Tishtar
By: Soshiant

​

In ancient Persian mythology, Tishtar is more than a goddess of rain — she is a bringer of balance, the force that restores Arta, the cosmic truth, to a world thrown into drought by Apaosha, the demon of deceit and dryness. But Tishtar is not just myth. In times like ours — when injustice, fear, and falsehood seem to reign — we are still waiting for her.

 

Today, the world, and Iran especially, finds itself parched. Not just in the soil, but in the spirit. Truth has been twisted, goodness silenced, and the people’s voices buried under layers of Dorouga (the Lie). But like the ancient stories remind us, drought is never eternal. The clouds will gather again.

 

Tishtar, in this deoiction by the Iranian artist Soshiant, becomes a symbol of hope — not divine in her distance, but in her inclusiveness. Rain does not choose where to fall. It does not ask who is worthy. It blesses rooftops and ruins, gardens and deserts alike. When Tishtar rides across the sky, her rain becomes the voice of justice, washing over all without discrimination. Her presence is not political; it is essential. It is the sky answering the prayers of the earth.

 

In the music of this album, we hear her approach. In "Sepandar", the oud begins the call from the ground — the Earth’s yearning for healing. In "Tishtar", hope flows gently through the piano like distant thunder, full of grace and patience. In "Hadayosh", there is movement, travel, and the promise of immortality reborn through unity. Even "Apaosha", dark and barren, cannot hold back the coming rain. And in "Homa", we rise — as a people, as a memory, as a dream of better days.

In remembering Tishtar, we aren’t just recalling an old myth. We are planting seeds for her return — not in the heavens, but in our own actions, our own resistance, our own refusal to surrender to Dorouga. Let her rain fall. Not just on Iran, but on every land waiting for renewal. Let the drought end — not for a chosen few, but for everyone beneath the sky.

​

The EP features collaborations with world-class instrumentalists including Fouad Samiei (oud), Arashk Azizi (piano), and Julián Reynoso (cello). Together with Soshiant’s signature sound design and subtle electronic beats, the EP evokes a rich mythical tapestry: from Sepandar’s earthy warmth and Tishtar’s radiant grace to Apaosha’s looming darkness and Homa’s skyward release.

​

Tishtar, the short story:

 

In the time before memory, when the Earth was young and thirsty, a great drought had gripped the lands. From the stillness of the dust, Sepandar, the guardian of Earth and embodiment of feminine wisdom, rose gently with her oud. Her melody whispered through dry valleys, calling forth forgotten forces of harmony and healing. It was not yet rain, but it was the beginning of remembrance. The Earth, through her song, began to hope again.

 

Then came Tishtar, the radiant goddess of rain and prosperity. She descended like starlight turned to water, and where her fingers touched the ground, flowers stirred in their sleep. Her arrival was slow and full of grace, carried by piano and strings that moved like morning mist. With every note, she gathered strength for a battle against darkness, seeking to reclaim the sky.

 

To aid her came Hadhayosh, the ancient, sacred beast — half-cow, half-ship, bearing three eternal fires on its back. It emerged not in violence, but in steady motion, like tides returning to lost shores. With cello and electric piano flowing in layers, Hadhayosh traversed the world, ferrying hope across continents. It was said that from its essence, immortality could be born. But this was not yet its time.

 

Then appeared Apaosha, the drought demon, a creature of silence and thirst. Cloaked in shadows and tension, he rose from the barren wastes, his presence cold and dissonant. The synths grew darker, the beats heavier — not chaotic, but oppressive. This was the sound of withering crops, of prayers unanswered. A battle was unfolding, not in the skies, but in the heart.

 

As the final confrontation approached, the skies trembled. But then... a song. Not of battle, but of rebirth.

 

Homa appeared — not a warrior, but a bird. A symbol of fortune, rebirth, and longing. The real cry of the Homa bird opened the piece, joined by gentle guitar and piano. It flew over the battlefield, not to fight, but to sing of what comes after. Its voice echoed with memory and destiny, carrying the soul of the world back into harmony.

And from that harmony... rain fell.