Book B12Forood and the Snowstorm Campaign

Let no great king, however fierce afield,Entrust his army to a foe to wield.

A man whose eyes with tears of envy flow,Sheds tears no healing art can cure or know.

Though noble-born and lofty in his pride,His sense of greatness never leaves his side.

To serve another galls his heart with hate,And speak to please him is a bitter fate.

Though sepahbod may call the man a friend,No wisdom with his heart can ever blend.

For if the heavens thwart his secret will,He looks on all creation coldly still.

No goodness finds a dwelling in his breast,His heart-rending desires give him no rest.

No wise man counts him one of humankind,If wisdom has no root within his mind.

And when you hear this tale in order told,The source of evil nature you behold.

When Sol arose in all its kingly blaze,Above the Ram he climbed through dawn-lit haze,

And all the world like molten gold burned bright,Tus’s tabiras thundered through the light.

The buq resounded; koust, tabira roared,And battle cries from every throat were poured.

The earth was turmoil; all the air was flame,While neighing chargers shook the heavens’ frame.

From horse-hoof dust the sun and moon grew black,While armor flashed along the army’s track.

The elephants let forth a thunderous cry,As though the Nile had flooded earth and sky.

The air turned yellow, violet, blue, and red,As the Kaviani standard onward spread.

Amid the mounted kinsmen of Gudarz,It waved beneath the ever-turning stars.

Before the royal tents the Shah appeared,In crown and gorz, by all the troops revered.

With royal ney resounding all around,He stood before the ranks in glory crowned.

Great Tus with golden shoes and Kaveh’s sign,With Nohzar’s lofty kindred formed in line,

Advanced before Khosrow in warlike pride,While nobles crowned with gems rode at his side.

Above them waved a banner broad and high,An elephant emblazoned toward the sky.

They moved together like a mountain black,And surged toward the Shah along the track.

The Shah commanded Tus in measured tone:“Bring all the famed sepahbods to my throne.”

The chosen champions came at his command,With flags and helmets, warriors of the land.

Then to the troops he spoke with royal might:“Let Tus command you in the coming fight.

He bears the Kaviani standard in the fray;Therefore obey whatever he may say.”

Before them all the royal seal was passedTo Tus, their salar, while the war should last.

“Tus is sepahbod in the coming war;Obey his counsel now and evermore.”

Then Khosrow spoke to Tus with solemn care:“Be true to me and heed what I declare.

Let none be wronged along the marching road;Such are the laws my royal rule bestowed.

Spare farmer, artisan, and peaceful hand;Harm none but those girt for the fighting band.

Contend with armed opponents in the field,But spare the weak who bear no sword or shield.

Disturb not those who seek a quiet life,For all must leave this world of passing strife.

Above all else, keep far from Kalat’s way,For if you take that road, our plan goes astray.

To Siavash, whose soul shines pure and bright,Whose place among the blessed rests in light,

The daughter of great Piran bore a son,Like Siavash in form, that noble one.

My brother, young, with farr upon his face,Dwells with his mother in that guarded place.

He scarcely knows Iran’s great chiefs by name,Nor men of noble birth and lasting fame.

Therefore turn your bridle from that way,And leave those mountain strongholds where they stay.

For warriors guard the passes of that height,And steep ascents are perilous in fight.

He is a brave and warlike chief, well known,For noble form and courage clearly shown.

Therefore choose well the desert road instead;It is unwise where lions’ claws are spread.”

Then Tus replied: “Your order shall be done;We take the road you name, and no other one.”

Then Tus rode forth without the least delay,While Khosrow turned to court another way.

With Rostam seated proudly at his side,He spoke of grief and Afrasiab’s pride.

The Mobad and the royal counselors allAttended, silent, in the royal hall.

They spoke of Afrasiab and his reign,Of Khosrow’s grief and Siavash’s pain.

Meanwhile great Tus led forth his gathered force,And crossed the spreading plain upon his course.

At length they reached a place where two roads spread:One barren, waterless, and grim with dread,

The other wound by Kalat’s guarded side,Through Charam’s fertile valleys, green and wide.

The elephants and koust remained there still,Awaiting Tus to speak his sovereign will.

The chiefs stood waiting at the branching ways,Until the warrior came through dust and haze.

Whichever road great Tus should choose that day,The army would obey and take that way.

Then Tus spoke long about the desert road,Its burning sands, its thirst, its crushing load:

“Though dust were ambergris beneath our tread,And musk upon the desert wind were spread,

Still on so long and wearying a trackOur troops need water, rest, or strength will crack.

We need green fields and forage for the steeds,A watered country suited to our needs.

Through Kalat and through Charam let us ride,At Mayam camp, with running streams beside.

Why choose the desert, suffering thirst and pain,And count long farsangs on the scorching plain?

I rode that road in former years of war,When Gazhdaham led forth the force before.

No lasting hardship on that road we knew,Save some slight rise and fall we journeyed through.

Far better, then, to take the greener way;Let not the desert drain our strength today.”

Then Gudarz said: “O chief of high command,The Shah has placed the army in your hand.

Conduct the troops according to his word,And let no plea against his will be heard.

Do not bring grief to Khosrow by your will,Lest harm descend upon the army still.”

Then Tus replied: “O seasoned man of war,Let not such fears afflict your spirit more.

The Shah will not condemn this chosen way.”Toward Kalat and Charam they rode that day.

Because he put Khosrow’s command aside,The end will show what fortune would decide.

News reached Forood: “The sun has lost its light,Beneath the dust that veils the world from sight.

From hoof and elephant-foot rose the stain,Till Nile-like darkness spread across the plain.”

Then Tokhvar said: “Your brother’s force draws near,From Iran’s land, with vengeance sharp and clear.

Against Turan they march with vengeance sworn,And toward Kalat their mighty lines are borne.

I know not where their battlefield shall rise,Nor where their darkened banners veil the skies.”

The youth, still green, on hearing news like this,Grew dark of soul and sank in grief’s abyss.

He left the hold and climbed the mountain height,Then scanned the neighboring slopes and plains in sight.

At his command they gathered from the plainThe sheep and camels, driving them in train,

And horses roaming over hill and lea;No grazing beast remained abroad and free.

Toward Sepid Kooh and Anboh all were led,And there within their bounds the herds were spread.

He mounted swiftly on a chosen steed,Prepared for counsel in that hour of need.

Then koust from Charam sounded far away,And Mayam’s dust-clouds darkened all the day.

Jarireh watched from high upon the wall,And saw the dust-cloud over Charam fall.

Her heart grew heavy as the army came,Still filled with grief and smoke for Siavash’s name.

Then young Forood, by grief and care oppressed,Approached his mother, whom he thus addressed:

“From Iran comes an army bold and grand,Its koust and elephants at Tus’s command.

What shall we do? What plan should we enact,Before their army moves to swift attack?”

Jarireh answered: “Warrior, may your daysBe fortunate beneath Heaven’s bright gaze.

Your brother now commands Iran’s great throne,Wise, vigilant Khosrow, world-ruler known.

Your lineage and native worth he knows,From Siavash the blood in both you flows.

No champion like Siavash ever rode,Or girded for the warrior’s heavy load.

Great Piran gave me first to Siavash;For never did his heart with rivals clash.

Thus from both sides your blood is nobly born,A royal lineage no man may scorn.

You are the son of that renowned great line,Of Kayan seed and Kayan form and sign.

You should be foremost in the coming fight,And strike at Turan for your father’s right.

Put Roman khaftan on your warrior frame,And let revenge within your spirit flame.

Your brother is new Shah beneath the sky;Be you new avenger; raise the battle cry.

This grief could well make leopards howl in pain,And nahangs rise lamenting from the main.

Birds and fishes curse Afrasiab’s name,No man like Siavash to this earth came.

No monarch in the world who wore a crownExcelled your father in deserved renown:

In prowess, warfare, wisdom, noble birth,In royal grace and justice, none on earth.

You are the son of that world-famous chief,Whose fall has filled all Iran’s heart with grief.

Your face proclaims your gohar, birth, and line;Avenge your father; let your nezhad shine.

Learn which great chiefs lead forth the marching train,And honor those who highest praise attain.

Set forth rich robes and spread the wine-filled board,And honor every worthy chief and lord.

Give robes of honor, treasure from your side,For Kay Khosrow is all your strength and pride.

Let strangers not avenge your father’s right;Ride with your brother foremost in the fight.”

Then Forood said: “Among these ranks below,What man among them may I trust and know?

These warriors are proud when war is near,Yet names and ranks remain to me unclear.

No greeting and no message reached me yet;Whom should I trust among the ranks now set?”

Jarireh answered: “In the dust belowTwo mighty riders you will come to know:

Seek Bahram and brave Zangeh, Shavaran’s son;By signs among the ranks you know each one.

From these two chiefs no secret need be sealed;To you and me their friendship stands revealed.

May your great name endure while earth remains,And Siavash’s soul in glory reigns.

They never left your father’s royal side;As kanarang, beside the Shah, would ride.

Go now with Tokhvar as your only aide;No greater company should be arrayed.

Do not make light of counsel heard today,Nor cast a prudent warning far away.

Brave Tokhvar knows Iran’s great men and small,And knows their names and stations, one and all.

He knows the shepherd and the gathered flock,And every chief who leads his martial stock.”

Then young Forood replied: “O lion-woman wise,Your counsel shines with truth before my eyes.”

A watchman from the lookout then drew near,And brought to Forood tidings grim to hear:

“The plain and pass and mountain swarm with men;The sun seems caught within their ranks again.

From fortress gate to Jang’s far desert groundStand troops and elephants and warriors round.”

With young Forood, wise Tokhvar rode beside, A youth whom cruel fortune long had tried.

Whenever hostile heavens rule mankind,No rage or mercy changes fate assigned.

They climbed a lofty mountain’s windy heightThat overlooked Iran’s assembled might.

The riders reached the mountain, rank on rank,While troop by troop the army filled each flank.

Then young Forood addressed his trusted guide:“Conceal no truth nor set one fact aside.

Tell me the names of all who meet your sight,Each lord and chief beneath each banner bright.

Name kanarang and standard-bearer bold,The men of gopal and of shoes of gold.”

Between two mountains came Iran’s great force,With gleaming armor worn by man and horse.

With golden girdles, helms, and standards bright,With spears and gopals flashing golden light,

No gold seemed left beneath the darkened ground;A cloud seemed pouring jewels all around.

The tabira resounded through the pass,Till weary vultures wheeled over the mass.

Then thirty thousand warriors took the field,Each one with ready spear and ready shield.

Then Tokhvar scanned the army from the height:“I shall name every chief and standard right.

That elephant-banner rises broad and high,With violet swords of horsemen passing by.

It marks great Tus, the fiercest chief in fight,Whose fury puts the boldest men to flight.

Behind him streams a standard with the sun;It marks Prince Fariborz, Kavus’s son.

Your uncle is a man of noble grace,A prudent chief of honorable place.

Beside him waves a banner with the moon,Surrounded by fierce warriors, fighting soon.

That chief is Gostaham, Gazhdaham’s heir,Whose might can make an elephant beware.

Next rose a falcon on a banner wide,With fierce and warlike horsemen at its side.

It flies above brave Zangeh’s battle-band,The son of Shavaran, with sword in hand.

Behind it stands a maiden, moonlike, fair,Ruby-bright, with black-silk curling hair.

That banner marks Bijan, whose courage glows,Who sprays the heavens with the blood of foes.

The tiger-banner leaping fierce and wide,As though to tear a lion’s flank aside,

Is borne by valiant Shidush through the fight,Who moves like some great mountain from its site.

Behind him waves the standard of the boar,A sign that seems to shake the heavens in war.

It marks brave Guraza riding to the fray,With kamand-afgans ranged along his way.

A buffalo adorned the next great sign,With spearmen first and troops behind in line.

That banner marks Farhad, a chief of fame,Whose towering height seemed heaven’s own to claim.

A wolf-device on one dark banner lies,And marks brave Giv before all watching eyes.

A golden lion streams above the field,The sign of Gudarz, bearing sword and shield.

The standard bearing forth a painted pardPrecedes proud Rivniz, imperious and hard.

The gazelle-banner streaming in the airBelongs to Nastooh, Gudarz’s noble heir.

The standard with the mountain sheep displayedPertains to Bahram, fierce, of none afraid.

They all are lion-hearted chiefs of might;To name them one by one would last till night.”

Thus Tokhvar named each chief and battle sign,Explaining all their order and design.

The prince observed each chief, both high and low,And like a flower his joyful face did glow.

Then from the height he spoke with burning breath:“We shall avenge my noble father’s death.

In Chin and in Machin none shall survive;No mounted lord shall leave the field alive.

I shall seize the dragon, break his great crown,And cast his throne and mighty kingdom down.”

Now when the Iranian troops looked highAnd saw Forood against the mountain sky,

And Tokhvar standing closely at his side,Then Tus the chief burned hot with wounded pride.

He ordered elephants and koust be still,And all the army halted at his will.

Then Tus declared: “We need a chief of mightTo ride at once and scale the mountain height.

Let him discover who these warriors are,And why they stand and watch our lines from far.

If they belong among our ranks below,Two hundred lashes each shall undergo.

But if Turanians, bent upon a fight,Then bind and drag them here before our sight.

But if they die, then lay them in the ground;Let neither fear nor hesitation sound.

But if they prove to be concealed spies,Who seek to count our forces with their eyes,

Then cleave them both in two upon the height,And cast them from the mountain out of sight.”

Then Bahram, son of Gudarz, told the chief:“I shall learn all and make my mission brief.

I go to carry out your full command,And bring the mountain crest beneath my hand.”

He struck his steed and rode with troubled mind,And climbed the mountain, leaving dust behind.

Forood then said to Tokhvar standing by:“Who is this man that climbs so boldly high?

Good God! He takes no notice of us here,But scales the rugged slope and feels no fear.

He rides a bay horse swiftly up the rise,A kamand swinging where his saddle lies.”

The counselor replied: “Do not be severe;Deal gently with the rider drawing near.

I know him neither by his face nor sign,But think he comes from Gudarz’s noble line.

When Kay Khosrow returned from Turan’s land,A royal helm went missing from his band.

That helm, I think, now crowns this rider’s head,And royal jowshan to his girdle spread.

He surely comes from Gudarz’s noble race;So let us question him with measured grace.”

When Bahram nearer to the summit drew,His thunderous challenge through the mountain flew:

“Who are you standing on the mountain height?Do you not see that vast assembled might?

Do you not hear the buq and koust arise,Or fear brave Tus beneath the open skies?”

The prince replied: “No harshness have you known;Speak gently, seasoned chief, with tempered tone.

You are no lion raging in the plain,Nor am I Gur-e-Khar beneath your rein.

You do not stand above me in your might,In courage, strength, or manhood in the fight.

Consider hand and foot, and heart and head,And wit and speech by which all men are led;

Consider eyes and ears and judgment clear;Judge whether all these gifts in me appear.

If so, then cast aside your foolish threat,And speak with sense before you must regret.

If you will answer, I would question you,And gladly hear a counsel wise and true.”

Then Bahram said: “Ask all you wish to know;You stand in heaven, while I remain below.”

Forood inquired: “Who leads this great array,And who is most renowned in battle’s day?”

Then Bahram answered: “Tus commands the force;The Kaviani standard and koust mark his course.

There stand Gudarz and Rohham in their might,And Giv and Shidush eager for the fight.

There Gorgin stands, with Farhad battle-tried,And Gostaham, with valor at his side,

With Zangeh, Shavaran’s renowned son,And Guraza, whose blows make warriors run.”

Then young Forood replied with warm acclaim:“Why have you left out Bahram’s honored name?

Among the sons of Gudarz, Bahram’s fameBrings joy; yet from your roll he bears no claim.”

Then Bahram said: “O young man, brave and bold,Who taught you Bahram’s name in days of old?”

Forood replied: “My mother was my guide:‘When Iran’s army comes, seek him,’ she cried.

‘Seek Bahram first among your father’s kin,And Zangeh too, when Iran’s troops come in.

Both were your father’s foster-brothers true;So seek the counsel they may offer you.’”

Then Bahram said: “O youth of royal root,You are that kingly tree’s auspicious fruit.

You are Forood, of royal root and line;May joy and length of days forever shine!”

The prince replied: “Forood indeed am I;A fallen cypress sends this shoot on high.”

Then Bahram said: “Now show the mark you bear,The sign that proves you are Siavash’s heir.”

Forood displayed his arm before his eyes;Its noble beauty filled him with surprise.

An amber mole on rose-hued skin he bore,Whose like in Chin no compass drew before.

Then Bahram knew him by that royal sign:“From Kay Qobad through Siavash springs this line.”

He blessed the prince and bowed with courtly grace,Then climbed the steep to reach the lofty place.

Forood dismounted, sat upon a stone,And welcomed Bahram warmly as his own:

“O lion in the fury of the fight!Exalted, wise, and terrible in might!

If my own eyes could see my father still,No greater joy could ever my heart fill

Than seeing you in gladness, hale and sound,Accomplished, wise, in every virtue crowned.

I climbed this mountain height so I might knowWhat chiefs and champions march in ranks below.

To learn the names of heroes in the fight,And lords whose glory shines with lasting light.

I will prepare a feast as best I may,And honor Iran’s Pahlevans today.

Fine steeds and swords, bright gorz and belts beside,I will bestow with open-handed pride.

Then I will march with vengeance in my breastAgainst Turan and grant my spirit rest.

Such vengeance is the task that fits my name;For I in battle am a blazing flame.

Now ask the Pahlevan to climb and stay,And spend one joyful week with me, I pray.

A week we will converse, and all the whileI shall look on them with a joyful smile.

Upon the eighth day when the koust shall sound,And Tus mounts up while armies gather round,

I shall gird for vengeance for my father’s wrong,And wage a grief-filled battle fierce and long.

That battle shall teach lions war that day;The vulture’s crop bear witness to the fray.

No champion born upon this mortal earthShall gird for vengeance with such royal worth.”

Then Bahram answered: “Young prince, brave and wise,With honar, horsemanship, and strength you rise.

I will report your words to Tus, and plead,Kissing his hand, that he your message heed.

Yet our sepahbod lacks a prudent mind;No place for counsel in his head you find.

Though honar, wealth, and noble blood he bears,No loyal thought of Shah his spirit shares.

He rose against Giv, Gudarz, and the Shah,For Fariborz and crown, against the law.

He said: ‘From Nohzar’s royal line I spring;I myself am fit to rule as king.’

Self-willed, with neither warp nor woof in place,He gives sound counsel neither room nor grace.

He may reject the message that I bear,And turn upon me with an angry glare.

I know his heart; it will not bend once set;The wisest plea has never moved him yet.

If any rider but myself draws near,Let neither head nor helmet there appear.

One rider only should be sent your way;If one appears, shut fast your gate and stay.

Tus said: ‘Ride up and learn what men they are,But do not ask their purpose from afar.

Let gorz and khanjar settle this affair;Why should men stand upon that mountain bare?’

If peace prevails, I shall return to youWith welcome news and counsel sound and true.

Then gladly I will lead you to our side,And bring you to the army as my guide.”

Then Forood drew a golden gorz that shone,Its turquoise handle flashed like precious stone.

“It may yet prove of service in our need;If noble Tus is kindly in his deed,

Our hearts will fill with pleasure and content;And further gifts by me shall then be sent:

Fine steeds and saddles, and a crown of gold,And royal signet, jeweled to behold.”

Then Bahram, son of Gudarz, spoke and said:“May wisdom guard your spirit and your head.

That youth is Prince Forood, of royal birth,Whose guiltless father’s blood was spilled on earth.

He showed the royal mark upon his skin,The sign of Kavus and Kay Qobad’s kin.

Kay Khosrow warned you, and his words were clear:‘Do not bring harm to Siavash’s son here.’”

The haughty Tus replied in sudden wrath:“The buq and koust resound along our path.

My order leaves no room for you to stray:‘Bring him before me; ask nothing; obey.’

If he is king, then who in truth am I?Why does he stand upon that mountain high?

Some Turanian youth, like raven black,Has blocked the road and holds our army back.

In Gudarz’s sons I see no good today;Their self-willed deeds bring harm to our array.

You stood afraid before one horseman’s stare,As though a lion crouched within its lair.

He saw our ranks, then turned to craft and guile;You crossed those slopes for nothing all the while.”

Then Tus addressed the gathered chiefs and spoke:“O warriors, who will take this heavy yoke?

I need a warrior fearless, fierce, and bold,To climb that height and do as I have told.

Bring me his severed head before my sight,Cut with your khanjar on that mountain height.”

Then Rivniz quickly girded for the fight,His doom drew near him on that fatal night.

Then Bahram spoke to Rivniz, stern and brief:“Do not so quickly purchase lasting grief.

Revere Yazdan who rules both sun and moon,And shame before the Shah should check you soon.

That mountain youth is of the Shah’s own kin,A famed horseman with royal blood within.

Though but one rider from our army rideAgainst that prince upon the mountainside,

Not one would leave alive beneath his hand;You darken joyful hearts at your command.”

This warning only stirred up Tus to rage;He would not hear the counsel of the sage.

He ordered several chiefs of proven mightTo ride at once and climb the mountain height.

Then many warriors hurried toward the site,Each proud of heart and eager for the fight.

Bahram continued: “This is no small thing;The Shah’s own kin stands there, of royal spring.

One hair of his outweighs a hundred men;Who saw Siavash will know his face again.”

When Bahram named the prince and royal line,The riders turned their steeds back from the incline.

Next Tus’s son-in-law rode to the fore,While turning heavens mocked the fate he bore.

By Charam’s road toward Sepid Kooh he pressed,With malice burning fiercely in his breast.

From high above, Forood beheld him ride,Then drew his royal bow in wrath and pride.

He said to old Tokhvar: “Tus mocks my word;This rider is no Bahram, as I heard.

My heart grows troubled; ease has fled my ways.See if you know the horseman through the haze;

Why is he clad in iron head to heel?See if his name or lineage you reveal.”

Then Tokhvar said: “That rider, battle-famed,Is Rivniz, for his horsemanship acclaimed.

He has forty sisters, springtime-fair;And in his line no other son is heir.

Deceitful, treacherous, a flattering tongue,Tus’s son-in-law, both valiant and young.”

Forood replied: “Such praise suits times of peace.If he rides near for war, his breath shall cease;

He soon shall sleep where mourning sisters kneel;If but my arrow’s wind should brush his steel,

If he survives, then count me not a man;With one shaft horse or rider ends its span.

Speak now, old Tokhvar, weathered still in strife;What counsel gives your long experience in life?”

Then Tokhvar said: “Loose at the man. Attack;Perhaps the heart of Tus will burn and crack.

He does not know your heart was set on peace;Yet Tus brings war and will not let it cease.

He brings you war though you sought peace before,And shames your brother Khosrow all the more.”

Then Rivniz nearer to the summit came;Forood drew taut his shiz bow to aim.

From high a poplar shaft against him sped,And stitched his Roman helmet to his head.

The rider crashed; his charger turned away,His head sank deep in dust where Rivniz lay.

From Mayam Tus looked upward at the height,The mountain vanished wholly from his sight.

The wise have left this warning for our day:“For evil nature, even mountains pay.”

Then Tus addressed Zarasp: “Let fire start,Like Azargashasp’s blaze, within your heart.

Put on the arms that noble warriors wear,And guard your life with vigilance and care.

Perhaps you seek revenge for him now slain;No other seeker rises on the plain.”

Zarasp set out, his helmet on his head,His heart for vengeance, lips with boasting fed.

He roared and struck his charger toward the height,And like a fire came blazing into sight.

Then Forood, lion-hearted in his rage,Spoke now to Tokhvar, battle-seasoned sage:

“Another horseman hastens toward our keep;Go see if chief or soldier climbs the steep.”

Tokhvar replied: “Zarasp is this one’s name,The son of Tus, a warrior known to fame.

He never turns his charger from the line,Though armored elephants before him shine.

He was this rider's brother-in-law allied; He comes to avenge the kinsman who has died.

When he beholds your stature, arm, and helm,Loose then your shaft; let death his strength overwhelm.

Bring head to dust and cast him from his horse;Then mad Tus learns no jest has shaped our course.”

Forood spurred forward, bowstring drawn with might,And struck Zarasp through the middle in his flight.

The shaft pinned body fast to saddle frame;Its arrowhead consumed his vital flame.

He fell; his steed forsook him where he lay,And raced full speed back down the mountain way.

A mighty clamor rose through Iran’s force,The grieving warriors cast their helms off course.

Then Tus, heart-stricken, eyes awash with tears,Put on his jowshan as his fury sears.

He mourned those fallen chiefs with inward grief,And shook with rage and sorrow like a leaf.

He mounted grim, immense in warlike pride,Like mountain mass upon an elephant’s hide.

He wheeled his charger toward the mountain height,His heart held vengeance, smoke obscured his sight.

Then Tokhvar spoke: “A mountain storms this way,In fury climbing upward to the fray.

It is the chief himself, the mighty Tus,A seasoned nahang; challenge him and lose.

Withdraw within the fortress and remain;Await what fate hereafter may ordain.

His son and son-in-law you slew in war;Now think of feast and pleasure nevermore.”

Young Forood answered him with heart aflame:“What dread should battle kindle in my frame?

Let Tus come on with lions in array,With raging elephants to join the fray;

With fighting nahang, Babr-e Bayan dire;Such foes cast no flowers on raging fire.”

Then Tokhvar, rich in wisdom, answered clear:“Wise kings do not reject advice they hear.

Though you were iron fit to split a hill,And wrench a mountain-root by force of will,

Yet still you stand one horseman, all alone,Against Iran’s great army, steel and stone.

Thirty thousand warriors soon will riseAnd storm the mountain upward to the skies.

No fort, no stone, no dust will here remain;They tear the whole foundation from the plain.

And should some evil strike that mighty chief,Prince Khosrow’s heart would break beneath the grief.

Your father’s vengeance too would be denied;Turn back, shoot not, within the fortress bide.”

What should have first been spoken, he concealed;The needed counsel never was revealed.

From such a witless counselor came the cost:War gained its profit; precious life was lost.

Eighty moon-faced serving girls stood near,Upon the rooftop watching him with fear.

They watched him ceaselessly with eager eyes,And filled the fort with talk beneath the skies.

He could not flee beneath their watching sight,Nor stain his name by shrinking from the fight.

But Tokhvar said: “Before you make your stand,Now hear the course that wisdom would command.

Do not destroy noble Tus in this strife;Strike first his horse, and let him keep his life.

His destined hour may still lie far from sight;Fate has not marked him yet to leave the light,

The time of fate has not yet come to show;One wooden shaft will never lay him low.

Once Tus ascends and reaches to the crest,His troops will surge behind him without rest.

You lack the strength to stem that rising tide,Or face the storm in which his archers ride.”

Young Forood listened closely to that speech,Then bent his bow with deadly strength and reach.

The poplar arrow struck the charger square,A marksman’s stroke that none could hope to bear.

The horse fell headlong, lifeless on the ground;Tus burned for vengeance, wrath his senses bound.

Back to the camp the dusty chief withdrew,Afoot, shield at his neck, bewildered too.

Meanwhile Forood pursued him with these cries:“What grief has struck the mighty chieftain’s eyes?

How shall he lead the armies to the fight,Who cannot face one youth upon the height?”

The serving women laughed in mocking tone,From high walls down their scornful taunts were thrown.

They cried: “The great chief stumbled down in fright,Undone before a stripling! What a plight!”

When Tus descended from the mountainside,The chiefs approached him, grieving at his side.

They gathered round the Pahlevan in prayer,Their praises rising through the mountain air.

They said: “O mighty champion, safe and sound,What joy to see you back on level ground!

We need not wash our cheeks with bitter tears,So long as you still live to lead your peers.”

The noble Giv was grieved to see him pressed,Returned on foot, bewildered and distressed.

He cried: “This shame has passed all proper frame;It pales the faces of the men of fame.

Though royal-born and decked in gems and gold,Must he insult an army brave and bold?

Though Tus was rash and showed too little care,Forood has spread upheaval everywhere.

For Siavash we gladly give our breath;For him we would not shrink from wounds or death.

Yet still we must not overlook this shame,Nor leave such foul dishonor free from blame.

Zarasp, Nohzar’s noble scion, lies,And Rivniz drowned in blood before our eyes.

Though Jamshid’s blood and Kay Qobad’s mind he claim,Through ignorance he lit war’s shameful flame.”

Giv armed himself in hurried wrath and pride,And climbed the mountain up its rocky side.

Like a wild ram that vaults through broken stone,He came before young Forood all alone.

At sight of Giv, Forood a cold sigh drew,Then turned to Tokhvar, asking what he knew:

“These warriors cannot tell descent from rise;The road of war lies hidden from their eyes.

Each warrior braver than the last appears,Their forms shine like the sun through battle-spears.

Yet wisdom fails the chief who holds command;A witless head leaves but a corpse to stand.

I think their vengeance now shall fail outrightUnless Khosrow himself comes forth to fight.

Then side by side we may avenge our sire,And turn on Turan all our kindled fire.

But tell me now what noble horseman nears,Whose hand and sword give warriors cause for tears.”

Then Tokhvar cast his gaze across the plain,And answered him in measured, somber strain:

“That raging dragon sweeps across the field;Birds fall before his breath, their flight is sealed.

He bound your grandfather Piran in chains,And smashed two Turanian forces on the plains.

Full many children has he fatherless left,Through mount and stream and wilderness he cleft.

Full many fathers mourn the sons he slew,And lion-necks beneath his charger knew.

It was this warrior brought your brother home,Across the Jihun where no boat could roam.

Men call him Giv; when battle ranks draw near,An elephant, a Nile in flood, men fear.

When you secure the thumbstall on your hand,Your arrow cannot pierce his iron band.

He wears Siavash’s jowshan in the fight;Your arrowhead will strike but fail to bite.

So turn your arrow toward his charging steed;Against the horse your shaft may well succeed.

Then Giv may stagger backward from the fray,Shield at his neck, on foot like Tus that day.”

Young Forood strung his bow and held it calm,Then rubbed its rounded grip within his palm.

He loosed the shaft and struck brave Giv’s great horseFull in the breast with overwhelming force.

Giv tumbled down and hastened from the fight;Then laughter rose from Sepid Kooh’s height.

Giv’s spirit shrank beneath the mocking cries,Yet all the chiefs approached with grave replies:

“All praise to Yazdan! You are safe and sound;Your horse is wounded, but you stay unbound.”

Then Bijan hurried to his father’s side,And spoke rash words in wounded, angry pride:

“My father, great lion-queller famed for might,Whose strength can turn war elephants in flight!

Why should one mounted youth behold your back?Your hand once formed war’s soul in each attack.

A Turanian youth unhorsed you with one shot,Like a drunkard, you abandoned the spot!”

Then Giv replied: “The instant fell my steed,I should have died as honor’s laws decreed.”

He spoke in savage tones and burning ire;At once young Bijan turned away from sire.

Then Giv in fury at Prince Bijan’s jestLashed with his whip across the young man’s crest.

He cried: “Did no one teach you, reckless youth,That war requires reflection, judgment, truth?

You lack all prudence, foresight, wit, and thought;Such reckless speech brings punishment when wrought!”

Prince Bijan burned beneath his father’s blame,And swore by the Creator’s holy name:

“I shall not strip the saddle from my steedTill Zarasp is avenged, or death fulfills the deed.”

He turned away with sorrow in his heart,While thoughts of vengeance tore his peace apart.

Then Bijan went to Gostaham and said:“Lend me a mountain horse with fearless tread,

One strong and swift enough to reach the crest,So I may put that mountain youth to test.

A Turanian youth stands high upon the height;The ranks look on; I burn to meet in fight.”

But wise Gostaham replied: “This course is wrong;Do not ascend the mountainside headlong.

The world has rise and fall and open ground;We still must journey past this mountain bound.

Of horses fit to bear a mail-clad chief,But two remain; to lose one brings me grief.

Not one its equal could I ever find,In color, gait, great strength, or height combined.

Zarasp, a warrior mighty in command,And brave Rivniz lie dead upon the land.

Even Tus, who counts the world as dust,Retreated, shaken in his pride and trust.

Your father, lion-hunter, takes no careHow turning heavens wheel through upper air.

They turned away, hearts darkened by the fight;No man could master such a flinty height.

With vulture’s wings, or homa’s flight, one mightReach that high gate no man can climb outright.”

Then Bijan answered: “Do not break my heart,Nor rob my arms of strength before I start.

I swore by moon, by Judge of earth and sky,And by the Shah’s bright diadem on high,

That I shall either perish where I stand,Or take revenge for Zarasp by my hand.”

Then Gostaham replied: “This rage is wrong;Wise judgment does not sanction wrath so strong.”

Bijan said: “Then I will go to face the foe,And take revenge for that destroying blow.”

Then Gostaham replied, “I would defendEach hair upon your head until the end.

Had I a hundred thousand steeds in line,Their manes and tails adorned with jewels fine,

No horse, no treasure, life, nor gorz I spare;Nor sword would I withhold from any share.

Go choose among my horses one to ride;Saddle it; if it dies, let that abide.”

One long-built charger, wolf-like, tall, stood near;They bound its bargostvan as battle gear.

Giv thought of brave Forood and all his deeds,And burned to see such headlong acts proceed.

He summoned Gostaham and spoke at length,With many tales of youth and headlong strength.

Siavash’s jowshan and his royal helmHe sent Bijan, to help him overwhelm.

When Gostaham had brought the armor near,Bijan encased himself in battle gear.

Swift through the dust, he mounted and was gone,Toward Sepid Kooh, with vengeance driving on.

Forood said to Tokhvar: “Another chiefHas climbed the mountain, bold in his belief.

Look forth and tell me who this man may be,And who shall mourn this warrior slain by me.”

That master of wise speech made this reply:“No warrior in all Iran with him can vie.

He is Giv’s son, Bijan, a lion brave,Victorious where the battle-banners wave.

Giv has no other son; this youth is dearBeyond all wealth and life his heart holds near.

Strike at his horse, but spare the rider’s life,And do not bring Prince Khosrow grief through strife.

Now Bijan wears Siavash’s jowshan too,Against whose rings no arrowhead breaks through.

Giv bound the armor firmly, plate on plate;No arrow, javelin, can pierce its weight.

Afoot he still can wage a deadly fight;You are no match for him in open might.

Behold, he grasps an adamantine blade;Against such steel no easy charge is made.”

Forood’s shaft struck Bijan’s charger deep;It crashed as though condemned to endless sleep.

When Bijan freed himself, he climbed the height,His sword in hand, and called Forood to fight:

“Stay, valiant horseman! Watch a lion rise;See how unhorsed men still pursue the prize.

True warriors, though unhorsed, return to fray;With Indian sword in hand they force their way.

Wait now for me, and I shall make it clearThat every thought of war will turn to fear.”

Forood above grew angered in his prideBecause brave Bijan would not turn aside.

Again Forood shot down a shaft in wrath;Bijan raised high his shield across its path.

The arrow pierced the shield; the jowshan held;Still Bijan climbed, by nothing stopped or quelled.

He reached the summit, drawing forth his blade;Across the crest his fierce advance he made.

Forood turned back; the ramparts rang with cries,As Bijan pressed behind him toward the rise.

With sharpened sword, Bijan pursued his flight,And slashed the bargostvan with all his might.

The noble horse collapsed upon the ground;Forood reached the fortress as cries rang round.

The garrison slammed shut the gate, and rainedDown stones to keep the warrior restrained.

Bijan perceived no place for further stay,And cried: “O chief renowned in war’s array!

Though horseman, warrior, prince of noble name,You fled one man on foot and felt no shame?

Shame stains the heart and hand of brave Forood!”Then from that field he turned in wrathful mood.

He came to Tus and said: “Who meets this chiefIs lion of the plain beyond belief.

Though flinty mountains melt beneath his dart,No seasoned chief should marvel at his art.

Beyond such prowess measurement must fail;No higher bound can weigh him on the scale.”

Then Tus swore by Him, Yazdan of all:“I shall send dust to sun from this high wall.

To avenge Zarasp, Pahlevan of renown,I shall strike that hostile Turanian down.

His blood shall soak the stones when he lies dead,And stain the pale rocks deep with coral red.”

When shining sunlight vanished in the west,And night led forth its armies from their rest,

A thousand guards stood armed within the hold,From Kalat came a rider, swift and bold.

The gate was barred; the jaras rang outright,Its warning zang resounded through the night.

Then Jarireh lay upon her honored bed,While night with grief and pain together spread.

She dreamed a blazing flame climbed through the skyBefore her cherished son, it burned on high.

It lit Sepid Kooh with a dreadful fire,And fortress and attendants fed the pyre.

She woke in pain, her spirit filled with dread,And climbed the walls, the vision in her head.

She saw spears, jowshans, crowding all the hill;Blood filled her face; smoke made her heart grow chill.

She hurried then to Forood in alarm,And cried to wake him from impending harm:

“Rise from your sleep, my son! The stars on highBring ruin down beneath the darkened sky.

The mountain swarms with foes in ranks combined;The gates with spears and jowshan all are lined.”

He answered her: “Why grieve? What can you cure?When comes my time, no charm can it secure.

My father too was murdered in his youth;My ruined fate now follows his in truth.

Gurvi Zereh dealt my father his end,And Bijan now comes for my life to rend.

Yet like a mountain ram I fight and die,And seek no zanhar from Iran,” his cry.

He handed helmets, jowshan all aroundTo all the troops assembled on the ground.

A Roman helmet fastened on his head,A Roman khaftan round his frame he spread.

He took the Kayan bow prepared to fight,And watched the final hours of grieving night.

The shining sun climbed upward through the sky,And showed its radiant face to every eye.

The chiefs cried out; great gorzes whirled around,While battle thunder shook the mountain ground.

The koust and karnay thundered through the fray,With Indian daray, sarghin ney at play.

Then Forood from the castle ramparts cameWith all his valiant Turanians, hearts aflame.

The horsemen veiled Sepid Kooh from sight,Its crest became a sea of pitch-black night.

Thick flights of arrows blackened all the height,And left no open ground for men to fight.

The rocks and stones brought havoc to the steeds,While both sides strained through hard and bloody deeds.

Then Tus advanced with shield and falchion drawn,And led his men himself at break of dawn.

The chiefs of Iran followed close behind;Afoot they climbed, in battle ranks aligned.

They battled on until the noon was high;By then Forood’s brave troops were doomed to die.

The hills and valleys filled with heaps of slain;His star of fortune sank behind the plain.

Iran’s troops marveled at his might and fame;No lion half so fierce before them came.

Yet battle pressed him hard on every side;And fortune turned against his youthful pride.

No Turanian rider stayed beside;Alone he would not face the battle-tide.

At last he turned and raced toward the hold;Then Rohham and brave Bijan, fierce and bold,

Charged him from high and low with deadly speed,And sought to cut him off in time of need.

When Bijan on the lower ground appeared,Rein light and stirrup heavy, Forood neared.

The youth beheld his helmet through the dust,Then seized his gorz with fury fierce and just.

He rushed like some great lion toward his foe,Unknowing what the heavens would bestow.

He thought to strike Prince Bijan on the head,And smash both helm and skull and leave him dead.

Bijan was staggered by the blow, struck blind;He reeled, the world gone dark within his mind.

Then Rohham from behind the battle cried,And drew his Indian sword in wrathful pride.

He struck the lion-youth upon the shoulder;Arm and shoulder fell; his blood ran colder.

Prince Forood cried; his charger thundered on,Though arm and shoulder from his frame were gone.

Then Bijan closed beside the fortress wall,And hamstrung Forood’s horse and made it fall.

Then Forood, wounded, went afoot inside,A few faithful attendants at his side.

They quickly barred the gate against the foe;Alas for Forood, marked for death and woe!

His mother and the women gathered near,And all embraced him, shedding bitter tears.

They laid him gently on the ivory throne;His season for the crown and world had flown.

His mother and the women tore their hair,And ripped their musky tresses in despair.

The throne lamented; all the fortress cried,And grief consumed the women at his side.

Then with a fading glance and failing breath,He turned to them while drawing near to death.

With one last effort, as his spirit fled,He forced his failing lips to speak and said:

“No wonder that you tear your hair and weep;The Iranians soon will storm this mountain keep.

They will make captives of the women here,And ruin wall and mount when they draw near.

Let all whose hearts still burn for love of meLeap from the battlements and perish free.

Let none become Prince Bijan’s share or prize;A little time remains before life dies.

My body and my spirit fall to pain;What use are girls or treasure that remain?”

He spoke; his cheeks grew pale as life withdrew,His grieving spirit from his body flew.

This drunken wheel, a juggler in its play,With seventy hands deceives mankind each day.

At times by khanjar, sword, by wind or cloud,Through worthless hands it kills amid the crowd.

At times gives throne and crown and treasure-gain;At times gives grief, toil, shame, the pit, and pain.

Each mortal bears whatever fate may give;Straitened in heart, with empty hands I live.

Had wisdom’s man not entered mortal fold,He would not know this world’s fierce heat and cold.

We live deprived, our cherished hopes denied;This life itself gives cause for tears beside.

At last the dust becomes our final bed;Alas for Forood’s heart, his mind, his tread.

The attendants climbed the rooftop in despair,And leaped to death while grief still choked the air.

Jarireh kindled fire with her own hands,And burned the treasures gathered through the lands.

Then sword in hand she barred the stable door,Where stood the Arab steeds she prized before.

She hamstrung them and ripped their bodies wide;While bloody tears ran down her cheeks beside.

With khanjar blue as water, she drew near,And pressed both cheeks against her son so dear.

She ripped her belly open with the blade,And on her slaughtered son her body laid.

The Iranians broke the fortress gates apart,Prepared to sack the hold with ruthless heart.

When Bahram neared the fortress where he lay,His heart was torn apart in deep dismay.

Then to Iran’s assembled chiefs he cried:“More wretched than Siavash has Forood died!

No servant of Siavash struck him dead,Nor household hand brought ruin to his bed.

Nor did his mother meet her death that day;Yet hold and household burned and passed away.

Fear the Creator and Time’s turning wheel;The wrong you do, its circling course will feel.

Heaven’s claw is long against the unjust man;It turns no loving face toward such a plan.

Will you not feel deep shame before Khosrow,Who warned you well before he let you go?

He sent you forth Siavash’s blood to claim,And gave you all much counsel before this shame.

When Khosrow learns his brother’s blood was shed,All bonds of shame and honor will lie dead.

From Rohham and keen-minded Bijan’s hand,No worthy deed will rise throughout the land.”

Then Tus approached; the koust resounded wide,Along the rugged road by Kalat’s side.

Gudarz and Giv beside the warrior rode,Along with warriors on the mountain road.

They marched toward Sepid Kooh in stern array,And neared Anboh along the mountain way.

But when they reached the throne where Forood lay,Jarireh lay beside him, cold and gray.

Beside the dead sat Bahram, eyes with tears,His heart still filled with anger, grief, and fears.

Across from him stood Zangeh, Shavaran’s son,With warriors gathered round him, every one.

While on the ivory throne the hero lay,Moon-faced and tall as teak, though cold as clay,

He seemed Siavash upon a golden throne,With jowshan, sword, and gorz and girdle shown.

Then Giv and Gudarz wept beside the bier,With Gorgin, Bahram, shedding bitter tear.

Then Tus’s face filled up with liver-blood,For son and prince his tears became a flood.

Then Gudarz spoke to Tus and Giv that day,With all the famed sepahbods in array:

“Rashness bears repentance as its fruit;Sow no such seed again through rash dispute.

Rash haste becomes no sepahbod or chief;A leader ruled by fury comes to grief.

Through haste you cast from earth a Kayan heir,With farr, broad shoulders, noble form and air.

You sent brave Zarasp, Nohzar-born, to doom,A noble warrior cut down in his bloom.

And rashness struck down Rivniz with its sting;No evil did misfortune fail to bring.

Honar without wisdom in a heart gone wildIs like a rusted sword, its edge defiled.”

As they rebuked him, Tus dissolved in tears;His rage diminished with his grief and fears.

He answered them: “Against ill fortune’s reign,No man escapes affliction, toil, and pain.”

He ordered then his warriors to prepareA royal tomb upon the mountain, rare;

Within they placed a golden throne, and laidA golden girdle and a gold brocade.

They gathered flowers, musk, camphor, and wine,And set them round the prince in solemn line.

With camphor they preserved his noble head,Rosewater, musk, perfume across him spread.

They set him on the throne in solemn state;The lion-hearted prince passed on to fate.

Beside him then they laid Rivniz the brave,And noble Zarasp, fallen to the grave.

Then Tus, whose beard was white as camphor’s hue,Poured streams of blood from eyes across it too.

So passes all! However long we stay,Lion and elephant must pass away.

Even stone and anvil fear death’s decree;No fruit nor leaf from death can ever flee.

When Tus had ended war with brave Forood,He left the heights and marched in martial mood.

At Charam then he halted for three days,While dust still hung upon the mountain ways.

The fourth day shaypur thundered through the land,And Tus led forth the ranks at his command.

The ney and koust resounded on the plain,While ebony darkness veiled each ridge and chain.

Whatever troops of Turan met his sight,He slew and flung them headlong from the fight.

He left the marches empty, stripped and bare,No warp or woof remaining anywhere.

He reached at last the banks of Kasa Rud,And pitched his tents amid the multitude.

The earth lay hidden under tents and gear,No open stretch of ground was found so near.

The tidings reached Turan: “Iran’s arrayHas camped at Kasa Rud in full display.”

Then from the Turanians Palashan came out,A shrewd young warrior, fierce beyond all doubt.

He rode ahead to view Iran’s great force,And count the chiefs’ bright standards on his course.

Within the lines there rose an open mound,One side left empty, with no troops around.

There Giv sat speaking with Bijan his son,Of every matter, and he left out none.

Palashan’s banner rose along the way,Advancing from the Turanian lines that day.

Brave Giv unsheathed his sword and said, “I go;I see Palashan riding there below.

That lion is a horseman famed in fight,A valiant chief who trusts his arm and might.

I shall cut him down upon the open plain,Or bring him bound alive within our train.”

Bijan replied, “My father, hear my plea:The Shah bestowed that robe and charge on me.

By his command this task is mine to claim,And I must meet Palashan in his name.”

Giv answered, “Do not hurry to the fight;May Yazdan guard you from that lion’s might.

Perhaps you cannot stand against his blow;Do not make dark my day by going so.

He is a lion; meadow is his lair,And fighting men alone become his fare.”

Bijan replied, “Do not disgrace my nameBefore the Shah and tarnish all my fame.

Give me Siavash’s jowshan; let me go;This leopard I shall hunt and overthrow.”

Then Giv put the jowshan in Bijan’s grasp;He fastened tight each ring and scale and clasp.

He mounted on a charger swift and bright,And rode with spear in hand to seek the fight.

Now Palashan had brought a deer to ground,And roasted meat while smoke was curling round.

He ate beside the fire and kept his bow;His horse grazed freely on the grass below.

His horse saw Bijan’s charger drawing near,Then neighed and snorted loudly in his ear.

Then Palashan knew one had come to fight,And called aloud to challenge him outright:

“I fell fierce lions, bind the Divs I meet;Declare your name; your star shall mourn defeat.”

Bijan replied, “Bijan is my true name,An elephant, bronze-bodied, when wars flame.

My grandfather, a lion of the fray;My father, gallant Giv, still rules the day.

You shall behold my prowess in this hour,When battle breathes and warriors test their power.

Like carrion wolf among the mountain stone,You feed on smoke and ash and blood alone.

Now bring your warriors down from mountain height,And lead them to the hāmun for the fight.”

The Turanian gave no answer, loosed the rein,And wind-like drove his charger on the plain.

The warriors met with spears in furious thrust,And round their charging horses rose dark dust.

Their spearheads broke; their swords flashed in their hands,Till shattered steel lay scattered on the sands.

The riders shook like branches in a gale,While blow on blow made helm and armor quail.

Their chargers, drowned in sweat, began to reel;The warriors’ hearts grew heavy through ordeal.

Then both those lions, raging breast to breast,Drew forth their heavy gorzes for the test.

So battle raged until Bijan cried out,His gorz raised high, he gave a thunder-shout.

He struck brave Palashan across the waist,And broke the spine his jowshan had encased.

Helmed, mailed, his corpse fell headlong from the steed;Bijan dismounted swiftly for the deed.

He cut his head away, then proudly boreHis arms and charger from the field of war.

Meanwhile brave Giv had watched the field in fear,And wondered how the battle-wind would veer.

He paced and groaned upon the open height,Until Bijan’s dust-cloud rose into sight.

The youth brought head and jowshan, charger near,And laid them down before his father dear.

Then Giv replied, his heart released from care:“My son, may victory attend you everywhere.”

Then Giv and Bijan, joyful at the deed,Rode to the sepahbod’s pavilion at speed.

Before Tus they laid Palashan’s severed head,His horse, his jowshan, helm, and arms outspread.

At Bijan’s triumph Tus grew glad with flame,His spirit seemed to leap beyond its frame.

He said: “O son, the army’s strength and stay,The head of famed men in the Shah’s array,

The Shah’s bright diadem, live glad and high,Exalted-hearted under every sky.

May evil and the evildoer partForever from your fortune and your heart.”

Then word reached Afrasiab, and it was said:“Turan’s broad frontier seems a sea outspread;

Iran’s army reached the Kasa Rud,Siavash’s vengeance blackened all they viewed.”

Afrasiab to Piran then declared:“Kay Khosrow’s hidden purpose has been bared.

Perhaps we may prevent him if we goWith flags, tabiras, troops against the foe.

If not, Iran’s great army will appear,And sun and moon no more will shine out clear.

Go gather troops from every borderland;Few words are needed when the facts command.”

Upon the Iranian side a tempest rose,And none gave thought to battle with their foes.

A dense cloud came like dust across the sky,The cold froze lips to teeth as it swept by.

The tents and pavilions froze in white;Snow drew a thread across each mountain height.

For seven days the earth was lost to sight,And vanished underneath the storm’s white might.

They found scant food, scant rest, and little sleep;And stone-like earth lay frozen hard and deep.

They slew and ate their horses in despair;And many men and beasts died everywhere.

At last no hand or arm had strength to rise;The troops lay broken under frozen skies.

Upon the eighth, the sun broke through the gray,And all the world seemed sea beneath its ray.

The troops were mustered; Tus spoke to the force:“This hardship has destroyed us on our course.

It is best that we depart this cursed ground;May Kalat bear the curse that wraps it round,

And Sepid Kooh and Kasa Rud beside;May blessing from those lands be all denied.”

Then from the warrior ranks Bahram replied:“This truth, sepahbod, stands on every side.

You silenced us, then fought Siavash’s son;Against our counsel, war we could not shun.

Do not make crooked what was straight and clear;For one life, see how many vanished here.

The buffalo remains within its hide;More harm may still be waiting at our side.”

Then Tus replied: “Azargashasp won fame,Yet brave Zarasp deserved as great a name.

Look through the army, search the ranks around;No man like Rivniz now can here be found.

Nor was Forood struck guiltless in the fray;What fate had written found him on that day.

My cup through Rivniz brimmed with milk and wine;Though young in form, his words were sage and fine.

Now let us speak no further of the dead,Nor ask if justly all that blood was shed.

Since Iran’s Shah gave Giv, of Gudarz born,A robe of honor proudly to be worn,

The hour has come to set the wood alight,And raise its flames to heaven through the night.

By fire the army’s road may yet be freed.”Giv answered, “This is scarce a toil to heed.

But if it is a toil, then know it plain:No toil is ever borne without its gain.”

Bijan was grieved and said: “I cannot standTo see you take this labor from my hand.

It must not be that I, still young, stand by,While age must bear the toil that youth should try.

You raised me amid hardship, want, and need,And never hurt me by a word or deed.

My hand must take this work; it is not rightThat you should toil while I sit still in sight.”

Giv said, “My son, I took this task in hand;Now arms, not age or pity, should command.

Do not be grieved that I should go before;My breath can burn a flinty mountain’s core.”

He crossed the Kasa Rud with toil and pain,Through ice and snow that veiled the frozen plain.

When he had reached the barricade of wood,Its breadth and length beyond all measure stood.

He lit the arrowhead and shot it high;It struck the pile and flames consumed the sky.

For three full weeks, heat, flame, wind, smoke becameA barrier through the wood no force could tame.

But when the fourth week came, the army crossed,For fire and water both their force had lost.

When Tus had set his warriors on their guard,He left the fires and marched to Gorugard.

The army marched in ordered ranks ahead,And tents on hill and plain were widely spread.

They camped with vigilance on every side,And sent their scouts abroad both far and wide.

There dwelt at Gorugard a warrior bold,Tazhav the warrior renowned of old.

A lion-fighter, terrible in fight,His herds ranged mountain slopes from height to height.

Then word arrived: “Iran’s great force draws near;Drive off the herds while all the roads are clear.”

He sent a warrior swiftly on his wayTo Afrasiab’s herdsman without delay.

Kabuda was his name, a man of skill,Well suited to the task and Tazhav’s will.

Tazhav addressed him: “Go, unseen, tonight,And find where Iran camps beyond our sight.

Discover how immense their army stands,And which crowned chiefs and standards rule their bands.

By night I mean to strike Iran’s array,And make each mountain plain amid the fray.”

When darkness spread its mantle on the plain,Kabuda came like a black Div toward the train.

That night Bahram stood watch before the band,He snared an elephant’s head with his kamand.

Kabuda’s charger suddenly gave cry,Bahram stood still and heard the sound nearby.

He strung his bow and mounted with all speed,Then pressed ahead upon his charging steed.

Without a word he loosed an arrow straight,Though darkness hid the horseman’s form and gait.

The shaft struck hard against Kabuda’s belt;His face turned black; he fell, cried zanhar, and knelt.

Then Bahram said, “Speak truth: who sent you here?Whom would you have slain? Make your purpose clear.”

Kabuda said: “Grant zanhar; let me live,And every answer that you seek I will give.

My master is Tazhav; I serve his will.He sent me here to scout your camp and hill.

Spare me from death, and I shall show the roadThat leads directly to Tazhav’s abode.”

Bahram replied: “Tazhav against my mightIs bull against a rending lion in fight.”

Then Bahram drew his khanjar, struck him dead,And bound to royal saddle-straps the head.

He cast the head before Iran’s array;Kabuda was no famed rider of the fray.

The sun raised high its standard in the blue;Tazhav grew troubled; ill had struck, he knew.

The rooster crowed; the larks proclaimed the day,Yet still Kabuda did not come their way.

He summoned all the men who formed his band,And swiftly led them forth at his command.

Tazhav marched forth, his army armed to fight;Iran’s watchmen raised the alarm at sight.

When sunlight raised its banner on the plain,Its khanjar left night’s breath a violet stain.

Tazhav the chieftain led his warriors out,While from the watchmen rose the warning shout:

“Turanian banners advance to fight!A leopard marks the standard raised in sight.”

Then noble Giv rode forward from the ranks,With Iran’s bravest warriors at his flanks.

He sternly asked the stranger’s name and race,And what proud lineage gave him rank and place.

He said: “O you who love the clash and fray,Why bring so few to face our force today?

Have you come here where fierce nahangs appear,Whose claws cut warriors down and jowshans shear?”

Bold Tazhav answered, fearless, without pause:“I have a lion’s heart, a lion’s claws.

Tazhav am I; the world has heard my name,At every breath they grant me what I claim.

By birth and blood Iranian am I,From warriors famed beneath the wheeling sky.

By Afrasiab’s will I guard this place,His marzban, wed within the royal race.”

Then Giv replied: “Do not speak in that tone;Such words will darken honor you have known.

Who leaves Iran for Turan’s alien air,Unless blood and colocynth are his fare?

If you command these marches by his side,Why bring so few with you to stem our tide?

Do not take this small band into the field,Nor rush against the brave with sword and shield.

For I who speak, long seasoned in the fight,Have brought proud marzbans down from all their might.

If you and all your troops accept my plea,Turn back toward Iran and then come with me.

Go first to Tus, sepahbod of our force,And let his judgment set your future course.

I shall obtain rich gifts and wealth in aid:A robe, attendants, and a horse arrayed.”

Tazhav, deceitful, boastfully replied:“No hand shall bring my standard down,” he cried.

“Here throne and signet, treasure, crown, and state,With servants and an army on me wait.

Such border-rule as Afrasiab has knownNo man in Iran can dream to call his own.

My herds of mares run loose on Gorugard’s plain;Their swift-foot coursers range without a rein.

Do not regard my numbers; judge my blow,And see the gorz that hangs from saddle-bow.

Today I crush your men beneath my blows,Till you repent the hour you met your foes.”

Then Bijan cried aloud before the field:“O wise sepahbod, never known to yield!

O noble Pahlevan of seasoned fame,Why speak so mildly to this man of shame?

Age has not dimmed the strength you bore before;Why give him counsel, friendship, and still more?

Our trade is sword and gorz in war’s red hour,To tear out hearts and break the foeman’s power.”

He spurred his horse; the battle-cry arose;Men shouldered sword and gorz against their foes.

A cloud of blackened dust surged through the plain,Till sunlight vanished, swallowed in its stain.

The world grew dim as in a winter storm;No moon or star retained its shining form.

Bold Giv, who once could rob the sky of light,Stood in the center of the savage fight.

And Bijan, deft of hand and swift in deed,Made battle his feast-place as he took the lead.

Tazhav, well seasoned in the ways of war,Rode crowned, a match for lions at the fore.

Beside him rode brave Arzhang fierce in fight,And Mardvi, lion-hearted in his might.

They never wearied of the clash that day,Yet little profit came from all the fray.

Brave Arzhang soon withdrew himself from strife;Most Turanians there were robbed of life.

Then Fortune turned her countenance in scorn,And Tazhav fled, defeated and forlorn.

Fierce Bijan chased him hard with eager cries,A spear uplifted, flashing to the skies.

Like a mad elephant he stormed in chase,And roared behind Tazhav across the space.

His spear struck Tazhav’s waist, a sharp, hard stroke,And all his strength within him failed and broke.

The warrior reeled beneath the savage blow,Yet Roman jowshan held against the foe.

The fastenings held firm and did not part;Then Bijan cast aside his useless dart.

Like leopard leaping on a mountain sheep,He closed on Tazhav with a single leap.

As falcon snatches lark from open sky,He tore the crown from Tazhav riding by.

Afrasiab had set it on his head,It left him not in thought nor dreams in bed.

Tazhav drove hard toward the castle gate,While Bijan followed close at furious rate.

When near the walls, fair Espanoye appeared,Her face was wet, her heart with anguish seared.

She called aloud: “O Tazhav! Where now lieYour men, your valor, and your battle-cry?

Why turn your back and leave me in disgrace,Abandoned in this fortress and this place?

Give me a place behind you on your steed;Do not abandon me to foeman’s greed.”

Her plea made Tazhav’s heart with anguish burn;His cheeks flamed red; he made his charger turn.

He gave one stirrup as he drove ahead;She mounted close behind him as they fled.

They rushed like dust before the driving gale,Toward Turan over mountain, plain, and vale.

The charger sped till both the horse and manWere spent; the weakened beast no farther ran.

Then Tazhav spoke in sorrow at her side:“A grievous plight now presses us,” he sighed.

“My horse is spent from this desperate flight;Prince Bijan follows, eager for the fight.

Before us yawns a ravine, dark and deep;This weary horse can scarcely onward leap.

Though we remain before him in the race,At last he overtakes us face to face.

Since none in Iran regards you as a foe,Remain behind; I must alone now go.”

Then fair Espanoye stepped from the steed;Tazhav wept hard; relieved, it gathered speed.

Yet onward still he fled, a hunted thing,While Bijan followed hard on eagle’s wing.

When Bijan looked on Espanoye fair,Her feet were veiled beneath her musky hair,

He raised her gently, helped her to her feet,And set her on the horse’s saddle-seat.

Then back he rode to Tus and his array,And koust from Tus’s court rang on the way.

Rejoicing filled the camp; the soldiers cheered:The lion with his quarry had appeared.

Then Tus and all the chiefs who loved the frayBegan to wreck the fortress that same day.

They sought the herds that roamed Turan’s broad plain,And cast their kamands round each horse’s mane.

They quickly furnished all the troops with steeds,And took whatever else the army needs.

Within the palace Tazhav left behind,Iran’s horsemen lodged there, fierce in mind.

When Tazhav came with tearful eyes and griefBefore Afrasiab, the Turanian chief,

He said: “Sepahbod Tus has reached the plain,With koust, war elephants, a mighty train.

Palashan and our nobles, proud and brave,Lie slain and broken, given to the grave.

The marches and the fields lie scorched and bare;The herds are lost; ruin is everywhere.”

Afrasiab grew troubled at the news,And sought at once what remedy to choose.

He turned to wise Piran, his trusted guide,The seasoned son of Viseh at his side:

“I told you, ‘Gather warriors far and wide,’Yet still you lingered while our fortune died.

From sloth, old age, dull wit, or coward’s fright,You lingered on and brought us to this plight.

Many of our kin were seized and led away,And many favored warriors bleed today.

We may not linger; danger hems us round,And every road is closed on hostile ground.”

Piran in haste departed from the court,And called the troops from every border fort.

He armed the soldiers, paid them from the store,And led the gathered forces off to war.

When he had crossed the frontier of the land,He gave each warrior his appointed stand.

The right he gave to Barman, brave and wise,And Tazhav, whose men matched elephants in size.

The left he gave to Nastihan the bold,A lion seemed a lamb within his hold.

The karnay cried; the koust rolled like thunder,And Indian bells made earth and heaven wonder.

Red, yellow, violet set the air alight,With spears and many-colored banners bright.

One hundred thousand warriors formed the throng,All turned toward the battlefield, fierce and strong.

With troops, steeds, elephants, and camels spread,No road from sea to sea lay clear ahead.

Piran marched swiftly onward with his train;Afrasiab left the palace for the plain.

He counted every soldier in the field,To learn what strength his gathered ranks could yield.

Afrasiab rejoiced in Piran then,And praised the wisdom of that chief of men.

He said: “Go forth victorious to the fight;Return in joy, and safe from evil’s spite.”

Then troop by troop the mighty army flowed,Till plain and hill lay buried by its load.

Piran commanded: “Leave the common way;Take now the shorter road without delay.

The foe must never hear our army near,Nor learn our ranks before our lines appear.

Then like a mountain we shall strike their line,Before they glimpse the strength of our design.”

He sent out scouts and watchers through the landTo learn how all the Iranian forces stand.

Then steadily he pressed the march ahead,Toward Gorugard where war and blood were spread.

The scouts returned to Piran, drawing near,And one by one they whispered in his ear:

“Tus does not stir; the camp is hushed and still;They sound no koust, as if they lack the will.

They drink without a pause, their senses sunk,With brimming cups in hand, already drunk.

No mounted scout keeps watch along the way;They give no thought to Turan’s battle array.”

When Piran heard, he called the chiefs to hear,And spoke at length about the foemen near.

He said, “In battle never have we knownAdvantage such as fortune now has shown.”

From that proud force, sagacious Piran choseFull thirty thousand swords to strike his foes.

At dead of night they marched with naked blades;No tabira or karnay broke the shades.

When wise Piran advanced upon their course,Seven farsangs still lay between each force.

They found Iran’s great herds abandoned wide,Across Turan’s broad plain on every side.

They seized great numbers; many more they felled;No greater loss had ever been beheld.

They killed the herdsmen guarding them that night;Iran’s good fortune turned away from sight.

Then like a storm-cloud black with dust they came;Turanian ranks advanced to war’s grim game.

The Iranians lay drunken in their bands,With loosened belts, no weapons in their hands.

Yet noble Giv stayed sober, watchful, keen,And Gudarz too kept vigil on the scene.

Then battle-cries and axe-blows split the night;Great Giv stood startled at the sudden fight.

Before his tent a charger stood arrayed,Caparisoned for war, its gear displayed.

The gallant hero donned the jowshan wornBy Prince Siavash, noble though forlorn.

He raged against himself in bitter shame,Like some fierce leopard scorched by inward flame.

“Up, Giv!” he cried. “What shame has filled my head?The fumes of wine, when battle waits instead?”

He mounted then and rode forth like a gale,While dust and darkness spread a murky veil.

He reached the sepahbod’s tent through dust and night;The army’s cloud had veiled the heavens from sight.

“Rise! Rise! The enemy has reached our line;The dust of battle veils each heavenly sign!”

He left them then and sought his father’s tent,His ox-head gorz held high as on he went.

Swift as a wisp of smoke he rode around,And woke each sober warrior he found.

To Bijan then he cried in fierce disdain:“Is this war’s field, or wine-garden domain?”

Iran’s army stood surrounded in the night;War cries and tumult filled the camp with fright.

A cloud arose and arrows fell like rain;The drunken woke to terror and to pain.

Soft cushions lay beneath each sleeper’s head;Above them gorz, gopal, and hot swords sped.

When dawn arose beneath the lion’s sign,And Giv surveyed the field and battle-line,

He saw the slaughtered legions where they fell, While doom and darkness tolled their iron knell.

Gudarz looked out on every side with dread;The enemy increased and onward spread.

Against their little force the foemen poured,Like ants and locusts in a countless horde.

Then Tus looked round: scarce any fighters pressed,Save Giv, Gudarz, and champions sore distressed.

The standards hung in shreds; the koust lay low,And ebony-dark faces marked their woe.

Both sons and fathers vanished in the fray;The mighty army overturned that day.

Such was the decree of heaven’s turning sphere,Which grants men joy, then fills their lives with fear.

Unable now to stand against the foe,They fled in wild confusion from the blow.

They left their koust and baggage on the field,Their tents, pavilions scattered as they reeled.

They staggered wounded both on left and right,Broken and scattered from the hopeless fight.

Toward the Kasa Rud the broken made their way,With warp and woof of order stripped away.

The Turanian riders pressed upon their rear,And mocked brave Tus with many a curse and jeer.

From heaven it seemed that their heavy gorz fell,On jowshan and on helm with iron knell.

None turned to stand; they struggled toward the height,Their horses reeling, spent from wounds and flight.

No spirit, strength, or steadfastness remained;Their courage failed, their very souls were drained.

At last Turanian troops abandoned chase,Exhausted by the struggle and the race.

Then Tus moved from the plain toward mountain track;No Turanian force now pressed his back.

Iran’s ranks mourned the captive and the dead;The living, bound or wounded, scarcely fled.

No throne remained, no royal tent or crown,No horse, no warrior left of high renown.

No thriving land, no able man was left;None sought the wounded, bleeding and bereft.

Sons wept in anguish for their fathers slain,And wounded men burned fiercely in their pain.

Such is the custom of this weary earth:It hides its true intent from human birth.

Behind a veil it plays a secret part;It shows one face and hides another heart.

In greed’s hard grip mankind consumes its years,And cannot tell what hides from what appears.

From wind we came, and into dust we go; What fate prepares for us, what man can know?

Two-thirds of Iran’s ranks lay with the dead;The rest crawled back through misery and dread.

No healers brought the wounded men relief;Blood-colored tears were shed in bitter grief.

Mad Tus stood raging, broken by defeat;His heart and wisdom parted in retreat.

Of son, grandson, and homeland stripped, dismayed,The broken veterans sought Gudarz for aid.

He set a watchman on the mountain height,To keep the gathered enemy in sight.

He sent out scouts to range on every side,And seek some cure to turn disaster’s tide.

He called an Iranian noble near,And bade him gird, then ride with tidings clear:

Report what deeds the army’s leader had done,And how ill fortune marred the course begun.

Vengeance had brought them neither gain nor rest;Disaster dogged them through that bitter quest.

Then to the Shah the courier’s tidings passed:How dark the army’s day had turned so fast.

Brave Khosrow heard, and anguish seized his breast;Grief struck his soul and robbed his heart of rest.

His sorrow for his brother newly slainWas joined to grief for all who strewed the plain.

Through dark of night he cursed bold Tus by name,Till cockcrow, pouring wrath upon his fame.

He summoned then a prudent scribe to hearHis grief-filled words, made sharp by anger, clear.

A tearful letter then the monarch wrote,For his lost brother, wrath in every note.

It went to Fariborz, Kavus’s son,And to the army’s chiefs, renowned each one.

First came God’s praise, as custom, rite, and creed,The ancient form by which such words proceed:

“In name of Him who rules the moon and sun,Who gives the good the station they have won.

From Him come victory, patience, good and ill;Desire and splendor answer to His will.

He shaped the world and fixed both place and time,The ant’s small foot, the elephant in prime.

He grants men wisdom, soul, and body strong,To Him greatness, diadem, and throne belong.

No soul escapes the circle of His reign;To one He grants both farr and orung’s gain.

To one come hardship, misery, and grief;Ill fortune, need, and pain grant no relief.

From blazing sun to earth and darkened clay,All is the justice of pure Yazdan’s way.

I sent out Tus beneath the Kaviani sign,With forty golden-shod men in his line.

I sent them with a mighty force away,And first my brother perished in the fray!

May no such chief command Iran’s array;May no such sepahbod rise to lead one day.

Alas for brave Forood, lost to my sight,The chief renowned, the champions’ prop in fight.

I burned for vengeance for my father slain;Now grief for my lost brother wakes that pain.

Now for my brother I must weep and grieve;I know not foe from friend, whom to believe.

I warned bold Tus: ‘Let Charam’s road alone,And keep from Kalat and Sepid Kooh’s stone.’

For there Forood commands a fighting band,A Kayan warrior guarding that land.

He cannot know whose army draws that way,From Iran’s ranks or Chin’s remote array.

He will descend the mountain for the fight,And many chiefs will meet their destined night.

Alas for that young prince of noble seed,Whom wretched Tus cast to the wind by deed!

Had Tus been sepahbod in days before,King Kavus’s fortune would have suffered sore.

In battle sleep overtakes him where he lies;Without his wine, unrest will make him rise.

All arts, it seems, are gathered in his name;May no such darkened soul endure in fame.

Put food and rest and sleep aside today;Send Tus back swiftly here without delay.

Obey my order; let no counsel stray;Do not replace my word with your own way.

The golden shoes and Kaviani signAre yours to bear; command the battle-line.

Let wise Gudarz advise you in each need;In every matter, heed his word and deed.

Rush not to battle; keep your judgment bright;Stay far from wine and sleep that clouds your sight.

Remain encamped until the wounded heal,Till wounded men regain their strength and zeal.

Then noble Giv shall lead the vanguard line,For farr and burz with leopard-claws combine.

Gather war gear and stores from every side;Let thoughts of feast and revelry subside.”

They sealed the letter with the Shah’s own seal;Then Khosrow spoke with stern and fierce appeal:

“Ride night and day; let no delay impede;At every post exchange your weary steed.”

The messenger rode swiftly on his wayAnd reached the gathered chiefs without delay.

He placed the royal letter in his hand;Fariborz took the Shah’s own sealed command.

He summoned Tus and every champion near,And told them all the tidings, sharp and clear.

He called Giv, Gudarz, riders from the field,And border champions armed with sword and shield.

When Khosrow’s royal letter had been read,The world became a tree with new fruit spread.

The chiefs and warriors gathered, and they raisedTheir blessings on Kay Khosrow, whom they praised.

Then Tus brought Fariborz the Kaviani sign,The koust, elephants, and golden shoes in line.

“The worthy meets the worthy. Fortune rise;May every day be Nowruz in your eyes.”

Then Tus assembled all of Nohzar’s clan,Hard warriors versed in every battle plan.

Without delay they hastened from the plainAnd rode straight to the Shah by road and rein.

Arriving there, brave Tus bowed to the ground,But Khosrow turned his gaze and looked not round.

The Shah poured curses on the warrior’s head,And shamed him before all with words of dread.

At last he cried: “O man of evil sign,May fame among the champions cease to shine!

Do you not fear pure Yazdan’s watchful eye?Before the champions, does your shame not rise?

Did I not warn you, ‘Shun the Charam road’?Yet there you marched, and grief became my load.

You first took up the vengeance that was mine,Then brought disgrace and loss to Siavash’s line.

My brother, Prince Forood, was brave in fight,No warrior could match his noble might.

You slew him, though to bring that chief to groundRequired an army gathered all around.

And afterward, once camped upon the plain,You did but feast and drink through song’s refrain.

You have no place among the city’s men;The madman’s ward and bonds should hold you then.

You have no place among the good and true,For wisdom never made its home in you.

Nails, bonds, and fetters are the things you earn;Not crown, diadem, nor wine-cup in return.

Manuchehr’s blood within your veins yet flows,And that alone, with age, your life bestows.

Else I would order, here before this band,Your head struck from your body where you stand.

Go now; let prison hold you from this hour;Your own ill nature keeps you in its power.”

He drove out Tus and bound him in the cell,His joy, torn by the root, in fetters fell.

Prince Fariborz, a Pahlevan of might,King Kavus’s son put on his helm to fight.

He summoned brave Rohham before the line,“Now prove your gohar; let your name here shine.”

“Go now to wise Piran,” the prince declared,“And bear a peaceful message, plain and fair.

Say this: ‘The turning heavens still rehearseBoth love and pain throughout the universe.

One man they lift to glory and to power;Another sinks beneath a bitter hour.

Whoever seeks calamity meets its blight;A man of worth does not attack by night.

By night to raid is not the brave man’s way;Nor chiefs who wield the heavy gorz shun day.

If you will cease from war, then we will cease;If you prefer the sword, we break the peace.’”

Brave Rohham, whom Prince Fariborz had sent,Rode hard, and with the letter onward went.

Turanian outposts saw him drawing near,And asked his name and homeland, sharp and clear.

Rohham replied: “Rohham, a warrior known,Skilled, watchful, and in battle firm as stone.

I bear to Piran words upon this field,From Fariborz, King Kavus’s son, revealed.”

One horseman from the outposts raced ahead,And left a streaming dust-cloud as he sped.

He said: “Rohham, the son of Gudarz, cameFrom battle seeking you, a chief of fame.”

Piran commanded, “Bring the warrior near,With open heart and fresh face, free of fear.”

Wise Rohham entered with a guarded heart,Unsure what hidden purpose played its part.

Piran received him warmly as a guest,Then set him on the throne and asked his quest.

Rohham revealed what had been kept from sight,And spoke Fariborz’s message plain, outright.

Piran replied: “No wisdom shaped this fight;Your side struck first and brought this war to light.

We saw no counsel, pause, or thought of truce;Tus crossed our borders like a wolf let loose.

He slaughtered all he met without remorse,And dragged off captives in his violent course.

He treated good and bad alike that day,Throughout our borderland along his way.

But now your side has met that evil’s due,Though vengeance drove your army charging through.

So if you lead the army in command,Then ask your need directly from my hand.

If you desire a month in which to cease,No horseman of our ranks shall break the peace.

But if you seek the battlefield instead,Array your ranks and boldly march ahead.

Use well the month of truce that we allow;Then leave Turan when time completes its vow.

Turn all your army toward your native land,And learn your worth; its measure understand.

But if not, we shall meet you now in war,And grant no further truce forevermore.”

He robed brave Rohham with an honored gown,A gift that matched his worth and his renown.

Then Rohham rode to Fariborz and broughtPiran’s reply, the answer he had sought.

When Fariborz received the granted pause,He reached on every side like lion’s claws.

They opened treasure-purses, wealth untied,And Fariborz gave riches far and wide.

They drew the army out and set each line,Equipped with every need for war’s design.

When month’s end brought the promised battle-day,Both armies then turned from the truce to fray,

The soldiers’ shouts rose fierce on every side,And all advanced where battle opened wide.

The karnay, koust, and Indian daray cried,While crested chargers surged in ranks allied.

With reins and swords and bows thrust toward the sky,No gnat could find a narrow path to fly.

With gopal, sword, and spear and buckler drawn,The world seemed swallowed by a dragon’s yawn.

The heavens seemed to bend toward earth below,While earth rose up to meet the sky in woe.

Gudarz’s heir, Giv, led the right-hand wing,A rad and Mobad, marzban for the king.

Upon the left stood Ashkash, battle-tried,Who made the foemen’s blood run like a tide.

Before the central standard’s royal flameStood Fariborz, prince of Kavus by name.

Fariborz told his warriors on the field:“Till now our honar has remained concealed.

Today we fight like lions; make the foeFind all the world too narrow where they go,

Or bear a shame no warrior’s heart should know;Then gorz and Roman helm will mock us so.”

Arrows fell thick through all the autumn air,Like autumn winds that strip the branches bare.

The air seemed filled with vultures wheeling high,While elephants beat earth beneath the sky.

With arrows, gorz, the dust rose thick as night,No bird could find a passage in its flight.

The falchions flashed like diamonds through the dust,And fire from steel broke red through battle’s gust.

The earth seemed black as Zangi face below,While stars like warriors’ hearts appeared to glow.

With gorz and spear and curved swords fiercely plied,A rastakhiz rose vast on every side.

Then Giv rode from the right into the fight,His lips all foam, his war cry at its height.

The noble house of old Gudarz drew near,On them hung gain and loss in battle here.

They fought with shafts and lances fiercely cast,And fire from iron showered thick and fast.

Gudarz fought Piran with a furious hand,And slew nine hundred kinsmen from his band.

When Lahhak and bold Farshidvard beheldGreat clouds of dust above the army swelled,

They charged at Giv, his gorz-men, and his line,With hearts of iron and a grim design.

From chieftains’ bows the shafts fell like a flood,On famed men, jowshan-clad, through dust and blood.

No eye could see the surface of the ground,For heaps of slain lay thickly all around.

Yet no man turned his back before the foe,And none abandoned post beneath the blow.

At last bold Houman said to Farshidvard:“We strike the center now, and strike it hard.

If Fariborz is driven from the field,The center breaks; the right wing soon must yield.

Then we can crush the right wing with our hands,And seize the baggage, treasure, tents, and bands.”

They fell upon the center in their might;Before bold Houman, Fariborz took flight.

The fighting line broke open in dismay;The haughty chiefs gave way and left the fray.

No Iranian warrior held his place;All turned confused and fled before disgrace.

The koust and standard lay abandoned, lone;Their eyes from battle took a purple tone.

They turned their backs before the foeman’s might,And fled headlong in terror from the fight.

The koust, spears, standards fell across the plain;No rider knew his stirrup from his rein.

With blood the mountain and the plain were dyed;The enemy closed in on every side.

Then Fariborz, as foes on all sides pressed,Fled toward the mountain-skirt among the rest.

With him fled all who still remained alive;What life is this, for which the brave still strive?

Gudarz and Giv, with warriors of fame,Still held the field amid the dust and flame.

But when Gudarz beheld the center void,No flag, no Fariborz, no troops deployed,

His heart burned hot; he turned his rein in flight,And Doomsday seized his Gudarzian line that night.

Then Giv said: “Veteran chief, now hear my cry;You faced gopal and gorz where arrows fly.

If now you flee before Piran’s array,Then dust upon my head be poured today.

Of chiefs and seasoned warriors on this earth,Not one will live to speak of name or birth.

For you and me no cure for death remains;Death is the final scourge of mortal pains.

Since now our rugged hour has found us here,The foe should see your face, and not your rear.

I will not leave my post or choose retreat;Let us not shame the dust of Keshvad’s feet.

Have you not heard the ancient saying told,By wise sepahbods and by warriors old:

‘When brothers stand together, back to back,A mountain shrinks to stone beneath attack.’

You stand with seventy fighting sons in sight,And many kin of elephant and lion might.

Let khanjars break the foeman’s heart today,And tear a mountain from its roots away.”

When old Gudarz had heard brave Giv’s appeal,And saw his wakeful kin in helms of steel,

He rued his counsel, rallied once again,And planted firmer feet among his men.

Guraza, Gostaham, and Borteh came,With Zangeh, fierce and brave in battle’s flame.

They swore a heavy oath and pledged their word,With battle in their blood, and dust that stirred:

“Though gorz stream with blood, we still will not yield;Back-to-back, we win our honor on the field.”

They pressed their mounts and drove into the fray,With their mighty gorz ready for the day.

They took their stand; their heavy gorz came down,Full many noble foemen yielded ground.

Yet fortune would not favor Iran’s side;The hostile tide came on in swelling pride.

Then old Gudarz said: “Scion of my line,Ride swiftly as an arrow from this sign.

Take gorz and arrows; ride with all your speed;Go straight to Fariborz in bitter need.

Go, bring the Kaviani standard; rideThrough battle’s darkened air back to our side.

Perhaps Prince Fariborz will join our band,And turn the foeman violet where they stand.”

Bijan heard this and spurred his horse away,Like Azargashasp blazing into day.

He came to Fariborz and cried aloud:“Why hide the army here beneath this cloud?

Take up your reins as warriors have done;Do not stand idle underneath the sun.

But if you will not come, then yield the sign,The riders and bright swords of violet shine.”

But Fariborz, no friend to wisdom then,Cried: “Go away, rash youth among the men!

You are too new to battle and too bold;The Shah gave me this standard to uphold.

The army and the Pahlevan’s rank are mine;The throne and crown with my command combine.

This standard is not yours by any right,Though none beneath the sky surpass your might.”

Then Bijan drew his violet sword and boreIts edge against the standard that he tore.

He split the standard straight across the seam,And seized one half beneath its violet gleam.

He rushed out from the throng with furious speed,And bore the torn standard to his kin in need.

When Turanians saw the standard drawing near,Brave warriors advanced and showed no fear.

They drew their iron axes, swords of blue,To seize the Kaviani standard from his view.

Houman said: “That violet standard flies;Iran’s whole strength and virtue with it rise.

If we can seize it, all the world will close,And crush the Shah beneath the weight of woes.”

Bijan drew back his bowstring with great speed,And loosed his arrows thick as scattered seed.

He drove them back beneath his ceaseless rain,And spread a feast for wolves across the plain.

The horsemen near Giv and Gostaham cried:“The Turanians flee before his arrows’ tide.

Perhaps brave Bijan comes with Iran’s sign,And bears the Kaviani standard to our line.”

Iran’s gorz-bearing chiefs advanced in force;And slew full many a Turanian horse.

Famed Bijan reached them in a rushing tide,And all the chiefs held firm on every side.

Like a fierce lion, he came through blood and dust,The Kaviani standard restored to Iran’s trust.

The soldiers gathered round the royal sign,And riders’ dust turned violet through the line.

Once more Iran’s line advanced into the fight;The foremost rank blazed savage in the light.

There Prince Rivniz, of royal Kavus' strain, Was struck to earth among the heaps of slain.

Not Tus's kin who fell at Kalat's height, This crowned young scion perished in the fight..

When crown and head fell low amid the fight,Full many nobles tore their robes in sight.

Then Giv exclaimed: “O chiefs of noble name,O warriors hardened in the battle-flame!

Prince Fariborz prized Rivniz above all,His hope, the foremost warrior at his call.

Three men have died in misery and pain:Forood, Siavash, Rivniz; all are slain.

What greater wonder can this world still keep?What deeper wound could make the living weep?

We must not let his crown fall to the foe,Or shame through all the army’s lines will flow.

If I withdraw from this embattled ground,Defeat will strike Iran’s whole army round.

That royal crown must never reach their hand,Nor pass from Iran to a Turanian band.

Rivniz’s death has brought us grief and blame;Lose not his crown and heap more shame on shame.”

When noble Piran heard what Giv had cried,Fresh battle round the crown spread far and wide,

On both sides many warriors fell and died,While fortune turned to see Iran’s hopes subside.

Yet Bahram charged, a lion wreathed in flame,And through the press toward that bright circlet came.

He raised the crown upon his spearpoint high,While both sides watched in wonder toward the sky.

The Iranians rejoiced and drew fresh breath,To see the crown reclaimed from hands of death.

The fight grew fiercer; none turned back or fled,They struck each other hard on helm and head.

They raged until the day grew dark and blind,And dust closed over every eye and mind.

Eight of the kin of old Gudarz survived;Of all the rest, not one remained alive.

Of Giv’s own band, full twenty-five men died,Men fit for crowns and royal power and pride.

Of Kavus’s race, full seventy more were slain,All lion-hearted horsemen on the plain.

Rivniz, the crowned prince, stood outside that count;His death was grief no number could surmount.

Nine hundred horsemen from Piran’s own lineWere missing when the day ceased to shine.

Of Afrasiab’s house, three hundred moreHad lost their fortune on the field of gore.

The field, the day, the standard were his right;His star of fortune lit the world that night.

It was no day for Iran’s chiefs to strive;Their warlike hopes could scarcely stay alive.

Their search for combat ended in dismay;They turned their faces from the field away.

They left the wounded lying where they fell,And fled beneath the rout’s great weight, pell-mell.

Now Gostaham had seen his charger slain,As fortune turned against him on the plain.

In jowshan, helm, on foot, spear still in hand,He reeled like one drunk across the bloody land.

When Bijan reached him as the daylight died,He called: “Rise up and mount here at my side.

No living man is dearer in my eyes;Come, share my horse, and from this ruin rise.”

So both of them bestrode a single steed,And sought the mountain-skirt in bitter need.

They left the battle in a routed flight,While darkness gathered on the field that night.

Turanian warriors, joyful in their hearts,Were freed from toil and war’s relentless darts.

They rode to camp, their spirits raised and bright,Prepared to feast after the weary fight.

From Iran’s champions rose a mournful cry,Their grief and lamentation filled the sky.

The koust roared out their sorrow, harsh and clear,Its thunder nearly deafened every ear.

Such is the ancient heaven’s turning way;No remedy can make its wheel delay.

It loves no friend, nor does it spare a foe;Fear Fortune when its lofty head bends low.

That night, when both the armies lay at rest,Bahram approached his father, sore distressed.

He said: “My honored father, wise and bright,Hear what befell me in the press of fight.

When I retrieved the crown and raised it high,Upon my spearpoint glittering toward the sky,

I lost my whip amid the battlefield;To such a shame my heart can never yield.

Turanian warriors, if they find the whip,Will mock my name with laughter on each lip.

The world will turn to ebony beforeMy eyes, and shame will wound my honor more.

My name is written on its leather plain;If Piran takes it, mine will be the stain.

I must ride back and find the whip I lost,Whatever toil it takes, whatever cost.

Does this ill fortune fall from stars on high,To cast my honored name in dust to lie?”

Old Gudarz answered: “Son, take care, attend:Why bring your fortune to its bitter end?

Will you confront the enemy and deathFor leather wrapped on wood, not worth your breath?”

Bahram replied: “I am no better thanMy house and comrades in the battle’s span.

When death’s appointed hour has reached a man,Why think awry against the destined plan?”

Then Giv said: “Brother, do not ride tonight;I have new whips, all worthy of your sight.

One has gold set in silver, finely wrought,Its ends with pearls and precious jewels caught.

When Farangis opened wide her royal store,And gave me arms and belts in days before,

I took her jowshan and her whip that day,And left the rest in Turan far away.

Shah Kavus gave another, gold and bright,With gems that made it moonlike in the night.

Five others, gold and jewel-set, are stored;Remain at home: they will be your reward.

All seven I will give you; stay tonight,And do not start a vain and needless fight.”

Brave Bahram answered Giv: “I cannot weighThis shame as slight, nor thrust its sting away.

You speak of color, workmanship, and art;I speak of name and honor in my heart.

I shall regain my whip upon that plain,Or lose my head in that relentless strain.”

Yet Yazdan’s purpose took another course;The wheel of fortune turned with adverse force.

When fortune sleeps beneath misfortune’s skies,The counsel of the wise seems otherwise.

By moonlight Bahram rode toward the field,Where dead men lay with many a broken shield.

He mourned the slain, those luckless, heart-scorched men,Who never more would rise to war again.

The body of Rivniz lay drowned in gore,His khaftan torn, his beauty seen no more.

Bahram the lion wept for him and cried:“Alas, brave youth, by honor dignified!

A man like you should grace the royal hall;Yet in this pit you lie, bereft of all.”

From corpse to corpse across the moonlit plain,Bahram walked on among the fallen slain.

A scimitar had struck one chieftain’s side;Among the fallen men, he had not died.

The wounded chief saw Bahram drawing near,And asked his name through grief and rising fear.

He cried: “O lion, I am living still,Cast here among the dead by fortune’s will.

For two days I have longed for drink and bread,And for a cloth to make my resting-bed.”

Bahram made haste to him with kinsman’s care,His loving spirit shaken by despair.

He wept and tore his cheeks in bitter grief,Then rent his clothes to bind and bring relief.

He said: “Take heart; your wound can still be bound;This cloth will keep your lifeblood from the ground.

Once I have bound it, you can reach the train,And heal among our ranks, your strength regain.

Stay here, brave chief; I lost my whip today,While seeking out the crown amid the fray.

I shall return and lift you from this ground,And bear you where Iran’s own ranks are found.”

He hastened to the center of the plain,And searched among the wounded and the slain.

At last he found the whip amid the dead,Where dust and blood lay thickly overspread.

He stepped down from his horse and gripped it tight;A sudden neigh rang through the moonlit night.

His charger heard the mare and, with a cry,Shot off like Azargashasp beneath the sky.

It rushed away and turned toward their sound,While angry Bahram followed on the ground.

In helm and khaftan, sweat upon his face,He hurried hard to catch it in the chase.

At last he caught the horse and seized the rein,Then mounted, Indian sword drawn on the plain.

But when he spurred, the charger would not go;It stood stock-still before the field of woe.

Both man and horse were drenched in dust and sweat;His fury rose; his heart grew harder yet.

His fury flared; he drew his Indian blade,And struck the charger’s leg, a wound he made.

Then back into the field of death he tore,On foot, like wind, through slaughter, blood, and gore.

The plain was covered with the fallen dead;Like arghavan in bloom, the earth shone red.

He said: “How can I cross this bloody plain,And make my way on foot through heaps of slain?”

At last the foe perceived his desperate state;A hundred horsemen charged to seal his fate.

They spurred from center, seeking him to take,And bear him bound to Piran in their wake.

Bahram the lion bent his bow with skill,And rained his arrows down with aim to kill.

Who could draw near him when his arrows sped?He struck them down and filled their ranks with dread.

He slew or wounded most beneath his bow;On foot, he never turned his back to foe.

The riders all withdrew and fled away,And turned toward Piran from the fray.

When none remained in sight across the ground,Bahram gathered arrows scattered all around.

The riders came to Piran from the plain,And told him all of Bahram’s fierce campaign.

Much talk arose of Bahram’s battle art,Of deeds in open field and secret part.

They said: “On foot this lion still can fight,And never tires of battle day or night.”

Then Piran asked: “What name does this man bear?What rank among the famous does he share?”

One answered: “Bahram, lion-slayer, famed,Whose glory fills the ranks where he is named.”

He turned to brave Ruyin there at his side:“Rise now; the task is yours; mount up and ride.

If Bahram can be captured still alive,The age may rest from war in which we strive.

Take all the seasoned warriors you require;His fame is great, his battle-heart is fire.”

Ruyin rode out, resolved to prove his might;He rode against him, eager for the fight.

Bahram sat on a mound against the foe,Shield overhead, the turning heavens low.

He poured such arrow-rain on all below,The shining moon turned lapis in its glow.

His arrows wounded Ruyin in the fight;The others’ hands and feet grew slack with fright.

They hurried back, afflicted by the fray,Their spirits darkened as they drew away.

They told Piran: “No foot-bound man, we say,No sea-bred nahang, ever fought this way.”

Piran was deeply shaken by the news,And trembled like a leaf storm-winds abuse.

He mounted then his fiery battle steed,And many warriors rode where he would lead.

He came to Bahram: “Famous chief,” he cried,“Why fight on foot, with foes on every side?

In Turan, serving Siavash, you knewTo stay reserved and judge what best to do.

We shared both bread and salt in former days,And sat as friends in honor’s common ways.

With lineage high and native worth so bright,With lion-hearted courage in the fight,

Your lofty head should not be cast down low,Nor kin and country burn with grief and woe.

Come, let us swear a covenant by oath,A pledge to satisfy the hearts of both.

Then I shall bind you to my house as kin,And greater rank and honor you shall win.

On foot you cannot face this famed array;Do not betray yourself or cast life away.”

Bahram replied: “Wise Pahlevan, no sipOf drink, no food, three days has touched my lip.

I fought through every hour without a rest,And fight on, if you spurn my one request.

Unless you give a horse to carry meBack to Iran, where I am bound to be,

Back to old Gudarz, Keshvad’s noble son;Then all my duty here will have been done.”

Piran replied: “Do you not know, brave youth,I cannot grant that wish and keep my truth?

What I proposed remains the wiser way;You are brave; do not cast your life away.

Think what dishonor would my horsemen know,If after all you did I let you go.

So many scions of the great lie slain,Or wounded by your hand upon this plain.

Men crowned with diadems and trained for warLie smeared with dust and drenched in streaming gore.

Who now could send you back to Iran’s land,With blood and brain aflame throughout our band?

Were Afrasiab’s anger not so near,And were his wrath not turned against me here,

I would provide a horse to carry youBack to your kin and ancient comrades true.”

He spoke, then turned his reins and went away,Love in his heart, but prudence ruled his way.

Then Tazhav came, whose strength no elephant bore,And asked what words with Bahram passed before.

Piran replied: “No warrior is his peer;No chief like brave Bahram has fought us here.

With kindness I showed him the wiser way,And offered league and honor in the fray.

But none of this could enter Bahram’s heart;He seeks Iran and wishes to depart.”

Tazhav replied: “Your love will not prevail;Such gentle counsel cannot turn his trail.

If I can seize him living on this plain,Beneath the stones I will crush his foul brain.”

He hurried to the field in wrathful speed,Where brave Bahram stood armed in bitter need.

When Tazhav saw Bahram with spear held high,He roared like a mad elephant beneath the sky:

“On foot you face this whole renowned array,These mounted warriors gathered here today.

Do you still hope to reach Iran again,And raise your head among the proudest men?

You cut the heads from princes of our race;Now your appointed hour has reached this place.”

He cried: “Close in! Let every weapon ring;With arrow, zhupin, khanjar strike and sting.”

The warriors closed round him for the fight,While foremost chiefs pressed inward in their might.

The hero strung his bow and loosed his hail,Till arrows dimmed the heavens in their trail.

When arrows failed, his spear rose to the sky;A sea of blood spread mountain, plain nearby.

When his spear broke, he seized both gorz and sword;Blood splashed toward the dark cloud as he warred.

The fight continued thus; brave Bahram bledFrom shafts that struck his limbs, his breast, his head.

When strength and vigor failed him in the fight,Tazhav struck from behind with all his might.

His sword struck hard upon the shoulder’s crown;Face-first from off the mound came Bahram down.

His sword-hand, severed from his body, fell;No strength remained in Bahram to repel.

Even cruel Tazhav’s heart burned at the sight;His face flared red as fire beneath the night.

He turned away in anguish and in shame,While hot blood boiled within his heart like flame.

When the bright sun withdrew beyond the field,Giv’s heart grew heavy, grief no words could shield.

He spoke to Bijan: “Joy within my heart,My brother has not come; we must depart.

We must go forth to learn what fate decreed,Before we mourn for him, now lost and freed.”

The pair through clouds of battle swiftly sped,Toward the field where wounded warriors bled.

They sought for Bahram through the wounded slain;The world itself seemed steeped in blood and pain.

At last they found him, rushed to where he lay,With blood-filled tears that streamed along their way.

One hand was severed; strength had left his frame,Yet breath remained; death had not made its claim.

Then gallant Giv sprang down beside the chief,And roared like a lion maddened by grief.

At that great cry Bahram opened his eyes;His body bloodied, wrath began to rise.

He said to Giv: “O seeker after fame,When in my tābut you have laid my frame,

Avenge me upon Tazhav, that fierce bull;Let lion-claws repay his deed in full.

Piran, the son of Viseh, from the startShowed friendship to me with a generous heart.

The chiefs of Chin were first to seek my life,And came against me at the start of strife.

Then faithless Tazhav struck with treacherous might,Forgetful of his lineage and right.”

When Bahram ceased, Giv’s yellow tears arose,And streamed from lashes in his bitter woes.

He swore: “By Maker, by the white day’s light,And by the lapis-blue expanse of night,

Until I have avenged Bahram, now dead,No roof but Roman helm shall crown my head.”

With grief and vengeance blazing in his breast,Indian sword in hand, he launched his quest.

When over earth the evening darkness grew,Tazhav from outpost watch and war withdrew.

Brave Giv beheld him, riding far from men,Then turned his rein and held his breath again.

For Tazhav rode past where his legion massed,Away from chiefs and champions, far he passed.

Giv cast his kamand in a looping cast,Around Tazhav’s waist the kamand held fast.

He slipped the kamand under Tazhav’s thigh,Then wheeled his charger sharply with a cry.

He dragged him crashing from the saddle, torn,And flung him through the dust with utter scorn.

Then Giv sprang down and bound the captive’s hands,His fury blazing over blood-soaked lands.

He mounted, dragging Tazhav through the plain,Who trailed like one insensible with pain.

Tazhav cried out: “O valiant man, now cease;No strength remains in me for war or peace.

What deed have I committed in your sight,That you show me dark Hell in this black night?”

Then Giv struck twice a hundred blows in all,His whip across Tazhav’s head with every fall.

He answered: “Silence! You have planted hate;Now see the vengeance-tree that bears your fate.

Its height has climbed until it meets the sky;Its trunk drinks blood; a severed head hangs high.

Since Bahram was the quarry of your hunt,Now feel the nahang’s bite and bear its brunt.

The wound that stole Bahram’s heroic breathHas wrung my heart and filled my soul with death.”

Tazhav replied: “You are the eagle high;I am the helpless lark beneath your sky.

I bore Bahram no hatred, none at all;I did not cause that noble man to fall.

The warriors of Chin had struck him downBefore I came and found him on the ground.”

Giv cried: “Corrupt and ruinous wretch, be still;Your pleas are wind against my iron will.”

He dragged him back where wounded Bahram lay,And showed the bound man he had seized that day.

He said: “Behold this faithless head I bring;I pay the savage with a savage sting.

I thank the world-creating Maker’s graceThat I have lived to see this hour and place.

Before your eyes I end this darkened foe,And rid your path of him before I go.”

Tazhav begged respite: “Spare my head today;What profit if your khanjar cuts it away?”

Before Bahram he wallowed in the dust:“O noble man, your mercy is my trust.

I shall become your servant from this hour,And tend your tomb while life is in my power.”

Then Bahram said to Giv: “All men must die;The world gives breath and takes it with a sigh.

Though harm from him has reached me on this day,He need not taste death’s bitterness this way.

My soul-gift, ravan-dad, let him remain,To keep my name alive beyond this pain.”

But Giv beheld his brother, wounded, torn,And Tazhav bound before him and forlorn.

Giv cried and seized Tazhav by his beard,Then lopped his head like lark as vengeance neared.

Then Giv’s heart burned at what his hand had done;Within his soul grief’s bitter fire had begun.

He wept blood-tears and raised a piercing cry,The strangest ever heard beneath the sky:

“Whether I kill, or you kill in my sight,My brothers and my kinsmen die in fight!”

When he had spoken, noble Bahram died;His spirit left his body as he sighed.

Whoever grasps the reins of greatness mustFirst wash his hands in blood and battle-dust.

He kills or else is killed in grief and pain;Roam little through this world while days remain.

Giv wailed, dust on his head; he tied the deadUpon the steed; he mounted; Bijan led.

He bore him from Tazhav’s place, grief in his breast,And toward Iran they carried him to rest.

When far enough from that embattled ground,An eyvan-like dakhmeh they raised around.

With musk and ambergris they filled his head;In Chinese silk they wrapped the hero dead.

On ivory throne the honored form was spread;A crown was hung in honor overhead.

The dakhmeh’s crest they painted red and blue;As though brave Bahram vanished from their view.

The famous army bowed beneath grief’s weight,And mourned brave Bahram and the turn of fate.

When bright sun rose and over mountains shone,White day displayed its crown of light alone,

The scattered troops began to gather near,And spoke among themselves in grief and fear:

“Many warriors of Iran lie slain;Our leader’s fortune too has turned to pain.

So mighty were Turanian hands in fight,We cannot stay another day or night.

We must return before the royal throne,And learn what fate the Shah will make our own.

If war no longer fills the monarch’s mind,Then you and I may leave all war behind.

The fathers mourn their sons, the sons their sires;Most lie in pain or sorrow’s bitter fires.

But if the Shah commands us to engage,And arms a noble force in battle’s rage,

Then we shall march with hearts of vengeful flame,And make the world too narrow for their name.”

Resolved on this, from Turan they withdrew,With tear-filled eyes and hearts pierced through and through.

Brother mourned brother’s blood upon the plain,And every tongue gave voice to kindred pain.

Together toward the Kasa Rud they went,And blessed their fallen friends in their lament.

The scouts who rode before Turan’s forceSaw no one left along the battle-course.

The tidings reached Piran, wise Viseh’s son:“The world is empty; Iran’s ranks have run.”

Piran, when he had heard, made no delay,But sent out secret spies by every way.

When sure the Iranian chiefs had fled,He washed his spirit clean of grief and dread.

At daybreak with his army he drew near,And circled round the battlefield to peer.

Across the plains, the mountains, vale, ravine,Lay tents and tent-enclosures through the scene.

He shared the spoils among his fighting men,And marveled at the world’s strange workings then.

One day the world lifts men to joy and fame;The next brings fear and casts them down in shame.

The wisest course is still to lift the cup,And drink before our numbered days are up.

Piran dispatched a swift hiyun that night,To bear the news before the king in flight.

When Afrasiab heard Iran’s great fall,His heart found joy, released from grief and gall.

His army, light of heart in its delight,Adorned the road to greet the Pahlevan’s sight.

They decked the roofs and doorways, and they pouredShowers of silver coins upon their lord.

As soon as he approached the royal place,Afrasiab came with troops to grant him grace.

He blessed him often, saying: “In my eyes,No peer of yours beneath the heavens can rise.”

Within the eyvan music rose in streams,As chang and rabab sounded two weeks’ themes.

Upon the third week, wise Piran preparedTo journey home with joy and honor shared.

The king of Turan gave a robe of state,A rich khilat whose worth was vast and great:

Dinars and jewels, royal belts of gold,With gems in settings wondrous to behold;

Arab steeds with golden harness bright,Indian swords in sheaths of golden light;

A throne of teak and ivory inlaid,A turquoise couch, a ruby crown displayed;

Girls brought from Chin and boys from Rum beside,Two turquoise cups with musk, ambergris inside.

All this upon the Pahlevan he spent,Then counseled him before the hero went.

“My loyal hero, keep the prudent way;Stay with the Mobadan, alert each day.

Guard well the army from the lurking foe;Send wise scouts out wherever roads may go.

For Kay Khosrow has wealth and royal state;Justice and bounty make his kingdom great.

His noble blood, his greatness, crown, and throneUnite in royal right that is his own.

Do not feel safe because the foe withdrew;Seek fresh reports each hour, exact and new.

Your soul will suffer if you sleep at easeWhile Rostam lives, whose wrath no gifts appease.

He is the only man who troubles me;Revenge is all the purpose he can see.

I fear that he will rouse himself one day,And lead Iran’s armies toward our way.”

Piran, both captain and the monarch’s kin,Accepted every word and took it in.

Then Piran and his gathered fighting bandSet out toward Khutan across the land.

Now Prince Forood’s long tale has reached its close;Hear next of Kamus and the war that rose.