The Story of Zahhak (Part 1)

Iblis fashioned himself into a well-spoken youth, clear of heart and clean of body, and presented himself before Zahhak with nothing but praise on his lips. He said: "If it please the king, I am a cook of some renown." Zahhak heard him gladly and gave him charge of the royal kitchen, and the keys to the king's larder were placed in his hands.

In those days men knew little of fine cookery. Their food was simple, taken only from what grew in the earth — herbs and plants and nothing more. But the wicked Ahriman devised a new path: he turned to the slaughter of living creatures, and from every kind of bird and beast he prepared dishes, and set them one by one before the king. He fed Zahhak on blood and flesh as a lioness feeds her young, so that the king might grow bold and obey his every word.

First he served him the yolk of eggs, and for a time Zahhak thrived on this alone and praised the cook warmly. Then Iblis the trickster said: "Long live the exalted king! Tomorrow I shall prepare for you a feast that will nourish you entirely." He departed and spent the whole night scheming what marvel of cookery he might offer next.

The following day, when the lapis dome of heaven rose and showed its yellow ruby — the sun — he prepared dishes of partridge and white pheasant, and came before the king full of hope. The king of the Arabs stretched his hand to the table, and his foolish heart surrendered its love to the cook. On the third day, the table was adorned with fowl and lamb in every variety. On the fourth, he set the feast and prepared the loin of a young bull, seasoned with saffron and rosewater, with aged wine and musk-scented water.

When Zahhak tasted this and marveled, he said to the cook: "Name your desire — ask of me whatever you wish." The cook replied: "O king, may you live always in joy and command! My heart is full of love for you, and all the sustenance of my soul comes from your face. I have but one request of the king, though I am unworthy of such a station: grant me leave to kiss your shoulders and press my eyes and face upon them."

Zahhak, suspecting no evil, granted the wish. Iblis kissed both his shoulders — and the moment he did so, he vanished into the earth. No one in the world had ever seen such a wonder. Two black serpents sprouted from Zahhak's shoulders. He was stricken with horror and sought every remedy. They cut the snakes away, but like the branches of a tree they grew back from the king's shoulders. Wise physicians gathered and tried every cure and device, but none could heal the affliction.

Then Iblis came again, this time disguised as a learned healer, and spoke to Zahhak with an air of wisdom: "This was fated to be. Let them remain — do not cut what should not be reaped. Prepare food for them and give them ease through nourishment. There is no other remedy. Feed them the brains of men — perhaps they will die from such a diet." But in truth the mighty demon sought through this counsel to empty the world of mankind.

In those days there lived upon the desert plain of the Arab horsemen a man both noble and good, a king who feared God. His name was Mardas, and he was renowned above all for his justice and generosity. He owned a thousand head of every milking beast — goats, camels, and ewes — and his pious herdsmen tended them. He kept obedient milk-cows and Arab horses swift as spirits. Whoever was in need had only to stretch out a hand, and Mardas gave freely of his wealth.

This pure-hearted man had one son, in whom love had no share. The boy's name was Zahhak — bold, reckless, and without caution. In Pahlavi they called him Pivorsp, which in the Dari tongue means 'ten thousand,' for he possessed that many Arab horses with golden bridles. Day and night he spent two-thirds of his time in the saddle, riding for glory and not for war.

One day Iblis came to him in the guise of a well-wisher and led the young man's heart from the path of virtue. The youth listened gladly to his words, not knowing the ugliness behind them, and surrendered his mind, heart, and soul — heaping dust upon his own head. When Iblis saw that the wind had carried his heart away, he rejoiced, and spoke many fine and elegant words, for the young man's mind was empty of true knowledge.

"I possess secrets that no one else knows," Iblis said. The youth replied: "Speak, and do not delay — teach me, O wise counselor." Iblis answered: "First I require your oath. Then I shall unlock the matter." The guileless young man swore as he was told: "I will reveal your secret to no one, and I will heed whatever you say."

Then Iblis spoke: "Why should anyone else be master in this house? What need is there for a father when there is a son like you? Hear one piece of counsel from me: this old lord has lingered too long in the world. Seize his place and his court — the station in the world belongs to you. Keep faith with my words, and you shall be sole king of the earth."

When Zahhak heard this he was troubled, and his heart filled with pain at the thought of his father's blood. He said to Iblis: "This is not right — speak of something else, for this is no proper course." Iblis replied: "If you turn from these words and break your oath to me, the bond of that oath will remain upon your neck. You will be disgraced, and your father will keep his honor."

So the young Arab's head was caught in the snare, and he chose to obey. He asked: "Tell me the plan — I will not turn aside from your counsel in any way." Iblis said: "I will arrange everything. I will raise your head to the sun. You need only keep silent — I require no help from anyone."

Now the king had within his palace a garden of great beauty, where he would go at night to wash and pray, alone and without a torch. Along that path the wretched demon dug a deep pit, and Iblis covered it with brush and concealed it. When night fell, Mardas walked toward the garden, that noble seeker of renown. As he drew near the hidden pit, his fortune turned — he fell in and was broken, and the God-fearing man perished.

Thus was the good and generous king, who had raised his son with tenderness and toil, and had given him all his treasure and joy, betrayed by that shameless child who sought no path of honor through kinship. He consented to his own father's blood. I have heard this tale from the wise: that even a wicked son, though he be a raging lion, should not be bold enough for his father's blood. If the hidden truth is otherwise, the seeker's secret lies with the mother.

By this device Zahhak seized his father's throne. And when Iblis saw this bond was firm, he laid the foundation of yet another counsel. He said: "Since you turned to me, you have gained every desire of your heart. If you swear the same oath again and do not stray from my command, the whole world shall be your kingdom — every beast and bird and fish shall be yours."

Then a great clamor arose from Iran, and war and tumult appeared on every side. The bright white day turned black. The people severed their bond with Jamshid, for the divine glory had grown dark upon him — he had turned to crookedness and folly. From every province a petty king sprang up, each a man of renown raising armies, their hearts emptied of love for Jamshid.

One by one, hosts departed from Iran and made their way toward the land of the Arabs, for they had heard that a great lord was there — a fearsome king with the form of a dragon. The horsemen of Iran, all seeking a new sovereign, turned with one accord toward Zahhak. They hailed him as king and called him Shah of Iran. The dragon-faced one came like the wind and placed the crown upon his head in the land of Iran.

From Iran and from the Arabs he chose the finest warriors of every country and marched upon Jamshid's throne, turning the world upon his finger like a ring. When Jamshid's fortune turned against him and the new lord of the world pressed him hard, he fled and surrendered his throne, his crown, his treasure, and his army. He vanished, and the world went dark upon him.

For a hundred years no one saw Jamshid — he was lost from the sight of all mankind. In the hundredth year he appeared by the Sea of China, that king whose faith had been corrupted. The moment Zahhak laid hands on him, he gave him no respite: he sawed him in two with a saw and cleansed the world of him. Jamshid had hidden long from the dragon's breath, but in the end he found no escape.

Thus perished that royal throne and all its splendor — time snatched it away as though it had never been. Seven hundred years had passed over him, showing him every kind of good and ill, and what had all that toil availed?

The poet reflects: What use is a long life when the world will never reveal its secret to you? It feeds you with honey and sweet drink, and you hear nothing but its soft voice. The moment you believe it has spread its love and will show you its kind face — the moment you rejoice in it and confide every secret of your heart — it produces an exquisite trick and fills your heart with the blood of grief. My soul is weary of this passing inn. O God, deliver me swiftly from its torment.

When Zahhak sat upon the throne as sovereign, a thousand years gathered upon his reign. All the world turned to his command, and a long age passed in this way. The customs of the wise were hidden, and the desires of madmen were scattered abroad. Virtue was despised and sorcery honored; righteousness went into hiding while open harm prevailed. The demons stretched their hands toward evil, and none spoke of goodness except in secret.

Two pure maidens were dragged from the house of Jamshid, trembling like willows — for Jamshid had two daughters who were the crown of all noble women. Of these veiled beauties one was named Shahrnaz, and the other, moon-faced, was called Arnavaz. Zahhak raised them in the ways of wickedness, teaching them crookedness and sorcery. He knew nothing but evil teaching — nothing but killing, plundering, and burning.

It was his custom that each night two young men, whether of low birth or from a warrior house, were brought to the king's hall by the royal cook and slaughtered. Their brains were emptied out and prepared as food for the serpents.

Now there lived in the king's realm two men, pure and pious — one named Armayel, of clean faith, and the other Garmayel, a man of foresight. One day they sat together and spoke of the unjust king and his army, and of the wicked custom of that feeding. One said: "We must become cooks and gain entry to the king's service. Then we must devise a plan and think of every possible scheme, so that of the two men whose blood they spill each night, perhaps one may be brought out alive."

They went and learned the art of cookery, and took charge of the kitchen of the king of the world, those two vigilant men concealing their true purpose. When the hour of bloodshed came and two sweet-souled young men were seized by the guards and executioners and flung before the cooks, the cooks' hearts filled with pain, their eyes with tears, their minds with rage at the injustice of the king of the earth.

Of the two victims they slaughtered one — they knew no other way — and removed the brains of a sheep, mixing them with the brains of the fallen man. To the other they gave safe-conduct for his life, saying: "Go, and keep your head hidden. Do not show yourself in any settled city — the mountains and the wilderness are your portion in this world." In place of the second man's brains, they prepared the worthless sheep's brains as food for the serpents.

In this manner, each month thirty young men were saved from death. When two hundred had gathered — men whose identity no one knew — the cooks gave them goats and sheep and sent them out to the open plain. From their seed descend the Kurds of today, who dwell far from settled lands, whose houses are all of coarse felt, and who hold no fear of God in their hearts.

Such was the inverted custom of Zahhak: whenever desire seized him, he would demand a warrior's daughter, fair of face and pure behind the veil, and make her his servant. He observed neither the ways of kings, nor custom, nor faith.

When forty years remained of Zahhak's allotted time, mark what God ordained for him. Late one night in the royal palace, he lay sleeping beside Arnavaz and dreamed that from the line of kings three warriors appeared. Two were elder and one younger, standing between them — tall as a cypress, with the bearing of kings. They advanced in royal fashion, girded for war. The youngest carried a cow-headed mace. He strode furiously toward Zahhak and struck him on the head with that ox-shaped mace. Then the young warrior drew a strap of leather from head to foot, bound Zahhak's hands like stone, placed a halter about his neck, and in shame and agony, with dust scattered upon his head, dragged him all the way to Mount Damavand, the crowd pressing behind.

Zahhak the unjust writhed and trembled, and suddenly raised his head. He let out a cry in his sleep so great that the hall of a hundred columns shook. The sun-faced women sprang from their places at the uproar of their lord.

Arnavaz said to Zahhak: "O king, what has befallen you? Tell us your secret. You were sleeping peacefully in your own house — what did you see? The whole world stands at your command. Beast and demon and man are your guardians. The seven realms of the earth are yours, from the crest of the moon to the back of the great fish. What was it that made you start from your place? Tell us, O lord of the world."

The king said to the sun-faced women: "This dream must be kept hidden. If you hear this tale, your hearts will despair of my life." But Arnavaz spoke with authority: "You must reveal the secret to us. Perhaps we can find a remedy, for no evil is without a cure."

So he brought forth what was hidden and told them the dream in full. Arnavaz said: "Do not neglect this — seek a solution. The jewel of the age is the crown upon your head, and the world is bright with your renowned fortune. You hold the world beneath your ring — beast and bird, man and demon and fairy. Gather the great men from every land — astrologers and sages. Tell the matter in full to the priests. Seek and investigate these secrets. Learn whether the one who threatens your mind is of human race or of demon and fairy kind. When you know him, act at once. Do not tremble idly at vague fears."

The words pleased the proud king, spoken by that silver-bodied cypress. While the world was dark as a raven's wing, the lamp of dawn rose from the mountain and the sun spread its yellow ruby across the lapis dome.

Zahhak summoned every priest he could find — every wise and learned man of wakeful heart — and brought them from across the realm. He told them the dream that had wounded his soul, gathered them in one place, and demanded a remedy for his pain. "Tell me at once," he said. "Guide my soul toward the light. I ask you in secret about the turning of fate, for good and for ill: when will my time come to its end? Who shall possess this crown and throne and girdle? Whether you must lay bare this secret or must bow your heads in shame — speak."

The priests' lips went dry and their faces cold. Their tongues were full of speech but their hearts full of pain, for they thought: "If we speak the truth of what must be, our lives are forfeit — and life is beyond price. But if he does not hear the truth now, we must wash our hands of life all the same."

For three days the matter hung unresolved, and no one dared speak openly. On the fourth day the king flew into a rage and threatened the priests: "Either you shall hang alive upon the gallows, or you shall reveal what must be."

All the priests hung their heads, their hearts split in two, their eyes filled with blood. But among those learned men of great intellect there was one who was clear-sighted and upright, wise and wakeful and shrewd by name, who always walked ahead of the other priests. His heart grew tight, and he became fearless. He spoke openly before Zahhak:

"Empty your head of wind, for no one is born of a mother except to die. Many a lord of the world before you was worthy of this great throne. He counted out his share of grief and joy, and when his long day came to its end, he died. Even if you build walls of iron, the turning sky will wear you down and you will not remain. After you, another shall have your throne and bring your fortune to the dust. His name is Fereydun, and he shall be a blessed star above the earth. That warrior has not yet been born of his mother — his time of fear and cold wind has not yet come. But when he is born of his accomplished mother, he shall be like a fruit-bearing tree. He will reach manhood and raise his head to the moon, seeking the girdle, crown, and throne. Tall as a lofty cypress, he will bear a mace of steel upon his shoulder. He will strike your head with that cow-faced mace and drag you in chains from your palace into the street."

Zahhak said: "But why will he bind me? What is his quarrel with me?" The courageous priest replied: "If you have any wisdom — no one seeks evil without cause. His father's life will end at your hands, and from that grief his head will fill with vengeance. A wondrous cow shall be his nurse; that cow too will perish at your hands. For this he will bring the cow-headed mace against you."

When Zahhak heard this and took it in, he fell from his throne and consciousness left him. The noble priest turned his face away from the high throne in fear and fled. When the king's senses returned, he mounted the royal seat and searched the world openly and in secret for any sign of Fereydun. Neither rest, nor sleep, nor food remained to him. His bright day had turned to darkness.