In the chap­ter titled “By the Riv­er Tigris, 1872,” the nar­ra­tive unfolds dur­ing the Yazi­di fes­ti­val “Çarşe­ma Sor,” known as ‘Red Wednes­day,’ mark­ing the arrival of spring and new begin­nings. The vil­lagers of Zêrav engage in tra­di­tion­al cel­e­bra­tions by paint­ing eggs, clean­ing homes, and mak­ing can­dles from sheep fat. The atmos­phere is fes­tive, yet Arthur, an out­sider from Eng­land, finds him­self in a cul­tur­al jux­ta­po­si­tion, as he explains that his New Year comes in the dead of win­ter, elic­it­ing polite curios­i­ty from the local chil­dren.

As the cel­e­bra­tion reach­es its peak on the sev­enth sun­set, Arthur is invit­ed to the sheikh’s house, an unusu­al hon­or for an out­sider. He observes as the vil­lagers lay out food, and the scent of rose­mary and sage fills the air. Among the atten­dees is Leila, a faqra, who begins to per­form rit­u­al­is­tic div­ina­tion with her daf. The scene esca­lates when Leila enters a trance and sings a haunt­ing melody that tran­scends time. Arthur is cap­ti­vat­ed yet deeply unset­tled when she starts utter­ing omi­nous prophe­cies that pre­dict a mas­sacre of the Yazi­di peo­ple.

Her intense behav­ior shifts to despair as she cries out “Fir­man,” which not only sig­ni­fies per­mis­sion but omi­nous­ly con­veys a license for vio­lence against her com­mu­ni­ty. The chill­ing specifics of the prophe­cy detail impend­ing destruc­tion and loss, includ­ing the oblit­er­a­tion of sacred sites and a warn­ing to escape to the moun­tains when the dan­ger­ous forces arrive.

As the moment lingers in silence, the chil­dren return to the joy of the fes­tiv­i­ties, unaware of the dark­ness shared in their brief absence. Arthur, unable to sleep that night, grap­ples with a heavy sense of fore­bod­ing and the bur­dens of his­to­ry that weigh upon the Yazidis. The rem­nants of Nin­eveh haunt him as he con­sid­ers the painful truth of prophet­ic knowl­edge. He won­ders whether it is bet­ter to remain in bliss­ful igno­rance rather than face the grim real­i­ties of their doomed future. The chap­ter clos­es with an eerie feel­ing of impend­ing change, mir­rored in nature around him, sug­gest­ing a loom­ing cat­a­stro­phe on the hori­zon.