In the ancient lands of Persia, beneath a sky strewn with stars and the glow of the full moon, the people of the empire gathered to honor Yalda Night, the longest night of the year. But few remembered the true origin of this sacred night—a tale of love, sacrifice, and defiance against the forces of darkness.
Centuries ago, Queen Yalda ruled over Persia with wisdom and grace. Her hair cascaded like the ink of midnight, and her eyes shimmered like the distant stars. It was said that she was blessed by Anahita, the goddess of water and fertility, who had gifted her with a voice that could calm raging storms and a heart that burned brighter than the sun.
In Yalda’s time, the shadowy div, Ahriman, sought to plunge the world into eternal darkness. Ahriman despised the light, for it revealed his weakness. He waged war against the heavens, sending plagues of despair and whispers of fear through the land. One Yalda Night, as the shadows stretched across the empire, Ahriman himself descended from the Alborz Mountains, cloaked in a black fog, and demanded the throne.
“Bow to me, Queen Yalda,” Ahriman hissed, his voice like the rustling of dead leaves. “Surrender, and I will spare your people. Refuse, and I will cast this land into darkness forever.”
Yalda did not falter. She rode to the sacred Tower of Mehr, where the eternal flame of Mithra burned. Standing before the fire, she prayed to the divine powers, seeking a way to protect her people. In answer, a glowing hawk—the Simorgh—descended from the heavens, its wings ablaze with golden light.
“Queen Yalda,” the Simorgh said, its voice a harmonious blend of music and thunder, “only one thing can banish Ahriman’s darkness. You must offer your soul to rekindle the sun.”
Yalda’s heart ached, but her resolve was firm. She took the Simorgh’s feather, a talisman of divine power, and climbed to the highest peak of Mount Damavand. There, under the watchful gaze of the stars, she confronted Ahriman.
As the first rays of dawn threatened to break through the horizon, Yalda drove the Simorgh’s feather into her chest, releasing a burst of light so pure and powerful that it banished Ahriman’s shadows to the edges of the cosmos. The sun rose once more, its brilliance restored, and the people of Persia were saved.
But Yalda paid the ultimate price. Her body turned to stardust, scattering into the heavens. To this day, it is said that her spirit resides in the Milky Way, shining brightest on Yalda Night, watching over her people during their longest darkness.
As the legend goes, every Yalda Night, the Simorgh perches upon Mount Damavand, its golden feathers glowing, reminding the people of Queen Yalda’s sacrifice. Families gather, lighting candles, sharing pomegranates, and reciting poetry to honor the queen who gave her life for the light.
And if one listens closely, they say you can hear her voice in the winter winds—a soft lullaby, carrying the promise of dawn.