Balıklıgöl: Where the Legend of Abraham Lives by the Water
That day, Şanlıurfa seemed determined to show us several different eras all at once. First came TEKNOFEST — unmanned aerial vehicles, artificial intelligence, aviation, robots, and the technologies of the future. Then came Göbeklitepe, with its stone structures dating back almost twelve thousand years and the questions about the past that humanity is still trying to answer.
It seemed that we had already experienced more than enough for a single day. But in the evening, Ramazan took us to another place. I deliberately saved this part of the trip for a separate story because it would have been impossible to convey it adequately in just a few paragraphs in my previous article.
We set off for Balıklıgöl, one of Şanlıurfa’s best-known sites, inextricably linked in local tradition with the Prophet Abraham, peace be upon him. If Göbeklitepe had prompted us to ask questions and form theories about the distant past, this place evoked an entirely different feeling. A dark sky, warm light falling on ancient stone, reflections in the water, families strolling at an unhurried pace, and countless fish appearing at the surface from time to time.
But before we reached the water, we were told the story of this place.
A City That Associates Its History with Abraham
We were shown a short film about the history of Şanlıurfa. The city, its fortress, mosques, lakes, and reconstructions of ancient events appeared on a large screen, while the narration repeatedly returned to one figure: the Prophet Abraham, peace be upon him.
The film particularly emphasized how deeply Abraham’s story is connected with Urfa. According to local tradition, the cave where he was born is located here. The city is also associated with his confrontation with King Nimrod, his struggle against idolatry, and his miraculous deliverance from fire.
Here, however, it is important to distinguish between what is stated directly in the Quran and what has been preserved in local legends over the centuries. The Quranic chapter Al-Anbiya, or “The Prophets,” recounts Abraham’s opposition to idolatry. His adversaries decided to burn him, but then came the command of the Almighty:
“O fire! Be coolness and safety for Abraham.” The Quran, Surah Al-Anbiya, 21:69.
It is from this Quranic episode that the story, as it is told in Şanlıurfa, takes on its local continuation.
When Fire Turned into Water
According to legend, Abraham, peace be upon him, was to be thrown into a huge fire from an elevated spot where Şanlıurfa Castle stands today. But the fire did him no harm. In local tradition, the miracle continues: the flames turn into water, and the burning logs become fish.
Thus, the origins of Lake Halil-ür-Rahman, widely known today as Balıklıgöl, or “the fish lake,” became associated with the story of Abraham. One of the information boards installed here presents this legend alongside the very Quranic verse mentioned above.
After hearing this story, it is hard not to look at the fish in the water differently. There really are a great many of them here: they gather near the shore, disperse through the dark water, and then reappear at the surface. According to local tradition, the fish are associated with those very burning logs, which is why they are treated with particular reverence.
At the same time, the transformation of fire into water and logs into fish is not part of the Quranic text. It is a local legend. I found this distinction especially interesting. On the one hand, there is the Quranic account of Abraham and the fire; on the other, there is the memory of the city, which over many generations seems to have superimposed that story onto its own landscape: here is the hill, here is the water, here is the place associated with the prophet’s fall, and here are the fish.
In this way, history ceased to exist only in words and acquired its own geography.
Zeliha and the Second Lake
The film we watched did not end there. It introduced Zeliha, the daughter of King Nimrod, whom local tradition connects with another body of water in Şanlıurfa.
There are several versions of this legend. In some accounts, Zeliha believed in Abraham and was punished by Nimrod for doing so. In others, she is said to have thrown herself down after him. According to the legend, a spring appeared where she fell, and it became known as Ayn-Zeliha. The film presented this same connection: Zeliha’s spring emerged at the place where she touched the ground.
I found it interesting that different versions of the story continue to coexist. We were not in a historical archive where it was necessary to establish a single, definitive sequence of events. Instead, we were within a living folk memory, passed down from generation to generation and gradually enriched with its own images and details.
At first, all of this existed only on the screen for us: the fortress, Nimrod, Abraham, Zeliha, and the water. Then the film ended, we stepped outside, and the places we had just heard about appeared before our eyes in reality: ancient stone, mosques, evening lights, water, and countless fish.
The Place Where I Stopped Being Merely an Observer
A small sacred room by the water particularly stayed in my memory. Separate entrances were provided for men and women. Shoes had to be removed before entering. I left mine outside, approached the entrance for men, and stepped inside with my right foot.
Almost immediately, my eyes instinctively turned downward: the floor was made of glass. Beneath the transparent panels was illuminated water, with fish swimming directly underfoot. After the lively evening stroll outside, the atmosphere inside felt entirely different. The small room was quieter, while the water moved slowly beneath the glass and fish glided past.
I offered a prayer there. What exactly I asked for will remain between me and the Almighty. At that moment, the entire story I had heard earlier ceased to be merely a tour guide’s account or a sequence of scenes from a film. I was now inside that very space, experiencing it not only as a traveler or journalist.
When it was time to leave, I did what we Turkmens traditionally do when visiting revered and sacred places: I did not turn my back on the shrine. Bowing slightly, I slowly stepped backward toward the exit, keeping my face turned toward the room.
This simple gesture unexpectedly connected Şanlıurfa with my homeland. Thousands of kilometers from Turkmenistan, in another country, at a place associated with the legend of the Prophet Abraham, peace be upon him, I instinctively repeated a familiar custom of showing respect for a sacred place. At that moment, I no longer felt like someone merely observing another culture’s tradition from the outside. Something here felt very familiar and understandable without the need for translation.
A Name That Echoes in the Prayers of Millions
For Muslims, the Prophet Abraham, peace be upon him, is not merely a figure from the distant past, let alone just a character in a local legend. His name is a constant presence in Islamic tradition.
During their daily prayers, Muslims recite the Ibrahimic blessings, known as Salawat Ibrahimiyya: “O Allah, bless Muhammad and the family of Muhammad as You blessed Abraham and the family of Abraham…”
A person may be thousands of kilometers away from Şanlıurfa, may never have seen Balıklıgöl, or may not even know what the place looks like. Yet Abraham’s name is still present in that person’s prayers. And then you find yourself in a city where his memory exists not only in the words of prayer but seems to surround you: in place names, in the water, in the mosques, in the legends, and in the way people treat the fish.
That is why it is difficult to regard Balıklıgöl merely as a beautiful historical attraction. For many people who come here, it is also a place of spiritual significance.
A Wish by the Water
After leaving the sacred room and putting my shoes back on, I encountered another local tradition. I was given fish food—small green pellets—and told to make a heartfelt wish, with one condition: I must not reveal it to anyone.
I approached the water and began throwing in handful after handful of the food. The fish immediately gathered wherever the little pellets landed. The calm surface began to churn, then settled again a few seconds later. With every handful I tossed into the water, I silently repeated the same wish.
Of course, I will not say what it was. I was told to keep it secret.
Then my usual curiosity stirred again. I looked at the small green pellets remaining in my palm and asked what they were made of. I was told they were prepared from cucumbers, flour, and olive oil.
After the story of Abraham, the Quranic verse, Nimrod and Zeliha, the prayer, and the secret wish, this detail might seem rather mundane. But for some reason, that is precisely how travel memories are formed: not only through grand stories and famous monuments, but also through small details—a light falling on ancient stone, fish swimming beneath a glass floor, a few backward steps when leaving a sacred place, and little green fish-food pellets resting in the palm of your hand.
Three Worlds in a Single Day
Later, as I looked at Balıklıgöl in the evening, I thought about how unusual the day had been. In the morning, we had been at TEKNOFEST, where we were introduced to the technologies of the future: artificial intelligence, unmanned aerial vehicles, aviation, and new innovations. A few hours later, we stood among the structures of Göbeklitepe, trying to understand people who had lived almost twelve thousand years ago. And in the evening, we found ourselves immersed in a story that exists in an entirely different way—not only in archaeology or written sources, but in living religious and folk traditions.
At Göbeklitepe, we looked at the stones and tried to reconstruct the lost worldview of people who left no written explanations behind. At Balıklıgöl, there was no need to do anything of the kind. The legend continued to live all around us: people came with their children, prayed, fed the fish, told the story of Abraham, and then made room for the next visitors.
It was an extraordinary combination. In the morning, we saw the technologies of the future; during the day, we touched the distant past of humanity; and in the evening, we entered a world of living faith and legend. Şanlıurfa had shown us all of this in a single day.
Perhaps that is exactly why I did not want to squeeze Balıklıgöl into a few paragraphs at the end of my previous article. This place deserved a story of its own. Because that evening, we saw more than a beautiful lake and old architecture. We saw how a legend becomes part of a city, how history acquires its own geography, and how, generations later, people still come to this water, offer a prayer, and feed the fish.
As we were leaving, the lights continued to shimmer in the dark waters of Balıklıgöl. And somewhere among those fish, my wish remained too.
Whether it will come true, I do not yet know. But I was not allowed to tell anyone what that wish was, either.
Nurmyrat Yylkybayev
