"The fore moment of sobriety burns, particularly bright, and blossoms a diaphanous way, in praise of one true god."
Penned, sometime in the 9th year of the reign of Bahram V, by Arash Khan Mehernosh.
***
One final, insistent push delivers you out, leaving your skin damp and your body quivering. In between your whaa's and bhaa's, your wee bosom burns in halting heaves.
As you wail away the shock, a gentle giant cradles you in her massive hands, then sweeps a damp cloth across the sheen of your skin, methodically. Your puckered face soon softens and a crowning hiccup rocks your body.
The giant, having embroidered you with an amber amulet and silks, hands you over to an even gentler, frailer hold. This prompts a swift hush to fall over the room. The background chatter dies, leaving only irregular crackling, occasional noise of someone shuffling, and a huffing sound from right above you.
You puff your lips back, then ever so slightly pry open your eyes to take a peek. You could’ve just rested them and slept away today. Instead, your mind now buckles under a riot of muted colors and blotsful shapes—a dizzying combination which catches you off guard with confusion following suit. So, your eyes shut tight, your hands clench, and… you cry.
Heedless, a ritual fire keeps crackling, an elderly voice recites prayers, and a scribe dots down a date. 23rd year of Khosrow II's reign, 16th of Dey.
***
The night you were conceived is only forty days behind us.
It's ushahin gah, almost dawn, and your family is up at this fine hour, standing close by the patch of bermuda grass on which you lie; with you swaddled in bundles of felt, they take in the morning dew on sagebrushes and mugworts, a sight uncommon so far from Tigris, the great river.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
(Editing: check the geography of Ctesiphon for plains and sights)
Sights, which entertain your brothers and sisters, are lost on you.
(Editing) However, the vastness of Heaven awes you still and invites a gravitas superseding this material world—an echo of Pleroma spreads like wildfire deep in your soul and, for a briefest of moments, relieves you from the beast’s influence.
***
(Editing in)
***
You stir at the first tender touch of a glow. It blankets your baby toes.
“Oo... bu.” you say and make a face. Your eyes flutter open, and next you say Aguh? I’m sure you’ll make for great banter, one day. I'll remember to keep my hopes high. Oop—your trusty hands start moving. It's always a most joyous occasion when one enacts a modicum of agency. I'm sure you'd agree. As of now however, you're greedily sucking on a thumb of yours, not a care in the world.
You’ve become a big boy, time to show some dignity. A...ah. They skipped the naming ceremony, didn’t they? Your parents went ahead and skipped the Nam-Guzari despite countless warnings, in good faith, and protests from the Magi and some nosier family members. They said it was to settle a debt, but it’s been three months now, so I say, it’s high time we give you a name.
On that occasion, rhythmic creaks and thuds capture your waning attention with their approach, causing one of your brows to climb up adorably before an itch makes you frown. A clumsy one-handed rub takes care of the issue. One wonders how exquisite the taste of your other thumb must be. You giggle a random tune as the creaks stop to your right and the most gentle of giants comes into your view. She has brown eyes like yours, but they’re weary and wrinkled on each sides. Now, yours are too.
Her hands scoop you up. She wipes away a few crusted specks from your eyes and showers you with pecks, causing you to let out a soft whimper. Meanwhile, a few strands from her hair wander off to tickle your cheeks by forming spirals of jet which then unfold into silky rivulets. She spends more time playing with your tiny hands and toes, whispering silly things in even sillier voices, before feeding you and putting you back into your walnut crib.
(Editing in)
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