Book C6Goshtasb, Zardosht, and the War with Arjasp

Thus was it that one night the poet dreamed:Within his cup, wine like rosewater gleamed.

Daqiqi then appeared and, drawing near,Told tales about the wine-cup, loud and clear.

He called, “Ferdowsi, when you drink, be trueTo Kay Kavus’s custom in all you do.

You chose a king in whom his throne takes pride,With crown and Fortune standing at his side.

Mahmud, the conquering king whom realms acclaim,Brings joy to mighty and to poor the same.

For eighty-five years, sorrow shall not grow,Nor shall his treasure dwindle, sinking low.

Hereafter he will march on Chin in force,And every chief will clear his army’s course.

No harsh word need he speak throughout the land;All royal crowns shall come into his hand.

If over this great tale you long have striven,All that your heart desired is now given.

I sang of this before; if you should seeMy verses, keep them in your book for me.

A thousand couplets told, before I passed,Of Goshtasb and Arjasp; they were my last.

Should these words reach the king, my soul will soonRise from the dust and soar up to the moon.”

So now I give his verses, which survive;He joined the dust, while I remain alive.

When old Lohrasp descended from the throne,He gave Goshtasb the crown to be his own.

To Nowbahar in Balkh he made his way,And left the throne to worship God and pray.

The worshippers of fire in former daysHad held that shrine in reverence and praise.

As Arabs now revere great Mecca’s shrine,So men revered that holy place divine.

The Shah, that man of God, arrived and reinedHis horse, dismounted, and the precinct gained.

He closed the portal of that holy place;No kin or stranger crossed its sacred space.

He wore coarse wool, the robe of prayer and praise;So should men honor wisdom all their days.

He put his armlets off, let long hair fall,And served the righteous Judge, Yazdan of all.

For thirty years he stood in prayer each day,And kept his heart upon the holy way.

He raised his voice in worship of the sun,As Jamshid’s ancient holy rite was done.

Goshtasb, succeeding to his father’s place,Received the throne, farr, Fortune of his race.

He donned his father’s gift, the royal crown,Fit ornament for men of high renown.

He said, “I serve God only; it is HeWho granted crown and royal throne to me.

He gave this crown that I might guard the flock,And keep the wolves away from fold and stock.

We shall pursue God’s path throughout our reign,And let all noble men live free of pain.

We shall uphold the ancient royal way,And make wrongdoers turn to God and pray.”

Such was the justice spread by this new king:The wolf and sheep drank from a single spring.

At length Nahid, illustrious Caesar’s child,Whom Goshtasb named Katayun, bright and mild,

Bore him two sons, both moonlike in their light:Esfandiyar, famed prince of warlike might,

And Bishutan, a valiant swordsman born,A prince whose blows made hostile armies mourn.

When Goshtasb’s rule was owned by all the earth,He longed to give Fereydoon’s age rebirth.

All other kings paid tribute at his call,And every loyal chieftain served his hall,

Save King Arjasp, who ruled in Turan’s land,With Divs as servants, waiting at his hand.

He would not pay or hear the Shah explain;For spurning counsel, he would wear the chain.

He took from Goshtasb tribute year by year;Why should a monarch pay it to his peer?

Thus passed a while; then on the earth appearedA spreading tree whose many branches reared

Within Goshtasb’s hall toward the palace height,Its crown thick-set with boughs, a noble sight.

Its leaves were counsel; wisdom hung on high;Who tasted of its fruit, how could he die?

That blessed tree was Zardosht, who had slainThe evil Ahriman and checked his reign.

He said, “I am God’s prophet and your guide;Through me, the path to God is opened wide.”

He brought a censer, fire within it bright;“From Paradise,” he said, “I bring this light.

The Maker says, ‘Accept the Faith I show;Behold the sky above, the earth below.

I made them not from dust and water’s frame;Look on My work and know from whom it came.

See now if any other power could doThis work but I, whose rule is just and true.

If you acknowledge all that I have shown,Then name Me this world’s Maker, Me alone.’

Receive His good religion from my voice,And learn His path; make wisdom now your choice.

Do as the holy speaker bids you still;Choose wisdom; know the world as vain and ill.

Learn well the Faith, its customs and its ways;Without it, kingship merits little praise.”

When that good Shah had heard the true Faith taught,He took its customs into deed and thought.

His valiant brother, glorious Zarir, came,Who conquered elephants and carried fame.

His father, old at Balkh, whose wounded heartFound life too bitter, also took his part.

From every province came the chiefs, a throngOf healers, sages, warriors famed and strong.

They gathered to the monarch of the earth,And took the cincture in that Faith’s new birth.

Then was the farr of God made manifest;And evil fled the hearts it had possessed.

Idol-worship faded from their sight;The sacred fire became the chosen rite.

The dakhmas filled with God’s celestial light;The lineages were cleansed of every blight.

Then high-born Goshtasb sat upon the throne,And sent his troops through lands that were his own.

He sent the Mobadan through every land,And fire-temples rose at his command.

First he established Mehr Barzin’s bright flame;Behold the rites that through his kingdom came.

From Paradise a noble cypress rose;Zardosht set it where the sacred fire glows.

He carved upon its trunk for all to read:“Goshtasb accepts the Good Religion’s creed.”

He made the cypress witness to the rite,That wisdom’s justice spread through sacred light.

When many years had passed in such a way,The cypress grew in height from day to day.

The noble tree grew broad as well as tall;No kamand could encompass it at all.

When many boughs had climbed into the sky,He built a palace round it, rising high.

It stood a full forty rash high and wide;No clay or water helped its walls abide.

He built that palace out of gold; he madeIts floors of silver, ambergris inlaid.

There he had painted mighty Jamshid’s face,In worship of the sun and moon’s bright grace.

He also ordered Fereydoon portrayed,Armed with the ox-head gorz his hand had swayed.

He painted every ruler, heir by heir;Consider whether power lived elsewhere.

When that famed golden hall stood rich and fair,He set its walls with jewels everywhere.

He raised an iron rampart round about;There Goshtasb dwelt, secure from fear and doubt.

He sent through every realm this firm decree:“What cypress rivals Kishmar’s sacred tree?

God sent it down from Paradise, and badeMe seek that realm from this same cypress shade.

Now hear my counsel: journey from your landsOn foot to Kishmar, where the cypress stands.

Adopt the path Zardosht revealed as true,And cast Chin’s worshiped idols far from you.

In Iran’s royal name, with farr allied,Bind on the sacred cincture, firmly tied.

Heed not the customs of your former sires;Rest in this cypress shade, as Faith requires.

Turn toward the fire-temple’s dome, and doWhat Zardosht’s truthful words command of you.”

He spread his words through all the world’s domain,Among the men of name and those who reign.

At his command all crowns to Kishmar came,Toward the noble cypress of great fame.

The shrine became a paradise of light;There Zardosht bound the Div and broke its might.

Call it a tree of Paradise; why prizeThe cypress just as Kishmar’s in men’s eyes?

Why not a shoot of Paradise, brought downAnd set at Kishmar by the Kayanian crown?

Time passed; Zardosht grew old beneath its weight,And came to speak of faith and royal state.

He said, “Our sacred law does not allowThat we before the prince of Chin should bow.

To pay him tribute does not fit our creed;Our Faith cannot approve of such a deed.

Moreover, I cannot consent to this;The former Shahs would deem such gifts amiss.

No Shah of ours paid tribute in that hourTo Turks who lacked both faith and kingly power.”

Goshtasb assented: “I shall give commandThat no more tribute leave our ancient land.”

A mighty Div, when he had heard this thing,Went straight to Chin and spoke before its king:

“O monarch, all beneath the turning sphere,All men alike, your sovereign name revere.

They all obey the orders you proclaim;None turns aside or dares dispute your claim,

Except Goshtasb, Shah Lohrasp’s son, whose forceNow takes against the Turks its marching course.

He has established here another creed,And shunned the idols, both in word and deed.

He shows his hatred openly to you;How dares he boast against a king so true?

More than a hundred thousand horsemen rideAt my command; call, and they join your side.

Go then; pursue this matter to its end;Fear not the strife if he should dare contend.”

Arjasp, when he had heard the Div’s report,Stepped from his throne before the gathered court.

His heart grew heavy, burdened by dismay;He sickened as his strength was drained away.

He summoned priests and told them what he heard,Then spoke to all the council, word by word:

“Goshtasb has lost his wisdom and his way;His farr and pure religion now decay.

A foolish elder has appeared to claimThe prophet’s office in the Maker’s name.

He says, ‘From Heaven’s heights to earth I came,Sent by Yazdan who shaped creation’s frame.

I saw Yazdan within His Paradise;He wrote the Zand-Avesta, true and wise.

I also saw dark Ahriman in Hell,But dared not venture where that fiend must dwell.

Yazdan then sent me forth to teach His creed,And guide earth’s monarch in its word and deed.’

The chief among Iran’s great men of fame,Goshtasb, Lohrasp’s illustrious son by name,

Has bound the cincture firmly round his waist,And turned to this new Faith with reckless haste.

His brother too, courageous, without fear,Has joined him; chief of Iran’s force, Zarir.

His father, numbered with the brave and true,Has turned and joined the elder’s followers too.

All gather now to learn what they are shown;The old magician makes their minds his own.

With one consent they have embraced his way;His rites and customs fill the world today.

By tricks and shameless fraud he spreads his claim,And dares to speak as prophet in God’s name.

He kindled fire and took it in his hand,And barred the former worship of the land.

A censer full of fire he then displayedBefore the king, whom all the realm obeyed.

He calls this teaching Zand-Avesta’s light,And trusts the blazing fire that burns so bright.

I shall write to that rebel ruler now,Who will no longer heed my word or bow.

Rich gifts shall follow, freely from my store;A gift not sought is valued all the more.

I shall say: ‘Leave this evil course; hold fastTo awe of God, and shun your errors past.

Cast that old miscreant from your council hall,And hold a feast by customs shared by all.’

If he accepts advice, his feet will knowNo galling bonds, nor chains of shame and woe.

But if he will not hear the words we send,And stirs old feuds that counsel cannot mend,

We shall collect our scattered troops again,And muster into one our fighting men.

We shall march on Iran along his track,Nor fear the pain and fury of attack.

We shall expel him, shamed, his honor gone,And hang him living with his fetters on.”

The warriors of Chin approved it too,And chose two envoys from their retinue.

One was Bidarfesh, fierce and strong and bold,A warrior versed in spells, a warlock old.

Namkhast, the other, practiced magic lore;His heart desired destruction, nothing more.

The monarch wrote a fair and royal pageTo that famed Shah who chose the holy sage.

“First, in the name of Him whose sight sees throughAll hidden things and all things plain to view.

This royal letter, worthy of a king,To Iran’s chief and warrior I bring:

To brave Goshtasb, ruler of the land,Whose worth deserves the throne at his command;

Defender of the realm and royal state,The eldest son of Shah Lohrasp the great;

From Prince Arjasp, whose might in Chin is known,A chosen man, whose conquests grace his throne.”

He wrote fair greetings in the Turkish hand,Addressed to Goshtasb, ruler of the land:

“O famous Shah, whose name has won renownThrough all the world, you light the throne and crown.

May soul and body flourish, strong and hale;May strength about your royal waist not fail.

I hear you chose a path that leads astray,And turned to blackest night my shining day.

A lying elder has approached your side,And filled your heart with terror as your guide.

He spoke of Hell and Heaven’s promised part,And left no trace of gladness in your heart.

You have accepted him and his strange creed,And glorified his doctrine and his deed.

You flung aside the customs of the Shahs,The world’s great men, your fathers and their laws.

You cast aside the Pahlevans’ old lore;Why weigh no past or future anymore?

You are the son of him whom, over all,The glorious Shah crowned in the royal hall.

Supreme Ormozd, who brought the world to birth,Who fashioned all the heavens and the earth,

Chose you above His chosen, gave you placeBefore the sons of Jamshid’s royal race.

Like Kay Khosrow, avenger, lord of fame,Above the Kayanians rose your name.

You bore both kingly might and grace that blazed,With Fortune, power, and standards proudly raised.

You had great armies, elephants arrayedIn jowshans, treasuries that none had weighed.

All these were yours, O Shah of noble name;Your chiefs were loyal, cherishing your fame.

Like Ordibehesht’s sun in Aries bright,You shone upon the world with royal light.

God gave to you the kingship of the earth;Your chiefs stood ranked before your sovereign worth.

You failed to thank the Maker for His care,And failed to honor all He made you share.

Though God had raised you to the royal seat,An aged mage misled you with deceit.

When news of this arrived from far away,The shock so struck me, I saw stars by day.

Now I have written as a friend to you,For I am loyal, both allied and true.

When you have read it, wash your head and frame,And turn away from him who makes this claim.

Unfasten now the cincture at your waist,And drink bright wine; its former sweetness taste.

Keep to the customs of the Shahs of old;Your mighty fathers’ laws you must uphold.

If you accept this counsel, fair and wise,No harm from Turkish hands shall cloud your skies.

Chin and Kashan, with all the Turks’ domain,Shall, like Iran, lie subject to your reign.

I will bestow on you my boundless store,Won by my own toil in the days before.

Fine-coated steeds with gold and silver bright,With gemmed caparisons of royal light,

With treasure, boys enslaved shall be conveyed,And lovely maids, their curling hair displayed.

But if you will not take this counsel well,My iron chains shall bind you where you dwell.

Within a month or two I follow on;Your realm shall sink, its crown and Fortune gone.

An army from the Turks and Chin shall rise,Their camp too vast for earth beneath the skies.

With musk I shall fill Jihun to its shore,And dry the sea till waters flow no more.

Your painted palace I shall wrap in flame,Destroy your roots and branches, end your name.

Your land shall burn; my arrows, driven through,Shall pierce your shoulders, every one of you.

The aged men of Iran, worn and frail,Would make poor slaves, of little worth for sale.

Since they would bring no profit to my store,I shall behead them; they shall live no more.

Their wives and children I shall drive away,To be my slaves, and serve me, and obey.

I shall lay waste their country, strip it bare,And tear up all their trees, however fair.

So much I had to say; now do your part,And lay this letter’s counsel to your heart.”

When Arjasp’s minister, with thought profound,Had shaped the letter, captains gathered round,

Arjasp then rolled and sealed the written scroll,And gave it to the warlocks dark of soul.

He said, “Be prudent; go with one accord,And both together enter where that lord

Sits on his throne; when you behold his state,Bow low before him; do not stand and wait.

Give him the homage Shahs have always known;Do not yet look upon his crown and throne.

When you are seated, slowly lift your gaze,And look upon the crown, its gold ablaze.

Deliver then my clear, enlightening word,And mark whatever answer shall be heard.

When he has answered all, bow low and bendTo kiss the earth; then let your audience end.”

Then vengeful Bidarfesh went on his way,And bore his banner toward Balkh that day.

Namkhast went with him, reckless in his shame;Avoid such men if you would keep your name.

From Turan they reached Balkh and left their steeds,Then sought the court to serve their master’s needs.

They came on foot before his royal place,And on the threshold laid each lowered face.

They saw his face above the royal throne,Like sun above the moon in splendor shown.

They knelt before him as before a king,With all the homage slaves to monarchs bring.

Then they delivered him Arjasp’s command,The letter written in the Turkish hand.

The Shah, on opening the letter, raged;He writhed in wrath that nothing yet assuaged.

He called Jamasp, his counselor of worth,Whose wisdom guided him in rule on earth.

He called Iran’s sepahbods, chiefs of fame,And seasoned lords; the Mobadan too came.

He spread the Zand-Avesta out in sight,And called the priests who served the holy rite.

He called Zardosht, his prophet, to draw near,His Mobad, and his chosen chief, Zarir.

Zarir, his brother, held the chief commandOf all the mighty warriors of the land.

Then he was Pahlevan above his peers;Esfandiyar was still a child in years.

He gave the troops their refuge and their stay,And guarded like a king the whole array.

He kept the world from evil, held it clear;In battle he was first to couch his spear.

Goshtasb addressed Jamasp and brave Zarir,And his own son, assembled now to hear:

“Arjasp, who rules the Turks of Chin, has sentThis letter; hear the words of his intent.”

He told them what the Turkish king had said,Repeating every threat that he had read.

“What are your views?” he said. “How will this end?What answer should a king and council send?

How ill-advised is friendship with a manWhose scanty wisdom cannot judge or plan.

I spring from pure-born Iraj’s royal seed;He comes from Tur, of sorcery’s dark breed.

How could we two have lived in lasting peace?Yet I had thought our ancient strife might cease.

Let him whose judgment offers wisdom hereSpeak out before us all and make it clear.”

When sovereign Goshtasb had spoken so,Zarir and young Esfandiyar, aglow

With wrath, both drew their swords and spoke aloud:“If any man among the world’s great crowd

Denies Zardosht the prophet’s rightful due,And will not heed his teaching, just and true,

Nor comes before the glorious Shah at court,Nor girds himself to be the king’s support,

If he rejects the good religion’s way,And will not serve its law by night or day,

Our swords shall take his life; his severed headShall crown a lofty stake when he lies dead.”

Then brave Zarir, Iran’s renowned spear,Fierce as a rending lion, without fear,

Said to the king, “Illustrious Shah, command;Give me your leave to take this task in hand:

Let me reply to Arjasp’s words of spite.”Goshtasb heard and judged his counsel right.

He said, “Arise; reply, and let it standA warning to the chiefs of Khallokh’s land.”

Zarir, Esfandiyar, and at their sideJamasp, the king’s wise minister and guide,

Went out together, all three stern of face,With hearts enraged against that king’s disgrace.

They wrote to Arjasp, answering word for word,In terms befitting what from him they heard.

Zarir, the chief, then took the written sheet,Still open to the Shah upon his seat.

He read it out before the royal throne;The Shah was awed by all the wisdom shown

By wise Zarir, sepahbod quick to dare,Jamasp, and brave Esfandiyar, his heir.

He sealed the letter, wrote his royal name,And called the envoys who from Arjasp came.

He said, “Take this reply from my own hand;No more shall you set foot within my land.

Were safe-conduct for envoys not decreed,And written in the Zand-Avesta’s creed,

I would have roused you from this sleep outright,And hung you living at the gibbet’s height,

So Arjasp, that vile man, would learn to bringNo insolent defiance to a king.”

He threw the letter: “Take it in your care,And bear it to the Turkish warlock’s lair.

Say this: ‘Your day of ruin now draws near;Your time for blood and dust is almost here.

May your neck feel the blade, your flesh be torn,And may your bones lie scattered and forlorn.

In Dey, if God so wills, I shall be dressedFor war, with iron jowshan on my breast.

Against Turan I shall lead my command,And bring destruction on the Gorgsar land.’”

When earth’s great monarch had concluded speech,He called his sepahbod within his reach.

He blessed him, then he gave him this command:“Escort these envoys past our borderland.”

The envoys left Goshtasb’s exalted place,With dust on head and shame upon each face.

The Shah had driven both away in shame;They left dishonored, stripped of rank and name.

Yet when they reached Khallokh, disgrace held fast;Their glory still lay ruined by the past.

When from afar they saw the palace rise,Its sable banner dark against the skies,

They left their prancing steeds in grief and fear;Their hearts were crushed, their eyes no longer clear.

Afoot they came before the royal seat,In blackened robes, pale-faced in their defeat.

They gave the Shah’s own letter to the king,Zarir’s reply, a sharp and bitter thing.

Arjasp called in his scribes to hear the wholeOf what was written in the royal scroll.

He told the scribe, “Now read it, word for word,That all the letter’s meaning may be heard.”

A scribe unfolded it before that place,And read it to the king of Turkish race.

The letter named the Shah who held command,The foremost mounted warrior in the land:

“From Goshtasb, son of Lohrasp, fit to reign,Who guards the world and all its wide domain;

To whom God sent His prophet as a guide,Before whom stand the nobles, side by side,

To you, Arjasp, vile Turk, these words are told,Who bear the likeness of a wolf grown old,

Who turn away from Faith’s clear guiding light,With crooked heart and spirit dark as night:

Your letter reached the Shah, so full of spite,And I have weighed each insult that you write.

I heard those words you chose to send my way;They were not words becoming you to say.

Unfit for written page or public view,For men to read aloud or listen to.

You say, ‘In months my army takes the field,And then your kingdom to my troops must yield.’

We need no months, nor time to linger here;We bring our lions forth with sword and spear.

Do not increase your toil or burden more;We have unlocked the royal treasure-store.

I shall lead thousands, spearmen bold and true,All lion-hearted warriors, against you.

From Iraj and the Pahlevans they came,Not Afrasiab’s stock or Yabghu’s name.

All moon-faced men, like kings in outward show,All cypress-tall, whose truthful words you know.

All worthy of the empire and the throne,Its treasure, crown, and army as their own.

All spearmen, swordsmen, skilled in war’s array,Who form their troops and sweep the foe away.

All converts to the Faith and wisdom’s claim,All fit for armlet, earring, rank, and fame.

Lance-armed, on steeds in bargostvans they ride,My name engraved upon each signet’s side.

When tabiras on elephants resound,Their horses’ hooves will level hill and ground.

When they don jowshans to confront the foe,Above high heaven clouds of dust will flow.

Firm in the saddle, mountain-like they sit;Their swords cleave mountains, splitting bit by bit.

Among them ride two chosen chiefs, famed afar:Zarir the leader, and Esfandiyar.

When they put on their iron coats, they riseSo tall their feet seem planted in the skies.

When on their shoulders crushing gorzes blaze,Their stature shines with farr beneath your gaze.

When they stand forth before the whole array,Look well upon them on that battle-day.

They, with their crowns and thrones, are like the sun;Their faces shine with Fortune newly won.

The chosen chiefs who lead these troops are wise,And worthy in the Mobadan’s own eyes.

Pour no musk in Jihun from shore to shore;For I have opened every treasure-store.

And if it pleases God when armies meet,I shall grind down your head beneath my feet.”

Arjasp descended from his throne amazed,And at those written words in fury gazed.

He told his sepahbod, “At tomorrow’s dawn,Let troops from every province here be drawn.”

The chosen chiefs of Chin rode out that day,Through all Turan to muster their array.

They summoned every troop throughout the land,And called its frontier lords to take command.

The king had brothers, Ahrimans in soul:Kuhram, Andariman, who took control

Of tabiras and elephants; flags shoneIn red and yellow, violet richly sewn.

Three hundred thousand horsemen, chosen all,Were placed beneath the brothers at his call.

He paid the troops; the brazen karnay blared,The baggage for their march was then prepared.

He called Kuhram, his brother, to his side,And gave him one whole army wing to guide.

Andariman took charge of the other wing;The center held Arjasp, their lord and king.

There was an aged Turk, Gorgsar by name,Had seen long years before this summons came.

His only work was evil; in his handArjasp now placed the army’s chief command.

To Bidarfesh, old Gorgsar’s brother bold,He gave the wolf-marked banner, his to hold.

One warrior bore the name Khashash; his mightWould make a lion shrink from open fight.

He gave him scouts and vanguard to command,And placed a standard in the warrior’s hand.

To Hushdiv, lord among the Turks, there wentThis message which the king himself had sent:

“Guard well the rear; if any man should strayAnd turn his back to flee the coming fray,

Wherever you may find him, strike him dead;Keep watch, and do exactly as I said.”

His heart was full of blood; his eyes were wet.He marched in wrath, on bitter vengeance set.

He plundered, burned the palaces with flame,And uprooted trees wherever he came.

He crossed Iran’s frontier with all his force,All faithless, hatred driving on their course.

When to the Shah Goshtasb the tidings passedThat Turks and men of Chin were marching fast,

And that their ruler marched arrayed for war,With brave Khashash dispatched to march before,

He heard the foe advanced with all his bandTo devastate Goshtasb’s lovely land.

He told his sepahbod, “At dawn’s first light,Bring troops and elephants arrayed for fight.”

He wrote to every boundary chief that day:“The Khan has cast the noble path away.

Bring all your troops; our foe has crossed the lineThat marks the frontier of this realm of mine.”

When that command had reached the lords that hour,They heard the Khan sought universal power.

Troops thronged the royal gates, a countless mass,More than the earth bore blades of growing grass.

The world’s great warriors gathered, band by band,And girded for their king at his command.

At his command each frontier chieftain came,And hastened to the Shah with heart aflame.

Soon thousand after thousand stood aroundThe Kayanian, gracious and renowned.

He viewed the camp and measured all the force,Then chose the fittest men for war’s harsh course.

The glorious Shah rejoiced to see that sight,His heart astounded by their gathered might.

Next day he came with priests and nobles all,With chiefs and captains gathered at his call.

He opened Jamshid’s treasure stores that day,And gave the troops their wages: two years’ pay.

He gave them jowshan and supplies to bear;Tabiras, karnays thundered through the air.

They loaded baggage; at the army’s headThe royal, conquering banner was outspread.

He led the troops to fight Arjasp the bold,An army vaster than the mind could hold.

No man could see the moon or light of day;The dust of steeds and troops hid every ray.

So loud the neighs and cries rose from the throng,No ear could hear tabiras beat along.

Flags thronged like reeds in spring; spears rose and stoodAbove the clouds, like trees in mountain wood.

Thus by Goshtasb’s order went the band,The army marching on from land to land.

From famous Balkh they reached the Jihun’s bank; The captain halted every marching rank.

The Shah rode out beyond the gathered line, Dismounted where the Jihun’s waters shine.

He sat upon the throne and called his guide, Jamasp, the sage who counseled at his side.

Chief Mobad and the first among the great, The luster of the men of rank and state,

So pure his body, and his soul so clear, That hidden things would openly appear.

He read the stars with mighty learned art; No man had equal knowledge in his heart.

The Shah inquired of him: “God gave to youGood Faith and counsel, honest, wise, and true.

There is no man like you among mankind; God’s gift of knowledge dwells within your mind.

Now read the stars and all their aspects show, And tell me how this war will come and go.

How will the battle pass from first to last? Which side shall meet disaster, falling fast?”

The old Jamasp grew sorrowful and pale; Then spoke before the Shah his bitter tale:

“I wish the Just had never made me wise, Nor taught me how to read the turning skies.

Then would the Shah not ask of me this thing, Nor would I bear such truth before the king.

Yet I must speak, for if I answer not, The king of kings may make my death my lot.

But pledge that neither you nor those you sendWill harm me for the fate I must portend.”

The Shah replied, “By God, the Faith confessed, Its bringer, with a spotless wisdom blessed,

And by the life of brave Zarir in fight, And great Esfandiyar, my shining light,

I swear I will not bring you any harm, Nor set another hand against your arm.

You know the remedy; I seek the way. Tell all you know of this affair, I pray.”

The sage replied, “Illustrious Shah, may fatePreserve your crown in everlasting state.

Restrain your wrath; let no resentment grow. How blessed are those who never see this woe!

Know this, Kayanian warrior of renown: When battle brings the heroes rushing down,

When battle cries arise so fierce and vast, The mountains seem uprooted by the blast,

The mighty men of valor will advance, And dust will darken every warrior’s glance.

The world will turn to darkness in their eyes; Fire will fill earth and smoke will choke the skies.

The gorzes crash on jowshans’ iron scaleLike smiths’ great hammers in a pounding hail.

The twang of bowstrings will oppress the brain, And chargers’ neighs will thunder through the plain.

The heavens’ vault will shatter overhead; Below, their blood in running streams will spread.

Then sons will lose their fathers in the fight, And fathers lose their sons before the night.

First Ardeshir, Kayanian kingly son, The famed and gallant, toward the foe will run.

He will urge forth his charger through the ranks, And fling opposing warriors on both flanks.

More Turkish horsemen will be felled that dayThan counted stars that crowd the Milky Way.

Yet in the end he too must fall in war; His noble name will live on earth no more.

Then great Shidasp, the monarch’s son, will goUpon his black horse to avenge that blow.

He will rage, draw his sword, and charge the plain; Both horse and rider of the foe lie slain.

But in the end his Fortune will decline; His crown will fall and lose its royal shine.

Then comes my son, my girdle at his waist, To battle for the prince whom death embraced.

For brave Shidasp, Girami takes his stand, And rides like Rostam through the fighting band.

How many men of Chin that youth will slay, A lion-heart who hews through their array!

Through dust and battle he will persevere; Yet I must tell the king what now draws near.

When Kaveh’s glorious banner falls in fight, Dropped by Iran’s own troops amid their plight,

Girami sees the flag from where he rides, All dust and blood upon its fallen sides.

He leaps to earth and lifts it from the ground, The violet banner rising, heavenward bound.

He holds the violet banner as he stands, His sword and standard gripped in separate hands.

While thus beset, he strikes blow after blow, And lays those Ahrimans of battle low.

Then suddenly a foe will strike in fight, And sever one hand with a sword outright.

Girami then will seize the violet flagBetween his teeth and never let it sag.

At last an arrow strikes his body’s core; That warrior will be seen alive no more.

Then Nivzar, chosen horseman, will ride out, The sovereign’s son, of worth beyond all doubt.

He will lay sixty of the foemen low, And Pahlevan-like mastery will show.

Yet in the end, the Turkish arrows spedWill lay his mighty body cold and dead.

Next will advance a lion without peer, The mighty warrior, valiant Prince Zarir.

He will go forth with kamand in his hand, Upon his pale-gold charger through the land,

In golden jowshan, shining clear and bright, Resplendent as the moon against the night.

The troops will stand astonished at his face; He will take captives through his strength and grace.

A thousand Turks out of the hostile bandsHe will bind fast and send into your hands.

Wherever that prince turns his royal eye, The ground will run with blood beneath the sky.

None dares confront him; all before him yield, And turn aside wherever he takes the field.

None can withstand that prince’s fierce attack; The monarch of the tents is beaten back.

Zarir sees Ardeshir, his body cold, His cheeks grown dark, his flesh like saffron gold.

He will lament him, face with anguish grim, And spur the Arab charger under him.

In bitter wrath he will confront the foe; His heart will never think of flight or woe.

When he sees Arjasp in the hostile crowd, His praise of Shah Goshtasb rings clear and loud.

He will overthrow the enemy’s array, And heed no living man within that fray.

He chants the Zand-Avesta as he goes, And trusts in God alone against his foes.

But in the end his Fortune will grow dark; The chosen cypress falls beneath death’s mark.

Then Bidarfesh approaches, drawing nearThe violet banner lifted on a spear.

Not daring to confront that champion’s face, He lies in ambush at a hidden place.

He waits, a maddened elephant, to slay, His poisoned javelin poised beside the way.

As Prince Zarir returns from that fierce fight, His broken weapons show the battle’s might.

The craven casts his javelin from behind, A death no warrior in the field could find.

Thus will the chief of nobles meet his end, Struck by the shaft that villain’s hands will send.

His charger and his saddle, seized as prey, Bidarfesh to the Turks will bear away.

Who will rise first to avenge Zarir’s proud name? Young Nastur will rise, with his heart aflame!

Noble Nastur, the son of brave Zarir, Will urge his charger forward without fear.

So many foes beneath his onslaught die; No stranger victory has met the eye.

At last he will return in triumph bright, His enemies subdued beneath his might.

Like wolves and lions they will join the foe, And earth will blush where streams of red blood flow.

Their faces will grow wan; the bravest quake; The army’s dust will make the daylight shake.

The sun and moon will vanish from the height, While spear and sword and arrow flash with light.

Their glitter through the dust and clouds will stream, Like stars that pierce the clouds, their points will gleam.

Blows heap the wounded with the dead; piled high, Fathers on sons, and sons on fathers lie.

Such cries rise from the wounded in their painThat men still free are bound as with a chain.

From either army, multitudes lie dead; Their blood fills all the field on which they bled.

Then Bidarfesh, that miscreant in war, Will rush like ravening wolf to slaughter more.

Holding his poisoned blade in furious hand, He drives his charger through the shattered band.

By him a multitude of men will fall, The chosen of the Shah, the best of all.

Then comes Esfandiyar to meet the foe, His troops behind, with God to aid each blow.

In blood-stained clothes, with vengeance in his breath, He spurs at Bidarfesh to deal him death.

His Indian sword descends; one stroke will throwHalf of that rider to the ground below.

Then with his iron gorz he strikes the foe, And lets his farr and royal splendor show.

He will break hostile ranks with one fierce charge; Will he then let them flee and roam at large?

No, with a spearpoint he will gather them, And scatter them abroad, both root and stem.

At last the king of Chin will flee the fightBefore Esfandiyar’s majestic might.

That glorious Kayanian breaks his power; Broken, Arjasp turns toward Turan that hour.

Across the desert, weeping, he will ride, With but a few companions at his side.

The Shah will triumph when the foe takes flight; Know this, O chosen sovereign crowned in light.

What I have said will not be otherwise; No more, no less than what the heavens devise.

Do not regard me afterward with blame; Your own command compelled me to proclaim.

I spoke these words, great Shah, at your request; I gave the truth at your express behest.

That deep, dark sea of fate, of which you asked—I hid no truth the heavens had unmasked.

Why else should I have told the Shah these things, These secret destinies of chiefs and kings?”

When Shah Goshtasb, the world’s lord, saw revealedThe secrets that the veil of fate concealed,

His gold gorz fell; he sank upon his throne; His splendor and his farr seemed overthrown.

He fell upon his face and swooned away; No word he uttered in that bitter day.

When sense returned, he left the throne and wept, And bitter grief within his bosom kept.

“What use are throne and kingship in my grief, When darkness fills my days without relief?

With all my moons and horsemen, princes slain, What need have I of crown or royal reign?

What need of Fortune, rule, or royal might, When those I love are hidden from my sight?

My dearest, chosen warriors will depart, And tear out from my flesh this wounded heart.”

He said, “My brother shall not go to war, Nor burn my aged mother to the core.

I will forbid Zarir to join the fray; Gurazm shall lead the troops on battle day.

My Kayanian sons shall stay in sight; I will not let them arm and join the fight.

How could the points of arrows reach so high, To pierce these mountains towering to the sky?”

Jamasp replied, “If they should fail to standWith Kayanian crowns before your fighting band,

Who dares to meet the Turks and take their place, And bring back pure religion’s farr and grace?

Rise from the dust and sit upon your throne; Preserve the royal farr that is your own.

God’s will is fixed; no cunning plan can bendHis purpose; no injustice does He send.

Grief brings no gain; the course of things must run. What is to be is now as good as done.

Let no more anguish fill your heart and mind; Accept the Maker’s justice, and be resigned.”

The Shah heard all his counsel; light returned, As though the sun within his visage burned.

He sat upon the throne, resolved to fightThe king of Chigil and his gathered might.

No sleep would come; the coming battle pressedUpon his thoughts and robbed his heart of rest.

As wise Jamasp concluded, night gave way;The stars grew dim before the coming day.

He led his chosen army to the siteWhere they would camp and muster for the fight.

At dawn, when breezes from the gardens swept,And through the palace rose-sweet fragrance crept,

By old Iranian custom, scouts were setTo watch the field, alert to every threat.

A rider then approached and said, “Great king,The foe is near; grave news to you I bring.

From Turks and Chin there comes a force so greatNo king has seen the like approach his gate.

They have encamped nearby with tents displayedOn hill and field and valley’s open glade.

Their chief sent scouts to watch the country round;Our riders met them on the open ground.”

Goshtasb, high-born and valiant, called Zarir,His glorious sepahbod and brother dear.

He gave the standard: “Go, and do not wait;Array the elephants in ordered state.

Arm all the troops.” The sepahbod went ahead,And ranged the line where battle’s dust would spread.

To Esfandiyar Goshtasb gave one flank,With fifty thousand horsemen, rank on rank.

His chest was broad, an elephant’s in size;A lion’s courage kindled in his eyes.

Upon the other wing he set a bandOf chosen warriors ready at command.

He gave it to his cherished son to lead,A warrior equal to the Shah in deed.

He gave Zarir, the chief his foemen dread,Full fifty thousand valiant horse to head.

The rear he gave to Nastur, strong and bold,Zarir’s bright son, of pure and noble mold.

The army thus arrayed, he climbed the height,Worn out with grief and labor for the fight.

He sat upon his splendid, shining throne,He viewed his troops; their marshaled splendor shone.

Then King Arjasp, who ruled the Chin array,Likewise disposed his forces for the day.

A hundred thousand Khallokh horsemen, triedIn many wars, stood on Bidarfesh’s side.

As a chief, he upheld the golden sign,Tabiras, standard of the Turkish line.

One wing he led alone, a chief so fierceNo lion would have dared its ranks to pierce.

The other wing he placed within the handOf old Gorgsar and his selected band.

A hundred thousand horsemen formed that wing,All tested men beneath the Turkish king.

Within the center of the battle-lineHe set a chosen force in stern design.

He gave it to Namkhast, grim mage well known,The son of Hazaran, hard as stone.

Another hundred thousand riders stood,All famed for prowess, battle-tried and good.

There at the rear Arjasp surveyed his might,And watched his army to the left and right.

Kuhram stood there, a horseman brave and bold,Whose head had weathered years of heat and cold.

He set Kuhram to oversee the field,With full command, the army’s strength to wield.

When night had passed and day began to shine,The world-bright sun rose over battle’s line.

The troops on either side their saddles gained,While Shah Goshtasb upon the height remained.

When from the mountain he beheld the field,And warriors armed with spear and sword and shield,

He called for black Behzad, that mighty horse,Like Mount Bistoon in stature and in force.

They clad the horse in armor; then he rode;The lines below in ordered battle flowed.

The armies faced each other on the ground;From elephants rang brazen karnays’ sound.

When ranks were set and champions challenged loud,A storm of arrows darkened every cloud.

They fell like springtime hail across the fight,Until the sun’s own course was lost to sight.

Few could believe that storm of arrow-rain,Unless they stood themselves upon the plain.

The sun was veiled; the arrowheads flashed bright,Like ocean waters glittering in the light.

The sky seemed overcast from first to last,As diamond rain fell sparkling and fast.

The gorz-men and the spearmen clashed and surged;A night of dust above the plain emerged.

The earth was drowned in gore from side to side,And darkness spread across that crimson tide.

First came Ardeshir, the great Shah’s son,A horseman fair, with battle just begun.

Like some mad elephant he crossed the field;He seemed like Tus beneath his lifted shield.

He wheeled before the battle-line below;He did not know what Fate would soon bestow.

An arrow pierced his waist through jowshan’s scale,And from his bay he tumbled, pierced and pale.

Dust mixed with blood to mar his former grace;Woe for the moonlike beauty of his face!

The wise Shah never would behold him more;Then Hormizd, brave and fair, rode out to war.

His cheeks like tulips glowed a fiery red;A poisoned khanjar in his hand, he sped.

He roared as lions roar before they bringWild asses down beneath their deadly spring.

For that slain prince he made the foemen pay:A thousand enemy riders fell that day.

But as he turned back from the furious fray,The earth lay red with blood along his way.

An arrow struck his nape and laid him low;The noble prince fell dead beneath the blow.

His father would not see his son again;Then Prince Shidasp rode forward toward the men.

Moon-faced, of royal mien and warrior pride,He sat an indigo steed, huge in stride.

His horse had all an elephant’s great might,And sped like wind as he rode out to fight.

He wheeled and brandished high the lance in hand,Then checked his charger, shouting his demand:

“Where is Kuhram, that mighty warrior? WhereIs he whose form both wolf and tiger share?”

A Div replied, “I am!” His challenge rang:“I fight the hungry lion, fang to fang!”

Shidasp’s lance unhorsed him; he took his head,And cast his golden belt beside the dead.

Before the men of Chin, Shidasp wheeled round,A mountain in the saddle, iron-bound.

No eye had seen his like; his beauty drewThe evil eye upon him as he flew.

A Turk then drew his bow; the arrow sped,And struck the prince, who fell among the dead.

Alas, that gently nurtured prince died then;His father would not see his face again.

Then from the army came Jamasp’s brave son,A horseman famed for battles he had won.

Girami was his name, a warrior flame,Like Rostam, son of Zal, in might and fame.

He rode a dun, his kamand coiled and tiedUpon the saddle, hanging at his side.

He prayed to God, then challenged Chin aloud,“Who comes with lion-heart from this proud crowd?

Who dares confront my life-destroying spear?Where is Namkhast, whose name men speak with fear?

Where is that arrogant man of dread,The son of Hazaran, by sorcery led?”

Namkhast rode forth upon a horse so vast,It seemed a mountain as the charger passed.

Those two accomplished horsemen wheeled aroundWith gorz and lance where battle shook the ground.

With shaft and scimitar they closed in fight,But Girami possessed a lion’s might.

No valiant horseman then could make a standAgainst the lethal weapons in his hand.

Namkhast, though battle-tested, turned and fledBefore that sword and all the dread it spread.

Then Girami rode forth, resolved to shedThe blood of those who left the princes dead.

He fell upon the center of the foe;From mountain slopes the wind began to blow.

A mighty roar arose across the field,As both great armies closed with sword and shield.

In turmoil, while the sable dust-clouds rolled,And scimitars struck sparks from iron cold,

The splendid standard of Kaveh fell down,Dropped from Iranian hands, with dust for crown.

He saw the indigo flag lying low,Flung from the elephant’s back amid the foe.

He left his saddle, raised it from the ground,And cleared the dust while battle raged around.

When warriors of Chin beheld him raiseThat famed and cherished flagstaff from the haze,

And saw him cleanse it and bear it away,Their bravest warriors closed on him that day.

Their swords flashed round him in a fierce attack;One cleaved his hand off; still he fought them back.

He seized Fereydoon’s flag between his teeth,And with one hand still dealt out death beneath.

He plied his gorz, a marvel fierce and bold;At last they slew him where the dust-clouds rolled.

They flung him on the hot earth, held in scorn;Alas for that brave rider, nobly born!

That ancient sage would see his son no more;Then lion Nastur charged with battle’s roar.

The noble son of valiant Prince ZarirCharged through the foe and filled their hearts with fear.

He slew a countless multitude of foes,For from his father’s art his valor rose.

At last he left the field, his glory earned,And to his father’s side in triumph turned.

Next Nivzar rode, a chosen horseman, oneWho entered without fear, the sovereign’s son.

He rode a swift and finely colored steed;A thousand could not match that horse for speed.

He came upon that darkened battlefield,And shouted, holding high his spear and shield:

“Chosen warriors, where among you allIs there a man of name to hear my call?

What veteran wielder of the spear is near?Let him confront my lance and meet me here.

A man of mettle stands before your line.”The men of Chin rushed forward at the sign.

They strove to overthrow him in the fray;He faced their charge and would not turn away.

A dauntless horseman, bold of heart, was he,A wrathful elephant, a lion free.

He wheeled among Chin’s warriors, spurring fast,As though he rolled the earth up as he passed.

He slew a hundred twenty men of might;His war-gorz felled them in that charging fight.

But in the end an arrow from a bowBrought him the fate the heavens would bestow.

He fell from that fleet steed of noble hue,And died; the field of war had claimed him too.

Alas, that precious life was thrown away,For nothing, in the slaughter of that day!

Sadly for that fair face and noble form,His father’s image, shattered in the storm.

Then thousand after thousand joined the fight;From every side their dust obscured the light.

No rider slept; the dead lay on the ground,With wounded men strewn everywhere around.

Two weeks they fought; the plains grew tulip-red,Across the barren land their blood was spread.

Dust barred the wind; the dead blocked every way;No man could cross where heaps of bodies lay.

Two weeks of bitter combat now had passed,And darker grew the struggle, fierce and vast.

Then brave Zarir advanced before the line,The Pahlevan through whom Iran would shine.

He rode a mighty dun toward Chin’s array,Then swept into their midst to strike and slay.

Like wind and blazing fire through grass he came,And sent the enemy to death and flame.

None who beheld him could withstand his might;He broke their ranks and scattered them in flight.

Arjasp beheld the prince lay great men low,And cried aloud to all his troops below:

“Will you let Khallokh fall? We still contendAfter two weeks and see no battle’s end.

The warriors of Shah Goshtasb have slainSo many famous men among our train.

And now Zarir is in your midst today,A wolf, a rending lion in the fray.

He has destroyed my warriors in the fight,My noble Turks, so famed for strength and might.

We must devise a remedy and cure,Or march back home with shame we must endure.

If he fights on, he sweeps us all away;Arjasp, Khallokh, and Chin will fall today.

What man among you, eager to win fame,Will go alone and win a deathless name?

Who has the strength to make Zarir give ground,And turn his back while battle roars around?

That man shall take my daughter as his bride,And lead my troops wherever he may ride.”

The soldiers answered not a word at all,For all feared that wild boar’s destroying call.

At once Zarir, the Pahlevan of men,Advanced upon them like a wolf again.

He charged them like an elephant in might,A lion scattering death across the fight.

Arjasp, beholding this, was so amazedThat all the daylight darkened as he gazed.

Again he cried, “Great warriors, hear my call!Will you let burning ruin seize us all?

Do you not see your kin and allies die,The wounded groaning where the horses fly?

He wields a gorz like Sahm’s in his attack,And shafts like Arash’s drive warriors back.

His flames consume my troops in war today,And scorch my kingdom’s gathered strength away.

Who has the strength and courage to confrontThat maddened Elephant and bear the brunt?

Whoever hurls that warrior from his steedShall win the royal bounty for that deed.

A treasury of gold shall be his prize;His crown shall rise beyond the turning skies.”

Yet no man answered him; none made a sound.Arjasp grew pale and stared at those around.

A third time he addressed his fearful men,But no reply came back to him again.

At last strong Bidarfesh stepped from the throng,That foul old wolf, whose sorcery was strong.

He said, “O mighty Sun, in strength and frameLike Afrasiab, whose battles won him fame,

I bring my life to you, a loyal shield,Though sweet to me, upon this bitter field.

I will confront your Elephant in fight;If I can cast him down before your sight,

And fling him to the dust before your throne,Make me sepahbod, and the force my own.”

Arjasp rejoiced to hear him pledge the deed,And gave his saddle and his own proud steed.

He gave a poisoned javelin to throw,To pierce an iron mountain with its blow.

That foul enchanter, loathsome in his form,Rode toward Zarir amid the dust and storm.

But when he saw Zarir, his eyes all tears,His face all dust, amid the flying spears,

His gorz like Sahm’s great weapon in his hand,The slain piled up like hills across the land,

He dared not face that champion in the fight,But circled round him, hidden from his sight.

Unseen, he hurled the poisoned spear; it spedThrough royal jowshan, dyed the armor red.

His kingly form was drenched in flowing blood;He tumbled from his charger to the mud.

Woe for that royal horseman, young and dear!Foul Bidarfesh came down and stripped Zarir.

To Chin’s king went the spoils, the jeweled crown,Horse, belt, and black flag of the prince struck down.

The army shouted, surging through the shade,And on an elephant the standard swayed.

Goshtasb looked out from high upon the hill,And searched the dust for that bright moon until

He saw no luster in the battle-cloud,And fear within his heart cried clear and loud:

“That full-orbed moon whose radiance and mightOnce filled my lines with glory in the fight,

My brother, brave Zarir, the lion bold,May lie unhorsed, his kingly body cold.

The warriors have ceased to let shafts fly;The princes shout no more beneath the sky.

Perhaps the chief of nobles has been slain;Send out a camel rider to the plain.

Ride toward the sable standard; learn his case,For grief has burned the color from my face.”

Thus fared the king until a horseman came,Whose eyes rained blood, whose tongue was full of flame:

“The Turkish horsemen treacherously have slainYour Moon, who guarded crown and warlike train.

The Pahlevan of Pahlevans lies dead;Zarir no more will ride where armies spread.

For that chief warlock, Bidarfesh, in warHas struck him down and seized the flag he bore.”

The mighty Shah heard how Zarir lay low;He tore his robes down to his feet in woe.

He cast dust on his bright and joyful crown,And to Jamasp spoke with his heart bowed down:

“What shall I tell Lohrasp, now worn and old?How can this news of fire and grief be told?

How can I send a messenger today?Alas, my moon has set and passed away!

Bring Golgun, Lohrasp’s horse, here to my side;Set my own saddle on his back,” he cried.

He armed himself to avenge his brother’s name,To guard his Faith, his honor, and his fame.

His seasoned minister said, “You must pause;Your going forth for vengeance harms the cause.”

The Shah dismounted, sat upon the throne,Then asked his troops in grief’s commanding tone:

“What lion now will rise for brave Zarir,And bring his saddle and his charger here?

Before Yazdan of earth and sky I swear,And righteous chiefs who hear what I declare:

Whoever steps forth now shall take as brideHomahyi, my own daughter, at his side.”

No warrior stepped forward from his place;None stirred to stand before the monarch’s face.

Then bitter news was brought through grief and pain:“Zarir, the royal rider, has been slain.

Your father’s heart is crushed beneath the blow;He seeks revenge upon the murderous foe.”

Esfandiyar struck his hands and cried:“What wound has Fortune failed to open wide?

When bright Zarir still rode before my sight,I always feared the coming of this night.

Alas for that great horseman, chief of war,Whose crown of Fortune gleams for him no more.

Who struck that prince, that elephant in might?Who tore that iron mountain from the fight?”

He gave his flag, his troops, his honored placeTo one dear brother of the royal race.

He armed himself and took Zarir’s command,Then in the army’s center made his stand.

He seized the royal standard in his hand,And stood, a lion, firm before the band.

Five brothers stood before him, brave and bold,High-born, of Goshtasb’s royal blood of old.

They honored him above the rest in war,For he had broken armies long before.

He faced the nobles, calling to the crowd:“O champions of the Shah, renowned and proud,

Attend my words and hold to what I say;Trust God’s true Faith to guide us through this day.

This day will show who keeps the Faith sincere,And who denies it when the foe draws near.

So fear not death, whatever may appear;No man can die before his hour is here.

If Fate has fixed our death upon this day,What better end than dying in the fray?

Do not look back upon the fallen dead;Seek no relief, nor count each fighting head.

Do not trust flight, nor tremble when they close;Let leveled lances drive away our foes.

Stand firm awhile and prove your manhood true;Perform the charge that I have laid on you.

If you obey the orders I now give,Your bodies will be spared, and you will live.

Your names will spread through all the world’s domains;The old Wolf’s troops will die upon these plains.”

While thus Esfandiyar prepared the fight,His father called down from the mountain height:

“O warriors dearer than my heart and soul,Let fear of shafts or swords not seize control.

No flight can save us from our destined end;By God’s true Faith, which all of us defend,

By brave Esfandiyar, and by Zarir,Whose soul in Paradise is held most dear,

I wrote to old Lohrasp and pledged my word,In keeping with the counsel I had heard:

If Fortune brings me home from battle’s field,To Esfandiyar the crown and throne I yield.

As once my father gave to me the crown,So to my son I pass that kingship down.

I shall give Bishutan the troops,” he said,“And set a royal crown upon his head.”

Esfandiyar, huge-bodied, fierce in form,A man of wisdom, braced to face the storm,

He heard his father shouting from the height,And bowed his head in grief before the fight.

With spear in hand, he sought his father’s face,And bent in sorrow with a restrained grace.

Then, like a Div who bursts both bolt and chain,He mounted, and his dark steed shook the plain.

Like rose petals swept by a sudden blast,The ranks he struck were scattered wide and fast.

He slew, beheaded, swept their men away,And filled their hearts with terror and dismay.

Nastur, Zarir’s own son, came from his tent,And to his father’s horse attendant went.

He said, “Bring out a charger fresh and fleet,Well-fed and rested, nimble on his feet.”

They set a golden saddle for the fray,And cinched the royal harness for the day.

They laid the horse’s armor on its back,Tied the Kayanian kamand to the tack.

Then fully armed, the grieving youth took rein,And rode his charger toward the battle plain.

With spear in hand, he rode into the fight,And searched for where his father fell from sight.

He hurried, gave his charger all its speed,And took revenge with every bloody deed.

When he beheld a man of Iran’s line,He asked, “Where fell that father, lord of mine?

Where did Zarir, my father, fall below,That dauntless rider who had faced the foe?”

A man named Ardeshir was standing near,A horseman famed, a lion without fear.

The grieving prince asked where Zarir now lay;The warrior pointed out the mournful way.

“He fell,” said Ardeshir, “within the line,Beside that sable standard’s mournful sign.

Go quickly there; that sable mark appears,And you may see the face that claims your tears.”

The prince urged on his steed and onward sped,While foes fell thick along his path ahead.

He rushed until he found his father slain,His body cast, stripped bare, upon the plain.

His heart and reason failed before that sight;He leapt down from his saddle in his plight.

He cast himself upon his father’s breast,And cried, “My moon, my radiance, and my rest,

My heart, my eyes, my soul; you lit them all;Now darkness wraps the world beneath its pall.

What toil and care you bore to raise my name;To whom did you entrust me when death came?

Since Shah Lohrasp gave all the troops to you,And gave Goshtasb the crown and kingdom too,

You ruled the troops and realm with steadfast will,And longed for battle, eager for it still.

Your name had shone throughout the world, and yetYou fell before your wishes could be met.

I seek your brother, that auspicious king,And to his ears this bitter summons bring:

‘Come down! Zarir deserved much more from you;Go take revenge on those who ran him through.’”

He mourned at length, then mounted with a cry,And sought the Shah whose throne was raised on high.

The Kayanian-born cried out, “Shah, arise!Avenge my father, where in dust he lies.

My father lies upon the earth’s dry crust,His black beard, sweet with musk, now in the dust.”

When Shah Goshtasb heard this, the daylight died;The world grew dark; his strength was swept aside.

His mighty frame grew frail, his vigor fled;He cried, “Bring jowshan, helmet for my head.

Bring out my sable steed; today shall flowThe blood in streams from those who laid him low.

I shall ignite the world; its flames shall fly,And raise the smoke to Kayvan in the sky.”

The warriors cried, “Why muster this arrayIf you, the Shah, must go and join the fray?

Do not go forth, O king, to seek the foe;Arjasp is seeking you to strike you low.”

The minister said, “Do not fight; insteadGive Nastur your own steed; send him ahead;

For he will take his father’s vengeance due,And do so better, mighty Shah, than you.”

The Shah gave Behzad, jowshan, helm of steel,To young Nastur, of firm, unfailing zeal.

Zarir’s bereaved son, equipped for fight,Rode out between the armies in their sight.

Before the hostile line he drew the rein,And drew one bitter sigh for Zarir slain.

He cried, “Nastur am I, Zarir’s own heir;No lion dares confront me anywhere.

Where is that warlock Bidarfesh, whose handStill holds the Kaveh standard in this land?”

When no reply came back, he urged his steed,Night-colored Behzad, through the ranks at speed.

He slew great numbers from the hostile side,And none came forth to answer him in pride.

Meanwhile, brave Esfandiyar broke through,With countless blows, as through their ranks he flew.

As the king of Chin held Nastur’s attack,That Kayanian youth drove the battle back.

He cried, “What spearman is this warrior here,Who slays my chiefs and fills my men with fear?

He slays my chiefs! Is this Zarir the brave,Returned to face my army from the grave?

He rode against me in this very way;Where now is Bidarfesh? Bring him today.”

Then Bidarfesh came forward at the cry,The violet banner lifted toward the sky.

He rode Zarir’s own charger in his pride,And wore Zarir’s bright jowshan, side to side.

He rode to meet Nastur, the army’s light,That royal youth now poised to join the fight.

With sword and arrow, round and round they wheeled,Zarir’s son and the warlock on the field.

The glorious Prince Esfandiyar was toldThat Nastur fought the warlock, foul and old.

He hastened there with all his strength and speed,Intent to reach the two in sudden need.

When that chief sorcerer saw who came so fast,He turned his charger from the fight aghast.

He hurled his poisoned weapon through the air,To strike the prince’s face, so bright and fair.

It missed; Esfandiyar caught it in flight,Then drove it through the warlock with his might.

He pierced the warlock’s liver with one blow;The point burst out behind in crimson flow.

Then Bidarfesh fell headlong from his steed,And learned the might of Kayanian blood and deed.

Esfandiyar dismounted where he died,And stripped Zarir’s bright armor from his side.

He severed then the warlock’s loathsome head,And led Zarir’s bright charger from the dead.

He bore the flag and worthless head away,While Kayanian fighters roared into the day.

To heaven rose their shout: “The prince has won!The foe lies overthrown; the deed is done!

He brought back spear and dun steed from the plain,And struck the warlock down among the slain.”

The prince brought horse and head before the throne;The slayer slain: thus custom claimed its own.

When great Esfandiyar avenged the slain,He saddled Zarir’s steed and took the rein.

He proudly turned back to the fight and setThree Kayanian fight lines to meet the threat.

One part he gave to brave Nastur’s command,High-born, the shining light of all the band.

The second, filled with chiefs of proven worth,He gave his brother, famed for royal birth.

The third he kept to lead, himself its guide,His voice like thunder rolling far and wide.

They stood before Esfandiyar in war,Whose might had shattered armies long before.

Nastur, Zarir’s high-born and valiant son,And Nush Azar, through whose strength wars were won,

Together swore this oath before the fight:“Though hostile swords should rend the earth outright,

We shall not leave the battlefield alive,Nor yield our hold, however hard they strive.”

They spoke, made firm the girths around each steed,Then rode out to the battle at full speed.

As from the lines the princes rode ahead,Iran’s brave warriors followed where they led.

Their armor made the world a dazzling sight;The dead lay heaped, with little room to fight.

The mill-wheels turned in blood across the ground,From hill to field the crimson torrent wound.

Arjasp beheld them, then advanced his train,His chiefs and warriors charging through the slain.

Esfandiyar, who brought great heroes low,Couched his long lance against the Turkish foe.

He pinned them breast to back with thrust on thrust,And hurled their haughty chieftains to the dust.

The Khan saw none who dared withstand his spear,And watched his broken troops give way in fear.

He held his post until the evening shade,Then fled into the wilderness, dismayed.

Iran pressed hard on Chin’s retreating train,And slaughtered them across the crimson plain.

The Turkish troops saw that Arjasp had fled,While swords flashed bright around each trembling head.

Their chiefs dismounted, fear in every face,And came to Esfandiyar to plead for grace.

They stripped their battle-coats and cast awayTheir Turkish bows, abandoning the fray.

They said, “O Prince, have mercy on us here;Grant life to servants overcome by fear.

We will accept your Faith and seek its light,And worship at the Fires with hearts made right.”

Iran’s fierce soldiers would not stay their blows;The world ran red with slaughtered Turkish foes.

Esfandiyar, on hearing what they said,Gave quarter: none should wound or strike them dead.

That elephantine hero, royal-born,Called out to those whose foes lay crushed and torn:

“Nobles of Iran, spare Chin’s men; refrain;The foe is overthrown; let mercy reign.

Restrain your hands; let slaughter now be past;Let no more captives into chains be cast.

Give quarter to these dogs; let mercy spareTheir wretched lives, now sunk in deep despair.

Bind none in chains; let further bloodshed cease;Recall the troops and give the field its peace.

Do not let horses trample on the dead;Go count the wounded lying where they bled.

By dear Zarir’s soul, take no more as prey;Dismount and rest your battle-steeds today.”

His warriors heard and turned to face their chief,Whose word had brought the conquered men relief.

They marched back to the camp; tabiras rolled,Their hands victorious and their courage bold.

None slept that night, fired by victory’s flame;Their deeds were worthy of great Rostam’s name.

When night had passed and dawn had climbed the sky,Blood still ran where the dead were left to lie.

Shah Goshtasb, with his captains at his side,Went out to view the field where thousands died.

He moved among the dead, and as he went,Wept over each in sorrow and lament.

But when he saw his brother on the ground,Flung vilely down amid the heaps around,

He tore apart the royal robe he wore,Dismounted from Shulak and grieved still more.

He clutched his beard in both his hands and cried:“O Prince of Balkh, with you all joy has died.

O gallant horseman, chief of royal name,O chosen hero, crowned in warlike fame,

My pillar, guardian of our country’s might,Crown of the army, all the world’s bright light!”

He then drew close and raised him from the plain,And cleansed his face himself of blood and stain.

He laid him in a golden coffin, tornWith grief, as though Zarir had not been born.

His youthful kin and nobles of renownWere laid in coffins, all by war struck down.

He ordered them to count the slain and bearThe wounded soldiers in from everywhere.

They searched the battlefield, each mountain road,And desert tract where blood of warriors flowed.

Of Iran’s soldiers, thirty thousand died,And seven hundred chiefs fell at their side.

A thousand forty wounded chiefs had fledThe elephants; they lived among the dead.

A hundred thousand foes lay dead that day;Three thousand and two hundred wounded lay.

Their fallen chiefs were counted on the ground:Eleven hundred sixty-three were found.

Goshtasb, the Kayanian Shah, left the fray,And turned toward Balkh, where his royal seat lay.

He told Nastur, “When darkness yields to dawn,Lead back the army; homeward we are drawn.”

That chosen chief had the great kousts resoundAt daybreak; then the baggage all was bound.

They turned toward Iran, the royal land,Stout-hearted still, a strong and fighting band.

They left no wounded soldier cast aside,But bore the wounded back with royal pride.

They had the wounded by physicians healed;The Shah came home in triumph from the field.

He gave Homahyi, his daughter fair of face,To his own eldest son of royal race.

He gave illustrious Nastur full command,As was the ancient custom of the land.

A hundred thousand men he gave to him,Far-ranging horsemen, lancers fierce and grim.

He gave command and said, “Brave spearman, goAgainst the Turkish monarch; lay him low.

Across Khallokh your father’s blood demandsRevenge: kill all you find throughout its lands.”

The Shah supplied whatever he required,With neither count nor reckoning desired.

Then young Nastur rode forth, his troops behind,All armed for battle, all of single mind.

The Shah sat crowned upon his royal throne,And called the troops before him, all his own.

He opened treasury doors and scattered gold,And gave rich cities to his captains bold.

He granted realms and dignities, each weighedBy merit, to the worthy men arrayed.

He passed none over; each received his due,Then sent them home with wealth and honor too.

He tethered up his horse and went to restWithin the royal palace he possessed.

At his command they set the fire alight,With Indian aloeswood that burned there bright.

They paved its floor with beaten gold; insteadOf dust, rich ambergris lay thickly spread.

He set each part in order, wall by wall,And named the place “Goshtasb’s Royal Hall.”

Jamasp became its chief Mobad and guide;Then letters went to governors far and wide:

“Yazdan has not abandoned us in fight;He turned to day the darkness of our night.

He made the Kayanian kings everywhereVictorious; Arjasp now meets despair.

Who but the Maker of the world can doSuch works and bring such victory to view?

When you have heard your Shah has won the field,To keepers of the Fire your tribute yield.”

To Goshtasb’s court from Rum an envoy wentWith wealth, slave-boys, and steeds that Caesar sent.

The horses came in trappings richly laid;The kings of Hind and Sind their tribute paid.

One day the bright, fair-fortuned monarch shone,In Kayanian glory sat on his throne.

He gave his audience to the realm’s great men,The nobles and chiefs, princes gathered then.

Then brave Esfandiyar before him came,Ox-headed gorz in hand, renowned by name.

A Kayanian helmet on his moon-bright head;He stood before the throne with reverent dread.

He bowed his head and crossed his hands in graceBefore the Shah who held the Kayanian place.

The Shah beheld his son, whom he thought dearBeyond his life and all the earthly sphere.

The smiling Shah said, “Esfandiyar, brave heart,Do you not long again for war to start?”

The swordsman answered, “Yours alone the voice;You hold the world and kingship; yours the choice.”

The famous Kayanian gave a crown of gold,Unlocked his treasure-house, and wealth was doled.

He placed Iran’s command beneath his care,For Pahlevan-like strength was his to bear.

He gave him banners, treasure, troops, and said,“The time to take the throne still lies ahead.

Mount now your steed and ride through every land;Bring all its peoples to the Faith’s command.”

The Shah’s son rode, a swordsman trained to slay,And led his army on its distant way.

Through Rum and Hindustan his banners passed,Through sea and darkness, over regions vast.

He taught the Faith by God’s express command,Explaining all its precepts through the land.

When people learned the goodness of the creed,They took its rites and honored word and deed.

They decked themselves with it and sought its lore,And served the idols of their past no more.

They lit the Fire where idols once had shone,And sent this letter to the Kayanian throne:

“The Faith Esfandiyar has now made knownWe have accepted, taken as our own.

We bound the cincture; he reduced our due,And said no further tax was owed to you.

We have professed the Faith in word and deed;Send Zardosht’s Zand-Avesta for our need.”

When Goshtasb read what distant kings had sent,He called his peers, his heart and mind content.

He had the Zand-Avesta then conveyedTo all the chiefs and nobles who obeyed.

He charged the famous Pahlevan to rideThrough all the world with justice at his side.

Wherever that great prince rode into sight,No man dared face him in an open fight.

All peoples placed themselves beneath his hand,And evil vanished from the conquered land.

When all the world obeyed his father’s might,He loosed his golden belt, his heart grown light.

He sat upon a royal, honored seat,And rested with his men, his task complete.

He summoned Farshidvard, his brother dear,And chose a force of men who knew no fear.

He gave him troops and gold for his domain,And sent him forth in Khorasan to reign.

When time had passed, and all the world grew bright,Made pure and turned toward the holy rite,

Esfandiyar sent word when all was done:“Victorious Shah, the world at last is won.

By God’s own farr the world is purified;The homa’s shadow shelters far and wide.

No man need fear another’s hostile hand;No man lacks gold or silver in the land.

The world, like Paradise, now blooms and grows;Our horsemen guard the farmers as each sows.

Command me: shall I come to see your face,Or serve you in some other task or place?”

The envoy took the prince’s glad reportTo Goshtasb, seated in his royal court.

They say that when the Shah bestowed the crownOn Esfandiyar, a prince of great renown,

There was a noble named Gurazm at court,A war-worn man, renowned in field and fort.

He nursed a hidden rancor for the heir;What lay between them I cannot declare.

Yet I have heard he was Goshtasb’s own kin,While hate for that Shah’s son burned deep within.

Wherever Esfandiyar’s name was heard,Gurazm would answer with a scornful word.

One dawn the famous Shah sat at his ease,Within his hall among the proud grandees.

He held an audience for the gathered court,For kings and nobles held in high report.

Gurazm came forward, sat before the king,And sought a way to broach a bitter thing.

When young boughs strike the old, they bring them down,And cast into the dust their leafy crown.

Then someone spoke of Esfandiyar’s name;Now mark how Gurazm laid the ground for blame.

He struck his hands and cried, “A wicked sonMay prove a foe before his course is done.

Such sons should never rise to high estate;Advancing them invites a darker fate.

A faithful Mobad said, ‘A son whose powerGrows great and fearsome darkens his sire’s hour.

A slave who turns against his lord must payWith his own head for choosing treason’s way.’

A confidant first brought this news to me;I doubted that such wickedness could be.”

Goshtasb asked, “What secret do you bring?Whom does it touch? Explain this hidden thing.”

The slanderer replied, “It would be wrongTo speak of such a matter to the throng.”

The king dismissed the court and called him near:“Come, tell me all. Let every word be clear.

Reveal the secret of this foe of mine;Explain to me his hidden ill design.”

Gurazm, whose mind was evil, answered, stern:“To do the right is wisdom’s first concern.

The Shah has granted every wish I made;I must not keep this treason in the shade.

I will not hide my counsel out of fear,Although the Shah may find it hard to hear.

I shall reveal the secret, come what may,Although the Shah should order me away.

To speak, though he may doubt the truth I bring,Is better than to hide so grave a thing.

Know this, great Shah: your son prepares to fightAgainst your throne and all your royal might.

The troops have flocked to him in countless bands,And all men turn toward him with ready hands.

His purpose is to put you into chains;He cannot bear your crown while power remains.

When he has seized and bound your royal frame,He means to rule the world in his own name.

You know Esfandiyar has none his peerIn battle; none will face him without fear.

When he has coiled his kamand for the fight,The sun itself would not confront his might.

I have told all the truth that reached my ear;Now counsel wisely, for danger draws near.”

When thus Gurazm had spoken in that place,The famous monarch stared with altered face.

He said, “Who ever saw so strange a thing?”And wrath began to seize the troubled king.

He drank no wine and turned from all delight,Refused the feast, and sighed throughout the night.

He could not sleep, but pondered till the light,Anxious for what his son might now incite.

When dawn breathed bright above the mountain crest,And all the stars grew dim and sank to rest,

He summoned wise Jamasp, experienced, old,His chief minister, trusted, firm, and bold.

He said, “Go to Esfandiyar; take heed:Call him at once; his presence now I need.

Say: ‘Read my letter; come without delay.A grave affair confronts the realm today.

I need you now; this task depends on you.Without you, I cannot see matters through.’”

He wrote an urgent letter in these lines:“O noble prince, whose royal glory shines,

I send Jamasp, who served in former days,And knew Shah Lohrasp’s court and all its ways.

When you behold him, gird yourself and ride;On swift steeds come with Jamasp at your side.

If you are sleeping, spring up where you lie;If standing, let no further time pass by.”

Jamasp took up the letter from the court,And sped through hills and deserts to report.

Esfandiyar was hunting far from court,And on the plain pursued his chosen sport.

Across the hunting ground, he heard a shout:“The Shah has sent Jamasp!” the voice rang out.

He started at the news, his heart distressed;Then laughed aloud, though trouble filled his breast.

Four chosen sons were his, a valiant band,All keen for battle, each with spear in hand.

Bahman and Mehr-e-Nush, both bold in fight;Azar Afruz, the third, whose mind was bright.

The fourth, Nush Azar, built a sacred domeTo give the holy fire a sheltered home.

Then Bahman said, “May you live long and well;Your hollow laughter speaks of grief to tell.

I do not know the cause.” His father said:“My son, the Shah’s own messenger has sped.

He comes from one who turns from me today;Some grudge has turned his heart from me away.”

The noble youth replied, “What have you done?What has he heard to turn against his son?”

Esfandiyar replied, “My son, I knowOf no offense that could have vexed him so,

Unless I taught the Faith in every land,And lit the sacred fires by my hand.

I cleansed the world with my victorious blade;What cause for anger could those deeds have made?

The Div, in truth, must have seduced his heart;He seeks to bind me; reason plays no part.”

While thus Esfandiyar spoke in his grief,Black dust arose, announcing the great chief.

Jamasp, the world’s bright lamp, now came to bringThe prince the royal orders of the king.

The prince went out to meet him on the way;The two met face to face without delay.

They left their prancing steeds and walked; the twoThus paid each other all the honor due.

The glorious prince inquired, “How fares the king,The lord of crown and throne and signet ring?”

The sage Jamasp replied, “He thrives in cheer,”Then kissed the prince’s head and drew him near.

He gave the letter, spoke the matter plain,And said, “The Div has clouded Goshtasb’s brain.”

Esfandiyar then asked, “What should I do?What course would wisdom urge me to pursue?

If I set out and answer to his call,My father will not treat me well at all.

Yet if I do not heed his stern command,I cease to be his servant in the land.

Devise some remedy and make it clear;We must not linger in confusion here.”

The sage replied, “O prince of noble name,Young in your years, but old in wisdom’s flame,

A father’s wrath is better, you must know,Than all the love his son could ever show.

Set out at once; whatever he may bring,You must remember: he is still the king.”

They both agreed and turned back from that place,The messenger and prince of noble race.

He lodged Jamasp with honor as his guest;They both drank wine and took their welcome rest.

Before him fragrant aloeswood was burned,As if the art of pleasure could be learned.

Next day he sat upon his royal seat;His troops came forward there their prince to greet.

He gave to Bahman all his troops to lead,Then left with just a few men, as agreed.

He set out crowned, the royal belt he woreMade fast, and rode up to the great Shah’s door.

When news had reached the Shah, “Your son is here,”He bade the priests and nobles all appear.

He set the Zand-Avesta by his side,With all the chiefs assembled to decide.

He seated every Mobad in his place,Then summoned in the prince of royal race.

With Kayanian crown, he reached his father’s seat,And bowed in homage at the monarch’s feet.

He bowed before the throne in courtly show,With folded arms and head bent humbly low.

The king addressed the Mobadan, the great,The chiefs and nobles, men of rank and weight:

“You nobles know the pains that fathers bear,The toil of raising sons with constant care.

A father has his infant nursed and fed,And sets a crown of gold upon his head.

He tends his growing son, stays by his side,To teach him how to eat and how to ride.

Through many hardships, he prepares his sonFor mounted fight till his training is done.

The boy grows into manhood and will shineLike yellow gold brought gleaming from the mine.

All seekers ask their favors from his hand,And every tongue gives praise throughout the land.

He proves a good, victorious rider, blessedTo lead in feast and battle, first and best.

He sets the whole world underneath his feet,And well deserves the royal throne and seat.

The son has all the world at his command,The banner and the army in his hand.

The father keeps a crown, a throne, a hoard;He sits and guards the riches he has stored.

Suppose that heir, with troops and banners flown,Should grudge his father kingship and the throne.

Has anyone among you heard it saidA son would seek to take his father’s head,

And raise revolt with armies in his train,And set his heart on war for royal gain?

What say you, elders? What should now be done?What course may fathers take with such a son?”

The chosen chiefs replied, “O monarch, no;No living father should endure such woe.

A son who seeks his living father’s throneShows folly greater than we yet have known.”

The monarch said, “This son would seize my crown;He seeks his father’s place, to cast me down.

A wooden rod shall strike him at my word;Let all take warning when the tale is heard.

And I shall bind him as his deeds demand,As none was ever bound by human hand.”

The son replied, “O Shah of noble heart,How could I wish to see your life depart?

I know no wrong that I have done to you,Nor any secret treason I pursue.

But you are Shah, and judgment yours alone;I am yours; chains and prison are your own.

Command them: bind or slay me as you will;My heart is honest, and my mind is still.”

The king of kings cried, “Bring the chains today;Bind him before the court without delay.”

They brought the smiths with iron fetters grim,A yoke and heavy chain to shackle him.

They bound his hands and feet before them all;The court wept bitterly throughout the hall.

They set a chain about his neck, then ledHim out, as Goshtasb’s royal order said.

“Bring me a bull elephant,” said the king,“One swift as any bird upon the wing.”

They brought an elephant of midnight black,And placed Esfandiyar upon its back.

To Gombadan’s famed fortress he was sent;With tear-filled eyes and wounded heart he went.

Sepahbods hemmed him in as he was led,With some behind him, others at his head.

Within that mountain stronghold he was tied;Four iron columns held him there inside.

They cast him down from Fortune’s royal height;The Shah set guards to keep him in their sight.

There, bound and grieving, the brave warrior lay,And time and time again wept in dismay.

Thus many days he languished bound in chains,While Shah Goshtasb set out for Sistan’s plains.

He went to teach the Zand-Avesta’s creed,And give the Mobadan its charge to heed.

As soon as that illustrious Shah drew near,The army’s champion came with welcome cheer:

Nimruz’s ruler, Rostam, famed in fight,A seasoned rider, Sahm’s equal in might,

Came with his father Zal, advanced in years,With mighty men and courtiers as his peers.

They brought their minstrels in the welcoming train,With rud and karnay sounding their refrain.

Thus they came forth to greet the glorious king;Their joyful welcome made his spirits sing.

They brought him into Zabul as their guest,And stood before him, each at his behest.

They learned the Zand and tied the kusti tight,Then set the sacred fire itself alight.

Two years they passed in honor, feast, and grace;Goshtasb stayed with Rostam in that place.

Through all the world, wherever kings took heed,They spoke of Goshtasb’s shameful, reckless deed:

“He bound Esfandiyar in chains of steel,Whose bite his elephantine frame must feel.

He went to preach in Zabul and proclaimA curse on Azar’s idol in Faith’s name.”

Then every king renounced the Shah’s command,And broke allegiance throughout every land.

When Bahman heard his father lay in chains,He mourned his guiltless father’s bitter pains.

The princes left the troops and journeyed far,To reach the prison of Esfandiyar.

He came to him with Kayanian princes near,Full of distress, anxiety, and fear.

They comforted their father, overthrown,And would not leave him in his cell alone.

Then to the king of Chin the news came fast:“The Moon from Bow to ambush now has passed.

The Shah, enraged with Prince Esfandiyar,Sent him dishonored into prison far.

He crossed the desert and the Jihun’s flow;From Balkh to Zabul did the monarch go.

At Zabul he has stayed as guest of Zal,And feasted there for two years in his hall.

Lohrasp remains in Balkh, with none to fightExcept the men who serve the sacred light:

Seven hundred, with their hands raised to the flame,Are all the men of note that we can name.

The guards of Homahyi’s palace also stay;Rise now! Make haste, and put aside delay.”

The king of Chigil called his chiefs to hear;To fight Lohrasp, he gave them words of cheer.

He said, “Know this: Goshtasb has gone; his trainOf troops is in Sistan, where they remain.

He stays in Zabul; all the realm is leftOf every rider, of its guards bereft.

Now is the time for vengeance; give commandTo muster all our forces through the land.

His son Esfandiyar, renowned and bright,Lies fast in heavy bonds, far from the fight.

Who will seek out their secrets and report,And make the long, hard journey from our court?

Let him avoid the roads and seek to learnOf Iran’s people, then to us return.”

A sorcerer named Situh then drew near,A rover, spy, and scout without a peer.

He said, “I am a careful guide; tell meWhat task you wish, whatever it may be.”

The king said, “Go to Iran; scout it out,And wisely look at all that lies about.”

The spy set forth upon his secret way,And reached illustrious Balkh without delay.

He found no Goshtasb there, but saw the bandOf worshippers, with Lohrasp in that land.

He went back to the Khan, and there revealedAll he had learned of matters kept concealed.

The news made Arjasp glad, and it relievedThe ancient grief for which he long had grieved.

He called his chiefs and said, “Go out and bringOur scattered troops together for their king.”

Through mountain, desert, pasture went the call,And chosen horsemen gathered one and all.

When this old story reached me from the past,Toward the fish my fishing hook was cast.

I scanned his verses; many lines were weak;Their language lacked the polish I would seek.

Yet I transcribed them here, that kings may knowHow roughened verses sound beside my flow.

Two jewelers bring their gems before the throne;The Shah must judge the light of every stone.

If you can climb no higher than his strain,Then hold your tongue and spare yourself the pain.

Why wear your body out and bind your mindTo mines with not a single gem to find?

Unless your speech runs fluent as a stream,Do not embark upon this royal theme.

Better by far that no feast board be spreadThan offer tasteless fare in place of bread.

A book of ancient legends met my view,Its words were full of wisdom, tried and true.

Its tales were ancient, written out in prose;No poet yet had rhymed the tales it shows.

No one had joined its lines in measured art;The thought weighed on my once rejoicing heart.

That ancient book was two millennia old,If all its years were counted out and told.

I then began to praise that pioneer,Who made the path from prose to verse appear.

Though little of the whole was brought to light,One part in thousands told of feast and fight.

He was my pioneer, and he had shownThe way to set a monarch on the throne.

From nobles he received reward and fame;His own bad temper kept his grief aflame.

His task had been to praise the kingly line,And make the princes’ names in poems shine.

And yet his verse possessed no living flame;The ancient tale stayed aged and the same.

I took the tale itself as Fortune’s sign;For many years the labor all was mine.

Yet I could find no patron of my ownTo bring new luster to the ancient throne.

This caused me much disquiet and regret,But silence was the only cure I met.

I saw a garden, full of trees, a scene,A home for happy people, fair and green.

No gate appeared; no entrance could be found;With one king’s name the garden must be crowned.

A gate must suit the garden in its span;A narrow one would never fit the plan.

For twenty years I held it close and dear,Until a worthy patron should appear.

At last came Mahmud, master of the earth,Endowed with grace and overflowing worth:

Abul-Qasim, who gives the crown new light;The moon and Kayvan bow before his might.

He came and sat upon the royal throne;No king to match his justice had been known.

His name now crowns my book; his farr, a spark,Made ivory and bright my heart, once dark.

In gifts and justice, farr and skill, his fameWas such that none before could match his name.

He surpassed every Shah who ruled before;Men prized their ancient stories now no more.

Gold coins are dust to him; no fear can stayHis hand in feast or battle’s stern array.

He withholds nothing from the one who seeks;In war his sword strikes, and at feast gold speaks.

Our tale of Arjasp’s war we now restore,And clear the garden’s weeds from root to core.

He gave command that Kuhram, sword in hand,Should lead the army toward Iran’s land.

For Kuhram, his strong eldest son, held highHis head toward the bright sun in the sky.

Arjasp said, “Choose riders from the field,War-worthy men who do not break or yield.

Make haste to Balkh, whose name has darkened allOur days and turned our hopes to bitter gall.

Those worshippers of Fire, our foes of old, Those fiends who spurn the gods our fathers hold—

Cut off their heads, set every hall alight, And turn their shining day to darkest night.

Let smoke from great Goshtasb’s high palace rise,And lick with flame the azure of the skies.

If you should find Esfandiyar in pain,His feet in iron fetters, bound with chain,

Then end him there; divide his head and frame,And make the world resound with Kuhram’s name.

Throughout Iran, its cities wait your tread;You are the sword; the foe its sheath,” he said.

“From fair Khallokh I march without delay,And follow fast to join you on the way.

I shall recall our troops from every side,And pour my hoarded treasure far and wide.”

Kuhram replied, “Your bidding I will do,And pledge my life to carry all things through.”

When from its waist the sun drew forth its blade,Night fled before the brightness it displayed.

Choice horsemen and their swordsmen filled the plain;Kuhram led forth the force to Iran’s domain.

The earth grew dark as storm-clouds gathering low,As marching dust made daylight sink below.

He reached the frontier, where his ruthless handShed blood of God’s own servants through the land.

The Turks, all full of vengeance, came preparedTo kill and plunder; wrath within them flared.

As they drew near to Balkh, they spoke with gall;Lohrasp heard Kuhram’s name and grieved for all.

In anguish then he prayed, “O Lord of power,Your wise word rules time’s turns and every hour.

You, wise, enduring Master of the sun,Preserve my Faith until my days are done.

Preserve my person, strength, and watchful heart,My mind and judgment, each devoted part;

Let not Your servant perish by their hand;You are my help, the strength by which I stand.”

In Balkh no chief or gorz-armed horseman stayed;A thousand from the market came to aid.

But none was fit for war. Lohrasp then drewHis jowshan on; the Turks came into view.

He left his place of prayer with armored tread,The Kayanian helmet there on his head.

Though old, he roared with elephantine force,And charged against the foe upon his horse.

An ox-head gorz was heavy in his hand;Each charge struck down more chieftains from the band.

They cried, “This warrior’s force in battle hereIs like Esfandiyar’s, whom all men fear.”

Wherever he spurred, dust mingled red with gore;Men’s courage broke on hearing his great roar.

Kuhram cried, “Do not meet him man by man;Surround him now, and roar as lions can.

Let all your strength press in from every side;Together bring him down in all his pride.”

Then axes clashed and cries rang through the field;Each warrior pressed him, eager not to yield.

Lohrasp, now helpless in the hostile ring,Called on God’s name, that old and faithful king.

Old age and burning sun oppressed his breath;His Fortune slept and drew him down to death.

That veteran worshipper of God fell low,As Turkish arrows dealt the fatal blow.

His crowned head fell to earth, and all aroundThe horsemen gathered where he struck the ground.

They slashed his armor, tore his flesh away,And hacked his body where the monarch lay.

They thought a youthful rider lay there dead,Until they raised the helmet from his head.

His hair was camphor-white; his face, once bright,Was blackened by the iron blows of fight.

“To think,” they cried, “a man so old could wieldThe sword with youthful strength upon the field!

Had Prince Esfandiyar himself been here,Our force would face a bitter trial, I fear.

Why did we come with such a scattered few,Like beasts that leave the herd for pastures new?”

Then Kuhram said, “Our hardest fight is done;That struggle was the fiercest we have won.

This was Lohrasp, Goshtasb’s father, slain;God’s farr had graced him through his royal reign.

He passed his life in banquet and in field,Then gave up crown and throne; to God he kneeled.

Goshtasb has lost his strength, his royal stay;His crown will tremble from this very day.”

The troops reached Balkh, where slaughter spread its blight;With killing, plunder, all grew dark as night.

They turned toward the temple of the flame,And to its gold-adorned halls they came.

They burned the Zand-Avesta in the fire,And took the richest spoils they could desire.

They found there eighty priests in prayer and praise,And slaughtered all before the sacred blaze.

Their blood put out Zardosht’s fire where it spilled;I do not know by whom that priest was killed.

Goshtasb possessed a wife, both wise and high,Prudent in counsel, keen of heart and eye.

She dressed herself in Turkish garb, a ruse,And took the swiftest steed that she could choose.

She left the palace, struck with grief and fear,And rode toward Sistan with the tidings clear.

At no stage did she pause for sleep or rest;Along two days’ long road she onward pressed.

So on she went until Goshtasb she found,And told him Lohrasp’s fate with grief profound.

She said, “Why have you lingered here so long?Why leave famed Balkh exposed to grief and wrong?

An army from Turan has reached the town,And turned its people’s bright day upside down.

All Balkh is filled with plunder, death, and cries;Return at once, O king, and swiftly rise.”

Goshtasb replied, “What grief is this you bring?Why mourn one raid as such a grievous thing?

When I march forth, all Chin will fail to standBefore my crown, my troops, my royal hand.”

She answered, “Do not call this matter small;A darker blow has fallen on us all.

The Turks struck down Lohrasp, the king of kings,And grief has dimmed the light that fortune brings.

They stormed the shrine of Nush Azar in wrath,And slew the chiefs and priests across their path.

Their blood put out the Fire’s once-shining light;This outrage cannot be accounted slight.

They led your daughters from the city, chained;Do not treat lightly what the foe has gained.

Had only fair Homahyi met disgrace,A sage would quake, his anguish in his face.

And Bih Afrid, your other daughter fair,Once hidden from the very breath of air,

They dragged her from her golden throne that day,And stripped her crown and bracelets all away.”

Goshtasb, on hearing this, was filled with pain,His lashes shedding yellow blood like rain.

He called the great men of Iran to hear,And told them all the tidings, dark and clear.

He called a scribe, put crown and throne aside,And sent his horsemen outward far and wide.

He wrote his Pahlevans, “Do not wash clayFrom head or hair; let nothing bar your way.

Let neither heights nor hollows turn you back;Come swiftly over every hill and track.”

They bore the letter out through every plain,To every mighty man in his domain.

The warriors came, their Roman helmets bright,With gorzes, gathered for the coming fight.

He gave them pay and marched from Sistan’s land,And took the road to Balkh with force in hand.

Arjasp then heard that Shah Goshtasb drew near,With crown and troops in armor, spear to spear.

He gathered from Turan so vast a forceThat sun and moon grew dark along its course.

From sea to sea that army stretched in pride;No open ground lay bare on either side.

And when the dust-clouds of the armies met,The earth grew dark; the sun appeared to set.

Both armies formed their lines across the plain,With swords and spears and javelins in their train.

Upon Iran’s right side stood Farshidvard,A prince whose sword struck lions fierce and hard.

Upon the left stood Nastur, battle-tried,His courage overflowing like a tide.

Goshtasb, the monarch, held the center’s ground,And watched his warriors ranged in order round.

Kundur was posted on the Turkish right,His baggage train behind him for the fight.

Kuhram, the swordsman, held the left in flame;Arjasp stood central with his men of name.

Karnay and tabira’s din from both sides rose;Earth turned to iron under charging foes.

The air grew black beneath the battle’s might;The heavens seemed about to take their flight.

Earth cracked beneath the weight; the horses’ criesAnd axe-blows made the mountains seem to rise.

The field was strewn with heads upon the ground;The gorz-men’s shattered skulls lay all around.

The headless bodies lay across the clay;Swords flashed, and arrows darkened all the day.

The heroes shouted wildly through the fight;The stars themselves seemed eager to take flight.

No warrior spared his life; the weapons bent;Both spear and gorz beneath the blows they sent.

Beneath the horses many lay in blood;A lion’s breast their shroud amid that flood.

Their coffin was the blood in which they lay;Like foaming elephants, men fought their way.

No father had the time to mourn his son;For three days and three nights the war-wheels spun.

So thick the blood surged through that field of fight,It turned the moon’s face ruby-red that night.

Then Farshidvard strove lion-like in strife,Till Kuhram struck and almost took his life.

So many of Iran’s brave fighters died;Their blood soaked all the country far and wide.

Goshtasb’s own thirty-eight bold sons fell low;The Shah’s good fortune sank beneath the blow.

At last, when Fortune turned so harsh and grim,Goshtasb fled, with Arjasp chasing him.

They chased him for two stages on his way,Intent to seize him, pressing on their prey.

Before him rose a green and lovely hill;A spring flowed through it; on it stood a mill.

One path wound round the mountain, steep and lone;Its course to Shah Goshtasb was well known.

That path alone led to the mountain height;He climbed with broken troops in desperate plight.

He left a force behind to guard the road,While toward the heights his beaten army strode.

Arjasp arrived and ringed him with his men,But found no road to climb the mountain then.

They laid their siege around the mountainside;The Shah was trapped, with no resource or guide.

His troops lit fires amid their deep despair,And burned what thorns and brushwood they could tear.

Each leader killed a steed in their sad state,And pondered helplessly their bitter fate.

The Shah laid hand on head in deep dismay,And called Jamasp to find some saving way.

He spoke at length about the stars, and said,“Declare what Heaven has written overhead.

Tell all you know; say neither more nor less:Who comes to help me in this great distress?”

Jamasp arose and answered, “Righteous king,Trust Heaven’s turning and the truth I bring.

If you will hear me and believe me true,I shall reveal all that I know to you.”

The Shah replied, “Whatever secrets lieWithin your knowledge, speak; do not deny.

Though my head grazed the clouds that crown the sky,The turn of Heaven I could not defy.”

Jamasp replied, “O Shah, give me your ear;Hear now the word that wisdom makes most clear.

Esfandiyar the glorious, by your will,Wears chains today and suffers evil still.

If he were freed from fetter, guard, and chain,The Shah would not be stranded here in pain.”

Goshtasb replied, “Wise counselor of worth,A man of truth, the wisest on the earth,

I bound him in my court, though free of blame,And followed words that slandered his good name.

At once remorse took hold; I sought to cureThe wound my heart could scarcely now endure.

I bound him guiltless, to my heart’s despair,Deceived by Gurazm’s false and slanderous snare.

If I behold him here, I shall step down,And yield my throne, my royal cap and crown.

But who will dare to go to that loved one,And loose the guiltless prisoner, my son?”

Jamasp replied, “O king, the hour is grave;I shall go forth and strive the realm to save.”

Goshtasb replied, “May wisdom light your way,And be your true companion every day.

Go in the night, and greet him in my name;We wronged him, though he bore no trace of blame:

‘The man who wronged you now has breathed his last;With sorrow in his heart, his life has passed.

I followed what that foolish man desired,Whose counsel little wisdom had inspired.

I did you wrong, and anguish wrings me still;I mean to make amends for all that ill.

If you put vengeance from your heart aside,Come, grind our enemies beneath your stride.

For otherwise the realm and throne must fall,Our Kayanian Tree torn up, roots and all.

Then I will grant you crown and treasure-store,The wealth I toiled to gather years before.

God and wise Jamasp witness what I vow;His counsel guides the course I follow now.’”

Jamasp put on a robe in Turan’s mode,And left the heights with no guide on the road.

The sage descended to the plain below,And crossed by night the army of the foe.

Like wind, to Gombadan’s stronghold he sped;He shunned the wicked and the snare they spread.

One of Esfandiyar’s exalted sons,Nush Azar, watched the walls for hostile ones.

He watched for riders from Iran’s own side,To learn what tidings came with those who ride.

He watched to tell his father who drew near;Before long, he saw someone there appear.

When he perceived Jamasp upon the way,A dark Turanian cap on full display,

He said, “A horseman comes from Turkish ground;I shall go tell my father what I found.”

He hastened downward from the fortress wall,And came before the prince to tell him all.

He said, “Great noble, I have seen afarA horseman riding where the watchmen are.

A sable cap is set upon his head;I shall learn by whose word this man was led,

Or whether Arjasp’s hatred lights his eyes;If he is Turkish, death before him lies.

I shall strike off his head with one fierce thrust,And fling his worthless body in the dust.”

Esfandiyar replied, “Why such dismay?Have riders never passed along this way?

In truth he is a warrior from our land,And brings my father’s message by command.

My father placed that cap upon his headThrough fear of foes whose watches round him spread.”

When Nush Azar had heard his father’s word,He went back to the wall, alert and stirred.

He knew Jamasp as he approached the wall,Then hurried down to seek the prince’s hall.

He told his glorious father, “At the gateJamasp has come; he stands outside to wait.”

Esfandiyar said, “Let him enter now.”The sage came in and made a courtly bow.

Before Esfandiyar he took his place,And gave Goshtasb’s full message face to face.

Esfandiyar replied, “O memory brightOf wisdom, honored for your keen insight,

Exalted man of fearless heart and mind,Why bow to one whom chains and irons bind?

A man whose hands and feet are bound this waySeems Ahriman, no man of flesh and clay.

You bring me greetings from the king of kings;What wisdom prompts you to say such things?

Arjasp has sent his greeting to this land;Iranian blood now stains his murderous hand.

Though guiltless, I was bound and cast away;Gurazm must be the Shah’s own son today.

Let me stay bound; these irons testifyBefore Yazdan of earth and starry sky.

Goshtasb wronged me through Gurazm’s evil word;Ahriman smiled at what that slander stirred.

Such was the recompense my labors earned;My treasure into iron has been turned.

May memory of this suffering remain,Nor let your words make my own judgment wane.”

Jamasp replied, “Wise prince, your words ring true;All marvel at the mighty deeds you do.

Though anger at your father fills your heart,His throne and realm are nearly torn apart.

Yet think of pious Lohrasp, struck down low;Let sorrow arm your heart against the foe.

And mourn the priests, God-fearing men of worth,Whose blood has stained the temple and the earth,

Who chanted prayers, with barsom in their hands,And fell beneath the swords of hostile bands.

Eighty Mobadan, sages pure of heart,Were slaughtered where they kept the sacred art.

The Fire died within the sacred shrine,Drowned in their blood at holy Faith’s decline.

Such evil deeds cannot be counted small;Grow pale with grief and rise for Lohrasp’s fall.

If you refuse to stir for those they slew,The Guide will never give his praise to you.”

Esfandiyar replied, his manner stern,“O wise Jamasp, whose words with wisdom burn,

Think well: Lohrasp was pious, old and just;Goshtasb’s own father now lies in the dust.

He passed his throne and customs to his son;Let Goshtasb seek revenge for what was done.”

Jamasp replied, “If vengeance has no placeWithin your heart, it lacks a noble grace.

Fair Homahyi and Bih Afrid now standAs captives, full of grief, in Turkish land.

Their faces no wind’s breath had ever known;Driven on foot, how pale their cheeks have grown!”

Esfandiyar replied, “Did Homahyi brightRemember me in chains by day or night?

And noble Bih Afrid, of high degree,Had scarcely cast a single thought on me.”

Jamasp replied, “O mighty man of war,Your father’s soul is wounded to the core.

He and his chiefs are on the mountain’s crest;He weeps and cannot eat, so sore distressed.

The Turks now hem him in on every side;His crown and throne can scarcely long abide.

The Maker will condemn the course you choose,If faith and love are bonds that you refuse.

Your thirty-eight brave brothers, fierce and bold,Were lions of the field in days of old.

They all lie now in dust and blood and clay;The foe let none escape that bitter day.”

Esfandiyar replied, “I once had brothers,Brave, noble-hearted, dear beyond all others.

Yet while I lay in chains, they feasted on;No one remembered me till they were gone.

What use is vengeance now? Their lives are smoke,Destroyed beneath the cruel enemy’s stroke.”

Jamasp heard this, his heart consumed by grief,And burned with sorrow, finding no relief.

He stood in wrath, and as his tears were shed,He pleaded with the chief again, and said:

“O Pahlevan, though grief has made you blind,What of Farshidvard, loyal, brave, and kind?

He suffered bitterly on your account;In feast and fight his grief would always mount.

Wherever he stood, in battle or in hall,He cursed Gurazm as source of every fall.

I saw his body slashed by scimitars;His helm and zereh split with battle scars.

My life is torn with grief at what I saw;Have pity on these eyes, with weeping raw.”

When Farshidvard was named, the prince wept blood;His heart was struck as by a burning flood.

He cried, “O valiant prince, so sorely tried,O lion-hearted chief, my joy and pride,

Those wounds of yours are wounds that I have borne;My cheeks are bathed in heart’s blood as I mourn.”

When he grew calm, he asked, “Why was I toldNothing of this, while I lay in this hold?

Give order: bring the blacksmiths to my seat,And let them file these fetters from my feet.”

Jamasp brought smiths; they came when he had called,With heavy hammers, a steel anvil hauled.

They filed the chains and rivets, hard and long,The Roman fetters, like a bridge, so strong.

The work dragged on; the captive’s anger grew,And all his former calmness vanished too.

He cried, “Shame on your hands! You bind men tight,But cannot break their bonds with all your might.”

He twisted, sprang upright, and stretched his handDown to his feet to seize the iron band.

He strained with feet and hands through sudden pain,And broke to pieces fetter, ring, and chain.

His strength gave out; he fell upon the ground,Unconscious from the pain, his limbs unbound.

Jamasp, who read the stars, gave praise again,Amazed to see such power in mortal men.

Awake, he set the chains before his sight:“These gifts of Gurazm serve in feast and fight.”

He bathed his aching body, worn and sore,The iron’s weight a burden borne no more.

He called for royal armor, helm and blade,His warrior’s robes, his horse, to be arrayed.

He saw his steed of Barbar, thin and spare,And thought of God, the Giver, and His care:

“If I have sinned, these chains have made me pay;What did this horse do, wasting thus away?

Wash him and feed him; let him thrive and grow,And give him back the strength he used to know.”

He summoned master smiths to set things right;They readied jowshans, weapons for the fight.

Night, like revengeful Ahriman, drew near;The court-bells rang, a clamor sharp and clear.

With Indian sword in hand and royal might,Esfandiyar mounted and rode into night.

Bahman and noble Nush Azar took horse,While wise Jamasp rode first to steer their course.

When those high-ranking riders left the wall,They reached the plain beneath night’s shadowed pall.

Esfandiyar looked upward through the night,And prayed, “Just Judge, whose truth is living light,

Creator, mighty Lord, whose gifts impartThe light that shines in Esfandiyar’s heart,

If I prevail and bring Arjasp to strife,And make him answer with his blood and life,

If I avenge Lohrasp, the blameless king,And chiefs cut down by war’s devouring sting,

And my own thirty-eight brave brothers slain,Whose blood lies ruby-red across the plain,

I swear by God, the Judge whose laws endure,To keep this pledge, and hold it firm and sure:

For all the chains my father made me wear,No grudge or wish for vengeance shall I bear.

A hundred fire-temples I will raise,And cleanse the world of tyrants all my days.

No carpet shall be spread beneath my feetUntil a hundred shelters rise complete.

No vulture passes there, nor game is found,Nor Gur-e-Khars leave footprints on the ground.

In barren lands where no wild creature dwells,I shall command ten thousand deep-dug wells.

Around their mouths I shall set living trees,To shade the dust and gather every breeze.

I shall bring those astray to Faith’s command,And cast the sorcerers’ heads upon the land.

Before God’s presence I will stand and pray;No idle ease shall steal my strength by day.”

He spoke, then urged his battle-horse ahead,Until he found where Farshidvard had bled.

He found him on a cloth, his body torn,And saw the wounds that he had bravely borne.

So many tears poured freely from his eyes,The healer knew the grief behind his cries.

He cried, “Brave lion, seeker of the fray,Who brought this grief upon your life today?

Though lion or fierce leopard be the foe,I shall avenge you for this bitter blow.”

Then Farshidvard replied, “O prince renowned,This mortal wound began when you were bound.

Goshtasb brought me down, though I was strong;His choices led to ruin, grief, and wrong.

Had he not bound you fast, could Turks so dareTo bring such ruin, death, and deep despair?

Could they have shattered Balkh and seized the throne,And made Lohrasp’s blood darken every stone?

No one has seen or heard such grief as this,Which Gurazm loosed from rancor’s black abyss.

Yet do not murmur; take what Fate has made,And be a fruitful tree whose boughs give shade.

My life is passing; yours must still remain,To bear this burden, rule, and face the pain.

Remember me when I draw my last breath,And give to cheer my spirit after death.

Farewell, great chief, defender of our line;Live with a burning soul and let it shine.”

He spoke, then faded; all his power was gone;The noble lion Farshidvard passed on.

Esfandiyar clutched at his robe in grief;The silk was thorns, its softness no relief.

He cried, “Supreme and holy Lord, I pray,In goodness guide me on my vengeful way.

Let Farshidvard’s blood find revenge in fight,And guide my hand to set this outrage right.

Let me raise dust from stone and water high,And spill Arjasp’s blood, and see him die.

Give rest to old Lohrasp’s offended soul,And let revenge make broken honor whole.”

With vengeful heart, his head bowed down in grief,He raised his brother’s corpse, denied relief.

He laid the body on the saddle, bound,Then climbed at midnight to the higher ground.

His brother bound upon the dun, he cried,“What service can I render at your side?

How can I build a tomb to fit a king,With no gold, silver, gems, or bricks to bring?

No water waits, no masons build a wall,No means to raise a tomb, however small.”

He found a tree whose branches offered shade,And there his brother’s lifeless body laid.

He stripped the armor from his brother’s frame;His headcloth and his shirt a shroud became.

He left him there and moved with grief and dreadToward where Goshtasb had suffered, fought, and fled.

He saw Iranians slain across the ground,So thick they hid the stones and dust around.

He wept for men whose fortunes had been crossed,For ruined chiefs and all the glory lost.

Where battle’s heat had burned with fiercest flame,He saw Gurazm, the man of fatal name.

His horse lay overturned among the slain;His pale face streaked with dust and blood’s red stain.

He said, “Poor fool, ill-starred from your first breath,Your lying counsel opened roads to death.

A wise foe serves one better than a friendWhose counsel drives a kingdom to its end.

The wise pursue the tasks their strength can bear,And shun vain efforts that bring only care.

You sought my place and made the kingdom bleed;You shall hang in the next world for this deed.”

He turned, still weeping, from that wasted ground,And saw the Turkish army spread around.

The camp stretched seven farsangs, far and wide;Its mass obscured the heavens on each side.

A ditch encircled them on left and right,Its breadth exceeding any arrow’s flight.

He crossed by cunning to the farther ground,And toward the level battlefield was bound.

Some eighty Turks patrolled the field that night;They came before him, shouting for a fight.

One asked his purpose. “Kuhram heard,” he lied,“That Esfandiyar passed you on this side.

He bade me draw my sword and make you payFor letting that fierce warrior get away.”

He drew his sword, recalled Goshtasb’s defeat,Struck many down, then rode the Shah to meet.

Esfandiyar climbed up the flinty height,And reached his father in the mountain’s night.

He bowed before him; Shah Goshtasb arose,His heart still burning from his many woes.

He kissed his son and stroked his face, then raisedHis voice in thanks: Yazdan of all he praised.

“I thank Yazdan who let me see you here,With spirit glad, my son, and heart of cheer.

Do not regard me now with bitter blame,Nor turn from vengeance on the foe in shame.

Gurazm, that man of malice and deceit,Made love for you within my heart retreat.

His evil words have brought him evil now;His wicked deeds have darkened his own brow.

By Him who rules the world, whose sight is wide,Who knows what men reveal and what they hide,

If I prevail and overcome this foe,The crown and throne to you shall surely go.

I shall build fire-temples everywhere,And place my hidden treasures in your care.”

Esfandiyar replied, “Your favor, king,Outweighs whatever crown and throne may bring.

If he is pleased with me, his loyal slave,No higher gift or honor would I crave.

The monarch knows that when I crossed the field,And saw Gurazm, by death and dust concealed,

I wept above that slanderer in pain,And burned to think what grief had scarred your reign.

Our former griefs are wind and dust to me;I cast their broken memory loose and free.

Hereafter, when I draw my vengeful blade,And leave this rocky height with wrath displayed,

Neither Arjasp nor Chin’s Khaqan shall stand,Nor Kuhram, Khallokh, nor the Turan land.”

The soldiers heard their prince’s bonds were castAside, his harsh imprisonment now past.

Troop after troop pressed upward to the height,To greet their chief, their crown, their strength in fight.

The mighty men, both foreign-born and kin,Bowed low before the prince they trusted in.

Then high-starred Esfandiyar cried, “Brave men,Draw tempered swords and break their ranks again.

Advance, great swordsmen; let your anger flow,And strike down all who brought this realm to woe.”

The chieftains blessed him, saying, “You remainOur crown, our sword, our answer to this pain.

We pledge our lives to you with willing hands;Your sight restores the strength of Iran’s bands.”

They spent the night arraying all the force,And tending jowshans, swords for battle’s course.

Goshtasb spoke further of misfortune’s tide,With glorious Esfandiyar at his side.

He told of youths whose blood had drenched the ground,And tears ran down his face without a sound.

Those valiant youths lay dead upon the field,With blood and iron caps their heads concealed.

That night Arjasp received the news with dread:“Goshtasb’s son has reached him,” they all said.

“He slew our scouts along the road by night,And those not slaughtered turned their backs in flight.”

Arjasp, in grief, called all his chiefs to hear,And spoke at length to Kuhram standing near:

“Our thoughts were different when we crossed this ground;I thought the Div lay near us, chained and bound.

I said, ‘If we can catch that iron-bound foe,The world will clear, and Iran’s throne will go.

The crown and throne will fall into my power,And every land will bless my rule that hour.’

Now that the Div-begotten prince has fled,Our triumph fails; our hopes and joy lie dead.

No Turk within our camp can match his might;So let us march before we face his fight.

While crown and throne remain within our train,Let us return to Turan with our gain.”

He ordered treasures brought and horses led,With Balkh’s seized booty gathered as he said.

He charged Kuhram to guard the heavy prize,And bade his younger sons prepare to rise.

Four younger sons stood ready at his call,And loaded beasts with treasure, one and all.

A hundred camels bore the treasure load,Each with its guide along a separate road.

The king was full of terror and of dread;He neither ate nor slept nor sought his bed.

A Turkish warrior came before the king;Gorgsar had words of confidence to bring.

He said, “O king of Turkish troops, why fallBefore one man, as though he conquered all?

Their force is struck, defeated, put to flight;Its Fortune reels beneath this heavy night.

The Iranian Shah is grief-consumed and worn;His sons lie dead, his royal branches torn.

Esfandiyar alone came to his aid;Why, before battle, leave your troops dismayed?

Let me encounter him before the line;And I will fell him; triumph shall be mine.”

Arjasp, who heard his counsel and his claim,Saw courage joined with wisdom in his frame.

He answered, “Warrior eager for the fray,Your name and birth and skill are clear today.

If you make good the promise of your speech,And let your arm achieve what words can reach,

From Turan to the sea of Chin, the landAnd Turan’s treasure shall be in your hand.

My troops in every realm shall you obey;From your commands I shall not turn away.”

He gave Gorgsar the troops to lead in fight;Hope rose within the warriors, burning bright.

When morning raised the sun’s bright golden shield,And night withdrew its black robe from the field,

The world grew ruby-colored in the glow;The mighty force descended toward the foe.

Esfandiyar led down his troops to fight,The men who thronged the mountain’s rocky height.

An ox-head gorz hung near his saddle-bow,To break the lines and lay the proud foe low.

Goshtasb stood centered, eager for the fray,His soul intent on making Arjasp pay.

Nastur, Zarir’s son, took the right wing’s place,A lion-fighter with a fearless face.

He marshaled every man at his command,And set the right in order, band by band.

Upon the left stood Gordvi, bold and wise,Bright as the sun when Aries lights the skies.

Arjasp arranged his troops across the field;The stars were veiled by spear and flashing shield.

The air was full of banners, silk, and sound;Blue steel and spearheads darkened all the ground.

The center, where Arjasp took up his seat,Seemed ebony beneath tabiras’ beat.

Kundur held right: karnays, tabiras, cries;The king of Chigil held the left likewise.

From him a lion might have borrowed heart,So fierce his courage looked before the start.

When King Arjasp beheld that chosen force,With lance-armed horsemen all along its course,

He climbed a height and searched the armies’ sweep,And saw their chosen horsemen massed so deep.

The forces frightened him on every side;The world grew black before his failing pride.

He called the cameleers and gave commandTo bring ten camel caravans to hand.

In private then he told his men his fear:“If this drags on, with victory nowhere near,

And no bright hope of triumph lights our way,Have camels ready; let there be no delay.

My chosen men and I can then ride fast,And find a road to safety at the last.”

Between the lines fierce Esfandiyar wheeled,Like a foam-lipped lion on the open field.

He moved as turns the sky’s revolving frame,And swung the ox-head gorz with deadly aim.

The breadth of earth itself appeared too smallTo hold his wrath or answer to his call.

War-cries arose, and karnays filled the air;The warriors advanced with swords laid bare.

The field became a vast and crimson flood,A sea whose every wave was made of blood.

The air grew Pleiad-bright with lifted swords,As warriors moved against the hostile hordes.

Then brave Esfandiyar pressed down his weightUpon the stirrups, roaring in his hate.

He gripped his steel gorz, charged the center’s might,And killed three hundred warriors in the fight.

He cried, “For Farshidvard, I take this vow:I shall raise dust from out the ocean now.”

He gave his swift horse rein and turned aside,Against the right wing in a roaring ride.

There he cut down one hundred sixty more,And filled the field with broken shields and gore.

When Kuhram saw that slaughter, courage broke;He showed his back beneath the battle smoke.

Esfandiyar cried, “I avenge Lohrasp, now slain,Whose blood has filled the Shah’s own heart with pain.”

He turned his reins against the left-hand side,And blood spread there across the battle tide.

He slew one hundred twenty-five who cameWith crowns and treasure, men of mighty name.

He said, “Thus I avenge my brothers’ death,Those thirty-eight whom war robbed of their breath.”

Arjasp saw this and called Gorgsar in ire:“Our countless warriors perish in his fire.

The fighting men who stood before the lineAre dead; why does your strength give us no sign?

Why did your tongue boast so of fame and might,If now your hand hangs idle in the fight?”

Those words inflamed the warrior’s savage pride;Gorgsar advanced alone from Arjasp’s side.

He held a royal bow, its string drawn tight,A steel-tipped khadang arrow poised for flight.

He neared the prince and let the arrow go;It struck his chest, a hard and telling blow.

Esfandiyar hung sideways, feigning pain,His body drooping low beside the rein.

Gorgsar believed the shaft pierced jowshan’s scale,And that the prince’s radiant form would fail.

He drew his flashing sword and forward sped,Intent on cutting off the prince’s head.

The prince, in fear of harm, prepared to throwThe coiled-up kamand from his saddle-bow.

He called upon the Maker’s holy name,And cast the coil with sure and perfect aim.

It caught Gorgsar around the neck and head;The warrior shook within the tightening thread.

Esfandiyar hurled him down upon the ground,And bound his hands behind him, firm and sound.

He set a halter round the captive’s neck,And dragged him, foaming blood, a helpless wreck.

Through golden-helmed Homayun, from the frayHe sent the captive to the Shah that day.

He said, “Within the tent let him remain;Bind him, but do not have this captive slain.

We wait to see whom God will bring to grief,And who shall win this battle,” said the chief.

He went and led the army to the fray;Arjasp asked, “Where is Kuhram? Who can say?

His flag is lost upon the rightward wing;Where is Kundur, who made the mountains ring?

Where is that lion-catcher, whose keen spearAnd arrow pierced the peaks of mountains sheer?”

They told Arjasp, “Iran’s great champion came,Defeated fierce Gorgsar and quenched his fame.

Bold lion though he was, he fell in snare;The wolf-marked banner vanished from the air.

The air is violet-dim with blades held high;His capture makes the Turkish chieftains sigh.”

That omen grieved Arjasp and struck him cold;He called the camels from their desert hold.

He took the desert route with lords beside,And on those powerful beasts began to ride.

They led their chargers as they fled the plain,And left their troops to slaughter and to pain.

With courtiers riding toward Khallokh he sped,While dust arose behind his path of dread.

Esfandiyar then raised a battle cry,That rang from every crag into the sky.

He cried, “Iranians, do not strike in vain;Drive all your swords into the hostile train.

Sheathe them in hostile hearts; let Turan’s slainRise like Mount Gharan on the battle plain.”

The troops, inspired by vengeance, seized their reins;And force met force across the scarlet plains.

Dust, stones, and grass were saturated red;A mill could turn on all the blood they shed.

The plain was strewn with feet and heads cut free,With trunks and sword-clenched fists for all to see.

The horsemen pressed their charge across the ground;They did not stop to take the spoils they found.

When the Turks heard that King Arjasp had fled,Their bodies seemed to burst with grief and dread.

Horsemen fled; the rest threw jowshans away,And came with streaming eyes to beg and pray.

Esfandiyar gave quarter to them all;No more beneath his blows did any fall.

His grandfather avenged, his heart found rest;A chief would guard the men at his behest.

Bloodstained, he sought the Shah, with clotted blade;His shoulders chafed where heavy armor weighed.

With milk they washed his hand and sword of gore;They drew the arrows from the coat he wore.

He bathed, then dressed anew to mourn the dead;To God, the righteous Judge, his prayers were said.

For seven days the Shah, in grief, laid bareHis fears; his son joined him in fervent prayer.

The eighth day brought Gorgsar, all hope now fled;He shook like windblown willow in his dread.

He said, “My death will bring no praise to you;Let me remain your servant, good and true.

In hardship I shall serve you; at your side,To reach the Ruyin Dezh, and be your guide.”

The prince commanded bonds for hand and heel;They took him to the tent, secured in steel.

He reached Arjasp’s camp, where he shared the gainWith horse and foot who fought upon the plain.

Among the Turkish captives brought his way,Those who had harmed his troops he chose to slay.

Esfandiyar returned to take his placeWithin the royal tent, the Shah to face.

They spoke of old Lohrasp and vengeance won,And all that on the battlefield was done.

They spoke of all the famous men who died,And how the field had swallowed Iran’s pride.

Goshtasb said, “Valiant son, hear what I say:You smile; your sisters lie in chains today.

How blessed those who died upon the field,Not shamed by Turkish hands or forced to yield.

When subjects see me seated on the throne,What will they say of this disgrace well known?

As long as life remains within my frame,I shall weep blood and burn with this cruel shame.

By God Most High, Yazdan of depth and height,I pledge this crown to you before His sight:

If you go safely into Turan’s land,And brave the dragon’s breath with fearless hand,

If you release your sisters from the foe,The crown and empire to your rule shall go.

I shall yield throne and treasure, realm and store,And crown you king the day you reach my door.”

Esfandiyar replied, “May no one seeThe day when you, my king, are lost to me.

I am your slave, my father and my king;I seek no crown, nor any royal thing.

My soul and body stand as ransom still;I ask no throne to rule by my own will.

I shall avenge our dead upon the foe,And bring Arjasp and all his kingdom low.

No field or mountain in Turan shall stand;I shall ruin the breadth of all that land.

Through Fortune that the Shah alone has shown,I shall bring back my sisters to your throne.”

Goshtasb blessed him: “May your spirit findA lasting union with a prudent mind.

May God protect you till your quest is done;May you return to claim the throne, my son.”

He called his troops wherever priests were found,Or warriors dwelt, throughout the lands around.

He chose twelve thousand horsemen of great fame,All skilled in war and honored each by name.

He shared his treasure with the chosen men;Not one was discontented with him then.

He gave his son rich treasure, then bestowedA royal crown whose precious jewels glowed.

From royal gates the call rang out for steeds:“Bring forth the prince’s mounts for martial deeds.”

They bore the tents and homa banner high;The rising dust made black the sunlit sky.

Esfandiyar came from the hall to standUpon the plain and choose his fighting band.