nalanda had more than provided him what he needed.  Sri Lanka, however, is the source of the Pali canon, one of the most complete early canons of Buddhism, which had a huge influence on Theravada Buddhism in Southeast Asia and elsewhere. So Xuanzang took plenty of notes but decided to forego the ocean voyage and headed northwest, instead.  He traveled across the breadth of India to Gujarat, and then turned back east, returning to pay respects once more to his teacher in Nalanda.  While there he heard of another virtuous monk named Prajnabhadra at a nearby monastery.  And so he went to spend several months with him, as well.  He also studied with a layman, Sastrin Jayasena, at Stickwood Hill.  Jayasena was a ksatriya, or nobleman, by birth, and studied both Buddhist and non-Buddhist texts.  He was courted by kings, but had left to continue his studies.  Xuanzang studied with him for another couple of years. Xuanzang remained at Nalanda, learning and teaching, expounding on what he had learned and gathering many copies of the various documents that he wished to take back with him, though he wondered how he might do it.  In the meantime, he also acquired quite the reputation.  We are told that King Siladitya had asked Nalanda for monks who could refute Theravada teachings, and Xuanzang agreed to go.  It isn't clear, but it seems that “Siladitya” was a title, and likely referred to King Harsha of Kannauj, whom we mentioned earlier.  Since he was a foreigner, then there could be no trouble that was brought on Nalanda and the other monks if he did poorly.  While he was waiting to hear back from Siladitya's court, which was apparently taking time to arrange things, the king of Kamarupta reached out to Nalanda with a request that Xuanzang come visit them.  While Xuanzang was reluctant to be gone too long, he was eventually encouraged to go and assuage the king. Kamarupta was a kingdom around the modern Assam region, ruled by King Bhaskaravarman, also known as King Kumara, a royal title.  This kingdom included parts of Bangladesh, Bhutan, and Nepal.  Bhaskaravarman, like so many other regents, seems to have been intrigued by the presence of this foreign monk, who had traveled all this way and who had studied at the famous Nalanda Monastery in Magadha. He invited Xuanzang to come to him.  Xuanzang's teacher, Silabhadra, had exhorted him to spread the right Dharma, and to even go to those non-Buddhists in hopes that they might be converted, or at least partially swayed. King Bhaskaravarman was quite taken with Xuanzang, wining and dining him while listening to him preach.  While there, Xuanzang learned about the country of Kamarupta.  He also learned about a path north, by which it was said it was a two month journey to arrive at the land of Shu, in the Sichuan Basin, on the upper reaches of the Yangzi – a kind of shortcut back to the Tang court.  However, the journey was treacherous—possibly even more treacherous than the journey to India had been. Eventually word reached the ears of King Siladitya that Xuanzang was at the court of King Bhaskaravarman, and Siladitya got quite upset.  Xuanzang had not yet come to *his* court, so Siladitya demanded that Bhaskaravarman send the monk to him immediately.  Bhaskaravarman refused, saying he'd rather give Siladitya his own head, which Siladitya said he would gladly accept.  Bhaskaravarman realized he may have miscalculated, and so he sailed up the Ganges with a host of men and Xuanzang to meet with Siladitya.  After a bit of posturing, Siladitya met with Xuanzang, who went with him, and eventually confronted the members of the Theravada sect in debate.  Apparently it almost got ugly, but for the King's intervention.  After a particularly devastating critique of the Theravada position, the Theravada monks are blamed for trying to use violence against Xuanzang and his fellow Mahayana monks from Nalanda, who were prepared to defend themselves.  The King had to step in and break it up before it went too far. Ultimately, Xuanzang was a celebrity at this point and both kings seem to have supported him, especially as he was realizing it was about time to head back to his own country.  Both kings was offered ships, should Xuanzang wish to sail south and then up the coast.  However, Xuanzang elected to take the northern route, hoping to go back through Gaochang, and see that city and its ruler again.  And so the Kings gave him money and valuables , along with wagons for all of the texts.  They also sent an army to protect all of the treasures, and even an elephant and more – sending him back in style with a huge send-off. So Xuanzang retraced his earlier steps, this time on an elephant.  He traveled back to Taxila, to Kashmir, and beyond.  He was invited to stay in Kashmira, but because of his retinue, he wasn't quite at leisure to just go where he wanted.  At one point, near Kapisa—modern Bagram, north of Kabul—they had to cross a river, and about 50 of the almost 700 documents were lost.  The King of Kapisa heard of this and had his own monks make copies to replace them based on their own schools.  The King of Kasmira, hearing that he was in Kapisa, also came to pay his respects. Xuanzang traveled with the King of Kapisa northwest for over a month and reached Lampaka, where he did take some time to visit the various holy sites before continuing northwest.  They had to cross the Snow Mountains—the outskirts of the Himalayas, and even though it wasn't the highest part of the range it was still challenging.  He had to dismount his elephant and travel on foot.  Finally, after going over the high mountains and coming down, he arrived back in the region of Tukhara, in the country of Khowst.  He then came to Kunduz, and paid his respects to the grandson of Yehu Khan.  He was given more guards to escort him eastward, traveling with some merchants.  This was back in Gokturk controlled lands, over a decade later than when he had last visited.  He continued east to Badakshan, stopping there for a month because of the cold weather and snow.  He eventually traveled through the regions of Tukhara and over the Pamir range.  He came down on the side of the Tarim Basin, and noted how the rivers on one side flowed west, while on the other side they flowed east.  The goings were treacherous, and at one point they were beset by bandits.  Though he and the documents were safe, his elephant panicked and fled into the river and drowned.  He eventually ended up in the country of Kashgar, in modern Xinjiang province, at the western edge of the Taklamakan desert. From there he had two options.  He could go north and hug the southern edge of the Tianshan mountains, or he could stay to the south, along the northern edge of the Himalayan range and the Tibetan plateau.  He chose to go south.  He traveled through Khotan, a land of wool and carpets.  This was a major trade kingdom, and they also grew mulberry trees for silkworms, and were known for their jade.  The king himself heard of Xuanzang and welcomed him, as many others had done.  While he was staying at the Khotanese capital, Xuanzang penned a letter to the Tang court, letting them know of his journey, and that he was returning.  He sent it with some merchants and a man of Gaochang to deliver it to the court. Remember, Xuanzang had left the Tang empire illegally.  Unless he wanted to sneak back in his best hope was that the court was willing to forgive and forget all of that, given everything that he was bringing back with him.  The wait was no doubt agonizing, but he did get a letter back.  It assured him that he was welcome back, and that all of the kingdoms from Khotan back to the governor of Dunhuang had been made aware and were ready to receive him. With such assurances, Xuanzang packed up and headed out.  The king of Khotan granted him more gifts to help see him on his way.  Nonetheless, there was still a perilous journey ahead.  Even knowing the way, the road went through miles and miles of desert, such that in some places you could only tell the trail by the bleached bones of horses and travelers who had not been so fortunate.  Eventually, however, Xuanzang made it to the Jumo River and then on to Dunhuang, from whence he was eventually escorted back to the capital city. It was now the year 645, the year of the Isshi Incident in Yamato and the death of Soga.  Xuanzang had been gone for approximately 16 years.  In that time, the Tang had defeated the Gokturks and taken Gaochang, expanding their control over the trade routes in the desert.  Xuanzang, for his part, was bringing back 657 scriptures, bound in 520 bundles carried by a train of some 20 horses.  He was given a hero's welcome, and eventually he would be set up in a monastery where he could begin the next part of his journey:  Translating all of these books. This was the work of a lifetime, but it is one that would have a profound impact on Buddhism across East Asia.  Xuanzang's translations would revolutionize the understanding of Mahayana Buddhist teachings, and students would come from as far away as the Yamato court to study under him and learn from the teacher who studied and taught at none other than Nalanda monastery itself.  His school would become popular in the Yamato capital, and the main school of several temples, at least for a time.  In addition, his accounts and his biography would introduce many people to the wider world of central and south Asia.  While I could go on, this has already been a story in three parts, and this is, after all, the Chronicles of Japan, so we should probably tune back into what is going on with Yamato.  Next episode, we'll look at one of the most detailed accounts we have of a mission to Chang'an. Until then, I hope that this has been enjoyable.  Xuanzang's story is one of those that isn't just about him, but about the interconnected nature of the entire world at the time.  While his journey is quite epic, there were many people traveling the roads, though most of them didn't write about it afterwards.  People, artifacts, and ideas traveled much greater distances than we often consider at this time, well before any kind of modern travel.  It was dangerous, but often lucrative, and it meant that various regions could have influence well beyond what one might expect. And so, thank you once again for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

This episode we continue to follow the monk Xuanzang on his path along the silk road.  From Gaochang, he traveled through the Tarim Basin, up over the Tianshan Mountains, to the heart of the Western Gokturk Qaghanate.  From there, he traveled south, through the region of Transoxania to Bactria and the land of Tukhara.  He pushed on into the Hindu Kush, witnessing the stone Buddha statues of Bamiyan, and eventually made his way to the land of Kapisa, near modern Kabul, Afghanistan.  From there he would prepare to enter the Indian subcontinent: the home of the historical Buddha. For more discussion and some photos of the areas along this journey, check out our podcast blog at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-121   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 121: Journey to the West, Part 2   The cold winds blew through the travelers' doubled up clothing and thick furs.  Cold, wet ground meant that even two sets of boots were not necessarily enough after several days.  The frozen mist would often obscure everything except for the path immediately in front, hiding the peaks and making the sky a uniform white. In many places, the path would be blocked by rock, ice, or snow—the remnants of an avalanche, which could easily take an unsuspecting traveler.  And there was the elevation.  Hiking through the mountains, it was easy enough to reach heights of a mile or higher, and for those not accustomed to that elevation the thin air could take a surprising toll, especially if you were pushing yourself.  And the road was no less kind to the animals that would be hauling said travelers and their gear. And yet, this was the path that Xuanzang had agreed to.  He would continue to push through, despite the various deprivations that he would be subjected to.  No doubt he often wondered if it was worth it.  Then again, returning was just as dangerous a trip, so why not push on?   Last episode we introduced the monk Xuanzang, who traveled the Silk Road to India in the 7th century and returned to China.  He brought back numerous sutras to translate, and ended up founding a new school, known as the Faxian school—or the Hossou school in Japan.   As we mentioned last time, Xuanzang during his lifetime met with students from the archipelago when they visited the continent.  The records of his travels—including his biography and travelogue—are some of the best information we have on what life was like on the silk road around this time. In the last episode, we talked about Xuanzang: how he set out on his travels, his illegal departure from the Tang empire, and his perilous journey across the desert, ending up in Gaochang.  There, King Qu Wentai had tried to get him to stay, but he was determined to head out.  This episode we are going to cover his trip to Agni, Kucha, and Baluka—modern Aksu—and up to the Western Gokturk Qaghanate's capital of Suyab.  From there, we'll follow his footsteps through the Turkic controlled regions of Transoxania and into Tukhara, in modern Afghanistan.  Finally, we'll cover the last parts of his journey before he reached the start of his goal:  India. From Gaochang, Xuanzang continued on, through the towns he names as Wuban and Dujin, and into the country of Agni—known today as the area of Yanqi—which may also have been known as Wuqi.  The route was well-enough known, but it wasn't necessarily safe.  At one point, Xuanzang's caravan met with bandits, whom they were fortunately able to pay off.  The following night they encamped on a river bank with some merchants who also happened to be traveling the road.  The merchants, though, got up at midnight and headed out, hoping to get to the city early so that they could be the first ones to the market.  They only made it a few miles down the road, however, before they encountered more bandits, who slaughtered them and took their goods.  The following day, Xuanzang and his retinue came upon the merchants' remains lying in the road and saw the aftermath of the massacre. This was an unforgiving land, and the road was truly dangerous, even for those who traveled it regularly.  And yet Xuanzang was planning to travel its entire length until he reached India. So with little alternative, they carried on to the royal city of Agni. Agni, or Yanqi, sits on the southwestern edge of the basin, west of Bositeng lake, on the border between the Turfan basin and the larger Tarim Basin.  The name is thought to be a Tocharian—or Turfanian—name for the city, which is also known as Karashr. According to the biography by Huili, Xuanzang and his party didn't stay long in Agni.  Apparently Agni and Gaochang were not exactly on friendly terms, and even though the King of Agni and his ministers reportedly came out to greet Xuanzang and welcome him to their city, they refused to provide any horses.  They spent a single night and moved on. That said, Agni still made an impression on Xuanzang.  He noted how the capital was surrounded by hills on four sides, making it naturally defensible.  As for the people, he praises them as honest and straightforward.  They wore clothing of felt and hemp cloth, and cut their hair short, without hats or any kind of headwear.  Even the climate was pleasant, at least for the short time he was there.  He also notes that they used a script based on India—likely referring to the Brahmic script, which we find in the Tarim basin. However, as for the local lord, the King of Agni, he is a little less charitable.  Xuanzang claimed he was brave but “lacked resourcefulness” and he was a bit of a braggart.  Furthermore, the country had “no guiding principles or discipline and government orders are imperfect and not seriously implemented.”  He also mentioned the state of Buddhism in the country, noting that they were followers of Sarvastivada school, a Theravada sect popular along the Silk Road at the time.  Xuanzang was apparently not too pleased with the fact that they were not strict vegetarians, including the “three kinds of pure meat”.  From Agni, Xuanzang continued southwest, heading for the kingdom of Kucha.  He seems to have bypassed the nearby kingdom of Korla, south of Agni, and headed some 60 or 70 miles, climbing over a ridge and crossing two large rivers, and then proceeding another 200 miles or so to the land of Kucha. Kucha was a kingdom with over one hundred monasteries and five thousand monks following a form of Theravada Buddhism.  Here, Xuanzang was welcomed in by the king, Suvarnadeva, described as having red hair and blue eyes.  While Xuanzang was staying in Kucha, it is suspected that he probably visited the nearby Kizil grotto and the Buddhist caves, there, which include a painting of King Suvarnadeva's father, King Suvarnapuspa, and his three sons. You can still visit Kucha and the Kizil grottos today, although getting there is quite a trek, to be sure.  The ancient Kuchean capital is mostly ruins, but in the Kizil caves, protected from the outside elements, you can find vivid paintings ranging from roughly the 4th to the 8th century, when the site was abandoned.  Hundreds of caves were painted, and many still demonstrate vibrant colors.  The arid conditions protect them from mold and mildew, while the cave itself reduces the natural bleaching effect of sunlight.  The paintings are in numerous styles, and were commissioned by various individuals and groups over the years.  They also give us some inkling of how vibrant the city and similar structures must have been, back when the Kuchean kingdom was in its heyday. The people of Kucha are still something of a mystery.  We know that at least some of them spoke an Indo-European language, related to a language found in Agni, and both of these languages are often called Tocharian, which we discussed last episode.  Xuanzang himself noted that they used Indian writing, possibly referring to the Brahmi script, or perhaps the fact that they seem to have used Sanskrit for official purposes, such as the inscription on the cave painting at Kizil giving the name of King Suvarnapuspa.  The Kucheans also were clothed in ornamental garments of silk and embroidery.  They kept their hair cut, wearing a flowing covering over their heads—and we see some of that in the paintings. Xuanzang also notes that though we may think of this area as a desert, it was a place where rice and grains, as well as fruit like grapes, pomegranates, plums, pears, peaches, and almonds were grown.  Even today, modern Xinjiang grows some absolutely fantastic fruit, including grapes, which are often dried into raisins. Another point of interest for Xuanzang may have been that Kucha is known as the hometown of none other than Kumarajiva.  We first mentioned Kumarajiva back in episode 84.  Kumarajiva was one of the first people we know of who translated many of the sutras from India that were then more widely disseminated throughout the Yellow River and Yangzi river basins.  His father was from India and his mother was a Kuchean princess.  In the middle of the 4th century, when he was still quite young, he traveled to India and back with his mother on a Buddhist pilgrimage.  Later he would start a massive translation project in Chang'an.  His translations are credited with revolutionizing Chinese Buddhism. Xuanzang was initially welcomed by the king, his ministers, and the revered monk, Moksagupta.  They were accompanied by several thousand monks who set up tents outside the eastern gate, with portable Buddha images, which they worshipped, and then Xuanzang was taken to monastery after monastery until sunset.  At one of the monasteries, in the southeast of the city, there were several tens of monks who originally came from Gaochang, and since Xuanzang had come from there, they invited him to stay with them. The next day he met and feasted with the King, politely declining any meat, and then went to the monastery in the northwest to meet with the famous monk: Moksagupta.  Moksagupta himself had made the journey to India, and had spent 20 years there himself.  It seems like this would have been the perfect person for Xuanzang to talk to about his plans, but instead, the two butted heads.  Moksagupta seems to have seen Xuanzang's Mahayana faith as heretical.  He saw no reason for Xuanzang to travel all the way to India when he had all the sutras that anyone needed there in Kucha, along with Moksagupta himself.   Xuanzang's response seems to have been the Tang dynasty Buddhist version of “Okay, Boomer”, and then he went ahead and tore apart Moksagupta's understanding of his own sutras—or so Xuanzang relayed to his biographers.  We don't exactly have Moksagupta's side, and, let's face it, Xuanzang and his biographers are not necessarily reliable narrators.  After all, they followed Mahayana teachings, which they considered the “Greater Vehicle”, and they referred to the Theravada teachings as the “Hinayana” or “Lesser Vehicle”.  Meanwhile, Theravada Buddhists likely saw many of the Mahayana texts as extraneous, even heretical, not believing them to actually be the teachings of the Buddha. It must have been winter time, as the passes through the mountains on the road ahead were still closed, and so Xuanzang stayed in Kucha, spending his time sightseeing and meeting with various people.  He even went back to see Moksagupta, but the older monk shunned him, and would get up and exit the room rather than engaging with him, so they had no more conversations. Eventually, Xuanzang continued on his way west, following along the northern rim of the Tarim basin.  Two days out from Kucha, disaster struck.  Some two thousand or so Turkish bandits suddenly appeared—I doubt Xuanzang was counting, so it may have been more or less.  I imagine that memories of what had happened to the merchants near Agni must have gone through Xuanzang's mind.   Fortunately, for him, they were fighting over loot that they had pillaged from various travelers, and since they couldn't share it equally, they fell to fighting each other and eventually dispersed. He travelled for almost 200 miles after that, stopping only for a night at the Kingdom of Baluka, aka Gumo—the modern city of Aksu.  This was another Theravada Buddhist kingdom.  Xuanzang noted tens of Buddhist temples, and over 1000 Buddhist monks.  The country was not large—about 200 miles east to west and 100 miles north to south.  For reference that means it was probably comparable in size with Kyushu, in terms of overall area, or maybe the size of Denmark—excluding Greenland—or maybe the US state of Maryland.  Xuanzang described the country as similar to Kucha in just about every way, including the written language and law, but the spoken language was different, though we don't get many more details. From Baluka, he crossed northward through the Tianshan mountains, which are classified as an extension of the Pamirs known as the Ice Mountains.  Had he continued southwest, he would have hit Kashgar and crossed over between the Pamir and Tian Shan ranges into the Ferghana valley, but instead he turned north. We don't know exactly why he took this perilous option, but the route that may have been popular at the time as it was one of the most direct routes to the seat of the Western Gokturk Empire, which he was currently traveling through. The Tian Shan mountains were a dangerous journey.  Avalanches could block the road—or worse.  Xuanzang describes the permanent ice fields—indeed, it is the ice fields and glaciers of the Tian Shan that melt in the summer and provide the oasis towns of the Tarim Basin with water, even to this day.  In Xuanzang's day, those glaciers were likely even more prevalent than today, especially as they have been recorded as rapidly disappearing since 1961.  And where you weren't on snow and ice, the ground was probably wet and damp from the melt.  To keep warm, you would wear shoes over your shoes, along with heavy fur coats, all designed to reduce exposure. Xuanzang claims that 3 or 4 of every 10 people didn't survive the crossing—and that horses and oxen fared even worse.  Even if these numbers are an exaggeration, the message is clear:  This was a dangerous journey. After about seven days, Xuanzang came out of the mountains to the “Great Pure Lake”, the “Da Qing Hai”, also known as the Hot Sea or the Salt Sea, which likely refers to Issyk Kul.  The salt content, along with the great volume of water it possesses, means that the lake rarely freezes over, which is likely why it is seen as “hot” since it doesn't freeze when the fresh water nearby does.  This lake is the second largest mountain lake in the world, and the second deepest saltwater lake.  Traveling past the lake, he continued to Suyab, near modern Tokmok, in Kyrgyzstan, just west of the modern capital of Bishkek.  This was an old Sogdian settlement, and had since become the capital of the Western Gokturks.  Sogdians—like Xuanzang's guide, Vandak—were integral to the Gokturk kingdom. Their language was the lingua franca of the Silk Road, and at the time of the Gokturk Khaganate, it was also the official court language, and so when Xuanzang appeared at the court of the Great Khagan of the Western Gokturks, it was likely the language of diplomacy. When we think of Turkic people, many in the English speaking world think of Turkiye, and perhaps of the mighty Ottoman empire.  Some may think of Turkmenistan, Kazhakstan, Kyrgyzstan, or Uzbekistan, among others.  And of course, there are the Uyghur people in Xinjiang.  All of these people claim roots in the ancestral Turkic homeland in the Altai mountains, which sit largely in western Mongolia, north of China's Xinjiang region.  Much like the Xiongnu and the Mongols, they were pastoral nomads, moving their herds across the steppes, often covering great distances.  They would regularly move through different regions, perhaps returning each season, though sometimes not returning for years at a time.  They were often seen as barbarians by settled people living in cities, and yet their goods and horses were highly prized. Nomad and sedentary lifestyles would often collide.  Farmers would turn pastureland into fields, and when the nomadic people returned on their circuits, they would find walls and fences where there was once open land, and the people there would claim to “own” the land, a concept often foreign to people who were always on the move.  Nomadic people, such as the Gokturks, were not necessarily keeping vast libraries of records about themselves and their histories, and so much of what we get comes from external sources, which do not always have incredibly reliable narrators.  To many of the settled agriculturalists, groups like the Turks were marauders who raided their villages and farms.  They were a great bogeyman of the steppes, which required the firm hand of strong defenses to keep out—or so their opponents would want people to think. While they were known for their warfare, which incorporated their mobility, but they were keenly interested in trade, as well.  They understood the value of the trade routes and the various cities and states that they included in their empire.  Thus, the Sogdians and the Gokturks seem a natural fit: the Sogdians were more settled, but not entirely so, as demonstrated by their vast trade networks.  And the Sogdians also were part of the greater central Eurasian steppe culture, so the two cultures understood each other, to a degree.  They are even depicted similarly in art, with slight differences, such as long hair that was often associated with Turks over the Sogdians.  In some areas of the Gokturk empire, Sogdians would run the cities, while the Gokturks provided military aid and protection. Xuanzang's description of the people of Suyab, or the “City of Suye River”, doesn't pick out anyone in particular, and he even says that it was a place where traders of the Hu, or foreign, tribes from different countries mingle their abodes.  He mentions the people here as being called Suli, which is also the name given to the language—this may refer to “Sogdian” in general.  They write with an alphabet that is written vertically rather than horizontally—this may refer to a few scripts that were written this way, possibly based off Syriac or Aramaic alphabets that were adapted to Sogdian and other Iranian languages, but it isn't clear. We are told that the people dressed in felt and hemp clothing, with fur and “cotton” garments.  Their clothes fit tightly, and they kept their hair cut short, exposing the top of their heads—though sometimes they shaved it completely, tying a colored silk band around the forehead. He goes on to describe these people as greedy liars, possibly a reference to the mercantile nature of many of the people at the time. Something to note: The Turks of this time had not yet encountered Islam, which was just now starting to rise up in the Middle East.  The Prophet Muhammad is said to have been born around the end of the 6th century CE and was preaching in the early 7th century, though his teachings would begin to spread outward soon enough.  But that means that the Gokturks were not an Islamic empire.  Rather, their own traditions seem to have focused on the worship of Tengri, an Altaic personification of the universe, often simplified as a “sky god”.  Tengrism can be found amongst the Xiongnu, Mongols, and others, and it was the national religion of the Gokturks themselves, but there were many who also adopted other religions that they encountered, including Zoroastrianism, Christianity, Manichaeism, and Buddhism.  In fact, Xuanzang notes that the Turks he met in Suyab would not sleep or sit on beds made of wood because wood was thought to contain the spirit of fire, which he says they worshipped.  That sounds similar to Zoroastrian beliefs, where fire is associated with Ahura Mazda, who is also worshipped as a sky god.  These may have been beliefs inherited from their Eastern Iranian Sogdian partners. In Xuanzang's biography, we are given more details about his visit to Suyab.  Apparently, as he was headed to the city, he met a hunting party, which we are told was the retinue of Yehu Khan.  Hunting was an important part of life on the steppes, and it continued to be a favorite sport of the Gokturk nobility. Yehu Khan—possibly Yagbhu Khan, though that is up for some debate—is described as being dressed in a green silk robe, with his hair exposed, and wearing  a turban of white silk about ten feet long that wrapped his forehead and hung behind his back.  His “hunting” expedition wasn't just a couple of the guys.  It included about 200 officials, all with plaited hair and dressed in brocade robes—they weren't exactly out there roughing it.  He also had his soldiers, dressed in furs, felt, or fine woolen clothes, and there were so many cavalry that they stretched out of sight.  The Khan seemed pleased to meet Xuanzang, but his hunt was expected to last another couple of days, at least, so he sent an attendant named Dharmaja to take Xuanzang back to wait for the Khan to return. Three days later, Xuanzang was given an audience.  The khan was seated in a large yurt.  Xuanzang noted the seeming incongruity between the khan, sitting there in the tent, decorated with golden flowers, with the officials dressed in magnificent brocade garments sitting in two long rows in front of him and the armed guards behind him, compared to the simple felt walls of the tent. A ”yurt” is a common feature of nomadic life on the steppes.  It wasn't exactly a single person operation to haul them around, but they can be taken down and put up with relative ease.  And while yurts could be relatively simple, there are examples of much more elaborate structures.  There is little reason they couldn't be made larger, perhaps with some extra support.  In later centuries, there are examples of giant yurts that seem like real construction projects.  Use of tents, even in a city, where they had permanent palace buildings, was likely a means of retaining the nomadic steppe traditions, even while enjoying the benefits of city life. Whom exactly Xuanzang met with is a matter of debate.  His records seem to indicate that it was Tong Yabghu Qaghan of the Western Gokturk Khaganate, but other sources say that Tong Yabghu Qaghan died in 628, and the earliest Xuanzang could have been meeting with him was 630, two years later, so if that is the case, he must have met with Tong Yabghu's son, Si Yabghu Qaghan.  It is likely that Xuanzang, who was dictating his accounts years after, mentioned the Qaghan and then, when they looked up who it was, they simply made a mistake.  Remember, Xuanzang would have had everything translated through one or two languages.  He did know what he saw, however, and he recounted what he remembered. Tong Yabghu Qaghan oversaw the height of the Gokturk Qaghanate, and appears to have favored the Buddhist religion, though there were many different religions active in their territories at the time.  They oversaw an extremely cosmopolitan empire covering huge swaths of central Eurasia, including the lucrative silk road.  Xuanzang notes that at the court there were individuals from Gaochang and even a messenger from the Han—which is to say the Tang Empire.  One wonders if Xuanzang—or anyone at that time—realized just how tenuous the Khan'sposition was.  After Tong Yabghu's death, the Qaghanate would decline, and less than a decade later it would fall to the Tang dynasty, who took Suyab and made it their western outpost.  In fact, Suyab is thought to have been the birthplace, over a century later, of a young boy who would find a love of poetry.  That boy's name was Li Bai, or Ri Haku, in Japanese. He would become one of the most famous poets in Chinese history, and his poems were even known and studied in Japan.  And it was largely through Japanese study of Li Bai's poems that his works came to the English speaking world: first through Ernest Fenollosa, who had studied in Japan, and then by the celebrated Ezra Pound, who had used Ernest's notes to help with his own translations of the poems. This was, though, as I said, over a century after Xuanzang's journey.  At the time of our story, the Qaghan was throwing a feast, including Xuanzang and all of the foreign envoys.  Xuanzang comments on the food and drink—his hosts provided grape juice in lieu of wine, and cooked a special vegetarian feast just for him, while the other guests ate a feast of meat, such as veal, lamb, fish, and the like.  There was also the music of various regions along the Silk Road, which Xuanzang found to be catchy, but of course not as refined as the music he was used to, of course.  After dinner Xuanzang was asked to expound upon the Darma, largely about the basic principle that you should be kind to one another—I doubt he was getting into the deep mysteries of Buddhist philosophy. Xuanzang stuck around the court for three more days, during which time the Qaghan tried to get him to stay, but Xuanzang insisted that he had to make it to India.  And so the Qaghan relented.  He found men in his army who could translate for Xuanzang along his journey, and had letters of introduction written to at least as far as the state of Kapisa, in modern Afghanistan. And so, armed with the Qaghan's blessing and a fresh translator, Xuanzang struck out again.  They headed westward for over one hundred miles, eventually reaching Bingyul, aka the Thousand Springs.  This is the area where the Qaghan and his court would spend his summers, and the deer in the area were protected under his orders, so that they were not afraid of humans—which sounds similar to the situation with the deer in Nara.  Continuing on another fifty miles or so—the distances are approximate as Xuanzang's primary duty was not exactly to map all of this out—Xuanzang arrived at the city of Taras, in modern Kazakhstan, another place where the cultures of the Silk Road mixed and mingled.  Xuanzang didn't have much to say about Taraz, apparently, though it is one of the oldest cities in Transoxania, founded near the beginning of the Common Era.  A few miles south of there, Xuanzang reportedly found a village of re-settled ethnic Han that had been captured by the Gokturks and settled here.  They had adopted the dress and customs of the Turkic people, but continued to speak a version of Chinese. Southwest of that he reached the City of White Water, likely referring to Aksukent.  This is the same “Aksu” as the city in Xinjiang, both of which mean “White Water” in Turkic, but this one is in the south of Kazakhstan.  Xuanzang found the climate and products an improvement over what he had experienced in Taras.  Beyond that, he next arrived at the city of Gongyu, and then south again to Nujkend, and then traveling westward to the country of Chach, aka Tashkent.  Both Nujkend and Chach were large cities in nations of smaller, mostly autonomous city-states, which made up a lot of the political geography of Transoxania. I would note that Xuanzang's notes here are much more sparse than previously.  This may be because these were outside of the Tarim basin and therefore of less interest to individuals in the Tang empire.  Or perhaps he was just making his way more quickly and not stopping at every kingdom along the way. From Tashkent, he continued southeast to the Ferghana valley—the country of Feihan.  Oddly, this country doesn't appear in Xuanzang's biography, even though the Ferghana Valley seems to have been fairly well known back in the Tang Empire—it was known as the home of some of the best horses, which were one of its first major exports.  In fact, the Han dynasty even mounted a military expedition to travel to Ferghana just to obtain horses.  Xuanzang is oddly silent on this; however, he does talk about the fertile nature of the land.  He mentions that their language here is different from the lands he had been traveling through up to this point, and also points out that the people of the Ferghana valley were also visibly different from others in the area. From the Ferghana valley, Xuanzang headed west for about 300 miles or more to the land of Sutrushana—perhaps referring to the area of Ushrusana, with its capital of Bunjikat.  This country was also largely Sogdian, and described as similar to Tashkent.  From there, he traveled west through a great desert, passing skeletons, which were the only marker of the trail other than a view of the far off mountains.  Finally, they reached Samarkand, known as the country of “Kang” in Chinese, which was also the term used to mark Sogdians who claimed descent from the people of Samarkand. Samarkand is another of the ancient cities of Central Asia, and even today is the third largest city in modern Uzbekistan.  Human activity in the region goes back to the paleolithic era, and the city was probably founded between the 8th and 7th centuries BCE.  Samarkand was conquered by Alexander the Great, and during the Achaemenid Empire it was the capital of Sogdiana.  During Xuanzang's visit, Samarkand was described as an impenetrable fortress with a large population. For all of his travel, Samarkand was the first place Xuanzang notes as specifically not a Buddhist land.  In fact, there were two monasteries, suggesting that there had been Buddhists, but if any monks tried to stay there then the locals would chase them out with fire.  Instead, they worshipped fire—likely meaning Ahura Mazda and Zoroastrianism.  This leads to a story that I have to wonder about, given the reliability of our narrators. It is said that Xuanzang was met by the King with arrogance, but after staying the night Xuanzang was able to tell the King about Buddhism and its merits.  The king was intrigued, and asked to observe the Precepts, and treated Xuanzang with hospitality and respect.  So when two of Xuanzang's attendants went to the monasteries to worship, they were chased out with fire.  When the king heard about this, he had the people arrested and ordered their hands to be cut off.  Xuanzang could not bear to witness such suffering, however, and he intervened to have them spared.  So instead the king had them flogged and banished from the city.  Ever since then, all the people believed in Buddhism. Some parts of this strike true.  It was likely that the king would entertain this strange wanderer who had arrived with letters from the great Qaghan—that may have even explained why Xuanzang had been encouraged to make the dangerous journey to Suyab in the first place, so that he could obtain such permission.  And it would not be strange for the king to listen to his teachings.  If Xuanzang's attendants were attacked, that would have been a huge breach of hospitality, and however the King felt about it, he no doubt had to do something about it.  And so all of that sounds somewhat believable.  Does that mean everyone suddenly converted to Buddhism?  I don't know that I'm quite willing to go that far.  It is also likely that there were Buddhists there already, even if the majority religion was Zoroastrianism. From Samarkand, Xuanzang traveled farther southwest, to the country of Kasanna, which seems to have been the edge of what we might call Sogdiana.   According to his biographers, however, there was a little more to all of this.  Rather, he headed west to Kusanika.  Then he traveled to  Khargan, and further on to the country of Bukhara, and then to Vadi.  All of these were “An” in Chinese, which was the name element used for Sogdians from this region.  He then continued west to the country of Horismika, on the other side of the Amu Darya, aka the Oxus River of Transoxanian fame. From there he traveled further southwest, entering into the mountains.  The path here was often such that they had to travel single-file, and there was no food or water other than what you brought with you.  Eventually they came to a set of doors, known as the Iron Gate.  This was a Turkic fortress.  It was no doubt fortuitous that he had come from his meeting with the Qaghan, and likely had permission to pass through.  From there, they entered the country of Tukhara. As we noted in Episode 119, Tukhara was in the region of Bactria.  It was bordered by the Pamir range in the east, and the Persian empire in the west.  There were also the Great Snow Mountains in the south, likely referencing the Hindu Kush. Tukhara had been conquered by the Gokturks just within the past couple of decades, and Xuanzang notes that the country had been split into largely autonomous city-states as the local royalty had died without an heir many years before.  With the Gokturk conquest, it was now administered by Tardu Shad, the son of Tong Yabghu Qaghan.  “Shad” in this case was a local title. Here, Xuanzang's narrative gets a little dicey, especially between his biography and his records.  The records of the Western Regions denotes various countries in this area.  It is unclear if he traveled to all of them or is just recounting them from records he obtained.  He does give us at least an overview of the people and the region.  I would also note that this is one of the regions he visited, again, on his return trip, and so may have been more familiar with the region than those areas he had passed through from Suyab on down. For one thing, he notes that the language of the region was different from that of the “Suli”, which appears to refer to the Sogdians.  This was the old territory of the Kushan empire, and they largely spoke Bactrian.  Like Sogdian, it was another Eastern Iranian language, and they used an alphabet based largely on Greek, and written horizontally rather than vertically.  They also had their own coins. This region had plenty of Buddhist communities, and Xuanzang describes the cities and how many monasteries they had, though, again, it isn't clear if he actually visited all of them or not.  These are countries that Li Rongji translates as “Tirmidh”, “Sahaaniyan”, “Kharuun”, “Shuumaan”, etc. It does seem that Xuanzang made it to the capital city, the modern city Kunduz, Afghanistan. Xuanzang actually had something specific for the local Gokturk ruler, Tardu Shad.  Tardu Shad's wife was the younger sister of King Qu Wentai of Gaochang, whom we met last episode.  Qu Wentai had provided Xuanzang a letter for his younger sister and her husband.  Unfortunately, Xuanzang arrived to learn that the princess of Gaochang had passed away, and Tardu Shad's health was failing.  It does seem that Tardu Shad was aware of Xuanzang, however—a letter had already come from Qu Wentai to let them know that Xuanzang was on his way.  As I mentioned last episode, letters were an important part of how communities stayed tied together.  Of course, given the perils of the road, one assumes that multiple letters likely had to be sent just in case they didn't make it.  The US Postal Service this was not. Tardu Shad, though not feeling well, granted an interview with Xuanzang.  He suggested that Xuanzang should stick around.  Then, once the Shad had recovered from his illness, he would accompany Xuanzang personally on his trip to India.  Unfortunately, that was not to be.  While Xuanzang was staying there, he was witness to deadly drama.  Tardu Shad was recovering, which was attributed to the recitations by an Indian monk who was also there.  This outcome was not exactly what some in the court had wanted.  One of the Shad's own sons, known as the Tagin prince, plotted with the Shad's current wife, the young Khatun, and she poisoned her husband.  With the Shad dead, the throne might have gone to the son of the Gaochang princess, but he was still too young.  As such, the Tagin Prince was able to usurp the throne himself, and he married his stepmother, the young Khatun.  The funeral services for the late Tardu Shad meant that Xuanzang was obliged to stay at Ghor for over a month. During that time, Xuanzang had a seemingly pleasant interaction with an Indian monk.  And when he finally got ready to go, he asked the new Shad for a guide and horses.  He agreed, but also made the suggestion that Xuanzang should then head to Balkh.  This may have meant a bit of backtracking, but the Shad suggested that it would be worth it, as Balkh had a flourishing Buddhist community. Fortunately, there was a group of Buddhist monks from Balkh who happened to be in Kunduz to express their condolences at the passing of Tardu Shad, and they agreed to accompany Xuanzang back to their hometown, lest he end up getting lost and taking the long way there. The city of Balkh is also known as “Baktra”, as in “Bactria”, another name of this region.  A settlement has been there since at least 500 BCE , and it was already an important city when it was captured by Alexander the Great.  It sits at the confluence of several major trade routes, which no doubt were a big part of its success.  Xuanzang's biography notes that it was a massive city, though it was relatively sparsely populated—probably due to the relatively recent conquest by the Gokturks, which had occurred in the last couple of decades.  That said, there were still thousands of monks residing at a hundred monasteries in and around the city.  They are all characterized as monks of Theravada schools.  Southwest of the city was a monastery known as Navasamgharama, aka Nava Vihara, or “New Monastery”.  Despite its name, the monastery may have actually been much older, going back to the Kushan emperor Kaniska, in the 2nd century CE.  Ruins identified as this “New Monastery” are still visible south of Balkh, today. The monastery is described as being beautifully decorated, and it seems that it had a relic—one of the Buddha's teeth.  There are also various utensils that the Buddha is said to have used, as well.  The objects would be displayed on festival days.  North of the monastery there was a stupa more than 200 feet in height.  South of the monastery was a hermitage.  Each monk who studied there and passed away would have a stupa erected for them, as well.  Xuanzang notes that there were at around 700 memorial stupas, such that they had to be crammed together, base to base. It was here that Xuanzang met a young monk named Prajnaakara, who was already somewhat famous in India, and well-studied.  When questioned about certain aspects of Buddhism, Xuanzang was impressed by the monk's answers, and so stayed there a month studying with the young monk. Eventually, Xuanzang was ready to continue on his journey.  He departed Balkh towards the south, accompanying the teacher Prajnakara, and together they entered the Great Snow Mountains, aka the Hindu Kush.  This path was even more dangerous than the trip through the Tian Shan mountains to Suyab.   They eventually left the territory of Tukhara and arrived at Bamiyan.  Bamiyan was a kingdom in the Hindu Kush, themselves an extension of the Himalayan Mountain range.  It Is largely based around valley, home to the modern city of Bamyan, Afghanistan, which sits along the divide between Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent.  Today it is a major center for individuals of the Hazara ethnic group, one of the main ethnic groups in Afghanistan, which is a multi-ethnic state that includes, today, the Pashtun, Hazara, Tajik, and Uzbek people, along with a number of smaller ethnic groups.  Today they largely reside in the mountainous areas of the Hindu Kush. Bamiyan made an impact on our protagonist.   Their language was slightly different from that in Tukhara, but using the same—or similar enough—writing system.  Buddhism was thriving in the capital, and we are told of a rock statue of the standing Buddha, over a hundred feet in height, along with a copper statue of the standing Buddha nearby.    There was also another reclining Buddha a mile or two down the road.  There were multiple monasteries with thousands of monks, and the ruler of that kingdom received Xuanzang well. Xuanzang wasn't the first monk to travel to Bamiyan from the Middle Kingdom—in this he was, perhaps unwittingly, on the trail of the monk Faxian.  Faxian likely did not see these statues, though, as we believe they were built in the 6th and early 7th century—at least the stone Buddha statues.  They were a famous worship site until February 2001, when the Taliban gave an order to destroy all of the statues in Afghanistan.  Despite this, they were inscribed as UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2003. Fortunately, we have images from before their destruction.  These statues were a blend of Greco-Buddhist and Gandharan art styles—appropriate as it stands between the Hellenistic area of Tukhara and the ancient region of Gandhara—including the modern city of Kandahar and into the Indus Valley region of Pakistan. Continuing east through the mountains, Xuanzang eventually came out at the kingdom of Kapisa.  This may have had its capital around modern-day Bagram, north of modern Kabul, but the country seems to have been quite large.  Kapisa over saw some tens of other countries, and it is thought that at one time its influence extended from Bamyan and Kandahar to the area of modern Jalalabad.  Their language was even more different than that of Tukhara, but they were still using the same writing system.  The king of Kapisa is said to have been of Suli ethnicity—which would seem to indicate that he was Sogdian, or at least descended from people of the Transoxanian region.    Xuanzang notes that the ruler, as rough and fiery as he is described—as a true warlord or similar—he nonetheless made a silver image of the Buddha, eighteen feet in height, every year.  He also gave charity to the poor and needy in an assembly that was called every five years.  There were over one hundred monasteries and some 6000 monks, per Xuanzang's recollection, and notably, they were largely following Mahayana teachings. For the most part the monks that Xuanzang had encountered on this journey were Theravada—Xuanzang refers to them as “Hinayana”, referring to the “Lesser Vehicle” in contrast to Xuanzang's own “Mahayana”, or “Greater Vehicle”.  “Theravada” refers to the “way of the elders” and while Mahayana Buddhism largely accepts the sutras of Theravada Buddhism, there are many Mahayana texts that Theravada Buddhists do not believe are canonical.  We discussed this back in Episode 84. There was apparently a story of another individual from the Yellow River being sent as a hostage to Kapisa when it was part of the Kushan Empire, under Kanishka or similar.  Xuanzang recounts various places that the hostage, described as a prince, lived or visited while in the region.  Xuanzang's arrival likely stirred the imagination of people who likely knew that the Tang were out there, but it was such a seemingly impossible distance for most people.  And yet here was someone who had traveled across all of that distance.  One of the monasteries that claimed to have been founded because of that ancient Han prince invited Xuanzang to stay with them.  Although it was a Theravada monastery, Xuanzang took them up on the offer, both because of the connection to someone who may have been his countryman, but also because of his traveling companion, Prajnakara, who was also a Theravada monk, and may not be comfortable staying at a Mahayana monastery. Xuanzang spends a good deal of ink on the stories of how various monasteries and other sites were founded in Kapisa and the surrounding areas.  He must have spent some time there to accumulate all of this information.  It is also one of the places where he seems to have hit at least twice—once on the way to India, and once during his return journey. The King of Kapisa is said to have been a devotee of Mahayana Buddhism.  He invited Xuanzang and Prajnakara to come to a Mahayana monastery to hold a Dharma gathering.  There they met with several leading figures in the monastery, and they discussed different theories.  This gathering lasted five days, and at the end, the king offered Xuanzang and the other monks five bolts of pure brocade and various other gifts.  Soon thereafter, the monk Prajnakara was invited back to Tukhara, and so he and Xuanzang parted ways. And it was about time for Xuanzang to continue onwards as well.  From Kapisa, he would travel across the “Black Range” and into Lampaka.  This may refer to the area of Laghman or Jalalabad.  Today, this is in modern Afghanistan, but for Xuanzang, this would have been the northwestern edge of India.  He was almost there. And so are we, but we'll save his trip into India for next episode. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we kick off a series of episodes following the famous monk Xuanzang, aka the Tripitaka Master of the Law, Sanzang Fashi.  Known in Japanese as Genjo, and founder of the Faxiang school of Yogacara Buddhism, also known as the Hosso school, it was brought back to the archipelago by students who studied with the master at his temple north of the Tang capital of Chang'an.  He was particularly famous for his travels across the Silk Road to India and back--a trip that would last 16 years and result in him bringing back numerous copies of sutras from the land of the Buddha, kicking off a massive translation work.  It also would see his recollections recorded as the Record of the Western Regions, which, along with his biography based on the stories he told those working with him, give us some of the best contemporary information of the various places along the Silk Road in the 7th century. Part 1 focuses on Xuanzang's journey out of the Tang empire, braving the desert, and somehow, against the odds, making it to the country of Gaochang. For more, check out the blogpost page:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-120 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 120:  Journey to the West, Part 1 The monks from far off Yamato were enthralled.  They had journeyed across the waves on a foreign vessel, traversed a greater distance than they probably thought possible growing up in the archipelago, and had finally arrived at the capital of the Great Tang Empire, Chang'an.  They had then been sent north, to a temple where they met others from Yamato. They had come to study the Law, the Dharma, with some of the most famous teachers of the Tang dynasty, and there were few more famous than the Tripitaka Master Genjou himself.   Everyone in the monastery knew his story—he had traveled all the way to India, the birthplace of the Buddha, and returned with copies of the sutras in Sanskrit, which he and the other monks were translating. In between sessions of meditation, sutra readings, and various lectures, the students would gather round the feet of the master as he recounted his journeys.  The stories themselves were fantastic stories, telling of far off cities and people.  There were stories of bandits, and meetings with kings.  The students must have thought about how it mirrored what they, themselves, had gone through—their own Journey to the West. Last episode we talked about Tukara and what that mysterious placename might mean—and where it could be referring to.  For that we traveled all the way to the end of the Silk Road.  In this episode and continuing into the next, we are going to travel that same road with a different perspective, as we take a look at one of the most famous travelers of the Silk Road:  the monk Xuanzang, or Genjou in Japanese.  And as I hinted at in the introduction, if you're at all familiar with the famous Journey to the West, well, this and the following episodes will explore the actual history behind that story, and how intertwined it is with the history of the archipelago. For those who don't know, Xuanzang was a monk, born Chen Hui near present-day Luoyang in Henan.  He is known by many names, but one of his most famous comes from the title “Sanzang Fashi”, aka “Tripitaka Master of the Law”, from which we get the simplified name in some English sources of just “Tripitaka”.  Sanzang, or “Tripitaka”, literally translates to “Three baskets” or “Three storehouses”, referring to the Buddhist canon.  It is quite fitting, given Xuanzang's incredibly famous Journey to the Western Regions and, eventually, to India, where he journeyed to obtain the most accurate version of the Buddhist scriptures to ensure that they had the most accurate versions.  On his journey, Xuanzang apparently took detailed records of the trip, and his   “Records of the Western Regions”  provides a lot of what we know of the towns and cultures that existed there back in the 7th century – even if not all of it was experienced firsthand and  may have come through translators and second or third-hand sources. In addition, Xuanzang's biography and travelogue add a lot more information to his journey, even if they weren't necessarily written by him, but instead by his fellow monks based on his recitations to them  combined with various records that they had access to at the time.  As such, it isn't always the most reliable, but it is still highly detailed and informative.  Xuanzang would return to China and teach for many years, translating the works that he had brought back, and founding a new school of Yogachara Buddhism, known as Faxiang in Chinese, but “Hossou” in Japan.  The Hossou school was particularly popular in the 8th and 9th centuries, having been transmitted by Yamato students who had actually studied at the feet of the venerable teacher.  These included the monk Doushou, who travelled over to the continent in 653.  In 658, there are two others who came over, named Chitatsu and Chiitsu. They had travelled to the Tang court in the 7th month of that year, where they are said to have received instruction from none other than Xuanzang himself.  If this indeed was in 658, it would have been only 6 years before Xuanzang's death. Their journey had almost not happened.  The year previous, in 657, envoys were sent to Silla to ask that state to escort Chitatsu to the Tang court, along with Hashibito no Muraji no Mimumaya and Yozami no Muraji no Wakugo, but Silla refused.  They must have relented, however, as they apparently were escorting at least the monks a year or so later. Chitatsu and Chiitsu would eventually return to Yamato, as would Doushou.  Doushou is also said to have been introduced to a student of the second patriarch of the Chan, or Zen school as well.  He would return to teach at Gango-ji, the later incarnation of Asukadera, spreading the Hossou teachings from master Xuanzang. In fact, Xuanzang's impact would be felt across Asia, and much of the Buddhist world.  He would continue to be known in Japan and in the area of China, Korea, and beyond.  Japanese translations of his journeys were made between the 8th and 10th centuries from texts that had come from Xuanzang's own monastery. Nine centuries after his death, during the Ming Dynasty, Xuanzang would be further immortalized in a wildly popular novel:  Journey to the West.  The “Journey to the West” is an incredibly fantastical retelling of Xuanzang's story.  In it, Xuanzang is sent on his task by none other than the Buddha himself, who also provides three flawed traveling companions.  There is  Zhu Bajie, aka “Piggy”—a half human half pig who is known for his gluttony and lust.  Then there is Sha Wujing, aka “Sandy”—a man with a red beard and blue skin who lived in a river of quicksand.  Despite a rather frightful backstory, he was often the straight man in the story.  And then there is the famous Sun Wukong, aka “Monkey”, the most famous of the three and often more famous than Xuanzang himself.  In fact, one of the most famous English versions of the story is just called “Monkey”, an abridged telling of the story in English by Arthur Waley in 1942. “Journey to the West” is perhaps the most popular novel in all of Asia.  It has spawned countless retellings, including numerous movies and tv series.  The character of “Monkey” has further spun off into all sorts of media.  Of course, his addition was all part of the novel, but nonetheless, that novel had an historical basis, which is where we really want to explore.  Because for all of the magic and fantasy of the Ming novel, the real story is almost as fascinating without it. We are told that Xuanzang was born as Chen Hui—or possibly Chen Yi—on the 6th of April in 602 CE in Chenliu, near present-day Luoyang.  Growing up, he was fascinated by religious books.  He joined the Jingtu monastery and at the age of thirteen he was ordained as a novice monk.  However, he lived in rather “interesting times”, and as the Sui dynasty fell, he fled the chaos to Chengdu, in Sichuan, where he was fully ordained by the age of 20. Xuanzang was inspired reading about the 4th century monk Faxian, whom we mentioned back in Episode 84.  Faxian had visited India and brought back many of the earliest scriptures to be widely translated into Chinese.    However, Xuanzang was concerned, as Faxian had been, that the knowledge of the Chinese Buddhist establishment was still incomplete.  There were still works that they knew about but didn't have, and there were competing Buddhist theories in different translations of the texts.  He thought that if he could go find untranslated versions of the texts then he could resolve some of the issues and further build out the corpus of Buddhist knowledge. Around the age 25 or 27, he began his journey.  The exact date is either 627 or 629, based on the version that one reads.  That has some importance for the events that his story tells, as some of the individuals whom he is said to have met are said to have died by 627 CE, meaning that either the dates of the journey are wrong or the dates we have in other sources are wrong.  As you can imagine, that's rather important for an accurate history, but not so much for our purposes, as I think that we can still trust the broad brush strokes which paint an image of what the Silk Road was like at the time. For context, back in Yamato, this was around the time that Kashikiya Hime—aka Suiko Tenno—passed away, and Prince Tamura was placed on the throne, passing over Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the late Crown Prince, Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Whoever was on the throne, Soga no Emishi was actually running things, and the Soga family were heavily involved in the establishment of Buddhism in the archipelago.  This is relatively around the time of Episode 103. When Xuanzang took off to the West, his intentions may have been pure, but truth be told, he was breaking the law.  Tang Taizong had come to power in 626, and the routes along the Tarim Basin were under the control of the Gokturks, whom the Tang were fighting with.  As such, travel to the Western Regions was strictly controlled.  Xuanzang and several companions had all petitioned Emperor Taizong for permission to leave, but the Emperor never replied. So Xuanzang did not have permission to leave—but he decided to head out, anyway.  His companions, however, lost their nerve, and so he set out alone. Of course, he didn't simply set off for the West.  At first he went city to city, staying at local Buddhist monasteries and sharing his teachings.  To all intents and purposes, this probably seemed like normal behavior for a monk, traveling from monastery to monastery, but it was actually taking him towards the western border. And it was going well until he reached Liangzhou—known today as Wuwei.  Li Daliang, governor of Liangzhou, enforced the prohibition that "common" people were not permitted to go to the regions of the western tribes.  Word had spread about Xuanzang, and when the governor caught wind of what was going on, he called Xuanzang into an audience to find out what he was planning to do.  Xuanzang was honest and told him he was going to the West to search for the Dharma, but the governor ordered him to return to Chang'an instead. Fortunately, there was a Buddhist teacher, Huiwei, who heard about all of this this and decided to help Xuanzang.  He had two of his own disciples escort Xuanzang to the west.  Since the governor had told him not to go, this was illegal, and so they traveled by night and hid during the day until they reached Guazhou. In Guazhou, the governor, Dugu Da, was quite pleased to meet with Xuanzang, and either hadn't heard about the order for him to return to Chang'an or didn't care.  From there, Xuanzang's path was largely obstructed by the deep and fast-flowing Hulu river.  They would have to travel to its upper reaches, where they could go through Yumenguan--Yumen Pass--which was the only safe way to cross, making it a key to the Western regions. Beyond Yumenguan there were five watchtowers, roughly 30 miles apart.  These watchtowers likely had means to signal back and forth, thus keeping an eye on the people coming and going from Yumen Pass.  Beyond that was the desert of Yiwu, also known as Hami. Xuanzang was not only worried about what this meant, his horse died, leaving him on foot.  He contemplated this in silence for a month.  Before he continued, though, a warrant arrived for his arrest.  They inquired with a local prefect, who happened to be a pious Buddhist.  He showed it to Xuanzang, and then ended up tearing up the document, and urged Xuanzang to leave as quickly as possible. Yumenguan lies roughly 80-90 kilometers—roughly 50 miles or so—from the town of Dunhuang, the last major outpost before leaving for the Western Regions.  Dunhuang had a thriving Buddhist community, and the paintings in the Mogao caves are absolutely stunning, even today—one of the most well-preserved of such collections, spanning the 4th to the 14th century.  However, at this point, Xuanzang was a wanted man, and stopping in at Dunhuang might very well have curtailed his journey before it had even begun.  Instead, he would likely need to find a way to sneak across the border without alerting anyone and then, somehow, sneak past five watchtowers, each 30 miles or so apart, with no water except what he could carry or steal at each point. At this point, one of Xuanzang's escorts had traveled on to Dunhuang, and only one remained, but Xuanzang wasn't sure his remaining companion was up to the strain of the journey, and he dismissed him, deciding to travel on alone.  He bought a horse, and he fortunately found a guide--a "Hu" person named "Shi Pantuo".  "Hu" is a generic term often translated simply as "foreigner" or "barbarian" from the western lands, and the name "Shi" referred to Sogdians from Tashkent.  The Sogdians were a people of Persian descent living in central Eurasia, between the Syr Darya and Amu Darya rivers.  That latter was also known as the Oxus river, hence another name for the region: Transoxiana.  Sogdiana appears as early as the 6th century BCE as a member of the Achaemenid Empire, and the region was annexed by Alexander the Great in 328 BCE.  It continued to change hands under a succession of empires. The Sogdian city-states themselves were centered around the city of Samarkand, and while they did not build an empire themselves, the Sogdians nonetheless had a huge impact on cultures in both the east and the west.  Sogdians became famous as traders along the silk roads, and they built tight knit communities in multiple cities along the route.  Families kept in touch over long distances, setting up vast trading networks.  In fact, there were even Sogdian communities living in Chang'an and elsewhere in the Tang Empire.  The Sogdian An Lushan would eventually rise through the ranks of the Tang dynasty court—but that was almost a century after Xuanzang's travels. There are many material items that the Sogdians helped move across the silk road, but perhaps one of the most striking things were a style of patterned textiles.  Sassanid Persia was known for its silk textiles, often woven in images surrounded by a border of pearl-shapes:  Small circles in a circular pattern around a central figure, often duplicated due to the way the fabrics were woven.  This pearl-roundel pattern was especially taken up by the Sogdians, and their fashion sense made it popular across Eurasia.  Large pearl roundel designs were used on caftans, popular throughout the Gokturk qaghanate, and the Tang court would eventually pick up the fashion of these foreigners—generally classified as “hu” by those in Chang'an.  With a round neck, closing at the side, this western-style caftan-like garment eventually found its way into Japan as the people of the Japanese archipelago adopted Tang dynasty clothing and fashion.  In fact, Japan boasts one of the most impressive collections of silk road artifacts at the Shosoin repository of Todaiji temple in Nara, and it includes clothing and fabric that show the influence of Sogdian and Turkic merchants.  The Shosoin collection contains multiple examples of those pearl roundel patterns, for example, and you can even buy reproductions of the design today in Nara and elsewhere.  The garments themselves would continue to influence the fashion of the court, indeed giving rise to some of the most popular court garments of the Nara period, and the design continued to evolve through the Heian period until it was almost unrecognizable from its origins. Sogdians were so influential that their language—an Eastern Iranian language known simply as “Sogdian”—was the lingua franca, or the common tongue, through most of the Silk Road.  If you knew Sogdian, you could probably find a way to communicate with most of the people along way.  Today, Sogdian is extinct, with the possible exception of a single language that evolved from a Sogdian dialect. Sogdians are often known in Sinitic sources by their names—by the time of the Tang dynasty, it was common practice to give foreigners, whose names didn't always translate well into Chinese dialects, a family name based on their origin.  For the Sogdians, who were quite well known and numerous, they weren't just classified with a single name, but rather they were divided up by seven names based on where they were from.  So the name “Shi”, for instance, indicated that someone was from the area of Tashkent, while the name “An” referred to a Sogdian who was descended from people from the Bukhara, and so on.  This was a practice that went at least as far back as the Han dynasty. So, returning to the story, Xuanzang's new Sogdian guide's name is given as “Shi Pantuo”.  The name "Pantuo", which would have likely been pronounced more like "b'uan d'a" at the time, is likely a version of the name "Vandak", which was indeed a very common Sogdian name meaning something like “servant” and was often used to indicate things like religious devotion, which could be related to his status as a devout Buddhist, though it also might just be coincidental.  Xuanzang was so happy with his guide's offer to help, that he bought him clothes and a horse for his troubles. And so they headed out towards Yumenguan, the Jade Pass or Jade Gate, so called because of the caravans of jade that would head out from the Middle Country ever since the Han dynasty.  In fact, the Jade Gate was originally established as part of the western end of the Han dynasty “Great Wall”.  This was not necessarily the famous Ming Dynasty wall that most people are familiar with, but the Han Dynasty wall would have been impressively high enough, with regular patrols and beacon towers.  So if you tried going over the wall, someone was likely to see you and give chase.  There is also the issue that if you had any amount of supplies you have to bring those as well—this isn't just hopping a fence.  The wall was augmented by natural features—mountains and deep and fast-flowing rivers, for example, which made walls unnecessary.  And then there was also the fact that in many places, it was just open wilderness, which was its own kind of barrier.  Trying to go off the beaten path meant wandering through uncharted territory, which someone like Xuanzang was probably not prepared to do.  It isn't like he had GPS and Google Maps to help him find his way, and if you got lost in the desert, then who knows what might happen to you. By the way, this was true even in relatively settled places, like the Japanese archipelago, up until modern times.  While there were some areas where it was relatively flat, and you could navigate by certain landmarks, if you left the roads and trails you might easily find yourself lost without access to food or shelter.  Maps were not exactly accurate.  The safest way to travel was to stick to the more well-traveled routes. Unfortunately, that meant going through the Yumen Gate itself.  There was a garrison where the road left the territory of the Tang Empire , and that garrison would be responsible for checking the papers of anyone coming into or leaving the empire.  Xuanzang, of course, didn't have the proper papers, since he didn't have permission to be there.  Fortunately, he had a guide, who seemed to know the area, and that would allow him to bypass the official checkpoint, which Xuanzang recalls seeing off in the distance.  Together, Xuanzang and Vandak snuck past the Yumen gate, and traveled several miles up the river.  There, they found a spot where the river was only about 10 feet across, near a grove of trees, and so they chopped down a few of them and made an impromptu bridge for them and their horses to cross. From that point on, until they reached Yiwu, they would have to get past the watchtowers.  Not only were these watchtowers garrisoned with men of the Tang army, but they were also the only place to get fresh water.  The travelers would need to sneak in at night to steal water from the watchtowers without getting caught. The farther they traveled, the more Vandak seemed to be getting cold feet.  Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue had they been normal travelers, but in trying to avoid the watchtowers they were making themselves into fugitives.  If they were caught they could both be killed.  He protested several times that they should just go back, and at one point Xuanzang seemed worried that Vandak was contemplating how much easier this would be for him if he just killed the old monk.  Finally, Xuanzang told Vandak that he should leave, and solemnly swore that if he was caught he wouldn't rat out Vandak for his help.  Vandak, who had been worried about just such a scenario, nonetheless took Xuanzang's word and the two parted ways. From that point on, Xuanzang recounted that the trail through the desert was marked by nothing but skeletons and horse droppings.  He thought at one point he saw an army in the desert, but it turned out to be a mirage.  Finally, he saw one of the watchtowers he had been warned about.  Not wanting to get caught, he lay down in a ditch and hid there until the sun went down. Under cover of darkness, he approached the tower, where he saw water.  He went to have a drink, and maybe wash his hands, but as he was getting out his water bag to refill it and arrow whizzed through the air and he almost took an arrow to the knee.  Knowing the jig was up, he shouted out: "I'm a monk from the capital!  Don't shoot!" He led his horse to the tower, where they opened the door and saw he really was a monk.  They woke up the captain, who had a lamp lit so he could see whom it was they had apprehended.  Right away it was clear that this traveler wasn't from around those parts—not that anyone really was, it seems. The Captain had heard of Xuanzang, but the report that had been sent said Xuanzang had gone back to Chang'an.  Xuanzang, for his part, showed a copy of the petition he had sent to the Emperor--one that he hadn't actually heard back from.  He then told the captain what he planned to do.  The captain was moved, and decided to look the other way.  He gave him a place to stay for the night and then showed him the way to the fourth watchtower, where the captain's brother was in charge, and would give him shelter. Sure enough, Xuanzang made it to the fourth watchtower, but he wasn't sure if he could entirely trust the captain, so again he tried to just secretly steal the water, but again he was caught.  Fortunately, the captain there was also sympathetic.  He let Xuanzang stay and then actually told him how to get around the fifth watchtower, since the captain there might not be as lenient.  He also told Xuanzang about an inconspicuous oasis where he could get water for himself and his horse. Reinvigorated, Xuanzang had another challenge to face.  Beyond the watchtowers was a long stretch of desert.  It was a journey of several hundred miles, and it started poorly.  First off, he missed the oasis that the captain of the fourth watchtower had indicated he could use without anyone firing arrows at him.  Then, he dropped his water bag, such that he was left with nothing.  He thought of turning back, but he continued, chanting mantras to himself.   He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he continued onward.  Some days into his journey, his horse suddenly changed course of its own accord.  Despite his efforts, it kept going, eventually coming to a pasture of grass around a pond of clean, sweet water.  That ended up saving him, and he rested there for a day, before traveling on.  Two days later, he arrived at Yiwu, aka Hami.  He had made it.  He was free. Or at least, he was until he returned to the Tang empire.  After all, Xuanzang did plan to come back, and when he did, he would have to face the music.  That was a problem for future Xuanzang.  Of course, he was also a lone traveler.  He might be free, but he was far from safe.  He was now entering the Western regions, and he would need to be on the lookout. The people of Hami, also known as Yiwu, were known to the Han dynasty as members of the Xiao Yuezhi—the kingdom or coalition that once controlled much of the northern edge of the Tarim basin.  They had been displaced by the Xiongnu, and the area would go back and forth between different hegemons, so that by the time of the Sui and early Tang dynasties they were under the sway of the Gokturks.  Still, as close as it was to the Tang borders, they no doubt had contact, and indeed, Xuanzang was given lodging at a monastery with three other monks who were “Chinese”, for whatever that meant at the time. If you've heard of Hami today you may know it for something that it was famous for even back in the 7th century:  their famous melons.  You can sometimes find Hami melons in stores to this day. Regarding the melons and other such fruits and vegetables—the area of Hami is a fairly arid land.  Hami does get some water from the Tianshan mountains, but in order to have enough for agriculture they instituted a system that is still found today in Hami, Turpan, and other parts of the world, including arid parts of northwest India and Pakistan through the middle east to north Africa.  It is called a Karez, or in Persian it is called a Qanat, and it is thought to have originated in ancient Persia around the first millennium BCE and spread out through the various trade routes. The idea is to basically create underground aqueducts to take water from one place to another.  This would keep them out of the heat and dry air above ground to allow them to continue to flow without losing too much to evaporation.  To do that, however, required manually digging tunnels for the water.  This would be done by sinking wells at regular intervals and connecting the wells to each other with tunnels.  But it wasn't enough for the tunnels to be connected, they had to also slope slightly downwards, but not too much.  You want enough flow to keep the water clear, but if it flows too quickly or creates waves, the water might erode the underground channels in ways that could cause problems, such as a collapse.  All in all, they are pretty amazing feats of engineering and they can carry water a great distance.  Many are under 5 km, but some are around 70 km long. These karez would have been the lifelines of many towns, creating a reliable oasis in the desert.  Rivers were great, but the flow could vary from floods to a mere trickle, and the karez system provided relatively constant flow.  This allowed for agriculture even in the dry areas of the Western Regions, which helped facilitate the various kingdoms that grew up in this otherwise inhospitable region. While eating his melons in Hami and chatting it up with his fellow eastern priests, Yiwu was visited by an envoy from the neighboring kingdom of Gaochang.  Now Hami, or Yiwu, sits at the eastern edge of the Turpan-Hami basin, aka the Turfan depression, a large desert, much of which is actually so low that it is below sea level.  In fact, the basin includes the lowest exposed point in the area of modern China at Ayding Lake, which is 158 meters below sea level.  From Yiwu to Gaochang, you would follow the edge of the mountains west, to an area near a small break in the mountain range.  Follow that break northwest, and you would find yourself at the city of Urumqi, the current capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region in modern China. Xinjiang covers much of the area known in ancient times as the “Western Regions” that remains within the modern political boundaries of the PRC. The envoy from Gaochang heard about Xuanzang, and reported back to his lord, King Qu Wentai, who immediately sent a retinue out to escort the Buddhist monk across the desert to his city.  They included multiple horses for Xuanzang, so he could change at regular intervals.  His own horse was left behind, to be brought along later.   After six days on the road, they came to the city of Paili, and since the sun had already set, Xuanzang asked to stop for the night, but the escorts urged him on to the Royal City, which was not much farther on. And so he arrived around midnight, which means he likely couldn't immediately take in the size of the city.  Gaochang was an immense walled city, and even today, ruined as it is, the site of it is quite formidable, and it is so well preserved it is considered a UNESCO world heritage site.  Perhaps since wood was relatively scarce, this is why so much of the construction was made of brick and earthworks.  Fortunately, this means that many of the walls remain, even today—eroded and crumbling, but still towering over those who come to see them.  In places they have also been rebuilt or reinforced.  And in a few, very rare instances, you can still see some of the traces of paint that would have once been so prevalent throughout a city like this.  At this time in history, Gaochang, also known as Karakhoja, was under the command of the Qu family.  The population was largely Han Chinese, and it had often been overseen or at least influenced by kingdoms in the Yellow River basin.  But it was also the home of Turks, Sogdian merchants, local Turfanians, and more.  It was even called “Chinatown” by the Sogdians, and yet attempts to further sinicize the region had provoked a coup only a couple of decades earlier.  Even though he showed up in the middle of the night, Xuanzang is said to have been welcomed by the ruler of Gaochang, Qu Wentai, as he entered the city.  Perhaps this is why the escorts had been pushing so hard—the King himself was awake and waiting for Xuanzang to make an appearance.  The King and his attendants came out with candles in their hands, and they were ushered behind curtains in a multi-storey pavilion.  The king apparently grilled him through the night, asking about his journey until it was almost daybreak, at which point Xuanzang requested rest.  He was finally shown to a bedroom that had been prepared for him and allowed to sleep. The next day king assembled the leading monks of his kingdom before his guest.  These included the monks Tuan Fashi and Wang Fashi.  Tuan Fashi had studied in Chang'an for many years, and he knew his Buddhist scholarship. And Wang Fashi was a superintendent, and it was his duty to look after Xuanzang and butter him up with the hope that he might stay and provide the king with the prestige of having such an esteemed monk.  They put him up at a monastery next to the royal palace—the “daochang”, aka “dojo” in Japanese, which would be a whole different diversion. Ding Wang suggested that this might be the same as the Chongfu Monastery mentioned in a colophon on a 7th century copy of the Sutra of Perfection of Wisdom for Benevolent Kings. It was found by a German expedition at a site in the Turfan basin in the early 20th century, and now sits in the possession of Shitenno-ji, in Osaka—rather appropriate given that Shitenno-ji was around at the same time all of this was happening.  The colophon is attributed to a “Xuanjue”, and a “Xuanjue” from Gaochang, in the Turpan basin, was associated with helping Xuanzang in his later years.  Perhaps this Xuanjue first met Xuanzang during this first trip to Gaochang. Qu Wentai tried his best to dissuade Xuanzang from continuing on.  This may be simple platitudes from his biographers, but it also may have been genuine.  Having a learned foreign monk from the Tang dynasty staying at the palace monastery would likely have added to Qu Wentai's prestige by association, and it would have potentially brought more individuals to the city of Gaochang. Speaking of which, all of this first part of the journey—up to Gaochang—comes primarily from Xuanzang's biography by the monk Huili.  Xuanzang's own “Records of the Western Regions” didn't include much on it, probably because by the time that he returned to the Tang empire, Tang Taizong had annexed Yiwu and Gaochang, so all those were now considered part of the empire, rather than foreign regions to the West. After staying a month at Gaochang, Xuanzang decided it was time to continue his journey.  Disappointed though Qu Wentai may have been that his guest would be leaving, he nonetheless outfitted him handsomely.  He provided goods, including coins, as well as 24 letters to the 24 countries that he would pass along the road, adding a roll of silk to each as a sign that they came from the King of Gaochang.  He also gave him food, a small retinue, and horses to help carry everything.  Letters of introduction would have been important across the Silk Road.  There was, after all, no way to contact someone ahead of time, unless you sent runners. Merchant communities, in particular, would often be connected across long distances through regular caravans, which carried letters to their relatives, facilitating communication across vast distances.  Merchants who were bringing in a caravan of goods would know that there was a friendly community waiting to help them when they arrived, and would likely even have an idea of what was happening and what to bring. For someone traveling alone, however, having a letter of introduction would have been important, as they didn't necessarily have access to those communities by themselves.  The letters would provide introduction and let people know who you were and may even ask for assistance on your behalf.  It may seem a small thing, but it was the kind of gesture that was likely a great help to a traveler like Xuanzang.  Remember, he was not on an official mission from the Tang court—almost expressly the opposite, as he had not been given permission to leave.  So he wouldn't have had anything identifying him, and after Gaochang he likely couldn't count on being able to communicate with his native tongue. And so he was sent on his way.  As he left the city of Gaochang, the king and others accompanied Xuanzang about 10 li, or about 3 or 4 miles, outside of the city.  As they watched him head off, who could have known if he would complete his quest?  Or would he just end up another ghost in the desert? Next episode, we'll pick up Xuanzang's story as he strikes out for Agni and beyond.  Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we are taking a trip down the Silk Road--or perhaps even the Spice Road--as we investigate references in this reign to individuals from "Tukara" who seem to have arrived in Yamato and stayed for a while. For photos and more, see our podcast webpage:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-119 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  This is episode 119: The Question of “Tukara”   Traveling upon the ocean was never exactly safe.  Squalls and storms could arise at any time, and there was always a chance that high winds and high waves could capsize a vessel.  Most people who found themselves at the mercy of the ocean could do little but hold on and hope that they could ride out whatever adverse conditions they met with.  Many ships were lost without any explanation or understanding of what happened to them.  They simply left the port and never came back home. And so when the people saw the boat pulling up on the shores of Himuka, on the island of Tsukushi, they no doubt empathized with the voyagers' plight.  The crew looked bedraggled, and their clothing was unfamiliar.  There were both men and women, and this didn't look like your average fishing party.  If anything was clear it was this:  These folk weren't from around here. The locals brought out water and food.  Meanwhile, runners were sent with a message:  foreigners had arrived from a distant place.  They then waited to see what the government was going to do.     We are still in the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tenno.  Last episode we talked about the palaces constructed in Asuka, as well as some of the stone works that have been found from the period, and which appear to be referenced in the Nihon Shoki—at least tangentially.   The episodes before that, we looked at the expeditions the court sent to the far north of Honshu and even past Honshu to Hokkaido. This episode we'll again be looking past the main islands of the archipelago to lands beyond.  Specifically, we are going to focus on particularly intriguing references to people from a place called “Tukara”.  We'll talk about some of the ideas about where that might be, even if they're a bit  far-fetched. That's because Tukara touches on the state of the larger world that Yamato was a part of, given its situation on the far eastern edge of what we know today as the Silk Road.  And is this just an excuse for me to take a detour into some of the more interesting things going on outside the archipelago?  No comment. The first mention of a man from Tukara actually comes at the end of the reign of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou.  We are told that in the fourth month of 654 two men and two women of “Tukara” and one woman of “Sha'e” were driven by a storm to Hiuga.  Then, three years later, the story apparently picks up again, though possibly referring to a different group of people.  On the 3rd day of the 7th month of 657, so during the second reign of Takara Hime, we now hear about two men and four women of the Land of Tukara—no mention of Sha'e—who drifted to Tsukushi, aka Kyushu.  The Chronicles mention that these wayfarers first drifted to the island of Amami, and we'll talk about that in a bit, but let's get these puzzle pieces on the table, first.  After those six people show up, the court sent for them by post-horse.  They must have arrived by the 15th of that same month, because we are told that a model of Mt. Sumi was erected and they—the people from Tukara—were entertained, although there is another account that says they were from “Tora”. The next mention is the 10th day of the 3rd month of 659, when a Man of Tukara and his wife, again woman of Sha'e, arrived.  Then, on the 16th day of the 7th month of 660, we are told that the man of Tukara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, desired to return home and asked for an escort.  He planned to pay his respects at the Great Country, i.e. the Tang court, and so he left his wife behind, taking tens of men with him. All of these entries might refer to people regularly reaching Yamato from the south, from a place called “Tukara”.  Alternately, this is a single event whose story has gotten distributed over several years, as we've seen happen before with the Chronicles.  .  One of the oddities of these entries is that the terms used are not consistent.  “Tukara” is spelled at least two different ways, suggesting that it wasn't a common placename like Silla or Baekje, or even the Mishihase.  That does seem to suggest that the Chronicles were phonetically trying to find kanji, or the Sinitic characters, to match with the name they were hearing.   I would also note that “Tukara” is given the status of a “kuni”—a land, country, or state—while “sha'e”, where some of the women are said to come from, is just that, “Sha'e”. As for the name of at least one person from Tokara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, that certainly sounds like someone trying to fit a non-Japanese name into the orthography of the time.  “Tatsuna” seems plausibly Japanese, but “Kenzuhashi” doesn't fit quite as well into the naming structures we've seen to this point. The location of “Tukara” and “Sha'e” are not clear in any way, and as such there has been a lot of speculation about them.  While today there are placenames that fit those characters, whether or not these were the places being referenced at the time is hard to say. I'll actually start with “Sha'e”, which Aston translates as Shravasti, the capital of the ancient Indian kingdom of Kosala, in modern Uttar Pradesh.  It is also where the Buddha, Siddartha Gautama, is said to have lived most of his life after his enlightenment.  In Japanese this is “Sha'e-jou”, and like many Buddhist terms it likely comes through Sanskrit to Middle Chinese to Japanese.  One—or possibly two—women from Shravasti making the journey to Yamato in the company of a man (or men) from Tukara seems quite the feat.  But then, where is “Tukara”? Well, we have at least three possible locations that I've seen bandied about.  I'll address them from the most distant to the closest option.  These three options were Tokharistan, Dvaravati, and the Tokara islands. We'll start with Tokharistan on the far end of the Silk Road.  And to start, let's define what that “Silk Road” means.  We've talked in past episodes about the “Western Regions”, past the Han-controlled territories of the Yellow River.   The ancient Tang capital of Chang'an was built near to the home of the Qin dynasty, and even today you can go and see both the Tang tombs and the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi and his terracotta warriors, all within a short distance of Xi'an, the modern city built on the site of Chang'an.  That city sits on a tributary of the Yellow River, but the main branch turns north around the border of modern Henan and the similarly sounding provinces of Shanxi and Shaanxi.  Following it upstream, the river heads north into modern Mongolia, turns west, and then heads south again, creating what is known as the Ordos loop.  Inside is the Ordos plateau, also known as the Ordos Basin.  Continuing to follow the Yellow river south, on the western edge of the Ordos, you travel through Ningxia and Gansu—home of the Hexi, or Gansu, Corridor.  That route eventually takes to Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, and Dunhuang.  From there roads head north or south along the edge of the Taklamakan desert in the Tarim basin.  The southern route travels along the edge of the Tibetan plateau, while the northern route traversed various oasis cities through Turpan, Kucha, to the city of Kashgar.  Both routes made their way across the Pamirs and the Hindu Kush into South Asia. We've brought up the Tarim Basin and the Silk Road a few times.  This is the path that Buddhism appears to have taken to get to the Yellow River Basin and eventually to the Korean Peninsula and eastward to the Japanese archipelago.  But I want to go a bit more into detail on things here, as there is an interesting side note about “Tukara” that I personally find rather fascinating, and thought this would be a fun time to share. Back in Episode 79 we talked about how the Tarim basin used to be the home to a vast inland sea, which was fed by the meltwater from the Tianshan and Kunlun mountains.  This sea eventually dwindled, though it was still large enough to be known to the Tang as the Puchang Sea.  Today it has largely dried up, and it is mostly just the salt marshes of Lop Nur that remain.  Evidence for this larger sea, however, can be observed in some of the burials found around the Tarim basin.  These burials include the use of boat-shaped structures—a rather curious feature to be found out in the middle of the desert. And it is the desert that was left behind as the waters receded that is key to much of what we know about life in the Tarim basin, as it has proven to be quite excellent at preserving organic material.  This includes bodies, which dried out and naturally turned into mummies, including not only the wool clothing they were wearing, but also features such as hair and even decoration. These “Tarim mummies”, as they have been collectively called, date from as early as 2100 BCE all the way up through the period of time we're currently talking about, and have been found in several desert sites: Xiaohe, the earliest yet discovered; Loulan, near Lop Nur on the east of the Tarim Basin, dating from around 1800 BCE; Cherchen, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin, dating from roughly 1000 BCE; and too many others to go into in huge detail. The intriguing thing about these burials is that  many of them don't have features typically associated with people of ethnic Han—which is to say traditional Chinese—ancestry, nor do they necessarily have the features associated with the Xiongnu and other steppe nomads.  In addition they have colorful clothing  made from wool and leather, with vivid designs.  Some bodies near Hami, just east of the basin, were reported to have blonde to light brown hair, and their cloth showed radically different patterns from that found at Cherchen and Loulan, with patterns that could reasonably be compared with the plaids now common in places like Scotland and Ireland, and previously found in the Hallstadt salt mine in Central Europe from around 3500 BCE, from which it is thought the Celtic people may have originated. At the same time that people—largely Westerners— were studying these mummies, another discovery in the Tarim basin was also making waves.  This was the discovery of a brand new language.  Actually, it was two languages—or possibly two dialects of a language—in many manuscripts, preserved in Kucha and Turpan.  Once again, the dry desert conditions proved invaluable to maintain these manuscripts, which date from between the late 4th or early 5th century to the 8th century.  They are written with a Brahmic script, similar to that used for Sanskrit, which appears in the Tarim Basin l by about the 2nd century, and we were able to translate them because many of the texts were copies of Buddhist scripture, which greatly helped scholars in deciphering the languages.  These two languages were fascinating because they represented an as-yet undiscovered branch of the Indo-European language family.  Furthermore, when compared to other Indo-European languages, they did not show nearly as much similarity with their neighbors as with languages on the far western end of the Indo-European language family.  That is to say they were thought to be closer to Celtic and Italic languages than something like Indo-Iranian.  And now for a quick diversion within the diversion:  “Centum” and “Satem” are general divisions of the Indo-European language families that was once thought to indicate a geographic divide in the languages.  At its most basic, as Indo-European words changed over time, a labiovelar sound, something like “kw”,  tended to evolve in one of two ways.  In the Celtic and Italic languages, the “kw” went to a hard “k” sound, as represented in the classical pronunciation of the Latin word for 100:  Centum.  That same word, in the Avestan language—of the Indo-Iranian tree—is pronounced as “Satem”, with an “S” sound.  So, you can look at Indo-European languages and divide them generally into “centum” languages, which preserve the hard “k”, or “Satem” languages that preserve the S. With me so far? Getting back to these two newly-found languages in the Tarim Basin, the weird thing is that they were “Centum” languages. Most Centum languages are from pretty far away, though: they are generally found in western Europe or around the Mediterranean, as opposed to the Satem languages, such as Indo-Aryan, Iranian, Armernian, or even Baltic Slavic languages, which are much closer to the Tarim Basin.  So if the theory were true that the “Centum” family of Indo-European languages developed in the West and “Satem” languages developed in the East, then that would seem to indicate that a group of a “Centum” speaking people must have migrated eastward, through the various Satem speaking people, and settled in the Tarim Basin many thousands of years ago. And what evidence do we have of people who look very different from the modern population, living in the Tarim Basin area long before, and wearing clothing similar to what we associated with the progenitors of the Celts?  For many, it seemed to be somewhat obvious, if still incredible, that the speakers of this language were likely the descendants of the mummies who, in the terminology of the time, had been identified as being of Caucasoid ancestry.  A theory developed that these people were an offshoot of a group called the Yamnaya culture, which may have arisen around modern Ukraine as an admixture between the European Hunter Gatherers and the Caucasian Hunter Gatherers, around 3300-2600 BCE.  This was challenged in 2021 when a genetic study was performed on some of the mummies in the Tarim basin, as well as several from the Dzungarian basin, to the northeast.  That study suggested that the people of the Dzungarian basin had genetic ties to the people of the Afanasievo people, from Southern Siberia.  The Afanasievo people are connected to the Yamnayan culture. It should be noted that there has long been a fascination in Western anthropology and related sciences with racial identification—and often not in a healthy way.  As you may recall, the Ainu were identified as “Caucasoid” by some people largely because of things like the men's beards and lighter colored hair, which differ greatly from a large part of the Japanese population.  However, that claim has been repeatedly refuted and debunked. And similarly, the truth is, none of these Tarim mummy burials were in a period of written anything, so we can't conclusively associated them with these fascinating Indo-European languages.  There are thousands of years between the various burials and the manuscripts. These people  left no notes stashed in pockets that give us their life story.   And Language is not Genetics is not Culture.  Any group may adopt a given language for a variety of reasons.  .  Still, given what we know, it is possible that the ancient people of the Tarim basin spoke some form of “Proto-Kuchean”, but it is just as likely that this language was brought in by people from Dzungaria at some point. So why does all this matter to us?  Well, remember how we were talking about someone from Tukara?  The Kuchean language, at least, is referred to in an ancient Turkic source as belonging to “Twgry”, which led several scholars to draw a link between this and the kingdom and people called Tukara and the Tokharoi.  This leads us on another bit of a chase through history. Now if you recall, back in Episode 79, we talked about Zhang Qian.  In 128 BCE, he attempted to cross the Silk Road through the territory of the Xiongnu on a mission for the Han court.  Some fifty years earlier, the Xiongnu had defeated the Yuezhi.  They held territory in the oasis towns along the north of the Taklamakan dessert, from about the Turpan basin west to the Pamirs. The Xiongnu were causing problems for the Han, who thought that if they could contact the remaining Yuezhi they could make common cause with them and harass the Xiongnu from both sides.  Zhang Qian's story is quite remarkable: he started out with an escort of some 99 men and a translator.  Unfortunately, he was captured and enslaved by the Xiongnu during his journey, and he is even said to have had a wife and fathered a child.  He remained a captive for thirteen years, but nonetheless, he was able to escape with his family and he made it to the Great Yuezhi on the far side of the Pamirs, but apparently the Yuezhi weren't interested in a treaty against the Xiongnu.  The Pamirs were apparently enough of a barrier and they were thriving in their new land.  And so Zhang Qian crossed back again through Xiongnu territory, this time taking the southern route around the Tarim basin.  He was still captured by the Xiongnu, who spared his life.  He escaped, again, two years later, returning to the Han court.  Of the original 100 explorers, only two returned: Zhang Qian and his translator.  While he hadn't obtained an alliance, he was able to detail the cultures of the area of the Yuezhi. Many feel that the Kushan Empire, which is generally said to have existed from about 30 to 375 CE,was formed from the Kushana people who were part of the Yuezhi who fled the Xiongnu. In other words, they were originally from further north, around the Tarim Basin, and had been chased out and settled down in regions that included Bactria (as in the Bactrian camel).  Zhang Qian describes reaching the Dayuan Kingdom in the Ferghana valley, then traveling south to an area that was the home of the Great Yuezhi or Da Yuezhi.  And after the Kushan empire fell, we know there was a state in the upper regions of the Oxus river, centered on the city of Balkh, in the former territory of the Kushan empire. known as “Tokara”.  Geographically, this matches up how Zhang Qian described the home of the Da Yuezhi.  Furthermore, some scholars reconstruct the reading of the Sinic characters used for “Yuezhi” as originally having an optional reading of something like “Togwar”, but that is certainly not the most common reconstructed reading of those characters.  Greek sources describe this area as the home of the Tokharoi, or the Tokaran People.  The term “Tukhara” is also found in Sanskrit, and this kingdom  was also said to have sent ambassadors to the Southern Liang and Tang dynasties. We aren't exactly certain of where these Tokharan people came from, but as we've just described, there's a prevailing theory that they were the remnants of the Yuezhi and Kushana people originally from the Tarim Basin.  We know that in the 6th century they came under the rule of the Gokturk Khaganate, which once spanned from the Liao river basin to the Black Sea.  In the 7th and 8th centuries they came under the rule of the Tang Empire, where they were known by very similar characters as those used to write “Tukara” in the Nihon Shoki.  On top of this, we see Tokharans traveling the Silk Road, all the way to the Tang court.  Furthermore, Tokharans that settled in Chang'an took the surname “Zhi” from the ethnonym “Yuezhi”, seemingly laying claim to and giving validation to the identity used back in the Han dynasty.   So, we have a Turkic record describing the Kuchean people (as in, from Kucha in the Tarim Basin) as “Twgry”, and we have a kingdom in Bactria called Tokara and populated (according to the Greeks) by people called Tokharoi.  You can see how this one term has been a fascinating rabbit hole in the study of the Silk Roads and their history.  And some scholars understandably suggested that perhaps the Indo-European languags found in Kucha and Turpan  were actually related to this “Tokhara” – and therefore  should be called “Tocharian”, specifically Tocharian A (Kuchean) or Tocharian B (Turfanian). The problem is that if the Tokharans were speaking “Tocharian” then you wouldn't expect to just see it at Kucha and Turpan, which are about the middle of the road between Tokhara and the Tang dynasty, and which had long been under Gokturk rule.  You would also expect to see it in the areas of Bactria associated with Tokhara.  However, that isn't what we see.  Instead, we see that Bactria was the home of local Bactrian language—an Eastern Iranian language, which, though it is part of the Indo European language family, it is not closely related to Tocharian as far as we can tell. It is possible that the people of Kucha referred to themselves as something similar to “Twgry”, or “Tochari”, but we should also remember that comes from a Turkic source, and it could have been an exonym not related to what they called themselves.  I should also note that language is not people.  It is also possible that a particular ethnonym was maintained separately by two groups that may have been connected politically but which came to speak different languages for whatever reason.   There could be a connection between the names, or it could even be that the same or similar exonym was used for different groups. So, that was a lot and a bit of a ramble, but a lot of things that I find interesting—even if they aren't as connected as they may appear.  We have the Tarim mummies, which are, today, held at a museum in modern Urumqi.  Whether they had any connection with Europe or not, they remain a fascinating study for the wealth of material items found in and around the Tarim basin and similar locations.  And then there is the saga of the Tocharian languages—or perhaps more appropriately the Kuchean-Turfanian languages: Indo-European languages that seem to be well outside of where we would expect to find them. Finally, just past the Pamirs, we get to the land of Tokhara or Tokharistan.  Even without anything else, we know that they had contact with the court.  Perhaps our castaways were from this land?  The name is certainly similar to what we see in the Nihon Shoki, using some of the same characters. All in all, art and other information suggest that the area of the Tarim basin and the Silk Road in general were quite cosmopolitan, with many different people from different regions of the world.  Bactria retained Hellenic influences ever since the conquests of Alexander of Macedonia, aka Alexander the Great, and Sogdian and Persian traders regularly brought their caravans through the region to trade.  And once the Tang dynasty controlled all of the routes, that just made travel that much easier, and many people traveled back and forth. So from that perspective, it is possible that one or more people from Tukhara may have made the crossing from their home all the way to the Tang court, but if they did so, the question still remains: why would they be in a boat? Utilizing overland routes, they would have hit Chang'an or Louyang, the dual capitals of the Tang empire, well before they hit the ocean.  However, the Nihon Shoki says that these voyagers first came ashore at Amami and then later says that they were trying to get to the Tang court. Now there was another “Silk Road” that isn't as often mentioned: the sea route, following the coast of south Asia, around through the Malacca strait and north along the Asian coast.  This route is sometimes viewed more in terms of the “spice” road If these voyagers set out to get to the Tang court by boat, they would have to have traveled south to the Indian Ocean—possibly traveling through Shravasti or Sha'e, depending on the route they chose to take—and then around the Malacca strait—unless they made it on foot all the way to Southeast Asia.  And then they would have taken a boat up the coast. Why do that instead of taking the overland route?  They could likely have traveled directly to the Tang court over the overland silk road.  Even the from Southeast Asia could have traveled up through Yunnan and made their way to the Tang court that way.  In fact, Zhang Qian had wondered something similar when he made it to the site of the new home of the Yuezhi, in Bactria.  Even then, in the 2nd century, he saw products in the marketplace that he identified as coming from around Szechuan.  That would mean south of the Han dynasty, and he couldn't figure out how those trade routes might exist and they weren't already known to the court.  Merchants would have had to traverse the dangerous mountains if they wanted to avoid being caught by the Xiongnu, who controlled the entire region. After returning to the Han court, Zhang Qian actually went out on another expedition to the south, trying to find the southern trade routes, but apparently was not able to do so.  That said, we do see, in later centuries, the trade routes open up between the area of the Sichuan basin and South Asia.  We also see the migrations of people further south, and there may have even been some Roman merchants who traveled up this route to find their way to the Han court, though those accounts are not without their own controversy. In either case, whether by land or sea, these trade routes were not always open.  In some cases, seasonal weather, such as monsoons, might dictate movement back and forth, while political realities were also a factor.  Still, it is worth remembering that even though most people were largely concerned with affairs in their own backyard, the world was still more connected than people give it credit for.  Tang dynasty pottery made its way to the east coast of Africa, and ostriches were brought all the way to Chang'an. As for the travelers from Tukhara and why they would take this long and very round-about method of travel, it is possible that they were just explorers, seeking new routes, or even on some kind of pilgrimage.  Either way, they would have been way off course. But if they did pass through Southeast Asia, that would match up with another theory about what “Tukara” meant: that it actually refers to the Dvaravati kingdom in what is now modern Thailand.  The Dvaravati Kingdom was a Mon political entity that rose up around the 6th century.  It even sent embassies to the Sui and Tang courts.  This is even before the temple complexes in Siem Reap, such as Preah Ko and the more famous Angkor Wat.  And it was during this time that the ethnic Tai people are thought to have started migrating south from Yunnan, possibly due to pressures from the expanding Sui and Tang empires.  Today, most of what remains of the Dvaravati kingdom are the ruins of ancient stone temples, showing a heavy Indic influence, and even early Buddhist practices as well.  “Dvaravati” may not actually be the name of the kingdom but it comes from an inscription on a coin found from about that time.  The Chinese refer to it as  “To-lo-po-ti” in contemporary records.  It may not even have been a kingdom, but  more of a confederation of city-states—it is hard to piece everything together.  That it was well connected, though, is clear from the archaeological record.  In Dvaravati sites, we see coins from as far as Rome, and we even have a lamp found in modern Pong Tuk that appears to match similar examples from the Byzantine Empire in the 6th century.  Note that this doesn't mean it arrived in the 6th century—similarly with the coins—but the Dvaravati state lasted until the 12th century. If that was the case, perhaps there were some women from a place called “Shravasti” or similar, especially given the Indic influence in the region. Now, given the location of the Dvaravati, it wouldn't be so farfetched to think that someone might sail up from the Gulf of Thailand and end up off-course, though it does mean sailing up the entire Ryukyuan chain or really running off course and finding yourself adrift on the East China sea.  And if they were headed to the Tang court, perhaps they did have translators or knew Chinese, since Yamato was unlikely to know the Mon language of Dvaravati and people from Dvaravati probably wouldn't know the Japonic language.  Unless, perhaps, they were communicating through Buddhist priests via Sanskrit. We've now heard two possibilities for Tukara, both pretty far afield: the region of Tokara in Bactria, and the Dvaravati kingdom in Southeast Asia.  That said, the third and simplest explanation—and the one favored by Aston in his translation of the Nihon Shoki—is that Tukara is actually referring to a place in the Ryukyu island chain.  Specifically, there is a “Tokara” archipelago, which spans between Yakushima and Amami-Oshima.  This is part of the Nansei islands, and the closest part of the Ryukyuan island chain to the main Japanese archipelago.  This is the most likely theory, and could account for the entry talking about Amami.  It is easy to see how sailors could end up adrift, too far north, and come to shore in Hyuga, aka Himuka, on the east side of Kyushu.  It certainly would make more sense for them to be from this area of the Ryukyuan archipelago than from anywhere else.  From Yakushima to Amami-Oshima is the closest part of the island chain to Kyushu, and as we see in the entry from the Shoku Nihongi, those three places seem to have been connected as being near to Japan.  So what was going on down there, anyway? Well, first off, let's remember that the Ryukyuan archipelago is not just the island of Okinawa, but a series of islands that go from Kyushu all the way to the island of Taiwan.  Geographically speaking, they are all part of the same volcanic ridge extending southward.  The size of the islands and their distance from each other does vary, however, creating some natural barriers in the form of large stretches of open water, which have shaped how various groups developed on the islands. Humans came to the islands around the same time they were reaching the Japanese mainland.  In fact, some of our only early skeletal remains for early humans in Japan actually come from either the Ryukyuan peninsula in the south or around Hokkaido to the north, and that has to do with the acidity of the soil in much of mainland Japan. Based on genetic studies, we know that at least two groups appear to have inhabited the islands from early times.  One group appears to be related to the Jomon people of Japan, while the other appears to be more related to the indigenous people of Taiwan, who, themselves, appear to have been the ancestors of many Austronesian people.  Just as some groups followed islands to the south of Taiwan, some appear to have headed north.  However, they only made it so far.  As far as I know there is no evidence they made it past Miyakoshima, the northernmost island in the Sakishima islands.  Miyako island is separated from the next large island, Okinawa, by a large strait, known as the Miyako Strait, though sometimes called the Kerama gap in English.  It is a 250km wide stretch of open ocean, which is quite the distance for anyone to travel, even for Austronesian people of Taiwan, who had likely not developed the extraordinary navigational technologies that the people who would become the Pacific Islanders would discover. People on the Ryukyu island chain appear to have been in contact with the people of the Japanese archipelago since at least the Jomon period, and some of the material artifacts demonstrate a cultural connection.  That was likely impacted by the Akahoya eruption, about 3500 years ago, and then re-established at a later date.  We certainly see sea shells and corals trade to the people of the Japanese islands from fairly early on. Unlike the people on the Japanese archipelago, the people of the Ryukyuan archipelago did not really adopt the Yayoi and later Kofun culture.  They weren't building large, mounded tombs, and they retained the character of a hunter-gatherer society, rather than transitioning to a largely agricultural way of life.  The pottery does change in parts of Okinawa, which makes sense given the connections between the regions.  Unfortunately, there is a lot we don't know about life in the islands around this time.  We don't exactly have written records, other than things like the entries in the Nihon Shoki, and those are hardly the most detailed of accounts.  In the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, we see people from Yakushima, which is, along with Tanegashima, one of the largest islands at the northern end of the Ryukyu chain, just before you hit Kagoshima and the Osumi peninsula on the southern tip of Kyushu.  The islands past that would be the Tokara islands, until you hit the large island of Amami. So you can see how it would make sense that the people from “Tokara” would make sense to be from the area between Yakushima and Amami, and in many ways this explanation seems too good to be true.  There are a only a few things that make this a bit peculiar. First, this doesn't really explain the woman from “Sha'e” in any compelling way that I can see.  Second, the name, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna doesn't seem to fit with what we generally know about early Japonic names, and the modern Ryukyuan language certainly is a Japonic language, but there are still plenty of possible explanations.  There is also the connection of Tokara with “Tokan”, which is mentioned in an entry in 699 in the Shoku Nihongi, the Chronicle that follows on, quite literally to the Nihon Shoki.  Why would they call it “Tokan” instead of “Tokara” so soon after?  Also, why would these voyagers go back to their country by way of the Tang court?  Unless, of course, that is where they were headed in the first place.  In which case, did the Man from Tukara intentionally leave his wife in Yamato, or was she something of a hostage while they continued on their mission?   And so those are the theories.  The man from “Tukara” could be from Tokhara, or Tokharistan, at the far end of the Silk Road.  Or it could have been referring to the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern Thailand.  Still, in the end, Occam's razor suggests that the simplest answer is that these were actually individuals from the Tokara islands in the Ryukyuan archipelago.  It is possible that they were from Amami, not that they drifted there.  More likely, a group from Amami drifted ashore in Kyushu as they were trying to find a route to the Tang court, as they claimed.  Instead they found themselves taking a detour to the court of Yamato, instead. And we could have stuck with that story, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be a good time to reflect once again on how connected everything was.  Because even if they weren't from Dvaravati, that Kingdom was still trading with Rome and with the Tang.  And the Tang controlled the majority of the overland silk road through the Tarim basin.  We even know that someone from Tukhara made it to Chang'an, because they were mentioned on a stele that talked about an Asian sect of Christianity, the “Shining Religion”, that was praised and allowed to set up shop in the Tang capital, along with Persian Manicheans and Zoroastrians.  Regardless of where these specific people may have been from, the world was clearly growing only more connected, and prospering, as well. Next episode we'll continue to look at how things were faring between the archipelago and the continent. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

Last time we continued to speak about the Kumul Rebellion.. Ma Shaowu, appointed as Taoyin, executed rival Ma Fuxing and tightened anti-Soviet policies, responding to growing Soviet influence following Yang Zengxin's assassination in 1928. Kashgar became a refuge for conservative Turkic Muslims opposing Chinese authority, amidst a backdrop of rising tension with Tungan troops, perceived as oppressors. By 1931, as news of the Kumul Rebellion spread, resistance against the Han Chinese intensified, emboldening local insurgents to unite against their enemies. In May 1932, Jin sought vengeance against Tsetsen Puntsag Gegeen, the Torgut Mongol regent, hosting him under the guise of an investigation. At a banquet, Tsetsen was executed, igniting fury among the Turkic peoples. As the Kumul Rebellion grew, rebel leaders Ma Fuming and Ma Shihming united forces, launching assaults that devastated Chinese control. By March 1933, Ma Shaowu found his authority diminished, desperately appealing for British aid as rebellion spread, leaving Xinjiang in chaos.   #134 Kumul Rebellion part 3: A Game of Thrones in Southern Xinjiang Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. So we last left off in mid March, where Ma Shaowu's control over southern Xinjiang had diminished to just a wedge of territory around Kashgar, Maral Bashi and Yarkland. Morale was so low, Ma Shaowu asked the British Indian government for military assistance as it seemed apparent no help would come from Urumqi. Ma Shaowu had received 3 telegrams from Jin via the USSR lines; the first confirmed his position as Commander in Chief; the second relayed Jin's brother's death and the third directed Jin Kashgar representatives to remit a large sum of money to his personal bank account in Tientsin. That last signal must have been a banger to read. Despite reinforcements sent to Yarkland under Colonel Chin, rampant inflation went unchecked and a sense of panic spread amongst the Chinese officials stationed in the region. In response the Chinese officials began withdrawing into Yarkland New City which was fortified with walls being hurriedly repaired and reinforced. Apparently heavy stones were placed all atop the walls to be thrown upon the rebels and 500 dummy figures were placed on the walls to “give the impression of a well-manned rampart”. When you start making dummy's for a wall defense, you know you are going to die. On March 21st, insurgent forces at Tokhta Langar advanced upon Yarkland. Colonel Chin's men made no attempt to resist the rebels and instead looted Guma and fell back using little known hill track by passing Karghalik and Posgam, killing large numbers of Uyghur civilians for good measure in the process. The rebels advanced straight to Yarkland unnopposed seizing Karghalik and Posgam in the process. Within both places a number of Hindu moneylenders of British Indian nationality were slaughtered. Back in Yarkland New City the provincial forces continued to bolster their defenses. By late March a group of 150 Chinese troops who had fled the rebels at Khotan arrived with a further 300 showing up to the oasis on April 2nd. During this period Muslim insurgents had massed up along the east bank of Yarkland River. They looked ill-armed and untrained as they forced the river during the first week of April. On the 11th of April Yarkland Old City fell to a mixed rebel force from Khotan, Karghalik and Posgam, seeing roughly 100 Chinese who were still outside the fortified New City massacred. In the afternoon, the bazaar connecting the Old and New Cities of Yarkand was set ablaze and completely destroyed. The shops belonging to Chinese moneylenders were ravaged, and their belongings were looted, leading to a siege of Yarkand New City. On the 12, rebel forces moved beyond Yarkand towards Kok Rabat, a key point on the route to Kashgar. At the same time, additional insurgent reinforcements from Khotan began to pour into the Yarkand Oasis. So by April, Ma Shaowu's position was simply done for, his only hope was to reach an agreement with the incoming force led by Ma Chanzeng. He opened up negotiations with Ma Chanzeng through the British Consul General at Kashgar, Fitzmaurice. However Ma Chanzeng could not speak for his Uyghur ally Temur, whom he was having issues with. To make matters worse, the Kirghiz levies began to mutiny on April 5th at Sughun Karaul, a Chinese fortified post roughly 65 miles northwest of Kashgar. This was followed by peasant uprisings amongst the Uyghurs at Artush and Fayzabad. Facing this Ma Shaowu ordered Brigadier Yang and the troops at Maral Bashi to fall back to Kashgar. Before departing Maral Bashi Yans troops burned and looted the town after which “They set out on their way to Kashgar with a large number of carts laden with refugees or loot or both; but this proved to be the last straw. The troops made slow progress, and in the meantime the whole countryside, incensed beyond endurance, rose against the Chinese. A bridge was broken at Kara Yulgun and, while the column was halted, it was set upon by a vast horde of rebels”. Karma is a bitch as they say. Brigadier Yang was wounded during the ambush and taken prisoner by rebels. Of his original force of around 1000, its estimated only 65 men limped back to Kashgar by the 27th of april. Meanwhile the main bulk of the Kirghiz mutineers advanced to Artush by April 15th from whence they menaced Kashgar as other Kirghiz groups attacked Kizil Oi and Ulugh Chat and demolish Chinese pots at Bulun Kul. With the dissolvement of Brigadier Yangs forces from Maral Bashi, Kashgar was completely vulnerable and isolated. Ma Shaowu, was probably very anxious to reach an agreement with Ma Chanzeng, but still took the precaution of preparing for a siege. As the Chinese were soiling themselves awaiting the rebel attacks, suddenly a divide emerged between the Tungan and Turkic factions. It appeared Ma Chanzeng had become concerned over reports of Uyghur insurgents rising up in Khotan, who owed him no loyalty. So he decided to reach an agreement with Ma Shaowu. Ma Shaowu agreed to allow Tungan power to be established at Kashgar, the military and economic key to southern Xinjiang. Ma Chanzeng dispatched a message via the British Consul general at Kashgar offering assurance that the sole objective of the Tungan forces in Xinjiang was to overthrow the tyrannical Jin Shujen and his reforms. Thus having seemingly distanced himself from the Turkic speaking Muslims of the south, whose apparent goal was to fully succeed from the Chinese Republic, Ma Chanzeng and Temur advanced to Kashgar.  Back over in Kashgar Old City, Turkic speaking nationalists calling themselves the Young Kashgar Party or “YKP” had become suspicious of Ma Chanzeng's motives and believed perhaps there was collusion between Gansu Tungans and Ma Shaowu. The Uyghurs feared this would lead to Tungan domination of Kashgar and the replacement of Han Chinese tyrants for Tungan tyrants. 7 leading members of the YKP set out from Kashgar to persuade Ma Chanzeng that Ma Shaowu would betray him. They met at Fayzabad with Uthman Ali, the leader of the Kirghiz mutineers present. Upon hearing their plea, Ma Chanzeng asked Uthman Ali to lead the Kirghiz to attack Kashgar Old City. Early on May 2nd, Uthman Ali led a large Kirghiz force against the Old city and according to the eye witness account of the British Consul General “They took up positions opposite each of the four gates of the city and at the same time sent parties to call up the country people Uyghurs. These appeared from all sides in thousands, armed with clubs and sticks, and there was a great display of enthusiasm ... Firing continued until about two in the afternoon, when the Kirghiz either forced an entry or were admitted by the Tushik Gate'. Most of the non-Chinese garrison simply joined the rebels. At the yamen, Ma Shaowu and his personal bodyguard continued to hold out as the Kirghiz secured the Old City, but notably prevented the Uyghurs from looting and ordered them back to their villages. The reason for this unexpected restraint became clear the next day, when the Kirghiz were left in sole possession of the Old City, and who proceeded to sack it themselves. The British Consul General estimated 100 Chinese were killed and their looted property was carried off or auctioned on the street. During the afternoon around 300 Uyghurs led by Temur arrived at Kashgar and were admitted into the Old City without any question by the Kirghiz, followed by the Tungans with Ma Chanzeng. Both forces marched to the walls of Kashgar New City, roughly 2.5 miles distant and after negotiations with the Chinese defenders were allowed entrance. The British Consul General had this to say of the moment “It was probably better to surrender to the Tungans than to be slaughtered by the Kirghiz”. With the fall of Kashgar New City, Han Chinese power in southern Xinjiang, excluding the besieged garrison of Yarkland New City was effectively brought to an end.  On May 7th, Ma Chanzeng realized the YKP had misled him and that Temur was under their influence and thus no longer a reliable ally. After the capture of Kashgar Old City, it seems the Kirghiz began negotiating with Temur over the spoils of their victory and made zero attempt to loot the Old City Yamen where Ma Shaowu was holding out. Ma Shaowu would make a invaluable ally against the Turkic nationalists who controlled Old city and much of southern Xinjiang. Thus Ma Chanzeng began secretly negotiating with Ma Shaowu. As a result the next day, Ma Chanzengs men put up notices announcing that the Taoyin and other officials of the former regime should retain their official posts. This obviously pissed off the Turkic Muslims who did now share the same loyalty to the Chinese Republic as the Tungans. The Kirghiz immediately manned the walls and closed the gates of the Old City, preparing to face the Tungans. At this point Ma Shaowu defused the situation temporarily by resigning as Taoyin and handed the officials seals over to Ma Chanzeng. Ma Chanzeng did not take the title of Taoyin, but certainly controlled the Old City Yamen and New City, keeping Ma Shaowu close and protected. It seems Ma Chanzengs strategy was to try and drive a wedge between Uthman Ali's Kirghiz and Temurs Uyghurs before a unified Turkic alliance could form, perhaps one that even incorporated Khotan forces. He was of course concerned with limiting the influence of the YKP who seemed to be as anti-Tungan as they were anti-Chinese. On the 10th he ordered the arrest of the most prominent YKP leader, Abd al-Rahim Bay Bachcha, who was released only after agreeing to supply the Tungan forces with 1000 uniforms at his own expense. Following this, Ma Chanzeng seized Temur who had just been proclaimed commander in chief of the combined Muslim armies at Kashgar. Temuar was invited to a meeting at the Old City Yamen on the 17th where he was placed under arrest. Had Ma Chanzeng managed to transfer his captive into the New City, he may have succeeded in his plans. But he did not have enough men to man both the Old and New Cities and when he tried to block the Uyghurs and Kirghiz from rescuing Temur they simply stormed the city walls.  With the failure to secure Temur, Ma Chanzeng had basically revealed to the Turkic Muslims and confirmed the claims of the YKP that he intended to set up a Tungan regime in Kashgar. On May 18th the pissed of Kirghiz mounted a surprise attack on the Old City. They avoided the yamen where Ma Chanzeng and Ma Shaowu remained, as Tungan forces there were heavily armed with artillery and machine guns, but murdered any other Tungans they found in the Old City. Fighting went on throughout the day and night. As a result of the Kirghiz attack, Ma Chanzeng agreed to hand control over Kashgar to Temur and Uthman Ali. On the 19th a very inconclusive treaty was signed seeing Temur confirmed as the Commander in Chief and Uthman Ali promoted to General in command of Kirghiz forces. Ma Chanzeng was given no official position, but retained control of the TUngan troops and on the 22nd accompanied by all of them withdrew from the yamen to Kashgar New City. Meanwhile Ma Chanzengs Tungan chief of staff, Su Qinzhou and Yunus Beg, a Uyghur of Kumul were appointed joint Taoyin of Kashgar and Ma Shaowu was permitted to take up residence in a nearby country house under protection from both Temur and Chanzeng.  The truce was followed awkward and uneasy peace with the Tungans controlling New City and the Turking speaking Muslims the Old City and Taoyins yamen. Fitzmaurice went on to state “that 'Ma Chanzeng, Temur and Uthman Ali all settled down to the congenial business of accumulating wealth and wives, whilst the YKP continued its intrigues against the Tungans, organized a 'parliament' of forty members, subsequently greatly expanded, and sent two delegates to Khoja Niyas Hajji, the leader of the Uighur rebels at Kumul”.  By this point it seemed Temur had fallen completely under the influence of the YKP and began issuing passports styling himself as “Temur Shah”. These documents also employed the Islamic Hijri date and not the Chinese Republic date, thwarting Nanjing's authority.  Over in the southern rim of the Tarim Basin, an are untroubled by the Tungan invasion and free from the Kirghiz movement, Khotan had emerged as a center of exclusive Uyghur control. Ismail Khan Khoja, the leader of the gold miner rebels of Karakash was soon eclipsed by the Uyghur nationalist committee for national revolution, known as the CNR, who was founded in Khotan in early 1932 by Muhammad Amin Bughra. Muhammad Amin Bughra was a scholar in his 30's and alongside his two younger brothers, Abdullah and Nur Ahmad, with some friends and fellow students began the movement. In early 1933 this group was joined by Abd al-Baqi Sabit Damullah, a teacher and former Qadi, that being an islamic judge from Kulja who had traveled extensively through the USSR, Turkey, Egypt and India. According to Muhammad Amin Bughra, “Sabit Damullah brought political information and experience to the Khotanlik Committee for National Revolution”. They were only 300 members who possessed nothing more than 50 antiquated rifles. Their political philosophy, like that of the YKP was uncompromising, they were nationalists who were extremely anti-communist, anti-christian, anti-tungan and anti-Han. The CNR favored the establishment of an Islamic theocracy in Xinjiang, with Muhammad AMin Bughra as its head of state. Muhammad Amin Bughra was working in Khotan as a mudarris, or teacher at Quranic college when an uprising began in February of 1933 in Karakash and Surghak. On the 20th of February the CNR leadership met and formed a provisional government with Muhammad Niyas Alam as president, Sabit Damullah as Prime Minister and Muhammad Amin Bughra as commander of the armed forces. Muhammad Amin Bughra also took the title “Amir al-islam” while his younger brothers took “Amir Abdullah khan” and “Amir Nur Ahmad Jan”. In most sources the rise of the CNR provisional government is referred to as the Government of the Khotan Amirs. Their new government was religiously intolerant, as a result when Khotan New City was captured on March 16th, the 266 or so Han Chinese there were forcibly converted to Islam. Following that, the Hindu moneylenders were murdered and the Swedish missionaries were exiled. Shari a law was implemented under the CNR with strict application of hadd criminal legislation. Between March and April the regime was reinforced by Janib Beg, a well known Basmachi leader who fled the USSR to reside in the Keriya Oasis under Ma Shaowu's control. Janib Beg made common cause with the Amirs and given his extensive military experience during the Basmachi struggle was placed in charge of a large body of Khotanlik rebel forces.  After they secured the Khotan Oasis, the Amirs began expanding their influence east towards Lop Nor and west towards Kashgar. In response to a appeal from the Uyghurs of Charchan who were resisting their Tungan liberators, a force of 100 Khotanliks came to guard against the Kara Shahr Tungan who were occupying the Charkhlik Oasis. Meanwhile in the west, Khotanlik forces captured Guma, Karghalik, Posgam and Yarkland Old City by early April. During the fight for Yarkland New City, over 2000 Han Chinese and Tungans were besieged by their forces. On the 24th, Amir Badullah Khan arrived to Yarkland to personally oversee the siege of its New City. According to Fitzmaurice, the Khotanlik forces had organized a military band, were doning red uniforms in stark contrast to the Tungan troops of Ma Chanzeng who wore green. Amir Badullah was greeted with a large ceremony as Turking speaking officials who had previously served under the Han Chinese were dragged through the streets in chains. On the 27th Amir Abdullah ordered the Swedish missionaries in Yarkland to be arrested and brought to him. We are told “Abdullah kicked and beat them himself, announcing that by their teaching the missionaries had destroyed the religion of Islam, and that it was therefore his duty to kill them'. The poor Swe's were only saved from a firing squad by the intervention of some British officials, instead they were exiled. Afterwards Abdullah focused his attention upon the siege of Yarkland New City. He ordered the water supply cut and for tunnels to be made to breach the walls. On the 27th three delegates from Ma Shaowu came to Yarkland and attempted to negotiate with Abdullah. Abdullahs response was to shoot a prisoner in their presence in what he called “a method of bringing them to a proper state of mind”. Then Abdullah sent them into the besieged New City to inform its defenders that their lives and property would be spared if they simply agreed to convert to Islam and lay down their arms. The besieged Han Chinese led by Colonel Qin, hastily agreed to the terms and on May 12th prepared to surrender. Shortly before this date however, the first Tungan and Turkic speaking troops, fresh from their victory at Kashgar arrived. Believing victory was well within his grasp, Abdullah became openly hostile with the Tungans and made it clear the newcomers were not appreciated. Faced with Khotanlik hostility, the small but well armed Tungans who owed their allegiance to Ma Chanzeng, and through him to Ma Chongying, entered the New City and strengthened its Tungan elements against the Khotanliks. Abdullah was shocked by this revelation and his hostility also had the effect of hardening the Chinese Muslim troops. They even sortied on May 18th briefly attacking and capturing the Altin and Khanqah gates of Yarkland Old City, setting fire to the surrounding areas before pulling back to New City. The Uyghur troops of Aksu and Kashgar led by Hafiz, a subordinate of Temur seemed to be keeping a neutral stance until the 22nd when news of the Tungan-Turkic conflict at Kashgar reached them. Following this, the two Turkic speaking armies at Yarkland cooperated in the siege of the New City. Despite the cooperation, Hafiz and Abdullah remained bitter rivals. Facing the united Turkic attack and realizing there would be no relief efforts from Kashgar, the Chinese of Yarkland New City surrendered on the 26th taking the original terms Abdullah had given them back on the 12th. The surrender would be incomplete however as the Tungans insisted on retaining their weapons and being allowed to go to Kashgar. The victorious Uyghurs and Kirghiz took 540 rifles from the Chinese and divided the spoils. However the men under Hafiz notably took the best quality rifles out of the pickings.  The defeated Chinese and defiant Tungans were divided into two groups roughly 1000 each and given permission to go to Kashgar. Neither party would reach its destination unmolested however. The first column, made up mostly of Tungan cavalry, was attacked and cut to pieces near Kizil. What became known as the Kizil Massacre was performed by a group of Kirghiz who owed their allegiance to Uthman Ali. Following the Kizil massacre, the Kirghiz irregulars entered Yangi Hissar where they killed all the Han Chinese and Tungans they could find. The second column was attacked and looted before they even got out of Yarkland, but did not undergo a massacre. When news came of the Kazil and Yangi Hissar massacrs to Kashgar, Su Qinzhou, the Tungan joint Taoyin departed the Old City Yamen to protest the killing of fellow Tungans and joined Ma Chanzeng in Kashgar New City. On May 31st, the Uyghurs of Aksu rose up and expelled the few Muslim Chinese that remained in their Oasis. The Taoyin that had been appointed by Ma Chanzeng and therefore was considered too pro-Tungan was removed from his post and replace by the leader of the Aksu insurgents, a Uyghur named Ismail Beg whose loyalty belongs to the anti-tungan Khotan Amirs.  The fall of Yarkland New City, massacre at Kizil and Yangi Hissar had not just signaled the final collapse of Han Chinese authority in southern Xinjiang, but also the alienation of Chinese speaking Muslims from their Turkic speaking neighbors. By the summer of 1933, the political power struggle in the south was now between the Uyghur and Kirghiz factions led by Amir Muhammad Amin Bughra at Khotan and the Tungan forces of Ma Chanzeng at Kashgar New City. Excluding Ma Chanzeng's forces the struggle over southern Xinjiang was more or less fought between the rival Turkic speaking Muslim factions at Khotan and Kashgar. Following the fall of Yarkland New City on the 26th of May, Temurs representative Hafiz attempted to conciliate with the Khotan Amirs, who were not happy their side got the less impressive rifles when they distributed the loot. Hafiz strengthened his forces then estimated to be 400 Uyghurs from Aksu and Kashfar, by conscripting another 200 Dunlanis from Merket.  Discovering this, the Amirs transferred command over their Yarkland forces to the youngest brother, Nur Ahmad Jan, while Abdullah set out for Kashgar at the head of 2000 Khotanliks. This action seems to be done to place pressure upon Temur. Meanwhile another force of 1000 Khotanliks under the Basmachi Janib Beg arrived at Kashgar on June 11th. Janib Beg's arrival with his poorly armed troops caused uproar amongst the local Turkic speaking leadership and Soviet Consulate General who feared the anti-Soviet Basmachi leader would swing the ongoing revolution to the right. Janib Beg immediately established his HQ at the garden of the Turkic nationals Abd Al-Rahim Bay Bachcha, raising the old spectre of an alliance forming between the Khotan AMirs and YKP, elements of whom were currently in favor of cooperating with the USSR. On July 4th, the Khotanlik presence was substantially increased by the arrival of Amir Abdullah, who brought over Prime Minister Sabit Dammulah and Shaykh al-Islam. Although Abdullahs forces were numerous, they were very ill-equipped. British reports indicate about 300 of them were armed with Russian rifles while another 300 had antiquated muzzle loaders and the rest bore Chumaq or heavy clubs. Nevertheless they posed a threat to both Uthman Ali and Temur, neither of whom sought to share the large stocks of food, money and arms they had looted in Kashgar New City. Temur made an elaborate show of welcoming Abdullah, installing him at the garden between the Old and New Cities pending more suitable arrangements.  Meanwhile at Yarkland, negotiations between Hafiz and Nur Ahmad Jan continued. Hafiz on behalf of Temur claimed territories of the Yarkland River, including Yarkland Old and New City, while Nur Ahmad Jan on behalf of the Khotan Islamic Government countered with claiming Kashgar and Maral Bashi. After a couple of incidents between the two armies, Nur Ahmad Jan took action against a number of Yarkandlik Begs who had petitioned Hafiz to intervene on their behalf. All the offenders were executed with their severed heads and displayed in public to antagonize Hafiz. When news of this reached Temur at Kashgar he was royally pissed and decided to make a move against the Khotanlik forces at Kashgar. Temur sought the support of his Kirghiz ally Uthman Ali, stressing the threat the Amir's would make to his position and bought off numerous other Kirghiz leaders. By mid-July, Uthman and his Kirghiz cavalry prepared to return to the mountains above Kashgar lulling the Khotanlik's into a false sense of security. Then suddenly on the morning of July 13th, Temur sent a force of 750 men to arrest Janib Beg. Abdullah was informed of this and sent 100 of his men to help Janib Beg, but they arrived too late and found themselves likewise arrested.  Following this minor success against Janib Beg, Temur and Thman Ali coordinated their efforts against Abdullah. They managed to corner and arrest him while disarming a large number of his troops. Realizing he was in imminent danger of getting arrested as well, al-islam Sabit Damullah fled for Artush, but was caught and quickly brought back to the Old City Yamen. During these actions casualties were quite light for both sides. On the night of July 13th, Abdullah and Sabit Damullah were placed under house arrest at the gardens, while Janib Beg was kept under close arrest. Now the new balance of power in southern Xinjiang had been held at a conference in Kashgar Old City on July 4th, attended by all the prominent Muslim leaders except Janib Beg and Ma Chanzeng. At the meeting it was agreed that the entire Yarkland Oasis should be transferred to Temurs control, while the Khotan Islamic government would be on the east bank of the Yarkland River. When news of this agreement reached Yarkland however, panic set in amongst the Khotanlik troops who had been ordred to withdraw from Yarkland New City by Hafiz. Hafiz moved quickly to exploit the situation, sending 200 men to hold the ferries across the Yarkland River to cut off the Khotanlik retreat. He arrested Nur Ahmad Jan and disarmed hundreds of his troops in the process. Nur Ahmad Jan was imprisond in Yarkland Old City, just as his brother Abdullah was in Kashgar. Shortly after this, in violation of the agreements made as Kashgar, Hafiz sent his forces across the Yarkland River into the territory of the Khotan government and captured the town of Karghalik on July 20th.  The major reverses of the Khotan Amirs followed closely with the withdrawal of Ma Chanzeng's Tungan forces to Kashgar New City, leaving the victorious Uyghur leader Temur and Kirghiz leader Uthman Ali well placed to expand their political control over the whole of western Tarim Basin. Such a feat could have been possible, if both leaders were capable of cooperating against the besieged Tungans. Uthman Ali, now taking the name Amir Al-Muslimin “prince of the believers” and Ghazi “holy warrior” was keen to attack Ma Chanzeng, whom he had personal quarrels. Temur on the other hand was not keen on full scale war against his former ally. Thus Uthman Ali withdrew from Kashgar to the hills on July 18th. Shortly after his departure, on the 26th a party of Khoja Niyas Hajjis officers, accompanied by 30 Kumullik soldiers arrived at Kashgar and presented Temur with an official seal and letter recognising his position as Commander in Chief of Kashgar. Its alleged, Khoja Niyas Hajji's delegates pressured Temur to attack Ma Chanzeng's forces in Kashgar New City. But Temur still did not want to do so, but agreed to invite Uthman Ali back to Kashgar to possibly perform joint operations against the besieged New City. Uthman Ali came back, but by August 8th, he departed again as Temur proved too reluctant to act. It seems Temur may have seen the situation as an ideal one to eliminate his Kirghiz ally and emerge the sole Turkic speaking Muslim commander in Kashgar. In any case he secretly formed an agreement with Ma Chanzeng and sent a large part of his army to pursue and disarm Uthman Ali and his Kirghiz forces. How Temurs Uyghur irregular infantry would overtake disarming mounted Kirghiz troops is anyone's guess. On August 9th, Temur left Kashgar Old City by car to see how his men were faring. Shortly after a force of 500 Tungans rapidly overran the ill defended Old City. Temur had made a fatal mistake. He was intercepted by Ma Chanzengs men on his way back to the Old City, where he was arrested and shot without ceremony. His head was cut off and placed on a spike outside the Id-gat Mosque in Kashgar Old City. Its like game of thrones in Xinjiang isnt it? As a result of slaying Temur, the Uyghur forces were left leaderless. Both Janib Beg and Abdullah took advantage of the chaos and escaped prison, fleeing southeast towards Yarkland. Ma Shaowu likewise slipped away from his house arrest, fleeing to Ma Chanzeng. The Tungans made zero effort to garrison the Old City, but disarmed and plundered its arsenal. On August 13th, Uthman Ali returned to Kashgar and sent a message to Ma Chanzeng asking his Kirghiz forces be given a share of the weapons taken from Temurs men. Ma Chanzeng refused to comply, so the Kirghiz forces attacked Old city, capturing it easily by the 16th. During the battle Uthman Ali's younger bother Umar was killed alongside 150 Kirghiz when they failed to attack the walls of New City. After taking Old City, Uthman Ali assumed Temurs title as Commander in Chief of the Turkic speaking forces at Kashgar. But he did not enjoy the full support of the Uyghurs and his Kirghiz had no hunger to attack the walls of New City, eager to return to their lands in Tien Shan. Then two new and unexpected things happened. On the 26th of August, a Syrian Arab adventurer named Tawfiq Bay arrived at Kashgar. He was a charismatic character, claiming to be a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad and had served for a time as an official under King Abd Al Aziz ibn-saud and a man who had formal military training and experience. Two days later the representatives of Khoja Niyas Hajji, arrived as a Kumullik delegation. They soon rallied the dispirited Turkic speaking forces in Kashgar Old City and urged them to renew their attack against Ma Chanzeng. Uthman Ali and his Kirghiz forces thus renewed their attack, aided by the Uyghurs who were rallied under Tawfiq Bay.  Meanwhile on the southern front Hafiz had found out about Temurs death, thus he halted his advance against the Khotanlik forces and returned to Yarkland New City. At the same time Abdullah reappeared in Yarkland taking command of the undefended Old City. From this new base he rallied the disorganized Khotanlik forces still in Karghalik and began a siege of Yarkland New City, still held by Hafiz with a mixed force number 600 Uyghurs and Dulanis. Meanwhile both Tawfiq Bay and the representatives of Khoja Niyas Hajji at Kashgar sent messengers to the Amirs stressing the need for joint Turkic actions against the Tungans, and appealed for a cease-fire between Hafiz and Abdullah in Yarkland. On September 26, Yarkland New City opened its gates to the Khotanlik forces of Hafiz and allowed the Uyghurs of Aksu and Kashgar to leave the oasis disarmed, but unharmed. Following this Abdullah assumed control over Yarkland, while Nur Ahmad Jan advanced at the head of a large force to Yangi Hissar to take control over its fortified citadel. The Khotan Islamic government still led by Amir Muhammad Amin Bughra from Khotan was thus extended west to the fringes of Kashgar and upon invitation from Tawfiq Bay, the Khotanlik Prime Minister and Al-Islam Sabit Damullah, negotiated the formation of a unified Turkic speaking Muslim alliance in southern Xinjiang. The alliance was one of necessity as the Tungan forces of Ma Chanzeng were tossing back attacks by the combined forces of Taqfiq Bay and Uthman Ali with ease. On September 7th, the Tungans sortied from New City and devastated their enemy at the village of Sekes Tash, killing 200 Uyghurs and Kirghiz. Tawfiq Bay and Uthman Ali soon received reinforcements, including Hafiz and his 500 troops, 300 additional Uyghur recruits from Aksu under a officer named Idris and a rather mysterious force of 300 Andijani Uzbeks under the command of Satibaldi Jan, a 25 year old Uzbek from Soviet Uzbekistan. With this mixed and ill armed force they all tried to pressure Ma Chanzeng, but it was still to no avail. Attempts to mine the New City walls all ended in failure as did attempts to starve them out. Uthman Ali's Kirghiz and local Uyghurs began to run into conflicts, as the Kirghiz felt they were bearing the brunt of the fighting. Soon some Kirghiz had 3 Uyghurs executed in Old City for “filling cartridges with sand instead of power”. Other Uyghurs were hung publicly outside the Id-gah Mosque for selling food to the besieged Tungans. Support for the siege wavered and by late September morale was so low, the local authorities stopped issuing passports to stop a exodus from the Oasis. Then on the 26th, Tawfiq Bay was seriously injured and could no longer lead from the front. Uthman Ali then resigned from his post as commander in chief on October 2nd in shame, fleeing to the hills, followed closely by Satibaldi and other local leaders. A power vacuum in Kashgar opened up and was filled by Sabit Damullah, the Prime Minister of the Khotan Islamic Government. Thus in the end, with the exception of the Tungans held up in Kashgar New City, the Khotan Amirs now dominated southern Xinjiang. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In what can only be described as a form of Game of Thrones in Southern Xinjiang, numerous groups fought together, then against each other, then together, until one was king of the hill. The Tungans still clung onto Kashgar New City, but with the Khotan Amirs at the reigns, could they take it all?   

Last time we spoke about the beginning of the Kumul Rebellion. In 1931, tensions in Kumul escalated after a Muslim girl spurned Han tax collector Chang Mu, leading to his violent death at a family dinner. Enraged, Uyghurs retaliated against Chinese officials, igniting a rebellion. Chaos ensued as rebels targeted Han settlers, ultimately capturing Kumul with little resistance. Amidst the unrest, Yulbars Khan sought support from military leader Ma Chongying, who planned to mobilize his forces to help the Uyghurs. What began as a local incident spiraled into an all-out revolt against oppressive rule. In 1931, young warlord Ma Chongying sought to establish a Muslim empire in Central Asia, leading a small force of Tungan cavalry. As his army attempted to besiege Kumul Old City, they faced fierce resistance from Chinese troops. Despite several assaults, the lack of heavy artillery hampered Ma's progress. Eventually, Ma faced defeat due to a serious injury. After his recuperation, his forces joined with Uyghur insurgents, sparking a guerrilla war against oppressive provincial troops, leading to increasing unrest and rebellion.   #133 Kumul Rebellion part 2: Uprisings in southern Xinjiang Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. So in the last episode we spoke about the beginning of the Kumul Rebellion. Now the Kumul Rebellion is actually a series of other rebellions all interlaced into this larger blanket known as the Xinjiang Wars. To be blunt, Xinjiang was the wild west from the 1930s until basically the formation of the PRC. We briefly went over the various groups that inhabit northwestern China, they all had their own interests. I want to start off by looking at the situation of southern Xinjiang. Back in June of 1924, Ma Fuxing, the T'ai of Kashgar was executed. His executioner was Ma Shaowu who had just received the post of Taoyin over the oasis city of Khotan. There was of course always tension, but southern Xinjiang was relatively peaceful in the 1920s. Then Governor Yang Zengxin was assassinated in July of 1928. During the last years of his rule, southern Xinjiang often referred to as Kashgaria, remained entrenched in the British sphere of influence after the collapse of Tsarist Russia and the subsequent closure of the Imperial Russian consulate-General at Kashgar.  Going further back in time, in August of 1918, Sir Geoerge Macartney, the long standing British Consul General to Kashar had retired. His successor was Colonel P. T Etherton, a hardcore anti-communist who actively was cooperating with anti-Soviet Basmachi guerillas in the western portion of Turkestan. One of his missions was to curb Soviet influence in southern Xinjiang. Yang Zengxin understood the British policy towards Xinjiang was to push the Soviets out via enabling the survival of his independent Han led regime. Thus Yang Zengxin was very friendly to the British and allowed them to exercise considerable political influence in Tien Shan. Despite this Soviet influence spread in Ili and Zungharia. This prompted Yang Zengxin to secretly cooperate with the British in Kashgar to counter the looming red growth north of his province. Now by 1924, through a combination of military necessities and the re-emergence of Soviet Russia as Xinjiang's largest trading partner, this forced Yang Zengxin to push away the British. Following the Sino-Soviet agreement of 1924 which effectively saw the establishment of diplomatic relations between Moscow and Beijing, the Soviet government at Omsk dispatched an envoy to Xinjiang to discuss mutual consular representation. Both sides reached an agreement on October 6th, providing for an exchange of consulate-generals between Tashkent and Urumqi and for Soviet consulates in Chuguchak, Kulja, Shara Sume and Kashgar. The new Soviet presence in Kashgar was quite upsetting for the British. It also allowed the Soviets direct access to the densely populated oases of Tarim Basin, the source of nearly all Xinjiang's revenue.  Shortly after the Soviet Consulate in Kashgar officially opened on October 10, 1925, a local power struggle emerged involving Max Doumpiss, the Soviet Consul, of Latvian origin, Major Gillan, the British Consul-General at that time, and the Taoyin of Kashgar. Sino-Soviet relations in southern Xinjiang took a troubled turn in November 1925 when large quantities of silver bullion were discovered hidden in thirty-four boxes labeled as Soviet 'diplomatic bags,' intended for the Kashgar consulate. The Kashgar Taoyin, who was reportedly offended by the 'subtle spread of Soviet propaganda' in the southern oases, retaliated by expelling several suspected Russian agents. In March 1926, significant riots erupted in Kashgar, which the Chinese authorities attributed to an interpreter at the Soviet Consulate named Akbar 'Ali. The unrest was quelled by a force of 400 local Tungan troops, and Akbar 'Ali was imprisoned; the Taoyin ignored subsequent Soviet demands for his release. The rapid increase in the number of European consular staff from around fifteen in 1925 to between thirty and forty by 1927 also alarmed Chinese officials. All these developments were likely reported to Governor Yang Tseng-hsin in Urumchi, who was likely dealing with similar situations at the newly established Soviet Consulates in Kulja, Chuguchak, and Shara Sume. It appears that, with discreet British support, Yang decided to take actions to curb the expansion of Soviet influence in Kashgar. The Kashgar Taoyin then took up a strong anti-soviet stance. Alongside this Yang Zengxin's nephew, the officer in command of Chinese troops along the Kashgar northern frontier, suddenly became a frequent visitor to the British consulate General at Chini Bagh. After the death of the old Taoyin in 1927, Ma Shaowu came over from Khotan to replace him and with this came heightened anti-soviet policies in southern Xinjiang. Ma Shaowu first began by imprisoning 60 alleged local communists and tightened Chinese control over Kashgars northern frontier. The freedom of the Soviet Consul team to travel within southern Xinjiang was tightened to the extreme and all Kashgar citizens suspected of pro-soviet sympathies became targets for confiscation of their property or deportation to other oases. Yang Zengxin backed Ma Shaowu's attempts to limit Soviet influence in Tarim Basin by imposing severe tax on Muslims leaving southern Xinjiang to go on Hajj via the USSR. Similarly, new legislative was unleashed requiring merchants going into the USSR to deposit large sums of money to the Chinese authorities in Kashgar who would forfeit if the depositor failed to return to Xinjiang within 60 days.  These policies did not completely insulate southern Xinjiang from Soviet influence; however, they did ensure that at the time of Yang Zengxin's assassination in 1928, the southern region of the province—especially Ma Shao-wu's domain around Kashgar, Yarkand, and Khotan—maintained a significant degree of independence from the Soviet Union. This stood in stark contrast to areas like the Ili Valley, Chuguchak, and Shara Sume, where Soviet influence became dominant shortly after 1925, and even to the provincial capital of Urumqi, where, by the spring of 1928, the Soviet Consul-General had considerable sway. It was likely due to Ma Shaowu's anti-Soviet position and the persistent dominance of British influence in southern Xinjiang during the final years of Yang Zengxin's administration that Kashgar emerged as a hub of conservative Muslim opposition to Chinese governance in the 1930s. Yang Zengxins intentional efforts to sever southern Xinjiang from Soviet influence resulted in the Uighurs and, to a lesser extent, the Kirghiz of the Tarim Basin being less influenced by the 'progressive' nationalist propaganda from Soviet-controlled Western Turkestan compared to the Turkic-speaking Muslims of the Ili Valley and Zungharia. This is not to imply that the socialist nationalism promoted by the Jadidists after 1917 was entirely ineffective south of the Tien Shan; however, Kashgar, situated outside the Soviet zone in northwestern Sinkiang, became a natural refuge for right-wing Turkic nationalists and Islamic traditionalists who opposed Chinese authority yet were even more fiercely against the encroachment of 'atheistic communism' and its Soviet supporters in Central Asia. Many of these right-wing Turkic-speaking nationalists were former Basmachi guerrillas, primarily of Uzbek, Kazakh, and Kirghiz descent, but also included several Ottoman Turks and, according to Caroe, "old men who had fought against the Chinese at Kashgar." Among the most notable Basmachi leaders who sought refuge in Kashgar was Janib Beg, a Kirghiz who would play a significant role in the politics of southern xinjiang during the early 1930s. Following Yang Zengxin's assassination in July 1928, Soviet influence in southern Xinjiang began to grow rapidly; nevertheless, at the onset of the Kumul Rebellion in 1931, reports of forced collectivization and the suppression of nomadic lifestyles in Western Turkestan led many Turkic Muslims in southern Xinjiang to be wary of Soviet intentions. If, during the late 1920s and early 1930's, the Turkic Muslims of southern Xinjiang were divided in their approach towards the Soviets and the newly formed Turkic-Tajik SSR's in western Turkestan, they all were united in their attitude towards their Tungan brethren to the east. Unlike the Turkic Muslim rebels of Kumul, the Uyghurs and Kirghiz of southern Xinjiang were far too distant from Gansu to appeal for assistance from the Tungan warlords, such as the 5 Ma Clique. Besides the Han Chinese officials, rule over the oases of Tarim Basin had long been held by Tungans. Ma Fuxing, the Titai of Kashgar had ruthlessly exploited his Turkic Muslim subjects between 1916-1924. He himself was a Hui Muslim from Yunnan, as was Ma Shaowu. The Turkic Muslims of southern Xinjiang therefore had zero illusions of any “muslim brotherhood” with their Tungan brethren. It was Tungan troops who intervened to suppress any demonstration against Chinese rule. The Tungans of Tarim Basin were allies to the Han Chinese administration and thus enemies to the Turkic Muslim peoples. The western rim of Tarim Basin was in a unique political situation during the later half of Yang Zengxins rule as a large part of its Turkic Muslim population looked neither to the progressive Muslim leadership of western Turkestan nor the Tungan warlords of Gansu. Instead they looked at the regimes in Turkey and Afghanistans, both quite conservative. Contacts in these places were sparse ever since the Qing reconquest of Xinjiang. After the defeat of the Ottoman Empire in WW1, contact ceased to exist at all. Emotional links to what once was however lingerd, and the nationalist revolution of Ataturk sprang something of a Turkish renaissance inspiring Turkic peoples from Crimea to Kumul.  As for Afghanistan, there existed more concrete religious and political contacts with southern Xinjiang. In 1919, Amir Aman Allah, the last Muhammadzay ruler of Afghanistan had taken the throne after the death of his father. He became an impetuous ruler who brought forth his own downfall through a series of radical reforms that caused a revolution by 1928. Yet in his first years of rule he had widespread support of Muslim peoples in central asia, especially after he began the Third Afghan war against Britain, combined with a Jihad for Afghan independence. Because of this the British were forced to recognize Afghanistan's right to independent foreign policy. During this period, it is rumored Amir Aman Allah had toyed with the idea of forming an Islamic Confederacy which would have included Afghanistan, Bukhara, Khiva and Khokand. He would have also been interested in influence over Xinjiang where numerous Afghan merchants resided under British protection. Following Britains recognition of Afghanistan's right to independent foreign policy, with the 1919 treaty of Peshawar, British diplomatic protection for Afghan citizens in Xinjiang was lifted. Amir Aman Allah then established independent diplomatic links between Kabul and Urumqi, sending a delegation in 1922 led by Muhammad Sharif Khan. The Chinese officials regarded the Afghan mission as a trade delegation, but Muhammad Sharif Khan carried with him printed visiting cards styling himself as Afghanistan's Consul-General in Xinjiang. Alongside this he brought draft agreements demanding full extraterritorial rights and other privileges for Afghan subjects in Xinjiang and the right to import opium freely into the province. It is to no surprise Yang Zengxin refused to recognize the mission causing a dispute that would drag on for years. It became a long standing issue for th Turkic speaking Muslims of southern Xinjiang. There were many who looked to Afghanistan to help them against Chinese oppression. Now getting back to our timeline, with the initial outbreak of the Kumul Rebellion and the Tungan invasion, Jin Shujen had made every effort to prevent news of these events occurring mostly in the northeast from getting into the south. But of course one cannot stop the flow of information completely. Rumors and reports of the rebellious activities northeast flooded into the oases of Tarim Basin, invigorating anti-Chinese zeal, from peoples already suffering from increased taxation and inflation caused by unbacked paper currency paying for Jin's war efforts. Jin was well aware of the discontent south in his province, but he was emboldened by his victory of Ma Chongying as well as the recent delivery of 4000 rifles and 4 million rounds of ammunition from British held India. Thus he determined to maintain his current stance. It would prove to be a very fateful decision. The Kumul Rebellion was not crushed by any means. In fact the brutality following the relief of Kumul Old City caused outrage amongst the Turkic speaking peoples and sent refugees westwards towards Turfan. By May of 1932, Ma Chongying had dispatched a young Tungan Lt, Ma Shihming to take command over his Tungan forces remaining in Xinjiang. Ma Shihming quickly established his HQ in Turfan and began to cooperate with the Turkic speaking Muslim insurgents who owed their allegiance to Yulbars Khan and Khoja Niyas Haiji. It's also believed he made contact with Ma Fuming, a Tungan officer in command of the Xinjiang provincial forces at Turfan.  By mere coincidence, in May of 1932, Jin had also elected to seek revenge against Tsetsen Puntsag Gegeen, the Torgut Mongol regent inhabiting Tien Shan. That same guy he had asked for military aid from who simply took his army away. Tsetsen Puntsag Gegeen was invited to come back to Urumqi where he was to attend an investigation into the assassination plot laid against him. On May 21st, shortly after his arrival, he alongside two Torgut officers and the young Torgut Prince were all invited to an official banquet at Jin Shujens yamen. Now you might be thinking, who in their right mind would fall for that shit? Especially given the Yang Zengxin banquet story. Well according to R.P Watts, the British Vice Consul General at Kashgar who happened to be in Urumqi at the time. “While drinking the usual preliminary cup of tea the regent and the two military officers were led out into a courtyard and executed. According to Chinese custom in such matters proper observance was accorded to the high rank of regent even at the moment of execution. A red carpet was spread on the ground on which he was invited to seat himself. He was then killed by being shot through the head from behind by one of the governor's special executioners. His two companions being men of inferior rank were not given the privilege of a red carpet to sit on whilst being executed.”  The young Torgut prince was allowed to return to Kara Shahr, man that must have been an awkward desert. So Jin hoped the harsh action would terrify the young prince into submission. As you may have guessed, Jin actions were quite toxic for the Torgut Mongols. Might I add the Torgut Mongols were probably the only non Chinese group in Xinjiang that may have sided with Jin against the Turkic peoples? So to tally up things a bit here. Jin pissed off the Uyghurs and Tungans of Turfan, the Kirghiz of Tian Shan and now the Torguts.  In early 1932, Turkic Muslim opposition to forced collectivization and suppression of nomadism by Stalin in the Kazakh and Kirghiz regions of Soviet Central Asia, saw many spill over into Xinjiang. By March of 1932, large numbers of Kirghiz fled the border and were pursued by Soviet forces. A series of skirmishes and raids broke out in the border region. The Soviet Kirghiz naturally received aid from the Xinjiang Kirghiz and in June a Chinese official was killed by Kirghiz insurgents in Tien Shan. The Chinese were outraged, prompting Ma Shaowu to unleash 300 troops from Kashgar New City and 200 troops from Kashgar Old City to defend the frontier area. These units were soon joined by another 100 troops from Opal and 200 from Uch Turfan all under the leadership of Brigadier Yang, the nephew to the late Yang Zengxin. In July Yang's men began joint operations with the Soviets against the Kirghiz insurgents who were led by Id Mirab. The Chinese forces were said to quote “The Chinese forces had been suffering badly from want of opium', and reportedly behaved very badly towards Kirghiz, a number of whom were driven to take refuge in Russian territory”. To try a force the submission of the Kirghiz, Yang's forces took 70 hostages from Kirghiz families and brought them to imprisoned them the oases of Khotan, Keriya and Charchan. Thus Jin and Ma Shaowu had succeeded within a few months of Ma Chongyings withdrawal back into Gansu in both alienating the Turkic speaking and Mongol nomads of Tien Shan. The Sino-Soviet cooperation against the Kirghiz had also not gone unnoticed by other Muslim groups.  Meanwhile the Kumul Rebellion had spread westwards. By Autumn of 1932, months after the arrival of Ma Shihming to Turfan, Ma Fuming joined the rebels cause. Wu Aichen wrote it was his belief that Ma Fuming's decision was based on the continuing flow of Muslim refugees from Kumul to Turfan combined with reports of mass executions being carried out by Xing Fayu. But like I had mentioned, there is also strong evidence Ma Shihming probably negotiated an alliance with Ma Fuming. Wu Aichen wrote Ma Fumings first rebellious action was to send a telegram to Jin requesting he dispatch reinforcements while he also sent a letter to Xing Fayu over in Kumul to come quickly to Turfan. The reinforcements arrived at the oasis without suspecting a thing and were “shot down to the last man” by Ma Fumings forces as they passed the city gates. A few days later another detachment of 100 men led by Xing Fayu reached Turfan only to suffer the same fate. Xing Fayu was taken captive and “tortured to death in public with every refinement of cruelty and vileness of method”. Following Ma Fumings official defection, the Turfan Depression quickly emerged as the main center of Muslim rebellion in northeastern Xinjiang. Kumul which had been laid to ruin by Jin was abandoned to the Turkic Muslim insurgents and a handful of Tungan troops. A large portion of Tungan forces consisting of those following Ma Fuming and Ma Sushiming massed at Turfan preparing to march upon Urumqi, lying 100 miles northwest. The storm brewing in Turfan was followed up by a series of uncoordinated uprisings amongst the Turkic speaking Muslims of southern Xinjiang. The Uyghurs of Tarim Basin and Kirghiz of Tien Shan realized Jin's grip over the province was weakening and the presence of Tungan forces in Turfan effectively cut off the oases of the south from Urumqi and Jin's White Russian troops, whom otherwise may have scared them into submission. The White Russians and other provincial forces were hard pressed by Ma Fuming and Ma Shihming. Reports also spread that Ma Chongying would soon re-enter the fray in person and that Chang Peiyuan, the Military commander over at Ili had fallen out with Jin. Thus the Turkic speaking Muslims of southern Xinjiang knew the time was ripe to rebel against Chinese rule. In the winter uprising began at Pichan, just east of Turfan and at Kara Shahr about 175 miles southwest. Lack of Torgut support at Kara Shahr following the murder of Tsetsen Puntsag Gegeen basically sealed the fate of the Chinese forces within the city. The new Tungan leader, Ma Chanzeng emerged the commander of rebel forces in the region. Disregarding the increasingly intense conflict between Ma Shih-ming and the provincial forces along the Turfan-Urumqi road, Ma Chan-ts'ang moved westward, seizing Bugur in early February and progressing to Kucha. There, he formed a strategic alliance with Temiir, the local Uyghur leader, who was noted by Wu Aichen as "a capable individual who had managed the mule wagon service." After occupying Kucha without any resistance, the combined forces of Ma Chanzeng and Temiir continued their advance toward Aksu, capturing the small town of Bai along the way. Ma Shaowu was the Taoyin of Kashgar and second most powerful official in the provincial administration after Jin, thus found himself cut off from Urumqi by two separate armies of Muslim rebels each composed of Tungan and Turkic factions. One of these armies held a small but militarily competent Tungan force led by Ma Chanzeng with a large contingent of poorly armed Uyghur peasants owing their allegiance to Temur. This force advanced southwest towards Aksu, while the other army consisting of a loose coalition of competent Tungan troops under Ma Shihming and Ma Fuming with Turkic speaking Muslim peasants owing allegiance to Khoja Niyas Haiji and Yulbars Khan pressed their attack directly upon Urumqi. In February of 1933 to add further confusion in the south, the rebellion against the Chinese spread southwards across the Tarim Basin to its southern rim. Uprising against the Chinese administration broke out simultaneously amongst the gold miners of the southern oases who had long resented the provincial governments fixed rate for the purchase of gold in Xinjiang alongside brutal working conditions. The spiraling inflation from Jin's worthless currency which was used to pay for the gold only made things worse. By spring their patience had run out, the Uyghurs led by Ismail Khan Khoja seized control of Kara Kash killing a large number of Han Chinese. Meanwhile the Uyghurs at Keriya seized control over the Surghak mines and threatened to take control over the whole oasis. Prominent rebel demands included a fair price for gold and silver and prohibition of the purchase of precious metals with paper currency. More urgent demands were lowering taxes, ending government tyranny, introducing Shari a law and stationing Muslim troops in every city. Now these demands were very real, they were willing to stand down if they were met. One anonymous writer of the demand notices placed at Karakash was as follows “A friend for the sake of friendship will make known a friend's defects and save him from the consequences of his defects. You, who are supposed to rule, cannot even realize this, but try to seek out the supporter of Islam to kill him. Foolish infidels like you are not fit to rule ... How can an infidel, who cannot distinguish between a friend and a foe, be fit to rule? You infidels think that because you have rifles, guns ... and money, you can depend on them; but we depend upon God in whose hands are our lives. You infidels think that you will take our lives. If you do not send a reply to this notice we are ready. If we die we are martyrs. If we survive we are conquerors. We are living but long for death”. Ma Shaowu elected to first move against the Muslim insurgents threatening Aksu, most likely reasoning that if Ma Chanzeng and Temur were defeated the weaker rebel forces at KaraKash and Surghak would just crumble. There also was the fact Ma Shihmings men at Turfan had severed the telegraph line between Urumqi and Kashgar, and that line had been re-routed via Aksu, but if Aksu fell to the rebels, communications with the capital would only be possible via the USSR. At this point its estimated Brigadier Yang had a mixed army of 280 cavalry and 150 infantry as he set out for Aksu on February 6th. Ma Shaowu's position was not good. On February 9th, Jin Shujen's younger brother, Jin Shuqi the commander in chief at Kashgar New City suddenly died of illness. He was replaced with a Chinese officer called Liu who took command of his three detachments of cavalry, about 480 men and a single detachment of artillery, about 160 men. Ma Shaowu held control over two regiments of cavalry, 700 men and 3 detachments of infantry, around 300 men all stationed at Kashgar Old City. In mid february reports reached Kashgar that Brigadier Yang was heavily outnumbered by the rebels under Ma Chanzeng and Temur and had fallen back from Aksu to a defensive line at Maral Bashi. On the 23rd celebrations were held at Kashgar to mark Jin handing Ma Shadowu the new title of Special Commissioner for the Suppression of Bandits. During the celebration, salutes were fired at the yamen and KMT flags were flown from buildings throughout the city. Afterwards all of Liu's forces were sent to Maral Bashi to bolster Yang.  Now in a bid to suppress the uprisings at Surghak and KaraKash before a full scale uprising could develop on the southern road, 200 men led by Colonel Li were dispatched to Khotan, while another force under Colonel Chin was dispatched to Yarkland. Because of these movements of troops to Khotan and Maral Bashi, there was a serious depletion of defenders for Kashgar. Thus Ma Shaowu ordered a raising of Kirghiz levies and recalled some Chinese troops from the frontier districts west of Kashgar. Thus the Chinese garrison at Sarikol pulled out to Kashgar, leaving the region's Tajik population to their own devices. At Kashgar, troops posted on the walls of both cities had strict orders to close all gates at 7pm, with major curfew laws set into place.Despite all of this the provincial troops proved very inept at stemming the rebel advance along both the north and south roads into Kashgar. On the 25th, the rebels entered Aksu Old City, shooting up all its Chinese residents, seized their property, stormed the arsenal and looted the treasury. Later on Ma Changzeng and Temur led an estimated 4700 ill armed Uyghur irregular army to advance on Maral Bashi and Kashgar.  In the Keriya, the Chinese officials consented to convert to Islam and to surrender their possessions; however, on March 3, thirty-five Chinese individuals, including top officials, were executed, with their heads displayed in the marketplace. On February 28, the Old City of Khotan fell into the hands of rebels with little resistance, while the New City of Khotan was besieged before capitulating to the insurgents on March 16th. Following the rebel successes in Khotan, it was reported that 266 Han Chinese converted to Islam, and both the treasury and arsenal of the New City—containing "thousands of weapons and nearly a ton of gold"—were seized by the insurgents. Additionally, uprisings led by a Uighur named ‘Abd ai-Qadir took place in Chira, and in Shamba Bazaar, several Han Chinese and two Hindu moneylenders were killed. Further afield from Keriya, the town of Niya succumbed to the rebel forces from Khotan, while even farther east, at the isolated oases of Charchan and Charkhlik, reports indicate that peaceful insurrections occurred after a small Tungan contingent loyal to Ma Shih-ming entered the region via a little-used desert route connecting Kara Shahr and Lop. Meanwhile, to the west of Khotan, Uighur forces under Isma'il Khan Khoja obstructed the main route to Yarkand at the Tokhta Langar caravanserai, repelling all but two delegates sent from Kashgar by Ma Shao-wu, who aimed to negotiate with the rebel leaders in Khotan. No further news was received from the two Begs allowed to continue to Khotan, and with their diplomatic mission's failure, the entire southern route from the eastern outskirts of the Guma oasis to the distant Lop Nor fell out of Chinese control. To fortify their position against potential counterattacks from Kashgar, the rebel leaders in Khotan destroyed roadside wells in the desert east of Guma and began establishing a clearly Islamic governance in the areas they had liberated. By mid March, Ma Shaowu's control over southern Xinjiang was limited to just a wedge of territory around Kashgar, Maral Bashi and Yarkland. Moral was so low, Ma Shaowu asked the British Indian government for military assistance as it seemed apparent no help would come from Urumqi. Ma Shaowu had received 3 telegrams from Jin via the USSR lines; the first confirmed his position as Commander in Chief; the second relayed Jin's brothers death and the third directed Jin Kashgar representatives to remit a large sum of money to his personal bank account in Tientsin. That last signal must have been a banger to read. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The Kumul Rebellion quicked off a storm of different groups' grievances and Jin Shujen did a banger job of pissing off…pretty much every single group. In the southern portions of Xinjiang massive uprisings began and it seemed a tidal wave would hit the entire province.  

Last time we spoke about the Long March. Amidst escalating conflicts, the Red Army, led by the newly empowered Mao Zedong, faced immense pressures from the Nationalist Army. Struggling through defeats and dwindling forces, they devised a bold retreat known as the Long March. Starting in October 1934, they evaded encirclement and crossed treacherous terrain, enduring heavy losses. Despite dire circumstances, their resilience allowed them to regroup, learn from past missteps, and ultimately strengthen their strategy, securing Mao's leadership and setting the stage for future successes against the KMT. During the Long March (1934-1936), the Red Army skillfully maneuvered through treacherous terrain, evading the pursuing National Revolutionary Army. Despite harsh conditions and dwindling numbers, advances and strategic ploys allowed them to cross critical rivers and unite with reinforcements. Under Mao Zedong's leadership, they faced internal struggles but ultimately preserved their unity. By journey's end, they had transformed into a formidable force, setting the stage for future victories against their adversaries and solidifying their influence in China.   #131 The Complicated Story about Xinjiang Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. I've said probably too many times, but theres one last major series of events I'd like to cover before we jump into the beginning of the 15 year war between China and Japan. When I say Xinjiang I imagine there are two responses from you in the audience, 1) what the hell is Xinjiang or number 2) oh what about that place in northwest China. That pretty much sums it up, the history of this province, or region if you want to call it that is almost never spoken about. It was a place as we have seen multiple times in the series, where conflicts come and go like the weather. But in the 1930's things really heated up. What I want to talk about is collectively part of the Xinjiang Wars, but more specifically I want to talk about the Kumul Rebellion. There's really no way to jump right into this one so I am going to have to explain a bit about the history of Xinjiang.  Xinjiang in a political sense is part of China and has been the cornerstone of China's strength and prestige going back to the Han dynasty over 2000 years ago. In a cultural sense however, Xinjiang is more inline with the Muslim dominated middle-east. It's closer to th Turkic and Iranian speaking peoples of Central Asia. From a geographical point of view Xinjiang is very much on the periphery. It is very isolated from western asia by the massed ranks of the Hindu Kush, the Pamirs, the Tien Shan, the Indian Subcontinent of Karakoram, Kunlun, the Himalaya ranges and of course by the Gobi desert. It neither belongs to the east or west. As a province of China its the largest and most sparsely populated. It can be divided into two main regions, the Tarim Basin and Zungharia and then into two lesser but economically significant regions, the Ili Valley and Turgan Depression. The Tien Shan mountain range extends roughly eastward from the Pamir Massif, creating a formidable barrier between Zungharia and the Tarim Basin. This natural obstacle complicates direct communication between the two regions, particularly during winter. The Ili Valley, separated from Zungharia by a northern extension of the Tien Shan, is physically isolated from the rest of the province and can only be easily accessed from the west. This western area came under Russian control in the mid-nineteenth century and now forms part of the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic. Now it has to be acknowledged, since the formation of the PRC in 1949, Xinjiang changed in size and ethnic composition. The CCP drove a massive Han migrant wave over. Regardless, Han's make up a minority and according to some population statistics taken during the 1940s, Xinjiang was dominated by 7 Muslim nationalities, roughly 3.5 million people out of a total population of 3.7 million. 200,000 of these were Han settlers, while 75,000-100,000 were Mongols, Russians, Tunguzic peoples (those being Sibo, Solon and Manchu), a few Tibetans, Afghans and Indians. Among the various indigenous Muslim nationalities of Xinjiang, the Uighurs stand out as the most numerous and politically important. This Turkic-speaking group primarily consists of sedentary agriculturalists who reside in the oases of the Tarim Basin, Turfan, Kumul, and the fertile lowlands of the Hi Valley. In the late 1940s, the Uyghur population in Xinjiang was estimated to be approximately 2,941,000. Following the Uyghurs, the second-largest Muslim nationality in the region is the Kazakhs, with an estimated population of around 319,000 during the late Republican Period. Kirghiz come in third, with an estimated population of about 65,000 at the same time. Both the Kazakhs and Kirghiz in Xinjiang are nomadic Turkic-speaking peoples, with the Kazakhs primarily found in the highland areas of Zungharia and the Hi Valley, while the Kirghiz inhabit the upland pastures of the Tien Shan and Pamirs. There also exist a small group of Iranian-speaking 'Mountain' Tajiks living in the upland Sarikol region in the far southwest, with an estimated population of 9,000 in the mid-1940s; a primarily urban group of Uzbeks residing in larger oasis towns and cities of the Tarim Basin, numbering approximately 8,000 in the mid-1940s; and a smaller group of Tatars settled mainly in Urumqi and the townships near the Xinjiang-Soviet border, estimated at 5,000 during the same period. Lastly, it is important to mention the Hui, a group of Chinese-speaking Muslims dispersed throughout China, particularly in Zungharia and Kumul within Xinjiang, as well as in the neighboring northwestern provinces of Gansu, Qinghai, and Ningxia. Known as 'Tungan' in Xinjiang, the Hui population was estimated at around 92,000 in the mid-1940s and held significant political and military influence during the Republican Period. Excluding the Ismaili Tajik's of Sarikol, the Muslim population of Xinjiang, whether Turkic or Chinese speaking, are Sunni following the orthodox of Hanafi Madhhab.  As for the non Muslim population, excluding the Mongols who numbered roughly 63,000 and inhabit a narrow strip of land along the northeastern frontier between Xinjiang and the Mongolian People's Republic, Tien Shan, Ili Vally and Chuguchak, most were newcomers, migrants from the mid 18th century while the region was being conquered. Again according to the same statistics from the 1940s I mentioned, Hans represented 3-4 % of the population. Although the Han population disproportionately held power with the main administrative areas, they had no sizable territorial enclaves. The Han population can basically be divided into 5 groups; descendants of exiled criminals and political offenders; Hunanese settlers who came over after Zuo Zungtang's conquests; Tientsin merchants who were supplying Zuo's army; Shanxi caravaneers who came to trade and Gansu colonists. Lastly there were the Tunguzic Peoples and Russians. The Tunguzic speaking Sibo, Solon and Manchu settled mostly in the Ili region. The Russians also tended to live in the Ili region. These were mostly White Russian refugees from the civil war.  Xinjiang's first Republican governor was Yang Zengxin, a Yunnanese native. He had previously worked as the district magistrate in Gansu and Ningxia earning a reputation as a good manager of the local Tungan Muslim population. In 1908 he was transferred to Xinjiang and quickly found himself promoted to by the last Qing governor of Xinjiang. He held out his post after the Xinhai revolution and quelled a Urumqi rebellion soon after. Yang Zengxin's survived politically by always siding with whichever faction he thought was winning. For example in 1917, President Li Yuanghong dispatched Fan Yaonan to watch over Yang and try to replace him if possible. Yang recognized quickly whichever Warlord faction held power over the Beiyang government should be courted. Thus Yang held out for a long time and his province was comparably peaceful compared to most of warlord era China. To maintain his power, Yang enacted a divide and rule style, trying to placate the conflicts between certain groups within Xinjiang, but made sure to exclude Russian influence. Basically Yang tried his best to keep groups who could come into conflict away from each other, keeping the Uyghurs of southern Xinjiang away from the pastoral nomads of Zungharia and Tien Shan. Above all Yang considered the Bolshevik Russians to be the greatest threat to his regime, in his words “The Russians ... aimed at ... isolating the country from all outside influence, and at maintaining it in a state of medieval stagnation, thus removing any possibility of conscious and organised national resistance. As their religious and educational policy, the Russian administrators sought to preserve the archaic form of Islam and Islamic culture. . . Quranic schools of the most conservative type were favoured and protected against any modernist influence”. During his 16 year of power, Yang established himself as a competent autocrat, a mandarin of the old school and quite the capable administrator. Yet his economic policies were long term exploitative causing hardship and exhausting the province. Yang realized he was reached the threshold of what the population was willing to endure and endeavored to allow corruption to emerge within his administration provided it remained within acceptable limits. IE: did not spring forward a Muslim revolution. He opened junior positions in the administration to Muslims which had a duel effect. It made the Muslim community feel like they were part of greater things, but placed said officials in the path of the populations anger, insulating senior Han officials. Ironically it would be his fellow Han Chinese officials who would become angry with him. Some were simply ambitious of his power, others felt that Xinjiang should be more closely inline with China proper.  Rumors have it that after a dinnr party, Yang deliberately surrounded himself with opium addicts, stating to his subordinates “the inveterate opium smoker thinks more of his own comfort and convenience than of stirring up unrest among his subordinates”. Needless to say, Yang later years saw him seriously alienating senior officials. By 1926 he claimed “to have created an earthly paradise in a remote region” so he seemed to be quite full of himself. That same year he turned against his Tungan subordinates. He accused many of conspiring with Ma Qi, a Tungan warlord of Xuning in Qinghai, whom he also thought were driven by Urumqi. Deprived of his formerly loyal Tungans, Yang found himself increasingly isolated. A expedition was sent to Urumqi in 1926, whr G. N Roerich noted “The Governor's residence consisted of several well-isolated buildings and enclosed courtyards. The gates were carefully guarded by patrols of heavily armed men ... The Governor's yamen seemed to us to be in a very dilapidated condition. The glass in many of the windows on the ground floor was broken and dirty papers and rags had been pasted on the window frames. Numerous retainers roamed about the courtyards and villainous bodyguards, armed with mauser pistols, were on duty at the entrance to the yamen.” It seems likely Yang had decided to leave Xinjiang at that point. He had amassed a immense personal fortune and sent much of it to his family in China proper and also to Manila where he had a bank account. Further evidence of this was provided by Mildred Cable and Francesca French, two members of the China inland Mission who reported 'Wise old Governor Yang ... as early as 1926 ... quietly arranged a way of escape for his family and for the transference of his wealth to the security of the British Concession in Tientsin. Later in the same year, accompanied by several 'luggage cases of valuables', Yang's eldest son was sent out of Sinkiang, travelling incognito, in the company of these missionaries”. It was also at this time Yang erectd a statue of himself in th public gardens at Urumqi. According to Nicholas Roerich, this memorial was paid for with forced contributions 'from the grateful population'; by all accounts the statue was in execrable taste . While the NRA was marching upon Beijing in June of 1928, Yang ordered the KMT flag to be raised in Xinjiang. This gesture indicated to all, Yang was about to depart the province. One of Yang's most dissident subordinates, a Han named Fan Yaonan decided to act. Fan Yaonan was an ambitious modernist who received his education in Japan and someone Yang distruste from day one. Fan was appointed the post of Taoyin of Aksu by the Beijing government, an appointment Yang could have easily ingored, but was grudgingly impressd by Fans abilities. Fan proved himself very useful to Yang and was soon promoted to the Taoyin of Urumqi alongside becoming the Xinjiang Provincial Commissioner for Foreign Affairs. It seems Fan and Yang mutually disliked each other. At some point in 1926 Fan got together with a small group of like minded officials, such as the engineer at Urumqi's telegraph station and the Dean of the local school of Law, and Fan told them he wanted to assasinate Yang. Some believe Fan sought to gain favor with the KMT as motivation. Regardless on July 7th of 1928, 6 days after Yang took the post of Chairman of the Xinjiang Provincial Government under the KMT, Fan attacked. On that day, Yang was invited to a banquet to celebrate a graduation ceremony at the Urumqi law school. Fan had arranged the banquet, with 18 soldiers present, disguised as waiters wearing “red bands around their arms and Browning pistols in their sleeves”. During the meal, Fan proposed a toast to the health of Yang at which time “shots rang outsimultaneously, all aimed at the Governor. Seven bulletsin all were fired, and all reached their mark. Yang, mortally wounded, but superb in death, glared an angry defiance at his foes, 'who dares do this?' he questioned in the loud voice which had commanded instant obedience for so many years. Then he fell slowly forward, his last glance resting upon the face of the trusted Yen, as though to ask forgiveness that he had not listened to the advice so often given to him”. According to Yan Tingshan who was also wounded, Fan Yaonan finished Yang Zengxin off with two shots personally. After the assassination, whereupon 16 people were killed or wounded, Fan went to Yang official residence and seized the seals of office. He then sent a letter summonig Jin Shujen, the Commissioner for Civil Affairs in Xinjiang and Yang's second in command. Jin called Fan's bluff and refusing to come, instead sending soldiers to arrest the assassin. It seems Fan greatly miscalculated his personal support as a short gun battle broke out and he was arrested by Jin and shortly thereafter executed with his complices on July 8th. And thus, Jin Shujen found himself succeeding Yang, a less able man to the job. Jin Shujen was a Han Chinese from Gansu. He graduated from the Gansu provincial academy and served for a time as the Principal of a Provincial normal school. He then entered the Imperial Civil Service, where he came to the attention of Yang, then working as the district Magistrate at Hozhou. Yang took him on as district magistrate and Jin rose through the ranks. By 1927 Jin became the Provincial Commissioner for Civil Affairs at Urumqi. After executing Fan, Jin sent a telegram to Nanjing seeking the KMT's official recognition of his new role. Nanjing had no real options, it was fait accompli, they confirmed Jin into office and under the new KMT terminology he was appointed Provincial Chairman and commander-in-chief. In other words an official warlord.  Following his seizure of power, Jin immediately took steps to secure his newfound power. His first step was to double the salaries of the secret police and army. He also expanded the military and acquired new weaponry for them. Politically, Jin maintained the same old Qing policies Yang did, pretty much unchanged. Jin did however replace many of the Yunnanese followers under Yang with Han CHinese from Gansu. Jins younger brother, Jin Shuxin was appointed Provincial Commissioner for military affairs at Urumqi and his other brother Jin Shuqi was given the senior military post at Kashgar. His personal bodyguard member Zu Chaoqi was promoted to Brigade Commander at Urumqi. Jin maintained and expanded upon Yang's system of internal surveillance and censorship, like any good dictator would. According to H. French Ridley of the China Inland Mission at Urumqi “people were executed for 'merely making indiscreet remarks in the street during ordinary conversation”. Jin also introduced a system of internal passports so that any journey performing with Xinjiang required an official passport validation by the Provincial Chairman's personal seal, tightening his security grip and of course increasing his official revenue. Travel outside Xinjiang became nearly impossible, especially for Han officials and merchants seeking trade with China proper.  Under Jin Xinjiang's economy deteriorated while his fortune accumulated. Yang had introduced an unbacked paper currency that obviously fell victim to inflation and Jin upted the anty. Within a process of several stages, he expanded the currency, causing further inflation. Under Yang the land taxes had been a serious source of the provincial revenue, but Yang was not foolish enough to squeeze the Turkic peasantry too hard, he certainly was intelligent enough to thwart peasant revolts. Jin however, not so smart, he tossed caution to the win and doubled the land taxes, way past what would be considered the legal amount. Jin also emulated Ma Fuxiang, by establishing government monopolies over various profitable enterprises, notably the gold mine at Keriya and Jade mine at Khotan. He also monopolized the wool and pelt industry, using his police and army to force the sale of lambskins at a mere 10% of their market value. Just as with Yang's regime, wealth flowed out of the province in a continuous stream, straight into banks within China proper. According to George Vasel, a German engineer and Nazi agent hired to construct airfields in Gansu during the early 1930s, he knew a German pilot named Rathje who was secretly employed by Jin to fly a million dollars worth of gold bullion from Urumqi to Beijing. Jin did his best to keep all foreign influence out of Xinjiang and this extended also to KMT officials from China proper. Jin also of course did his best to conceal his corrupt regime from Nanjing. For all intensive purposes Jin treated Xinjiang like a feudal, medieval society. He tried to limit external trade to only be through long distance caravans. All was fine and dandy until Feng Yuxiang occupied Gansu and thus disrupted the traditional trade routes. Alongside this the Soviets had just constructed a new railroad linking Frunze, the capital of Kirghiz with Semipalatinsk in western siberia. This railroad known as the Turksib was aimed primarily to develop western Turkstan, integrating it within the new soviet system. The railroad was constructed 400 miles away from the Xinjiang frontier, on purpose to limit any activities with capitalists. When the railway was completed in 1930 it virtually strangled Xinjiang. China's share of Xinjiang's market dropped by 13% and the value of trade with the Soviets which had dropped to zero since the Russian civil war was not rising past 32 million roubles by 1930. The Soviet trade gradually was seizing a monopoly over Xinjiang and this of course affected the merchants and workers who were unable to compete. The revenue of the merchants and workers declined as new taxes were levied against them. Meanwhile alongside an increase in Soviet trade, the new railway also increased Soviet political influence over Xinjiang. It was also much faster and easier to travel from China proper to Xinjiang via Vladivostok, the trans-siberian railway and Turksib than across the North-West roads of China. For the Turkic speaking Muslims of Xinjiang, it was quite impressive and many wanted to do business and mingle with the Soviets. However to do so required a visa, and thus KMT officials in Nanjing held the keys. Jin's policies towards the Turkic Muslims, Tungans and Mongols were extremely poor from the very beginning. It seems Jin held prejudice against Muslims, some citing bad experiences with them in Gansu. Whatever the case may be, Jin rapidly antagonized both his Turkic speaking and Tungan Muslim citizens by introducing a tax on the butchering of all animals in Xinjiang and forbidding Muslims to perform the Hajj to Mecca. Some point out he did that second part to thwart a loophole on leaving Xinjiang for trade. Obviously the Muslim majority of Xinjiang and the military powerhouse of Torgut Mongols in the Tien Shan bitterly resented Jin. Despite wide scale hostility against him, the first challenges at his autocratic rule came not from various minority groups, but some ambitious Han officers under his command. Palpatin would say it was ironic.  In May of 1929 the Taoyin of Altai attempted a coup against Jin, but he was forewarned and able to confine the fighting to the Shara Sume area. In the spring of 1931 troubles broke out in Urumqi as discontented Han officers and soldiers attacked Jin's yamen. The attack failed, and the instigators of the plot were all executed. The same year, Jin annexed the Kumul Khanate, known to the Chinese as Hami, finally pushing the Turkic speaking Muslims into open rebellion. Going back in time, after Zuo Zengtangs reconquest of Xinjiang in the 1870s, a few local principalities were permitted to survive on a semi-autonomous basis. Of these Kumul was the most important and was ruled by a royal family dating back to the Ming Dynasty and descended from the Chaghatay Khans. The Khanate of Kumul dominated the chief road from Xinjiang to China proper and was therefore of strategic importance to the Chinese. It extended from Iwanquan northwards to the Barkul Tagh and along the mountains to Bai and south to Xingxingxia along the Xinjiang-Gansu border. During the Xinhai Revolution of 1911, Maqsud Shah was sitting on the throne of Kumul. He was known to the Chinese as the Hami Wang, to his subjects as Khan Maqsud or Sultan Maqsud and to Europeans as the King of the Gobi. He was the last independent Khan of Central Asia as the rest were tossing their lot in with the progress of the times. During Yangs regime he was content with allowing Kumul to train its semi autonomous status, mostly because Maqsud Shah was very friendly towards the Chinese. He spoke Turkic with a marked Chinese accent and wore Chinese clothes. On the other hand he had a long whit beard and always wore a turban or Uyghur cap. He was a staunch Muslim ruling a petty oasis kingdom from an ancient and ramshackle palace in Kumul proper, one of three towns making up the capital of Kumul, known to the Chinese as Huicheng. He had a bodyguard consisting of 40 Chinese soldiers armed with mausers and had a Chinese garrison billeted in fortified Chinese town. The third city in his domain was known as New City or Xincheng, populated by a mix of Chinese and Turkic peoples. By 1928, shortly after the assassination of Yang, it was estimated Maqsud Shah ruled over roughly 25,000-30,000 Kumulliks. He was responsible for levying taxes, dispensing justice and so forth. His administration rested upon 21 Begs, 4 of whom were responsible for Kumul itself, 5 others over plains villages and the other 12 over mountain regions of Barkul and Karlik Tagh. Maqsud Shah also maintained a Uyghur militia who had a reputation as being better trained than its Chinese counterpart at Old City. Throughout Yangs regime, Kumul remained relatively peaceful and prosperous. Maqsud Shah paid a small annual tribute to Urumqi and in return the Xinjiang government paid him a formal subsidy of 1200 silver taels a year. Basically this was Yang paying for the Sultans compliance when it came to moving through his strategic Khanate. For the Uyghurs of Kumul, they were free from the typical persecution under Chinese officials. The only tax paid by citizens of Kumul was in livestock, generally sheep or goats, given annually to the Khan. The soil of the oasis was rich and well cultivated. Everything was pretty fine and dandy under Yang, but now was the time of Jin. In March of 1930, Maqsud Shah died of old age. His eldest son Nasir should have inherited the throne of Kumul, but Jin and his Han subordinates stationed in Kumul Old City had other plans. Shortly after Maqsud Shah's death, Nasir traveled to Urumqi, most likely to legitimize his rise upon the throne. Nasir was not very popular amongst his people, thus it seemed he needed Jin's aid to bolster him. However there also was the story that it was Jin who ordered Nasir to come to Urumqi to perform a formal submission. Now at the time of Maqsud Shah's death, Li Xizeng, a Han Chinese divisional commander stationed in Kumul suggested to Jin that the Khanate should be abolished and annexed officially. There was of course a great rationale for this, if Jin took control over Kumul it would offer increased revenue and new positions for his Han Chinese officials. Thus Jin ordered a resolution be drawn up by his ministers to abolish the Khanate, dividing Kumul into three separate administrative districts, Hami centered around the capital, I-ho and I-wu. When Nasir arrived in Urumqi he was given the new position of Senior Advisor to the provincial government, but forbidden to return to Kumul. Basically it was the age old government via hostage taking. Meanwhile another official named Yulbars was sent back to Kumul with a group of Chinese officials to set up the new administration.  While the people of Kumul had no love for Nasir and were taxed pretty heavily by his father, this did not mean that they wanted the Khanate to end. For the Turkic Muslims the Khanate held a religious significance. For Uyghurs there was a question of national pride associated with it. Of course there were economic issues. Within Xinjiang Han were allowed to settle, but in the Khanate there were restrictions. In the words of the Nanjing Wu Aichen on the situation “subject peoples obstinately prefer self-government to good government”. Well Jin's government was definitely not good, so what outcome does that give? The newly appointed Han administration upset the people of Kumul from the very minute of its installation. When it was announced the privilege of being except from direct taxation by Urumqi was to be abolished, ompf. To add insult to injury, one years arrears of taxes were to be collected from the Uyghurs. On top of that, Kumul was tossed wide open to Han settlers who were incentivized to settle by giving them a tax exemption for two years. Yeah that be some wild policies. To add even more misery, Kumul being situated on the chief road from northwestern Gansu to Xinjiang saw an enormous flow of refugees from famine and warfare going on in Gansu. A column of these refugees were seen by Berger Bohlin of the Sino-Swedish Expedition of 1931. His account is as follows “During my stay at Hua-hai-tze I witnessed a curious spectacle. The Chen-fan region had for a number of years been visited by failure of the crops and famine, and large numbers of people therefore emigrated to more prosperous tracts. Such an emigration-wave now passed Hua-hai-tze. It consisted of a caravan of 100 camels, transporting 150 persons with all their baggage to Sinkiang, where it was said that land was being thrown open”. It seemed to Bohlin that the refugees looked carefree and happy and that the ruler of Xinjiang, Jin Shujen, a Gansu man himself was enthusiastic to have them come settle his province. Jin had his official in charge of I-ho district Lung Xulin provide land for the would-be settlers coming from Gansu. Lung Xulin responded by forcing his Uyghur population to leave their cultivated land and simply handed it over to the refugees. The expropriated Uyghurs were compensated for their land by being given untilled lands on the fringe of the desert where most soil was barren. The Uyghurs were also assessed for their land tax based on their old holdings. To make this even worse hear this, untilled land was exempt from taxation for two years, so they didn't even get that, while the Gansu refugees were excused from tax payments for three years. So yeah the Kumul people quickly organized a petition and sent it to the yamen in Urumqi. There was zero acknowledgement from the yamen it was received and nothing was done to address the long list of grievances, especially from the Uyghurs. Instead the Gansu settlers kept flooding in and with them the price of food skyrocketed, largely because of the enormous amount of provincial troops sent in to watch over everybody. Now for the moment the Turkic speaking Muslims in the region remained relatively peaceful, and this perhaps lulled Jin into a false sense of security. But according to Sven Hedin of the Sino-Swedish Expedition “Discontent increased; the people clenched their teeth and bided their time; the atmosphere was tense and gloomy. Inflammable matter accumulated, and only a spark was needed to fire the powder magazine.”  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The history of Xinjiang is unbelievably bizarre, complicated and quite frankly really fun. Before researching this I had no idea about anything and am really enjoying this as I write it. The next episode is going to be on the Kumul Rebellion, so buckle up buckaroo. 

A mysterious white substance found on the heads and necks of 3,600-year-old mummies in north-western China has just been identified as the world's oldest known cheese. Published in the journal Cell, this discovery offers a rare glimpse into the dietary practices of ancient civilisations. The mummies were actually unearthed two decades ago in the Tarim Basin desert and thanks to the regions dry, desert environment they were remarkably well-preserved. Along with their boots and hats, a structure that looked like a necklace was laid along the neck of one young woman. While it looked like a piece of jewellery, recent DNA tests revealed that the substance was in fact kefir cheese. Kefir cheese is a probiotic soft cheese made from cow and goat milk. The kefir contained bacterial and fungal species, including Lactobacillus kefiranofaciens and Pichia kudriavzevii, both of which are still found in modern kefir grains. This discovery marks the oldest known cheese sample ever found and provides a valuable opportunity for researchers to understand more about the diets and cultures of our ancestors. The research not only reveals insights into early food production methods, but also helps track the evolution of probiotic bacteria over the last 3,600 years. Further analysis revealed that the L. kefiranofaciens grains found in the cheese were closely related to similar grains from Tibet. By sequencing the bacterial genes, researchers could trace how dairy products and animal husbandry practices evolved across East Asia, shedding light on the interactions between ancient humans and their environment. The Xiaohe people, from what is now Xinjiang, buried items of significance alongside their dead, and the inclusion of kefir cheese indicates the importance of this food in their daily lives. LISTEN ABOVESee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Content warning for discussion of genocide, torture, mutilation, rape, and slavery Hey, Hi, Hello, this is the History Wizard and welcome back for Day 13 of Have a Day w/ The History Wizard. Thank you to everyone who tuned in for Day 12 last week, and especially thank you to everyone who rated and/or reviewed the podcast. I hope you all learned something last week and I hope the same for this week. This week marks the 4th part of our mini series of currently ongoing genocides and humanitarian crises. Episode 2 was on Palestine, Episode 11 was on Congo, episode 12 was on Sudan and today's will be on a very widely denied genocide, especially in left wing political circles. The Uyghur Genocide. But first, let's fortify ourselves with the waters of life and remember that part of our activism needs to always be finding joy in life and getting ourselves a little treat. It's time for the Alchemist's Table. Today's libation is called a Rumsberry Breeze. In your shaker muddle some raspberries with half an ounce of simple syrup. Add two ounces of dark rum. Shake well and double strain over ice. Top with ginger beer and enjoy. The genocide of the Uyghur people and the longer history of ethnic tensions between Han Chinese and the Uyghur peoples has centered around Xinjiang for as long as it's been around. First thing's first. Let's dive a bit into the history of the Uyghur people. The Uyghur are an ethnically Turkic people living, mostly in the Tarim and Dzungarian Basins in East Turkestan (what is sometimes called Uyghurstan) today. Xinjiang, sometimes also called the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, has been under Chinese control since it was conquered from the Dzungar Khanate in around 1759. Now, how long have the Uyghur people been living in the area? Well, that's a matter of some contention and the answer you get will depend on what sources you go with. The history of the Uyghur people, including their ethnic origin, is an issue of contention between Uyghur nationalists and Chinese authorities. Uyghur historians view Uyghurs as the original inhabitants of Xinjiang, with a long history. Uyghur politician and historian Muhammad Amin Bughra wrote in his book A history of East Turkestan, stressing the Turkic aspects of his people, that the Turks have a 9,000-year history, while historian Turgun Almas incorporated discoveries of Tarim mummies to conclude that Uyghurs have over 6,400 years of history. The World Uyghur Congress has claimed a 4,000-year history. However, the official Chinese view, as documented in the white paper History and Development of Xinjiang, asserts that the Uyghurs in Xinjiang formed after the collapse of the Uyghur Khaganate in ninth-century CE Mongolia, from the fusion of many different indigenous peoples of the Tarim Basin and the westward-migrating Old Uyghurs. Regardless of which timeline we go with, the Uyghur people have certainly been living in the region for far longer than the Chinese Empires that have been dominating them for hundreds of years. And, make no mistake, modern day China is still very much imperial. Something that we'll cover in more detail later, as it is very relevant to the current genocide, is that the Uyghur people are, as a general rule, Muslim. The earliest records we have indicate that before this conversion to Islam around the 10th century CE the Old Uyghur people (Old Uyghur is meant to differentiate the Pre-Chinese Uyghur population from the modern one) followed the Tocharian religion. We don't really have any details about what, exactly, that religion entailed, but today most of the Tocharian inscriptions are based on Buddhist monastic texts, which suggests that the Tocharians largely embraced Buddhism. The pre-Buddhist beliefs of the Tocharians are largely unknown, but several Chinese goddesses are similar to the reconstructed Proto-Indo-European sun goddess and the dawn goddess, which implies that the Chinese were influenced by the pre-Buddhist beliefs of the Tocharians when they traveled on trade routes which were located in Tocharian territories.  The history of China's abuses over the peoples they conquered is a long one, but details on the exact situation of the Uyghur people are somewhat few and far between. However two of the most important parts of Uyghur-Chinese history in the region come from the 19th century CE with the Dungan Revolt and the Dzungar genocide. Something we need to note right now is that the modern Uyghur Ethnic group wasn't called the Uyghur before the Soviet Union gave them that name in 1921, although the modern Ughurs are descended from the Old Uyghurs, at the time of the Dungan Revolt and the Dzungar Genocide they were known by the Chinese as Turki or Taranchi. So if you're ever reading sources about these two events, you might not ever see the word Uyghur, despite them being involved in both events. The Dungan Revolt lasted from 1862 until 1877 and saw a roughly 21 million people killed. According to research by modern historians, at least 4 million Hui were in Shaanxi before the revolt, but only 20,000 remained in the province afterwards, with most of the Hui either killed in massacres and reprisals by government and militia forces, or deported out of the province. It has its roots in the ongoing ethnic tensions between the Hui (Muslim) minorities of China and the ethnic Han peoples. It also stemmed from economic conflicts as Han merchants were known to greatly overcharge Hui peoples and there was massive corruption and fiscal instability resulting from the Taiping Rebellion that led to the peoples of Xinjiang being heavily burdened by unfair taxes.  All of these tensions would explode into a riot in 1862 (some sources say over inflated pricing on bamboo stalks). As a result of this there was a massacre of Han people's by the Hui and everything snowballed from there. With the start of the revolt in Gansu and Shaanxi in 1862, rumors spread among the Hui (Dungans) of Xinjiang that the Qing authorities were preparing a wholesale preemptive slaughter of the Hui people in Xinjiang, or in a particular community. Opinions as to the veracity of these rumors vary: while the Tongzhi Emperor described them as "absurd" in his edict of September 25, 1864, Muslim historians generally believe that massacres were indeed planned, if not by the imperial government then by various local authorities. Thus it was the Dungans who usually revolted in most Xinjiang towns, although the local Turkic people—Taranchis, Kyrgyzs, and Kazakhs—would usually quickly join the fray. The revolt would rage for 15 years, with many Muslim people of Xinjiang and China been slaughtered or forced to convert away from Islam. Though these reprisal killings and forced conversions really only took place in areas that were in active revolt. There were many Chinese Muslims in the Qing armies during the pacification of the Revolt and many also received great acclaim and promotions once the war was over.  Although, it needs to be stated that there were some cities that were actively committing genocide, such as the city of Kashgar which carried out a preemptive slaughter of their Hui population in 1864. So, there was a genocide of the Hui people, as genocide is defined as actions taken with intent to destroy in whole or in part a particular national, racial, ethnic or religious group. Hell, the Taranchi Turkic peoples, our modern Uyghurs, originally aided the Hui, but wound up turning against them to join the Qing armies once they learned that the Hui wanted to put Xinjiang under their specific rule. I technically did these events out of order, but I'm not going to fix that. We've got to dip 100 years into the past to find the Dzungar Genocide. This genocide happened at the end of Mongol Rule in Xinjiang and around the time the Qing initially came in. We're going to talk about this very briefly, as we still have all our modern issues to discuss. The main reason we even need to bring up the Dzungar genocide in a podcast episode on the Uyghur Genocide is that the Uyghurs participated in this genocide on the side of the Qing army as part of an uprising against the Dzungar Khanate. The Dzungar Genocide killed between 70 and 80% of their original population of about 600,000. The Qianlong Emperor had this to say when ordering the extermination of the Dzungari people. "Show no mercy at all to these rebels. Only the old and weak should be saved. Our previous military campaigns were too lenient. If we act as before, our troops will withdraw, and further trouble will occur. If a rebel is captured and his followers wish to surrender, he must personally come to the garrison, prostrate himself before the commander, and request surrender. If he only sends someone to request submission, it is undoubtedly a trick. Tell Tsengünjav to massacre these crafty Zunghars. Do not believe what they say." So, Xinjiang was once again under Qing rule and would remain so until the Wuchang Uprising overthrew the Qing Dynasty and established the Republic of China (not to be confused with the modern day Republic of China, which is actually the nation of Taiwan under Chinese imperialist control.  All of this context is to show that relations between the Chinese government and the various Muslim ethnicities within its borders have always been one of Master and Slave. The Chinese government has always treated non-Han peoples as lesser, and the presence of Muslim Chinese peoples was only tolerated for as long as they worked in lock step with Beijing. Once they didn't, they were prime targets for reprisal massacres and forced conversion. We would see this scenario play out again during the time of the Chinese Republic in 1931 with the Kumul Rebellion.  The Kumul Rebellion began because of the actions of Jin Shuren, the governor of Xinjiang from 1928 until 1933. Jin was notoriously intolerant of Turkic peoples and openly antagonized them. Such acts of discrimination included restrictions on travel, increased taxation, seizure of property without due process and frequent executions for suspected espionage or disloyalty. However, the event that would spark the rebellion would be the annexation of the Kumul Khanate, a semi autonomous region in northern Xinjiang. At the end of the Rebellion Jin was dead and the First East Turkestan Republic was established around the city of Kashgar in the far west of Xinjiang. The First East Turkestan Republic would only last for a year before being conquered by a Chinese warlord named Shen Shicai, who had backing and support from the Soviet Union. In 1937, specifically to coincide with Stalin's own Great Purge, Shicai planned and executed the elimination of "traitors", "pan-Turkists", "enemies of the people", "nationalists" and "imperialist spies". His purges swept the entire Uyghur and Hui political elite. The NKVD provided the support during the purges. In the later stages of the purge, Sheng turned against the "Trotskyites", mostly a group of Han Chinese sent to him by Moscow. It's estimated that he killed between 50 and 100,000 people in these purges. Shicai would eventually betray the Soviets to join with the Kuomintang, the Chinese Nationalist Party, which would lead to the Soviets backing the Uyghur people in the Ili Rebellion leading to the creation of the Second East Turkestan Republic, which would eventually get folded into Mao Zedong's People's Republic of China in 1949. From the 1950s to the 1970s China enacted two main policies against the Uyghur people. They instituted mass migrations of Han Chinese people into Xinjiang as well as passing various laws designed to infringe and smother Uyghur ethnic and religious identity. Uyghurs are barred from freely practicing their religion, speaking their language, and expressing other fundamental elements of their identity. Restrictions apply to many aspects of life, including dress, language, diet, and education. The Chinese government closely monitors Uyghur religious institutions. Even ordinary acts such as praying or going to a mosque may be a basis for arrest or detention. While repression of Uyghur cultural beliefs and identity had existed from day 1 on the PRC, it was in 1990 that everything started to go pear shaped. The Barin Uprising took place between the 4th and 10th of April, 1990. Violence began on the evening of 4 April, when a group of 200 to 300 Uyghur men attempted to breach the gates of the local government office in a protest against alleged forced abortions of Uyghur women and Chinese rule in Xinjiang. Following the uprising in an unprecedented move, Chinese authorities arrested 7,900 people, labelled "ethnic splittists" and "counter-revolutionaries", from April to July 1990. Throughout the 1990s and early 2000s there were various terrorist attacks committed by Uyghur resistance groups and freedom fighters, leading to further crackdowns and tightening of police control in Xinjiang throughout the years. Until 2001 Beijing spoke about these attacks as isolated incidents and made no broad statements of all Uyghur being terrorists, despite regularly arresting thousands of Uyghur people for no real reason. Many of those arrested Uyghur people wound up in Laogai (reform through labor) camps or in laojiao (re-education through labor) camps scattered throughout China. But, after the 9/11 attacks on the United States the tone shifted and more and more anti-Uyghur rhetoric started to become anti-terrorist rhetoric. This type of shift in language always precedes an uptick in genocidal violence. Now that all Uyghur are being labeled as terrorists, all Uyghur can be arbitrarily arrested and put in camps or even merely killed and no one will really care because it's not ethnic based discrimination. It's an anti terrorism campaign designed to protect the people from violent thugs.  After 2001 Beijing Sided with the U.S. in the new “global war against terrorism,” the Chinese government initiated an active diplomatic and propaganda campaign against “East Turkestan terrorist forces.” This label was henceforth to be applied indiscriminately to any Uighur suspected of separatist activities. There has been no sign of any attempt by the Chinese authorities to distinguish between peaceful political activists, peaceful separatists, and those advocating or using violence. Although, it needs to be said that violence is a perfectly valid political tool when resisting genocide and imperialism. This leads us to China's Strike Hard Campaign Against Violent Terrorism and the creation of their “vocational education and training centers” (both laogai and laojiao allegedly closing down in around 2013, although satellite evidence says that's bullshit).   In early 2014, Chinese authorities in Xinjiang launched the renewed "strike hard" campaign around New Year. It included measures targeting mobile phones, computers, and religious materials belonging to Uyghurs. The government simultaneously announced a "people's war on terror" and local government introduced new restrictions that included the banning of long beards and the wearing of veils in public places. Over the life of the camps it is estimated, by various sources that between a few hundred thousand and 1.8 million people have been arbitrarily detained in these camps and subjected to forced labor as a method of reformation. This is part of a Chinese government policy called hashar and includes many public works projects in Xinjiang. Beyond the simple fact of these slave labor camps, the state also began imposing harsh penalties for violations of birth limits. It also implemented an aggressive campaign of mass sterilization and intrauterine contraceptive device (IUD) implantation programs. Chinese government officials justify this by equating high birth rates with religious extremism. Chinese academics have argued that ethnic minority population growth threatens social stability and national identity.  Leaked government documents show that violations of birth limits are the most common reason Uyghur women are placed in a detention camp. Women have testified to being sterilized without their consent while in detention. Other women have testified that they were threatened with detention if they refused sterilization or IUD implantation procedures. So, in summation, since the 1950s at least the Chinese government has been engaging in forcible assimilation practices. Something that the UN Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (a legally non binding resolution passed in 2007) says Indigenous people have a right to not be subjected to. As well as forced sterilization and forced abortions for violating China's family planning laws. And arbitrary detention and forced labor on invented charges of religious extremism and separatist activities. And then also having their children taken away from them and placed into something akin to the residential school system of the US, Canada, and Australia where they are forbidden from even speaking the Uyghur language. Under the UN CPPCG China is guilty of genocide in the form of causing severe bodily or mental harm to the group, imposing measures designed to prevent births within the group, and transferring children of the group to another group. The Uyghur Genocide is one of the more difficult ones to talk about online, especially if you frequent leftist political circles and spaces like I do as anything anti-China is seen often seen as Western propaganda and part of Cold War policies of anticommunism, as if China doesn't have roughly 814 billionaires controlling the majority of their means of production. The wealthiest man in China is Zhong Shanshan. He privately owns a bottled water company and is worth over 60 billion dollars. China isn't a communist country, it's not even socialist. It's just fascist and capitalist. But that's a rant for a different day. The Uyghur Genocide is real and verifiable, although it can be difficult to do so as there is a lot of misinformation and propaganda regarding it on both sides of the discussion. None of that changes the fact of the genocide or of the destruction of Uyghur culture in Xinjiang.  That's it for this week folks. No new reviews, so let's get right into the outro. Have a Day! w/ The History Wizard is brought to you by me, The History Wizard. If you want to see/hear more of me you can find me on Tiktok @thehistorywizard or on Instagram @the_history_wizard. Please remember to rate, review, and subscribe to Have a Day! On your pod catcher of choice. The more you do, the more people will be able to listen and learn along with you. Thank you  for sticking around until the end and, as always, Have a Day, and Free Xinjiang.  

Author Matsuri closes out the final chapters and leaves no stone unturned, Chris speaks, Q-Chan shows off their human form and a climatic meeting with D's father finally happens.  In a clever way, Matsuri switches from an episodic structure to a serial form, bringing the narrative home!     Email: WeAppreciateManga@Gmail.com   135: Petshop of Horrors vol. 10 By Akino Matsuri Translation by Tomoharu Iwo and James Lucas Jones Lettering by Nunu Ngien   The story advances to its conclusion when Chris Orcot's extended family arrive. Chris knowing that he is adopted by his aunty and uncle forgives them and his cousins, but in a moment of crisis he learns to speak up and call for them, Chris' voice is heard by his cousins and he is taken home, even if the pets at the shop did not want Chris to leave them, Chris makes his own decision to live in peace with his real family. When Chris looks back at what he had with D in the pet shop he finds they no longer resemble the humanoids he once had a relationship with, they truly seem like animals now.   Afterwards D mysteriously leaves and closes shop upon getting heat from the FBI. Agent Vesca Howell teams up with Chris' older brother, the detective Leon Orcot to track D down. The two share what they know about D before they go their separate ways. Afterwards D appears to Leon and leads him to a high-rise penthouse to discuss things over tea and sweets. But Leon is not fooled since the imposter is Count D, the father of the missing D. Although this raises many questions as to why he looks like he in his twenties and is the spitting image of his son. Leon however falls for Count D's trap. And like in previous chapters, Leon must once again fight in the wilderness of a mythological dreamscape.   Meanwhile Agent Howell confronts the real D and loses the fight to apprehend him. D realises that Howell is only after his lookalike father and so he takes him to Count D. Both agent Howell and D arrive in time to help save Leon. It is at this point that D's personal pet, Q-chan transforms into his human form, revealing himself to be D's grandfather.  Just in time for the existential crisis that is Count D's plan to spread a virus that causes human extinction. However, Count D is shot dead and Howell dies in the confrontation, The OG Count, Grandfather D takes his son's remains so that he can reincarnate him and Leon takes a leap of faith with D to safely escape the tower. Soon afterwards, D parts ways with Leon.   Eventually after twenty years pass, the pet shop is re-opened and mysterious deaths occur. Detective Orcot makes his way there to meet D, but this is not a reunion, in fact this is a meeting between the adult Chris Orcot and D's son, the reincarnated Count D who died twenty years ago.     Topics:     ·       Aino Matsuri's switch from an episodic style of storytelling to a serial one. ·       Chris' dilemma ·       Chris' unrealistic form of mutism. ·       Is Count D human or not? ·       The Misanthropic villain.   ·       The final chapter relies heavily on specific tropes so to create a feel of finality. The Tower itself is symbolic, appearing as a Tarot card after the Devil card. The Tower is almost always depicted having been struck by lightning or facing some sort of explosion or fire at the top. It represents, divination, to reach heaven and God and to experience a great revelation but one with an arduous cost. In many stories it is the protagonist's greatest challenge before they confront the truth that waits for them above, and usually by defeating the villain above it causes the tower to collapse, this is symbolic of a return to status quo, to humble and “ground” the heroes but also render the challenge of ever climbing it again to be mute. Also, like the biblical “Tower of Babel” anyone who attempts to climb or build it always comes to a misunderstanding when they meet someone at the top.   ·       Another symbolic scene is Leon becoming trapped in the forest, like “Jonah and the whale” Leon must face penance/consequence for his lack of faith and suspicion of D, it is a purgatory and womb like state that once he escapes from, he gets more purpose. It is also a traumatic instance of being isolated from society and one's tribe and in such stories those who survive the proverbial whale get a chance to better themselves or do better in the next life.   Historical, scientific, and cultural references:   ·       The Mountains of Kunlun China is specifically a belt of mountains that stetches through the centre and around parts of China, from the Tibetan plateau to the Tarim Basin, bordering on the Gobi Desert. It has mythical properties and is analogous to the Greek's Mount Olympus and the Tower of Babel, in that many creationist stories revolve around the mountains, which are deemed as the birthplace of China as a nation.   Facebook Instagram X/Twitter Official Website   Email

Join us as we discuss the fascinating story of the Tarim Basin mummies with Miriam Robbins Dexter.  The Tarim Basin mummies are naturally mummified human remains that were discovered in China's Tarim Basin dating from around 2,000 BC to AD 200.  Their origins have attracted international attention over their “Western” physical appearance.  Where did these people come from and how do they relate to the migrations of both the matriarchal civilizations and Indo-European invaders that we've discussed on other podcasts?Miriam Robbins Dexter, Ph.D., holds a B.A. in Classics and a Ph.D. in Indo-European Studies (comparative linguistics, archaeology and mythology), from the University of California, Los Angeles.  Her friend and colleague, Vicki Noble, a regular member of the Make Matriarchy Great Again team, joins the discussionDawn "Sam" Alden and Sean Marlon Newcombe co-host.

This episode we talk about the first recorded instance of Buddhism--or at least the worship of the Buddha--in Japan, and we look at some of the politics and issues surrounding its adoption, as well as some of the problems in the story we have from the Chronicles.  We also look at what legend says happened to the oldest Buddhist image and where you can find it, today.  Hint: It is in a place that once hosted the Winter Olympics! For more check out our podcast website:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-85 Rough Transcript:   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 85: The Buddha Comes to Japan. Last couple episodes we've talked about Buddhism.  We talked about its origins in the Indian subcontinent, with the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, and how those teachings spread out from India to Gandhara, and then followed the trade routes across the harsh deserts of the Tarim Basin, through the Gansu corridor, and into the Yellow and Yangzi River Valleys.  From there the teachings made it all the way to the Korean peninsula, and to the country of Baekje, Yamato's chief ally on the peninsula. This episode we'll look at how Buddhism came to the archipelago and its initial reception there.  For some of this we may need to span several reigns, as we'll be looking at events from early to late 6th century.  This is also about more than just religion, and so we may need to dive back into some of the politics we've covered up to this point as well.  Hopefully we can bring it all together in the end, but if it is a bit of a bumpy ride, just hang with me for a bit. So let's start with the official account in the Nihon Shoki, which we already mentioned two episodes ago: the first mention of Buddhism in the Chronicles.  The year was 552, or the 13th year in the reign of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou.  That winter, during the 10th month—which was probably closer to December or January on a modern calendar—King Seongmyeong of Baekje had a special gift for his counterpart, the sovereign of Yamato.  By this time there are numerous accounts of gifts to Yamato, generally in conjunction with the Baekje-Yamato alliance and Baekje's requests for military support in their endeavors on the peninsula, generally framed in the Yamato sources as centering on the situation of the country of Nimna. In this case, the gift was a gilt-bronze image of Shakyamuni Buddha, several flags and umbrellas, and a number of volumes of Buddhist sutras.  King Seongmyeong sent a memorial explaining his intent:  “This doctrine” (aka Buddhism) “is amongst all doctrines the most excellent.  But it is hard to explain, and hard to comprehend.  Even the Duke of Zhou and Confucius had not attained to a knowledge of it.  This doctrine can create religious merit and retribution with appreciation of the highest wisdom.  Imagine a man in possession of treasures to his heart's content, so that he might satisfy all his wishes in proportion as he used them.  Thus it is with the treasure of this wonderful doctrine.  Every prayer is fulfilled and naught is wanting.  Moreover, from distant India it has extended hither to the three Han, where there are none who do not receive it with reverence as it is preached to them. “Thy servant, therefore, Myeong, King of Baekje, has humbly dispatched his retainer, Nuri Sacchi, to transmit it to the Imperial Country, and to diffuse it abroad throughout the home provinces, so as to fulfil the recorded saying of Buddha: ‘My law shall spread to the East.' “ Upon receiving all of these things and hearing the memorial, we are told that the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, literally leapt for joy.  He thanked the envoys, but then put the question to his ministers as to how they should proceed.  Soga no Iname no Sukune, holding the position of Oho-omi, recommended that they should worship the statue of the Buddha.  After all, if all of the “Western Frontier lands” were worshipping it, then should Yamato really be left out? On the other side of the argument were Mononobe no Okoshi as well as Nakatomi no Kamako.  They argued against stopping the traditional worship of the 180 kami of Heaven and Earth and replacing it with worship of some foreign religion. With this split decision, Ame Kunioshi decided to have Soga no Iname experiment, first.  He told him to go ahead and worship the image and see what happens. And so Soga set it up at his house in Oharida, purified it, and, per Buddhist tradition, retired from the world.  He had another house, in nearby Mukuhara, purified and made into a temple.  Here he began to worship the Buddha. Around that same time, there was a pestilence—a disease—that was in the land.  People were getting sick and some were dying.  This was likely not unprecedented.  Healthcare was not exactly up to our modern standards, and while many good things traveled the trade routes, infection and disease likely used them as pathways as well.  So diseases would pop up, on occasion.  In this instance, though, Mononobe no Okoshi and Nakatomi no Kamako seized on it as their opportunity.  They went to Ame Kunioshi and they blamed Soga no Iname and his worship of the Buddha for the plague. Accordingly, the court removed the statue of the Buddha and tossed it into the canal at Naniwa, and then they burned down Soga no Iname's temple—which, as you may recall, was basically his house.  As soon as they did that, though, Ame Kunioshi's own Great Hall burst into flames, seemingly out of nowhere, as it was otherwise a clear day. Little more is said about these events, but that summer there were reports from Kawachi of Buddhist chants booming out of the sea of Chinu near the area of Idzumi.  Unate no Atahe was sent to investigate and found an entire log of camphorwood that was quote-unquote “Shining Brightly”.  So he gave it to the court, where we are told they used it to have two Buddha images made, which later were installed in a temple in Yoshino; presumably at a much later date. And then the Chronicles go quiet for the next couple decades, at least on the subject of Buddhism, but this is the first official account of it coming over, and there is quite a bit to unpack.  For one thing, the memorials and speeches once again seem like something that the Chroniclers added because it fit with their understanding of the narrative, including their insistence that Yamato was a fully fledged imperial state, and there is some fairly good evidence that King Seongmyeong's memorial is clearly anachronistic.  But there are a few other things, and conflicting records on things such as dates and similar. So first off, let's acknowledge that there are too many things in the main narrative in the Chronicles that are just questionable, such as the sovereign “leaping with joy” at the chance to hear about Buddhism, and the fact that King Seongmyeong's memorial apparently quotes a part of the sutra of the Sovereign Kings of Golden Light, known in Japanese as the Konkoumyou-saishou-ou-kyou, but that translation wasn't done until 703, during the Tang dynasty, by the monk Yijing in the city of Chang'an.  While it would have been known to knowledgable monks like Doji, who may have been helping put the narrative together in 720, it is unlikely that it was in use during the 6th century, when the memorial is said to have been written. In addition, there is question about the date that all of this supposedly happened.  The Nihon Shoki has this event taking place in 552, well into the reign of Ame Kunioshi.  However, there are at least two 8th century sources, roughly contemporary with the writing of the Nihon Shoki, the Gangoji Garan Engi and the Jouguuki, and both of these put the date at 538, a good fourteen years earlier, and in the era of Ame Kunioshi's predecessor, Takewo Hiro Kunioshi, aka Senka Tenno.  The first of these, the Gangoji Garan Engi, is a record of the founding of the first permanent temple in Japan, Gangoji, aka Hokoji or, informally, Asukadera, which was founded by Soga no Iname's heir, Soga no Umako.  More on the temple itself, later, but for now we want to focus on the historical aspects of this account, which mostly corroborate the story, talking about Soga no Iname's role in receiving the image and enshrining it, as well as the early conflict between the Soga clan and their rivals.  The other source, the Joguki, focuses on the life of Shotoku Taishi, aka Prince Umayado, who will become a major subject of our narrative at the end of the 6th and early 7th centuries.  Not only is he considered the father of Japanese Buddhism, but he had strong connections to the Soga family.  Today, most scholars accept the 538 date over the 552 date when talking about Buddhism's initial arrival into the islands   If the Chroniclers did move the event from 538 to 552, one has to wonder why.  This isn't a simple matter of being off by 60 years, and thus attributable to a mistake in the calendrical sexagenary zodiac cycle of stems and branches, so there must have been something else.  One suggestion is that the date conflicted with the chronology that had already been set for the sovereigns.  538 is during the reign of Takewo no Ohokimi, aka Senka Tenno, but what if succession was not quite as cut and dried as all that?  What if Ame Kunioshi no Ohokimi had his own court and was in some way ruling at the same time as his half-brothers, Magari no Ohine and Takewo no Ohokimi? They were from different mothers, and thus different factions at court.  Ame Kunioshi was young, so it was possible that there were rival lineages attempting to rule, or even some kind of co-ruler deal hearkening back to more ancient precedent.  Some even theorize that Magari no Ohine and Takewo Hiro Kunioshi were simply fictional inserts to help span the period between Wohodo and Ame Kunioshi. Whatever the reason, this theory suggests that it would not have happened in the 13th year of Ame Kunioshi's reign, but that his reign started in 526, rather than 540.  An intriguing hypothesis, but one that begs the question of whether everything in the reign would then need to be shifted to account for that.  Given that there are a few attributable events noted that fit with outside sources as well, that doesn't seem quite as plausible without some very conscious efforts to change the timeline. Another thought is that the compilers weren't sure exactly when this event happened, but given Ame Kunioshi's reputation and long reign, they chose his reign to place it in because it just fit.  I suspect that this happened more than once, with people more likely attributing past events to well-remembered sovereigns.  If this is the case, then when searching for a date they may have just chosen one that seemed auspicious.  In this case, 552 CE was, in some reckonings, an important year in Buddhist history, as there were those who say it as the beginning of the age of “mappou”, the “End of the Law” or perhaps the “Latter days of the Law”. This definitely is an intriguing theory, and resonates strongly.  For most of Japanese history, the idea that we are in this period of “mappo” has had a strong influence, and to a certain extent it is kind of an apocalyptic view of things.  The idea of mappo is that while the Buddha was alive, his teachings were fresh and available to all living things.  However, after his death, his teachings had to be remembered and passed on.  Even with the advent of writing, the meaning and understanding of his teachings, and thus an understanding of dharma, would also atrophy.  Different translations, changes in meaning, and just bits and pieces lost to time would mean that for the first 500 to 1,000 years, the Buddha's disciples would keep things well and the meaning would be protected, but in the next 500 to 1,000 years things would decline, but still be pretty close to the truth.  Then – and this is when the period of “mappo” starts - things would really start to decline, until finally, about 5,000 to 10,000 years later—or about 1,000 to 12,000 years after the time of the historical Buddha—things would break down, factions would be fighting one another, and eventually everyone would have forgotten the dharma entirely.  It was only then that there would come a new Buddha, Miroku or Maitreya, who would once again teach about the dharma and how to escape suffering, and the whole cycle would start again. The year 552 would have coincided, according to some estimates, with 1,000 years since the time of Siddhartha Gautama, and so it would have had particular significance to the people of that time, particularly if you counted each of the first two Ages as 500 years each, meaning that the word of the Buddha, that his teachings would spread to the East, would have been completed just as we entered the latter days of the Law. Regardless of the time—and, as I said earlier, 538 is the more accepted date—the general events described – the statue, the offer of Soga to experiment, and the resulting events - are usually agreed to, although even here we must pause, slightly and ask a few questions. First off, was this truly the first time that Buddhism had ever shown up in Japan?  The answer to that is probably not.  There had been many waves of immigrants that had come over to Japan from the peninsula, and even if only a small handful of them had adopted the new religion before coming over it is likely that there were pockets of worshippers.  Later, we will see that there are people in Japan who are said to have had prior experience as a monk, or who had their own Buddhist images.  These images were probably used by people in their homes—there is no evidence of any particular temples that had been built, privately or otherwise, and so there is no evidence that we have any active monks or nuns in the archipelago, but who knows what was going on in communities outside of the elite core?  There were plenty of things that were never commented on if it wasn't directly relevant to the court. Furthermore, with all of the envoys that had been to Baekje, surely some of them had experience with Buddhism.  And then there were the envoys *from* Baekje, who no doubt brought Buddhist practices with them.  So there was likely some kind of familiarity with the religion's existence, even if it wasn't necessarily fully understood. The second point that many people bring up is the role of the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, or whomever was in charge at the time that the first image came over.  While the Nihon Shoki attempts to portray a strong central government with the sovereign at its head, we've already seen how different households had arisen and taken some measure of power for themselves.  At the end of the 5th and into the early 6th century, the Ohotomo and Mononobe houses were preeminent, with Ohotomo Kanamura taking on actions such as negotiating dealings with the continent and even manuevering around the Crown Prince.  The Mononobe wielded considerable authority through their military resources, and now, the Soga appeared to ascendant.  It is quite possible that the idea of the sovereign giving any sort of permission or order to worship Buddhism is simply a political fig leaf added by the Chroniclers.  The Soga may have been much more independent in their views and dealings.  To better understand this, let's take a look at the uji family system and the Soga family in particular. Now the Nihon Shoki paints a picture as though these noble uji families were organic, and simply part of the landscape, descending from the kami in the legendary age, with lineages leading down to the present day, although there is some acknowledgment that the earliest ancestors did not necessarily use the family names until a later date.  For much of Japanese history, the concept that these family, or uji, were one of the core building blocks of ancient Japanese political and cultural spheres is taken as a matter of course.  However, in more modern studies, this view has been questioned, and now the prevailing view is that these families are somewhat different.  In fact, the uji are likely just as much an artificial construct as the corporate -Be family labor groups. According to this theory, early on people were associated with local groups and places.  Outside of the immediate family, groups were likely held together by their regional ties as much as anything else.  Names appear to be locatives, with ancient titles indicating the -hiko or -hime of this or that area. Some time in the 5th century, Yamato—and possibly elsewhere in the peninsula—began to adopt the concept of -Be corporate groups from Baekje.  We talked about this back in Episode 63, using the Hata as a prime example of how these groups were brought together.  More importantly, though, was that each of these -Be groups reported to someone in the court, sometimes with a different surname.  These were the uji, created along with the -Be to help administer the labor and work of running the state.  They were essentially arms of the state itself, in many ways.  The kabane system of titles emphasizes this, with different families having different ranks depending on what they did, whether locally, regionally, or at the central court.  Some of these titles, like -Omi and -Kimi, were likely once actual jobs, but eventually it came to represent something more akin to a social ranking. There have been some questions and emails asking for a bit more in depth on this, and I'd really like to, but I'm afraid that would be too much for now.  At the moment I want to focus more on the uji, particularly on those at the top - the uji with the kabane of either Omi or Muraji, as these are the ones most likely to be helping to directly run the government.  They even had their own geographical areas within the Nara basin, and elsewhere, that were uji strongholds.  The Hata had areas near modern Kyoto, the Mononobe clearly had claims to land around Isonokami, in modern Tenri, and the Soga clan had their holdings in the area of modern Asuka and Kashihara city.  At the very least, that is where Soga no Iname's house was—in Mukuhara and Oharida, both located in the modern area of Asuka, which will become important in the future. It wasn't just the landholdings that were important, though.  Each uji had some part to play in the functioning of the government.  In many cases it was the production or control of a particular service, such as the Hata and silk weaving, or the Mononobe and their affinity with all things military.  For the Soga, they appear to have had a rather interesting portfolio. Traditionally, the Soga family is said to trace its lineage back to Takechi no Sukune, the first Oho-omi back in the time of Okinaga no Tarashi Hime and Homuda Wake no Ohokimi—see episode 46 for more on him.  That lineage is likely fabricated, however, and the earliest actual evidence for the family may be from the Kogoshui, where we are told that Soga no Machi was put in charge of the Three Treasuries.  These were the Imikura, or sacred treasury; the Uchikura, or royal household treasury; and the Ohokura, the government treasury.  This seems like quite the position of responsibility, and it would fit with some of what we see later as the Soga are involved in helping set up Miyake, the various royal storehouses across the land that acted as Yamato court administrative centers for the purposes of collecting goods and funneling them to the court, as well as keeping an eye on the local regions.  Although here I feel I would be remiss if I didn't also note that the “Three Treasuries”, or “Sanzou” is one way to translate the Tripitaka, and given the Soga's role, I don't think I can entirely ignore that point. So the Soga family had experience with administration, and specifically they were dealing with a variety of different goods produced in different regions.  If that is the case, then their authority did not necessarily derive from the standard uji-be constructed familial connections, but rather they were deriving positional authority from the central government itself.  This may seem like common sense to us, but in the world of ancient Yamato, where family connections were everything, this may have been something new and innovative—and very in keeping with various continental models of administration.  It is quite likely that the Soga were dealing with some of the latest innovations in government and political authority, which would also have opened them up to the possibility of new ideas. In addition, their position meant they likely had wide-ranging contacts across the archipelago and even onto the peninsula.  The Soga themselves have connections to the peninsula in the names of some of their members, such as Soga no Karako, where “Karako” can be translated as a “Son of Kara” or a “Son of Gaya”, possibly referring to their origins, and Soga no Kouma, where “Kouma” is a general term for Goguryeo, and so quite possibly indicates a connection with them as well.  On top of that, there is a now-out-of-favor theory that once suggested that Soga no Machi might be the same as Moku Machi, an important Baekje official in the late 5th century.  While that has been largely discredited, the fact that “Machi” is possibly of Baekje origin cannot be entirely overlooked. Then there are a series of notes in the Nihon Shoki, particularly surrounding the area of Shirai, in the land of Kibi.  These start in 553, just one year after Soga no Iname's failed attempt to launch a Buddhist temple, at least according to the Nihon Shoki's record of events.  It is a relatively simple note, but it mentions how Soga no Iname made a man by the name of Wang Jinnie the “Funa no Fubito”, or “Recorder of Ships”, and put him in charge of the shipping tax—all at the behest of the sovereign, of course. Later, in 555, Soga no Iname went with Hozumi no Iwayumi no Omi to Kibi, where they consolidated five districts, or agata, under the administration of a single administrative Miyake in Shirawi.  Later, in 556, he would go back to Kibi and establish a Miyake in Kojima, putting in place Katsuraki no Yamada as the Tazukai, or “rural rice field governor”.  That same year he and others went to the Takachi district in Yamato and established the Miyake of Ohomusa, or “Great Musa”, for immigrants from Baekje and then Womusa, or “Small Musa”, for immigrants from Goguryeo. In 569, the person that Soga no Iname had put in charge of recording the ships, Wang Jinnie, had a nephew, Itsu—or possibly Danchin, depending on how you read it—go out to Shirawi to take a census.  This is the same Shirawi that Soga no Iname had helped establish in 555.  Itsu becomes the Shirawi no Obito, and in 574 we see Soga no Umako, Iname's heir, heading out to Shirawi with an updated register for Itsu. So, in short, the Soga family clearly is doing a lot of government administration, and particularly of the Miyake, which is the extension of the court authority into the rest of the archipelago.  On top of that, look at how often the names that are coming up in conjunction with what they are doing are referencing immigrant groups.  Even the Hozumi family are known at this point for their work on the peninsula, and we see the Soga heavily involved with the Wang family and their fortunes, not to mention Greater and Lesser Musa and the Baekje and Goguryeo individuals there.  Wang Jinnie will have even more of a part to play, but we'll hold onto that for later. Given everything we can see about how they are operating, is it any surprise that the Soga would advocate in favor of Buddhism?  I'd also note that, while other clans have clear connections to heavenly ancestors and kami whom they worshipped, it is unclear to me if the Soga had anything similar.  There is mention in the 7th century of the creation of a shrine to their titular ancestors, Takeuchi no Sukune and Ishikawa no Sukune, and today there is a shrine that is dedicated to Soga tsu Hiko and Soga tsu Hime—Basically just lord and lady Soga.  But there isn't anything like the spirit of Futsunushi or Ohomononushi, let alone an Amaterasu or Susano'o. Why is that important?  Well, prior to the 6th century, a lot of clans claimed authority from the ritual power they were perceived to wield, often related to the prestige of their kami.  One of the ways that Yamato influence had spread was through the extension of the Miwa cult across the archipelago, and there were even members of the Himatsuribe and the Hioki-be, basically groups of ritualists focused on sun worship, which upheld the royal house.  The Mononobe controlled Isonokami shrine, where they worshipped their Ujigami, Futsu-mitama, the spirit of the sound of the sword.  And then there were the Nakatomi, who haven't had much to do in the narrative so far, but we know that they were court ritualists, responsible for ensuring that proper rituals were carried out by the court for the kami to help keep balance in the land. The dispute between the Soga and the Mononobe and Nakatomi is presented as a struggle between a foreign religion and the native kami of Japan—leaving aside any discussion, for now, about just how “native” said kami actually were.  This is, in fact, the primary story that gets told again and again, that the Mononobe and Nakatomi were simply standing up for their beliefs, sincerely believing that if too many people started worshipping foreign gods then it would supplant the worship already present in the islands. And that may have been a genuine fear at the time, but I would suggest that it was only a small one.  What seems more apparent is that we are really looking at just an old fashioned power struggle.  Because what all of the information we have about the Soga distills down to is: they were the new kid on the block.  The Soga were the up and coming nobility.  They had connections with the continent and various immigrant groups.  That gave them access to new ideas and new forms of resources.  The Mononobe were built on a more traditionalist line.  They had been around, ever since at least Wakatake no Ohokimi, playing a significant role in things, alongside the Ohotomo.  The Mononobe were at their apex, claiming descent through their own Heavenly Grandson, and having held sway at court through numerous reigns at this point.   They represent, in many ways, the old guard. Worship of a fancy new religious icon—effectively a new kami—threatened to give the Soga even more power and sway.  They already had control of the three treasuries, if the Kogoshui is to be believed, and likely had a rather impressive administrative apparatus.  Soga no Iname had also ended up successfully marrying off two of his daughters to Ame Kunioshi, making him father-in-law to the current sovereign.  If he added to that a spiritual focus that people came to believe in, that would only enhance the Soga's power and place in the hierarchy. And what better way to taint all of that, and neutralize these upstarts, than to blame this new god for the plague and pestilence that was killing people.  We see it all too often, even today—when people are scared and when there are problems, the easiest people to scapegoat are the foreigners and the outsiders.  Those whom we do not see as “us”.  It was probably easy to turn the court against Buddhism, at least initially.  They threw the image in the canal and burned down the temple, and no doubt they were pleased with themselves. But that was merely the opening salvo, and as we'll see in the coming years, the Soga family were hardly done with Buddhism.  One can argue whether they were truly devout or if this was merely for political gain, but the Soga family tied themselves to this new foreign religion, for good or for ill, and they wouldn't be pushed around forever. When next we touch base on this topic we'll look at Soga no Iname's heir, Soga no Umako, and his attempts to start up where his father left off.  He would again clash with the Mononobe, and the outcome of that conflict would set the path for the next half a century.  It would also see Buddhism become firmly enmeshed with the apparatus of the state.  As this happens , we'll also see the character of Buddhist worship in the archipelago change.  Initially, the Buddha was treated little differently from any other kami, and based on the way it is described, probably worshiped in a very similar manner.  However, as more sutras came to light and as more people studied and learned about the religion—and as more immigrants were brought in to help explain how things were supposed to work—Buddhism grew in the islands to be its own distinct entity.  In fact the growth of Buddhism would even see the eventual definition of “Shinto”, the “Way of the Gods”, a term that was never really needed until there was another concept for native practices to be compared against. Before we leave off, there is one other story I'd like to mention.  It is tangential to our immediate discussion of Buddhism and the Soga, but I think you may find it of interest, nonetheless.  This is the story of just what happened—supposedly—to that first Buddhist icon that was tossed into the Naniwa canal. Because you see, according to tradition, that gilt-bronze icon did not stay stuck in the mud and muck of the canal, nor did it just disappear.  Instead there is a tradition that it was found almost a century later.  The person who retrieved it was named Honda no Yoshimitsu, and from Naniwa he traveled all the way to Shinano, to the area of modern Nagano, and there he would found a temple in 642.  Another reading of his name, Yoshimitsu, is Zenko, and so the temple is named Zenkoji, and you can still go and visit it today.  In fact, the main hall of Zenkoji is considered a national treasure, and it was featured prominently during the 1998 Winter Olympics in Nagano, Japan.  It is a popular attraction for tourist both in Japan and from abroad, and if you get a chance I highly recommend going to see it.  On the street leading up to the temple entrance are many traditional shops that still sell various foods and traditional arts and crafts, and there are many intriguring features.  For example, there is a narrow walkway underneath the main temple that is completely dark, where you are meant to feel along the wall to try to find the key to enlightenment, a kind of physical metaphor of Buddhist teaching. And of course there is the icon that Honda Yoshimitsu is said to have fished out of the canal. According to the temple, the icon still exists, and many worshippers believe it to be the oldest extant Buddhist icon in Japan, even older than the icons at Horyuji.  However, there is one catch—nobody is allowed to see it.  Shortly after it was installed in the temple, the statue was hidden in a special container, or zushi, and it became what is known as a hidden Buddha.  This is a tradition particularly prevalent in Japan, where some Buddhas are hidden away and only brought out on very special occasions.  Some cynics might note that those occasions are often when the temple needs to raise funds.  As for this hidden Buddha, however, it has not been seen more than a handful of times since it was locked away in the 7th century. Despite that, we know what it looks like—or at least what it is supposed to look like.  The image is said to be a triad, and though the Nihon Shoki claims it was an image of Shakyamuni, the central figure of the Zenkoji triad is actually the figure of Amida, aka Amithabha, as in the Pure Land sect of Buddhism.  Amida Nyorai is flanked by two attendants.  We know all of this because a copy of the Zenkoji image was made in the Kamakura period, and that image, said to be a faithful recreation of the original is also kept at Zenkoji.  While the original is kept hidden in the back, the replica, which is thought to have all of the miraculous powers of the original, sits in front, and is therefore called the Maedachi Honzon, basically the image standing in front, vice the original, the Gohonzon, the main image. Except it gets even better, because the replica is *also* kept hidden away most of the time, and only revealed on special occasions, known as Gokaicho, or “opening of the curtain”, which occurs once every seven years. The Zenkoji triad became extremely important in later centuries, and copies were made and installed in sub-temples throughout Japan.  Even today you may find a Zenkoji-style triad here or there, each one considered to have a spiritual tie back to the original, and some of them even have inscriptions confirming that they are, indeed, Zenkoji style triads Of course, the big question remains: does the original image actually still exist, and is there any chance that it actually is as old as it claims to be?  There really is no good way of knowing.  Zenkoji is not offering to open up the zushi any time soon.  We do know a few things, however.  We know that the temple has burned down at least 11 times over the years, and the Gohonzon was rescued each time, or so they say.  There are some who claim that it still exists, but perhaps it is damaged.  If that is the case, how did they make the replica, though? There was an inspection during the Edo period.  There was a rumor that it had been stolen, and so an Edo official was sent to check on the status.  They reported that it was still there, but crucially they never described actually laying eyes on the statue.  In one account where a monk did open the box it is said that their was a blinding light—kind of like the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones but just overwhelming; no faces were melted, at least none that were reported. The monks of Zenkoji, when asked how they know the image is still there, will point to the weight of the container, which, when lifted, is apparently considerable.  They say that is how they know it is still there.  Of course, a melted lump of metal might be the same weight as it was when it was full statue, as long as it didn't lose any actual mass, so it is hard to tell if it is still in good condition. Even with all of that, there is the question about the veracity of the original objects lineage to begin with.  Did Honda Yoshimitsu really just find *the* original statue?  And even if he did, how would he have known what it was?  Was there an inscription:  To Yamato, from Baekje, hugs and kisses? I've yet to see anyone directly compare the purported replica with other statues, but I suspect that would be the route to at least check the age, but nobody seems to be saying that the style of the replica is blatantly wrong for a 6th or 7th century icon from the peninsula or by peninsular craftsmen.  Then again, there were plenty of local immigrants in the Naniwa area who could have potentially crafted an image.  Indeed, the area around modern Nagano even has traces of Goguryeo style burial cairns, possibly from immigrants settled out there to help with early horse cultivation, and so there is even the possibility that there were locals with the connections and skills to craft something. If you really want to know more, there is an entire work by Donald McCallum, titled “Zenkoji and Its Icon”, on not just the icon but the entire worship that sprang up around it and caused copies to spread throughout the archipelago. And that's where we will leave off for this episode.  In the next couple of episodes I want to finish up some of the secular history of this reign, and look a little bit outside of Yamato and the evidence in the Chronicles as well. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

This episode we look at the transmission of Buddhism through the 1st to 5th centuries from India, to the Kushan Empire, and across the Silk Road to the Han and succeeding dynasties, and even to Baekje, on the Korean peninsula. For more, especially photos, please check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-84   Rough Transcript:   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 84: The Middle Way through the Middle Kingdom. First things first, thank you to Bodil, Gabe, and Lauren for donating to support the show on Ko-Fi and Patreon.  If you'd like to join them, will have information at the end of the episode. Also an apology—if my voice isn't in tip-top shape, well, it seems that COVID finally found us after 3 years or so, and I'm on the tail end of it.  So thank you for your understanding. Last episode we talked about Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni, the Historical Buddha, and his teachings, and how they spread, at least through the Indian subcontinent, with the patronage of rulers like Ashoka the Great.  The original teachings, initially taught as an oral tradition, was eventually turned into a series of writings, called the Tripitaka. As for how those writings came about, it's worth talking about the languages involved. The native language of Shakyamuni was probably a language known as Maghadi, or something similar.  But the Indian subcontinent, including the modern countries of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, and Afghanistan, is over three times the size of western Europe.  There are at eight south Asian language families, with hundreds of different languages, depending on how you count them.  The modern state of India counts 22 official languages, not including English.  I mention this to point out that as the Buddha's disciples spread his teachings, they were, by necessity, translating it into different languages. There is a story that a student suggested to the Buddha that they make Sanskrit the official language of Buddhism.  Even then, Sanskrit was considered a language of learning and education, much as Greek or Latin was in medieval Europe, but the Buddha rejected this and insisted that his teachings be taught in people's own tongue.  This proved great for reaching people, but over time there was a fear that the oral teachings might be lost, and so they were written down. The oldest written Buddhist canon is generally agreed to be texts in Pali, commissioned in Sri Lanka.  These are sometimes called the southern Tripitaka—or Tipitaka in Pali—and it is the primary canon for Theravada Buddhists.  In the north, however, Sanskrit remained the prominent language of learning, and texts written down and transmitted in the north—particularly those that made it to China and on to Japan—were typically Sanskrit or translations of Sanskrit texts.  This is what some refer to as the Northern Tripitaka.  Both of these were transcriptions of the oral teachings that Buddhist monks were otherwise memorizing and presenting to the Buddhist community.  That oral tradition, in fact, never really went away, and these early texts were more like a reference so that monks could check their memory.  Chanting the sutras—and especially chanting from memory—remained a highly prized skill of Buddhist orators. Now, the split between northern and southern texts is convenient, but it isn't necessarily as simple as all that.  We have plenty of examples of texts, particularly in the northern traditions, that don't necessarily have an extant Sanskrit counterpart.  In fact, the oldest extant sutras of any tradition that we have today are known as the Gandharan sutras, and written in the Ghandari language using a Karosthi script.  Gandhara refers to a region centered north and west of the Indus river, in modern Pakistan, stretching to the Kabul river valley in modern Afghanistan and north to the Karakoram mountains, which is one of the interlocking ranges that form the boundary between modern Pakistan and India and modern China and the Tibetan plateau.  It is believed to be the namesake of the city of Kandahar, in modern Afghanistan. This area was important, and not just to Buddhism.  For thousands of years it has been a crossroads between the Indian subcontinent, the area known as the Middle East, and the inner trade routes of central Eurasia.  It was part of the conquest by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BCE, becoming part of his kingdom, but then it was lost in battle to the Mauryan empire, which Ashoka the Great ruled in the 3rd century BCE.  The area later fell to Indo-Greek rule from members of the Greco-Bactrian kingdom to the north.  The most famous ruler during this period was probably Menander I, who is also remembered as a patron of Buddhism, building more stupas and monasteries in the region. The Hellenic Greco-Bactrians were eventually displaced by tribes of the Yuezhi, who themselves were being displaced by the Xiongnu, in central Eurasia.  In this epic game of musical chairs, a branch of the Yuezhi eventually settled in the area, ruling a large territory, including Gandhara, under what is known as the Kushan empire.  They had first moved into the area of Bactria and Sogdiana probably around the 1st or 2nd century BCE, and by the 1st century CE they were exerting authority over Gandhara.   Around the time the Gandharan sutras were written down, in the 1st or 2nd centuries, Buddhism—especially Mahayana Buddhism—was flourishing in the region, and Kanishka the Great—don't you love how all of these rulers are known as “the Great”, by the way?—ruled the Kushan empire, and hence Gandhara, in the early 2nd century.  He is said to have been a great patron of Buddhism, although it was one of several religions, including Zoroastrianism, that flourished in the region at this time. The Kushan empire is believed to be the same Yuezhi that we mentioned in episode 79, when we talked about the Han diplomat Zhang Qian, who had trekked through hostile Xiongnu, or Hunna, territory across much of what is now western China in the 2nd century BCE, seeking allies against the Hunna.  At that point, the Yuezhi had had enough of war, however, and they declined to fight, preferring to settle where they were and eventually growing into the Kushan empire.  That connection with the Han dynasty, however, likely was maintained through trade routes that continued to operate across the vast expanse of central Eurasia.  The Han dynasty itself continued to send out diplomatic missions to the various states of central Eurasia, and of course there were trade routes. As the Kushan empire expanded into the Tarim basin, it met once again with the Han, who had defeated the Hunna, and then claimed routes across the oasis towns of the desert regions.  While the routes would have high and low periods, often depending on the state of various conflicts, in general it seems that Buddhist missionaries probably made it to the Han dynasty and the Yellow River region, and founded monasteries, as early as the first century CE and certainly by the second century.  And, by our best understanding, the folks in these monasteries were already doing a lot of copying and translation of texts – both as a meritorious act, and to spread the word.  Since this is around the time the Gandharan texts were written, they were likely a part of this larger tradition of copying and translating that was going on, although many of those early documents did not survive intact to the modern day. One of the earliest records of Buddhism in the Han dynasty is a record dated to 65 CE.  Liu Ying, Prince of Chu and son of Emperor Guangwu of Han, sponsored Buddhism—as well as a school of Daoism—in attempts to better understand longevity and immortality.  While he was eventually accused of treason, putting something of a damper on his patronage of the religion, it is the first mention we have in the histories of Buddhism, and in some ways it speaks to something else about the initial acceptance of Buddhism. While there were likely those well-versed in Buddhism, particularly in the community of foreigners from the Western Regions, evidence suggests that for many lay people it was just as likely about what people thought that the religion could do for them in this life as anything else.  After all, there are many stories of miraculous events, and there was the concept of reincarnation and karma—the idea that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the next life.  There was even a belief that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the current life—and apparently extend their life or even, possibly, gain immortality. Sure, there were the more intellectual and philosophical endeavors, but for many people Buddhism was just as much about what it could do for them in the here and now.  Stories of monks and other holy men fit in right alongside stories of Daoist immortals.  In Han tombs, where Buddhist imagery is found, it is often found with or in place of the Queen Mother of the West—the same image that is found on many of the bronze mirrors that traveled across to the Japanese archipelago around this time.  It was likely that many of the early stories that the laypeople heard were probably fragments as much as anything.  Even with the Tripitaka written down, much of the transmission was still done orally.  Furthermore, it was in translation—and probably a translation of a translation. The earliest stories of Buddhism's transmission—particularly the translation of texts into Sinitic characters, the lingua franca of East Asia—claim that first the Theravada canon, and then later Mahayana texts, were translated in the second century, with foreigners from Parthia and Kushan credited with the early translations.  Others would continue the work, and at first it was mostly people from the Western Regions doing the translating. One of the earliest stories of sutras making their way to the Han dynasty comes from the time of Liu Ying, when his brother, Emperor Ming, sat on the throne.  The stories claim that the emperor saw an image of a golden Buddha, and that he requested either a statue or temple be erected.  So he sent people off to Kushan, where they found two monks who would come back with them in 68 CE, bringing portraits and scripture—specifically the “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters”, which the two monks helped translate into a Sinitic version at Baimasi, or White Horse Temple.  As such, this “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters” has been accorded a status as the first such Buddhist work to be brought to the area that is, today, modern China, and the White Horse Temple, located in Luoyang, is counted as one of the earliest temples in the Yellow River region.  That said, there are a lot of questions as to the authenticity of this tale, though it does mirror others about the arrival of Buddhism in the East, even if we cannot verify the actual first temple or work. Although Buddhism arrived during the Han dynasty, it wouldn't really begin to fully develop until after the dynasty's fall in the 3rd century.  During the Southern and Northern Dynasties period, the metaphysical and doctrinal beliefs of Buddhism began to penetrate the elite circles in a more tangible way.  Much of the philosophical underpinnings blended well with the interest at the time in “Dark Studies” and the school of “Pure Conversation”, which we discussed back in episode 72.  While Buddhist temples, much like their Daoist brethren, found some sanctuary from the chaos that created this period in the mountains and hills—not to mention a bit of added spiritual cachet—it was really the opportunity to gain greater state patronage that also helped. Monks like Zhi Dun began to reconcile Buddhist thought and doctrine with local beliefs.  In some cases, local religious figures—including gods and other spirits—were incorporated into the Buddhist framework, often by their “conversion” to the Buddha's teachings.  This was one of the strengths of Buddhism—although it carried with it a framework of Indian religious teachings and thoughts, it was not exclusive in its cosmological outlook.  Buddhism was more focused on helping one escape the suffering of this world, which would take you beyond all such things.  As the doctrines were meant for all beings—not just humans, but for animals, spirits, gods, and even demons—there was nothing to necessarily exclude other beliefs.  This helped some of the ethnic Han dynasties to accept and even promote Buddhism.  Meanwhile, some of the non-ethnic Han dynasties patronized Buddhism for either its miraculous powers or just because it was a foreign religion, much like they were foreigners in the Yellow River Basin.  In many cases, state-sponsorship was a two way street.  Dynasts would set themselves up as holy men, claiming to be Boddhisatvas.  They would even appropriate the concept of the Cakravartin, a Buddhist “Golden-Wheel-Turning-King”, which had overtones of cosmic overlordship.  I can see how that would fit in quite well with local concepts that a sovereign might lay claim to ruling “all under heaven” and be carrying out a “Heavenly mandate”. Along the Yangzi River, Buddhist monks gained a certain amount of independence.  They were not expected to bow to the sovereign, for example; an acknowledgment of their holy nature.  In the northern Wei dynasty, however, it was a different story.  There, the ruler was said to be no less than an incarnation of the Buddha, and a Chief Monk was selected to oversee the Sangha and no doubt ensure that the various Buddhist communities were in line with official dogma. At the same time, the government provided captured men and women to work fields to help pay for Buddhist temples and their work.  Likewise, people would make merit by donating wealth and land to temples, in hopes of blessings either in this current life or in the next life.  For their part, the temples were expected to act as storehouses or granaries—the wealth that poured into them would be used to help alleviate suffering, especially in the case of droughts or floods.  It soon became clear, however, that more wealth was going into the temples than was necessarily coming out.  There were attempts to reign in this Buddhist establishment, often by limiting the number of temples or even the number of monks, as well as limiting what people could donate.  These same edicts were undercut by the elites of the country, however, and often proved less than effectual. Along with sutras and Buddhist teachings, Buddhist images and architecture spread widely.  In India and the Western Regions, a key aspect of many temples was the stupa.  This was a mound containing a relic of some sort.  Originally these relics were said to be remnants of the Buddha, after he had been cremated.  Later, it was said that the remnants of the Buddha turned hard, like crystal, and that the original remains were gathered up and distributed to even more stupas.  Later they may contain other relics, as well. The stupa was an important part of the Buddhist temple, but over time, its character changed.  Instead of a mound like we still see in Southeast Asia, we start to see a building—a tower—which became a ubiquitous symbol of Buddhist temples in East Asia.  This multi-level pagoda originally started off with simply three levels, often made of brick and stone, but over time it grew with five or seven levels.  These towers were inspired by a description in the Lotus Sutra, a Mahayana text, that described a bejeweled seven-storey tower. Speaking of the Lotus Sutra, this was one of the many teachings that made its way to East Asia, and a hugely influential one.  It purports to tell the story of a sermon by the Buddha outside of those mentioned in the Theravada texts.  The teachings expounded upon in the Lotus Sutra had a great impact on Mahayana Buddhism and how people viewed the teachings of the Buddha.  For one, it also proposed the idea that the Buddha did not actually cease to exist when he attained nirvana, but is simply no longer visible. He still remains in the world to help all life find salvation from suffering.  That goes along with the concept of the Bodhisattva, a being who attains a Buddha-like understanding but out of compassion remains in the world to assist others. The Lotus Sutra also made claims such as the idea that anyone could attain Buddhahood, if they followed the teachings—and not just one particular set of teachings.  It opened the idea that there were multiple vehicles—that is to say different practices—that would all get you to the truth, to Englightenment.  Even the term “Mahayana” means the “Great Vehicle”, while Mahayana sees Theravada as “Hinayana”, the “Lesser Vehicle”.  Both will get you where you need to be, but Mahayana offers an exapansion of teachings and texts that Theravada Buddhism does not necessarily accept as authentic.  Indeed in Mahayana belief we also see a focus on multiple Buddhas with different specialties – not only the historical Buddha, but Vairocana, aka Dainichi Nyorai, the Great Solar Buddha, Amitabha, aka Amida Nyorai or Amida Butsu, and so on. In comparison, the Theravada school tend to be more dogmatic on various points of practice and belief, claiming that they focus on the actual teachings of the Historical Buddha and not necessarily looking for extra texts and practices.  There may have been Buddhas in previous ages that attained nirvana and departed this existence, but the Buddha of the current age is the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni.  Another Buddha, Maitreya, is not expected for another five to ten thousand years—not until the teachings of the Buddha have been forgotten and are once again required.  Acquiring freedom from this existence through nirvana is not necessarily one and the same with obtaining Buddhahood—the enlightened understanding required to save all beings. There is another school, “Vajrayana”, the “Lightning” or “Diamond” vehicle.  It focuses on tantric, or esoteric teachings, which practitioners believe provide a more direct, and faster method to enlightenment.  Many secret teachings, or mikkyo in Japanese, can trace themselves in some way to these practices, though it likely didn't make it to East Asia until the Tang dynasty or so in the 8th century, so we'll come back to it when we get to things like Kuukai and Saichou, who brought Shingon and Tendai, respectively, to Japan in the early 9th century—about four centuries from our current chronological position.  Both the Mahayana and Vajrayana schools included the teachings from the Lotus Sutra, which would become one of the most important sutras, certainly by the Tang dynasty, as well as in the Korean Peninsula and the Japanese archipelago.  Its widespread dissemination is often attributed to the famous monk Kumarajiva.  Kumarajiva was a citizen of Kucha, one of the oasis towns along the northern edge of the Tarim Basin, and site of a bustling metropolis and capital of one of the largest oasis kingdoms in the Tarim basin.  Even today, you can see remnants of the ancient city in the desert, and the dry conditions have preserved a number of artifacts, including plenty of texts referencing Buddhist and other beliefs. Kumarajiva traveled from the peripheral city of Dunhuang, another site renowned for its Buddhist roots, especially the famous Mogao caves—a series of Buddhist grottoes built into a cliff face which, along with the dry conditions, have exquisitely preserved the early sculpture and painting, as well as, again, numerous documents.  He came to Chang'an around 401, and he helped translated numerous Buddhist scriptures into Sinitic characters, which could then be shared and read by people across East Asia—everywhere in the ancient Sinic sphere of influence. Besides the Lotus Sutra, another famous text told of the Buddha Amithabha, aka Amida Butsu in Japan.  Amithabha's teachings claimed that any who would call on the name of Amithabha, or just picture them in their mind with a sincere heart, would, on their death, find themselves reborn in a Western Paradise—a “Pure Land” where there were no distractions other than to meditate on the Buddha's teachings and eventually attain freedom from this existence.  Whereas many of the teachings and theological discussions of the various Buddhist schools could get quite complex—thus almost requiring any serious student to join a monastery if they wanted to truly study a particular flavor—the teachings of Amithabha were appealing to those without necessarily a lot of time or resources.  It boiled down to a few practices that just about anyone could do.  It didn't require that you donate huge sums of money or land, or that you spend all your day copying scriptures.  One could chant the name of Amithabha in the fields as you were working, or picture them in your mind as you prepared for bed. These kinds of practices—the chanting of particular mantras or other such things—became a kind of thing people could do to help protect themselves or ward off evil.  A particular example of this practice is preserved in a text from Dunhuang, which has a colophon explaining its purpose.  According to Patricia Ebrey's translation, the text, which was copied by someone named Sun Sizhong, was an incantation that, if said 7, 14, or 21 times a day, with various somatic and material components (willow twig to cleanse the mouth, scattering flowers and incense before the image of the Buddha, and kneeling and joining the palms of the hands) it would clear away the four grave sins, the five wicked acts, and other transgressions.  “The current body would not be afflicted by “untimely” calamities, and one will be reborn into the realm of immeasurably long life.  Plus, reincarnation in the female form would be escaped forever.” On that last piece—yeah, Buddhism came with a little bit of baggage.  In ordering all of life, men were seen as inherently higher on the ladder than women.  This discrimination has been walked back or even abolished in some modern interpretations, but it was definitely present in older beliefs. Besides the power of the incantation if said 7, 13, or 21 times a day, Sun Sizhong went on to explain that if someone recited it 100 times in the evening and then at noon and it will ensure rebirth in the “Western Regions”, while 200,000 recitations gets you perfect intelligence, and 300,000 recitations, one will see Amitabha Buddha face to face and be reborn in the Pure Land. As you can probably start to see, there were many different beliefs and teachings that fell under the Mahayana teachings, and many of the texts were translations.  Even those that had been translated into Sinitic, it was often done by foreigners for whom the local Sinic language was not their native tongue, so there was always a kind of awareness that important pieces might have been lost in translation along the way.  In the 5th century, this led some monks to make the particularly long and dangerous journey all the way to Kushan and on to India, to access the original primary sources for themselves.  One of these was a monk by the name of Faxian. At the age of 62, Faxian decided to go to India to try to get to the heart of what the Buddha really taught.  He set out in 399, traveled across the Tarim Basin and into the Kashmir region and the Indus Valley—Gandhara, in modern Pakistan.  From there he traveled to central India and arrived at Patna, where he stayed and studied for three years.  He traveled around, seeking out works in Sanskrit on Buddhsit ethics and teachings, studying the local languages as well.  In 410 he made his way to the mouth of the Ganges and down to Sri Lanka, where he stayed for almost two years before boarding a ship and traveling home—traveling through the straits of Malacca and around Southeast Asia to take the sea route back to his home. The journey was perilous, and at least twice the boat lost its way.  According to the stories, some of his fellow travelers, who followed more Brahmanic teachings rather than Buddhist, believed that Faxian and his quote-unquote “heretical” teachings were what were leading them astray.  Faxian was able to maintain order and he and his books eventually made it safely to the Shandong peninsula in or around 412. He made his way down to Jiankang, aka modern Nanjing on the Yangzi river.  There he spent the rest of his life translating the scriptures he had brought back.  Others would make similar journeys, all to try to find more authentic versions of the texts—which usually meant finding the Sanskrit version—and then creating translations from those. With the growth in popularity in Buddhism, it is probably little wonder that it eventually made its way over to the Korean peninsula.  It is hard to say exactly when Buddhism arrived, but the Baekje annals in the Samguk Sagi claim that it was brought there by a monk of Central Asia descent in about 384.  One year later, we are told the king of Baekje erected a temple and caused ten men to become monks. The timing of this generally accords with some of the information in the Nihon Shoki, which claims that Buddhism first came from the Western Regions to the Han dynasty, and then to Baekje 300 years later, and then to Yamato about 100 years after that.  While the dates aren't exact, this generally accords with what we know of the way that Buddhism traveled to East Asia and to Baekje, at least. Although we have textual evidence, there isn't much archaeological evidence for Buddhism on the Korean peninsula in this time outside of urban centers.   That is where we find temple rooftiles and other indications that Buddhism was practiced, but at the time it was probably something more common amongst elites than the common people, at least in the 4th and early 5th centuries.  With the invasions by Goguryeo  and the loss of northern territory in about 475, it did gain increased patronage.  Still, it wasn't until the 6th century that it really left the urban centers, which is roughly the time we are talking about with the Yamato sovereign Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou. Next episode we'll get into just how Buddhism came over to the islands—or at least what is recorded and what we have evidence for—in the sixth century.  We'll also talk about its reception and its patronage by the famous Soga clan.  Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we look at some of the physical evidence from this period.  In particular, since we are talking about the sovereign known as Ankan Tenno, we will look at a glass bowl, said to have come from his tomb, which appears to have made its way all the way from Sassanid Persia to Japan between the 5th and 6th centuries CE.  Along the way we'll take a brief look at the route that such an item may have taken to travel across the Eurasian continent all the way to Japan. For more on this episode, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-79 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 79:  Ankan's Glass Bowl. We are currently in the early part of the 6th century.  Last episode was our New Year's wrapup, but just before that we talked about the reign of Magari no Ōye, aka Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō.   According to the Chronicles, he was the eldest son of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennō, coming to the throne in 534.  For all of the various Miyake, or Royal Grannaries, that he granted, his reign only lasted about two years, coming to an unfortunate end in the 12th month of 535.  The Chronicles claim that Ohine was 70 years old when he died, which would seem to indicate he was born when his father, Wohodo, was only 13 years of age.  That seems rather young, but not impossibly so. It is said that Ankan Tennō was buried on the hill of Takaya, in the area of Furuichi.  And that is where my personal interest in him and his short reign might end, if not for a glass bowl that caught my eye in the Tokyo National Museum. Specifically, it was the Heiseikan, which is where the Tokyo National Museum hosts special exhibitions, but it also hosts a regular exhibition on Japanese archaeology.  In fact, if you ever get the chance, I highly recommend checking it out.  I mean, let's be honest, the Tokyo National Museum is one of my favorite places to visit when I'm in Tokyo.  I think there is always something new—or at least something old that I find I'm taking a second look at. The Japanese archaeology section of the Heiseikan covers from the earliest stone tools through the Jomon, Yayoi, Kofun, and up to about the Nara period.  They have originals or replicas of many items that we've talked about on the podcast, including the gold seal of King Na of Wa, the Suda Hachiman mirror, and the swords from Eta Funayama and Inariyama kofun, which mention Wakatakiru no Ōkimi, generally thought to be the sovereign known as Yuuryaku Tennō.  They also have one of the large iron tate, or shields, on loan from Isonokami Shrine, and lots of bronze mirrors and various types of haniwa. Amongst this treasure trove of archaeological artifacts, one thing caught my eye from early on.  It is a small, glass bowl, round in shape, impressed throughout with a series of round indentations, almost like a giant golf ball.  Dark brown streaks crisscross the bowl, where it has been broken and put back together at some point in the past.  According to the placard, this Juuyo Bunkazai, or Important Cultural Property, is dated to about the 6th century, was produced somewhere in West Asia, and it is said to have come from the tomb of none other than Ankan Tennō himself. This has always intrigued me.  First and foremost there is the question of provenance—while there are plenty of tombs that have been opened over the years, generally speaking the tombs of the imperial family, especially those identified as belonging to reigning sovereigns, have been off limits to most archaeological investigations.  So how is it that we have artifacts identified with the tomb of Ankan Tennō, if that is the case? The second question, which almost trumps the first, is just how did a glass bowl from west Asia make it all the way to Japan in the 6th century?  Of course, Japan and northeast Asia in general were not strangers to glassmaking—glass beads have a long history both on the Korean peninsula and in the archipelago, including the molds used to make them.  However, it is one thing to melt glass and pour it into molds, similar to working with cast bronze.  These bowls, however, appear to be something different.  They were definitely foreign, and, as we shall see, they had made quite the journey. So let's take a look and see if we can't answer both of these questions, and maybe learn a little bit more about the world of 6th century Japan along the way. To start with, let's look at the provenance of this glass bowl.  Provenance is important—there are numerous stories of famous “finds” that turned out to be fakes, or else items planted by someone who wanted to get their name out there.  Archaeology—and its close cousin, paleontology—can get extremely competitive, and if you don't believe me just look up the Bone Wars of the late 19th century.  Other names that come to mind:  The infamous Piltdown man, the Cardiff Giant, and someone we mentioned in one of our first episodes, Fujimura Shin'ichi, who was accused of salting digs to try to claim human habitation in Japan going back hundreds of thousands of years. This is further complicated by the fact that, in many cases, the situation behind a given find is not necessarily well documented.  There are Edo period examples of Jomon pottery, or haniwa, that were found, but whose actual origins have been lost to time.  Then there are things like the seal of King Na of Wa, which is said to have been discovered by a farmer, devoid of the context that would help to otherwise clear the questions that continue to surround such an object.  On top of this, there are plenty of tombs that have been worn down over the ages—where wind and water have eroded the soil, leaving only the giant stone bones, or perhaps washing burial goods into nearby fields or otherwise displacing them. So what is the story with the tomb of Ankan Tennō, and this glass bowl? To answer this, let's first look at the tomb attributed to Ankan Tennō.  The Nihon Shoki tells us in the 8th century that this tomb was located at Takaya, in the area of Furuichi.  This claim is later repeated by the Engi Shiki in the 10th century.  Theoretically, the compilers of both of these works had some idea of where this was, but in the hundreds of years since then, a lot has happened.  Japan has seen numerous governments, as well as war, famine, natural disaster, and more.  At one point, members of the royal household were selling off calligraphy just to pay for the upkeep of the court, and while the giant kofun no doubt continued to be prominent features for locals in the surrounding areas, the civilian and military governments of the intervening centuries had little to no budget to spare for their upkeep.  Records were lost, as were many details. Towards the end of the Edo period, and into the early Meiji, a resurgence in interest in the royal, or Imperial, family and their ancient mausoleums caused people to investigate the texts and attempt to identify mausoleums for each of the sovereigns, as well as other notable figures, in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki.  Given that many of those figures are likely fictional or legendary individuals, one can see how this may be problematic.  And yet, the list that eventually emerged has become the current list of kofun protected by the Imperial Household Agency as imperial mausolea. Based on what we know, today, some of these official associations seem obviously questionable.  Some of them, for instance, are not even keyhole shaped tombs—for instance, some are circular, or round tombs, where the claim is often made that the other parts of the tomb were eroded or washed away.  Still others engender their own controversy, such as who, exactly, is buried in Daisen-ryō, the largest kofun, claimed to be the resting place of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō.  Some people, however, claim that it is actually the sovereign Woasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyō Tennō, who is buried there, instead.  What is the truth?  Well, without opening up the main tomb, who is to say, and even then it is possible that any evidence may have already been lost to the acidic soils of the archipelago, which are hardly kind to organic matter. By the way, quick divergence, here—if you look up information on Daisen-ryō, aka Daisen Kofun, you may notice that there are drawings of a grave, including a coffin, associated with it.  That might get you thinking, as I did at one point, that Daisen kofun had already been opened, but it turns out that was a grave on the slopes of the square end of the kofun, and not from the main, circular burial mound.  Theoretically this may have been an important consort, or perhaps offspring or close relative of the main individual interred in the kofun, but most likely it is not for the person for whom the giant mound was actually erected.  So, yes, Daisen kofun remains unopened, at least as far as we know. As for the kofun identified for Ankan Tennō, today that is the tomb known as Furuichi Tsukiyama Kofun, aka Takaya Tsukiyama Kofun.  While the connection to Ankan Tennō may be somewhat unclear, the kofun has had its own colorful history, in a way.  Now most of the reports I could find, from about '92 up to 2022, place this kofun, which is a keyhole shaped kofun, in the correct time period—about the early to mid-6th century, matching up nicely with a 534 to 535 date for the reign given to Ankan Tennō.  But what is fascinating is the history around the 15th to 16th centuries.  It was just after the Ounin War, in 1479, when Hatakeyama Yoshihiro decided to build a castle here, placing the honmaru, the main enclosure, around the kofun, apparently incorporating the kofun and its moats into the castle design.  The castle, known as Takaya Castle, would eventually fall to Oda Nobunaga's forces in 1575, and most of the surrounding area was burned down in the fighting, bringing the kofun's life as a castle to an end. Some of the old earthworks still exist, however, and excavations in the area have helped determine the shape of the old castle, though there still have not been any fulsome excavations of the mound that I have found.  This makes sense as the kofun is designated as belonging to a member of the imperial lineage. There are, however, other keyhole shaped kofun from around the early 6th century that are also found in the same area, which also could be considered royal mausolea, and would seem to fit the bill just as well as this particular tomb.  In addition, there are details in the Chronicles, such as the fact that Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, was supposedly buried with his wife and his younger sister.  This is, however, contradicted by records like the 10th century Engi Shiki, where two tombs are identified, one for Ankan Tennō and one for his wife, Kasuga no Yamada, so either the Chronicles got it wrong, or there were already problems with tomb identification just two centuries later.  So we still aren't entirely sure that this is Ankan Tennō's tomb. But at least we know that the glass bowl came from a 6th century kingly tomb, even if that tomb was only later identified as belonging to Ankan Tennō, right? Well, not so fast. The provenance on the bowl is a bit more tricky than that.  You see, the bowl itself came to light in 1950, when a private individual in Fuse, Ōsaka invited visiting scholar Ishida Mosaku to take a look.  According to his report at the time, the bowl was in a black lacquered box and wrapped in a special cloth, with a written inscription that indicated that the bowl had been donated to a temple in Furuichi named Sairin-ji. There are documents from the late Edo period indicating that various items were donated to Sairin-ji temple between the 16th to the 18th centuries, including quote-unquote “utensils” said to have been washed out of the tomb believed to be that of Ankan Tennō.  Ishida Mosaku and other scholars immediately connected this glass bowl with one or more of those accounts.  They were encouraged by the fact that there is a similar bowl found in the Shōsōin, an 8th century repository at Tōdai-ji temple, in Nara, which houses numerous artifacts donated on behalf of Shōmu Tennō.  Despite the gulf of time between them—two hundred years between the 6th and 8th centuries—this was explained away in the same way that Han dynasty mirrors, made in about the 3rd century, continued to show up in burials for many hundreds of years afterwards, likewise passed down as familial heirlooms. Still, the method of its discovery, the paucity of direct evidence, and the lack of any direct connection with where it came from leaves us wondering—did this bowl really come from the tomb of Ankan Tennō?  Even moreso, did it come from a 6th century tomb at all?  Could it not have come from some other tomb? We could tie ourselves up in knots around this question, and I would note that if you look carefully at the Tokyo National Museum's own accounting of the object they do mention that it is quote-unquote “possibly” from the tomb of Ankan Tennō. What does seem clear, however, is that its manufacture was not in Japan.  Indeed, however it came to our small group of islands on the northeastern edge of the Eurasian continent, it had quite the journey, because it does appear to be genuinely from the Middle East—specifically from around the time of the Sassanian or Sassanid empire, the first Iranian empire, centered on the area of modern Iran. And it isn't the only one.  First off, of course, there is the 8th century bowl in the Shousoin I just mentioned, but there are also examples of broken glass found on Okinoshima, an island deep in the middle of the strait between Kyushu and the Korean peninsula, which has a long history as a sacred site, mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and attached to the Munakata shrine in modern Fukuoka.  Both Okinoshima and the Shōsōin—at least as part of the larger Nara cultural area—are on the UNESCO register of World Heritage sites, along with the Mozu-Furuichi kofun group, of which the Takaya Tsukiyama kofun is one.. Okinoshima is a literal treasure trove for archaeologists. However, its location and status have made it difficult to fully explore.  The island is still an active sacred site, and so investigations are balanced with respect for local tradition.  The lone occupant of the island is a Shinto priest, one of about two dozen who rotate spending 10 days out at the island, tending the sacred site.  Women are still not allowed, and for centuries, one day a year they allowed up to 200 men on the island after they had purified themselves in the ocean around the island.  Since then, they have also opened up to researchers, as well as military and media, at least in some instances. The island is apparently littered with offerings.  Investigations have demonstrated that this island has been in use since at least the 4th century.  As a sacred site, guarding the strait between Kyushu and the Korean peninsula, fishermen and sailors of all kinds would make journeys to the island and leave offerings of one kind or another, and many of them are still there: clay vessels, swords, iron ingots, bronze mirrors, and more.  The island's location, which really is in the middle of the straits, and not truly convenient to any of the regular trading routes, means that it has never really been much of a strategic site, just a religious one, and one that had various religious taboos, so it hasn't undergone the centuries of farming and building that have occurred elsewhere. Offerings are scattered in various places, often scattered around or under boulders and large rocks that were perhaps seen as particularly worthy of devotion.  Since researchers have been allowed in, over 80,000 treasures have been found and catalogued.  Among those artifacts that have been brought back is glass, including glass from Sassanid Persia.  Pieces of broken glass bowls, like the one said to have come from Ankan's tomb, as well as what appear to be beads made from broken glass pieces, have been recovered over the years, once more indicating their presence in the trade routes to the mainland, although when, exactly, they came over can be a little more difficult to place. That might be helped by two other glass artifacts, also found in the archaeological exhibit of the Heiseikan in the Tokyo National Museum: a glass bowl and dish discovered at Niizawa Senzuka kofun Number 126, in Kashihara city, in Nara. This burial is believed to date to the latter half of the 5th century, and included an iron sword, numerous gold fittings and jewelry, and even an ancient clothes iron, which at the time looked like a small frying pan, where you could put hot coals or similar items in the pan and use the flat bottom to help iron out wrinkles in cloth.  Alongside all of this were also discovered two glass vessels.  One was a dark, cobalt-blue plate, with a stand and very shallow conical shape.  The other was a round glass bowl with an outwardly flared lip.  Around the smooth sides, the glass has been marked with three rows of circular dots that go all the way around, not dissimilar from the indentations in the Ankan and Shōsōin glass bowls. All of these, again, are believed to have come from Sassanid Persia, modern Iran, and regardless of the provenance of the Ankan bowl, it seems that we have clear evidence that Sassanian glassworks were making their way to Japan.  But how?  How did something like glass—hardly known for being the most robust of materials—make it all the way from Sassanid Persia to Yamato between the 5th and 8th centuries? To start with, let's look at Sassanid Persia and its glass. Sassanid Persia—aka Sassanid or Sassanian Iran—is the name given to the empire that replaced the Parthian empire, and is generally agreed to have been founded sometime in the early 3rd century.  The name “Sassanid” refers to the legendary dynastic founder, Sassan, though the first historical sovereign appears to be Ardeshir I, who helped put the empire on the map. Ardeshir I called his empire “Eran sahr”, and it is often known as an Iranian or Persian empire, based on their ties to Pars and the use of the Middle Persian, or Farsi, language.   For those not already well aware, Farsi is one of several Iranian languages, though over the years many of the various Iranian speaking peoples would often be classified as “Persian” in English literature.  That said, there is quite a diversity of Iranian languages and people who speak them, including Farsi, Pashto, Dari, Tajik, and the ancient Sogdian language, which I'm sure we'll touch on more given their importance in the ancient silk road trade.  Because of the ease with which historical “Iranian” ethnic groups can be conflated with the modern state, I am going to largely stick with the term Persian, here, but just be aware that the two words are often, though not always, interchangeable. The Sassanid dynasty claimed a link to the older Achaemenid dynasty, and over the subsequent five centuries of their rule they extended their borders, dominating the area between the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf, eastward to much of modern Afghanistan and Pakistan, running right up to the Hindu Kush and the Pamir mountains.  They held sway over much of Central Asia, including the area of Transoxiana.  With that they had access to both the sea routes, south of India and the overland routes through the Tianshan mountains and the northern and southern routes around the great Taklamakan desert – so, basically, any trade passing between Central and East Asia would pass through Sassanid territory. The Persian empire of the Sassanids was pre-Islamic—Islamic Arab armies would not arrive until about the 7th century, eventually bringing an end to the Sassanid dynasty.  Until that point, the Persian empire was largely Zoroastrian, an Iranian religion based around fire temples, restored after the defeat of the Parthians, where eternal flames were kept burning day and night as part of their ritual practice.  The Sassanids inherited a Persian culture in an area that had been dominated by the Parthians, and before that the Hellenistic Seleucids, and their western edge bordered with the Roman empire.  Rome's establishment in the first century BCE coincided with the invention of glassblowing techniques, and by the time of the Sassanid Empire these techniques seem to have been well established in the region. Sassanid glass decorated with patterns of ground, cut, and polished hollow facets—much like what we see in the examples known in the Japanese islands—comes from about the 5th century onward.  Prior to that, the Sassanian taste seems to have been for slightly less extravagant vessels, with straight or slightly rounded walls. Sassanid glass was dispersed in many different directions along their many trade routes across the Eurasian continent, and archaeologists have been able to identify glass from this region not just by its shape, but by the various physical properties based on the formulas and various raw materials used to make the glass. As for the trip to Japan, this was most likely through the overland routes.  And so the glass would have been sold to merchants who would take it up through Transoxiana, through passes between the Pamirs and the Tianshan mountains, and then through a series of oasis towns and city-states until it reached Dunhuang, on the edge of the ethnic Han sphere of influence. For a majority of this route, the glass was likely carried by Sogdians, another Iranian speaking people from the region of Transoxiana.  Often simply lumped in with the rest of the Iranian speaking world as “Persians”, Sogdians had their own cultural identity, and the area of Sogdia is known to have existed since at least the ancient Achaemenid dynasty.  From the 4th to the 8th century, Sogdian traders plied the sands of Central Eurasia, setting up a network of communities along what would come to be known as the Silk Road. It is along this route that the glassware, likely packed in straw or some other protective material, was carried on the backs of horses, camels, and people along a journey of several thousand kilometers, eventually coming to the fractious edge of the ethnic Han sphere.  Whether it was these same Sogdian traders that then made their way to the ocean and upon boats out to the Japanese islands is unknown, but it is not hard imagining crates being transferred from merchant to merchant, east, to the Korean Peninsula, and eventually across the sea. The overland route from Sogdia is one of the more well-known—and well-worn—routes on what we modernly know as the Silk Road, and it's very much worth taking the time here to give a brief history of how this conduit between Western Asia/Europe and Eastern Asia developed over the centuries.  One of the main crossroads of this area is the Tarim Basin, the area that, today, forms much of Western China, with the Tianshan mountains in the north and the Kunlun Mountains, on the edge of the Tibetan plateau, to the south.  In between is a large desert, the Taklamakan desert, which may have once been a vast inland sea.  Even by the Han dynasty, a vast saltwater body known as the Puchang Sea existed in its easternmost regions.  Comparable to some of the largest of the Great Lakes, and fed by glacial run-off, the lake eventually dwindled to become the salt-marshes around Lop Nur.  And yet, researchers still find prominent boat burials out in what otherwise seems to be the middle of the desert. Around the Tarim basin were various cultures, often centered on oases at the base of the mountains.  Runoff from melting ice and snow in the mountains meant a regular supply of water, and by following the mountains one could navigate from watering hole to watering hole, creating a natural roadway through the arid lands.  In the middle of the Basin, however, is the great Taklamakan desert, and even during the Han dynasty it was a formidable and almost unpassable wasteland.  One could wander the sands for days or weeks with no water and no indication of direction other than the punishing sun overhead.  It is hardly a nice place and remains largely unpopulated, even today. While there were various cultures and city-states around the oasis towns, the first major power that we know held sway, at least over the northern route, were the Xiongnu.  Based in the area of modern Mongolia, the Xiongnu swept down during the Qin and early Han dynasties, displacing or conquering various people. An early exploration of the Tarim basin and its surroundings was conducted by the Han dynasty diplomat, Zhang Qian.  Zhang Qian secretly entered Xiongnu territory with the goal of reaching the Yuezhi—a nomadic group that had been one of those displaced by the Xiongnu.  The Yuezhi had been kicked out of their lands in the Gansu region and moved all the way to the Ferghana valley, in modern Tajikistan, a part of the region known as Transoxiana.  Although Zhang Qian was captured and spent 10 years in service to the Xiongnu, he never forgot his mission and eventually made his way to the Yuezhi.  By that time, however, the Yuezhi had settled in to their new life, and they weren't looking for revenge. While Zhang Qian's news may have been somewhat disappointing for the Han court, what was perhaps more important was the intelligence he brought back concerning the routes through the Tarim basin, and the various people there, as well as lands beyond.  The Han dynasty continued to assert itself in the area they called the “Western Regions”, and General Ban Chao would eventually be sent to defeat the Xiongnu and loosen their hold in the region, opening up the area all the way to modern Kashgar.  Ban Chao would even send an emissary, Gan Ying, to try to make the journey all the way to the Roman empire, known to the Han court as “Daqin”, using the name of the former Qin dynasty as a sign of respect for what they had heard.  However, Gan Ying only made it as far as the land of Anxi—the name given to Parthia—where he was told that to make it to Rome, or Daqin, would require crossing the ocean on a voyage that could take months or even years.  Hearing this, Gan Ying decided to turn back and report on what he knew. Of course if he actually made it to the Persian Gulf—or even to the Black Sea, as some claim—Gan Ying would have been much closer to Rome than the accounts lead us to believe. It is generally thought that he was being deliberately mislead by Parthian merchants who felt they might be cut out if Rome and the Han Dynasty formed more direct relations.  Silks from East Asia, along with other products, were already a lucrative opportunity for middlemen across the trade routes, and nobody wanted to be cut out of that position if they could help it. That said, the Parthians and, following them the Sassanid Persians, continued to maintain relationships with dynasties at the other end of what we know as the Silk Road, at least when they could.  The Sassanid Persians, when they came to power, were known to the various northern and southern dynasties as Bosi—possibly pronounced something like Puasie, at the time, no doubt their attempt to render the term “Parsi”.  We know of numerous missions in both directions between various dynasties, and Sassanian coins are regularly found the south of modern China. And so we can see that even in the first and second centuries, Eurasia was much more connected than one might otherwise believe.  Goods would travel from oasis town to oasis town, and be sold in markets, where they might just be picked up by another merchant.  Starting in the fourth century, the Sogdian merchants began to really make their own presence known along these trade routes.  They would set up enclaves in various towns, and merchants would travel from Sogdian enclave to Sogdian enclave with letters of recommendation, as well as personal letters for members of the community, setting up their own early postal service.  This allowed the Sogdian traders to coordinate activities and kept them abreast of the latest news.     I'm not sure we have a clear indication how long this trip would take.  Theoretically, one could travel from Kashgar to Xi'an and back in well under a year, if one were properly motivated and provisioned—it is roughly 4,000 kilometers, and travel would have likely been broken up with long stays to rest and refresh at the various towns along the way. I've personally had the opportunity to travel from Kashgar to Turpan, though granted it was in the comfort of an air conditioned bus.  Still, having seen the modern conditions, the trip would be grueling, but not impossible back in the day, and if the profits were lucrative enough, then why not do it—it is not dissimilar to the adventurers from Europe in the 16th century who went out to sea to find their own fortunes.  And so the glass bowl likely made its way through the markets of the Tarim basin, to the markets of various capitals in the Yellow River or Yangzi regions—depending on who was in charge in any given year—and eventually made its way to the Korean peninsula and from there to a ship across the Korean strait. Of course, those ships weren't simply holding a single glass vessel.  Likely they were laden with a wide variety of goods.  Some things, such as fabric, incense, and other more biodegradable products would not be as likely to remain, and even glass breaks and oxidizes, and metal rusts away.  Furthermore, many of the goods had likely been picked over by the time any shipments arrived in the islands, making things such as these glass bowls even more rare and scarce. Still, this bowl, whether it belonged to Ankan or not, tells us a story.  It is the story of a much larger world, well beyond the Japanese archipelago, and one that will be encroaching more and more as we continue to explore this period.  Because it wasn't just physical goods that were being transported along the Silk Road.  The travelers also carried with them news and new ideas.  One of these ideas was a series of teachings that came out of India and arrived in China during the Han dynasty, known as Buddhism.  It would take until the 6th century, but Buddhism would eventually make its way to Japan, the end of the Silk Road. But that is for another episode.  For now, I think we'll close out our story of Ankan and his glass bowl.  I hope you've enjoyed this little diversion, and from here we'll continue on with our narrative as we edge closer and closer to the formal introduction of Buddhism and the era known as the Asuka Period. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.      

Oliver is joined by Susan Whitfield, Professor in Silk Road Studies at the Sainsbury Institute, to gain a new perspective on the mass of historic maritime and land-based routes known as the Silk Roads. Susan gives us a taste of the material and cultural impact of the enormous trade network stretching to the ends of Europe, Africa and Asia from the 2nd Century BCE, as well as highlighting the role of Japan and China in establishing the network as World Heritage. Read Susan's article, 'The Expanding Silk Road: UNESCO and the Belt and Road Initiative' (2020) Read Susan's book, Silk Roads: Peoples, Cultures, Landscapes (2019) Visit the Nara to Norwich online exhibition Find out more about the Nara to Norwich project Download the full transcript here (PDF) Watch with subtitles on YouTube IMAGE AND AUDIO CREDITS Intro-outro music: jasonszklarek / MotionElements.com [L] Caravan on the Silk Road (1375). Gallica Digital Library. ID: btv1b55002481n. [R] Photographing remains of a 3rd century farmstead in Niya, an oasis kingdom in the Tarim Basin on the Silk Road, and the site of a multi-year Sino-Japanese archaeological collaboration. Provided by Susan Whitfield. Copyright © 2022 Oliver Moxham, ℗ 2022 Oliver Moxham. May be freely distributed for education purposes. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/beyond-japan/message

From the heart of the Mongolian steppe, to North China's loess plateaus; from the rugged edges of Northern India, to the hot sands of Syria and the Levant, to humid jungles in southeastern Asia, rocky islands off the coast of Japan, the high peaks of the Caucasus, Himalayas, Altai, Tien Shan and Carpathian Mountains, to the frozen rivers  in Rus' granting access to Eastern Europe, and everywhere in between.  Our series on the Mongol Empire has taken you across Eurasia, meeting all sorts of figures; the brutal Tamerlane, the indefatigable Sultan Baybars, the brave if shortsighted Jalal al-Din Mingburnu and his foolish father Muhammad Khwarezmshah; the cunning Jia Sidao, the silver-tongued Qiu Chuji, the thorough scholar Rashid al-Din, and travellers like John de Plano Carpini, William of Rubruck, and Ibn Battuta, to the exhausted but noble-hearted Yelü Chücai. And of course, the Mongols themselves: the powerful Öz Beğ, Khan of the Golden Horde; the thorough and pious convert Ghazan Il-Khan; the scheming Du'a of the Chagatais, the stout Qaidu Khan of the Ögedaids, to the Great Khans of the thirteenth century, the most powerful of men; Khubilai, whose hands scrambled for more until his body and empire failed his ambitions; his brother Möngke, whose steely determination sought to solidify the empire at all costs, no matter the bloodshed; Güyük, a reluctant and unfortunate man to ascend to the throne; his mother Törögene, whose fierce will forced her son to that same throne; Ögedai, a drunk who despite his failings built the infrastructure of the empire. And of course, Chinggis himself; once a scared boy in the steppes, turned into the greatest conqueror of them all. Today we end our journey with the Empire of the Great Khans, and reflect on the passage of the Chinggisids. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals, Ages of Conquest.       Back in our first episode, we highlighted certain trends to look for over the course of this series. The first emphasized looking for the middle ground between the Mongols as inherently evil or good forces, but as people whose expansion was rooted in historical events and personages. The second was the struggles that came with the management of a world empire, and the need to rely on non-Mongolian subject peoples—Chinese, Central Asian Muslims, Persians, Turks and others. The third was the struggle for the purpose of the empire; should it be continued conquest, or consolidation and serving the needs of the imperial princes. This was the balance between the Khan and his central government, or the Chinggisid and military aristocrats. The fourth was the steady assimilation, particularly Turkification, of the Mongols outside of Mongolia, as Mongolian was replaced as the language of administration, legitimacy and finally, among the ruling family itself, even while retaining the Mongolian imperial ideology.        Regarding the first theme, we have sought to highlight in our many discussions of sources their often complicated, conflicting portrayals or events and persons. While authors like Ibn al-Athir, Nasawi and Juzjani had little good to say about the Mongols or Chinggis Khan, and fit well with the popular model the destructive brute, we've also looked at many sources which had more positive portrayals of the khans. Some of these are rather obvious, imperial-produced sources such as the Secret History of the Mongols, but even sources from outside the empire could give glowing reviews of Chinggis Khan. For instance, the fourteenth century English writer Geoffrey Chaucer, in the Squire's Tale of his famous Canterbury Tales, opens with the following lines:   At Tzarev in the land of Tartary There dwelt a king at war with Muscovy Which brought the death of many a doughty man This noble king was known as Cambuskan And in his time enjoyed such great renown That nowhere in that region up or down Was one so excellent in everything; Nothing he lacked belonging to a king.       Written at the same time as Toqtamish Khan of the Golden Horde was fighting for control of that Khanate, here Chaucher remembered Chinggis Khan not as a bloodthirsty barbarian, but as a monarch embodying all ideal qualities of kingship. Chaucer continues thusly;   As to the faith in which he had been born He kept such loyalties as he had sworn, Then he was powerful and wise and brave, Compassionate and just, and if he gave His word he kept it, being honourable, The same to all, benevolent, and stable As is a circle's centre; and in fight As emulous as any squire or knight. Young personable, fresh and fortunate, Maintaining such a kingliness of state There never was his match in mortal man, This noble king, this Tartar Cambuskan.        For writers in fourteenth century England, obviously distant from the Mongol Empire itself, it was not unbecoming to idealize the portrayal of Chinggis Khan. This is not to say that Chaucher's description is accurate, or necessarily reflects any actual qualities about the man or any of his descendants. But rather, it reflects historical perception. How an individual is perceived by contemporaries, history, and modern people often bears little resemblance to actual details of the individual.  Instead, people will contort an image for whatever use suits their current purposes, context and political climate. Thus, warlords from the late imperial, and post-Mongol world styled Chinggis' image to suit their needs. In Central Asia Chinggisid descent remained one of the most prestigious, and necessary, requirements for rulership up until the nineteenth century in some areas. This was problematic though with the spread of Islam, given that Chinggis Khan's actual life produced very few episodes to nicely accommodate an Islamic narrative. Certain Persian writings during the Ilkhanate sought to fix this by making Chinggis a Muslim in all but name. On the tomb of Tamerlane, an inscription likely added during the reign of his grandson Ulugh Beğ, makes Tamerlane a descendant of both the Prophet Muhammad and of Chinggis Khan. Later post-imperial authors had a more direct solution; simply making Chinggis Khan outright a Muslim. As the destruction of the conquests slipped further back in time, this became easier and easier to accomplish.    Religion was not the only aspect which can be molded, for Chinggis' very status as a Mongol becomes malleable in state efforts to construct national mythos, in both medieval and modern settings. Today, you can find countries where official propaganda, or influential theorists, incorporate Chinggis into the desired story of their nation-state. In China, there remains a significant Mongolian population, largely in what the Chinese call the Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region, the land south of the Gobi desert but north of the mountains which divide it from the North China plain. The Chinese government has taken to presenting China's non-Han peoples, Mongols among them, more or less as Chinese minority peoples and actively encourages their adoption of the state-language, Mandarin, and Han Chinese culture. In this view, the Mongol conquests are sometimes presented as a period of national reunification rather than foreign conquest. The efforts of Khubilai Khaan to legitimize the Yuan Dynasty based on Chinese dynastic legal precedent becomes the quote-on-quote “historical evidence,” that Chinggis Khan was actually Chinese, or that in fact, the Mongol conquerors were fully assimilated into the Chinese population and culture. The borders of the Yuan Dynasty served to justify later Chinese territorial claims in Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang, Manchuria, Tibet and Yunnan; places that were, before the Mongols, inconsistently in the Chinese sphere of influence, but since the conquests have often remained dominated by empires based in China. Not coincidentally, such narratives serve to support the narrative of 5,000 years of a continuous Chinese Empire, and remove the sting that may accompany the embarrassment of being conquered by perceived barbarians.    Likewise, various Turkic peoples, most notably Kazakhs, Tatars, and Anatolian Turks, have sought to claim Chinggis as their own, and there are even groups in Korea and Japan that will argue that Chinggis was actually one of theirs. The Japanese version has Chinggis as the Samurai Minamoto no Yoshitsune, who faked his death and fled Japan for the steppe! Khubilai's later invasions of Japan again become not foreign assaults, but attempts at national reunification or the efforts by Yoshitsune's descendants to return home. And of course, fringe groups even in Europe and Russia which, refusing to believe a barbarian horseman could conquer such great states, insist that Chinggis was actually a red-haired, green-eyed man of European ancestry. Such claims often include vague references to the mummies of the Tarim Basin, who bore some features associated with Caucasian populations. The fact that these mummies pre-date Chinggis by millenia is often conveniently left out. All of these people care much more about ethnic categorization than Chinggis himself likely ever did.        Just as religion or ethnicity can be forced to fit certain agendas, so too can portrayal as barbarian or saviour. In Mongolia today, Chinggis Khan's unification of the Mongols, his introduction of a writing system, religious tolerance, laws and stability are most heavily emphasized. For building a post-soviet national identity, obviously these are useful attributes to appeal to for the desired national character. But the Mongolian governmet also tends to gloss over the aspects less appreciated in the twenty-first century: namely, the destruction of people and property on a massive scale, mass-rapes, towers of skulls and wars of conquest. The fact that Mongolia's two neighbours, Russia and China, suffered particularly under Mongol onslaughts, also avoids some diplomatic hurdles to step past these military aspects. For most of the twentieth century during Mongolia's years as a Soviet satellite state, Chinggis was largely pushed aside, framed as a feudal lord. Instead, Mongolia's hero of the 1921 socialist revolution, Damdin Sükhbaatar, became the preferred national icon. After Mongolia was democratized in the 1990s after the fall of the USSR, Chinggis Khan has seen a massive resurgence in popularity. Today, Chinggis and Sükhbaatar remain national icons, with monuments to both throughout the country. Outside Mongolia's parliament, the main square has changed names from Sükhbaatar to Chinggis Square, and since back to Sükhbaatar square. An equestrian statue to Sükhbaatar sits in the middle of that square. More than a few foreign observers had mistakenly called this a statue of Chinggis. In fact, only a few metres away from the equestrian statue of Sükhbaatar sits a massive Chinggis Khan on a throne flanked by his generals, at the top of the steps leading into Mongolia's parliament. In a way it is metaphorical. No matter how prominent any later hero of Mongolia may be, he will always stand in the shadow of Chinggis Khan.  And that's not even mentioning the 40 metre tall silver monstrosity about 50 kilometres outside of Ulaanbaatar. Speaking of state narratives, much of the cost for this statue was covered by the company owned by Khaltmaagin Battulga, a former professional sambo wrestler who from 2017-2021 served as the fifth President of Mongolia.       Outside of Mongolia though, Chinggis and the Mongol Empire remain a top-point of reference to paint someone in the most unfavourable light. One of the highest level cases of recent years was when the President of Iraq, the late Saddam Hussein, compared former US President George W. Bush to Hülegü, Chinggis' grandson and conqueror of Baghdad. The American bombing and capture of Baghdad, and ensuing tragedies that Iraq as suffered in the aftermath of the campaign, have only solidified the connection for a number of Muslims.  Meanwhile Russian television and education tend to present the Mongols in a style comparable to Zack Snyder's film 300, such as the 2017 Russian film Легенда о Коловрате [Legenda O Kolovrate], also known as Furious. Like the Spartans in the film or Frank Miller's graphic novel, the Rus' soldiers are presented as formidable warriors fighting monstrous, untrained hordes from the east. Only through sheer numbers or trickery do the disgusting Orientals overcome the pasty-white heroes of the story— though few of the heroes in the Russian films have Scottish accents. Russia has turned the so-called Tatar Yoke into a catch-all to explain any perceived deficiencies compared to western Europe, from government absolutism to alcoholism. Not only the Russians have employed the comparison: “scratch a Russian and you'll find a Tatar,” Napoleon Bonaparte is supposed to have quipped. And in 2018 the Wall Street Journal released a particularly poorly written article, which compared the political machinations of current president Vladimir Putin as “Russia's turn to its Asian past,” accompanied by vague comparisons to the Mongols and an awful portrait of Putin drawn in Mongolian armour. In contrast, the Russian Defence Minister, at the time of writing, is Sergei Shoigu, a fellow of Tuvan descent who is alleged to enjoy comparisons of himself to Sübe'edei, the great Mongol general popularly, though inaccurately, portrayed as a Tuvan. The 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine, essentially a good old-fashioned war of conquests accompanied by war crimes and destruction of cities, has also earned many comparisons to the Mongol conquests by many online commentators. Though unlike the Russians, the Mongols actually took Kyiv.   Somewhat surprisingly, most cinematic portrayals of Chinggis himself lean towards sympathetic or heroic. One of the most recent is a 2018 Chinese film entitled Genghis Khan in English, which features a slim Chinese model in the titular role, and one of his few depictions without any facial hair. In that film he battles a bunch of skeletons and monsters, and it could be best described as “not very good,” as our series researcher can, unfortunately, attest. One popular portrayal is the 2007 film Mongol, directed by Sergei Bodrov and starring a Japanese actor in the role of Chinggis. That actor, by the way, went on to play one of Thor's buddies in the Marvel movies.  Here, Chinggis is a quiet, rather thoughtful figure, in a film which emphasizes the brutal childhood he suffered from. Another sympathetic portrayal, and one perhaps the most popular in Mongolia, is the 2004 Inner Mongolian series where Ba Sen, an actor who claims descent from Chagatai and appeared in the previously two mentioned films, plays the role of Chinggis.       Hollywood does not tend to portray Chinggis Khan or the Mongols in films at all, but when it does, it really goes for a swing and a miss. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure has Chinggis essentially only a step above a cave-man in that film. Other Hollywood endeavours are infamous for having non-Asian actors in the role, such as Egyptian-born Omar Shariff in 1965's Genghis Khan, Marvin Miller in 1951's The Golden Horde and the most infamous of them all, the cowboy John Wayne in 1956's The Conqueror. That film's theatrical release poster bears the tasteful tagline of, “I am Temujin…barbarian… I fight! I love! I conquer… like a Barbarian!” The film was also produced by Howard Hughes, founder of Playboy Magazine, and was filmed near a nuclear testing site.  As you may suspect, that film bears as much resemblance to the historical events as an opium-induced fever dream.        The appearance and depiction of Chinggis and his successors varies wildly. The internet today loves the stories of Chinggis being the ancestor of millions of people, and killing so many people that it changed the earth's climate. The articles that made both of these claims though, rested on shaky evidence. In the first, which we dedicated an entire episode of this podcast too, the study claimed that high rates of a certain haplotype among the Hazara of Afghanistan demonstrated that Chinggis himself bore that haplotype, and Chinggis was extrapolated to be the ancestor of other peoples bearing such a haplotype. But the historical sources indicate Chinggis and his immediate descendants spent little time in Afghanistan, and the associated Haplotype was probably one associated with various populations leaving Mongolia over centuries, rather than specifically Chinggis himself.  Likewise, the study which spawned the claim that the Mongols killed enough people to cool the climate, firstly did not make that claim itself, but moreso incorrectly made the Mongol conquests last from 1206 to 1380, and presented it as an almost two-century period of population decline brought on by Mongolian campaigns; despite the fact that the major destructive Mongolian military campaigns largely halted after 1279. While campaigns continued after that, they were never on the level of the great-campaigns of conquest. Thus it's irresponsible to claim that any atmospheric carbon loss over the fourteenth century was brought on by continued Mongol military efforts.       What these two popular descriptions lend themselves to, is one of extremes. The internet loves extremes of anything. For instance, since 1999 the Internet has always sought to outdo itself in declaring the latest Star Wars product to actually be the worst thing ever made. And the Mongol Empire, as history's largest contiguous land-empire, responsible for immense destruction and long-ranging campaigns and forced migrations, can easily slot in this ‘extreme manner.' A “top-ten” list where the author writes about how the Mongols were the most extreme and destructive and badass thing ever, repeating the same 10 facts, probably gets released on the internet every other month. Just as national-myth makers in Ulaanbaatar, Beijing and Moscow set how to portray the Mongol Empire in the way most suited to them, so too does the internet and its writers choose an aspect of the empire to emphasis; be it religious tolerance, free-trade, brutality, multi-culturalism, Islam, clash of civilizations, human impact on climate, the territorial expanse of a certain country or its national identity, or whatever argument the author hopes to make.        The Mongol Empire though remains in the past, and should be treated, and learned about, as such.  The events which led to the rise, expansion and fall of the Mongol Empire do not fit into nice, sweeping modern narratives, but their own historical context and situation. The Mongol Empire was not predetermined to ever expand out of Mongolia, or to break apart in 1260; had Chinggis Khan been struck by an arrow outside the walls of Zhongdu, or Möngke lived another ten years, in both cases the empire, and indeed the world, would look dramatically different. History is not the things which ought to be or needed to happen or were supposed to happen; it is the things that did happen, and those things did not occur simply for the purposes of the modern world to exist. A million choices by hundreds of millions of individuals, affected by climate and geography with a healthy dose of luck and happenstance, resulted in the world as we know it. Reading backwards from the present to understand the course of the Mongol Empire, and attempting to make it fit into the political narratives we like today, only does a disservice to history. It should be seen not as a virtuous force bringing continental peace justified by easier trade, nor as a demonic horde, but as an event within human history, in which real humans took part, where great tragedy occured in the pursuit of empire.     History is not just written by the victor of the actual battles; as we've detailed across this series, we have no shortage of historical sources on the Mongol Empire; imperial approved sources, sources by travellers passing through the empire, to sources written by the peoples the Mongols crushed. Instead, the history learned in schools and passed down through historical memory and media is built on top of preferred state narratives, those made today and in the past.   Our series on the Mongol Empire concludes next week with a final afterward on Mongolia after 1368, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this was want to help us keep bringing you great content, then consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I'm your host David, and we'll catch you on the next one. 

The unexpected origins of a 4000-year-old people, protecting your ‘digital presence' and what to expect from COP26.In this episode:00:48 The origins of the mysterious Tarim mummiesFor decades there has been debate about the origins of a group of 4000-year-old individuals known as the Tarim Basin mummies. Their distinct appearance and clothing has prompted scientists to hypothesise they had migrated from the North or West. Now, a team of researchers have used modern genomics to shed new light on this mystery and reveal that migration was not the mummies' origin.Research article: Zhang et al.News and Views: The unexpected ancestry of Inner Asian mummies08:59 Research HighlightsMaking wood mouldable, and how ancient snakes diversified their diets.Research Highlight: Moulded or folded, this wood stays strongResearch Highlight: Finicky no more: ancient snakes ate their way to success11:09 How a regular ‘digital-hygiene' check can protect your reputationAttaching a researcher's name to a paper without them knowing is an unscrupulous practice that can have serious repercussions for the unwitting academic. To prevent this, computer scientist Guillaume Cabanac is advocating a once-a-month ‘digital-hygiene' check, to identify incorrect acknowledgements, and help prevent research malpractice.World View: This digital-hygiene routine will protect your scholarship18:51 What to expect from COP26This week sees the start of the 26th UN Climate Change Conference (COP26), with an estimated 20,000 people — including world leaders, scientists and activists — expected to be in attendance. Jeff Tollefson, senior reporter at Nature, joins us to explain what's on the agenda for the conference.News Explainer: COP26 climate summit: A scientists' guide to a momentous meetingSubscribe to Nature Briefing, an unmissable daily round-up of science news, opinion and analysis free in your inbox every weekday. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

One of the most enduring images of the Mongolian Empire is that it was a model of religious tolerance, one where each of the Khan's subjects were free to worship as they pleased. This is not a new belief;  in the 18th century, Edward Gibbon presented Chinggis Khan as a forerunner of the enlightenment, and for modern audiences the notion was repopularized with Jack Weatherford's book Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. Some use the notion to counter the common presentations of Mongol brutality, usually accompanying blanket terms that all religious clergy were exempted from taxation, labour and were respected- or go as far as to present the Mongols as the inspiration for modern liberal religious toleration. While there is an element of truth to be had here, as with so much relating to the Mongols, describing the Chinggisid empire as a state of religious tolerance where all religions east and west lived in harmony fails to capture the reality of the period.       Even before the founding of the empire, Chinggis Khan interacted with a variety of religions. During his war to unify Mongolia, Chinggis Khan was supported by men of various religious backgrounds: Mongolian shamanist-animists, Nestorian Christians, Buddhists and Muslims, one of whom, Jafar Khoja, was supposedly a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad, and stood with him at the muddy waters of Lake Baljuna during one of his lowest moments. The most prominent tribes in the Mongolian steppe in the 12th century were Nestorian Christians such as the Kereyid and Naiman, and on the declaration of the Mongol Empire in 1206 Chinggis Khan's army and administration were quite mixed. Chinggis Khan himself was an animist: in Mongolian belief, all things in the world were inhabited by spirits which had to be consulted and placated. It was the job of shamans to intercede with these spirits on the Mongols' behalf. Generally, shamanism is not an exclusive religion; one can consult a shaman and still practice other faiths. The shaman was not like a Christian priest or Islamic imam, but a professional one could consult with regardless of other religious affiliation. The persuasion and power of religion in the Mongol steppe  came from the charisma of specific holy men -such as shamans- and their power to convene with spirits and Heaven on the Khan's behalf in order to secure his victory.        This seems to have been the guiding principle for how Chinggis Khan, and most of his successors, approached religion. Some Mongols viewed the major religions they encountered -Daoism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam- as all praying to the same God via different methods. This was more or less the statement that in the 1250s, Chinggis' grandson Mongke Khaan provided to the Franciscan friar William of Rubruck during an interview, stating that “We Mongols believe that there is only one God through whom we have life and through whom we die, and towards him we direct our hearts [...] But just as God has given the hand several fingers, so he has given mankind several paths.”       Usually for the Khans, it did not matter who was right, as basically all of the major religions were. What mattered was that these religions should pray to God on behalf of the Chinggisids to ensure divine favour for their rule. Heaven's will was manifested through victories and rulership, while it's displeasure manifested in defeats and anarchy. Much like the concept of the Chinese Mandate of Heaven, the right to rule provided by heaven could be rescinded, and thus the Mongols hoped to continually appease Heaven.       But the Mongols' views on religion were not static and took years to develop into their political theology- and nor were they inherently tolerant, and favours were allotted more on a personal basis. For example, in 1214 Chinggis Khan, or one of his sons, had an encounter with a Buddhist monk named Haiyun. Haiyun, with his head shaved bare in accordance with his role as a monk, was told by the Khan to grow his hair out and braid it in Mongolian fashion- for at that time, the Mongols were attempting to order the general population of north China to do so as a sign of their political subordination.  Religions in China dictated how one should maintain their hair; Buddhist monks had to shave their heads, Daoist monks could keep their hair long, while the general Chinese population, on Confucian teaching, could not cut their hair in adulthood, as it was a gift from the parents, and thus was kept in topknots. Demanding that the general population adopt the unique, partly shaved Mongolian hairstyle, was therefore a decree against all of China's major religions. The Mongols did not succeed in this policy and soon abandoned it's implementation on its sedentary subjects, though other sources indicate it was enforced on nomadic Turkic tribes who entered Mongol service, indicating their submission to the Great Khan. Notably the Manchu would successfully implement such a policy after their conquest of China 400 years later, forcing the population to adopt the long queues at the back of the head. When the Chinese revolted against Manchu rule, the cutting of the queue was one of the clearest signs of rejecting the Qing Dynasty.   Back to the Buddhist monk Haiyun, who Chinggis had ordered to grow out his hair in Mongol fashion. Haiyun told Chinggis that he could not adopt the Mongol hairstyle, as growing his hair out violated his duty as a monk. Learning this, Chinggis Khan allowed Haiyun to maintain his baldness, then in time extended this allowance to all Buddhist and Daoist clergy.  Even with this first privilege, Haiyun and his master did not receive coveted tax exempt status until 1219, and then on the recommendation of Chinggis' viceroy in North China, Mukhali. This is the earliest indication of Chinggis Khan granting of such a favour, followed soon by the extensive privileges granted to the Daoist master Qiu Chuji. The Daoist had made the journey from North China to meet Chinggis Khan in Afghanistan on the Khan's urging, ordered to bring Chinggis the secret to eternal life, as the Mongols had been told Qiu Chuji was 300 years old. Master Qiu Chuji told Chinggis that not only did he not have such power, but Chinggis should also abstain from hunting and sexual activity. Not surprisingly, Chinggis Khan did not take this advice, but he did grant the man extensive privileges, tax exempt status and authority over all Daoists in China. Importantly, Chinggis' edict was directed personally at Qiu Chuji and his disciples, rather than Daoism as a whole. The value Qiu Chuji had to Chinggis was on his individual religious charisma and ability to intercede with the heavens on the Khan's behalf, as well as his many followers who could be induced to accept Mongol rule. In Chinggis' view, the fact that Qiu Chuji was a Daoist leader did not entitle him to privileges. Neither did the Mongols initially differentiate between Buddhism and Daoism. In part due to the vaguely worded nature of Chinggis' edicts, Qiu Chuji's Daoist followers used these decrees to exert authority over Buddhists as well, seizing Buddhist temples and forcing Buddhist monks to become Daoists, beginning a Buddhist-Daoist conflict that lasted the rest of the 13th century.       The point of these anecdotes is to demonstrate that the conquests did not begin with a specific policy of general religious tolerance or support for local religious institutions. Governmental support and privilege was provided on an ad hoc basis, especially when a group or individual was seen as influential with the almighty. Toleration itself was also advertised as a tool; in the Qara-Khitai Empire, in what is now eastern Kazakhstan and northwestern China, an enemy of Chinggis Khan, prince Kuchlug of the Naiman tribe, had fled to Qara-Khitai and eventually usurped power. Originally an Eastern Christian, that is a Nestorian, in Qara-Khitai Kuchlug converted to a violent strang of Buddhism and began to force the Muslim clerics, particularly in the Tarim Basin, to convert to Chrisitanity or Buddhism on pain of death. When Chinggis Khan's forces under Jebe Noyan arrived in 1217 pursuing the prince, they recognized the general resentment against Kuchlug and, in order to undermine his support, declared that anyone who submitted to the Mongols would be free to practice their religion. The announcement worked well, as the empire was quickly and successfully turned over to the Mongols, and the renegade prince Kuchlug cornered and killed. Notably, this announcement did not come with statements of privileges or tax exemptions at large for the Islamic religious leaders. It was a decree spread to deliberately encourage the dissolution of the Qara-Khitai and ease the Mongol conquest- in this region, it was a comparatively peaceful conquest, by Mongol standards. But it was not coming from any specific high-mindedness for the treatment of religion, but an intention to expand into this territory and defeat the fleeing Kuchlug.       By the reign of Chinggis' son Ogedai in the early 1230s, the Mongol stance towards religions became more solidified. A major advancement, on the insistence of advisers like the Buddhist Khitan scholar Yelu Chucai, was that privileges were to be granted on religious communities and institutions rather than based on individual charisma, which made them easier to regulate and manage. Chucai also impressed upon the Mongols that Buddhism and Daoism were distinct beliefs, though the Mongols seem to have often continually erroneously thought both creeds worshipped a supreme deity a la Christianity and Islam. Buddhist and Daoism became, alongside Christianity and Islam, the four main “foreign religions” which the Mongols would issue edicts regarding privileges. It was not an evenly applied thing. With Islam, for instance, it can be said the Mongols often had the greatest difficulties. For one thing, the rapid annihilation of the Khwarezmian empire, the world's single most powerful islamic state at the time, resulted in the deaths of perhaps millions of Muslims as well as the belief that the Mongols were a punishment sent by God- a belief the Mongols encouraged. The reduction of Islam from “the state religion” to “just another religion of the Khan's subjects,” was a difficult one for many an imam and qadi to accept. For a universalist religion like Islam, subjugation to a pagan entity was a difficult pill to swallow, and the destruction of cities, mosques, agriculture and vast swathes of the population would not have been eased by statements of how tolerant the Mongols supposedly were.        Further, it is apparent that the Mongols' rule for the first decade or two of their interaction with the Islamic world was not tolerant. Part of this comes to an inherent conflict between the sharia law of Islam, and the yassa of Chinggis Khan. The yassa and yosun of Chinggis Khan were his laws and customs set out to provide a framework for Mongol life, which regulated interactions for the state, individuals, the environment, the spirits and the heavenly. As a part of this, it was decreed that animals had to be slaughtered in the Mongolian fashion; the animal usually knocked unconscious, turned onto its back, an incision made in the chest and its heart crushed. The intention was to prevent the spilling of the animals' blood needlessly upon the earth, which could beget misfortune. Contravening this was forbidden and punishable by death. The problem was that this is inherently conflicting with halal and kosher slaughter, which entailed slitting the throat and draining the blood. At various times over the thirteenth century, this was used as an excuse to punish and lead reprisals against Muslims. A number of Persian language sources assert that Ogedai Khaan's brother Chagatai was a harsh enforcer of the yassa on the empire's Muslim population. In the 1250s ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini asserted that Muslims in Central Asia were unable to make any halal killings due to Chagatai, and were forced to eat carrion from the side of the road. The Khwarezmian refugee Juzjani meanwhile said Chagatai planned a genocide of the Muslims. While these sources like to depict Chagatai as a foil to Ogedai's more ‘friendly to islam' image, it remains clear that for many Muslims, it was felt that the Mongol government had a particular hatred for them. But Chagatai was not the only one to enforce this. Ogedai himself briefly sought to enforce this rule, and the famous Khubilai Khan grew increasingly unfriendly to religion in his old age, and in the 1280s launched anti-muslim policies, banning halal slaughter and circumcision on pain of death. The incident which apparently set him off was a refusal of Muslim merchants in Khubilai's court to eat meat prepared in the Mongolian manner, though it may also have been an attempt to appease some of the Chinese elite by appearing to reduce Islamic and Central Asian influence in his government, particularly after the assassination of Khubilai's corrupt finance minister Ahmad Fanakati.        Even Daoism, favoured early by the Mongols thanks to the meeting of Qiu Chuji and Chinggis Khan, suffered stiff reprisals from the Mongol government. As the conflict between the Daoists and Buddhists escalated, in the 1250s on the behest of his brother Mongke Khaan, prince Khubilai headed a debate between representatives of the two orders. Khubilai, inclined to Buddhism on the influence of his wife and personal conversion, chose the Buddhists as the winners. Declaring a number of Daoist texts forgeries, Khubilai ordered many to be destroyed and banned from circulation, while also reducing their privileges. This failed to abate the tensions, and in the 1280s an older, less patient Khubilai responded with the destruction of all but one Daoist text, Lau Zi's Daodejing, and with murder, mutilation and exile for the offending Daoists.       Privileges only extended to religions the Mongols saw as useful, or offered evidence that they had support from heaven. Judaism, Zoroastrianism, Manicheism and Hinduism were usually totally ignored by the Mongols and did not receive the same privileges as the Christian, Buddhist, Daoist and Islamic clergy. Judaism may have received tax exemption status in the Ilkhanate for a brief period in the 1280s  and 90s due to the influence of a Jewish vizier, Sa'd al-Dawla, while in the Yuan Dynasty it took until 1330 for Judaism to earn such a status. As these religions lacked states which interacted with the Mongols, the Mongols saw these religions as having no power from heaven, and were therefore useless to them. Without any political clout, and of small representation within the Empire, these groups largely escaped the notice of the Khans.       The Mongols were also not above ordering the annihilation of a religion or religious groups when they defied them. The most well known case was a Shi'ite sect, the Nizari Ismailis, better known as the Assassins. Due to their resistance against the Mongol advance, the sect was singled out for destruction not just politically, but religiously, as Mongke Khaan had become convinced of this necessity by his more orthodox Islamic advisers. This task fell to his brother Hulegu, who enacted his brother's will thoroughly. Soon after the destruction of the Ismaili fortresses, which was lauded by Hulegu's Sunni Muslim biographer ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini,  Hulegu famously sacked Baghdad and killed the Caliph in 1258. Juvaini's chronicle, perhaps coincidentally, cuts off just before the siege of Baghdad. This attack on Baghdad was not religiously motivated; the Caliph had refused to accept Mongol authority. As a seemingly powerful head of a religion, his independence could not be abided. It was not a specifically anti-Islamic sentiment here, but a political one. Had the Mongols marched on Rome and the Pope also refused their mandate, such a fate would have awaited him as well. The presence of Christians in Hulegu's army, many from the Kingdom of Georgia and Cilician Armenia who partook with great enthusiasm in the slaughter of Muslims on Hulegu's request at Baghdad and in his campaign into Syria, as well as the fact that Hulegu's mother and chief wife were Chrisitans, would not have been lost on many Muslims, as well as the fact that Hulegu himself was a Buddhist.  Hulegu after the conquest of Baghdad ordered its rebuilding, but placed a Shi'ite Muslim in charge of this task and sponsored the restoration of Christian churches and monasteries, and other minority religions in his majority sunni-islam territories.     When the Mongols did convert to the local religions, they were not above carrying out with zeal assaults on other religious communities in their empire. Such was the case for Khans like Ozbeg in the Golden Horde or Ghazan in the Ilkhanate, who converted to Islam and struck against Christian, Buddhist and shamanic elements in their realms. These were as a rule very brief rounds of zealousness, as the economic usage of these groups and the uneven conversion of their followers to Islam made it politically and economically more useful to abandon these measures.        This is not to say of course, that there is no basis for the idea of Mongol religious tolerance, especially when compared to some contemporary states: just that when the favours, privileges and state support were granted, they were usually done to the four main religious groups the Mongols designated: again, Muslims, Christians, Daoists and Buddhists. So entrenched did these groups become as the “favoured religions” that in the Yuan Dynasty by the 14th century it was believed these four groups had been singled out by Chinggis Khan for their favours. This is despite the fact that Chinggis Khan had no recorded interactions with any Christian holymen.   But not idly should we dismiss the notion of there being a certain level of religious toleration among the Mongols. Not without reason was Ogedai Khaan portrayed as friendly in many Islamic sources, and he regularly gave the most powerful positions in the administration of North China to Muslims.  European travellers among the Mongols, such as John De Plano Carpini, Marco Polo and Simon of St. Quentin, along with Persian bureaucrats like ‘Ala al-Din Juvaini and the Syriac Churchman Bar Hebraeus, generally reported Mongol indifference to what religions were practiced by their subjects, as long as said subjects accepted Mongol command. Sorqaqtani Beki, the mother of Mongke and Khubilai, was a Nestorian Christian famous for patronizing and supporting mosques and madrassas. Mongke Khaan held feasts to mark the end of Ramadan where he would distribute alms and at least one such feast held in Qaraqorum, listened to a qadi deliver a sermon. He show respect to his Muslim cousin Berke, and for him had halal meat at one imperial banquet. If the yassa of Chinggis Khan was upheld thoroughly, then the Khans and all princes present would have been executed. In the four level racial hierarchy Khubilai Khan instituted in China, Muslims and Central Asians were second only to Mongols and nomads, and ranked above all Chinese peoples.    Religious men visiting the Khans usually left with the belief that the Khan was about to convert to their religion, so favourably had they been received. Khubilai Khan asked Marco Polo's father and uncle to bring him back  100 Catholic priests and holy oil from Jerusalem, and likely sent the Nestorian Rabban bar Sauma to Jerusalem for similar purposes. Marco Polo then goes on to present Khubilai as a good Christian monarch in all but name. Qaraqorum, the Mongol imperial capital, held Daoist and Buddhist temples across the street from Mosques and Churches. In Khubilai's capital of Dadu and the Ilkhanid capital of Sultaniyya were Catholic archbishoprics by the early 14th century. So there certainly was a level of toleration within the Mongol Empire that contemporaries, with wonder or frustration, could remark truthfully that it was quite different from their own homelands.    Such religious syncretism survived well into the century, when claimants to the fragmenting successor Khanates in western Asia, in order to define their legitimacy amongst the largely converted Mongol armies and stand out amongst the many Chinggisids, latched onto Islamic identities. Eager to prove their sincerity, they pushed back violently against even traditional Mongol shamanism. Despite it's early difficulties, in the end Islam largely won amongst the Mongols of the western half of the empire and their descendants, overcoming the brief revitalization Nestorian Christianity and Buddhism had enjoyed thanks to Mongol patronage. Such was the final outcome of the Mongols' religious toleration     Our series on the Mongols will continue, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this, and would like to help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or sharing this with your friends. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I'm your host David, and we'll catch you on the next one.

    The Mongols were known for unleashing a series of unrelenting horrors upon the Islamic world, from the catastrophic destruction of the Khwarezmian Empire under Chinggis Khan, to the sack of Baghdad under his grandson Hulegu, where the Caliph himself was killed on Mongol order. No shortage of Islamic authors over the thirteenth century remarked upon the Mongols as a deathblow to Islam, a punishment sent by God for their sins. Yet, many of the Mongols of the west end of the empire even before the end of the thirteenth century converted to Islam, and in time some of the heirs of Chinggis Khan held the sharia over the yassa. In today's episode, we explore why so many Mongols chose to convert to Islam. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       The Mongolian interaction with Islam began in the twelfth century, as Muslim merchants came to Mongolia with expensive goods such as textiles or metal weapons and tools to exchange for furs and animals to sell in China or Central Asia. Some of these merchants took up valued roles among the up and coming Mongol chiefs; at least two Muslims, Hasan the Sartaq and Ja'far Khoja, were among the warlord Temujin's close allies during his fabled escape to lake Baljuna, where they swore long lasting loyalty to him. Hasan's arrival brought much need flocks of sheep to help feed Temujin's starving men, while Ja'far Khoja was supposedly a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad. Ja'far served Temujin in valued roles for the rest of his life, acting as an embassy to the Jin Emperor and as daruqachi, or overseer, over the Jin capital of Zhongdu and its environs once the Mongols took it in 1215. When Temujin took the title of Chinggis Khan and began to expand the Mongol Empire, initially Muslims found little reason to lament the expansion of the Great Khan. Muslim merchants continued to serve in prominent roles, acting as emissaries and spies on behalf of Chinggis Khan, who rewarded them handsomely: gladly did Chinggis give them gifts and overpay for their wares in order to encourage them to make the difficult journey to Mongolia, as well as bring him useful information of Central Asia. One such Central Asian, Mahmud, served as Chinggis' loyal envoy to the Khwarezm-Shah Muhammad. His actions earned him the title of Yalavach, becoming Mahmud the Messenger.   In the Tarim Basin in 1218, the local Muslim population had suffered oppression under the Naiman prince Kuchlug, who had usurped power in the Qara-Khitai Empire. When Chinggis Khan's great general Jebe Noyan entered the region pursuing Kuchlug, he proclaimed that all those who willingly submitted would be free to worship as they chose. The region largely seems to have swiftly thrown out Kuchlug's garrisons and officers and happily accepted Mongol rule, not as conquerors but liberators.       This, of course, was not the case for the next stage of Mongol expansion. The highly destructive campaign against the Kwarezmian Empire launched in 1219 resulted in the deaths of perhaps millions of people from what is now Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan through eastern Iran and Afghanistan, a predominatly Muslim region. There are no shortage of accounts of horrendous atrocities suffered throughout the former domains of the Khwarezm-shahs. Though most of what is now modern Iran submitted peacefully to the Mongol commander Chormaqun over the 1230s, with the arrival of Hulegu in the 1250s a new wave of massacres were unleashed, culminating in the infamous sack of Baghdad in 1258 and death of the ‘Abbasid Caliph, an immense blow the psyche of the ummah. At the end of the 1250s it seemed reasonable to anticipate that soon the whole of the remaining Muslim world would become the subject of the Grand Khan.       The initial period after the Mongol conquest was, for many Muslims, not easier. Statements by modern writers of Mongol religious toleration have been greatly over-exaggerated. While it is true that the Mongols in the early years of the Empire generally did not persecute on the basis of religion, the Mongols did persecute on the basis on specific beliefs that they felt ran contrary to steppe custom or the laws of Chinggis Khan, the great yassa. For example, for slaughtering animals the Mongols forbid the spilling of blood. This differed greatly from Muslim and Jewish halal and kosher slaughter, that mandated the draining of it. This in particular became a frequent source of conflict over the thirteenth century, with the Mongols feeling the spilling of blood on the earth would bring misfortune. We are told from the Persian writer Juvaini, a member of Hulegu's entourage in the 1250s, that Chinggis Khan' second son Chagatai so thoroughly enforced this prohibition that “for a time no man slaughtered sheep openly in Khorasan, and Muslims were forced to eat carrion.” Essentially, the Mongol viewpoint was that as long as a given religion adherents remained loyal and did not perform the tenets the Mongols forbid, then the worshippers could practice freely. But such freedoms could be revoked: Khubilai Khan in the 1280s, upon feeling insulted when a group of Muslims at his court refused to eat meat he offered them, banned halal slaughter and circumcision, on pain of property loss and death, for almost the entire decade. A Khwarezmian refugee to the Delhi Sultanate writing around 1260, Juzjani, wrote of his sincere belief that Chagatai and other members of the Mongol leadership intended a genocide of the Muslims.   Why then, did Islam succeed in converting the Mongols of western Asia, after such a low-point? It was a matter of proximity. The majority of the population in the major centres in the Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Chagatai Khanate were Muslims, ensuring that not only could sufis and others proselytize to the Mongol leadership, but also their military. Efforts by Buddhists or various Christian representatives, be they Catholic, Syriac or Nestorian, lacked comparable resources or presence, and their efforts were generally restricted to attempting to convert the highest ranking Mongols. While this brought them some influence, in contrast to the image in most historical narrative sources monarchs tended to convert once enough of their followers had done so for it to be a sound decision for their legitimacy. More Mongols simply had closer proximity to Muslims populations than they ever did Christian or Buddhist, leading to a more thorough conversion than any Franciscan friar could ever accomplish. Similar proximity prompted the slow sinicization of the Mongols in Yuan China.       While the Mongols disliked certain tenets of Islam, they still found use of it. Islamic craftsmen, administrators and healers were quickly spread across the Mongol Empire, accompanying every Khan and Noyan everywhere from campaigns to their personal camps. In short order they commanded armies, often of their own locally raised forces, to fight for the khans. The various Islamic peoples of Central Asia, be they Turkic or Iranic, could provide a plethora of skills and manpower the Mongols found useful or themselves lacked. Various Mongol armies, particularly the tamma garrison forces, were stationed in close proximity to Islamic centres for extended periods of time. Mongol princes from the highest ranks of the empire, including Chinggis Khan and his own sons, took Muslim wives and concubines. For the lower ranking soldiers forced to leave their families behind in Mongolia, they took Muslim wives and began new Muslim families which replaced their own.        By the reign of Chinggis Khan's son and successor Ogedai, Muslims made up many of the highest ranking members of the bureaucracy and administration from eastern Iran to Northern China. Some of these men, such as Mahmud Yalavach, his son Mas'ud Beg, and ‘Abd al-Rahman, served as heads of the Branch Secretariats the Mongols established to govern Asia. These men were answerable only to the Great Khan, and held immensely powerful positions.       The proximity of high ranking Muslims throughout the Mongol government and army in significant numbers made them an influential force. The presence of well educated Islamic jurists in the courts of the Khans is very well attested, and a merchant who showed great fiscal ability could find himself richly rewarded in lucrative ortogh arrangements with Mongol princes, where a  Mongol prince would provide silver and other currencies, taken via conquest, tribute and taxation, to a merchant as a loan, who would then use it for trade, make money and pay back the prince. Sometimes a well connected merchant could even be rewarded with prominent government position once they won the favour of a prince or khan. The Mongol search for whatever skills they saw as useful particularly rewarded Muslims with aptitude in alchemy and astrology. The Khans of the Ilkhanate spent considerable sums of money on the alchemists who claimed to be able to produce gold or prolong life, much to the chagrin of the Ilkhanid vizier and historian Rashid al-Din. Astrologists who could help determine the future or courses of action also received great reward, for the Mongols put great stock in this, as it was a position similar to the occupation of their own shamans.       With the mention of the shamans, we should give a brief account of the Mongols pre-Islamic religion, and in what ways it helped pave the way for their conversions. Though often dubbed “shamanism,” this is a poor description. Shamans occupied only a part of the Mongol folk religion, which was a series of practices relating to the appeasement and interpretation of spirits which inhabited every part of the natural world. It was the fear of offending these spirits which was behind the Mongols' own methods of slaughter, refusing to spill blood on the earth, place dirty things into running water or urinate or place knives into fire and ashes. It was the job of shamans to communicate, appease or harness these spirits, and ensure no misfortune befell the family or, after 1206, the Empire. The duties of shamans strictly fell to influencing events within the current life, rather than with a next level of existence. Thus, for the Mongols it was useful to accumulate other holymen who could interact with the supernatural on their behalf beyond what their own shamans did. It also demonstrates why, once they did convert, the Mongols saw it fit to continue to commune with shamans, and makes it so difficult for many to accept the conversion of the Mongols as sincere.       In fact, as historians like Devin DeWeese or Peter Jackson have thoroughly argued, we are in no place to gauge the authenticity of any Mongol's conversion. Our vantage point centuries later, and nature of our sources, leaves us unable to actually determine the conviction of each convert, and makes it inappropriate to reduce the story of a given khan's conversion to simply a matter of political convenience. The Mongols actively selected aspects of sedentary societies which benefitted themselves, and therefore could choose to profess Islam while continuing observe shamanic practices and standard cultural actions, all the while seeing no juxtaposition between this.        The earliest conversions of the Mongols or their servants began in the 1230s and 40s. One of the earliest, most prominent figures to convert was not even a Mongol, but a Uyghur named Korguz, Ogedai's appointment to the new Branch Secretariat of Western Asia, covering Iran and the Caucasus, towards the end of his life. Korguz was one of the most powerful civilian officials in the empire, and his conversion to Islam from Buddhism at the start of the 1240s marked the highest profile convert yet in the Mongol government, though he was killed in 1244 on the order of Ogedai's widow, the regent Torogene. Batu, shortly before the climactic battle against the Hungarians at Mohi in 1241, certainly had a number of Muslims in his army. According to Juvaini, while preparing for the confrontation Batu ascended a hill to pray to Eternal Blue Heaven, and asked the Muslims in his army to pray for victory as well. It is unclear if they were Muslim troops raised from Central Asia and the steppe, or Mongol converts to Islam in his army.        The exact mechanics of conversion are unknown. Though the historical sources like to portray the people following a prominent prince or khan's conversion, it seems generally that it was the other way around, where the lower ranks converted in enough numbers to make it useful or safe for a prince to convert. For example, one of the primary army units in Mongol expansion and consolidation were the tamma,  a sort of garrison force permanently stationed in a region, made up of a mixed body of nomadic and sedentary troops. The Mongols in these troops were usually forbidden to have their wives and families accompany them. Separated from their homeland, families or local shamans, and taking new, local wives who were generally Muslims, these Mongols were largely removed from the infrastructure that would have encouraged the maintenance of their traditional religion and made them more susceptible to conversion. If not themselves, then their children. Perhaps the best example comes from the tamma commander Baiju, stationed in the Caucasus and Anatolia from the early 1240s until the start of the 1260s. Over the twenty or so years of his career, he appears in a variety of historical accounts, which demonstrate not only the presence of a great number of Muslims in his camp, as advisers, administrators and sufis, but also demonstrate the gradual conversion of his men. By the end of his life, according to sources like the Mamluk encyclopedist al-Nuwayri, Baiju himself became a Muslim and asked to be washed and buried in the Muslim fashion on his death.     Perhaps the most famous convert though, was Berke. A son of Jochi and grandson of Chinggis Khan, Berke is most well known for his war against his cousin Hulegu over the Caucasus. Conflicting accounts are given for his conversion, with some having him raised a Muslim, while others suggest a conversion in the 1240s, drawn to Islam through the efforts of the sufi Shaykh Sayf al-Din Bakharzi. Certainly by the 1250s Berke was a Muslim, and quite a sincere one: the Franciscan Friar William of Rubruck remarks during his trips through the Jochid territories in 1253 that Berke was a Muslim, and forbid the consumption of pork in his camp. Juvaini reported that meat at Mongke Khaan's enthronement feast in 1251 was slaughtered in halal fashion out of deference to Berke, and Juzjani in distant Delhi had learned of Berke's Islam by 1260. Mamluk accounts present him having a Muslim vizier and showing great respect for qadis and other Muslim holymen. Yet, the Mamluk embassy also remarked that Berke still continued to dress and wear his hair in the distinctive Mongolian style, rather than don Islamic clothing. While Berke's war with Hulegu is often portrayed as his anger over the death of the Caliph, it seems this was a secondary concern to him. His own letter to Sultan Baybars remarks on his anger over Hulegu's infringement of the yassa of Chinggis Khan, by failing to send Berke loot from Baghdad and Iraq or consult with him. The fact that war began three years after Baghdad's fall, and that Hulegu occupied Jochid territory in northern Iran and the Caucasus after Mongke's death, suggests that Berke's immediate concerns were more strategic than spiritual. Islam for the early converts like Berke was not a change of identity, but an acceptance alongside their existing beliefs and incorporated into a Chinggisid world view. Almost certainly Berke, like his Islamic successors, continued to consult with shamans and the yassa, yet never felt disloyal to the sharia.       While Berke's conversion was accompanied by some of his brothers and commanders, it did not precipitate the Islamization of the emerging Golden Horde. Following Berke's death around 1266, it took some 14 years for another Islamic Khan to sit on the throne of the Jochids. At the start of the 1280s, both the westernmost khanates of the Mongol Empire saw the enthronement of Muslim rulers: Töde-Möngke taking the throne in the Golden Horde between 1280 and 1282,, and from 1282 to 1284 Tegüder Ahmad in the Ilkhanate. Once more, the sources hint that shaykhs and sufis were behind the conversion of both men, and continued to be held in great esteem in both courts. For the Ilkhan Tegüder, who upon his enthronement went by the name of Sultan Ahmad, we have a variety of sources which describe his commitment to Islam, which vary widely and demonstrate why it remains difficult for many to accept the authenticity of the early conversions.      In a letter Tegüder sent to the Mamluk Sultan Qalawun, Tegüder spoke of establishing sharia law in the Ilkhanate, protected pilgrimage routes and built new religious buildings, similar claims to what Töde-Möngke made in his first letter to the Mamluks around similar time. Tegüder argued that based on the fact of their now shared religion it was easier for the Mamluk Sultans to submit to him. Cilician Armenian writers like Het'um of Corycus and Step'annos Orbelian generally portray Tegüder as a prosecutor of Christians. Yet at the same time the Syriac churchman Bar Hebraeus wote of Tegüder as a friend to Christians, an upholder of religious toleration who exempted them from taxation and allowed Hebraeus to build a new church, while the Mamluks were largely skeptical of his conversion.   Ghazan, the great reformer of the Ilkhanate, sought to portray himself as a powerful Muslim monarch and an heir to the defunct ‘Abbasid Caliphate, but also as the first true Muslim Ilkhanate. For this reason, his two predeceassers who were attached to Islam, Tegüder and Baidu, were both denigrated in official accounts from his reign. Ghazan was raised a Buddhist, and only came to Islam a few weeks before his enthronement, urged to convert by his commander Nawruz Noyan and the Shaykh Sadr al-Din al-Hamuwayi during his rebellion against Ilkhan Baidu. While his biographer Rashid al-Din desperately sought to portray Ghazan's conversion causing his commanders and soldiers to follow suit, it seems almost certain that it was in fact the opposite, and that by converting Ghazan hoped to gain the wavering support of Baidu's Muslim followers. Ghazan did so successfully, and overthrew Baidu only a few months after he had himself seized the throne. Upon becoming IlKhan, on the instigation of his zealous general Nawruz, Ghazan order the destruction of Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Zoroastrian centres in Muslim cities in his empire and imposed the jizya. However, these harsh measures were quickly rescinded by 1297 with the downfall of Nawruz, though Buddhists did not return to the prominence they had previously enjoyed. Ghazan before the end of the 1290s donned a turban and even declared jihad against the Mamluks. Though some Mamluk scholars, none more famous than the jurist and scholar Ibn Taymiyya, were not convinced of Ghazan's Islam. Outside of Damascus in 1300, Ibn Taymiyya insulted both Ghazan and his vizier, the Jewish convert to Islam Rashid al-Din, of being false Muslims. Ghazan, he stated, continued to worship Chinggis Khan in place of sharia.   The life of Ghazan's brother and successor Oljeitu demonstrates perhaps the most extreme example of a Mongol prince's flexible approach to religion. His father Arghun had the young Oljeitu baptized a Nestorian Christian and given the name of Nicholas, supposedly after the Pope Nicholas IV, with whom Arghun was attempting to ally with against the Mamluks. As a teen, he converted to Buddhism, when he took the Buddhist name of Oljeitu. Under the influnece of a wife, he then converted to Sunni islam, taking the name of Muhammad Khudabanda, servant of God, which became the source of rude puns on his name: kharbunda, donkey driver. First he attached himself to the Sunni school of Hanafism, then to Shafi'ism, before frustration with fighting between the schools turned him back to Buddhism, before in 1309 returning to Islam, but this time abandon the Sunnis for Shi'ism. A number of different sources offer explanations for what drove Oljeitu to become a Shi'a, generally focusing on how a various princes, commanders, scholars and others convinced upon Oljeitu the merits of Shi'a Islam. One particularly detailed account has a Shi'a Scholar describe the succession of the first of the Rashidun Caliphs, those accepted in Sunni Islam, to the Prophet Muhammad instead of 'Ali, remarking to Oljeitu it would be as if a non-Chinggisid general were to succeed Chinggis Khan. According to the Mamluk sources, Oljeitu's conversion to Shi'ism prompted a series of rebellions across Ilkhanid Iraq. In some accounts, Oljeitu converted back to Sunni Islam shortly before his death in 1316. His son, Abu Sa'id, followed him to the throne, a Sunni Muslim who did not waver in his faith as his father.    Following Ghazan's reign from 1295 until 1304, the Ilkhanate became an Islamic state, with the majority of its army and upper echelons converted to Islam.  The process was slower in the Golden Horde and Chagatai Khanate. After Töde-Möngke's deposition in 1287, the Golden Horde would not have another Muslim monarch until the reign of Özbeg, who took the throne in 1313. It seems he converted shortly after his accession, seemingly to gain the support of influential noyans within the Horde. In legendary accounts Özbeg was converted by a sufi named Baba Tükles, who proved the veracity of his religion when he comfortably survived an oven wearing nothing but chain maille, while the shaman he challenged was burnt to death in his oven. However, Baba Tükles does not enter into accounts of Özbeg's life until centuries after his death. It seems likely that Özbeg was converted by influential sufi and islamic jurists in his entourage, and the increased islamization of members of military and aristocracy making it a viable political choice to convert as well. To cement his reign and his religion, Özbeg ordered the executions of over a hundred Chinggisid princes and noyans. Other prominent converts, such as Ghazan in the Ilkhanate and Tughluq Temur in the eastern Chagatai Khanate, also carried out large scale purges though none matched those of Özbeg. So extensive was Özbeg's purge that within a generation, the line of Batu had died out within the Golden Horde. In the Chagatai Khanate, Islamization proceed in stops and starts. In the western half of the Chagatai realm, centered as it was around the trade cities of Transoxania and closer to the Iranian world, islamization went quicker, more or less winning out by the mid 14th century. It would take another century in the eastern half of the Chagatai realm, Moghulistan, where steppe lifestyle maintained greater influence. Not until the reign of Tughluq Temur's grandson, appropriately named Muhammad Khan, in the fifteenth century did Islam win out most of the remaining holdouts, according to the mid-sixteenth century source of Mirza Haidar Dughlat. For the eastern Chagatais, where the local islamic population was much smaller, there was much less interaction with the faith, and thus it took much longer for the military and the noyans to fully convert, despite the conversion of the Khans themselves.   Still, in policy men like Özbeg, Ghazan and Oljeitu largely matched their forebears in providing taxation exemptions, favours and other privileges to Christians, especially Franciscan missionaries, though on a lesser scale than earlier in the thirteenth century. Their successors, Özbeg's son Janibeg and Oljeitu's son Abu Sa'id, proved less welcoming, as even Christians found their privileges revoked. Janibeg ordered his men to dress in the fashion of Muslims, while Abu Sa'id sought to become the protector of the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina, one year even sending an elephant there for inexplicable reasons. Still, these monarchs showed themselves to continue in their traditions, such as acts of levirate marriage, that is marrying their father's wives, something forbidden by Islam.  Islam proved an aspect of these monarch's identities, but it took many generations in Iran for all elements of Mongol culture and Chinggisid ideology to be driven out, and in the steppes the process, it can be argued, never truly fully replaced the memory of the house of Chinggis Khan.        Our series on the Mongols will continue, and we will visit in detail the topic of Mongol religious tolerance very soon, which ties closely to this matter, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast. If you'd like to help us continue to bring you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Please also consider leaving us a positive review and rating on the podcast catcher of your choice, and sharing us with your friends; each one helps the podcast out alot. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I'm your host David, and we'll catch you on the next one.

Our previous two episodes have taken you through an overview  of the history of  the Chagatai Khanate, the middle ulus of the Mongol Empire. From its establishment following Chinggis Khan's western campaign in the 1220s, through rebuilding efforts by Mahmud Yalavach and Mas'ud Beg, to the turmoil of the 1260s and 70s with the Mongol civil wars and then consoldiation under Qaidu and Du'a, then the many successions of Du'a's sons to the throne in the first three decades of the fourteenth century. At the end of the last episode, the sixth and last of Du'a's sons to rule the Chagatais, Tarmashirin Khan, was murdered in the early 1330s, killed in a rebellion led by his nephew Buzan, supported by emirs from the eastern half of the Chagatayids. Over the period we saw the slow spread of Islam among the Mongols and their khans, as well as a widening gap between the western half of the Khanate, in Transoxania, and the Eastern half, Moghulistan. Today, both of trends continue as the Chagatai Khanate descends into anarchy following Tarmashirin's murder, finally culminating in Emir Temur seizing control of the western half of the ulus  Chagatay in 1370, and forever changing the face of western Asia. I'm your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Tarmashirin Khan's murder in 1334 had a significant impact on the Chagatai Khanate. The last in the long lateral succession of Du'a Khan's sons, his death essentially opened up the throne to any willing claimant. His antagonizing of the Mongols of the eastern half of the khanate, particularly through his Islamic policies, supposedly abandoning of the laws of Chinggis Khan and leaving them out of government, ensured his reign ended bloodily. The Mongol chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate rose up behind Buzan, Tarmashirin's nephew, who had allied with other grandsons of Du'a. They invaded Transoxania hunting down and killing Tarmashirin and causing a flight of pro-Tarmshirin, Islamic Mongol chiefs to the Ilkhanate and Delhi Sultanate in India.    Buzan, according to most sources, was not a Muslim, though ibn Battuta wrote of him as a ‘tainted Muslim.' Most sources accuse him of being anti-Muslim and strongly pro-Christian, though it seems more likely he was just religiously tolerant, simply allowing Jews and Christians to rebuild their religious structures. It seems he wanted to rule in a more traditional, steppe based fashion, a strong counter reaction to Tarmashirin's rule.. At least he would have, if Buzan wasn't murdered only a few months into his reign by a cousin, Changshi, another grandson of Du'a. If we believe ibn Battuta, Buzan was strangled by a bowstring. The thing about violently overthrowing your predecessor, is that it does not leave a lot of the legitimacy that is needed to prevent you being overthrown in turn by the next power-hungry individual. What we start to see in this period is princes refusing to recognize the legitimacy of these new Khans, and deciding to remedy this by replacing these new Khans with themselves. So begins an exceptionally chaotic period in the Chagatai realm.       The new Khan of the Chagatais, Changshi,  did not take the throne because he was a supporter of Tarmashirin. Like Buzan, Changshi sought to bring the center of power back to the steppe and Almaliq, the traditional capital of the Chagatais, rather than having it based in the more sedentarized, Islamic Transoxania as Tarmashirin had sought to do.  He was apparently a devout Buddhist, ordering the construction of many Buddhist and temples and supposedly, ordering sculptures of the Buddha painted in mosques throughout the Khanate. Yet he also showed great favour to Christians, especially Catholic Franciscans. He was apparently cured of a cancer through the prayers of one Franciscan, and in response heaped rewards on them. Changshi had at least one of his sons baptized, taking the name of Johannes, and placed the Franciscan in charge of their education. A bishopric was established at Almaliq in the 1320s and flourished under Changshi. At Almaliq, Changshi also met with Nicholas, the newly appointed Archbishop of Khanbaliq, who was on his way to China. Changshi gave Archbishop Nicholas authorization to preach freely throughout the Chagatai lands, to repair and build churches and provided him lands on which to build a friary. News of Changshi's friendship to the Christians reached Pope Benedict XII, who sent a letter to Changshi in 1338. This was not the first letter between the popes and the Khans of Central Asia. In 1289 Pope Nicholas IV sent letters to Qaidu Khan; in 1329 Pope John XXII sent a letter to Eljigidei Khan in response to a message of friendship Eiljigidei had sent prior; and Benedict XII's letter in 1338 urged Khan Changshi to build stronger relations with Christianity and sponser the growth of the faith in his kingdom. Changshi never received the letter, for in 1337 he and his four sons were killed by his brother, Yesun-Temur.        Many islamic sources portray Yesun-Temur Khan as fanatically anti-Muslim and an absolute madman. Not just murdering his own brother, he was accused of cutting the breasts off his mother, among other unsavoury actions. Whether any of this is warranted is difficult to tell, as he may have been so strongly pro-Buddhist and continued Changshi's policy of sponsoring Christian missionaries that it left Islamic chronclers little good to say about him. There is circumstantial evidence of a somewhat capable administrator, demonstrated by survival of government documents from his reign from Turfan and an apparent increase in money circulation under him as well. He was challenged though by rounds of epidemics, particularly in the Issyk Kul region.       Things took another shift again when Yesun-Temur was deposed in 1339 by ‘Ali Sultan bin Uruk Temur. ‘Ali Sultan differed from his predecessors in two important ways: he was a fanatic Muslim, and was not a Chagatayid, but a descendant of Ogedai. The fact that an Ogedeid was even able to take the throne of the Chagatayids demonstrates the extent to which access to the succession had been opened up. ‘Ali Sultan's reign was brief, less than a year. In that time, the most notable action he did, other than usurp the throne, was unleash violent programs against the Christians in his empire. Those who refused to convert to Islam, be they Nestorian or Catholic, were to be killed. The Nestorian Christian community in the Issyk Kul region was almost totally exterminated by ‘Ali Sultan's effort, either by forced conversion or by the sword. The bishopric of Almaliq was destroyed, its clergy put to death on ‘Ali Sultan's order. The martyred Bishop, Richard of Burgundy, had only taken the post a year prior. The brief introduction of Cathololicism died out in the region by the end of the fourteenth century.    ‘Ali Sultan Khan's Ogedeid usurpation greatly undermined the integrity of the Khanate. In 1340 the Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg, invaded the Chagatai Khanate, an invasion which only halted due to Ozbeg's death in 1341 but did nothing to unite the conflicting tension within the Khanate. Even before ‘Ali Sultan's death in 1340, it seems in the southern part of the western half of the Chagatai Khanate a great-grandson, or great-great-grandson of Du'a Khan, Muhammad bin Bolad, or Muhammad Bolad, declared himself Khan. Around 1342 Muhammad Bolad Khan briefly reigned in Almaliq, while in the western half of Chagatai power was taken by Khalil Sultan bin Yasawur, who may be the same figure as Qazan Khan, who may have also been Khalil Sultan's brother and co-ruled with him. By1343-1344, Qazan was the sole ruler of the Chagatai khanate, though whether he exerted much power in the eastern half of the realm is uncertain.   Qazan Khan, if you don't mind a minor spoiler, often appears as a “bad last ruler,”  in sources of the Timurids, a despot who preempted a final period of anarchy. Whatever the truth, he did usher in some stablization, and increased the power of the Chagatais over Khurasan, taking advantage of the collapse of the Ilkhanate into rival powers. He likely did little less in his reign except fight off rivals, with a particularly tough opponent in the form of Qazaghan, the chief of the Qara'unas. The Qara'unas were descendents of Mongols stationed in Afghanistan or who had fled there following the outbreak of war between Berke and Hulegu in 1262. They had remained a largely independent, rebellious force resisting efforts by the Ilkhanate and the Chagatai Khanate to bring them under control. Not until the 1290s did the Chagatais succeed in doing so, and the Qara'unas became a useful arm of the Chagatayid miltiary. Often, prominent heirs or brothers, especially under the reigns of Du'a and his sons, were placed in command over the Qara'unas. They were a major military element in the western half of the Chagatai Khanate, and once their chief, the ambitious Qazaghan, began challenging Qazan Khan, it was no easy task for the precariously perched Qazan. After some considerable effort, in 1347 Qazaghan finally killed Qazan, the final effective Khan in the Western Chagatai Khanate.    The Emir Qazaghan then became the true power in Transoxania, though as he was not a descendant of Chinggis Khan, he could not rule in his own right. Wisely, he continued to appoint puppet Khans who ruled in name only. These Khans were total figureheads, some not even of the line of Chagatai, but of Ogedai. Doing so was absolutely necessary. While there could be argument over the legitimacy of a particular Khan, if he was a good candidate or from the right lineage, among the Turko-Mongolian military elite it was still undebatable that the only legitimate ruler had to be  descended from Chinggis Khan; it was to the house of Chinggis that the right to rule the world had been given, and no Qara'unas chief, no matter how powerful, could claim that throne if he had not even a drop of Chinggisid blood in him.    While Qazaghan seized power in Transoxania and ushered in a brief period of stability, an important event happened concurrently in the eastern half of the Khanate. In 1347, as Qazaghan killed Qazan Khan, a descendant of Chagatai and grandson of Du'a named Tughluq Temur was also declared Khan. With now two major rival claimants for power, 1347 becomes the usual date in scholarship for the division of the Chagatai Khanate into two realms: Transoxania in the west, sometime still called the Chagatai Khanate, and Moghulistan east of the Syr Darya River.        Tughluq Temur was raised to the throne by a coalition of the powerful Mongol chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate. Mentioned briefly in the last episode, these were the chiefs who felt out of power by the Khans more interested in sedentarized and Islamic culture, while at  the same time finding themselves under less and less direct influence of the Khan. The result was the chiefs who became more powerful and more dissatisfied with the ruler in the west. The usurption of power  by the non-Chinggisid Qazaghan and his appointment of puppet Khans was the final straw for these chiefs. Of the tribes in the eastern Chagatai realm, the mightiest were the Dughlats. A proud Mongol tribe, the Dughlat leaders made themselves rich through control of the altı shahr, the six cities in Turkish. These were the rich trade cities along the silk routes through the western Tarim Basin and eastern Turkestan; Kashgar, Yangi Hisar, Yarkand, Khotan, Ush-Turfan, Aksu.    The heads of these tribes, including the Dughlats, were qarachu, ‘blackboned,' or commoners. That is, they were not of the altan urag, not descendants of Chinggis Khan and like Qazaghan of the Qara'unas they could not claim the throne themselves. The head of the Dughlats, called the ulusbegi or beylerbey as the most powerful of the eastern chiefs, acted as a sort of spokesperson for them. The Dughlat, while the single most powerful tribe, were not strong enough to totally overpower the others and had to act in concert with them. Thus, in 1347 in cooperation with the other tribal heads, the ulusbegi Bulaji Dughlat, enthroned the 18 year old Tughluq Temur as Chagatai Khan, a blatant refusal to recognize Qazaghan or his puppet khans.   Both halves of the Chagatai khanate considered themselves the true heirs of Chagatai, and referred to the other with disparaging terms. To the easterners in Moghulistan, the westerners were qara'unas, a term which had connotations to the Mongols of half-breed, according to Marco Polo when he learned of them. They saw the westerners as corrupted  by sedentary culture ruled by a petty non-Chinggisid. To the western half in Transoxania, the easterners were jatah,  a term at its kindest reffering to ne'er-do-wells and rascals, and at its worst robbers and thieves. The westerners saw the east as little more than raiders, for such was their interaction with them.   Tughluq Temur Khan is often considered the first Khan of Moghulistan. Moghul, being the Persian word for Mongol, is generally what the scholarship uses to refer to Moghulistan's nomadic inhabitants to distinguish them from true Mongols, a reflection of the primary source usage where the eastern Chagatayids and their lands are the Moghuls of Moghulistan. While there is evidence for use of the Mongolian language in the chancellery of Moghulistan until the end of the 1360s, various forms of Turkic had replaced Mongolian in day-to-day life. Largely still nomadic, many still adhering to the old religion and seeing themselves as true Mongols, Islam had begun to spread among them. Thus it was not surprising that in 1354, Tughluq Temur converted to Islam. Islam was a source of legitimacy for him; there is some indication that Tughluq Temur was of some uncertain paternity, due to conflicting reports on the identity of his father, so converting to Islam was an additional means to shore up his position. Unlike ‘Ali Sultan, Tughluq Temur was no fanatic; he is still recorded asking for Buddhist Lamas from Tibet as teachers for him and his sons. He did promote Islam though and his conversion was an important stage for the spread of Islam east of the Syr Darya. Statements that everyone in the area became Muslim under him are overplayed, as it took many decades still for Islam to drive out the local religious beliefs, be they Nestorian Christianity, Buddhism or Mongolian shamanism.    Tughluq Temur's 16 year reign saw the most consolidation of power under a Chagatai Khan in years. He was aided in part by the death of the ulusbegi Bulaji soon after Tughluq's enthronement. Had Bulaji lived longer, he may have played more of a kingmaker role and controlled more of Tughluq Temur's actions. But Bulaji's death, and tensions within the Dughlat tribe, led to Bulaji's 7 year old son Khudaidad becoming the ulusbegi. Bulaji's brother, Qamar al-Din Dughlat, petitioned Tughluq Temur for the position as he had no support from other members of the Dughlats. Qamar al-Din was a man of violent temperament, and many of the emirs of the Dughlat seem to have desired greater freedom than they had been allowed under Bulaji. Tughluq Temur was of similar opinion; why place an ambitious man like Qamar al-Din as ulusbegi, who would certainly prove a hindrance to Tughluq Temur's power, when Tughluq Temur could instead have a malleable child in the position? And so Tughluq Temur ignored Qamar al-Din's petition and confirmed the enthronement of young Khudaidad, a matter which Tughluq Temur's heirs would rue dearly.   Khan Tughluq Temur continued to strengthen his position in Moghulistan, weakening the hegemony of the Dughlats and bringing other tribal heads to heel. He apparently killed a number of them, both those who refused to convert to Islam or resisted his efforts. By 1360, Tughluq Temur was the single most powerful Chinggisid in the entire former Mongol Empire, which placed him in a  very good position to take advantage of misfortune in Transoxania. The Emir Qazaghan had paid tribute to Tughluq Temur, in large part to pay him off against attacking Transoxania. Qazaghan was a capable enough figure, keeping control, if at times tenuously, on the various disparate elements of the region, until he was murdered in 1358. Qazaghan's son ‘Abd Allah took his position, but lacked his father's capability. As tensions from warlords in Transoxania and Khurasan bubbled up, among other poor decisions, ‘Abd Allah chose to halt the payment of tribute to Tughluq Temur. For the Khan in Moghulistan, this was all the excuse he needed. In 1360 and 1361, Tughluq Temur invaded Transoxania twice in order to oust ‘Abd Allah and reunite the Chagatai Khanate. ‘Abd Allah fled and was killed, and Tughluq Temur installed his son Ilyas as the regional governor. Many tribal leaders joined Tughluq Temur, while others fled, including Hajji Beg, the chief of the Barlas, a Turkified Mongolian tribe near Samarkand. One member of the upper echelons of the Barlas did not flee, and he was able to convince the conquering Tughluq Temur Khan to appoint him as head of the Barlas in Hajji Beg's absence. This was the first appearance of Temur, though you may perhaps know him better by the nicknames given to him later in life to refer to his limp: Aksak Temur, in Turkish, Temur-i-lang in Persian, which in English became Temur the Lame: Tamerlane. Temur was at this point 30 years old and given his first position of relative importance, one he soon surpassed.   Tughluq Temur Khan did not long enjoy his conquest, for like all good Chinggisid monarchs, he suddenly died in his early 30s in 1363. So powerful had he been though, that his descendants would continue to rule in parts of Moghulistan until the 17th century. Without his father's backing, Ilyas was driven out of Transoxania in 1365 by a coalition of forces under Qazaghan's grandson, Amir Husayn, and Temur of the Barlas. Back in Moghulistan, Ilyas was soon killed, perhaps by Qamar al-Din Dughlat. Either before or after Ilyas' death, Qamar al-Din had his revenge for Tughluq Temur's denial to make him ulusbegi. He launched a revolt, killed some 18 Chagatai princes and declared himself Khan. No puppet khans, no indirect rule, Qamar al-Din was the first non-Chinggisid to try and claim the title of Khan, and rule in his own right, since the Mongol conquests. If Qamar had thought he would find support for this action, he was sorely mistaken. Not even the Dughlat tribe themselves were willing to recognize Qamar's usurption, and few of the other tribes in Moghulistan did either. Qamar al-Din faced stiff resistance as warfare broke out across Moghulistan. For the next 25 years, Qamar al-Din fought enemies within Moghulistan and from Transoxania. The other sons of Tughluq Temur were sent into hiding to keep them out of Qamar al-Din's hands, and never did he enjoy a moment of stability until his disappearance in the 1380s. Only then would Tughluq Temur's son, Khidr Khwaja, be enthroned in 1389 as the Chagatai khan after a nearly 30 year interregnum.   The great consequence of Qamar al-Din's usurption is that it facilitated the rise of Tamerlane. After Ilyas was ousted around 1365, Qazaghan's grandson Amir Husayn had resumed power over the region, but was undermined by the power hungry Barlas leader, Temur. Despite having married Husayn's sister, Temur began conspiring with other regional powers, and when Husayn moved his capital to Balkh and fortified it, Temur convinced them that Husayn was their enemy, having moved his capital out of the traditional region and preparing to defend it against them. So, Transxonia revolted against Husayn, eventually resulting in Husayn's death. Now the figure of real power in Transoxania, Temur had carefully observed the failures of Qazaghan, ‘Abd Allah, Husayn and of Qamar al-Din. At a quriltai in April 1370, Temur oversaw the enthronement of a Khan of the Chagatayids, a descendant of Ogedai named Soyurghatmish. Temur himself only took the title of emir, and officially was a guardian and adviser to the Khan. Marrying a Chinggisid princess, Emir Temur also took the title of güregen, a son-in-law to the house of Chinggis Khan. However, Temur was the real power, and from 1370 he began to campaign against his local enemies. One of his first campaigns was against Qamar al-Din of Moghulistan. Though never able to catch Qamar al-Din, Temur repeatedly invaded Moghulistan, wreaking great destruction, taking thousands of prisoners and further undermining the fragile powerbase Qamar had. If there had been an actual reigning Khan in Moghulistan, perhaps a figure could have rallied the tribes to resist and defeat Temur early in his career. But Qamar's illegal rule ensured there could be no rallying behind his name, and Emir Temur only grew in might. Under him, the last vestiges of Chagatai rule in Transoxania were washed away.  Though a Chagatai Khan was appointed in Moghulistan in the last years of the fourteenth century, the Temurids never recognized them as such. Tughluq Temur and his successors were always the ulus-i-Moghul or ulus-i-Jatah, as far as Temurid historians were concerned. The fifteenth century became a century of Temurid rule, and it would not be until the 1500s that Chinggisids would again rule in Transoxania; but these were descendants of Jochi, not of Chagatai. The career of Temur and later history of Moghulistan is  a topic for a later series, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast to follow. If you enjoyed this and would like to help us continue bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I'm your host David, and we'll catch you on the next one.

    While the Chagatai Khanate, the division of the Mongol Empire encompassing much of Central Asia and Northwestern China, has a reputation as the Mongol Khannate to fragment into infighting first, this would not have been the view for an observer on the ground in the early fourteenth century. Following the death of Qaidu, the Ogedeid master of Central Asia in the last decades of the thirteenth century, his former ally Du’a, Khan of the Chagatais, stood dominant, particularly with the Great Peace he achieved between the Khanates in 1304. Picking up from our previous episode, we take you through the history of the Chagatai Khanate in the early fourteenth century, from Du’a’s singular rule in 1301 through the reigns of the six of his sons who became Khan, ending with Tarmashirin in 1334.  I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       At the close of the previous episode, Qaidu Khan was dead. Qaidu was a descendant of Great Khan Ogedai, and as we covered thoroughly in episode 41, had from 1271 until 1300 been the most influential figure in Central Asia. Over the 1270s he came to dominate the Chagatai Khanate, finally consolidating his hold over them in 1282 when he appointed Du’a, a grandson of Chagatai, as their Khan. Du’a and Qaidu worked well together, ushering in a period of rebuilding for the Chagatai Khanate after the tumultuous 1260s and 70s. Qaidu was definitely the senior partner in the relationship, and led their wars against Khan Khubilai in northwestern China and western Mongolia. But with Qaidu’s death in 1301, Du’a had had enough of the fighting. Du’a had been injured and forced to retreat before the Yuan armies. Only the year before, his eldest son Qutlugh Khwaja was killed fighting in India, and the Khan of the Blue Horde, the eastern wing of the Golden Horde, was attempting to rally the other Khanates into making a joint attack on the Ogedeids and Chagatayids.  For the Central Asian Khanates, such a coalition would be absolutely disastrous. A combined Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Yuan assault from all directions would be unstoppable. Du’a wanted to rest, recoup his strength and throw Mongol energies away from each other, and against unconquered lands like India.       Interfering with the Ogedeid succession after Qaidu’s death, Du’a ensured Qaidu’s less compentent son Chapar was on the throne, then sent an embassy to the Great Khan Temur Oljeitu offering to recognize his authority. Temur Oljeitu was delighted, immediately accepted and over 1304 and 1305 messengers were sent across the Mongol Empire, inviting the Golden Horde and Ilkhanate to once more recognize the Great Khan. The Great Rapproachment saw the resumption of tribute and revenues back and forth across the empire, reconstruction and expansion of postal stations, the travelling of envoys and merchants, and the true start of a pax Mongolica. Against the Delhi Sultanate of India Du’a sent more armies, though no joint-Mongol campaign against India ever materialized.       Du’a made good use of the partnership with the Yuan, for he was soon skirmishing, and then at war with, the Ogedeids. Many of the Ogedeid princes had not taken kindly to Du’a efforts to divide them, and had begun to oppose him. In 1306 Du’a, in conjunction with a Yuan army under the future Khaghan Qaishan, defeated a Ogedeid army under Qaidu’s sons Chapar and Orus. Chapar surrendered, and the Ogedeis were left splintered. Chagatai horsemen were unleashed to hunt down those princes who still resisted; it is in these raids that Qaidu’s famous daughter Qutulun was likely killed.       Du’a would have wiped out the last of the Ogedeids, had he not died the next year in 1307. So ended the life of the longest reigning Chagatai Khan, who had overseen a recovery of the weakened ulus. Realigning their diplomatic position with their Mongol kinsmen, the Chagatais seemed poised to enter a new period of strength. Du’a was succeeded by his son Konchek, who continued his father’s policies until his sudden death in 1308. Power was then seized by a distant cousin, Naliqo’a. Naliqo’a was the brother of a man who had briefly been Khan in the 1270s before Du’a took the throne, and was a great-grandson of Chagatai via his son Buri.        Naliqo’a’s reign as Khan was a shock to the Khanate. Firstly was the fact that he was not of the line of Du’a Khan. Du’a had been Khan for many years, and had many sons desiring the throne. Many within the Chagatai Khanate, especially those same sons, felt the throne belonged to the line of Du’a, and that Naliqo’a was thus a usurper despite his Chagatai heritage. Additionally, he was a Muslim, and sought to impose islamisizing policies upon the Chagatais. While the Chagatai Khanate is often dismissed as one of the Khanates which immediately converted to Islam, the conversion of the Chagatai realm was a slower and more difficult process than in either the Golden Horde or Ilkhanate. Mubarak Shah, during the few months he had been Khan in the previous episode, may have been a Muslim, but had not reigned long enough for that to matter. Baraq Khan allegedly converted to Islam just before his death in 1271, but this had no impact on his reign. No Chagatai Khan since had been a Muslim, and for many in the Khanate, particularly in the eastern half where there was little contact with Muslims, the strong pro-Islam stanch of Naliqo’a Khan was seen as inherently conflicting to the yassa of Chinggis Khan.        Khan Naliqo’a  thus received stiff resistance. By 1309 he was murdered at  banquet in a coup led by one of Du’a’s son, Kebek. Kebek was a clever man but did not want to be Khan, inviting his brother Esen-Buqa to take the throne. This upheaval in the Chagatai Khanate prompted a last ditch attempt by the Ogedeid princes to rebel against the Chagatais, which Kebek and Esen-Buqa, with difficulty, crushed by 1310. With the last of the Ogedeid princes fleeing to the Yuan Dynasty, the Khanate of the house of Ogedei was finally dissolved, its territory split between the Chagatai and the Yuan.        The popular image of the Mongol Empire dividing into four Khanates -the Golden Horde, the Ilkhanate, Yuan Dynasty, and Chagatai Khanate- only truly existed from 1310 onwards with the dissolution of the Ogedeids, domination of the Blue Horde by the Golden Horde, and the Qara’unas in Afghanistan largely coming under Chagatai control. Later authors, both medieval and modern, would anachronistically throw this back to the time of Mongke’s death, or even Chinggis’ division of the empire amongst his sons, but it was a gradual evolution in no-way planned. The “four successor khanates” of the Mongol Empire did not exist in their popularly imagined way until the first decade of the fourteenth century.       Without the Ogedeis as a common enemy, the Chagatai and Yuan were soon squabbling over the border. In the process of dividing up the Ogedeid territory, in which the Yuan took the land east of the Altai mountains and the Chagatai the west, some of the Chagatayid pasture lands came under Yuan control. Khan Esen-Buqa sought to get the Yuan border garrisons to redraw the border, but they would not budge. The Yuan garrison commander refused to recognize the legitimacy of Esen-Buqa’s status as a Khan. Esen-Buqa began to fear that the Yuan and the Ilkhanate were planning a joint attack on the Chagatayids, and began to make his own plots. He tried to ally with the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Ozbeg, and in 1312  sent  his nephew to attack Ilkhanid Khurasan, where he was repusled. Tensions mounted, and in 1313 Esen-Buqa detained Yuan envoys to the Ilkhanate, and finally in 1314 he assaulted the Yuan border outposts. The garrison commander was a veteran though, who had warnings of the plot. Moving the families of his men back, Esen-Buqa’s forces were met only by a crack tumen of troops who forced the Chagatais back.        Esen-Buqa tried to offset his losses in the northeast by launching an attack on the Ilkhanate with his brother Kebek in 1315.  The campaign was cut short when they learned that the Great Khan Ayurburwada, furious at Esen-Buqa’s provacations, had ordered an all out invasion of the Chagatai Khanate. Esen-Buqa had, in his fear, created the situation he had so dreaded. The armies of the Yuan advanced as far as Lake Issyk Kul and Talas before withdrawing, and strengthened their border positions. The situation remained strained; after the invasion one of the Chagatai princes in Transoxania, a Muslim named Yasawur, defected with 30-40,000 troops to the Ilkhanate, while the Yuan prince Qoshila, son of Qaishan, fled to the Chagatais. Sporadic border fighting continued, and threat of an open resumption of hostilities remained until both Esen-Buqa and Great Khan Ayurburwada were dead by 1320. Their successors, Esen-Buqa’s  brother Kebek and Ayurburwada’s son Shidebala, proved more amenable to peace, and by 1323, after being convinced that there was no plot to overrun inner Asia, Kebek Khan recognized the supremacy of Great Khan Shidebala, though as you’ll recall from episode 44, Shidebala did not have long to remark on the triumph. Sending two princesses for Kebek Khan to marry and resuming trade and tribute, the Yuan and Chagatai relationship remained amicable for the remainder of Yuan rule in China.     Kebek Khan was a competent and able ruler. Almost immediately after becoming Khan, the new Ilkhan Abu Sa’id invited Kebek Khan to attack the rebel Chagatai prince Yasawur, who had since revolted against the Ilkhans. The campaign was successful and Yasawur was killed, but Kebek was then assured of his military strength and the weakness of the Ilkhans. In 1321 he ordered attacks on the Delhi Sultanate in India, and in 1322 invaded the Ilkhanate in a joint effort with the Golden Horde Khan Ozbeg, who was in the midst of repeated rounds of conflict with the young Ilkhan Abu Sa’id. The campaigns were failures. Both Ozbeg and Kebek found themselves hampered by weather and a skillful defence by the teenage Abu Sa’id and his amir, Choban. When Kebek moved his brother Tarmashirin into Ghazna in Afghanistan in 1326, the Ilkhan’s suspected another attack, and Choban’s son was sent to deliver a crushing defeat onto Tarmashirin and occupied Ghazna. Despite the fact Tarmashirin recaptured Ghazna later that year, it did little to offset the frustration at the setbacks.       While Kebek’s military ventures were never really successful, in internal matters he proved himself a capable administrator. Unlike the previous Chagatai Khans who ruled from the steppes and based themselves around Almaliq, Kebek moved himself into Transoxania, or Mawarannahr. At Qarshi he built a new capital, and oversaw efforts to revitalize and improve agriculture and trade. Minting new denominations of coins, he also consistently minted these coins in his name unlike previous Chagatai Khans. The coins were, due to this, known as kebeks, and became a widely used currency in Central Asia. Arguments have been made that these are the origin of the Russian word for a certain denomination of the ruble, the kopek. Khan Kebek sought to limit the power of regional princes, dividing the realm into new administrative units, tumens. Essentially, districts which could support the raising of 10,000 men for war. His reforms and control of power garnered him a reputation and legacy as a just, respectable ruler, even among Muslims. The famous Moroccan traveller Ibn Battuta, who passed through the Chagatai Khanate in the early 1330s, recorded anecdotes of Kebek’s just nature and friendliness to Islam.       The reign of Kebek had other, unforeseen consequences for the Chagatai Khanate though. Kebek spent his reign in the western half of the Khanate, Transoxania. This was the more densely populated half of the Chagatai Khanate between the Amu Darya and Syr Darya, the heart of the former Khwarezmian Empire. The great cities of Bukhara and Samarkand sat here, and the influence of both Islam and Persian culture were great. There were nomads living here of course, but in close proximity to the sedentary population. The nomads here also owned mills, gardens, villages and benefitted from agriculture. Many of the Mongol noyans and princes who settled here converted to Islam first.  Culturally, this was a region very distinct from the eastern half of the Khanate. This was a diverse range of territory, stretching east of the Syr Darya and Ferghana Valley, the Chagatais controlled up to the Tarim Basin and at times, the Uighur lands in Turfan. Some of this was rugged mountain, the northern stretches of the Pamirs and the Tienshan mountains; some was inhospitable desert, as in the Tarim Basin and the frightful Taklamakan desert. The region north of the Tienshan was home to open steppe, the lakes Balkhash and Issyk Kul and lower reaches of the Irtysh River, rolling hills, and low mountains that lay west and south of the Altai Mountains, bordering on the western edge of Mongolia. Today it forms parts of northern Xinjiang, eastern Kazakhstan and western Mongolia. Often, it is called Dzungaria or the Dzungar Basin, after the Oirat kingdom based in the region in the 17th century famous for their wars against the Qing Dynasty. Before the Mongol conquests, this was the realm of the Qara-Khitai. From the 14th century until the  Dzungar conquests though, this broad expanse of land was Moghulistan; land of the Mongols.  In these steppe lands, a great many Mongols had migrated during the conquest period. The existing agricultural settlements in the steppe here had largely been destroyed and turned over to pasture for Mongol imperial usage in the mid-thirteenth century. Settlements were few and far between; even in the Tarim Basin, famed trade cities like Kashgar, Yarkand and Khotan hugged the borders of the fearsome Taklamakan, and were under the thumb of Mongol chiefs. The sedentary world held no mastery over the Mongols here, who remained true  to their ways. Islam only slowly came to the region. To be the ruler here, a man needed to be a mighty steppe warlord. If not living there, the Chagatai Khan had to make yearly trips to hold council with the local Mongol chiefs to make sure they felt included. Kebek’s decision to move his government into the heart of Transoxania began a rift between the Khan and the Mongols in Moghulistan. Feeling left out of power by Khans more interested in sedentarized and Islamic culture, while also under less and less direct influence of the Khan, the chiefs of the eastern half of the Khanate became more powerful. Of these, the mightiest would be the Dughlats. A proud Mongol tribe that made themselves wealthy by controlling many of the trade cities of the Tarim Basin, the Dughlats were to become a dominant player in Chagatai politics after the end of Du’a’s sons, The might of the Dughlats will be something we will return to next episode, though they were observers to the events we describe today.       Kebek’s reign saw the division into Transoxania and Moghulistan begin, but it took decades to widen. He died in 1327, succeeded by his brother Eljigidei, a more typical steppe Khan who returned the court to the traditional capital around Almaliq. A devout Buddhist, he was a proponent of religious toleration and was friendly to Christian missionaries in his lands. The most notable action of his reign was his support for the Yuan prince Qoshila. As you may recall from episode 44 when Eljigidei had his brief cameo, whe the Yuan Emperor Yesun-Temur died, a coup by the Qipchaq officer El Temur resulted in the disappearance of Yesun-Temur’s young son and successor. El Temur and Qoshila’s brother, Tuq Temur, invited Qoshila to return and take the throne, and the Chagatai Khan Eljigidei accompanied Qoshila into Mongolia proper. Eljigidei was present at Qoshila’s enthronement  north of Karakorum in February 1329, the first Chagatai Khan to return to Mongolia in decades.  Eljigidei then returned to the Chagatai Khanate, where he was understandibly quite annoyed to learn of Qoshila’s murder later that year, but did nothing about it, due to his death in 1330.       Eljigidei was succeeded by another brother, Dore-Temur, who reigned less than a year before being succeeded by his brother, Tarmashirin, one of the most famous Chagatai Khans.  In 1331, Tarmashirin became the sixth and last of Du’a’s sons to be Khan. An experienced soldier from fighting the Ilkhanate and Delhi Sultanate, Tarmashirin moved the court back to Transoxania and continued to promote trade and agriculture as Kebek had done. Unlike Kebek, Tarmashirin was a Muslim, the first Muslim Khan since the brief reign of Naliqo’a over twenty years prior. Like Naliqo’a, he enacted a number of pro-Muslim policies. So well known was his Islam that even in the Mamluk Sultanate he was reported as a devout adherent to sharia. It’s unclear when he converted to Islam. His name, Tarmashirin, is Buddhist, suggesting that he was probably, like many of his brothers, raised in a Buddhist environment. Professor Michal Biran suggested that Tarmashirin may have converted to Islam as late as 1329. Only the year before, Tarmashirin had led an attack on India, and a letter from the Delhi Sultan Muhammad bin Tughluq survives from this time asking the Ilkhan Abu Sa’id to ally with him against the enemies of Islam coming from the Chagatai khanate. Tarmashirin may have converted in order to preempt an alliance between the Ilkhanate and Delhi and open his own friendly relations with the Delhi Sultante, and to make himself stand out among candidates to the Chagatai throne.   There certainly had been a growth in Islam among the Mongols of the Chagatai ulus since Naliqo’a’s reign, largely in the western half of the Khanate. Among the Turkified Mongolian tribe of Barlas, situated near Samarkand and the ancestors of Amir Temur, by the 1330s, 50-70% of the Barlas commanders listed in the sources bore Islamic names of Arab origin. Tarmashirin, who certainly favoured Transoxania, may have hoped to appeal to these Mongols for support, particularly since there is some indication he may have seized the throne from his brother Dore-Temur. An embassy from Tarmashirin arrived in the Yuan Dynasty in 1331 announcing his enthronement, and only four months later an embassy alleging to be from Dore-Temur is recorded as arriving in the Yuan realm. Tarmashirin was in a rocky position where, for many of the military elite, adherence to the yassa of Chinggis Khan mattered a great deal more than adherence to sharia.        Ibn Battuta met Tarmashirin in 1333 during his trek from the Golden Horde to India, and his brief interaction with this famous author is probably in large part why Tarmashirin is more well known than his brothers. Battuta thought highly of the Khan, writing of him:   “He is the exalted sultan ‘Ala al-Din Tarmashirin, a man of great distinction, possessed of numerous troops and regiments of cavalry, a vast kingdom and immense power, and just in his government. His territories lie between four of the great kings of the earth, namely the king of China, the king of India, the king of al-’Iraq and the [Khan Ozbeg], all of whom send him gifts and hold him in high respect and honour. He succeeded to the kingdom after brother [Eljigidei]. This [Eljigidei] was an infidel and succeeded his elder brother Kabak, who was an infidel also, but was just in government, showing equity to the oppressed and favour and respect to the Muslims.”     Ibn Battuta then writes of his interactions with Tarmashirin, depicting him as a pious man who never missed prayer, listened intently to the complaints of his subjects and was generous: on Battuta’s departure from Tarmashirin after 54 days, the Khan gave Battuta some 700 silver dinars, a sable coat worth another 100 as well as horses and camels.  This generosity was evidently not extended to the chiefs of the eastern half of the ulus, who felt betrayed by the shift of power to the sedentary and Islamic western half. It was not just a betrayal of themselves, but of the yassa of Chinggis Khan. Ibn Battuta describes Tarmashirin violating certain aspects of the yassa, with the most notable violation coming from never visiting the eastern half of the Khanate, and never convening toi, or feasts, annual meetings with the chiefs there. The Mamluk historian al-Safadi goes further, writing that Tarmashirin entirely abolished the yassa and insulted it. For Mongol chiefs who held their identity as Mongols dear (despite the fact they largely spoke Turkic by now) it was an unforgivable crime. His favouring of Islam and apparent refusal to allow Christians and Jews within his empire rebuild their churches suggests he did not adopt the much espoused Mongol religious pluralism, implying another disavowment of the yassa. Accusations from some sources that Tarmashirin even tried to have Mongols practice agriculture and abandon nomadism would have pushed these tensions even further.       There is another factor at play, emphasized by Michal Biran. As you may have noticed throughout our series, succession among the Mongols, though generally restricted to a specific lineage, could be a free-for-all within that lineage. In this case, the lineage was that of Tarmashirin’s father Du’a. Succession in many Turkic and Mongolian states could be linear, that is, father-to-son, or laterally, that is, brother-to-brother. Often, succession would not be linear until the lateral line of succession had been exhausted. Only once all surviving brothers had died, could the succession pass to the next generation. Tarmashirin, as the last son of Du’a, was therefore the last khan before all the sons of his brothers could throw their names in for the khanate. Tarmashirin may have pushed his brother from the throne, alienated the militarized half of the khanate by ignoring them, becaming Muslim and favouring sedentary society, and was the last obstacle before many of these annoyed  princes could make their own claims for the Khanate. Tarmashirin essentially set himself up to be violently overthrown.       In summer 1334, a few months after ibn Battuta’s departure from Tarmashirn and only three years into his reign, rebellion arose in the eastern half of the Khanate, led by Tarmashirin’s nephews. A number of chiefs and princes declared Tarmashirin’s nephew Buzan the new Khan. Buzan was a son of Dore-Temur, the brother who Tarmashirin may have pushed from the throne, and was supported by other grandsons of Du’a. They invaded the western Chagatai realm with a large force, and a frightened Tarmashirin fled south, seemingly to Ghazna, where he had previously been stationed and may have had allies. However, Tarmashirin was captured and brought to Buzan, who had Tarmashirin executed near Samarkand sometime in fall 1334. So ended the reign of Tarmashirin Khan, last of the sons of Du’a.      … or was it? Ibn Battuta records that a man claiming to be Tarmashirin later appeared in India. A number of former retainers of Tarmashirin, including a physician, had also fled to the Delhi Sultante following the rebellion of Buzan. These retainers, when sent to identify this Tarmashirin, vouched for his identity. The physician claimed this man even bore the same scar from a boil the physician had removed from the back of Tarmashirin’s knee. However, Tarmashirin’s son and daughter had fled to the Delhi Sultanate, and it was decided that, based on their account of their father’s death, that this  man had to be a fraud. So, the faux-Tarmashirin was exiled from India, finally making his way to Shiraz in Iran. Ibn Battuta passed through Shiraz some time later and tried to meet this Tarmashirin for himself, but was blocked from doing so, and could therefore not confirm the identity of the so-called Tarmashirin.       Though Tarmashirin has been often remarked upon for his conversion to Islam, his religion did not usher in a transformation of the Ilkhanate into an Islamic state. Indeed, his religion likely played a large role in his ultimate dismissal. Tarmashirin could not be the Ilkhanate’s version of Ghazan of the Ilkhanate or Ozbeg of the Golden Horde. Rather, Tarmashirin’s conversion was an indication of the gradual conversion of the western half of the Chagatai Khanate, where he spent much of his life and his entire reign. The Khanate, that is some of the Mongols, was marginally more Muslim than it had been during the reign of Naliqo’a, for instance, but it the most dangerous element, the nomadic military elite and Mongol chiefs in the east, Moghulistan, were not Muslims. It was this elite that any man hoping to rule would need to placate, but no Chagatai Khan after Tarmashirin could rule  comfortably now.   The rebellion, as we will cover in our next episode,  had dramatic consequences for the Chagatai Khanate, and brought about a period of anarchy which ultimately contributed to the rise of Amir Temur, or Tamerlane, so be sure to subscribe to the Kings and Generals Podcast to follow. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, then consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals.  This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/history

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/central-asian-studies

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/islamic-studies

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

David Brophy's translation of Muhammad Sadiq Kashghari's In Remembrance of the Saints: The Rise and Fall of an Inner Asian Sufi Dynasty (Columbia University Press, 2021) represents the first comprehensive translation of the text into English. The translation includes a detailed introduction that not only contextualizes the text and its author, but also describes how it reflects the religious and political landscape of the region in the 18th century. Because it sheds light on the Qing conquest of Xinjiang, the role of Naqshbandi Sufis in the region, and the relations between the Muslims of the Tarim Basin and neighboring groups like the Junghars and the Kyrgyz, Brophy's translation will be of great interest to students and scholars of Central Asia, China, and the Islamic world.  Nicholas Seay is a PhD student at Ohio State University Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/chinese-studies

“There was a certain man who was a believer, and he was a nobleman and a fearer of God. He was rich in the things of this world, and he was well endowed with the qualities of nature; he belonged to a famous family and a well-known tribe. His name was SHIBAN the Sa'ora. He dwelt in the city which is called [...] KHAN BALIK , [...] the royal city in the country of the East. He married according to the law a woman whose name was KEYAMTA. And when they had lived together for a long time, and they had no heir, they prayed to God continually and besought Him with frequent supplications not to deprive them of a son who would continue [their] race. And He who giveth comfort in His gracious mercy received their petition, and He showed them compassion. For it is His wont to receive the entreaty of those who are broken of heart, and-to hearken unto the groaning of those who make supplications and petitions [to Him]. [....] Now God made the spirit of conception to breathe upon the woman Keyamta, and she brought forth a son, and they called his name " SAWMA.” And they rejoiced [with] a great joy, neighbours of his family and his relations rejoiced at his birth.’       So begins the history of Rabban bar Sauma, as translated by E. Wallis Budge. There were a number of travellers, missionaries, diplomats and merchants who made journey from Europe to China during the height of the Mongol Empire. While Marco Polo is the most famous of these, we have also covered a few other travellers in previous episodes. Yet, there were also those who made the harrowing journey from China to the west. Of these, none are more famous than Rabban bar Sauma, the first known individual born in China who made the journey to Europe. Rabban bar Sauma was a Turkic Christian monk who travelled from Khanbaliq, modern-day Beijing, across Central Asia, the Ilkhanate, the Byzantine Empire, Italy, all the way to the western edge of France, visiting Khans, Emperors, Kings and Popes.  Our episode today will introduce  you to Rabban Sauma and his incredible journey across late 13th century Mongol Eurasia. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       Sauma was born around 1225 in the city of Yenching, on which Beijing now sits. Yenching of course, we have visited before, when it was known as  Zhongdu, the capital of the Jurchen Jin Dynasty. The Mongols took the city after a bloody siege in 1215, which we covered  back in episode 7 of this season. Sauma was born to Turkic parents, either Onggud or Uighur, two groups which had long since recognized the supremacy of Chinggis Khan. Sauma’s parents were Christians of the Church of the East, often called, rather disparagingly, Nestorians. Nestorius was a 5th century archbishop of Constantinople who had argued, among other things, the distinction between Christ’s humanity and his divinity, and that Mary was mother of Jesus the man, but not of Jesus the God. For if God had always existed, then he could not have had a mother. For this Nestorius was excommunicated at the Council of Ephesus in 431 and his followers scattered across the east. From the Sassanid Empire they spread across Central Asia, reaching China during the Tang Dynasty. By the 12th century, the adaptable Nestorian priests converted several of the tribes of Mongolia, from the Naiman, the Kereyit to the Onggud, to which Sauma likely belonged. These Eastern Christian priests stayed influential among the Mongols for the remainder of the 13th century, with a number of prominent Mongols adhering to their faith. Sorqaqtani Beki, the mother of Great Khans Mongke and Khubilai, was perhaps the best known of these.       The young Sauma took his Christian faith seriously; so seriously, his parents sought to dissuade him, fretting the end of their family line if their son became a monk. Refusing fine meats and alcohol, Sauma instead hungered for ecclestical knowledge and purity. Accepted into the Nestorian clergy of Yenching in 1248, at age 25 he donned the tonsure and garb of the monk. Developing a reputation for asceticism beyond even his fellow monks, he largely secluded himself in his own cell for 7 years before leaving the monastery for the mountains. His devotion to Christ made him famous among the Nestorians of North China and Mongolia, attracting the attention of a young Onggud Turk named Markos. From the Onggud capital of Koshang in modern Inner Mongolia, Markos was mesmerized by the stories of the holiness of Sauma. The 15 year old Markos marched by himself to Sauma in 1260. Impressed by the youth’s tenacity even as he attempted to dissuade him from joining the monastery, Sauma eventually took Markos under his wing. Markos proved himself an excellent student, and within three years was accepted into the Nestorian monastic life.        Sauma and Markos became fast friends and pillars of the Nestorian community around Yenching, which by then was the capital of the new Great Khan, Khubilai, and renamed to Dadu, “Great City,” or Khanbaliq, “The Khan’s City,” to Turkic and Mongolian speakers. Khanbaliq is the origins of Marco Polo’s somewhat distorted version of Cambulac. While Sauma was happy to spend his life in the mountains near Dadu, Markos was much more energetic, and sought to convince his friend to partake in the most difficult of journeys; to the holy city of Jerusalem to be absolved of their sins. Sauma tried to scare Markos off this goal, and it was not until around 1275 that Sauma was convinced to accompany his friend. They went to Khanbaliq for an escort and supplies, and here news of their mission came to the most powerful monarch on the planet, Khuiblai Khan. Several sources, such as the Syriac Catholicos Bar Hebraeus, attest that Sauma and Markos were sent west by Kublai to worship in Jerusalem or baptize clothes in the River Jordan. Such a task is similar to the orders Kublai gave to Marco Polo’s father and uncle, instructed to bring back Catholic priests and sacred oil from Jerusalem for Yuan China. Khubilai often tried to appear a friend to all religions within his realm, and may have felt the need to honour his own mother’s memory, as she had been a Christian. That Sauma and Markos went with the blessings of the Great Khan holding his passport (paiza) would explain the favoured treatment they received over their voyage. Interestingly though, the main source for Bar Sauma’s journey, a Syriac language manuscript compiled shortly after his death from notes and an account he had made in his life, makes no mention of Khubilai’s involvment. Historian Pier Giorgio Borbone suggests it was deliberately left out, instead playing of the religious aspect of the pilgrimage as emerging from Markos and Sauma themselves, rather than imply they only made the journey on the order of Khubilai.       Setting out around 1275, Sauma, Markos and an escort began their journey to the west. Through the Yuan Empire they were met by ecstatic crowds of Nestorians coming out to see the holymen, showering them with gifts and supplies. Two Onggud nobles, sons-in-laws to the Great Khan, provided more animals and guides for them, though they warned of the dangers now that the Mongol Khanates were at war. They followed one of the primary routes of the Silk Road, via the former territory of the Tangut Kingdom, the Gansu Corridor, to the Tarim Basin, cutting south along the desolate Taklamakan desert, the harshest stretch of their journey. After staying in Khotan, they moved onto Kashgar, shocked to find it recently depopulated and plundered, a victim of Qaidu Khan. Passing through the Tien Shan mountains to Talas, they found the encampment of that same Khan. Here they minimized any connections they had to Khubilai, instead portraying themselves on a mission of personal religious conviction and prayed for the life of Qaidu and his well being, asking that he provid supplies to assist in their journey.  Qaidu let them through, and Sauma and Markos continued on a seemingly uneventful, but strenuous trip through Qaidu’s realm, the Chagatai Khanate and into the Ilkhanate.       Sauma and Markos’ journey to Jerusalem halted in Maragha,  chief city of the Ilkhanate. There, the head of the Nestorian Church, Patriarch Mar Denha, found use for these well-spoken travellers affiliated with the Khan of Khans. Mar Denha had not made himself many friends within the Ilkhanate, in part for his hand in the violent murder of a Nestorian who had converted to Islam. As a result the Il-Khan, Hulegu’s son Abaqa, had not provided letters patent to confirm Denha in his position, wary of alienating the Muslims of his kingdom. Mar Denha believed monks sent from Abaqa’s uncle Khubilai would be most persuasive. Abaqa Il-Khan treated Sauma and Markos generously, and perhaps influenced by his Christian Byzantine wife, on their urging he agreed to send Mar Denha his confirmation. In exchange, Mar Denha was to provide an escort for Sauma and Markos to reach Jerusalem, but the roads were closed due to war between the Ilkhanate and the Mamluk Sultanate. When Markos and Sauma returned to Mar Denha, he told them visiting his own Patriarchate was just as good as visiting Jerusalem, and gave them new titles. Both were made Rabban, the Syriac form of Rabbi. Markos was made Metropolitan of the Nestorians of Eastern Asia, essentially a bishop, and given a new name: Yabhallaha, by which he is more often known, while Rabban bar Sauma became his Visitor-General. Suddenly promoted but unable to return east due to a breakout of war between the Central Asian Khanates, Rabban Sauma and Mar Yabhallaha stayed in a monastery near Arbil until the sudden death of Mar Denha in 1281.       His experience with the Mongols and knowledge of their language made Yabhallaha a prime candidate to succeed Mar Denha, and the other Metropolitans anointed him Patriarch of the Nestorians. Wisely, Rabban Sauma encouraged Yabhallaha to immediately seek confirmation from Abaqa Il-Khan, who appreciated the move and rewarded Yabhallaha and the Nestorians of the Ilkhanate with gifts, such as a throne and parasol,  as well as tax privileges. Abaqa soon died in 1282, and Yabhallaha and Sauma faced scrutiny under Abaqa’s successor, his Muslim brother Teguder Ahmad. Accusations were made that the Nestorians were defaming Teguder Il-Khan in letters to Khubilai. Placed on trial before the Il-Khan, the two friends fought for their innocence and outlasted him. In 1284 Teguder was ousted and killed by Abaqa’s son Arghun. Mar Yabhallaha immediately paid homage to Arghun, in him finding a firm supporter. With Arghun’s backing, Yabhallaha removed his enemies from within the Nestorian church and strengthened his power. Desiring to complete the war with the Mamluk Sultanate, under Arghun efforts to organize an alliance with Christian Europe against the Mamluks reached new heights. Since the days of Arghun’s grandfather Hulegu, the Il-Khans had sent envoys to Europe in an effort to organize a Crusader-Mongolian alliance against the Mamluk Sultans of Egypt. Despite some close attempts, there had not yet been successful cooperation. Arghun was determined to change this and organize the coalition which  would finally overcome the Mamluks.   Desiring the most effective envoy possible, Arghun turned to Mar Yabhallaha to suggest an influential, well travelled and respectable Christian to send to spur Crusading fervour, aided by promises that Arghun would restore Jerusalem to Christian hands. Yabhallaha had just the man. Turning to his longtime friend, Yabhallaha asked Rabban bar Sauma to carry the Il-Khan’s messages westwards. Provided letters for the Kings and Popes, as well as paizas, gold, animals and provisions, in the first days of 1287, after a tearful goodbye with Mar Yabhallaha, the 62 year old Rabban Sauma set out, accompanied by at least two interpreters from Italy in his escort. The first steps of his route are unclear, likely taking the caravan routes from northern Iraq to somewhere along the southeastern Black Sea coast. From there they took a ship to Constantinople and met the Byzantine Emperor Andronikos II. As recorded in the Syriac history of Rabban Sauma, quote:    “And after [some] days he arrived at the great city of CONSTANTINOPLE, and before they went into it he sent two young men to the Royal gate  to make known there that an ambassador of [Khan] Arghon had come. Then the [Emperor] commanded certain people to go forth to meet them, and to bring them in with pomp and honour. And when RABBAN SAWMA went intothe city, the [Emperor] allotted to him a house, that is to say, a mansion in which to dwell. And after RABBAN SAWMA had rested himself, he went to visit the [Emperor, Andronikos II] and after he had saluted him, the [Emperor] asked him, "How art thou after the workings of the sea and the fatigue of the road?" And RABBAN SAWMA replied, "With the sight of the Christian king fatigue hath vanished and exhaustion hath departed, for I was exceedingly anxious to see your kingdom, the which may our Lord establish!"   Emperor Andronikos II politely welcomed the embassy, dining them and providing a house for their stay. Giving the gifts and letters from Arghun, Rabban Sauma met his first frustration as efforts to broach military aid led nowhere. The Emperor Andronikos provided gifts, excuses, and promised exactly no military aid for the Il-Khan. Whatever disappointment Rabban Sauma felt was offset with a tour of the sites of Constantinople, especially the great church of Hagia Sophia. In his homeland churches were small buildings or even mobiles tents; in Ani, in Armenia, he saw a city famous for its many churches. But nothing could compare to the majesty of the Hagia Sophia, the quality and colour of its marble, its 360 columns, the great space and seemingly floating roof. The mosaics, the shrines and relics alleged to date to the earliest days of Christianity, all captured Sauma’s heart. Of the church’s famous dome, Sauma wrote:  “As for the dome of the altar it is impossible for a man to describe it [adequately] to one who hath not seen it, and to say how high and how spacious it is.” In his  often laconic account of his travels, it is these icons of Christianity which earn the greatest description, and stood out to him more than his usually unsuccessful diplomatic efforts.    Departing Constantinople, by sea he set out for Rome. The voyage was rough, and on 18th June 1287 he was greeted by a terrifying spectacle, the eruption of Mt. Etna where fire and smoke ascended day and night.  Passing Sicily he landed at Naples, where he was graciously welcomed by Charles Martel, the son of the Napolese King Charles II, then imprisoned in Aragon. From the roof of the mansion  Sauma stayed at, on June 24th he watched Charles’ forces be defeated by the Aragonese fleet in the Bay of Sorrento. Sauma remarked with surprise that the Aragonese forces, unlike the Mongols, did not attack the noncombatants they came across. European chroniclers attest that later in June, after Sauma had moved onto Rome, the Aragonese began ravaging the countryside anyways.   In Rome later in 1287, Sauma’s hopes to meet the Pope were dashed as Pope Honourius IV had died in April that year. Finding the Cardinals in the midst of a long conclave to choose his successor, Sauma was welcomed before them as the envoy of the Il-Khan. Unwilling to commit to any alliance without a Pope, the Cardinals instead asked where Sauma came from, who the Patriarch of the East was and where he was located. Avoiding Sauma’s attempts to get back to his diplomatic purpose, the Cardinals then shifted to theological matters, grilling Sauma on his beliefs. The Nestorian impressed them with his knowledge of the early church, and managed to deftly slide past the disputes which had caused the excommunication of Nestorius some 860 years prior. Finding no progress on the diplomatic mission, Sauma engaged in a more personal interest, exploring the ancient relics and monuments to Christendom.  The account of Sauma’s journey indicates he visited “all the churches and monasteries that were in Great Rome.” At times, he misunderstood the strange customs of the locals, believing the Pope enthroned the Holy Roman Emperor by using his own feet to lift the crown onto his head.    With no progress to be made in Rome until the new Pope was elected, Sauma searched for Kings of the Franks most known for Crusading. After a brief tour of Tuscany, by the end of September 1287 Sauma was in Paris, there greeted with a lavish reception by King Phillip IV, who hosted a feast for this illustrious envoy. In Rabban Sauma’s account, he wrote”    “And the king of France assigned to Rabban Sawma a place wherein to dwell, and three days later sent one of his Amirs to him and summoned him to his presence. And when he had come the king stood up before him and paid him honour, and said unto him, "Why hast thou come? And who sent thee?" And RABBAN SAWMA said unto him, "[Khan] ARGHON and the Catholicus of the East have sent me concerning the matter of JERUSALEM." And he showed him all the matters which he knew, and he gave him the letters which he had with him, and the gifts, that is to say, presents which he had brought. And the king of FRANCE answered him, saying, "If it be indeed so that the MONGOLS, though they are not Christians, are going to fight against the Arabs for the capture of JERUSALEM, it is meet especially for us that we should fight [with them], and if our Lord willeth, go forth in full strength.”   Moved by the willingness of the Mongols to restore Jerusalem to Christian hands, Phillip promised to send a nobleman alongside Rabban Sauma to bring his answer to Arghun. With at least one king seemingly onboard, Sauma spent the next month touring Paris, visiting churches and impressed by the great volume of students within the city. Phillip showed Sauma the private relics of the French Kings, including what Phillip claimed was the Crown of Thorns, sold to his grandfather by the Emperor of Constantinople in 1238.        Around mid-October 1287, Rabban Sauma had moved across France to Gascony, where the King of England Edward I, old Longhsanks himself, was staying at Bordeaux. Edward was known to the Mongols, having gone on an inconclusive Crusade to Syria in 1271. Abaqa Il-Khan had attempted to coordinate movements with Edward during his campaign, but neither side had been able to line up their forces. Edward, then just the crown prince of England, had succeeded in doing little more than carry out small raids, assist in organizing a treaty between the Kingdom of Jerusalem and Mamuk Sultan Baybars. and survive an assassination attempt. Abaqa had sent envoys in 1277 apologizing to Edward for being able to provide sufficient aid and asked for him to return, but to no avail. Edward, by then the King of England, was by then rather more concerned with France and the conquest of Wales.   Ten years in early 1287, Edward had promised to take up the Cross again, and was excited by the arrival of Rabban Sauma late that year. Promising assistance, he invited Rabban Sauma to partake in the Eucharist with him, gave him leave to visit the local churches, and provided gifts and assistance when Sauma went back on the road to Rome. Feeling himself successful, by the time he returned to Rome in early 1288 a new Pope had been elected, Nicholas IV. The first Pope from the Franciscan Order, Nicholas was a man keenly interested in missionary efforts and the restoration of the Holy Land to Christian hands. It was under his aegis that John de Monte Corvino would travel to Dadu to establish a Catholic archbishopric there. Having interacted with each other during Sauma’s first visit to the Cardinals, Sauma and the new Pope got on splendidly. Kissing the hands and feet of Pope Nicholas, Sauma was provided a mansion for his stay in Rome and invited to partake in the feasts and festivities around Easter. Sauma on occasion led in the Eucharist beside the Pope, drawing crowds from across Rome eager to see how this foreign Christian undertook Mass. Though the language differed, the crowds were ecstatic that the rites themselves seemed the same.          Despite their friendship, no promises of organizing a crusade against the Mamluks were forthcoming. The Pope lacked the influence to send a large body of armed men on yet another disatrous journey. The crusades of the 13th century to the Holy Land had been catastrophes. The most thoroughly organized crusades of the century were those organized by King Louis IX of France. The first had ended in his capture by the Mamluks in Egypt in 1250, while the second had resulted in his death outside of Tunis in 1270. If even this saintly, highly prepared king had been met with failures, then what chance would any other force have? Nicholas wanted to convert Muslims and retake Jersualem, yes, but was very aware of the practicalities involved by this point.    And so, Rabban Sauma decided to return to the Ilkhanate. Nicholas asked Sauma to stay in Rome with him, but Sauma insisted he was only there as a diplomat, and it was his duty to return east. The Nestorian did convince the Head of the Catholic Church to give him, somewhat reluctantly, holy relics: a piece of Jesus’ cape, the kerchief of the Virgin Mary, and fragments from the bodies of several saints. Along with those were several letters for the Il-Khan, Mar Yabhallaha and Rabban Sauma. Copies of these letters survive in the Vatican archives, and though the letter to Yabhallaha confirms him as head of the Christians of the East, it is surprisingly condescending, explaining basic tenets of Christianity. Embracing Rabban Sauma one final time, he was dismissed and by ship, returned to the Ilkhanate.       On his return, he was warmly welcomed by his longtime friend Mar Yabhallaha and the Il-Khan Arghun. Arghun hosted a feast for them, personally serving them and richly rewarding the old man for his great efforts. Yet his efforts came to naught. The Pope had provided no assurances, and despite continued correspondence neither Phillip nor Edward committed men to the Holy Land, too preoccupied with their own conflicts. Arghun sent an embassy in 1289 telling the two monarchs that he would march on Damascus in January 1291 and meet them there. Distracted by turmoil on his borders, Arghun instead died of illness in March 1291. Acre, the final major Crusader stronghold, was taken by the Mamluks two months later, ending the Crusader Kingdoms and the possibilities of European-Mongol cooperation. Despite some outrage in connected circles in Europe, the fall of Acre merited no revival of any Crusader spirit for the region.       Rabban Sauma largely retired to his own church for his last years, but along with Mar Yabhallaha continued to visit the court of the Il-Khans, particularly Geikhatu who continued to patronize minority religions of the Ilkhanate.  Perhaps in 1293 they met another international traveller; Marco Polo, who spent much of that year in the Ilkhanate during his return from China. We have no way of confirming this, though we can imagine Geikhatu Il-Khan introducing two men who had both travelled across the continent, humoured by the individuals brought together by Mongol rule. Polo had arrived in China around the same time that Rabban Sauma and Markos had begun their own western journey. As Marco had spent much of his time in China in Bar Sauma’s city of birth, perhaps Polo told him of the things he had missed in the last twenty years, what had changed in Dadu and what had stayed the same, stirring memories in Rabban Sauma of land and family that he never saw again.       Rabban Sauma died in January 1294, leaving his friend Mar Yabhallaha alone in an Ilkhanate that, after the death of Geikhatu and conversion of the Ilkhans to Islam, grew increasingly mistrustful and hostile to non-Muslims. By the time of Mar Yabhallaha’s death in 1317, the brief flourishing of the Nestorian church under Ilkhanid patronage was over, and their influence across Central Asia dissipated with the continued conversion of Mongols across the region. The journey of Rabban Sauma was forgotten. His persian diary on his voyages was translated into Syriac not long after his death but was lost until its rediscovery in the 19th century. Translated now into several languages, Sauma’s journey shines another light on the integration of East and West under the Mongols, when for the first time a Christian Turk from China could travel to the Pope and Kings of Europe. Our series on the Mongol Empire in the late thirteenth century and fourteenth century will continue, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us keep bringing you great content, please consider supporting us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals, or consider leaving us a review on the podcast catcher of your choice, or sharing this with your friends. All your efforts help immensely. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

For thousands of years, nomadic tribes occupied vast lands beyond the limited reach of pre-modern empires. With the dawn of the modern age, these peoples found themselves locked inside the borders of powerful states whose drive to assimilate subject populations into homogenous national projects has led to a rapid dwindling of human cultural and biodiversity.   The Tarim Basin in northwest China has been home to the Turkic Uyghurs for over a thousand years, but the Chinese Communist Party has worked for decades to eliminate Uyghur cultural identity and demographic predominance. Perhaps no place on earth provides a more frightening example of modern methods and technology applied to man's darkest and most ancient impulses.

Qaidu was raised in Chinggis Khan’s camp, and after Ogedai Khaan he served in Mongke Khaan’s retinue. After him, he was with Ariq Boke, conspiring and amking efforts to elevate him to the khanate. When Ariq Boke went before Kublai Khaan and submitted to him, Qaidu was wary of Kublai Khaan because it was the law that no creature should change the Khaan’s command or decree, and any who did would be branded as criminals. He had transgressed the law and rebelled, and from that time until present, ona account of his rebellion, many Mongols and Tajiks have been annhilated, and flourishing land has been devastated.”       So our oft-cited friend Rashid al-Din describes, rather negatively, his contemporary Qaidu, Khan of the house of Ogedai and master of Central Asia in the late thirteenth century. Qaidu is best known for his daughter Qutulun, the wrestler-princess, his long resistance against his cousin Kublai, Great Khan of the Yuan Dynasty, and enjoys a popular image as a spirited defender of traditional Mongolian culture- or, for writers like Rashid al-Din, an image of little more than a brigand harassing settled regions. To explore Kublai’s failed attempts to exert power over the western half of the Mongol Empire, we will look at the long life of Qaidu, master of the uluses of Ogedai and Chagatai. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.   While Kublai Khan overcame his brother Ariq Boke to become Khan of Khans in 1264, that was not the end of his troubles from his Mongolian kinsmen. Many refused to recognize Kublai’s authority, or actively took up arms against him, most famously Qaidu, a grandson of Ogedai Khan who led a 40 year campaign of resistance against Kublai Khan. While most famous for stories of his warrior daughter Qutulun and for his own personal sternness and military ability, Qaidu’s reign has often been misportrayed as an effort to seize the title of the Great Khan. His main focus however, was securing the position of the descendants of Ogedai within a fragmenting Mongol Empire.       Chinggis Khan had granted parts of eastern Kazakhstan, Xinjiang and western Mongolia as personal ulus, or territory, to his son Ogedai, serving as a base for Ogedai’s family until the 1250s. The Toluid Revolution, which by now you should know very well, saw the seizure of the throne by the sons of Tolui, away from the line of Ogedai following the death of the final Ogedeid Great Khan, Guyuk, in 1248. After Tolui’s eldest son Mongke became Khan in 1251, he discovered an alleged conspiracy against him by Ogedai’s family. This served as pretext for a purge of the Ogedaids, killing many and confiscating their lands and armies, effectively dissolving the Ogedaid ulus, as explained back in episode 21 of this series. Those few who survived, such as the young Qaidu, were granted distant lands to appease them but which were too poor to serve as a base for resistance. Born only around 1235 or 6, Qaidu was only just entering manhood when Mongke carried out his purges, deemed too young to be a threat. In proper Ogedeid fashion Qaidu’s father, Ogedai’s fifth son Qashi, drank himself to an early death shortly before Qaidu’s birth, leaving Qaidu’s early years to quietly rule over what little people, herds, pastures and towns Mongke Khaan had allotted him around Qayaliq, in what is now southern Kazakhstan. We can only imagine Qaidu’s frustration and anger, a sense that everything that was his by right had been taken from him, anger at the theft by the house of Tolui- not of the Great Khanate, which Qaidu was unlikely to have ever inherited, but of the ulus of Ogedai itself, the personal territory Chinggis Khan had granted that line of the family. One tradition from Qaidu’s earliest youth that survives, recorded by Jamal al-Qarshi, is that Ogedai Khaan once held the young boy and was so impressed with the 5 year old, that he stated Qaidu would one day succeed him and ordered his every need to be provided for. Even if the story were true, it must be remembered that Ogedai indicated about half of his sons and grandsons should have succeeded him at various points, and anyways, Qaidu was no mroe than six years old at the time of Ogedai’s death. No, the young Qaidu was not ever destined, nor likely ever considered himself to be, for the throne of the Great Khan.       Qayaliq was too poor to offer a base of resistance on its own, but it did not stop Qaidu from pushing his boundaries. In 1256, Mongke Khaan sent a judge to Qaidu’s territory as an official imperial representative- the exact mission unclear in the sources- and the 20 year old Qaidu promptly captured him, holding him captive for the next two decades. No reaction is recorded from Mongke, who may have been preoccupied with his forthcoming assault on the Song Dynasty to divert attention to an annoying Ogedeid boy. Perhaps Mongke had been planning to deal with him upon his return from campaign, but as we know, he never got the opprotunity: Mongke died on campaign in August 1259, precipitating the conflict between two of his brothers, Ariq Boke and Kublai, for the imperial throne.        Qaidu was initially neutral in the war between Ariq Boke and Kublai, supporting Ariq only when his appointed ruler to the Chagatai Khanate, Alghu, revolted and attacked Qaidu’s territory. It seems Alghu attacked Qaidu for supporting Ariq Boke, which forms the only real evidence for Qaidu’s  actual support of Ariq. With Ariq’s surrender to Kublai in 1264, Qaidu turned to the Khan of the Golden Horde, Berke, for support against Alghu. Supposedly Berke found Qaidu’s horoscope favourable, and provided him an army and resources, and a promise for rule over the ulus of Chagatai if he was successful. Winning his first encounter against Alghu, Qaidu suffered a serious defeat in the second  and seemed to be placed on the backfoot. But Heaven showed Qaidu its favour when Alghu, Berke, and the Il-Khan Hulegu all died over 1265-1267 and Kublai was focused on the Song Dynasty. This created a sudden power vacuum all across Central Asia; while his neighbours sorted out matters of succession, Qaidu expanded his territory from Almaliq to Taraz to Beshbaliq; in rapid succession, Qaidu successfully reclaimed much of the former territory of Ogedai’s ulus. Many of Ariq Boke and Alghu’s former supporters joined Qaidu, including the brilliant finance minister Ma’sud Beg, whose skills helped with the economic rejuvenation of Qaidu’s ulus. Many of these men were dispossed by the changes in power over these years, and were happy to throw their lot in with a bright-eyed, up and coming warlord showing he had some favour from Heaven. When Kublai summoned Qaidu to him in order to affirm his vassalage, Qaidu refused, claiming the distance was too great to travel. Though Kublai tried to encourage him by sending him revenues from conquered Chinese territory, Qaidu was intent on preserving his independence and fragile ulus. Kublai’s capital was moved from Karakorum in central Mongolia to Shangdu on the border with China, and then into China proper at Khanbaliq, greatly limited his ability to control his kinsmen deep in the steppe. In the next years, Qaidu’s pretensions would increased dramatically.        In the Chagatai Khanate power was taken by Baraq, who ruled with Kublai’s approval and was almost immediately at war with Qaidu. With the aid of the new Khan of the Golden Horde, Mongke-Temur, Qaidu defeated Baraq near Khojand in 1267, after which Qaidu proposed a joint peace between the Central Asian Khanates. Likely on the Qatwan Steppe, just south of Samarkand, in 1267 or 69, Qaidu, Baraq, and Mongke-Temur’s representatives made agreements to divide the territory of Transoxania between them,  Qaidu and Baraq became anda (blood brothers) and agreed to a joint-attack the Ilkhanate in Khurasan. Notable about this meeting was a total disregard for Kublai’s authority. Though Kublai was nominally Great Khan, by the end of the 1260s each Khanate was now an independent state, the Khans all now meeting without his consultation. Recorded in the Yuan shi, the assembled Khans apparently sent a jointly written letter, of questionable veracity, to Kublai decrying his sinicization and ‘adoption of Han laws.’ As mentioned by historian Michal Biran, this is the only direct textual evidence of Mongolian, and specifically Qaidu’s, opposition to Kublai’s adoption of Chinese policy and custom. While often presented as a “defender of the old ways,” Qaidu’s agreements on the Qatwan Steppe and actions over his life were always directed at his own power and independence in the Ogedeid ulus, rather than  whatever laws the fat Khan in Khanbaliq tried to pass.     Qaidu did provide forces for Baraq’s assault on the Ilkhanate, but they were instructed to abandon Baraq before battle was met. Baraq’s army was crushed by the Il-Khan Abaqa at Herat in 1270, and his death shortly afterwards was Qaidu’s most important opportunity. Many of Baraq’s commanders and armies fled to Qaidu, and only a month after Baraq’s death Qaidu was declared Khan of the Ogedeid ulus. We must emphasize this: he was declared Khan of the territory belonging to the House of Ogedai. He was never declared Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, or Khan of the Chagatayid ulus. He never made pretensiosn to claim either of those thrones, and his conflict with Kublai was not over who should be the Great Khan, but over Qaidu’s personal autonomy- and his right to appoint the Chagatai Khan after Baraq’s demise. When Qaidu’s first appointee rebelled alongside the sons of Alghu and Baraq, Qaidu overcame them and chose Baraq’s son Du’a as Chagatai Khan in 1282. Du’a would be Qaidu’s right hand man for the next twenty years, and as co-rulers they dominated Central Asia from the Yenisei River to the borders of India, and from Transoxania to the Mongolian Altai, a border keeping Kublai’s control confined to the east.   Kublai’s campaign against the Song Dynasty kept him from interfering with Qaidu’s domination of the Chagatai Khanate, instead relying on defence. As early as the mid 1260s, Qaidu was raiding Kublai’s frontier: in 1268 Kublai’s armies had to push Qaidu’s forces from Beshbaliq and the Uighur lands. By the end of the 1260s, Kublai was posting a large garrison in Mongolia under his son Nomukhan. Nomukhan was not terribly successful: he was betrayed by his subordinates and sent over to the Golden Horde in 1276, and Karakorum fell into the hands of these rebellious princes. Qaidu played no role in this, distracted as he was at that time by trying to exert control over the ulus of Chagatai. In an effort to make the local garrisons self sufficient, Kublai spent considerable amounts attempting to expand agriculture and set up military colonies in the Tarim Basin, Gansu corridor and Mongolia, but only in Mongolia did he see limited success. Qaidu’s raids were too successful and the regions too arid, and Kublai only succeeded in throwing away huge sums of money and resources.   By the 1280s, Qaidu had a firm hold on Central Asia and loyal ally in his appointed Chagatai Khan, Du’a. Finally, they could take advantage of rebellions across Kublai’s frontier, such as that in Tibet in 1285 and of Nayan in Manchuria in 1287, with whom Qaidu tried to coordinate with. Kublai, realizing Mongolia itself was now threatened, took to the field himself. Sending an army west to counter Qaidu and an army into southern Manchuria to distract the other local Mongol dissident, Khadan, the aging Kublai led the third army from a platform mounted on the backs of four elephants. Nayan was swiftly caught and executed. Qaidu had advanced on the old Mongol capital of Qaraqorum as per the suggestion of Ariq Boke’s sons, but the threat of facing Kublai himself led to Qaidu’s withdrawal. This was the closest the two ever came to fighting one another in person. While Karakorum may have held symbolic value, strategically it would be nearly impossible for Qaidu to hold it, and as he was making no claim to the title of Great Khan, its symbolism was useless to him. Karakorum was but a brief flirtation for him, egged on by his allies to take advantage of Kublai’s perceived weakenss, rather than a long awaited goal. The aging Kublai had shown he still had teeth, and Qaidu would not make such an attempt again for the remainder of Kublai’s life.       Qaidu does not seem to have taken advantage of Kublai’s death in 1294, and Kublai’s successor, Temur Oljeitu, abandoned his grandfather’s foreign adventures, focusing greater resources on combating Qaidu along the northwestern frontier. In winter 1298, Qaidu’s Chagatai Khan Du’a attacked the Yuan frontier and captured Temur Oljeitu Khan’s brother-in-law Korguz, who died before he could be rescued. This was an embarrassment and insult for the new Khan of Khans, and Temur Oljeitu sprung into action, ordering his nephew Qaishan to Mongolia, where he assembled a great army and marched west to crush Qaidu in 1300.       In spring 1300, east of the Altai mountains at Kuobielie, Qaishan’s army overtook Qaidu. In a furious assault, they forced Qaidu to retreat west into the Altai mountains in western Mongolia. Qaishan was a cautious commander, only proceeding once he acquired sufficient provisions, which gave Qaidu time to call to Du’a for aid. Du’a initially refused, but did send two armies later that summer, a first to reinforce Qaidu while Du’a himself led a second. The onset of winter halted the campaign, and for most of 1301 Qaishan struggled to locate Qaidu’s smaller, highly mobile force in the Altai. Qaidu needed to hold out for the arrival of Du’a reinforcements, but couldn’t retreat lest he allow Qaishan to overrun his hard won ulus.       Finally in August 1301, Qaishan’s scouts informed him that Qaidu’s army was encamped at Mount Tiejiangu, and that Du’a’s reinforcements were close at hand. On the 3rd of September the Yuan army attacked. The Yuan assault was devastating: Qaidu’s smaller force was overrun, Qaidu himself wounded in the battle. Only nightfall forced the two armies apart, and Qaidu employed a tool of his great-grandfather. He ordered his men to each light several fires, and to the Yuan forces, it appeared that Du’a’s enforcements had suddenly arrived and lit their own campfires. Their enemy refusing to advance, Qaidu used this distraction to pull his forces back. When morning revealed the truth, Qaishan was hesitant to immediately pursue, fearing Qaidu would employ a feigned retreat. This provided Qaidu time to meet with forces sent by Du’a two days later at Qara Qada, along the Irtysh River. Learning of Du’a’s reinforcements, Qaishan split his force: one section would intercept Du’a and his army, while Qaishan took the rest of the Yuan forces to catch Qaidu.   When Qaishan arrived at Qara Qada, Qaidu was prepared. This time, the Yuan army was not as successful, though Qaishan himself broke through Qaidu’s lines, seizing his military supplies, rescuing captive princes and turning about to lead a rear assault on a section of Qaidu’s line. But Qaidu held firm, and his horse archers kept the Yuan back until nightfall once again split them apart. Not far away at an unidentified location called Wuertu, Yuan forces defeated and wounded Du’a, who then seems to have retreated back to his own territory.       The following day was the final confrontation. Qaidu, now approaching 70 years old, held his vetetan forces together against the Yuan’s superior numbers. Arrows filled the air, and the Yuan army was in an inconclusive engagement. An effort to pull the Yuan forces back and redeploy was foiled by a full charge by Qaidu, and the Yuan retreat now threatened to turn into a rout. Qaishan fought bravely as rearguard, and once more broke through Qaidu’s line, forcing them back and allowing the Yuan army to undertake an orderly retreat back to Qaraqorum, Qaishan burning the steppe behind them to hamper Qaidu’s pursuit. But Qaidu did not follow, instead falling back, given pause by his losses and his own injuries sustained, which were likely his cause of death a few weeks after the battle.       The Ogedeid ulus did not long survive Qaidu’s death. Qaidu’s lifetime of carving out a restored Ogedeid state within the Mongol Empire was undermined by his own longtime ally. Almost immediately, Du’a sabotaged Qaidu’s successors. Du’a, it seems, had had enough of war with the Yuan Dynasty, and desired peace in order to resume the Central Asian trade, as well as focus resources on the border with India. To do this though, he would need to break the ability of the house of Ogedai to control the Chagatayids. Qaidu had wanted his youngest son Orus to succeed him, but Du’a maneuvered Qaidu’s ineffective and unhealthy older son Chapar to become Khan, forming rifts within the ulus. Du’a furthered the division of the Ogedeid ulus into appanages, and infighting broke out among Qaidu’s heirs. A brief attempt  to unite the Ogedeyid princes against Du’a was crushed in 1306 by Chagatayid troops with Yuan backing, and many of the top princes and generals of the Ogedeyid ulus surrendered to Du’a or to the Yuan. Du’a unleashed his horsemen to track down those Ogedeyids who remained independent, and one such Chagatayid raid even resulted in the death of Qaidu’s famed daughter Qutulun.        Ah yes, Qutulun! She is worth a short digression, as she is most famous among Mongolian princesses of this period, and many of you have likely wondered why we have not yet mentioned her role in her father’s battles. Qutulun is usually most well known as the famed ‘wrestler-princess.’ In the version popularized in Marco Polo’s account, wherein she is called Ay Yaruq, moonshine in Turkic, she refused to marry any man who couldn’t best her in a wrestling match. In fact, she claimed the herds of every man she was able to throw to the ground. She was such a good wrestler that, according to Polo, she had a herd of 10,000 animals she had claimed over her career. To carry on the fable-like nature of his version, Polo has an unnamed prince of quite some wealth attempt to win her hand. Qaidu, having agreed to let Qutulun marry who she wanted but recognizing it was a powerful match, encouraged his daughter to let the man win. Qutulun instead threw the prince to the ground and claimed his horses. Polo also asserts that she would fight beside her father, riding into enemy formations to grab and steal men. It’s a bebrudging respect for evidently a highly skilled and dangeorus woman! What’s more, it’s a depiction of a woman of physical prowess and military capability which is actually backed up by some contemporary writers, such as the Ilkhanid author Rashid al-Din and ‘Abd Allah Qashani. The Ilkhanid vizer Rashid al-Din was less impressed than Marco Polo regarding Qutulun, writing the following:       “Qaidu had a daughter named Qutulun… he loved her the most of all his children. She went around like a boy and often went on military campaigns, where she performed valiant deeds. She was listened to by her father, and she handled the administration for him. Her father refused to marry her off, and people accused him of having relations with her… a few years ago, because of shame and the accusations people were making, he was forced to marry her off to a man named Aitqun of the Qorolas clan.”       Rashid al-Din, as we said at the start of the episode, had no fondness for Qaidu. Rashid’s employers, the Toluid Ilkhans, were often at war with him after all. Rashid al-din is too refined to openly say he agreed with such horrendous rumours about father and daughter, but was not above mentioning the fact people were spreading them. Qutulun in the end, but likely of her own choice, married a member of his father’s  keshig, one of his royal cooks. That the fellow’s name and lineage differs in the accounts, and Qutulun is still described leading her minghaans, units of a thousand, indicates that her new husband did little to overawe her military ability.   After Qaidu’s death, Qutulun staunchly supported her father’s chosen heir, Orus. She recognized early  Du’a effort to undermine the Ogedeyid ulus and spoke out against him at an assembly. Du’a dismissed her concerns thus, saying “Women’s opinions and talk should be about the spindle and spinning wheel, not on the crown and the khanate’s throne. What do you have to do with rulership and government?” The frustrated Qutulun found no support from her brothers and withdrew with her family and followers to the Tien Shan mountains, in what is now Kyrgyzstan, where she guarded her father’s tomb. Though she largely removed herself from the affairs of the Ogedeyid Khanate, when her brothers sought to make a stand against Du’a in 1306, the contemporary author Qashani mentions that Qutulun showed up to assist them, leading her 1,000 men beside them. Even with her assistance, a combined Chagatayid-Yuan army under Du’a defeated the Ogedeyid army. Generals and even her brothers began deserting to the Chagatayids or to the Yuan realm, and as mentioned Du’a sent raiding parties to track down those who escaped. Qutulun returned to her encampment near her father’s tomb, where she held out until 1307. That year, Qashani records, Chagatayid forces found them, drowning her husband and two sons.Qutulun’s final fate is unmentioned, but it is presumed she was killed sometime around then. The Ogedeyid Khanate did not long outlive her. By 1310 when Chapar submitted to the new Yuan Emperor, Qaishan, the Ogedeyid ulus ceased to exist, only some 60 years after Qaidu had restored it.        Du’a died in 1307, but his sons continued to dominate the Chagatayid ulus for the next 30 years, incorporating much of the former Ogedeid territory. After the death of the last of Du’a’s sons, the Chagatai Khanate entered a period of great instability, gradually breaking into two halves, a western based in Transoxania, and another east of the Syr Darya River, which came to be known as Moghulistan. In the western half, the authority of the Chagatai Khan weakened sooner, a power vacuum which led to the eventual rise of Amir Temur in Transoxania, better known in the west as Tamerlane. But that’s a topic for another day, so please consider subscribing to our podcast to follow for future episodes. If you’d like to help us continue bringign you great content, please consider supporting on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. This episode was researched and written by our series historian, Jack Wilson. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one.

The Tibetan flag, adorned with the celestial Snow Lion, flies above the cities of the Tarim Basin once again. Over the 40 years of Trisong Detsen's reign, he took the Tibetan Empire from its lowest to its highest point. The signs were clear from the earliest days, as the Tang Empire descended into chaos with the An Lushan rebellion, the Tsenpo sent his armies to capture the capital of China itself, Chang'an.

With the loss of control over the western half of the Mongol Empire, Kublai Khan was left to direct his considerable energies against the single strongest holdout to Mongol rule; the Southern Song Dynasty, dominating China south of the Huai River since the early 1100s. An immense economic and military power, the conquest of this dynasty would be no small feat- trying to do so claimed the life of no less that Kublai’s predecessor the Grand Khan Mongke in 1259, as covered in episode 31. The completion of the conquest of China was to be Kublai’s greatest accomplishment; but first Kublai needed to overcome the mighty walls of Xiangyang, the key to Song China. I’m your host David, and this is Kings and Generals: Ages of Conquest.       As discussed in episode 31 and 32, at the end of 1259 Kublai was forced to withdraw from his campaign against the Song, returning to his residence in Inner Mongolia where he declared himself Khan in the first months of 1260. The led to war between Kublai and his brother Ariq Boke for the throne, culminating with Ariq’s surrender in 1264 and Kublai securing his title as Khan of Khans. However, the upheaval of this conflict broke Mongol imperial unity, and by the mid 1260s the Mongol Empire was irrevocably broken into independent Khanates. Kublai had little authority over these western Khanates, his effective power only with difficulty reaching to the Altai Mountains and the Tarim Basin.        Unlike the previous Khans whose power centres were in Mongolia proper, Kublai’s very legitimacy was tethered to his Chinese territory. Aside from his own personal interests in Chinese culture, it had been the resources of northern China which had allowed him to overcome his brother Ariq. Abandoning Karakorum in Mongolia, which was exposed and difficult to support, Kublai moved his capitals south: first at Shangdu, in what is now Inner Mongolia on the very border of the steppe and China; and then at the site of the former Jin Dynasty capital of Zhongdu, where modern Beijing sits. This was Dadu, the “great city” in Chinese, or as it was known to Turks, Mongols and Marco Polo, Khanbaliq, the Khan’s city. The indications were clear from the outset; Kublai was not just a Mongol Emperor, but Emperor of China- though the specifics of this political aspect we will explore in a future episode.        As a part of this, Kublai needed to bring the Song Dynasty under his rule. Kublai, much like his brothers, was a firm believer in the eventuality of Mongol world domination.  It was not a debate of if, but when. Kublai may have cultivated an image as a more humane conqueror than the likes of Chinggis or Mongke, but he was a conqueror nonetheless. The Song Dynasty had to accept Mongol overlordship or be destroyed. For a man also trying to overcome his ‘barbarian’ origins to show himself as rightful ruler of China, having a rival dynasty claiming to be the heirs of the illustrious Han and Tang Dynasties was a major hurdle to his legitimacy in the eyes of many Chinese. The flight of refugees from north China to the Song Dynasty was considerable throughout the thirteenth century, and any revolt within Kublai’s domains could see Song aid, financial, moral or military.       The subjugation of the Song to solidify his rule as both a Mongol Khan and a Chinese Emperor was, in Kublai’s mind, absolutely necessary. The problem was actually doing that. Warfare with the Song broke out in 1234, months after the final defeat of the Jin Dynasty. Thirty years later, in 1264, the frontier had hardly shifted. The Mongols controlled the territory across the Song’s northern and western frontiers, including Tibet and the Dali Kingdom in Yunnan. Even the northern Vietnamese Kingdom of Dai Viet, known to the Chinese as Annam, now paid tribute to the Khan. Advances against Song were difficult; western Sichuan was under a tenuous Mongol hold, unmoved since Mongke’s death in that province. The Mongols had found they could often easily penetrate the Song border, but holding territory was another matter. Unlike northern China, marked by the relatively open North China Plain, the south was a myriad of thick forest, mountains, rivers and canals, the available space covered in rice paddies and other agriculture. This was not the open terrain so suited to Mongol cavalry warfare. The humidity and heat grew ever more oppressive the farther south one travelled, spreading diseases the Mongols and their horses struggled against. It was also home to the largest cities in the world. The Song capital of Linan, modern Hangzhou, held well over one million people- about the population of Mongolia when Chinggis Khan unified the tribes in 1206. The Song fielded a regular army of at least 700,000, supported by a large navy. The many huge cities built along the Yangzi River could be resupplied by naval support, an area in which the Mongols had little experience. The thoroughly planned campaign of Mongke in 1258-9 had wrought much devastation but little gain, and on the Mongol withdrawal at the end of 1259 the Song reoccupied most of the lost territory.       A military conquest of the Song was an immense task, and something Kublai wanted to avoid. Soon after declaring himself Khan in 1260, he sent an emissary with terms. The Song Emperor, Lizong of Song since 1224, could continue to reign as a client of the Khan. They had merely to recognize Kublai as the Son of Heaven and they could continue to rule, with of course yearly tribute and prayers in the name of the Khan. It was, from Kublai’s point of view, a chance for them to enjoy great prosperity and avoid the many hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of lives that would be lost by further fighting.  Since it didn’t involve extensive retribution as punishment for thirty years of fighting, Kublai must have thought it a very generous offer.       Kublai’s envoy, one of his top Chinese advisors named Hao Ching, was promptly imprisoned. He would not be released for 15 years. Hao Ching had run afoul of the man now in charge of the southern Song, the infamous Jia Sidao. To some, Sidao was the last intelligent man in Hangzhou, deftly guiding the dynasty against an indomitable enemy, outmaneuvering his foes and a political mastermind let down by a corrupt and rotten dynasty. To others, Sidao is the archetypal “bad minister,” overconfident and inept, downplaying the Mongol threat and hiding the truth from the emperors until it was too late. For some, he is best known as the ‘Cricket Minister,’ who liked to train the insects to fight each other. Sidao’s role in the fall of the Song is complicated, though his 15 year mastery of the Song court saw the loss of the final chance to avoid disaster.       Unlike the majority of the court officials, Jia Sidao was no graduate of the Examinations from which most bureaucrats from the Tang to the Qing were chosen. Born in 1213 to a military family in Zhejiang province, Sidao’s father Jia She was a respected Song military commander in Shandong, and Sidao followed in a variety of military and civil positions in strategic areas along the Yangzi River. Sidao’s good fortune was helped by his talent and the fact his sister was a favourite consort of Emperor Lizong. Lizong and Sidao did not meet until 1254 when Sidao was Associate Administrator of the Bureau of Military Affairs, and immediately struck up a friendship. Promotions quickly followed. The relationship seems to have been genuine; contrary to the Netflix series where Sidao’s rise is due to his sister’s influence, Sidao’s sister had died in 1247, leaving Sidao to ascend on his own charisma and competence.        In Sichuan when Mongke attacked in 1258, Sidao returned east after the Khan’s death. His timing was good; the removal of the Chancellor of the Right, Ding Daquan, left an opening at the top of the Song court, which Lizong replaced with his buddy Jia Sidao at the end of 1259. One of Sidao’s first acts was to play up Kublai’s withdrawal, acting as if Sidao had won a great victory. It was Sidao who imprisoned Kublai’s envoy, Hao Ching in 1260. Acting as sole Chancellor from 1260 onwards, Sidao wished to fervently resist the Mongols, something in which the court was in agreeance. How to do it was another matter. For Sidao, an important step was fiscal reform to strengthen the dynasty. The economic cost of the war was immense. A massive standing army, destruction of valuable regions across the frontier, alongside rampant corruption and hyperinflation of their paper currency put the Song court in a precarious economic position. Sidao ordered land surveys in 1262 to find those avoiding taxation. In 1263, he ramped this up with his Public Fields Measures, wherein officials with tax exempt status had  their excess lands confiscated. The government was supposed to purchase the land from the owners, but they were largely paid in the increasingly worthless paper money, or the land was outright seized.  Sidao hoped to use this land to grow the foodstuffs necessary for the Song army, but his effort had the side effect of creating a large body of Song officials and elite highly antagonistic to Sidao.        Sidao also set up letter boxes to anonymously report corruption and official offensives. It was a fine sentiment, though it turned out many of these corrupt officials also happened to be the ones Sidao didn’t like. Removing and at times executing those who stood in his way, Sidao appointed his own men to their positions. The polarization of the court was intense, though Sidao could overcome this as he had the strong support of the Emperors. Lizong died suddenly in November 1264, succeeded by his 24 year old nephew Zhao Qi, known by his temple name Duzong of Song. Duzong, if anything, had an even closer relationship with Jia Sidao, who had been his tutor. Duzong was much more interested in extravagant feasts and women than affairs of state -hardly the image of austerity expected when facing the threat of the Mongols, when other lordly men were required to give up lands and sons for the cause. The new Emperor was immensely loyal to Sidao, and in some depictions subservient to him. In 1269 when Sidao played with resigning from the court, Emperor Duzong came on his knees begging and crying for Sidao to return, which Sidao did with the dismissal of more of his court foes.       While this was going on, Sidao was putting substantial investment in defense, especially around the region of Xiangyang, which we will get to shortly, and in improving the walls of the capital. Diplomatic efforts were at their lowest with the Mongols since the outbreak of war in the 1230s, and even though Kublai Khan routinely released captured Song merchants and prisoners in an effort to build goodwill, Jia Sidao did not budge. And since Sidao controlled the court and policy of the Song, the Song court did not budge either.       Aside from retaking some cities and border skirmishing, Jia Sidao did not take any larger offensives against Kublai during his occupation with Ariq in Mongolia. Sidao likely recognized that, with their well-built walls and defensive weapons supported by rivers and ships, the Song’s defense could stick up to the Mongols. Yet on the offense, especially in the more open territory of the north, the Song armies would suffer the same results they had on every other northern expedition in the Dynasty’s 300 year history; a dismal defeat against the cavalry based armies.  Perhaps the most notable effort at undermining Kublai’s rule in north China was by encouraging a Chinese warlord in Shandong allied to the Mongols, Li Tan, to revolt. Despite both he and his father, the Red Coat warlord Li Quan, having fought the Song for decades, Li Tan was not feeling like he was favoured under Kublai. Encouraged by Song promises and Kublai’s conflict with Ariq, in February 1262 Li Tan declared for the Song and threw off Mongol rule.        It took about a month for Mongol forces to arrive and defeat Li Tan’s rebels in the field. Li Tan was caught in August 1262 and executed. The Song had provided no direct aid for Li Tan, whose small forces were quickly overcome by Mongolian and Chinese under Shih Tienzi, a Northern Chinese whose family had loyally served the Mongols since the late 1210s. Jia Sidao may have wanted to see if the Chinese of the north would rise up against the Mongols, but the Mongol response was quick enough to violently put a stop to any talk of rebellion. The most significant outcome of the rebellion was upon Kublai himself. Not only had Li Tan, a Chinese warlord considered a loyal subject of the Khan rebelled, but Li Tan’s father-in-law Wang Wentung was found to have been complicit. Wang Wentung was the Chief Administrator of Kublai’s Central Secretariat, and one of the most influential figures in Kublai’s administration. Executed only weeks after Li Tan’s initial revolt, it was a blow to Kublai’s trust of the Chinese in his government. In the aftermath, Kublai decreased the power of many of the Chinese in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy, replacing them with Central Asians, Muslims, Turks and Tibetans. Many of the Chinese warlord families who had served the Mongols since Chinggis Khan saw their holdings reduced or forfeited. The family of Shih Tienzi, a man noted for his loyalty to the Mongols over many decades of service, ceased to be feudal lords, though this was partly on Tienzi’s urging in order to not lose the trust of the Khan.  Such was the effect of Sidao’s effort to undermine Mongol rule in North China.       Kublai’s first years as Khan were focused on consolidating and establishing his governing apparatus of northern China, and for the first half of the 1260s conflict with the Song was relegated to border skirmishes. Aside from diplomatic efforts to encourage a surrender of the Song Dynasty, Kublai also offered great rewards and lands for defectors in an effort to encourage desertions. Here, Kublai had some successes, perhaps the most notable early on being Liu Zheng, who became one of Kublai’s staunchest supporters and the ardent proponent of a navy. Liu Zheng and other like minded men convinced Kublai that the key was not multi-front attacks, but seizing control of the Yangzi River, the backbone of the Song realm where the Dynasty’s most prominent cities sat. To do this, the Mongols needed to build a navy and take the stronghold of Xiangyang.       If you look at a topographic map of China, three river systems should stand out to you, running in three lines from west to east. The northernmost and the longest is the Yellow River, which curls from the foothills of Tibet down into the Ordos desert, where it forms its great loop before cutting across the north China plain to spill out into the sea by the Shandong peninsula. This was the barrier which the Jin Dynasty moved their capital behind in an effort to protect themselves from Chinggis Khan. South of the Yellow River is the Huai, the shortest of the three rivers here, which marked the border between Jin and Song for a century, and now served as the Mongol-Song border line. By Kublai’s time, the Mongols had failed to hold it, the area south of the Huai a mess of canals and smaller rivers serving agriculture, terrain unsuited to cavalry maneuvers. Our third river on the map is the Yangzi, a wide and fast flowing river which was the natural defense against any northern invader. The most populated cities in the world were clustered along it, including the Song capital of Hangzhou, a short trip south from the River’s eastern end on the ocean. The Yangzi could only be crossed with difficulty, and the Song used it as a highway to reinforce and resupply cities, ferry troops and generally prevent a Mongol conquest. Lacking any beachheads on the Yangzi, the Mongols had nowhere to build up a navy and begin to challenge Song authority there.       That is, except for the Han River. Nestled between the mountains of Sichuan in the west and end of the Huai river to its east, runs the Han River, cutting north to south to intersect with the Yangzi at what is now Wuhan. The Han was the strategically vital access point, one where the Mongols had the potential to build up a river fleet in security before assaulting the Yangzi. Kublai knew this, and so did Jia Sidao, who for this reason spent huge amounts improving the defences of the twin cities of Xiangyang and Fancheng, which today are the super-city of Xiangfang. Sitting on opposite sides of the Han River, the two cities stood at the edge of the Song Dynasty and the Mongol Empire. Xiangyang and Fancheng were both huge, well fortified with wide moats, well provisioned and guarded by large garrisons and a variety of counter siege weapons. With both cities right on the river, they could continually be resupplied and deny the Mongol advance. Liu Zheng and the other Chinese defectors argued that Kublai should forget the favourite Mongol ploy of vast pincer movements. The Song had resources and moral enough to withstand these. Instead, the defectors argued, Kublai needed to throw his total might against Xiangyang and Fancheng.        Preparations began in the second half of the 1260s with the creation of a river fleet. In 1265, the Mongols won a battle at Tiaoyu Shan in Sichuan against the Song, capturing 146 boats. Koreans, Jurchen and Northern Chinese were put to work building more ships; in early 1268, officials in Shaanxi and Sichuan were ordered to construct another 500 vessels. By the last months of 1268, a large force of Mongols, Turks and northern Chinese converged upon Xiangyang and Fancheng. The Song defector Liu Zheng was placed in charge of the Mongol fleet, blocking off the Han River south of the cities to cut them off from the Yangzi. Aju, Subedei’s grandson, was entrusted with the siege of Fancheng; Shih Tienzi, the Chinese warlord long in service to the Khans, held overall command outside the walls of Xiangyang. A frontal assault was dismissed; the wide moats and thick walls were all but impervious to the catapults the Mongols brought with them. Attempting to storm the cities would result in heavy losses. No, they would need to be starved out. To do so, the Mongols erected walls and defensive works around the cities to cut off land access, while Liu Zheng and his fleet prevented Song reinforcements from the river.        In December of 1268 the garrison made an attempt to break out before the cordon could be tightened, but this was repulsed. The Song commander in Xiangyang, Lu Wenhuan, was a steady hand and kept moral up. They probed the Mongol besiegers continuously, trying to find the weak point in the lines. By March 1269, Shih Tienzi requested another 20,000 reinforcements from Kublai for this reason. The large cities and river access made closing them off a great challenge.       While Jia Sidao has often been accused of hiding the details of the siege of Xiangyang from the Song court, this is a baseless accusation. Duzong of Song may have taken little interest in military matters, but it was beyond the skill of Jia Sidao to hide the massive efforts going on outside Xiangyang; everyone along the Yangzi River would have known of it. The court was very much aware of the siege; the annals of the Song Dynasty, the Song shih, describe the court heaping rewards onto the defenders of Xiangyang in order to encourage their resistance. The court was still united in the opinion of resisting Kublai, even if the how was not agreed upon. Sidao sent multiple armies to relieve the defenders, some of them led by his own brother-in-law, Fan Wenhu. In August 1269, the first of these relieving forces sailed up the Han River to Xiangyang, but was defeated by the Mongol fleet and their boats captured.        In March of 1270 another attempt by the garrison of Xiangyang to break out was defeated and another Song relief fleet was repulsed. Though by then the city was largely closed off by the ever expanding Mongol fortifications, the Mongol commanders needed more men: 70,000 men and 5,000 more ships were requested, giving an image to the scale of the task to really surround these cities. Xiangyang was a whirlpool pulling in men from across the Mongol and Song empires, neither side willing to budge. Several times in later 1270 and 1271 Sidao’s brother-in-law Fan Wenhu led fleets up the Han River to assist Xiangyang, and each time the new Mongol navy proved victorious. The skilled Mongol fleet commanders, most notably the Chinese Liu Zheng and Zhang Hongfan, were adept at this river warfare, luring the Song into ambushes and developing a lengthy system along the Han to detect approaching fleets and communicate response. Jia Sidao ordered attacks on Sichuan, along the border and even a naval attack on the Shandong peninsula. His hopes these would divert Mongol resources were dashed, as most of these were inconclusive, won only minor victories or were outright disasters, as with the Shandong attack. All Sidao achieved was the wasting of Song resources while the noose tightened on Xiangyang.       Though the Mongol navy had a good chokehold on Xiangyang and Fancheng, the cities stood defiant. Well stocked and moral still high, any sort of frontal assault would still result in high losses and possibly allow the Song to break the siege. In 1272 one relief force actually pushed through to reach the city, albeit with heavy losses of most of their men and resources.  Kublai needed something to bring the siege to an end, and reached out west to see about acquiring some news tools.       In 1271, Kublai’s nephew Abaqa sat on the throne of the Ilkhanate. Abaqa was Hulegu’s son, and unlike his cousins in the Golden Horde, still recognized Kublai as the nominal head of the empire. When Kublai’s envoys arrived in 1271 asking for something to assist in the siege, Abaqa had just the ticket. Abaqa sent two Muslim siege engineers, Ismail and Ala al-Din, experienced in the newest advancement in projectile weaponry; the counterweight trebuchet. Developed in Europe in the early thirteenth century, it spread to the crusader kingdoms by the end of the 1250s, where Hulegu may have utilized them in his campaign in Syria in 1260. They were pretty nifty; instead of manpower, as required by the Chinese catapults the Mongols used, the trebuchet used its counterweight and gravity to hurl projectiles with greater accuracy, power and distance.        By the last weeks of 1272, Ismail and Ala al-Din arrived outside the walls of Fancheng and began to build the machines. In December, the first shots were launched into the walls of Fancheng. Within days, they were breached, the Mongols in the city and Fancheng was overrun. A massacre was conducted on those found within, ensured to be visible from the walls of Xiangyang. Still, Xiangyang held out.  Carefully, the trebuchets were disassembled and transported across the river. In the first weeks of 1273, the weapons were carefully set up at  the southeastern corner of Xiangyang. The trebuchets were carefully calibrated and launched a projectile supposedly nearly 100 kilos in weight. The first shot hit a tower along the city walls, a crack like thunder heard across Xiangyang. Panic set in, Xiangyang’s formerly untouchable walls now under real threat.       One of the Mongol commanders, a Uighur named Ariq Qaya, rode to the walls and called for the city’s commander, Lu Wenhuan. He commended Wenhuan on his skilled resistance, but now it was time to submit; do so now, and he would be rewarded by Kublai. Resistance would meet the same end as Fancheng. Lu Wenhuan recognized there would be no relief force from the Song for him now. On the 17th of March, 1273, Lu Wenhuan surrendered Xiangyang to the Mongols. After a 5 year siege, the battle was decisely won in the favour of the Mongols, and the Han River could now become a veritable shipyard for the Mongol advance on the Song.       The fall of Xiangyang sent shockwaves across the Song Empire; Jia Sidao’s authority was greatly undermined, though Duzong of Song’s confidence in him was not shaken. He had  now to prepare for a full river and land invasion of the Song heartland. For Lu Wenhuan, the Mongols kept their promise; siding with the Khan, he would now lead the Mongol spear thrust against the Song. Xiangyang was perhaps the decisive victory in the Mongol-Song war, its fall ensuring the Mongols had a route to truly conquer the dynasty. So great was the story that Marco Polo retold it time and time again on his return to Europe; either through his own ‘enhancing’ of the story, or that of his ghost-writer Rustichello, the account was shifted to remove the Muslims’ role from the siege. Instead, Polo, his father and his uncle became the ones who shared the knowledge of the trebuchet with Kublai. Considering that the siege ended in early 1273, and Polo did not arrive in China until 1274 or 5, we can rather safely dismiss that. However, Polo, the Chinese language Yuan Shi compiled around 1370, and Rashid al-Din, writing in Iran in the early 1300s, all include the story of Kublai gaining his siege equipment from westerners.  Polo just happened to be the only one indicating it wasn’t a Muslim.     Kublai Khan was now poised to end the forty year long war with the Song Dynasty, completing the conquest of China begun by Chinggis Khan some sixty years prior. Our next episode will look at the fall of the Song Dynasty, so be sure to subscribe to our podcast. If you’d like to help us continue bringing you great content, please support us on patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. I’m your host David, and we’ll catch you on the next one. 

In this episode, we bid farewell to the Han Dynasty and hello to a long period of a disunited China. The states and kingdoms of the basins of Xinjiang catch a bit of a break. We take a quick look at a few of the kingdoms of the southern Tarim Basin as well as Turpan. And what episode would be complete without some nomadic bad guys causing the Chinese so much stress? We also look at the Rouran and the Hephthalites. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In this episode, we bid farewell to the Han Dynasty and hello to a long period of a disunited China. The states and kingdoms of the basins of Xinjiang catch a bit of a break. We take a quick look at a few of the kingdoms of the southern Tarim Basin as well as Turpan. And what episode would be complete without some nomadic bad guys causing the Chinese so much stress? We also look at the Rouran and the Hephthalites.

In our previous episode, we covered the whirlwind campaign of Chinggis Khan and his generals against the Jin Dynasty of North China from 1211-1215. Chinggis Khan’s empire had been baptised in the blood of the Jurchen state, and before the fall of the Jin capital to Mongol armies in 1215, Chinggis Khan returned to his homeland. A lesser conqueror would have sat proudly on his accomplishments then, having unified the Mongols and secured a lifetime’s worth of plunder from the Jin. But Chinggis Khan was no lesser conqueror. Never one to sit idle, even while his armies continued to fight in China he sent others to wipe away old enemies and uprisings and expand the economic reach of the Mongghol ulus. Unintentionally, these efforts set him on a collision course with the Khwarezmian Empire, which controlled a huge swath of territory from Transoxania in modern Central Asia to western Iran. Today, we will be looking at the uprising of the Siberian forest peoples, the fall of the Qara-Khitai, and the Otrar Massacre; the prelude to the Mongol Invasion of the Khwarezmian Empire. I’m your host David and this is the Ages of Conquest: A Kings and Generals Podcast. This is..the Mongol Conquests.       Before we delve into today’s episode, we must mention upfront that  the timeline of all of these events can be a bit messy. They all took place in a short period between 1215 and 1219 and in an area most westerners have very poor geographic knowledge of.  It is testament to Chinggis Khan’s army though, that he could have so many forces operating in different theaters over vast distances all at the same time, all of whom could succeed in their tasks and return to him triumphant. So let us begin!       Chinggis Khan crossed the Gobi desert to return to his homeland in July 1215, his first time north of the Gobi since 1211. The Jin Dynasty’s capital of Zhongdu, modern day Beijing, had fallen the month before, and he must have felt confident his presence would not be needed in that theatre for some time. In his absence, continued operations against the Jin Dynasty were led by his general Samuqa, who undertook a phenomenal circuit across the Jin realm, crossing the Yellow River and approaching their new capital at Kaifeng, darting around Jin armies and crushing those he could outmaneuver. The continued pressure kept the Jin from occupying their fallen settlements, and Chinggis could now deal with issues back at home. The danger from his length of absence was that more recently conquered peoples would find it a chance to reassert their independence- which is exactly what happened.       By 1216, unrest had spread among the forest tribes around Lake Baikal, north of Mongolia proper and only recently subjugated. It had been simmering for sometime with the Khan’s absence in China, but was set off by one of Chinggis’ lieutenants, Qorchi. Qorchi had joined Chinggis decades prior, and had ingratiated himself with the Khan with a vision of Chinggis’ future victory, and had been in turn promised at some point along the way, thirty wives. In 1216, Qorchi was finally allowed to ride north to claim them from the Tumed tribe near the southern reaches of Lake Baikal. Qorchi rode into the main camp of the Tumed and, quite gracefully [sarcasm], told them to deliver unto him thirty of their finest women. The Tumed were at that point ruled by their chief’s widow, a proud woman named Bodoqui Tarkhan. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Tumed were pretty pissed at this, and promptly captured Qorchi.        Chinggis Khan was not happy to learn of this, but hoping to avoid having to send an army deep into the Siberian forests, sent the loyal chief of another forest tribe, Quduqa Beki of the Oirat, to use diplomacy to garner Qorchi’s release. The soft touch proved no more successful, as Quduqa was captured. This was a real issue, as Quduqa was not just a chief, but also an imperial son-in-law, married to Chinggis and Borte’s second daughter, Chechiyegen (chech-i-yeg-en). It was time for armed retaliation. Chinggis summoned first the Noyan, Naya’a, who fell ill, and the duty then fell to Boroqul. One of the Khan’s ‘four steeds of war,’ an adopted son raised by Chinggis’  mother Hoelun, a high steward, cup-bearer, commander of a part of the Imperial Bodyguard, and a long time friend of the Khan, Boroqul was held in high esteem, and sending him showed how serious Chinggis took this matter. Boroqul marched north with a small army, intending to carry out the duty of his Khan. Entering Tumed territory in early 1217, Boroqul was perhaps a little too proud after the successful war against the Jin. If the mighty descendants of Wanyan Aguda had been humbled by Mongol archers, how could peoples of the Siberian forest hope to stand before them? Boroqul rode before the main army with two scouts, where he was ambushed and killed by the Tumed. With their commander lost, the Mongol army retreated.       Chinggis Khan was furious. A personal friend had been killed, a Mongol army was forced back- this was an affront he did not take lightly. Further, the rebellion spread. Other people of the forest were now in open revolt. The Kirghiz of the Yenisei River refused to provide troops, and the whole northern frontier of the empire threatened to break away. Chinggis Khan wished to lead an army himself to crush this insurrection, but was talked out of it by his close friend Bo’orchu, and a strategy was devised. In a great pincer movement, the commander Dorbei (dor-bei) Doqshin (dok-shin) was to be sent against the Tumed, while Chinggis’ eldest son Jochi was sent in a western army against the Kirghiz, preventing cooperation between the various peoples. The plan was a success. Dorbei Doqshin avoided the main routes that Boroqul had taken, cutting his own roads through the Siberian forests to surprise the Tumed at their main camp while they were in the middle of a feast. The victory was total, and the Tumed were subjugated. Quduqa Beki and Qorchi were freed, Quduqa taking the Tumed chieftainess Bodoqui Tarkhan as a wife while Qorchi got his 30 maidens. 100 Tumed were sacrificed for Boroqul’s spirit and many others were taken as slaves. Finally, Chinggis Khan took his dear friend Boroqul’s children to raise as part of the imperial household.        In the west, Jochi was also met with success. Assisted by Quduqa Beki and his Oirat, early 1218 saw Jochi subdue the remaining Oirat, Buryat, Tuvan and finally the Kirghiz. Controlling one of the northernmost grain producing regions along the Yenisei River, the Kirghiz were a formidable force and valuable to have as subjects. This region was to be Jochi’s patrimony, the seed from which the vast Golden Horde would later grow. This was just the opening move of a larger operation, however. While 1218 was the defeat of the hoi-yin irgen revolt, it was also the opening of the first western operation of the Mongols, and for this we must backtrack a small bit.       If you recall, with Chinggis Khan’s unification of the Mongols in 1206, there was a group of Naiman, under Kuchlug (whooch-loog), son of the late Tayang Khan, and Merkit, under their chief Toqto’a Beki, who fled west, making a stand on the Irtysh River in 1208 before being defeated and dispersed. Toqto’a, the long hated enemy of Chinggis who had captured his wife Borte in the 1180s, was killed there, and his sons took the remaining Merkit to the far west, while Kuchlug would make his way to the empire of the Qara-Khitai, in what is now eastern Kazakhstan and Northwestern China.        The remaining Merkit, under Toqto’a’s son Qodu, fled to the Qangli, the eastern branch of the vast Qipchaq-Cuman confederation. The Qipchaq-Cumans were a loosely connected grouping of Turkic tribes inhabiting the steppe from the borders of Hungary, to the open lands east of the former Aral Sea. Chances are, you know the Qipchaq-Cumans best for their battlemasks with the moustaches, or as enemies from the game Kingdom Come: Deliverance, set almost two centuries after the events we discuss here. With Jochi’s forces already acting in the west and subduing the Kirghiz, it was seen as a good time to not just strike back at the Merkit, but give Jochi a chance to prove his own strategic acumen.       We’ll briefly note that there is some confusion on the exact timing of this campaign against the Merkits, as some sources date it about a decade earlier, adding it onto that Irtysh River battle, or a bit later, adding it onto the great campaign against Khwarezm. But it has been convincingly argued by scholars today, such as Christopher Atwood, for a dating of 1218-1219, just after the hoi-yin irgen revolt and  before that Khwarezmian campaign. We’ll use this dating for this episode.        To the Mongols, other steppe nomads posed the greatest threat. Enemies in China would be tied down by their cities, but nomads could always withdraw and continue to pose a threat. The chance of them being unified under a charismatic leader,  like Chinggis himself had done with the Mongols, was a real danger, and their very existence as an independent steppe people challenged the growing sense of Mongol legitimacy as the masters of the peoples of the steppe. That they were harbouring Mongol enemies, from the much hated Merkit tribe, was tantamount to a declaration of war itself. With the return of much of the Mongol army from China, this was a fine time to crush the remaining Merkit, as well as Kuchlug in Qara-Khitai, which we will get to shortly.       This operation in 1217/1218 is also the first time  the famous Subutai held a major command, though it is unclear if Jochi or Subutai was the overall commander. Meeting up with the western vanguard, Toquchar, they marched across the steppe into what is now western Kazakhstan. On the Chem River, near the northeastern shore of the Caspian Sea, Jochi and Subutai caught and defeated the Merkit-Qangli force. According to a biography from the Ming era Yuan shih, the history of the Mongol Yuan Dynasty, Jochi and Subutai then pursued the fleeing Merkit-Qangli between the Ural and Volga Rivers, deep into Qipchaq territory, and destroyed the remainder. Qodu was killed, and his son or brother Qulqutan Mergen was captured.   Qulqutan Mergen deserves mention for the following anecdote, which highlights the relationship between Jochi and Chinggis Khan. As we’ve discussed, all Mongols were trained archers from childhood, but Qulqutan Mergen was considered highly skilled even among the skilled; indeed, ‘Mergen,’ means archer or shooter. In Robin Hood fashion, the captive Qulqutan sent arrows into a target, and then split those arrows in twain with his next shots, to Jochi’s delight. Jochi sent a messenger to Chinggis, asking them to spare Qulqutan’s life. Chinggis however, despised the Merkit, his long time foes, and had to deal with rumours that Jochi himself was a Merkit bastard. Chinggis’ response was, as recorded by Rashid al-Din was rather typical for the Khan:       “There is no tribe worse than the Merkit. We have fought so many battles with them and  suffered untold trouble and difficulties on account of them. Why should he be left alive to cause trouble again? I have stored up all these realms, armies and peoples for you: what need is there of him? For an enemy of the state there is no place better than the grave.”       Jochi duly did his duty and executed Qulqutan and his family, but this highlights the tension between Jochi and Chinggis which would emerge in the following years. It has been used to suggest Jochi was less sanguinary than his father, whereas this highlights a mantra Chinggis had become well acquainted with in his own youth: an enemy who is allowed to survive will only continue to be a danger in future. Had Chinggis’ own enemies taken note of that, then he would likely have perished long before.       Jochi and Subutai had a long journey back to Mongolia, but their return was interrupted by an unexpected encounter in early 1219, with a large army under the Khwarezm-shah, Muhammad II of the Anushtegenids (Anush-te-genids).  Based in the Khwarezm region just south of the Aral Sea, under the Shah Tekish, and his son Muhammad II, in the previous decades the empire had expanded dramatically with the collapse of the Seljuqs, the Ghurids and the Qara-Khitai.    Ruling the empire since 1200, Muhammad had shown himself to be an ambitious, though not always patient, man. Styling himself ‘the second Alexander the Great,’ in 1217 he had made a failed march on the Caliph in Baghdad, was gobbling up the former western territory of the Qara-Khitai and had an eye on the steppe, where much of his own military forces and family came from. In early 1219 he may have been seeking retribution for Qangli raids, or to go after the Merkit himself, when his army stumbled into that of Jochi and Subutai. Aware of Chinggis’ interests in trade with Khwarezm, the Mongols asked for free passage. Shah Muhammad, a vain man infront of a very large army and not trusting them, decidied to attack. Reluctantly, Jochi and Subutai lined up for battle. Greatly outnumbered, they fought fiercely, though Jochi was nearly killed.    With nightfall, the armies pulled back. The Mongols lit fires to make it appear they were resting for the night, then withdrew under cover of darkness. Morning broke, and the Shah looked out at an empty battlefield. This enemy had fought fiercely, much fiercer than he had anticipated, and inflicted great losses on his army. It was said that the Shah developed a phobia of sorts towards facing the Mongols in open battle, something which would have major consequences for our next episode.       Jochi and Subutai returned to Mongolia sometime in late summer 1219, coinciding with major news which also reached Chinggis. But we’ll pick up with them later, and move our attention now to the southeast, where other Mongols forces had been busy.        Kuchlug (whooch-loog), the Naiman prince we’ve mentioned several times already, fled to the empire of Qara-Khitai after the defeat on the Irtysh River in 1208. The Qara-Khitai was founded in the 1130s, by Khitans fleeing the fall of the Liao Dynasty to the Jurchen Jin Empire. One Khitan commander, Yelu Dashi, took the Khitan garrisons from Mongolia and entered Central Asia, where his well armoured Khitan cavalry proved decidedly deadly. He subdued the eastern Qarakhanids (tchara-khan-ids), then defeated the western Qarakhanids and the Seljuq Sultan Sanjar in 1141 on the Qatwan (tchat-wan) steppe, near Merv. The defeat was a major blow to the already fragmented Seljuq state, though Seljuq control in Iran would last another 50 years. In the aftermath, Yelu Dashi controlled an empire stretching across Central Asia, from the Tarim basin to Khurasan. The Anushtegenids (anush-te-genids) of Khwarezm, formerly Seljuq appointees, now became vassals of the Qara-Khitai, as Dashi’s empire was called by the Mongols, meaning ‘Black Khitans,’ or ‘black Cathay.’  The Qara-Khitai have a fascinating history,  but unfortunately, not one we have time to go into here. Buddhists, with Chinese dynastic trappings, their empire was decentralized, with many vassal kings subject to the gurkhan, the Khitan emperor. Two of their five emperors were women,  ruling an ethnically and religiously diverse realm, and for decades harboured dreams of retaking north China, though they stagnated under the long reign of Dashi’s grandson, the gurkhan Yelu Zhilugu. The Qara-Khitai had been overlords of the Naiman tribes, so after the Irtysh River defeat in 1208, the Qara-Khitai was a natural place for Kuchlug to flee. Zhilugu saw Kuchlug and his retinue as a useful ally against his own vassals, especially the troublesome Muhammad Khwarezm-shah. The gurkhan bestowed titles, favours and a daughter upon Kuchlug, who repaid this generosity by raiding the Qara-Khitai treasury during Zhilugu’s war against Muhammad.  After a series of back and forth attacks, including an incident where Zhilugu sacked his own capital after it barred his door to him, Kuchlug ambushed and captured the Gurkhan 1211, and held him captive until his death in 1213. Kuchlug seized power, but proved incapable to rule the complicated state. Muhammad Khwarezm-shah took much of the Qara-Khitai’s western territory and butted heads with Kuchlug, who challenged the Khwarezmian to personal combat. The Shah declined. Kuchlug, originally a Nestorian Christian, converted to a violent strain of Buddhism, and began persecuting Muslims within his territory, alienating the empire’s urban population. The Tarim Basin proved especially volatile, where Kuchlug nailed an imam to the doors of his own madrassa in Khotan, and his forces destroyed crops every year until starvation quieted them.        In the northeast, near the Mongolian border, Qara-Khitai vassals declared for Chinggis Khan. One such was Ozar, a Qarluq horse thief who had risen to control Almaliq, and on his declaration of loyalty, had been given one of Jochi’s daughters in marriage. Kuchlug besieged Almaliq in late 1215 and killed Ozar, though his widow succeeded in defending Almaliq and getting a messenger to Chinggis Khan on his return to Mongolia. The death of a vassal, especially a son-in-law, was something to always punish, and Kuchlug’s usurpation of Qara-Khitai was a real danger. So in late 1216 Chinggis sent his top general, Jebe Noyan, [Zev, Зэв], accompanied by the Uighur Idiqut Barchuk and Qarluq Khan Arslan, to deal with Kuchlug. The speed of the collapse of Kuchlug’s state was shocking. Securing Almaliq, Jebe pursued Kuchlug to the Qara-Khitai capital of Balasaghun. There Kuchlug was beaten, but escaped, and Jebe entered Balasaghun unopposed. With princes of the realm now declaring openly for Jebe, Kuchlug fled through the mountains into the Tarim Basin, where he was still despised.        Jebe’s forces followed suite, and upon entering the Tarim Basin, sent out a declaration of religious tolerance: whoever submitted to the Great Khan would have their freedom of worship respected, a rather marked change from Kuchlug’s policies. The region then erupted: wherever Kuchlug had garrisoned troops, the citizenry fell upon them. Kuchlug was chased from city to city, many barring their gates to him. Fleeing the Tarim Basin, he travelled through the Pamir Mountains, eventually making his way through rugged Badakhshan (bad-akh-shan) to the Wakhan (wa-han) Corridor in northern Afghanistan, where he was cornered by local hunters and handed over to Jebe. With Kuchlug’s severed head on a lance, Jebe paraded it through his territory and gained the submission of whichever cities still held out. Thus ended the Qara-Khitai, years of anarchy followed by a remarkably peaceful Mongol conquest. With hardly an arrow shot, Jebe had greatly expanded the Mongol Empire westwards, returning to Chinggis Khan in 1219 with 1,000 chestnut horses with white muzzles- the same colour as the horse Jebe had shot out from under him in 1202.       An unforeseen consequence of this conquest was that this brought the Mongol Empire to the borders of the Khwarezmian realm. Shah Muhammad had had his own ambitions to conquer Qara-Khitai and had succeeded in taking some of its western territory- only to suddenly have the remainder quickly fall to this rising power in the east, while encountering them on his northern borders.       Yet, conflict between the Mongols and the Khwarezmians was not yet inevitable.  In fact, Chinggis Khan wanted to avoid, at all costs, war with Khwarezm. The first Mongol-Khwarezmian contacts were an embassy sent out by the Khwarezm-shah in 1215, passing the ruins of Zhongdu. Chinggis was happy to generously gift them, a part of a general Mongol policy of overpaying merchants for their goods. With a surplus of silver ripped from North China, overpaying merchants was a fine way to encourage and direct trade in the difficult overland journeys, especially into Mongolia, and would be a hallmark of Mongol policy for the next century. Initial contacts seemed promising between the two states, and Chinggis sent a return embassy in 1218 to reaffirm trade and friendship. By then though, most of the Qara-Khitai realm, the bufferstate between the Khwarezmian and Mongol empires, had been ground down by the efforts of Shah Muhammad and Jebe.        Muhammad was perhaps eager to find fault in the embassy, led by Mahmud Khwarezmi, likely the same individual as Mahmud Yalavach, a significant figure under Ogedai Khan. The embassy’s message from Chinggis Khan said that the Khan considered the Shah on the same level as his dearest sons. The Shah was furious: how dare any man, even a great emperor, consider the Shah of Khwarezm a son, implying the superiority of the father?        After the initial meeting, the Shah continued to grill Mahmud Khwarezmi, who, as his name describes, was a native of Khwarezm. Mahmud managed to calm him down by telling him Chinggis’ armies were pitiful compared to the mighty forces of the Shah, and that the Khan was only interested in trade. Shah Muhammad was pacified, for now.       This embassy had been sent ahead of a larger, slow moving trade caravan, about 450 merchants and their attendants, carrying precious goods.  Sometime in late summer 1218, the caravan reached the city of Otrar on the northeastern frontier of the Khwarezmian Empire. Otrar was governed by Shah Muhammad’s uncle, Inalchuq, who, possibly on the orders of the Shah or his own vile initiative, accussed the merchants of being spies, seized their goods and finally executed them, only a single camel driver escaping. This was a shockingly short sighted decision. Even if Shah Muhammad didn’t directly order it, he did nothing to discourage it or punish Inalchuq for the act. One possibility, suggested by historian Dmitri Timokhin, was that it was ordered by the Shah’s domineering mother, Terken Khatun, Inalchuq’s sister. Terken Khatun, a strong willed woman of Qangli origin, often actively combated her son’s orders, and acted as monarch in her own right in the original Khwarezmian capital of Gurganj. Perhaps seeing war as inevitable with the Mongols, with their swift conquest of Qara-Khitai, she wished to force her son to act.       Whatever the reason, it may surprise you to learn that the Massacre of Otrar was not the direct casus belli for the Mongol invasion of Khwarezm. When that lone camel driver returned to Chinggis Khan with news of what had happened, he was mad, but had no desire to lead a full invasion of Khwarezm while the Jin were still unconquered, and the Khwarezmian army seemed fearsome enough on its own.  Trade with Khwarezm was of greater benefit than conquest, so Chinggis Khan, in early 1219, sent another embassy, led by a Muslim who had served Muhammad’s father and two Mongol notables. War would be averted and trade resumed, they told the Khwarezm-shah, if he only sent Inalchuq to Mongolia for punishment. As far as the Mongols were concerned, the massacre at Otrar was just the act of a shortsighted governor.       Muhammad was in an unenviable position: if he didn’t give up Inalchuq, war would come to Khwarezm.  If he did give up Inalchuq, he would antagonize the Qipchaq-Qangli officials in his empire loyal to his mother Terken Khatun, pitting much of the administration and military leadership against him and undermining his rule. Thus, Shah Muhammad II of Khwarezm sided with his mother and made the fateful decision to execute the Muslim envoy, breaking the cardinal rule of diplomacy with the Mongols: do not kill the envoys. The envoy’s Mongol accomplices had their beards singed off by Muhammad, and were sent back to Chinggis Khan.  They returned to him after Jochi and Subutai had come with news of their own encounter with the Khwarezm-shah, and the message seemed clear. A powerful foe in the west, who now bordered his empire, had made opening strikes against the Khan. Ignore it, and he would lose face while leaving his new western territory vulnerable to Muhammad’s armies. With his general Mukhali having been committed to the Jin realm and able to keep the pressure on them, his northern borders secure and remaining rivals to steppe legitimacy destroyed by Jochi, Subutai and Jebe, Chinggis Khan raised his armies, and unleashed hell upon Khwarezm Having explained the background to war between the Mongols and Khwarezm, you won’t want to miss our next discussion on the Mongol Invasion, so be sure to hit subscribe to the Kings and Generals podcast and to continue helping us bring you more outstanding content, please visit our patreon at www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. Thank you for listening, I am your host David and we will catch you on the next one!