Book D2Homahyi and the Founding of Darab’s Line

King Bahman died of sickness; sorrow fellUpon his daughter, caught within its spell.

She mourned for Bahman, sunk in grief profound,And long remained by bitter sorrow bound.

Fair Homahyi then set the crown in place,And gave the realm new customs by her grace.

She called the troops and nobles to her court,And opened royal vaults for their support.

In wisdom and in justice she surpassedHer father; and great wealth her rule amassed.

She blessed her throne, and blessed the crown now worn,And prayed her ill-wishers’ hearts might be torn.

She swore that none should suffer from her might,And all her deeds should serve the good and right.

She vowed the poor should prosper, free from need,Who toiled to earn the bread on which they feed.

She left the wealthy nobles in their place,And laid no added burden on their race.

When childbirth neared, she kept it from the town,And from the troops who served her royal crown.

She loved the splendor of the crown she wore,And wished to rule the kingdom as before.

She bore a son in secrecy and fear,Concealing him from all who gathered near.

She found a nurse of noble birth and name,Both pure and modest, free from any blame.

In secret, she entrusted to her careThe tender shoot who was the rightful heir.

When courtiers asked if she had borne a son,She said the child had died, and there was none.

She wore the royal crown in triumph bright,And sat upon the throne with great delight.

Wherever hostile chiefs rose to rebel,She sent her armies out their force to quell.

She learned of all that passed throughout the realm,And weighed both good and evil at the helm.

She sought whatever justice would require,And watched the realm with zeal that burned like fire.

Her justice made the realm secure from fear;Her name alone was praised and held most dear.

Eight months went by, and as the infant grew,His face recalled King Bahman to her view.

She called a carpenter of proven skill,Who chose fine wood to work the royal will.

They made a coffer out of dry wood, tight,And coated it with musk and pitch outright.

They lined it thick with soft Roman brocade,And glue and wax upon its outside laid.

They spread a bed inside the coffer, deep,And filled its midst with pearls, a precious heap.

They poured in heaps of gold with radiant sheen,With carnelians and emeralds between.

A royal jewel, splendid, large, and bright,They bound upon his arm and fixed it tight.

And when the little child lay fast asleep,The faithful nurse began to mourn and weep.

She laid him in the coffer, soft and warm,And wrapped in silk from Chin his little form.

They sealed the coffer’s narrow lid with skill,With glue, wax, musk, and ambergris to fill.

At midnight, hushed, they bore the box; none stirred;No lips disturbed the silence with a word.

They bore it from Homahyi, out of sight,And cast it in Farat that very night.

Two men went hurrying beside the flow,To learn what fate the child would undergo.

Like some small ship, the coffer rode the tide;The watchers followed down the riverside.

At dawn, the coffer stopped within a stream,As mountain heights began to catch the gleam.

There stood a washing-stone within the flow;The worksite left a narrow way to go.

One washerman beheld the floating chest,And rushed to lift it from its place of rest.

He raised the lid and lifted cloths aside,Astonished at the wonders stored inside.

He wrapped the coffer, hurried on his way,His heart with hope and joy as bright as day.

One watcher hastened back to tell the queenOf box and washerman, all he had seen.

The watchful queen gave orders in reply,“Guard well this secret; let no rumor fly.”

When from the stream the washerman came late,His wife reproached him for his work’s poor state.

“The clothes are still half-wet!” his wife declared;“Who pays for work so carelessly prepared?”

His heart was crushed by grief he could not hide,For their own little son had lately died.

She tore her cheeks and wept in bitter grief,And found no hope of comfort or relief.

He said, “Take heart, and let your mourning cease;Such cries are unbecoming; be at peace.

If you can guard a secret in your breast,I shall tell you what must not be confessed.

I beat the clothes upon the stone each day,Then rinse them where the waters flow away.

Within that channel stood a coffer sealed;Inside it lay a child, from sight concealed.

When I raise the lid, you shall see his face,And long to hold the child in your embrace.

Our own dear son now lies among the dead;Let this fair child be cherished in his stead.

He brings a fortune gathered at his side,In gems and brocade richly beautified.”

He laid the clothes upon the ground, then drewThe coffer’s narrow lid aside from view.

The washerwoman saw the child and prayed,Astonished at the sight the box displayed.

His radiant face shone from the silken bed;He looked like Ardeshir, the king now dead.

His pillow gleamed with pearls of costly sheen,His feet with carnelian and emerald green.

Gold coins lay on his left in yellow light;And many rubies glittered on his right.

She gave her breast; he drank, and at the sightThe lovely infant filled her with delight.

The lovely child and treasures round him layBefore her eyes and drove her grief away.

The washerman then said, “From this day on,We guard this child until our lives are gone.

This child shall win distinction and renown,And in this world shall wear a royal crown.”

The woman loved the boy as her own son,And tenderly she raised the little one.

Upon the third day, Darab was his name,For from the running water’s midst he came.

One day the woman spoke of wealth revealed,The gold and gems the coffer had concealed.

She asked her husband, “What should now be done?How shall we use the wealth beside our son?”

He said, “Dear wife, those jewels concealed awayAre dust to me while hidden there they stay.

Far better that we leave this town behind,And find release from hardships of this kind.

We shall find a town where none know our name,In want or wealth, in honor or in shame.”

At dawn he packed their load and took the road,Without a backward thought for their abode.

They bore the child, held close in their embrace,And packed just gold and gems that took small space.

They journeyed sixty farsangs on their way,And in another town resolved to stay.

They settled in that town, no longer poor,As wealthy householders, their means secure.

A man of standing in that town was known;To him he sent a jewel of his own.

For jewels he took fine clothing, silver, gold,Till scarcely any gems remained unsold.

One crimson jewel in the house remained,The last of all the coffer once contained.

His wife, with wealth to guide her, spoke one day,And to her husband had these words to say:

“We have no need to work as once before;You now are rich; pursue your trade no more.”

He said, “My worthy wife, a trade is best;In all our work, it stands before the rest.

Take care of young Darab and guard him well;What he may yet become, no tongue can tell.”

They cherished him and kept him in their sight,So no fierce wind could harm that child so bright.

The heavens wheeled, and as the boy grew tall,His strength and noble bearing outshone all.

He wrestled older boys upon the street,None matched his strength; he never met defeat.

The children came together in a crowd;Before his strength, their power was quickly cowed.

The washerman cried out in deep dismay;His trade grew worse through Darab’s reckless play.

He said, “Now beat these clothes upon the stone;No shame attends a trade you make your own.”

When young Darab would flee the washer’s side,With tears like blood the grieving father cried.

Two-thirds of all his time was spent in quest,Through town and country, asking without rest.

He found him practicing the bow, intent,And all his long, hard searching was well spent.

A thumbstall fitted tightly on his hand;With chest spread wide, he took an archer’s stand.

He took the bow and spoke in accents cold,“You troublesome, contentious child so bold!

Why do you hunger after bow and dart?Why nurse mistrust so young within your heart?”

Darab replied, “O father, why obscureMy flowing water, which was clear and pure?

First send me to the teachers skilled and wise,To learn the lore that they so greatly prize.

Once I have learned the Zand-Avesta’s lore,Then name my trade; ask nothing else before.”

With much reproach, he sent him to be taught;The learned teachers gave the lore he sought.

He gained in learning, grew in noble pride,And cast distress and harsh reproach aside.

He told his foster father, “I shall failAt washing; in it I cannot prevail.

Set your fond heart at rest; let worry cease,And let me learn the horseman’s trade in peace.”

The washerman found a noble of fame,Skilled with the reins, a man of worthy name.

He placed the boy with him for many a day,To learn the skills a horseman must display.

He learned to ride, to wield both lance and shield,And turn his charger on the training field.

He shot the bow and played the polo game,Sought skill, and shunned men bent on deeds of shame.

So great his skill became that in a fight,No leopard could contend against his might.

Darab approached the washerman one day:“I cannot hide the thoughts I have to say.

No natural affection draws me near,Nor does my face resemble yours, I fear.

Why call me son and seat me at your side,Here in your shop?” the wondering youth replied.

The washer answered, wounded by the slight,“Is this the payment for my toil and plight?

If your proud spirit stands above my own,Go ask your mother what to her is known.”

One day the washer hurried from the door,To cleanse the clothes upon the river’s shore.

Darab secured the house and barred the way,Then reached to take the sword that ready lay.

He said, “O washerwoman, do not feign;Tell me the truth and make the matter plain.

Who am I to you? And what blood is mine?Why does the washer keep me? Name my line.”

The woman, terrified, implored his grace,And called upon the Maker in that place:

“Do not spill out my blood upon this ground,And every hidden truth shall be unbound.”

She told him all; no secret did she hide,Nor in a single matter turned aside.

She spoke of coffer, infant, coins of gold,And royal jewels the box had held of old.

She said, “We worked beneath a humble yoke,Not born of mighty stock, but working folk.

All that we have we owe to you instead;Through you has risen our once lowly head.

We are your servants; tell us what to do;Our lives and all we own belong to you.”

Darab stood silent, shaken by the tale,And pondered what its wonders might entail.

He asked her, “Does some portion still remain,Or did the washer spend it all in vain?

Is there enough to buy a worthy steed,In this my helpless state and bitter need?”

She said, “More remains: a ruby, precious stone,With coins and gardens, fields and lands we own.”

She gave him all the coins within her hoard;The jewel still lay safe, where it was stored.

He bought a valued horse, a saddle lowIn price, a gorz, a kamand fit to throw.

There lived a prudent chief on frontier land,Esteemed and wise, a guide in high command.

Darab approached him, troubled and oppressed,With brooding thoughts that gave his heart no rest.

He held Darab in honor from that day,And kept disgrace and hardship far away.

A Roman legion crossed the frontier ground,And ravaged all the borderlands around.

The border chief was slaughtered in the fight,His broken army scattered in its flight.

News reached Homahyi of the Roman band,And how its troops had stepped upon her land.

A chief named Rashnavad was at the head;From sepahbods he sprang, a leader bred.

She bade him march with all his force on Rum,And with the sword bring down the Romans’ doom.

Then Rashnavad called warriors to array,Prepared the muster ground and gave their pay.

Darab rejoiced to hear, and when he cameBefore the chief, enrolled his own fair name.

From every side the troops began to throng;From every road fresh armies marched along.

Queen Homahyi left her palace gate,With frontier lords whose wisdom lent them weight.

The troops passed by for counting, line by line;Their names and rolls were checked by her design.

She stayed a while upon that broad terrain;She watched the mounted squadrons cross the plain.

She saw Darab, majestic in his height,A steel gorz at his shoulder gleaming bright.

His presence seemed to fill the mustering field,As though the earth beneath his stride must yield.

His noble form and lovely face impressedThe queen; a mother’s milk flowed from her breast.

She asked, “From where has come this warrior bold,So tall and straight, so noble to behold?

So proud, so strong; yet look at what he bears:How strange for such a man the arms he wears.”

Darab appeared majestic to her sight;The army, too, she viewed with full delight.

She chose by stars a fitting time to go,For her sepahbod marching on the foe.

When all the warriors’ counsels were as one,They led the army out, its march begun.

She sent attentive spies along their track,To bring reports of good and evil back.

She knew the army’s fortunes, good and ill,And doubts of coming trouble thus grew still.

From stage to stage the army kept its pace;Troops filled the earth, and black grew heaven’s face.

A mighty wind arose; the storm aheadHad filled the sepahbod Rashnavad with dread.

As lightning flashed and thunder roared around,A dark and drenching rain poured to the ground.

The soldiers scattered through the driving rain,And pitched their tents for shelter on the plain.

Darab, distressed beneath the stormy blast,Looked for a refuge till the storm had passed.

He had no tent, no curtained place to hide,No fellow traveler, no one for his guide.

He searched across the bleak and empty ground,And there a great but ruined arch he found.

A lofty vault stood damaged, worn, and old,Within a royal dwelling’s ruined hold.

Beneath that battered arch he lay alone,Without a friend or comrade of his own.

The sepahbod rode through camp to watch his men,And passed beside the ruined archway then.

A cry rose from the ruin, loud and clear;Its dreadful sound assailed his heart with fear:

“O ancient vault, stand firm and guard from harmIran’s Shah, sleeping sheltered by your arm.

Without a tent or friend to share his woes,He came beneath your arch to seek repose.”

Then Rashnavad thought, “What is this I hear?Is thunder or the roaring wind so near?”

Again the ruined hall gave forth a cry:“O vault, do not close wisdom’s watchful eye.

Shah Ardeshir’s own son is sheltered here;Remember this; the rain you must not fear.”

A third time came the warning, sharp and loud,The sepahbod with awe and fear was cowed.

He asked a sage, “What can this wonder be?Let someone go beneath the arch and see.

Discover who lies sleeping on that ground,And who in such distress is to be found.”

They found a youth whose wisdom shone in grace,A Pahlevan in bearing and in face.

His horse and garments streamed beneath the rain;The dark earth was the bed where he had lain.

They told the chief of what had met their sight;His heart was stirred to hear the youth’s sad plight.

He bade them, “Call the youth without delay;Who could endure a cry heard in this way?”

They went and cried, “O sleeper on the ground,Awake! Arise from sleep so deep and sound.”

Darab arose and mounted in their sight;At once the ancient arch fell from its height.

When Rashnavad beheld that wondrous feat,He studied Darab from his head to feet.

He cried, “A wonder beyond thought and speech!No greater marvel lies in fancy’s reach.”

He hastened with him to his tent nearby,“O just and only God!” his fervent cry.

“No one has seen such wonder, nor been toldOf such by men experienced and old.”

He ordered clothes and had a fair place madeWithin the great pavilion’s ample shade.

A mountain-high fire filled the air with haze;Musk, aloeswood, and ambergris ablaze.

When sunlight crowned the mountains, once againThe chief prepared to march and lead his men.

He bade a guiding Mobad fetch and leadA set of robes, a noble Arab steed,

With golden trappings, and a belt to wear,A sword within a golden scabbard fair.

He gave the gifts to Darab, then began:“O lion-hearted, fame-seeking young man,

What man are you? What country gave you birth?Tell me the truth of all your life on earth.”

Darab disclosed the past, no longer sealed,And all its hidden matters he revealed.

As she had told him, so he now made knownThe woman’s tale, each detail she had shown.

Of chest and ruby on his arm, he told,Of brocade at his side and coins of gold.

His sleep, his rest, his food, his hidden days;He told the chief of all his former ways.

Then Rashnavad sent someone on his way:“Fly like the wind,” he ordered, “do not stay.

Bring wife and washerman, and jewel too;Make all the speed you can in coming through.”

He spoke, then led his army on its way;From borderlands toward Rum they marched that day.

He placed Darab in charge of scouts ahead;The vanguard, armed with poisoned spearheads, sped.

The Roman scouts advanced across the plain;This country’s guardians rode to meet their train.

The armies met; the battle dust was stirred,And rose on high as clashing arms were heard.

The two sides closed and mingled in the fray;Their blood ran like a river through the clay.

When young Darab beheld the Roman force,He charged like a fierce wolf upon his horse.

So many Romans fell beneath his blade,It seemed that Heaven’s hand each stroke had made.

He struck lion-like as through the ranks he tore,A dragon underneath, sea-beast he bore.

He charged, a leopard through the Roman line,And plunged among their warriors in decline.

The earth became a sea of Roman blood;His sword had led him through that crimson flood.

Returning from the victory he won,He stood before the chief, the battle done.

Then Rashnavad bestowed the highest praise:“May you be with the Shah’s troops all your days.

When we return from Rum, our battles past,And reach this land with all the troops amassed,

The Shah shall grant you favors of her own:Fine horses, treasure, and a crown and throne.”

That night they then set all the troops in place,And readied horsemen that the fight would face.

At dawn, when sunlight touched the gloomy height,The earth shone like a lamp with brilliant light.

The armies met; their dust rose in the sky,And darkened all the sun that shone on high.

Then young Darab swept forward at full speed,And urged still faster on his mighty steed.

No Roman champion dared withstand his hand;Their foremost lines collapsed across the land.

He plunged, a wolf, into their center’s heart,And drove the mighty Roman ranks apart.

Then wheeling to the right, he pressed the fight,And seized their arms and baggage in his might.

He tore through Roman legions, rank by rank;No champion found safety on the flank.

The men of Iran followed in his wake,Like lions rushing where the lines might break.

They slew so many Romans, spilling bloodThat mixed with earth and turned the field to mud.

He slew full forty prelates in that fight,And came, a cross clutched in his fist held tight.

When Rashnavad beheld what he had done,His heart rejoiced to see the field was won.

He blessed Darab and praised him with delight,And added love to praise of all his might.

Then night descended on the fading fight,And all withdrew as earth grew black as night.

In the defeated camp, the sepahbod foundHis rest, and there his girdle he unbound.

That night he shared all the wealth for their toil,And decked the army with the battle’s spoil.

He sent a messenger to Darab, brave,And said, “O lion-heart who comes to save,

Choose what you wish from all the wealth we gained,And what may serve you best of all obtained.

Keep what you please, and let your heart decideWhat gifts your hand shall willingly divide.

Give what you do not wish to keep or claim;You pass the lord of Rakhsh himself in fame.”

Darab received the message with delight,But chose one spear from all the spoils in sight.

He sent the other treasures back and said,“May victory and fortune crown your head.”

The western sun sank down beyond the field,And heaven’s black brocade the light concealed.

A watch of that dark night had passed away;Across the plain the scattered vanguard lay.

The watchmen’s cries like earthquakes shook the night,Like some free lion roaring in its might.

When morning raised its golden shield on high,The warriors woke beneath the brightening sky.

The warriors of Iran prepared to ride,And chased Rum’s shattered legions far and wide.

Their sharpened swords set all the land afire,And Roman cities burned beneath their ire.

From Rum and Romans rose the dust of dread;No thought of home remained as people fled.

A mournful cry arose through Roman lands,As folk forsook their homes before those bands.

War pressed on Caesar till his world grew small;His nobles’ faces paled before it all.

At last to Rashnavad an envoy came:“Let justice guide your course and be your aim.

Those once so warlike now have had their fill;Rum’s fallen fortune bows beneath your will.

If tribute is your wish, we shall obey,And make a treaty new with you this day.”

Then Caesar sent them gifts of every kind,With slaves and purses in the wealth consigned.

The sepahbod received the offered treasure,The gold and gems beyond all count and measure.

Iran’s men journeyed home with joy and pride;Darab and Rashnavad rode side by side.

They reached the ruined archway on their way,Where once the sleeping youth in shelter lay.

The washer couple brought the ruby, late,Afraid of shame and fearful of their fate.

He summoned them; they prayed for God’s own aid,And came before him, troubled and afraid.

Rashnavad asked the pair, when they appeared,How they had found the infant they had reared.

They spoke about the coffer and the gem,And all that had befallen both of them.

They told of toil in rearing him, laid bareThe times and the burdens they had to bear.

The sepahbod said, “May joy attend your days;May triumph and glad fortune light your ways.

No man has seen such wonders, young or old,Nor heard the like by ancient Mobadan told.”

Then Rashnavad took pen and scroll in hand,And wrote to Homahyi across the land:

How young Darab had slept beneath the vault,And how he fought amid the fierce assault;

What he had heard of how the coffer boreThe child, with all its wealth and precious store;

The unseen voice that sounded through the blast,And his distress to hear it as he passed;

And how he mounted; then the arch gave wayAnd fell in ruins where he lately lay.

He wrote it all, and so the scroll was sentWith one who sped like wind, and on he went.

He gave the ruby, adding this command:“Ride like the wind and lay it in her hand.”

The courier reached the court at breakneck speed,And brought the ruby as the chief decreed.

He gave the scroll and told what he had heardFrom Rashnavad, recounting every word.

She read the scroll and saw the ruby gleam;From lashes to her cheeks her tears would stream.

She knew the youth who, on the muster day,Had caught her gaze amid the bright array,

The glorious youth, as fair as spring, whose formRose lofty over all the muster’s swarm,

Was truly her own son, her precious shoot,A flourishing young branch from her own root.

She wept, and told the man who brought the scroll,“The world has gained a lord to take control.

My heart was never free from grief or fear,Whenever thoughts of crown and throne drew near.

I feared the God whose kindness I betrayed,Ungrateful for the gift His hand had made.

God gave a son I failed to prize or save;I cast him into Farat’s flowing wave.

This jewel upon his little arm I tied;A father gone; his son is cast aside.

Through Rashnavad, whose name and steps are blessed,God gives me back the son I once possessed.”

From golden treasuries the coins were poured;Wine, musk, and jewels were mingled with the hoard.

She helped the poor; and when a week had passed,She opened up the silver she amassed.

For fire-temples, scripture, holy ways,The Zand-Avesta, Sadeh’s festive blaze,

She gave more treasure, spreading far and wideHer gifts through every land on every side.

At dawn upon the tenth day, to her throneThe sepahbod came, and not on his own.

Darab and all the nobles who came tooTold none upon that ride of what they knew.

The queen then closed the curtains of the hall,And for a week received no guest at all.

She ordered that a golden throne be made,Its two seats with turquoise and lapis inlaid.

One royal crown with gems, two armlets bright,A jeweled torque she gathered for the rite.

A royal robe was woven through with gold,And gems of many kinds adorned each fold.

An astrologer sat before the queen,And chose a day from signs in heaven seen.

In Bahman’s month, on Shahrivar’s bright day,At dawn she called Darab without delay.

She filled one cup with rubies rich and bright,The next with yellow gems that caught the light.

When young Darab approached the palace gate,She came from far to bow before his state.

She scattered royal gems before her son,While blood-like tears into her lap would run.

She kissed her son and touched his youthful face,Then held him in a mother’s warm embrace.

She led him to the golden throne and gazed,In wonder at a joy so great, amazed.

He sat upon the throne; she came to standBefore her son, the royal crown in hand.

She set it on his head and sent the word:His crowning’s joyful news the whole world heard.

His crown shone bright; she asked her royal sonTo pardon all the wrong that she had done.

She told Darab, “Let all that passed awayBe like the wind that does not pause or stay.

Youth, wealth, a woman’s judgment led her astray;A father dead, no guide to show the way.

Forgive her wrong; let blame upon her cease;May you sit only on a throne in peace.”

The youth replied, “Your noble birth is known;The Pahlevans’ great lineage is your own.

No wonder if the heart should seethe with pain;For one wrong, why should such a cry remain?

May God, who made the world, be pleased with you;May grief like smoke your foes’ dark hearts imbue.

These words of mine shall live from age to age,And never grow outworn upon the page.”

Then Homahyi prayed over her young heir:“While earth endures, may you the crown still wear.”

She bade the chief Mobad summon the wise,From every province under Iran’s skies.

She summoned all the chiefs of martial fame,The lions armed with swords, to hail his name.

She bade them bless him, king of all the land,And all acclaimed him at her own command.

They blessed his crown, then scattered jewels brightUpon the throne, a shower of colored light.

Homahyi then revealed what she had done,And all the anguish suffered for her son.

She said, “Of mighty Bahman’s royal line,This prince remains its sole surviving sign.

You must obey whatever he commands;He is the shepherd of the warrior bands.

His are the greatness, diadem, and throne;Rely on him; his strength shall be your own.”

A shout of joy arose throughout the hall,To see that royal branch rise over all.

They scattered jewels till none could see the king,So great the wealth that every hand would bring.

The world rejoiced in justice, law, and grace,And former pain in memory had no place.

The queen addressed the sages she had sought:“O wise and noble men, heed now my thought.

For thirty-two full years I bore the strain;I yield him throne and treasure of my reign.

Rejoice, submit to all that he shall say,And let his royal word direct your way.”

Darab rejoiced upon the Kayanian throne,And calmly wore the crown that was his own.

His foster parents hurried to his side;“O youthful king!” with joyful words they cried.

“Be blessed upon the Kayanian seat;May all your foes be servants at your feet.”

Darab then bade them bring ten bags of gold,And precious gems, too costly to be sold,

And every kind of cloth, five lengths of each,For him whose toil lay past the reach of speech.

He said, “O washerman, keep thought alive;Let watchful wisdom in your spirit thrive.

You may yet find a coffer in the flow;A child like Darab in its depths may show.”

They left the hall with blessings on the king,And praise of Iran’s Shah their lips would sing.

The washer’s star had passed; to work he went,And bore the clothes afield, on washing bent.