In the heart of the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Caucasus, there is a celebration that defies borders and transcends differences—Nowruz. Known variously as Newroz, Norouz, or Nauroz, it is more than a festival. It is a shared heartbeat, a moment when entire civilisations pause to honour the coming of spring, the rebirth of nature, and the renewal of hope.

The word itself carries poetry: Now (new) and ruz (day or morning light) in Persian. A new day. A fresh dawn. A chance to begin again.

For millions across Iran, Afghanistan, Kurdistan, Azerbaijan, and beyond, Nowruz is not just an event on the calendar—it is the calendar. Rooted in the solar reckoning perfected by Omar Khayyam, it marks the first day of the year and anchors cultural memory in the rhythms of sun and season. With origins stretching back more than 3,000 years, to the time of the Achaemenids and the Zoroastrians, Nowruz is one of humanity’s oldest surviving celebrations.

A Festival of Many Cultures

Like the Silk Road itself, Nowruz absorbed and blended traditions—Persian, Turkic, Kurdish, and others—evolving into a multicultural tapestry. Customs may vary from place to place, but the essence remains constant: unity, renewal, and joy.

The Legend of Kawa the Blacksmith

For the Kurds, Nowruz carries a deeper story—the myth of Kawa the Blacksmith, a tale that has echoed through Mesopotamian valleys for centuries.

The story takes place in a fortified castle high above a small town nestled between the mighty Euphrates and Tigris rivers, in the region now known as Mesopotamia. The ruler of this land was the dreaded King Zahak, whose reign instilled fear and suffering in the hearts of his people. But things were different before Zahak’s tyranny—Mesopotamia had once prospered under benevolent kings who valued peace, agriculture, and the welfare of their people.

However, with the rise of King Zahak—through treachery and deceit—came a dark era. Under the malevolent influence of the evil spirit Ahriman, Zahak was cursed with two serpents growing from his shoulders, and he was forced to sacrifice young children to appease them. As a result, the kingdom fell into despair, and the natural world itself seemed to recoil from the oppression. Once-fertile lands turned barren, and wildlife disappeared.

Among those suffering under Zahak’s rule was Kawa Asinger, a humble blacksmith. He had already lost all but one of his children to the king’s cruel demands. But when his last daughter was chosen for sacrifice, Kawa could no longer stand idly by. With a bold and clever plan, he swapped his daughter’s brain with that of a sheep, tricking the guards and sparking a rebellion among the oppressed villagers.

On the night of March 21, the eve of Nowruz, Kawa led the charge against Zahak’s forces. Armed with chains forged in his workshop and glowing red from the heat of his forge, Kawa and his followers stormed Zahak’s castle, capturing the tyrant and putting an end to his reign of terror.

From the mountain above the castle, Kawa lit a bonfire to signal liberation. That flame became the enduring symbol of Newroz: fire as light, fire as resistance, fire as rebirth.

Even today, Kurds and others light bonfires on Nowruz night. They leap over the flames in a ritual of cleansing, leaving behind misfortune and carrying forward the warmth of renewal.

The Living Celebration

Modern Nowruz is as vibrant as ever. Families gather to prepare symbolic foods, friends exchange visits, poets recite verses of hope, and dancers circle around the fire. From Tehran to Erbil, from Dushanbe to Baku, the celebration resonates with themes that feel both ancient and timeless: peace, tolerance, and the affirmation that light always returns after darkness.

For many, the most cherished moment is the fire-jump—a joyful leap that declares, “I leave the old behind, I embrace the new.”

A Personal Note

For me, Nowruz carries an added layer of resonance. March 21st is not only the day the world marks a new season, but also the day I mark another year of life. Perhaps that is why I feel so closely connected to the spirit of this festival—its flames of renewal, its call to resilience, its reminder that every ending is but the beginning of another dawn.

So, as bonfires blaze across mountains and city squares this March, I will whisper the Kurdish greeting: Newroz Piroz Be—Happy Nowruz to all. May the flames of Kawa’s forge continue to remind us that hope, freedom, and renewal are eternal.

---

Note: All images are sourced from the internet.