Arash: An Adaptation

17 10 2007

A long time ago, when war was man’s way of decision and bravery, sacrifice and patriotism were not mere epithets, an era where men strived to be heroes, and women mother of braves. Life, when it was peaceful used to be showered with endless mercies of Almighty, and joy reigned supreme,O ye all, I am but telling you all about Iran and her brave son Arash.

Life is like the eternal flames of an ancient fire temple
If we light it up, the dancing of the flames will be seen in distances afar
If we don’t, then the flames will go out
And that will be our sin…

Those days the Persian life used to be peaceful and love, harmony dripped with abundance. Their arch-enemies Turans were defeated and laid low. Men rejoiced in the mercy of Allah and women sang their love songs. Children played with their wooden ponies and life was good.

Yet enemies come back again only like pests, enemies value not your mercy and come back again and this time the evil Turans came back. Oh yes! They came back with all their forces and all their might down the plains of east to the north, down the lush white river of Oxus. They came and waged war, they came and gave the Persions a scar. War was at its low and life was filled with sadness which Death sowed.

The dark nights were cold and seemed endless
The stars no longer shined in the sky
Fear was everywhere and the wings of death above everyone
People were motionless without hope
Silence reigned behind our barricades
Yet the encampments of the enemies were buzzing with hilarity
No one smiled at each other
Tears instead of rain poured from the sky

Persians were staring at humiliation and Turyans were nearing Davamand. Hope was none and muted despair ruled supreme. Yet Turyans knew better. They had to exact the last blood, throw the last blow and kill the last vestiges of their pride. And Persians knew it and they cried.

No one smiled at each other
Tears instead of rain poured from the sky

Afrasiyab, the lecherous, ominous son of Death, the king of Turyans sent on his finest horsemen, the pact of peace, the extractor of Pride.

Listen, o! ye all, Persians, we too desire peace
we too despise war, this is the pact of peace
from your king the great Afrasiyab.
Ye all, will have your land, the Persian land in an arrows flight from Damavand,
hurdle Persians and choose your heroes for we know Damavand is your abode morrow

What a shame for the proud Persians, what a humiliation for the proud men. Archers there were, yet gods they were not, who they mulled will return their proud plains of Oxus, who will return them the groves of Sistan. Hushed in their despair were men, looking hard for a hero amidst them.

I am Arash
A freedom loving warrior
An archer of reputation
Fire burns from the feathers of my Arrow
And the wind obeys my orders
I am the son of toil
And I carry the hopes of my people
On my shoulders…

When times come, heroes are born. When despair runs in the wines the men turn brave. The man called Arash has given them the hope of their land. Prayers were made for him by elders, men eyed their only hero, women threw their necklaces yet Arash strode on in the setting sun of the land for his work was a higher than the Damavand.

On the bright morning of Tirgan (the Persian rain festival), Arash bid farwell to his home and people.

Which roar is falling down on the mountain?
Which song can ever make the sound of the footsteps heading dominantly toward the nonexistence?

Farewell to you my last dawn
for this will be the last Arash will see of you

Arash rose to the perilous peak of Damavand, on the stones of Alborz, he sat contemplating his actions, for he was a human at the end. He meditated and prayed for divine strength. Stripped naked, he took the slender arrow from his quiver, eyes lined up with final destiny, shoulders brave and high with hopes of his people, chest filled with pride, he took a breath, a long one. The arrow will be his soul, the bow will be his people’s hopes. His body will be the final answer of his people. The string was drawn and the feathers of the arrow glistened in the golden sun, bow arched, his soul one with his arrow, his eyes looking for the last of the Persian land.

Legends say, the arrow flew the entire morning from Damavand. The horsemen could not keep with the arrow guided by Arash’s soul. The arrow flew away. Legends say, the air itself parted to let the great soul of Persia guide his arrow. The entire morning it covered the plains and mountains, the lakes and fertile soils of Iran Zamin . In the noon of the same day, the arrow was found in the highest walnut tree in the groves of Sistan, its last feathers still glistening, merrily chiding away the final answer to their Persian captors. By the late afternoon it was found by Turyans on that walnut tree, beside the river Oxus, east of Persia.

Arash’s body was never to be found. It was his answer to Turyans, Persians can never be bound. His bow fell from him after he shot the arrow, and his soul left his mortal coil to guide the arrow. Nothing was ever found.

Persians rejoiced and Persians thanked. But Arash made himself from a mortal to a hero. Till today, travellers and climbers of the Damavand in their weary delusions have found Arash to be their guide. His voice gently nudging them to summit, taking care of them all the while.

Years passed by,
Amongst the silent snow ridden valleys of Alborz,
Climbers who are struggling to ascend the peaks,
Call out for Arash,
They seek his strength and they seek his guidance,
And the rocks and cliffs reply with Arash’s voice,
Arash guides them and heartens them
Gives them hope and shows them the way…

Arash lived and faded away, as heroes do. But his legend rolls on forever.
Listen O ye all, I am but telling you all about Iran and her brave son Arash.

Life is like the eternal flames of an ancient fire temple
If we light it up, the dancing of the flames will be seen in distances afar
If we don’t, then the flames will go out
And that will be our sin…

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

Advertisements

Actions

Information

8 responses

17 10 2007
heroes » Arash: An Adaptation

[…] TORBE BLOG wrote an interesting post today onHere’s a quick excerpt … n my shoulders… When times come, heroes are born…. … urdle Persians and choose your heroes for we know Damavand is your abode morrow…A long time ago, when war was man’s way of decision and bravery, sacrifice and patriotism were not mere epithets, an era where men strived to be heroes, and w omen mother of braves….Arash lived and faded away, as heroes do. But his legend rolls on forever…. […]

18 10 2007
Michelle Johnson

I am sorry it took so long for me to arrive but, alas, I have made it. Your story was really good. Is this something handed down through generations? I haven’t heard of it before. Thanks for sharing it with me though. Have a nice night.

Michelle

19 10 2007
Sara

Very interesting. Where does the poem in between the fiction come from? Is that yours? I found it incrediably beautifully written.

19 10 2007
Soham Das

The poems are English rendition of the original Persian one by Firdaus in ShahNameh. And no, not all the lines are mine, some are though. 🙂

You can say I sort of tried to make a dance-drama type of work, where instead of songs and drama there will be poetry and prose.

Thank You Sara for appreciating it.

Feels great. 🙂

28 10 2007
Ananya Nath

“Its so beautifully written….. and the poetry bit is really nice…. very strong n very expressive….n fluid…..”

3 11 2007
Shreyas Das

Great poetry, though I hated the copy-pasting?
Did you plagiarise it? Even though I liked the story. 🙂

26 11 2007
Kamangir

Thanks. 🙂

26 11 2007
Soham Das

Thanks?? thanks for what???

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: