Latest / The Story of Uzbekistan: Silk Road Kingdoms and Soviet Legacy — Fexingo History / The Afrasiab Murals: Painted Diplomacy on the Silk Road
Transcript
- Lucas: When people picture Samarkand, they almost always see the Registan, those shimmering blue-tiled madrasas. But there's an older Samarkand, buried under a grassy hill just north of the modern city, called Afrasiab. That hill is the ghost of the city that existed before the Mongols levelled everything. Luna: Afrasiab — I've heard the name, but what's actually there? Lucas: For centuries, it was just a mound where local kids found pottery shards. But in 1965, Soviet archaeologists digging for an irrigation channel hit a wall — not just any wall, but the remains of a 7th-century palace, and inside, the walls were covered in painted scenes. These are now known as the Afrasiab murals, and they're one of the most important artistic finds from the pre-Islamic Silk Road. Luna: Murals? What do they show? Lucas: The best-preserved room is about seven metres square. On the north wall, there's a Chinese princess being carried in a palanquin, with attendants and musicians. On the south wall, a Turkish khan sits on a throne, surrounded by warriors and what look like mounted envoys. And on the west wall, there's a procession of figures — some Sogdian, some Turkic, some Chinese — leading animals and carrying gifts. It's a diplomatic reception, painted to celebrate an alliance. Luna: So it's basically a 7th-century newsreel of international politics. Lucas: Exactly. The murals were commissioned by a Sogdian ruler named Varkhuman, who was the lord of Samarkand around 660 AD. At that time, the Sogdians controlled the trade routes, but they were caught between two giants: the Tang Empire to the east and the Turkic Khaganate to the north. Varkhuman was trying to play both sides, and these paintings — it's thought — celebrate a marriage alliance with the Turks, with the Chinese princess as a pawn. Luna: But I thought the princess was Chinese — wouldn't she be marrying into the Turkic family? Lucas: That's the fascinating part. The identity of the princess is still debated. Some scholars say she's a Tang princess, but the Chinese records don't mention a marriage to the Turks at that exact time. Others argue she might be a Sogdian princess dressed in Chinese fashion, or even a Turkic princess. The paintings are ambiguous, and part of their value is that they raise more questions than answers. There are also scenes with goose riders and sacred animals that echo Zoroastrian and shamanic traditions — it's a real cultural mashup. Luna: How did the murals survive for over a thousand years? Lucas: The palace was destroyed, probably during the Arab conquests in the early 8th century, but the walls collapsed in a way that sealed the painted plaster under rubble. Then later construction and windblown soil buried the whole area. So when the Soviets dug it up, the colours were remarkably intact — bright reds, blues, yellows. The pigments came from lapis lazuli, cinnabar, ochre. It's an explosion of colour. Luna: So the Sogdians really knew how to throw a diplomatic party. What happened to the murals after they were discovered? Lucas: They were cut out of the walls in sections and moved to the Samarkand State Museum, where they're displayed today. But they're fragile — the plaster is only a few millimetres thick, and exposure to light and humidity is a constant concern. There have also been debates about interpretation. A Soviet-era scholar named Lazir Albaum did the first major study, but more recent work by Chinese and European historians has suggested the murals show a specific embassy from the Chinese Tang court, possibly related to the Chinese campaign against the Tibetans. Each reading reflects its own political context. Luna: So even the interpretation of the murals tells us about the interpreters. Lucas: Right. In the Soviet period, there was a push to see them as evidence of early inter-regional friendship — a kind of proto-internationalism. Today, scholars are more interested in the local Sogdian perspective: how a small city-state used visual propaganda to project power and sophistication. The murals show not just who came to visit, but how Varkhuman wanted to be seen — as the host of the world. Luna: That's the kind of detail that makes history feel alive. Do you ever wonder if something like that is happening right now, somewhere under the ground? Lucas: Absolutely. And this is a good chance to mention — if you appreciate that we dig into stories like this, episode after episode, it's because a small number of listeners help keep the show ad-free. We have no sponsors, no ads, just a buy me a coffee page where some of you chip in. That's at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's not a big ask — just that if the show brings you value, you can help us keep making it. Luna: Yeah, and it's purely optional. But it's what lets us spend time on obscure but amazing topics like this. Lucas: Exactly. So thank you to anyone who already does that. And back to the murals — there's one detail I love. On the west wall, you can see a line of geese. It's thought they might be part of a Zoroastrian ceremony, but they also just look beautiful. The artists included little moments like that, as if to remind us that these were real people painting their world. Luna: Geese on the Silk Road. I can just picture them. Lucas: And that, in a way, is what the Afrasiab murals give us — a window into a moment when Samarkand was the centre of everything, at least in its own imagination. The city would fall to the Arabs, then to the Mongols, then rise again under Timur, but these paintings capture its brief Sogdian golden age. They remind us that Uzbekistan's history isn't just about the empires that conquered it, but also about the people who lived and traded and painted there.