They were so very different from us. Divided, poor, narrow-minded, crude at times, prone to extremes of emotion. I thought of them as barbarians for quite some time, and I’m still not sure that I was wrong. But after getting to know them as intimately as I have done, I began to wonder; are they really so different to us? A certain strain of bravery, a desire for knowledge, a hunger for new horizons, an understanding of the beauty and power of horses (even though so little of the Yauna lands are suitable for horse-rearing), a genuine piety masked by their taste for the gaudy. And then there was the matter of language. All tongues come from the first man and the first woman, that is for certain. But not all modes of speech are equally similar to one another. The speech of Baktrish is nearly the same as my own, the speech of Babilu or Mudraya not at all. And I began to notice certain correspondences between certain Yauna words and words spoken in Parsa, and not in words that could be explained as learned borrowings from our own speech but commonly used ones that, so far as I could tell, had been spoken in Yauna for many centuries. Would that make Yauna and Parsa distant cousins, highly estranged brothers?
Rather than excite me, this troubled me. In particular, it troubled me because of what I did to Sparta. When I razed the capital of the Spartans to the ground, displaced the people of that land, was I destroying a culture, a people, that were cousins to my own? Would the hundred-times grandfather of myself and the Spartan king once have sat at the same table? And then again, it is a cruel thing to destroy a people, to kill them, destroy their places, chase them from their sanctuaries, put them to flight, sweep the memory of them from the land. The notion of doing something like that was far easier when I considered the Spartans, Yauna in general, to be barbarians, and to have no relationship to myself, to Parsa, except as subjects. The Spartans were a vicious people to my eyes, and I don’t feel differently about that now than I did all those years ago, but the truth is that it was still a cruel action, and it was cruel regardless of whether the Yauna and Parsa are of a kin to one another. It just makes the conclusion harder to escape, harder to bear.
When governing, when you are responsible for thousands of lives, there is not any time to think about these things. And yet I did. I suspect that the strain hastened the end. I could not turn away, could not turn off that instinct to understand the interconnection of things, their origins, and the moral conclusions that resulted. But it also made me curious, and once the fire of youth dimmed within me I found myself begrudgingly curious about peoples beside my own, including the Yauna, who I had once considered almost beneath the notice of Parsa altogether except as a source of troublemakers. I do not consider that to have been a waste of time. I do regret that it took me that long to apply a desire for truth to the rest of the world. To those with great purpose, those who seek to make peace on this earth, or even those who simply seek to control the world, the other peoples of the world beyond their own may seem like a hindrance, or cattle, but with all that I have experienced I reject that entirely. We all have shared origins, and we can also share our destinations too. The history that brings the Yauna and Parsa closer than they are to many other peoples, that knowledge remains unknown to me. But it is a mystery worth unraveling, and a tale worth telling. I hope that someone uncovers the answer to these questions some day. I would hope that would lead to both cultures valuing the other, not only as brothers but in their own right. Parsa has much to learn from Perikles, and Hellas much to learn from Xsharyarsha. One day, I hope, they will be ready to understand this, to really acknowledge what it means for all humankind to come from the same origins.
The interview is over.