Book C2The Tale of Bijan and Manijeh

The night was black as jet, a pitchy shroud;No Bahram, Kayvan, Tir behind that cloud.

The new moon came prepared to claim her own,Yet lost her brightness wandering alone.

Her waist was thin, her heart was full of pain,Two parts her crown was lapis, dulled with stain.

Through dust and tarnish she pursued her flight,While darkness spread its train across the night.

Night’s army over plain and meadow laidA carpet from the raven’s feather made.

Pitch seemed to stain the heavens’ shadowed face,And blot out every height and every place.

To Ahriman’s own eye, on every side,A black snake gaped its jaws and opened wide.

And when a cold wind rose, it seemed as thoughA Zangi raised the charcoal-dust to blow.

The garden and the stream’s lip seemed to beLike waves that heaved upon a pitch-black sea.

The turning sphere stood still upon its way;The sun’s own hands and feet grew slack that day.

The earth itself lay silent in its bed,With robes of pitch across its body spread.

The world’s heart trembled in the darkness round;No voice, no harp, no melody was found.

The watchman’s bell alone broke through the black;No bird’s voice rose, no beast gave answer back.

The world’s lips closed to fortune and to ill,And height and depth were swallowed, dim and still.

Amid that vigil’s grief, with tightened breast,I rose, estranged from comfort, sleep, and rest.

Within my house there lived a loving soul,To whom I called and bade her bring a coal.

She came into the garden, bright and fair,My darling idol, with a moonlit air.

She said: “What need of light? Why wake and weep?Will night not bring your wounded spirit sleep?”

I said: “My idol, sleep will not draw near;Bring me a candle, sun-bright, strong, and clear.

Set it before me; spread the banquet board,Then take the chang, and let the wine be poured.”

My darling brought me shining lamps and wine,With quince and orange, pomegranates fine.

She brought a goblet fit for royal state,Then poured the wine and touched the chang till late.

As though famed Harut had displayed his art,The darkness lost dominion in my heart.

My heart was victor over all desire;The dark night turned to daylight by that fire.

Now hear the words my kind companion said,Once we and the bright goblet had been wed.

That moon-faced sun addressed me with a smile:“May heaven crown your life through every trial.

Drink wine while from this ancient book I tellA tale whose roots in former ages dwell.

Before one portion reaches to your ear,The wheel’s strange working will itself appear.

Device and love and magic are its ground,Fit for the man of culture, grave and sound.”

I said to that tall cypress: “Moon-faced friend,Tell me this tale tonight from end to end;

Of the good and evil of the jarring wheel,Which brings on men each turn that it can deal;

No man has learned its road or its design,Nor pain nor cure of it gives any sign.”

She said: “The words you shall receive from me;Bring them to verse out of the Pahlavi.”

“I set it into verse, and thanks are dueTo you, kind friend, who know the good and true.”

That darling read the legends of old time;Now judge the verse I shaped from them in rhyme.

In the name of Yazdan of the wheeling sky,Lord of both Tir and Mehr that ride on high.

When Kay Khosrow arose for vengeance’ sake,The world-maker a new world sought to make.

The throne and fortune passed from Turan’s hand,While Khosrow’s glory brightened Iran’s land.

His throne rose high and seemed to crown the sun;Then heaven joined Iran and moved as one.

He poured his love upon the noble race,And time returned; he washed in faith his face.

The prudent never make their resting bedWithin a torrent’s course when waters fled.

Two parts of all the world grew straight and trueFor him who sought Siavash’s vengeance due.

One day he sat in gladness at the feast,And drank to every warrior, great and least.

The Shah’s high seat with brocade was arrayed,And the Kayanian cap upon him laid.

A ruby cup, wine-brimming, he held fast;His heart and ear upon the chang were cast.

Around the throne the noble warriors came,Fariborz first, and Gostaham by name.

Gudarz, the son of Keshvad, wise and grave,And Gorgin, Milad’s son, alert and brave.

There Farhad sat with Giv, and Shapur too,The brave, whose name for valor all men knew.

Tus son of Nohzar, breaker of the field,With Rohham there, and Bijan, none to yield.

The royal wine stood ready in each cup;All Khosrow-worshipping, they raised it up.

The wine like carnelian of Yemen glowed;Tulip and eglantine before them showed.

Before Khosrow stood slaves of fairy grace,With musk-black curls around each jasmine face.

The hall was spring itself in hue and scent;Before the marshal girded servants went.

A curtain-keeper came from where he stoodAnd sought the marshal, wary as he should:

“Irmanian chiefs are waiting at the door,From marches near Turan’s contested shore.

They seek the Shah and beg his royal ear;They traveled far for justice, grief, and fear.”

The prudent chamberlain approached the throne,And made the waiting envoys’ trouble known.

He sought the Shah’s command with proper care,Then brought the envoys to the royal chair.

They came before the king with arms held low,And cried aloud of every grief and woe.

Their faces touched the ground as they drew near;They cried: “O conquering Shah, live year on year!

May blessings crown your life through all your days;We come from distant lands and troubled ways.

We come from Khan-e-Irman’s borderland,Where Iran meets Turan on either hand.

Live long and sweetly, Shah, while ages flow;In every land let evil be laid low.

In every clime you rescue men from wrong;Across the seven realms your hand is strong.

We border Turan; that has bred our pain,While toward Iran there stretched a wooded plain.

What sown fields lay within it, and what rowsOf fruiting trees where every harvest grows.

It was our grazing-ground, our root and stay;O Shah of Iran, give us right today.

Wild boars have gathered there in countless bands,And seized our woods, our pastures, and our lands.

Their tusks are like the elephant’s in might,Their bodies huge as hills that block the sight.

They cast all Irman into fear and grief,And leave our people begging for relief.

What ruin they have brought to field and glade,To cattle, crops, and every orchard’s shade!

Trees past our reckoning their tusks divide,And split them gladly, cloven side from side.

Hard stones themselves would fail before each tusk;Our fortune seems to sink from dawn to dusk.”

When Kay Khosrow had heard the tale they told,His heart turned in him, and his grief took hold.

He pitied them in sorrow, and he criedTo all the proud-necked champions, far and wide.

“My notables and men,” he said, “who seeksA name from all this gathering, and speaks?

Who seeks the glory born of bold attack,And rides to drive those savage creatures back?

Let him ride forth where tusks have torn the ground,And win his fame where savage boars are found.

Let him behead them with his shining sword;My gems and treasures shall be his reward.”

At his command the treasurer took heed,And brought a golden salver for the deed.

They poured on it a jewel of every kind,Each mingled with the next, and none behind.

Ten steeds with golden bridles then appeared,And Kavus’s brand on every flank was seared.

In Roman brocade all were richly dressed;The famed of that great gathering addressed.

Then said the lord of earth: “My champions praisedIn every mouth, and by all blessing raised:

Who, for my honor’s sake, will suffer this,And after make my treasure wholly his?”

No warrior there replied with any word,Until the son of Giv stood, deeply stirred.

Bold Bijan rose before that noble line,And blessed the Shah beneath the royal sign:

“May no new master ever hold your hall;May all the world obey your sovereign call.

I am the one who gives ear to your will;Your covenant runs through the whole world still.

At your command I undertake this task;My life and wealth are yours for all you ask.”

But Giv, who stood nearby, was not content;His son’s bold words filled him with sharp dissent.

He blessed the Shah; then to his son he spoke:“What youthful pride is this, what reckless stroke?

A youth may have both wit and inborn worth,But discipline must bring his gifts to birth.

He must know hardship, discipline, and pain,And learn what wounds and weary roads explain.

Walk not a road your feet have never tried,Nor fling your honor idly, out of pride.”

Bijan replied, “Though young before your eyes,My judgment has the years that make Giv wise.

Accept these words of mine, and do not deemMy purpose weak, or slighter than I seem.

I am Bijan, son of Giv, whose sword can breakWhole armies; and the boar’s head I will take.”

So Bijan spoke; the Shah grew glad, and thenHe said: “O skilled beyond all other men,

The man who owns a servant such as youHolds up a shield when evils come in view.”

He blessed him, and bestowed the charge, and soThe venture was made his, and he might go.

To Gorgin, son of Milad, then he said:“Go with him to the water-barrier’s head,

For Bijan has not learned the Turan way,Nor by what road those marches nearer lay.

Be guide to him, and helper at his need,And let your counsel go where he shall lead.”

Bijan made ready to be on his way;He bound his belt, and set his helm that day.

He took Gorgin, the son of Milad, too,His match in strength, whose war-cry carried through.

He left the court with cheetahs trained to chase,While hawks flew overhead from place to place.

Like a foam-flinging elephant he sped,And tore from Gur-e-Khars and deer the head.

Wild sheep lay thick across the plain, hard-pressed,With cheetah claws sunk deep in heart and breast.

His kamand ringed the Gur-e-Khars in flight,Like Tahmuras binding Divs in royal might.

Above, the falcons seized the pheasant’s wing,And blood stained jasmine-leaves in early spring.

The road seemed like a garden, green and wide,And in this way they journeyed side by side.

They reached the place where that dark forest stood,And quickly they dismounted by the wood.

They kindled up a fearsome fire nearby,And sat, and fed the flame with branches dry.

They had a skin of wine with them that day,And one great female Gur-e-Khar their prey.

They roasted all of it upon the flame,And ate, and to the wine their counsel came.

They set their hands upon the wine, and eachGrew merry with the other, speech for speech.

When wine had flushed the face of each man red,Gorgin looked round to find himself a bed.

Bijan replied: “No sleep has hold of me;Lie not down, brother. Wait a while, and see,

That we may bind the work more firmly still,And ease the King’s heart of this weary ill.

When I come at the boars with arrows, keepYour station by the pool, where it runs deep.

Then when the tumult shakes the shadowed wood,Take up your gorz and strike as warriors should.

Whatever breaks away and slips my hand,Take off its head with one stroke where you stand.”

Gorgin replied: “That was not our accord,Nor was it promised to the new-crowned lord.

You took the jewels, the silver and the gold;You bound your belt this battlefield to hold.

Now ask no help of me beyond this one:That I will show the place, and then have done.”

Bijan heard this, amazed; you would have thoughtThe whole wide world to darkness had been brought.

Then lion-like into the wood he passed;The bold man strung his bow and held it fast.

He roared like springtime thunder, harsh and loud;Leaves fell around him raining from the cloud.

Like a mad elephant he chased the boars,With tempered khanjar drawn amid their roars.

They charged him all together for the fight;Their tusks tore up the earth to left and right.

Their tusks struck fire out; and it seemed the worldWas burning where those blazing tusks were hurled.

A boar came on like Ahriman; it toreAnd ripped the jowshan Bijan’s body wore.

Like a steel file that grates on flinty stone,It sharpened on a trunk each tusk of bone.

They raised the very fire of battle high,And from that meadow smoke went up the sky.

He drove the khanjar to its head, straight through;Its elephant body was cleft in two.

Those bold beasts turned fox-like before the blade,Their bodies bloodied and their war-heart stayed.

He cut their heads off with the khanjar’s blow,And bound them to Shabrang’s proud saddle-bow.

To lay their tusks before the Shah, he ledHis horse out to the road with every head.

To show Iran’s great champions his art,Heads from the fighting boars struck clean apart.

He heaped their mountain bodies on a wain,Till buffalo teams bent beneath the strain.

Malignant Gorgin, stung within like flame,In at one quarter of the wood he came.

The forest darkened in his jealous sight;He praised him, and made show of great delight.

That triumph grieved his heart; he feared disgrace,The ill repute that he must henceforth face.

Ahriman wrung his heart, and bent his willTo work Bijan some mischief and some ill.

Such was his scheming—otherwise decreed;And of the World-Creator took no heed.

Who digs a pitfall in another’s wayMust watch his own step closely every day.

For profit, name, and praise before the throne,He laid his snare where Bijan walked, unknown.

Bijan knew nothing of his deed or mind,And took his words for honest and for kind.

When they had drunk a little of the red,Bijan looked once at Gorgin, and he said:

“How did you find my fighting? Is there oneWho could have made such onset, and have won?”

Then Gorgin said: “O fair-faced man of might,I never saw such mastery in a fight.”

He added, “Bijan, Pahlevan of fame,Bright soul, renowned wherever men speak your name.”

They drank two cups or three, and each man played,And of that hour a merry thing they made.

“O hero, whose whole heart is fierce in fight,Wise chief whose fortune shines with heaven’s light,

Such deeds have come to you, and prospered far,By Yazdan’s power and by your lofty star.

Now hear the things I have to tell to you:I have been in these parts some seasons through.

With Rostam and with Giv and Gazhdaham,With Tus of Nohzar’s line and Gostaham,

How many feats upon that plain we won,And over them the years and hours have run.

Those deeds raised high our names in every field,And won the praise King Khosrow’s heart revealed.

Not far from here a pleasure-garden lies,A two days’ road toward Tur before your eyes.

There you will see a plain of green and gold,A place to make a hero’s heart grow bold.

With woods and gardens, streams and scented breeze,A Pahlevan would take his joy at ease.

Its soil is painted silk, its air, it seems,Is musk; rosewater fills the silver streams.

The jasmine bends beneath its floral weight,While pheasants haunt the roses, mate by mate.

The roses there like painted idols rise,While bolbols worship under cypress skies.

Before long, all that river’s course will beLike Paradise itself for eye to see.

Fair faces over plain and hill are seen,And glad groups seated everywhere between.

Manijeh, Afrasiab’s daughter bright,Will make the garden blaze with solar light.

A hundred handmaids, perfect to behold,Will gather with her under tents of gold.

All Turan’s daughters, veiled and modest, fair,Like cypresses, with musk within their hair.

Their cheeks are roses, lips are ruby wine;Their languid eyes with sleepy beauty shine.

You will see all that plain adorned, and more,Like Chin’s great idol-temple heaped with store.

Now if we hasten toward that garden bright,And press the road, to reach it before night,

We may take captive all those women fair,And win from Khosrow honor as our share.”

So Gorgin spoke; in young Bijan, who heard,The Pahlevan’s own essence rose and stirred.

Now fame he sought, and now delight of days;Young, he stepped out in young men’s eager ways.

They set out on that tedious road ahead,One drawn by longing, one by vengeance led.

Bijan, the refuge of the warrior band,At day’s end reached the woods on either hand.

The two in Irman’s meadows two days spent,With hawk and cheetah, free, on pleasure bent.

Soon Gorgin heard Manijeh had come near;The plain took color like a cock’s eye, clear.

He told Bijan the princess held her feast,Where joy and song and wine had never ceased.

Then Bijan said to Gorgin: “I will startThis going first, and take the forward part.

I go to view the banquet from a hill,And see Turanians at their feasting still.

First on their faces let me look, and seeWhich one of them comes pleasantest to me.

With burnished spearhead lifted to the sky,I turn the rein at once and pass them by.

Then we can choose the course that seems secure,Once what our eyes have witnessed makes us sure.”

Then Gorgin said: “Go, and be glad; may youBe free of sorrow all your seasons through.”

Then Bijan rose, his two cheeks flushing red,And set his business straight before he sped.

He bade the treasurer: “Bring the crown whose lightMy father wore to make the banquet bright.

Bring it. Our road lies to the banquet now,And it shall sit in splendor on my brow.

Kay Khosrow’s torque, the earring bright with gold,And Giv’s own armlet, jeweled to behold.”

A glittering Roman tunic was his gown;A homa feather hung from off his crown.

They saddled Shabrang, noblest of the herd;He called for signet, belt, and arms to gird.

He set his foot to stirrup and he passed,Toward that thicket riding hot and fast.

He came in nearer, entered in the wood,And on his longing brooded where he stood.

He took his place beneath a cypress high,Lest harm should reach him from the burning sky.

He tied his horse, and from that place unseenHe watched them, hidden where the boughs were green.

He saw them like Kandahar’s idols stand,Adorned like glad spring over all that land.

The whole plain sounded with the rud and song,And greeting to the soul seemed borne along.

When from her tent the maiden saw his face,She marked the chieftain’s stature, fire, and grace.

His cheeks were like Canopus, bright and fair,Or jasmine blooming through violet-dark hair.

The crown of his father was on his head;His breast blazed bright with Roman brocade’s thread.

Within the curtain, veiled, the maiden yearned;Toward that sunlike face her whole heart turned.

She sent her nurse off swiftly: “Go and seeWho stands, moon-featured, by that cypress-tree.

Has Siavash arisen from the dead,Or does some fairy walk the earth instead?

Ask him: ‘Who brought you to this distant place?What road has led you here with such a face?

Are you a pari, or Siavash reborn,Whose beauty leaves the heart by longing torn?

You kindled such a raging fire in me,I feel the Last Day has now come to be.

For year by year within this meadow-groundI keep the feast when each new spring comes round.

At this feast-ground I saw no one before;You only, moon of aspect—and no more.’”

The nurse, when she had heard her lady’s word,Went lightly out, and quick her footstep stirred.

She came from there to Bijan’s resting place,And blessed him, bowing low before his face.

She gave Manijeh’s message clear and true;Both Bijan’s cheeks like roses opening grew.

And thus did Bijan answer in this strain:“O messenger of sweet speech, hear me plain;

No Siavash am I, no fairy’s seed;From Iran am I come, of noble breed.

I am Giv’s son, and Bijan’s name is mine;From Iran came I, sharp-clawed, on the swine.

I cut their heads off, cast them on the road,To bring their tusks before the Shah’s abode.

But when I heard of this fair banquet-place,I did not haste toward Giv of Gudarz’ race.

Light-footed, I took up this forest way,And full of thought I let the other stay.

I hoped, if only in a dream, to findAfrasiab’s child, whose image filled my mind.

If you will stand my warrant in this thing,I give you this rich raiment of a king.

From me this jeweled cup shall be your prize,And in it, earrings gem-set for your eyes.

Now all this plain is decked before my viewLike Chin’s idol-house, with treasure shining through.

Deal kindly, and I give a golden crown,An earring and a girdle of renown.

Then lead me to that lady, bright and fair,And win her heart for me with gentle care.”

When Bijan spoke, the nurse turned back and went,And to Manijeh’s ear the secret sent:

“Such is his face, and such his stature; soThe World-Creator fashioned him, I know.”

She sent her answer in that very hour:“What you had guessed at now is in your power.

If you come walking hither to my sight,You turn this darkened soul of mine to light.

With sight of you my eye is made to shine;This plain, this tent, a rose-garden of mine.”

Back came the messenger, the guide, and broughtHer words; his heart and ear on them were caught.

No time remained for further words or stay,From cypress shade he hurried on his way.

On foot he paced toward Manijeh’s tent,The free-souled girl’s, and all on longing bent.

He passed the curtain in, a cypress high,Gold-girdled at the waist for every eye.

Manijeh came and clasped him to her breast,And loosed the royal girdle from her guest.

She asked him of the road, and of his train,And who had shared the boar-hunt on that plain.

“Why torture such a face, such farr, such heightWith gorz, O fair of countenance and bright?”

They bathed his feet with musk and rose perfume,And then made haste to eat within the room.

They set the board with dishes of each kind,And made a feast beyond the reach of mind.

They made a place for rud and wine and clearedThe tent of every stranger who appeared.

The serving-women stood upon their feet,With barbat, chang, and songs of music sweet.

Brocade had made the ground a peacock’s hue,And scattered dinars, leopard-spotted through.

The tent enclosure glittered, fold on fold,With musk and jewels, ambergris and gold.

Old wine in crystal cups put out its powerOn Bijan, son of Giv, that pleasant hour.

Three days, three nights, in gladness they had passed;Then sleep and drunkenness held Bijan fast.

When time drew on for Bijan to depart,A longing for his face seized on her heart.

She saw his face grow dark with gloom; and thenShe called her serving-women near again.

She bade a drug that steals the senses mixedInto the sweetened draft, her purpose fixed.

They gave it then to Bijan, Giv’s own son,That good of heart, that famed and valiant one.

Manijeh, seeing Bijan’s face gone dim,Called her attendants once again to him.

A litter she made ready for the road,To bear that sleeping man from that abode.

On one side was a seat for pleasure made,And on the other, resting-place was laid.

She scattered camphor on the sleeper’s bed,And rosewater on sandalwood was spread.

When near the city, moving through the night,She veiled him in a woman’s robe from sight.

By night she entered through a hidden way,And kept her secret from the light of day.

They made a sleeping-place where he was laid,And to his waking then good heed she paid.

She brought an ointment, gave it him to take,Till his eyes opened and he came awake.

He woke, his senses gathering, and foundThat jasmine-bosomed beauty, arms around,

Within Afrasiab’s own hall; and oneMoon-faced beside him, and his hope undone.

Bijan writhed inwardly, and, sorely tried,Against Ahriman to Yazdan he cried.

He said: “O Maker, if it is decreedThat from this place I never shall be freed,

Then let Your vengeance fall on Gorgin’s head,And hear the bitter curses grief has bred.

He was my guide to this, my guide to ill,And wove a thousand spells to work his will.”

Manijeh said to him: “Keep your heart glad,And count as wind the things you have not had.

All kinds of turns befall the lives of men;They feast and fight, then turn to feast again.”

They banqueted while danger held its breath,With wedding here, and there the noose of death.

From every tent a rose-cheeked girl they had,And in Chin’s brocade every one was clad.

The fairy-faced girls took the rud in hand,And passed the days in gladness through that land.

Some while had passed them in this same estate;Then word came to the keeper of the gate.

Who speaks at random shakes, and does not know,The tree of ruin, that will lay him low.

He searched who this man was, from where he came,And why to Turan, and his city’s name.

He learned it, and his own life filled with fear,And to his remedy he hastened near.

No course he saw but telling what he knew,And from behind the curtain, running, flew.

He came before the Turkish monarch’s throne:“Your daughter takes a man of Iran’s own.”

The king called on the World-Holder; and heShook like a willow when the wind blows free.

From eye to cheek there ran his lashes’ blood;He raged, and told the tale, a burning flood:

“Who keeps a daughter curtained in his hall,Though he wear crowns, an evil star will fall.

Who gets a daughter where a son should be—No better bridegroom than the grave has he.”

Confounded by Manijeh’s deed and shame,He called the marshal Kurukhan by name.

He said: “Of this unclean woman’s affairCounsel with me, and counsel with due care.”

Then Kurukhan gave answer to the King:“Look with a shrewder eye upon this thing.

If it is so, no speaking sets it right;But hearing is not equal to the sight.”

Afrasiab, when this reply he heard,Was hastened onward by the marshal’s word.

He looked on Garsivaz: “What have we hadFrom Iran, and what more shall make us sad?

Who in the world has had a day like mine?Grief of Iran’s own city, and my line.

Go, with clear-headed horsemen at your side,And guard the palace roof and gate,” he cried.

“Whomever in the palace you shall see,Bind him, and drag him hither, back to me.”

When Garsivaz approached the palace gate,He heard the revel sounding high and late.

The cry of chang, the clamor of rabab,Came from the palace of Afrasiab.

The Shah’s own riders seized the roof and entry,And every way about it had a sentry.

When Garsivaz beheld the portal barred,He saw the wine and heard the shouting hard.

When he drew near the barred and bolted gate,His riders gathered round him, close and straight.

He set his hand and tore the bolt by force,And sprang into the hall, and held his course.

He came in haste to where that chamber lay,In which a stranger sat and led the play.

When at the door he saw Bijan inside,His blood boiled up in wrath he could not hide.

Three hundred serving-women filled that hall,With rabab, wine and song among them all.

Among the women Bijan sat; the redWine in his hand, and merriment he spread.

Then Garsivaz cried out to him from far:“You that disown your kin, base-born you are!

You stand within the savage lion’s hold;What path to life remains for one so bold?”

Bijan writhed in himself: “How make a fight,Naked of armor, stripped of all my might?

Shabrang is not with me, nor the swift bay;The very sun has turned from me today.

Where now are Giv and Gudarz, Keshvad’s line?For nothing must this head be given. Mine.

No friend is left to me in this strange land;Izad alone can hear me where I stand.”

He always bore a khanjar in his boot,A water-tempered blade from hilt to root.

He drew it from the sheath and took his place,And spoke his name aloud before their face:

“Bijan am I, of Keshvad’s ancient tree,Head of the Pahlevans and of the free.

No man shall tear my skin, unless he bearA body tired of the head it must wear.

Though Judgment Day itself should fill the track,No man alive shall see me turn my back.”

Then to Garsivaz he called out and said:“Ill fortune has contrived this on my head.

You know my forebears and my king by name;You know my place among the men of fame.

If you would fight, then I am ready stillTo bathe my hands in blood by strength and will.

With this same khanjar I shall take my tollOf Turan’s chiefs, and many a head shall roll.

But if you bring me to Turan’s own court,I shall lay out the tale in full report.

Then intercede with him and take my part;To guide toward good becomes a noble heart.”

Garsivaz made no move to close with him,Seeing how sharp his claw, how fierce and grim.

He knew the man spoke truth, and that his handWould wash itself in blood before that band.

He pledged him faith with oaths, and to his earGave much good counsel, warm and kind to hear.

By pact he took the khanjar; and with speechAll oil and smoothness, bound him out of reach.

He bound him head to foot as one might bindA cheetah; what use prowess, fortune blind?

Such is the crook-backed turner of the sky:Make it go soft, and roughness you come by.

In that state to Afrasiab they boreHis yellow face, his eyes with weeping sore.

The hero came with arms in fetters bound,Bareheaded, standing on the royal ground.

The Shah said: “Reckless head. Now let me knowWhy to this land and region did you go?”

He blessed him: “O my king, if you would seekThe truth from me, then hear me while I speak.

Not by desire I sought this festal place;In all this matter no man’s guilt I trace.

From Iran came I to the fight with boars,And came up to this Turan feast of yours.

For one lost hawk, one bird that went astray,I have cast down my house and home away.

Under a cypress I lay down to sleep,That from the sun its shadow might me keep.

A pari came and spread her wings out wide,And took me sleeping up against her side.

She took me from my horse and struck the road,Where the king’s daughter’s escort onward strode.

Horsemen were scattered over all the plain,And ammaris passed by me, train on train.

An Indian parasol appeared in view,And Tur’s own riders ringed it through and through.

Amid them, of sweet aloeswood was madeAn ammari, in fine parniyan arrayed.

Within it slept an idol-figure bright;A crown was at her pillow, catching light.

The pari called on Ahriman for aid,Then rushed like wind among that cavalcade.

Sudden she set me in the ammari,And on that fair face chanted witchery.

A while within that palace-hall I slept;I stirred, and found my eyes had waked and wept.

No guilt in this was ever mine, not one;Nor is Manijeh stained in what was done.

That pari was my fortune turned to ill,Who tried her sorcery upon me still.”

Afrasiab replied: “Your evil dayHas overtaken you along this way.

You are the man who out of Iran cameWith shaft and kamand, seeking fight and fame.

Now, woman-like, your hands bound fast, you seemA drunkard babbling of some idle dream.

By trying lies you shall not win your headAway from me, nor from the doom ahead.”

Bijan replied: “O king, attend to me;Hear what I say, and judge what truth may be.

Boars with their tusks and lions with their clawsAre fit for battle under nature’s laws.

So champions with sword and shaft and bowCan strive against the ill-intentioned foe.

But one with body bare and bound in bands,The other steel-shirted, with sword in hands?

How shall a lion rend when blunt claws fail,Though strife and courage in his heart prevail?

Would the Shah see me prove my daring here,Before this whole assembly gathered near,

Command a horse for me, a gorz of weight,And choose a thousand chiefs from Turan’s state.

If of that thousand one upon the groundRemain alive, no man let me be found.”

When from Bijan he heard this speech, he threwHis eye upon him, and his anger grew.

He turned upon Garsivaz: “Do you seeWhat Iran brings us, and what yet shall be?

See you not how this foul, ill-working manContrives against me yet a further plan?

The evil done has not contented him;He asks to fight, with purpose fierce and grim.

Bind him with heavy fetters, hold him fast,And in this very hour let him be past.

Command a gallows set before the gate,Where every road shall pass, and men shall wait.

Hang the ill-starred one living on that tree,And speak no word of him again to me.

That henceforth none of Iran’s men shall dareTo lift his eyes toward Turan anywhere.”

They dragged him out from Afrasiab, tornIn heart with pain, both eyes with weeping worn.

When Bijan reached the gate, heart-wounded, slow,His feet sank in the mire his tears made flow.

He said: “If on my head the Maker pennedThat in ill days my life should have its end,

Not gallows, not the killing, do I dread;Iran’s champions fill my heart instead.

That so my enemy may call me base,Hung on the tree with no wound, in disgrace.

Before my forebears of the kingly mind,After my death reproach on me they find.

Alas, my enemy will be made glad;His heart’s whole wish upon my flesh he had.

Alas, the king of kings! Alas for Giv!Alas that I must all my comrades leave!

O wind, go over into Iran’s ground,And bear my message where the Shah is crowned.

Say Bijan lies in wounding and in pain,His body in the lion’s claw and chain.

Say to Gudarz of Keshvad, in my name:By Gorgin’s doing I have come to shame.

Tell Gorgin: O you dog of feeble thought,What will you say to me where souls are brought?

You cast me into such calamityThat not one helper anywhere I see.”

Yazdan had mercy on Bijan’s young breath,And turned the king’s intent away from death.

While men prepared the gibbet by decree,Piran, by chance, approached the place to see.

He reached the road and saw, on every side,Turks with their belts girt fast in martial pride.

A lofty gibbet had been set upright,A kamand hanging from it, coiled and tight.

He asked the Turanians: “For whom prepared?Whose death has now the angry king declared?”

Then Garsivaz replied: “It is Bijan,Foe of Turan and champion of Iran.”

Piran urged on his charger, drawing near,And found Bijan struck deep by grief and fear.

He saw him naked, both hands bound behind,With parched mouth, sallow cheek, and troubled mind.

Piran asked: “By what road did you set out?From Iran, and for blood, beyond a doubt.”

Bijan told all the pain he had endured,And how his false companion had him lured.

Piran took pity, weeping as he spoke,And ordered them to spare him from the stroke.

“Keep him from harm until I reach the throne;I go to make his desperate plight known.

That I may see the king with my own eye,And show to him the good star’s road on high.”

Piran struck spur and rode, and swiftly pressedTo Turan’s throne, and gave his heart no rest.

Into the hall he came in servant’s guise,Arms crossed upon his breast, with lowered eyes.

He hurried to the throne and blessings gave,In fervent words, respectful, loyal, grave.

Like faithful guide and minister he stood,To counsel what a prudent monarch should.

The World-Holder perceived the wish of his guest,And smiled: “Speak freely; tell me your request.

What do you wish? Speak plainly of your need;No man has served me better by his deed.

If you petition gold or jeweled store,Or realm or troops, I shall bestow still more.

My treasury lies open at your hand;Why take these pains? Speak now and make demand.”

Piran, the loyal, heard and kissed the ground,Then rose and spoke while all stood hushed around:

“Sit on the throne forever, fortune’s friend;May fortune nowhere else its grace extend.

The monarchs of the earth proclaim your praise;Your splendor passes the bright sun’s own blaze.

Through your good fortune, I have no requestFor horse or troops, dominion, or conquest.

I ask not for myself; beneath your hand,Your servants prosper throughout every land.

Your rule itself is fortune, stay, and guide;Your glorious chiefs stand gathered at your side.

I fear that silence may let others grieve,And stain the honored name I hope to leave.

And now, O lion-taking king, allowOne counsel from my lips: receive it now.

Slay not this famed Bijan; behind him sitsA king of judgment and of ready wits.

The feud for Siavash you would sow as seed,And on Turan make war and vengeance breed.

Have I not counseled you in seasons past,On this and that affair, from first to last?

But not one word of mine was ever weighed;I drew my hand back from the plans you made.

I said, ‘Do not slay Kay Kavus’s son,Or Tus and Rostam rise for what is done.

For Siavash, born of Kayanian race,Had bound himself to serve you in this place.

Peace will be broken; Iran’s men of warWill bring their trampling elephants to our door.’

How many men the feud has robbed of life,How many earth has hidden from the strife.

How many wives are left forlorn and gray,How many lion-men are thinned away.

Yet heedless of my counsel, you struck him dead,And mixed the poison where the sweet was spread.

Have you not seen the ruin Iran wrought,And how its elephants through Turan fought?

Their hooves trod down two-thirds of us to dust,And fortune’s water turned to brine and rust.

Zal’s sword-point is not blunted in its sheath;By Rostam, heads have rolled in dust beneath.

With that same blade he scattered heads like grain,And cast their streaming blood across the plain.

Will you seek war while peace remains our state,And pluck a flower whose fruit is death and hate?

If Bijan’s blood is spilled upon this soil,From Turan’s earth the dust of war will boil.

You are a wise king; we are only men;Open your heart’s eye, weigh this once again.

Consider how the Shah repaid beforeEach injury that he had borne in war.

In truth, you call for vengeance, and renewThe feud, and make grief’s tree bear fruit for you.

When feud is doubled we shall have no ground,O Pahlevan, in whom the world is bound.

You know brave Giv, and Rostam’s savage name,That grim nahang whom none has power to tame.

And Gudarz, Keshvad’s steel-clawed, mighty son,Will come to war till his grandson is won.”

As water cools a raging fire’s glow,Afrasiab answered Piran, stern and slow:

“Do you not know what shame this man has brought,And what disgrace his hidden acts have wrought?

My shameless daughter heaps upon my headA shame through every house and household spread.

My veiled ones’ names she carried from the screen,And spread them where the gathered lords convene.

For this disgrace, my troops throughout the landWill mock the crown and scorn where I now stand.

If he shall live, in every mouth my shameWill be a jest, and all despise my name.

Forever bitter tears from me will fall,And I in shame and pain must bear it all.”

Piran gave many blessings, and he said:“O king of the good star, by truth still led,

It is as the king says; and all his daysHe seeks for nothing but an honored praise.

Yet let my sovereign look, and, looking, weighThe sober counsel that I now convey.

Bind him in heavy chains and let him lie,Rather than choose the gallows, and to die.

Let Iran take its warning from his fate,And gird no more for evil, soon or late.

For whoever lies in your dark prison-hold,His name in no man’s register is told.

Again I say: from him Iran takes heed,And binds no more the belt of evil deed.”

The king did as the counsel showed him best,His heart and tongue at one, his doubt at rest.

A pure and guiding minister can makeThe throne shine bright, and all its farr awake.

Afrasiab commanded: “Garsivaz, obey;Prepare a pit where light shall lose its way.

Draw both his hands in chains, his throat in hold,And clamp a Rumi bond, bridge-arched and cold.

Make all secure with heavy rivets fast,Then headfirst down to black despair be cast.

Shut sun and moon forever from his eyes;Take elephants where Akvan’s great stone lies.

That stone the Piltan raised from ocean deep,And cast in Chin’s far wilds for fate to keep,

That stone shall now avenge me on this man;Bring elephants and all the force you can.

The stone above Arzhang’s dark dungeon-doorShall seal him in and hide him evermore.

Then leave him there to madness, grief, and night,And ride to Manijeh’s palace in your might.

Go sack the palace of that wanton maid,Whose shameless choice has made her honor fade.

Strip her of crown and fortune, head and all,And speak these words, and let my anger fall:

‘Accursed, wretched girl, unfit to wearThe royal crown or breathe the royal air,

You have abased my head among the great,And dragged my royal crown through scorn and hate.’

Then drag her naked to the pit and say:‘Behold your royal lover here today.

You are his springtime now, his joy, his guide;Go serve and comfort him there at his side.

Remain with him inside that sunken cell,And leave them both within that living hell.’”

They carried out the monarch’s harsh command,And seized Giv’s son, still fettered foot and hand.

Before the pit’s black mouth they set him down,And ironed him from heel to very crown.

His waist and hands with heavy chains were wound,While smiths drove iron rivets, hard and sound.

With steel and hammers every bond was fast;Then headfirst in the pit Bijan was cast.

They sealed him under stone; then from that placeThe troops withdrew, grim anger on each face.

They reached the princess’ palace, seized her store,And cast her wealth in heaps across the floor.

Manijeh was left bare, without a veil,Barefoot, bareheaded, and her face grown pale.

They dragged her to the pit; her heart was blood,Her face a channel running like a flood.

Garsivaz said, “Look here, and you shall seeYour home; the prisoner’s servant you shall be.”

Manijeh stayed, with anguish in her breast,And blood-drops on her cheeks, and found no rest.

He turned away; Manijeh, bride of woe,Roamed through the plain with nowhere else to go.

When one full day and night had passed in grief,She scraped a handbreadth opening for relief.

When from the mountain’s crest the sun raised head,Manijeh went from door to door for bread.

Through the long day she gathered, crust by crust,And brought it to the pit-hole through the dust.

She gave it to Bijan, and wept her fill,And in that ill-starred living lingered still.

With sigh and cry, through every hour she keptThat pit’s own watch, and never left, but wept.

When one full week had passed and none returned,Gorgin searched on, while fear within him burned.

He hurried all over, and searched, and weptHot tears of blood; no hour of rest he kept.

Repentance took him now for what he did,The evil he against his comrade hid.

He sought the place where Bijan went astray,And searched the forest through the fading day.

He circled all the wood, yet saw no one,Nor heard a bird-call underneath the sun.

He searched the meadow by the river wide,And saw the charger standing at its side.

There stood the steed, its broken bridle low,Its saddle dragged; its foaming mouth showed woe.

He knew the horse was his companion’s own,And cried: “Bijan is lost, not well, alone.

He will not see Iran; some hostile handHas laid him down upon death’s farther strand.

By gallows, prison, chains, or deadly blow,Afrasiab has struck him, that I know.”

Repentant, Gorgin cast the kamand out,And caught the horse, and turned his face about.

He turned and led the steed back from the plain,And stayed one day inside his tent in pain.

Then sleepless, restless, sick with fear and shame,He turned toward Iran, dreading Giv’s blame.

The Shah soon heard that Gorgin had returned,Without Bijan, while royal anger burned.

The Shah desired to question him alone,And kept the bitter news as yet unknown.

Yet Giv soon heard his brave son had been lost,And rushed into the street, by anguish crossed.

His heart was pierced, his cheeks with weeping wet;He cried: “Bijan has not returned here yet.

I do not know why he remains in Irman,What fate has held him far from home and Iran.”

Then vengeful as a leopard in his heart,He called for Keshvad’s bay, prepared to start.

That bay was kept against the day of need;They laid the khadang saddle on the steed.

He mounted like the wind and spurred away,And left his place that hour without delay.

He rode to Gorgin, so he might ask straightWhere Bijan stayed, and what had been his fate.

He thought: “By truth itself, one thing is plain:Gorgin has brought my son to grief and pain.

I shall behead Gorgin or see my son;One deed or else the other shall be done.”

When Gorgin saw that Giv was drawing near,He left his horse and ran to him in fear.

He wallowed in the dust, bareheaded, pale,His cheeks torn open as he voiced his tale:

“O chosen warrior of the Iranian line,The Shah’s great chief, in whom all honors shine,

Why have you come to meet me on my way?Why do your blood-red tears fall down today?

I do not wish to live if further woeShould now befall me, blow succeeding blow.

Ashamed am I to look upon your face;My eyes pour blood in sorrow and disgrace.

Yet do not fear for Bijan’s life,” he cried;“No harm has touched him; truth shall be my guide.”

Giv saw his son’s horse standing at his side,And Gorgin, dust-covered and wild-eyed.

He heard those words and tumbled to the ground,Then lay beneath his grief without a sound.

His head lay hidden in the road’s dry sand;He rent his Pahlavi robe with either hand.

He plucked his hair and from his wounded headPoured dust, and cried aloud in grief and dread:

“O Maker of the heavens, wise and high,Who filled my heart with love beneath the sky,

Now that my son is lost, I beg of YouTo cut my life-cord and my spirit too.

Bear both away to blessed halls above;You know my anguish and a father’s love.

One son alone I had in all the earth.My son, and my pure counselor from birth.

Now evil fortune tears my life apart,And leaves the Dragon gnawing at my heart.”

He turned to Gorgin: “Tell me all the tale.Did fate destroy him? Did his purpose fail?

Did he depart from sight by his own choice?What evil came upon him? Raise your voice.

Who flung the meshes of the sky around?What Div rose up against him from the ground?

Who murdered him and ruined all my joy?How did you find the charger, not the boy?

Where did you leave Bijan?” Then Gorgin replied:“Compose yourself; let grief and fear subside.

Recover now your senses; hear me out,And open wide your ears, and cast off doubt.

About the fight with boars within the wood,Hear this, great chief, and mark it as you should.

Know this, O Pahlevan, and hold it fast:Be still the throne’s bright luster to the last.

We rode from here to fight the boar, and pressedUp close to Irman on that wooded crest.

We saw a wood that ruin turned to waste,With trampled pasture and with trees defaced.

The boars had made this ruined wood their lair;All Irman withered under grief and care.

We raised our spears and shouted through the wood;Before us, mountain-like, the wild boars stood.

Not one by one they charged, but herd by herd;The forest shook beneath the din we stirred.

We fought like lions till the day was won,And did not rest until the work was done.

We piled their elephantine bodies high,And tore their tusks out underneath the sky.

Then toward Iran we turned in merry mood,And, past that blood-stained forest, game pursued.

A Gur-e-Khar sprang up before our sight;No eye had seen a fairer shape in flight.

Its coat was Gudarz’s Golgun, hair for hair,Its face, Farhad’s white Shabahang’s, as fair.

Its wing was Simorgh’s, and its hoof was steel,Its head and tail made Bijan’s Shabrang real.

Its neck was lion-like, its speed was fire;It seemed that Rakhsh himself had been its sire.

It charged like some tall elephant in fight;Bijan cast out the twisting kamand tight.

The cast, the break-away, were one same deed;The Gur-e-Khar ran on, Bijan at speed.

Bijan sped after it through dust and roar,While earth rose like a sea from shore to shore.

The rider and the Gur-e-Khar were gone;Their dust-cloud swallowed both and traveled on.

My horse was weary, yet I searched the plain,Through hill and valley, seeking signs in vain.

I found no trace of Bijan, not a track,Except his steed, its saddle trailing slack.

My heart burned for his fate in grief and woe:How could he stand against that wild beast’s blow?

I lingered long upon the pasture wide,And searched all ways, but hope at last had died.

I came back hopeless, for before my eyesThat beast had worn the White Div’s foul disguise.”

Shrewd Giv heard this and thought: “My son is lost.”He weighed the tale and saw what falsehood cost.

He marked confused words, eyes that would not meetHis own, and saw the darkened glance retreat.

His face grown yellow, and his words half-spiltIn trembling, and his heart brimful of guilt.

Giv saw his son was lost beyond recall,And saw the tale was tainted, part and all.

Ahriman drove him toward a bloody feud,To strike at Gorgin while his anger brewed.

To claim from him the blood of his own son,Whatever good might yet from him be won.

But then he thought, and searched the matter round;No light came of it, and no gleam he found.

“What comes to me,” he said, “from this man’s death,But Ahriman’s foul purpose, breath for breath?

What good to Bijan comes of this man’s life?Let us seek out another cure than strife.

To wring my vengeance from him were but small;My spearpoint is not set against a wall.

We shall abide until the Shah shall hear,And Gorgin’s guilt in this stand plain and clear.”

He raised a shout at Gorgin, loud and long:“Foul-dealing wretch, harm-laden, born to wrong.

You took my sun and moon, my hope, my spring,My chosen of all riders, and my king.

You flung me into running, chase on chase,Round the whole world, to seek a healing place.

And now, with all your wiles and cheats and art,Where shall I find rest, sleep, or quiet heart?

No power beyond this hour remains to you,Till I have seen the Shah, and told him true.

And then from you I claim my vengeance whole,For my dear one, the world-beholding soul.”

With bloodshot eyes and vengeance in his breast,Giv came before the Shah by grief oppressed.

He blessed the king: “May joy forever flowAcross the world beneath your royal glow.

Blessed and well-starred king, can you not seeWhat ruin and what grief have fallen on me?

I had one son, my constant care; each dayI feared for him when danger crossed his way.

I wept to think some harm might strike his head,And burned with fear that I would find him dead.

Now Gorgin has returned with lying tongue,A guilty soul, and news from evil sprung.

He speaks of my pure son, my stainless pride,My famed and spotless counselor and guide.

He brought his charger, riderless, alone,But of Bijan no sign or trace was shown.

If now my lord will look upon my case,And grant me justice in this bitter place,

Let justice fall upon that man of sin,Who cast me into grief for my own kin.”

The Shah was troubled by brave Giv’s despair,And mourned the son whose fate hung in the air.

In anger then he set the crown in place,And took the throne with pallor on his face.

He said to Giv: “What tale has Gorgin told?Where did he leave that comrade, true and bold?”

Giv told the tale about his gallant son,As Gorgin had recounted, one by one.

Then Khosrow said: “Do not give way to grief;Bijan is safe; let hope now bring relief.

Be calm about the son you fear is lost;Do not let sorrow claim so great a cost.

Wise Mobadan, well versed in hidden things,Have told me truly what the future brings:

That I shall ride with Iran’s mounted spearsTo war on Turan in the coming years.

For Siavash I shall make vengeance plain,And end that land with elephants in train.

Bijan will take the field at war’s alarm,And fight like Ahriman with mighty arm.”

The Shah continued, “Set your grief aside;I seek him too, and will not be denied.”

So Giv withdrew, with grief and anguish torn,Blood in both eyes, his cheek gone pale and worn.

When Gorgin reached the palace gate alone,He found the court as silent as a stone.

The Pahlevans had gone with Giv in grief,All mourning Bijan, hoping for relief.

Gorgin, his guilty soul consumed by shame,Went in for audience, inwardly aflame.

He reached Khosrow and kissed the ground below,And offered reverence, bent with secret woe.

He laid the diamond-hard tusks, one by one,Before the throne when formal rites were done.

He said: “May Kay Khosrow victorious reign,His life like New Year brighten hill and plain.

And you, O King, be glad while time shall last,From care and sorrow free, from grieving past.

May all your foes’ proud heads be cut away,As these wild boars were severed in the fray.”

The Shah beheld the tusks and asked him then:“How went the journey? Speak before my men.

Where did Bijan part company with you?What evil did Ahriman put him through?”

When Khosrow spoke, Gorgin stood ill at ease,And stammered out the words he thought would please.

His guilty soul was dark; his cheeks were pale,He shook in terror as he shaped his tale.

He babbled, and his words ran wild and far,Of forest, pasture, boar, and Gur-e-Khar.

When words no longer matched the words before,Khosrow perceived the malice at his core.

The Shah grew angry, drove him out in shame,And heaped fierce curses on his guilty name.

He said: “Have you not heard what Zal decreed?Gudarz’s offspring make the lions bleed.

Whoever meets his children hand to handWill spill a lion’s blood upon the sand.

But for the evil name that it would buy,And the ill end before Yazdan on high,

I would command your head be plucked awayLike Ahriman’s foul bird, this very day.”

Then to a smith he said: “Forge shackles strong,With heavy rivets, weighty, hard, and long.”

He had Gorgin’s feet fettered there in chains,To teach what punishment deceit sustains.

He said to Giv: “Be calm, but swift proceedTo search each quarter for your son in need.

And I will send armed men to each frontier,To gather any trace that may appear.

That we get word of Bijan, soon or late;In this be swift and wakeful. Do not wait.

But should that word be slow in coming, keepThe seat of wisdom in you; do not weep.

Stay till the month of Farvardin arrive,When faith’s own sun makes all the world alive.

When the glad garden fills with roses red,And the wind scatters blossom on your head,

When earth puts on its robe of living green,And winds move softly through the rose-bright scene,

Then to Ormozd our pure devotion goes,And prayer shall kindle this our soul that glows.

Before Yazdan I shall arise and stand,And bring the world-revealing cup to hand.

The seven climes lie all within its round;Their soil and border in it shall be found.

And I shall bless my forebears from of old,My chosen great ones, and my pure, all told.

And I shall tell you where your Bijan lies;Within that cup it stands clear to my eyes.”

Giv heard the words and gladness filled his breast;His son’s long grief released him into rest.

He smiled, and blessed the Shah: “On you descendThe Soul-Creator’s blessing without end.

May the high sphere revolve to your desire;May no ill eye touch you, nor harm conspire.”

When Giv had left the throne of Khosrow’s hall,He sent out riders swiftly, one and all.

They searched the whole world over, high and low,That some least sign of Bijan yet might show.

They trod the soil of Iran far and wide,And found no trace on Turan’s farther side.

When joyful New Year’s Day at last returned,For Khosrow’s world-revealing cup Giv yearned.

Bent double, bearing grief that was his own,The Pahlevan came hoping to the throne.

Khosrow beheld his cheeks, sunken and spare,And felt the grief that Giv had come to bear.

The Shah then clothed himself in Roman dress,And stood before Yazdan, in humbleness.

Before the World-Creator he cried loud,And on the sun laid praise, and praise, and bowed.

He prayed for strength, for judgment’s cleansing flame,To break dark Ahriman’s malignant aim.

Then to his throne he came in royal state,Put on Kayanian crown, and read his fate.

He took the cup and gazed, and in its roundThe seven climes and heaven’s signs were found.

Within its depths, in order, form, and scope,Appeared each act, decree, and mortal hope.

From Pisces round to Aries, sign by sign,The zodiac appeared in one design.

Saturn, Mars, Jupiter, the Lion’s glow;Venus and Mercury up, the Moon below.

All that would come to pass lay there displayed;The World-Holder, enchanter, read and weighed.

He scanned the seven climes for Bijan’s trace,But found no sign of him in any place.

He came to Gorgasaran’s land at last,And by Yazdan’s command beheld him fast.

Bound in a pit with heavy chains he lay,And, in his anguish, prayed to pass away.

A daughter of Kayanian race was near,Who tended him through misery and fear.

The Shah smiled gently from the royal seat,Then turned to Giv; his words were calm and sweet:

“Bijan still lives; take heart and grieve no more;Keep your great body free of every sore.

And grieve not for his prison or his cell;No hurt has touched his life, and all is well.

He lies in dark Turan, beyond our sight,A noble maid attends him day and night.

Yet sorrow fills me deeply for his chains,His hunger, hardship, and his endless pains.

So pass his days; and at each hour that fliesShe weeps above him with her bitter cries.

He has no hope to see his kin appear,But shakes like willow-boughs in rain and fear.

Blood fills his eyes and anguish fills his heart;My name is on his tongue and will not part.

Both weep like springtime clouds that overflow;He seeks his death in such a life of woe.

Who now will stir himself, and take the road?Who rise up girded for so hard a load?

Who keeps his faith with us in this our need,And brings him free of hardship by his deed?

None but the sharp-clawed Rostam, whose strong handDraws up the nahang from the deep sea’s sand.

Gird up your belt; to Nimruz haste away,And rest not on that road by night or day.

Bear him my letter; give it him alone,And on the road let nothing more be known.

I shall send for him, and lay all this bare,And make an end, O Giv, of your despair.”

A scribe was summoned to the Shah’s own side,And something of the story he supplied.

The Shah commanded: “Write to Rostam then,From chief to well-wisher, the best of men:

‘O Pahlevan by birth, in art the best,Whose head is raised above the champions’ crest.

In you your noble ancestors unite,And you stand ever girded for the fight.

Heart of the monarchs, prop of royal kings,Your strength brings aid wherever sorrow clings.

The sphere endowed you with a leopard’s frame;At sea the nahang roars to hear your name.

You washed the Divs of Mazandaran away,And tore the heads from wicked men that day.

How many crowned heads have you overthrown,And severed from the splendor of the throne?

Unnumbered foes have fallen by your hand;Through you, defeat has swept each hostile land.

Chief Pahlevan, defense of Iran’s lines,Your power with royal majesty combines.

Your gorz bound all the sorcerers complete,And raised the crown of kings by their defeat.

Afrasiab and Chin’s Khaqan, both kings,Have cut your name upon their signet rings.

Whatever knot your hand has bound holds fast;Who seeks to loose it is himself downcast.

You are the loosener of every chain,The Kayanian’s own blessed sphere and reign.

Izad has given you an elephant’s might,A lion’s heart, and lore, and lineage bright.

He gave it so your hand might reach and saveHim who cries out, from the dark pit’s own grave.

Now such a call for aid has come to pass:A noble youth lies captive and, alas,

No son of Gudarz ever suffered moreFrom those wolf-faced Turanians on that shore.

Gudarz and Giv both place their trust in you,A hero known in every land as true.

You know the honor they possess at court,Their courage, wisdom, and their firm support.

Do not regard this burden as too great;Ask men and means; I shall not make you wait.

This court has never known such grief till now;Few houses match their fame beneath heaven’s brow.

Giv had no son except this single one,At once his child, his aid, his living sun.

Great is the honor Giv has earned at court;My grandfather received his firm support.

He served that king and now has served me well,And stood beside me when misfortunes fell.

You know the Gudarzians’ whole way and worthIn ease and hardship, gain and loss on earth.

When you have read this letter, do not stay;Rise, come with Giv to me without delay.

Together we shall choose the wisest course,And bring him home through sound tactic and force.

Of men and treasure and of goods, my storeI bring before you, arrayed, and yet more.

Your step is blessed, your name is lifted high;From Turan all your will shall come thereby.

Prepare what must be made; and let it beThat Bijan from his bonds at last goes free.’”

Giv took the letter after it was sealed,And blessed the Shah, and from his presence wheeled.

He came back to his house, and there preparedIn haste the Sistan road that must be dared.

He horsed the riders of his house, and criedOn Yazdan’s name, and in that name relied.

He rode toward Hirmund with a courier’s speed,Like startled game that flies before the steed.

Two days of travel he compressed in one,With wounded heart beneath the burning sun.

His group of men endured the road in pain,Through deserts vast and heights across the plain.

The watchman saw Giv riding into sight,And sent the word to Zabul from the height:

“A rider rides toward Hirmund; at his backAre many riders following his track.

A standard flutters high behind his band,A Pahlevan’s bright blade is in his hand.”

When Dastan, son of Sahm, had heard that cry,He ordered up his chestnut, saddled high.

He spurred ahead to meet the men unknown,And learn what purpose brought them near his throne.

But when he saw Giv’s withered face appear,He hurried on, astonished, full of fear.

He thought: “Some evil struck the Shah’s domain,For Giv has crossed this far and weary plain.”

When Zal came near, they rose and took the wayWith reverence, and greeted him that day.

Zal asked of Iran, Khosrow, crown, and state,Its chiefs of war and Turan’s plans of late.

Giv gave the greetings of the king and peers,Then spoke about his son through grief and tears.

“You see me pale; my feet are bruised and dyed,With leopard-spots of blood from this hard ride.”

He asked then after Rostam, and would knowWhere Tahamtan was; Dastan answered so:

“He hunts the Gur-e-Khar; and when the sunTurns back, he will be here, his hunting done.”

Giv said: “I shall go seek him where he rides;A letter from the Shah my journey guides.”

Zal answered: “Go not hence; before the nightHe comes back from the hunting-ground’s far height.

Bide here till Rostam comes; and for todayBe glad with me, and put your grief away.”

Reflecting on the matter, they withdrewToward Zal’s palace, hearts with grief shot through.

As Giv came in, brave Rostam entered too;Giv went to meet the champion he knew.

He neared him, then dismounted from his horse,Bowed low, and tears ran freely down their course.

His heart was full of yearning, grief, and dread;When Rostam saw him stricken, thus he said:

“Iran and Khosrow, moon of all our age,Have fallen, or the world has turned its page?”

He stepped down, clasped him close, and bade him shareHow Khosrow and the royal court might fare:

Of Tus and Gostaham, Gudarz the old,Of chiefs who kept Iran’s frontiers controlled.

Of Shapur, Farhad, Rohham known to fame,Of Gorgin, then of Bijan’s state and name.

At Bijan’s name, Giv cried despite his will,Then spoke while anguish made his spirit still:

“O honored prince, the earth’s most noble birth,The choicest of the mighty ones on earth,

Joy has returned to me on seeing you,And hearing words both loyal, kind, and true.

All those you named are well and greetings send,With peace and messages from friend to friend.

Except Bijan, great champion of the brave,Whom Khosrow saw chained in a dungeon cave.

Now see what blow of fortune strikes my head;My single son is lost, perhaps near dead.

What evil eye has struck the Gudarz line,That gain has ended, and but loss is mine?

He is my child, my helper, and my stay;No grief like mine has ever crossed my way.

He vanished from my sight in all the world;No grief like this on this our house was hurled.

Since then I ride without rest in my plight,Like one gone mad, to seek my vanished light.

For Bijan, ceaselessly, like one distraught,From every quarter of the world I sought.

The Shah, the world-revealing cup in hand,Before the World-Creator took his stand.

He cried aloud and made his praises riseAt Ormozd of Farvardin, Kayanian wise.

He left the fire-temple when done with prayer,Girt up his belt, and took the royal chair.

He set the shining cup, and in its glareHe searched beyond all measure everywhere.

He looked; and deep in dark Turan he foundBijan in chains beneath the pit-black ground.

In Turan there the Shah beheld him boundIn heavy chains, and evil days around.

When thus the cup revealed him, at that hourHe sped me here to you, and to your power.

My cheeks are pale, my eyes with sorrow dim;I look to you alone to rescue him.

You bind your belt to answer every cry,And lift the helpless when their hopes run dry.”

Giv spoke; his lashes brimmed with bitter tears,His cold sigh rose from grief and father’s fears.

He gave the letter into Rostam’s hand,And told how Gorgin ruined all he planned.

He took the letter; both his eyes ran wet,His heart with hate for Afrasiab beset.

Then for Bijan he wept aloud in pain,And from his eyes the blood poured down like rain.

For Giv and Rostam shared a bond well known:Giv wed brave Rostam’s daughter as his own.

Giv’s sister too became brave Rostam’s wife,And bore him Faramarz, his pride in life.

Thus Bijan, honored under every sky,Was Rostam’s daughter’s son through that first tie.

Then Rostam said: “Take heart; dismiss your fear.Rakhsh keeps his saddle till the road is clear.

Not till I take Bijan’s own hand, and breakHis prison and his bonds for his own sake.

By Yazdan’s might, and by the Shah’s command,I turn that crown and throne from Turan’s land.”

They went from there to Rostam’s royal hall,And weighed what course would best befit them all.

When Rostam read the monarch’s letter through,Bewilderment at Khosrow’s words then grew.

Before the court, the Shah had praised his name,And hailed his captain, crowned with deathless fame.

Then Rostam said to Giv: “I will prepare,And go as Khosrow bids, with loyal care.

I know your labors and your deeds in war,And all the weight of tasks your shoulders bore.

Your honored place beside me is well known;In every war your loyalty was shown.

To avenge Siavash, you took the field,And in Mazandaran bore sword and shield.

You too have borne great hardship coming here,Across a road of toil and pain and fear.

I see your face with joy and with relief,Though I am bowed for Bijan, deep in grief.

I cannot bear to see your grief remain,Or watch misfortune deepen all your pain.

As Khosrow orders in this royal word,I take the road, with heart and spirit stirred.

My liver bleeds for you; for Bijan’s sakeMy belt is girded, and this road I take.

I shall do all I can, if Yazdan’s gracePreserves my life throughout the task I face.

For Bijan I shall spare no wealth or breath,No troops or treasure, though it lead to death.

Through Yazdan’s strength and our king’s fortune bright,I rise at once and gird myself to fight.

I bring him from that bond and dark pit free,And seat him where the Shah his face may see.

Stay here three days with me in joy and wine;Cast off your care, and let your spirit shine.

My house and treasure both are yours today;Between our hearts no wall shall bar the way.

Three days beneath this roof we shall be glad,And call to mind the chiefs Iran has had.

Upon the fourth we ride for Iran’s town,And seek the Shah of brave men and renown.”

At this, Giv sprang up, kissed his hands and feet,And praised the hero with devotion sweet:

“Exalted one, forever may you standAnd glory in the strength of Yazdan’s hand.

O man of name, of fortune, worth, and might,Be greatness yours, and bounty at its height.

May elephant-strength and courage with you stay,While Mobad wisdom guides you on your way.

All excellence is gathered now in you;You cleanse my heart from rust and make it new.”

When Rostam saw Giv’s heart grow calm and sure,And knew that hope would help his grief endure,

He told his steward: “Spread a feast, and sendFor chiefs and sages; bid them all attend.”

Then Faramarz, Zavareh, Zal drew near,And Giv joined Rostam’s feast, released from fear.

They ate their bread, and when the meal was sped,A place of gladness in the hall they spread.

The rud-player and cupbearer came whereThe eyvan’s gem-wrought figures lit the air.

All hands were ruby from the ruby’s stream;The chang wailed loud, the bright cup all agleam.

Thus Rostam set the feast, whose hand was skilledTo order razm o bazm as he willed.

Three days at wine within his eyvan’s shade,Rostam remained, and no departure made.

Then Rostam, son of Zal, of Sahm’s own blood,Rose up and took the cup’s red-flowing flood.

He said: “Upon the Shah’s high fortune sworn,I make our enemies a folk forlorn.

I strive that all Turan, for Bijan’s wrong,Shall break into one wailing loud and long.”

The fourth day came; they readied to depart,And Rostam gave the order, firm of heart.

He charged them pack the loads and make the trainPrepared to take the road toward Iran’s plain.

His noble horsemen stood before his door,Equipped for travel, strong and armed for war.

He came forth, mounted Rakhsh, his belt drawn tight,In Roman vest, prepared for coming fight.

His forebear’s gorz hung at his saddle’s side,While strength and strategy became his guide.

Rakhsh reared his ears against the wheeling sphere;Above the sun the Crown-Giver rose clear.

They lifted loads; in Zabul, FaramarzRemained to guard the land beneath the stars.

A hundred Zabul horse, girt for the war,Rode out with Rostam and with Giv before.

They marched toward Iran with eager speed,And vengeance burned in every heart and deed.

When Rostam neared the court and royal throne,The halls of Kay Khosrow brightly shone.

A sweet breeze met him, full of joy and grace,As heaven welcomed him to that bright place.

Then Giv drew near and said: “I should ride on,And tell the Shah before another dawn.

I shall report that matchless Rakhsh has sped,With Rostam and his warriors at their head.”

Said Rostam: “Go rejoicing; tell the king:Be free from grief; let hope and gladness spring.”

Giv bore the news, and to the Shah he came,Clean-hearted, and his road as clean of blame.

When Giv approached the throne, he bowed and knelt,And gave the Shah his praise, sincerely felt.

The Shah asked: “Where is Rostam on the way?How went the march? What news have you today?”

Giv answered: “Shah renowned, your fortune brightTurns every difficult labor into light.

He did not disobey your royal word;His heart was yours as soon as it was heard.

When I delivered your exalted scroll,He pressed it to his eyes with faithful soul.

He matched his reins with mine, as comrades do,And bound his will in loyalty to you.

I hurried on ahead so I might sayThat matchless Rostam travels on the way.”

Khosrow replied: “Where is that prop of chiefs,That seed of loyalty who ends our griefs?

We must show honor to so good a friend,So faithful that his service has no end.”

Then Giv replied, in low and private tone,In words that fit the holder of the throne.

“Two stages back,” he said, “he marches; straightI came ahead to ease your anxious wait.”

Then Kay Khosrow commanded every sage,The Khosrow-born, the freemen of his age,

To join the court and greet him on the way,Who came obedient to the Shah that day.

They summoned Tus, Gudarz of Keshvad’s line,And Farhad, honored where the brave men shine.

Two parts in three of all the champions rose,Exalted heads, and slayers of their foes.

After Kay Kavus’s rite they came and dressedThe greeting-train in all its ancient best.

The world grew azure-dim beneath their dust,The standards streamed; the chargers onward thrust.

When they drew near, they halted in acclaim,Dismounted, bowed, and hailed great Rostam’s name.

The World-Pahlevan lighted from his ride,And Pahlevans bowed low on every side.

He asked of each: how does the Shah remain,That turning sun, that moon without a wane?

The chiefs took seat; and Rostam on his horseShone like Azargashasp along their course.

And from that place toward the Shah they pressed,With Rostam at the forefront of the rest.

He came before the Shah who loved his men,With measured tread, and bent in reverence then.

With devotion and love he bowed; then raisedHis head before the Shah, and spoke, and praised:

“Be joined with throne and fortune all your years;May Ormozd guard this court from harms and fears.

May Bahman guard your throne and royal crown,And Ordibehesht keep every evil down.

May Bahram guard you, and may Tir the same,Through all the year be warden of your name.

May Shahrivar be victory, and fillYour name with greatness, farr, and every skill.

May Sapandarmad keep your soul secure,And wisdom light your spirit, bright and pure.

May Khordad bring you fruit from helping hands,And Mordad make you glad in crop and lands.

May Dey and Farvardin bless every door,And bar all evil from your royal floor.

May Azar make your nights as bright as day;Be glad; your crown lights all the world’s array.”

When Rostam standing there had offered praise,The king received him, joy within his gaze.

He said: “You come in blessing to my sight;May evil’s hand stay distant from your light.

The Pahlevan of Kayanian are you;Your hidden shows, your shown lies hidden too.

Chosen of Kayanian, and army’s fort,Iran’s strong wall, her shelter and support.

You gladden me, who come before my eyesWith that skilled, wakeful spirit, keen and wise.

Zavareh, Faramarz, Zal of Sahm, all three:Are they in health? What message comes to me?”

Rostam bowed low and kissed the throne, and said:“O famed Khosrow, whom fortune ever led,

By your own farr all three are well and sound;And blest is he the Shah’s own thought has found.”

The chamberlain threw wide the garden gate,And made all ready for the royal state.

He set the golden crown and throne, the pair,Beneath a rose-strewn bower of scented air.

He spread the court brocade across the ground,Till lamplight filled the garden all around.

Above the Shah’s high throne they raised a shade,A jeweled tree whose limbs of gold were made.

Its trunk was silver, branches made of gold,With clustered jewels wondrous to behold.

Its leaves were emerald and carnelian red,Its jeweled fruits hung earring-like overhead.

The fruits were golden quince and citron shells,All hollow, pierced like reeds in fragrant cells.

They filled each fruit with musk dissolved in wine,So breezes scattered fragrance through the shrine.

When any kingly guest approached the throne,The musk rained down, its fragrance round him blown.

Such showers fell when royal Khosrow neared,And took the golden throne the court revered.

Before the Shah the cupbearers were set,Each brow beneath a jeweled coronet.

In Chin brocade and Roman robes ornate,They stood before the sepahbod to wait.

With torques bound on and earrings burning bright,Their robes were sewn with jewels, light on light.

Their cheeks were like the Roman brocade’s shade;The aloe blazed, the clamoring chang played.

The Shah then told the chamberlain on hand:“Call Tus, Gudarz, and chiefs of every band.”

He ordered Rostam near the throne to be,And sit beside him underneath the tree.

Wine in their hands, their cheeks like redbud flushed,Yet none was overcome or dulled or hushed.

He said: “O guardian joined to throne and fate,Our fortune’s friend, our shield at every gate,

You stand between Iran and every ill,Like Simorgh wings outspread above us still.

In Iran’s field, and where Kayanians sit,At toil’s own door your belt is always knit.

You know the house of Gudarz, what they bear:Ease, and hard toil, and gain, and loss, and care.

Girt-belted they stand ready at my side,And evermore to good have been my guide.

Of all my men, Giv only has kept guard,A shield to me when every ill pressed hard.

No grief like this has struck that noble one;What grief is greater than to lose a son?

Unless you take this burden as your own,No other cure or path to me is known.

Now find a remedy for Bijan’s pain,Whom dark Turan has bound in iron chain.

Take steeds and armor, men and treasure too,Whatever is required, I grant to you.

Do not regard this charge as heavy toil.”Then Rostam kissed, in reverence, the soil.

He rose and blessed the Shah: “O king of fame,Whose sunlike power crowns your royal name,

Far be all greed from you, and need’s dim eye;And let your foe’s heart burn and melt thereby.

You are the Shah, the chief above all kings;Before your feet each crowned head homage brings.

The throne, the bright sun, and the shining moonHave never seen your equal night or noon.

You know the difference between good and bad,And chained the Dragon when the world was mad.

My mother bore me to labor for you;Your portion is repose and pleasure too.

I am obedient to the Shah’s command,And go wherever duty makes me stand.

Mazandaran’s own Div—his heart I tore,By Kayanian farr, by the gorz I bore.

So for Giv’s sake, though heaven should rain fire,I will not turn from Khosrow’s high desire.

Though spearpoints reach the lashes of my eyes,I shall not turn my rein beneath the skies.

By your own farr this labor I sustain;I want no sepahbod, no chosen train.”

Gudarz and Giv, when Rostam’s words were done,Brave Shapur, Farhad, Fariborz, each one,

The army’s great ones blessed him, calling downThe World-Creator’s favor on his crown.

They set their hands to wine beside the king,With hearts thrown open to the glad new spring.

When Gorgin heard that Rostam had drawn near,He thought a path to freedom might appear.

He sent this message: “Man of farr and fame,Great tree of loyalty and noble name,

Refuge of nobles when misfortunes press,If words of mine will not increase distress,

Then I shall tell what evil I have done;Behold the crooked sky, the turning sun.

It quenched the light that burned within my heart,And drew me toward the darkness from the start.

So it was written; what has been is past.Before the Shah I now must face fire’s blast.

If I may find forgiveness, I shall go;That so my name may turn from evil’s woe.

In my gray years this was my end and fate:My gray head bows beneath dishonor’s weight.

So if you plead for me, I shall come too,Swift as a mountain sheep, along with you.

Before Bijan I shall bow in the dust,If I may win back honor, name, and trust.”

When Gorgin’s message reached him, Rostam sighedOne cold breath from the liver, deep inside.

He writhed at that man’s pain, that plea of his;Grief took him for a wish so vain as this.

He sent the envoy back, and gave him word:“Say: ‘Vain, unclean of soul; let this be heard:

Have you not heard the ancient leopard’s lore,His fight with nahang on that deep sea-floor?

When passion overmasters reason’s light,No living soul escapes its fatal bite.

The sage who bridles passion earns renown,And wears a lion’s record like a crown.

He need not turn his face toward the chase,Nor suffer harm from beasts in any place.

You played the fox; the hunter’s hidden skillHas trapped you in his snare against your will.

I should not grant your frantic wish today,Nor bring your name before the Shah this way.

Yet since I see you trapped in such distress,Confounded and cast down by your excess,

I will ask Khosrow to forgive your crime,And brighten your dark moon in coming time.

Then, if Bijan, by the World-Lord’s command,Be loosed from bond by the Dispenser’s hand,

You too will be loosed from bond, your life clear;The ill-willer’s blood-claim would not come near.

But if heaven judges otherwise for him,Then love your life no more; your hope grows dim.

First, I shall ride upon the rescue quest,In Yazdan’s strength and at the Shah’s behest.

And if I come not, then Gudarz and GivWill claim the brave son’s blood, and none reprieve.’”

Two days and one night passed; he spoke no wordTo Khosrow yet, though all his thought was stirred.

But when the third day’s sun displayed its crown,And on its throne of ivory sat down,

Then Rostam came and made his asking knownBefore the Shah whose sunlike farr was shown.

He spoke of Gorgin, fallen from his height,His ruined fortune and his wretched plight.

The Shah said: “O my sepahdar, you tearMy bond apart, and break the oath I swear.

I swore by throne and crown, by Mars and sun,By moon and Venus: mercy shall be none.

Unless Bijan is freed from bondage grim,No good or grace shall fall from me to him.

Ask swords or signets, crowns or thrones from me;All else is yours, but this shall never be.”

Rostam replied: “O virtuous prince of fame,Though he meant harm, he suffers grief and shame.

He stands prepared to offer up his life;Your pardon now would end his inward strife.

And if it come not, then his life is reft,And of his name and faith is nothing left.

Whoever leaves the road of wisdom mustAt last writhe at his own deed in the dust.

Recall his feats, the battles he has won,His service to your house from sire to son.

Girt-belted in your forefathers’ own sight,At every blood-field with some foe to fight.

If the Shah find it fitting, grant him graceTo me; let his good star shine in its place.”

The Shah, for Rostam’s sake, removed his chain,And freed Gorgin from fetters, grief, and pain.

The Shah asked Rostam: “When will you depart?What aid is needed? Speak now from your heart.

Ask troops and treasure, comrades for the way;I fear Afrasiab will not delay.

He will not spare Bijan for many days;The headstrong king is fierce in all his ways.

A light-head he, a Div of wretched kind;Akvan has given him his spells to bind.

Ahriman moves his heart from its own seat,And casts that swordsman down beneath his feet.”

Then Rostam answered: “Stealth must win the day;Craft is the key that opens the right way.

We must not give Turan a cause for fear,But go as merchants, clothed in merchant gear.

We must remain in Turan for a while;This task requires deception, care, and guile.

It is no time for gorz or blade or spear;I need much silver, gold, and jewels here.

We leave in hope yet may be long delayed;Bring robes and carpets, finest goods of trade.

Some will be gifts, and some our merchandise.”Khosrow approved the plan, both shrewd and wise.

He ordered then the treasurer: “Bring allThat Rostam asks from ancient hoard and hall.”

The treasurer opened chests beside the throne,And gems and heaps of minted gold were shown.

Then matchless Rostam viewed the gathered prize,And chose what best would suit his merchant guise.

He took ten camel-loads of minted gold,And five score loads of goods from stores of old.

He told the chamberlain: “Choose, man by man,A thousand horsemen for the caravan.

Of proud, famed chiefs a certain number mustGird up their belts and ride and prove their trust.

Gorgin, and Zangeh of Shavaran born,Gostaham next, the lion, battle-worn.

And fourth Guraza, who shall drive the fight,Guard of the chiefs, and of the throne’s own right.

Then Rohham and brave Farhad, tested, tried,And Ashkash, lion-hearted, at their side.

These seven warriors must be armed and readyTo guard the goods and hold the column steady.”

Each took his charge and readied for the start,Each vying in his task with eager heart.

When word came to the Shah’s own chiefs, they madeTheir way to court again, in slow parade.

Then Zangeh asked: “Where is our Khosrow? Say—What has befallen, that he calls today?”

The watch chief reached the gate before daylight;The warriors buckled belts, prepared to fight.

The chiefs went first; the soldiers followed fast,Their lives in hand, prepared to breathe their last.

The troops marched fully armed across the land,And battle’s blood was known to every hand.

At dawn, the cocks cried out to greet the day;Tabiras thundered where the palace lay.

Then Rostam came, a cypress, well equipped,His kamand on his saddle, gorz close-gripped.

He left the royal portal with his train,And blessed the land before he crossed the plain.

When Rostam reached the borders of Turan,He chose seven chiefs, each proven Pahlevan.

Then Rostam told the army gathered near:“Stay here with cheerful hearts and free of fear.

Do not depart unless the Holy OneParts soul from body, and my life is done.

Stay armed for battle, ready for the fray,With claws honed sharp for blood, to rend your prey.”

Thus at the border he left all his force,And with the chiefs through Turan set his course.

He loosed his belt and put on merchant guise;His warriors hid their strength from hostile eyes.

The chiefs unbound the silver belts they bore,And dressed in woolen robes that merchants wore.

They rode through Turan as a merchant train,With fragrant goods that colored all the plain.

There were eight steeds: one Rakhsh, renowned and bright,The others bore his chosen men of might.

Ten camels carried jewels in their load;A hundred bore the garments troops had stowed.

With clanging bells and cries, the sound was borneAs though it came from Tahmuras’ great horn.

So, Rostam marched on with his merchant crowd;The country around them shook, their clamor loud.

As they drew near Khutan, beside the wayCame men and women, watching the display.

Piran was absent from his hall of state;No one stood waiting at the palace gate.

Then Piran rode back from the hunting ground;Great Rostam saw him on the road, homebound.

He filled a golden cup with gems, then laidAcross its mouth a cloth of bright brocade.

Two noble steeds stood splendid to the sight;Their saddles shone with gems and golden light;

He gave the gifts to servants, went ahead,And swiftly toward the court of Piran sped.

He bowed and said: “O prince whose fame and worthAre known through Iran and Turan on earth,

Your grace and crown are peerless in the land;You grace the throne, the king’s own guiding hand.”

The Maker shaped his features by His grace;By God’s decree Piran knew not his face,

But asked him: “Who are you, and from what place?How have you come here at so swift a pace?”

He said: “I am your subject; by decree,God grants my living in your town to me.

I crossed a long and grievous road for gain,From Iran into Turan with my train.

I buy and sell whatever merchants bear,And bring you wares both valuable and rare.

My soul has trusted in your love and name;Hope’s power drew my heart toward your fame.

If now the Pahlevan will grant me shade,I shall sell gems and buy livestock in trade.

Through your just rule no hand will do me wrong;May clouds of love rain gems on me for long.”

Then Rostam laid before the prince’s eyesThe cup, amid the chiefs, a royal prize.

The Arab steeds were splendid, sleek and fair;No wind could leave its dust upon a hair.

With blessings, Rostam gave the gifts he brought,And thus arranged the business as he sought.

Then Piran looked upon the jewels brightThat filled the gleaming cup with sparkling light.

He sat Rostam upon the turquoise throne,And praised and welcomed him in kindly tone:

“Enter the city gladly, free of fear;I shall lodge you safely, close beside me here.

Set all your fears to rest about your store;No man will fight you for the goods you bore.

Fetch all your wares and set out every bale;Find willing purchasers and make your sale.

Make my son’s house your home within this land,And stand to me as kinsman, hand in hand.”

Rostam replied: “O chief, I shall stay here,With cheerful heart, content and free of fear.

All that I own is yours, in every way;And any place will suit me for my stay.

My caravan and I shall lodge outside;I shall remain there, with my train beside.

With people of all kinds among my train,I must ensure that all the gems remain.”

Piran said: “Choose the place where you would stay;I will post guards to keep all harm away.”

So Rostam chose a house and filled its space;He set his goods and baggage in their place.

News spread: “A caravan has come from IranTo visit Piran, noble Pahlevan.”

The buyers pricked their ears at what they heard:A merchant dealt in gems, so ran the word.

Those seeking gems, brocades, and carpets cameTo Piran’s gate, their purpose all the same.

The rising sun adorned the earth’s broad face;By dawn, the warehouse turned to marketplace.

News reached Manijeh of the caravan;To seek the merchant, into town she ran.

Bareheaded, weeping, worn with grief, heart-sore,Afrasiab’s daughter came to his door.

She wiped her bloody tears upon her sleeve,And blessed him, asking what news she might receive:

“May life and wealth be yours and long remain;May all your toil leave no regret or pain.

May heaven turn according to your will;May evil’s eye bring you no harm or ill.

May hope fulfill the venture you have planned;May all your labor prosper in your hand.

May wisdom be your counselor and guide,May blessed Iran have fortune on its side.

What news have you of warriors of Iran,Of Giv, Gudarz, and every Pahlevan?

Has news of Bijan not reached Iran’s ear?Will not his grandfather bring rescue here?

That youth, a scion of Gudarz’s line,Is bowed by pain that seems to break his spine.

His feet are galled by fetters’ crushing bands;The blacksmiths’ iron rivets bind his hands.

Poor wretch, his garments with his blood are wet;He lies in chains, his bonds about him set.

His lamentations fill my eyes with tears;No sleep can soothe my care for him, my fears.

If you should travel to Iran one day,Where famous men and mighty warriors stay,

And see Giv there before the royal throne,Or valiant Rostam, let his plight be known.

Tell them that Bijan languishes in chains;Delay will only multiply his pains.”

Alarmed by what she said, he raised a cry,And shouted harshly at her in reply:

“Be off!” he cried. “I do not know Khosrow,Nor that brave chief, nor how his fortunes go.

Of Giv and of Gudarz I know no word;My brain is emptied by the talk I heard.”

Manijeh looked at Rostam, and she wept;Across her breast the blood-red tear-streams swept.

She said: “O chieftain, full of wisdom’s light,Such heartless words do not become your might.

Drive me not off, although you will not speak;I am heart-stricken, helpless, worn, and weak.

Is this Iran’s way? Must the poor and lowBe left without the news they ask to know?”

He answered: “Woman, what has caused this dread?Has Ahriman brought Judgment on your head?

You hindered all my trading in the mart;That was the cause that made my anger start.

I chided you; let not the sting remain:My thoughts were wholly fixed on trade and gain.

Nor do I live where Khosrow holds his throne;The city of the king is not my own.

Of Giv and of Gudarz no news I have learned;Toward their land my feet have never turned.”

He ordered all the food they had to shareBe set before that woman in despair.

Then questioned her at length about her fate:“What made your fortune turn to such a state?

Why ask of Iran’s chiefs, its king’s abode?Why keep your watch upon the Iranian road?”

She said: “Why ask about my pain and need,My toil, my trouble, how my heart must bleed?

From that dark pit-mouth I have hurried here,My heart in pain, O generous man, to hear

Of Giv and of Gudarz, that noble line;To ask you for their news was my design.

You shouted like a warrior in the fray;Do you not fear the Judge whom all obey?

I am Manijeh, Afrasiab’s child, whose faceNo sun had seen unveiled in any place.

But now, with bloody eyes, my heart is sore;Pale-cheeked, I make my way from door to door.

Daily on the streets I beg for barley bread;God has decreed this fate upon my head.

Could time inflict a grief more hard to bear?May God have mercy now and hear my prayer.

Poor Bijan, in that pit, sees neither lightOf sun or moon, nor knows the day from night.

In collar, rivets, heavy bonds he lies,And begs for death from God amid his cries.

Thus grief is doubled, and my tears increase;My wounded heart knows neither rest nor peace.

If you should journey toward Iran, then hearOf Gudarz, son of Keshvad, far or near.

Or should Giv or brave Rostam come in sight,Before King Khosrow, tell them of his plight.

Then say: ‘Bijan lies captive in a pit;Come quickly, or his life will end in it.

If you would see him, do not linger now;Iron lies below him, stone above his brow.’”

The tears of tenderness ran down his face;Then Rostam spoke to her with gentle grace:

“Fair one, why not seek nobles who might pleadBefore your father for you in your need?

Perhaps his love will stir, his liver burn,And pity for his child at last return.

Were not your father’s anger in the way,I would give more than measure could convey.”

He told the cooks to bring the food she sought,And every dish at hand was quickly brought.

He had a roasted bird brought hot and spreadAbout that bird a wrap of tender bread.

His hand moved like a pari’s, swift and light;Inside the bird he hid his ring from sight.

He gave it her: “Take this to him below;You guide the helpless in their time of woe.”

Manijeh hurried to the pit and pressedThe dishes that she carried to her breast.

As she received it, wrapped and tightly bound,She passed the food to Bijan underground.

Bijan looked up in wonder from the ground;His call rose from the pit, a startled sound.

He called: “O sun-faced maiden, tell me true,Where did you find this food, so fine and new?

What toil and hardship for my sake you bear,Forever roaming, bowed by grief and care!”

Manijeh said: “Among the caravanThere is a merchant, a widely known man.

From Iran into Turan, seeking gain,He bore a heavy load of grief and pain.

A worthy man, discerning and refined,With jewels of each precious sort combined.

He has a spacious place to sell his store,A lodging set before the palace door.

He gave this food to me just as you see,And said: ‘Before the Maker pray for me.

Go to the dungeon, to the man in chains,Take all else that he needs to ease his pains.’”

Bijan unfolded all the wholesome bread,With hope at times, at times with fear and dread.

He reached to eat and found the hidden ringAmid the food that she had come to bring.

He read the name and marveled at the sight;He laughed aloud in wonder and delight.

A turquoise seal bore Rostam’s name; each lineWas cut with iron, like a hair so fine.

He saw the fruit of faithfulness appear,And knew the key to grief at last was here.

He laughed in royal gladness from the pit,Until Manijeh heard, amazed by it.

She marveled at his laughter from that gloom,Where chains and darkness wrapped him like a tomb.

She spoke a proverb, puzzled by his glee:“A madman laughs at his own acts,” said she.

She stood bewildered by the sound below:“O fortunate one, why does your laughter flow?

How can your lips spread open with delight,When night is day to you, and day is night?

What mystery is this? Reveal it now.Does better fortune show a brighter brow?”

Bijan replied: “I hope that fortune’s handWill loose these grievous bonds and let me stand.

But swear your loyal heart will not betrayThe secret I am bound to now convey.

I will reveal the matter, every part,Once you have sworn to keep it in your heart.

Though lips be stitched for fear of harm and pain,A woman’s tongue will seldom bear the chain.”

Manijeh heard and wept in bitter woe:“What further grief can cruel fortune show?

Alas for all my days that now are done;My heart is stricken, and my tears still run.

I gave Bijan myself, my home, my all;Now his distrust is added to my fall.

I gave my crown, my treasure, and my gold,To plunder, with each gem I used to hold.

My father and my kin abandoned me;I go unveiled where all the people see.

In Bijan I had hoped; that hope takes flight;My world grows black, my weeping eyes grow white.

He hides his secret from me in this place,But You, Creator, know my heart and case.”

Bijan replied: “The truth is on your side;For me you lost your fortune and your pride.

I should not have said that, beloved friend,Prudent companion, faithful to the end.

Counsel me in all things; grief and painHave clouded wit and judgment in my brain.

That jewel-merchant, he who gave last nightThe roasted bird, has come to end my plight.

He came to Turan for my sake alone;He had no need of any precious stone.

The Maker looked on me with pity’s grace;Perhaps I may again see earth’s broad face.

That man will free me from this prison’s chain,And end your weary wandering and pain.

Go near to him and whisper in his ear:‘O Kayanian Pahlevan, make clear:

Kind-hearted, swift in finding ways to free,If you are lord of Rakhsh, then answer me.’”

Manijeh sped away with urgent speed,And bore to Rostam Bijan’s secret need.

When Rostam heard the words that she conveyed,After the long, hard journey she had made,

He knew Bijan had made the secret known,And to that cypress all the story shown.

He pitied her and said: “May God aboveKeep strong for Bijan all your faithful love.

What toil and hardship you have borne so long,Brought low by want, enduring shame and wrong.

Tell him: ‘Yes, God, who hears the helpless plea,Has granted you the lord of Rakhsh in me.

From Zabul through Iran to Turan’s plain,I traveled far for you, through toil and pain.’

When you have said this, keep the matter sealed,And listen well at night across the field.

By day, bring fuel from the woodland ways,And when night comes, set all the pile ablaze.

Make fire to guide me; it will be my markTo find the pit’s mouth in the heavy dark.”

Manijeh heard him, and her heart grew light;Her sorrows fled, her joy put grief to flight.

She hurried to the pit, where, bound below,Her loved companion shared her grief and woe.

She told Bijan: “I spoke the words you gaveTo that illustrious lord, renowned and brave.

His answer was: ‘The name and signs agree;The man whom Bijan sought is truly me.

O you who walk with heart so seared by pain,And wash your cheeks in blood-red tears like rain,

Say this: “Like leopards, worn in waist and hand,We tracked you through the hardship of this land.

Now we have certain tidings where you lie;Soon you shall see our man-slaying blade on high.

I will rend the earth; that resting stone shall flyUp to the Pleiades within the sky.”’

He said: ‘When all the air is dark with night,And night escapes the sun’s firm grasp of light,

Set fire like a mountain, till its rayMakes plain and pit-mouth shine as bright as day,

So I may see the pit-mouth by its glow,And through the dark find out the road to go.’”

Bijan rejoiced, though still in prison bound;Her message made his heart with joy resound.

He turned to God, the merciful and just:“O holy Judge, in You I place my trust.

In every grief Your aid can make me whole;Pierce with Your shaft my foe in heart and soul.

Give justice for the wrong beneath Your sight;You know my grief, my burning heart, my plight.

Perhaps I may regain my home afar,And bear no more the shame of this ill star.

And you, my toil-worn mate, who shared my pain,Who gave life, heart, wealth, body for my gain,

You bore the hardship I had brought your way,And counted loss as gain from day to day.

Your treasure, crown, and jewels; all you gave,Left friends, kin, mother, father, me to save.

If from this dragon’s grip I break at length,While in my body stay my youth and strength,

Like righteous men who worship God, I will standTo serve you with my feet and with my hand.

Like one whose service to a king is shown,I shall devote my strength to you alone.

Bear this toil longer; great reward shall riseIn goods and treasure underneath the skies.”

Manijeh rushed for wood; with eager treadShe climbed like birds where spreading branches led.

She watched the sun, the wood upon her breast:When would night raise its head above the crest?

The sun withdrew, its shining face concealed;Night spread its skirts across the open field.

It was the hour when all the world lay still,And what was seen grew hidden, field and hill.

When night led armies over hill and height,The sun that lit the world withdrew its light.

To pierce the pitch-black darkness, keen and bright,She lit the blaze that scorched the eyes of night.

A brazen tabira in her heart beat clear:“Now steel-hoofed Rakhsh is coming; he draws near!”

Rostam clasped his Roman jowshan in place,And knotted fast each strap and every lace.

To Him who rules the sun and moon he cried,And sought in Him a refuge and a guide:

“Let evil eyes be blinded; grant me mightTo rescue Bijan from his bitter plight.”

He gave command; the warriors armed for fight,And drew their battle-belts about them tight.

They set leopard-skin saddles on each steed,Their hands prepared for battle and its need.

Then Rostam led them, seeking out the track,Toward the fire, his comrades at his back.

When Rostam reached the boulder Akvan cast,He saw the pit of grief and anguish vast.

He told the seven warriors at his side,“We have the earth before us yet to ride.

Prepare yourselves to undertake this deed;Remove this stone with all your strength and speed.”

The chiefs dismounted, ready now to tryTo clear the stone beneath which he must lie.

They wore their hands in labor, strained and pressed;The chiefs grew weary; still the stone lay at rest.

Sweat streamed from those illustrious men in vain;The stone stayed at the pit-mouth through their strain.

The lion-chief dismounted in his might,And tucked his jowshan’s hem in girdle tight.

He asked Yazdan to lend His strength and care,Then gripped the rock and raised it through the air.

He hurled it into Chin’s woods; it struck the ground,And all the earth beneath it shook with sound.

Then Rostam called, lamenting, down below,“How have you fared through all this time of woe?

Your portion once was sweetness, feast, and grace;Why take its cup of poison in this place?”

Bijan replied, “How fared you on the road?What hardship did you bear beneath its load?

Your voice reached me and made my joy complete;The poison of the world grew wholly sweet.

Behold the home where I must live alone:My earth is iron, and my sky is stone.

Through anguish, hardship, suffering, and grief,My heart forsook this world, so frail and brief.”

Then Rostam said, “God spared your life from death;The shining Maker has preserved your breath.

Now, wise and noble-hearted one, attend:I have one wish to put to you, my friend.

Forgive Gorgin, Milad’s son, and breakThe chain of vengeance; pardon for my sake.”

Bijan replied, “Chieftain, how can you knowWhat storms of conflict brought my spirit low?

Do you not know what Gorgin did to me?How deep the hurt, how base his treachery!

One sight of him; and all my wrath will spread;My vengeance will bring Doomsday on his head.”

“If malice rules,” said Rostam, “and you turnAgainst my plea, no mercy shall you earn.

I shall leave you below in chains and gloom,Then mount Rakhsh, and ride back from this dark tomb.”

When Rostam’s answer reached Bijan in chains,A cry rose upward from his bitter pains.

“Of warriors, kindred, all the gathered band,I am the most ill-fated in the land.

For all the wrong that Gorgin brought my way,I must endure this further bitter day.

Yet I will bear it; I will end my claim,And turn my heart from vengeance and from blame.”

Then Rostam lowered his kamand out of sight,And drew him up, his feet still fettered tight.

His head was bare, his hair and nails were long,His frame made weak by hunger, pain, and wrong.

His face was wan, his bloodied body worn,By rusted chains and iron shackles torn.

When Rostam saw him cloaked in iron weight,He cried aloud against that bitter fate.

He stretched his hands and broke each iron link,And loosed the ankle-ring there at the brink.

Together they returned where Rostam stayed,With one on either side, the youth and maid.

The youthful pair, still marked by grief and blight,Recounted to the chief their grievous plight.

Rostam had them wash Bijan’s head and hair,And dress him in a new robe, fresh and fair.

Then Gorgin came, his face bowed to the ground,And rubbed it in the dust, by sorrow bound.

He begged forgiveness for his treacherous game,And writhed at his own foolish words in shame.

Bijan released his hatred, and he castAside all vengeance for the guilty past.

They loaded camels, saddled every steed,While Rostam donned his arms with eager speed.

With swords and heavy gorzes drawn for fight,The mounted chiefs stood ready in their might.

They sent the baggage on ahead, and thenThey set all things for battle once again.

Ashkash, the watchful scout, went with the train,The army’s ears through every new terrain.

Then Rostam told Bijan, “Take now the roadWith Ashkash and Manijeh and the load.

For vengeance on Afrasiab I go;Tonight, no food, no rest, no sleep shall I know.

I will strike his gate; tomorrow all his menWill laugh at him for what I have done by then.

I will blacken his bright day; before our kingAt feast, his severed head is what I will bring.

With my sharp sword, I shall bring you twoFrom Turan, ending all you suffer through.

The pit and fetters brought you pain and blight;You must not stay upon this field to fight.”

When Bijan heard the words that Rostam said,To join the troops with her and ride ahead,

“I am the one to lead,” he answered then;“Through me the feud has been renewed again.

You know, Tahamtan, Bijan is my name:I strike off champions’ heads in battle’s flame.”

The baggage went with Ashkash, watchful guide;Then seven warriors rode at Rostam’s side.

While all slept soundly in the royal hall,Rostam approached the gate and outer wall.

They cast their reins before them, all prepared,And drew their swords, the blades of vengeance bared.

With both his hands he broke the bolted door,And like a lion hurled himself to war.

From every quarter cries and tumult spread,Steel flashed, and arrows stormed above each head.

Many chieftains’ heads were severed in the fray;Blood filled their mouths; in dust their hands now lay.

Then Rostam from the passage hailed the lair:“Sleep sweetly; may your head stay full of air!

You slept enthroned, while Bijan lay below;Did walls of iron keep away your foe?

I am Rostam of Zabul, Zal’s own son;This is no hour for sleep till work is done.

I broke the fastenings of your prison gate;Its guardian was the stone of mighty weight.

Bijan is free, his head and feet unbound;Who harms his son-in-law on any ground?

Enough of war for Siavash! You knowEnough of me, you rash and witless foe!

Yet still you sought to take young Bijan’s life;Your foolish heart slept through the gathering strife.”

Then Bijan raised his voice in wrath to cry,“O base-born Turk, whose wits have gone awry!

Remember how in chains I faced your pride,While crown and glory glittered at your side.

Like a fierce leopard, I sought battle then;You bound my hands like stone before your men.

Now see me free upon the plain tonight,A man no savage lion dares to fight.”

When Afrasiab heard the words they said,His ancient sorrows stirred again in dread.

He raised a cry within his palace then:“Has sleep laid hold of all my fighting men?

All who desire a signet or a crown,Close every road and strike these raiders down.”

On every side arose a rush of feet;Blood ran in rivers through the palace street.

Whoever came against them in the frayWas slain; the world had lost him from that day.

Iran’s bold warriors all surged in their wrath,But Afrasiab fled by another path.

The lord of Rakhsh went in and shared the storeOf carpets and furnishings from the floor.

They took his lovely servants, hand in hand,And noble steeds from Afrasiab’s land,

With khadang saddles clad in leopard hide,And jeweled fittings gleaming at each side.

They packed the palace spoils and took the road,Nor lingered long in Turan with their load.

They spurred their horses hard to reach the train,Before fresh trouble overtook their gain.

So spent was Rostam from the road he had sped,His helmet weighed with pain upon his head.

The horses and the riders all were drained;No spark of strength in anyone remained.

He sent the army word: “Prepare to fight;Draw from their sheaths the swords of vengeance bright.

I have no doubt that Afrasiab will ride;His troops will cross the water to this side.”

The warriors rode, prepared to meet the foe,And readied all their strength to strike the blow.

The lookout watched the road from distant heightFor Turan’s riders coming into sight.

The spearmen polished every point till bright,And gathered up their reins to face the fight.

Manijeh sat within a tent, and nearA servant stood, her wishes there to hear.

Then Rostam spoke a proverb to the maid:“Though wine is spilled, its fragrance does not fade.

Such is this fleeting world’s accustomed round:Now joy, now pain and grief by turns abound.”

At morning, sunlight crowned the eastern height,The Turkish horsemen armed themselves for fight.

The king’s attendants came before his gate,And gathered at the doorway there to wait.

They took their places, standing rank on rank,And filled the entrance, stretching flank to flank.

The city woke, with clamor so profoundIt seemed the whole world seethed with tumult’s sound.

Before Afrasiab’s gate the nobles came,Ungirt, with heads in dust, consumed with shame.

They cried: “This passes all our thoughts today;What should be done, and who can find the way?

Bijan’s deeds have left a lasting stain;This shame upon the Shah will long remain.

In Iran, none will call us men of might,But women with our battle-belts drawn tight.”

Then Afrasiab, like a leopard, raged;He bade them arm; now battle must be waged.

He bade Piran to make the koust resound,For he had met defeat and scorn profound.

The brazen ney blared at the royal gate,The troops surged through the town in warlike state.

The warriors formed their ranks before the hall;The karnay’s wailing cry rose over all.

From Turan marched the troops with ocean’s roar,Till earth seemed sea, and solid ground no more.

An Iranian watchman from the heightSaw earth like seething seas spread out in sight.

He told proud Rostam, “Arm your waiting band;The world is black with dust across the land.”

Then Rostam answered, “We have no cause for fear;We will raise battle’s dust when they are here.”

He sent Manijeh onward with the train,Then donned his battle dress to face the plain.

He climbed the height and viewed the troops below,And roared like some fierce lion at the foe.

That gallant horseman spoke this proverb then:“What is a fox to lion-claws, my men?”

Then to his valiant warriors he cried,“Now battle comes; let prowess be our guide.

Where are the swords and iron-piercing darts?Now bring them forth to prove your fighting arts.

Where are the ox-head clubs, the spears we bear?Bring spear and gorz; for battle now prepare.

Now show your prowess; let your strength be tried,And rush to battle, warriors, side by side.”

At once the karnay raised a piercing blast;Then Rostam mounted Rakhsh and rode out fast.

He led his warriors downward from the height,As through the pass the troops came into sight.

The armies filled the broad and open ground,And built an iron enclosure all around.

Then Rostam chose the field and placed his force;The world grew black with dust from every horse.

Ashkash and Gostaham secured the right,With many horsemen marshaled for the fight.

Rohham and Zangeh held the left wing, steeled;Their troops drawn up and ready for the field.

Rostam, the warriors’ shield and army’s stay,Held firm the center for the coming fray.

Beside him stood Bijan, brave Giv’s own son;Together they upheld the troops as one.

Behind the army rose Bistoon’s great height;Before it stood a wall of swords for fight.

When Afrasiab beheld that vast array,And Rostam set to lead the coming fray,

He donned his battle-khaftan, dismayed in mind,And bade his troops halt where they stood aligned.

He formed opposing ranks; earth passed from view,And all the air turned deep indigo blue.

The left wing he entrusted to Piran;Brave Houman took the right against Iran.

The center Shideh and Garsivaz would guide,While Afrasiab looked out on every side.

Then matchless Rostam moved about the field,A sable mountain, jowshan-clad, with shield.

He cried, “Ill-fated Turk, whose deeds bring shameTo country, crown, and throne, and all their fame!

You have no heart for battle, feel no stainOf shame before the chiefs who serve your reign.

Why bring so many men to make a stand,And spread your horses over all the land?

When armies close, I know what I shall see:Your back turned from the clash, away from me.

Have you not heard the ancient words of Zal,The saying he recalled and told to all?

No lion fears wild asses, weak or strong,Though they should fill a plain, a countless throng.

A star may shine yet never can its lightMatch what the radiant sun brings into sight.

A mighty wild ram’s heart and ears will tearIf word of wolf-claws reaches through the air.

No trial makes the fox grow brave; no bandOf gurs will dare to face the lion’s hand.

May no such witless king possess the crown;His folly brings the whole dominion down.

Upon this field, upon this open plain,You will not flee my grasp; you shall be slain.”

When that grim Turk heard all that Rostam said,He shook and drew one sharp breath, filled with dread.

“O warriors of Turan, answer this:Is battle here, or banquet, feast, and bliss?

You must endure hard toil upon this plain;I will grant you crowns and treasure for your pain.”

At their commander’s words a roar arose;The warriors answered, ready for their foes.

Dust dimmed the sun and darkened all the land;The world seemed drowned, no earth on which to stand.

They bound bronze khom on elephants arrayed;The karnays and the gavdam loudly brayed.

The warriors in breastplates formed a wall,An iron rampart rising over all.

The plain shook hard; the hills returned the criesRaised by the horsemen under darkened skies.

The cutting swords flashed through the dust-filled air,Like sunlight through a cloud, their blades shone fair.

Gorz blows on jowshans fell as thick as hail,On helms and casques beneath the iron gale.

From Rostam’s dragon-flag, a violet stainSpread on the sun above the battle plain.

The elephants raised dust that veiled the sky;The sun seemed stained with indigo on high.

Wherever Rostam spurred, on either flank,He drove Rakhsh through the warriors, rank on rank.

The chieftains’ heads he smashed in his way,And parted head from body in the fray.

His ox-head gorz in hand, he crossed the plainLike some wild dromedary freed from rein.

Into the center, wolf-like, he pressed on;He scattered all the foe, their order gone;

Swift Ashkash on the right drove through the fray,And sought revenge on Garsivaz that day.

Gorgin and Farhad, Rohham at their side,Broke through the monarch’s left wing far and wide.

At center, valiant Bijan took the field,And longed for all the strife that war could yield.

The horsemen’s heads fell thick as leaves in storm;Turan’s proud lines dissolved and lost their form.

Blood flowed in streams; the Turkish standard sank;The field ran red through every broken rank.

The king saw all his warriors crushed and slain,And knew his luck had turned upon the plain.

He cast his Indian sword upon the ground,And mounted a fresh horse that he had found.

He and his chosen chiefs to Turan fled;His hope of vengeance on Iran lay dead.

Brave Rostam followed closely in their flight,Pursuing Afrasiab with all his might.

He showered blows on those within his sight,And struck with gorz and arrows left and right.

For two full farsangs, like a dragon’s wrath,His breath, it seemed, burned worlds along his path.

A thousand horsemen all were seized and bound,Turanian captives from the battleground.

Then Rostam left the field and sought his men,To share the spoils within his camp again.

He shared the spoils, then loaded all the gainOn elephants to bear it from the plain.

Victorious, he turned from where they foughtToward Kay Khosrow, with the spoils he brought.

Swift tidings reached the Shah: “The Lion has won;He leaves the forest, all his labor done.

Bijan is free from prison, chain, and foe,Released from dragon-clutches, grief, and woe.

Turan’s whole army lies in ruin, crushed;By Rostam’s hand its strength is broken, hushed.”

The Shah rejoiced at all the news he heard,And praised the Maker for that welcome word.

Before the World-Creator, bowed, he prayed,And long upon the earth his face he laid.

When Gudarz and Giv received the glad report,They hurried, stirred by gladness, to the court.

A shout rose high; the troops began to form,The drummers took the road in sounding storm.

The gavdam sounded loudly at the gate,The soldiers shouted in the royal state.

The riding-ground grew black with chargers’ feet,While bronze khom roared like thunder through the street.

The horsemen rode in proud, advancing throng,Their cries and clamor rolling loud and long.

Great elephants moved onward, fierce and grand,And dug their mighty tusks into the land.

Before the troops, on elephants, koust rang;Their thunder rose as all the drumheads sang.

Behind the chief Tus came the standard bright,Unfurled above the ranks within their sight.

On one side, leopards and lions strained in chains;The other side the horsemen of the plains.

Thus the victorious monarch gave commandThat troops should greet the champion of the land.

They went in rank on rank along the way,Till earth seemed mountainous with armed array.

When Rostam stood revealed before their sight,Gudarz and Giv dismounted with delight.

The other mighty chiefs dismounted too,And bowed with reverence, loyal, firm, and true.

Gudarz and Giv saluted him and cried,“O valiant chief, our honor and our pride,

May God protect you now and evermore;May sun and moon grant all that you long for.

From you the lion learned the boldest way;May heaven never tire of you, we pray.

You made our house the servants of your name,For through your hand our lost son homeward came.

You freed us from our suffering and pain;In Iran, bound to serve you, we remain.”

The chiefs remounted in a bright parade,And toward the royal palace rode arrayed.

When that chief, refuge of the warrior band,Drew near the city of the kingly land,

The Shah himself, the army’s guardian light,And crown of chiefs, rode forth within their sight.

When Rostam saw the king’s flag drawing near,And watched the monarch on the road appear,

He left his horse and bowed before the king,Distressed by all the toil long roads can bring.

The Shah embraced him closely at his breast,And said, “In you strength and skill’s spirit rest.

Your deeds shine like the sunlight over earth;All lands have learned your glory and your worth.”

Then Rostam took young Bijan by the hand;The Shah and Giv stood wondering in the band.

He handed Bijan over, then stood straight;A grief-bent back was freed of sorrow’s weight.

Then to the Shah he gave in captive bandsA thousand horsemen seized from Turan’s lands.

The monarch blessed him lovingly and said,“May heaven’s favor gather round your head.

You are a mighty chief, in prowess great,A shield against the evils that await.

May your head flourish and your heart know cheer;Without you, neither earth nor time is dear.

How blessed is Zal, who, when his days are past,Will leave you as a memory to last.

Blessed is Zabul, where the lions are bred,Where valiant warriors have been raised and fed.

Blessed is Iran, blessed its warriors too,Who hold a Pahlevan as great as you.

Yet higher still my fortune and renown,To have so great a servant of my crown.”

Then Khosrow said to Giv, “Within your breast,Your bond with God is good, your heart is blessed.

For through the hand of Rostam, God aboveHas given back the noble son you love.”

Giv blessed the Shah: “May joy attend your reign,And last as long as time and earth remain.

May Rostam’s head stay green through all his days,And Zal’s glad heart rejoice in him always.”

Khosrow commanded: “Let the board be spread;Call chiefs and nobles to the feast,” he said.

When guests had risen from the royal board,They set the wine-hall ready for their lord.

Fair serving girls and cupbearers shone bright,While harpists’ earrings glittered in the light.

Their heads were crowned with gold and gems that gleamed,With patterned diadems where jewels beamed.

Their cheeks glowed ruddy as Roman brocade,While fairy fingers on the harp-strings played.

Gold trays of purest musk were set in rows;A basin brimmed with water of the rose.

The Shah shone with imperial glory’s light,Like full moon on a cypress, straight and bright.

The Pahlevans who served Khosrow withdrew,Drunk from the monarch’s hall, that loyal crew.

At dawn, brave Rostam came before the throne,Heart glad, belt tight, to make his wishes known.

He sought permission for the homeward way,In sober counsel with the Shah that day.

The Shah now ordered one suit, finely sewn,With tunic, cap, and gems of precious stone.

A cup of gems, a hundred steeds to ride,A hundred burden-camels stood beside.

A hundred beauties, belted, came in sight;A hundred servants wore gold crowns of light.

They brought them all before the monarch’s throne,And stood them there, that all the gifts be shown.

The Shah gave all to Rostam, who bowed down,Then kissed the earth and rose before the crown.

He set the Kayanian cap upon his head,And round his waist the royal girdle spread.

He blessed the Shah and took the homeward way,Prepared to reach Sistan without delay.

To nobles who had shared his toil and fight,His sorrow and his hours of delight,

The Shah gave gifts to each in due degree;They left Khosrow’s great palace glad and free.

With all the matters of the chiefs addressed,The Shah sat on his throne and took his rest.

He summoned Bijan; then the youth drew near,And told his pain and trouble to his ear.

Of bonds and prison, and of battle too,He told the Shah the trials he had struggled through.

Bijan described those evil days of plight,And told the whole tale in the monarch’s sight.

The Shah forgave him, pitied too the maid,Whose luckless heart had suffered, torn and frayed.

He called for Roman robes of brocade bright,A hundred, worked with gems and golden light.

A crown, ten purses of dinars of gold,With servants, steeds, and riches manifold,

He gave, and said, “Bijan, these riches bearTo her whose mourning soul endured despair.

Speak gently; let no coldness touch your tone;Recall the grief through you that she has known.

Go through this world rejoicing by her side,And mark how fortune turns with every tide.

It lifts one man to heaven’s shining height,And frees him from the pain of fortune’s spite.

Then fortune flings him downward to the dust,Where dread and care consume his former trust.

The man whom fortune cherished at her breastShe casts in need’s deep pit, bereft of rest.

Then from the pit she lifts a man instead,Enthrones him, sets a gemmed crown on his head.

The world feels no shame for such acts as these;It honors no one, granting none true ease.

It rules the good and wicked in its thrall,Yet shows regard for no one, none at all.

Such is the custom of this transient place:It leads to pain and care the human race.

Let riches bring no torment to your breast;The noble heart is better left at rest.”

I have told this story fully, as I heardThe ancients tell it, faithful to their word.

The tale of Bijan now is at an end;To Gudarz and Piran I now attend.