Book B8The Tragedy of Rostam & Sohrab

Now hear the tale of Sohrab, Rostam’s son;You heard the rest; this grief has now begun.

This tale is steeped in tears from first to last,And tender hearts blame Rostam for the past.

A violent wind may shake a citron free,Unripe, and cast it broken from the tree.

Should I call this injustice, harsh and blind,Or deem it skilled; or skill-less in its kind?

If death is justice, what then counts as wrong?Why cry against what justice brings along?

The spirit cannot pierce the hidden Veil,Beyond it, mortal sight and pathways fail.

We all must reach the mystery’s closed door,Yet none has seen it open; none knows more.

Perhaps another dwelling waits in peace,Where those who leave this world may find release.

When fire is kindled, it is born to burn;No cause for wonder lies in such a turn.

A tender branch may spring from ancient root,Yet death can burn the young before its fruit.

To young and old alike death’s flame is dire;It spares no age before consuming fire.

Why should the young give all their hearts to cheer,When death can strike before old age draws near?

When Death draws tight the girth on Fortune’s steed,This is no place to linger when decreed.

Know this is justice, not a wrongful deed;Where justice comes, lament has no true need.

Before death’s hand, both youth and age are one;Keep faith and hold it till your course is done.

If faith’s true treasure fills the inward breast,A servant keeps his tongue and serves Him best.

Make worship now the labor of your breath,Prepare in humble service for your death.

You cannot know what Yazdan veils from sight,Unless a Div has led your soul from right.

Strive here for goodness while your days remain,That after death its harvest you may gain.

Now hear Sohrab’s great battle and his strife,And how he met the man who gave him life.

I tell what ancient singers once made known,From tales preserved when earlier ages shone.

The Mobad tells: at dawn, with troubled heart,Rostam arose to hunt and to depart.

He girt himself, filled high his arrow case,Then mounted Rakhsh and turned him toward the chase.

Toward Turan’s marches like a lion he rode,Seeking the prey that roamed beyond the road.

Near Turan’s marches Gur-e-Khar were found,In grazing herds they wandered on the ground.

His face grew bright; a sudden joy took hold,He laughed as Rakhsh sprang forward fierce and bold.

With bow and arrow, gorz and swift kamand,He struck the fleeing quarry through the land.

From brush and thorn, he built a blazing fire,And chose a tree to serve him as a spire.

A male Gur-e-Khar upon the spit he laid;Like one bird’s feather in his hand it weighed.

When roasted well, he tore the flesh away,And feasted deeply on the hunter’s prey.

He cracked the bones and drew the marrow sweet,Until the hunter’s banquet was complete.

When hunger passed, he stretched himself to rest,And sleep soon settled deeply in his breast.

Meanwhile proud Rakhsh roamed freely without rein,And grazed at will across the grassy plain.

Then seven or eight Turanian riders foundThe traces of his hooves upon the ground.

They followed them along the riverside,And saw the stallion grazing far and wide.

They formed a ring and cast their kamands fast,To bind the steed before the chance had passed.

But Rakhsh perceived their purpose, fierce and strong,And roared just like a lion at the throng.

He crushed two riders underneath his tread,And tore a third man’s head away as dead.

Three men lay slain, yet none could make him yield,Nor force the raging stallion from the field.

At last their kamands flew from every side,And caught him struggling in his strength and pride.

They bound him fast and led him toward the town,Each claiming his own share in their renown.

When Rostam woke, his first thought was his steed;He rose and sought for Rakhsh with urgent speed.

He searched the meadow, but no Rakhsh could find,And sorrow cast its darkness on his mind.

His heart grew heavy, parted from his men,And grief drove him toward Samangan again.

“Where shall I wander, shamed and on my feet?What path can lead me where my horse may meet?

Without my steed, how shall I cross the sand,Or face the battle-seekers of this land?

My quiver, gorz, my helmet and my blade,Babr-e Bayan cannot give Rakhsh’s aid.

The Turks will say: ‘Who stole Tahamtan’s steed?He slept as dead, and paid no watchful heed.’

Now helpless I must bear this grief and pain,Yet gird my arms, and seek what tracks remain.”

He took the road toward Samangan’s plain,His body weary, heart with sorrow’s strain.

When Rostam neared Samangan’s guarded gate,The king and nobles heard and would not wait.

“Great Rostam comes on foot; his Rakhsh has strayed,Lost at the hunting-ground where once he stayed.”

The nobles, each in ceremonial array,Went forth to meet him on the open way.

As all beheld him, wonder filled each one:“Is this great Rostam, or the rising sun?”

On foot the king came forth with eager pace;His gathered army filled the meeting-place.

He bowed and said: “What foe has barred your path?Who dared to test himself against your wrath?

All Samangan wishes you success;Each man obeys your word without protest.

Our wealth and bodies answer your command;Our nobles’ hearts and lives are in your hand.”

Then Rostam weighed the words the monarch said,And dark suspicion from his spirit fled.

“Within those fields my Rakhsh was roaming free;No bridle, halter bound my steed to me.

From stream and reeds his hoofmarks point this way;Each print has led me onward through the day.

Restore him, and my thanks shall be your due;Rich gifts will mark the service done by you.

But if no trace of Rakhsh should come to light,Your chiefs shall lose their heads before my sight.”

The king replied: “No man of noble nameWould dare to bring Tahamtan such a shame.

Be now my guest; set haste and wrath aside;All shall be ordered as you may decide.

Tonight with wine we shall revive the heart,And let these anxious thoughts awhile depart.

Harsh words and anger never serve the goal;With gentleness, the serpent leaves its hole.

Your Rakhsh is famed across the world around;A steed so known must quickly now be found.

We shall seek Rakhsh and follow every lead;Rest easy; we shall soon restore your steed.”

At this, the burden left Tahamtan’s mind,His anxious thoughts at last were left behind.

He judged the king’s own house the proper place,And gladly went beside him at his pace.

The king gave Rostam place upon the seat,Then served him humbly, standing at his feet.

He called the chiefs of city and array,And drove the ill-disposed from sight away.

He bade the cooks prepare the banquet fare,And spread rich tables for the chiefs to share.

The rud-players gathered, music filled the room,So Tahamtan might cast away his gloom.

Wine flowed; the rud gave music to the night,Dark-eyed Taraz beauties, rose-cheeked, bright.

At last, when wine had drawn him toward repose,He tired of sitting and at once arose.

With musk and rosewater they made his bed,A resting-place for Rostam softly spread.

At deep of night, while morning star rode high,A secret murmur moved beneath the sky.

The chamber door swung softly and then turned,And amber-scented candlelight there burned.

A handmaid entered, stately, calm, and bright,And bore the perfumed candle through the night.

Behind her came a maiden moon-faced, fair,Sun-bright, with color, fragrance in the air.

Her brows were bows; her dark hair streamed behind,Like coils of kamand in the night entwined.

Tall as a cypress, straight in form and height,She entered softly in the chamber light.

Her cheeks like Yemeni agate burned,Her mouth as narrow as a heart that yearned.

Her soul was wisdom, spirit filled her frame;No earthly dust seemed mingled with her flame.

Brave Rostam marveled at the wondrous sight,Blessed Yazdan, then addressed her in the night:

“Who are you, coming here while others sleep?What do you seek, what purpose do you keep?”

She said: “Tahmineh is the name I bear;Grief split my heart in two and left it bare.

I am the daughter of Samangan’s king,From royal blood my birth and lineage spring.

From lion and from leopard stock I traceMy blood; among crowned kings few match my grace.

No man beyond the curtain saw my face,Nor heard my voice outside its guarded place.

Yet I have heard your story far and wide,Like legend carried onward with the tide.

How Div and lion, leopard, nahang too,Have never raised a breath of fear in you.

How through black night alone to Turan you ride,And roam its marches, sleep cast all aside.

How lone you roast the Gur-e-Khar by fire,And make the air weep when you draw in ire.

The lion’s heart is torn beneath your blow;The leopard’s hide is ripped from head to toe.

The eagle, seeing your drawn sword flash bright,Forsakes its prey and turns away in flight.

The lion bears the scar your kamand made,Clouds rain down blood when your spear is displayed.

These tales I heard; I bit my lip in pain,And longed to see your shoulders, chest, and mane.

Now Yazdan brought your destined path this way,And led you into Samangan today.

If you desire me, I am yours tonight;I choose you freely, with my heart alight.

No other man shall ever see my face;For you alone I leave my guarded place.

For love of you has driven reason hence;Desire has overcome my guarded sense.

Perhaps the Maker may decree for meA son of yours within my arms to see.

May he be like you, strong of heart and limb;May Saturn and the Sun grant shares to him.

Besides, I shall restore your Rakhsh to you,And lay Samangan at your feet as due.”

The moon-faced maiden’s words at last were done,And Tahamtan had heard them one by one.

Great Rostam saw the pari-faced one shine,And wisdom in her every word and line.

She gave him hope that Rakhsh would soon be found,And all her purpose seemed both good and sound.

He called a Mobad, reverent and skilled,And sent him to the king, as custom willed.

“Ask for the maiden by the honored rite,And make this union lawful in his sight.”

The king, a noble cypress, heard with cheer,And welcomed Rostam’s bond with heart sincere.

With Tahmineh’s consent the pact was made,By rite and judgment, faithfully arrayed.

He gave his daughter by the honored rite,And joined her to the Pahlevan that night.

The people all rejoiced on every side,And blessed the Pahlevan and his new bride.

“May this new moon bring fortune where you tread;May every ill-wisher lose his head.”

In secret Tahmineh shared Rostam’s place,And long the dark night held them in embrace.

A famous mohreh from his arm he drew,And placed the token in Tahmineh’s view.

“If you should bear a daughter, let it lieSewn in her hair beneath a fortunate sky.

But if the stars should grant to you a son,Bind this, his father’s sign, when life’s begun.

In stature he shall match great Sahm’s own line,With noble heart and manly strength shall shine.

He shall bring down the eagle from the height,Nor shall the blazing sun oppress his sight.”

Through that long night they spoke of every theme,While darkness held the palace like a dream.

Then from the east the shining sun arose,And spread its light where earth in beauty glows.

He clasped her, kissed her eyes and kissed her head,And spoke his last farewells before he sped.

Tahmineh left him weeping at the break,With grief and pain her only path to take.

The king came in and asked how he had slept,And whether peace his resting chamber kept.

Then word was brought that Rakhsh at last was found;Rostam stroked him and strapped the saddle round.

He thanked kind Yazdan, giver of the good,For Rakhsh restored before him where he stood.

Like wind he rode toward Iran, deep in thoughtOn everything the night before had wrought.

He turned toward Zabulistan and spurred,And told no man what he had seen or heard.

At nine months’ end, a moon-bright child appeared,And all Samangan’s royal house was cheered.

He seemed the very form that Rostam bore,Like Sahm or Nariman in days before.

The infant smiled, his face grew fresh and bright,Tahmineh named him Sohrab with delight.

Within a month he seemed a year in height,His chest like Rostam’s, broad with growing might.

At three he trained with weapons of the field,At five a lion’s heart was there, revealed.

At ten no warrior in that land would tryTo test him armed beneath the open sky.

One day he came before his mother’s place,And spoke with boldness written in his face:

“Since none among my fellows match my height,My head seems raised beyond the heavens’ sight.

Tell me the seed and lineage that I bear,And name the father whose great blood I share.

What shall I say when others ask of me?Speak plainly now and hide no mystery.

And if you keep this hidden from my sight,You shall not live to see another night.”

His mother said: “Then hear me and rejoice;Be not too rash, but listen to my voice.

Your father is great Rostam, battle-tried,The Piltan whose renown spreads far and wide.

From Dastan, Sahm, and Nariman you spring,Renowned stock fit to stand beside a king.

Since the World-Creator set the world in frame,No rider yet has matched your father’s fame.

No peer to Sahm was known beneath the sky;The sphere itself dared not approach so high.”

She brought the letter Rostam sent of old,Three rubies and three heavy bags of gold.

“At birth your father gave these gifts to you,With words that proved your noble lineage true.

Guard these; they prove the lineage you claim,And show that Rostam is your father’s name.”

Then Tahmineh said low: “Now heed me well;There is one danger I must also tell.

Let Afrasiab never learn this thing,From first to last, nor hear whose son you spring.

He is your father’s foe, renowned and feared;All Turan mourns where Rostam has appeared.

If wrath for Rostam turns against the son,He may destroy you for what he has done.

And if your father, from these signs, should hearYou stand among the champions without peer,

He will demand you, call you to his side,And leave your mother wounded when you ride.”

Sohrab replied: “No secret can be sealed;Before the world, the truth will stand revealed.

Old warriors tell of Rostam, glorified;Why should my noble lineage be denied?

I gather from the warlike Turks a forceSo vast no power can turn aside its course.

I cast Kay Kavus from Iran’s high seat,And drive out Tus before my army’s feet.

Gorgin and Gudarz, Giv I shall bring low;Gostaham, Nohzar’s son, and Bahram feel the blow.

I give him gorz and horse, the royal crown,Then seat him where Kay Kavus is cast down.

Then from Iran to Turan I shall ride,And face Afrasiab in all his pride.

I seize Afrasiab’s royal seat in fight,And raise my spearpoint past the sun in height.

I fight like lion till I win renown,And set on you Iran’s imperial crown.

If Rostam is the father, I the son,No crowned king shall remain when this is done.

When sun and moon command the arching sky,Why should a lesser star raise crown on high?”

He said: “You soon shall see what I can do,But first a steed must bear me swift and true.

With iron hoof that shatters hardest stone,A powerful charger, fully strong and grown,

Strong as forged steel, yet swift through open sky,Like fish through sea, like deer that flashes by.

My mighty frame, my gorz, my gopal all,Demand a steed that will not bend or fall.

A warrior must ride to meet his foe;On foot, no champion seeks the battle’s blow.”

His mother heard and raised her thoughtful head,And toward the shining sun her gaze was led.

From mountain, hill, and plain the herdsmen came,And drove all horse herds in like smoke and flame.

They filled the city, brought from every side,That Sohrab choose a steed for war to ride.

When one appeared thick-necked and strong of frame,Sohrab stepped forth to put its strength to shame.

He cast the leather kamand round its neck,Then set his hand its gathered strength to check.

He pressed its back until its belly layUpon the earth; so did its strength give way.

Thus one by one he tried the strongest breed,And many broke beneath his mighty deed.

None proved a steed his battle weight could take;And grief began within the youth to wake.

A warrior from the gathering then drew near,And spoke to Sohrab words for all to hear:

“I have a young colt of noble Rakhsh’s strain,Lion-strong and wind-swift across the plain.

A mighty bay, he speeds across terrain,Like bird on wing before the driving rain.

No horse has matched his strength or rushing pace,No rider yet has found his equal’s trace.

His hoof makes ancient fish-bull weary below;Mountain-bodied, he leaps like lightning’s glow.

On mountain paths he flies as ravens fly,Through sea like waterbird he passes by.

Across the plain he shoots as arrow sped,And overtakes the foe who rides ahead.”

Sohrab laughed; his eager face grew bright,His former troubled mood dissolved in light.

At once they brought the fine-hued charger near,And Sohrab watched its noble form appear.

He tested him; the charger bore the strain,And proved himself fit for the battle plain.

He stroked his neck and girthed the saddle fast,Then mounted, seated like a mountain vast.

Like Bistoon’s peak he towered on the field,And raised a column-spear no man could wield.

He said: “Now such a noble steed is mine,My road to battle opens by design.

I make Kay Kavus’s bright day dark with gloom,And drive his royal glory toward its doom.”

He turned for home and readied warlike gear,His purpose set on Iran, sharp and clear.

From every side the noble-born drew near,Sword-bearing warriors, hearts devoid of fear.

He went before his grandfather and said,“Grant leave and aid for all the road ahead.

I long to ride to Iran without delay,And see my blessed father there one day.”

The king perceived the purpose in his mind,And opened all his stores of every kind.

He gave him crown and throne, the royal gear,A cap and girdle worthy of a peer.

With horses, camels, gold and jewels rare,And ample stores for battle everywhere.

He gave a battle khaftan, weapons bright,And marveled at the milk-fed warrior’s might.

His open hand supplied what war could need,And royal stores equipped him for the deed.

Then news of Sohrab’s enterprise was spread,Till Afrasiab heard what men had said.

Around the youth a mighty army grew,Like cypress in a garden, tall to view.

Though milk’s faint scent still lingered on his tongue,On sword and arrow all his thoughts were hung.

His khanjar scoured the earth across the plain,He sought Kay Kavus and his royal reign.

He gave no thought to any living man;His prowess rose above his birth and clan.

The tidings pleased Afrasiab; deep in guile,He formed his scheme and laughed a cunning smile.

He chose two chiefs whose heavy gorz won fame,Men seasoned well in battle’s fiercest flame.

Houman and Barman, battle-tempered pair,Who faced the lions and would never spare.

Twelve thousand chosen warriors formed their train,Then Afrasiab made his purpose plain:

“Keep this design concealed from every ear;Let not its hidden purpose once appear.

The son must never know his father’s face,Nor learn the blood that joins their ancient race.

When they shall meet, Tahamtan seeks the fray,And battle shall decide them on that day.

If Sohrab strikes old Rostam down to clay,Then we shall press and sweep our foes away.

With Rostam gone, Iran shall lose its shield,And Kavus and his throne to Turan yield.

Then in his sleep one night we seize the boy,And end the force we first chose to employ.

But if the father kills his only son,His heart will burn when that dark deed is done.”

The captains heard; they left the royal hall,With gifts and message, answering the call.

Ten horses and ten mules they led in train,All saddled, loaded for the open plain.

A turquoise throne on ivory feet appeared,A bijadeh crown with pearl-work finely tiered.

A gracious letter bearing royal seal,To Sohrab spoke with promise and appeal:

“Take Iran’s throne; let ancient quarrels cease,And grant the world from endless struggle peace.

Samangan, Iran, Turan, side by side;Their borders join; no distant realms divide.

I send whatever troops your plans require;Sit on the throne, wear the crown you desire.

No chiefs in Turan match the men I send;Houman and Barman shall your cause attend.

Command them in the battle as you will,And make your enemies’ resistance still.”

They bore the robe of honor, letter sealed,With laden mules and horses for the field.

When word came that the envoys reached his land,He girt himself to meet the royal band.

Like wind he rode, his grandfather beside,To greet the envoys where the field lay wide.

He saw the army massed in ordered rows,And joy within the youthful hero rose.

When Houman saw his neck and mighty frame,He marveled that the rumor matched the fame.

With Barman, he presented every prize,The letter, arms, and gear before his eyes.

Then both delivered Afrasiab’s command,And placed his spoken purpose in Sohrab’s hand.

When Sohrab read, he struck the koust aloud,And drove his army through the roaring crowd.

No force could stand against him in the fight,No lion, no nahang, could check his might.

His force advanced toward Iran’s guarded line,The ranks rolled forward under battle sign.

He burned each dwelling place along his course,And left no settled home before his force.

White fortress stood, a bastion firm and high,Iran’s hope rested there beneath the sky.

Brave Hajir held command within its wall,A battle-tested chief, renowned by all.

With sword and arrow ready for the foe,His strength and courage armed him for the blow.

Young Gostaham, though still in youth, was wise,And valor shone already in his eyes.

His sister too was famed upon the rein,A warrior rider bold in battle’s strain.

As Sohrab neared, Hajir beheld the foe,And armed at once to ride against the blow.

Upon a wind-foot charger Hajir sped,And from the fortress gate to battle fled.

Sohrab grew wrathful, drew his gleaming blade,And charged alone from where his ranks were laid.

“You ride alone and rashly to the fray;Now stand, draw rein, and hear what I shall say.

Tell me your name and lineage in this place;Your mother soon shall weep to lose your face.”

Hajir replied: “No comrade do I need;Alone I face you, armed for any deed.

Hajir am I, sepahbod tried and true;My sword shall sever life and head from you.

Your head I send to Kavus as my sign,Your flesh I leave for carrion birds to dine.”

Then Sohrab laughed and spurred his charger fast,And both men hurled their spears in one swift cast.

So swift the cast no watching eye could trace,As each drove forward into combat’s face.

Like fire came Sohrab, elephant in force,A moving mountain seemed his charging horse.

Hajir drove hard his spear at Sohrab’s side,But found no opening where the point might glide.

Then Sohrab swung the butt-end of his spear,And hoisted Hajir from the saddle clear.

He hurled him down, a mountain-mass of stone,And dread within the fallen chief had grown.

Dazed both in heart and mind, the warrior lay,His strength and spirit scattered by the fray.

Sohrab dismounted, sat on him, and drewHis sword to cut the fallen warrior through.

But Hajir rolled to right beneath the blade,And begged for quarter, shaken and afraid.

Sohrab granted quarter, pleased to let him live,Then counsel long and stern began to give.

He bound him fast and sent him from the field,To Houman as a captive forced to yield.

Within the walls they learned the bitter fate,That Hajir had been taken from the gate.

Then men and women raised their grieving call:“Hajir is taken from among us all!”

When word arrived that Hajir had been bound,Gordafarid grieved deeply at the sound.

She cried in grief and drew a bitter sigh,A cold breath rose as sorrow dimmed her eye.

Renowned in battle, rider fierce and famed,The daughter of Gazhdaham was acclaimed.

Gordafarid, peerless in warlike art,Took up her arms with steady hand and heart.

She hid her hair within her jowshan, woundBeneath a Roman helmet iron-bound.

She mounted swift, her armor closely braced,And rode beyond the gates with measured haste.

Like some fierce lion breaking from its lair,She crossed the field with speed and martial air.

A wind-foot charger bore her toward the ranks,Her thunderous cry rolled out along their flanks.

She cried aloud in tones that shook the plain:“What force is this, and who commands this train?

What champion stands among you, bold and strong,To test himself against me, right or wrong?

Who dares to turn against me in the fray,And like a fierce nahang obstruct my way?”

No warrior came; then Sohrab saw her ride,He bit his lip and laughed in sudden pride:

“Another Gur-e-Khar comes to my snare,Drawn by a strength it cannot hope to bear.”

He donned his khaftan, set his helmet right,And rushed at once to meet her in the fight.

He rushed before the maiden, swift and fleet,And drove his charger straight where they would meet.

Gordafarid drew back her tempered bow,And sent her arrows whistling at the foe.

No bird could cross the space before their flight,So thick her arrows veiled the field from sight.

No path remained beneath her arrow rain;She wheeled and struck on either side the plain.

Sohrab felt shame; then anger made him glow,He raised his shield and charged against the foe.

She saw him coming, blazing like a fire,She slung her bow and leveled spear in ire.

Her charger reared, its crest against the cloud,The field beneath its thunder answered loud.

She turned the spearpoint straight toward Sohrab’s chest,And drove with all the fury she possessed.

Then Sohrab raged and leapt with leopard’s speed,And wheeled against her on his charging steed.

Like Azargashasp he blazed upon the field,His deathly spear outstretched, his wrath revealed.

He met her stroke and struck her at the waist;Her armor tore apart beneath his haste.

He swung her from the saddle, light and small,As polo mallet strikes the flying ball.

Though shaken, she held firm; she never shrank,But drew her sword to close upon his flank.

She struck his spear and split its shaft in two,Then turned away and from the struggle flew.

She fled at speed; he gave his dragon rein,And thundered after her across the plain.

He pressed her hard; the world grew dark with dust,And near her shoulder drove with furious thrust.

He seized her helmet as he closed in fight,And tore it free, revealing her to sight.

Her hair fell loose, her face shone clear and bright,Like sudden dawn that breaks the edge of night.

Her head and loosened hair deserved a crown,He stared as shining tresses tumbled down.

He paused and cried: “A woman rides to war!No field has shown me such a sight before.

A daughter from Iran has joined the fray,And met me armed upon the field today.

If maidens such as this ride out in arms,What warriors stand behind them in alarms?

Their mounted chiefs must raise such dust on high,It darkens all the turning wheel of sky.”

He cast his kamand, caught her at the waist,And held her fast before she could make haste.

“Why seek escape?” he said. “What brought you here?No prize like you has ever drawn me near.

Like Gur-e-Khar, you cannot break this snare;By force alone you will not leave my care.”

She saw no path but cunning left to choose,And shaped her words, determined not to lose:

“O lion among warriors, hear me well;Two armies watch, and what they see they tell.

Now that my face and loosened hair are shown,What honor comes from pressing me alone?

Men will declare you drove me from the field,And forced a maiden warrior to yield.

Do not prolong this struggle to your shame,Or let a woman’s battle stain your name.

Let silence hide what happened on this plain,And spare yourself dishonor and disdain.

Let wisdom rule; it is the great man’s art,Invite no blame before these ranks depart.

This fortress, wealth, and all its guarded storeAre yours already; why seek battle more?

The army and the fortress are your prize;Choose peace when peace is offered to the wise.”

She showed her face; her parted lips revealedTheir pearls, a garden of the blest unsealed.

Her eyes were a gazelle’s, her brows an arc,Beneath which heaven opened from the dark.

A cypress seemed to rise within that place,No gardener had grown one with such grace.

Then Sohrab said: “Stand firm by what you swore;You saw my strength upon the field of war.

Trust not these walls, however high they rise;No fortress wall can reach the wheeling skies.

My gopal’s blow will cast them to the ground;My spear will leave their ruined stones around.”

Still in his kamand, she turned her rein,And led him back toward the fortress terrain.

Gazhdaham waited where the gate stood wide,And watched his daughter struggle toward his side.

The gates flung wide; she drew herself inside,Still bound and worn, alive and dignified.

They closed them fast; alarm and grief arose,As word ran through the fortress of their woes.

For Hajir’s bonds and Gordafarid’s plight,The people grieved throughout the troubled night.

Gazhdaham came with nobles in his train,And praised her courage after battle’s strain.

“O lion-hearted chief, we feared for you;Both fight and cunning proved your wisdom true.

No foe has harmed you, nor has marred your name;Thank Yazdan, you are back, and free from shame.”

She laughed, then climbed the rampart’s lofty height,And saw Sohrab still mounted for the fight.

She cried: “O Shah of Turks and Chin, why stay?Turn back your army; ride from here away.”

Sohrab replied: “Fair-faced one, hear me swearBy crown and throne, by sun and moon; beware:

I mean to raze these walls and claim my prize;You will repent those words and mocking eyes.

When helpless in my grasp you writhe in pain,What then becomes of vows? What will remain?

Repentance then will bring you no relief,When turning heaven strips your crown in grief.”

She laughed again and scornfully replied:“No Turk can win himself an Iran bride.

It was not fated I should fall to you;Take no offense; there is no more to do.

Among the Pahlevans you stand alone;Your arms and shoulders make your prowess known.

But when the Shah receives the news one dayThat Turan’s army marches in array,

He will bring Rostam, whom you cannot fight,And all your troops will fall before his might.

What fate will fall upon your head, who knows?Yet pity for your neck and shoulders grows.

What pity if so fine a youth were slain,And fed the leopards on the battle plain.

Do not put too much trust in strength and pride;The foolish ox consumes its very side.

The wiser course is this: withdraw your men,And turn your army toward Turan again.”

Sohrab felt shame, yet thought the fortress wonBefore the rising of another sun.

Below the fortress lay a settled ground,The stronghold rose above that tract around.

He gave the settled fields around for spoil,And let his men lay bare the fertile soil.

Then for a while he held his forces back:“The day grows late; we must suspend attack.

At dawn we raise such dust beneath this wall,That war’s alarms will echo through each hall.”

He turned his charger from the gate again,And rode back to his camp among his men.

When Sohrab turned and left the field behind,Old Gazhdaham grew troubled in his mind.

He called a scribe and bade him take his place:“Write every word; this danger gathers pace.

To Kavus, Shah whose glory crowns the age,I write as Fortune turns with sudden rage.

A battle-seeking army fills the plain,Its warriors press on with loosened rein.

One lion-youth commands them, fierce and keen;His years do not exceed a bare fourteen.

He towers like a cypress, straight and fair,His face shines like the sun through morning air.

A lion’s chest, a cypress-towering frame,Proclaim a strength no common youth could claim.

Among the Turks no arm or gorz compares;No warrior’s hand such crushing power bears.

When Indian steel is lifted in his hand,The sea and mountain seem too frail to stand.

No thunder’s roar can equal his command;No sword cuts sharper wielded in this land.

No peer in Iran or Turan is found;No warrior like him walks the battleground.

His name is Sohrab, fearless in the fray;No Div or elephant holds him at bay.

You would believe you saw great Rostam’s face;Of Nariman he bears the living trace.

Brave Hajir girt himself and took the rein,His swift horse bore him outward to the plain.

Before an eyelid had the time to close,Their contest flashed and ended as it rose.

Before a scent could climb from nose to crown,He plucked Hajir from horseback, set him down.

He lives beneath Sohrab’s zanhar still,His mind oppressed, his body bent by ill.

Turanian riders I have seen in force,But none could turn the rein or master horse.

If any Iranian meets him face to face,No living man could drive him from his place.

No granite peak would I set to impede;The earth would pity it beneath his steed.

If you delay and do not bring your men,Nor set an ambush or prepare us then,

Then Iran’s farr will leave this troubled land,His sword will cast the world beneath his hand.

His strength could seize the age and make it bow;No man alive could master Sohrab now.

No horseman like him ever rode the plain;You would say Sahm himself had seized the rein.

Our champions’ fortune sleeps beneath his blow;His greatness rises where the heavens glow.

Tonight we load our goods and leave this place,Before his strength can close upon our trace.

We must not linger where his banners loom;To stay is only to invite our doom.

No fortress wall can stand against his blow;A lion at his charge would turn and go.”

At night he sealed the letter he had penned,And called a trusted rider at the end.

He gave the sealed dispatch, and bade him heed:“Ride hard and do precisely what I need.

Before the dawn, be hidden from their sight;Let none among that army mark your flight.”

The rider bound the letter at his side,Then rose at once and swiftly left to ride.

At dawn, when sunlight crowned the mountain height,The men of Turan armed themselves for fight.

With spear in hand, young Sohrab took the rein,His swift horse bore him forward from the plain.

He meant to seize the warriors in the hold,And bind them like a flock within the fold.

He neared the walls; no warrior barred the way,Then roared like lion eager for the fray.

The gates stood open; Sohrab entered through,No battle-ready warrior met his view.

His army entered, searching court and hall,But Gazhdaham was nowhere found at all.

For in the night the fortress chiefs had fled,With Gazhdaham, who rode out at their head.

A secret passage ran beneath the ground,Unknown to every foe encamped around.

Both guilty men and those without a stainCame forth to Sohrab, hoping life to gain.

Each sought some means by which his life might last,And begged for mercy till the danger passed.

He searched the halls for Gordafarid’s face,But found no sign of her in any place.

For love and bond had rooted in his heart,And from his thoughts her image would not part.

“Alas,” he said, “the shining moon is gone;Beneath a cloud her radiant face withdrawn.”

Gazhdaham’s letter reached Kay Kavus’s hand,And grief arose at what he learned was planned.

He called the chiefs who held the army’s lead,To hear the tale and counsel on their need.

Before Iran’s Shah the nobles took their seat,To weigh the danger and the threat they might meet.

Tus and Gudarz, Keshvad’s son of fame,With Giv and Gorgin, Bahram, Farhad came.

Before these chiefs he read the warning through,And told what Gazhdaham had seen the youth do.

He said: “This danger may grow long and grave;Gazhdaham’s words leave little hope to save.

What shall we do? What remedy is known?What man in Iran can face him alone?”

They spoke as one: “Send Giv to Zabul, ride!Call Rostam, Iran’s strength and nation’s pride.

Tell him the Shah’s own throne now stands in dread,And peril over all Iran has spread.

Tell Piltan to come swiftly to the field,The army’s pillar and its strongest shield.”

Then Kavus sat beside his scribe, hard pressed,For urgent peril gave no room for rest.

The Shah commanded: “Write to Rostam now,And bless the Pahlevan of noble brow.

Say: ‘Keep your judgment clear, your spirit bright;A grave new threat has risen into sight.

A Turanian chief has marched with armed array,And seized White Fortress standing in his way.

He holds the stronghold with his warriors massed,And bars the road so none may travel past.

A warrior fierce, peerless in heart and frame,An elephant in strength, a lion-heart aflame.

No man in Iran dares to meet his hand;You alone can break him where you stand.

In every trial, none but you can aid,When danger falls and Iran stands dismayed.

You are the heart and backbone of our line,Through you Iran’s warriors rise and shine.

The lion’s claw and strength are yours to wield,Our champions take heart when you take field.

You took Mazandaran in all its pride,And broke our chains in Hamavaran’s tide.

The sun shall weep beneath the gorz you raise;Nahid shall burn before your sword’s fierce blaze.

No elephant on earth can match your might,Nor stand before you armed for battle’s fight.

The Nile is nothing beside Rakhsh’s dust,That clouds the earth beneath his charging thrust.

Your kamand catches lions in their stride,Your spear can split the mountain’s rooted side.

In every trial Iran looks to you;Through you her helmed ranks rise with courage new.

A bitter danger now confronts the throne;Its weight I cannot carry on my own.

The chiefs have read the words Gazhdaham sent,And all agree on what his warning meant.

They chose brave Giv to bring this news to you,And urge the course that Iran must pursue.

He bears Gazhdaham’s letter as he rides,So you may weigh the good and ill it hides.

When you have read it, whether day or night,Waste no time talking over this new plight.

If flowers rest within your hand, move fast;Do not delay to smell them; hurry past.

Ride out from Zabul with your mounted band,And raise the war-cry through the troubled land.

For if his words be true in every part,No other man can match his strength and heart.’”

The Shah then sealed the letter without stay,And gave it into Giv’s hands straightaway.

He said to Giv: “Press on and urge your horse;Let speed alone now determine your course.

When you reach Rostam, do not sleep or bide;If night has fallen, turn at dawn and ride.

When Rostam hears, let nothing hold you still;In Zabul do not rest or eat your fill.

Say: ‘War is near and presses hard on all;The Shah commands that you obey this call.’

And tell him this new foe must well be weighed;No foe like this should ever be downplayed.”

Giv took the charge and rode without delay,No rest, no sleep restrained him on the way.

He pressed his mount along with tireless speed;Nor bread nor water checked his urgent need.

Near Zabul, scouts announced a rider near,And Zal received their warning loud and clear:

“From Iran comes a rider wrapped in dust,His road-worn steed still races at his thrust.”

Then Rostam rode to meet him on the plain,With nobles armed and warriors in his train.

When Giv drew close, they all got down to greet,And Rostam asked what news had sped his feet.

He asked of Iran and of Kavus then,What news had stirred the Shah among his men.

They went within to Rostam’s eyvan hall,And sat awhile to rest from journey’s call.

Then Giv recounted all that he had heard,Of Sohrab, Hajir, fortress, deed, and word.

He gave the letter, gifts the Shah had sent,And told the good and ill of its intent.

Tahamtan laughed when he had read it through,Then marveled at the report, strange and new.

“A rider like great Sahm? Such strength is bredWithin our line, through noble blood long spread.

Among Iran’s freeborn such men are famed;Among the Turks no equal can be named.

No man can tell the root from which he came,Nor what deep source has shaped his strength and frame.

The king of Samangan’s daughter bore my son,But he is still a child, his years scarce run.

That boy knows nothing yet of spear or war,Nor of the clash that shakes the battle’s roar.

I sent his mother gold and jewels all,And word returned: before long he would grow tall.

Still milk’s scent lingers on his youthful lip,Yet soon he may take sword and spear in grip.

In time his lion-arm will gather might,And seek the roaring tumult of the fight.

Then cypress-tall champions, proud and strong,Will bow their heads when once he comes along.

But what you claim; that he has come afield,Has struck Hajir and forced his arm to yield?

You say he hurled Hajir from off his steed,Then bound him in his kamand at speed.

No lion’s whelp, however bold and grown,Could reach such strength before full years are known.

Come, let us go to Dastan’s noble hall,And there consider what has caused it all.

We shall learn what Turanian fortune raised,And judge what root has fed the strength you praised.”

They sat in Dastan’s palace for a while,At ease together after road and trial.

Then Giv spoke up: “O chief of crown and throne,May glory shine through all the strength you have shown.

Kavus declared: ‘Let Rostam not delay;Though night has come, depart at break of day.

May war find all our forces armed, prepared;Come now, before the realm is left impaired.’

So let us ride with haste; Iran has need,For each delay may let disaster breed.”

But Rostam said: “There is no cause for dread;All things at last are dust beneath the tread.

Think not today of Kavus or the fight;Let wine now wet our thirsty lips tonight.

Let us remain today in ease and cheer,And take some wine while friends and kin are near.

Tomorrow we shall ride to Kavus then,And show the road to all Iran’s brave men.

Perhaps our generous fortune sleeps today;Else this affair would scarcely bar our way.

This matter is a trifle, nothing more;No racing flame withstands the ocean’s roar.

My banner seen from far will shake his will,And turn his feast to mourning, cold and still.

Were he like Rostam, Zal’s own son, in might,Lord of the sword and gopal in the fight,

Or were he Sahm, courageous, wise, and bold,Whose strength in battle shamed the chiefs of old,

Such men would never rush into the fray;So this affair should cause us no dismay.”

They raised their cups to Zal and Shah with cheer,And drank until clear judgment disappeared.

Next morning Rostam, heavy from the wine,Made ready for the road, then changed his mind.

Still held by wine, he stayed throughout the day;The second dawn his promised ride gave way.

Still dulled by drink, he bade the cooks prepareA feast, and soon the board was rich with fare.

When food was done, they called for wine to pour,For rud and song, and drank as days before.

Next day another brilliant feast was spread;The third dawn found the wine-cup raised instead.

Of Kavus and his summons none took heed;But on the fourth day Giv prepared his steed.

He said, “Kavus is headstrong, quick to rage;He sees grave danger rising at this stage.

He neither ate nor slept nor found repose,As fear and anger through his spirit rose.

By lingering so long in Zabul’s land,We press him hard beyond what he can stand.

His temper will ignite; in angry moodHe may seek vengeance, rash, and start a feud.”

But Rostam answered, “Put this fear away;No man on earth will rise against us today.”

He ordered Rakhsh made ready to depart,While bronze neys called the warriors to start.

Then Zabul’s horsemen gathered for the ride,A mighty force in jowshans at his side.

Above them all, as foremost in command,He named Zavareh chief of all that band.

As Rostam neared the court, Tus crossed the plain,With Gudarz riding in his warlike train.

A full day’s road they traveled out to meet,The champion came riding, proud and fleet.

They left their steeds and hailed him with acclaim,Then mounted, and beside him on they came.

And Rostam too dismounted from his steed;The chiefs inquired of him with gracious heed.

They came before the Shah with spirits light,And bowed in full observance of his right.

But Kavus answered not, nor showed them grace;A darkened fury settled on his face.

Like some wild lion raging from the wood,He stormed in wrath where once in calm he stood.

At Giv he first unleashed his bitter spite,Then turned on Rostam, burning in his sight.

“Who is this man who scorns my royal call,And counts my summons as no thing at all?

Were there a sword beneath my hand this day,His head should fall; a citron, cast away.

Seize Rostam now! Go hang him from the height!Let him not stand before my royal sight!”

At this, Giv’s wounded heart within him burned,To see the Shah against great Rostam turned.

The Shah grew fierce, enraged at both, and stern;The court stood stunned to see his anger burn.

He turned to Tus: “Go take them both and bind!Hang them at once and leave no trace behind!”

He sprang upright as fire through dry reeds flies,While wrath burned red and bitter in his eyes.

Tus stepped ahead and seized him by the hand,To lead him out, obeying the command.

But Rostam, rising fierce in sudden flame,Replied in words that put the court to shame:

“Your every deed grows worse with each new choice;No king should rule by fury in his voice.

Kingship does not suit the course you take;A ruler’s wrath should not the kingdom shake.

Hang that Turk alive if you crave display,Then turn your rage upon the field of fray.

Rum, Sagzar, Mesr, Chin have yielded ground;Mazandaran, Hamavaran were bound.

All these lie prostrate under Rakhsh’s tread,Their hearts by sword and crossbow struck with dread.

You live through me; then turn your rage from me;Let war receive the fury you set free.”

In fury Rostam struck Tus with his hand;Tus reeled beneath a blow he could not stand.

As when a raging elephant might poundA tabira; headfirst Tus crashed to ground.

Then Rostam strode beyond the royal hall,And left in rage before the eyes of all.

He mounted Rakhsh, his anger bearing down:“I slay the lion; I bestow the crown!

When anger wakes, what power has Kavus then?What fear have I of kings or armed men?

And who is Tus, to lay his hand on me?When I grow enraged, who can Kavus be?

My strength is mine from God and God alone;No king or army gives the might I own.

I entered life a free man, not a slave;I serve the Maker who my spirit gave.

The earth my servant, Rakhsh my royal seat;My gorz decides which foemen face defeat.

My sword my signet, helmet as my crown;My spear and gorz strike the enemy down.

My two strong arms and heart are sovereign here;No earthly crown can make their purpose veer.

My shining sword makes darkest night grow bright,And scatters heads across the field of fight.

The warriors once would crown me Shah of all;They set the crown and throne before my hall.

I would not take the crown when it was mine;I kept the ancient law, the royal line.

Had I accepted what they offered then,You would not rule among Iran’s crowned men.

I raised Kay Qobad up to royal height;What need have I of Kavus’s borrowed might?

From Alborz I brought Qobad to the crown;My hand raised up the king of great renown.

Without that deed, Iran’s own belt and bladeHad never marked the kingdom we had made.

Without my hand, what greatness would you wield?You would not boast so boldly in the field.

What care I now for Kavus’s empty claim?His words are wind that cannot stir my name.

Go save yourselves; Sohrab will soon appear,And leave no great nor lowly standing here.

Make haste and flee while time remains your friend;Without my arm, all Iran meets its end.

The land is yours; the vulture’s wings are mine;I leave you now, and cross no more this line.”

He struck his steed and rode in burning rage,While fear and grief possessed both chief and sage.

His very skin seemed splitting from the strain,As fury burned through every bone and vein.

The nobles trembled, for their strength had fled;Without their guide, their hopes and courage bled.

For Rostam was the shepherd, they the fold,And now the fold stood shepherdless and cold.

Then Giv and Gudarz, Bahram, Rohham came,With Gorgin too, and grieved at Rostam’s shame.

They said, “This breach is yours alone to mend;The Shah may hear you where he spurns a friend.”

They turned to Gudarz: “You must mend this break;Your words alone can make the blind Shah wake.

Go, speak to him with patience and with tact;Perhaps your words may yet undo this act.”

“Rostam has risked his life in every need;No rescuer has matched him word or deed.”

They spoke of all his deeds in former years;The trials he faced, the strength that quelled their fears:

“In Mazandaran Divs had bound the Shah;Who broke his chains and struck their hearts with awe?

For Rostam faced the Divs, stroke on stroke,And from their bonds the Shah and nobles broke.

For him what toil and hardship Rostam bore;The dread Div’s liver with his strength he tore.

He set the rescued Shah upon his throne,While chiefs acclaimed the valor he had shown.

When Hamavaran held the Shah confined,Who cut him free and left his chains behind?

In Hamavaran, fetters held the king;Rostam slew kings and broke the captive ring.

If this be how his service is repaid,Then none should stay, and none should come to aid.”

“Now action calls; delay will deepen shame,For this disgrace has stained Iran’s great name.”

Then Gudarz hurried to the Shah to plead,And spoke with measured force that fit the need:

“What wrong has Rostam done to earn your scorn,That you would drive this hero out forlorn?

Why raise such dust through Iran in this strife?Why hang the man whose arm has saved your life?

A king should never speak in reckless heat;Such words make royal dignity retreat.

Have you forgotten Mazandaran’s night,And how he saved you in that desperate fight?

When Hamavaran held you bound and low,Who broke your chains and struck your greatest foe?

If he departs and Sohrab takes the field,What strength remains for you to hope to wield?

Gazhdaham has seen him; heed his warning plain:No man but Rostam should confront his strain.

If Rostam goes, who meets that wolf-like youth,When Gazhdaham has warned us of the truth?

A king with Rostam standing at his side,Who drives him off has wisdom cast aside.

Recall his service; weigh it in your mind;No gain is born when loyalty is maligned.”

The Shah grew still, and reason found its place;He saw his fault and owned his deep disgrace.

The Shah said, “Age gives counsel worth the cost;The old see roads that younger eyes have lost.

A king needs wisdom; haste and rage mislead;No lasting good can spring from violent speed.”

“You speak the truth,” he said, “your counsel stands;Go bring him back; restore him to my hands.

Tell him my anger rose beyond control;I now repent the storm within my soul.

Bring Rostam back before my royal sight,That this dark soul of mine may turn to light.”

Then Gudarz rode along the hero’s way,With chiefs beside him pressing through the day.

They caught him, saying, “May your life be long;May fortune keep your spirit bright and strong.

May all the world lie subject to your view,And may the throne’s high seat belong to you.”

They gathered round and spoke in earnest tone:“Return in honor; the Shah calls you home.

He spoke in wrath; his anger now has died;Return, for all Iran has lost its guide.”

“You know that Kavus has no brain,” they said;“In haste he speaks, then mourns the words he spread.

You know the Shah: his wrath will quickly rise,Then cool as swiftly when regret grows wise.

Whatever wrong the Shah has done today,Iran itself should not be made to pay.

He gnaws the back of his own hand in shame,Repenting every word that fed the flame.”

But Rostam said: “I need no royal aid;My throne is Rakhsh, my fame by battle made.

My helmet is my crown, jowshan my gear;My heart is pledged to death and knows no fear.

Kavus is nothing but a handful of dust;Why should his anger govern what I trust?

I freed him once from chains that held him down,And led him back again to throne and crown.

I fought the Divs in Mazandaran’s field,And Hamavaran’s kings I made to yield.

Whenever foes had caught him in their snare,I broke his bonds and drew him from despair.

I fear but Yazdan; no monarch shakes my will.I stand as I have stood and shall stand still.”

The gathering grew cold at Rostam’s word;No answer through the silent ranks was heard.

Then Gudarz spoke with sharpened, subtle art:“Men say you fear this youth with lion’s heart.

They whisper: ‘Rostam shrinks from Sohrab’s might;His courage fails before the coming fight.’

They say Gazhdaham read the danger clear;That even Rostam now gives ground to fear.

If Rostam fears him, who can hold the field?Then you and I should both withdraw and yield.

Will you permit such slander to remain,And let base tongues your hard-won honor stain?

Sohrab is all the court will speak of now;Your fame is judged by what you do, and how.

The army now is hard pressed in this fight;Do not make crown and throne grow dark tonight.

From Turan comes a shame we cannot hide;Will you not rise and turn the rising tide?”

Tahamtan stared, astonished by the claim;Then wounded honor kindled into flame.

The hero’s spirit flared at that sharp blow:“I fear no man, as all the nations know.

I turned away from insult, not from fight;Let none mistake my purpose or my right.”

He turned his steed and rode back through the gate,Kay Kavus rose himself and did not wait.

“Impetuous haste is rooted in my soul;It mastered me and drove me past control.

This sudden foe struck all my courage low;My heart grew thin as the new moon’s first glow.

To you I looked for cure when danger came;Your late arrival set my wrath aflame.

Forgive my haste; repentance burns me sore,I filled my mouth with dust upon the floor.”

Then Rostam said: “The world bends to your will;Your servants, we stand ready to fulfill.

I stand prepared before your royal gate,To do your will and meet the coming fate.”

The Shah said, “Champion, may fortune blessYour heart and spirit always with success.

Let joy return and gladness fill this day;Tonight we feast, tomorrow march to fray.”

He had a royal pleasure-hall made fair,Like springtime gardens filled with scented air.

He called the chiefs and scattered gems around,Then feasted till deep night had veiled the ground.

Silken strings and reed-notes filled the hall,While jasmine-faced attendants served them all.

Their talk recalled the deeds of mighty men;They drank till heart and eye grew dim again.

Each wine-dazed warrior then sought his bed,While weary night dragged on with heavy tread.

The sun cut through night’s black and hanging veil,And from behind its curtain dawn grew pale.

Kavus told Giv and Tus: “Sound now the koust;Let trumpeting elephants thunder loose.”

He opened wide the treasury’s guarded store,And gave the troops their pay and rations more.

He called the mounted army into train,And loaded beasts with baggage for the plain.

A hundred thousand mailed and mounted menSet forth in ranks that stretched beyond the ken.

Their horses raised such dust across the way,The darkened air concealed the face of day.

For two full mil the tents and pavilions spread,While hooves and elephants concealed earth’s bed.

The air turned indigo, the earth grew black;The plain shook under every booming koust attack.

The khesht and zhupin flashed through dusty air,Like fire behind a lapis curtain’s glare.

Spearpoints and standards crowded every view,In countless shapes and colors as they flew.

Gold-covered shields and battle-gear shone bright,And scattered gleams through all the darkened light.

An ebony cloud gathered overhead,And showers of sandarac from darkness spread.

No man could tell if night or day remained,As though the Pleiades and heaven had waned.

They marched until the fortress rose ahead;Through dust, both stone and earth from sight had fled.

A watchman cried from high upon the wall:“The army has arrived before us all!”

Sohrab climbed swiftly to the rampart’s height,And gazed across the vast and moving sight.

He pointed toward the ranks that filled the plain:“Look, Houman; shoreless rolls this human main.”

When Houman saw the army’s endless sweep,His heart grew fearful and his breath drew deep.

Then Sohrab said: “Cast fear out of your heart;No worthy champion there can match my art.

Among that boundless force no gorz-wielding chiefCan ride against me or bring them relief.

Though men and weapons crowd the field in might,No famed sepahbod comes before my sight.

Through Afrasiab’s fortune, on this plainI make a sea where now the dust has lain.”

He climbed down from the wall, and had no care,His heart still joyful, free of all despair.

He called the wine-server: “Bring me a cup,”And drank, while battle waited to rise up.

Meanwhile before the fortress, on the plain,The Shah’s pavilion rose above his train.

So many tents, pavilions, men were spread,No space on plain or mountain showed its head.

At dusk, when night drew down its shadowed veil,And darkness spread across the mountain trail,

Tahamtan came, his waist for battle bound,With vengeance in his heart, his purpose sound.

Before the Shah he stood and sought consent:“Let me go forth alone with this intent.

Without a helm or belt I shall discernThe youth, his chiefs, and what command they earn.”

Kavus replied: “This task becomes you well;Go forth alert, and may good fortune dwell.

May Yazdan guard you everywhere you go,And grant sound judgment as you face the foe.”

In Turk-like guise, concealed from watchful eyes,He crossed the lines beneath the darkened skies.

He reached their camp and heard the Turks rejoice,With wine and revelry and shouting voice.

Like a male lion moving among deer,He passed unseen, without a trace of fear.

He viewed their chiefs and marked them one by one;His face bloomed bright at what his eyes had won.

He moved still deeper through the festive throng,Where lamps were bright and cups and music strong.

There Sohrab sat where lamps and wine were spread,In splendor on the feast-throne at the head.

Beside him Zhendeh Razm held one side,While Houman, Barman sat in equal pride.

Like some fresh cypress Sohrab filled the throne,In stature such as none around had shown.

His arms like camel thighs were thick with might,His chest a lion’s, broad and built for fight.

His face was blood-red, youthful, fierce, and bright;No peer among those warriors met his sight.

Around him sat a hundred youths in pride,Like mighty lions gathered at his side.

And fifty bracelet-wearing servants stood,Attending him with spirits bright and good,

They praised his stature, sword, and signet ring,And blessed the fortune shining round their king.

Apart, unseen, the watchful Rostam lay,And marked the youth who ruled that bright display.

When Sohrab armed to march with spear and shield,Tahmineh called her brother from the field.

Zhendeh Razm, son of Samangan’s king,Was one whose aid she trusted in this thing.

He had seen Rostam at the feast before;She bade him journey with her son to war.

“When armies meet in battle on the field,Show him his father before lots are sealed.”

Then Zhendeh Razm rose on some affair,And left the feast while music filled the air.

He saw a cypress-tall man in the shade,Whose equal nowhere in the ranks was made.

He came to Rostam, challenging aloud:“Who are you, stranger, hidden from the crowd?

Come to the light and let me see your face;No unknown man walks freely through this place.”

Then Rostam struck one fist against his neck;The blow allowed no warning and no check.

His soul departed at that single blow;He fell before he had a chance to know.

There Zhendeh’s days of feast and war were done;No banquet or new battle would be won.

Sohrab sat waiting, watching toward the door,But Zhendeh did not cross the banquet floor.

At last, he wondered at the long delay,And sent his men to seek him where he lay.

They went and found him fallen in the night,Struck down and stilled, deprived of life and might.

They cried aloud and hurried back in fear,To bear the dreadful tidings to his ear.

They told Sohrab: “Zhendeh Razm is slain.”Like smoke he rose and hurried through the train.

With servants, candles, minstrels to the place,He stood in shock before that lifeless face.

He called his wise and lion-hearted peers:“No man shall sleep; keep bright and ready spears.

A wolf has entered where our flock was penned,And tested dog and man from end to end.

It dragged one sheep from warriors standing round,And left it bloodied, humbled on the ground.

If the Creator lends His aid to me,When hoof strikes earth, my vengeance you shall see.

My kamand from the saddle I shall throw;On Iran’s ranks my vengeance then shall flow.”

He turned and took his place upon the throne;Though Zhendeh’s empty seat stood stark and lone,

The feast resumed, but joy had lost its flame;No cup could make the gathering seem the same.

Meanwhile unseen, great Rostam left their ground,And made his way where Iran’s guards were found.

There Giv kept watch; he saw a figure near,Drew sword and shield and challenged without fear.

He roared like some mad elephant at bay,And raised his shield to bar the stranger’s way.

Tahamtan knew that Giv kept watch that night,Iran’s own picket stationed for the fight.

But Rostam laughed and called to Giv nearby;Giv knew his voice and lowered sword from high.

On hearing Rostam, Giv dismounted then,And came on foot to meet the chief of men.

Giv asked him, “Where have you been all this night,Alone on foot beyond the guards’ dim sight?”

Then Rostam told him all that he had done,And how one blow had slain the fallen one.

Giv blessed him: “May your horse and gopal stand,And saddle ever answer your command.”

Then Rostam came before the Shah again,And told him of the feast of Turkish men.

He spoke of Sohrab’s height and arm in war,His strength and bearing none could long ignore.

“Among the Turks no youth like him has grown;A straight young cypress in the ranks was shown.

In all Iran or Turan none compares;You would say Sahm the horseman’s form he bears.”

“Then Zhendeh Razm,” he said, “has breathed his last;He will not feast again nor face war’s blast.”

They spoke awhile, then called for rud and wine,And held the feast until the dawn’s first sign.

Yet all the while the army stood prepared,In ordered ranks, with every weapon bared.

When morning raised its shield of burnished flame,A tongue of fire from heaven upward came.

Sohrab put on his jowshan, took his steed,A mighty bay charger born for warlike speed.

Across his chest an Indian saber lay,His helm flashed fiercely with the birth of day.

His kamand hung in coil on coil below,Prepared from saddle at the foe to throw.

He climbed a height and scanned the spreading plain,Where Iran’s troops lay stretched in ordered chain.

He summoned Hajir to the rocky height,And fixed him with a gaze as hard as night:

“An arrow always flies straight toward its aim;Let truth, not cunning, govern word and name.

A bending arrow strikes with weakened might;The straight shaft finds its target in its flight.

Speak clearly now; let nothing false intrude,Nor cloak your thought in shadowed servitude.

Tell me the chiefs, the Shah, the troops arrayed;Speak truth, or learn how falsehood is repaid.

Speak truth, and from my hand you shall go free;In every gathering honored you shall be.

I offer wealth beyond what kings bestow;But crooked speech earns chains and prison’s woe.”

Hajir replied: “Ask what you wish to hear;I shall reply, free of deceit or fear.

Why should I twist the truth that I can give?A straight-told word is how the just must live.

No calling stands more honored among menThan keeping faith when truth is asked of them.

Deceit is loss that festers from within;It buys no gain, but multiplies the sin.”

Sohrab replied: “Then answer what I claim,Of every noble chief, each honored name.

Of Giv and Tus, of Gudarz, Bahram bold,Of Rostam; tell me all that can be told.

That brocade court before us richly spread,With leopard tents and elephants ahead,

Seven-hued pavilions rise in royal state;A hundred elephants stand ranked in wait.

A turquoise throne beneath the golden shine,A sun-marked flag and golden moon align.

Who sits enthroned within those guarded walls?”Hajir replied: “The Shah commands those halls.

Before his court the elephants stand massed,And lion-hearted chiefs hold his realm fast.”

“And there,” said he, “upon the right I seeA mass of riders drawn in symmetry.

Black tents enclose them, men in ordered pride,With baggage, troops, and tents on every side.

Behind them elephants stand dense and near,While golden boots flash bright from front to rear.

An elephant is stamped upon their sign;What chief commands beneath that battle line?”

“Tus,” Hajir said, “of Nohzar’s kingly vine;His proven strength in war has made him shine.”

“And there,” said Sohrab, “those red ranks I mark,With lion banners blazing fierce and stark;

Their lances burn; their jeweled banners glow,While steadfast warriors guard each ordered row.

What chief commands that blazing battle band?”Hajir replied: “Gudarz directs that stand.

Son of Keshvad, in war of proven skill,Whose strength and counsel bend all things to will.

Twice forty sons attend his lion line;No force withstands their onset or design.”

“Now there,” said Sohrab, “green pavilions rise,With ordered troops drawn up before my eyes.

A throne is raised where Kaveh’s flag appears;A giant warrior sits among his peers.

His shoulders vast, his stature raised in height,He stands a head above the gathered might.

Before him stands a charger fierce and tall,A beast that seems to thunder over all.

The charger roars until the ranks recoil;You would think the sea beneath its feet would boil.

His kamand hangs down to the charger’s feet,Prepared for any champion it may meet.

Armored elephants stand before his place,While he sits restless, fire upon his face.

No man in Iran rises to his height;No horse like his appears within my sight.

A dragon marks the banner at his side;What chief is this of such commanding pride?

Above the dragon, on the spearpoint high,A golden lion gleams against the sky.”

Hajir thought deeply: “If I now reveal,This youth may strike before our wounds can heal.

Far better hide him than betray the land;Let silence guard the strength at Iran’s hand.”

He answered: “One from Chin came as a guest,A notable man the Shah received and blessed.”

Sohrab pressed on: “Then speak and name the man.”Hajir replied: “I do not know, nor can.

I was within the fortress when he came;That is the reason I cannot tell his name.”

Sohrab grew troubled, searching still in doubt;His mother’s signs stood plain and all about.

He saw them, every one, upon that field,Yet still his eyes refused what they revealed.

Again, he pressed, but fate had sealed his sight;Truth stood just past the boundary of his might.

“Whose camp lies there,” he asked, “so far apart,With wolf-marked banner raised above its heart?

There horsemen, elephants, and ranks array;The karnay’s cry rolls thunder through the day.

Its golden wolf-head rises toward the height,A throne within, with servants robed in light.”

Hajir replied: “There Giv commands the band,A noble chief well honored in the land.

Son of Gudarz, foremost of his line,Rostam’s own son-in-law, in war he shines.”

“And there,” said he, “that white pavilion gleams,With ordered men arrayed in martial streams,

More than a thousand horse before it glow,With shield- and javelin-bearers, row on row.

Within, one sits high on ivory throne;What prince is this whose rank is clearly shown?

A teakwood seat on ivory, ornate;Rank after rank of servants stand and wait.”

Hajir replied: “There Fariborz you see,The Shah’s own son of royal pedigree.”

“And there,” said Sohrab, “those yellow lines I mark,With saffron banners burning through the dark,

A boar is stamped upon the foremost sign,A silver moon crowns high the staff’s design.

What warrior leads that force?” Then Hajir cried:“Guraza leads, and holds firm at their side.

He comes from Givgan stock, alert and wise;Through pain and hardship, steadfast he will rise.”

Thus Sohrab sought the signs his father bore,While Hajir hid it, as he had before.

The World-Creator wrote what was to be;No hand escapes the course of destiny.

Again he asked of Rostam’s form and sign,The towering steed, the kamand’s looping twine.

Hajir replied: “I hide no name from you;That man from Chin is one I never knew.”

Sohrab grew sharp: “You hide what should be shown;You veil a truth that surely must be known.

That chief of chiefs could never stay concealed;His form would mark him out across the field.

You say he guards the marches of the land;Then why is he not here to take command?”

Hajir replied: “He feasts in gardens fair,With wine and song, and free of battle’s care.”

Sohrab said: “Then shame must mark his name;He feasts while others march to meet the flame.

If he were here, he would lead the van in might,And stand where fiercest warriors join the fight.

If Rostam feasts while all the chiefs draw near,Then every tongue will turn to laugh and jeer.”

Sohrab continued: “Hear me and be plain;I ask but once; the truth I would obtain.

If you reveal the truth and guide me right,I will raise your rank and set your fortune bright.

I will fill your hands with gold beyond your need,And free your life from danger by the deed.

But if you hide the truth I now demand,Your life will fall beneath my single hand.”

The Mobad said, when wisdom he unsealed:“A word held back is like a gem concealed,

Still held within the stone, beyond all sight;Once freed, it shines a jewel clear and bright.”

Hajir replied: “He seeks the strongest foe;The mightiest fall beneath his battle blow.

His anvil-breaking gorz can crush a band;Two hundred mighty bands fall at his hand.

Whoever meets him when the battle cries,May see his severed head hurled toward the skies.

No elephant alive can match his might;No champion stands before him in the fight.

Beside the dust that Rakhsh can raise in course,The Nile is nothing underneath his horse.

A hundred warriors’ strength is in his frame;No other man can bear so vast a name.

He towers higher than a lofty tree;No man beside him stands in symmetry.

When wrath consumes him in the battle’s course,No lion, elephant, or man can check his force.

When Rostam drives across the battle plain,No ordered rank before him can remain.”

Sohrab replied: “Your praise has passed all bound;No man so vast within the world is found.

Then woe to Gudarz, Keshvad’s noble line,If one like you should bear that house’s sign.

Why praise this Rostam past all measured worth?No man can carry such a fame on earth.

You make a giant greater than mankind;Such fear has clouded judgment in your mind.

Your fear is fire before the laughing sea;The ocean rests from any terror free.

What warriors have you seen in battle’s course?You have not heard the hoofbeats of a horse.

When the green sea rises, fire loses breath;Its racing flame sinks powerless toward death.

And darkness sleeps when from the eastern heightThe sun draws forth its sword of living light.”

Hajir then thought: “If truth I now reveal,This youth will break what none could hope to heal.

Better I die than loose this hidden flame,And bring on Iran everlasting shame.

If Rostam falls, no avenger can remain;Then Kavus’s throne may pass beneath his reign.

To die with honor is a worthy lot;To live while foes rejoice, a lasting blot.

Let warriors rise when I have met my death;Let vengeance follow on my final breath.

Besides myself, old Gudarz still can callOn eighty valiant sons within his hall.

Giv, Bahram, Rohham, Shidush will remain,And none will leave my blood upon the plain.”

Hajir stood firm and would not shift his ground;In silence still, his purpose held him bound.

He chose to die rather than tell the truth,And shield Iran from this destructive youth.

While cypress roots stand fast within the glade,The pheasant need not scent the common blade.

Then speaking out, he said: “Why seek that name?What need compels this restless search for fame?

You ask what I know not, then threaten blood;Seek no false pretext for a crimson flood.

You seek to break Piltan upon the field;He is no easy man to force to yield.

Tahamtan will not yield beneath your blow;Seek not his battle; he will lay you low.”

When Sohrab heard the warrior’s warning plain,His heart grew dark with doubt and inward pain.

He hid his face and answered not a word,Then turned aside, bewildered by what he heard.

He struck Hajir and cast him to the ground,Then stood in thought, by anger and purpose bound.

He girded up for vengeance, wrath his guide,And cast his golden crown at once aside.

He donned his jowshan, khaftan, for the fight,A Roman helmet on his head shone bright.

That mighty lion-youth took up his gear:His bow, his gorz, his kamand, and his spear.

His blood ran hot with ardor through each vein;He mounted fast and charged with loosened rein.

Like some mad elephant he stormed the field,His spear drove on; no warrior made him yield.

He drove ahead as dust rose toward the sky,And veiled the moon’s bright face as he swept by.

He struck the Shah’s pavilion, spear in hand,And lifted up its canopy so grand.

The chiefs fled off like Gur-e-Khars in dread,Before a lion with its claws outspread.

His foot in stirrup, hand upon the rein,His tempered spear flashed level on the plain.

They cried among themselves in anxious fear,“What monstrous champion are we facing here?

An elephantine hero none can break,Whose very sight makes hardened warriors quake.

Who dares confront him in the open plain?What man will stand and not be struck or slain?”

Then Sohrab raised his voice in scornful cry,And hurled his challenge to the monarch high:

“O king who claims the realm and holds command,How fares your charge today? Where do you stand?

Why bear the name of Kavus, famed in fight,If you cannot endure a lion’s might?

If I but turn this spear within my fist,Your army’s life will vanish like a mist.

The night Zhendeh Razm died, I swore this vow,And bound it to the honor of my brow:

No spearman of Iran shall keep his breath;And Kavus, hanged alive, shall meet his death.

Now send your champion forth to meet my hand;What man among you dares before me stand?”

He spoke and waited; silence gripped the field,No voice from Iran’s gathered lines would yield.

He bent and tore the tent-pegs from the ground;At one great wrench, seventy came unbound.

One section of the royal tent caved in,And karnay thundered terror through the din.

Kavus cried out in fear to all his band,“O men of noble name throughout the land!

Go bear this word to Rostam, tell him straight:A warrior comes who brings us bitter fate.

Our wits are lost before this Turk’s great might;No warrior remains to stand and fight.

No man of Iran dares to meet his hand;Go swiftly now and carry my command!”

Then Tus went forth and told the hero all,And Rostam answered, hearing of the call:

“Each former Shah who summoned me beforeCalled me to feast, or else to wage a war.

But Kavus summons only strife and pain;No rest, no peace, but toil that yields no gain.”

He looked and saw that Giv was standing near,While saddled Rakhsh stood ready in his gear.

And Gorgin cried, “Make haste! Delay no more!”While Rohham cinched the girth for coming war.

Tus brought the bargostvan for Rakhsh to wear,While every warrior armed and stood prepared.

“Make haste! Make haste!” The tumult filled the ground,And Rostam heard the rising, restless sound.

He thought, “Ahriman’s hand is in this fray;No single man could raise so wild an array.”

He donned his Babr-e Bayan for the fight,And bound the Kayanian girdle tight.

He mounted Rakhsh and rode with purpose grim,And left Zavareh to command for him:

“Advance not till my word is sent ahead;Obey no other order in my stead.”

They bore his standard as he rode to war,Fierce for the fight, rage kindled long before.

He saw Sohrab’s great limbs and towering chest,As broad as Sahm, in strength above the rest.

He said, “Withdraw with me beyond the line,And let us test your strength alone with mine.”

Then Sohrab rubbed his hands, well satisfied,And from the Iranian ranks he stepped aside:

“Come then,” he said, “great men require no aid;Between us two this battle shall be weighed.

You have no place upon this battlefield;One blow from me would make your life-breath yield.

Your frame is vast, your limbs and neck are strong,But age has drained the force they bore so long.”

Then Rostam studied Sohrab’s hands and height,His stature, breadth, and bearing for the fight.

Then Rostam looked upon the youth and spoke;No pride or anger through his answer broke:

“Fair youth, the earth is cold and dry below,Though words between us warm and gentle flow.

These eyes have seen full many blood-soaked sands,And many Divs have fallen by these hands.

Yet never have I met defeat in war;Now let us try what fate has marked us for.

If you survive my hand when battle’s near,Then even nahang has no cause for fear.

Both sea and mountain saw what I have doneAgainst Turan; the stars know battles won.

My strength has pressed the world beneath my feet,Yet pity stirs before our weapons meet.

Leave off the Turks; with Iran’s warriors stand;No equal arm or shoulder marks this land.

Do not throw such a noble life away;I have no wish to take your breath today.”

At Rostam’s words, young Sohrab’s heart leapt high;He said, “One question; give me true reply.

Tell me the truth of your ancestral line,And make my heart rejoice with some clear sign.

I think that you are Rostam, Zal’s great son,Whose line from noble Nariman has run.”

But Rostam answered, “Do not make that claim;I am not he, nor born of Zal’s great name.

Great Rostam is the Pahlevan in might;I am a lesser warrior in his sight.

I own no throne, nor share so high a fate;Nor do I hold his rank or royal state.”

Sohrab despaired; all former hope withdrawn,And all the brightness faded from the dawn.

Sohrab, still musing on his mother’s word,Rode out with spear, his troubled spirit stirred.

They chose a narrow field, hard-packed and tight,And drove short spears together in the fight.

Their points were shattered and their shafts were shorn,Then both turned reins to left as shafts were torn.

Then wheeling round, with Indian blades they closed,And sparks like lightning from their weapons rose.

Their blades rang out like thunder, stroke on stroke,As if the Day of Doom upon them broke.

Then each took up the gorz with crushing might,And bent the iron in the press of fight.

Their horses’ bargostvans all fell and tore,While jowshans ripped beneath the blows they bore.

Their chargers reeled beneath the iron hail,The riders strained, their battered jowshans frail.

Their jowshans rent, their strength turned into pain;Both hands and arms grew weak beneath the strain.

With sweat-drenched limbs and mouths all choked with dust,Their tongues cracked dry beneath the battle’s thrust.

At length they parted, wearied to the bone,The father in grief, his son with courage flown.

O world! Your workings none can understand;Both whole and broken lie within your hand.

No love arose within that deadly space;Reason stood far; affection hid its face.

The Gur-e-Khars, the fish beneath the foam,Know their own young, however far they roam.

But man, through toil and desire led astray,Knows not his child when standing in his way.

Then Rostam thought: “I never yet have seenA nahang come to war with force so keen.

Compared with this, the White Div’s fight was light;This youth has made me doubt my former might.

The hand of one yet green upon the field,No famed or noble chief, has made me yield.

A youth unknown among the ranks of fameHas tested all the strength that bears my name.

Long years have brought me to my fill of strife;Two armies watch us struggle life for life.”

Their steeds refreshed, their bows restrung for war,They wheeled and loosed their arrows as before.

The young and old stood equal in the test;No age gave either strength or ease or rest.

Jowshan, khaftan, Babr-e Bayan turned each course;No arrow pierced the armor with its force.

With troubled hearts, they seized each other’s belt,And grappled hard beneath the strain they felt.

Now Rostam, had he seized Black Mountain’s height,Would tear it free with overwhelming might.

Yet when he grasped his belt to cast him down,The youth sat firm upon the saddle’s crown.

His body yielded nothing to the strain,And Rostam’s practiced grip could nothing gain.

He loosed the girdle, stunned by what he found,And stared at Sohrab, rooted to the ground.

Both lion-warriors, weary from the toil,Drew back exhausted, sick of war’s turmoil.

Sohrab raised high his heavy gorz again,And spurred his steed to strike at Rostam then.

He struck the hero’s shoulder, gorz in hand,Yet Rostam bore the pain and still could stand.

Sohrab laughed loud: “You cannot bear the blowsA champion gives when battle round you grows.

Your horse seems an ass beneath you in fight;Your hands alone still show a warrior’s might.

Though cypress-tall, old age is on your head;Youth makes an old man foolish in its stead.”

Each weakened under what the other dealt;The field grew narrow from the force they felt.

Each, humbled by the other, turned away,Troubled in heart and spirit from the fray.

Then Rostam, leopard-like, attacked their side,And scattered Turanian troops both far and wide.

Then Sohrab struck at Iran’s gathered force,And loosed among their ranks his battle-horse.

His gorz struck many famed men to the ground,And broken ranks fled wildly all around.

Wolf-like, he scattered every rank alike,And none could stand before his deadly strike.

Then Rostam’s heart grew dark with inward dread;“Kavus shall suffer from this youth,” he said.

“This newly risen Turk in khaftan strong,With arms like these, will bring us harm before long.”

He hastened back toward camp with anxious mind,And there beheld the slaughter left behind.

He saw Sohrab amid the shattered dead,The earth beneath him ruby-dark and red.

His spearpoint, khaftan, hands were red with blood;Hunt-drunk he seemed amid that crimson flood.

Then Rostam, raging like a lion, cried:“Bloodthirsty Turk! Whom have you now defied?

Why stretch your hand against the whole array,Like wolf among the flock that bars your way?”

Sohrab replied: “Turan’s army had no shareIn this affair; no guilt was theirs to bear.

You turned against them first and sought the fight;No man among them challenged you outright.”

“The day grows dark,” said Rostam. “Night is near;Tomorrow’s sword will make the outcome clear.

This field holds gallows, pulpit, both arrayed;The shining world lies underneath the blade.

May you not die, who lift the blade so youngThat still the milk is scented on your tongue.

At break of day our vengeful swords shall testWhat the World-Creator wills; till then, we rest.”

They parted, and the face of air grew dim;The heavens stood astonished over him.

It seemed his warfare shaped the very sky,That knew no rest while he kept charging by.

His steed seemed iron, bronze his mighty frame;His spirit seemed a wonder none could name.

Dark night had fallen as he reached his tent,His waist chafed sore by iron battles spent.

Sohrab said: “Today the sun arose;The world grew full of battle’s cries and blows.

What did that daring rider say to you,With lion’s claws and champions’ bearing too?

What came upon my army in the fray?No man like him I know beneath the day.

What did he say, what did his strong arm show?He matched my strength when we exchanged each blow.

Though old, he seems a lion fierce and dire;Of war and combat he can never tire.

Across the world I know no other manWho girds for vengeance as that warrior can.”

Then Houman said: “The Shah commanded, ‘Stay’;Our army was not to move from here today.

The moment battle opened on the plain,Our every undertaking turned to pain.

One battle-seeking warrior came in sight,And turned against our mighty ranks to fight.

He seemed as though from drunkenness awake,To wage the whole war single-handed for its sake.

He raised the dust of battle far and wide,And many of our fighting men there died.

Then turning back, he spurred his horse away,And raced toward his own army from the fray.”

Sohrab replied: “Yet none among our braveAnd famous champions did he send to grave.

I laid full many men of Iran low,And mixed the earth with blood beneath each blow.

While you did nothing more than stand and see;None came to aid; what use was that to me?

Had even a lion dared to cross my way,My heavy gorz would never let it stray.

The tiger, leopard, lion I disdain;My arrowhead draws fire down like rain.

When warriors meet the fury in my eyes,The armor on their bodies breaks and flies.

Tomorrow dawns the great day of the fight;The wolf from sheep shall stand revealed to sight.

By God, the World-Creator, this is true:No enemy shall live when battle’s through.

Now spread the board and bring the wine tonight,And wash the grief from every heart with delight.”

Then Rostam looked upon his army’s state,And spoke with Giv of what had passed of late.

He asked, “How did that battle-testing youthSet foot in combat today? Tell me the truth.”

Then Giv replied: “No champion have we seenLike him in battle, terrible and keen.

He thundered to the center in his course,And sought out Tus in vengeance from his horse.

Tus stood on foot, his spear held for the fight;As one came down, the other mounted light.

When Sohrab saw him with the spear held high,He roared just like a lion with its cry.

His curving gorz crashed hard against his breast;The helmet flew beneath that savage test.

Tus could not stand against him and withdrew;Then many champions sought the combat too.

No champion there could rise to match his might;Save Piltan, none stood equal in the fight.

We kept the ancient custom of the field;No army moved against him, spear or shield.

No rider dared alone to seek the fray;We yielded him the field and stood away.

No horseman then approached him one by one;He ranged from center to the right beneath the sun.

From side to side he thundered in his course;Beneath him proudly pranced his battle-horse.”

Then Rostam heard, and sorrow filled his breast;He went to Kavus with a heart oppressed.

The Shah beheld the Pahlevan draw near,And placed his seat beside the throne, held dear.

Then Rostam spoke of Sohrab’s height and force,And told the Shah his strength throughout the course.

“No youth so young has ever shown such might,Such lion-manhood in the press of fight.

He reaches toward the stars with towering height;The earth can scarcely hold his form upright.

His arms and thighs were camel-thick and strong;His force in battle rose above the throng.

With sword and arrow, gorz and coiled kamand,We tested every weapon hand to hand.

At last I thought, ‘How many in my dayHave I raised from the saddle and cast away.’

I seized the leather girdle at his side,And all my strength against the binding tried.

I meant to wrench him headlong from his seat,And cast him down as others at my feet.

Had mountain rock been loosened by the gale,I still could not unseat that youth or make him fail.

I turned away because the hour was late;The moonless night had closed the field’s dark gate.

Tomorrow we shall meet once more and tryOur strength in single wrestling, he and I.

I shall strive hard and see who wins the fight,And learn from that what Yazdan deems is right.

For victory and power come from His hand;He made the sun and moon at His command.”

Then Kavus said: “May pure Yazdan rendThe evil-wisher who would bring your end.

Tonight before the Maker I shall bow,And press my face upon the earth in vow,

That He may grant you power over your foe,This evil Turk who brings us grief and woe.

May He renew your withered fortune’s flame,And raise up to the sun your honored name.”

Then Rostam said: “With royal farr as guide,Each worthy wish shall surely be supplied.”

Back to his camp the Pahlevan withdrew,Deep in his thoughts, with vengeance still in view.

Then Zavareh came near with wounded heart:“How went today’s fight for you from the start?”

Rostam first asked for food and ate his fill,Then washed troubling thought from heart and will.

He told his brother: “Keep your senses clear;Be watchful; do not let rash haste draw near.

At early dawn, when I go to the plainTo meet that Turk whose challenge does not wane,

Bring forth my army, standard, throne of state,And golden boots; have everything await.

Stand massed before my royal tent and gate,When from the east the risen sun stands straight.

If I prevail when battle is begun,I will not linger when the field is won.

But if the matter turns another way,Do not lament or give your hearts to dismay.

Let not one man ride out to take my stead;Seek no new battle if you find me dead.

Go all together back to Zabul’s plain;Seek out Dastan; from new battle refrain.

And you, make my dear mother’s heart content:‘This judgment Yazdan on my head has sent.’

Tell her: ‘Do not bind your heart to mine,Nor grieve forever after my decline.

No mortal in this world forever stays;I blame not heaven for the end of days.

I slew the lion, Div, the leopard strong,And brought the nahang low through battles long.

I leveled fortresses throughout the land;No foe has ever gained the upper hand.

Who sets his foot in stirrup to departHas knocked at death’s own door before the start.

Though life should reach a thousand years or more,The road and outcome wait at the same door.

Remember lofty Jamshid’s royal height,And Tahmuras, who bound the Divs in might.

The world remained for neither; both have passed;I too must take this road; my lot is cast.’

Then tell Dastan this counsel from his son:‘Turn not away from Iran’s sovereign one.

If Kavus makes for war, do not delay;Go as the Shah commands in every way.

For old and young alike must meet their end;No one remains forever, foe or friend.’”

Half of the night was spent on Sohrab’s tale;The other half in sleep beneath night’s veil.

The sun rose bright; the raven of the nightFolded her black-plumed wings and left the height.

Then Rostam donned his Babr-e Bayan bright,And armed his chest to meet the coming fight.

He mounted Rakhsh, a dragon fierce and fleet,Whose fury shook the earth beneath his feet.

Two farsangs lay between each army’s place;No warrior dared to cross the empty space.

An iron helmet fitted to his head,Great Rostam rode toward the field of dread.

All bitterness is born of grasping greed;May kinship never serve that bitter need.

Young Sohrab drank among his gathered men,While rud strings sounded; then he spoke again:

“That lion-warrior who has faced my mightIs like myself in stature and in height.

In shoulder, arm, and breast we seem the same,As though one hand had shaped us both in frame.

His foot, his stirrup, and his rider’s seatAwake a tenderness I cannot defeat.

I mark those signs and feel affection rise;A sudden shame comes warm across my eyes.

My mother spoke of signs that I now see;They rise again and stand revealed to me.

My heart forewarns me he may be that man,Whose name is honored wide in every land.

Few bear such likeness; few could stand so tall;No common warrior answers to that call.

I fear to strike; what if this man should beThe one my mother named with tears to me?

How could I raise my hand against his face,If he and I are bound by blood and race?”

Then Houman said: “I faced him in the field;I heard what Mazandaran was forced to yield.

That rider’s Rakhsh has something of the same;Yet strikes the ground not as the true one came,

Nor leaves the selfsame print upon the ground;In hoof and gait, true Rakhsh is not so found.”

At break of dawn the sun began to rise,And waking warriors opened battle-eyes.

Sohrab put on his khaftan for the fight;His head held war, his heart the feast’s delight.

He came roaring across the battlefield,An ox-headed gorz his mighty hand would wield.

He came to Rostam smiling, free of guile,As though last night they shared the feast awhile.

“How passed your night? How fares your strength today?Why turn again toward strife and bloody fray?

Cast down your gorz and sword; lay vengeance by;Let hatred fade and anger’s fire die.

Come, let us leave this battlefield aside,And feast together, seated side by side.

Let wine restore the spirit and the mind,And leave the rage of war and death behind.

Before the World-Creator turn from blood,And choose a path kept clean of war’s dark flood.

My heart turns toward you with a strange accord;Shame wets my face before I lift the sword.

Reveal yourself; concealment brings no gain;A worthy man should speak his name out plain.

Tell me your lineage, speak and make it known;What house and heritage you call your own.

Are you not Rostam, sprung from Zal’s great line,Whose glory through the ages still shall shine?”

Then Rostam answered, steady, cold, and clear:“You speak too boldly of a name you hear.

Last night we spoke, not thus, but of the testOf strength in wrestling, where the brave are pressed.

Do not suppose such words can lead me wrong;I will not be deceived, however strong.

Though you are young, I am no child to cheat,Nor one to cast my arms down in defeat.

I stand for combat, firm in what I do;The end shall show what fate has set for you.

I have seen fortune rise and fall from view;I trust no trick, nor any scheme untrue.”

Then Sohrab’s face grew hard, his voice grew cold:“You have rejected all that I have told.

I wished your life might end at home in bed,Not here beneath a warrior’s hand lie dead.

I would have spared you from a soldier’s end,And left your kin the proper rites to tend.

But now, if Yazdan has decreed it so,My hand shall strike and lay your body low.”

They left their steeds and stepped upon the ground,Then faced each other where no man stood round.

They tied their battle-steeds to stones nearby,Their hearts oppressed beneath the open sky.

They grappled then like lions locked in strain,Their bodies pressed in fury and in pain.

From dawn they struggled, neither gave nor bent,Each testing strength with full and fierce intent.

Their sweat and blood ran freely in the fight,Yet neither yielded ground nor broke outright.

At last Sohrab surged forward like a wave,With sudden force no mortal strength could brave.

He seized the girdle with a sudden strength,And wrenched so hard the field shook through its length.

He gave a cry that shook the battleground;It seemed earth’s face had split beneath the sound.

He raised the hero, hurled him to the ground,With all his mighty weight and force profound.

He pinned him like a lion with its kill,A male Gur-e-Khar helpless to its will.

Dust filled the air and covered Rostam’s face,As Sohrab held him firmly in that place.

Then Sohrab drew his water-blue khanjar bright,Prepared to sever Rostam’s head outright.

But Rostam cried: “O lion-catcher, stay;O kamand-thrower, hear what I must say.

For gorz and sword and arrow, custom knowsA law our fathers kept against their foes.

One fall alone gives no man leave to kill;A second throw must prove the victor still.

Only the second fall permits the blow;Then custom grants the right to slay the foe.

No man will call this killing foul or base;Among our ranks, such custom has its place.”

So Rostam spoke, to save his life and breath,And turn aside the hand that threatened death.

By cunning still he sought to break awayFrom dragon’s grasp and live another day.

The young man bowed to what the elder said,And took the words as truth within his head.

One cause was courage, second was the time;The third his javanmardi at its prime.

He turned away into the desert wide,Where antelope went crossing at his side,

And gave himself to hunting all that day,Nor thought of him he left upon the clay.

After a time came Houman to his tent,And questioned him on how the combat went.

Sohrab described the struggle from the start;Then Houman cried with terror in his heart:

“Have you grown weary of your life and name?Why cast away the fruit of strength and fame?

Your stature, stirrup, strength deserved more thought;Why loose the lion you had fought and caught?

The lion you had held within your hand,Now freed, will rise again and make his stand.

You let him go when death was in your grasp;Now fear the day you draw your final gasp.

Tomorrow’s fight will show what this has cost;Such foolish mercy may leave all things lost.

A wise man once declared this warning plain:No foe is small, nor any threat is vain.”

He spoke; then Houman gave up hope for him,And stood amazed, his heart with sorrow dim.

Yet Sohrab said: “Put all such fears away;Tomorrow’s fight will show what fate will say.

He will return, and then you all shall seeHis neck beneath the yoke imposed by me.”

He turned aside, still angered by his choice,And went to camp, still hearing Houman’s voice.

But Rostam rose, a cypress as before,Released from Sohrab’s grip and death’s dark door.

He sought a running stream with weary tread,Like one whose soul returned to one thought dead.

He drank and washed the dust from head and frame,Then prayed before the World-Creator’s name.

He did not know what sun and moon designed,Nor what the hidden portion they assigned.

Nor how the turning heavens would descend,And strip his crown when fortune reached its end.

Men say the Maker gave him strength so great,His feet sank deep in stone beneath his weight.

That boundless strength became a crushing load;He prayed to Yazdan as he walked the road.

Pure Yazdan heard and eased his mountain frame,And curbed the strength no mortal force could tame.

But facing Sohrab, fear had pierced his heart;He sought the strength that once had set him apart.

He prayed once more: “Pure Yazdan, strength restore;Grant me the power that once I held before.”

Pure Yazdan heard, and strength returned, and grew;His limbs regained the mighty force they knew.

He turned toward battle, pale and deep in thought,And sought again the youthful foe he fought.

Like a mad elephant Sohrab charged the foe,Kamand on arm, and in his hand his bow.

His lion’s roar rolled over all the ground,His stallion made the earth and world resound.

When Rostam saw him charging in his wrath,He stared in wonder, weighed him on his path.

When Sohrab saw him, youthful pride arose;He marked his farr and strength before the blows.

“You slipped alive from my lion’s grasp;Why come again where these same hands can clasp?

Why have you come again before my sight?You turn your face from truth and what is right.”

They tied their steeds while hostile fortune wheeled,And doom above them shaped what fate concealed.

When fate grows harsh and lifts its hidden hand,Hard stone grows soft beneath its stern command.

They closed in wrestling, belt to belt they strained,Each testing what the other’s strength retained.

Sohrab’s strength seemed fettered in the fight,As though high heaven had bound his arms outright.

Then Rostam, troubled, seized him by the neck,The warlike nahang, holding him in check.

The gallant youth, whose time had reached its end,Felt strength depart and could no more contend.

Then like a lion striking down its prey,Rostam dashed Sohrab upon earth that day.

He knew the youth would rise if left alive,And drew his khanjar lest he should revive.

He struck and opened wide the fallen breast;By that dark blow, fate’s sentence stood expressed.

Who thirsts for blood and stains the water-blue bladeShall find that Time has thirst for him repaid,

And every hair upon his body thenShall turn into a khanjar’s point again.

Sohrab writhed and breathed a bitter sigh,Then left all thought of good and ill to die.

He said: “This came upon me from my deed;And Time placed in your hand what fate decreed.

You bear no guilt; crooked Time’s commandRaised me, then struck me down with its own hand.

My peers will make a mockery of my name,That one so tall lies dust-bound in his shame.

My mother told me how to know my sire;I sought him long with hope and deep desire.

I searched in love, and now in grief I die,My labor lost beneath this turning sky.

My quest is vain; in vain my labor wrought;I die without one sight of him I sought.

Though he were fish concealed beneath the sea,Or hidden deep where night itself might be,

Or like a star beyond all mortal sight,My father still would rise to avenge my plight.

When brick becomes the pillow for my head,My father will avenge this blood I shed.

Some warrior yet will bear to him this claim:‘Your son who sought you lies in grief and shame.’”

Then Rostam heard, and all his senses failed;The world grew dark; his face and spirit paled.

He fell upon the ground in stunned despair,And lay there senseless, stripped of strength and care.

At last he rose, his voice a broken thread:“What sign of Rostam do you bear?” he said.

“I am that Rostam; let my name depart;No warrior speak it when my life shall part.

And let Zal, son of Sahm, sit down this dayAnd mourn my death, and mourn my name away!”

He tore his hair and raged in anguish wild,While near him lay the stricken, dying child.

When Sohrab saw him thus, his senses fled;He swooned, then woke and raised his weary head:

“If you are Rostam, then you struck me dead,By harshness and blind anger you were led.

I gave you every sign in every way,Yet not one grain of love was stirred today.

Undo my jowshan, bare my arm and seeThe token that my mother gave to me.

When koust resounded as I left her door,My mother came with blood-streaked cheeks before.

My leaving wounded deep her loving breast;She bound this token on my arm and pressed:

‘This came from your father; guard it well,And see what use its hidden sign may tell.’

Now it has served when service comes too late;The son lies shamed before his father’s fate.”

Rostam undid the khaftan, saw the sign,Then tore his clothes, undone by grief’s design.

“O youth slain by my hand,” he cried in pain,“Praised in each gathering, known across the plain!”

He tore his hair and cast dust on his head;His face ran wet with tears for one near dead.

“This pain,” said Sohrab, “deepens without end;Why weep? What gain is left, what can it mend?

What profit lies in grief that comes too late?The deed is done; this was the hand of fate.”

The warriors waited, silent, cold, and numb;As daylight waned, still Rostam did not come.

Then twenty men were sent to learn the truth,To seek the fate of hero and of youth.

They found both horses standing in the plain,Dust-covered, waiting by the field of pain.

But Rostam was not seated on his steed;They feared the hero slain by Sohrab’s deed.

They thought that Rostam must have met his doom,And turned to Kavus wrapped in fear and gloom.

They went to Kavus, troubled and afraid,And told him what they saw with hearts dismayed:

“The field lies silent; Rostam is not found!”A cry of grief and terror spread around.

The camp fell into tumult, loud with fear;No man could say what fate had brought them here.

Then Kavus bade the buq and koust ring loud,And summoned Tus as dread swept through the crowd.

He said: “Send one swift rider toward the fray,To learn what Sohrab’s battle holds today.

If Rostam falls, what chief in Iran’s bandCould face that youth alone and make a stand?

We must attack at once with all our might,For none can face him singly in the fight.”

Amid the tumult Sohrab spoke his partTo Rostam, who was wounded to the heart:

“My day has passed; death waits beside me here,And all I hoped for fades as death draws near.

The fate of Turan now is changed for me;See that the Shah leaves them from battle free.

They trusted me and followed at my call;Let not a single one of them now fall.

I gave them promises and hopes before;Do not let grief now reach them any more.

How could I know, renowned and mighty one,My father’s hand would end his very son?

Within the fortress one brave man I bound,Caught in my kamand when I took that ground.

I asked him many times for signs of you;Your image stood before my eyes in view.

Yet all his answers led my thought astray;His words drove hope from me and dimmed the day.

Find which Iranian warrior he may be;Whatever passed, from vengeance set him free.

Find him, but let no vengeance strike his head;Let not my death bring further bloodshed.

I saw in you the signs my mother named,Yet my own eyes denied what they proclaimed.

My evil star decreed what fate would be:My father’s hand would bring my death to me.

I came like lightning; now like wind I fly;So brief the road that carried me to die.

Perhaps in heaven I shall see you yet,And meet you free of grief, with no regret.”

Grief closed great Rostam’s breath; his heart burned red,And tears like blood ran from his eyes instead.

He mounted Rakhsh, his face with anguish stained,Cold sighs upon his lips, his heart blood-drained.

He rode before the army with a cry,His heart in torment for the deed gone by.

The Iranians saw him and bowed face to ground,Their foreheads pressed to earth in ranks around.

They praised the Maker, thankful for his grace:Their champion lived and had returned in place.

They saw his dusty head, his garments torn,His breast all wounded and his spirit worn.

They questioned him: “What grief has struck you so?For whom does such a flood of anguish flow?”

He told the dreadful wonder he had done:His own right hand had wounded his own son.

They raised one cry; then Rostam’s senses fled,And senseless fell amid the grief they spread.

Then Rostam told the chiefs: “This grief has grown;I have no heart or body of my own.

Seek no more war with Turan on this plain;The evil I have done today is enough pain.”

Then Zavareh came near with garments rent,His body bruised, his spirit grief-bent.

When Rostam saw his brother in that state,He told what Sohrab said beneath his fate.

“I rue the deed my aged hand has done;No punishment can match the wrong begun.

In old age I have slain my very heir,And cut the root of one so young and fair.

I tore the young man’s liver with my blade;May heaven weep for him whom I have laid.”

He sent to Houman then this stern command:“The sword of vengeance sheathed shall firmly stand.

You now must guard the Turanian array;Keep watch upon them through the coming day.

No battle lies between us now or here;There is no need for further speech or spear.

Through your ill nature you concealed his name,And cast my soul and sight alike in flame.”

Then Rostam called Zavareh to his side:“My clear-souled brother, go with him,” he cried.

“Go with him onward to the river’s bend,And let no harm come to a foe or friend.”

Zavareh went at once across the plain,Still bearing in his heart his brother’s pain.

He gave to Houman Rostam’s message whole,And spoke each word entrusted to his soul.

Then Houman answered: “One man caused this blight:Hajir concealed the chief from Sohrab’s sight.

Sohrab sought his father’s signs in vain;Hajir withheld them, joining grief to pain.

His silence brought this ruin in its stead;For Sohrab’s blood, the man should lose his head.”

Zavareh turned and brought the answer back,And told the words that set his heart off track.

At Hajir’s deed suspicion filled his breast;He knew concealment drove the fatal quest.

Rostam stood stunned; the world went dark with grief,And anguish surged through him without relief.

He strode to Hajir, seized him by the gown,Then with one furious wrench he hurled him down.

He drew a water-blue khanjar bright,And meant to sever Hajir’s head outright.

The nobles crowded close with urgent plea,And pulled Hajir from death and set him free.

Then Rostam left that place, his spirit torn,And came again to where his son lay worn.

The chiefs went with him, sorrow in each face:Tus, Gudarz, Gostaham approached the place.

The gathered army raised its voice in prayerFor that beloved youth whom death would snare.

“May Yazdan alone bring healing to his plight,And make these crushing sorrows turn to light.”

Then Rostam took a khanjar in his hand,To sever his own head there on the sand.

The chiefs clung fast and held the hero tight,While blood-like tears ran down before his sight.

Then Gudarz said: “What profit can you gainBy filling all the world with smoke and pain?

Though you should wound yourself a hundredfold,What ease would reach the youth whom death may hold?

If any span of life remains to stay,He still will live; do not throw yours away.

But if the youth must leave this mortal sphere,Look through the world; who lives forever here?

Before death all of us are hunted prey,Whether crown or helmet guards the head today.

When each one’s hour arrives, death draws him hence;What follows afterward escapes our sense.

Who lives and never feels the grief of death?Do not consume yourself while you have breath.

Whether the road be long or swiftly crossed,Companions part at last, and all is lost.”

Then Rostam said to Gudarz: “Noble friend,Whose courage and clear wisdom never bend,

Go swiftly now and carry what I say;Tell Kavus all the grief I bear today.

Say this: ‘I tore my brave son’s liver with this blade;Accursed the hand by which the wound was made.

If you remember service I have shown,Let pity move your heart toward my own.

Within your treasury you keep in storeThe nush-daru that heals the deepest sore.

Send also wine to strengthen what remains;Perhaps my son may rise from mortal pains.

Through your good fortune may his strength revive,And serve beneath your rule, as I, alive.’”

Then Gudarz sped like wind to bear the word,And told to Kavus all that he had heard.

The Shah replied: “Who stands in higher placeThan Rostam, who has never known disgrace?

No harm to Rostam would I ever choose;His honor in my sight I will not lose.

But if I send the healing draft I own,That elephant-bodied youth would rise full-grown.

He then would rise, his father’s strength to crown;Together they would strike my fortunes down.

If harm should come from one I chose to mend,I would repay the wrong from end to end.

You heard him cry, ‘Who is Kavus to me?If he is Shah, then what can Tus still be?’

Where could a man so vast find room at all,With such great shoulders, farr, and stature tall?

How could he bow before my sovereign claim,Or curb such farr beneath another’s name?

He counted insults out before my men,And stripped my honor from me there and then.

If such a son should live beside his sire,I would be dust within their hands entire.

Have you not heard what Sohrab dared proclaim?You know the world and should recall his claim:

‘A thousand heads of Iran I shall take,And hang Kavus alive for vengeance’ sake.’

If he survives and walks beneath the sun,Then all Iran would turn from him and run.

Who feeds his enemy and lets him thriveSpreads an evil name while still alive.”

Then Gudarz, smoke-like, hurried back from court,His heart made bitter by the Shah’s retort.

“The Shah’s ill nature like colocynth grows;Forever bitter fruit its branch bestows.

In harshness none throughout the world compares;No other person’s grief he buys or shares.

You must go yourself before the king,And light his darkened soul with what you bring.”

Rostam had called for cloth of woven gold,And bade them spread it round him, fold on fold.

They laid the wounded youth on silken bed,Then Rostam hastened back to where he bled.

A rider overtook him on the track,And brought the bitter news that called him back.

“Sohrab has left the wide world for the grave;A coffin, not a palace, does he crave.”

The father gave a cold and bitter sigh,And rubbed his lashes till blood filled his eye.

He sprang from Rakhsh and cast dust on his head,His helmet cast aside beside the dead.

The chiefs around him raised a mourning cry,And wept for Sohrab underneath the sky.

He said: “O youth, exalted in your birth,A peerless warrior walking on this earth,

Not sun nor moon shall see your equal rise,Nor crown, helm, cuirass, throne beneath the skies.

Has any man endured a grief like mine,To slay his son in age’s late decline?

From mighty Sahm the horseman came your race;Your mother too was born in royal place.

I, who in valor stood above all men,Seemed but a child beside your prowess then.

May both these hands be severed for this deed;May dark dust be the only seat I need.

What shall I say to her who bore this son?What words can tell her what my hand has done?

Who will go forth and tell her of this day,And break her heart with words none dare to say?

What cause can I give for this fatal blow,That slew the guiltless son I did not know?

What father ever played so dark a part?Harsh blame will follow me and wound my heart.

So young, so wise, so valiant was he made;And I have struck him down and stilled his blade.

And what of her, the mother left behind?What grief will seize her heart, what torment bind?

What will her father say in bitter painOf one so young, still free of guilt or stain?

They all will curse the line from which I came,And call me faithless, cruel, devoid of shame.

Who could believe one fair and young in yearsWould grow so tall and lead an army’s spears?

He grew like cypress, set his heart on war,And turned my day to darkness evermore.”

He bade them bring rich brocade for the dead,And veil the face from which all life had fled.

All hopes and cities once before him spreadWere narrowed now to one small coffin’s bed.

They bore him from the field with solemn tread,And toward his father’s pavilion led.

The whole army cast dust upon each head,And mourned the cypress lying cold and dead.

They set the royal pavilion aflame,And fed the fire with splendor in his name.

Seven-colored brocades fed the pyre;The throne and leopard saddle joined the fire.

A cry rose up, and Rostam’s tears would pour:“No horseman like you shall be seen in war.

Woe for your strength, your wisdom, and your grace!Woe for your form, your stature, and your face!

Torn from your mother, you lie dead apart;Your father bears the mark upon his heart.”

He tore the earth with both his nails, and weptDown tears of blood, and rent the robes he kept.

He cried: “Zal and Rudabeh will cry,‘You struck your youthful son and let him die!’

For I had strength to strike my son that day,And with my khanjar tore his liver away.

What plea can I present to ease their pain?What words can heal the wound that will not wane?

What will the chiefs say when this tale is known?I uprooted the garden’s cypress, fully grown.”

The warriors of Kavus gathered round,And sat beside him mourning on the ground.

The chiefs gave counsel, sitting near his side,But grief for his dear child would not subside.

One hand of heaven holds the crown on high;The other, the kamand for those who fly.

The one who sits enthroned in wealth and lightIs dragged down low before another night.

Why love this world, when all must pass away,And none may choose how long they are to stay?

Though thoughts of treasure lengthen day by day,We turn at last and crumble into clay.

If heaven knows the ruin that it makes,Its brain is empty in the course it takes.

Know rather that it has no path in mind;No “how” or “why” can reach its turning, blind.

Then do not weep too long for those who go;What comes at journey’s end, we do not know.

The Shah, when told, came near with all his train,And spoke to Rostam in his bitter pain:

“From Alborz’ peak to leaf upon the reed,The turning sphere sweeps all, and pays no heed.

Set not your heart on dust that fades away;Some linger long; some soon complete their day.

Take counsel now and let your heart find peace;Give ear to wisdom; let this mourning cease.

Though you strike heaven down upon the ground,Or set the world aflame from bound to bound,

You cannot find the one whom death has crowned;His soul in another realm is now found.

From far I saw his neck and stature tall,His mighty gopal, towering over all.

Time raised him with an army to this plain;Here by your hand his mortal life was slain.

What remedy remains? What can you do?How long will grief consume the life in you?”

Then Rostam said: “My Sohrab’s day is done;Yet Houman waits beneath the setting sun.

Turan’s chiefs and some men of Chin behindRemain; let no resentment fill your mind.

Zavareh shall lead their army safe from harm,By Yazdan’s power, and by the royal arm.”

Then Kavus said: “Renowned in every fight,This grief has veiled your face and quenched its light.

Though they raised smoke from Iran in the fray,And brought us wounds and sorrow on their way,

Your grief has filled my heart; I now forgoAll vengeance on the men who brought us woe.”

The Shah turned homeward with his royal train,While Rostam stayed to hear Zavareh explain.

At dawn Zavareh came with news in hand,And Rostam moved at once his mourning band.

Then toward Zabulistan the hero went,And all Sistan came forth with spirits bent.

Before the bier the mourning army passed,Their cries of sorrow rising deep and vast.

The nobles cast the dust upon their heads,And cut the horses’ tails as sorrow spreads.

They shattered kousts and bronze tabiras round,Till grief itself seemed beating through the ground.

When Zal, great son of Sahm, beheld the bier,He left his golden-reined horse and drew near.

Rostam walked on before it, pale and torn,His garments rent, his heart with sorrow worn.

The warriors loosed their girdles, bent in woe,And bowed their heads to dust in mourning low.

They lowered Sohrab’s coffin from the camel’s side,And mourned the famed young warrior who had died.

They cried aloud for Sohrab, young and brave,Whose name deserved a world beyond the grave.

Before his father Rostam bowed his head,And drew the gold-worked covering from the dead.

He said in grief: “Look; Sahm the rider liesWithin this narrow coffin, to our eyes.”

Blood-tears streamed down where aged Zal now sighs,As grief for Sohrab filled his broken cries.

Zal wept until his grief had reached the sky,And called upon the Judge with anguished cry.

And Rostam said: “He has gone, and I remain,Left here in sorrow, burdened down with pain.”

Then Zal replied: “What wonder fills my sight;That Sohrab raised the heavy gorz in fight.

Among the great he stood, a beacon bright,Few mothers bear another of such might.”

He spoke through tears, his thoughts on Sohrab drawn;His tongue spoke only Sohrab, lost and gone.

When Rostam reached his hall, he cried aloud,And laid the body down before the crowd.

Then Rudabeh saw the bier and cried in pain;From both her eyes blood flowed in streaming rain.

“O hero, lift your head once more and see!Give but a single glance, and look at me!

O son of strength, no equal shall arise;No warrior like you shall meet our eyes.

You will tell your mother now no secret more,Nor speak what joy once waited at her door.

In youth you entered prison, grief your share;This house of suffering became your care.

What came from father? Tell me if you can;Why did he tear your liver, heroic man?”

Her cries rose up from hall to Saturn’s height,And all who heard them wept at that sad sight.

She passed behind the curtain in despair,Her heart in pain, her yellow cheeks laid bare.

When Rostam saw her grief, his heart grew sore,And blood-like tears from both his eyes would pour.

It seemed the final day itself had come,For joy was gone, and every heart was numb.

Again the bier was brought before them all,And sorrow lay like darkness on the hall.

He drew the nails and opened up the bier,Then stripped the shroud before his father near.

He showed the body to the gathered great;Smoke seemed to rise from heaven at that fate.

The people, every woman and each man,Tore garments, casting dust as grief began.

With darkened faces, hearts consumed by pain,They bowed in dust and raised the mourning strain.

The whole great palace seemed one coffin bed,A male lion sleeping as if dead.

Within the bier the noble form lay deep,Like Sahm returned from battle, sunk in sleep.

In yellow brocade Rostam’s son was wound,The narrow coffin at its head was bound.

He said: “Though I should build a tomb of gold,And heap black musk around it fold on fold,

When I have gone, this too will pass away;Yet wisdom shows no better path today.”

Then in his grief he raised a vaulted tomb,Hoof-curved, while tears left all the world in gloom.

They carved his coffin out of aloeswood,With golden clasps fixed firm where bindings stood.

Through all the world the bitter story ran,How the Pahlevan had slain his own young man.

All hearts were darkened when the tale was told,And all the land alike grew grim and cold.

For days no joy returned around his heart,And sorrow would not loosen or depart.

At last he summoned patience to his side,For no other road or remedy he spied.

The world has many wounds it leaves behind,And brands its mark on every mortal mind.

Whoever walks this world with wit and sightShould not let Time deceive his heart outright.

When Iran heard, the same grief-fire arose,And every heart was darkened by his woes.

Meanwhile Houman reached Turan’s royal hall,And told Afrasiab all that did befall.

The king of Turan marveled at the tale,And weighed what consequence might yet prevail.

A cry rang through Turan: “Sohrab is slain!He fell in battle on the blood-stained plain!”

The news then reached Samangan’s grieving king,Who tore his robes and mourned the dreadful thing.

The tidings reached Tahmineh with a blow:“Your son lies slain; his father struck him low.”

She seized her robe and tore it from her side,Her beauty shone through grief she could not hide.

She raised a cry of anguish, fierce and deep,Then swooned, revived, and sank again to weep.

Her long hair, coiled like kamand in her hand,She tore it from the roots, strand after strand.

Blood-tears ran down her face in streams of red,Again she swooned and fell as one near dead.

She cast dark dust upon her head in dread,And bit her arms until they freely bled.

She set the fire against her face and hair,And called her lost son’s name in wild despair.

“Where are you now, my soul, my heart, my breath?Now turned to dust and laid in blood and death?

I watched the road and waited day by day,And thought: ‘Perhaps he journeys home this way.’

I said: ‘He wanders far but will return,And find his father, as his hopes still burn.

He will come home with father found at last,And all his lonely wandering will be past.’

How could I know, my son, how you had died:Your father’s khanjar tore your liver-side?

He saw your face, your stature, and your hair,Yet for your noble form he had no care.

He spared no pity for your waist in strife;His sword tore through you and destroyed your life.

I raised you at my breast through nights and days,And watched you grow in strength and noble ways.

And now your form lies cold, your lifeblood drained,A winding sheet is all that you have gained.

Whom shall I hold now close against my breast?Who now shall bring my restless heart to rest?

Who shall I turn to, now that you are slain?To whom confide this grief, this endless pain?

Woe for your body, soul, your eyes, your light,Now laid in dust, far from your palace bright!

O lion, strength of armies, battle-brave,You sought your father, and you found a grave.

Hope turned to grief, and all your promise fled;You sleep beneath the dust among the dead.

Before his khanjar tore your silver side,Why did cruel fate let truth remain denied?

Why did you hide the token from his sight?Why not declare your name before the fight?

I told you every sign your sire would show;Why did you doubt the signs you came to know?

Without you now I live consumed by grief,No living soul can grant me true relief.

Why did I not go with you on your way,To stand beside you on that fateful day?

Had I been with you, he would know my face,And love would rise between you in that place.

He would not raise his spear against your side,Nor tear the liver-place where you have died.”

She spoke, then struck her face and tore her hair,And filled all hearts with sorrow and despair.

Her cries drew tears from everyone who heard;In every heart her grief was deeply stirred.

Her senses fled; she fell upon the floor,And lay as one whose life would breathe no more.

Her blood ran cold; she lay without a breath,Her body still, as one possessed by death.

Then she revived and called again her son,While blood-dark tears across the floor would run.

She brought his crown and wept above its gold,And clasped his throne, recalling hopes of old.

She cried: “O royal tree cut down in youth!”And bent beneath the harshness of the truth.

She brought his charger, swift of foot and strong,The steed that bore him proudly through the throng.

She clasped its head and kissed it in despair;The world stood wondering at the grief laid bare.

She rubbed her face and hair against its feet,Beneath the hooves her blood and tears would meet.

She took his robe and pressed it to her breast,As though her son within its folds might rest.

Her lashes bled and turned the earth to red;Through blood and dust she rolled beside the dead.

She brought his armor, bow, and battle gear,His sword, spear, gorz; each relic held so dear.

She brought his golden bridle, burnished shield,And struck her head against them where she kneeled.

She brought his kamand, eighty armspans long,And looped it round her neck, lamenting wrong.

She took his helm and jowshan, held them dear,And cried, “O battle-seeking lion, hear!”

She took his sword and reached his noble steed,And cut its tail in mourning for the deed.

To the poor she gave gold and treasures rare,And saddled steeds she gave them as their share.

She closed the palace, tore the throne apart,And cast it down with anguish in her heart.

She blackened every door throughout the hall,And dust rose through the eyvan, court, and wall.

She put a blue robe on, but soon the hueWas lost beneath the blood that soaked it through.

A year she mourned, and constant was her grief,Until her broken heart found no relief.

She died of grief when that long year was done;Her grieving soul went forth to Sohrab, her son.

Then eloquent Bahram said: “Do not bindYour heart to those whom death has left behind.

Prepare to leave; you cannot linger here;Your father passed before you; your turn draws near.

As he gave up his place, so you must go;Your turn must end, though none its hour can know.

Death’s hidden secret no one can make plain;No key sought out in grief unlocks that chain.

No hand can force the closed door open wide;This grief consumes the life that still abides.

What passed was fixed by the Maker’s decree;What He ordained has come, as all can see.

So do not set your heart upon this earth;Our brief sojourn here yields but little worth.”

Now from this mournful history I turn;The tale of Siavash is my concern.

A tale of tears, that in the tender heartBreeds anger against Rostam for his part.