|  Return
of Shahrzad
Part 7
By Eric J. Jerpe
December 19, 2003
iranian.com
As Viraf walked through Heaven with
his angelic hosts, it became apparent that, in his mind, keeping
up with pious rituals in the mortal life was the most rewarding
aspect of goodness in the afterlife. However, he also mentioned
other aspects of goodness, such as shepherds protecting their flocks
from wolves and thieves, and described their rewards in the afterlife.
Srosh the pious and Adar the angel led Viraf across a great river “gloomy
as dreadful hell.”
The hosts described it as the “river
of tears shed by the living for the departed,” and warned
against false lamentation, saying that “unlawful weeping” causes
harm and difficulty to the souls of the deceased.
Walking through a purgatory of suffering, various
punishments were inflicted upon deceased sinners, any particular
punishment befitting
that particular sin. Viraf saw a man “whose head the devils
ever widen out, and with a cruel death they ever kill him.” Adar
explained, “This is the soul of that wicked man who, in the
world, slew a pious man.” Viraf also saw a man “through
whose fundament a snake ever went in and came forth out of the
mouth while many other snakes ever seized all the limbs.” Adar
declared, “This is the soul of a wicked man who allowed a
man to come on his body; now the soul suffers so severe a punishment.” Adar
then introduced Viraf to a woman “to whom they ever gave
to eat cup after cup of the impurity and filth of men.” Viraf
asked, “What sin was committed by this body?” Adar
answered, “This is the soul of that wicked woman who, having
not abstained, nor lawfully withheld herself, approached water
and fire during her menstruation.” As Roxana read more and more of the torments of
hell, she began to notice a recurring theme: the sinners, more
often than not,
were women; their sins were mostly in the realm of not being an
obedient slave to a man. One women suffered a ghastly torment:
she had to continually lick a boiling-hot oven. Her sin: not granting
sex to her husband at his desire. Another woman was “suspended
from the atmosphere and ever stretching out her tongue on her neck.” She
was a wicked woman who, in the world, “scorned her husband
and master, and cursed, abused and defied him.” Yet another
woman “ever came and went crying and wailing; upon her head
ever came a pelting hail; under her foot, hot molten brass ever
streamed; and she ever gashed her own head and face with a knife.”
Srosh the pious and Adar the angel told of her sin: “This
wicked woman undutifully became pregnant and then effected the
destruction of her infant. Because of the pain and punishment,
she fancies she hears the cry of her infant, and she runs; and
such vehemence of running is occasioned as of one who walks upon
hot brass; and she ever hears the cry of her infant, and gashes
her own head and face with a knife, and demands the child.”
Roxana was thinking, Zoroastrianism is worse than
Islam, when the hitherto silent Shahrzad, as if able to read
Roxana’s
mind, stated, “Viraf’s hallucinations have nothing
to do with Zoroastrianism; rather, they provide an example of the
kind of debasement that befalls any religion when a clerical hierarchy
becomes the gang in power. This nauseating materialism is a manifestation
of the decadence of the Sassanian era, the world into which I was
born. After reading Viraf, does the story of a Sassanian king who
married a young woman, took away her virginity and slew her the
next day seem so fantastic?” Roxana kept silent and listened as Shahrzad
continued: “In
the era preceding the Sassanians, the time of the Parthian Empire,
the Faith of the Prophet among the people of Iran was totally separate
from the day-to-day workings of government, yet spiritually uplifting
and profoundly moral. These Iranians rebuilt the land after its
devastation and looting by the Greeks, defeated the mighty Roman
Empire, and partially restored the grandeur and justice of the
Cyrus the Anointed One. Alas, generations later, after the Sassanian
dynasty had established a Zoroastrianism-in-name-only creed as
the state religion of Persia, the power of priesthood, something
adamantly opposed by the Prophet himself, began to eclipse genuine
religious fervor.
The writings of the debaucherous Adra Viraf are
as much a misrepresentation of Zoroastrianism as the writings of
the insane Nietzsche in his Thus Spake Zarathushtra. Yet none of
this revulsion is to be found in the Holy Songs of the Prophet
Zoroaster, not in the portions that survived nor in the portions
obliterated by Alexander the Curse. What the Prophet of Iran did
say was that Ashi Vanguhi, Holy Blessing, the union of man and
woman in the bond of holy love for each other and their progeny,
was an Aspect of Divinity. In later generations, the concept of
Ashi Vanguhi evolved into a feminine personification, the Guardian
Angel of Holy Matrimony.”
With that, Shahrzad resumed her silence. The
car moved along with no one speaking for some time. Roxana pondered
over what Shahrzad
had informed her.
As Yazd drew closer, Roxana noticed they were approaching
a roadway checkpoint. Realizing danger, she removed from her parcel
an extra
shawl and presented it to the passenger next to her. Shahrzad
accepted the shawl but did not put it on. Roxana pointed to the
shawl to remind Shahrzad that she too would have to cover her
hair before they reached the checkpoint, but the visitor who claimed
to be from another time still did not put it on. Finally, Roxana
urged aloud, “Please, in these times a woman can be arrested
for not covering her hair outdoors.”
As a soldier at the checkpoint came into view, the
thought of a blazon declaration the newlyweds had seen while driving
through
the desert flashed to the forefront of Roxana’s mind: the
gargantuan Persian script carved into the side of a mountain, reading, “The
Iranian military supports the theocracy.” She then felt extreme
apprehension: We’re in for it now!
Romeen felt the same apprehension
as he brought the automobile to a stop at the checkpoint. Worst-case
scenarios flashed through
his mind: He’ll seize upon this opportunity to arrest her,
to arrest us all. She’ll go to a jail cell, and so will we.
They’ll put us through mind-numbing threats and torture.
Then, they’ll offer us a chance to bribe out way out by selling
whatever assets we possess. The young soldier at the checkpoint gave the obligatory
look into the car and viewed its occupants. He appeared to be startled
as
he noticed the beautiful young woman with her hair uncovered. The
young soldier’s amazed expression quickly gave way to an
expression of anxious dismay. He glanced quickly over his shoulder,
then looked again at Shahrzad.
Without words, he communicated
to her that she was in danger by drawing his flat hand under his
chin as a mimic of cutting a throat. He pointed several times to
the shawl upon her lap and to her uncovered brunette tresses. He
put his finger to his lips as if to say “Beware” as
well as to admonish silence. The young soldier then backed away
and gestured for them to move on. Without hesitation, Romeen drove
the car off. “
He’s given you a warning,” said Romeen with the anger
in his voice directed at Shahrzad. “If you don’t
care about yourself, at least care about us. Please.”
Roxana resumed entreating Shahrzad: “Please, Sassanian,
cover your hair. We may not be so lucky next time.”
Shahrzad smiled and gently touched Roxana’s hand before
nodding affirmatively. The beautiful woman picked up the shawl
and modestly covered her hair with it, tying in place the symbol
of decency relative to the society she was amidst.
They were moving through an urban area now, and
traffic was becoming heavy in these latter hours of daylight. To
the veterans of Tehran
traffic, Yazd traffic was relatively calm and orderly. The city
was picturesque in many ways, yet grizzly reminders of the long
war with Iraq dampened the setting. Again and again, billboards
honoring martyrs of that war came into prominent view. Like other
Iranian citizens, Romeen and Roxana were accustomed to seeing these
dedications, which were to be found in cities and towns and villages
all over Iran. The pictures triggered deep pangs of sadness in
the viewers, a sense of permanent loss and incalculable waste.
When they saw a billboard depicting Sadaam Hussein as a devil with
horns, Romeen and Roxana felt a surge of anti-Arabism, a long-standing
prejudice deeply ingrained within the Persian mentality. But the
couple, recalling what they had recently been told concerning the
decadence of the Sassanians, drifted into the thought, Maybe it’s
a case of wasteful scapegoating for Iranians to blame all their
woes on the Arabs.
As they passed through the streets of Yazd, Porzand
started giving Romeen directions to the Fire Temple of that ancient
city. Following
the navigator’s instructions, the driver took the vehicle
off the congested main streets. He threaded the narrow alleyways,
overcoming obstacles representative of domesticated-animal technology
as well as the internal-combustion-engine era.
Darkness was approaching as the vehicle moved through
a back alley. When they came to the glass window of a small shop
on the right,
Porzand announced, “We have arrived!”
Porzand pointed
to the glass window and identified the shop as “a place selling
Zoroastrian books and artifacts.” He then pointed to a massive
building up ahead to the left and said, “There it is! The
Fire Temple of Yazd.”
All four of them got out of the car. Porzand gave
heartfelt thanks to Romeen and Roxana, and implored them to visit
the Fire Temple
on the morrow. Shahrzad then expressed her gratitude towards
the newlyweds: “By your good thoughts and good words and
good deeds, you have sown Spento-Mainyu in the Land of the Prophet.”
Roxana humbly responded, “We only did what decency required
of us, as good Moslems.”
Shahrzad hugged Roxana and said, “Iran will be saved.”
The four bade farewell. Shahrzad and Porzand
walked off in the direction of the temple, the magi deferentially
keeping a few
paces behind the Sassanian. Romeen and Roxana stood watching them
until they had turned the corner and were lost to view. Romeen
got back in the driver’s seat and started the car. Roxana
returned to the front passenger’s seat. They drove off.
There was silence for awhile as night came and the
newlyweds drove to the part of town where their hotel was located.
Now that the
new acquaintances were gone, the mysterious encounter with the
Zoroastrians, especially the mystic Shahrzad, seemed to the
newlyweds like something from a dream. Reality would be pleasant
if the lovely Sassanian were to be there tomorrow when they visited
the Fire Temple, something the couple had planned to do anyway.
Eventually, Romeen and Roxana arrived at their hotel.
They parked the car and walked over to the lobby building. Atop
the door entrance,
they observed a symbolic design painted in colors: the wings of
a bird spread wide. They had seen this symbol, called the “Fravahar,” many
times before; in fact they had been seeing it all their lives,
yet this time they took particular notice. The Fravahar was essentially
the same symbol they had seen upon the ruins of Persepolis, although
in stone carvings thousands of years old it was generally accompanied
by a carving of the Prophet Zoroaster. All over the Islamic Republic
of Iran, on buses and buildings and candleholders, this symbol
of the Ancient Faith of Iran remained on prominent display.
Thought Romeen, A foreigner might be forgiven for
presuming that Iranians in general are superficially Moslem and
fundamentally
Zoroastrian.
Inside the lobby, the newlyweds presented their
hotel reservations to the hotel manager, a mustached man clad in
a black suit, and
the receptionist, a young woman covered up in a black chador. The
paperwork was taken care of; the newlyweds were checked in and
given their room keys. Romeen gave his car keys to the porters,
who then went off to perform the task of transporting the hotel
guests’ luggage from their car to their room.
While the porters were at work, the hotel manager
cordially offered tea-time to the guest-couple. The three of them
sat down at a lounge
table as the receptionist brought out a filled samovar and three
cups. The manager and his two guests sipped tea and conversed about
some of their country’s national treasures.
“
Such a wonder,” said the manager, “the world’s
oldest tree, right here in Iran. Just think, that cypress was alive
before Cyrus greated the Persian Empire.”
“
We’ve seen Cyrus’s tomb in Parsagard,” said Roxana. “Peering
into it, I thought of its ancient inscription: ‘I am Cyrus,
the King of Kings. Do not envy me for this bit of Earth that covers
my bones.’ The tomb stone bearing that description is on
display in the Tehran Museum.”
Romeen could not refrain from sabotaging the light-hearted
mood. “We’re
lucky to already seen it,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe
in the chaos of the not-too-distant future, the treasures of the
Tehran museum will be looted as were the treasures of the Baghdad
museum.” At that moment, a mullah and his entourage entered
the hotel lobby. Immediately, the relaxing socializers tensed up,
straightening
like soldiers snapping to attention at the sudden appearance
of a strict officer. The mullah, conspicuous in his medieval garb,
was accompanied by three powerfully-built men in Westerner suits,
tough guys graying but fit and formidable, looking ready and
able
to break kneecaps should the mullah give the order. The mullah
went over to the female receptionist and demanded to see hotel
records. The manager rushed over to the lobby desk and dutifully
complied. The information sought by the mullah was printed out
from the computer and presented to him. The mullah took the printout,
then turned and faced the two guests. His gaze fell upon these
people new to him. He stared at Romeen and Roxana for a few moments
with the cold eyes of an inquisitor, as if daring them to be
defiant. He then turned and exited the hotel, followed by his entourage.
Romeen and Roxana looked at one another, conveying
in silence what they had said aloud in private many times before:
There
is no freedom
here.
The porters returned to the lobby and informed the
newlyweds that everything was set. Romeen and Roxana said “Enshallah” to
their hosts, then departed. The couple walked outside, following
the directions to their room. Passing by a garden along the way,
Roxana commented, “This will be lovely to view in the morning.”
They arrived at their room, unlocked the door and
entered. Turning on the lights, they saw their luggage neatly set
aside. Roxana walked over to her suitcase, removed some clothes,
and then went into the bathroom to change. Romeen took off his
coat and tie, then searched through his luggage for a book inspirational
to both of them.
Roxana returned to the main room, her hair uncovered,
now wearing bluejeans and a striped shirt. Noticing a hardcover
copy of the
Koran, she sat down at the desk and opened it randomly. She read
a passage that brought joy to her heart: “Allah is merciful,
Allah is compassionate, Allah is forgiving.” She then passed
over the adjacent passage to read, “The punishment for blasphemy
is forty lashes in the public square.”
Why is it, thought Roxana, that Allah is forgiving
but people are not?
Romeen came over to Roxana and said, “Here is what we truly
love.” Roxana stood up and looked at the cover of the book
Romeen was holding. She read the title, Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam,
and said, “To tell you the truth, I prefer Ferdowsi and Hafez.
Khayam is always talking about wine, as if a drunkard.”
“
When Khayam talks about wine and the grape, he is speaking allegorically
about the simple pleasures of life,” explained Romeen. “He
is telling as to enjoy each day to the fullest, for, in his view,
no one knows the truth concerning the afterlife.”
Romeen then read aloud a quatrain: “Ah, my beloved, fill
the cup that clears; Today of past regrets and future fears; Tomorrow?
why, tomorrow I may be; Myself with yesterday’s seven thousand
years.”
The young couple, instinctively heeding Khayam’s admonition
to live life to the fullest, moved to the bed. They sat upon the
bed facing one another, passing the book and reading quatrains
aloud.
Read Roxana: “Into this universe and why not knowing; Nor
whence, like water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as wind
along the waste; I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.”
Read Romeen: “Alas, that spring should vanish with the rose!
That youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close! The nightingale
that in the branches sang, Ah, whence, and whither flown against,
who knows?”
Romeen looked at Roxana and saw tears streaming
down her cheeks. He gently took her hand and asked, “Why do you cry, my love?” “
I was thinking of all those young people throwing their lives away,” sobbed
Roxana.
Husband and wife embraced. As he held her tight,
Romeen said to Roxana in a tone of resignation, “The best we can hope for
is to carve out our own oasis of sanity within this desert of insanity
we were born into.” >>> Part
8 >>> Index
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