Chapter Four: The Migration starts

The sun was invisible. Darkness hung its dark hood over the entire world. Snow was falling incessantly, whipped by an ice- cold howling gale.

The beautiful homeland of the Aryans, Airyanam Vaejo had turned into an iceland.

Through the cutting snow, through the howling wind; the bravery of man shone. A long struggling line was plodding on its way; the Aryan race was leaving its beloved motherland.

Tears in their eyes, the men and women bade goodbye to their homes; their gardens for the last time. Carrying their precious children in their arms; they boarded their Raths or chariots. Their faithful animals with them - the dogs, the cows and bulls, the goats and the roosters of their household; the Aryans started to drive the horses of their Raths southward.

As they drove on that day twenty thousand years ago, they saw their houses crumble and fall under tons of snow; they saw the trees they had planted with such care and love wither and die; the birds in them falling to the iced ground frozen to death. Yet they did not flinch, for they had faith in Ahura Mazda and breathed His Name with every step. They were the true Mazdayasnis; the Worshippers of Ahura Mazda.

It would have been easier just to give up and die.

But they had to live, for their children and for the bright tomorrows. They had to live so that the ancient Aryan religion of Mazda could live, so that this pure faith would not die out; the faith which had been entrusted to Gayomard, the first of the Aryan race and the first man on earth.

The Ratheshtars, warriors drove in their heavy Raths; arms at the ready. Their mighty swords, long spears and heavy Vadhares; maces with the great Aryan horned bull head at the far end were ready to strike violently in the defence of the followers of Ahura Mazda.

Peshotan, the brave Ratheshtar was riding at the forefront. At his side was his commander, the Aryan general Darab who had been placed in charge of this band of ten thousand Aryans by the great Aryan king Jamshed himself.

The four powerful white horses that drove the Rath of Peshotan, neighed vigorously as he reined them in; stopping his Rath at the beckoning of General Darab.

Darab, a very brave warrior of the Aryans; looked at Peshotan. He was proud of this dashing young man he commanded.

"Peshotan, my brave Lieutenant. I have full confidence in you. Go, organise the Ratheshtars to protect our people from all sides."

Peshotan bowed in acceptance. Darab lifted his hand and pointed to the curtain of snow behind him.

"And you yourself, I ask you to pass from the start to the end of our line and back again; assuring that our people are safe and no mishap occurs to them during this long journey."

This time, a puzzled look appeared on the young Ratheshtar's face. General Darab was quick to notice it.

"Speak out your doubt."

Peshotan looked devotedly at Darab. He spoke with fervour in his voice.

"My General, I would rather be here; at your side. Ahead of us lies land filled with fiendish monsters and savage barbarians. You will need every Aryan sword you can find; every fighter to fight in the cause of good against evil."

Darab smiled.

"Peshotan, the middle lines must be guarded as well as the front. You speak thus, but what if an enemy were to penetrate our lines and reach our people, unknown to us? Who would protect them then, if they would call out to us so far placed from them and we would not hear them? The Aryan people need you, brave young man, go! Do not delay longer; the snow falls thicker."

Peshotan extended both hands and grasped the palms of his commander in his own. This was the salute of the Ancient Aryans, known as Hamazor. A spiritual force seemed to travel into each of the two men as both jointly breathed the words:

"Victory to Ahura Mazda!"

Good would surely triumph over evil.

As the two warriors parted in their Raths that day twenty thousand years ago, their pure faces reflected their devotion and faith in the great Ahura. Each knew the awesome responsibility upon their shoulders. But as faithful warriors of God against evil, they knew they had to do their duty; to protect the ancient Aryans against all the dangers that faced them at that time. This was their vow, they would lay down their lives to this end.

What if one battle were lost. What if it seemed that evil was succeeding over truth. That was only a transitory illusion. The war would be won, the war of goodness over evil. And goodness whose other name was Ahura, would reign supreme in the end.

This was the great promise of the Ancient Aryan faith.

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