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of Shahrzad
Part 1
By Eric J. Jerpe
November 19, 2003
The Iranian
Chapter I: Drop by Drop
In the days when Persia was called Iran, a young man named Romeen
married a young woman named Roxana in a traditional Moslem wedding
ceremony. The newlyweds then bade farewell to relatives and friends
and embarked on their honeymoon. They flew from Tehran to Shiraz
and there rented a car. They lodged in a posh Shiraz hotel, dined
in a magnificent restaurant, visited the tomb of Hafez and toured
the splendors of Persepolis. They then headed north to see more
of their country's attractions.
Happy in one another's caresses, they nonetheless felt an
anxiety prevalent throughout the planet, but particularly in their
region, as they drove through the desert highway to Yazd. These
were extremely tense days; the war drums were beating at a faster
and faster tempo. The newlyweds tried not to talk about world and
regional events, but sometimes they had to voice their anxieties
in order to obtain relief from thinking about them.
"If only the Americans knew what richness our culture
has to contribute to humankind," commented Roxana, thinking of
the wonders
she and her husband had recently seen. "If only they knew
that we too cherish the ideals of freedom." "Presently, America is in cowboy mode," noted Romeen.
"Their would feel different if they looked
at our miniatures," said Roxana, "and read the poetry
of Hafez, Ferdowsi and Khayyam."
"Verses which put into words the heaven I feel in
your presence," responded Romeen, speaking of the love poetry they
had been reading
in the
evenings, just before eros.
Pretty, dark-haired Roxana smiled and cuddled up
to her dark-haired husband, whose handsome face was without a beard
or mustache. Romeen
put his arm around her and drove on silently.
Several minutes later, something came into view
up ahead. This sudden anomaly, a solitary human figure walking
along the side
of the road, caused Romeen to decelerate. As the car got closer,
the human became recognizable as an elderly man clad in white
garb with a white religious cap covering most of his white hair.
The
sight seemed a bit unusual, for he appeared to have few possessions,
carrying only a small sack in a place where a car breakdown could
be fatal. No cell phones here.
Roxana spoke with concern in her voice: "Romeen,
look at the poor soul." Both wondered what would become of him,
all
alone in the middle of nowhere.
It was obvious to Romeen that Roxana wanted him
to stop and see if the stranger needed help. Romeen himself felt
the same inclination,
although he so much wanted to be alone with Roxana. He continued
slowing down until they had reached the elderly man and stopped
on the road beside him. The elderly man continued walking. Romeen
resumed the forward motion of the car, now slowly keeping pace
with the old and frail pedestrian. Roxana covered her hair with
her scarf, then opened her passenger-side front window.
"Agha," she said to him. "Are you
stranded?"
The old man stopped and looked at the car and its
occupants, but said nothing. After a few moments, Roxana added,
"You seem
lost in the desert."
"May we help you?" asked Romeen.
A smile came to the white-whiskered face of the old
man. He said in a loud voice, "Spento-Mainyu," revealing
to Romeen and Roxana, both of whom were well-educated, that the
man was a Zoroastrian, an adherent of the only religion that had
actually originated in Iran, thousands of years ago before there
was even a Persian Empire.
Spento-Mainyu, thought both Romeen and
Roxana. The Spirit of Good. >>> Part
2 >>> Index
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