THE GIFT OF WATER

 

Selma Ekrem

 

            There was a quaint fountain in a poor quarter of Istanbul where the people came early in the morning to fill their jugs and pails. On it was an inscription stating that it had been built in 1821 by Mehmet Chelebi; and underneath a sentence or two, defaced by rain, wind and sand. My father had finally succeeded in deciphering the writing:

 

            “He who drinks from this fount, stop a while

            And pray for the soul of the one who built it.

            And raise thy voice in thankfulness to the almighty

            For his great gift of water.”

 

            In the old days of the Ottoman Empire the well-to-do considered it a pious act to build a fountain, just as the Padishahs and the pashas of the empire erected mosques, libraries and medresses (mosque schools). Hence there were innumerable fountains, from the magnificent marble structure called the Sultan Ahmet Fountain to modest ones tucked between two crumbling houses. What joy to quench one’s thirst with cold limpid water from some distant spring up in the hills! In the old days people were not as eager to amass large fortunes as to donate enduring and beautiful edifices to their city.

 

            Thanks to these fountains the people of Istanbul always had plenty of good free water. All they had to do was to run to the nearest one. There were also resorts such as Chirchir, Hunkarsuyu, Kavaklidere, Tashdelen and others famous for their excellent drinking water which trickled down the rocks or spouted from the very earth. People would travel for miles just to go to these places to drink the water, much prized by the connoisseurs, and return home with their demijohns full. Indeed Istanbul had the reputation of having the best drinking water in the whole Empire. The connoisseurs boasted that they could distinguish between Tashdelen and Kavaklidere, so distinct was the taste of each!

 

            Our drinking water was brought to us by an elderly man who also had several other customers in our quarter. His wooden cart, drawn by a pair of horses, was loaded with barrels, each one bearing a seal to show that it had not been tampered with and that the water within was really the sweet Tashdelen which we liked so well.

 

            “They affix the steals at the source,” he told us. “As if I need a seal! I would not dream of filling these barrels with tap water. One does not tamper with Allah’s gift. Besides, how would I keep my customers if I brought them Terkoz water instead of Tashdelen?”

 

            Terkoz was a large lake situated at the outskirts of Istanbul which supplied the city with water which was not fit to drink.

 

            The old man came every other week and delivered several barrels which he emptied in the huge earthenware container we had down in the basement. These immense kups, as they were called, kept the water cold and fresh.

 

            Long before the Ottoman Turks occupied Istanbul and made it their capital, the great city was well supplied with water. The Romans, those great builders of roads, also appreciated the gift of God and had erected mighty aqueducts throughout their vast empire. The imposing ruins of several can still be seen-today outside the city limits. The Byzantine Emperors, heirs of the Romans, repaired these and also built numerous cisterns throughout the city to make sure it would never lack water. No one knows how many lie buried deep underground today. But there is one known by almost every tourist who visits Istanbul and that is the Yerebatan (sunken) known, as well, as the Binbirdirek (a thousand and one coloumn) cistern.

 

            My father took us there for the first time. It was not often that we went on expeditions with him so we were excited at the thought of his taking us to Binbirdirek. While riding to the cistern my father told us its story:

 

            “It was built by the Emperor Justinian and was the biggest in the city. The water was brought to it by a system of aqueducts and pipes from the many ponds outside the city which gathered the rain water. The cistern supplied water to the Imperial Palace and to the gardens emergencies. It lay buried and forgotten for many years and a house had been erected on top.

 

            “Then one day, while the present owners were repairing the house, one of the workmen dug a hole in the basement and a few stones fell through. He heard a faint splash. There was water underneath the house! He called the owner and they investigated. By the faint light of a lantern they could dimly see some columns and water.

 

            “Imagine his excitement at the discovery. He must have been a good businessman, for he sensed immediately that he had a gold mine beneath his house. He went to work fixing the place and soon it became a tourist attraction as word spread through the city that the great cistern of Justinian had been discovered at last.”

 

            We finally arrived and got out of the carriage. My father leading the way, we went to the small booth at the entrance where an elderly man greeted us. My father paid the entrance fee and the man called out, “Mustapha aga, get ready–we have customers!”

 

            We went in. The place was dimly lighted and we could not see anything at first. We heard Mustapha aga caution us. “There are steps leading down. They are wet and slippery, so hold on to the rail.”

 

            We descended slowly, and gradually we got accustomed to the dark and could make out a platform to which was tied a small sandal. We stopped for a moment to look around. The dim lights reflected on the water, the vast vaulted ceiling, the beautiful columns, cast a spell upon us. It was fairyland. We had never seen anything like it before.

 

            Musthapha aga helped us into the boat and started to row, weaving in and out of the rows of columns, stopping once in a while to point out an exceptionally well preserved column with its beautiful capital intact. All we could hear was the faint splash of the oats. We were too awestruck to do anything but whisper, as if afraid to disturb the ghosts of centuries gone by.

 

            “I heard tell that when this cistern was full, years and years ago, the ladies of the palace came to swim here,” Mustapha aga told us.

 

            What a beautiful pool it would make, with all these columns! No wonder the place was called Binbirdirek–there seemed to be even more than a thousand columns. In reality there are 336 supporting the vaulted ceiling.

 

            “I often ask myself why they built all these columns in a cistern,” Mustapha aga said. “Each time I row a customer around I never cease to marvel at the beauty buried underground.”

 

            “The columns support the ceiling,” my father answered. “I suppose they could have put up a few huge pillars to do the work, but I like to think that the columns were put here for the sheer joy of enjoying their beauty. The people of ancient times created beauty wherever they could. They have left us a priceless heritage.”

 

            Here in Justinian’s great cistern, water, the gift of Allah, has a fitting shrine-one that evokes joy even today, centuries after it was erected. The names of the builders and the artists who fashioned this unique cistern are long forgotten but their creation will live on forever.

 

-Courtesy Christian Science Monitor­1966

 

 

Back