...
Rošanak crosses a long dirt path overgrown with old berry bushes, opens a weathered ornate metal gate and walks into a vast lush field. “This field is not kept well these days, as my father and brothers―” Rošanak bites her lip and does not finish her words.
No one had played on this field after her blood brothers had died years ago… A few old goats used to graze on the overgrown field before they were eaten by the invaders.
Alexander follows her without asking any questions.
He had seen this field before, but had not examined it too closely. It was a large flat field obscured by trees and overgrown thorny bushes. He had thought one day it could be cleared and used for Royal Army Foot and Horse races.
Rošanak stops and points to an old inscription on a stone marker next to the chogân Field.
“It is written in Âryâ, the royal tongue of the First Darius. It is a royal honor and privilege for the satraps to use the royal markings of the Great Kings of the Persians.”
Alexander’s eyes follow her around.
She steps closer and rubs the tips of her fingers on the carved markings.
Let others play other things.
The King of Games is still the Game of Kings.
And then she interprets:
Let others play other things.
The King of Games is still the Game of Kings.
Rošanak proudly declares, “Chogân is the game of kings!” and points to the lush overgrown field stretching before their eyes, under the golden rays of the mid-morning sun. “The chogân field is about nine hundred arašni long from this side of the field to the other side and two hundred seventy arašni wide from that side to this side and at each end the stone bâji posts are fifteen arašni apart.”
She had no idea how to measure and then translate those measurements into his tongue.
She only knew how to measure everything with her own eyes and hands and feet.
She could not count in his tongue either.
She eyes Alexander intently, not certain he understands her words, and then shrugs her shoulders, walks toward the middle of the field, stomps on the grass, places the rounded ball in the center of the field and starts walking back.
She points to the ball.
“This is a simple war game. It starts with the ball placed in the middle of the battle ground. The two opposing armies charge each other from the opposite sides. The one throwing the highest number of balls into the stone bâji posts in the land of her enemy wins!”
“Very well.” Alexander nods in agreement.
Rošanak jumps on her horse, grabs the bridle and rides to the other side of the field.
Alexander smiles, mounts Bukephalas and arrays himself opposite Rošanak on his side of the field.
Rošanak calls out loudly to Alexander from the other side.
“Stay as you are, Alexander, and there is peace between us. Move forward or backward and there is war!”
Alexander raises his eyebrow and half-smiles to himself.
Her Attik was better than the barbarian slaves in the Agora of Athenai.
She knew Xenophon.
“The view of the King is the same as yours,” he taunts her loudly. “Stay as we are and there is peace. Move and there is war!”
“WAR or PEACE?” Rošanak demands again louder.
Alexander smiles and waits and baits her.
“Which is your pleasure, Alexander?”
Sun waxes warmer, a cool breeze blows.
Alexander stirs forward on Bukephalas.
Rošanak nods and smiles and calls out to Alexander.
“Very well, then, Alexander. So be it. War it is!”
Rošanak gallops to the ball first and hits it into Alexander’s land.
After all, her horse was a splendid pure-bred Nisâya, bred and raised on fields of pure luscious asp’asta, not a puny mule bred and raised on tasteless dry hay.
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