Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends by Gertrude Landa

The Story of Bostanai

In the days of long ago, when Persia was a famous and beautiful land, with innumerable rose gardens that perfumed the whole country and gorgeous palaces, there lived a king, named Hormuz. He was a cruel monarch, this Shah of Persia. He tyrannized over his people and never allowed them to live in peace. Above all, he hated the Jews.

"These descendants of Abraham," he said to his grand vizier, "never know when they are beaten. How many times it has been reported to me that they have been wiped out of existence, or driven from the land, I know not. Yet nothing, it seems, can crush their spirit. Tell me, why is this?"

"It is because they have a firm faith in their future," answered the vizier.

"What mean you by those words?" demanded the king, angrily.

"I speak only of what I have heard from their wise men," the vizier replied, hastily. "They hold the belief that they will be restored as a united people to their own land."

"Under their own king?" interrupted Hormuz.

"Under a descendant of the royal House of David," the vizier answered, solemnly.

The king stamped his foot with rage.

"How dare they think of any other Shah but me," he exclaimed, for his one idea of ruling over people was that he had every right to be cruel to them. Then he said suddenly, "Think you that if there were no more people who could trace their ancestry to this—this David, their faith would be shattered?"

"Peradventure, it may be so."

"It shall be so," cried the king. "There shall be no remnants of this House of David."

He summoned his executioners, and when they were lined up before him, he surveyed the evil-looking band with a cunning gleam in his eye.

"Unto you," he said, in a rasping voice, "I hand over all the descendants of the House of David to be found among the Jews in the whole of the realm of Persia. Slay them instantly. See to it that not a single one—man, woman, or child—is left alive. Woe betide you, and you my counselors"—this with a meaning glance at the grand vizier—"if my commands are not carried out to the letter. To your duties. Ye are dismissed from the presence."

Waving them away, he indulged his fancy in thoughts of the coming executions, chuckling the while.

From day to day he received reports that his commands were being carried out. The land was filled with weeping, for the cruel butchery was worse than war. None could defend themselves. Mere suspicion was enough for the executioners. They wasted no time with doubts, but slew all who were said to belong to the House of David. The Shah looked over the list each night and chuckled. At last he was informed that all had been slaughtered.

"'Tis well, 'tis well," he said, rubbing his hands, gleefully, "I shall sleep in peace tonight."

He slept in a bower in a rose garden, and nowhere in the world are the roses so magnificent and so sweet-scented as in Persia.

"I shall have pleasant dreams," he muttered, but instead he had a nightmare that frightened him terribly.

He dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, but instead of deriving pleasure from the beautiful trees, he was only angered.

"Are there no white, or yellow, or pink roses?" he asked, but received no answer. "All red, deep, deep red," he muttered, in his troubled manner.

"Tell me," he demanded fiercely, stopping before a tree heavily laden with flowers, "why are you so red today?"

And the roses spoke and replied, "Because of the innocent blood that has been shed. It is royal blood that has drenched the ground, and none but crimson roses shall bloom this year in Persia."