Tabestan-e- Pish

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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.

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The old man spoke in a Persian that was regionally-accented yet clearly understandable to the city-dwellers from Tehran: "I am on my way to Chek-Chek, the Mountain of the Sacred Spring."

The place name rang a bell in the memories of Romeen and Roxana, but both had some difficulty recalling. After a few moments, Roxana announced, "Chek-Chek! Yes, I have heard of Chek-Chek. It is a place where Zoroastrians worship fire."

"We do not worship fire," responded the elderly spokesman for his minority group in a manner corrective yet not overly indignant.

Roxana had not meant to be impolite. Her early upbringing had taught her that Zoroastrians were polytheistic fire-worshippers; however, as she had matured and come into contact with urbanized Zoroastrians, she had learned that Zoroatrianism was every bit as monotheistic as the God of Abraham religions. Zoroatrianism had once reigned as the dominant faith in Iran, but it was now a minority religion whose members had been marrying among themselves ever since Iran had become Islamic fourteen centuries ago.

"We are going to Yazd," informed Roxana. She was not sure what to say next. She had a vague notion of Chek-Chek's locale as somewhat in the same direction the young couple was headed, but definitely off the main highway. She could not imagine how this frail old man was ever going to make it to his destination without some assistance. Concerned, she wanted to offer him a ride, but also felt that she must defer to her husband's wishes.

We cannot leave him here, thought Romeen. He looked at his lovely wife; she looked at him. Their desire to be alone together conflicted with their sense of obligation until Romeen offered, "You may come with us part of the way if you so wish."

The old man put his hands together and raised them in supplication. "Spento-Mainyu," he said again, then stepped feebly towards the car. Roxana opened the door and allowed him into the back seat. He entered with his sack. Roxana closed the door and he settled in. The car drove off with its third occupant.

"Thank you so much," said the old man. "My name is Porzand. I am a magi."

A magi, thought both Romeen and Roxana, a clergyman of the ancient faith.

"My name is Romeen," said the driver. "This is my wife, Roxana."

Speaking of the young wife's name, Porzand noted, "Daughter of Darius the Third and wife of Alexander the Curse." He sighed before adding, "If only she could have tamed the wild beast of Macedonia as Shahrzad tamed the vengeful Shahrizar."

Roxana enjoyed talking about the legendary past, if only as a way of forgetting the fearful present. As the vehicle and its occupants voyaged on, she conversed with the magi while Romeen silently kept his eyes to the road. Roxana was very interested in the ancient faith and asked him many questions about it. He answered her questions, expounding upon Asha, the Eternal Law; upon Vohu-Mano, the Good Mind; upon Kshathra-Vairya, the Perfect Strength, Omnipotence and Universal Sovereignty of the Lord. Romeen listened silently during the discussion; eventually though, he grew exasperated with all the talk on theology, which by its very nature is always inconclusive.

"Religion has failed us," he interjected.

"Why has religion failed us?" asked Porzand.

"Look at the state of our country," responded Romeen. "Nowhere else are the people as devoutly religious as in Iran. But have you ever driven a car or crossed a street in Tehran?

You risk your life every time you do. There are no rules, no regulations, only chaos and many quite avoidable deaths and injuries. The police are too busy arresting women for immodesty to establish order in automobile traffic. Iranians may praise God in the mosque, but they are devil-worshippers behind the wheel of a car."

"Things will change for the better," said the magi. "Hopefully, there is now enough Spento-Mainyu to induce the Return."

A superstitious messianist, thought Romeen.

"Return of whom?" asked Roxana.

"Shahrzad," replied the magi.

Romeen laughed before saying, "I have a sister, a cousin and an aunt named Shahrzad."

"I am speaking of Shahrzad of the Hazar Afsanah," said the magi with solemnity in his voice.
Hazar Afsanah, thought both Romeen and Roxana, the Thousand and One Nights.

"I remember that story," said Roxana. "Shahrzad saved her life by telling wondrous tales."
"It is more than a story," declared Porzand. "It is truth."

Disdainful of argument and always trying to be polite, Roxana ventured, "There is some historical record that Shahrzad actually lived long ago in the days of the Sassanian dynasty, before the Faith of the Holy Koran came to Persia. She saved her people by ending the wholesale slaughter of virgins."

"She will save her people again," announced the magi. "Her return is imminent."

Romeen could not refrain from scoffing: "Now I know you're sick in the head."

Roxana whispered, "Romeen," in a low voice of disapproval, but this did not dissuade her husband from continuing his tirade.

"Shahrzad is myth; the state of the world is reality. Look at where it's taking us. Nuclear non-proliferation is in total disarray. The prevailing rule is you're allowed to cheat if you don't get caught. There is no standard, only selective prosecution. We have four Russian-built nuclear facilities in our country. The Americans are not going to tolerate them. They will bomb us preemptively. If they don't the Israelis will. How are you going to stop that, magi? By rubbing a magic lamp and unleashing a genie?"

In a mild tone of voice, Porzand responded to Romeen's harsh rhetoric: "For many years now, I have been striving to bring salvation for my own land and for the rest of the world. I now believe that enough Spento-Mainyu has been accumulated so that I can succeed."

"I'm sorry, magi," said Romeen, "but I don't believe in miracles. I believe in science; and, as religion has failed us, so science has betrayed us. We are next in line to feel the fury of America, the land epitomizing high-technology. We will suffer the same devastation as Iraq, the land where civilization began."

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Romeen said nothing more. Silence reigned in the car for several minutes before Roxana, trying to smooth things over, resumed talking, this time about light-hearted topics. She conversed with Porzand over the Tales of Scheherazade: Aladdin and the Magic Lamp, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Sinbad the Sailor and other marvelous collections from the days when caravans traversed the silk road. Porzand pulled a compact disk out of his small sack of possessions and offered it for playing. Roxana read the label: Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov. She thanked Porzand and put the disk into the car stereo.

No one spoke as the music of Rimsky-Korsakov played on. Both Romeen and Roxana thoroughly enjoyed this classical piece that neither of them had heard for a long time. The melodious sounds of its various themes evoked in them images of a fabulous past.

Time passed; eventually the car came to within an hour's drive from Yazd. As they approached an intersection of the highway with a much less significant road off to the side, Porzand said to his hosts, "Please leave me off here."

Romeen slowed down, stopping at the intersection. Roxana asked, "Where is Chek-Chek?"

Porzand pointed to a distant mountain and said, "Over there."

It seemed a long way off. Both Roxana and Romeen wondered how the old man could possibly make it to his destination in the remaining hours before sundown. In addition, Romeen was beginning to experience pangs of guilt over his earlier tirade. Although not religious himself, he nevertheless respected people who were of such temperament, and felt that he had insulted this man for his beliefs.

"We'll take you all the way," announced Romeen, giving an apology as well as granting a favor. Noting the pleased expression on Roxana's face, it was quite evident to him that she agreed with his decision.

"That would mean going out of your way," noted Porzand.

"That's not a problem," said Roxana. "We're not really in that much of a hurry today."

Porzand folded his arms in prayer and declared, "Spento-Mainyu! Now I am convinced I have enough."

Romeen took the turn off onto the side road. They drove only a short distance before the pavement ended. Traveling on a dirt road, Romeen piloted while Porzand navigated.

The dirt road wound on and on, its roughness taking a toll on the vehicle. Romeen and Roxana were beginning to wonder if their good deed was going to get them into a predicament, when a network of dwellings high up on the edge of a cliff came into view.

"There is Chek-Chek," said Porzand, "where once a year, in the summer solstice season, Zoroastrians from all over Iran congregate for worship and festivity."

As they got closer, the lower portion of a long, winding staircase of stone steps could be seen, the incline stretching way up the side of the cliff. With Porzand directing, Romeen brought the car to a halt right next to the base of the stone steps.

The three got out of the car. Romeen and Roxana gazed in awe at the impressive ancient site, both pondering upon the massive expenditure of time and labor it must have taken to build such a monumental structure.

"Come with me now," said Porzand, "to the sacred spring. You have earned the right to view what other non-Zoroastrians are generally not permitted to view."

An interesting opportunity, thought both Romeen and Roxana; but their zeal was tempered with misgivings.

"We do not wish to impose upon the rituals of another religion," cautioned Roxana.

"You are not imposing," said Porzand. "In fact, your presence is almost a requirement. Your virtue on this day has tipped the scales in favor of salvation. The probability favors this as being the Day of Miracle."

Romeen was becoming exasperated again. "Have you ever seen a miracle?" he asked rhetorically.

"I have been working for the Miracle of the Return for many long years," answered Porzand.

"For the last three months, I have, with meager possessions, journeyed through the land of Persia, visiting its Fire temples and Towers of Silence, never begging, never requesting any help, yet always receiving assistance when it was needed. This is the last day of my journey, and you are the final contributors, allowing the Bridge of Chinvat to be crossed."

"Bridge of Chinvat?" mused Roxana. "Isn't that the bridge connecting Earth to Heaven, with those unable to complete the crossing falling off and descending into Hell?"

"Oh, yes, the Bridge of Chinvat!" interjected Romeen, speaking in a scoffing tone indicating that he regarded that particular belief as an absurdity. "I've read the myth. The evil man dies and is resurrected. In a dark cavern, the deceased one walks across a bridge over a chasm.

Because he has led a wicked life, the bridge narrows in width, becoming thinner and thinner until it is the width of a sword blade. Then, from out of the darkness, a hideously ugly old witch appears before him and says, 'I am thy evil deeds. Descend to the torments of Hell.' Terrified, the evil man loses his balance and plunges downward into the depths of a river of fire with devils and damned souls below."

Romeen continued: "The good man dies and is resurrected. He too walks across the cavern bridge over a chasm. Because he has led a virtuous life, the bridge remains wide and passable. Halfway across the bridge, a beautiful young woman appears before him and says, 'I am thy good deeds. Come with me to the blissful realm of Heaven.' She takes him by the hand, and together they walk across the bridge, exiting the cavern and entering into a paradise of lush verdure and flowing streams."

" That is imagery," explained Porzand, "true in a sense but not to be taken literally. When I said the Bridge of Chinvat is ready to be crossed, I was speaking metaphorically. Essentially, our religion speaks of a conduit between spiritual and material dimensions."

The old man began ascending the steps, beckoning for the young man and the young woman to follow him. Romeen and Roxana looked at each other, uncertain whether or not to comply. Roxana tipped the scales in favor of ascending the steps by saying, "We've seen Persepolis and Parsegard; right now we have the chance to see a wonder of the world before it becomes a tourist attraction."

The wife took her husband's hand and said, "Let's go." Romeen and Roxana then began their trek up the stone step way.

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When the healthy young couple overtook the frail old man, they deliberately kept to a slow pace so he could keep up with them. Romeen and Roxana were surprised, however, at Porzand's enthusiasm. Quite eager to get to the top, he never stopped to rest as they moved upward and onward along the extensive and winding pathway of stone steps. Several times Romeen and Roxana would pause, drink a little bottled water and look down at the grandeur below, viewing the rough road weaving its way through the desert valley nestled amidst barren mountains. Then they would resume the climb and catch up with Porzand, who always kept moving at whatever pace he could maintain.

At last the top came into view and the step way became a straight incline. The forward scene looked as though an entire village had been hacked into the side of the mountain. An entire network of dwellings were visible, but no other people could be seen.

They finally reached the top of the step way, entering onto a level-ground niche that was somewhat shaded by vegetation and the mountainside. To their left was an open space about six meters square; upon its floor lay an ornate carpet covered with intricate abstract white designs set in a green background, a Persian rug large enough to comfortably seat three people and just touching the tiled-wall portion of the mountainside. To their right was a brace of ponderous, soundly shut metal doors, apparently the entrance to a house of worship. Situated in the center and extending further to the right behind the house of worship, lush vegetation exuded its fragrance. From somewhere above, moisture continually seeped into the greenery, albeit only in small droplets.

"This is the Temple of the Sacred Spring," announced Porzand.

He stepped over to the closed double doors and removed an elaborate key from his sack. As he unlocked the double doors, Romeen demurred.

"Good magi, we are curious to see what lies beyond that door; but it is our understanding that this is a temple only Zoroastrians may enter. Just as a Zoroastrian would never be so profane as to visit the sacred shrines of Mecca, so too a Moslem must be respectful of the holy places of the ancient prophet of Iran."

" Once again you display Spento-Mainyu," said the magi. "Do not fear, you are both very welcome here. This is a special day, and your presence is needed."

The old man began pulling at the door handles, exerting what strength he had to open the double doors. The young couple assisted him in opening the doors wide and setting down buttresses at their bases to keep them in place. Peering inside, the trio viewed a temple sacristy discernible due to the merest sunlight let in by a window to the left. Porzand entered the sacristy; Romeen and Roxana followed.

Walking around the interior, they looked over their surroundings, observing a main room with most of the wall being cliffside and a smaller room with man-made walls. The window, a barricade of horizontal-and-vertical dark-metal bars spouting ornately-fashioned spikes at the top, opened to view some of the moist mountain-wall greenery. In the center of the main room was a bright-metal object about one-and-a-half meters in height; it consisted of ten or so rounded trays, circularly arranged and supported by crossed vertical appendages, bolstering a larger, near-perfectly-circular tray in the center atop which was perched a considerable basin. In the smaller room were dining utensils and, on the walls in glass-covered cases, a sizable number of precious books.

Porzand prepared beverage from a samovar. He got Romeen and Roxana to sit down on a bench in the smaller room and presented them cups of tea. As they sat and sipped, he expounded upon the legend of Shahrzad's return.

" Upon the death of Shahrzad's husband, King Shahrizar, zealous iconoclasts came to power. In the name of piety, they strove to destroy all artwork that was not abstract. In a series of rampages, they obliterated paintings and sculptures of human form; great quantities of classic artwork was irretrievably lost. In their eyes, Shahrzad, as the kingdom's foremost patron of the arts, epitomized all that was offensive to God. They vowed to tear her limb from limb. As she was no longer under royal protection, a howling mob of bloodthirsty fanatics forced her to flee to this place, the mountain of the drop-by-drop spring. The would-be assassins followed, and would have brutally murdered her had there not been a miraculous intervention. She vanished into the sacred spring, leaving only her clothes behind. Throughout the generations, her spirit has reappeared in all her angelic beauty. She has pledged to all those granted the gift of her ethereal revelation that she will return to the material dimension if enough Spento-Mainyu exists in the land of Zoroaster's birth to enable her to cross over from the spiritual plane. She will save Iran in this day and age as she saved Iran in the days of the Sassinids. Persia will become a land of freedom and a beacon to all the world. The land of Zoroaster shall brighten the skies with the Eternal Truth of Asha, the path of good thoughts and good words and good deeds."

While Romeen seemed unimpressed, Roxana was definitely enthralled. "This is Iran's time of direst need," she ventured. "If ever we did need a messiah, it is now."

Romeen looked at his wife and said, "Just because you want to believe in something, that won't make it true." He turned to Porzand and said, "Okay, let's see the proof."

"As you will," said the magi. "The calculation adds up to this being the day."

When the couple had finished their tea, Porzand collected their cups, washed them as well as the samovar and put the utensils away. He then brought out a copy of the Holy Gathas, the Zoroastrian Book of Chants, along with a large, rectangular box of matches.

"Our custom," said the magi, "is to light the temple flame and pray to the Eternal Being."

"Many religions have customs of that nature," said Roxana. "There is nothing superstitious in that."

The old man led the young couple over to the basin in the center of the main room. There he offered the matches to Romeen and said, "Here, man of science, light the flame and pray for truth being what you want it to be."

Romeen took out a match and held it to the box. Looking down into the basin, he saw that it contained thickly-spread flammable resin. Then he hesitated, not out of religious scruples, but out of fear of violating theocratic law and being subject to its punishment. For the first time he wondered if Porzand could actually be an undercover agent of the theocratic police. He turned to Roxana and said, "We should not have come here."

" There is no harm in what we are doing," she said. "If you don't light the flame, then I will.".

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Romeen definitely preferred that the wrath of theocratic law should fall upon him rather than his beloved. He lit the match. As he put the fire to the resin, he silently prayed to the Eternal Being that Iran may somehow break out of its trap. The basin interior lit up immediately, the fire reaching above the rim. For several minutes, the young couple watched the dancing flames while Porzand recited from the Gathas.

"If some in their righteousness and loving hearts appear to thee as truly-seeing and upright, O Lord, grant them in full all that their hearts desire; for I believe no prayer devout for truth can ever remain unanswered from Your side."

This seems pointless to me, thought Romeen. Yet, I wish it had meaning.

"Go outside now," instructed Porzand. "Rest upon the carpet, look to the sacred spring and pray for Shahrzad to appear."

The young couple exited the temple. In the pleasant open space, they removed their shoes and seated themselves on the carpet facing the open door. Minutes later, the old man came out of the temple carrying linen material in his arms. He handed Roxana the linen material along with a woman's comb and said, "This you must present to Shahrzad when she appears."

Romeen and Roxana saw that the cloth material consisted of a simple white towel and a colorful dress of ancient style. Unsure whether or not the old man was joking, Roxana asked as respectfully as she could, "Are you serious?"

"She will be naked when she appears," responded Porzand. "That is why only you are permitted to look upon her until she is fully clothed."

"Enough!" snarled Romeen. "I don't know what kind of deception you're planning to pull off, but I don't believe in miracles."

"Then believe in the subliminal manifestation of Divinity," propounded Porzand, "and let your wife's eyes vouch for the authenticity of a supernatural homecoming."

Porzand sat down in-between Romeen and Roxana so that all of them now faced the drop-by-drop spring. Romeen was irritated, but he settled upon letting the charade proceed, just wanting to get it over with.

"Pray to the Eternal Being," instructed the magi, "whether you call him Allah or Ahura Mazda." The old man then began chanting in Middle Persian, an archaic antecedent language not understood by either of the two young people.

Roxana, with the fervor of one who wanted to believe in something but was unsure of what to believe in, prayed aloud in modern Persian: "In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, save my country."

A skeptical Romeen joined in, petitioning in a low voice, "Eternal Being, spare my wife the bitterness of disappointment."

Minutes passed as Porzand kept chanting ancient verses and Roxana prayed in silence. It all seemed absurd to Romeen, but then he noticed an increase in the frequency and amount of water dropping down from the spring's source high above. Hardly impressive at first, the rate of water flow gradually went from trickle to shower. Staring forward, they witnessed a puddle forming, reaching a maximum size, then maintaining equilibrium with the overflow by seeping down into hard-to-see clefts. Even to Romeen it seemed quite remarkable.

"Look down, man! Look down!" said Porzand in an emphatic voice. "We must both look down. Only the woman may view the advent of the Angelic One."

Romeen followed Porzand's lead and looked down at the carpet's designs, trying to humor the old eccentric. Roxana rose to her feet and moved a little closer to the now fast-flowing spring. She continued to stare forward, enthralled by the spring's phenomenal if not miraculous transformation. The water flow generated mist and soon acted as a visual obstruction to the mountainside vegetation it nourished.

Discerning something inside the shower, Roxana gazed at the torrent even more intently. Scrutinizing the strange arrival as it slowly coalesced into something material, Roxana was amazed to see what appeared to be a human form; specifically, that of an unclad human female.

This can't be, thought Roxana in dismay. Miracles just don't happen.

When the apparition became essentially cognizant, the water flow quickly slowed down, ceasing altogether within a quarter of a minute. An astounded Roxana viewed, standing before her, a totally nude young woman whose luscious brunette tresses and flawless olive complexion combined with her exquisite features to present the classical Persian beauty. The ethereal nymph smiled at the modestly-attired woman, beckoning Roxana to step forward towards her.

"Anaheita!" exclaimed Roxana, stating the name of an ancient female deity whose worship in Persia predated even the era of Zoroaster.

Hearing Roxana's metaphoric utterance, Romeen immediately raised his head and looked forward to the sacred spring, catching a glimpse of the naked woman while Porzand continued to avert gaze. The nude Venus immediately shifted her sights and glared at the man viewing her, thereby notifying Roxana that her husband was now taking in the scene. Roxana moved directly in front of Romeen, blocking his view and shouting to him, "Look down!"

Although truly amazed, Romeen complied and looked down at the carpet.

This is some kind of hologrammic sleight-of-hand, thought Romeen, still skeptical yet quite impressed by the trick's high-tech effectiveness.

After some trepidation, Roxana reverently stepped forward holding the linen in her outstretched arms. No longer an ethereal image, the flesh-and-blood individual reciprocated by extending her arms to receive the gift. When Roxana was close enough to touch her, this seeming incarnation of the mythical Anaheita took hold of the towel, pressed it to her body and began drying herself. Roxana stared at what she regarded as the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Then, her bedazzlement took another quantum leap as the Venus-Anaheita, now draped in the towel, spoke in a soft and melodious voice.

"Goddess Anaheita is an imaginary being. Shahrzad of the Thousand and One Nights is real."

Hearing the voice, Romeen could not refrain from looking up. As he witnessed his wife standing face-to-face with the newly-arrived other woman, he rose to his feet. Staring in fascination, he felt Porzand tugging at his pant leg and heard him say, "Look down! Look down!" This caused Roxana to turn around to see if, as she suspected, her husband was again tabooing with his eyes. Discovering that he was, she looked at him with a definite expression of disapproval, whereupon Romeen did an about-face, thereafter standing on the carpet while looking away from the scene.

Seen only by Roxana's eyes, the woman of great beauty, now adequately dried off, removed her towel and set it aside. Roxana dutifully offered her the exotic dress along with the accompanying undergarments. The just-showered woman drew the delicate comb out from the amongst the linen. After neatly fixing her long hair, she discarded the comb, then clothed herself in the majestic feminine apparel. Bearing the regal splendor of a queen from a by-gone era, she stood before her newly-appointed handmaiden who, with some difficulty, managed to ask, "Are you truly...Shahrzad...of the Thousand and One Nights?"

"Do you believe I am Shahrzad?" countered the fantasy incarnate.

At a loss for words, Roxana managed to reply, "I want to believe so."

For the first time, the vivacious woman actually touched the shy woman, gently putting her hands upon Roxana's shoulders.

"I am Shahrzad as real now as when I told the wondrous tales of the Thousand and One Nights to King Shahrizar," she declared.

She then hugged Roxana. The two remained locked in silent embrace for a few moments before Shahrzad whispered, "We must save our land from impending doom. With the help of the Wise Lord, we will succeed."

They separated and turned away from the spring. Facing the men, Shahrzad addressed Romeen and Porzand in a loud and commanding voice: "You may look now."

Romeen turned around. Porzand rose to his feet. The two men fixed their gazes upon the ravishing Scheherazade, who stood next to the modestly-attired Roxana.

Porzand called out pious exclamations of joy: "Blessed be Ahura Mazda! The prophecy has been fulfilled!"

Romeen could not help but think, If only our country could enter the Miss Universe pageant! Miss Iran would be sure winner with this Scheherazade as contestant.

Roxana looked at Scheherazade and asked, "What would you have us do?"

"Take me to the Fire Temple of Yazd," instructed Scheherazade, "where the Flame of Lamentation persists well into its Third Millennium."

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Champter II: Yazd
Looking back through the rear window, Roxana watched intently as the ghost city carved into the side of a cliff receded from view. When the mountain of the sacred spring had faded into obscurity, Roxana turned and fixed her gaze upon the stunningly beautiful woman sitting next to her in the back seat. Admiring Scheherazade’s lustrous brunette tresses so brazenly exposed to view, Roxana instinctively touched the shawl covering her own hair, wishing in the stifling heat the same freedom of exposure. Roxana nevertheless kept to decorum and continued to wear her shawl.

Romeen reached the end of the dirt road and turned left onto the highway leading to Yazd. He turned on the air-conditioning, then rolled up his window and told the others to do likewise. Soon, to the relief of all, the effects of the air-conditioner could be felt. With the comforting cool air circulating inside, the car and its four occupants headed in the direction of Yazd.

Romeen was still trying to figure out a rational alternative to the appearance, seemingly out of thin air, of this woman called Scheherazade. Only his wife had actually seen the phenomenal event, and Romeen knew that he would have to wait until they were alone together to question the intricate details of what she had witnessed. For now, he was content to put curiosity on hold and enjoy the presence of the two interesting characters of the Zoroastrian faith. He began to question Porzand about religion, not because he wanted to make the fallible clergyman look foolish, but in a genuine attempt to reconcile those fundamental contradictions which upset his beliefs.

“ Magi, you must have heard about those two conjoined twins who died in Singapore. Doesn’t this facet of life go a long way towards proving that God is an imaginary being? How could the Perfect Designer of the Universe allow such pathetic creatures as Laden and Lela into the world?”

“ This universe,” responded Porzand, “is a battleground between Spento-Mainyu, the Spirit of Good, and Angro-Mainyu, the Spirit of Evil.”

“ Ah, ha!” said Romeen as if he had just caught Porzand in a debating trap, “so your religion is not monotheistic, as you claim. It is dualistic, with good and evil as opposing forces.”

“ I said ‘this universe’,” noted Porzand. “I did not say ‘the Cosmos’.”

Both Romeen and Roxana looked puzzled. Porzand elaborated:

“ The Universe is everything that came into being as a result of the Primordial Explosion. The Cosmos is everything that was, is, or ever will be. This Universe is but one of an infinite or near-infinite number of Universi within the Cosmos. Within this Universe, Good and Evil are opposing forces. Throughout the Cosmos, the Eternal Being, to whom Past and Present and Future are One, reigns Supreme.”

“ That begs the ultimate question,” said Romeen. “Why did the Perfect God create the imperfect universe?”

“ Because the universe came into being out of conflict. The Twin Spirits of Good and Evil do not exist independently but each in relation to the other, as do the sub-atomic quarks that redefine the meaning of existence.”

“ Now you’re talking more like a cosmologist than a theologian,” remarked Romeen.

“ The most recent discoveries in Cosmology are vindicating the revelations of Zoroaster,” declared Porzand.

“ So what are you advocating, magi?” pressed Romeen. “A Zoroastrian theocracy of Iran to replace the Islamic theocracy of Iran?”

“ Nothing of the sort,” responded Porzand. “We already made that mistake in the days of the Sassanians. I am simply asking for Zoroastrianism to be allowed to make its rightful contribution, as the only religion to have originated in Iran, in the spiritual lives of the Iranian people.”

Romeen then made a grim joke: “Maybe the mullahs will reduce the crime of apostasy from capital felony to misdemeanor.”

“ Let us be fair,” said Porzand. “It is not only the mullahs who are to blame for the stifling of our faith, but also we, the Zoroastrian minority ourselves. One thousand four hundred years of intramarriage has transformed Zoroastrianism into an ethnic religion, something it was never meant to be, something not to be found in the Gathas, the Holy Songs of Zoroaster.”

Porzand reached into his sack and pulled out a book. He turned and addressed Roxana as he handed it to her.

“ Read this,” he said. “Then you will understand why the corruption of the clerical hierarchy in the days of the Sassanians, when Zoroastrianism was the state religion of Iran, paved the way for the Arab conquest and the triumph of Islam. This is the writing of Adra Viraf, described as ‘one who had not the slightest doubt of God and the religion,’ a dissipated ‘Dastur’ (high priest) who ‘had seven sisters who were as wives to him’.”

Roxana accepted the book and glanced at the writing on the front cover: A Journey to Heaven and Hell by Adra Viraf. The title reminded her of Dante, an Italian movie she had seen with Persian subtitles. She opened the book and started to read. Soon she was engrossed.

In the introduction, Adra Viraf, a man whose “thoughts and words and deeds were most orderly and proper,” was selected to journey to the “Spiritual Realm.” In preparation, Viraf drank from three golden cups filled with “wine and the narcotic of Vishtasp.” (This passage brought to Roxana’s mind something she had heard from a Zoroastrian girlfriend in college: Zoroastrians are forbidden intoxicants when attending religious ceremonies, as are Jews and Nazarenes and Moslems.)

Roxana read on: “And the soul of Viraf went, from the body, to the Chinvat Bridge of Chakat-I-Daitik.” She wondered, Did the narcotic of Vishtasp have anything to do with this vision.

Crossing into Heaven, Viraf was escorted by angels through the blissful realm. The identification of celestial beings as individual personalities caused Roxana to recall what her college girlfriend had told her: What the Sacred Texts of Zoroastrianism had originally defined as Aspects of Divinity were, by the time of the Sassanians, generally being thought of as Archangels.

Viraf described what the dead experienced. Indeed, his sensual depiction of the blissful realm made quite pleasant reading. He quoted the Gathas: “Ushta ahmai yahmai ushta hahmaichit.” (“Well is he by whom that which is his benefit becomes the benefit of anyone else.”)

Viraf put forth the first footstep onto Humat, the “star track,” the place where “good thoughts” are received with hospitality; its residents are “as glittering as the stars” and “ever increasing in radiance.” Then, he put forth the second footstep onto Hukht, the “moon track,” the place where “good words” are received with hospitality; the brightness of its residents “is like unto the brightness of the moon.” Then, he put forth the third footstep onto Huvarsht, the “sun track,” the place where “good deeds” are received with hospitality; there dwelt people whose “brightness is like unto the brightness of the sun.”

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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.”

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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.”

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Chapter III: Fire of Lamentation
In Iran, a country where much of the land is arid like the Southwest United States, isolated patches of green are scrupulously maintained and venerated as though they were sacred gifts from God. The word “paradise” comes from the Persian language; it means “garden” and has the same etymological root as the English word “perimeter.” The word was adopted by Greek mercenaries in the court of Cyrus the Anointed One.

Dazzled by the copious gardens of the King of Kings, they took their eye-witness accounts of lush verdure and flowing streams back home with them to the hard soil of Greece, where cultivation upon terraced fields was the usual way of growing crops. In a synthesis of concepts, the vision of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon came into being. The fabled gardens were never found in any of the archaeological excavations of Babylon nor even mentioned in any cuneiform inscriptions, yet numerous imitations of the wonder turned fantasy into reality, as the Italian Renaissance gardens Villa D’Este and Villa Lante so grandiosely attest.

In the morning of their first full day in Yazd, Romeen and Roxana walked through the hotel’s pleasant little garden, both feeling the characteristic Iranian reverence for plantlife enclosures. In the blissful afterglow of amour, they quoted memorized passages from the poetry of Hafez.
Romeen quoted: “At the rise of the day, look upon the beauty of flowers, scent of their fragrance, and listen to the singing of birds.”

Roxana quoted: “Sip of wine and love in your company is to have new meaning in life.”
Romeen shifted to the Rubiyat: “With earth’s first clay they did the last man’s knead; And then of the last harvest sowed the seed; Yea, the first morning of creation wrote, What the last dawn of reckoning shall read.”

Holding hands and wondering if conception might have already occurred, the couple exited the garden and walked over to the hotel restaurant. There they had a marvelous breakfast of fruit and juice.

“There is much to see here in Yazd,” said Romeen. “This city was mentioned by Marco Polo in his Travels; therefore, it has a special fascination for Westerners as the exotic place of Fire Temples and Towers of Silence.”

“Which shall we see first?” asked Roxana.

“Let’s save the Twin Towers for sunset,” answered Romeen. “I’m anxious to see the Fire of Lamentation.”

“And the ravishing Shahrzad,” said Roxana with a giggle. She added, “Do you really believe that the fire of Yazd has been burning since an ember was retrieved from the fire that destroyed Persepolis?”

“That’s what the Magians claim,” said Romeen. “Whether true or not is irrelevant to what the fire represents: the irretrievable loss of the ancient writings from Achaemenian times and before. An entire library of sacred texts was destroyed; only a small portion of it has survived. It is said that the original Zoroastrian scriptures were of greater length than the Hebrew Bible, and included a medical textbook that was the most scientifically advanced of its time. While the Jews can rightly say that the Hebrew Bible has influenced the course of human events more than any other collection of books, either directly through its own worth or indirectly through the worth of its offshoots the Greek Testament and the Arabic Koran, the Zoroastrians can only gaze at the Sacred Flame and lament the loss of the Magian equivalent to the Bible.”

“How different would the world be today,” pondered Roxana, “if the Zoroastrian scriptures had been allowed to make their proper contribution to the moral evolution of mankind?”

“Maybe Magi Porzand is right,” responded Romeen, “and other universi do exist. In one of them, Persepolis is not destroyed and the Zoroastrian scriptures become the dominant Holy Book.”

“That’s not only the opinion of Magi Porzand,” commented Roxana. “That’s the opinion of the American Edgar Allen Poe in his treatise Eureka, his very last work just before he died. There is an infinite or near-infinite number of universi, each with its own deity.”
Romeen took Roxana’s words as confirmation and vented his fantasy:

“Alexander accepts the terms offered by Darius the Third after the Persian defeat at the battle of Issus. The upper region of the Euphrates river becomes the dividing line between the two empires, with the Syrian-Arabian desert as no-man’s-land. Roxana the daughter of Darius becomes the wife of Alexander, who then turns west and unites all the lands of the Mediterranean into a single political entity, with a city close to its geographical center (perhaps Rome) as capital. The Mediterranean and Persian Empires trade and prosper in peaceful coexistence. The son of Alexander and Roxana becomes King of the Mediterranean. Having been raised by his mother in the spiritual values of Zoroastrianism, the King of the Mediterranean rules wisely, and the faith of the Prophet of Iran becomes a world religion with millions of adherents. History takes a different turn.”

“If not the history of the world, at least the history of Iran,” said Roxana. “In this universe, history has not been kind to Iran.”

“Are current events any less unkind?” ventured Romeen.

The couple finished up their breakfast. They went back to their room, freshened up, and finalized the details to their course of action for the day. With Romeen wearing suit-and-tie and Roxana clad in a dress and head-scarf, they exited their room and walked over to the parking lot. They got in their car and, with Romeen driving, exited the hotel grounds and entered onto the Yazd streets.

Driving through the ancient city, Romeen again observed the billboards depicting and honoring martyrs of the Iran-Iraq war. But then he and his passenger saw something neither of them had seen in a long time, something seldom seen in Iran: a beggar. This particular beggar, walking through the jammed traffic, going from car to car asking for handouts, had only one arm, the obvious reason why his begging was being tolerated.

A maimed one from the Iran-Iraq war, thought Romeen. He stopped by the one-armed man, pulled some rials from his wallet, and handed them to him. The poor unfortunate graciously accepted the gift and gave thanks by gesture. Romeen drove on.

This witnessing of a maimed one triggered a surge of anti-Americanism in Romeen’s mind. The instinctive blaming of the Americans for the horrible losses of the eight-year bloodbath was the outgrowth of a variant of anti-Americanism peculiar to Iranians. It was not a clash of differing values: quite the contrary. For generations, Iranians had genuinely admired Americans and drawn inspiration from the ideals in which the United States of America had been founded.

But then, they felt a sense of betrayal by the society they had looked up to and tried to emulate. For half-a-century, America’s intervening in Iranian affairs had been disastrous for Iranians. The Reaganite policy had been particularly cynical and imperialistic: America’s fueling of the Iran-Iraq carnage, its providing of weapons and intelligence to both sides to keep the war alive as long as possible (thereby undercutting OPEC and deflaying the price of oil) had only served to strengthen the power of the mullahs. When threatened externally, people tend to rally behind their government no matter how despotic it is.

Winding their way through Yazd streets, driver Romeen and passenger Roxana eventually entered onto the alley they had seen the previous night. Moving slowly, their car passed by the Zoroastrian religious store, prompting Roxana to suggest, “Let’s shop here after we see the Fire Temple.”

“Indeed,” agreed Romeen. “As good Iranians, we should buy a Fravahar to show our patriotism.”

The vehicle moved through the alleyway, passing by the Fire Temple on the left. Beyond the alley, in the wider street, driver and passenger began looking for a place to park. After a little time and effort, Romeen found a space and settled his car into it. He parked the car and turned off the engine. Romeen and Roxana exited the car, locked its doors, and walked towards the Fire Temple.

The newlyweds admired the well-kept grounds as they walked by the masonry and plants leading to the temple. They felt quite impressed by the one-story rectangular building’s well-maintained exterior as they walked up its front steps. The door was already wide open. They entered.

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Inside the Zoroastrian house of worship, the first thing they saw was a dozen or so men and women milling about; then they noticed Magi Porzand standing next to another man also dressed in traditional garb. Romeen and Roxana were both thinking, Where is Shahrzad, when their eyes fell upon the Yazd Temple Sacred Fire.

It was the strangest of sensations, viewing the fire from the other side of its glass encasement fitted into the wall. It resembled a giant piece of coal burning from the inside out, its glowing exterior fueled by the combustion within. Exuding an aura of sanctity, it truly brought to mind the Hand of the Creator. On a more rudimentary level, the exhibit caused one to momentarily believe in the existence of magic, as if the First Flame of Creation had been miraculously encapsulated within this small enclosure and the primordial universe was now on display. Time being relative, the universe was six thousand years old, and this same fire had been venerated by Adam and Eve and all the generations in between.

How long has this fire been burning? Romeen wondered. Since the time of Alexander? Since the Time of Marco Polo? Since the days of the Shah? Since before I was born? Romeen thought of his earliest childhood memories, and marveled, This same fire was burning even then.

After minutes of staring in silent contemplation at the Sacred Fire, the couple turned their attention to Porzand and the other magi. They walked over to where the two holy men were standing. Porzand acknowledged their presence with a smile and a salutary nod; they politely reciprocated these signs of recognition. Romeen and Roxana listened in as the Magi of the Yazd Temple answered questions from the small group of curious Moslems gathered around him.

“In the philosophy of Zoroaster,” asked one man in the group, “what is the purpose of life?”

“To be among those who renew the world,” answered the magi. “To make the world progress towards perfection.”

“And how does one attain happiness?” asked the same questioner.

“Happiness is a byproduct of a way of living,” answered the magi. “Happiness is for those who work for the happiness of others.”

Another man in the group, obviously possessing a fragmentary knowledge of the ancient religion, asked, “Didn’t the Prophet of Iran teach the existence of a pantheon of deities?”

The magi expounded: “The Prophet of Iran tells us that the Supreme Being, Ahura Mazda, created everything on the basis of six emanations of His Creation, the ‘Amesha-Spentas,’ or ‘Holy Immortals.’ The first is Vohu Mano, the Spirit of Good Mind. The second is Asha, the Spirit of Eternal Truth. The third is Khsathra, the Spirit of Holy Sovereignty. The fourth is Spenta Armaiti, the Spirit of Benevolent Devotion and Love. The fifth is Haurvatat, the Spirit of Perfection and Well-Being. The sixth is Ameretat, the Spirit of Immortality.”

The questioner responded, “Isn’t this a form of polytheism?”

“Is belief in the existence of angels and devils a form of polytheism?” countered the magi. “No, Agha, these Holy Immortals are Aspects of Divinity as spoken in the Gathas, the Songs of Zoroaster. But what is inspirational to the philosopher may provide meager solace to the bricklayer. There are many individuals who need to visualize these concepts in some form of mythology. Long after the time of the Prophet, the Holy Immortals became an angelic hierarchy in the minds of ordinary people.

“In addition to the six Immortals, there are additional Divine Attributes mentioned in the Gathas. Two of these became personified and visualized as a loving couple, the ‘Yazatas,’ or ‘Adorable Ones.’ The male personification is ‘Sraosha,’ meaning ‘Guardian.’ The female personification is ‘Ashi Vanguhi,’ meaning ‘Holy Blessing.’ The ninth personification mentioned in the Gathas is ‘Atar,’ the Spark of the Divine Flame that glows in the human heart. Atar’s outward symbolism led to fire being utilized in Magian ritual.”

The questioner continued to press the issue of whether or not Zoroastrianism met the criteria for being truly monotheistic: “Didn’t the Prophet of Iran teach dualism, the belief that there is a God of Good and a God of Evil who fight it out as equals?”

This question was answered by Porzand: “Although there is only one Eternal Being, our universe works on the basis of moral dualism wherein Free Will leaves us to make progressive or regressive choices. The Prophet Zoroaster pleaded with us to choose movement towards perfection, Spentu Mainyu, and renounce deviation from perfection, Angra Mainyu.”

Roxana felt she could summarize: “So as we move towards perfection, we will have in the future Adam and Eve in the Paradise of Eden, even if we did have evolution in the past.”

“I think Noah’s Ark is a more likely future,” retorted Romeen with a sigh. “Only a select few will escape the calamity and desolation of a devastated Earth.”

At this point, the young couple, along with all the others in the room, observed a new arrival upon the scene, a beautiful young woman clad in a colorful dress, her hair partially covered by an intricately-designed shawl. Romeen and Roxana recognized her immediately as Shahrzad of the Mountain of the Sacred Spring. Holding in her folded hands some kind of book, she walked over to the glass-covered front of the Sacred Fire. There she halted facing the exhibit.

Shahrzad opened the book and, in a loud voice heard by all present, proclaimed, “From the Holy Gathas, the verses of Yasna Thirty.” Everyone else became silent as she began chanting a portion of the ancient Songs of Zoroaster.

“Now, for wise persons and for those eager for truth, I shall speak of Spenta Mainyu and Angra Mainyu, and explain the way of praying to Ahura Mazda and praising Vohu Mano. I shall explain the Path of Asha, so that you may attain perfection and realize the light of truth and enjoy the Blessing of Paradise.

“Listen with your ears the highest truth, consider carefully with illuminated minds and decide, each man and woman, personally between the two paths, good and evil. Before ushering in the great day of judgment, arise all of you and try to spread Ahura Mazda’s words.

“The twain spirits which appeared in the world of thought in the beginning were good and evil in thoughts, words and deeds. The wise shall choose rightly of the two thoughts, but the unwise shall choose wrongly and thereby go astray.

“When these two spirits together came, they in the beginning created Life and Not-Life. Those who follow the Not-Life of fraud, lies and corruption shall face the worst mental situation, but those who follow the Life of truth and righteousness shall enjoy the best mental state and comfort. This is the Eternal Truth.

“Of these twin spirits, the False One chose the worst deeds, but the Holy Spirit, having pure mind and being clothed with the imperishable light of knowledge, chose the Eternal Truth. The person who performs meritorious deeds with full faith for pleasing Ahura Mazda shall chose the Eternal Truth as well.

“The devil worshippers did not chose the correct path, because they were in doubt and were deceived. Hence they followed the worst thought, which is the cause of all evil deeds, so as to destroy the mental life of the people.

“To one who is gifted with spiritual strength, good thought, truthfulness and purity, the Spirit of Benevolent Devotion and Love shall grant firmness and stability of body. Such a person shall no doubt be successful in the ordeal of life and shall be regarded, Wise Lord, as your good servant.

“When sinners receive punishments for their sins, Wise Lord, they will then realize your power through Good Thought. They will learn this truth as to how they should strive for casting away falsehood, and aiding the victory of truth and purity.

“May we be sincere servants of You, Lord of Life and Creation, like those who make the world renewed. May we enjoy Your help through Asha, so that whenever our minds waiver in doubt, our hearts and thoughts may turn as one pointed toYou, Wise Lord.

“When the false ones face failure and destruction, then the innermost desires of the true ones shall be fulfilled, and they shall enjoy the blessings of Vohu Mano and Asha. The Blissful Realm shall be their abode.

“Mortals, if you realize and understand the laws of happiness and pain ordained by Ahura Mazda, and if you learn that liars and wicked persons shall face age long punishment but pious and righteous persons shall enjoy everlasting prosperity, then by learning this principle you shall reach real contentment and salvation.”

Having finished the chapter (or Yasna), Shahrzad spoke no more yet continued to stare at the ancient fire. Minutes passed as the onlookers stood in stunned silence. They were impressed not only by the content of what she had chanted, but also by the fact that her chanting had for the most part been a recital from memory rather than a reading from text

[jjbb]

Eventually, Shahrzad turned from the glowing exhibit. The crowd gathered around her as she walked over to where the magi were standing. She halted in front of them, said hello to her personal acquaintances, Romeen and Roxana and Porzand and the Yazd Magi, then spoke to the crowd in general.

"As I gaze into the Sacred Flame, I see twelve thousand cowhide parchments containing the chapters to the Holy Avesta written in golden ink. I see the destruction of all but a small fraction of this precious wisdom."

The onlookers began asking theological questions, not of the magi but of this ravishing beauty who spoke like a visionary. One man asked, "What does the Magian Faith say about Heaven and Hell?"

"According to Zoroaster," answered Shahrzad, "when we die our essence leaves the body, and depending upon the choices it has made, either it will go to the House of Songs and Realm of Light (for those who choose good) or to the Realm of Darkness and Separation (for those who choose evil). Heaven and Hell are not described as physical places, but as timeless states of consciousness: either oneness with or separation from Ahura Mazda. Yet, as with the concept of angelic hierarchy, mythology crept into the Zoroastrian concept of afterlife, reaching its low point in the writings of Adra Viraf during the Sassanian dynasty."
The same man then asked, "And what of Reincarnation?"

Shahrzad answered: "There is only one hint of reincarnation in the Gathas, Verse Eleven of Yasna Forty-Nine. 'But souls whose inner light continues dim, who have not yet beheld the Light of Truth, unto this Home of Falsehood (this Earth) shall they return.' The clearly expressed idea of progress along the Path of Asha has much in common with the Hindu Law of Karma wherein reincarnation is a definite ingredient, yet Zoroastrianism neither affirms reincarnation nor denies it. If one thinks of reality in terms of time passages, then a soul might be bound to return because of something unsettled. It would be too much to say that Magian doctrine implies reincarnation, but it does leave room for it."

A woman raised her hand and meekly asked, "What does the Magian Faith say of the rights and duties of women in marriage?"

Shahrzad answered: "In Yasna Fifty-Three Zoroaster speaks of marriage. In Verse Three he addresses his youngest daughter, Pouro-Chista: 'Ahura Mazda has offered you a husband, a person who has deep attachment to Good Mind and Truth. Therefore, consult with your inner self and wisdom, and act through pure love and intuition.'

"In Verse Four Pouro-Chista replies, 'I have consulted my inner self, and I choose to accept him as husband and father to my children. I commit myself to being a righteous and deserving wife. May Ahura Mazda grant my descendents the glorious heritage of Vohu Mano and the blessing bestowed upon the followers of Asha.'

"In Verse Five, Zoroaster addresses all newlyweds. 'These words I speak to maidens truly wed and to their partners young; bear them in mind and understand them deep within your souls. Strive to surpass one another in Truth and Good Mind. Thus, both of you shall reap the rewards of love and happiness.'

"Zoroaster is saying that marriage is a commitment from both parties, the repercussions of which will be felt throughout the ages. Nowhere does he say that the wife is to be the abject slave of her husband. The Prophet of Iran does not give a blueprint for living a good marriage, only a guiding principal."

From this statement, Shahrzad digressed into a theological generalization: "Indeed, religion itself is not meant to provide detailed answers to the problems one faces in everyday life; rather, it is meant to provide a solid moral foundation upon which the individual can properly choose to do what in right in changing circumstances. Rules and regulations governing people's lives occasionally require amendment. There is much guiding wisdom and classic poetry in the Koran, but when you base any society upon a defined set of transgressions and punishments meant for a totally different era, then you deny contemporary relevance to genuinely religious writings, nullify their inspirational value, and freeze that society's progress on multiple fronts."

All the listeners were truly enthralled, eager to hear more of what Shahrzad had to say. But their attentions shifted as a group of four men, a mullah in clerical robes along with his entourage of plainclothes theocratic police, entered into the Temple. The sudden arrival of these authorities triggered a tense stiffening-up among the listeners, including Romeen and Roxana, who immediately recognized the mullah and his entourage as the same enforcers they had seen last night in their hotel lobby.

Standing just inside the Temple, the mullah looked with hard, cold eyes at the group of Moslems touring the site of what he regarded as a relic of antiquity that should have been obliterated like the Afghan Buddha statue. As long as these Moslems kept this visit to a fire temple on the same plane as a visit to Persepolis, the mullah, while somewhat disgusted by their ungodly interest in such polytheistic remnants, could voice no objection. But for some time he had been sensing that here, within the walls of this fire temple, there existed a potential threat to the world order he emphatically believed in and vowed to protect.

"Welcome, good mullah," greeted the Yazd Temple magi, "to this house of worship. You will find no enemies here."

Speaking to the small crowd of Moslems rather than answering the magi, the mullah declared, "It says in the Sacred Writings that Jews and Zoroastrians are the greatest enemies of Islam."
Romeen, aware of that quotation, thought, Although literally that is what it says, you are taking the passage out of context, mullah. His fear for the safety of himself and his wife prevented him from voicing any scriptural corrections.

"But here in the ancient city of Yazd," noted Porzand, "Jews and Zoroastrians and Christians and Moslems have all lived together in peaceful coexistence for many centuries."

"And the current president of Israel was born in Yazd," said the mullah as if to counter that argument."

Shahrzad stepped a few paces closer to the mullah and, calm and smiling, addressed him: "Do you know the story of the Enchanted Prince of the Black Isles?"

Most of the onlookers cringed at the apparent brazenness on the part of this mysterious woman. The mullah himself raised eyebrows as if somewhat startled but more than ready to punish any kind of defiance.

"The Black Isles were a place much like Yazd," Shahrzad continued, "a place where Jews and Magians and Nazarenes and Moslems all lived in peace and harmony under the rule of a benevolent prince. But then, a sorceress cast a spell upon the young prince, transforming him into a block of marble from the waist down while he remained a man from the waist up. At the same time, all of his subjects were transformed into fish. There were four kinds of fish, each kind with a different color, each color representing one of the kingdom's four religions: the Jews were yellow, the Magians (who were thought to worship fire) were red, the Nazarenes were blue, and the Moslems were white."

"Who are you?" demanded the mullah in the harsh voice of one who does not play games.
"My name is Shahrzad," she answered in a pleasant tone of voice.

The mullah pointed to the glass-encased fire and angrily shouted, "You know full well that it is an affront to Almighty God for a Moslem to even enter into this temple of fire worshippers!"
"Then why have you entered?" she calmly inquired.

This was too much. The mullah was now determined to arrest this rash entity he was now confronting. He thundered, "I am here to save my people from being led astray!"

She held her own against a man not to be trifled with: "No one is being led astray in this temple. These good people are merely curious about the faith of their ancient ancestors, and we are here to answer their questions."

The mullah sensed an opportunity. A infidel proselytizer, he thought.

"You are not a Moslem, then?" he queried in the cautious tone of one ready to spring a trap.
"No," she calmly replied, leaving it at that.

I cannot arrest her for apostasy, thought the mullah, unless she is Moslem-born.
"Are you a Bahai?" the mullah asked, thinking he might be able to initiate steps towards arresting her if she belonged to that heretical offshoot of Islam which counted Zoroaster as one of the prophets in a flagrant contradiction of the Koran.

She again gave a laconic, "No."

"Good mullah," intervened Porzand, "in keeping with the spirit of azadi, the reason for our revolution against the shah, the Islamic Republic of Iran guarantees freedom for religious minorities. It is written into our constitution which is based upon the Koran."

Looking at Porzand and the Yazd magi while pointing to Shahrzad, the mullah asked, "Was she born a Zoroastrian?"

"Yes," replied the Yazd magi, nodding his head in the affirmative.

"In that case, show me her identification card," the mullah demanded.

The implications of the mullah's order jolted Romeen and Roxana as well as the two magi. Each of the four was about to verbally defend Shahrzad, but was preempted by Shahrzad herself.

"I have no identification card," said the mystic woman.

I've got her! thought the mullah.

Porzand intervened: "Good mullah, we are in the process of preparing the official documentation identifying her as a member of our community."

[jjbb]

"Unacceptable," declared the mullah. "If she is truly Zoroastrian-born, then she must already have in her possession a card identifying her as such." The mullah extended his arm as if to grab hold of Shahrzad. Romeen instinctively moved forward as if to counter him, but was immediately blocked by one of the powerfully-built bodyguards. The mullah did not actually touch the mystic woman, but he did announce, "Moslem-born woman, I arrest you for the crimes of Apostasy and Disturbing of Public Opinion."

Collective groans permeated the room. Both magi wailed in sorrow. Romeen and Roxana stood in stunned silence.The taller Shahrzad and the shorter mullah stood facing each other, the mullah grinning, Shahrzad looking back at him with no trace of fear in her countenance. The bodyguards stood ready to pummel anyone daring to interfere with the arrest.

Roxana looked at Romeen, thinking, Do something, my husband. Save her, somehow, or forever be disgraced in my eyes.

Romeen looked at the tough guy challenging him, his mind taking into account all the situation's factors while trying to decide upon a course of action. Romeen was younger than any of the goons facing him, but each of them was considerably heftier than he. This clerical entourage was not composed of young novices inexperienced in the art of smashing heads, but practiced bruisers, veteran skull-smashers who had been practicing their craft since the overthrow of the shah.

Roxana looked around at the other people who had so recently been such ardent listeners. You herds of sheep! she mentally chided before thinking, What can I do? What can any of us do?

The face-off remained like a coiled spring about to unwind until Shahrzad turned from the mullah, stepped over to Romeen and said, "There is little you can do." She then turned to a tearful Roxana and said, "Don't worry. All will be well." Shahrzad turned again, faced the mullah and said, "Let us go quietly."

She walked out the door along with the enforcers. Roxana thought, Is she insane?

Everyone followed the mystic woman and exited the temple. The crowd stood outside at the top of the steps as Shahrzad descended the steps with her captors.

At the bottom of the steps, Shahrzad turned and faced the group that had listened to her recital. She raised her arm to wave good-bye, but before she could do so one of the theocratic policeman pushed her and snarled, "Get moving!" The listeners, as a group, lurched forward and cried out in collective protest, as if momentarily acting out a fantasy of deliverance.

"What you are doing is totally against Islam!" shouted one man. "You are undoing the civilizing influence of centuries!" shouted another.

Roxana was still crying when she heard her husband click on his cell phone. She looked at him as he dialed the number and awaited response. The ringing went on as he anxiously murmured, "Please answer, please answer." Eventually, Romeen heard an answering "Hello" and immediately recognized the voice as that of his sister in Tehran.

"Shahrzad," he said, "I must talk to father."

Over the cell phone, Romeen heard his sister's response from Tehran: "Father's away now. He should be back this evening."

"I must talk with him," said Romeen in an excited voice. "As soon as he gets home, tell him to stay put. I will call back."

"Romeen," asked his sister Shahrzad in a concerned voice, "is everything okay?"

"Roxana and I are okay," he replied. "It's something else. There is a legal case that father must get involved in. I'll explain everything this evening."

Romeen clicked off his cell phone and returned it to his suit pocket. He looked at his tear-eyed wife and said, "My father was once a high-ranking judge. He still has enough prestige to save her."

Although grateful that Romeen was at least trying to help, Roxana nevertheless continued to feel intense pangs of sorrow and loss. She bemoaned, "Shahrzad was granted only a brief moment to deliver her message. A door of hope opened just ajar, revealing the Holy Spirit before snapping shut."

[jjbb]

IV: Embodiment of Justice
It was just before noon as the car approached Yazd from the north, finishing up the long drive from Tehran begun two days previous. Romeen drove on, determined to fulfill his mission of transporting to the Appeals Court of the Yazd Chief Magistrate the shorter, gray-haired, white-mustached man wearing glasses who was seated next to him on the front passenger side, his father Amir. Romeen's wife, Roxana, and his sister, Shahrzad, were seated in the back.

Amir Sharifi, a High Court Judge in the days of the Shah, was still involved in legal matters. Although his efforts to preserve the finer portions of secular law were usually thwarted by overseeing clerics, Amir tried to mitigate his exasperation at the stifling of genuine justice by inventing a profound statement: Law is the wisdom of the few diluted by the foolishness of the many. As these words of Amir's own making passed through his mind, the good judge followed upon them by expressing his confidence aloud in an attempt to assuage the anxieties of his son and daughter and daughter-in-law: "I do believe I can get her released on appeal."
"But is it too late?" responded Romeen in a defeatist tone. "For five months she's been incarcerated. God knows what condition she's in now."

Upon hearing these words, Shahrzad gently took hold of Roxana's hand, silently telling her sister-in-law not to worry. Dredging up hope in Allah the Compassionate, Roxana repeated aloud what Magi Porzand had said on the Mountain of the Sacred Spring: "Believe in the subliminal manifestation of Divinity."

Romeen, alarmed by what he perceived as his wife's mindset being gradually overtaken by superstition, inserted a pragmatic vein: "If Magi Porzand could bring her from the Spiritual Dimension to this Material Dimension, then why couldn't he spring her from prison?"

"I can't answer that," said Roxana, "nor can I fathom the way she appeared out of thin air."

"The hand is quicker than the eye," noted Romeen.

"If you had seen her in the mist," insisted Roxana, "you'd be wondering too."

"The point is," inserted Amir, "now is the time for an appeal to succeed. Look at what circumstances have wrought! Farzaneh Kaboli performs traditional women's dance before an all-female audience, whereupon she and her dancers are arrested; later that same date, at the worst possible hour, the earthquake of Bam strikes. The regime is every bit as inept in its response to the natural disaster of Bam as it was thirteen years ago when the earthquake of Gilan-Zanjan occurred. How many more glaring revelations of the necessity for a changing of priorities do we need?"

"The regime did allow legislation for moving the capital away from Tehran," credited Romeen.

"They show concern."

"Watch where you spout your sarcasm," advised Amir to his son.

Romeen continued, but now without sarcasm: "Iran is not only unstable politically, it's unstable geologically as well. I understand that science has to progress on all fronts, and therefore one research reactor under the tightest quality control does make sense for Iran.

But sitting atop all these fault lines makes an elaborate nuclear processing system much too precarious." Romeen paused to reflect on the irony of the situation before adding, "This Yazd desert, which includes the last Zoroastrian city in Iran to convert to Islam, also possesses one of Earth's richest deposits of Uranium. Is that going to mean wealth or radiation poisoning?"

"Perhaps it is best not to exploit this particular natural resource," suggested Amir.

"In this day and age of global economy?" responded Romeen. "Who's being sarcastic now?"

"Keep your mind on your driving," suggested Amir.

They drove on in silence for awhile. As typical of towns in the desert, the barren landscape gave way in quick transition to an urban environment. Romeen piloted his vehicle through ancient and modern streets now more familiar to him, eventually arriving at the same Yazd hotel he and Roxana had stayed in last summer. They checked in and, wasting no time, transported their luggage to their two rooms, one for Romeen and his father Amir, the other for Roxana and her sister-in-law Shahrzad. Romeen was glad his sister had insisted upon joining them in taking time off work to make the journey; Roxana had been acting awfully distraught lately, and sometimes Shahrzad could calm her down better than he could.

They freshened up in their rooms, bundled up for the winter weather, then went together to the cafeteria. The four of them ate a quick lunch. There at the table, Judge Amir Sharifi laid out the details.

"Leave me off at the Magistrate's building. Give me until Seven O'clock this evening. Then pick me up and I think we will be able to go and release this Shahrzad you met on Chek-chek mountain."

All three of the young Sharifis expressed their trust in the capability of this head of the extended family.

The four departed the hotel grounds. Romeen drove the group over to the side of town where the Magistrate's quarters were located. Arriving there around two o'clock, Romeen left his father off at the front steps to the Appeals Court. Amir said good-bye to his son and daughter and then to his daughter-in-law, admonishing Roxana to be optimistic, reassuring her with a history lesson from Persepolis.

"You have seen the tablets of the Achemenian Kings. You know what the individual monarchs say on them. ‘I lord over multitudes, yet I am answerable to Ahura Mazda for their welfare.' In the minds of the Ancient Persians, their kingdom was the embodiment of justice, their king mandated by God to rule by decree."

Judge Sharifi held high his briefcase containing legal documents, his way of saying there was no doubt of his winning the case. He walked up the steps to the entrance and showed his identification cards to the security guards. They let him pass. He entered the building.

Romeen drove off with Roxana and Shahrzad remaining in the back seat.

"So, in five hours we return; by then," asserted Shahrzad, "father will have obtained the Mystic Woman's release."

"We must pray for it to be so," said Roxana.

"Pray to Allah or to Ahura Mazda?" asked Romeen, testing his wife's state of mind.

"The Eternal Being is known by different names in different languages," responded Roxana.

The drove across town in the direction of the Fire Temple. As they approached the temple via the narrow alleyway adjacent to it, Roxana told Romeen to stop the car next to the Zoroastrian religious store. He did so, keeping the engine running. Roxana and Shahrzad got out of the car and rushed into the store. It took only minutes for them to buy a novelty item, rush out of the store and get back into the car. Romeen drove off. The car threaded the remainder of the alleyway onto a wider street. Romeen hunted for a parking space, eventually found one, and parked the car

[jjbb]

The trio disembarked from the car. The last one out, Roxana, removed the novelty item from its wrappings. "The Fravahar," she said, proudly displaying the stone candleholder to her husband. The three of them walked towards the temple with Romeen's wife holding and keeping clearly visible the ancient Iranian symbol.

A crowd of several dozen people, mostly adolescents and young adults, was camped out upon the steps. A few of them held signs saying, "Azadi." As a congregation, they listened to the dynamic orator who stood at the top of the steps, a young man clad in bohemian-student garb. He spoke in an impassioned voice without the benefit of microphone yet loud and clear.

"We are at a crossroads in time. This may be our last chance. If the Guardian Council succeeds in rendering the parliamentary elections a sham, then we will no longer be the Islamic Republic of Iran. We will instead be the Caliphite of Iran; in effect, the monarchy restored, albeit with a new dynasty."

As Romeen and his two female companions passed by these demonstrators, the orator shifted attentions. He pointed to Roxana and announced, "The Fravahar!" Roxana halted out of politeness. She displayed the Fravahar, turning in an arc to encompass all present. The orator cordially motioned for her to come over to him. She did so. "May I hold the Fravahar for a moment?" he asked. She replied, "Yes, you may," and handed it over.

Holding the Fravahar at its center with two hands, one covering the upper portion of its statue of the Prophet of Iran and the other covering the lower portion, the orator displayed the spread stone wings whose tips were candleholders. He extolled the congregation: "This is the symbol of the Iranian nation. It has been so for thousands of years."

In response, the crowd cheered and clapped. The orator was about to return the candleholder when Roxana reacted, "No, you keep it. You can do much more good with it than I can."

Romeen, Roxana and Shahrzad departed from the outside crowd. At the entrance to the Fire Temple, Romeen commented to his two companions, "The sons and daughters of the revolutionaries who overthrew the monarchy are now trying to overthrow the theocracy. It shows that revolutionaries should not have children, because when they do they breed counter-revolutionaries."

The three of them entered into the Fire Temple. Inside, they found only Porzand, standing in the back by the wall, and a woman on her knees facing the Sacred Flame. Roxana approached the kneeling woman, who was wearing a headscarf, winter coat, bluejeans and sneakers.

This might be the Mystic Woman, thought Roxana, somehow freed from prison by her own wit and wile.

Roxana moved forward; she halted just behind the woman who seemed to be praying. She waited about a minute before asking with trepidation, "Shahrzad of Chek-Chek, have you returned to us?"

The woman rose to her feet, turned around, and pulled back her headscarf, revealing herself to be a young and pretty brunette. Sadness was evident in her countenance as well as her voice when she answered, "I have not seen Shahrzad of Chek-Chek since I was released from prison."

"What!" exclaimed Roxana. "You have seen her?"

"More than seen her," said the woman., "I was close to her for five months."

"When you were you released from prison?" probed Roxana.

"Yesterday," she informed, speaking in the morose tone of one experiencing survivor's guilt.
Roxana took a few moments to organize her questions. She first asked, "What is your name?"

"Anaheita," she answered.

Roxana introduced with words and gestures: "I am Roxana... .This is my husband Romeen... This is my sister-in-law Shahrzad... Do you know Magi Porzand?"

Anaheita stepped forward and spoke directly to Roxana's sister-in-law. "You are a Shahrzad? For five months we prisoners were granted the blessing of another Shahrzad. She told us many tales, and invited us to contribute tales of our own. I had the honor of adding my tale to her collection."

"What is your tale?" asked Shahrzad.

Porzand intervened: "Let's all go and sit down over there, where we can comfortably listen to Anaheita's tale."

Romeen, Roxana, Shahrzad and Anaheita all shifted to a side region of the temple. Porzand fetched five cushions. Anaheita found comfortable seating to address the small but captive audience. Porzand and the Sharifis gathered around to listen to her.

Shahrzad, remembering that, in the many tales of the Thousand and One Nights, the title was more often a person's occupation rather than a person's name, asked, "Anaheita, what is you tale called?"

Anaheita answered, "The Story of the Belly Dancer."

For the first time, Porzand and the Sharifis saw Anaheita smile. She rose to her feet, opened up her coat and struck up the pose of a professional dancer. She stood there posing for a few moments, then sat down again. Romeen, Roxana, Shahrzad and Porzand listened attentively as Anaheita began the Story of the Belly Dancer.

"I was born in Isfahan one year after the revolution. My earliest memories are of the war years. When I was quite little, my father died as a soldier in the war against Iraq, leaving behind an impoverished wife and daughter. My mother had it quite rough, struggling to find odd jobs to feed and clothe me. When I was ten, a rare opportunity presented itself: a Turkish hotel owner visited Isfahan and took an interest in my mother. He offered her work at his hotel in Turkey. She gladly accepted. Mother and I traveled overland to the Aegean coast of Turkey. There in Kusadasi, a lovely beach resort town close to many impressive archaeological sites, my mother took a job as a maid in a hotel.

"The next eight years of my life were pretty good, even though we remained poor. I grew up in the idyllic setting of Kusadasi, where jobs abounded during the summer. I adapted to my new and much freer environment, perfecting my Turkish, preserving my Persian, and learning English in school. I took advantage of numerous interactions with tourists to become fluent in English and to pick up smatterings of Greek, French and German. Partly as a move to supplement the meager family income and partly out of love for the art, I became a proficient belly dancer. I got the chance to show off my skills and earn a little money at hotel performances.

"I graduated from high school and spent one last tourist season with friends and family in Kusadasi. Towards the end of the summer, I was offered a contract to become a member of a belly-dancing troupe headquartered in Istanbul. I read the contract carefully; it looked good and I signed. Early that autumn, I said good-bye to friends and family and departed for Istanbul, there to begin a belly-dancing career that I planned to happily work at for the next few years, in the process making good money and having opportunities to travel. I was determined to enjoy my years of youth.

"

[jjbb]

I became part of a sorority of belly-dancers and made many friends. I had a sequence of boyfriends, nice flings but of the kind not meant to last. About half the time I spent in Istanbul, the other half on tour. The longest tour was for five months in the U.S.A. In Los Angeles, our performances were captured on film and made into a movie, a feature presenting dances of the harem-fantasy variety as well as individual dances wherein each of us was allowed to exhibit what she did best. A sizable number of VCR and DVD recordings were made of this excellent movie. I was proud of these audio-visuals and glad they were being produced in both the American and the European formats. I took a sizable quantity of them back home to Istanbul.

"Those were good times for me, but after Nine-Eleven things began to go downhill. The terrorist attack had devastating repercussions on the tourist trade in Turkey. We always did our best to create a magnificent floor show, but often we would find ourselves performing in nightclubs with three out of four tables empty. We were offered the chance to make some music videos of the Britney Spears variety, and, being hard pressed economically, we as a group accepted. We made several overtly erotic dance music videos. I considered them entertaining perhaps but not artistic; but then, neither did I consider them pornographic, as they contained neither graphic sex nor nudity.

"Four years after I joined the troupe, I received a letter from my mother. She said she wanted to return to Isfahan and spend the last days of her life there among friends and relatives in the place where she had been born and raised. This came as a shock to me, for I was unaware that my mother had any serious medical problems. I immediately called her up and requested (actually, I insisted) that she come to Istanbul; I would pay her expenses.

"She came to Istanbul and stayed with me. I took her to several doctors, and discovered that her liver was rapidly deteriorating to the point where she probably did not have much longer to live. Her only hope was a risky liver transplant, which was very expensive and required her being on a waiting list for a donor. I tried to talk my mother into taking the chance, but she was adamantly opposed to that course of action, regarding as obscene the very thought of having another person's organ transplanted inside her, foreign tissue prone to rejection by the new host. She preferred to die peacefully among relatives in the place of her pleasant childhood memories. I eventually accepted my mother's reasoning, not really knowing how we could afford a liver transplant anyway.

"It was slack time for my dance troupe's employment; so, I told them that I had to leave for awhile and return to Isfahan with my mother, who by this stage could hardly sit up in a chair. My friends all wished me luck, and we said our good-byes with tears and kissing. One month before the Roman New Year, I went with my mother to the Istanbul airport. We both had Iranian passports; we were still Iranian citizens. We flew to Tehran on Turkish Airways, and then to Isfahan on Iran Air.

"I spent my mother's last days with her in the same place we had spent the first ten years of my life. I renewed acquaintances with relatives I had not seen or heard from in twelve years. They talked a lot about my father. I felt both sadness and pride when I saw his picture on a billboard, eulogizing him as a martyr who had died defending his country.

I did some touring with my mother. Isfahan is indeed a beautiful city, with its Safayeed Palace as a vision of paradise, its Mosque as a reach to Heaven and spectacular acoustics, its bazaar as a friendly place where merchants offer tea to prospective customers and sip with them over a haggle. I remember so vividly the winter solstice evening, when I witnessed sunset with my mother from the bridge over the river, and prepared myself for the last good-bye.

[jjbb]

"Not long after the Roman New Year, my mother passed away. I attended her funeral overcome with emotion. I spent a few more days in Isfahan, then bade farewell to relatives and flew Iran Air to Tehran. I spent a portion of that night in a hotel. I woke up early while it was still dark and took a taxi to the airport for my flight to Istanbul.

"I sat in the lounge waiting to board the Turkish Airways flight, looking forward to being able to change from traditional garb to modern dress. I did not imagine that my world was about to be turned upside down, but, indeed, that is what happened when two men came up to me, showed me their police credentials, and told me I was under arrest.

"'Me! What for?' I meekly responded.

"'For the crime of pornography,' one of them answered.

"I could not believe my ears. I thought of the belly-dancer movie and the music videos I had appeared in, but all my recorded performances had been done outside Iran and presumably never shown inside Iran. True, Annette Funicello's bikini beach movies of forty years ago are considered pornographic in Iran, but how could they prosecute me for something done in a place where no laws had been broken?

"I went quietly with my captors to the police station. I was locked up in a cell and told to await trial. I requested to be allowed contact with my relatives in Isfahan, but the request was denied. I spent what seemed to be an interminable length of time in solitary confinement, unable to sleep, hoping and praying that the whole matter would be cleared up and I would soon be released.

"Eventually, the same two police officers who had arrested me came and picked me up in my cell. They escorted me outside to a car. I was driven a short distance to the magistrate's building, then escorted into the courtroom. There I faced a turbaned judge.

"The prosecution pointed to a pile of VCR tapes and demanded that I either acknowledge or deny involvement in the production of said tapes. Portions of a tape were run, and I discovered it to be a recording the belly-dancing movie made in California. Scenes depicting me, both dancing alone and as part of the troupe, were shown in glaring detail. At the end of the tape, a list of credits was given, and my name appeared, identifying me as one of the dancers. The prosecution then declared that I had blasphemously disgraced my father, a prominent martyr for Islam, and therefore deserved the harshest of punishments.

"Clearly, I could not deny my involvement. But the defense attorney was quick to point out that these pornographic tapes were made outside Iran, in a godless place where there was no law against such decadence; also, there was no evidence of my involvement in their being smuggled into Iran and sold on the black market. The prosecution countered by showing another tape, this one of a recent MTV video made in Turkey. The tape revealed me performing sexually suggestive dances, and also gave my name in the credits. The prosecution reiterated the evil I had done to the memory of my martyred father. The defense noted that such productions were not illegal in the secular Republic of Turkey. The prosecution declared that the tapes nonetheless violated Sunni morality and, while the Turkish government was strictly committed to separation of mosque and state, the Turkish people were still bound by Sharia. The prosecution added that I was the only known link between this pornography and its appearance in Iran.

"The judge closed the court session and ordered me sent back to my cell. Before taking me there, the two arresting officers took me into an interrogation room and drilled me in the classic good cop, bad cop technique.

"The good cop said they were not interested in incarcerating a pawn like me, but that they were determined to break up an extensive pornography ring peddling VCR's on the black market. If I cooperated, and informed on the members of this pornography ring, I could be released very soon. I replied by telling the truth: I had no knowledge whatsoever about any pornography ring and no idea at all as to how the tapes had been smuggled into Iran. The bad cop responded by calling me a 'filthy whore,' and told me I was going to pay dearly for fomenting insurrection within society.

"They returned me to my cell. I spent another full day without sleep as I anxiously waited to learn my fate. The light was always on and the cell was cut off from natural sunlight, so I felt the torture of never knowing what time of day it was. I spent another full day without sleep as I anxiously waited to learn my fate.

"Finally, I was taken from my cell, driven to the Magistrate's building, and brought once again into the courtroom. I was forced to stand before the clerical judge, who harshly lectured me on how the spreading corruption was undermining the very fabric of society. After delivering his tirade, he declared me guilty of the crime of pornography. I fell to my knees, but the arresting officers forced me to stand up again.

"'You are hereby sentenced to a minimum of one year in prison,' pronounced the judge, 'with your sentence to be reviewed in one year.' "

"Devastated, I was taken back to my cell in a state of shock. Alone, I cried and cried until no more tears would come. Finally, I fell asleep, for the first time in days.

"After some time, I was awakened by the arresting officers. Covered in a chador, I was taken out to a car and driven several kilometers outside the city to a small airfield. The two officers turned me over to another group of police, and I was forced into a small airplane. Inside the plane were another half-dozen imprisoned women, like me all covered up in chadors. The plane took off.

"I had no idea where we were being sent but, looking out the window, I could view the changing terrain and realized we were heading south. Hours later, the plane landed in a small, isolated airfield somewhere in the desert.

"We disembarked from the plane and were driven to our final destination, a formidable women's prison. Although most of the guards were men, the highest ranking prison official was a woman. Individually, each of us was taken to this warden for a formal processing into our place of confinement.

"The warden, a stone-faced middle-aged woman, was the most mean-spirited witch I have ever met. She told me right off the bat that if I showed even the slightest bit of defiance or lack of cooperation I would spend the rest of my life in these hellish surroundings. At that moment, my greatest fear was that I would, in this place, become as ugly as her in body and spirit.

"Upon completion of the processing, I was sent to my cell. Exactly one year and one day ago, I began my sentence for the crime of pornography. I had striven to make the most of my youth; now, I was sure that my youth would be squandered in the wasteland of incarceration.

"I went through sheer hell inside the prison walls, whether alone or in the company of other lost-soul women. In addition to the miserable conditions, I had a fear of being raped by brute-male prison guards. Other women explained to me that, while there would be no rape per se, the male guards did sometimes take advantage of a woman's desperation to coerce her into granting sexual favors; if she refused, they made life even more miserable for her. But all the guards were subordinate to the witchy warden, who wielded her power in such a way that the male guards had to deal with her in order to obtain sex from any of the female prisoners. Thus, the women's prison became a medieval Ottoman harem of backstabbing intrigue between inmates, guards and the overseeing warden.

"Occasionally, I was called into the warden's office. She had studied my case carefully, and kept trying to pry out of me information concerning the 'great smuggling ring' conspiracy. Quite submissively, I kept repeating that I knew nothing about how the 'pornographic' tapes had been smuggled into Iran. At one point, I broke down and cried. Her reaction to my tears was to say, 'Do you know what your crying does to me? It makes me want to treat you worse.' Gradually, I was so beaten down in spirit that I lost even the will to plead innocence; I would tell that stone-faced woman whatever she wanted to hear even if it meant lying.

"I became willing to prostitute myself, if by so doing I could alleviate my suffering; but I had no guarantee that such debasement would improve my situation at all. Gnawing away at my psyche was the uncertainty as to whether or not I would be freed after one year. Prison guards kept dropping hints that the only way I could gain my freedom would be to submit to their carnal desires.

"At times, I wanted to die. But then, seven months after I first entered this inferno, a new inmate arrived who reinstilled in me the will to live."

"Shahrzad of the Mountain of the Sacred Spring!" interrupted Roxana. "What has happened to her?"

"Let her finish," enjoined Romeen.

"The Shahrzad you speak of is in good health at present," informed Anaheita, adding, "but how long will she remain so?" The belly dancer who had spent a year in prison became noticeably agitated. She raised her arms in supplication and petitioned the Almighty: "Eternal Being, please save her! Take my life in her place if you must.".

[jjbb]

The listeners gave Anaheita a few moments to calm down before Romeen bade her to continue. The belly dancer resumed the telling of her story.

"One day, I was asleep, dreaming of my home in Istanbul, of being reunited with my friends, happy to be free, when I awoke to find myself once again in my dingy cubbyhole. I rubbed my eyes and, feeling the need to move around a bit, entered into the common area. There I saw my familiar cellmates gathered around a new inmate. She was stunningly beautiful, and I say that as a bellydancer who was once belonged to a bevy of beauty. Her name was Shahrzad, and she spoke in the most melodious of voices, telling everyone not to worry, that our suffering was all part of a Cosmic Scheme.

"I joined the others, listening to Shahrzad as she began telling a story: 'There was once a poor fisherman who cast his net into the sea but four times a day....' She went on to tell of the bottle the fisherman retrieved and of the genie who had spent two thousand years imprisoned within it. We could all relate to that theme, and remained a captive audience as she recounted the tale in such glowing detail that it mattered not if one had heard it before. We were all so happy when the fisherman gave the genie a second chance.

"Day followed day, and one story flowed into another. For some brief moments, we could escape from our wretched state through the magic weaving of her storytelling. One of the most interesting stories she told, forty sessions long, was a futuristic fantasy none of us had ever heard before: The Man Who Claimed to be God. I, as well as the others, was amazed over the way she told the entire story, word for word, in the most articulate manner without ever resorting to written notes. Her memory was quite phenomenal.

"She not only related stories, she also allowed each of us to tell the group her own individual story. I am not sure how much fabrication entered into any one of these personal stories, but the Mystic Woman had an uncanny ability to detect falsehoods, drawing out the truth in a gentle way, exposing inaccuracies without humiliating the speaker. When the time came for me to tell my story, the Story of the Bellydancer, I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

"We all were curious to hear Shahrzad's own personal story, and as the months passed she revealed to us bits and pieces of her background. We learned that she came from Chek-Chek, the Mountain of the Sacred Spring, and had been arrested for Apostasy and Disturbing of Public Opinion. She affirmed her adherence to the teachings of the Prophet of Iran, and taught us fundamental precepts of Zoroastrianism. I cannot speak for the others, but I myself derived inspiration from what I learned of the Ancient Faith.

"We all grew to love her. And we all became concerned for her welfare. We presumed that the male guards were all eager to prey on her, and warned her on numerous occasions about this feature of life in a women's prison staffed by men. Yet, her personal magnetism was so intense that she managed to impress even the guards, bringing out whatever goodness they had, causing them to respect her and feel ashamed of themselves for having lustful inclinations towards this Daughter of Angels.

"One person, however, even the Mystic Woman could not redeem. The warden became aware of Shahrzad's capacity for charming people, and started to think of the woman from the Sacred Spring as a challenge to her authority. The warden had Shahrzad brought to her office, and there tried to probe her weaknesses. In no uncertain terms, the witchy woman let the angelic woman know that the duration of her sentence depended upon the whims of the warden. I learned from prison guards that, on the first drilling, Shahrzad showed no sign whatsoever of being intimidated. She remained calm in the face of threats, behaving as though she was under the protection of some higher authority and unperturbed by the warden's threats to manipulate her sentence.

"This was an affront to the warden's pride, which she kept strong by engendering in others the fear of her wrath. She became determined to break the spirit of her prisoner. With increasing frequency, Shahrzad was brought under guard to the warden's office. The warden kept increasing the various pressures, yet Shahrzad always remained calm and mild-mannered, sometimes even smiling at her tormentor. I've been told that, on one occasion, the warden thundered at the Mystic Woman, 'If you ever smile in my presence again, I will cut out your lips from your mouth.'

"The one-year anniversary of the beginning of my incarceration was approaching, with the outcome of my sentence review uncertain. I spent more and more time with