St. Valentine's Day

[Rasputin]

در ايران چند سالی بيشتر نيست که شور و هيجان روز والنتاين، همه گير شده است. با وجود اين، روز ۲۶ بهمن به مغازهای لوکس فروشی که سر بزنی چنان هياهويی برپاست که حتی به درستی نمی توانی اجناس مغازه ها را ببينی.

برای رسيدن به فروشنده ها که در اين روز، چند نفر هم برای کمک در کنار خود دارند، بايد حداقل نيم ساعتی حوصله به خرج بدهی، اين در حالی است که صف انبوه جمعيت هر لحظه بيشتر فشرده می شود و مدام با انبوه آدمها از اين طرف به آن طرف مغازه ها کشانده می شوی.

تازه بعد از کلی معطلی، در حالی که فکر می کنی در يک نبرد جانانه پيروز شدی به فروشنده ها می رسی. فروشنده هايی که چند روز مرتب و پشت سر هم هديه ها را به زيبايی بسته بندی کرده اند و دست مشتری داده اند، امشب نيز بايد مرتب آدرسهای مختلف را يادداشت کنند تا سر ساعت مشخصی، هدايای سفارشی را به در خانه ها ارسال کنند.

تقريبا همه از نفس افتاده و خسته هستند اما بايد تا آخر شب همين کارها را ادامه بدهند و با عشاق بيدل و دلداده همراهی کنند.

اکثر اين جمعيت در هم گره خورده را جوانها تشکيل می دهند، وقتی به آنها نزديک می شوی و در مورد اين روز می پرسی، می گويند امروز، روز دوست داشتن است؛ روز جشن و پارتی.



سارا درباره خريد هديه در روز والنتاين می گويد: «بعد از اينکه فهميدم دوست پسرم برايم هديه خريده، برای اينکه جلويش کم نيارم تصميم گرفتم هديه بزرگتری برايش بخرم»، او که به همراه دوستانش به خريد آمده، با تاکيد تکرار می کند: «آخه نمی خوام کم بيارم.»

در ويترين مغازه های تهران که خودشان را برای فروش روز والنتاين آماده کرده اند، هر نوع هديه ای با هر قيمتی را می توان يافت: از بسته های کوچک و تزئين شده شکلات تا هديه های لوکس و گرانتری که با گل و قلب های سرخ آراسته شده اند.

آرش که در حال فکر کردن، به ويترين مغازه ها خيره شده بود، با نورفلاش دوربين به خودش می آيد و در مورد انتخاب هديه برای روز ولنتاين می گويد: «در حالی که در اروپا اين روز را با يک شاخه گل و يا يک شکلات يا عروسک کوچولو به هم تبريک می گن، اما ما حتما بايد يه هديه بزرگ و گران بخريم. هرچی هديه گرانتر، ميزان عشق ما بيشتر! واقعا اين هديه خريدن برای ما دردسر شده.»

او درباره رايج شدن رسم و رسوم روز والنتاين به عنوان جشن عشاق در ايران می گويد: «من يک ايرانی ام و دوست دارم روز عشقی را که نياکانم جشن می گرفتند جشن بگيرم. اجدادمان روز ۲۹ بهمن را قرنها قبل از باب شدن چنين روزی در اروپا جشن می گرفتند.» اما بلافاصله توضيح می دهد: «اگر بخواهم به دوستم اين را بگويم حتما رابطه اش را با من به هم می زند!»

اگر جشن والنتاين در مغرب زمين به سه قرن پيش از ميلاد برمی گردد، روز عشق در ميان ايرانيان متعلق به بيست قرن پيش از ميلاد است.



روز عشق در فرهنگ ايران باستانی، درست سه روز پس از تاريخی است که اکنون به بزرگداشت سنت والنتاين، قديس حامی عشاق جشن گرفته می شود؛ روز ۲۹ بهمن يا بنا به تقويم زرتشتيان روز پنجم از ماه اسپند (تمام ماه ها در دين زرتشتی سی روزه است) که اسپندارمذگان نام دارد، "روز عشق" دانسته می شد و هنوز هم زرتشتيان اين روز را جشن می گيرند.

در اسطوره های ايران باستان، اسپندارمذ، فرشته زمين بود و سپندار به معنای گستراننده، مقدس و فروتن، لقب زمين دانسته می شد. ايرانيان باستان، زمين را نماد عشق می دانستند زيرا به باور آنان، با فروتنی و گذشت به همه عشق می ورزد و همه را از زشت و زيبا به يک چشم می بيند.

در اين روز که همچنان ميان زرتشتيان جشن گرفته می شود، عشاق به هم هديه می دهند. مردان، همسر، مادر، دختر و خواهرشان را گرامی می دارند و بر «تخت شاهی» می نشانند؛ از آنان اطاعت می کنند و به آنان که نماد زمينند، هديه می دهند.

امروز به جز عده ای اندک، هيچکس روز عشق ايرانی را به ياد نمی آورد. هرچند فکر جايگزينی سپندارمذگان به جای روز والنتاين، دست کم در بحثهای اينترنتی ايرانيان داغ شده و بالا گرفته، اما از شلوغی مغازه هايی که هديه روز والنتاين می فروشند نکاسته است.

در يکی از مغازه هايی که مالامال از جمعيت است، سميرا با عجله در حالی که خرس عروسکی زيبايی را انتخاب کرده است، در مورد روز عشق اين طور توضيح می دهد: «من از تاريخچه امروز مثل خيلی های ديگه خبر ندارم، اما می دونم که چند ساليه اين روز به نام روز عشق باب شده ، من هم می خوام اين خرس را با تمام عشق و محبتم به شوهرم هديه کنم.»

[Rasputin]

February is sometimes called as the Month of Love, but February 14th is always known as the Day of Love or the Valentine’s Day, which is considered as a Special Day to celebrate Love and Friendship around the world.

The New Lexicon Webster’s Encyclopedic Dictionary defines valentine as a sweetheart chosen on Valentine’s Day, the day when birds were believed to begin mating. According to Cambridge Dictionaries Online, valentine means, someone you love or would like to have a romantic relationship with, and you send a valentine card (or gift) to him or her. And the message on the card (or gift) said “Be my Valentine”. Britannica Encyclopedia refers to the Valentine’s Day as a day when lovers express their affection with greetings and gifts. On the basis of Wikipedia Online Dictionary, Valentine’s Day is the traditional day on which lovers in certain cultures let each other know about their love.

Reliable evidences indicate that whispering, worshiping, and celebrating love in Persian Culture trace back to pre-Zoroastrian era, long before Zoroaster’s time. It should be noted that to establish an exact date for Zoroaster’s time vary widely. Scholarly estimates are usually roughly near 1700 BC. Others, however, give earlier estimates, making him as the founder of the earliest religion based on revealed scripture, while still others place him in the 6th century BC, which would make him contemporary to the rise of the Achamenids.

The evidences that indicate Iranians were worshiping and celebrating love during pre-Zoroastrian era, in Zoroaster’s time, and onward may be classified as follows:

1. The chief god of the pre-Zoroastrian era was AHURA MAZDA, the creator of the universe and the one who maintained the cosmic and social order. MEHR or MITHRA in Avesta, and MITRAH in Pahlavi was the second most important deity. In Avesta, MEHR was the god or the protector of truth (in Persian: Dourosti) and friendship (in Persian: Doosti). In Modern Persian, MEHR means love (Eshgh), kindness (Mehrabaani), and sun (Khorsheed).

2. The AMESA SPENTAS or the AMESHA SPENTAS are the holy immortals of Zoroastrianism. They probably belonged to the pantheon of ancient Iranian gods, which existed before Zoroaster’s time. It is possible that, although Zoroaster denounced the old gods and goddesses, he assimilated the Amesa Sepantas into his teachings as aspects of AHURA MAZDA, and they were said to serve Ahura Mazda, the creator of the universe. Each of these Amesa Spentas ruled over a particular aspect of reality. To name a few of them, Spenta Mainyu ruled over Humanity, and SPENTA ARMAITI reigned over the Earth.

3. The SPENTA ARMAITI in Persian Mythology was the goddess of devotion and unconditional love. She was also the guardian of herdsmen and farmers, and she is possibly the counterpart of Roman Lupercus and Greek Pan. (Lupercus was the god of shepherds, and Pan was the god of the pastures managed for sheep and goats).

Spenta Armaiti in Persian Culture is also known as Espandarmaz and in Armenian Culture it is known as Spendarmat.

The SPENTA ARMAITI, the Persian goddess of devotion and unconditional love, was widely believed to be the spiritual mother of all human beings, and people were taught to say, 'My mother is Spendarmat, Archangel of the Earth, and my father is Ohrmazd, the Lord of Wisdom'.

According to one tradition, SPENTA ARMAITI was the mother of Kayumars, the King and the primordial being in Persian Mythology. As Kayumars lay dying, his body separated into seven metals. SPENTA ARMAITI gathered together the gold and grew a plant from it. From this plant came the first human couple. The name SPENTA ARMAITI is sometimes translated as 'Love' or 'Devotion'.

According to some documents the ancient Iranians used to celebrate the Day of Love at the end of Bahman (coinciding with February 18 or in the beginning of Esfand (coinciding with February 19), and the feast was known as Spendarmat or Spendarmaz.

In present-day Iran, Esfandgan Feast, which is devoted to women and mothers, is celebrated on Spandarmaz Day in Esfand, the last month of the Iranian calendar, to remember the superior status of mothers as well as their kindness and self-sacrifice.






In Iranian Culture, Valentine’s Day is finding its place in the hearts of many Iranians particularly during the recent years. Undoubtedly, Iranians are hungry for joy and pleasure. Reliable evidences indicate that the number of Iranians who are celebrating the Valentine’s Day is dramatically rising. Young people of Iran argue that celebrating love is a part of Persian Culture and Tradition, dating back thousands of years and it must be always tactfully celebrated. Classic Persian Poems composed by Hafez, Mowlana, Nezami-Ganjavi, and many others, are full of the poems on love. Here are some famous poems about love written by Hafez, Mowlana, and Nezami-Ganjavi respectively:



Whoever was intimate with his heart, his love defined
And he who was not, in his doubt was left behind.
Found nothing more joyful than the sound of words of love
In this turning Merry-Go-Round that You rewind: (Hafez).



Do not call the wise lover insane, or say
The soul who shares your garden is a stranger
Do not confine the encircling sea to a cup
He knows his name; so do not make stories up: (Mowlana).



Heaven has no other prayer niche but love.
Without love the world is worthless.
Become the slave to love, this is the course.
This is the path for all pious people: (Nezami-Ganjavi).

[Rasputin]

I met him when I was only 16 and with a dual enrollment in high school in the mornings and college at nights. I met him my first day at college, he saw me waiting for my classes to start, sitting at the library, came to talk to me, asked where I was from and where and at what time were my classes. I answered him, like obeying an order. That night he was waiting for me after my classes and asked me to give him a ride back to his apartment, only a few blocks from campus. That was the beginning of a story that shaped the rest of my life, my first encounter with Iranians, and as I see it today, a very bad day for me and how I choose my lot in this life.

That was the beginning of many rides to his apartment after classes. He was always waiting for me, religiously when I finished my classes, two times a week. I was fascinated by this tall, dark and handsome-beyond-belief man, who seemed to have a big interest in me, an interest I did not understand. I was only a child, and had no clue as to how men behave, or how they act and felt. I only knew that all I could think of during my entire week, was the time when I will finish my classes and take the most handsome man I had ever seen in my car, back to his apartment.

He did not talk too much, there was a problem with the language: we were both communicating in a third language, not native to either one of us, and he was struggling with it a lot more than I was. After all I was younger, was in high school and had been in the U.S. longer than him. It was not long until he invited me to come inside his apartment. From that point on “he became my boyfriend”, or what I thought was a boyfriend. He would hug me first, then go on to kissing, and then more... and I was totally fascinated by my effect on this handsome, intelligent man, how I could make him lose control and how his breathing became heavier and heavier, whenever he approached me.

By this time, all my friends were warning me, about this “strange foreigner” from a “strange and far away land”. My American friends were warning me of them having many wives and being just a bit less than savages. My Latin friends kept telling me that this man will never marry me, that he will eventually leave and marry somebody else, that he was probably already engaged to someone back in his homeland. but all I could think of was that he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, and somehow, I could have him all to myself to play with. If I have ever known love, he was it. I was totally head over heels and under his spell and I could not help myself but to just feel the luckiest person on the planet, just because he had chosen me.

I could care less where he was from, or that his language was very strange, or that his alphabet looked like something done by a child. His friends were “weird”, or that maybe he had a harem, back home. All I cared for was that I loved it when he came looking for me, and gripped of my hand and walked with me to the car, and then took me to his apartment, made me some of that great tea -- tea that I, a coffee lover by birth right, had come to love -- and sit for hours on the couch kissing and being hugged by this man. He also cooked for me, that wonderful Persian food I love and crave to this day, after the passiage of 30 years. He used to call me his “babyjoon” and I was just in what seemed to me as heaven. My world revolved around him. He was the center of my universe.

This was before the Iranian revolution, and he had told me, he had come to the USA, because there were not enough universities in Iran and for all the people that wanted to go to them. I knew his family or maybe the shah’s government was sending him money, and that eventually he was going to go back home, once he had a degree, and that my first love story would be written and lost. But I could not see so far ahead, all I could think of was the next time in his arms.

The time came, when I graduated from college, almost at the same time, (this was a two-year college for associate’s degree) and so did he. We now had to go to a university for the next two years to get our bachelors. He decided to go to the University of Florida at Gainesville, six hours away from Miami. For me, it was out of the question to move from Miami, and I was going to stay in FIU, a university, just a few blocks from my house. So I, who up to that point had never asked questions or made demands, demanded to know, if he loved me. He had never said so, although I told him that I adored him every day. I asked if he ever planned to marry me? What were his plans for our future? He never answered. I guess he never knew the answers himself, he just walked away from me, in the middle of very heavy rain, alone with my questions, and never looked back.

My first love story was never known to my parents, but my heart was so broken and I knew I could not make it by myself, I was so alone, so miserable, so sad, that I decided to say yes to a Cuban kid, with exactly the same pedigree as mine, who was the son of friends of my parents, and who had been asking me to marry him, for a long time.

At that time, we Cuban girls in Miami married very early, because otherwise we were constantly chaperoned, and were encouraged to get married, just as son as a “good man” will ask us. By the time, my Shirazi came back to Miami, during a break from school, he found out I had married, and I never saw him again until February 2000, well over 20 years after I had seen him last, I was already a widow, had a teenage child and he had gone back to Iran to live.

[Rasputin]

Web Help For The Perfect Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is less than two weeks away, and it can be either be a steamy, romantic affair or a total flop. The key is planning, and help for that perfect V-Day can in many cases be found online.

Adam Rich and Ben Lerer, co-founders of lifestyle newsletter Thrillist, stopped by The Saturday Early Show with a list of sites, and advice mainly geared for guys, to help make the right choices for that (hopefully) romantic rendezvous.

Finding A Date

First things first, you need a date. If you don't have a girlfriend or wife, it might be in your best interest to use an online dating service, as time is not on your side at this point. The best option for last-minute dating has got to be CrazyBlindDate.com, where you select your desired date type and a day and they pair you up with another random in your area. It's not ideal, but it's also not ideal if V-Day is two weeks away and you have no plans yet.

Flowers And Gifts

Since guys are generally lazy and forgetful (not to generalize), you should just act right now and get flowers and gifts. There are a few great services that take care of this stuff for you even if you don't remember day of, such as CallMeCasanova.com and SaveMyAss.com. Getting an account with SaveMyAss sets you up with automatic flower deliveries on all important holidays, the most important of which being V-Day. You can also get "just because I care" deliveries scheduled in advance, even if you don't. Casanova is just like SaveMyAss, except it goes even further by letting you order balloons, jewelry and other things you generally would completely overlook.

The Perfect Card Or Letter

Once you are done with the gifts, you have to send some nice cards, and it's not always easy to remember who you should send cards to. JackCards.com does that for you. You just put in all the information on the people in your life and then they will send you a card with a stamp. You just need to write a little word and put in the mail.

Now that all your presents are taken care of, it's time for a card. Obviously writing a heartfelt card can be painful and/or time consuming, so hire someone to write one for you. There are tons of online services that will compose loving notes, but we always use LetterLover.net, a true pro who does nothing but writing letters for other people. It's not expensive and she can knock something out really quickly. You tell her a few things about your girlfriend/wife and she'll work in some personal details so you can submit it as is.

Dinner

Next comes dinner. Unfortunately in most big cities, tons of restaurants book up a month in advance when reservations become available. Since dinner is the key to everything, you need a good reservation. Check out services like OpenTable in some cities to book reservations you might not be able to find elsewhere. OpenTable gives you free access to thousands of restaurants' reservation books, but it can't get you seats at places that are truly fully booked. That being said, they've got access at some of the best places in town, so it's worth feeling them out. If that fails, there's always services like Red Butler, an online concierge that can get you access anywhere, for a price. This should be a last ditch effort, but it can repair a broken night if need be.

Choosing The Right Wine

At dinner you want to be sure you've got the wine list under control. Use eWineMatch.com on your BlackBerry or iPhone by typing in your date's food choices. You'll get a text back with specifics about what kind of wines will go well with her food. Can't hurt to look like you know what you're talking about, rather than getting taken for a ride by the waiter.

[DokhtarIrooni]

adam valentines day mitoone hediye chi bede ?

[Rasputin]

The hell with Valentine's Day

I’m not embittered, haven’t been jilted at the altar, nor am I replete with devastating psychological scars from many a lonely February 14th sipping noodle soup underneath a tattered and homely blanket while crocheting a new outfit for Whiskers the most portly of my many cats. So why, oh why do I think that Valentine’s Day is perhaps one of the biggest scams going? I can’t help but take inspiration from Hamlet’s Ophelia who perhaps voices one of the first of many woeful literary asides mentioning Valentine’s Day, and at least according to my own rewriting of that great Shakespearean tragedy her madness and later drowning can all pretty much be flung on the doorstep of this dreadful and regrettable holiday.

The reasons for my diatribe are quite frankly that I believe in all seriousness that Valentine’s Day is a complete and utter sham masquerading as the alpha and omega of lovers' days. Rather than a day of heart-fluttering and butterflies, for many it is one of gut wrenching disappointment and the utmost dejection. Those not strong enough to resist the ineluctable desire for conformity and anonymity become pariahs even by their own evaluation. And if that wasn't bad enough the Übermenschen and Überfrauen amongst us who choose to rebel against the wave of mediocrity poised to engulf and eviscerate us at any moment, are pretty much assured marginalization and to be ostracised by society’s sheep as heartless, selfish misogynists and misanthropes respectively. Calumny and slander is what I reply to the drones that spout off the usual trite and unthinking litany!

Another one of the things that really 'grinds my gears' as Family Guy's Peter Griffin is so fond of saying, is that we've all been corralled into lauding the inane and insipid routine of sending a torrent of pre-programmed cards, which are just that. We've been lulled into forgoing any creative effort, even for those whom we supposedly claim our undying love. Valentine's Day cards are what microwave dinners are to food and culinary talent!

We need to recognise the undeniable corporate agenda which is fuelling this industry and rather than helping relationships along, it is in fact hindering them. Firstly, retailers have exhaustively commodified Valentine's Day beyond any legitimate proportions, setting up peoples' expectations by means of an onslaught of marketing gimmicks and enticing fictions. Expectations then inevitably crash back to earth when the spouse fails to live up to such inflated demands. Secondly, the myriad of bandwagon-jumping corporate bloodsuckers disseminate the delusion that you can slap a price tag on love, while at the same time generating a bountiful source of revenue in a slow financial quarter. The diamond industry was particularly ingenious in this regard, but their MO is clear for anyone who chooses to see through the web of sophisms claimed as endearing.

It’s greatly tragic that we need the likes of Hallmark to celebrate our love for our better half. How many times have you seen whether in fiction or real life one spouse, usually the guy, haphazardly throwing together out of some disingenuous sense of obligation to convention, a bunch of mangled flowers, a half melted and gooey box of chocolates, just to placate a formidable spouse, who herself only cares whether she receives something so as to goad her single friends in re-examining the overwhelming disappointments that they actually have the gall to call the vicissitudes of their lives. The near war-cry made by these Boudica-like women, 'hubby you’re in for a beating and no nookie unless you deliver the goods!', against their so-called friends is that it’s far better to be in a stale relationship than be single, lonely and destined to spinsterhood. This hasty assumption is made by that host of co-dependents (you know full-well who you are!) incapable of living fulfilling and content lives themselves. Valentine’s Day like so many other conventions in our culture is just another instance of our near congenital compulsion to ‘keep up with the Joneses'.

Many guys we can be sure make a minimum of effort so that they are rewarded in turn with favours in the bedroom, while more often than not the girls just what something to brag about and one more reason to sneer at their friends. Justifiably so, many feel marginalised as smug couple upon smug couple vie to broadcast their love, not out of a romantic sentiment but rather the desperate attempt to grab validation and approval on the battlefield for status, desirability and sex appeal.

Where are the authenticity and the heartfelt emotion? Is it all just blather or are we not supposed to strive to show and express our love and care for our better half each and every day? Are a stuffed, crushed velvet heart and a wilting bunch of red roses really a testament to those couples who experience day in and day out a deep-rooted care and affection for one another? The short answer is a resounding NO! Many a Valentine’s Day date is akin to a dress rehearsal where the main event never takes place and yet another instance where societal conventions and mores dictate when and how we are supposed to feel. If we succumb to the corporate agenda with its corporate itinerary we are destroying the remaining vestiges of spontaneity, creativity and imagination that still courses through our veins.

[Rasputin]

Around the 14th of February some 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are exchanged annually across globe, and yet very few to be sure in fact know the origins of this venerable day of love. Valentineís Dayís origins are to this day shrouded in mystery and yet to be conclusively settled amongst historians.

As legend has it, the Emperor Claudius II forbade young men from marrying because he felt that single men without baggage made better soldiers than those married with wives and children. Valentine chose to valiantly defy the Emperor's decree and clandestinely married those couples who sought out his help. This greatly angered the Emperor and in retaliation for such defiance Valentine was sentenced to death. The tale is yet another example of the ancient battle of love versus war!

While in prison some say that Valentine himself fell in love with a young girl, the jailer's daughter who often visited him during the time of his incarceration. It is this young girl so the story goes who was the first genuine recipient of a Valentine's Day missive.

Some contend that Valentine's Day was established to commemorate the martyrdom of Valentine in 270 A.D., who gave his life in the name of love. While others see it as a cynical attempt by the Catholic Church to Christianize the pagan Lupercalia festival, and thereby co-opt the remaining pagans of the Roman Empire.

Whatever the historical truth may be, the month of February seems to have since ancient times been one of love, eroticism and fertility. The ancient Persian holiday of Sepandarmazgan for example, was celebrated on the 29th of Bahman, which corresponds to the 19th of February in the Gregorian calendar, as a day of beatific love and praise of mother earth. It just goes to show that no matter the time or place, an opportunity to celebrate the wonders of love is one we all need and ought to be thankful for.

[Rasputin]

[Rasputin]

[DokhtarIrooni]

Happy Valentines day!

[siamak]

These days when we find a rock with the imprint of a seashell we know it’s a common fossil. But in the days when Science hadn’t already imagined our world for us, the question of how the sea creature got so far inland, inspired stories. The ancient Iranians had seen rocks fall from the sky, so they imagined monsters called deevs who could throw rocks all the way from the bottom of the oceans to the tops of mountains.

There is a well-known story in which a deev called Akvan battles the Iranian supreme champion Rostam. But that episode doesn’t say anything about Akvan throwing rocks from the sea. Why did Akvan toss rocks to dry land? Was he fighting another monster, was he building a home for himself? We don’t know. Obviously large parts of Akvan’s story are lost to us.

I once saw a painting of one of Akvan’s rocks. A hundred elephants harnessed to heavy chains were pulling it. The rock had made deep tracks, and there was fatigue on the faces of the elephant drivers. To help lighten the load, magicians were casting spells and chanting verses at the boulder.

The reason for all this effort is seen on the opposite side from the rock. He too is in chains, being dragged by guards towards the same destination: the dark pit that commands the center of the painting. Who was the man in chains, and what had he done to deserve imprisonment under the rock of Akvan? The hero’s name was Bijan. He fell into this mess because people he trusted betrayed him. But in my opinion it was Bijan’s father, Geev that truly failed him. Geev had taught Bijan, how to wield every weapon, defend against every attack, and surprise the cleverest enemy. But he hadn’t taught him to be considerate of the feelings of others. That makes enemies of your friends. Also, Geev never taught his son about women. So, when Bijan met the magnificent Princess Manijeh, who was as reckless as she was beautiful, the hero was defenseless.

How is it that we know so much about Bijan and Manijeh when Akvan’s story perished in the fires of war?

There are legends about a book of ancient stories being smuggled out of war torn Iran to the safety of Africa. This anthology, called, the Shahnameh, was written in an Iranian language that is now extinct.

After a perilous three hundred years in exile, the book returned to Iran and fell into the hands of the great Iranian poet Ferdowsi, who translated the work into such unforgettable poetry, that the stories are now safe forever. The romance of Bijan and Manijeh is just one of the tens of Shahnameh stories versified by Ferdowsi. The story begins festively in the pleasure palace of the King of Kings Emperor KeiKhosro. There, among the golden columns, marble fountains, and silken carpets, Iran’s war heroes were celebrating a narrow victory against the rival Empire of Tooran. Ruby red wine leaped up in joyful droplets as goblets clashed in drunken salutes.

Suddenly the revelry was interrupted by a delegation from Armania who had arrived to seek the emperor’s justice. Armanians were a subject people on the border between Iran and Tooran, so the emperor knew this was going to be politically thorny.

The Armanians , showered the emperor with gifts and praises and said, “Hear our plight o King of Kings. There is a forest on the Iranian side of our land. It gives us wood for our buildings, its meadows are grazing grounds for our livestock, and the fruit from its trees sweeten our meals. Now a band of vicious wild boar has taken over this forest. They have tusks like elephants with bodies just as huge. They attack our woodsmen, threaten our shepherds, and destroy the fruit trees. Your subjects in Armania are suffering, oh Emperor. Send us your warriors, and rid us of these vile creatures.”

Now KeiKhosrow was a smart enough emperor to know that this delegation wasn’t there because the Armanians were helpless against their local wildlife. Despite the appearance of loyalty, the Armanians were testing Iran’s willingness and ability to give them protection. Their request for a boar hunt subtly reminded the Emperor that Tooran could always offer Armania a better deal.

The Emperor didn’t want to lose Armania to Tooran, so he turned to his champions and asked, “Who among you will take care of this for me?” The hall was silent. The war weary heroes had had enough mud and cold and sleeplessness. And though they could still be stirred against a more prestigious opponent, nobody wanted go against a dangerous band of wild pig on a purely political mission. So to encourage a volunteer, Emperor KeiKhosro summoned his treasurer. At this point in the story, let’s note the poet Ferdowsi’s elaborate description of the golden cloth that was spread before everyone present, and the generosity with which the King of Kings poured every sort of treasure onto this spread. The inclusion of these passages is a hint by the poet to his patron, Sultan Mahmood. The Sultan had agreed to pay the poet one gold piece for every verse of the Shahnameh. The Shahnameh is 60,000 verses long, so when the epic was completed, we were talking a lot of money. But the story of Bijan and Manijeh happens around verse 20,000, and gives only hints of the future squabble between the poet and the sultan. As treasure piles up on the golden spread, the Emperor announced, “Whoever makes my pleasure his pleasure, shall make my treasure his treasure.” Still the tired champions looked away. Finally, the youngest champion, Bijan, son of Geev stepped forward. But Geev, yanked him back saying, “Son, I don’t doubt your skills in battle, but life still holds too many surprises for you, and if this situation turns delicate, you could embarrass yourself and your king”

Bijan said, “Father, in judgment I am older than my years, let me serve my country. Remember, I am Bijan, son of Geev the breaker of armies.”

When Emperor KeiKhosrow heard these words, he praised Bijan’s loyalty and gave him the job. But he had also heard Geev’s words of caution, so he turned to the older champion Gorgin, and said diplomatically, “As Bijan does not know the way to Armenia, why don’t you go with him and be his guide and companion.”

Bijan thanked the emperor, but secretly he resented Gorgin, as the elder companion represented the lack of trust him. So, contrary to what was expected of a leader, Bijan didn’t share the treasure with his companion in arms. This was the young warrior’s first mistake. And Geev, the father, certainly had the chance to advise him on this, but failed.

Bijan and Gorgin geared up and headed northwest towards the forests of Armenia. It was a pleasant journey through beautiful territory. Finally, one day they sighted a band of wild boar, and knew they had arrived. Gorgin set up camp while Bijan hunted a wild ***, which they roasted over a big fire and washed down with plenty of wine. After the meal, Gorgin stretched and yawned, and started looking for a shady spot to lie down and digest. But Bijan sprang up and began putting on his armor. “What are you doing?” said Gorgin. “We don’t have time to sleep,” said Bijan. “The boar could escape.” “They aren’t going anywhere, let’s kill them tomorrow,” said Gorgin. “No,” said Bijan, “We’re starting our attack now. I will use flaming arrows to herd them towards that creek, and then I will fall upon them with lance and sword. I want you to take position downstream and slay any that try to escape. Gorgin said, “Bijan, I was sent to protect you with my counsel. Now hear me. When you have wine in your head and a belly full of meat, it is not the best time to fight. Never underestimate the cleverness of animals. Let’s wait till tomorrow morning when we are sharp and at our best.” But Bijan would not listen. He mounted his horse and ordered Gorgin to do the same. Gorgin, still drunk with wine, lost his cool and said, “Well, it’s your fight then. My orders were to guide you, not to lose my life to your stupidity.” Hearing those words from Gorgin, Bijan spurred his horse angrily and rode into the forest alone.

[siamak]

The older champion was right, of course. The boar army had been waiting in ambush. Before Bijan could start his fires, they swarmed him, threw him off his horse and bit into his armor. From a distance, Gorgin saw Bijan get covered from view by a swarm of wild boar. His companion in trouble, Gorgin rode as fast as he could to try to help. But before he was half way there he heard a thunderous roar and suddenly the boar on top of Bijan were flung into the air in bits and pieces. The mighty Bijan sprang up fiery eyed, a daggers in each hand. Gorgin stood watching the battle in awe, as Bijan’s daggers came down upon the boar like rain upon leaves. Then the hero quickly remounted his horse and started a fire with flaming arrows, trapping the boar army between himself and the flames. The forest was filled with smoke and the sound of squealing. And soon Gorgin saw Bijan emerge from the haze with the mountainous head of the leader of the wild boar.

“Well done young hero!” said Gorgin raising his arms is praise. But in his heart, he had that “oh crap” feeling. He imagined the two of them being back in the Emperor’s palace, the champions gathered around them, marveling at the size of the boar tusks. Then they would beg the story of this great adventure, and Bijan would recount how he took on the boar army single-handed. And the Emperor would ask what strategic position did Gorgin take? Was he watching Bijan’s back? Was he slaying those who escaped? Curse that wine, thought Gorgin; he would never be able to show his face at the palace again, nor would he be welcome to do so. Meanwhile Bijan bragged loudly and made vain remarks about his deeds. Hearing Bijan’s boasting, Gorgin realized that the boy was too hungry for praise to sacrifice any of it to discretion. And that is why he had to make sure that Bijan never made it home.

Here Sultan Mahmood the Conqueror should have seen himself in the character of Bijan. The Sultan, who kept his treasure to himself like Bijan, was also vain like Bijan. His histories always mention that the Sultan was very handsome. Now I don’t know of any other conqueror for whom looks is a quality worthy of historical record. There’s Caliph Harun the Wise, there’s King Anooshirvan the Just. This guy wanted to be Sultan Mahmood the Good Looking. Of course the Sultan isn’t here to defend himself, whereas his nemesis Ferdowsi is here with us to make fun of him. Ferdowsi wrote a scathing satire in verse against the Sultan for not paying for the Shahnameh. While reading Ferdowsi’s famous satire, Iranians think of Sultan as Mahmood the Good Looking as the Sultan Mahmood the Uncouth, the Uncultured and the Ill-bred. Even the title of Sultan Mahmood the Conqueror loses it luster as it reminds us that he had pillaged enough gold to support a thousand poets, yet he failed to pay for Iran’s greatest epic. And if I have led you to believe that the argument was over money, let me make it clear that it was not. The Shahnameh was a revival of Iran’s pre-Islamic culture. Before the Emperor KeiKhosro went to battle, he prayed to the god Hormoz. He had never heard of Allah. It is Hormoz, not Allah that gives him his mandate to rule. It is Hormoz, not Allah that comes to the aid of Shahnameh’s heroes. Ferdowsi could have easily taken artistic license and incorporated a bit of the Koran into these ancient stories. Not a word! Though a Muslim, the poet makes his stand as a nationalist. Throughout the epic, he stubbornly avoids words of Arabic origin wherever possible. He says of his masterpiece, “ I have suffered thirty years to resurrect his own tongue to the Persian.” Do you now see what the gold argument was really about? What the Sultan paid for each verse of this non-Islamic literature was a reflection of how much he valued Iran over Islam. All eyes were upon him. If he paid too much, could he still justify looting Hindu temples in the name of Allah? If he paid too little, nationalists like Ferdowsi would skewer him in the eyes of history? This is the proverbial power of the pen, and Ferdowsi warns the Sultan, “Don’t hurt the feelings of a poet, for how I judge you will remain your verdict until judgment day.” And the Sultan, having disgraced himself, decided, that the witness to his shame, Iran’s most Iranian poet, must be silenced forever. Which is exactly what Gorgin was plotting for the young Bijan.

As they broke camp to head for home, Gorgin said deviously, “Son, you’re a grown man now, and it is time I shared a manly secret with you. Just two days ride from here are the pavilions where Tooranian princesses and their beautiful handmaidens spend the summer. The women are tall with long fragrant hair and lithe bodies. Behind those veils are faces soft as the morning mist, eyes alluring as dreams, and kisses, intoxicating as wine. After your manly deed, it is only fitting that you should delight in the pleasures of men. Let’s ride out to the pavilions, capture some of these beauties, and make Emperor KeiKhosrow even prouder of us.

The word “capture,” in Farsi also means to marry. And Ferdowsi makes deliberate use of this ambiguity. Did Gorgin mean that the wholesome Bijan should haul away a woman away by force, or did he mean he should court and marry one of these beauties? If he meant the former, Emperor KeiKhosrow would have been furious. “I sent you away to take care of a tiny pig problem in Armania; instead you go to Tooran and start another war?” Whatever Gorgin meant, Bijan was all for it, so they rode out to the pavilions. When they neared their destination, Gorgin slowed down, causing the impatient Bijan to say, “Old man, let me scout ahead and see some of these women for myself. Then I will ride back and we will decide together if they are worth the effort.” Gorgin said, “Go, and be happy.”

Bijan rode ahead, and when he saw the pavilions, he dismounted and crawled through the grass towards the compound. He was so stealthy, not a blade moved to betray his position. Slipping through the guards like a phantom, he climbed a tall tree that gave him good cover, and afforded him a perfect view of the grounds.

Meanwhile, inside the fanciest tent, the daughter of the king of Tooran, Princess Manijeh had had enough of jugglers and minstrels. She was throwing a tantrum of boredom. Running out of options, one of the handmaidens finally said, “Why don’t we introduce the Princess to that stealthy warrior who has been checking us out from the top of that yon tree.”

“What stealthy warrior?” said Princess Manijeh, suddenly sobering.

Casually, so the guards wouldn’t notice, the Princess and her handmaidens went out for a stroll. From his perch Bijan saw Manijeh and nearly fell out of the tree. Manijeh, seeing Bijan, quickly ordered everyone back to her tent and there commanded, “Hurry, bring him to me, or the fire of my yearning will burn the world.”

Manijeh’s governess went to the tree, and quietly called Bijan down. “Tell me you have not seen the face of my mistress and I will not call the guards,” she whispered. Bijan took off his diamond-studded armband and showed it to the woman. “I have seen your mistress’s face, and this is for you, if you take her on another stroll so I can see her face again. The governess replied knowingly, “And what would you give me if I arranged for you to meet the princess in her tent?”

That night the maidens smuggled Bijan into Princess Manijeh’s tent. Then they curtsied and left the two of them alone.

[siamak]

“You better be interesting,” said Manijeh. “The only reason you are alive is because I’m bored.” The Champion told her about his mission to slay the boar, and how he had incidentally heard about her camp in the woods. All the time Bijan was talking, Manijeh’s eyes could see only his mouth, his eyes, and the powerful arms reenacting the thrust of dagger.

“When the wild boars bit in to your armor, did they wound you?” Manijeh asked.

“Yes,” said Bijan.

“Where?” Manijeh asked.

“Right here,” said Bijan.

“Show me.”

Bijan showed her.

The princess ran her hand softly over the gash and whispered, “Unbelievable courage.”

The two spent three days and nights together, and Ferdowsi says they drank, and listened to music. Whatever else they did he does not detail.

At the end of the three-day long first date, Bijan finally got to his feet and said, “Well, time to go.”

The spoiled Manijeh said, “But I don’t want you to go. Please, stay as long as I want you to.”

“I’ve got to report back to the Emperor.”

“Then haul me away with you. Go ahead and take me. I won’t scream. It is what you came here for. Isn’t it?”

“Umm, I can’t right now. But I promise I will be back for you.”
“When? What month, what season?”

Finally Bijan said, “Look my beauty, Let’s be reasonable, you are the daughter of the king of Tooran, my emperor’s greatest enemy.”

Manijeh turned livid, stamped her foot down, and shrieked, “Well you should have thought of that before you sneaked into the compound. You creep!”

“Honest, I didn’t know this would happen. I’m so sorry.”

So Manijeh changed her tactics. “Will you at least give me one more night,” she said tears in her eyes.

Bijan had never seen tears like hers. Drops of dew on a rose petal “O.K., one more night,” he sighed, “and then it has to be goodbye for us.”

That afternoon Manijeh’s handmaidens were grooming her when she suddenly grabbed the brush and threw it down.

“Why so upset, my girl?” Her governess asked.

Manijeh said, “Tonight, when I ask the maids to bring wine for Bijan, I want you to spike it with a strong sleeping potion.”

“But Princess…”

“Do it!” Manijeh ordered.
And so the next day as Manijeh and her entourage packed to head back to the palace, the unconscious champion was stuffed into a large trunk and hauled along as part of the royal baggage. Geev should have warned Bijan: you don’t haul away a Tooranian woman; she hauls you away. Throughout the Shahnameh, so many Tooranian women capture Iran’s finest men that they leave virtually nothing for Iranian women. In fact it is no longer a secret that the Emperor KeiKhosro himself is Tooranian-- on his mother’s side.

When Bijan woke up, Manijeh was at his side, but he knew right away that they were no longer in a tent. He stumbled groggily towards the window and looked out. As far as his eyes could see, there were towers and domes, houses, gardens and fields beyond.

Bijan went pale, “Oh, great Hormuz, where are we?”

“Tooran’s capital,” Manijeh said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Beautiful as a beheading. Manijeh what have you done?”

“Don’t worry love, you’ll be safe here in the women’s harem.”

Back in the real world, as Ferdowsi looked for a hiding place from Sultan Mahmood, he knew that the Sultan’s harem was right out. So to duck the wrath of his king, Ferdowsi ran away to the chateau of one of the Sultan’s more cultured vassals. Soon this vassal grew nervous that the Sultan would find out he was harboring the eloquent fugitive. No more nervous, of course, than the guards at king Afrasiab’s harem who Manijeh had bribed into keeping their mouths shut.

Every one knows that sneaking men into the harem was par for the course. You can’t lock up a hundred Tooranian women behind walls and not expect there to be some trafficking in men. Traditionally, each woman had something on every other, and from this politics of bribe and blackmail there evolved ecology of silence. But Bijan had disrupted this balance. He wasn’t just entertainment, he was the enemy, a trained military man, and a threat to the security of the land. The price on his head transcended the politics of the harem. So, after a few weeks of hot romance between the lovers, somebody snitched.

On hearing the news, Afrasiab, the king of Tooran, went into such a fit of rage, his own guards feared for their lives. Then he summoned his brother Garsivaz and ordered him to storm the harem, capture Bijan and throw him in chains. The brother, Garsivz is one of Sharnameh’s most contemptible characters. The king always sent him to do his dirty work because dirty acts are harder to do than to imagine. How Garsivaz earned this reputation as a villain is one of the saddest episodes of the Shahnameh, but that’s a story for another day.

Garsivaz and an army of guards broke down the door to Manijeh’s quarters, and found Bijan at the ready with his boot knife. The boar army had been no worse, but there the hero had a sword, armor, a horse, arrows. Yet, in the face of battle, his training took over, and with a warrior’s calmness he prioritized his targets. First on his list was the wicked Garsivaz. But Garsivaz had his own advanced training. As a politician! He always did his homework on his enemy. On seeing Bijan, he acted very surprised and slapped one of the guards hard in the face. “Why did no one tell me, Princess Manijeh’s guest is Bijan, son of the famous Geev.”

[siamak]

“You have heard of me?” Bijan said.

“Heard of you? All of Armenia is talking about how you rid them of the vicious boars. There is no one in Iran, or Tooran that has not heard your praise.”

“Really?” Something didn’t seem quite right, but the clever Garsivaz knew that in this moment of high crisis, the young man would be prone to denial.

“Come,” said Garsivaz. “Let me intervene for you with my brother. I’ll counsel him not to let this embarrassing affair become public. We’ll sweep it under the rug somehow and arrange a marriage.”

Hearing happy words like that, Bijan let his guard down. The moment he did, Garsivaz’s men jumped him and threw him in chains.

After they beat and tortured Bijan, they dragged him to Afrasiab, and threw him on his knees in front of king.

“So,” said Afrasiab. “That cowardly Emperor KeiKhosrow has sent an assassin after me. Has he now stooped to the enchanting of women?” Apparently Afrasiab thought of Bijan as a James Bond type character who had used his sexual charms to get into the palace grounds.

But Bijan’s only concern at this point was how to shift the blame away from Manijeh and direct it towards himself, because by now he was madly in love with her. Manijeh had acted rashly, of course, but then he had been careless of her feelings. So he said to Afrasiab, “Emperor KeiKhosrow knows nothing of my presence here, and your daughter is innocent. On my boar hunt in Armania I captured a demon and made him fly me past Manijeh’s guards into her chambers. There the demon put a spell on her, to keep her from revealing my presence.” Bijan’s first truly noble act was telling a lie, which for an Iranian warrior is the most ignoble thing you can do. Just one of the paradoxes of love.

Afrasiab turned to Garsivaz, “I have heard of such demons. Could this be true?” It was Afrasiab’s turn for denial, but this time the liar Garsivaz was staunchly on the side of truth.

“There are such demons, my Lord,” he said “but from the level of partying that was going on in the harem I would rule out that possibility.”

“Then prepare the gallows,” Afrasiab ordered.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Garsivaz holding his dagger against his heart as a gesture of obedience, “Gallows for two.”

“Gallows for one,” Afrasiab quickly clarifed. And he came up with this excuse to save his daughter: “Manijeh will live so she can watch him die. Strip of her royal garments and throw her out to fend for herself.”

“Sire,” said Garsivaz. “ If you show mercy, your vassals will dare plot against you.”

“Is that a threat Garsivaz?” Afrasiab roared.

“No sire,” Garsivaz squeaked and slithered out of the room.

As the gallows were being prepared, General Piran, high commander of the Tooranian army, was riding by on his way to a meeting with the king. When he saw the gallows, he asked the passersby who was being hanged. When he found out it was Bijan, son of Geev, General Piran was gravely concerned. Unlike the twisted Garsivaz, General Piran was a man of peace. Throughout the Shahnameh , Piran takes every opportunity to rescue what he can from the disasters of war. It’s noteworthy that the most spiritually enlightened character in the whole of Shahnameh belongs to the enemy camp.

The general rode to the palace, and persuaded Afrasiab to let his anger cool before he made any irreversible decisions. The death of Bijan would surely unleash a new and expensive war against Iran. Perhaps Emperor KeiKhosro would trade an advantage for Bijan’s release. After much persuasion, Afrasiab ordered Garsivaz to tear down the gallows and imprison Bijan instead.

Garsivaz followed the King’s orders to the letter and imprisoned Bijan, but he did this in his own perverse way. There was a big rock that Akvan the deev had tossed to into China from the bottom of the sea. This magical rock was so heavy that no prisoner trapped underneath it could ever hope for rescue. So, for special occasions, Garsivaz had had the rock chained to a hundred elephants and pulled all the way to Tooran from China. As Manijeh watched, a pit was dug, and the hapless Bijan was thrown into it. Then a hundred elephants harnessed to chains dragged the rock over the pit, burying Bijan alive. Gloating from the top of the rock, Garsivaz then gave Bijan the devastating revelation that it was his own companion in arms, Gorgin, that had plotted this fate.

Meanwhile in Iran, Gorgin returned to the Emperor’s palace without Bijan. He bowed and placed the head of the leader of the wild boar in front of the throne. Geev, standing beside Emperor KeiKhosro asked, “Where’s my son, Gorgin?”

“Sorry, Geev,” said Gorgin. “We defeated the boar army, and we were on our way back, when Bijan spotted a wild *** and went and after it. I saw right away that it was luring Bijan into following it, and I told him this may be a deev who has transformed itself into an animal. But Bijan didn’t listen, and followed it into the forest. I searched for days, but I fear, Geev, that your son has been taken by the deev.

Geev fell to his knees and sobbed in grief.

Emperor KeiKhosro was also stricken with sorrow, but he kept his wits. “Gorgin,” he said. “It must have been a hard fight against the boar.”

“Yes my Lord, it was a savage fight. The boars knocked me off my horse and I fought them with daggers. I slew the boar leader myself.”

“Then how is it, Gorgin, that there is not even a scratch on your armor?”

A few “elementary my dear Watson”s later and Gorgin confessed the truth. He was shackled and thrown in the dungeon.

Then Emperor KeiKhosro told Geev. Don’t worry old friend. I will look into my magic cup to find your son.

This was the cup that the god Hormoz had gifted to the Emperor. Once a year on the first day of spring, its royal owner could look into the cup and see everything in this world, however hidden. Emperor KeiKhosro had been using it to find out who was plotting against him. Where was the concentration of enemy troops? A kind of magic CIA. But this year the king was using the cup to correct a mistake. He should have anticipated Gorgin and Bijan’s resentment of each other. Elementary, really.

Staring into the divine cup, KeiKhosro saw a beggar woman shoving scraps of food under a big rock. Then he saw Bijan trapped in a pit underneath.

The king emerged from the sacred chamber and immediately summoned his supreme champion Rostam. Rostam who had twice battled Akvan the Deev and lived, asked KeiKhosro to give him a treasure of gold, silk and spices so that he could enter Tooran posing as a merchant. Then, after paying a visit to Gorgin in the king’s dungeons, he set out for Tooran.

Arriving in the capital city of Tooran, Rostam set up shop as trader and began keeping an ear out for Bijan’s whereabouts. One day, as he was having a luncheon of roast chickens, a beggar woman crept in and hoarsely whispered, “Is it true you are from Iran sir?”

“Yes,” said Rostam.

“Then I have an urgent message for you to deliver to your emperor when you return” she said. “Tell Emperor KeiKhosro that Bijan, son of Geev is still alive and waiting to be rescued?”

Now Rostam was a careful spy, so he said, “Look, woman I’m not here to cause trouble. Find someone else to deliver your message.”

But the beggar woman lashed out at Rostam, “Then don’t pretend you are Bijan’s countryman, you coward.”

The flash of anger in her eyes brought Rostam to attention. Who was this beggar whose voice compelled obedience? Then he bothered to take a closer look. Starvation and exposure to the harsh elements made her look gaunt. But beyond a cursory glance, she was stunningly beautiful.

Rostam said. “Look, the most I can do is offer Bijan my hospitality. Here, take this roast chicken to him with my compliments. And as he handed her the chicken, Rostam secretly slipped his signature ring into its belly.

The next day, the woman came back, this time radiant with hope. “Oh Supreme Champion Rostam, when Bijan saw your ring he danced with joy like a madman. And now that I know who you are, let me tell you that I am Princess Manijeh the disowned daughter of king Afrasiab.

[siamak]

Manijeh broke down crying, and told Rostam how at nights, she slept by the rock, slipping a hand under its cruel weight so the tips of her fingers could caress Bijan. How she fought his despair by painting in words the color of the sunset, and the racing of the moon through the ragged clouds. How, as she begged for food to keep him alive, she also collected sights and sounds, and sensations. A flower here, a song there, a quarrel in the marketplace, a comic face. So that at nights when Bijan threw his body against the pit in a cursing rage, calling out Gorgin’s name and vowing bitter revenge, Manijeh could calm him with the sweetness of the world.

She told Rostam how never, even during seizures of wrath, did Bijan blame her for what she had done. Rather he would imagine he was free, and dream up pretend lives with her. Every night they grew old together in a different way.

When Rostam heard all this, he praised the lovers’ dedication. Then, at night, Rostam and Manijeh rode out to the rock. As they neared their destination, Rostam felt a familiar apprehension. Twice he had tangled with Akvan the deev and had felt the spirit of Akvan’s master, the Evil Mind, Ahriman. The sensation of evil present told Rostam that Akvan’s rock was bracing for the battle.

When Rostam and Manijeh arrived, Bijan was still celebrating with a voice full of hope. Rostam reassured the young man and passed on the greetings of Geev, the emperor, and all the rest of the court. Then he told Bijan of his visit with Gorgin. On the mere mention of Gorgin’s name, Bijan suddenly went into a rage, pummeled the walls of the pit, roaring crude oaths of vengeance. Rostam said, “Bijan, Gorgin regrets what he has done. The burden of guilt on his conscience is heavier than this rock.”

Bijan laughed bitterly and said, “Don’t intervene for that traitor, Rostam. If only the power of my anger were in my arms, I could lift this rock by myself. Now free me as your king has commanded you.”

Then Rostam said, “I can’t Bijan. The evil in this rock dilutes my strength with doubt. I must take time to ponder.”

All day, the Supreme Champion sat meditating on his dilemma. His strength, a gift from Hormoz, was a sacred trust, and wouldn’t let itself be used to serve the Evil Mind . If he let Bijan out, Gorgin’s blood would be shed. But the Evil Mind would be served just as well if Bijan died in this tomb. When the board is all black and white, Hormoz is the grand master of the game. It’s when the squares merge into a murky gray that the Evil Mind cries, “checkmate.”

At night Rostam sat helplessly by the fire. Manijeh had torn off a piece of roast from the spit and was feeding Bijan. Her love defied the brutal impenetrability of the rock. What strength, Rostam thought, and recognized this as a sign from Hormoz.

He got up and spoke to Bijan, “If I am to free you, we will need to combine our strengths.”

Bijan said, “I still have much left in me. Tell me what I must do?”

“This will take a lot of courage.”

“I am ready for any challenge, Rostam. As long as it gets me out of here.”

“This will be a far greater challenge that you have faced in your young life,” Rostam said.

“Just tell me what I must do?’

“You must forgive Gorgin.”

There was silence.

Then Manijeh knelt down and through the crack Bijan saw the torment and sorrow in her sunburnt face. She was in pain and love would not let that stand.

“What I have suffered to this day,” Bijan said, “has guided me to this place in my heart. And now that I have arrived, I am thankful to Gorgin.”

Suddenly Rostam felt the power of Hormoz surge through his body. With a cry he raised his fists, each heavier that an anvil, and brought them crashing down upon the rock. The blow started a shock wave that rippled across the plain bouncing boulders in its path. Having stunned the rock thus, Rostam lifted its mighty mass way over his head, and tossed it up into the night sky, where it thundered and glowed all the way back to China.

Rostam then raised Bijan from the pit and the three sped to Iran on the swift back of Rostam’s horse. On their arrival Geev, with tears of joy running down his eyes, rocked his son in his embrace. Then Gorgin came forward and he and Bijan apologized to each other, putting the past behind them. During the banquet in their honor, Emperor KeiKhosro was chatting with the magnificent Manijeh. Seeing how the Evil Mind had tried to use her love to inflict sorrow on the world, he marveled at the way this pampered Princess had held off disaster until help arrived. Then the King of Kings commanded the crowd to silence, declared Manijeh to be his own daughter, and ordered Bijan to marry her.

Love and forgiveness brought a happy ending to the story of Bijan and Manijeh. And perhaps it was this story that led Sultan Mahmood to forgive Ferdowsi’s insolence, and send the old poet the gold along with an apology. But the Sultan’s repentance came too late for a happy ending. As the bags of gold entered through the Eastern gate on the backs of camels, Ferdowsi’s coffin was being carried out of the Western gate on its way to the cemetery.

We really needn’t feel bad, for Ferdowsi, though. If you visit his tomb in Khorasan you will see that he is buried on his own property, and not in a cemetery as the anecdote would have us believe This suggests that he came from a family of wealthy landowners and didn’t need the Sultan’s money to finish his book. In fact some people say Ferdowsi started the Shahnameh 19 years before Sultan Mahmood even came to power, and Ferdowsi’s famous diatribe against the Sultan is likely a forgery. The confrontation between Sultan Mahmood and Ferdowsi is a patriotic myth, which serves to encourage Iranians to define themselves more by their ancient culture, and less by Islam. Otherwise the poet and the sultan may never have even met.

And now that we have caught myth in the act of bringing together two strangers out of history, we wonder whether the real Bijan and Manijeh ever met. All we know for sure is that some courageous act of love and forgiveness thousands of years ago brought them together into the same story today, so that they could be remembered together, happily ever after.