Hezardastan (Thousand Stories)

My father's brother was a master of the Tar. Late one summer night, when he was visiting us, he stole off by himself to the gazebo, where he sat and softly played his tar by the light of a full moon. As he played, a nightingale from somewhere in the orchard began to sing. My uncle would stop his playing for a few seconds; then the nightingale would sing in answer. This continued for couple of hours, with the bird coming closer and closer to my uncle, until the bird was perched just a few yards away on one of the rose bushes. I and my brothers and sisters lay in our beds around the courtyard pool listening, enthralled by the impromptu concert performed in the moonlit dreamlike setting. Every time the nightingale sang, it was different melody. That is why the Nightingale is called Hezardastan in Persian, meaning Thousand stories.