Book B7The Fight of the Seven Warriors

To strive against death’s hand is toil and strife;This is the lesson drawn from Rostam’s life.

A minstrel grappled with a male lion’s might,And sang of courage, fate, and death in fight:

“If you would win the glory of the brave,And stain with blood an Indian-forged glaive,

Do not turn back when battle draws you near;When Time comes on, no flight can conquer fear.

If prudence stands beside you in the fray,The brave will never count you bold that day.

For wisdom and religion have their road;The needs of battle bear a different load.”

A noble tale of Rostam now I tell,From Nawand’s halls where royal splendors dwell.

There mighty Rostam held a splendid feast,Where joy and music flowed and never ceased.

There blazed the Fire of Barzin, clear and bright,Its sacred flame gave Nawand’s halls their light.

The chiefs of Iran came, a famed array,The foremost warriors gathered for the day.

Tus came with Gudarz, Keshvad’s noble son,With Bahram, Giv; each famed for battles won.

Gorgin and Zangeh of Shavaran came,With Kharrad, Gostaham, chiefs of famous name.

Then Barzin and Guraza joined the throng,The crown and glory of that gathering strong.

Each came attended by a noble band,Together forming one renowned command.

They played at polo, bent the bow, and vied,Then drank and hunted through the country wide.

So several days in joy and sport were spent,With feast and pleasure filling every tent.

When all were warmed with wine, bold Giv arose,And spoke to Rostam as the red wine glows:

“Great chief, if hunting stirs your heart today,Let fleet-foot cheetahs lead us on our way.

Let us invade Afrasiab’s hunting ground,And stir his guarded preserves all around.

Our dust shall veil the sun and dim the skies,While hawks and cheetahs range and long spears rise.

We cast the kamand where Gur-e-Khar roam,And strike the prowling lions in their home.

We spear the boars; our hawks bring pheasants low,And hunt the long day till the sun sinks slow.

Across Turan’s broad plain our hunt shall range,And leave a memory no years can change.”

Then Rostam said: “May all be as you crave,And may good fortune crown the bold and brave.

At dawn we ride across Turan’s domain,And tire of neither hunting nor the rein.”

They all agreed, and when the dawn broke clear,They rose prepared, their hearts steeled against fear.

With hawks and cheetahs fitted for the chase,They reached the River Shahd at rapid pace.

They reached the hunting-ground of Turan’s king,With mountains rising on one bordering wing.

A river marked another boundary line,While Sarakhs stood beyond, a distant sign.

Before them stretched the desert, broad and bare,Its open reaches fading into air.

There gazelles wandered, sheep and grazing herds,Across the plain beneath the wheeling birds.

Tents and pavilions covered all the plain,While startled gazelles scattered from the train.

The prowling lions vanished from the land,And word of hunters reached the feathered band.

The birds and game were struck on every side,By shaft and arrow through the country wide.

Some died outright, some wounded fled in pain,And scattered blood lay dark across the plain.

The hunters laughed, light-hearted, flushed with wine,Their joy complete within that bold design.

A week they passed in sport and revelry,With goblets raised in careless liberty.

On eighth dawn Tahamtan began to weighA prudent course and thus was heard to say:

“By now Afrasiab surely knows our track;We must not let him strike and drive us back.

He may consult his chiefs and shape a snare,Then make this hunting-ground too strait to bear.

Our cheetahs then would find no open ground,If Turan’s mounted ranks should close around.

We need a watcher posted on the way,To bring us warning without long delay.

At any sign, let him spur back his steed,Before the foe can bar the road we need.”

Then Guraza strung his bow and took his stand,A watchful chief beside the hunting band.

With such a guard, no foeman’s secret artCould trap the army or divide its heart.

The rest resumed the hunt, the feast, the cheer,With no thought yet of battle drawing near.

That night Afrasiab received the news,And called his seasoned captains for their views.

He spoke of Rostam and his famed renown,And seven chiefs, each lion of the crown:

“We must not pause, but shape a hidden blow;Surprise will break them faster than they know.

If we can seize those seven on the plain,We make the world too narrow for Kavus’s reign.

We ride disguised as hunters to their ground,And strike before their chiefs can gather round.”

He chose full thirty thousand sword-armed men,And gave his urgent order there and then:

“Ride straight ahead and never slack your pace;Let no fatigue delay you in the chase.

Ride without rest; let no delay remain,Until you strike them hard upon the plain.”

They rushed along the desert road in flight,While dust-clouds turned the open day to night.

Meanwhile he sent great forces far and wide,To close each road on every outward side.

He barred each road that led beyond the ground,So none could flee the snare that closed around.

As they drew near, Guraza caught their trail,A black cloud swelling like a stormy gale.

They neared the hunting-ground with vengeance hot,And drove their mounted ranks toward the spot.

The plain threw dust toward heaven in a haze,While banners moved within the darkened maze.

A lapis standard rose through swirling rays,Its folds emerged within the dusty blaze.

Like rushing wind the watcher turned in flight,With shout and cry he hastened from the sight.

He found the heroes deep in sport and cheer,Their cups still full, not dreaming foes were near.

“O Rostam,” cried he, “lion of the field,Rise from the feast; the enemy is revealed.

A force beyond all count has spread in might,Till height and hollow vanish from the sight.

Afrasiab’s banner burns within the light,A sun through dust that darkens day to night!”

Then Rostam laughed: “Victorious Fortune’s near;Why should the Turk or Turan’s horse bring fear?

Why fear Afrasiab or his mounted train?No mass of horse can shake me on this plain.

At most a hundred thousand riders show,Rein-masters, bargostvan from row to row.

Though all his horsemen crowd this open ground,Their numbers cannot turn our fortune round.

With Rakhsh, my armor, and my gorz in hand,Alone I would not yield a foot of land.

If one of us stood firm upon this field,All Turan’s strength would seem too small to wield.

This field alone provides the strength I need;I ask no troops from Iran for this deed.

One rider here is worth five hundred strong;Two joined could face a thousand all day long.

So, cupbearer, bring Zabuli wine;Fill high the bolbola and make it mine.”

They filled the cup, and Rostam laughed aloud,While joy ran high throughout the warrior crowd.

He raised the cup to honor Kavus then,Then drank and kissed the earth before the men.

He raised another cup and kissed the ground,And said: “To you, O Tus, this draft goes round.”

The princes rose and bowed before his place:“Beside your cup, none can maintain his pace.

Not even Iblis could your cup withstand;The wine, the gorz, the field obey your hand.”

He drank red Zabuli wine from out the bowl,Then hailed Zavareh with a joyful soul.

Zavareh raised the cup like nightingale,And sang of Kay Kavus in ringing tale.

He drank the Shah’s health, kissed the earth, and soBowed to the warriors seated row on row.

And Rostam praised him: “Brother, you drink well;A lion at the cup none can excel.”

“O pride of kings and glory of the field,”Said Giv, “I hold the bridge and make them yield.

While we prepare for war and arm each steed,I check their charge and answer every need.

Our feast and merriment are put away;Now let each warrior arm without delay.”

With bow well strung he hurried to the span,But found the foe had crossed and formed their van.

Near to the bridge he saw their standard rise,Afrasiab’s hostile banner met his eyes.

The king had crossed the stream and led his train,At army’s head, arrayed upon the plain.

Then Rostam donned Babr-e Bayan for fight,And mounted raging Rakhsh in armor bright.

Then like a raging nahang, Rostam roared,And toward the Turanian battle ranks he poured.

When Afrasiab saw that giant frame,His chest and arms seemed forged for war and flame.

His heavy gorz upon his shoulder lay,A mass of iron darkening the day.

High upon Rakhsh his terrible form prevailed;Afrasiab’s heart within him shrank and failed.

Then Tus and Gudarz, masters of the spear,With Gorgin, Giv, and all the chiefs drew near.

Bahram and Barzin, Farhad joined the band,And Zangeh of Shavaran took his stand.

With Indian blades and lances set for blow,They stood like leopards watching for the foe.

Then Giv, like lion robbed of rightful prey,Rushed forward, sweeping enemies away.

With sword and gorz he struck the foremost crew,And bent tall warriors double as he flew.

Full many chiefs of Turan there were slain,And fortune turned against their vaunted reign.

The men of Chin recoiled before the blow,Their ranks fell back as fortune brought them low.

Afrasiab, astonished at the sight,Rode forth himself to join the rising fight.

But Rostam wheeled to meet him in his course,His lifted gorz prepared with crushing force.

With thigh pressed hard to Rakhsh, he drove ahead,And charged where Afrasiab’s warriors spread.

He drove to army’s front where battle ran,And broke the ranks that formed the Turan van.

Before the army Rostam gave a roar,A lion’s thunder shook them to the core.

Behind him Gudarz, Keshvad’s son, rode fast,In jowshan, steel-bound gorz for battle cast.

The Iranian riders followed in his train,With gorz and bow and arrows for the plain.

The eyes of Turan darkened at the sight,As Rostam raised his helm toward heaven’s height.

Then Afrasiab called Piran Viseh out:“O loyal chief whose wisdom none can doubt,

You lion of Turan, battle-tried and free,Turn rein and clear this field of foes for me.

If you prevail, all Iran is your prize;An elephant’s frame, lion’s claws, your guise.”

Then Piran swept like tempest to the plain,Ten thousand khanjar-bearing Turks his train.

Like fire he fell upon great Rostam’s line,Ten thousand fighting men behind his sign.

Foam rose upon great Rostam’s lips in ire;He seemed to rob the sun of all its fire.

He urged on Rakhsh and gave a thunderous call,Like seas that boil and surge beneath a squall.

He spurred on Rakhsh and smote the foremost rank,As chiefs beneath his flashing weapon sank.

With shield raised high, his Indian sword in hand,He drove against the foremost Turanian band.

Two portions of those famous men he slew,And through the shattered Turanian ranks he flew.

Afrasiab watched destruction widely spread,And to his famous chiefs he turned and said:

“If this goes on until the close of day,Not one mounted warrior rides away.

We came as lions, trusting in our force;A field of foxes now obstructs our course.

This was no battle we were wise to choose;Withdraw at once before we further lose.”

There was a warrior known by Pilsam’s name,Of royal blood and fierce in quest of fame.

His father Viseh, honored in his line,His brother Piran, famed in war’s design.

In Iran and Turan none could compare,Save Rostam, whose renown none else could share.

When Pilsam heard, his brow drew tight with ire,His anger kindled like a rising fire.

He hastened straight to Afrasiab’s side,His head with war, his heart with haste allied.

He cried: “Though young, I stand prepared for war,And seek the fame that valiant men adore.

What dust are Tus and Giv before my spear,Or Bahram, Zangeh, Guraza drawn near?

At your command, like lion I shall go,And enter where Iran’s proud champions show.

I sever every chieftain’s head in fight,And veil their moon beneath the cloud of night.

Their famous crowns I drag through dusty ground,And sever heads wherever chiefs are found.”

The king replied: “Renowned in war and name,Go forth victorious; return crowned with fame.

May this advance be fortunate and bright,May victory attend your homeward sight.”

Then like a great tabira Pilsam roared,And like a storm upon the center poured.

He struck to right and left with gorz and blade,And split the ranks that stood against him arrayed.

Like wind he came to Gorgin in the fight,And roared there like a lion in his might.

He struck with tempered sword the charger’s head;The horse fell writhing where the wound now bled.

Then Gostaham, well proven in the fray,Sprang up like fire and rushed across the way.

He closed like a raging lion on his foe,And drove his spear with one tremendous blow.

He drove his spear at Pilsam’s belted side,But jowshan held; the thrust was turned aside.

The spear-shaft broke; he threw it far and wide,And faced his foe with nothing left to hide.

Then Pilsam raised his sword in flashing sweep,And struck his crest with force both hard and deep.

His helmet flew like ball across the plain,And Gostaham stood bareheaded in the strain.

His spear lay cast aside upon the ground,Unarmed he stood while battle raged around.

When Zangeh saw Gostaham’s plight from right,He spurred to aid him through the press of fight.

Pilsam, a warrior nahang, faced the foe,His Indian sword flashed ready for the blow.

He split the horse’s bargostvan in two,The charger crashed as severed mailwork flew.

The gallant Zangeh rose amid the sand,And bound his jowshan tight with steady hand.

On foot he fought that champion face to face,A hunting lion holding firm his place.

Dark clouds of dust rose thick around the ground,Till sight and sense in swirling dust were drowned.

Then Giv beheld how dim the field had grown,And roared like thunder crashing over stone.

He came, a lion raging in the fray,And forced a path through fighters in his way.

He joined the others pressing hard as one,And four closed round that chief beneath the sun.

Yet Pilsam did not yield nor once give ground,But met them headlong where they closed him round.

Now sword, now heavy gorz, Pilsam struck on,Till strength from all four champions’ arms was gone.

Then Piran saw his brother in distress,And rushed from center through the battle’s press.

He came to aid him, shouting as he flew,Boiling and roaring, closer still he drew.

He cried: “O Giv, no honor can be won;What fame is gained when four assail but one?

What glory lies in four against one man,A lion-hearted champion in the van?”

He charged the chiefs; dark dust rose from the ground,And veiled the struggling warriors all around.

From the other side great Rostam charged the foe,A lion bursting through the battle flow.

With sword and heavy gorz of crushing weight,He broke Turan’s proud captains to their fate.

Then Pilsam fled before the dragon’s chase,For well he knew no man escaped its pace.

The chiefs of Iran pressed on every side,With heavy gorz where the Turanians died.

The slain lay heaped across the bloody floor,Their mound rose toward the moon in grisly store.

Afrasiab looked on and sighed in dread,His hope grown thin at all that lay there dead.

“Where now is Alkus, famed in battle’s course,Who sought the lions out with fearless force?

When drunk, you called for Giv to test your claim,And set your battle against Rostam’s name.

You spoke of Iran through each drunken hour;Where now your fire and wind, your vaunted power?”

When Alkus heard what Turan’s king had said,He rose at once, his heart toward battle led.

He mounted shabrang, blood upon his hand,And spurred the dark horse toward the royal stand.

He reached the army’s center in his course,And came before Afrasiab in force.

He cried: “The male lion stands prepared to fight,A waiting beast that longs to prove his might.

Command me now, and I will ride alone,And seize that field and claim it as my own.”

The monarch said: “Choose captains for the ride,”And Alkus turned to choose them from his side.

More than a thousand warriors joined his train,And rode behind him toward the battle plain.

Their lances glittered as they rode to fight,Like Nahid and Hormoz in heaven’s height.

As Alkus neared the Iranian array,His dust veiled sun and moon in ashen gray.

Zavareh rode and gave a challenge loud,And Alkus wheeled toward him through the crowd.

He thought him Rostam, born of Nariman’s line,So strongly bore he that heroic sign.

Zavareh charged, a lion in the fight,And thrust his lance with all his warrior might.

The spear broke into two; Zavareh fearedThe warrior whose deadly strength appeared.

He drew his sword; their flashing blades rang loud,While dust enclosed them like a rising cloud.

Their swords broke short; then to gorz both men sped,And reached at once for iron blows instead.

Then Alkus swung his gorz with mountain might,And Zavareh’s strength deserted him outright.

Zavareh fell senseless beneath the blow,And lay as one laid low by sudden woe.

Alkus dismounted, hurrying to kill,To cut Zavareh’s head as he lay still.

When Rostam saw his brother nearly dead,Like fire he rushed to where Zavareh bled.

He shouted once; the plain itself seemed weak,And swords grew dull beneath that thunderous shriek.

At Rostam’s voice, his terror showed within;His beating heart seemed visible through skin.

Swift as the wind he mounted, seized by dread,His former courage from his spirit fled.

Then Rostam cried: “You never knew till nowThe lion’s claws; that ignorance crowned your brow.”

While bloodied, bruised Zavareh gained his seat,And mounted once again despite defeat,

Alkus met Rostam under death’s dark cloud;Upon his saddle lay a Tuzi shroud.

He thrust his spear at Rostam’s armored waist,But found the jowshan sturdy, tightly laced.

Then Rostam drove his spear into his chest,Liver-blood poured down helmet, plume, and crest.

He raised him from the saddle on the spear,While both great armies stared in wonder near.

Then Rostam cast him downward from that height,A mountain mass that filled Turan with fright.

The seven lion-warriors drew each blade,And charged together, one fierce line arrayed.

Their gallant captains followed, close and massed,Great gorz on shoulders, ordered as they passed.

Afrasiab beheld them, struck with dread,Then turned toward all his chiefs and sternly said:

“The foe has mastered you!” Afrasiab cried,“Their battle-strength has broken all your pride.

Now strive, and bring a leopard’s heart to bear;Each man consider vengeance with due care.”

His soldiers heard and rushed against the foe,And all at once surged forward in a row.

Then Rostam with the seven charged as one,And broke their ranks beneath the rising sun.

They broke the Turanian ranks in battle’s flood,Till head from foot was lost amid the blood.

So many fell beneath the furious blows,From end to end the earth like ruby glows.

There elephants lay felled across the ground,Some heads still joined, some severed all around.

The field with corpses, severed heads was spread,No road remained for troops among the dead.

Afrasiab turned rein before the sight,And fled like a black cloud across the night.

Behind him Rostam urged on Rakhsh, his steed:“Now lag not, faithful friend, but match my need.

Upon you I shall strike the king who flies,And spill his blood before our watching eyes.

His blood shall make the stones like coral glow,And stain the plain wherever he may go.”

The fiery steed sped on with such a bound,It seemed new wings had raised him from the ground.

Then Rostam loosed the kamand from its ring,And cast it forth to bind the fleeing king.

It struck his helmet as the kamand sped;He ducked beneath it and escaped ahead.

Afrasiab bent low and slipped the snare,His wind-foot charger sprang like fire through air.

He fled, dry-mouthed, his body drenched in sweat,And drove his charger onward faster yet.

Behind, his riders streamed in broken flight,Their weapons shattered, spirits stripped of might.

Like wind he crossed the water, swift and sore,And gained in haste the safety of the shore.

Two-thirds of all his army now lay slain;He sought sweet nectar, poison was his gain.

Of all the Turks who went to fight and slay,Two-thirds returned not to their tents that day.

Some slain, some wounded, others captive lay,Held fast by Iran when the field gave way.

Great treasure, throne and crown lay in the field,With golden girdles, spoils the foe must yield.

There sword and khaftan, helm and jewels gleamed,Amid the wealth that from the battle streamed.

Fine horses stood in golden harness dressed,And swords in golden sheaths lay with the rest.

The men of Iran gathered every prize,And joy shone clear within the victors’ eyes.

They stripped no corpse that lay upon the ground,Nor searched the fallen bodies lying round.

With horses, arms, and captured gear they rodeOnce more toward the hunt, with heavy load.

They sent a swift report when all was done,Of battle and the hunting they had won:

“No chief of Iran fell beneath the blade;Not one among our warriors there was laid.

Zavareh only tumbled from his steed,Then rose again, restored to strength and speed.”

For two full weeks the Pahlevans remained,Upon the blessed plain where joy had reigned.

At third week’s dawn they reached the royal hall,And saw the fortunate crowned king of all.

Such is the transient house in which we dwell;One finds his ease, another fares not well.

The day moves over both through joy and woe;Why should the wise grieve over what must go?

The words of this old tale have reached their end;Thus far the ancient telling does extend.