levtomlion 2019-6-30 04:20
[url]https://www.literotica.com/s/a-matter-of-xwedodah[/url]
A Matter of Xwedodah
bywillendorfer?
Though modern-day practitioners of Zoroastrianism (more accurately referred to as Mazdayasna) tend to dispute this, an abundance of ancient writings, as well as contemporary descriptions by neighbouring peoples, indicate that the religion of Pre-Islamic Persia taught that the most blessed marriage is one with a man's mother, sister or daughter. That is, consanguinamorous (incestuous) marriage (Middle Persian xwedodah) was not only tolerated, but positively encouraged on religious grounds. Scholars disagree about whether this xwedodah was widespread among the population or was confined to the noble and priestly classes. There is also disagreement as to whether this practice was prevalent throughout the history of the Persian empire, or merely during the Sassanian era (224 to 651 CE), when we find the clearest documentary evidence for it. But the scholarly consensus accepts the existence of xwedodah marriages in ancient Persia as a fact. Awareness of xwedodah has recently been popularized by the strategy game Crusader Kings II.
In this story, I have incorporated actual passages from some of these texts. I have also freely invented as necessary for dramatic purposes. If you want to tease them apart, I direct you to a scholarly article on next-of-kin marriage in IranicaOnline (I'm not permitted to give the URL here, but an online search should lead you to it pretty easily). My research into Mazdayasna for purposes of this story is admittedly cursory. In no way should this be taken as an accurate depiction of Mazdayasna in any time period. No disparagement of Mazdayasna or the Persian people is intended. My goal here is merely to explore what it might have felt like to be in a consanguinamorous marriage within a culture that encouraged such relations. It is also to suggest, by way of comparison, that our Western criminalization of sexual relations between consenting adult family members is arbitrary, pointless, and harmful.
All sexually active characters in this story are over the age of eighteen. The story is set circa 500 CE in the city of Ecbatana, Persia, in the reign of Shah Jamasp.
Part I
'Ardashir, welcome welcome, my boy! So good to see you again, and in good health, praise be to Ormazd. How many years has it been? But, please, be seated! Markos, bring a cup of cool sharbat for my nephew at once! How is my sister Rudabeh? You will stay for the mid-day meal, of course. Your cousins would be heartbroken if you did not.'
'Greetings uncle Bamshad, aunt Zarin. My mother is well, thank you. She apologises for not coming herself, but she is in the midst of unpacking and furnishing the house we have taken. She will call on you within a few days. But I had to come at once and offer our congratulations on the good news we just heard, of the twins' betrothal. And yes, I will stay, I thank you for your welcome.'
'Our family's good news', said Bamshad, 'is double, praise be to Ormazd: your return to Ecbatana as well as the betrothal. Ah, allow me to present to you our esteemed magus, Firuz. He was just advising us on the most auspicious date for the wedding. Firuz, this young man is my sister's son, just returned to Persia after many years abroad in Syrian Antioch.'
'Greetings, Ardashir. Yes, I believe I met your father, many years ago: a Greek named Nichomachus, is he not ... a partner in your late grandfather Dariush's wine trade?
'Yes. My father died last year, esteemed magus.'
'My condolences on your loss. Your father was not a follower of Mazdayasna, but he struck me as a man of good thoughts, good words and good deeds. I am certain his soul has crossed over the Chinvad bridge, and is now in the abode of the sacred beings, where is found all comfort, pleasure, joy, and happiness.'
'I thank you.'
'So the wine business is in your hands now? Very impressive, to be directing a far-reaching trading empire already, at such a young age! You are how old, master Ardashir, twenty? Will you return to Antioch then, to direct this business?'
'Indeed I am twenty, esteemed Firuz. But no, we are back in Ecbatana permanently I hope. I can manage the business as well from here, where the wine is produced, as from Antioch, where we sell it. After the death of my father, my mother longed to return home, to live among her own people again.'
'Speaking of betrothals,' my aunt Zarin interposed, 'how is it that you have returned to us still unmarried? Is twenty years old not yet marriageable age among the Greeks?'
'Indeed it is, aunt. But it is difficult for a Persian, even a half-Persian such as me, to find a wife among the Christians. Though they are eager enough to drink our Shiraz wine, their priests ridicule and denounce us for permitting the marriage of close relatives, xwedodah as we say in Persian. This betrothal of my cousins Mirza and Gulzar, for example, which seems so blessed and honourable to us, would provoke outrage and rioting in Antioch. No Christian father would give his daughter to a Persian, who might subject his grandchildren to such xwedodah. This was another reason for our return to Ecbatana. For it is indeed time I found a wife.'
'And what,' asked the magus, 'are your views about xwedodah, master Ardashir? You call yourself half-Persian: do you follow the teachings of the Christians on this matter, or those of our prophet Zartusht? I see no half-way ground between the two.'
'My mother taught me that xwedodah is noble and righteous, in accord with the principles of the Mazdayasnian religion.' For her own parents, and uncle Bamshad's, were themselves a mother-son xwedodah marriage.
I continued, 'My father, though officially a Christian, privately had little use for their priests' teachings: he said that any marriage custom that had produced so beautiful and good-hearted a woman as my mother could not be evil. Publicly, my father called me by my Greek name Athanasius, but in the home, and among Persians, I was and am Ardashir, for that is the Persian name my mother gave me. I have returned to Persia now with her, intending to live as a Persian, following Masdayasna; but my knowledge of it is imperfect. I cannot say that I truly understand, for example, why xwedodah is so highly valued in our religion, when all other nations seem to abhor it.'
'Then it will be my duty as a magus, and my pleasure as your friend, to call upon you and instruct you in Mazdayasna, if you will permit me.'
'Thank you, Firuz, I shall be delighted to receive you and learn from you.'
So my mother and I settled into our new life in Ecbatana. The wine trade mostly managed itself, requiring little intervention from me. For my grandfather and father had chosen reliable, trustworthy brokers to buy from the Shiraz vineyards to the south, reliable ships to transport the wine via the Black Sea into the Mediterranean, and reliable distributors in Antioch, Constantinople, and points west. I merely counted up the gold coins that poured in and invested them, purchasing vineyards of our own, and hiring reliable men to cultivate the grapes, working closely with our master vintner Parviz to create a vintage that I knew would appeal to the Christians' palates. After a failure of the Thracian grape harvest that crippled our main competitors, our profits soared.
About a month after our arrival, the wedding of my cousins Mirza and Gulzar took place, amid lavish celebrations. I was reminded, seeing the twins' joy, of my own need to find a wife. The guests were a combination of my aunt Zarin's numerous kin and uncle Bamshad's even more numerous business associates. I was sobered, however, to realize that, aside from my uncle and the twins, I have no living blood-relative but my mother. (My Greek cousins in Antioch do not count: they disowned us because my father had married outside the Christian faith.)
Meanwhile, over the next several months, Firuz met with me frequently, and set me to work studying the Gathas, a collection of hymns composed by Zartusht himself, as well as other sacred writings of the Avesta. These writings were extraordinarily difficult to understand, for the language is ancient and obscure, related to but still quite different from the Persian tongue that I knew.
But as I made my way through these scriptures, the magus explained the difficult words to me, as well as providing background on the Mazdayasnian world-view, ethical teachings, and ritual practices, filling in the partial learning I had received from my mother. That is, how the good god Ormazd created the world and gave it order, but the wicked god Ahriman invaded the world and sowed evil, disease and decay. The present world is thus a place of battle between Ormazd and the pure spirits that he sired, versus Ahriman and his devs, the lying, unclean spirits. Humans have freedom to choose, and thus can assist Ormazd, or succumb to Ahriman. We assist Ormazd by good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. Those who follow the path of truth go to paradise after death; but those who serve the lie go to darkness and torment, till the end of time, when Ormazd will vanquish Ahriman and reconcile all souls to himself.
'And what, esteemed Firuz,' I asked him one day, 'are the good deeds, precisely, that assist Ormazd in his struggle against Ahriman?'
'Ah, an excellent question, showing pious intent. There are many good deeds, Ardashir. Showing respect for one's parents is a good deed. Giving proper care to one's beasts of burden is a good deed. Reciting the yasnas and making fire-offerings are good deeds. But of all these, the greatest deed is xwedodah.'
'Ah, back to xwedodah, my original question. Tell me, what is so special about xwedodah, and why is it so important in Mazdayasna? I do not see it explicitly explained in the parts of the Avesta that I have read so far.'
'I will answer you with a story. There was once a great king named Jam, whose vassals, stirred up by Ahriman, rebelled against him, so that he had to flee with his sister Jamag. They found refuge upon a small island in a small bay of the great ocean. Ahriman and the evil devs schemed to destroy him. They sought him upon the face of the land but he was not there. They sought him in the ocean, but he was not there. They sought him in the air and under the ground, but he was not there. At last they sought him and found him among the small islands; two devs, who took male and female form, went forth to destroy him, by enticing him into evil.
'When Jam saw them, he asked, "Who are you?" "We are a brother and sister like you," the male dev lied, "seeking refuge from evildoers, just as you are doing. Come, give me this sister of yours as wife, and I shall give you mine, so that our lineages may not be extinguished." And Jam did so. But instead of children, the female dev bore him all manner of wicked monsters; likewise the male dev begat monsters upon Jamag. Jam's mind was still clouded with grief over the loss of his kingdom, so that he took no notice of the monsters befouling his island and corrupting his soul. But Jamag his sister perceived the state of things more clearly. One day, after Jam and the male dev had been drinking wine, Jamag switched places and clothes with the female dev. Jam, being drunk, lay with Jamag his sister, thinking she was his wife, mingling his body with hers.
'The power and virtue of this xwedodah by Jam and Jamag, even though he lay with her unawares and in drunkenness, was such that the two lying devs and all the monsters they had spawned were immediately slain, as well as thousands of other unclean spirits. Jam immediately recovered his right mind, and performed yasnas; soon he was restored to the kingship, vanquishing his enemies. His sister Jamag he made his loving queen, and he sired upon her a great dynasty.
'That, Ardashir, is the power of xwedodah. No other act is as effective in strengthening the good order of Ormazd in this world, and weakening Ahriman. If a man takes his mother, sister or daughter in marriage, the first time he lies with her, two thousand evil spirits are slain. The second time, four thousand more are slain. The third time, eight thousand, and so on. Such is the power of xwedodah, that if such a marriage lasts four or more years, both the man and his wife will become completely righteous, their place in paradise will be assured, and Ahriman will have no power over them. Their yasnas will have the merit of a hundred ordinary yasnas.'
'But why, O Firuz? What exactly is it that gives xwedodah such virtuous power?'
'Ardashir, would you tether your horse to a post with a single linen thread? No, the horse could easily pull away: the thread would snap. You would tether it with a strong rope, made of many fibres twisted together. Our individual souls proceed into this world from our fravashis, our guardian spirits, tethered to this world with family lineages. A soul's bonds to parents, siblings, and children all form part of its lineage. He who marries his mother, sister or daughter creates a double bond in the lineage, and this double bond is vastly stronger than an ordinary one. The more xwedodah in a soul's lineage, the stronger the soul's tie to its fravashi, and to the world. By means of this strong tie, the soul is guided into righteousness and order in this world, and cannot be snatched away or deceived by Ahriman. He who performs xwedodah strengthens his family's lineage, like a workman who twists together multiple strands of fibre to make a strong rope.
'And I can tell you from my own experience that this double bond of love makes for a good and pleasant marriage. My late wife Laleh was also my sister. We loved each as brother and sister when we were children, but when we married the love of husband and wife was added to our bond. It was sweet, that double bond between us. I lay with her every night, except during illnesses or her times of uncleanness of course. And every time it was a taste of paradise, for both of us. She gave me six beautiful children, three sons and three daughters. Each son has taken a sister as his wife, and they are all as happy in their marriages as their mother and I were.' Firuz began to cry. 'I miss her so, my sweet Laleh. The other magi urge me to marry again, but I cannot. How could I take another woman to my heart, mingling my body with hers, after knowing the intimate love of my own dear sister?'
'Surely, Firuz, you will be reunited with her in paradise, praise be to Ormazd. Then you two will love each other for all eternity.'
'Yes, thank you, Ardashir. Your words are both true and comforting. It is you who are instructing me in Mazdayasna, my friend, rather than the other way round. Ah well, let me return to the teaching role. Have I answered your questions about xwedodah?'
'Yes. But alas, I have no opportunity to do this good deed. I have no sister, Firuz: I am the only child of my parents. Shortly after my birth, my father contracted a fever which made his ballocks swell up; and though he recovered, he could thenceforth beget no more children. When I left Antioch, I thought of asking for my cousin Gulzar's hand in marriage, but I arrived here to find her already betrothed to her twin brother. I suppose a marriage between brother and sister is a better xwedodah than one between cousins. It would have been a sin for me to stand in the way of their marriage, to try to win her away from Mirza.'
'Indeed it would have been. He who encourages xwedodah does a good deed, as though reciting a hundred yashts; he who prevents or interferes with xwedodah does an evil deed, as though killing a virtuous man. And as you say, the closer the relation, the better the xwedodah. But you are mistaken in one respect: you can still experience the blessing of xwedodah, Ardashir. For the best xwedodah of all is that between a man and his mother: having come from her body, he is nearest to his origin. It is the closest relation possible, hence the most blessed. Ardashir, your widowed mother lacks a husband, you lack a wife. If you truly intend to follow the Mazdayasnian religion to the utmost, your way is clear. This would be the best of all good deeds.'
'I ... I had not thought of ... well ... a brother marrying his sister is one thing, but ... '
'But you cannot imagine loving your mother Rudabeh as a husband loves his wife? You can not imagine lying with her, mingling your body with hers, begetting children upon her?'
'No! No I cannot. Forgive me Firuz, I was not raised with these customs ... Rudabeh is my own mother!'
'I understand, Ardashir, believe me. This is why xwedodah is difficult. This is why other nations recoil from it. If it were easy, our sacred writings would not need to promote it so emphatically. If it were easy, Ormazd would already have overcome Ahriman. We love a woman as our mother, our sister or our daughter; our thoughts and emotions are confined to that one narrow role and we cannot easily break out of it, to permit ourselves to experience a fuller love for her, that includes marriage and sexual relations. It was so with me when I was betrothed to my sister Laleh - even though, unlike you, I was raised as a Persian, already studying to be a magus. She is my older sister, I said to myself: how can I lie with her? But between the time of our betrothal and our wedding, the idea grew upon me. How pleasant, I thought, that this woman I will share my life with already knows me thoroughly, my strengths and my weaknesses, my likes and dislikes, as I know hers. How pleasant that we have a shared history, so that we understand each other completely. When I was little, she played with me and instructed me, and I gratefully followed her about like a duckling follows its mother. She shielded me from my father's volatile temper, watching over me like a benevolent yazata. Remembering her many kindnesses to me, I thought, how pleasant to marry such a compassionate, affectionate woman. How pleasant also that she is a beautiful woman, whom any man would be lucky to have as his wife. Then my desire for her was ignited, like a spark on dry tinder. By the time of the wedding, I was as eager as any bridegroom on earth. She was equally eager to give herself to me. Our wedding night was a joyful one.
'Now tell me Ardashir, do you find your mother Rudabeh repulsive?'
'Certainly not! How could you say that of her?'
'I do not say that of her. On the contrary, I would say she is an exceedingly comely woman, both in her appearance and in her character. But I am asking what you think.'
'As you say, she is a most comely woman, of course. Not the fresh sparkle, perhaps, of a young maiden, but the deep, full-bodied beauty of a woman in the golden summertime of her life. Forgive me if I speak of her as though she were a wine - it is my trade. And she is a very good-hearted woman, certainly. She is devoted to good thoughts, good words and good deeds. But I have never thought ... I cannot think ... of lying with her.'
'Have you ever been attracted to an older woman?'
'Well ... er, yes, as it happens, in Antioch: the wife of a Rhodian merchant, a business associate of my father's. Her name was Lydia. She was about forty years old. When we were alone, she flirted with me, told me I was handsome, rubbed her breasts against me. But we never did anything further. It was just a sort of exciting game we secretly played with each other. I have dreamt of her often since then, though.'
'Do you still feel the tingle of desire when you think of this woman?'
'Yes', I laughed guiltily.
'And what if you imagine this Lydia, flirting with you, rubbing her breasts against you, but she has your mother's face, your mother's voice.'
'Actually, that is not difficult ... both are comely women, of similar figure.'
'Similar ... meaning?'
'Well, thickset, womanly, with heavy breasts and generous hips.'
'Ah, so this Lydia in fact reminded you of your mother.'
'Yes, yes I suppose she did. Yes!' I held up my hands. 'Very well, Firuz, I admit it, yes, I can imagine lying with my mother. The thought fills me with desire as well as uneasiness. Yes. But ... how could I propose such a thing to her? We are mother and son. There has never been a hint of ... of that sort of thing between us. How can I go to her at this point and speak of xwedodah?'
'But her own parents, your grandparents, were mother and son. Has she ever spoken of their marriage with disapproval or revulsion?'
'Certainly not. She remembers them very lovingly, as do I, though my grandmother died when I was but a boy of five. My grandfather died four years ago.'
'Your grandfather never remarried?'
'Never.'
'Perhaps he felt as I do, that the intense love of xwedodah can never be followed by an ordinary marriage. But from what you tell me, your mother's experience, growing up in a mother-son xwedodah family, was wholly positive. Of all women, she is the most likely to embrace xwedodah with her own son. Go to her, Ardashir. Open your heart to her, tell her of your desire to follow Mazdayasna, to receive the blessings of xwedodah, for both of you. She is your mother, she will not scorn you.'
As Firuz left our house, my mind was a jumble of contending thoughts, my heart was in a tempest. I retired to my bedchamber and lay upon my bed, with a damp kerchief to cool my overheated forehead. Xwedodah with my mother! It was unthinkable. It was wrong, all religions said so ... all but Mazdayasna.
I loved my mother, of course, as a mother; and she loved me as a son - that bond between us had always been strong. As a child, I had always found safety and comfort in her arms: she was patient and understanding in a way that my blustery, salty, laughing, impulsive father sometimes was not. My father had not been given to public displays of affection, toward me or toward my mother: the Christians are not demonstrative that way. But she loved him, of that I am certain. Surely she still mourned for him, as I did. She had said nothing in the year since his death about remarriage, even as a remote possibility. It seemed doubtful that she wanted any man to fill my father's place in her bed, let alone her own son!
And yet, in that year, I had risen from being an underling in my father's wine concern to being its master. I had become head of our family, in the eyes of Greeks and Persians both. And in my mother's eyes as well: indeed, she encouraged me to take my proper place, to assert my will, both at home and in the business. I felt a new kind of respect and support from her. I was a man now, and she depended on me, to protect her, to make the wise decisions that would cause our family to prosper. Our relationship had changed: without losing any of the mother-son bond between us, I had taken on a new role towards her, and we both seemed to thrive in this, even amid our grief at the loss of my father.
I was not without sexual experience. I am not proud to say this, but I had visited, a few times, the brothels of Antioch, dragged there by a couple of sons of my father's business associates, who insisted that the women there would take me to paradise. I found the women sulky and unattractively thin. None stirred my desire like those flirtations with Lydia. The coition gave me physical release, but no joy. I paid the women extra, to salve my guilt at using them so sordidly. Then there had been my brief affair with Charista, our neighbour's pretty, plump servant girl. She wanted me to penetrate her only in her anus, so as not to get her with child. I broke it off when I found out she was also lying with a dozen other young men of the neighbourhood, as well as her master.
Lying on my bed now, I closed my eyes. As Firuz had suggested, I imagined my mother saying to me the things Lydia had said, approaching me from behind and pressing her soft, warm breasts and belly against my back, her arms encircling my waist, reaching down to my groin, fondling my phallus. 'I embrace xwedodah with you, my son', she breathed softly in my ear. I found my organ rapidly engorging, growing harder and larger than it had ever been. Something had shifted within me. I could now see my mother Rudabeh as a supremely desirable woman - far more thrilling than my memories of Lydia: her round face and double chin, her soft brown eyes, her playful smile, her thick braid of dark hair streaked with threads of silver, her ample, womanly figure. The mental barrier that, moments before, had seemed impregnable as a thick stone wall now crumbled within me like burnt eggshell. I knew not whether to welcome this sudden change or be terrified. With my heart pounding, I turned my mind's eye to her abundant hips; I imagined kneeling behind her and nuzzling my face deep between her huge, soft buttocks, like a small animal gratefully burrowing down into the earth to over-winter. I imagined myself moving my face slightly lower, reverently kissing her woman-flower, the entryway to the place that I had come from. Without a touch of my fingers, my phallus suddenly erupted, spewing seed into my loincloth, as pleasure beyond belief radiated through my body.
Panting, I leapt out of my bed, removing my loincloth before the wetness soaked through to my robe, wiping myself clean and replacing it with a fresh one. With my heart still pounding, I bolted out of the house, and went down the street to the fire temple. I asked a mobad priest to make a fire offering on my behalf. Standing before the sacred fire, I let the flame's light and warmth cleanse me of impurity. I prayed from my heart to Anahita, that powerful female yazata to whom Ormazd has given charge of matters of sexual love and marriage. At length I felt a stillness and peace come over me. I remembered Firuz' advice, but I heard it now in my mind in Rudabeh's voice: 'Come to me, open your heart to me, I am your mother, I will not scorn you.'
Part 2: Rudabeh speaks
I was delighted that Ardashir was studying the Gathas, that he was taking the religious obligations of Mazdayasna so seriously. For my sake, he had left the life he knew among the Christians of Antioch and brought me back among the Persians. For my sake, he was trying to learn and follow the ways of my people, our people. I was deeply grateful: I could not ask for a better son. Ardashir had grown into such a splendid young man. My heart glowed with pride and wonder whenever I beheld him: had I really given birth to this magnificent being?
I was pleased as well by the somewhat fatherly relationship that was developing between my son and the magus Firuz. Ardashir was a man now, but a bit of fatherly advice and support would not go amiss for my orphaned son, particularly as it was coupled with sound religious instruction.
Well, I was pleased at first. But my mind easily inclines itself to worry. It is a habit of mind that, I suppose, comes naturally to a woman who has lost her mother and father, and then her husband. And so I began to worry that the magus might have ulterior motives in taking my son under his wing. Firuz was a widower, my brother Bamshad had told me, hinting that the magus might want me as a wife. Thankfully, it was not my brother's prerogative to dispose of me in marriage. That was my son's decision to make. But with this growing friendship between the magus and my son, was Firuz paving a path for his own marriage suit?
I honestly had nothing against the magus. He seemed to be a good man, and sincere. He was perhaps ten years older than me, but so had my husband Nichomachus been. Firuz was handsome enough, in a distinguished, silver-haired sort of way. Our families were comparable in dignity and wealth. On its face, the match was unobjectionable.
But I had lost my mother, father and husband. I could not bear to lose my son now as well. For remarriage would remove me from Ardashir's household and put me into a strange new household, with this stranger Firuz. I would still see my son ... from time to time ... but our lives would be effectively sundered; our close daily intercourse would be cut off. Since Ardashir's birth, I had kissed his lips every morning when he rose and every night when he went to bed; there would be no more such loving kisses if I were given to Firuz. I knew that I would have to remarry eventually. My son would soon take a wife as well. It is said that to remain unmarried for too long invites the devs. But, please dear Anahita, I prayed ... not yet! Do not take me away from my son just yet.
It was my serving maid Sepideh who noticed that, if one stands by the rear wall of the larder, one can overhear, through an air vent, the conversation in the main hall. And so, whenever Firuz visited us, I began sending Sepideh off to the market, whilst I settled into the larder to eavesdrop on the men's discourse. I was relieved to find that they spoke only of dry religious matters, no mention of marriage or of me. Until that day when the conversation turned to xwedodah.
Xwedodah.
With my son. Of course!
Such a blessed state.
It was the answer to my heart's prayers. My magnificent, loving, handsome, intelligent Ardashir ... could take me in marriage. I knew that, as his wife, I could love him and treasure him and make him happy as no other woman ever could. I was still of child-bearing age: I could give him children, as my mother had given children to her own son, my father. I could be a wife again, but without being given away to some stranger - I could make a family with my own precious son. The very best possible marriage, according to our religion. Why had I never considered the possibility before?
The reason became bitterly clear as I continued to listen at the vent: 'You cannot imagine loving your mother Rudabeh as a husband loves his wife?' asked Firuz. 'You cannot imagine lying with her, mingling your body with hers, begetting children upon her?'
'No! No I cannot,' my son answered indignantly. 'Forgive me Firuz, I was not raised with these customs ... Rudabeh is my own mother!'
I knew firsthand how the Greeks abhorred and reviled Persian xwedodah. My parents had not dared to let it be known in Antioch that they were mother and son: the Christian priests would have had them torn limb from limb in the public marketplace. That was the culture in which my son had been raised. He could never accept xwedodah with me.
And yet, Firuz pressed on. In response to the magus' bold questions, I heard my son describe me as comely, beautiful even. My heart soared. Then I heard about his not-so-innocent flirtations with that minx, the merchant Grypos' wife.
'So this Lydia in fact reminded you of Rudabeh?' Firuz asked.
'Yes, yes I suppose she did,' Ardashir conceded. 'Yes! Very well, Firuz, I admit it, yes, I can imagine lying with my mother. The thought fills me with desire as well as uneasiness.'
My heart beat wildly in my bosom. Which one would win out in my son's soul: desire or uneasiness? Ormazd or Ahriman? Was he my Ardashir, or was he Athanasius?
As Firuz took his leave, I quietly withdrew from the larder and took up my customary afternoon spot by the pool in the courtyard, spinning my distaff of flax into thread. Waiting, hoping for Ardashir to come to me. Minutes passed. An hour passed. It seemed that uneasiness had won out.
How disastrously wrong my worrying mind had been! Firuz had no designs on me at all: he still mourned for his late sister-wife, and could not bear to think of remarriage. He only wanted to teach my son good thoughts, good words and good deeds. I should have done more to encourage my son's friendship with this good man, this wise teacher of Mazdayasna. But no, it would have made no difference, I sadly concluded. For all of Ardashir's willingness to embrace Mazdayasna, the habit of mind that saw xwedodah as repellant was too firmly ingrained in his soul.
Part 3: Ardashir speaks
It was late afternoon when I returned from the fire temple. My mother Rudabeh was sitting and spinning in her sunny corner of our courtyard. My heart pounded as I approached her, unsure of what to say. I sat down beside her, pouring myself a cup of cool wine to steady my nerves.
'Your lesson with the magus went well today, my son?' My mother's voice was shaky, her skin was flushed. Was she upset about something? No, she seemed ... pleased, excited, expectant.
'Yes, er, he is very helpful.'
'He is a very good man, I think. I am pleased that he has befriended you.'
A horrifying thought suddenly crossed my mind: did my mother admire Firuz, as a woman admires a man? Could she be looking upon him as a potential suitor? I felt a searing pang of jealousy. Was I already thinking of her as my woman?
'And it gratifies me deeply,' she continued, 'your interest in learning and following the teaching of Mazdayasna, my son. What did you discuss today?'
'Today we spoke of the, er, the bonds of family lineage that link one's fravashi to the world, and how these bonds are strengthened by, er, xwedodah.'
'Ah, xwedodah,' she smiled enigmatically, expectantly, waiting for me to say more. Indeed, I thought to myself, my mother is a strikingly beautiful woman. Any man would be fortunate to have her as a wife. Could that man truly be me?
'Er, I am wondering, mother ... if you ever, er, sensed a special bond between your parents, since they, er, had ... such a marriage.'
She set down her spindle and distaff. 'Yes, son. Yes. Very much so. I could see that they adored each other. When I was a girl, and I made friends among the Greek, Jewish, and Persian maidens of Antioch, I was shocked to find families where the wife railed against her husband, or the husband beat his wife. But between my parents there was nothing but tenderness and mutual support - and desire. The joyful noises they made in their bedchamber at night, ay!' She shook her head chuckling, wiping a tear from her eye. 'The love they had for each other as mother and son only seemed to strengthen the love they had as wife and husband. I loved your father. He was kind to me. But yes, my parents' marriage seemed to have an intensity and depth that your father and I never had, sadly. Even before the illness that made him impotent.'
'Father, impotent? I knew he could not beget a child, but ... that means ... you haven't ... all those years? Well ...' I cleared my throat, blushing, and tried to return to the topic. 'Indeed ... what you tell me of your parents' marriage confirms what Firuz told me about his own xwedodah. His wife was also his sister, did you know that?'
'Yes ... I ... believe I had heard that. From someone. It is a blessed state, xwedodah, so I have heard. And so I observed with my own mother and father.'
'A couple that marry that way ... in xwedodah ... if their marriage endures for four or more years ... they become completely righteous, and are assured of entry into paradise. Or so Firuz tells me.'
'Blessed is the woman who is given in marriage to her father, her brother ...' she looked me in the eye, 'or her son.'
My heart was pounding with joy. 'Could you be happy ... in such a marriage, mother?'
'Oh son, YES! I could be very happy indeed. And I know I could make you happy as well. I would be the very best wife to you - the most loving, the most devoted. My son, you have only to ASK!'
With trembling voice, I said the sacred words that Firuz had taught me: 'Mother, give yourself to me then, to mingle our bodies, so that we become righteous and obtain a place in paradise, so that we please Ormazd and frustrate Ahriman.'
'You speak in righteousness, my son,' she answered according the sacred formula. 'I will give myself to you to mingle our bodies.'
Stunned at what had just taken place between us, I took her hands in mine, and we both laughed for joy. I felt giddy, like an over-excited child at Novruz festivities. She leaned in towards me, her eyes half-closed, and I kissed her, sealing our betrothal. My mother had often kissed me upon my lips - but this was unlike any kiss we had shared before, growing in sweetness and passion the longer it lasted, her mouth opening to mine, our tongues mingling - and it lasted for a very long time. We paused to catch our breath. Then I kissed her some more, needing to feel our mouths united in this intimate communion. And though our kissing now was unlike anything I had known before, I was aware that the lips now kissing me were the same familiar, beloved lips that had been kissing me all my life. This familiarity was oddly thrilling, far beyond what I could have imagined. As I held her in my arms, and she returned my embrace, I felt the delicious softness of her plump body, her large, warm breasts pressing against my chest, her heart sweetly pounding against mine, my hands running over the rolls of flesh on her back, which I could feel beneath her silk robe. I treasured her comforting scent, kissing her forehead and her hair, her eyes, her ears, her neck. My phallus was hard against her belly, and she chuckled, patting it gently.
'It seems my precious little boy is all grown up, and eager to do manly things', she sang playfully.
'Let us not put off the date of our wedding, mother! Let us go to uncle Bamshad's at once and announce our betrothal. Firuz will likely be there. He can tell us the first auspicious day for the wedding. It need not be a large or elaborate wedding, so long as it is speedy.'
As it turned out, the wedding was quite large: for uncle Bamshad insisted that an opulent celebration was just what was needed for me to establish a good reputation among my fellow merchants of Ecbatana. It was also quite elaborate: Firuz explained that, because this was a particularly sacred xwedodah, between mother and son, a number of special rites had to be observed, in addition to the ordinary wedding ceremony, requiring the offices of no less than four magi, plus a small army of mobads. Fortunately though, it was also speedy: Firuz consulted our horoscopes and determined that the most auspicious date was a mere six days after mother and I announced our betrothal, and he and Bamshad moved heaven and earth to make all the arrangements and ensure the attendance of key guests.
The strong reluctance I had felt when Firuz first suggested mother-son xwedodah had completely evaporated: I was now, as Firuz had predicted, as eager as any bridegroom on earth. And my mother, it seems, had never felt any such reticence: from the moment the idea of xwedodah with me had entered her mind, she welcomed it wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, in the six days from betrothal to wedding, we resolved not to lie together - we both thought it best to wait till we were lawfully wed with all proper observances, so that we might receive the full blessing of Ormazd, and so that we could mingle our bodies without restraint or inhibition.
But that forbearance did not preclude kissing. Every minute we had alone, mother and I spent embracing and kissing ... deep soul-searching, toe-warming kisses that made my phallus harder than a marble pillar - and, so it felt to me, nearly as large - dripping seed, eager for Rudabeh's plump body. She in turn was delighted by my excitement, confessing that my kisses made her woman-flower moisten, arousing her with desire unlike anything she had ever felt before. As we embraced, her body exuded a delicate enticing scent, like a heady, musky apricot wine, familiar somehow, yet inflaming my senses, intoxicating me, tantalizing me like a half-remembered erotic dream.
At last, the day came. The sacred fire was brought into our home. An egg was passed round our heads to absorb any misfortune and then dashed to the ground. As we recited our vows, the Magi tied our hands together with seven loops of the sacred cord, while Mobads chanted the Yatha Ahu Vairyo. And to symbolize the xwedodah double-bond between us, a golden chain was fastened round our hands as well. Then Firuz pronounced the blessing: 'May the Creator, the omniscient Lord, grant you a progeny of sons and grandsons, daughters and granddaughters, ample wealth, friendship, strength, long life and an existence of 150 years! May this most righteous xwedodah confer limitless blessings of Ormazd upon you both, and utterly confound the power of Ahriman!' My mother and I, laughing, threw grain over each other, and then we ate food together from the same dish. The feast now began. The wedding fish were served out to all the guests, and toasts were offered. Uncle Bamshad's toast made much of the fact that our family lineage was replete with many xwedodah marriages, and now Rudabeh and I were strengthening it even further.
Mercifully, my mother and I were not required to linger over the feast. Soon after the first round of toasts, before the musicians began playing, aunt Zarin escorted the bride away to the bedchamber, and my cousin Mirzah did the same for me a short while later, as the guests began singing traditional bawdy wedding songs.
Part 4: Rudabeh speaks
As she accompanied me to the bedchamber, Zarin offered me a phial of 'bride's ease', a tincture which she said would make me drowsy and dull my senses so that the intercourse would be less painful for me. I refused it politely, of course, for I wanted nothing at all dulling my senses when Ardashir and I at last mingled our bodies. But I wondered what kind of unpleasant relations Zarin had with my brother, that she would think I might want such a drug. My first time with Ardashir's father Nichomachus had been somewhat painful at first, it is true, for I had then been a virgin; but the pain had quickly given way to pleasure. Alas, my consortium with Nichomachus had been cut short by the illness that left him impotent. He would often satisfy me at night with his fingers, but I had not known the joy of a man's phallus penetrating me, spilling his seed inside me, in nearly twenty years.
My womb, in fact, was now positively salivating for Ardashir. In the days before the wedding, we had spent many happy moments kissing and embracing, and I had felt my son's pestle growing hard for me beneath his robe. I took it many times in my hand through his clothes, enjoying its heat, its impressive girth and length. I marvelled at how the adorable little organ of my infant son had grown into this powerful, exciting, manly thing. I exulted in the fact that my son's erections were for me. I eagerly anticipated the moment when he would bury it deep in my body, in the place that he came from.
But as Zarin left me, and I began to undress, my worrying mind thought: What if, after all, you are a disappointment to him? I removed my under-tunic, standing naked before the bronze mirror upon my dressing table. I sighed: this greying hair, these heavy, drooping breasts, this round belly, these wide hips and thick thighs ... these were not the features of a young woman's body, a woman my son's own age. In truth, I had been somewhat heavyset even when younger, but during pregnancy with Ardashir, my body had plumped up like a boiled dumpling, and I had remained so ever since. And yet, Ardashir had told Firuz that he found me comely; he had spoken of my 'full-bodied beauty' - I treasured those words of his in my mind. But when saw me as I was, without my fine silks, naked as my fravashi fashioned me, as my years have aged me ... could he still possibly find me desirable?
'Oh Mother!'
I spun around, reflexively grabbing my under-tunic, holding it up in a futile attempt to cover myself. I had been so caught up in my worries that I had forgotten to ready myself for my son's arrival; I had not heard him enter the chamber. But one look at his face told me that my worries had been baseless.
'Let me see you, please!' The raw need in his voice, and the frank delight in his expression melted my heart. Trembling, I put aside my garment and stood naked before my son. 'You are so lovely!' he rasped. But his honeyed words were not even necessary; I could read the rapture in my son's eyes. I basked in it, like a warm ray of sunshine. I even turned slowly about, letting him see all of me, as a girlish giggle broke from my lips.
He pulled off his robe and dropped his loincloth. As he approached me, he dropped to his knees, embracing my hips with his muscular arms, burying his handsome, bearded face in my midriff. I hugged his head to my body, stroking his long dark hair.
'My son, my love: come, no preliminaries, we have waited long enough for this. Just take me now, make me yours!'
Grinning, he rose to his feet, lifting me in his strong embrace, walking us over to the bed. I wrapped my legs round his waist, my wide-open flower hungrily swallowing the tip of his erect phallus; I let myself sink down upon it, as his tongue entered my mouth, muffling my gasp of pleasure. A moment later we tumbled together into bed. But I kept him inside me, loath to relinquish even momentarily that thick, hot, manly pestle now filling my mortar so perfectly. He rolled on top of me. And just like a pestle in a mortar, he began to pound me ... thrusting once, twice, three times, and then he stiffened, grunting deeply, eyes open wide, as he spurted his seed deep inside me.
Well, I had not expected either of us to last long, the first time, though it was a pity that he spent before I could reach satisfaction, for I was close. But to my surprise and delight, he did not lose his hardness: he resumed pounding my mortar, kissing me deeply, whilst his fingers gently squeezed my breasts, his thumbs playing over my sensitive nipples. Yes, this is what I wanted, what I needed: with each forceful thrust, I felt him claiming me, taking possession of me, making my body and soul his.
'Unngh, so good, my son ... I'm so wet for you!'
'You're perfect, mother. We're perfect together.'
I needed to breathe but I needed Ardashir's kisses even more. His pestle moved deliciously inside me, giving me pleasure like I had never known before, filling my body to overflowing, flooding my heart with joy as the pleasure crested.
'Oh mother!' Ardashir rejoiced, burying his pestle deep inside me, as his hardness at last broke, and he seeded my womb a second time. He clung to me, peppering my face, my neck and shoulders with joyful kisses. Nichomachus had never stirred me to such pleasure. No, it was not just the physical pleasure ... it was the fact that the man who so perfectly made love to me was my own dear son, whom I knew and loved so intimately, to whom I could therefore give myself unreservedly.
'I made a mess of the bed, it seems,' I tittered self-consciously.
'I loved that, feeling you erupt in wetness for me. Thank you, mother.'
'You did the same for me, you know. You spent twice. And I loved that too, all that seed of yours inside me right now. Truly, we have mingled our bodies. Shall I call Sepideh to come change the bed-linens?'
'Later, perhaps. I am enjoying the fragrance of our lovemaking.'
'You make me blush, son.'
'You are beautiful when you blush. You are beautiful at all times. I love you.'
'And I love you. But ... do you truly find me beautiful? Despite my age?'
He shut me up with another passionate kiss.
'You have a big, stupid grin on your face, my son,' I chuckled, kissing his nose.
'Mmm, so do you, mother.'
'Do I?'
'Mm-hmm. And the scent of your woman-flower is making me hard again. My sweet, desirable mother. My bride.'
'What, already? After spending twice?'
'Mmm, and I want to spend a third time ... but not for a while yet. This time I want to make love to you slowly, to take my time and enjoy your body more. I want to give you pleasure, again and again.' He began kissing my breasts, whilst his fingers stroked and played with the hair between my legs. His lips closed round my nipple and he began to suck, just as he had when he was an infant.
Part 5: Ardashir speaks
In the days that followed our wedding - and especially in the nights! - I came to understand the premium that Mazdayasna places upon xwedodah. Rudabeh was still my mother - marriage had not changed that a bit - but the new sexual intimacy between us enhanced our relationship, strengthening it a thousandfold. She was the perfect woman for me: she understood me and loved me like no other woman ever could. And I in turn cherished her with all my heart - I cherished my new knowledge of her, that let me see her as a complete woman, as her fravashi made her, as all her life's experiences had enriched her. I cherished the awareness that our family lineage bound us together as intimately as any two humans could possibly be. The heady mixture of comforting familiarity and uninhibited eroticism between us proved to be deeply intoxicating.
Within a month and a half of our wedding, her absence of monthly uncleanness, and her frequent bouts of nausea, told us that she was with child. Firuz advised me that we might continue to have relations until the end of of the fourth month; but from five months on, until after the birth, we must abstain, so as not to harm or pollute the child, or trigger premature birth pangs. It will be difficult, this abstention. Fortunately, there is no bar to our sleeping in the same bed, nor to cuddling and kissing, during this period of abstention. The cuddling and kissing I truly could not live without. Our child - the first of several, we hope - is sure to have a particularly blessed life, being the issue of a son and a mother who is herself the issue of a mother-son union, in addition to all the other xwedodah in our family lineage.
Meanwhile, the religious prestige which my marriage has brought me caused my name to come to the attention of this province's governor. His steward has made me the principal supplier of wines to the provincial palace. Why, after all, should my labour go to quenching only the Christians' thirsts? Should not my fellow Persians, devoted followers of Mazdayasna, enjoy the best of my vintage? Firuz agreed and approved. I began to shift my wine business away from export over to the domestic market. I worked with Parviz to adjust our vintage for Persian palates.
More and more, it seems, my decisions are informed by the teachings of Mazdayasna. Firuz adduces this as evidence of the good deed of xwedodah taking root in my soul, leading me ever deeper into righteousness. It is true that the precepts and observances of Mazdayasna have become increasingly comfortable, and comforting, both to me and to my mother. The joy of our shared intimacy make good thoughts, good words, good deeds come naturally to us. The obligations of the sacred writings are not burdensome to us. Though that enforced abstention in the final months of pregnancy will be a trial of our faith.
Well, we have two more months yet before that prohibition goes into effect. It is mid-morning, but I have no engagements till this afternoon's meeting with Parviz. My mother sits and spins in her sunny corner of the courtyard. She looks particularly fetching in the blue and gold Bactrian silk robe I recently bought her. I amble up behind her, slipping my arms round her thickening waist, kissing her neck.
'Let us lie together for a while, mother. I want to mingle my body with yours.'
'Yes son,' she smiles, putting down her distaff and spindle, rising and leading me back to our bedchamber. 'Two more months ... let's not waste them.'
说说我转发的原因：
来自于波斯，也就是伊朗的祆教，也叫拜火教，里面有近亲结婚，在《丁卡尔特》，《阿维斯塔.亚斯纳》《教义问答》里面都认为是圣行，历史案例有亚历山大东征阿契美尼德王朝的粟特总督西西米特勒斯与其母结婚生二子，还有帕提亚的穆萨女王和儿子弗拉德斯五世结婚。但国内论坛一直写这些历史近亲风俗习惯的几乎看不到，所以这里转发一个国外的，发一个机翻，贴出原文，希望有水平更高的人能全文通顺翻译。[/font]
[[i] 本帖最后由 levtomlion 于 2019-9-26 15:05 编辑 [/i]]
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