The Girl Between the Two Seas

Part 3: The End of an Empire

The gardens in Persia's house had expanded under the care and attention of Iran. Many years had gone by and she was more content than ever in the house she shared with her grandfather. Some things had changed while others remained the same. Grandpa Persia still engaged in wars and brought home trophies and stories from new lands. He now had a new rival, an old warrior called Rome. Much like Greece, Persia enjoyed grappling with this new opponent to see who would come on top. It didn't hurt that this rival also had a nice house and a thriving culture and the two could trade ideas and customs as they wrestled and rolled.

Persia was strong, so Iran had no fear of the outside world. She had heard that Rome had a grandson who was the exact opposite of that and always feared what the other nations would do to him. She fancied meeting him one day and telling him there was nothing to worry about when their guardians were two of the strongest empires in the world.

The last thing she imagined was to be proven wrong.

It was a sunny day and she was in the kitchen preparing tea when she heard the sound of incoming horses. A group of riders was approaching. Her heart soared at the thought of it being her grandfather. Persia had been away for too long and she missed him. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she took the teapot from the stove and quickly poured several teacups full of hot, aromatic tea. Adding a plate of freshly baked cookies she picked up the tray and walked outside.

A dust cloud was visible beyond the treetops in the yard. She patiently waited to see who was coming. Even if it wasn't Grandpa Persia it could still be a guest. She loved guests of all kinds, the memory of Alexander and his company brought a smile to her lips.

The riders appeared and she saw them for the first time. A shiver went down her spine; she didn't recognize them. They weren't Roman or Greek. In fact their uniforms – if you could call it that – looked a bit strange for an army. Course wool tunics over loose pants, heads wrapped in scarves that came down to cover half their faces so that the only part you could see were their piercing dark eyes.

These men looked wild, nothing like the structured marching armies that had visited her land before. Gravel sprang underneath the horses' hooves as they spurred them forward; one hand holding the reins while the other was fisted around the handle of a brandished curved blade.

She couldn't explain why but the feeling of security and welcome was immediately gone from her stance, replaced with a wave of unease and fear. Instinct told her these weren't friends or curious visitors; that the intention in their hearts, whatever it was, was in no means in her favor.

The riders reached the front porch where she stood with the tray in her hands. They slowed but had a hard time coercing their horses to remain calm. The dust in the air made her cough and she was still confused about what these men wanted when she saw one of them trample her fresh grown basils with his horse's hooves.

"Sir, would to please…," she said.

The noise suddenly stopped. All eyes heads turned to her and she felt shivers crawl up her body at so many faceless eyes resting on her. Timidly she pointed at the basil patch and said: "Th-they've just poked out of the soil. Would you please walk your horse out of there and be mindful of my basils?"

Silence followed and the men continued looking at her like they hadn't understood. Then suddenly a roar went up and the flurry of motion was back. The horses began stomping the ground and she cringed against the chaos in front of her. She was wondering what had caused such turmoil when she suddenly saw Grandpa Persia, right there in the middle of the foray, fighting like a lion surrounded by a pack of wolves.

Noticing her eyes on him, he looked toward her and yelled, "Iran, get inside the house."

"But-but, grandpa…"

"Don't say anything, just get inside. NOW."

Yet 'now' was already too late. Somebody whacked Iran in the back of the head and she went down, tray falling out of her hands and teacups crashing against the ground. She used her hands to break her fall, confused at what had happened when she saw several horse hooves around her. Distantly she heard Grandpa Persia's roar and the sound of clashes nearby. A hand locked onto her upper arm and pulled her up, lifting her from the ground like a child would a lifeless doll.

"Lizard eating sand dweller, don't touch her," came the voice of her grandpa.

She could see him despite the odd angle and the vertigo in her head. He was in a standoff with four or five men, holding his straight sword against their curved blades and watching each of his opponents carefully. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the hopeless situation, the fact that her grandfather was severely outnumbered.

The intruders spoke in a strange tongue but she got a distinct feeling they were talking about her. Then suddenly more hands were on her, trying to pull her onto one of the horses. She screamed and Grandpa Persia charged toward them, throwing caution to the wind in favor of reaching her faster.

It was a fatal mistake. He never got to her. They cut him down as soon as he broke out of the standoff and his body fell to the ground. Iran screamed so loud her ears lost their hearing ability so she watched in muted horror as the swords came down again and again and pierced her grandpa's body. It was only minutes – although it felt like a century to her – before his lifeless form went still on the pavement.

She stared stunned. Her brain refused to believe it had happened even though she could see the blood leaving his body. Her beloved grandfather, the great empire of Persia, was dead. Killed right before her eyes. A hand came down and swept her up onto the horse and she offered no resistance. Her eyes stayed on her grandfather's body even as they began to ride away, watching him lie in a pool of his own blood next to her basil patch.

They took her to their encampment. Along the way she saw the carnage and destruction that was the result of their invasion: houses on fire, dead bodies on the ground, blood everywhere. She closed her eyes and prayed to the good God that her people would survive. Still, everything she saw proved to her that this raid was something different from all the others that had happened before, that something was undeniably and irreversibly lost to them.

At the camp they dragged her in front of their commander, the only man whose face was not covered by a cloth. He had dark piercing eyes and a beard that resembled a beehive. He looked her up and down and made a motion with his hand to tell his men to let her go. As soon as they did her knees gave way and she almost collapsed. But then her ancient pride came back and she pulled herself together. She wouldn't show any weakness in front of these cruel men.

"So you are Iran," the commander said.

She raised her chin to look the man in the eye. The question was obviously rhetorical so she didn't give a reply, instead she said, "Don't hurt my people. They've done nothing to you."

The commander looked past her, at the bloodshed that had already happened. He said, "The people won't be harmed as long as they accept the true religion and become believers of the single god."

"But… we already are believers of the single god," she said.

"You're infidels," the man said sharply, and his intense glare snapped back to her.

"We're Zoroastrians, not infidels. We believe in the good god Ahura Mazda," she insisted.

"There is no such god as Ahura Mazda, only Allah. You must turn to the right path and believe in the real god or we will end your lives and rid the world of your blasphemy."

She wanted to tell him more about Zoroastrianism and it being a good religion that taught people to be tolerant and decent. She wanted to say that they could all believe in one true god, regardless of what he was called. But she was cut off by a scream, a woman crying beyond the camp. She panicked at the thought of her people suffering.

This was absolutely terrible. All the other nations that had invaded her home had come for treasures, land and food. Some just took what they wanted and leave; some stayed and slowly learned about the culture and traditions of the land. None had ever wanted to change those traditions or asked them to abandon their faith. None had attacked the very culture she had used for centuries like a secret soft weapon to defend and convert her original offenders. Now, for the first time, she felt helpless, as if the ground underneath her feet was slipping away and she was falling into a great dark abyss.

Another scream rang through the air and she dropped her head. The man who was watching her closely said, "You can end their suffering and save their souls by telling them to convert to Islam. If they do that you would become part of our great nation and they would be considered our brothers and sisters and safe from any harm."

She thought about it and realized there was no way she could ever do it. The truth was these men weren't just trying to change their beliefs; they were transforming their whole culture, replacing their identity with something else. Without those, Persia would cease to exist. It would become a different country, one that belonged to that other 'nation.' She just couldn't do it.

"Would you rather die?" The swords came out and she looked around in despair. It was plain as the sun in a cloudless sky. These warriors were ready to kill anyone who wasn't willing to serve their god.

"Will you spare my people if I told them to convert?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. I already told you they'd become like family."

"I will do it then."

"You must become Muslim yourself."

She closed her eyes. "I will, just don't kill anymore of my people."

"Marhaba. Then repeat the divine words after me…"

The people of Persia converted to the new religion, some out of fear, some because Iran begged them to. A few ran away to secluded places where they were safe from the invaders and could keep their ancient beliefs. Still, the nation as a whole changed, and the days of the Great Persian Empire were over.

Iran hated what she had done, what she had asked her people to do, but it was for their own survival. No nation could stay alive if its people were wiped out in a massacre. Still the Persians didn't become followers of the man that had invaded their country; the bearded commander called 'the Kalif.' Instead they began a new faction, one that supported the son in law of the prophet and Kalif's main rival. They called themselves 'the Shiites' and became the cause of the most critical and destructive rift in the history of the religion.

Grandpa Persia was buried in the ruins of Persepolis, were there once stood their house. Iran cried at his gravesite. She looked different now. She still had the flowers in her hair but they were now covered by a veil. She was told, since she was a Muslim woman, she had to cover her hair from the eyes of unrelated men. She was also no longer allowed to dance to her traditional music or sing in public. The Kalif had fancied taking her to his harem and making her one of his several wives, but something in the look she had given him had caused him to back down and abandon the idea. They were gone now, leaving a landscape full of death and sadness, burned libraries and abolished effigies behind.

A regent was to be sent soon to the area between the two seas, so the Kalif had promised. He would rule the land as part of the great Muslim kingdom. Iran didn't care much about it, nor did she care about changing the ways of the invaders and opening their eyes to the treasures of her culture like she'd done with Alexander. The fire had died inside her and no matter how much she wanted to no spark was happening.

A breeze came and moved the veil away from her face. There was a whisper in the wind and she turned to see who was standing behind her. That was when she heard the words: "Do not despair, child. Remember you're Iran, so be immortal and live through the hard days. I may be gone but my spirit will always be with you. Millennia from now people will still speak my name with pride and look at you with love and deep loyalty. You haven't lost anything because you still have your people and the people are a nation's greatest treasure."

Iran stood up and smiled, sending a silent thanks to her grandfather. It was all up to her and she knew she could get through this with his memory in mind. The Great Persian Empire might have ended but Iran still had many centuries ahead of her

---

This part might be considered a little controversial (not to mention tragic, poor Grandpa Persia, poor Iran ;_;) but before you yell at me and accuse me of demonizing another nation I must tell you that the Arab invasion that happened a thousand years ago is seen as one of the most tragic events in the history of Iran by many of its people. It's true that the people eventually came to terms with being Muslim and even in some cases fully embraced the religion and became some of its most devoted followers. But the truth remains that Persians were forced to accept Islam under very harsh conditions and lost a lot of their culture, myths and traditions in the process. Persia never gained back its previous glory after the invasion and even the fact that it had not originally been part of the Islamic word (and its people not part of the same race as the Arabs) became the cause of much turmoil and discrimination in later years.

It's also important to mention that the Zoroastrian religion didn't entirely disappear. In fact there are still large communities in Iran that practice that religion to this day. The rituals of Nowrooz, Haft-seen and Yalda (longest night of the year) which are quite popular in Iran even now are remnants of that old faith. The Iranian calendar and language also wasn't changed, although the calligraphy did. In short the nation became a hybrid of its ancient roots and what was brought to it from the religion it adopted.

Some links:

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Muslim _ conquest _ of _ Persia Persia

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Zoroastrianism

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Shiite