New Naqqali MangaW1 · TahminehNew Naqqali MangaW1 · Tahmineh
Cover: Tahmineh and her attendant stand side by side in a candlelit doorway. New Naqqali, Women of the Shahnameh W1: Tahmineh.
Welcome to Women of the Shahnameh, and how to read this issue: her own words in plain boxes, Ferdowsi’s couplets in italic.
Contents of the five acts, and where Tahmineh’s story sits in the poem.
The cast: Tahmineh, her attendant, Rostam, baby Sohrab, Sohrab at fourteen, and the King of Samangan.
Map: Samangan and the road to Iran.
The Women's Rooms.
I was still in the women’s rooms when Father’s guest arrived.
“Rostam.”. Rakhsh Is Gone. Through the Lattice.
“Who is it?” I asked.
The woman bringing the news looked pleased with herself. “Rostam.”
He had come on foot. Rakhsh was missing.
I wanted to see him. I had wanted that for a long time.
He searched the meadow, but no Rakhsh could find,
And sorrow cast its darkness on his mind.
As all beheld him, wonder filled each one:
“Is this great Rostam, or the rising sun?”
Stories Since Girlhood. Music Through the Courtyard.
I had listened to stories about Rostam since I was a girl. When visitors spoke of him, I found reasons to remain in the room.
Someone said that when he laughed, people at the far end of the hall turned to look.
The rud-players gathered, music filled the room,
So Tahamtan might cast away his gloom.
The Chest of Clothes. The Attendant Stands Silent. On the Edge of the Bed.
I opened a chest, looked at my clothes, and closed it again. Then I called the attendant who had known me longest.
“Come on, please say something,” I said. “You’re making me more nervous.”
“I want to speak to Rostam myself. I don’t want Father to send someone to ask whether he might consider me. I want to know whether he wants me.”
“You Do Not Know Him”. Saying It Aloud. Choosing a Robe.
“All you have heard are stories, right,” she said at last. “You do not know him.”
I wanted him to take me as his wife. I wanted to be with him. If a child came of it, I wanted that too.
“If you are set on this plan, then we should at least find you something you can walk in with that makes a statement.”
Enough Perfume. The Candle.
“That will be quite enough.” … “This is different.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am slowly understanding. Maybe!”
“Will you come with me? You definitely need to come with me.”
She lifted the candle she had brought. “Did you think that I was going to let you walk about in the dark?”
Through the Sleeping House. At His Door. What She Saw.
We took the familiar passages through the house.
At Rostam’s door, she looked back at me. I nodded.
His hand was much larger than I had expected, and there were scars on his arm. He looked tired.
At deep of night, while morning star rode high,
A secret murmur moved beneath the sky.
A handmaid entered, stately, calm, and bright,
And bore the perfumed candle through the night.
Colour page. The Maiden in the Candlelight.
Behind her came a maiden moon-faced, fair,
Sun-bright, with color, fragrance in the air.
He Wakes. “Tahmineh Is the Name I Bear”. The Attendant Withdraws.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” I said. “I only came to speak to you.”
She set down the candle and withdrew far enough to give us some privacy.
“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.
No man beyond the curtain saw my face,
Nor heard my voice outside its guarded place.
The Tales She Heard. He Laughs at Himself.
“You have chosen a poor time to judge. I arrived without my horse and threatened the men who offered to help me.”
I liked him better for being able to laugh at himself, and it became easier to continue.
How through black night alone to Turan you ride,
And roam its marches, sleep cast all aside.
“If You Desire Me”. “Does Your Father Know?”. His Hand.
“I want you to take me as your wife. That is, if you want me.”
“Does your father know that you are here?”
“Not yet. I wanted to ask you myself.”
He reached for my hand. “No. I am not refusing.”
If you desire me, I am yours tonight;
I choose you freely, with my heart alight.
A Son, or a Daughter. The Mobad Is Sent. Waiting in the Passage.
“You need not promise me a son,” he said. “A daughter would be welcome too.”
“Yes. You might have told me he would send for your father immediately.”
“That part, I didn’t know.”
Perhaps the Maker may decree for me
A son of yours within my arms to see.
He called a Mobad, reverent and skilled,
And sent him to the king, as custom willed.
The Rite at Midnight. Shy for the First Time. They Talked.
When he asked whether this was my wish, I answered clearly enough that he did not need to ask again.
Afterward, when the others had gone, I felt shy for the first time since entering Rostam’s room.
Later we talked. I asked him things I had wanted to know for years and some foolish things that had only just occurred to me.
With Tahmineh’s consent the pact was made,
By rite and judgment, faithfully arrayed.
Through that long night they spoke of every theme,
While darkness held the palace like a dream.
Colour page. The Mohreh.
“Keep this,” he said. “If you bear a daughter, sew it into her hair. If a son, bind it to his arm. It is my sign.”
A famous mohreh from his arm he drew,
And placed the token in Tahmineh’s view.
“Will I See You Again?”. Farewell at Sunrise. “Was He Kind?”. Hoofbeats.
“Will I see you again?”
He kissed my head before answering. “I hope so.”
“Tellme, was he kind?” she asked.
“Yes. Beyond all my imagination.”
I held the token while I listened.
He clasped her, kissed her eyes and kissed her head,
And spoke his last farewells before he sped.
Like wind he rode toward Iran, deep in thought
On everything the night before had wrought.
Colour page. Wrapped in Silk.
Afterward I wrapped it in silk and put it in my chest. For the rest of the morning, I kept going back several times to make certain it was there.
A Moon-Bright Child. Grandfather. Nights.
The day Sohrab was born, I wanted everyone to look at him. Then, after a couple of hours of people coming in, I wanted them all to leave.
“He looks like his father,” he said.
… I named him Sohrab that day.
I learned to wake before his crying became loud.
At nine months’ end, a moon-bright child appeared,
And all Samangan’s royal house was cheered.
The infant smiled, his face grew fresh and bright,
Tahmineh named him Sohrab with delight.
“Why Didn't You Wake Me?”. The Letter from Rostam. Too Big Too Soon.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you had finally gone to sleep.”
After his birth, Rostam sent a letter, three rubies, and three bags of gold. I read the letter more often than was necessary.
He grew so quickly that clothes put away for later were already too small when we brought them out.
Within a month he seemed a year in height,
His chest like Rostam’s, broad with growing might.
The Broken Stool. It Failed Him. The Spear in the Straw.
One day he dropped himself onto a carved stool hard enough to break it. When I reached him, he was sitting among the pieces, looking offended.
He pointed at the stool. He wanted me to understand that it had failed him.
The first time I saw him throw a practice spear into a straw target, I looked for the person who had given it to him. No one had. He had fetched it himself.
At three he trained with weapons of the field,
At five a lion’s heart was there, revealed.
“Where Is My Father?”. Combing His Hair.
It was in that courtyard that he first asked where his father was.
“Far away,” I said. “Somewhere in Iran.”
“Why doesn’t he ever come here?”
“Could he, like, lift a horse?”
“I never saw him try. Why would anyone need to lift a horse?”
Her Fears. The First Pony. At Ten.
I feared Afrasiab, whose hatred of Rostam was well known. I feared what other men would want of a son with Rostam’s strength.
“Did you see?” he asked as soon as they lifted him down.
“I saw the whole thing from start to finish. You were amazing with that little pony.”
By ten, men who had laughed at his eagerness were choosing not to meet him in the yard.
At ten no warrior in that land would try
To test him armed beneath the open sky.
One Boot Still On. “Who Is My Father?”. The Threat.
“He is ten,” I said. “He is tired by the evening, whether he admits it or not.”
… That night I found him asleep with one boot still on. … His hand lay open on the cover. I put a finger in it, and he closed his hand without waking.
“No. You always say later. Tell me now.”
For a moment I could not speak.
One day he came before his mother’s place,
And spoke with boldness written in his face:
And if you keep this hidden from my sight,
You shall not live to see another night.”
“You Will Sit Down”. “Your Father Is Rostam”.
“You will sit down,” I said. “You will listen. And afterward we will speak about how you came to threaten me in my own room.”
He sat.
I told him that his father was Rostam, son of Zal, of the house of Sahm and Nariman. As I named them, I saw him stop attending to the anger between us.
Your father is great Rostam, battle-tried,
The Piltan whose renown spreads far and wide.
Colour page. The Letter, the Rubies, the Gold.
He touched the seal, then asked me to read the words again.
She brought the letter Rostam sent of old,
Three rubies and three heavy bags of gold.
Why She Never Asked Him. Afrasiab Must Never Know.
“I was afraid he would come here and then take you to live with him. I did not want to lose you at this early age.”
He will demand you, call you to his side,
And leave your mother wounded when you ride.”
Let Afrasiab never learn this thing,
From first to last, nor hear whose son you spring.
Mending the Tear.
He stayed after that, quieter, and let me mend the tear in his tunic while he wore it.
… “You’re bleeding.”
“A very little. Hold still and let me finish.”
A Crown for His Mother. “Before Anyone Asked Me To”.
“I do not want a crown,” I told him. “I want to know how you propose to reach your father while attacking the people he defends.”
“You are afraid of everything beyond these walls.”
… “I went to your father before anyone asked me to,” I said.
I fight like lion till I win renown,
And set on you Iran’s imperial crown.
Colour page. The Little Horse.
He laughed and kissed my forehead. I kept hold of his sleeve for a moment after he had straightened.
He Needs a Horse. The Herds Pour In.
Before Sohrab could ride to Iran, he needed a horse that could bear him. He made certain I understood this was the only thing still delaying him.
I sent for the herdsmen. Horses came in from the hills and plains until the city seemed full of them.
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.
The Legs Yield. Two Hopes.
Again and again the legs yielded beneath him.
I went down to watch the choosing, hoping he would find one good enough and ashamed of how much I also hoped he would not.
He pressed its back until its belly lay
Upon the earth; so did its strength give way.
“There Must Be One”. A Colt of Rakhsh's Strain.
“There must be one, right. In all these horses, there has to be one that is right” he told me.
“There will be. You just need not hurt every horse in Samangan proving the others will not do.”
At last a man offered a young bay from Rakhsh’s line. I saw Sohrab’s face change before the horse was brought near.
“I have a young colt of noble Rakhsh’s strain,
Lion-strong and wind-swift across the plain.
Sohrab Laughs. Neither Spoke of Leaving. A Crown Crosses the Court.
When he mounted, I could see how well they suited each other.
I put my hand on the horse’s neck, and he bent down far enough for me to touch his cheek too. For a moment neither of us spoke about leaving.
I went to Father after seeing a crown being carried across the court.
Sohrab laughed; his eager face grew bright,
His former troubled mood dissolved in light.
He gave him crown and throne, the royal gear,
A cap and girdle worthy of a peer.
Father and Daughter. Afrasiab's Gifts.
“Have you agreed to all this?”
He looked tired. “He asked my leave. I have given it.”
… “I know he will not go alone. That is exactly what I am afraid of.”
Then Afrasiab’s gifts arrived.
A turquoise throne on ivory feet appeared,
A bijadeh crown with pearl-work finely tiered.
What She Did Not Know. “Us?”.
I knew nothing of the private instructions Afrasiab had given his commanders.
“Us?”
“Father and me.”
I put the letter down.
The son must never know his father’s face,
Nor learn the blood that joins their ancient race.
The Morning of Departure. Bread.
On the morning of departure I chose a dark robe and dressed before anyone came to help me. I had been awake most of the night.
He protested that everything was ready, and then ate most of what was brought.
The Cedar Chest. The Silk Bundle. “For Me”.
“You still keep it there?”
“What?”
“The thing you are about to give me.”
When I opened it, he stopped smiling. “Father’s?”
“Yes. He gave it to me before he left.”
He reached for it. I let him hold it, and he turned it over as carefully as he had once handled a small injured bird.
“Speak Before You Fight”. At the Window.
“He will know the sign. You must tell him your name too. Speak before you fight. Do not wait until you have thrown him down to announce that you are his son.”
“I cannot go as a child asking to be admitted.”
“You could go as his son.”
Colour page. What I Tied to His Arm.
“Before weapons,” I said. “Say who you are before weapons.”
“There Is No One”. “I Know I Can Be Hurt”. The Boy in the Chest. From Me.
When I asked what he would do if he met a warrior as strong as himself, he laughed.
“There is no one.”
I struck his cheek.
“I know I can be hurt.”
“Then please for your life’s sake, behave as though you know it.”
“You are still the boy who hid in that chest,” I said.
“I thought we had finished speaking about the chest.”
When he straightened, I gave him the small bundle I had prepared: dried fruit, a practical knife, cloth with a prayer sewn inside, and oil for a wound.
He told me that the supply men had provided everything.
“They have not provided these, because, I know that these came from me.”
Colour page. His Head in My Lap.
Then Sohrab knelt and put his head in my lap. … I asked God to guard him. I asked that he would recognize his father and be recognized in return, that he would listen when someone warned him, that he would come home to me.
“Bring Yourself Back First”. He Touched His Arm. Out of Sight.
“I will bring [Father] back with me to see you,” he said.
“Bring yourself back first. That is what I am asking.”
He looked for me before turning toward the gate. I lifted my hand. He touched the place on his arm where the token lay.
I watched until I could no longer distinguish him from the other riders.
His force advanced toward Iran’s guarded line,
The ranks rolled forward under battle sign.
Beside the Chest. The Little Horse.
At last I returned to my room. The chest was still open. I closed it, then sat on the floor beside it because my legs had begun to shake.
I lay down with the little wooden horse beside me. Every time someone crossed the courtyard, I heard the steps and waited for them to continue toward my door.
Watching the Road. “Whose Houses?”. A Letter to Her Son.
I watched the road long after there was any reason to watch it that day.
Instead I heard about places taken and houses burned along the road. I made the man bringing that account repeat it. “Whose houses?”
I sent word asking my son to write. I began the message angrily, then had the scribe start again.
I watched the road and waited day by day,
And thought: ‘Perhaps he journeys home this way.’
The Wheel. In the Women's Court.
A servant offered to have its wheel replaced. I said yes, then called him back before he could carry it away.
“Your father asks you to come.”
“Now?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Has there been news?” He lowered his eyes.
The Audience Room. “No.”. The Rider.
Father was waiting in the audience room. One look at him made it difficult to walk the rest of the way. “Where is Sohrab?” I asked.
He said that Sohrab had been killed. … He tried again. I kept saying no, quietly at first, then loudly enough that the men outside came to the door.
“Did you see him killed?” He glanced at Father. I told him to look at me.
“I saw him after he was wounded.”
The news then reached Samangan’s grieving king,
Who tore his robes and mourned the dreadful thing.
His Name. “He Had the Token”.
He took too long to answer. I asked again.
“Rostam.”
“He had the token,” I said. … “Then why did he not show it?”
“He did. After the wound.”
The tidings reached Tahmineh with a blow:
“Your son lies slain; his father struck him low.”
Her Father Catches Her. Far Away: The Fight.
I could not stay on my feet. Father caught me, and for a time I knew only the hands trying to help me and my own voice asking them to leave me alone.
There had been more than one meeting. … They had fought, parted, and fought again.
She raised a cry of anguish, fierce and deep,
Then swooned, revived, and sank again to weep.
Far Away: The Sign. Far Away: Spare Them. “I Need to Know”.
He had seen Rostam beside Sohrab after the token was uncovered.
He said that Sohrab had spoken, that men had bent close to hear him, that he had asked his father to spare the army he had brought.
“I am not angry that you came,” I said. “I need to know. You understand that?”
Rostam undid the khaftan, saw the sign,
Then tore his clothes, undone by grief’s design.
They trusted me and followed at my call;
Let not a single one of them now fall.
“Do Not Ask. Tell Them.”. Father and Daughter.
“Bring him here,” I said.
… “We will ask,” he said.
“Do not ask. Tell them.”
“I gave him the token.”
“So that he would be known.”
“He was not known.” … Father took me in his arms, and this time I held him.
Colour page. The Empty Silk.
The silk was folded beneath the letters. I took it out and spread it across my knees. There was nothing in it.
“Where are you now, my soul, my heart, my breath?
Now turned to dust and laid in blood and death?
His Name. The Long Night. The Dream.
I called Sohrab’s name. It sounded so ordinary that I waited for him to answer from somewhere beyond the door.
Later I was on the bed. Father sat at the far side of the room. Neither of us spoke.
Near morning I slept. I dreamed that Sohrab was dragging the wooden horse through the courtyard. … He turned and asked whether I had seen.
He will come home with father found at last,
And all his lonely wandering will be past.’
Waking. Her Hand Over Hers. The Room Made Ready.
I woke trying to answer him.
Her hands shook while she fastened my sleeve. I put my hand over hers and waited until she could continue.
I went to choose a room. I asked for water and clean linen and had the furnishings moved aside. Then I sat down where I could see the door.
The Room Remained Empty. Zabulistan. Where His Hair Would Have Been.
The room remained empty. I went there in the morning and again before evening.
When Father came to me with the answer, I knew it before he spoke. He sat beside me instead of standing in the doorway.
“They have taken him to Zabulistan.”
I put my hand where his hair would have been. That was the last time I had held him. I had thought there would be another.
Far Away: Rostam's House. The Little Scar. His Things Come Back.
News came of the mourning in Rostam’s house. Zal had seen the body. Rudabeh had cried over him.
I wanted to know whether Rudabeh had touched his hair, whether she had seen the little scar near his chin. He had fallen against a step when he was four and been furious with the stone.
The token had been wrapped separately. I found it beneath a fold of cloth and took it out.
She brought his armor, bow, and battle gear,
His sword, spear, gorz; each relic held so dear.
The Token Again. His Robe. The Woman Who Washed His Clothes.
I took the empty silk from my sleeve and wrapped it. No one spoke while I did it.
I gathered the robe into my arms. For a moment I could arrange it against me as though there were someone inside. Then it collapsed.
One of the women knelt beside me. She had washed his clothes when he was small. I let her stay.
“He was always tearing this part,” she said, touching the shoulder.
She took his robe and pressed it to her breast,
As though her son within its folds might rest.
Colour page. The Empty Saddle.
Then I saw the empty saddle.
She brought his charger, swift of foot and strong,
The steed that bore him proudly through the throng.
The Bay. The Tail Cut in Mourning.
I put both hands against his head and held him. His breath warmed my sleeve. I kissed his face and asked why he had come back without the boy who had chosen him so joyfully.
Later I took Sohrab’s sword and cut the horse’s tail in mourning. My hand was so unsteady that someone had to help me finish.
She clasped its head and kissed it in despair;
The world stood wondering at the grief laid bare.
She took his sword and reached his noble steed,
And cut its tail in mourning for the deed.
The Crown Set Aside. The Throne Taken Apart.
Then he took off his crown and set it aside before coming to sit with me. …
“He said he would bring Rostam here,” I told him.
“I remember.”
I could not bear to leave it standing as though he would return to it. I ordered it taken apart.
She closed the palace, tore the throne apart,
And cast it down with anguish in her heart.
What She Did Not Know. Doors Darkened.
One man told me that my son had once helped his child onto a horse. I made him tell me where and when. I had not known of it.
I had the doors darkened for mourning. Rooms were closed.
To the poor she gave gold and treasures rare,
And saddled steeds she gave them as their share.
She blackened every door throughout the hall,
And dust rose through the eyvan, court, and wall.
The Little Horse Between Them. Her Country and His.
I put the toy between us and told her about the day he had brought it back. She remembered. She had been outside the door and had heard him laugh.
I did not send for him. He did not come into my room to explain what he had done. Our son lay in his country, and I remained in mine.
An Hour Without Words. The Lullaby.
Father came without his crown and sometimes said nothing for an hour.
That night I tried to remember the lullaby he used to make me sing three times. The beginning came easily; farther on I lost the words. The woman beside me supplied them, very softly, and I asked her to begin again.
A year she mourned, and constant was her grief,
Until her broken heart found no relief.
Colour page. Leave the Lamp Burning.
I listened with my hand on the sleeve. When she finished, I thanked her. Then I asked her to leave the lamp burning.
She died of grief when that long year was done;
Her grieving soul went forth to Sohrab, her son.
Morning.
So do not set your heart upon this earth;
Our brief sojourn here yields but little worth.”
Afterword: the years the poem leaves out, and about this issue.
From the Poem: Tahmineh Seeks Out Rostam (B8.4), couplets 1–30.
From the Poem: Tahmineh Seeks Out Rostam (B8.4), couplets 31–54, and The Birth of Sohrab (B8.5), couplets 1–19.
Glossary of words and names in this issue.
Next in Women of the Shahnameh: Gordafarid. Credits.
Back cover: Tahmineh kneels at her chest, wrapping Rostam’s token in silk.