Once upon a time, and once there was no one but God. Many years ago there was a war between two lands, Iran on one side and Turan on the other. The people were tired of fighting and wished the two countries would make peace.
The elders of both lands saw how sad and tired everyone was, and made an agreement. "We will shoot one arrow from a bow. Wherever it lands, that is the border." The war would end without a quarrel. They shook hands and promised to keep their word.
But who could shoot an arrow so far that the country would not shrink? Everyone looked at each other, worried. Then a kind soldier stepped forward and raised his hand. "I am ready to shoot the arrow." His name was Arash, Arash the Archer. Every heart filled with hope.
Arash was young, strong and gentle. He loved his land with all his heart; he loved children and was kind to animals and to nature. He wanted everyone to live in peace, so he accepted the great task. He was never afraid of something hard.
Early in the morning he set off for tall Damavand, the highest mountain in the land. Step by step he climbed, calm and steady. The wind was cold, but his heart was warm. At last he reached the peak, close to the clouds, where the snow glittered under his feet.
He took the great bow from his shoulder and set the arrow on it, slowly and carefully. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put all his love and hope into the arrow. "For peace," he whispered, "for the children." His heart beat fast.
Arash drew the bow with all his strength. His hands trembled, but he stood firm and wished that the war would end for ever. Then, in one moment, he let the arrow go.
The arrow leapt like a bird made of light. Whizz. Higher and higher it went into the blue sky, like a star. The wind pushed it on, and the clouds quietly moved aside.
It flew for a whole day, over rivers and forests, hills and green plains. Birds flew beside it and kept it company. Slowly the sun went down, and the arrow's shadow ran and ran across the ground.
At sunset the arrow came gently down beside a great, wide river, and that place became the border of the two lands. The people cheered and clapped. The war was over and peace came back. Children played beside the river.
People always remembered Arash. They said his strength had become one with the wind and the mountain. Even now, whenever the wind blows over the mountain, you can hear Arash's arrow: a soft sound, like a lovely song. His name stayed for ever.