ALL THE DIVINE LORDS
In Karachi, Pakistan, there is no talk of a dying religion.
Frankincense and Sandalwood preside over a ceremony rich
with fire.
A child, made to be a man, dons a long white robe and is tying
the Zoroastrian sacred cord.
This kushti, made of 72 threads symbolizing the 72 chapters
of the Yasna,
which the boy wraps around himself three times to symbolize
Good thoughts, words and deeds.
He will wear this cord all his days,
Tying and untying as he recites his prayers.
His father, a psychologist by trade, forgets the details of
the day and travels back into tradition.
His is training his son to become a priest, and so the boy
must understand his history.
This great religion of the Persian Empire dwindled from 40
million to but a fraction of the power that once was - a power that once
governed the greatest Persian Kings.
In 100 years this may all be lost, swept away like sands
from a dessert over a thousand years.
The boy and his father fight the extinction of their faith.
These corded men, who belt themselves upon a moral life,
weighing the good against the bad – stacking deeds like the counting blocks of
a child…
The meaning of the language used in many formal prayers has
been lost, yet the faith remains fixed in what endures.
Can a word still hold significance if the meaning is lost?
Ahura Mazda cries “Yes!”
This Holy Scripture, a fixture; the most sacred of ornaments
that decorate rituals.
Worshipping the good spirits through sacrifice and praise,
haoma juices mixed with milk and herbs flow like the scriptures themselves from
the mouths of the father and son.
The boy has been told many times,
Avesta – the scripture-
Usually translated to mean “command,” or “knowledge,” or
simply “law.”
Divided into four:
The Yasna, Visparad, Yashts, and the Venidad,
He knows that the Yasna contains the Gathas, and are thought
to be the true words of Zarathustra The Great Prophet.
The Gathas is the primary source of knowledge,
the well of which to drink and become full
Or to become flame, as in the consecrated fire that burns in
the boy's chest,
yearning to repeat the words his heart knows so well.
He recites them from memory, alone with his father, and they
are both proud.
The Visparad contains poetic invocations, praises and sacrifices
to All the Divine Lords.
In a modern setting the idea of sacrifice as a form of
worship seems strange
But he is not a student that takes the bus to school today.
Today he is a prince of Ancient Persia, reciting the Visparad during the Six
Holy Days of Obligation.
In the Yashta lie hymns of praise to twenty-one divinities
And one wonders, why aren’t there more?
Have the new ones been forgotten before the books can be
rewritten?
Can one be blinded from the present by reciting the past?
Or can it be that there are no more human heroes, no more
guardian spirits left
in the world of man?
The boy bows his head and thinks of the angels while
Fravashis swirl about him, the guardian spirits, protecting their young priest.
The boy thinks of the Vendidad, which tells the story of
creation. The story of the primeval flood. He is thankful for Zarathustra,
thankful for the divine law.
As he reflects his hands instinctively reach to his belt.
He is fascinated by tradition, knowing that the words he
recites today were spoken by Zarathustra himself.
He recalls the stories his father etched into his memory:
The invasions of Alexander the Great tearing through the
canon of the Avesta and leaving little behind.
Islam, too, while proclaiming peace, sought to end the faith
by suppressing their temples
And burning their scriptures.
What remained was fixed in the memory of the priests, passed
down from ancient times to what has become rooted firmly in the boy’s mind. No
one can burn his mind.
As the boy’s thoughts fill with the slightest feeling of
disdain for those who would destroy his faith,
His training endures and the boy moves to recite The Call of
Zarathustra,
A passage used as prayer, a call for divine help to destroy
the powers of deceit,
promoting peace and truth.
“Give us your aid in abundance!” he cries,
Returning his gaze to the fire. Always returning to the
fire,
The ultimate symbol of purity.
There is always a choice between good and evil.
And the boy hopes that, when his body lies bound on a tower of
silence,
‘clothed with the light of heaven, and beholding the sun,’
Secured by his feet and hair,
after the birds and dogs have torn away his flesh
And only his bones remain
That the judgment of his soul on Chinvat bridge
where his deeds will be weighed
will allow his soul to ascend into heaven.
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