ethereal and as luminous and as holy as the fire itself that blazed upon the altar.
This was in Bactra. I was seven years old. I stood next to my grand father Zoroaster. In one hand, I held the ritual bundle of sticks and watched closely as Zoroaster lit the fire on the altar. As the sun set and the fire flared upon the altar, the Magians began to chant one of those hymns that Zoroaster had received directly from Ahura Mazdah the Wise Lord. In my grandfather's thirtieth year, he had begged the Wise Lord to show him how a man could practice righteousness in order to achieve a pure existence, now and forever. It was then that the miracle happened.
The Wise Lord appeared to Zoroaster. The Wise Lord told Zoroaster exactly what must be done in order that he-and all mankind- might be purified
before
the end of time of the long dominion. As the Wise Lord lit with fire the way of Truth that we must follow if we do not suc cumb to the Lie, so Zoroaster and those who follow the true religion light the sacred fire in a sunless place.I can still see the light from the fire altar as it illuminated the row of golden jars that held the sacred haoma. I can still hear the Magians as they chanted the hymn in celebration of the Wise Lord. I can still remember the point at which they had got in the hymn when, suddenly, death came to us out of the north.
We were chanting the verses that describe the world's end "when all men will become of one voice and give praise with a loud voice to the Wise Lord and at this time he will have brought his creation to its con summation, and there will be no further work he need do."
Since the haoma had done its work, I was not entirely in or out of my body.
As
a result, I am not exactly certain what happened. I can still recall the characteristic tremor of my grandfather's hands when, for the last time, he raised to his lips the jar of haoma. To me he was awe inspiring. But who was not awed by Zoroaster? I thought him immensely tall. But then, I was a child. Later I learned that Zoroaster was of middle height, and inclined to stoutness.2 8 / C R E A T I 0 N
I remember that in the light from the fire the curls of his long white beard seemed to be spun from gold. I remember that in the light from the fire his blood looked like molten gold. Yes, I remember, most vividly, the murder of Zoroaster at the fire altar.
How did this happen?
The province of Bactria is on the northeastern border of the empire. The provincial capital Bactra is a midway point not only between Persia and India but also between the northern marauding tribes and those ancient civilizations that look upon the southern seas.
Although there had been rumors for some weeks that the northern tribes were on the move, no preparations had been made to defend Bac tra. I suppose that the people felt safe because our satrap -or gover nor-was Hystaspes, father of the Great King Darius. The Bactrians thought that no tribe would dare attack the city of Darius' father. They were wrong. While Hystaspes and most of his army were on the road to Susa, the Turanians swept through the city. What they did not loot, they burned.
At the fire altar we knew nothing until the Turanians were suddenly and silently among us. They are enormous men, with blond hair, red faces, pale eyes. When the entranced Magians finally saw them, they screamed. When the Magians tried to flee, they were butchered. As the haoma jars were smashed the golden haoma mingled with the darker gold of blood.
Democritus wants to know what haoma is. I haven't the slightest notion. Only the Magians are allowed to mix haoma, and I am not a Magian-that is, hereditary priest. All I know is that the basis for this sacred, inspiring, mystical potion is a plant that grows in the Persian highlands and resembles, I am told, what you people call rhubarb.
Over the years all sorls of stories have been invented about Zoroaster's death. Since he was so firmly opposed to the old devas, or devil-gods, worshipers of these dark spirits give credit to this devil or that for having killed the prophel of the Wise Lord. This is nonsense. Those blond animals from the north were simply looting and burning a rich city. They had no idea who Zoroaster was.
I did not move from the position to which I had been assigned at the beginning of the ritual. I continued to clutch the bundle of twigs. I sup pose that I was still in the haoma trance.
As for Zoroaster, he ignored the killers. He continued with the ritual, never ceasing to stare at the flame on the altar. Although I did not stir from my place, I'm afraid that I no longer looked into the fire, as required by ritual.
I n t h e D a ys of D a r i u s t h e G r e a t K i n g I 2 9
I stared with wonder at the slaughter all about me. I was not afraid, again due to the haoma. In fact, I found unexpectedly beautiful the way that nearby houses turned to yellow fire. Meanwhile Zoroaster contin ued to feed the sacred flame on the altar. As he did, the white-bearded lips posed for the last time the famous questions: