Daily Life in the Mountains of Kurdistan. – Kochanes. – The Patriarchal Court. – Life Without Clocks. – The Patriarch’s Connections. – His Visitors. – His Dress. – Raban Ionan. – The Medieval Jester. – Metropolitan or Maran

The residence of Mar-Shimun, patriarch of the Syro-Chaldean Nestorians—Kochanes—is in every sense a village. It is perched on a high triangular alpine meadow seven thousand feet above sea level, and is enclosed on two sides by deep ravines, at the bottom of which mountain torrents rush. Just below the village, these torrents merge into a single channel and together flow into the river Zabe or Zawa, which the people identify with the biblical Pishon. The third, or upper, side of this alpine elevation is shut in by precipitous mountains; on the other sides of the ravines rise other mountains, so that the whole locality is exceedingly beautiful. On a rock at the lower end of the village stands the patriarchal church of Marshalita, around which lie the dead of many centuries. Another church, dedicated to Moses, stands in ruins about a mile and a half away, on a ledge. In the village the ungainly patriarchal house, or cell—as it is called (kilaita)—is distinguished from the other buildings by its tower. There the patriarch lives, not in splendor nor in the surroundings that the name ordinarily conjures in one’s imagination, but in modest dignity, held in high veneration by his entire people. There he regularly receives his numerous visitors, who come to him on their various affairs from all parts of the land. Occasionally he takes a walk, or sets out over the mountain to Julamerk—the seat of the Turkish governor—or makes a circuit of his diocese. But ordinarily he sits in his room for whole days at a time. He often receives as many as twenty or more visitors at once; and among them one may see highland ashirets with flintlock rifles, sabers, and shields, or raya who have managed to escape from robbers on the road, and bishops and other persons from Persia who have been detained by government officials or by the dangers of the road. Some come to bring him their taxes or gifts; others seek from him appointment to the offices of maliks (local chiefs), kankayes (elders), or sirdars (stewards) for those churches in the mountains that are endowed with land. Many come to the head of the Church and “the people” on canonical matters, as well as for the resolution of certain questions of customary law. Some ashirets come to ask the patriarch to intercede with the government on account of oppressions, murders, or predations by Kurdish neighbors. The raya usually come to complain that it has become impossible for them to live in their villages, because some Kurdish bey, Gibulla, oppresses them cruelly, seizing or destroying their grain fields and livestock and not permitting their priest either to marry them or to visit their sick; or that another Kurd, Shian Agha, threatens to fine them for having permitted Turkish soldiers to quarter in their village during a campaign undertaken under the pretended pretext of arresting him. Here one may also see wedding guests who, wearing only their caps without turbans and cotton shirts and trousers, have come to their spiritual head to ask him to inform the government in Julamerk that on their way home from the wedding feast they were completely plundered and stripped almost naked by Kurds. Gendarmes or government officials also call in to spend half a day or a night while passing through to some other place. Kurds also appear, with the treacherous design of laying a trap for Mar-Shimun and persuading him, for instance, to take the lead in resisting some decree from Constantinople concerning a new census or tax—assuring him that if he does so, all the Kurds will become his devoted servants (at least until the wind changes). His Holiness, like everyone else who knows how things stand, is utterly overwhelmed by the daily recurrence of tales of oppression and injustice against which he is powerless to protect his flock. It is not surprising if even his loftiest aspirations are undermined by the weight of such trials. Indeed, it would be cruel even for missionaries to ask him to expose himself to the risk of the government’s wrath, when not a single European power does anything for him or his people to alleviate their distressing situation.

For all the heaviness of their situation, the Syro-Chaldeans do not murmur against their fate, but with a purely childlike faith and submissiveness entrust everything to the will of the Heavenly Father and King. One may often hear among them: “God has grown angry with us for our sins and therefore permits us to suffer this”; and they ordinarily add: “May the Lord’s will be done: glory to His name.”

Mar-Shimun is a very intelligent man and knows quickly how to adapt himself to Turks, Kurds, and Christians alike, with all of whom he has to deal. His surrounding circumstances are by no means conducive to an optimistic frame of mind; but when he is not too much oppressed by tales of injustice, he is very lively and pleasant in conversation and takes a keen interest in everything he hears, whether it be some intrigue in Turkey or some invention in Europe, and in general he grasps and appraises very quickly whatever is communicated to him.

Every visitor, on arriving to the patriarch, kisses his hand, and the majority kneel before him; some simply shake his hand, while others—persons of lower station—reverently touch his hand only with their lips.

The appearance of the Syro-Chaldean patriarch is quite distinctive. He dresses in wide trousers and a short jacket of dark blue. Beneath the jacket he wears a lighter-colored waistcoat, and over it a silken multi-colored sash. Though his beard is entirely black, his hair is completely white; he habitually wears on his head a cap and turban of black silk, which he removes only upon entering the church. In his dress he is very neat and attentive to the cleanliness of his fingers, and he frequently calls his attendant to instruct him to shake the dust or some speck of dirt from his carpet. He usually sits on a shaggy rough carpet on the floor—not cross-legged, but in the Persian fashion, with his knees folded beneath him, so that in effect he is sitting on his feet. Two or three armchairs are generally provided for European visitors or Turkish officials. Kurds and common soldiers, when visiting the patriarch, take a place above that of the Christians, with the exception of the patriarch’s kinsmen. Mar-Shimun understands Kurdish but does not speak that language; however, he has an excellent command of Turkish. He can read fluently in both the ancient and the modern Syriac tongue and writes beautifully; yet all his letters are ordinarily written by a special scribe, as it is considered beneath the dignity of a high-ranking person in the East to write in his own hand. He is well versed in his liturgical books, always performs the morning prayers early, and performs the evening prayers with the same punctuality. During the liturgy he stands in the sanctuary, together with one or two of his companions, and receives communion at the doors between the sanctuary and the nave.

Next to the patriarch’s house live his kinsmen, who constitute a kind of informal council—namely his half-brother Ishai (Jesse) and his cousins Mar-Auraham, the patriarch-designate, Abishalum (Absalom), Nimrod, Shmuel (Samuel), and Shlimun (Solomon), together with their wives and families. It is interesting to observe the strict etiquette maintained within the patriarchal circle. Each one sits in his allotted place, according to his rank, on felt rugs spread along the sides of the patriarch’s room, while Mar-Shimun himself ordinarily sits on the shaggy carpet at the head of all. The members of this council are permitted to express their views when this is required by some pressing and important matter; from time to time the patriarch also commissions one or another of them to go to this or that village, or to this or that district, to discharge a patriarchal mission—to settle a dispute, hear complaints, or collect tribute. One of them, the shamasha (deacon) Nimrod, is a member of the Turkish council, the mutasarrif, in the neighboring town of Julamerk, and many civil affairs of the patriarchate are entrusted to him.

The life both of the patriarch-catholicos himself and of his people in Kochanes passes with a purely patriarchal monotony and simplicity. Modern European civilization has not yet managed to touch this difficult-to-reach corner of the world, and there the people live in the bosom of nature, doing without even so apparently indispensable a thing as a clock. Time is measured simply by the heavenly bodies, though a Western man must accustom himself to this. When the sun is shining, one can of course make approximate calculations about the time. Even in rainy weather the position of the sun can be roughly determined in a land that knows no dense fogs. But it becomes difficult to tell the time during the night, given that the treacherous moon changes its position daily. Perhaps this is why the time of morning worship in Kochanes in summer is so irregular that it is hard to say when exactly it begins or ends. After the service, the notable men of the village, as well as foreign visitors who wish to see Mar-Shimun, go to the patriarch’s house, where they drink coffee, smoke pipes or cigarettes, and then, if it is a working day, set off to their occupations. About nine o’clock comes the time of “the working man’s breakfast,” while the main meal is usually served much later in the afternoon. People work almost until sunset, when the devout go to church and others say their prayers at home, having first washed their faces and hands—not simply with the aim of making them clean, but as a special ritual act. It is curious to note that combing the hair is often done during the prayer itself. Supper is usually served after the lamps are lit; but in the ashiret districts in summer it is often served at twilight or even earlier.

The drinking of tea and coffee forms an indispensable part of the everyday life of the patriarch and his kinsmen, and this luxury is also customarily offered to their visitors by some of the more prominent persons among the raya.

The patriarch’s half-brother and cousins occupy a sufficiently exalted position that they no longer work themselves, and they occasionally attend to important ecclesiastical or civil affairs. From time to time they go bear-hunting, catch partridges, or go out for a ride, although they do not generally give themselves over to these pleasures with any particular enthusiasm. Occasionally, however, they perform remarkable feats of horsemanship on the open plains beyond the village. Once, many Syrians from Sura d’Mameraya—a village lying in the vicinity of Lake Van—arrived to visit the head of their people. They appeared to be well-to-do, as could at least be judged from their splendid turbans and embroidered robes. They entertained the village with every manner of horsemanship, enacting something in the style of a medieval tournament. Armed with lances up to twelve feet in length, they charged at one another and attempted to knock each other’s turbans off. Many of these mountaineers, like the Kurds, are magnificent horsemen and can balance on a horse in almost any position, while at the same time shooting with accuracy from their rifles. But the ashirets ride relatively little: their country is not suited for equestrian exercises. Among the pastimes at Kochanes, chess enjoys great popularity. All members of the patriarchal household play well; Mar-Shimun, Mar-Auraham, and the shamasha Shlimun are considered the best players. The rules of the game are the same as ours. Many of the chess terms used by us are also used by the Syrians.

One of the most remarkable personalities at Kochanes was a man who was held in enormous respect and to whom everyone turned for counsel in ecclesiastical matters. This was Raban Ionan—the monk Jonah—who lived in a small cell at the patriarchal church of Marshalita and was one of the few monks still remaining there. Small in stature, with gray hair, in a tall conical cap and black turban, he had an exceedingly pleasant smile on his face and a beautiful expression that inspired love and respect in all who saw him. He spent the greater part of his time copying liturgical books and other ancient compositions of his people; one could say he lived wholly among his books and was the most learned man among the Syrians. He had many disciples who, when expounding some interpretation of Holy Scripture, would declare with pride: “I learned this from Raban Ionan.” All regarded him with the greatest reverence, and he enjoyed a kind of honored preeminence that placed him above everyone except the patriarch: wherever Syrians were, they mentioned his name with honor and love. He was appealed to on all questions of learning; and it is interesting that priests would sometimes halt in the middle of a service to consult the good elder about what was to be done next. He was suddenly called to his eternal rest while bathing in a mineral spring some distance from Kochanes, whither he had gone to seek a cure for rheumatism—apparently he suffered a stroke in the water. It is said that he had a foreknowledge of his impending end, for before setting out for the spring he visited the tents of his acquaintances and solemnly bade them farewell. His burial took place the following day in the patriarchal cemetery church, attended by all the villagers, who loudly and long mourned their departed raban.

There is yet another personage of considerable importance at Kochanes: Shlimun, the patriarch’s jester—a man of all trades. Like his predecessors in the Middle Ages, he is permitted to play all manner of pranks on everyone, but also like them he himself becomes the target of mockery from all sides. He keeps the whole village animated, and everyone would sincerely lament his loss.

Second after the patriarch in the importance of his rank and significance in the Church is the metropolitan or maran Mar-Khanisho (“grace of Jesus”). He lives in one of the most beautiful localities in Kurdistan, on the edge of a very steep slope at the foot of which, far below, a torrent rushes southward to join the river Zab. This is not actually a village but simply a walled enclosure containing the maran’s own house (an ancient monastery) and a church dedicated to Mar-Ishu (the Lord Jesus); alongside it stand two or three houses belonging to neighboring shepherds. The slopes are covered with various trees—including large walnut trees and mulberry trees, whose fruit is, however, rather tasteless. This locality is situated in the district of Shamzdin, in raya country, and the metropolitan is constantly afflicted at the sight of his people being plundered and even killed by Kurds. Even his own sheep are frequently driven off, and the predators find it easy to evade justice when pursued, since they cross the Persian border without difficulty. This district is under the authority of the son of the late Shah Obeidullah, who invaded Persia in 1880; and between this Kurd and the nomadic Herki Kurds, the maran and his diocese have at times found themselves in such a desperate position that the thought has more than once occurred to him of following the example of some of his flock who, driven by an unbearable life and utter ruin, had fled to Persia.

The proximity of the border is a source of endless anxiety for the Christian villages lying near it on both sides. Villages situated in Turkey have their flocks plundered by Kurds from Persia, while villages situated within Persia are robbed by Kurds from Turkey. When protests against such predation are presented to the consul, negotiations begin between the Turkish and Persian governments, dragging on at length and usually ending in nothing, since the rivalry between the Persians and the Turks prevents the officials from taking energetic measures. And why should they trouble themselves greatly? — In the end, they say, the whole affair amounts to no more than the suffering of a few Christians! In general, the Persians are more inclined than the Turks to compel the Kurds to return stolen sheep; but this is also easier for them owing to the greater accessibility of the country. The Persians often say to the Turks: “We shall not order the return of your sheep unless you compel the return of ours.” But since the Turks either cannot compel the Kurds on their side, or, if they can, are too corrupt to bother with the cause of justice, matters usually remain in their customary state, and the Christians suffer all around. They suffer especially severely in spring and autumn, when the nomadic Kurds move from their summer pastures and, like locusts, destroy everything in their path.

The poverty of the raya is very great. In one large village not far from Kochanes, English missionaries wanted to buy a chicken, eggs, or something similar to eat. But the woman they approached replied tearfully: “The Kurds and among them the Turks have taken from us everything there was; we ourselves have nothing to eat, still less anything to sell”—what the robbers had left behind had been seized by the soldiers.

The maran is a tall, handsome man with a large jet-black beard, distinguished in his manner by extraordinary courtesy combined with dignity. He is a man of very kind heart, devout and devoted to the Church and religion. He would not hesitate to break off any friendship with those whom he suspected of contempt for religion. He is very strict in observing the fast and other ordinances of the Church, and this is by no means pharisaism, for he is, as far as one can judge, a man of genuine piety who strives with all his heart to serve God. The whole tone and atmosphere of his house are permeated with deep churchliness, revealing in him a truly devout man. This disposition of the master is wholly reflected in his servants, who are marked by an unusual seriousness for persons of their class, and in their conversations and all their actions reveal an awareness that they serve a devout master and must themselves be the same. From the maran’s house one carries away a most pleasant impression, confirming the truth that religion exercises a deeply ennobling influence even upon the outward circumstances of life.