[Mark Argent]

My name is Bahman. Now, what’s left of my hair is white, but I remember that journey, many years ago — the first time I’d gone any distance from where I grew up, in Shiraz, in Persia.

Here we are follow the teachings of Zartosht — you might know him as Zarathustra — as we have for generations. Our temple has an “ancient flame” which is the term they use when it’s been burning for more than 1000 years. You’ll find followers of Zartosht everywhere — from China in the East to the edge of the giant inland sea in the West. We were a great people with temples, prayers and our famous whirling dancers. The empire of our king Darius went even as far as Greece, until he was pushed back by the dreadful Alexander. He’s long dead, and the Romans haven’t come this far, so we do what we do, and we wait. And we trade with who comes through.

They say we once worshipped a sun god, but Zartosht told us of the great Ahura Mazda, creator of the world, who brought about good, and of Angra Mainyu who brings suffering and death into the world. We also have a story that Saushian, the son of Ahura Mazda, will come one day and deliver us from Angra Mainyu. One day. Meanwhile we stay with Zartosht’s saying “Good words, good deeds, good thoughts”.

Something strange happened that year. I’d grown used to people staying in Shiraz during the hot summers, and travelling on when the cool came. But that year, in the middle of winter, something happened among our priests — the Magi. I don’t know what it was, but there were hushed conversations and then meetings. Lots of meetings. Someone had a vision, a message from Ahura Mazda, they decided. Someone in a town far away, close to that inland sea. Some whispered that it was the Saushian. Some were less sure. Three of the Magi would go and investigate.

But that’s 1500 miles away. They say a camel in good condition can do 100 miles in a day. But this was travelling a long way, to who-knows-what, and crossing the sands at the wrong time of year. Three magi turned into a caravan, with wives, servants, tents, food — enough to do grandeur if needed, or humility. Caravans like that are not fast. In the heat you strike camp at dawn and need to stop and get the tents up before the heat is unbearable. Days turned into weeks, turned into months. Camel drivers squabbled. The women grumbled. Putting up the tents was women’s work — but people realised that putting up tents in a hurry needs everyone. We had fires, of course, but were getting further from the sacred fire in Shiraz. So sacred that the Magi wear facemasks in case their breath defiled it. Distance mattered, and it mattered more, the further we went.

We arrived as winter drew on. Just our luck to get to the lands where the heat was less intense just as it went way.

It was a strange land. Brutalised by invasions on invasions. The Magi decided to visit the king. I think he was called “Herodes” or something like that. They’d not heard good things of him. But “good words, good deeds, good thoughts”… they went to see him. Perhaps he’d not be beyond the scope of Ahura Mazda.

While they went, I explored. We’d camped on the edge of the city, and I slipped in among the traders. Lots for a young man to see and explore, especially after many months of travel. The stench of their temple was overwhelming — dead animals, blood, burnt offerings. Frankincense burned to soften it. So different from our fire back home. So different from the purity of Ahura Mazda.

Then I turned a corner and saw a man being flogged. It was brutal. He was barely older than me, but with whips tearing at his flesh, he looked barely human. A crowd watched. Soldiers made sure they watched. I asked. His crime? Herodes was angry with him. No reason. I’ve never seen a harsher case of the world of Angra Mainyu. Finally I managed to slip away, sick to the stomach, and returned to the camp.

Eventually the Magi came back. “Good words, good deeds, good thoughts”. But they seemed to be trying hard to stay with those. This was not the one they had come to see. There were words about a “House of bread”. We’d not baked in months. But then I realised that “House of bread” wasn’t a house at all. In the Hebrew language “Beth Lehem”, a town 20miles away. A camel could easily get there in a day. But the cruelty of the city frightened us. Which strangers would Herodes turn on next? So we struck camp and went together to this “bread town”.

Smaller, fewer soldiers. Stories of Herodes went further than his muscles (usually). Safer to talk here. People spoke of fear. We camped again. The Magi investigated.

Since then I’ve heard stories of their gifts — “gold”, “frankincense” and “myrrh”. Not quite how I remember it. We’d had gold — a little — you don’t carry much treasure in a caravan. But incense isn’t something we use, and myrrh? Someone told me they used it to embalm people — sounds disgusting, not like the way we treat those who have died, so their bodies are ready for the end of time. But the Magi did take gifts and went into the town.

We waited. And we waited. We knew about the fear, and we waited. And eventually they came back. If it was Shaushian they had gone to see, they didn’t tell us. “Good words, good deeds, good thoughts”. Everything was fine. We struck camp and set off again. Again at the wrong time of the year. I got that they were in a hurry to get here, but why the hurry to leave? But the evil of Angra Mainyu was around. Everything was fine. “Good words, good deeds, good thoughts”. But the Magi were rattled. They tried not to show it. They tried to carry on as before. But something was different. And they were in a hurry.

Years later I learned that we’d not left too soon. Soldiers had come. Children had been killed, lots of them. Pure evil. Was Herodes cross with them as well?

As the cool of the year returned, we got back to Shiraz. There were more huddled conversations, more meetings. Magi talking with Magi. No-one said that the Shausian had come. No-one said he hadn’t. If he were going to help us with Angra Mainyu and restore balance, maybe the world of Herodes was where he’d come. Maybe.

Everything went back to normal. The same rituals, the same prayers, the same sacred fire, the same whirling dancers, entering trances as they whirl. But something was different. It was the same and it wasn’t the same. We were still waiting, but I wondered what we were waiting for? An empire, the Shausian, or… The Magi had seen something but they couldn’t find the words — or wouldn’t. A baby, but more than a baby. Birth and death so close together that you couldn’t tell them apart. We were rattled. “Good words, good thoughts, good deeds”, so we waited, no longer quite so sure of how these things worked. And we waited.

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