Book D3Darab

Now on the Maker of the earth we call,To bless the sovereign who rules over all.

Abul-Qasim, the king with face of light,Adorned the world with love and justice bright.

In goodness and in truth he sets his course;His justice never wanes or loses force.

May Mahmud’s crown make bright the world around;May all his days be praised as just and sound.

May youth remain with him through every stage,And life endure beyond the bounds of age.

What do the old dehqan’s own verses sayOf Goshtasb and Ardeshir in their day?

Of pure-minded lords and Darab’s renown,And Homahyi’s ways and counsel for the crown?

When young Darab assumed the Kayanian throne,He girded himself and made his bounty known.

He spoke to Mobadan, nobles of the land,And all the wise who gathered at command:

“I sought no realm through toil or justice shown;God crowned my head and made the realm my own.

No man has seen a stranger turn of fateThan mine, which raised me to this royal state.

Justice alone repays the gift He gave;May men still bless me, laid within the grave.

Let none endure my burdens or excess,Nor fill my treasury through their distress.

May justice bring abundance through my reign,And joy to all my folk in each domain.”

Then out of Hindustan and Rum’s far shore,From every wealthy march and distant door,

Ambassadors arrived with gifts in hand,And sought the king’s good favor for their land.

One day he went to see his horses roam,A herd left free beneath the heavens’ dome.

As he passed from the lowlands toward the height,A deep and boundless lake appeared in sight.

From India and the western Caesar’s lands,He summoned men of proven skill in bands.

They were to seek a passage for the tide,And send a river forth to every side.

A skilled man breached the barrier to the flow;The king decreed a thriving town should grow.

And when the mighty outer wall was done,They named it Darabgird beneath the sun.

He lit the sacred Fire on mountain height;Its worshippers came thronging to the rite.

Artisans skilled in every craft and artWere summoned there to build its thriving heart.

The Shah sent countless troops to each frontier,To guard the world from foes and banish fear.

He freed the land from dread of every foe,And split the hearts of those who wished him woe.

A hundred thousand Arabs rose in might,Spear-bearing horsemen, seasoned in the fight.

Shaeeb, of Qutayb’s line, led forth the band,A chief renowned, with horsemen at command.

The king of kings led Iran’s vast array,Whose countless columns filled the crowded way.

The armies met; the world grew dark, austere,With men who sought the clash of sword and spear.

Earth could not bear the armies on the plain;No room to move was left in that domain.

The rain of shafts and javelins was a flood;The earth became a spreading pool of blood.

On every side the cries of battle rose,While heaps of slain bore witness to their blows.

Three days and nights they fought upon the plain;Time pressed the wounded, stricken there in pain.

Upon the fourth, the Arabs turned in flight,And left the field of battle in the night.

Their chief Shaeeb had fallen on the field;The Arabs’ darkened fortune now was sealed.

With wooden saddles, many steeds were found,With spears and helmets, war coats on the ground.

The fleeing men had left them, every one,To Darab, king of earth, Homahyi’s son.

He shared the horses, crowns, and swords as spoil,With helmets, to reward the army’s toil.

He chose a frontier chief from his array,Who understood what Arab tongues would say.

He sent him to demand the past year’s due,And from the plain the present year’s share too.

Darab left the spearmen’s plain with his band,To strike the wealthy Romans in their land.

Faylaqus ruled the Romans, and his wordWon Sus’s king, who with his will concurred.

A letter told him, “Homahyi’s son is near;His countless ranks have marched to meet you here.”

The Roman monarch heard the news and castHis mind back to the distant days long past.

He mustered Amuriyah’s men of might,Its famed and seasoned legions for the fight.

The Roman nobles left their lands behind,As great Darab advanced with war in mind.

From Amuriyah marched the Roman king,With every chief and man that he could bring.

Two mighty battles filled the three-day span;Upon the fourth, at dawn, the rout began.

Faylaqus and his fleeing legions sped,No Roman cap or helmet on a head.

They took the women and the young away;By sword and arrow many died that day.

The Romans fled to town from Darab’s might;Two thirds of those who marched returned in flight.

The rest were dead or wounded from the fray,With spears still lodged against their backs where they lay.

In Amuriyah’s fortress they remained;And many there the pledge of safety gained.

An envoy came from Faylaqus, keen and wise,Who knew how fortunes fall and how they rise.

He brought two chests with royal jewels bright,With purses, slaves, and gifts for royal sight.

His message ran: “I ask the one God’s aid;By Him alone may all my steps be swayed.

May warfare end in feasting and delight;May we not turn our hearts again to fight.

Let truth and human kindness guide our way;For wrong and injury bring on decay.

Should you advance on Amuriyah’s seat,And seek to cast my city at your feet,

My heart would burn; deep shame would stain my name,And I would turn from feasts to war and flame.

Then act as kings should act, with royal grace;Your father was a king; you hold his place.”

Darab convened the nobles of the state,And laid the whole before them for debate.

He asked, “What counsel have you for your lord,Since Caesar seeks his honor thus restored?”

The chieftains blessed the Shah as one, and cried:“O pure of faith, discerning king and guide,

The king of kings stands highest in the state;Let your own wisdom now determine fate.

That famous western monarch has a child,Tall as a cypress, spring-faced, fair and mild.

In Chin no image-maker sees her kind;Among the fair she shines, a gem refined.

Should you behold her, she would please your sight,A cypress in your garden, tall and bright.”

The Shah recalled the envoy to his side,And told him what his counselors had replied:

“Go tell your master, ‘If you wish to standWith crown and honor in your native land,

Behind your curtains dwells a daughter fair,The crown that all the world’s great ladies wear.

Her name is fair Nahid, renowned and bright,Who sits upon a golden throne of light.

Send her with Rum’s own tribute to my hand,If you would keep all hardship from your land.’”

The envoy heard and hastened from the court,To bear the Shah’s reply in full report.

Faylaqus and his legions hailed the plan:His son-in-law would be so great a man.

They spoke of tribute and the yearly share,And weighed the burden Rum had strength to bear.

They fixed the yearly tribute to be paidIn Mehr, as king and Caesar’s pact was made:

Ten thousand eggs of gold, of casting rare,Each with a royal jewel to form a pair.

Each golden egg weighed forty mithqals true,With one rich gem to meet the payment due.

He shared the levy through the Roman land,Among the frontier chiefs who held command.

The city’s sages bore a portion fair,With all who in that country held a share.

He bade them clear and ready all the road;They cast aside all other care and load.

The nobles chosen to escort the brideBrought royal gifts and treasures at her side.

They built a golden litter, richly wrought,And crowned attendants to its side were brought.

Ten mules bore loads of Roman cloth of gold,With jeweled figures bright on every fold.

Three hundred camel-loads of carpets rareWere sent among the gifts and costly ware.

Within the litter sat the lovely maid,A monk and bishop lent their guiding aid.

Behind Nahid came sixty maidens bright,Each with a golden cup that caught the light.

Their cups held royal jewels of costly glow;Their crowns and earrings graced the lovely show.

The bishop gave the bride to Darab’s care,And to his treasurer counted jewels rare.

He stayed but briefly, then resumed his way,And toward Iran he led his vast array.

To Pars he came, rejoicing with his bride,And crowned himself in majesty and pride.

One night the bride lay by the king in grace,With jewels and scent about her moonlike face.

A sudden breath disturbed the Shah that night;Its pungent odor troubled his delight.

He drew away and turned his face aside,Repelled by the foul breath that left his bride.

The Shah grew troubled, sunk in anxious thought;His brows were furrowed by the care it brought.

They summoned learned healers to her aid,And by the royal bride their seats were laid.

One learned healer sought with judgment sound,Until the needed medicine was found.

The herb was known as eskandar by name;Its touch would set the palate all aflame.

He rubbed her palate with the burning herb;Her tears streamed down, too strong for her to curb.

The foulness passed; her mouth burned from the heat;Her face glowed like brocade, the cure complete.

Though now her breath was fragrant as pure musk,The Shah’s desire had faded into dusk.

He sent her back to Faylaqus, her sire,For nothing could restore the former fire.

She carried his child, but kept the matter sealed,And told no one what lay within concealed.

When nine full months had passed, the lady brightBore forth a child who shone like morning light.

His body fragrant, fair, and strong of frame,His mother chose Iskandar for his name.

She held that healing name a lucky sign,For it had cured her mouth, that herb benign.

To every lord the Caesar thus made known:“A Caesar from my seed has sprung, my own.”

None spoke of Darab; none would name that one:The Caesar was the father, he the son.

He hid his shame, lest anyone should knowThat Darab had dismissed his daughter so.

When that pure mother bore her shining boy,A herald told his grandfather with joy.

Within the stable stood a lofty mare,Dun-coated, fit for battle, strong and fair.

That very night she bore a foal of white,With lion’s chest and shanks both short and tight.

The Caesar raised his head in joy to seeThis birth, a sign of fortune’s kind decree.

At dawn he called the child into his sight,And dressed the mare in trappings rich and bright.

He stroked its eyes and mane with gentle joy;The foal was of an age with Nahid’s boy.

The years revolved through happiness and pain,As fortune shifted through the Roman reign.

The boy acquired a heart fit for a king,And speech such as the Pahlevans would bring.

More than a son he held the boy in pride,And dressed him as a hero at his side.

He grew in wisdom, skilled in deed and thought,With sober counsel such as sages taught.

As heir to Faylaqus he took his place;The Caesar’s joy and grief lay in his face.

His learned tutors taught him to command,And all the arts required to rule the land.

He seemed born only to uphold the right,And give the throne and kingship lasting might.

When Nahid left, Darab took as his wifeAnother bride to share his royal life.

She bore a son, a prince of royal grace,Younger than Nahid’s child, of shining face.

That day they named him Dara: may he gainMore joy than had his father in his reign.

But when twelve years had passed across the land,Both life and wealth slipped from the ruler’s hand.

Darab, Homahyi’s son, began to fade;The other world called him into its shade.

He called the nobles and the sages near,And spoke of kingship for them all to hear.

He said, “Now Dara, son of Darab, standsTo guide you all in goodness through these lands.

Give ear to him, obey his high command,And find your spirits’ peace beneath his hand.

For kingship’s throne will not endure for long;They call us back amid our joy and song.

Let love and equity your counsels guide,And think of me with joy when I have died.”

He sighed; his pomegranate bloom grew weak,And paled into the hue of fenugreek.