Asian and African studies blog

On Saturday 25 and Sunday 26 July 2015, the British Library will host the Shubbak Literature Festival as part of Shubbak, London’s largest biennial festival showcasing the best in contemporary Arab culture.

As one of the leading collections of historical and contemporary Arabic texts in the United Kingdom, the British Library is delighted to partner with translator Alice Guthrie, Saqi Books and Shubbak to bring together some of the finest writers from across the Arab world, while also reflecting the diversity of current Arab writing in the UK and Europe.

An illustration from a 13th century manuscript of al-Ḥarīrī’s Maqāmāt showing the people in a garden making music with Abū Zayd approaching. From the 24th maqāmah (British Library Or.1200, folio 68r)

Knowledge of Arabic literature – both classical and modern – has been largely confined to academia. However, over the past decade or so there has been a noticeable increase in awareness and accessibility of contemporary Arabic literature in English, largely due to the efforts of established publishers such as Saqi and Banipal. This is also the result of a new generation of translators, publishers, bloggers, journalists and critics responding to a greater desire to read a wider and more diverse array of voices coming from the Arabic-speaking world. ‘The Rise of Arabic Literature in English’ will be the subject of the opening panel of the festival chaired by Robin Yassin-Kassab, and featuring Marcia Lynx Qualey of the Arabic Literature (in English) blog, Iraqi author-translator Sinan Antoon, British-Palestinian novelist and playwright Selma Dabbagh, and scholar and translator Daniel Newman.

Mourid Barghouti, Raʾaytu Rām Allāh ʻI saw Ramallahʼ (Cairo: Dār al-Hilāl, 1997) and Qaṣāʼid al-raṣīf  ʻPoems of the Pavementʼ (Beirut: al-Muʼassasah al-ʿArabīyah lil-Dirāsāt wa-al-Nashr, 1980)

Poetry, although it is the oldest form of Arabic literature, continues to be a popular mode of expression for the beauty and complexity of the Arabic language, as well as for airing contemporary social and political concerns. Saturday evening’s event, ‘The Astonishing Form’, will celebrate poetry with a variety of radical and powerful voices. Compèred by Malika Booker, the event will feature readings by renowned Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti, as well British-Egyptian performance poet Sabrina Mahfouz, Iraqi poet Ghareeb Iskander, whose work engages both ancient and modern Iraqi history, and Palestinian poet-activist Rafeef Ziadah, whose poems ‘We Teach Life, Sir’ and ‘Shades of Anger’ went viral.

As well as long-established literary forms, the Shubbak Literature Festival will also engage with emerging genres. ‘Science Fiction in the Arab world’, chaired by Sinbad Sci-Fi’s producer Yasmin Khan, will feature Egyptian and Iraqi authors, including IPAF-winning author of Frankenstein in Baghdad, Ahmed Saadawi. Comic books and graphic novels will be the focus of a panel entitled ‘Drawing Your Attention’, chaired by Paul Gravett, co-curator of British Library’s Comics Unmasked exhibition, that will feature Lena Merhej, co-founder of the Samandal collective in Lebanon, Andeel, co-founder of Egypt’s Arabic comic magazine Tok-Tok, and British-Libyan manga-influenced comic writer, Asia Alfasi.

Faïza Guène, Kiffe kiffe demain (Paris: Hachette littératures, 2004) and Tok-Tok

Histories of migration, transnational cultural exchange and exile have played a role in the development of modern Arabic literatures. While some Arab authors have made European cities their homes, others have been born here and write in languages other than Arabic. The panel ‘Arabic Europe’ will examine how the contemporary European political and cultural landscapes intersect with the Arabic roots of writers living across Europe today. Shubbak’s artistic director Eckhard Thiemann will discuss these issues with Moroccan-Dutch poet Mustafa Stitou, Algerian-French writer and director Faiza Guene, and British-Sudanese writer Leila Aboulela. Shubbak closes with renowned Lebanese novelist and public intellectual Elias Khoury in conversation with author and academic Marina Warner. Khoury will also read from his novels, which include the acclaimed novels Gate of the Sun and Yalo.

Elias Khoury, Abwāb al-madīnah ‘City Gates’, with illustrations by Kamal Boullata (Beirut: Dār al-Adāb, 1990)

The festival will also feature readings in Arabic and English by Man Booker International Prize finalist Hoda Barakat, as well as Syrian author Samar Yazbek and Atef Abu Saif from Gaza. In addition, there will be free events for both children and teenagers. A series of short films from PalFest and Highlight Arts will also show throughout the weekend, and there will be bookstall from Al Saqi Bookshop and free smartphone and tablet access to digital Banipal Magazine within the Library building from now until the end of the festival.

Read the full Shubbak Literature Festival programme for booking information. You can also follow Shubbak on Twitter @Shubbak or using the #Shubbak hashtag.

Daniel Lowe, Curator of Arabic Collections

One of our most colourful manuscripts, now on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s current exhibition “Sultans of Deccan India 1500-1700,” is IO Islamic 3214, the only known copy of the story of Sindbad and the seven sages to be written in Persian verse. The story - not to be confused with Sindbad the sailor of the Arabian Nights - occurs in both Western and Eastern literature, but is believed to be of Iranian origin (Perry 1960) with links to a very ancient Graeco-Oriental tradition.

The story of the King of Kashmir whose elephant bolted despite three years’ training. The keeper, condemned to be trodden underfoot, escaped death by demonstrating the elephant’s obedience and attributing the mishap to a bad horoscope (BL IO Islamic 3214, f. 23v)

This version was composed in AH 776 (1374/75) at the request of an unnamed king and was based on an earlier version written in Persian prose. It is illustrated with 72 miniatures characterised by the use of vivid colours and innovative architectural detail, opening with double page portraits of King Solomon and Queen Sheba on facing pages  - a feature of many manuscripts of Iranian origin, particularly from 16th century Shiraz to which this manuscript owes many stylistic features.


The concubine accuses the prince of treason (BL IO Islamic 3214, f. 29v)

Set in an Indian context, the poem takes the form of many tales told within the frame of a single story. Commanded to remain silent for seven days by his teacher, Sindibad, the young prince is accused by one of his father’s concubines of having attempted to seduce her. He is condemned to death, but the king’s seven viziers take turns to delay the execution by telling stories illustrating women’s deceit. Each evening, however, their work is undone by the guilty concubine telling a contradictory story. After a week’s silence, the prince, now free to speak again, is exonerated and set free. The tale ends with the king’s abdication in favour of his son. Unfortunately because of a gap in the text, it is not clear whether the wicked woman is pardoned or punished!


The executioner leads the prince to his death (BL IO Islamic 3214, f. 74v)

The history of our manuscript is a mystery in its own right! Almost certainly copied and illustrated in Golconda between 1575 and 1585 (Weinstein, p. 127), it unfortunately lacks a colophon, but folio 1r contains at least one abraded Qutbshahi seal impression. The popularity of the Sindbādnāmah is also attested, as Laura Weinstein notes (Haidar and Sardar, p. 203), by the existence of an especially commissioned copy (BL Or.255) of the better known Persian prose version by Muḥammad ibn ʻAlī al-Ẓahīrī al-Samarqandī, copied for Sulṭān Muḥammad Qutub Shāh (r. 1612-26) in Haidarabad in 1622. The illustrations as far as folio 23v also include captions in Kannada.  Presumably these were added afterwards since the first inscription occurs on what appears to be a later flyleaf at the beginning. At some point the volume was trimmed - some of the architectural details are missing from the illustrations - and numbered continuously in Arabic numerals - this despite several obviously missing leaves - on the verso of each folio.


The prince’s tale: a black div abducts the daughter of the king of furthest Kashmir while visiting a  garden outside the city (BL IO Islamic 3241, f. 120r)

The story of the pari, who teaches the ascetic three ‘Great Names’, each of which, when uttered in an emergency will grant the ascetic’s wish (BL IO Islamic 3241, f. 142r)

It is not known exactly how the manuscript was acquired by the East India Company, but in 1841 the Scottish Persianist Forbes Falconer (1805-53) published a partial translation in three instalments in the Asiatic Journal in which he described it (Falconer, p.170) as a unique manuscript “in the collection at East-India House.” At that time readers were allowed to take manuscripts home for study and perhaps Falconer forgot to return it because in June 1857 it was purchased, according to another note, by one Edwin Greenwood “at an Old Book Stall for £1-0-0”. A later note by the then librarian H H Wilson, dated March 1859, describes this as “a curious fiction”, but considering that the East India Company seal on folio 1r has been deliberately erased, it seems likely that Edwin Greenwood’s story was correct and we can be grateful for him returning it!


A happy ending: the prince assumes his father’s throne in the presence of viziers and courtiers (BL IO Islamic 3214, f. 165v)

The exhibition “Sultans of Deccan India 1500-1700” is open at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, until July 26.

IO Islamic 3214 has been fully digitised and can be read on our Digital Manuscripts site (access via Digital Access to Persian Manuscripts).

Further reading

Clouston, W A, The book of Sindibād; or, the story of the king, his son, the damsel, and the seven vazīrs. [Glasgow], 1874
Falconer, F. “The Sindibād Nāmah,” The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register for British and Foreign India, China, and Australasia 35 (1841): 169-180; and 36 (1841): 4-18, 99-108
Haidar, Navina N  and Marika Sardar, Sultans of Deccan India 1500-1700: opulence and fantasy. New York, 2015, no 97, pp. 203-4
Perry, B A, The origin of the Book of Sindbad. Berlin, 1960
Renda, Günsel, “Sindbādnāma: an early Ottoman illustrated manuscript unique in iconography and style,”  Muqarnas 21 (2004): 311-22
Weinstein, Laura S, “Variations on a Persian theme: adaptation and innovation in early manuscripts from Golconda.” PhD diss., Columbia University, New York, 2011

Ursula Sims-Williams, Asian and African Studies

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By the end of the Ethiopian and Italian war (1935-41), the Ethiopian economy was entirely exhausted and its natural resources plundered. Adding to the existing agony was the so-called “protected state” imposed on Ethiopia, by Winston Churchill. When it became apparent that the relationship between Ethiopia and Britain was leading to a deeper financial crisis, the Emperor Haile Selassie sought economic assistance from the new emerging global power, the USA.

ኢትዮጵያ ‘Ethiopia’, King Haile Selassie’s visit to USA and American and Ethiopian development corporations. Published by the United States information services 1954. (BL ORB 30/ 7909)

The United States first provided economic and technical assistance to Ethiopia in 1944, however it was the signing of the September 1951 treaty of amity and economic relations that really strengthened the ties between them. The United States and Ethiopia became close allies right up to 1974, especially after the election of President John F. Kennedy.

Left: Kennedy: from Friday to Monday, a short biography of President J.F. Kennedy. Addis Ababa, 1966. (BL ORB 30/ 7255)
Right: The Guns and the Gunned, a pictorial pamphlet dedicated to the memory of J. F. Kennedy’s Brothers and Dr King, bastions of peace and liberty. Addis Ababa, 1968. (BL ORB 30/7907)

The American Peace Corps programme began working in critical areas such as agriculture, basic education, tourism, health, economic development and teaching English as a foreign language. Several schools and institutions were also established in 1963.

Several books and journals were published in Ethiopia to celebrating their cordial relations. The most notable was Point Four, a quarterly newsletter on USA and Ethiopia relations. In 1956, Highlights Haramaya University established an agricultural technical training campus in Ethiopia in collaboration with the U.S. government and with assistance from Oaklahoma State University. Formerly known as Alemaya College, the institution was officially inaugurated by Emperor Haile Selassie on January 16, 1958. The title of the newsletter borrows its name from President Harry Truman's 1949 inaugural address in which he announced a technical assistance program for developing countries that later became known as "The Point Four Program," so named because it was the fourth foreign policy objective outlined in the speech. The Point Four programme resulted a close partnership between the U.S. and Ethiopia in helping to establish some of the country's technical higher-education institutions.

የፖይንት ፎር ዜና Point four news, a quarterly magazine on USA and Ethiopia relation. Vol.II, no. 4, 1962? (BL ORB 30/ 7917)

Another example is the Ethiopian  American Cook Book, a general introduction to Ethiopian and American cooking, which aimed at teaching Ethiopians to cook like Americans and vice versa. The book contains recipes for American cuisine dating from the 50s and 60s. Although it does not cover every popular dish, it does include recipes for ingredients that are common in USA.

Afework Mengesha, የኢትዩጵያንና የአሜሪካን የምግብ አሠራር መጽሐፍ  Ethiopian American Cook Book. Asmara: National Literacy Campaign Organization, 196?. (BL  754. qq. 2)

Ethiopian cooking, however, is more an art than a science. There are traditionally no standard units of measure used for ingredients when cooking and instead rough or subjective guides to measurements are given. This must have seemed odd to Western cooks wanting to cook Ethiopian food. This book, on the other hand provides precise measures for all ingredients called for in the recipes. This made the book palatable to Americans, and also had the added benefit of recording traditional and historical Ethiopian recipes in a way that could be reproduced even by people unfamiliar with Ethiopian cuisine and cooking techniques.

The recipes are presented with clarity as a step-by-step guide aiming to convey the essence of Ethiopian cooking. There are, however, no instructions on baking or cooking times nor suggestions as to where one could find Ethiopian ingredients such as the African shrub Gesho (Rhamnus prinoides). I have reproduced several sample recipes below:

Recipe and preparation method for making Tej (honey mead)

Recipe and preparation method for Teff Injera (Ethiopian bread)

Recipe and preparation method for cooking Yeshimbra Asa (pea flour fish)

Recipe and preparation method for Hamburgers

Further reading

Agyeman-Duah, B. The United States and Ethiopia: Military assistance and the quest for security, 1953-1993. Lanham [Md. (USA)] ; London: University Press of America, 1994
Anglo-Ethiopian Parliamentary Group. Britain and Ethiopia. London: Anglo-Ethiopian Parliamentary Group, 1971
Samuelsson, Marcus. The Soul of a New Cuisine: A Discovery of the Foods and Flavors of Africa. Hoboken, N.J.: John Wiley & Sons, 2006
Selinus, R. The traditional foods of the central Ethiopian highlands. Uppsala, Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, 1971

Eyob Derillo, Asian and African Studies

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For an art historian, one of the most exciting things in working with manuscripts is having the opportunity to examine a masterpiece firsthand. High-quality digital reproduction tells us much, and it is to the credit of the BL that they have digitized so many of their masterpieces, including one that I have been working on: ms. Add. 18113, a copy of three poems by Khvaju Kirmani penned by Mir Ali b. Ilyas in 796/1396. (See Ursula Sims-William’s post of 1 August 2013 “An illustrated 14th century Khamsah by Khvaju Kirmani")

But examining the physical manuscript can tell us more. For that reason I was especially grateful that Ursula Sims-Williams, Curator of Iranian Collections, arranged for three of us—my husband Jonathan Bloom, a specialist in Islamic paper; Cheryl Porter, a conservator specializing in pigments; and me—to examine the manuscript firsthand in the conservation laboratory.

Fig. 1. Cheryl Porter, Sheila Blair and Ursula Sims-Williams examining the Khvaju Kirmani manuscript in the British Library. Photograph © Jonathan Bloom

More than 600 years old, the manuscript still holds many secrets. The mystery I wanted to investigate was how the paintings were combined with the text. I hoped to confirm some hypotheses I had broached in my recent book, Text and Image in Medieval Persian Art (Edinburgh University Press, 2014).

All of the folios in the manuscript are composite, that is, they are assembled with two different sheets of paper: a thinner white paper in the center and a heavier buff paper for the frame. This is clear even when looking at the manuscript on-line (Add.18113). But looking at the folios through transmitted light shows that these pages were assembled in two different ways. The simplest method, used for all text folios, was simply to insert the rectangular block with the four columns of text into the frame like a window. Hence, I called them framed folios.

Fig.2. Folio 49 seen through transmitted light: a framed folio with the colophon to Humay and Humayun on the front side and a blank back. Photograph © Jonathan Bloom

This straightforward method was also used for to assemble one illustrated folio: folio 64, with the painting of ʿAli slaying the infidel on the back.

Fig. 3. Folio 64 seen through transmitted light: a framed folio with text on the front and ʿAli slays the infidel on the back. Photograph © Jonathan Bloom

The painting occupied the same space as the columns of text, so it was easy just to use the same method of inserting a rectangular block into the frame. 

But the other eight illustrations in the manuscript are different. They are much bigger, spreading well beyond the written surface on the other side. So it was impossible just to assemble them by inserting them like a window into a frame. How were they combined with the border? The reason it was important to know is that it has been suggested that the paintings, or at least some of them, had been made for a different manuscript and were pasted into the text. 

I disagree. I think that the text and the paintings are integral in this manuscript, and our recent investigations confirmed what I had originally suggested: that the paintings were executed directly onto the same white paper used for copying the text and that at a later date—when someone decided to reframe the manuscript within heavier buff borders—the illustrated folios were simply pasted onto (not inserted into) the borders. I called these laminated folios.

I had made this suggestion following my earlier examination of the manuscript in 2011 with BL conservator David Jacobs. Looking at the illustrated folios such as folio 45 with the painting of the Celebrations for the consummation of Humay’s marriage to Humayun under strong transmitted light showed three areas of different opacity: a lighter area in the center, the buff frame visible at the outermost edge, and a third even darker area between the two.

Fig. 4. Folio 45 seen through transmitted light: a laminated folio with text on the front and Celebrations for the consummation of Humay’s marriage to Humayun on the back. Photograph © Jonathan Bloom

I suggested that the third area was darker because it was thicker, as it was a laminate of the original white paper and the buff frame.

David Jacobs suggested that I might be able to confirm my suggestion by measuring the folios with a micrometer, and that is exactly what Ursula Sims-Williams arranged for us to do. We measured several different folios in several different places and found three different thicknesses on illustrated folios that had the paintings laminated to the frame.

The white paper in the center was the thinnest. Regular text folios averaged 0.12 mm, although individual measurements varied from 0.11 to 0.16 mm, undoubtedly due to variations in the handmade paper and the difficulties in measuring a folio that was still in a bound manuscript. 

The white paper in the illustrated folios was a little thicker because one side also had paint, not just inked text.  For example, we measured folio 23 with Humay and Humayun in combat in several places in the center of the painting where there was text on the other side: under the trees, beneath the horses, and between the horses.

Fig. 5. Folio 23 seen through transmitted light, with Humay and Humayun in combat on the front and text on the back. Photograph © Jonathan Bloom

The average thickness of the white paper was 0.145 mm, although the three measurements varied from 0.135 to 0.15 mm.  On average, then, the paint added 0.25 mm to the thickness of the paper.

The buff paper used for the frame was thicker. On both text and illustrated folios, it averaged 0.18 mm, with individual measurements ranging between 0.15 and 0.22 mm. 

But the thickest of all was the third zone where the white sheet with the illustration had been laminated onto the buff frame.  Again we measured folio 23 with Humay and Humayun in combat in three places: at the top, middle, and bottom. The average thickness in this third zone was 0.23 mm, with individual measurements ranging from 0.22 to 0.24 mm. The margin with the gold leaf was even thicker: 0.26 mm, with individual measurements ranging from 0.25 to 0.27 mm.

Measuring with a micrometer thus confirmed my hypothesis that the paintings were integral with the original manuscript and that the large ones on the original white paper had later been laminated onto a heavier buff frame. 

Such a hypothesis about the origin of the illustrations can also be confirmed by looking at the layout of the paintings on the laminated folios through transmitted light, for the composition is directly related to the columnar rulings set out for the text on the other side. This is especially true of the architectural scenes. For example, looking at folio 45 through transmitted light (fig. 4) shows that the architecture corresponds exactly to the text columns. Humayun’s palace with its curtained canopy occupies three columns; the doorway with the servant occupies the fourth; and Humay’s palace lies beyond the written area. The dimensions correspond horizontally as well. The valance above the curtain in Humayun’s palace marks the top of the written area on the front. The carpet below the enthroned princess marks the bottom of the written area. Paintings like this one must have been composed directly on the surface of the ruled folio, because the painter, in this case Junayd who signed his work in the stucco grille just above the valance, laid out his composition directly in accordance with the ruled text.

There is no question, therefore, that close first-hand examination of the manuscript shows that the text and paintings in this superb copy of Khvaju Kirmani’s poems dated 796/1396 are contemporary and that the illustrations were painted onto folios that had already had the text transcribed onto them. I thank the staff of the British Library for making it possible for me to confirm my hypothesis.

Sheila S. Blair, Norma Jean Calderwood University Professor of Islamic and Asian Art, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA
[email protected]

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One of the most intriguing items in the British Library Persian manuscripts collection is a small unexceptional looking volume which contains a personal record, written in his own hand, of 37 dreams of Tipu Sultan, Sultan of Mysore (r. 1782-1799).

Portrait of Tipu Sultan, 1792, by an unnamed south Indian artist (British Library F28)

The manuscript was presented to the Court of Directors of the East India Company in 1800 by Alexander Beatson on behalf of the Governor-General, Marquess Wellesley, after the fall of Seringapatam in 1799. The story of its discovery is recorded in Beatson’s signed and dated note at the end of the volume:

This register of the Sultaun’s dreams was discovered by Colonel William Kirkpatrick, amongst other papers of a secret nature in an escritoire found in the Palace of Seringapatam. Hubbeeb Oollah, one of the most confidential of the Sultaun’s servants, was present at the time it was discovered. He knew that there was such a book of the Sultaun’s composition; but had never seen it, as the Sultaun always manifested peculiar anxiety to conceal it from the view of any who happened to approach while he was either reading or writing in it.

“Tippoo Sultaun’s Dreams in his own handwriting, presented in the name of The Marquis Wellesley to Hugh Inglis Esqr. Chairman of the Court of Directors, by Major Alexander Beatson, late aid de camp to the Governor General” (British Library IO Islamic 3563, f. 29v)

The journal contains altogether 37 dreams dating from between April 1786 and January 1799, just a few months before Tipu Sultan's death.  They occupy the first 16 leaves of the volume and are followed by 166 blank folios, with the final part of the volume taken up with related memoranda. The dreams were written perhaps hurriedly in what H. Ethé (no 3001 in his printed catalogue) describes as “a fearful Shikasta”, and contain numerous spelling errors, confusing, for example, the letters  ذ  with ز ,  and س  with ص etc. Only a few of the dreams are described as having been written down on waking. Most were recorded afterwards and they are not all in chronological order. This arrangement suggests that the notebook was intended as an ongoing project containing a selection of Tipu’s most significant dreams, starting, perhaps, around 1795 (Brittlebank 2011, p 167). The dreams are dated according to Tipu’s own lunisolar calendrical system which used new month and year names based first on abjad and then on abtath values. The era, termed mawludi, was calculated from a date which was presumed to be the date of the Prophet's spiritual birth, 13 years earlier than the hijra. Another innovation was to write the numbers from right to left -  logical, however, in a script which reads the same way!

The dreams cover a wide variety of topics but the majority reflect Tipu’s preoccupations with his enemies. Some are seen as indicating success and victory. Others relay encounters with the Prophet, his son-in-law ʻAli and important religious and literary figures such as Saʻdi and Jami whose presence may be seen as a legitimising force.

Considering the importance of divination and predicting the future in pre-modern Islam, the existence of this journal is entirely consistent with Tipu’s particular interest in the interpretation of dreams and bibliomancy. It has sometimes been regarded as something of an esoteric oddity but should be viewed, rather, as a serious attempt to make sense of events in a historical context.

A selection of Tipu’s dreams follows:

Dream 12: The message
This dream dates from 1786 during the Maratha-Mysore war (1785-1787) when the Marathas, who had established a military alliance with the Nizam of Hyderabad, sought to recover territories they had lost in previous conflicts.

Dream 12: A message from the Prophet via Hazrat ʻAli (British Library IO Islamic 3563, f. 6v)

Translation (Husain, pp. 61-2)

On the 21st of the month Haidari [month 6], of the year Busd in accordance with the Zar evaluation [ie. the new abtath system], the fortieth year of the cycle [ie. September. 1786[1]], at the place where I had halted, on the farther side of the Tungabhadra, I had this dream: It appeared to me as if it was the Day of Judgement when no one would be interested in anyone else. At that time a stranger of great strength and commanding stature with a bright face and red beard and moustaches came to me and taking my hand in his, said to me : “Do you know who I am?” I told him I did not. He then said to me, “I am Murtaza Ali and the Messenger of God has said and is still repeating it that he would not set his foot in paradise without you and would wait for you and enter the paradise with you.” I felt so happy and woke up. God is all powerful, and the Messenger is the intercessor. This suffices.

Dream 13: A woman in man’s dress
Tipu had crossed the Tungabhadra river in August 1786, and on October 1st made a surprise attack with only 300 men on the Maratha camp under general Haripant Phadke. The next day the Marathas were forced to retreat (Muhibbul Hasan, pp. 112-5).

Dream 13: A woman in mans’ clothes (British Library IO Islamic 3563, f. 7r)

Translation (Husain, pp. 63-4)

Prior to the night attack upon the Marhattas at Shahnur by the side of Devgiri, on the 6th of the month Khusrawi [7th month], of the year Busd [yr. 40, i.e. October 1786], I had a dream: It seemed to me as if a handsome young man, a stranger, came and sat down near me. I passed certain remarks in the manner in which one might, in a playful mood, talk to a woman. I then said to myself: “It is not my custom to enter into playful discourse with anyone.” Shortly thereafter, the youth rose, and walking a few paces, returned to loosen his hair from beneath his turban, and opening the fastenings of his robe, displayed his bosom, and I saw it was a woman. I immediately called and seated her and said to her: “Whereas formerly I had only guessed you were a woman, and I had cut jokes with you, it is now definite that you are a woman in the dress of a man. My conjecture has come true.” In the midst of this conversation the morning dawned, and I woke up. I conveyed the contents of the dream to other people and interpreted it thus: That please God those Marhattas have put on the clothes of men, but in fact will prove to be women. By the favour of God and the aid of His Messenger, on the 8th of the month and the year above mentioned, on the morning of Saturday, I made a surprise attack upon the army of the unbelievers. Advancing with two or three hundred men, I myself penetrated the camp of the unbelievers, crushing them as I went, as far as the tent of Hari Pant Pharkiah, and they all fled like women.

Dream 26: The expulsion of the English
The Third Anglo–Mysore War ended in 1792 with the Treaty of Seringapatam, and left Tipu Sultan attempting to rebuild his empire. Although they had not been much help to him, Tipu continued to look on the French as allies and was no doubt encouraged by their increasingly hostile anti-British and pro-invasion policies from 1796 onwards.

Dream 26: The expulsion of the English (British Library IO Islamic 3563, f. 12r)

Translation (Husain, p. 84)

On the 3rd of the month Razi [month 11], corresponding to the 1st of the month of Shaʻban, 1224 [January 1797], from the birth of Muhammad, on Monday, the night of Tuesday, at the metropolis, in the early hours of the morning, I had a dream: Raghunath Rao, the Marhatta agent, who had been to me before, appeared before me and said, “The English have suffered a crushing defeat in Europe and are now on the verge of leaving Bengal voluntarily.” On hearing his statement, I said, “That is fine, I will despatch troops as well as money; if God wills, the Nazarenes shall be expelled from India.”

Further reading

Mahmud Husain, The Dreams of Tipu Sultan: translated from the original Persian with an introduction and notes. Karachi, [1957].
Beatson, A., A View of the Origin and Conduct of the War with Tippoo Sultaun; comprising a narrative of the operations of the army under command of Lieutenant-General George Harris, and of the siege of Seringapatam. London, 1800
Mohibbul Hasan Khan, History of Tipu Sultan. Delhi, 1951
Kirkpatrick, W., Select Letters of Tippoo Sultan to Various Public Functionaries ... London, 1811, especially his notes on the calendar and Mauludi era, pp.xxvi-xxxvii
Brittlebank, Kate, “Among the Unbelievers: Non-Muslim Elements in Tipu Sultan's Dreams”, South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, 33:1 (2010), pp 75-86.
–––   “Accessing the Unseen Realm: The Historical and Textual Contexts of Tipu Sultan's Dream Register”,  Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 21:2 (2011), pp 159-75.
Hossein Ziai, “Dreams and dream interpretation: ii. In the Persian tradition”, in Encyclopædia Iranica online.
Nidhin George Olikara, “Dawn of a new Era: Tipu Sultan and his Mauludi Calendar”, in his blog The Seringapatam Times.

Ursula Sims-Williams, Asian and African Studies

In the centre of Addis Ababa in the Siddist Kilo area, stands a monument known as The Yekatit “February” 12 Square Monument. The obelisk was built in memory of the 30,000 civilians massacred by Fascists on the 19th February 1937. The indiscriminate massacre that lasted three days, was in reprisal for the attempted assassination of "the Butcher of Fezzan", the Viceroy of Italian East Africa, Rodolfo Graziani.

The Italian government carried out a substantial number of war crimes in Ethiopia from 1935–1940. The most notable being the use of mustard gas and the bombing of a field hospital run by the Swedish Red Cross. However the massacre of Addis Ababa and other mass killings are to this day repudiated by the Italian government ignoring overwhelming historical evidence to the contrary. 

 Ian Campbell,  the author of  The Plot to Kill Graziani (Addis Ababa University Press, 2010), and The Massacre of Debre Libanos (Addis Ababa University Press, forthcoming), has presented  discoveries from his extensive research into the massacre of Addis Ababa, the greatest single atrocity of the Italian occupation of Ethiopia, and a hitherto undocumented event. Most of the documents, maps, photos and official government papers used in Campbell’s research were obtained from Italy. According to Campbell and Alberto Sbacchi (see below), there are still vast quantities of “classified information” across Italy dealing with the war.

In a recent lecture held to promote his forthcoming book, Campbell pointed to the great efforts that went to conceal the historical records in Italy dealing with the 19 February 1937 massacre of Addis Ababa.  Thanks to the courageous efforts of both Italian and Ethiopian scholars to preserve written documents there are hundreds of thousands of letters, memos, blueprints, orders, bills, speeches, articles, memoirs, and confessions.

Many accounts from survivors, eyewitness testimonies, were published in Amharic books written just after the war. Unfortunately these books had short-print runs so are now rare and difficult to find. Fortunately the British Library possesses a number of these printed books which deserve renewed attention. The following selection of books held in library, provide an account of the massacre witnessed  by Ethiopians.

Megba Ḥeṡānāt (1948). On advice and moral guidance for children, e.g on “respecting one’s parents, obligation to the country”, etc. However, pages 27 to 44 contain letters the author (Yoḥanes  Rameḥa) wrote to noted Ethiopian patriots during the Italo-Ethiopian war. For example letters addressed to Ras Abebe Aregai, Dejjach Geresu Duki, Kabada Bezunesh and others.  The book is also signed by the author (British Library ORB 30/7857)

 Ya-'Amesetu ʻāmatāte Ḥezebāwi Tegele “The five years of people’s struggle”. On the  Italo-Ethiopian War; "the massacre of Debre Libanos". Pamphlet published in 1974 by the Ministry of Information on the occasion of the anniversary of liberation (British Library ORB 30/7864)

Ya-'Iṭāliyā Ya-Qeñe Gezāt Ḥelem “Italy’s Colonial Dream” (1974). On the Italo-Ethiopian War. Pamphlet published by the Ministry of Informationon the occasion of the anniversary of liberation (British Library ORB 30/7866)

Tebé 'Akesume Manu' Aneta? “Axum says, ‘Who are you?ʼ”(1959). An account of the history of foreign invasions of Ethiopia, up to the Italo-Ethiopian war of 1935 and on the history and development of the Ethiopic (Ge’ez ) alphabet (British Library 754. uu. 25)

Further reading
Campbell, I., The plot to kill Graziani: The attempted assassination of Mussolini's viceroy. Addis Ababa: Addis Ababa University Press, 2010
Sbacchi, A., Legacy of bitterness: Ethiopia and fascist Italy, 1935-1941. Lawrenceville, N.J.: Red Sea Press, 1997
Sbacchi, A., Ethiopia under Mussolini: Fascism and the colonial experience. London: Zed, 1985
Hardie, F., The Abyssinian crisis. London: Batsford, 1974

Eyob Derillo, Asian and African Studies

Today's post is by one of our readers, Dr. Shamma Boyarin, Assistant Teaching Professor in Religious Studies, Medieval Studies, and English at the University of Victoria in British Columbia, Canada. He specializes in medieval Hebrew and Arabic literatures, with focus on philosophical and astronomical texts and cross-cultural influences between Jewish, Muslim, and Christian communities.

Last summer I had the chance to work with some Hebrew manuscripts at the British Library. While I had a few specific items I wanted to examine, I also took the opportunity to look at a variety of books beyond my specific expertise (medieval Hebrew romances and philosophical and astronomical texts). I wanted both to acquire broader exposure to Hebrew scripts of various centuries, regions, and manuscript types, and to see what I might discover by accident as it were. It is one of these “extra” manuscripts I will discuss here: MS Royal 16 A II, a Hebrew book made for King Henry VIII.

One might imagine a book for a king to be big, or lavishly ornamented with many illustrations, or to feature use of gold leaf and other expensive pigments, perhaps to include a depiction of the king’s arms or other decorative elements tying the codex to its royal owner. But this is not at all the case with Royal 16 A II, which is comparatively small (102mm x 66mm, with only 49 paper folios) and contains no images or adornment. It appears to be a rather humble gift for a king.

Spine and eighteenth century binding with British Museum stamp (Museum Britannicum) of MS Royal 16 A II

Two things make this little book very special, however. The first is a long Latin encomium of its recipient King Henry VIII (running from folio 2r-22r), and the second is the book’s gift to the king: Hebrew translations of two short books of the New Testament, the Epistle of St James (running from folio 23r-43v) and the Epistle of St Jude (folios 44r-49v).

“The Epistle of James [Yaakov] the Apostle” (f. 23r) and “The Epistle of Jude [Yehudah] the Apostle” (f. 44r)

The codex, which reads right to left, begins with a Latin dedication page (folio 1v), which translated reads:

To the most invincible King of England and France, Lord of Ireland, Defender of the Catholic Faith, and in Earth Supreme Head, Henry, eighth of his name, John Shepreve wishes lasting happiness.

Dedication to Henry VIII (f. 1v)

Henry was given the title fidei defensor by Pope Leo X in 1521, after his composition Assertio septem sacramentorum adversus Martinum Lutherum (“Declaration of the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther”), and it was officially removed by Pope Paul III in 1535, after Henry broke with the Catholic Church. Although later, in 1544, Parliament restored the title as an expression of the king’s role in the Church of England, this was after John Schepreve (our author and translator) died. We also know that the title “Supreme Head of the Church of England” was used commonly only after the 1534 Act of Supremacy, and that the Latin in terra supremum caput Anglicanae ecclesiae does not seem to appear in the style of the sovereign until 1534. (See J. Frank Henderson’s “Sovereign and Pope in English Bidding Prayers,” especially the “Appendix: Titles of Henry VIII,” collated from David Wilkins, Concilia Magnae Britanniae et Hiberniae, vol. 3, London, 1737). The presence of the fidei defensor title, the odd use of the in terra supremum caput title without the Anglicanae ecclesiae qualification, and what we know of the author and translator’s biography, suggests a date for this manuscript, then, very close to 1534.

As the dedication indicates, the man who wrote the Latin encomium and translated the New Testament epistles into Hebrew was Johannes Scheprevus, that is, John Shepreve. According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Shepreve was Professor of Hebrew at Corpus Christi College, Oxford by 1538. He also had an authoritative command of Greek (having read in Greek at Corpus Christi from 1528), and of course Latin. J. Andreas Löwe’s assessment in the DNB is that, while Shepreve had deep ties to the Roman Catholic Church (his nephew William Shepreve was a Roman Catholic priest), and later in his life  “described pre-Reformation religious practice with … affection” and doubtless remained religiously “conservative,” he nevertheless “probably subscribed to the royal supremacy.” Shepreve died in July 1542.

Shepreve’s Hebrew script in Royal 16 A II is very clear and easily readable, and he vowels words for pronunciation throughout. He does have one interesting characteristic that I have not seen before (perhaps common amongst Christian Hebraists of the time?): he adopts a final form of the letter ל, which traditionally does not have a distinct final form. See here:

Regular ל     and “final”  ל   .

While most of the time Shepreve’s translation is understandable, sometimes it is not, or seems awkward, mainly due to incorrect (though never random) usage. So, for example he uses the word    (f. 23v, in James 1:3-4), tikvah, which means “hope,” where the Douay-Rheims has “patience” (Vulgate patientia) and, likewise, a modern Hebrew translation has “סַבְלָנוּת” (savlanut, straightforwardly meaning “patience”). This suggests, perhaps, that Shepreve is working exclusively from the Greek, where the equivalent (hupomonē), as I understand it, connotes hopefulness as well as patience.

In one case, Shepreve seemingly misses an obvious biblical reference in translating a quotation from Leviticus 19:18 (“love thy neighbor as thyself” in James 2:8) semantically correctly (leaving out “as thyself”), but failing to use the actual corresponding phrase found in the  Hebrew Bible וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵֶעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ (this even though later on the same page he correctly identifies the references to the Ten Commandments in James 2:11):

“love thy neighbour” (29v).

However, occasionally he manages a poetic turn in Hebrew that is quite beautiful, such as, on f. 24r:

That is, “A double minded man is inconstant in all his ways” (James 1:8). Shepreve’s Hebrew version rhymes the two clauses of the sentence, and his formulation of nod yanud, literally “wanders,” has a peculiarly biblical lilt (though this specific formulation does not actually appear in the Hebrew Bible). A more contemporary Hebrew translation reads:  בִּהְיוֹתוֹ אִישׁ הַפּוֹסֵחַ עַל שְׁתֵּי הַסְּעִפִּים הֲפַכְפַּךְ בְּכָל דְּרָכָיו (the modern Hebrew translation I am using for comparison can be found here).

Occasionally Shepreve’s translations make sense, but only if you know the original (presumably the Greek) source, for example (f. 47r):

This word, ahavoteychem, means “your loves” or “your beloved things,” from Jude 1:12, and is rendered as “your feasts of charity” in the King James Version. It is, for Shepreve and for the King James translators, from Gk. agapē, which can mean “love” or “charity” but in this context “love-feasts.” Needless to say, the Hebrew word Shepreve chooses does not elsewhere denote feasting or fellowship.

Shepreve has a habit of writing to the end of the line, regardless of space available, but he will start a word over on the next line if he cannot fit it in. These incomplete words are never voweled, as illustrated, for example, by the unvowelled letters at the end of lines on folio 47r:

Unvowelled letters at the end (on the left) of lines on folio 47r

But Shepreve is clearly very careful about his work: on occasion, he skips a word and goes back to add it upon realizing the omission or checking his work, as here (f. 44v):

It seems likely that further examination of this little codex will prove fruitful to both scholars of Henry VIII and scholars of Christian Hebraism in the sixteenth century, a time when Jewish scholars (still under the 1290 edict of expulsion) were almost certainly absent from England. What exactly was Shepreve translating from? Are the idiosyncrasies of his script and translation common among Christian Hebraicists of the era, or are they particular to English practice? Would Henry VIII have requested Hebrew translation of New Testament books? Why these two epistles, and could the king have used this book, or might he have wanted to learn, to pronounce Hebrew himself? Henry VIII established the Regius Professorship of Hebrew at Oxford in 1546 (four years after Shepreve’s death), so it is not impossible that the he held a longstanding intellectual and religious interest in the language. Perhaps John Shepreve and his book had a part in shaping that interest.

Because of current academic disciplinary divides and archival practices (for example, the separation of reading rooms for western manuscripts and manuscripts in “Asian and African” languages), experts on Henry VIII and the Reformation may not easily share or glean knowledge from experts in Hebrew (or Greek) manuscripts or scripts. Exploration of books like this, however, reminds me that pooling our expertise is often necessary in manuscript studies—and such scholarly collaboration will no doubt yield dividends for understanding this fascinating little gift, fit for an English king.

A fully digitized copy of MS Royal 16 A II can be explored here.

Those interested in Christian Hebraism might also like to peruse Sloane MS 237, a seventeenth-century translation into Hebrew of a small portion of the Book of Revelation; Harley MS 5239, a seventeenth-century Hebrew Book of Genesis with interlinear French translation; or Add MS 11659, an early-nineteenth-century translation of the gospels into Hebrew.

Shamma Boyarin,  University of Victoria in British Columbia, Canada

My thanks to Adrienne Williams Boyarin and Justine Semmens Ash for their help with Latin and with dating issues. 

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In 1783, the Al Khalifa family – originally from the Nejd region of what is now Saudi Arabia – captured the islands of Bahrain from Shaikh Nasr Al Madhkur, who had ruled them on behalf of the Qajar dynasty of Persia. In 1926, over one hundred and fifty years later, the status of Bahrain’s sovereignty remained a contentious issue. In December of that year, G. R. Warner, a British diplomat in London, wrote to a colleague in India stating that ‘on political grounds it is of great importance to avoid any action which would result in the re-awakening of the controversy as to the sovereignty of Bahrein’.

Although Bahrain was nominally independent at this time, it was a British-protected state and Britain had controlled its foreign relations since the nineteenth century. The cause of Warner’s concern was the fact that the Persian Government refused to recognise Bahrain’s independence and instead claimed it as a province of Persia. The manner in which British officials in the region responded to this tension provides a revealing insight into the character of Britain’s role in Bahrain at this time.

'Mohammerah' [‎20-b] (1/1), present-day Khorramshahr, photographed in May 1917 by the Rev. Edwin Aubrey Storrs-Fox (British Library: India Office Records and Private Papers, Photo 496/6/40) in Qatar Digital Library

Avoiding Re-Awakening the Controversy
Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, Bahraini nationals resident in the city of Mohammerah (Khorramshahr) in Persia were subjected to harassment and intimidation by the local authorities. Many of these Bahrainis – the majority of whom were Baharna (the indigenous Shia Arab community of Bahrain) – were being forced to adopt Persian nationality. If they did not comply, the Baharna faced arrest, expulsion from the country and, in some cases, serious violence and even death. In response, the community appealed for help to the ruler of Bahrain, Shaikh Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa, and to the various British officials who served as Political Agent in Bahrain during this era. The British – wary of increasing tensions with Persia over Bahrain – were hesitant in their response to the Persian Government’s actions.

First page of a letter to the India Office from G. R. Warner at the Foreign Office, 31 December 1926 (IOR/R/15/1/321, f. 97)

‘Alleviating the lot of the Baharnah’
Despite their repeated petitions calling for assistance, the harassment of Bahraini nationals in Persia continued and Britain’s inability or unwillingness to offer more substantial help to citizens of a country ostensibly under its protection began to cause some consternation amongst the Baharna.

In 1923, the British had forced Bahrain’s ruler, Shaikh Isa bin Ali Al Khalifa, to abdicate and replaced him with his son, Shaikh Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa. Following this, the Political Agent in Bahrain, Clive Kirkpatrick Daly, enacted a series of wide-reaching reforms in the country. In this context, Cyril Charles Johnson Barrett, the British Political Resident in the Persian Gulf, made a frank observation in a letter to the British Legation in Tehran in August 1929:

[I]t strikes the residents of Bahrain as remarkable that while Britain’s protection of their island runs to dethroning their ruler, carrying out a series of reforms and arranging to establish flying boat and aeroplane bases for herself, it is not of the least value in alleviating the lot of the Baharnah in Persia.

Letter from Cyril Charles Johnson Barrett, the British Political Resident in the Persian Gulf, to the British Legation in Tehran, 21 August 1929 (IOR/R/15/1/216/321, f. 259)

Legal Fiction
In September 1929, Charles Geoffrey Prior, Britain’s Political Agent in Bahrain elaborated on this contradiction. In an extraordinarily frank passage in a letter to Barrett, his superior based in Bushire, Prior described the notion that Bahrain was an independent state as a ‘legal fiction’ and stated that he did not believe that ‘any Arab is deceived for a minute by a policy which, while manipulating the resources of Bahrain in our interests, declines to protect its subjects, to allow them to protect themselves or to ally themselves with other states who might do so’.

Prior suggested that if the British had intervened in any Indian state over the previous decade to the extent they had done so in Bahrain, it would have caused a ‘storm of protest’, observing that:

[W]e have deposed the Ruler, deported his relations, fixed the customs tariff to suit our interests, forced the state against its will to grant a customs rebate to our ally Bin Saud […] deprived the Ruler of jurisdiction over all foreigners, and decided what Europeans he may or may not employ.

Prior went on to state that ‘we have refused the state a free hand with their mineral resources, and have been guided in the matter almost entirely by our own interests’ and pointed out that the ruler of Bahrain was forbidden to correspond with the oil company working on his concession except through the intermediary of the Political Agent.

Second page of a letter from Charles Geoffrey Prior, the Political Agent in Bahrain, to Cyril Charles Johnson Barrett, the British Political Resident in the Persian Gulf, 27 September 1929 (IOR/R/15/1/322, f. 47)

Prior also made the astonishing admission that aside from a small contribution to charity, ‘which has political value’, the British Government had incurred no expenditure in Bahrain whatsoever.

Duty to Grant Protection
In this damning assessment of British policy in Bahrain, Prior asserted his belief that Britain should be fulfilling its obligations by doing more to assist the Baharna. Prior argued that ‘in no sense’ was Bahrain an independent state, and for the sake of Britain’s reputation for ‘fair dealing’ it should not default in its liabilities to its inhabitants. This argument was reiterated by Prior in a letter two years later in 1931.

In this letter, Prior outlined the extent of Britain’s involvement and explained how the British manipulated an oil company to suit their ‘Imperial interests’. He argued that since ‘we have interfered in the affairs of Bahrain to an extent unparalleled in British India [then] we should grant these people the same support and protection that we extend to inhabitants of British Indian States’.

Three years later however, the harassment of Bahrainis in Persia had not abated. In 1934, Charles Belgrave, Adviser to the Government of Bahrain, wrote that ‘the Persians destroy their [Bahraini] nationality papers, make them sign Persian papers yet the Baharna would rather die than become Persian subjects’.

Extract of letter from Charles Geoffrey Prior, the Political Agent in Bahrain, 10 December 1931 (IOR/R/15/1/323, f. 115)

Imperial Context
Prior’s remarkable candour when assessing the British Government’s activities in Bahrain starkly demonstrates the nature of its role in the country, a role that, according to his own account, was motivated by the logic of empire and – in his own words – Britain’s self-interest. The welfare of the country’s citizens was a concern of secondary importance, at best.

'His Excellency The Right Honourable George Nathaniel Baron Curzon, P. C., G. M. S. I., G. M. I. E. Viceroy and Governor-General of India.' Photographer: Bourne and Shepherd [‎10r] (1/1) (British Library: India Office Records and Private Papers, Photo 430/78/3) in Qatar Digital Library

In 1898, George Curzon, then the Viceroy and Governor-General of India, infamously wrote:

Turkestan, Afghanistan, Transcaspia, Persia – to many these names breathe only a sense of utter remoteness or a memory of strange vicissitudes and or moribund romance. To me, I confess, they are pieces on a chessboard upon which is being played out a game for the dominion of the world.

Regardless of Prior’s own personal misgivings, Bahrain was no exception to Curzon’s imperial worldview, it was merely another piece on the ‘chessboard’, a means to safeguard Britain’s position in India and further the interests of its global empire.

Primary sources:
London, British Library, ‘File 19/109 IV (C 28) Shaikh's Relations with other Foreign Powers’ IOR/R/15/1/321
London, British Library, ‘File 19/109 V (C 32) Bahrain Relations with other Foreign Powers’ IOR/R/15/1/322
London, British Library, ‘File 19/109 VI (C 45) Bahrain Relations with Foreign Powers’ IOR/R/15/1/323
London, British Library, ‘File 12/2 Treatment of Bahraini subjects in Persia’ IOR/R/15/2/486

Secondary sources:
George Nathaniel Curzon, Persia and the Persian Question (London, New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1892)

Louis Allday, Gulf History/Arabic Specialist, British Library/Qatar Foundation Partnership