Between Ararat and al-Judi: In search of Nuhs Ark

 Could ancient geographical traditions concerning Judi and Ararat have overlapped in ways no longer obvious on a modern map?

From the Tengku Ampuan of Pahang, Tunku Azizah Aminah Maimunah Iskandariah

It began with a photograph of a boat-shaped formation and a simple question.

If the Qur’an tells us that the Ark of Prophet Nuh عليه السلام came to rest upon al-Judi, why do so many modern reports of its supposed discovery direct our attention towards Mount Ararat?

I found myself looking at maps, comparing mountains and imagining an expedition equipped with modern scanners. At one point, I laughingly suggested walking from one mountain to the other. With hundreds of kilometres between them, perhaps I should begin by finding better walking shoes. We might return with an article and very sore feet.

But beneath the laughter was a question worth pursuing. As a Muslim, my starting point is the Qur’an.

In Surah Hud, verse 44, Allah tells us:

وَاسْتَوَتْ عَلَى الْجُودِيِّ

“The Ark rested on Mount Judi.”

The name al-Judi therefore enters this inquiry through revelation. It does not originate in a modern expedition or a desire to challenge the popularity of Ararat.

The classical tafsir tradition gives us a starting point for understanding it. In his commentary on this verse, Ibn Kathir records explanations from early authorities, including Mujahid’s identification of al-Judi as a mountain in al-Jazirah, in Upper Mesopotamia. These accounts belong to the history of Muslim interpretation; their individual details still require appropriate assessment.

Here, an essential distinction emerges: the Qur’an’s naming of al-Judi is one matter; identifying its precise position on a modern map is another.

The mountain traditionally identified with al-Judi is Cudi Dağı, near Cizre in southeastern Turkey. That longstanding identification deserves examination, but it should not be presented as though modern coordinates were supplied by the Qur’an itself.

What, then, of Ararat?

Genesis refers to the “mountains of Ararat,” rather than explicitly naming the particular summit now commonly called Mount Ararat. Ararat is historically associated with Urartu, an ancient region and kingdom. The attachment of the biblical expression to today’s famous mountain developed through later traditions.

Could ancient geographical traditions concerning Judi and Ararat have overlapped in ways no longer obvious on a modern map?

It is a question requiring historical and geographical investigation. Similarities, differences and possible connections must be examined rather than assumed.

My article does not need to harmonise the two names. Nor does their difference, by itself, establish that a particular biblical passage was altered. We must distinguish the wording of a text from the interpretations and locations subsequently attached to it.

For a Muslim, the Qur’an remains the religious authority. Belief in Allah’s books and His messengers forms part of the six articles of faith, the Rukun Iman. We believe in the Taurat revealed to Musa, the Zabur to Daud, the Injil to Isa, and the Qur’an revealed to Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon them. Surah al-Nisa, verse 136, affirms belief in the revelation sent to the Prophet and in that sent before him.

This belief does not require us to identify every statement in the present biblical texts with the original revelations bestowed by Allah. The Injil mentioned in the Qur’an should not simply be equated with the collected writings of the New Testament, nor should the present text of Genesis be described without qualification as the original Taurat.

The Qur’an describes itself as confirming earlier scripture and as muhaymin over it, a guardian or criterion. Earlier texts may therefore be examined as historical and textual material without being assigned the same religious authority as the Qur’an.

My curiosity about these accounts arises within my Muslim faith. It also requires care in how I describe them.

We should not say that all four books contain an explicit narrative of the Ark. Genesis provides a detailed account, the New Testament recalls Noah and his vessel, and Psalms contains a possible allusion to the Flood. These are different kinds of reference.

Yet even as we examine the texts and maps, we must remember why the Qur’an tells us the story of Nuh. Its purpose is not to provide an excavation plan. Its lessons concern iman, tawhid, obedience, the consequences of rejecting revelation, and Allah’s power and mercy.

At the conclusion of this account in Surah Hud, verse 49, the Prophet is directed towards patience and the ultimate outcome for the righteous. The narrative leads us towards reflection and conduct, beyond curiosity about a mountain.

There is room for historical investigation. There is also a need to keep its claims within the limits of the evidence.

Gertrude Bell visited the mountain traditionally identified with Judi in 1909 and documented its landscape and the traditional site associated with the Ark. Friedrich Bender later reported collecting wood there. Their records concern journeys, investigations and inherited traditions. They do not establish that the Ark was found.

I also find myself wondering about remembrance. Would those who survived not have told their children about their deliverance? Might memories have endured in stories, place names and places of pilgrimage?

Kota Gelanggi comes to my mind when I consider how a place can remain alive in inherited stories while its location becomes a subject of inquiry. Such accounts deserve attentive listening.

But remembering an event and preserving its precise location are different things. Communities move, settlements disappear and names change. Oral traditions can guide questions; they must still be examined alongside written and material evidence.

Before we scan beneath the ground, perhaps we should first listen to the people who have lived upon it.

The boat-shaped formation at Durupınar, near Ararat, raises another set of questions. Supporters of the Ark hypothesis describe underground scan patterns resembling corridors or chambers. Those interpretations require verification, while published geological research has explained the formation as a natural structure.

Even if artificial chambers were established, what would prove that they belonged to a vessel? Could they belong to a building or a fortification? The thought crossed my mind, but it remains a possibility to test, not a finding.

A signal beneath the ground is the beginning of a question, not the answer. Ancient wood, an unusual outline or an apparent compartment cannot, on its own, identify the Ark of Nuh.

Our position can be expressed simply:

نُصَدِّقُ بِمَا جَاءَ فِي الْكِتَابِ وَالسُّنَّةِ، وَنَتَوَقَّفُ فِيمَا لَا دَلِيلَ عَلَيْهِ.

“We affirm what has come in the Qur’an and Sunnah, and we withhold judgment concerning what has no evidence.”

We should be firm where revelation is firm, cautious where evidence is uncertain, and unwilling to turn speculation into certainty.

Our belief in the truth of the Qur’an does not depend upon archaeological verification. An expedition’s success or failure cannot determine that belief.

I began with two mountains and an imagined walk between them. I ended with a deeper appreciation of the need to distinguish revelation from geographical reconstruction, inherited tradition from established evidence, and curiosity from certainty.

The Ark of Nuh is a subject we may investigate. Its Qur’anic lessons are also lessons we must take to heart.

Faith brought me to the question. Curiosity led me to the map. Whether the mountains ever surrender their secret, the search must be conducted with humility, faithful to revelation and honest about the limits of our evidence. - FMT

Tunku Azizah Aminah Maimunah Iskandariah holds a master’s degree from the International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilisation (ISTAC), International Islamic University Malaysia, and is currently a PhD candidate at ISTAC-IIUM.