The Spinel and the Sacred Fire of Mount Demavand

On the ancient, mysterious land of Iran—where sandstorms whisper old tales—there lingers a soul-stirring, heart-wrenching legend. Like a mournful ballad, it sings of fate’s fickleness and life’s twists and turns. This is the story of Rostam, the great hero, and his son Sohrab.

Rostam stands as one of the most brilliant heroes in Iranian mythology and legend. Of towering stature, he was like a lofty mountain; his strength was boundless, enough to shake heaven and earth. His thick, curly black hair resembled dark clouds at night, and his deep eyes sparkled with resolve and wisdom. His face, weathered by years of battles, bore the marks of hardship yet exuded an awe-inspiring majesty. All his life, Rostam fought to defend Iran’s royal power. His heroic deeds were as countless as the stars—every battle found him leading the charge, wielding his razor-sharp sword to cut down enemies like a gale sweeping away fallen leaves. Time and again, he saved Iran from the brink of disaster, becoming a guardian deity in the hearts of the Iranian people.

The story began with an ordinary hunting trip that would alter destiny forever. On that day, the sun blazed over the grasslands as Rostam galloped freely, chasing his prey. But the gears of fate turned silently: his beloved warhorse suddenly panicked, broke its reins, and vanished into the vast grasslands. Overwhelmed with anxiety, Rostam searched everywhere—before he knew it, he had strayed into the territory of Turán, a neighboring kingdom, and arrived at a small city called Samangan.

The governor of Samangan was a kind and hospitable man. When he saw Rostam’s anxious, exhausted face, he felt compassion. Not only did he feast Rostam generously, but he was also deeply impressed by Rostam’s heroic spirit as they talked. He resolutely offered his beautiful daughter in marriage to Rostam. Persuaded by the governor’s warmth, Rostam spent a sweet, happy period with the governor’s daughter. Yet Rostam’s heart always ached for his homeland and unfinished mission. Finally, after finding his lost horse, he had to tear himself away from his pregnant wife. Before leaving, he handed her a precious armlet inlaid with glittering jewels, saying tenderly: “My dear, keep this armlet safe. It represents my love and longing for you. If our child is born, seeing this armlet will be like seeing me.”

Soon after, a strong baby boy was born—this was Sohrab. From an early age, Sohrab showed extraordinary talent: he was agile, stronger than other children his age, and had an innate aptitude and passion for combat and martial arts. As he grew older, Sohrab gradually heard tales of his father Rostam’s heroic deeds. His heart swelled with admiration and yearning for his father, and a seed of finding Rostam and proving himself took root in his mind, growing rapidly.

When Sohrab reached manhood, he had inherited his father’s tall, powerful build. His bright golden hair shimmered in the sun, and his blue eyes held fearlessness and determination. Filled with ambition, he decided to embark on a journey to find his father. In his eyes, the best way to catch his father’s attention was to show his own strength and courage. Thus, he made a bold decision: to attack Iran first, then wage war on Turán. “Rostam the father and I, Sohrab the son, will topple all crowns!” he declared with great pride.

Before long, Sohrab led an elite army and marched fiercely toward Iran. When the Iranian king heard the news, he was shocked and immediately appointed Rostam as commander-in-chief to lead the army against the invaders. And so, fate arranged for father and son to face each other on the battlefield—yet neither knew the other’s true identity.

As the two armies faced off, the battlefield was shrouded in tense, suffocating air, as if even the wind had stopped. Rostam and Sohrab, each atop a noble steed, stood majestically at the forefront of their respective armies. The moment their eyes met, both felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity and awe—yet neither could have imagined that the enemy before them was their dearest relative.

The battle began. Both Rostam and Sohrab displayed extraordinary combat skills and immense strength. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, filling the air with a deafening din. The first day of fighting dragged on for hours; both sides fought with all their might, yet neither could gain the upper hand. Rostam thought to himself in amazement: “This young man is so brave and powerful—he is almost my equal. Such talent is rare indeed.” Sohrab, too, felt deep admiration for his opponent: “This man is highly skilled in martial arts; he must be a great hero. Could he be my father Rostam?” But on the battlefield, neither had time to dwell on such thoughts—they could only continue fighting.

The next day, the battle resumed with even greater ferocity. After a long bout of fighting, Sohrab, with his youthful stamina and agile movements, gradually gained the upper hand. His eyes fixed on Rostam, shining with the light of victory, he rained down blows on Rostam with his weapon. Rostam struggled to fend him off. During the fierce clash, Sohrab repeatedly asked Rostam about Rostam himself, trying to confirm if his opponent was indeed his father. But Rostam, focused solely on defeating his enemy, did not answer Sohrab’s questions. Just as Sohrab thought he was about to win and prepared to deliver a fatal blow to Rostam, fate took another cruel turn.

Rostam knew he could not afford to lose. He prayed silently in his heart, begging the gods to grant him strength. Perhaps his devotion moved heaven—suddenly, a surge of great power flowed through his body, as if he had returned to his youthful prime. Letting out a roar, he rallied his spirits, wielded his sword, and launched a fierce counterattack against Sohrab. This sudden turn caught Sohrab off guard; under Rostam’s storm-like assault, he gradually lost his advantage.

Finally, on the third day of battle, Rostam seized an opportunity. He quickly drew the sharp dagger at his waist and stabbed Sohrab without hesitation. Sohrab could not dodge in time—his chest was sliced open, and blood gushed out like a spring. His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at Rostam, filled with shock and despair. In that instant, Rostam saw the armlet on Sohrab’s chest—the familiar patterns and glittering jewels made him realize in a flash that the young man before him was his long-lost son.

“No!” Rostam let out a heart-wrenching cry that seemed to split the sky. He dropped his weapon, embraced Sohrab’s cooling body, and was overwhelmed with grief. Tears poured from his eyes like a broken dam. He never could have imagined that he had killed his own flesh and blood with his own hands. On the battlefield, time seemed to stand still—everyone was stunned by this sudden tragedy, frozen in place, at a loss for what to do.

Rostam carried Sohrab’s body off the battlefield step by step, his figure appearing infinitely lonely and desolate. After that, Rostam was consumed by deep guilt and sorrow. The once fearless hero seemed to have lost his soul.

As the Persian proverb goes, “Who dies, who lives—only six months will tell.” This heartbreaking story profoundly reflects the Iranian nation’s helplessness and lament for fate’s unpredictability. Passed down from generation to generation on Iranian soil, it has become an indelible part of Iranian culture—a constant reminder that fate’s whims and life’s uncertainties are like the wild winds in the vast desert, capable of changing everything in an instant.