A coherent reading of any art work, whatever the medium, requires some detailed awareness of the grid of conventions upon which, and against which, the individual work operates. It is only in exceptional moments of cultural history that these conventions are explicitly codified ⦠but an elaborate set of tacit agreements between artist and audience about the ordering of the art work is at all times the enabling context in which the complex communication of art occurs.1
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Whilst the Karbala tragedy provides its solid core, the taÊ¿ziyeh corpus can seem a somewhat amorphous body of material. The repertoire is broad and offers myriad glimpses of the lives and deeds of the Holy Family, their offspring, and supporters. The plays have been written and rewritten by many hands and have changed through time. Even the central episodes of the Muḥarram cycle include a dizzying number of variations between renditions. Nonetheless, when reading a selection of these plays one frequently has a sense of déjà vu. Despite their individual narrative detail, the repertoireâs central episodes bear a certain similarity, and the innovations that we observe in their content, while sometimes surprising, are often reminiscent of material from other areas of the cycle. Indeed, while specific details relating to a martyrdom at Karbala are usually traceable to information found in historical or hagiographical sources, the retelling of these incidents has been organised within the taÊ¿ziyeh according to very particular conventions. On close examination, these prove to be compositional techniques typical of verbal art forms, and literatures with a strong connection to them, that are observed across a wide range of cultural contexts. The taÊ¿ziyeh composersâ use of stock epithets â a feature typical of such literature â has been touched upon in earlier scholarship.2 To this I add the use of type-scenes and a Kompositionsschema (composition-scheme).
Before examining these techniques in the plays of the Muḥarram cycle, I must clarify that, despite the compositional features that they share with verbal art forms, I do not argue here that the taÊ¿ziyeh plays were composed and transmitted orally; nor do I suggest that the conventions I describe below existed as a set of instructions followed by early taÊ¿ziyeh composers, in the way that a novice storyteller of the naqqÄlÄ« tradition would have had recourse to the plot structure and detail of the stories he had collected in his á¹Å«mÄr. Rather, these compositional features are testament to the evolutionary path of the genre; their adopting a certain shape in the taÊ¿ziyeh context is likely to have been the result of the playing and replaying of these sacred stories.
As detailed in the previous chapter, the high degree of crossover between the narratives recounted in the Safavid period rawżeh-khÄnÄ« recitals and the content of the taÊ¿ziyehâs Muḥarram cycle shows a genetic link between these two traditions; moreover, not only did the rawżeh-khÄnÄn read from works concerning the lives and tribulations of the ahl-e bait and their kin in the mourning assemblies, but religious stories were told by professional storytellers whose performances also influenced the repertoire. Little is known about the background of the early composers of taÊ¿ziyeh scripts. They may well have been from amongst the ranks of these same orators and, as we have seen, there was certainly a connection between practitioners of professional storytelling and those involved in the taÊ¿ziyeh tradition. Even in the case of composers with no personal connection to the storytelling traditions, it is reasonable to assume that the recitations of the mourning assemblies and the performances of the storytellers were part of their environment and that the verbal arts influenced their approach. As no other form of live theatre existed in the Persian context, public recitations and storytelling would have been the playwrightsâ only exposure to narrative performative texts. It is therefore not surprising that they should adopt many of the conventions (structures and techniques) of oral storytelling in their endeavours to communicate a narrative to a live audience.
The influence of traditional Iranian storytelling on the format of taÊ¿ziyeh plays has been recognised by other scholars. Both Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ« and NÄá¹£erbakht find that the gÅ«sheh-hÄ (sub-episodes) that act as prologues/epilogues to, or are inserted within, the main episodes give the plays a âzanjÄ«r- mÄnandâ (chain-like) structure. This is a feature of old Persian storytelling and has passed from naqqÄlÄ« into the taÊ¿ziyeh. Both cite HezÄr-u-yek shab (One Thousand and One Nights), an Arabic work likely to have originated, at least in part, from the much older Persian HezÄr afsÄn (A Thousand Stories), as an example of how deeply-rooted the telling of multiple interlinked stories is in Persian culture.3 Whilst such stories are generally described as âenframedâ, âchain-likeâ is indeed a better description of the structure of taÊ¿ziyeh plays that feature multiple gÅ«sheh-hÄ. These gÅ«sheh-hÄ are sections of narrative material usually linked together to construct the telling of a particular event, as opposed to stories of diverse events told within the context of an over-arching frame story. According to Hashem FayyÄż (the aforementioned late taÊ¿ziyeh performer and director) taÊ¿ziyehâs addition of gÅ«sheh-hÄ that often feature miracles and marvels is typical of Eastern storytelling in which the end of the story, already known to its audience, is delayed by the recounting of ancillary stories.4 In the case of the naqqÄlÄn this spinning out of the yarn will have been influenced by practical concerns; in order for a performer to use his pitch for as long as possible and to make a living, he extended his stories by adding more and more of them.5
On a technical level, the chain-like structure of taÊ¿ziyeh plays is not only due to the incorporation of gÅ«sheh-hÄ into the episodes. The plays themselves are made up of short, relatively self-contained, sections of action that include a few scenic movements and/or a dialogue, termed faqareh-hÄ by the performers. Some of these include essential information whilst others are ancillary or decorative. The latter stress, or draw renewed emphasis to, what is already known; they can be omitted depending on resources and the attention span of the audience.6 The contribution that I make here is to show that some of the faqareh-hÄ and gÅ«sheh-hÄ that make up this chain-like structure are in fact âtype-scenesâ a compositional phenomenon also found in the folk literatures of other cultures internationally.
1 Type-Scenes
1.1 An Introduction to the âType-Sceneâ
Below I will borrow the concept of the type-scene to classify a compositional phenomenon observable in the taʿziyeh, but first the concept itself requires further elaboration. Mark Edwards gives a useful and succinct definition:
A type-scene may be regarded as a recurrent block of narrative with an identifiable structure, such as a sacrifice, the reception of a guest, the launching and beaching of a ship, the donning of armor.7
The type-scene as a compositional convention was first identified by Walter Arend in 1933 in his endeavour to understand the repetition present in the poems of Homer.8 Arend observed that particular scene types recurred and that they were structured according to set patterns. The Homeric scene types identified by Arend were:
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Arrival (Ankunft), including the visit, arrival of a messenger, and dreams
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Sacrifice and meals (Opfer und Mahl)
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Journeys by ship and carriage (Schiff und Wagenfahrt)
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Donning of armour and clothes (Rüstung und Ankleiden)
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Preparing for sleep (Schlaf)
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Deliberating over a decision
-
Gathering (Versammlung)
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Bathing (Bad)
Arend demonstrated that such scenes are constructed of a chain of components that normally follow a certain order, with the poet often making use of the same or similar sections of verse to narrate these scenes. However, he also noted that depending on the context, certain components could be expanded, abridged or at times omitted.
The pioneer of oral-formulaic theory Milman Parry engaged with Arendâs theory, using it to argue for the oral nature of Homerâs composition on the grounds that fixed formulae and patterns of action served the same purpose: providing ready-made material for the structured improvisations of the oral bard. He also made a claim not dissimilar to that I make in the case of the taÊ¿ziyeh: that such repetition shows that Homer was working within a tradition that over many generations had defined such conventions as the format of the scenes.9
Indeed, the type-scene as a compositional device has been observed in a wide range of cultural contexts. Before Arendâs seminal work (and seemingly unbeknown to him), in 1885 Vasilii V. Radlovâs ethnographic study of the oral poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz Turkic people of Central Asia had identified the use of Vortragstheilen, ârecitation-partsâ and Bildtheile âidea-parts.â10 This phenomenon is clearly akin to the type-scene: Radlov described the oral bards having sections of material at their disposal for the depiction of occurrences such as â⦠the birth of a hero, his coming of age ⦠preparation for battle ⦠a heroâs speech before battle ⦠a banquet ⦠a funeral lamentâ.11 Furthermore, in their study of south Slavic oral poetry, Parry and later his student Albert Lord observed a compositional unit, a grade larger than oral formulae, and synonymous to a type-scene, which they termed a âthemeâ.12 These treat situations such as the council, the gathering (of an army or wedding guests), the composing of letters and arming.13 However, an important distinction between the type-scene as defined by Arend and âthe themeâ described by Parry and Lord is that the latter â⦠requires a major degree of verbal correspondenceâ, whereas the former does not.14 For this reason, it is the type-scene as opposed to the theme that is appropriate for describing the phenomenon witnessed in the taÊ¿ziyeh, where the repeated scenes use a recognisable set of components and motifs but do not feature verbatim repetition of sections of verse.
In the Persian context, Ulrich Marzolph has studied the techniques of oral composition identifiable in Ḥusain-e Kurd which belongs to the genre of dÄstÄn-e Ê¿ÄmmiyÄneh (âpopular romanceâ).15 The adventures of Ḥusain-e Kurd are known to have been narrated by naqqÄlÄn alongside works such as the Eskandar-nÄmeh and Ḥamzah-nÄmeh in the coffeehouses of Qajar Iran.16 The oldest known copy of Ḥusain-e Kurd is a manuscript dated 1255 AH (1839â40 CE) and Marzolph asserts that the narrative cannot have been transposed from oral to written form long before this. He supports this argument on the basis that Ḥusain-e Kurd includes a vast number of narrative formulae characteristic of oral performance, including devices for the organization of the plot. In examining such devices Marzolph identifies what he calls âcontent formulas.â Under this label he describes how recurring actions such as a burglary, or combat, begin in a highly codified manner and include a set of stereotyped ingredients.17 Whilst using different terminology, here he is describing a concept unmistakably similar to the type-scene.
It is also noteworthy that the idea of the type-scene has been applied in the study of religious texts and is much used by scholars of the Bible. Robert Alter was the first to apply this concept in interpreting biblical narrative.18 He is not concerned with verbal repetition or whether the existence of such scenes indicates oral composition; rather, he is drawn to this approach when faced with a problem similar to that encountered by readers of the taÊ¿ziyehâs Muḥarram cycle. He explains:
The most crucial case in point is the perplexing fact that in biblical narrative more or less the same story often seems to be told two or three or more times about different characters, or sometimes even about the same character in different sets of circumstances.19
Alter finds a solution to this problem in the concept of the type-scene, proposing that the careers of biblical heroes have an attached set of recurrent narrative episodes that are akin to Homeric type-scenes because they depend on â⦠the manipulation of a fixed constellation of predetermined motifs.â20 However, he asserts that, far from reducing a religious text to a mere collection of stories, the composers were using a set of conventions well known to the audience of their day, and introduced variations in the elements of these familiar scenes to convey subtle levels of meaning. This idea is intriguing with reference to the taÊ¿ziyeh, where it is clear that the playwrights were composing for an audience well acquainted not only with the narratives of the Muḥarram cycle but also with the structures and motifs of the genre, the annual repetition of the cycle providing an opportunity to develop this messaging system, exploiting it for maximum dramatic impact. This will be discussed as we examine the specifics of the type-scene in the context of the Muḥarram cycle and the dynamics of the unspoken pact between the audience and the storytellers, in this case the performers.
1.2 Taʿziyeh Type-Scenes
In the context of the taÊ¿ziyeh, I use the term âtype-sceneâ to signify a recurrent scenario with a fixed set of components, normally featured in the same order, without necessary verbal correspondence. The type-scene as described by Arend covers frequent, sometimes daily occurrences where a great level of description is given of a relatively mundane topic e.g. preparing for sleep. By contrast, in Alterâs analysis of the type-scenes of the Hebrew Bible he notes that due to the nature of biblical narrative â normally catching its protagonists at moments of vital importance â the biblical type-scene treats critical occurrences in the lives of its heroes as opposed to the rituals of daily life. In the Muḥarram cycle, the environment that the type-scenes help to construct is one of an uprising, siege, uneven military odds, familial separation, martyrdom, loss, capture and humiliation. Thus, corresponding somewhat to Alterâs observations in the biblical context, taÊ¿ziyeh type-scenes treat highly charged as opposed to mundane occurrences.
Further study would no doubt reveal more recurrent type-scenes across the taʿziyeh corpus. Here I identify three, the existence of which became evident during this in-depth study of four of the principal episodes. They are:
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An Apparition from Beyond the Grave
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The Arrival of a Stranger
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The Unwilling Killer.
Given the breadth of the repertoire and, moreover, the significant variations in content between renditions of these plays, to list the number of occurrences of these type-scenes would be impossible. However, I will give examples of their repetition.21
1.2.1 An Apparition from beyond the Grave
This is by far the most common taʿziyeh type-scene: it features frequently in the plays of the wider repertoire and is present in three of the four episodes on which this study focuses.22 It is short and simple. Its elements are as follows:
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At a critical juncture the protagonist calls on a member (or members) of the Holy Family in heaven to look upon his/her fate
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The one called upon appears before the protagonist (shortly after, but often not immediately following, the call)23
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The spirit reveals his or her identity, expresses grief at the earthly suffering, offers comfort and then disappears
Of the episodes included in this study, the scene features in The Martyrdom of Ê¿AbbÄs with the ghost of Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄleb appearing before Ê¿AbbÄs,24 and in The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain as Ḥusain is visited by the ghost of FÄá¹emeh-ye ZahrÄ (sometimes accompanied by those of Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄleb and the Prophet Muḥammad). It also features in BÄzÄr-e ShÄm, with Zain al-Ê¿ÄbedÄ«n being visited by his grandfather, Ê¿AlÄ«.25 Further examples of the occurrence of this scene from the wider repertoire include the Prophet Muḥammad appearing before Muslem whilst his neck is in the noose in The Martyrdom of Muslem b. Ê¿Aqil,26 and the Karbala survivors being visited by the spirit of Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄleb and FÄá¹emeh-ye ZahrÄ in GhÄrat-e khaimeh-hÄ.27
In some instances, the visit is framed as the spirit appearing to the protagonist in a dream: the visitor has lines and therefore would have appeared on stage. When the visit is framed as a dream, it will usually include the visitor predicting the protagonistâs imminent death.28 Such dream visits can be distinguished from dreams in which Ḥusain and other members of the ahl-e bait appear to show dreamers the error of their ways:29 these are a separate phenomenon recurrent in the taÊ¿ziyeh but presented in scenes without a structure regular enough to be considered a type-scene. Indeed, across the wider repertoire we do see members of the Holy Family intervening in situations that are outside the contexts of their earthly lives: for example there are a number of stories of Ḥusain, usually on the day of Ê¿ÄshÅ«rÄʾ, arriving to aid the faithful in peril such as the ShiÊ¿a of Armenia, Sultan Qais of India, or a boy in Kufa sold into slavery so that his family can stage a mourning ceremony.30 These stories are diverse and are not examples of the apparition type-scene, which will follow the elemental structure that I have described.
Importantly, despite the apparition type-scene taking place when the protagonist is in danger or undergoing intense suffering, the visit does not usually change the trajectory of the narrative. Rather, it serves to show that the members of the ahl-e bait already in paradise share in the suffering of their offspring and supporters on earth. They appear in order to mourn with them and to provide moral support and comfort: for example, when Ê¿AlÄ« appears to his son Ê¿AbbÄs, who asks if he has an instruction for him, Ê¿AlÄ« replies that he should go to bed and rest. Such quotidian advice is echoed in other visits. Despite lamenting the tragic state of affairs, the visitors have not come to attempt to alter the pre-destined course of events.
This general rule is broken in the example of this type-scene as it appears in BÄzÄr-e ShÄm; in my analysis of this episode (chapter 6) I will show variation of the type-scene used as a dramatic device. When the ghost of Ê¿AlÄ« appears before Zain al-Ê¿ÄbedÄ«n in this episode he does indeed change the course of events, saving his grandsonâs life by frightening Shemr and thus preventing his execution. This was a moment of vital importance because Zain al-Ê¿ÄbedÄ«n is Ḥusainâs only remaining son; his survival is essential for the continuation of the imamate. One is here reminded of Alterâs argument that the composers were using a set of conventions so well-known to the audience of their day that changing a component of a familiar scene functioned as a tactic to convey meaning. In other words, the scheme of the type-scene being set up, its breaking is a shock tactic, showing in this case that the course of events had to be altered because of the imperative that the Fourth Imam should survive.
It is possible that the apparition type-scene was initially inspired by a report appearing in the Karbala accounts of historians, the oldest version of which was transmitted by AbÅ« Mekhnaf and is recounted by al-ṬabarÄ«. This holds that shortly before the battle, Ḥusain had seen in a dream his grandfather, Prophet Muḥammad, who had told him not to be sad as tomorrow he would be with them [his family, in paradise].31 Thus, it is probable that the visit first featured in the taÊ¿ziyeh in its dream context, later evolving into an apparition. What is clear is that this type-scene has been a very long-standing feature of the repertoire, as we find it included in the oldest extant script of a taÊ¿ziyeh play, the rendition of GhÄrat-e khaimeh-hÄ dated 1136/1724.32
1.2.2 The Arrival of a Stranger
This taʿziyeh type-scene is less common but is nonetheless repeated in a number of the main episodes. The elements of the scene are as follows:
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Stranger (often of distant origin) observes the hero or heroes without knowing their identity, describes their desperate situation
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Stranger becomes astonished by the heroâs resplendence, suspects a holy identity
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Stranger converses with hero, becomes aware of his/her identity, is outraged by the injustice
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Stranger (converts to Islam and) offers help
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(Stranger sacrifices him/herself in heroâs defence)
Of the plays studied here, âthe arrival of a strangerâ features in The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain and BÄzÄr-e ShÄm. In the former it is realised in the Dervish of Kabulâs meeting with Imam Ḥusain at Karbala. In the latter, it is exemplified when the âĪlchÄ« FarangÄ«â (European Ambassador) encounters the surviving family members at YazÄ«dâs court in Damascus.33 From amongst the wider repertoire further examples of this type-scene include a benevolent Jew meeting Ḥusainâs daughter Ruqaiyeh in the desert in GhÄrat-e khaimeh-hÄ,34 and in Majles-e dairÄnÄ«-ye farangÄ« (The European Monk), when the captives are lodged overnight in a monastery on their journey to Damascus, a monk becoming mesmerized by Ḥusainâs head.35 A further example is a Christian lady and her maid coming across the bodies of the Karbala martyrs in Majles-e zan-e naá¹£rÄnÄ« (The Christian Lady). At first glance, these are diverse incidents yet they unmistakably follow the same template.
These scenes can be relatively succinct, as is the case with the Dervish of Kabul and the Jew, where the encounter ends quite soon after the stranger offering water to the parched hero or heroine. However, they can also play out over the course of an episode. The story of the monk is such an example. He is immediately drawn to Ḥusainâs head and, sensing its special nature and wishing to honour it appropriately, anoints it with rosewater. However, there then follows a long interval before his conversion to Islam, during which he acts as a witness while the head is visited by a long succession of former prophets and biblical figures. Likewise, in the case of the European Ambassador in BÄzÄr-e ShÄm, the elements of the type-scene are played over the course of the episode. He first becomes curious as to the identity of the captives and upon seeing the heads of the martyrs is drawn to their resplendence, suspecting a holy identity. Although their prophetic lineage is then confirmed, it is not until later in the episode that he tries to intervene on their behalf, converts to their creed and (in some renditions) is sacrificed for them.36
In the story of the Christian lady too, the components of the type-scene in question provide the framework for the entire episode. Initially unaware of the battle that has recently taken place, her alighting with her caravan at Karbala is portrayed as happenstance, yet from the outset she senses the special nature of the site and that the very ground exudes divine immanence. This continues throughout the narrative as, despite the unsettling occurrence of blood gushing from the ground when her entourage hammer down their tent pegs, she is unwilling to leave. Walking in the desert, she and her maid come upon the bodies of the slain, are drawn to their resplendence and outraged at their suffering. Their offer of help in this case (similar to that of the monk) is through their display of reverence and kindness, lamenting over the martyrsâ corpses in the place of their absent womenfolk. They also perform basic funerary rites, washing them with their tears; in the Pelly rendition the mistress puts the parched infant Aá¹£ghar to her breast. The play ends with the Christians Ladyâs conversion by FÄá¹emeh-ye ZahrÄ, who also visits the scene.37
Although scenes of this nature often feature the stranger converting to ShiÊ¿ism, they are not simple conversion narratives. Incidents of conversion by the ahl-e bait are relatively common in the taÊ¿ziyeh and take place in a wide range of contexts but here the conversion is neither essential nor the most important component. Rather, the importance lies with the role of the stranger as a witness and his or her ability to temporarily take on a narratorial role, describing the suffering of the hero/es as viewed from outside. Whilst the strangerâs arrival is not essential to the recounting of the Karbala tragedy, as it does not alter the trajectory of the besieged partyâs ordeal, it is a valuable opportunity to depict the suffering of the protagonists through having it described by an outsider. Further to this, the strangerâs reaction to Ḥusain and his family reaffirms their holy nature and thus their legitimacy, whilst simultaneously showing the callousness of the enemy. With the resplendence of the ahl-e bait and their offspring driving the stranger to offer help â and even in certain instances to sacrifice himself for them â the cruelty of the likes of YazÄ«d and Shemr, and the Kufansâ abandonment of Ḥusainâs cause, become all the more intolerable. In addition to this, the identity of the stranger can work to represent sympathy for Ḥusain amongst different social or cultural groups.38
These particular strangersâ encounters with Ḥusainâs family do not generally appear to be rooted in evidence from the accounts of early historians.39 However, there are many instances in early Arabic historiography of non- Muslims recognising and being drawn to the prophetic nature of Ḥusainâs grandfather. In al-SÄ«rah al-nabawiyyah, a 2nd/8th century biography of the Prophet Muḥammad by Ebn EsḥÄq, the original being lost but the content surviving through the work of one of his editors Ê¿Abd al-Malek Ebn HeshÄm (d. 213/828 or 218/833), we find many examples of non-Muslims recognising the veracity of Muḥammadâs prophetic mission. The most prominent of these is the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius who from a mere description of Muḥammad becomes convinced of his prophetic nature. Heraclius himself wishes to follow him and tries to persuade his army to this effect but such is their ire at the suggestion that he reluctantly abandons this attempt.40 Negus, the Christian Emperor of Ethiopia, upon receiving a letter from Muḥammad, recognises his prophethood and converts.41 A Christian monk, BaḥīrÄ, who meets Muḥammad as a boy, is drawn to him and recognises him as a messenger of God whose coming had been foretold.42 While not all of these figures convert to Islam, like the strangers in the taÊ¿ziyeh who cannot fail but attest the holy nature of Ḥusain and his family, their acknowledgement of Muḥammadâs prophethood serves to legitimate his mission.
With respect to the direct inspiration for this taÊ¿ziyeh type-scene, it is likely KÄshefÄ«âs Rawżat al-shuhadÄʾ played an important role. It includes several instances of Jews and Christians confirming the holy nature of the ahl-e bait and subsequently converting.43 For example, KÄshefÄ« tells the story of a Jew who saw the heads of the Karbala martyrs as they were being transported to ShÄm. After hearing a whisper from Ḥusainâs lips he bestowed gifts upon the Karbala captives and promptly embraced Islam. When threatened by their captors he drew his sword, fought and was martyred.44 Yet, while the main elements of the type-scene are included here, it would be misleading to say that the taÊ¿ziyeh inherited this type-scene in full from the stories transmitted in KÄshefÄ«âs Rawżat. Perhaps due to the absence of a narrator in these performances, the way in which these benevolent strangers watch and describe the suffering of the protagonists has been developed greatly in the taÊ¿ziyeh context.
On a separate note, when we consider the development of the taÊ¿ziyeh repertoire and indeed how the content of the main episodes evolved over time, this type-scene provides an example of how use of a familiar framework could allow for the introduction of new characters and their acceptance by a well-versed audience. The European Ambassador features in BÄzÄr-e ShÄm from the oldest extant rendition (dated 1184/1770â71); the Dervish of Kabul on the other hand, was not introduced to the climactic episode until the mid-19th century CE.45 As I have mentioned, this characterâs experience at Karbala is the founding myth of the KhÄksÄr dervish order, yet, having his encounter with Ḥusain take the form of a type-scene already extant within the repertoire, allowed for its smooth insertion â continuity accompanying change.
1.2.3 The Unwilling Killer
The type-scene of the âunwilling killerâ is not dissimilar in function to âthe arrival of a strangerâ in that it affirms the holy nature of Ḥusain and his family. The elements of this scene are that the unwilling killer character:
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is ordered to kill hero
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approaches hero, overcome by his appearance, recognises hero as someone holy
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converses with hero, becomes aware of his identity
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refuses to kill him
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converts to Islam or begs forgiveness/ expresses regret
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(sacrifices himself in the heroâs defence)
Variations of this scene appear in The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain, as an individual from amongst the enemy troops is sent to kill Ḥusain but then cannot. At times this character is a farangÄ« (European/foreigner) and is also described as a naá¹£rÄnÄ« (Christian) â these descriptions being interchangeable in some scripts. Some renditions of the climactic play feature an alternative unwilling killer in the person of SenÄn b. Anas, who is neither European nor Christian.46 This type-scene also features in The Martyrdom of MÅ«sÄ b. JaÊ¿far, which again has a Christian as the unwilling killer, in this case sent by the Ê¿Abbasid caliph HÄrÅ«n al-RashÄ«d to kill the Seventh Imam MÅ«sÄ b. JaÊ¿far (also known as MÅ«sÄ al-KÄáºem). The scene also exists in an expanded format in The Martyrdom of Ḥurr, in which Ḥurr b. al-YazÄ«d al-RiyÄhÄ« is sent by the newly appointed governor of Kufa, Ê¿Ubaid-AllÄh b. ZiyÄd, to intercept Ḥusainâs party and draw first blood. However, after their meeting, he doubts his mission and martyrs himself in Ḥusainâs defence.
In the variant of the scene in the climactic play where the unwilling killer is a Christian, Ebn-e SaÊ¿d offers him copious bounty. He approaches Ḥusain intending to take his head but then recognises that he must be of a prophetic line, like his own ʿĪsÄ (Jesus). He asks about and is informed of Ḥusainâs lineage. This scene can include the pair discussing the fact that the Christian had seen ʿĪsÄ in a dream the previous night and that in the dream his meeting with Ḥusain was foretold.47 It can also simply feature Ḥusain telling the Christian of his tribulations, and the Christian expressing outrage at the uneven odds he is facing (followed by Ḥusain revealing his identity).48 Either way, the Christian regrets having come to kill Ḥusain and instead asks to be converted; Ḥusain obliges. The Christian then goes to Ebn-e SaÊ¿d stating his aversion to carrying out the task and is subsequently killed â martyred for Ḥusain. A rendition of the climactic play by the composer NÄá¹eq dated 1217/1802â3 shows that this scene was played, with all of its essential elements, by this early point. NÄá¹eqâs unwilling killer is an Armenian surgeon who does not speak of having seen ʿĪsÄ in a dream but immediately recognises Ḥusain as being of ʿĪsÄâs ilk, embracing Ḥusainâs religion and martyring himself for him.49
In a dramatic sense, the insertion of this type-scene into an episode allows for a peak in the action before the climax. But, perhaps more importantly, it highlights the holy credentials of Ḥusain and his descendants by showing their resplendence as impossible to ignore (even for followers of other creeds or those hungry for rewards). The inclusion of ʿĪsÄ lends them further legitimacy, demonstrating their connection to former prophets and showing that he encourages his own followers to support them. This is again reminiscent of the stories legitimating Muḥammadâs prophethood in Ebn HeshÄmâs rendition of Ebn EsḥÄqâs SÄ«rah. The version of the scene played in The Martyrdom of MÅ«sÄ b. JaÊ¿far also employs the idea that ʿĪsÄ had appeared to the Christian in a dream the night before, predicting the encounter with MÅ«sÄ. It also features an onstage apparition of ʿĪsÄ, who reminds the Christian of the dream. It again satisfies the type-sceneâs schema in full, the Imam inspiring such wonder in the Christian that he begs to be converted and then harangues HÄrÅ«n al-RashÄ«d for his evil ways.50
In the variant of the scene where SenÄn Ebn-e Anas is the unwilling killer, during the final stage of the battle, he is sent by Ebn-e SaÊ¿d to take Ḥusainâs head. He sets out intent on doing this, but when the two meet Ḥusain asks his name and then rejects him as his killer, telling him that he is not the one. Despite this interesting additional detail, the scene still follows the criteria of the unwilling killer type-scene in that SenÄn repents when reminded of Ḥusainâs holy lineage. He goes back to Ebn-e SaÊ¿d saying that he no longer cares about rewards and will not kill the children of Muá¹£á¹afÄ; when Ḥusain looked at him, his eyes resembled those of the Prophet and he felt ashamed.
In the case of taÊ¿ziyeh of The Martyrdom of Ḥurr, Ḥurr b. YazÄ«d al-RiyÄhÄ« intercepting Ḥusainâs caravan near Karbala at the order of Ebn-e ZiyÄd, but later switching sides and being martyred for Ḥusain, is widely documented in historical sources.51 Here the taÊ¿ziyeh composers were dramatizing the story of a historical figure that had come to them complete in narrative detail. His being unwilling to kill Ḥusain was not of their imagining. Nonetheless, they depict his journey towards sacrificing himself according to the components of the unwilling killer type-scene, but played out slowly. Although initially reluctant to take on the mission, he later embraces it, only to become torn once he witnesses the resplendence of the Holy Family and their noble behaviour, slowly recognising their true legitimacy, repenting and wishing to be martyred for Ḥusain.52
The unwilling killer type-scene is not found per se in the Karbala accounts of early or Safavid era historians, but we find inspiration for the concept in their reports. They describe a general reluctance amongst the enemy to fight Ḥusain, let alone to take individual responsibility for killing him.53 Meanwhile, KÄshefÄ«âs Rawżat al-shuhadÄʾ does feature a clear example of this type-scene. It recounts that after Ḥusain had fallen from his horse an anonymous soldier approached with the intention of finishing him off, but that Ḥusain refused to accept him as his killer and expressed concern that he would burn in hell. So touched was the man by this compassion that he attempted to turn the very weapon with which he had intended to kill Ḥusain on Ebn-e SaÊ¿d: subsequently cut down by the enemy, he asked to be considered amongst Ḥusainâs martyrs and was accepted as such.54 KÄshefÄ« cites other similar stories that mention the power of Ḥusainâs gaze and allure of his resplendence, details that feature in the taÊ¿ziyeh versions of this type-scene.
Although KÄshefÄ«âs Rawżat features a number of conversion narratives, it is noteworthy that none of his unwilling killers are followers of other creeds. The unwilling killer as a farangÄ« and a Christian, which allows the scene to include a conversion and highlights the cruelty of the antagonists (outdone in mercy by these outsiders), appears to be an innovation of the taÊ¿ziyeh composers. Or indeed it may have been a development that took place during the centuries between KÄshefÄ«âs work and theirs, as the stories were told and retold by the orators. The Christian as unwilling killer does feature in JawharÄ«âs ṬūfÄn al-bukÄʾ, completed in 1250/1834, but given that we have an example of the scene being played in the taÊ¿ziyeh from as early as NÄá¹eqâs 1217/1802â3 work, this would be an instance of the taÊ¿ziyeh having influenced the content of the lithograph, rather than vice versa.55
The fact that the taÊ¿ziyeh also features SenÄn Ebn-e Anas as an unwilling killer is curious. SenÄn is commonly mentioned by historians as being amongst the group who committed the fatal attack on Ḥusain. These same sources do not describe him as having turned back; in fact, many of them describe him as having dealt the fatal blow. This is a matter to which we will return in chapter 5 on The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain, when I will discuss the fact that Shemr was not fixed as Ḥusainâs killer until relatively late. For now, suffice it to say that the inclusion of a scene in which SenÄn is close to killing Ḥusain but turns back appears to be an attempt by the dramatists to reconcile conflicting sources.
2 The âFloating Sceneâ
In the Muḥarram cycle we also encounter what I term âfloating scenesâ, segments of action that, although integral to the plot of a particular episode, can change their position in the episodeâs structure depending on the rendition. Whatâs more, they can feature in more than one episode, sometimes repeated verbatim. Unlike the type-scenes described above, these scenes tend to be based specifically on information about the events at Karbala transmitted in historical sources. An example of a floating scene, and indeed one that moves across episodes, is one in which, as the enemy encroach on the camp, Zainab wakes the sleeping Ḥusain. He complains at being disturbed, as he was having a pleasant dream in which he had seen his grandfather, father and mother (and sometimes brother Ḥasan) in paradise. He has been told that tomorrow he will be their guest. This is a dramatization of the dream reported by AbÅ« Mekhnaf that is likely to have inspired the apparition type-scene. As it has been rendered in the taÊ¿ziyeh, the verse of Ḥusain and Zainabâs exchange features the radÄ«f (word following the rhyme) ânaguáºÄshtÄ«â (why didnât you leave me?). It features, together with this distinctive refrain, in The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain, The Martyrdom of Ê¿AbbÄs and The Martyrdom of Ḥurr.56 The existence of such scenes that float between episodes may be explained by the fact that several of the plays of the Muḥarram cycle dramatize events that took place on the same day or night but each foregrounds the experience of a particular hero. They therefore use the same material to give context to the heroâs story.
Such scenes, so familiar to the audience, also provide a potential means of messaging should the dramatists wish to innovate. For example, the play commemorating NÄá¹£er al-DÄ«n ShÄh narrates the circumstances of his assassination; it draws a subtle parallel between the kingâs murder and the martyrdom of Ḥusain through allusion to the oft-repeated floating scene in which Ḥusain is awakened. NÄá¹£er al-DÄ«n sees a masked stranger in his sleep who informs him of his imminent death, tells him to have faith and not to be afraid, and dictates the steps he must take to fulfil this destiny.57
3 The Martyrdom Kompositionsschema (Composition-Scheme)
The martyrdoms of the main protagonists in the Muḥarram cycle â Ê¿AbbÄs, Ê¿AlÄ« Akbar, QÄsem and Ḥusain â each occupy an episode that follows a very clear composition-scheme, while featuring narrative detail specific to the individual hero (usually traceable to historical and hagiographical sources). This fixed pattern is again reminiscent of the compositional techniques identified in the study of oral traditions. In his study of South Slavic oral poetics, Gerhard Gesemann analysed the technical methods by which the singers improvised, identifying the existence of a âKompositionsschemaâ (composition-scheme), âa multiform traditional unit as large as the entire tale.â58 This provided the artist with a structure for his performance as a whole. Albert Lord, in his celebrated The Singer of Tales, observes the same phenomenon, which he refers to as a âstory-pattern.â59 This is not to say that such artists, or the taÊ¿ziyeh composers, were necessarily aware of following a scheme. In fact, in the case of the latter it is more likely that this was simply the pattern of certain early renditions that then became customary. Or, perhaps, during the centuries prior to the emergence of the taÊ¿ziyeh, this had already become the standard way to recount a Karbala martyrdom, as these narratives circulated orally amongst the storytellers.
The structure and elements of the martyrdom composition-scheme within the Muḥarram cycle are as follows (these elements will be present in the following order in the episodes using the scheme, with narrative material specific to the individual hero inserted between them):
-
Threats from the enemy; munÄjÄt (prayer); Ḥusainâs final battle appears imminent
The enemy observe the resplendence yet defencelessness of the party and mercilessly calls for the next combatant to come forward. Ḥusain prays (sometimes accompanied by Zainab and other family members): he decries the bitterness of fate, calling upon the heavens to witness their plight. This section also often features the fates of the individual family members being foretold in detail, even by the characters themselves, and frequently includes the infant Sakīneh begging for water. This is a catalyst to push the hero towards the Euphrates and thus the battlefield.
-
Hero requests permission to do battle in Ḥusainâs defence; Ḥusain refuses
Due to the drastically uneven odds, if granted, this request will undoubtedly lead to the heroâs death. The Imamâs unwillingness to see him martyred demonstrates the bond between them. It allows for portrayal of Ḥusainâs suffering and simultaneously for characterisation of the hero through the reasons stipulated by the Imam in his insistence that the other must survive.
-
Hero frustrated at not being considered worthy, contests decision based on wishes of a senior relative â permission granted
The refusal is an obstacle that the hero must overcome to achieve his goal, to sacrifice himself for Ḥusain; his response to it creates an opportunity for treatment of his emotions. The fact that he has recourse to the wishes of a senior relative underscores the hierarchical rule essential to the genre. Everyone is bound by hierarchy.
-
Hero bids a prolonged farewell to the womenfolk, entrusts them with his vaá¹£iyyat (last will and testament)
The hero is characterized by the earthly concerns that he expresses here. The women vehemently protest his parting; this is also a space for development of the female characters and familial relationships. The hero is shown to be torn between his heavenly and earthy duties. His determination to be martyred for Ḥusain is pitted against his desire to protect the family; the women and children thus act as an earthly bond.
-
Hero prepared for martyrdom
The hero is dressed in a kafan (shroud), often also in a garment belonging to an ancestor, attesting his lineage (further grooming can feature). The dressing of the hero for battle signals that both Ḥusain and the women have been forced to accept his impending martyrdom. In particular, the shroud being placed over his head symbolises his death becoming a certainty. There will be no return from this point. This is a space for treating the agony of the family at the impending separation. A challenge from the enemy sees a sharp end to the tender preparations. The heroâs horse is brought forward; the family often beseech it to ensure his safe return.
-
Hero goes into battle (and returns to camp)
Upon entering the battlefield the hero makes a last attempt at negotiation. He calls on Ebn-e SaÊ¿d to step forward and asks for water for the family, which is refused. This demonstrates that a peaceful solution was sought at all costs, showing not only the heroâs honourable nature but also (importantly due to their role as intercessors) that he tries to save his enemy from the sin of killing him. Having no option but to fight, the hero shows super-human strength in battle, triumphing over vast numbers of opponents and surviving heavy injury. He makes a return to camp complaining of great thirst and bids a last farewell.
-
Final conflict and death of the hero
Back on the battlefield, the hero finally succumbs to his injuries and a simultaneous attack by multiple aggressors. He falls from his horse, calling out to Ḥusain. The Imam crosses the battlefield and reaches him. Mortally injured, the hero often asks not to be taken back to camp before death, to avoid his female relatives seeing him in this state. Shemr arrives and beheads the hero. A response from nature such as the sky darkening and earth trembling commonly follow this moment.
My identification of this composition-scheme is an original contribution. However, other scholars acknowledge certain recurrent structural elements in the taÊ¿ziyehâs central episodes. Shahidi has commented that all episodes treating the Karbala martyrdoms and the stories of prophets open with either Ḥusain or the prophet in question in prayer (munÄjÄt), often joined by his family, who interject in order of hierarchy.60 The enemy challenge that usually precedes this initial prayer is a recognised element termed âmubÄrez-khÄnÄ«.â61 NÄá¹£erbakht argues that taÊ¿ziyeh plays involving battles have taken many of their features from epic literature, including the donning of armour, single combat and young warriors asking permission to do battle. He likens young warriors such as Qasem, Akbar, and Zainabâs children seeking Ḥusainâs consent before entering the battlefield to scenes in the ShÄh-nÄmeh such as the young hero BÄ«zhan asking his father GÄ«vâs permission to fight in the story DavÄzdah Rukh (Twelve Combats).62 A clear difference would be that in the taÊ¿ziyeh the young heroes seek not only to prove their worth on the battlefield but to sacrifice their lives for Ḥusain. The term shÅ«q-e shahÄdat (fervour for martyrdom) is used frequently in the scripts to describe their ardour in this respect.
I begin each of the chapters that follow with a detailed outline, by section, of the episode that they treat. This illustrates the episodeâs essential components, which can be considered its skeleton, fleshed out by the dialogues. The skeletons of the plays foregrounding the martyrdoms of Ê¿AbbÄs, QÄsem and Ḥusain show that they follow this composition-scheme. Given Ḥusainâs pivotal role in the scheme it may seem curious that the episode featuring his own martyrdom could follow the same pattern, yet it does.
Whereas the other heroes sacrifice themselves for Ḥusain, in The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain he sacrifices himself for the ShiÊ¿i community in order to become their intercessor. Interestingly, as Ḥusain becomes the hero of the episode, his practical functions within the composition-scheme â giving the blessing required to release the hero onto the battlefield, and arriving at the injured heroâs side before death â are largely assumed by Zainab.63 This is a marked change within a familiar system and foreshadows the shift in leadership of the group that will take place after Ḥusainâs death. It suggests that a composition-scheme not only provided the dramatists with a template for creating the main episodes or new renditions thereof, it also offered a potential means of messaging. Since these works form part of a cycle, played day after day (and indeed year after year) during Muḥarram, the audience would have been very familiar with this framework; thus, variation of its elements could be used to communicate specific ideas.64
With regards to the inspiration for this framework, it is noteworthy that the main elements of the scheme: permission to fight being initially denied then later given; the hero being dressed for martyrdom; an attempt at negotiation with the enemy; a thirsty return to camp during battle; and Ḥusain arriving at the dying heroâs side, all appear somewhere in the historical and hagiographical literature pertaining to Karbala. The main difference between those accounts and the taÊ¿ziyeh telling of the same martyrdoms is that, whereas in the earlier sources these elements are mentioned here and there with respect to different individuals,65 in the taÊ¿ziyeh they all occur in the martyrdom narratives of all of the main protagonists.
A further marked difference between the taÊ¿ziyeh and the aforementioned literature is the extent of the attention paid to the martyr heroes making their vaá¹£iyyat, and their interactions with the womenfolk, prior to entering the battlefield. The female perspective and the relationships of the male martyrs with their womenfolk have been expanded considerably in the taÊ¿ziyeh. It is not surprising that the historians pay very little attention to the experience of the women when recounting the battle, other than to say that they were in the camp and were later taken captive. Even KÄshefÄ«âs elaboration of these events, which does describe the women mourning after the deaths of their menfolk at Karbala, does not routinely feature familial farewells (equating to what I have described as âsection 4â of the composition-scheme) prior to a martyrdom.66 There is, however, an interesting exception to this: his narration of QÄsemâs martyrdom narrative does feature a considerable amount of dialogue between the hero and his bride and mother. In fact, his rendition of QÄsemâs story is relatively complete in the detail of the martyrdom composition-scheme observable in the taÊ¿ziyeh, and may have acted as a source of inspiration for the composers structuring the Muḥarram cycleâs main episodes.
As a final point it is noteworthy that in episodes conforming to the martyrdom composition-scheme, when a section of material appears that is supplementary to the scheme and does not pertain to the historical narrative of the heroâs deeds, it often proves to be a type-scene (inserted into some but not all renditions). This implies that type-scenes were additional bodies of material available to the composer should s/he wish the plot to become more elaborate, and should the necessary resources be in place. Such resources would have included the performers, animals, props and costumes available to a particular community or performance troop.
4 Conclusion
I have shown here that the compositional phenomena of the type-scene and the Kompositionsschema (composition-scheme), are identifiable in the central plays of the taÊ¿ziyeh repertoire. This is testament to the close relationship of the taÊ¿ziyeh to oral art forms, namely the traditional Iranian forms of storytelling (naqqÄlÄ« and pardeh-dÄrÄ«). Type-scenes, relatively self-contained bodies of narrative, lend themselves well to the inherently chain-like structure of the taÊ¿ziyeh plays. Furthermore, they offered the composers a tool with which they could create new material, yet introduce it in a format already familiar to their well-versed audiences, making its addition to the portrayal of the fates of their religious heroes more likely to be accepted. This allowed for the rejuvenation of the central episodes, and assisted in the creation of new ones; the presence of the Christian as unwilling killer in The Martyrdom of MÅ«sÄ b. JaÊ¿far can be seen as an example of the latter.
What I have termed âthe martyrdom composition-schemeâ, a compositional unit as large as the episode itself, combines elements of battle scenes from Persian epic literature with details of the experiences of the Karbala martyrs as transmitted by early Arabic and Safavid period historians and indeed in KÄshefÄ«âs Rawżat. It is not surprising to find these influences in the taÊ¿ziyeh treatment of the martyr heroesâ final battles. However, the fact that all elements came to be applied (in the same order) to all of the central figures suggests that the composers used this format as a compositional resource with which to expand the stories of the martyrs as they became individual episodes. It also hints at an implicit pact between the composers, performers, and their audience, suggesting that in the treatment of a martyrdom each of these elements was expected to be present in some form. Whatever the martyrâs individual story, this was the standard way to treat a martyrdom, showing due respect to the martyr and his family.
The taÊ¿ziyeh composers may have inherited this composition-scheme from the storytellers, or it may have evolved as the dramatizations of the Karbala martyrdoms assumed episodic form. It is significant that this format, although used to treat the stories of male martyrs, includes considerable space for the treatment of their interactions with their womenfolk. It thus marks out an important place for such interactions in the taÊ¿ziyehâs central episodes, and sees the women receive far more attention than they do in either historical or hagiographical accounts of Karbala. This is in keeping with a general observation of my research, presented across the following chapters, that the taÊ¿ziyeh is very much composed for both a female and male audience.
Robert Alter, The Art of the Biblical Narrative (London: Sydney: George Allen & Unwin, 1981), 47.
Elwell L.P. Sutton, âThe Literary Sources of the Taâziyeh,â Chelkowski ed. Taâziyeh: Ritual and Drama, 177.
Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ«, MabÄnÄ«-ye shabÄ«h-khÄnÄ«, 46â52; NÄá¹£erbakht, AdabiyÄt-e Ä«rÄnÄ«, 231â36. For the evidence indicating the likely Persian origin of this work see Ulrich Marzolph, âArabian Nights,â in K. Fleet, G. Krämer, D. Matringe, J. Nawas and D.J. Stewart eds., Encyclopaedia of Islam Three Online (Brill, 2007). https://doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_ei3_COM_0021.
NÄá¹£erbakht, AdabiyÄt-e Ä«rÄnÄ«, 232â34. For the addition of gÅ«sheh-hÄ as a means of developing episodes see Shahidi, TaÊ¿ziyeh-khÄnÄ«: dowreh-ye QÄjÄr, 260â61; Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ«, MabÄnÄ«-ye shabÄ«h-khÄnÄ«, 43â44.
NÄá¹£erbakht, AdabiyÄt-e Ä«rÄnÄ«, 235.
Ibid., 232â34. On faqareh-hÄ, also see Shahidi, TaÊ¿ziyeh-khÄnÄ«: dowreh-ye QÄjÄr, 265; Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ«, MabÄnÄ«-ye shabÄ«h-khÄnÄ«, 42.
Mark W. Edwards, âHomer and Oral Tradition: The Type-Scene,â Oral Tradition 7, no. 2 (1992): 285.
Walter Arend, Die typischen Scenen bei Homer (Berlin: Weidmann, [1933] 1975).
Milman Parry, âDie typischen Scenen bei Homer by Walter Arend,â Classical Philology, 31, no. 4 (1936): 358.
Vasilii V. Radlov, Proben der Volkslitteratur der nördlichen türkischen Stämme: Der Dialect der Kara-Kirgisen, 10 vols., vol. 5 (St. Petersburg: Commissionäre der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1885). These are the translations of the German terms given in the following useful synopsis of Radlovâs work: John Miles Foley, The Theory of Oral Composition (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1988), 10â13.
Radlov, Proben der Volkslitteratur, xviâxvii. Translated by Foley, Oral Composition, 11.
Milman Parry, âÄor Huso: A Study of Southslavic Song,â in The Making of Homeric Verse, ed. Adam Parry (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, [1933â1935] 1971).
Albert Lord, The Singer of Tales, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Gregory Nagy, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2001), 68â98.
Albert Lord, âMemory, Meaning and Myth in Homer and Other Oral Epic Traditions,â in OralitaÌ: cultura, letteratura, discorso, ed. Bruno Gentili and Giuseppe Paioni (Rome: Edizioni dellâAteneo, 1985), 44.
Ulrich Marzolph, âA Treasury of Formulaic Narrative: The Persian Popular Romance Hosein-e Kord,â Oral Tradition 14, no. 2 (1999): 282. Set during the reign of the Safavid ShÄh Ê¿AbbÄs I (r. 996â1038/ 1588â1629), the storyâs eponymous hero is an adventurer whose antics take him to India and the court of the Mughal Emperor Akbar (r. 963â1014/ 1556â1605).
Fritz Meier and Richard Gramlich, âDrei moderne Texte zum persischen âWettredenâ,â Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 114, no. 2 (1964): 292.
Marzolph, âHosein-e Kord,â 282â293.
Alter, Biblical Narrative, 47â62. For examples of further such works see: Pamela Lee Thimmes, Studies in the Biblical Sea-storm Type-scene: Convention and Invention (San Francisco: Mellen Research University Press, 1992); Brian Britt, âProphetic Concealment in a Biblical Type Scene,â The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 64, no. 1 (2002); Michael D. Press, âA Single Combat Type-Scene in the Hebrew Bible?,â Hebrew Studies 57 (2016).
Alter, Biblical Narrative, 49.
Alter, Biblical Narrative, 51. He then identifies a number of biblical type-scenes and gives an extended analysis of the variations of the type-scene, âthe encounter with the future betrothed at a well.â
Due to the variations between renditions, when I give an example of a type-scene appearing in a particular play, it may not appear in all renditions.
To give an idea of its frequency. The Darbandsar script collection features a total of 50 plays, 12 of these include an example of this type-scene. Interestingly, whilst this collection includes plays telling the stories of ancient prophets, it is not until the chronology reaches the plays treating the house of Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄleb and his descendants that we see this type-scene.
When more than one ghost appears, an additional element is added as the apparition is preceded by a conversation between them, deciding to visit the protagonist in question.
CP: MS 51; MS 513 (GhulÄm Ḥusain á¹¢ÄberÄ«, Kashan, 1372/1952); MS 617 (Mid-20th Cent., Tehran); and the Darbandsar rendition á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 1, 405â06.
All renditions among my sample except CP: MS 405 (End 19th cent., Mazandaran), see chapter 6 âScript Sourcesâ.
Rendition from Khur, for an edition see Murteża HunarÄ«, TaÊ¿ziyeh dar Khur (Tehran: Markaz-e mardom shenÄsÄ«-ye ĪrÄn, VezÄrat-e farhang u hunar, 1354 SH), 5â58. For an English translation see Rebecca Ansary Pettys, âThe Taâzieh: Ritual of Renewal in Persia,â vol. 2 (PhD diss.), Indiana University, 1982), 2â33.
For an edition see Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ« and DaryÄÄ«, Daftar 13, 19â62.
For example, in the Darbandsar rendition of The Martyrdom of Imam Ê¿AlÄ«, Prophet Muḥammad appears to Imam Ê¿AlÄ« in a dream. á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 1, 239â61. For other examples of the dream format see TaÊ¿ziyeh-ye shahÄdat-e Ahmad b. MÅ«sÄ (ShÄh-cherÄgh) and TaÊ¿ziyeh-ye shahÄdat-e Ḥażrat-e EmÄm-zÄdeh DÄvÅ«d, MajÄles, 2, 351â74 and 407â21.
Examples include: Ebn-e Vahab being taught the error of neglecting to perform pilgrimage by Ḥusain; and YazÄ«d repenting ordering Ḥusainâs killing after seeing Muḥammad; See respectively TaÊ¿ziyeh-ye shahÄdat-e Ḥażrat-e EmÄm JaÊ¿far-e á¹¢Ädeq; and TaÊ¿ziyeh-ye pashÄ«mÄn shudan-e YazÄ«d, á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles-e taÊ¿ziyeh, 2, 291â312, and 153â175.
For the first two examples see Majles-e taÊ¿ziyeh-ye pesar-furÅ«sh and Majles-e taÊ¿ziyeh-ye QÄneyÄ sulá¹an-e Arman, Ibid., 439â54 and 419â38. For an English translation of the story featuring the ShiÊ¿a of Armenia see âConversion of King Caniah,â Pelly, Miracle Play, 1, 304â25. I discuss the story of Sultan Qais of India in chapter 5.
ṬabarÄ«, History, XIX, 112. Also see MufÄ«d, IrshÄd, 319; BalÊ¿amÄ«, TÄrÄ«kh-nÄmeh, 4, 706; MÄ«rkhÄnd, Rawżat al-á¹£afÄ, 3, 2234â35. Ḥusain dreaming of Muḥammad who predicts his martyrdom at Karbala is also recounted by KÄshefÄ«, Rawżat, 277â78.
Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ« and DaryÄÄ«, Daftar 13, 19â62.
The term farangÄ« comes from âFrankishâ but is used to denote the European and Christian. In taÊ¿ziyeh scripts it can also generally denote the foreign, and farang, abroad. For example, Sultan Qais of India describes his origin as âfarangâ, clearly meaning India not Europe. CP: MS 28 GhulÄm Ḥusain b. MullÄ SharÄ«f, (Unknown Origin, 1371/1951).
Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ« and DaryÄÄ«, Daftar 13, 40â46.
For a French translation of this play (from the Chodzko manuscript) see Chodzko, TheÌatre persan, 177â219.
Whilst in all renditions of BÄzÄr-e ShÄm he is threatened with execution and his script ends with him saying the shahÄdah (declaration of faith), it is not clear that the execution was played in all cases. In the Zand rendition of the play the fact that he is executed is explicit.
Pelly, Miracle Play, 2, 286â303. For the Litten collection rendition see EsmÄÊ¿Ä«lÄ«, Teshneh, 577â609.
This will be discussed further in chapter 5.
Not early historiography but nonetheless noteworthy, a version of the story of the Christian monk and Ḥusainâs head (varying somewhat from the taÊ¿ziyeh rendition) is included in TÄrÄ«kh-e SÄ«stÄn, dating to the mid-5th/11th century. Jean Calmard, âMuharram Ceremonies and Diplomacy (preliminary study),â in Qajar Iran: Political, Social and Cultural Change, 1800â1925, ed. Edmund Bosworth and Carole Hillenbrand (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1983) 215, 225.
Muḥammad Ebn Esḥaq and Ê¿Abd al-Malik Ebn HeshÄm, The Life of Muhammad, trans. A. Guillaume (London: Oxford University Press, 1955), 654â57. For further discussion also see Nadia Maria El Cheikh, Byzantium Viewed by the Arabs (Cambridge Mass.; London: Harvard University Press, 2004), 48â51.
Ebn Esḥaq and Ebn HeshÄm, Life of Muhammad, 657â58.
Ibid., 79â81.
I thank Dr Roxana Zenhari for her fascinating presentation on âMen of farangâ in martyrdom stories at ECIS 9.
KÄshefÄ« SabzevÄrÄ«, Rawżat, 490.
For an edition of the former see Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ« and DaryÄÄ«, Daftar 11, 15â82. For the Dervish of Kabulâs integration see E. Lucy Deacon, âThe Curious Addition of Non-Religious Characters to The Martyrdom of Imam Husain,â Iranian Studies 54, no. 1â2 (2021).
The Chodzko rendition of the climactic play is the only one among my sample to include the variation featuring SenÄn, but it is not uncommon. It is included in CP: MS 28, in the MÄ«r-e Ê¿AzÄ rendition of the climactic play, and in an anonymous version from Tehran (dated 1325/1907â8) from the HÄshem FayyÄż collection. See KÄáºemÄ«, MÄ«r Ê¿AzÄ-ye KÄshÄnÄ«, 230â31 and 257â58. According to FayyÄż, this scene originates from Tehran and does not feature in renditions of the play from Kashan. Ibid., 231 and 257.
CP: MS 726 (Tafresh, Beg. 20th cent.) and MS 938 (Shiraz, Beg. 20th cent.). The Chodzko rendition also includes this detail but is more cryptic saying that ʿĪsÄ had given him permission to go to the highest heaven and freed him from the bonds of apostasy.
CP: MS 583 (Isfahan, 1351/1932) and MS 576 (Tehran, Mid-20th cent.).
DaryÄÄ«, Daftar 14, 75â78.
á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 2, 320â23.
For example, see ṬabarÄ«, History, XIX, 92â144.
This is an important episode, played during the first ten days of Muḥarram. For the Darbandsar rendition see á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 1, 451â71.
Al-ṬabarÄ«, History, XIX, 157â60; BalÊ¿amÄ«, TÄrÄ«kh-nÄmeh, 4, 710; MÄ«rkhÄnd, Rawżat al-á¹£afÄ, 3, 2232 and 2258â60; KhÄndamÄ«r, ḤabÄ«b al-siyÄr, 56.
KÄshefÄ« SabzevÄrÄ«, Rawżat, 468â69.
The Christian as unwilling killer is also present in âGeryÄnâ ArdestÄnÄ« EsfahÄnÄ«âs ṬarÄ«q- al-bukÄʾ first published in 1273/ 1856â57. Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ«, MabÄnÄ«-ye shabÄ«h-khÄnÄ«, 82.
Details of renditions of the former two plays featuring this scene will be given in chapters 3 and 5. For the scene featured in a rendition of The Martyrdom of Ḥurr see á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 1, 460â61.
Chelkowski, âMajlis-i Shâhinshâh-i Ãrân,â 234â35.
Foley, Oral Composition, 14; Gerhard Gesemann, Studien zur südslavischen Volksepik (Reichenberg: Gebrüder Stiepel, 1926).
âSongs and the Song,â in Albert Lord, The Singer of Tales, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Gregory Nagy, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2001).
For his detailed discussion of the verse and content of these prayers and their development through time see Shahidi, TaÊ¿ziyeh-khÄnÄ«: dowreh-ye QÄjÄr, 613â18. Also see Shahidi, âLiterary and Musical Developments,â 58.
TaÊ¿ziyeh-khÄnÄ«: dowreh-ye QÄjÄr, 620â22; Fatḥ-Ê¿AlÄ« BaigÄ«, MabÄnÄ«-ye shabÄ«h-khÄnÄ«, 199.
NÄá¹£erbakht, AdabiyÄt-e Ä«rÄnÄ«, 238.
For elaboration see chapter 5, âSkeleton of The Martyrdom of Imam Ḥusain and Function of its Sectionsâ.
A further example of this scheme being used to convey a message can be found in The Martyrdom of Ḥurr. Whilst the whole episode does not follow the scheme, after Ḥurr switches sides to support Ḥusain, he is given the treatment of a martyr hero by the elements of the scheme being applied to his final battle. For this section of the play in the Darbandsar rendition see á¹¢Äleḥī RÄd, MajÄles, 1, 469â71.
For example: for QÄsem initially being refused permission to fight on account of his young age see MÄ«rkhÄnd, Rawżat al-á¹£afÄ, 3, 2255â56; for Ê¿AlÄ« Akbar being dressed by Ḥusain for battle, including him donning Ê¿AlÄ« b. AbÄ« ṬÄlebâs leather belt see KÄshefÄ« SabzevÄrÄ«, Rawżat, 450; for Ê¿AbbÄs going to Ebn-e SaÊ¿d to negotiate on Ḥusainâs behalf see ṬabarÄ«, History, XIX, 112â14; for Akbarâs thirsty return to camp during battle see BalÊ¿amÄ«, TÄrÄ«kh- nÄmeh, 4, 709; and for Ḥusain rushing to QÄsemâs dying body on the battlefield see MufÄ«d, IrshÄd, 332â33.
KÄshefÄ«âs rendition of Ḥusainâs martyrdom narrative does include mention of familial farewells and conveying of vaá¹£iyyat. However, the treatment of these interactions is minimal compared their elaboration in the taÊ¿ziyeh. See KÄshefÄ« SabzevÄrÄ«, Rawżat, 464â66.