Place of Birth

‘‘Are you feeling teary and emotional?’’ queries a travelling companion as the Mahan Airways aircraft taxies down the runway at Teheran airport. But when we land, we’re so busy tying headscarves and ensuring we conform to the prescribed dress code that there’s no time for sentiment.

I feel a surge of pride while travelling through Central Iran, from Shiraz to Persepolis and on to Yazd.

Persepolis, atop Mount Rahmat, was the seat of power of the Achaemenid empire, dating back to the 6th century BC. It also testifies to the glory of ancient Persia and the might of Zoroastrian kings such as Cyrus the Great, Xerxes and Darius.

At the nearby Naqsh-e-Rustom, hewn out of a towering cliff, are the tombs of Darius I, Artaxerxes, Xerxes I and Darius II. At Pasargadae, a city even older than Persepolis, stands the tomb of Cyrus the Great amidst the surrounding wilderness.

The decline of Zoroastrianism in Persia began after the Arabs vanquished the last Sassanian king in 637 AD. Zoroastrianism, once the state religion, was replaced by Islam. The number of Zoroastrians in Iran today varies from 30,000 to 1,00,000. Most followers are located in Yazd and Kerman.

Zoroastrians who settled in India, or Parsis, are far more serious followers of their culture than their brothers here. While the Parsis still wear the sadrah (traditional muslin vest) and kusti (sacred thread), few Zoroastrians in Iran do. Till two generations ago, many educated Parsis even learnt Avestha, which predates Persian and in which their prayers were written.

Fareidoon Tarapour, a Parsi who settled in Iran in the ’50s and married a local Zoroastrian, says Zoroastrians were compelled to practise their faith in private for centuries. There is even a law which states that if a member of a Zoroastrian family converts to Islam, he automatically inherits the property. For long, Zoroastrians were forbidden to drink from the same wells as Muslims, forced to pay a jaziya tax and denied job opportunities.

Interestingly, while Iranians discriminate against local Zoroastrians, they seem proud of their Zoroastrian roots. They still celebrate Navroz (New Year), fold hands reverentially before an incense burner to ward of najar, display the Ahura Mazda symbol and many continue to give their children traditional names like Cyrus, Hormuz, Shirene and Roxana.

If Persepolis was the high point of my journey, Yazd was a let down. I may not be particularly religious, but my late mother would have been pleased to know I said my prayers at the historic fire temple where the flame is said to have been burning since 470 AD. The sacred fire was transferred from the Nahid-E-Pars temple to Ardekan in 1174 AD and to Yazd in 1474 AD. The fire temple where it now resides was built in 1940 and funded by Indian Zoroastrians.

The priest, Dastur Hormazd, casually dressed in trousers and a shirt, is something of a culture shock, since I’m used to seeing dasturs (priests) clad in flowing white muslin gowns, with a muslin cloth over their mouths when approaching the fire.

The fire at Yazd can be viewed through a glass screen by non-Zoroastrians, something unthinkable for the more conservative Parsis back home. The dastur, busy selling postcards, is reluctant to allow me into the sanctum sanctorum as repair work is on. The mobed (assistant priest) is more sympathetic. When my companions insist I be allowed inside since I’ve come from afar, he sneaks me in via a back entrance.

A Zoroastrian carpenter, handling part of the repair work, has been to India and knows a little Gujarati. ‘‘There are no jobs for us here. Most of the younger generation want to migrate to Australia and Canada.’’

The fire temple, he adds, is mainly for tourists. Four rooms are being constructed on one side of the complex, so that local Zoroastrians can earn a living from weaving the kusti. The project is funded by the Parsis, but the well-meaning philanthropists ignore the fact that there is little demand for kustis in India and almost none whatsoever in Iran.

On the outskirts of Yazd are the Dakmeh, or Towers of Silence, which hosted Zoroas-trian funerals before Reza Shah banned the ancient ritual in the 1940s. At the bottom of the hills are a dozen deserted mud houses, which housed Zoroastrian families whose traditional duty was to handle the funeral arrangements.

The stark landscape is in striking contrast with the lush compound of the Tower of Silence on Malabar Hill, in Mumbai.

Much has been made of the fact that India’s Parsi community is likely to die out in another century. Frankly, the Zoroastrians of Iran seem closer to extinction.