Zahhak's Rebirth: reflections on the uprising in Iran

from issue Number 1, Summer 2009
by Sassan Tabatabai

In view of the massive protests following the announced results of Iran's presidential elections, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the hard-line incumbent, dismissed the popular unrest, calling the demonstrators khas-o khashak. This phrase literally means discarded wood chips or yard waste but as a saying entails both insignificance and uselessness, like dust that is to be swept away. The following day, when demonstrators once again filled the streets of Tehran, young and defiant Iranians hurled the insult back at their prosecutors, in particular at Ahmadinejad himself. They had taken lines from a 13th century poem by Rumi, updating the words but keeping the immediately recognizable meter. The ancient couplets were turned into a slogan for an oppressed people who have dared to stand against the might of the Islamic Republic:

You are worthless, you are waste, you are baser than dirt.

I am life, I am light, the lover with a grieving heart.

You are tyranny, you are blind, you are the halo without light.

I am brave, I am bold, I am the lord of this land.

When Neda Agha-Soltan was shot and killed by government security forces and her horrifying death captured on video for the entire world to see, a poem appeared and began to circulate on the Internet. The author, identified only as Mandana, made Neda the voice—in Persian Neda means "voice"—and face of all innocent casualties of despotism:

Stay, Neda—

Look at this city

At the shaken foundation of palaces,

The height of Tehran's maple trees,

They call us "dust," and if so

Let us sully the air of the oppressor.

Don't go Neda.

During hard times, we Iranians have always taken solace from our poets. The poetic lineage of New Persian (what we speak today) stretches back over a thousand years. In this tradition we find words to express our grief, shape our anger, and sustain our hope. When facing the government's security forces assigned to crush any sign of defiance, we only have to look back to our poets for inspiration and for models of resistance. The earliest literary example of a tyrannized populace rising against all odds to overcome the might of the state can be found in the Shahnameh ("Epic of Kings") by the 11th century poet, Ferdowsi. This Iranian national epic chronicles the mythical and quasi-historical story of the Persians from the dawn of creation to the Arab invasion. One of the earliest stories of the Shahnameh has particular bearing on today's situation in Iran:

It was the time of the early kings of Iran and humanity's first tentative steps on the road to civilization. It was long before Cyrus freed the Jews from Babylonian captivity but well after the victory of light over dark and the subjugation of the Divs (mythical monsters) by the first king, Jamshid. It was a time of uncertainty. Farr, the luminous glory upon which the rightful authority of the king was based, had vanished with the last king, Manuchehr. Zahhak, an evil king of Tazi (Arab) stock sat on the Persian throne and oppressed the people under the yoke of a brutal system that demanded daily sacrifices from its people.

Zahhak, who had murdered his own father to gain power, was a product of his own malice. One day, Ahriman, the devil, put on the disguise of a cook, presented himself to the king and offered his services. At a time when mankind subsisted on grains and fruits, Ahriman offered roasted meat with savory sauces, to the king's delight. Out of gratitude for his service to the throne, he was offered any prize he desired. But in a show of humility and respect, Ahriman asked that he simply be allowed to kiss the king's shoulders. The request was readily granted but as Ahriman kissed Zahhak's shoulders, two black snakes suddenly sprouted from where his lips had touched the king, and the devil disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

The terrified king had the snakes cut off just to see them grow again. But in time, a symbiotic relationship developed between the snakes and their host. The wise men of court conferred that the snakes could not be destroyed and could only be kept at bay by feeding them the brains of human beings on a daily basis. So every day, week after week, month after month, year after year, two people were sacrificed and their brains fed to the black snakes on the shoulders of the serpent king, Zahhak.

Zahhak's reign of terror continued for years until one day a blacksmith named Kaveh made his way into the royal palace to confront the king.

"I'm Kaveh, and a blacksmith, sire," he said.

And as he spoke his clenched fists struck his head.

"It's you whom I accuse, you are the one

Whose fire's destroyed all that I have ever done."

translated by Dick Davis

Kaveh had been blessed with eight sons, seven of whom had been sacrificed to feed Zahhak's snakes. Now, the king's men had taken Kaveh's last son from him. Confronted with Kaveh's grief and audacity, Zahhak saw the opportunity to endear himself with the people who had grown to hate him. He ordered his men to release Kaveh's last remaining son and bring out a document for the blacksmith to sign, attesting to the benevolence and leniency of the king. Kaveh's rage at this hypocrisy boiled over. Unable to compose himself, he tore up the document and turned to the assembled elders around the king.

"You're in the demons' clutches now," he roared,

"Your evil hearts no longer fear the Lord,

And all your faces are set fair for hell;

Your hearts believe Zahhak, you wish him well,

But I will never sign, or give a thought

To this corrupted tyrant and his court."

translated by Dick Davis

The news of Kaveh's defiance of Zahhak spread among the people who rallied around him, resolved to stand up to the tyranny of the serpent king. Kaveh took his leather blacksmith's apron, fastened it to the tip of his spear and went in search of Fereidun, the hidden king who held the farr, the one, who according to prophesy, would be the undoing of Zahhak. The blacksmith's leather apron came to be known as the Kaviani Banner and became a rally call and symbol of the people's uprising against the tyranny of Zahhak.

Now in Iran, as the unrest following the elections continues despite the government's violent response against demonstrators, a scene eerily reminiscent of the Zahhak story is unfolding. Roles have been assigned and the actors have assumed their positions. The role of the evil king, Zahhak, has been assigned to the Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei, who threatened and then delivered the unyielding backlash against the citizen protesters. As the highest authority in the country, it is ultimately Khamenei who bears responsibility for the bloodshed. It is he whose hands are stained with the blood of innocent youths. Furthermore, it is he whose support as benefactor secured a second term for Ahmadinejad. And it is he whose shoulders Ahmadinejad kissed out of gratitude during the presidential inauguration, in haunting reenactment of the Zahhak story.

Like Zahhak's hypocritical display of clemency, the Iranian government's concessions and show of leniency towards the demonstrators are hollow gestures, signs of an apprehensive state that is worried about its own survival. The token few demonstrators to be released have been forced to sign a statement to the effect that they were not mistreated. This comes amid reports of hundreds still unaccounted for, and of battered and bruised corpses being returned to families. Khamenei's grand gesture to close down the Kahrizak prison in Tehran—the site razed to destroy evidence of its notorious torture pits—comes on the heels of reports that the rope used to bind and strangle victims at this facility was dyed green to mock the victims' cause.

Mir Hossein Mousavi, the disgruntled presidential hopeful, has been cast in the role of Kaveh. Mousavi, however, is far from ideal to lead a rebellion against the state. As a founder of the theocracy, he is too vested in it to seek its overthrow. Furthermore, as prime minister of the nascent Islamic Republic in the 1980s, he was a staunch believer in and strict enforcer of oppressive sharia law. Nevertheless, Mousavi has come to represent the father who can no longer bear to see a ruthless government sacrificing its own children. This perception is especially widespread among the youth of Iran whose memories do not go as far back as the 1980s—70% of the population is under 30 years of age. But by speaking out against the rigged elections and the subsequent brutality of security forces on the streets, Mousavi has caused a rift in the highest echelons of the ruling establishment. What has been most impressive about Mousavi is that he has maintained his defiant stance against the old guard, and continues to stand tall in the front ranks of demonstrations.

The green banner carried by Mousavi's supporters, which so vividly brings to mind the Kaviani Banner, has become the rallying symbol of the people who have taken that first irreversible step towards confronting the might of the system. It is now an emblem adopted by the supporters of democracy both in and out of the country. Against all odds, a Zahhakian scenario is unfolding for the Iranian government.

And there is certainly no lack of characters to be cast as the true victims: the youth of the country, who like Kaveh's seven sons, are being sacrificed to feed the snakes on the tyrant's shoulders. They are our brothers and sisters, our sons and daughters—like Neda, all with familiar names and faces. Their only crime has been to desire freedom from the ideological shackles of a theocratic state. They are men and women in the prime of their youth, like 19-year-old Sohrab A'rabi who was shot and killed by security forces; like 18-year-old Mohammad Kamrani who died from injuries he received under torture; like 19-year-old Tarraneh Ghorbani, who was arrested by the Basij militia, and after rumors of repeated rape, her mutilated body was burned to prevent her parents from discovering the truth about their daughter. Ultimately, they are the catalysts of change. Their blood, like the blood of Kavah's seven sons, screams out for justice. Their fate makes us rally to their cause, and raise the Kaviani Banner in their names.

Now the curtain has been raised on this theater of violence and resistance. We only await the true Fereidun, the possessor of the farr, to stand up and do away with the system of repression once and for all.

According to Ferdowsi, Kaveh and the people are ultimately victorious over the dark forces of Zahhak. Fereidun binds Zahhak in chains and banishes him to a cave at the top of Mount Damavand. He assumes his position as the rightful and just leader of the people and ushers in a long period of peace and prosperity. And Zahhak and his men, like their contemporary counterparts, Khamenei, Ahmadinejad, et al., are made to account for years of unchecked brutality against the people. In the Shahnameh, the final demise of Zahhak, the serpent king is only hinted at, as the reader is left to wonder in horror what the snakes will eat when left alone with their host.

__________________________________________________

Back to the Table of Contents for Number 1

About the Author
Sassan Tabatabai is a poet and translator. He is the author of Father of Songs: Rudaki and his Poetry (Rozenberg/Purdue UP, 2008) and the forthcoming Uzunburun: Poems (The Pen & Anvil Press, 2010). He is also Poetry Editor of News from the Republic of Letters. Tabatabai teaches humanities and Persianate languages at Boston University and Boston College.