The sky was intermittently dark. Each period of darkness ended in a lightening flash. Each flash was succeeded by a deep growl up above in the belly of the clouds. The light breeze smelt of a subtle promise of rain.

            The old man with a head full of bushy silver hair stood quietly in the veranda. He was looking towards the western skies. His cloudy brown eyes were open but looked at nothing in particular. Instead they were filled with the grey shadows of memories.

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     Once I was Ashastû, son of Darsha and the resident of the ancient city of Nishapur. Once I was the bird, imprisoned by a gilded cage. I was the follower of Mazdayasna and the worshipper of Ahura Mazda.

      Like a butterfly, which once is a caterpillar, I was all that but no more. I have become the bearer of the most ancient of all legacies – the legacy of the forgotten wisdom. This is the story of my transformation and my transition, from a caterpillar to a butterfly; and from the path of dark ignorance to the path of bright wisdom.

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