The Light-Bearing Melons of Samarkand

“Why do you look upon the melon as a divine treasury? …You feel so much for the melon and so little for the man; instead of harming the melon, you harm the man as if he were a debtor.”

So fumed Saint Augustine of Hippo in the year 388 AD.

But what was the crime of the plump, delicate melon that it deserved such a stinging rebuke from the pen of a Church Father?

The melon (Cucumis melo) began its cultural life in Africa, but it was elevated to its current stature in the blessed soil of Asia. Countless fragrant varieties swelled in the gardens of Mesopotamia, Iran, the Caucasus, and the Indian subcontinent before spreading along ancient trade routes to the East and West, pouring their sweet juice down the throats of people across the globe.

Yet for all the melon’s wanderings, some things are best left in their homeland; few varieties have earned as much praise as those of Persia and Central Asia. Many travelers who tasted the tender flesh of these fruits felt compelled to record the experience, ensuring the Central Asian melon a permanent place in the annals of history.

“And after a journey of six days… we came to the gates of a city named Sapurgan (modern-day Sheberghan in Afghanistan). There is plenty of everything there, but especially the best melons in the world. They preserve them by peeling them, slicing them into strips, and drying them in the sun. When dry, they are sweeter than honey, and they are taken from there to be sold throughout the land.” (From The Travels of Marco Polo).

It is also told of the folk hero Hodja Nasreddin that one day, traveling from Samarkand to Urgench, he sat to cool his brow under a massive walnut tree and let his donkey graze in a nearby melon patch. Surveying the heavy, thick-bellied fruit in the field, he dared to question the wisdom of God: why throw such magnificent melons onto the dusty ground while hanging puny walnuts on a stately tree? A falling walnut hitting his skull quickly reminded him that the Lord’s wisdom knows no bounds, having placed every fruit, vegetable, and donkey exactly where it belongs.

The melons of Urgench also won the praise of the greatest medieval traveler, Ibn Battuta:

“There are no melons in the world like those of Khwarezm (Urgench), except perhaps the melons of Bukhara, followed by those of Isfahan. Their skin is green, and their flesh is red, sweet, and firm. Remarkably, they slice the melons, dry them in the sun, and place them in reed baskets… carrying them from Khwarezm to distant cities in India and China for sale. They are the best of dried fruits.”

Even today, the varieties of excellent melons found between the Caspian Sea and China are beyond counting. Some two hundred types dot the arid alluvial plains along the rivers of Central Asia. Ak-novat, Ob-gül, and Kampir-kovun; Barfi and the Hami melons of Eastern Turkestan—all are fine, fragrant, and soul-restoring on a sweltering summer evening.

If such abundant praise was showered upon these graceful gourds, why did Saint Augustine grumble? The root of the holy man’s ire is found not in the realms of gardening or gastronomy, but in matters of religion and law.

The Manichaeans followed an Iranian religion whose now-extinct doctrine was a fascinating synthesis of dualism, Gnosticism, Buddhism, and Christianity. Beyond their penchant for magnificently illuminated manuscripts, they practiced a strict social separation between a monastic class and the lay community.

In simple terms, their faith dictated that to increase light in the world and conquer darkness, one had to liberate particles of light from the matter that had trapped them during the cosmic catastrophe of creation. Human beings were seen as a kind of corridor through which the world could be calibrated and purified, redeeming both humanity and the cosmos.

Interestingly, one of the “scientifically” proven methods for separating light from matter was through the digestive systems of the monks, known as the “Elect.” These men led a rigorous life of wandering, poverty, prayer, and preaching. They also participated in ceremonial vegetarian meals where they were fed foods considered to be particularly potent light-bearers.

The Manichaeans regarded melons as being exceptionally charged with light particles. These were frequently donated by the “Hearers”—the common folk—to pass through the bowels of the blessed Elect on the path to purification.

We know from Manichaean writings in Old Turkic-Uyghur found in the Turpan Basin of Western China that special plots were allocated to grow these blessed melons for the purifying meals of the Elect. To this day, descendants of these melons grow in the Turpan oasis, fetching a handsome price throughout the summer and being dried for consumption during the winter months.

Before leading his flock as a venerable Church Father, Augustine himself wandered in these melon-adorned patches of heresy. He admitted in his Confessions that he was a Manichaean adherent for nine years, giving him a deep familiarity with their thought and customs. After his conversion to Christianity, Augustine fiercely attacked his former faith, placing the holy melon at the center of his anti-Manichaean polemic.

But based on what we know of the markets of Samarkand, Bukhara, Kashgar, and Turpan, anyone who has tasted the flesh of a Central Asian melon will confirm that they carry a great deal of light—and perhaps they are indeed a divine treasury.

Shabbat Shalom.

In the images: An Arabic translation of Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica, depicting a “Kovun” or melon, Samarkand, 10th century. A Manichaean-Uyghur manuscript from Western China; Manichaean manuscripts were beautifully decorated and were an important means of spreading the religion across the known world. The founder of the religion, Mani, is considered in Muslim tradition to be the greatest of painters. Melons ripening in the Turpan oasis, Western China. Not a fan of melons: Saint Augustine of Hippo, 4th century AD. A melon seller, Samarkand, early 20th century.