Searching abandoned cities, urban centers to unlock an ancient nation's past

August 29, 2004|Jehangir Pocha, Globe Correspondent

TEHRAN - As our aging Iran Air jumbo jet approaches Tehran in the dead of night, the announcement to prepare for landing provokes both the fastening of seat belts and the changing of clothes. Designer outfits are cloaked under sober gowns. Vivacious hairstyles disappear beneath dark cowls.

Of all the clichs that surround Iran, this is perhaps the only true one: that all women, even visitors, must wear the chador, or traditional cloak and veil, at all times. But just as the chador often masks spectacular fashions underneath, the 444 days of the 1979 hostage crisis still cast a dark shadow over the richness of this 3,000-year-old nation that is one of the cradles of civilization.

As a journalist, I was visiting Iran to make sense of its troubled relations with the United States. As someone of Persian lineage and the ancient Zoroastrian faith, often considered the world's oldest revealed religion, I was looking to learn something of Iran's past -- and mine.

Any discovery of Iran, or Persia as it was called before 1936, must commence at Pasargadae and Persepolis. It was here that Cyrus the Great founded what philosopher Georg Hegel called the "world's first real empire" in 550 BC. Set on the immense Marv Dasht plain and surrounded by the Mountains of Rahmat, or Mercy, these abandoned cities invite contemplation.

The Persians entered the historical realm as much for their military prowess as their humanistic conception of the world. Most followed the teachings of the philosopher-prophet Zoroaster (also known as Zarathushtra), who taught that life was a constant struggle between good and evil.

Zoroastrianism greatly influenced Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In the Bible, Cyrus is extolled as "God's chosen . . . the anointed one" because he freed the Jewish slaves from Babylon, returned them to their lands, and rebuilt the First Temple. Today, his tomb at Pasargadae is the only tangible remainder from his time.

A simple, square, 35-foot-high structure, it is set on a plinth with six receding steps leading to a gabled tomb chamber. Framed against a clear blue sky, it exudes an uncommon tranquillity.

At Persepolis, called Parsa by the Persians, the buildings are designed to convey the majesty of Persian power and ideas. The complex sits atop a 40-foot-tall stone platform that sets it high against a fold in the mountains. It takes little imagination to reassemble the wreckage of scattered columns and bas-reliefs into fabled structures like the Gate of Nations and the Tripylon Palace.

"We still mourn these ruins," Mohammad, my guide, says as he tells how a drunken Alexander, whom he steadfastly refuses to call "the Great," destroyed Persepolis in 331 BC to please a woman. (Or perhaps to avenge the destruction of Athens' temples by the Persians in 480 BC.)

Advertisement
Advertisement
|
|
|
|