Book E10Yazdegard

When Farrokhzad had passed from crown and throne,Then Yazdegard received it as his own.

In Sapandarmad, on the day of Ard,The crown was set upon young Yazdegard.

What said that man, brave, eloquent, and wise,Yet weary of the world beneath the skies?

“Would that my mother had not given birth,Nor Heaven turned above my life on earth.

Between two globes, in this constricted round,No course but silence can for me be found.

The days of greatness and the days of needSoon cease for all, whatever men may heed.

Time is not ours; look well and you will see;Contend not with it, small as you may be.

So spread the board, and drain the brimming cup;Let sorrow’s bitter speech be gathered up.

Though Heaven’s wheel should bear your royal weight,A brick will be your pillow soon or late.

Let not your heart be troubled overmuch,Nor trust high Heaven or its shifting touch.

With lion and with elephant it plays,Beyond all need, indifferent to their ways.

It will outlast you while the ages run;Be not puffed up by life beneath the sun.

You cannot better Fereydoon in fame,Nor equal Parviz with his throne and name.

Look deeply: see what seven spheres on highDid to young Yazdegard beneath the sky.”

When Yazdegard upon the throne was placed,The crown of kings his youthful forehead graced.

He said, “From Shahryar my line descends,And to Anooshirvan its glory bends.

From sire to sire, the crown is mine to wear;The Sun and Virgo, Pisces, are my share.

I shall advance the great and do no wrongTo lesser men who in my realm belong.

I shall seek greatness, wisdom, manly might,And war’s fierce ardor in the thick of fight.

For strength and Fortune stay with none at all,All treasure, kingship, crown, and throne must fall.

Fame will abide forever, not desire;Cast pleasure off, and raise your honor higher.

By fame a man shall live beyond his breath,Though his body lies in the dust of death.”

The chiefs applauded him with one accord,And hailed him as the earth’s acknowledged lord.

For sixteen years his destined course was sped,While turning stars brought trials overhead.

He ruled in peace and justice through the land;All Iran gladly lived beneath his hand.

Umar sent Sa’ad Wakkas to the fray,With troops to fight the Shah in full array.

When Yazdegard heard what the foe had done,He gathered troops from every side as one.

Then Ormozd’s son received the full command;His name was Rostam, famed throughout the land.

A wary warrior, wise in high estate,He read the stars and weighed the strokes of fate.

The Mobad listened closely to his word,Attentive to the wisdom that he heard.

With battle-tested chiefs he took his stand;For thirty months he stalled in that wide land.

At Kadisiya they pursued the fight,But Rostam read the heavens’ altered light.

He said, “This war can bring no victory’s glow;The kings’ stream does not through this channel flow.”

He took his astrolabe to read the day;Then held his head, foreseeing dark dismay.

That day’s dark omen spoke of grief and woe;He wrote his brother what the stars would show.

He praised the God who shapes both good and ill,Whose hand directs the turns of Fortune still.

“The searcher, watching Heaven wheel about,May find his searching heart beset by doubt.

I am the guiltiest man beneath the sky,For in the grip of Ahriman I lie.

This house is empty now of royal might;No time for triumph or for glory’s light.

From Heaven’s fourth height the Sun looks downward still,Foretelling that this war will bring us ill.

Both Mars and Venus threaten us with woe;No man escapes what Heaven’s signs foreshow.

Mercury stands with Saturn face to face;In Gemini has Mercury its place.

A mighty event approaches; in my breastMy heart is tired of life and longs for rest.

I see what is to come, yet choose to sealMy lips, and what is coming not reveal.

I wept for Iran’s people, grief on grief;And burned for Sasan’s House beyond relief.

Woe for the head, crown, justice, and the throne,For greatness, farr, and Fortune overthrown.

Hereafter Arabs bring defeat and shame;The stars turn hostile to Iran’s great name.

For four full centuries none of our raceWill count for anything in any place.

An envoy came from them to speak his mind;In council, varied views were then outlined.

They said, ‘We will share with your Shah the landFrom Kadisiya to the river’s strand.

We will open a road to town for trade,Where purchases and sales can both be made.

We ask no more; we will bear tribute’s weight,Nor seek the warriors’ crowns or royal state.

We will obey the king of kings in all,And give him hostages at any call.’

Such is their speech; their deeds have yet to show;But still the stars foretell our people’s woe.

Long will the strife be; lions fierce and boldWill fall, a hundred at a time, struck cold.

The chiefs who share my battle all rejectThe terms our foes would have our side respect.

Miruy Tabari and Armani fightThe creed of Ahriman with all their might.

Golbuy Suri and all these noble bandsBear clubs and heavy gorzes in their hands.

They heed no offer from our foes, but cry,‘Who are these haughty men beneath the sky?

What seek they here in Iran’s fields and ways,And in Mazandaran through troubled days?

For land and road, whatever good or ill,The gorz and sword must take them by our will.

We will exert ourselves with manly might,And make their world grow cramped and dark as night.’

None knows the turning Heaven’s secret thought,Or how its face against our line is brought.

When you have read, let reason be your guide;Arrange your plans with nobles at your side.

Collect your wealth, attendants, clothes, and steeds;Make ready all that such a journey needs.

To Azar Abadagan take your way,Where mighty, freeborn men have made their stay.

Whatever herds of horses you command,Send to Azargashasp’s treasurer’s hand.

If troops from Zabul or Iran seek aid,Protect them; lodge them safely in your shade.

Receive and clothe them; show them love and grace,Considering Heaven’s altered, hostile face.

For it brings joy and terror to us all,It raises some and makes the others fall.

Tell mother all: her eyes will not beholdThe face they rested on in days of old.

Greet her from me, and counsel her at lengthNot to be troubled past her inward strength.

If any bring ill news of me one day,Let not excessive grief bear you away.

Within this passing world, a man may strainTo gather treasure through his toil and pain.

But when his time to leave this world is due,Another tastes the fruits his labor grew.

At every hour worship God; departFrom love of worldly dust within your heart.

Our Fortune now is narrowed; nevermoreWill Yazdegard behold me at his door.

You and our household, all of you, uniteIn prayer and praise to God through darkest night.

Strive, and be generous; let no food stayHeld for tomorrow from your meal today.

With this my army I endure the fight,Through grief and hardship born of Fortune’s spite.

I see no hope of rescue from this ill;May this sweet land of Iran prosper still.

When life grows narrow for the king, hold slightYour treasure, body, life in such a plight.

Of that great race, so honored and renowned,Only that exalted Shah remains yet crowned.

Be not remiss in toil; the Shah is allWe have to look to if our fortunes fall.

He is the House of Sasan’s final trace;No eye will see another of that race.

Woe for the head, crown, seal, and justice lost;The royal throne will to the winds be tossed.

Farewell; be free from harm, but ever standBefore the Shah with loyal heart and hand.

If evil touches him, stand in the fight;Give up your head beneath the sword’s sharp might.

When pulpits stand as equals to the throne,And Abu Bakr and Umar’s names are known,

Our long toils will be lost beneath the skies,And long the fall will be before the rise.

You will not see the throne, the crown, the state;The stars give Arabs all by force of fate.

As day succeeds to day, the years will bringA man of no desert to reign as king.

In somber black shall many walk arrayed,With tall felt caps and garments of brocade.

No throne, no golden boot, no crown will stay,No gems, no coronets, no flags’ display.

One man will labor; one enjoy the spoil;None will heed justice, bounty, right, or toil.

They will abandon truth and oaths, and prizeDeceit and faults as virtues in their eyes.

The fighting man on foot must make his way;The mounted man will boast and have his say.

The peasant warrior will lose his skill;High birth and worth will count for little still.

Men will rob one another, and not earn;No one a curse from blessing will discern.

The hidden will be worse than what is known;Their king will bear a heart as hard as stone.

The father will become his own son’s foe,And son will plot his father’s overthrow.

A worthless slave will wear the crown one day;High birth and majesty will pass away.

No loyalty in heart or speech will stay;Both soul and words alike will go astray.

Then Turk and Arab mix with Iran’s seed,And from that mingling comes a different breed:

Not dehqan, Turk, or Arab in those days;Their words will be like games that someone plays.

They will hide treasures in their garments’ fold,Then die; their foes will take their labors’ gold.

They will claim scholar’s and ascetic’s name,And use it to pursue their private aim.

Grief, toil, and bitterness will then prevail,As joy once graced Bahram Goor’s feast and tale.

No feast or joy, no striving or desire;Their schemes and traps are all that they require.

For silver, father hates his son; they wearCoarse wool, with curds their only daily fare.

They make their profit from another’s loss,And veil their greed beneath Faith’s gilded gloss.

No difference will remain in spring or snow;No wine at feasts will let the goblets glow.

When long this bitter age has had its way,None will regard the freeborn of that day.

They will shed blood for wealth they hope to gain;The great will see their days of power wane.

My heart is full of blood, my lips are blue;My mouth is dry, my face has yellowed too.

I, Pahlevan, must watch this darkened day;The Sasanian Fortune fades away.

So faithless has revolving Heaven become,That it withdraws its love and leaves us numb.

My iron-piercing arrows strike in vainOn men who wear no jowshan and no chain.

My sword, which struck the lion’s neck before,And elephant’s, cuts Arab skin no more.

My knowledge brings me only loss and pain;I wish no thought of good or ill could reign.

The chiefs with me at Kadisiya stand,Hardy and hostile to the Arab band.

They think this field will fill with Arab blood,And earth will run like Jihun in a flood.

None knows the sky’s deep secret; none can seeHow long and bitter all this strife will be.

When Fortune leaves a race, what profit flowsFrom toil and battle, ranks and weaponed rows?

Prosper, my brother; may your care impartNew gladness to the Shah of Iran’s heart.

This Kadisiya is my grave; I knowMy armor is the shroud wherein I go.

My blood will be my headgear. Heaven’s waysAre secret; let no grief consume your days.

Keep both your eyes upon the Shah, and yieldYour very life for him upon the field.

For soon the day of Ahriman will rise,As hostile Heaven turns above our eyes.”

He sealed his letter, blessed the runner’s way,And charged him with the words that he should say:

“Take this to my own brother; let him hearWhat else is fitting, making matters clear.”

He sent a runner, like the thunder’s mightAnd lightning, straight to Sa’ad in rapid flight.

Upon white silk a scribe set down each line,A letter bright as sunlight’s splendid shine:

“From Rostam, Ormozd’s son, who wishes well,The world’s great Pahlevan, these words I tell.

To Sa’ad Wakkas, who would seek a fight,And make his world grow narrow, void of light.

We still must fear Yazdan who made the sky,The Holy One whose turning heavens fly,

Whose rule is justice, whose dominion love,Who holds the wheeling firmament above.

From Him, may blessings on our king descend,Whom crown and throne and royal ring commend;

The lord of sword, of diadem, and rein,Whose farr keeps Ahriman bound fast in chain.

A hateful matter darkens all our way,This needless toil, this strife, this evil day.

Reply to me: what king do you obey?What customs, then, do all your troops display?

You naked chief, with all your soldiers bare,Whose rank and power do you hope to share?

On coarse, dry bread and water you remain;No steeds, no elephants, no baggage train.

Let life in Iran be enough for you;The crown and ring are someone else’s due.

He has the farr, the elephants, the gold,A Shah from kings renowned in days of old.

No king on earth can match his stature’s grace,No moon in Heaven rival his fair face.

At feasts, he parts his lips in smiles of light;His teeth gleam silver, shining clear and bright.

His gifts could buy the Arabs all outright,And still not dim the treasures in his sight.

Twelve thousand dogs and hawks and cheetahs, deckedWith bells and gold, wear earrings jewel-flecked.

In one whole year, the spearmen’s plain could findNot food enough to feed these beasts combined.

The hounds and cheetahs, hunting, eat still more;He counts the cost as nothing from his store.

No shame within your eyes has found a place;No reason, love, or reverence lends you grace.

With such a face, such birth, such traits and ways,Do you desire Iran’s throne in these days?

If power within your measure is your aim,And these are not mere words of empty claim,

Then send to us a man of noble speech,A wise, brave man whose words have force and reach,

That he may tell your purpose, and declareWho led you to the Kayanian chair.

Then I will send a rider to the throne;Ask what you wish, and make your wishes known.

But do not choose so great a king to fight;Its end will bring you sorrow, not delight.

Anooshirvan’s just rule made old men young;From that great king this sovereign’s line has sprung.

His fathers all were Shahs; he too is crowned;No age recalls his peer the world around.

Do not fill earth with curses on your head;Hold to your faith and custom’s path instead.

No just and cultured man would seek the throneWithout Kayanian blood to call his own.

Take counsel from this letter, clear and stern,And let your eyes and ears to wisdom turn.”

The sealed words went to Pirooz Shapur then,A high-born lord among Iran’s great men.

To Sa’ad, son of Wakkas, then he rode,With Iranian nobles on the road.

Their souls were bright; their armor shone with gold,And silver gleamed upon each warrior bold.

With golden belts and splendor for the field,They came, each with a bright and golden shield.

When Sa’ad heard, he came to meet the band,With troops like dust advancing through the land.

They lodged the envoy; Sa’ad asked him thenAbout his welfare and the fighting men.

He asked of Shah and chief, of troop positions,The watchful lord, his lands and their conditions.

He spread his cloak for Pirooz, then he said:“With sword and spear as mates, our lives are led.

Brave men do not discuss brocade or gold,Nor silver, feasts, or sleep when hearts are bold.”

Then Pirooz placed the letter in his hand,And spoke the words that Rostam for him planned.

Sa’ad heard, read, and marveled at its tone;In Arabic, both good and ill were shown.

He spoke of jinn and men, and what was toldBy that Hashimite Prophet, firm and bold;

Of God’s pure Oneness, of the Koran’s word,Of promise, threat, and help from Heaven conferred;

Of customs new, of pitch and searing fire,Of bitter cold, and bliss men might desire;

Of Paradise, with streams of milk and wine,Of houris, camphor, gardens bright and fine;

Of honey, bubbling springs, and Heaven’s trees,Of joy that moves through everlasting ease.

He wrote: “If this true Faith the Shah receives,He rules both worlds in joy, if he believes.

He keeps the crown, the earrings, and the throne,With lasting beauty as his royal own.

Mohammad pleads his pardon, stands between;His form is like distilled rosewater, clean.

With Paradise the prize your deeds may gain,Sow no more hatred in the beds of pain.

Yazdegard’s person and this spacious earth,Its gardens, riding grounds, and palace mirth,

Its halls and thrones and feasts, I would not careTo purchase for one single houri’s hair.

Within this mortal world your eyes are dazedBy treasure, crowns, and ivory thrones upraised.

You trust your ivory throne and royal might,Your hawks and cheetahs, crown and signet bright.

This world is worth no draft of water cold;Why let your heart be pained by all you hold?

Whoever comes against me in the fightFinds Hell, a narrow grave, no other sight.

Believe, and Paradise will be your stay;Consider now which course you choose today.”

Sa’ad set on the sheet his seal in place,And praised Mohammad’s name with solemn grace.

Then Shobae Moghireh said, “Let me be sentTo Rostam.” On that embassy he went.

An Iranian noble came along the way,And to the Pahlevan had this to say:

“An aged envoy, weak of frame, is here,Without a horse or proper battle gear.

About his neck there hangs a slender blade;The tears within his shirt are plain displayed.”

When Rostam heard, he had a rich tent made;Its walls were hung with costly silk brocade.

They spread a Chinese carpet shot with gold;Like ants and locusts swarmed the soldiers bold.

A golden seat was set above the throng;The army’s Pahlevan sat, waiting long.

Then sixty men of Iran held their place,Battlefield lions, men of iron grace,

In gold boots, violet robes with gold worked through,With torques and earrings flashing bright to view.

The royal tent was dressed in bright array;Then Shobae Moghireh came along the way.

He would not tread upon the cloth outspread,But took the humble path of dust instead.

His scimitar he used just like a cane,Nor looked at lord or captain of the train.

He sat upon the dust and looked at none,Not even at their chief, Ormozd’s son.

Then Rostam said, “May joy attend your soul,And knowledge make your mortal body whole.”

Shobae said, “Accept the Faith as true,And peace and safety shall belong to you.”

When Rostam heard this speech, his brows grew grim;His face turned yellow as the words struck him.

He took the letter, gave it to be read,And answered all the words the reader said:

“Say this to Sa’ad: you are no king by right,Nor one who should aspire to royal height.

My darkened Fortune to your eyes was shown;Your heart then longed to claim my royal throne.

The wise do not hold speech as something slight;In this affair you lack discerning sight.

If Sa’ad bore the crown of Sasan’s race,He would be easy, feast or fight, to face.

But stars are faithless; this is sorrow’s day:What can I say with Fortune gone astray?

This crooked, hunchbacked heaven will be stern,And harsh toward us as still its circles turn.

Go back in cheer; no place for words is foundUpon a day when battles rage around.

Tell him: to die with honor in the fightIs better than to live for foes’ delight.”

Shobae Moghireh, swift as winds that blow,Returned to Sa’ad from the Iranian foe.

And Rostam called his forces to array.The horns rang out to send them to the fray.

Like surging seas the troops began to ride;Dust rose, and battle thundered far and wide.

The din could deafen even keenest ears,As troops advanced with lances, swords, and spears.

Shobae told Sa’ad with thunder’s might;Sa’ad bade all his troops prepare to fight.

The armies met, feet planted in the ground;Each held its place amid the battle’s sound.

Bright spearheads flashed through dust that veiled their sight,Like fiery stars that burn across the night.

The spears struck helms and failed beneath the strain;Three days the armies battled on the plain.

Then water grew scarce in the long-drawn fray;Their heavy armor on the warriors lay.

With burdened souls, the fighters lost their might;Thirst stopped both men and horses in the fight.

Rostam’s lips dried like dust upon the plain,His tongue was split with thirst and bitter pain.

Both men and horses fed on moistened clay,So hard the battle pressed them on that day.

Then Rostam looked across the field ahead,And saw the leaders of his army dead.

Then Sa’ad’s shout and Rostam’s roar were heard,And through the shaken field the armies stirred.

Each left his army’s center and withdrew,And from the crowded field apart they drew.

They reached the shadow of a rocky height,And there the chieftains joined in single fight.

There Rostam roared like thunder in the sky,And made his blade at Sa’ad’s charger fly.

He struck the charger’s head with such great forceThat Sa’ad fell, flung from his crashing horse.

Then Rostam raised his sharpened blade to showThe day of Doom to his unhorsed foe.

He meant to strike off Sa’ad’s head, but thenThe dust obscured the sight of both the men.

Then Rostam left his charger’s saddle-seat,And stood beside his charger on his feet.

He bound the courser’s rein about his waist,While blinding desert dust his eyes embraced.

Then Sa’ad rushed to strike him in that place,And struck his helm; blood streamed across his face.

As blood obscured his sight, the Arab’s powerPrevailed against him in that desperate hour.

His next blow struck the chest and neck instead,And cast the mighty Pahlevan down dead.

No man in either army knew the placeWhere dust had veiled the rivals face to face.

The army sought its chief on every side,And reached the field where he had fought and died.

They saw him from afar in dust and gore,And sword wounds, head to foot, his body bore.

They fled, and many chiefs were slain that day;From thirst, men died on horseback on the way.

The world’s allotted measure now was filledWith kings; survivors saw the bodies stilled.

They hastened toward the Shah, and in their frightThey rode without a pause in headlong flight.

At Baghdad Yazdegard was staying then;Around him gathered all the fleeing men.

From Arvand, Farrokhzad Ormozd now came,His eyes in tears, his heart with wrath aflame.

He entered Karkh and charged; no spearman’s shieldCould bear his onslaught; all were forced to yield.

Then out of Baghdad marched the armed array,To seek upon the plain another fray.

Dust rose upon the plain above the men;Defeat befell Iran’s troops once again.

When Farrokhzad returned before the throne,His dust-stained jowshan and his grief were shown.

He left his horse and bowed with formal grace,With bloodshot eyes and anguish on his face.

He said to Yazdegard, “Why weep this way?Will tears preserve the crown from dark decay?

You are the last of the Kayanian seed,Left fit to wear the crown in time of need.

A hundred thousand foes, and you but one;How can a war against such odds be won?

Go now beneath Narvan’s protecting shade;There loyal men will gather to your aid.

Like Fereydoon, go forth from there and climb;You are still young; a new task waits its time.”

The king of kings gave ear to what was said;New counsels rose and moved within his head.

The next day, he sat on the royal throne,And wore the Kayanian crown that was his own.

He called the sages, nobles, those who knewThe ancient lore, and shrewd Mobadan too.

He said, “What counsel seems most fitting here?What ancient precedents in thought appear?

Farrokhzad tells me: ‘Leave this place and go;Take all your followers where Narvan’s trees grow.

The folk of Amol serve you, one and all;The men of Sari answer to your call.

And when your troops are gathered in your sight,Return with power to face the Arabs’ might.’

You chosen chiefs, is this the course preferred?”“It is the way,” came their united word.

The king replied, “This course is not my way;Another purpose rules my heart today.

Shall I abandon Iran’s chiefs and land,Our troops, the crown and throne at our command?

Shall I preserve my life and watch them fall?That is not greatness, manhood, sense at all.

To fight the foe is better than disgrace;No shame should stain the Sasanian face.

The leopard’s proverb warns us, clear and stern:When hardship comes, do not from battle turn.

As subjects owe obedience to their king,In good and ill, through every changing thing,

So must a king not leave his realm in pain,And seek out treasure while his people strain.”

The great men blessed him: “Such a course displaysThe faithful kings’ accustomed, righteous ways.

Declare your will, your wishes, and your need;What pledge will you make with us for the deed?”

The Shah replied, “These thoughts my heart impair;They leave it ruined by the weight of care.

Our better course is toward Khorasan’s ground,Where we may rest beyond the battle’s sound.

For there we have strong troops in great array,And valiant Pahlevans to guard the way.

The Turkish chiefs and Khan of Chin will raiseTheir voices when they come to offer praise.

I will make firmer still that bond secureBy wedding Faghfoor’s daughter, bright and pure.

A mighty force will come to give us aid,Turanian lords with swords and ranks arrayed.

There Mahwi guards the frontier with his sword,With armed retainers and a golden hoard.

He served our shepherds, steward in their band,Raised by our field-wardens’ supporting hand.

I raised him for the words he knew to say,And for his eagerness to join the fray.

I raised him from obscurity to fame,And gave the worthless man a noble name.

I gave him border rule and men to guide,With lands and elephants that I supplied.

Though low in birth and standing he may be,He owes his rise within my court to me.

A Mobad made this ancient warning plain:‘Beware the man you hurt with needless pain;

But trust the one your kindness raised on high,From nothing to the heights of Heaven’s sky.’

I never wronged him, not in deed or thought;He will avenge me as his honor ought.”

But Farrokhzad struck both his hands and cried,“O God-fearing Shah, cast trust aside.

Be not too sure of men of evil grain;Another proverb makes this matter plain:

Though spells and toil would change what God has made,No key unlocks the bond His hand has laid.

A base-born root yields poison in the end;On low-born upstarts let no king depend.”

The Shah replied, “O lion, fierce in fight,I lose nothing to learn if I am right.”

He stayed that night; and when the morning shone,The nobles left Baghdad with many a groan.

He set his face toward Khorasan’s plain,And counted little all the road and pain.

The chieftains of Iran, with sorrow bowed,Accompanied their Shah among the crowd.

They blessed him, saying, “May the earth and timeStill know your royal presence in its prime.”

The army wailed with grief to see him go;Landholders, high-born men, came in their woe.

“If we should lose our Shah, how can the heartFind joy in home or country set apart?

We leave our homes, our children, and our gold,To share your burdens on the road you hold.

Without your throne our lives are nothing worth;May Fortune never cast you from the earth.

We all will go and wait for Time to showWhat games it plays amid the battle’s flow.”

Then eloquent Iranians, face to ground,Spoke from the dust, with grief in every sound:

“We left our thriving homes and thought to findThe world beneath your shelter, safe and kind.

Now, broken-hearted, to the Khan we go;From Iran toward Turan, weighed down with woe.”

With tear-filled eyes, the Shah addressed the throng:“Praise God, and let His praise grow ever strong.

I may yet see you all again, and seeThe Arabs’ fury lessen by degree.

You nurtured me, my father’s gift of care;I would not have you in my hardship share.

Do not share my distress; let Heaven showTo whom its favor now will turn and flow.

Resign yourselves to what its secrets weave;No man can flee the fate it will achieve.”

He told the merchants who had come from Chin:“Through Arabs, loss is all your trade will glean.

For now, within Iran you must not stay;Leave for a time, and take yourselves away.”

They parted, wailing, each upon his way;Then Farrokhzad led on the armed array.

He bade Iran’s tried veterans depart;He led the troops; the Shah came sick at heart.

By stages came the Shah to Rey; he soughtIn wine and music ease from anxious thought.

From Rey to Gorgan, swift as wind, his wayHe took, and there, now sad, now glad, would stay.

From Gorgan toward the road to Bost he went,His face was lined, his heart with sorrow rent.

The Shah, intent on Marv, wrote his command,To Mahwi Suri, warden of that land.

In rage and grief, with hope and tearful eyes,He called a scribe, experienced and wise.

He poured his heart out, then gave God the praise,The all-wise Lord who fosters all our days,

The Master of the circling Mars and sun,Who formed the ant and elephant, each one.

From nothing He made all by sovereign might,Unmatched in wisdom, self-sufficient light.

Then Yazdegard recounted each event:“Our kingship’s bloom has lost its hue and scent.

For Rostam died upon the battlefield,By Sa’ad’s hand, and sorrow will not yield.

Sa’ad, son of Wakkas, has no noble birth,No land, no learning, and no joy on earth.

At Tisfoon’s gate now his troops are spread;The meadowland and woodland lie ahead.

Prepare for battle with the force you lead;Unite your army in this single deed.

To you, brave lord, I urge my flying steed;Like wind I follow in this hour of need.”

He chose another envoy from the band,A clear-eyed man with counsel at command.

He also wrote to Tus with grieving heart,His face grown pale beneath his sorrow’s dart.

He first gave praise to Him who judges all,Whose gifts of strength and skill and Fortune fall;

From Him come farr and triumph, crown and throne;The royal diadem is all His own.

From gnat’s small foot to eagle’s claw and flight,From elephant to fierce nahang in might,

All creatures serve His will from birth to death,And none may live unless He grants it breath.

“This comes from Iran’s mighty Yazdegard,Whose father was a king of high regard;

Victorious lord of Iran’s armed command,Protector of its creatures and its land.

His God-fearing forefathers earned their name,And thanked the stars for crown and royal fame.

They made earth prosper, and their light was shownIn signet, crown, and splendor of the throne.

To frontier lords in treasure, rank, and might,With farr and stature, just in deed and right;

In Shamiran, in Ruyin Dezh, and allOn Kalat’s crags and Rada, heed our call:

May God, the great Sustainer, guard from harmBoth us and you, secure from evil’s arm.

You chiefs have surely heard, for all men know,The honor that to noble men we show.

Our hearts are full of justice, love, and care,For men of birth and warriors everywhere.

We prize your noble house; its labors holdMore worth to kings than any hoard of gold.

When Bahram Chubin broke the king’s command,And rose against the crown that ruled the land,

You turned from spacious cities, parks, and halls,From gardens, grounds, and palaces’ high walls.

On meadows and high mountains, fearing harm,You built your homes beyond the world’s alarm.

If God Almighty grants me strength and grace,And Fortune turns once more toward our face,

I shall reward your service from my purse,And praise your ready aid in lasting verse.

You must have heard what stars have made us bear,From snake-eaters with Ahriman’s dark stare.

They lack all knowledge, shame, descent, and fame,And hold no throne or treasure in their name.

They seek to give the world to winds of dread;Treasure lies scattered; dust conceals the dead.

It is the turning of the lofty skyThat brings our kingship harm from realms on high.

These crow-like men, devoid of grace and fame,Have neither sense nor knowledge, honor, shame.

Anooshirvan dreamed that this bright throneWould lose the lustrous glory it had known.

He saw a hundred thousand Arabs pourLike camels, wild, whose halters held no more.

They crossed the Arvand; smoke arose on high,And climbed to Saturn in the darkened sky.

In Iran and in Babylon, no seedWas sown, no harvest gathered for their need.

They left no fabric of the land behind;No trace of what had been for men to find.

The Fire within its temple lost its light;Nowruz and Sadeh darkened into night.

The battlements above the royal hallWould tumble to its courtyard in their fall.

That dream is now fulfilled before our eyes,And Heaven’s favor turns from us and flies.

All those we honor most will suffer scorn;The base will rise where noble men were born.

Ill will be scattered, good concealed from sight,And harm will show itself in open light.

In every land a tyrant will appear,An ugly scourge to fill its folk with fear.

The signs of darkest night already show;The heavens soon will darken all below.

Our counselors and Pahlevans agree;Their prudent minds have shown this course to me.

We turn our faces toward Khorasan’s side,To frontier lords, crown-seekers, eager-eyed.

We wait to see what turning time will sayTo this uncertain course we take today.

To Tus’s warden now we make our way,With drums and elephants in proud array.

And Farrokhzad and I are of one skin;He is my friend and bound to me as kin.

At Altuniya now he seeks the fight,And turns to meet the foe with all his might.

And Kashmihan, that faithful friend’s own son,Has come to court to say what must be done.

He spoke of fitness, service, and our need;I heard his words and gave them careful heed.

I heard from him the secrets of each height,The depths and caves that lie concealed from sight;

He showed what lay within his heart to view,And gave us counsel drawn from what he knew.

From here we sent out men on every side,To friends whose aid might help us stem the tide.

My battle force is far too vast to stayWithin these narrow holds from day to day.

He named Gombadan Fort and heights that layToward Kharmana along the mountain way;

And Lazhawardin, too, he judged as fitTo hold the stores we would entrust to it.

We held a council of our chiefs, and weighedOur loss against our hope, in balance laid.

We then resolved to store the crown and throne,The seal and signet, all that is our own;

All garments brought from Kashmir, Chin, and Rum,With Rum’s and Taif’s rich goods from every loom;

All that remains of what we have in hand,The clothes and carpets drawn from every land;

Gold goods and cloth, uncut, in forts shall stay,With all too cumbersome to bear away;

Provisions, too, and all the gear we needTo serve our wants and help our plans succeed.

Some forty thousand oxen draw the trainOf wagons bearing rice, our needed grain.

Twelve thousand ass-loads next of wheat shall go,Still in the ear, among the stores we stow.

A trusty Mobad brings supplies we need:Pistachios, millet, pomegranate seed.

Two thousand camel-loads of each we ask,With Bactrian camels laden for the task.

A thousand ox-cart loads of salt they send,To meet whatever course the stars intend.

Of dates a thousand loads, of sugar tooA thousand, weighed and counted, all are due.

Twelve thousand honey vessels, too, shall goInto the forts, as stores we there bestow.

Of salted meats, some forty thousand moreOur steward gathers for the fortress store.

Within two months, three hundred camel-loadsOf naphtha, black, shall come beneath the goads.

From Shamiran and Rada’s heights, a bandWill go with one Mobad, as we have planned,

To meet the elders, learned men of state,And frontier lords held eminent and great.

Let written lists record the fortress store;Account for all the goods that pass its door.

Give one account to him who guards our gold;The other let the gathered nobles hold.

On lofty mountains and the meadow ground,No harm from Turk or Arab shall be found.

Your help in these hard times will aid us much;These toils require every loyal touch.

Our minister, both skilled and wise in speech,Will charge our treasurer to give to each

Who labors for these stores at our behestFive Persian robes, in which he shall be dressed.

When toil is done, our treasure shall endowEach with a gold-wrought headband for his brow.

In these dark times, let forty coins be paidIn silver from the treasure for their aid.

One face bears God’s pure name, whom we revere,The source of all our hope and all our fear.

The other shows our face and royal crown;Our favor makes earth fruitful with renown.

At Nowruz and at Mehr, in bright array,Two mighty feasts their wealth and pomp display.

May all the world bless those whose hearts are kind,Who keep our royal diadem in mind.”

The Shah then sealed the letter with his hand,And sent it to the chiefs of his armed band.

A rider came, with royal words in hand,High-fortuned, seeking fame throughout the land.

The tabiras thundered down the royal road;Through Nishapur to Tus the army flowed.

Then Mahwi Suri heard, and came with mightTo meet the Shah, with spears and armor bright.

When royal Glory’s banner came in sight,With all the king’s great chiefs to left and right,

He swiftly left the saddle and his steed,And bowed before the Shah with reverent heed.

Across the burning dust he softly passed,While tears of reverence fell thick and fast.

He kissed the ground and long before him stayed;His army bowed, and all their homage paid.

They hailed the Shah and lowered every head,And Farrokhzad his ranks before him spread.

With heart made glad, he met him face to face,Then counseled him at length within that place.

He spoke his heart: “This Shah of Kayanian nameI place with you to guard his crown and fame.

Let not a breath of harm upon him fall,Nor make him owe you gratitude at all.

I must depart for Rey; I cannot sayWhen I shall see this crown some future day.

Against these Arab spearmen in the fray,Men strong as I have perished, swept away.

No horseman in the world matched Rostam’s name;No sage had heard of one with equal fame.

Yet by a crow-head’s hand that hero died;So Fortune turned against us in its tide.

May God among the good let him remain,And give that black crow piercing arrows’ pain.”

Mahwi replied, “O Pahlevan of worth,The Shah is eye and soul to me on earth.

I now accept the charge you give to me:Your king, your very sky, my trust shall be.”

So Farrokhzad, brave son of Ormozd, wentTo Rey, where he by royal command was sent.

The circling sky revolved from day to day,And love from Mahwi’s heart had ebbed away.

The shepherd craved the throne; his nature turned,And all his former ways of life he spurned.

He feigned an illness, kept himself apart,And plotted treason in his darkened heart.

There was a Pahlevan of Turk-Khan’s line,Bijan by name, whom Fortune made to shine.

He dwelt within Samarkand’s storied land,With many kinsmen near on every hand.

Ill-starred Mahwi, grown bold in evil will,Wrote him a letter, bent on darker ill:

“O prosperous scion of the warrior line,A strife has risen where your strength may shine.

The Shah is here at Marv with all his force,With crown and throne and treasure in his course.

If you should come, his crown and head are yours,His throne and parasol, his treasured stores.

Recall the vengeance owed your ancient sires,And pay this unjust house what wrath requires.”

Bijan considered what the letter meant,And saw Mahwi on winning empire bent.

He turned and spoke to one in counsel wise:“What course should prudent men like us advise?

If I lead forth my troops to aid Mahwi,That act will bring destruction back to me.”

The minister replied, “O lion-heart,To go and aid him shames your noble part.

Command Barsam to march with troops instead,To help upon the field where blood is shed.

If Suri’s bidding takes you to the fight,A man of weight will hold your judgment light.”

Bijan replied, “It is well; I will not go;Barsam shall lead the force against the foe.”

He sent out Barsam with ten thousand strong,Brave horsemen, swordsmen, trained for battle long.

They rode to Marv to wage their bold campaign,In hope that Iran’s throne would be their gain.

That force from Bukhara flew on its way,Like pheasants winging hard, with no delay.

They reached the town of Marv within a week;The tabiras replied to the cock’s shriek.

The Shah knew nothing of the ambush set,Nor that Mahwi Suri had spread the net.

The shouts arose; at dawn a horseman came,And spoke to Yazdegard in Mahwi’s name:

“Mahwi declares: ‘The Turks are gathered here;What bidding has the Shah for us to hear?

The Khan and Faghfoor’s captain leads the horde;Its weight is more than earth can bear, my lord.’”

The Shah in rage donned jowshan, set to ride;The armies now approached from either side.

He ranged the center, left and right in line,Then all advanced beneath the battle sign.

Spear in his hand, he held the center ground,While clouds of dust obscured the world around.

He saw the Turks engage with heated breath,Unsheathed his sword, and moved like marching death.

He charged, an elephant in wrath and might;Earth surged like Nile beneath him in the fight.

He charged the Turkish ranks, but none would stayBehind their king to help him in the fray.

They turned their backs and left their king alone,Ringed round by horsemen, fighting on his own.

When Mahwi fled, the Shah knew treason’s art,And saw the secret plot in every part.

Mahwi had planned to leave him without aid,Yet still the Shah his warrior strength displayed.

He slew renowned men in the bitter fray,Then, helpless, turned his horse and fled away.

The Kabul blade was still within his hand,While many Turks pursued across the land.

He sped like lightning flashing from a cloud,And found a mill beyond the chasing crowd.

Beside the Zark he left his weary steed,And hid within the mill in desperate need.

All the troops searched the stream with hue and cry,While turmoil filled the land beneath the sky.

His horse’s harness shone with gold; nearbyHis gorz and gold-sheathed sword were left to lie.

The Turks cried loudly when they saw the gear,Excited by the signs that he was near.

He hid within a mill, a humble shed,Sat on dry grass, while horsemen past him sped.

Such is this faithless world, whose turns deceive:It crowns a man, then leaves him there to grieve.

His throne had once ascended to the sky;Now in a mill he sat, with none nearby.

Such poison far outweighed the sweetness past;The world’s brief joys are never made to last.

Why love this cheating house of transient breath,When tabiras now sound the march to death?

They bid you pack and leave; the grave’s dark groundMust be the only throne where you are crowned.

With empty mouth and tear-filled, sleepless eyes,The Shah remained there till the sun would rise.

At dawn the miller came along the track,And opened up, with grass upon his back.

The low-born man was Khosrow known by name,Poor, with no crown or treasure he could claim.

He lived by grinding at that mill alone;No other trade or livelihood was known.

He saw a man of cypress stature, bentUpon the dust, worn down with deep lament.

A kingly crown was set upon his head,And Chin’s bright brocade shone about him spread.

His eyes were like a stag’s; his chest and neckWere lion-formed for battle’s storm and wreck.

No eye could tire of looking on his frame;His boots and pearl-set sleeves with gold aflame.

Khosrow looked on, amazed, and called on God,Then spoke to him across the dusty sod:

“O sun-faced man, what road has brought you here,To rest where wheat and dust and hay appear?

Who are you, whom such form and farr embrace?The sky has never seen so fair a face.”

The Shah replied, “I am Iranian-born,In flight from Turan’s army, spent and worn.”

The miller, shamed, replied, “I have no friendExcept my poverty, which has no end.

Yet barley bread and river cress are mine;I bring them, should they suit a man so fine.

I own no more; a poor man knows this ill,And cries beneath the weight of hardship still.”

The Shah, from three days’ battle, had not slept,Nor found a feast while war its hold had kept.

He answered, “Bring your food, and bring to meThe barsom twigs, as sacred rites decree.”

The miller set a woven tray of breadAnd greens before him; then for barsom sped.

He hurried to the chief of Zark to pleadFor barsom, sacred twigs to meet his need.

Mahwi had sent men searching every side,To find the place where Yazdegard might hide.

The chieftain asked him whom the twigs were for;The miller told him what he saw before:

“A warrior sits upon the grass,” he said,“Within my mill, a crown upon his head.

A cypress in his height, his face a star,With arched brows, mournful eyes, and kingly farr.

His mouth is full of sighs, his soul of pain;I set my humble fare before him plain.

Upon an old, worn tray I set his bread;He calls for barsom first, and then is fed.

With baj, the grace, he means to bless his fare;Well may you wonder at a man so rare.”

The chieftain said, “Go swiftly on your way;Tell Mahwi Suri what you had to say.”

He gave the miller to a trusty guide,Who brought him safely to Mahwi’s side.

Mahwi then asked, “For whom were twigs required?Speak truth, and tell me all that he desired.”

The trembling miller said, “My grass I bore;At dawn I reached the mill to work my chore.

I saw the sun itself! His eyes were bright,Two narcissus blooms, like a stag’s in fright.

His two dark tresses seemed the night grown deep,When two full watches pass and others sleep.

From him the mill was radiant as the day;His food was bread; his seat was withered hay.”

Who has not seen God’s farr should pause and hearThe miller’s words, which make that Glory clear.

“His crown is filled with flawless gems and bright;His Chin brocade shines out with radiant light.

He seems the spring when Ardibehesht is here;No planted cypress ever was his peer.”

When Mahwi pondered, in his heart he knew:“This man is Yazdegard; the tale is true.”

He bade the miller, “Hasten, take his head;Delay, and you this instant shall be dead.

I will not leave one branch of all your race,But sweep your stock from every living place.”

The chiefs and nobles heard Mahwi’s command,And wrath arose through all that gathered band.

Their tongues were full of words, their eyes of tears,As horror moved among the mighty peers.

A learned Mobad, Radwi, wise in mind,Whose every thought by wisdom was refined,

Said, “Evil man, why has the Div made blindYour eyes, and left your judgment far behind?

Kingship and prophecy, in concord bright,Are two gems set within one ring of light.

To break the one casts soul and wisdom down,And tramples both beneath the broken crown.

Reflect upon your words, and then forbear;Trust in the Maker; do not doubt His care.

The first of all the harm will fall on you;You leave your sons a field of sorrow, too.

Its fruit is colocynth; its leaves will bearThe blood your sons must harvest in despair.

Soon you will see your head abased in shame,Your villainy exposed for all to blame.

God’s Faith is ruined by your evil aim;The crown and throne will curse your very name.”

Then Ormozd, son of Kharrad, rose that day,A pious elder walking virtue’s way.

Firm in the Faith, he said, “O cruel heart,Do not from God’s straight, stainless road depart.

I see your heart and sense obscured by night;Within your arms are thorns you hold so tight.

Though strong in limb, your mind is weak and dire;You seek the smoke that rises from the fire.

I see reproach await you here below,And after death, sharp travail, pain, and woe.

Your lifetime now will be a wretched one;Fire is your dwelling when your days are done.”

He sat; then Shahruy rose to make reply:“Why does your boldness mount so rashly high?

In pride, against the king of kings you stand,Allied with Khan and Faghfoor, hand in hand.

Men found the sons of kings bereft of aid,Yet did not rush to slay them with the blade.

Spill not the blood of kings, though low your state;Till Resurrection, curses on you wait.”

He spoke, then sat in anguish, full of grief,His heart oppressed, his eyes without relief.

Then Mehr-e-Nush arose in bitter pain,And spoke to Mahwi in a forceful strain:

“O evil man, from evil stock descended,No foresight yours, no justice comprehended,

The fierce nahang respects the royal vein;The leopard will not tear a monarch slain.

In love and nature, worse than beasts are you;Yet still the royal throne you would pursue.

You covet now the Shah’s imperial crown;Consider kings that fate has broken down.

When Jamshid fell beneath Zahhak’s dark hand,How long the heavens wheeled above the land!

When Zahhak ruled the world and had his way,Abtin appeared upon the earth one day.

He fathered glorious Fereydoon in time,Who turned the world away from paths of crime.

You know what doom the tyrant Zahhak broughtUpon himself for all the ill he wrought.

Though he endured above a thousand years,The avenger came and answered all men’s tears.

Again, when Tur, consumed by jealous greed,Against his brother Iraj planned the deed,

And slew the virtuous Iraj in hate,The heavens turned against him in his state.

Then Manuchehr arose from Iraj’s race,And broke those bonds and set things back in place.

Third, Siavash, born of the Kayanian line,Bound up his waist, though not by glad design.

Afrasiab, by Garsivaz misled,Washed shame and honor from his heart and head.

He slew the young and rightful prince; from thenHe faced the hatred of the world of men.

From Siavash, Kay Khosrow then arose,And filled the earth with terror for his foes.

He split his grandfather with steel in two,And fear through every vengeful spirit flew.

The fourth avenged Lohrasp, whom Arjasp slew,Who then was caught by vengeance, as was due.

For Esfandiyar went forth in wrath to fight,And took swift vengeance with the sword’s full might.

The fifth recalls Esfandiyar, laid lowBy Rostam’s hand, which dealt the fatal blow.

Revenge then came to Rostam and his land;Nimruz, in turn, was struck by vengeance’s hand.

Remember Bahman’s deeds, the dust he raisedFrom Nariman’s great house, once highly praised.

The sixth recalls King Pirooz, high in fame,Upon whose head that bitter ruin came.

Brave Sofrye girded up his loins in might,To avenge King Pirooz and restore the right.

The seventh: Hormizd’s death, the vengeance due,When Parviz’s strength and royal power grew.

He dealt, as all the chronicles will show,With Bandvi and Gostaham, blow for blow.

The sky that turned above them turned the same;It kept its course through blood, revenge, and shame.

He struck them down in his day of strength and wrath;Revenge arrives and opens its own path.

One may not scorn the hour revenge will choose;That hour will come to you, and you will lose.

You will be punished for your evil thought;Your son will reap the poison you have brought.

Time never sleeps; turn from this wealth and gold,This tainted crown you covet now to hold.

You rise because the Div commands your heart,And from the road of holy God depart.

You seek a rank that does not fit your soul;The Div deceives and draws you toward that goal.

Burn not your soul and body in Hell-fire;Do not defile the crown through base desire.

Recall your scattered troops; let all draw near,And gather every warrior waiting here.

Go ask the Shah to pardon what you did,And let your plea be heard, no longer hid.

When you behold him, fealty renew;Then muster for the battle to ensue.

Be swift to seek forgiveness for your deed;Let wisdom guide your tongue in time of need.

If you refuse the counsel of the sage,In both worlds, infamy will be your wage.

The task that you should undertake today,Tomorrow falls to ruin through delay.

You wish the Shah more harm than Turks would do;How can such bitter malice dwell in you?

In battle, lion-like, he strikes with might;Upon the throne he shines with moonlike light.

He is the memory of Sasanian grace;No other king can stand within his place.

From sire to sire, his fathers kept their trustIn wisdom, lovers of the right and just.

From Anooshirvan down through Ardeshir,Their wisdom kept the royal pathway clear.

Behind that royal line stands Sasan’s name,A crowned world-ruler, rich in kingly fame.

The crown Kayanian God gave that race;Its kings were nobly born; farr lit each face.

Many have been your betters, yet not oneConceived such plans beneath the circling sun.

As for Bahram Chubin, in his day,Three hundred thousand horsemen fled away

On steeds in bargostvan, at one shaft’s blow,And left the field to him in sudden woe.

Yet when his heart grew tired of Shahs by birth,The head of his bright Fortune fell to earth.

So Farayin, who sought the royal throne,Unfit to rule, made evil deeds his own,

Was miserably slain, his pride laid low;Not without cause did time decree it so.

Fear Him, Yazdan who made the world we see,The crown, the throne, the signet of decree.

Do not disgrace yourself through reckless aim;These deeds will rise as witnesses of shame.

Know: he who speaks no truth before your faceIs foe to your soul, not friend in any case.

Now you are sick; we healers weep in grief,With bloody tears, and seek to bring relief.

You rank below the servants’ lowest slave;Let not your scheming heart a kingdom crave.

You wage your enmity with God on high;Through merit seek the throne beneath the sky.”

The shepherd-born had fixed his heart on power;Their counsel proved too bitter in that hour.

So has it always been; it is not new:Fortune’s derisions pass beyond our view.

It lifts one man into the lofty sky,And leaves another crushed and cast awry.

No love for one, no hate for one laid low:Who can the Maker’s hidden secret know?

The Mobadan warned him until the sunHad set and moonrise showed the day was done.

Yet still their counsel failed to change his heart;It could not make his restlessness depart.

When night had come, he said, “O sages, go;Tonight I ask my son what he may know.

We will call from camp some twenty wise men here,To weigh this course and make its outcome clear.”

The prudent Mobad left; a man of lore,A Mobad from his army, came before.

He sat with trusted men and bade them hear:“What do you think? Should the Shah live, I fear,

Troops will collect to him from every side;My secret now is known both far and wide.

By now all men have heard what I intend;His enmity will bring me to my end.

No life or land will then remain to me,Nor goods upon this earth, as you may see.”

A wise man answered, “You should not have doneThis deed at all, nor ever have begun.

If Iran’s Shah, your foe, in wrath should burn,His hurtful enmity you then will learn.

But if you spill his blood upon the sod,His great avenger in this world is God.

On either hand lie grief and bitter pain;Consider what your course may lose or gain.”

His son replied, “O father, wise in thought,Be rid of him whose enmity you sought.”

“From Machin and from Chin his troops will rise,And narrow all the world before our eyes.

Do not regard this as a trifling deed;While you hold power, press on till you succeed.

His robe could serve as banner to his band,And sweep you and your army from the land.”

Then shameless Mahwi heard his son’s intent,And to the miller turned, on murder bent.

“Rise up,” he said, “take horsemen; ride, and killMy enemy: his blood I bid you spill.

If he escapes us now, he will be free;No hope remains to bring him back to me.”

The miller heard and knew not what to do;His heart was torn, his terror sharper grew.

On Niran’s night, in Khordad month, he spedBack to the mill, his spirit cold with dread.

When from Mahwi’s court gate he went away,His eyes were charged with tears and dark dismay.

Mahwi, his heart full, sent a mounted band,Swift as the smoke, to follow, spears in hand.

He charged them, “Keep his earrings free of stain,His crown and seal; let no blood-mark remain.

Keep clean the royal garments that he wore;Strip them from him when he shall breathe no more.”

With tearful eyes, his face grown pale and wan,The miller cursed the deed as he went on.

“Almighty Judge, above all turning time,Wring Mahwi’s heart and soul for this dark crime,

For this abhorred command,” he cried in shame,With mouth gone dry and tear-stained cheeks he came.

He reached the Shah and cautiously drew near,As one who whispers secrets in the ear.

Then with a dirk he struck his royal side;The Shah cried “Ah!” and fell as life’s flame died.

His head and crown fell heavily; the breadOf barley lay before the monarch, dead.

Who hopes to linger in this world of painHas little wisdom in his heart or brain.

No wisdom rules the turning azure sky;Its wrath and love perplex the searching eye.

Look not with love upon the world below,Nor from its deeds let love or anger grow.

The seven spheres, grown weary, now discardTheir guiltless ward: thus dies King Yazdegard.

No king has perished in a way so low,Nor horseman of his force endured such woe.

The horsemen sent by cursed Mahwi foundThe royal cypress fallen to the ground.

At rest from throne and battlefield he lay;They came to view his face in that dismay.

They stripped his violet robe, his torque and crown,His golden boots, then cast his body down.

Upon the earth he lay, his body red;A blade had gashed the royal side that bled.

Blood-matted, flung upon the dust he lay;The emissaries cursed Mahwi that day:

“May Mahwi lie like this upon the plain,All gory on the earth in grief and pain.”

They brought an armlet back, and gems agleam,Undrilled, to him who planned this deadly scheme.

They told Mahwi, “The exalted Shah is dead;From ease and warfare now his life has fled.”

He bade them cast the body from the millInto the water when the night was still.

Two cruel servants dragged the monarch’s frame,All bloody, with no reverence for his name.

They cast him into Zark’s revolving flow,Nor cared what worth the dead man had to show.

As daylight came and people filled the way,Two noble men approached where Yazdegard lay.

One austere monk approached the riverside,And saw the naked body in the tide.

He hurried from the bank in wild dismay,And told the monks his news without delay:

“The Shah lies naked in the waters dark,Within the turning whirlpool here at Zark.”

Then monks and prelates hastened from each side,To mourn the monarch lying in the tide.

A monk cried out in grief: “O noble man,O crown-possessor from the royal clan!

No eye has seen a monarch in this plight;Before Christ, none had heard of such a sight.

His wicked slave, that misbegotten hound,Has brought this shame upon the royal ground.

He fawned upon his lord, then brought him low;May Mahwi reap the curses that we sow.

Woe for the head and crown, the stature tall,For heart and wisdom, counsel; woe for all.

Woe for the royal line once held so dear,Woe for Ardeshir’s last descendant here.

Woe for the Sasanian throne, its lost renown,Its farr, its stature, the Kayanian crown.

Woe for that young Pahlevan we revere,Strong, noble, wise, and royal without peer.

Go tell Anooshirvan how, in the mill,They struck your moon-bright form and left it still.

Though you were king and held the crown’s command,They pierced your liver by a miller’s hand.

They stripped your noble body in the gloom,And flung you naked to the river’s doom.”

Four holy monks plunged in the swirling tide,And drew the youthful monarch to the side.

They drew Anooshirvan’s heir to land,While all the people mourned upon the strand.

They built his tomb within a garden fair,And raised its summit to the clouds in air.

They sealed his wound with gum and pitch and musk,With camphor bright against the mortal dusk.

In yellow brocade was his body dressed,With fine soft linen underneath for rest.

A lapis-blue cloth over him was spread;With wine and scents a prelate dressed his bed.

With musk and camphor, rosewater and wine,They dressed his resting place with fragrance fine.

When they had laid the royal cypress low,A noble dehqan, one of Marv, spoke so:

“Reward lies hidden in the toil we know;Content, a man may leave this world below.”

Another said, “Though he could laugh, know this:He suffered here within this world’s abyss.

The sky deceives him with its fickle turns,And rise and fall along the way he learns.”

Another said, “Call no man wise or wholeWho serves his body and neglects his soul,

Who seeks out wealth despite his name’s disgrace,Nor fears the blame his soul must one day face.”

Another said, “The king’s lips now are sealed;No throne or crown to him will be revealed.

No seal, no court, no country can remain;Why spend such toil and time for empty gain?”

Another said, “Your words were wise and true;I have no praise to match the worth of you.

You planted in the grounds of ParadiseA cypress now beheld by spirit’s eyes.”

Another said, “God took your soul away,And left your flesh to mourners here today.

Hereby your soul receives its proper gain;Your murderer’s body enters grief and pain.

The Shah’s work now in Paradise is whole;His murderer takes the road that damns the soul.”

Another said, “Wise heir of Ardeshir,The harvest of your sowing now is clear.

You reap the crop you planted; clear and bright,The lamp of kingship sheds its royal light.”

Another said, “Though you are sleeping, king,Your spirit wakes beyond the mortal ring.

Your lips are mute; your spirit, with a groan,Went forth, and left your body still as stone.

Your body rests; your soul works on instead;Your foe shall hang upon the gallows, dead.

Your spirit speaks, although your lips are sealed;Your soul has flourished, though your flesh must yield.

Though from your hand the reins have slipped away,Your spirit still bears spears in battle’s day.”

Another said, “O famous warrior gone,Your deeds became the guides that led you on.

Your throne is Paradise, whose courts are vast;This faithless earth to other hands has passed.”

Another said, “Whoever struck you throughShall meet harsh days when Fate demands its due.”

The prelate said, “Your servants mourn today,And praise your holy soul as here we pray.

May this your tomb be bright with tulip light,Your shroud your plain and upland of delight.”

They spoke, then raised the coffin from the plain,And bore it to the tomb amid their pain.

Thus came the hapless Shah to rest at last;His toil, his throne, his crown; all now were past.

What shall we call the seven heavens’ deed:Justice, or vengeance on the Shah decreed?

If Heaven knows not vengeance, knows not right,No sage has brought an answer into light.

The man of faith spoke words obscure and bound;Within his speech no answer could be found.

If you have treasure, wise man, use its store;Let not your heart await one morning more.

Time counts our breaths; the world is passing by,And all our days beneath its motion fly.

While you still live, His gifts will never cease;The One who gave will give you fresh increase.

If what I earned could meet what I must spend,Then Fortune would be brother, kin, and friend.

This year the hail came like a deadly gale;For me, death would be better than that hail.

The lofty heavens shut away my storeOf fuel and wheat and sheep; I have no more.

Bring wine; our days are few and soon are gone;The world stays with no man, but passes on.

One came and told Mahwi, “The Shah now liesConcealed beneath the dust from mortal eyes.

The prelates, priests, and monks of Rum all came,With mourners of that land, to mourn his name.

The mourners all went wailing to the stream,And drew his body forth, once held supreme.

Within an orchard stood the tomb they made,Whose soaring summit rose above the glade.”

Then luckless Mahwi cried, “Was this our way?Was Iran kin to Rum before today?”

He sent to slay the men who built the tomb,And all who mourned him there, to share their doom.

They slew them, and they plundered all the land;Such was the wish that guided Mahwi’s hand.

He searched the world, but all his search was vain,And found no scion of the royal strain.

He held the Shah’s own signet and his crown,And longed to claim the throne and its renown.

He called his intimates and made it knownWhat purpose in his secret heart had grown.

He told his minister, a man grown wise,“The day of shame and battle meets our eyes.

I have no treasure, lineage, or fame;My head may fly upon the winds of shame.

The name of Yazdegard is on the seal;They will not bow before my sword of steel.

Throughout Iran, the towns obeyed his throne;Their service and allegiance were his own.

The sages do not hail me as their king;The troops place no reliance on my ring.

My plots were meant to turn another way;Why did I spill the king’s blood on that day?

All night my thoughts have filled my heart with pain;God knows the anguish in which I remain.”

The counselor replied, “The deed is done,And rumor spreads beneath the circling sun.

Now mend your own affairs as best you may;Your own thread you have broken in this way.

The Shah is dust within his silent tomb;The earth has soothed his soul within that gloom.

Call men of worldly wisdom to your side,And sharpen speech with sweetness as your guide.

Say this: ‘The Shah gave me his crown and ring,As emblems of the power of the king.

He knew the Turkish army had drawn near,And called me when the darkened night was here.

He said: “When battle’s wind begins to blow,Who knows on whom the dust of war will go?

Take now this crown and signet in your hand;They may serve vengeance when you make your stand.

I have one daughter only left to me,Still hidden where no Arab eyes can see.

Hereafter yield my throne not to the foe;By these clear tokens in my pathway go.”

Thus I hold what the Shah placed in my hand,And sit upon the throne at his command.’

Use this device to brighten all you do;Who knows what words are false, or which are true?”

“Good!” cried Mahwi. “You are a peerless man,A minister who shapes the wisest plan.”

He summoned all the captains to his hall,And told the lying tale before them all.

They knew, “This tale is false; it would be bestTo strike his shameless head from off his breast.”

A Pahlevan said, “True or false, the claimIs your affair; you bear it in your name.”

Mahwi then sat upon the royal seat,And seized Khorasan through his own deceit.

He portioned out the earth among the great;“I hold the seal; the world is my estate.”

He gained the world through gifts from his own store;The stars looked on in wonder more and more.

He granted Balkh and Herat to his heir,His eldest son, and sent troops everywhere.

He raised the vicious, men of evil mind,As fitted one of his own stock and kind.

He cast the sages down throughout the land,And raised the wicked into high command.

The head of right was humbled in disgrace,And knavery showed its face in every place.

The more he gained in treasure and in might,The more the ingrate’s heart swelled with delight.

He paid his troops and gave them wealth and power,And filled his kin with vaunting pride each hour.

A Pahlevan called out his men of warAnd made for Amuy by the river’s shore.

Garsiyun, worldly-wise, went on ahead,Before the troops, whose scouting force he led.

They turned toward Bukhara, armed for the fray,A battle-ready army on the way.

“To Samarkand and Chakh we march,” he said,“To place the crown again upon our head.

By Yazdegard’s command we seek this fight,Who ruled the seven spheres in royal might.

Against Bijan my sword shall now be drawn;Through him our Shah’s bright Fortune lost its dawn.”

In time the news to mighty Bijan came:“Mahwi has seized the throne and royal name.

He sends his seal and signet everywhere;The earth accepts the rule he claims to bear.

With warlike troops he turns toward Jihun’s strand,And comes for battle with a lifted hand.”

“Who gave the crown to him?” then Bijan said;The speaker told how Mahwi ruled instead.

Then Barsam said, “O king, the mounted bandI led from Chakh went forth at my command.

From here a warlike force went to his side,Whose horsemen in fierce battle had been tried.

Mahwi had promised you, by word and sign,His golden throne and armlet, gems ashine.

His crown and treasure, he declared, would goTo Chakh; all these he promised to bestow.

The ivory throne was yours by right, he said;For you should rule the world from it instead.

For three days I fought hard at Marv; then lightRose on the fourth, and I renewed the fight.

Distressed at heart, I battled without rest,Till tyrant Mahwi fled the field, hard-pressed.

The Shah of Iran, left alone that day,Called to his comrades in the midst of the fray.

He struck down many of our chiefs in fight;His comrades left; he turned and took to flight.

Thus without toil Mahwi secured the prize,And seized his master’s wealth before our eyes.

The faithless man, grown rich, forgot me then,As though we two had never met as men.

Though two full months my troops at Marv held place,He showed me neither gratitude nor grace.

But secretly he slew his lord and king,The world’s bright luster, glory’s living spring.

A Pahlevan whose stature, proud and high,Appeared to pass the moon within the sky.

No Turk approached his gorz upon the field;The hearts of mighty men to fear would yield.

Once he was slain, Mahwi usurped his place,And took the path of evil and disgrace.

The scouts report his force is on the way;We must not let him bar our road today.

Now that the foe in arms invades your land,You and your army must arise and stand.

Let thorns not blossom in the royal ground,Or all the garden’s memory is drowned.”

When Bijan heard, he gathered for the fightHis Turkish horsemen, warriors of might.

From Kachar Bashi he rode out, nor spentA single moment idle as he went.

When he drew near Bukhara’s outer bound,His troops spread over Nakhshab’s level ground.

He told his men, “Do not attack too soon;Let Mahwi first cross over the Jihun.

Let him bring forth his troops and brave the fray;Perhaps we shall avenge the Shah today.”

Then Bijan asked, “Did not the king retainA child or brother of the royal strain?

If not a son, a daughter might survive;Was none of all his children left alive?

That heir we would bring here and give our aid,And overcome the man who had betrayed.”

Barsam replied, “My lord, that race is done;The Arabs hold their provinces as one.

No king remains; the Fire’s own faithful bandRemains no longer in that conquered land.”

He led his force, his hand upon his head,In wonder at the world and filled with dread.

The scouts came: “Mahwi’s troops are drawing near;At Paykand they prepare for battle here.

They crossed by boat; their dust obscured the day,And all the plain grew dark along their way.”

Then Bijan rode before his men to layHis battle lines in order for the fray.

When Mahwi Suri saw that throng appear,His soul seemed poised to leave his frame in fear.

So many jowshans, helmets, shining bright,With golden shields and spears arrayed for fight;

So many gorzes, Chakh-forged axes rose;He grieved to see the numbers of his foes.

He formed his line against them on the ground;The sky grew indigo; dust wrapped them round.

When Bijan had arrayed his troops to fight,He planned to ambush Iran’s force outright.

Mahwi perceived it, raised a fearful cry,Then fled the army’s center, bent to fly.

Bijan looked forth, beheld his flag, and knewThat Mahwi from the open fight withdrew.

He called Barsam: “From out the center drawYour troops aside, and watch the man we saw.

Do not let Mahwi shirk the coming fightAnd flee toward Jihun in headlong flight.

Ride fast, and never let him out of view;We have another course we can pursue.”

Barsam of Chin saw Mahwi’s standard go,And drew his troops aside, and was not slow.

He rode in haste toward Farab’s distant town,With curses on his lips, his face a frown.

He found him on Farab’s broad desert track,Then pressed his stirrups, charging to attack.

They met; he did not strike him with his blade,But other feats of fearless strength displayed.

He seized his enemy’s belt with iron might,Unseated him and hurled him down outright.

Dismounting there, he bound him as he planned,Then mounted, driving him across that land.

His comrades gathered swiftly at his side;The news of Mahwi’s capture traveled wide.

They said, “Strike off his head with axe today;Why take him farther on this weary way?”

He answered, “No; Bijan has not yet heardThat I have trapped this faithless, evil bird.”

The news reached Bijan: “Mahwi has been caught,That slave whose deeds such misery have brought.”

The king-slayer, bound fast in iron chain,Was dragged in shame behind the warrior train.

When Bijan heard, he laughed in his delight,Released from care, his heart once more grew light.

They pitched a royal tent upon the sand,And dragged the traitor to his lord’s command.

The guilty wretch saw Bijan standing near;His wits forsook him in his sudden fear.

In dread he scattered sand upon his head,As one already numbered with the dead.

Then Bijan said, “May no man ever ownA slave whose heart such wickedness has known.

Why did you slay that righteous Shah, whose handHeld victory, throne, and crown by just command?

A king by ancestry, a Shah by right,Anooshirvan’s memory and Iran’s light?”

Mahwi replied, “For one whose deeds are base,Death and reproach are fitting, with disgrace.

Now strike my neck, and let my guilt be paid;Before the gathered ranks my head be laid.”

He feared the vengeance Bijan might prepare:To flay him, leaving bleeding flesh laid bare.

The warrior knew the secret of his fear,And paused before he gave an answer clear.

Bijan replied, “I now shall play my part,And purge the thirst for vengeance from my heart.

With such fine valor, wisdom, judgment shown,And such a nature, you desired the throne!”

He struck off Mahwi’s hand with one sword blow,And said, “No hand has ever stooped so low.”

The hand cut off, he gave a stern decree:“Cut off both feet; here let his station be.”

At Bijan’s word, his ears and nose were shorn;Then Bijan mounted, leaving him forlorn.

“Upon this heated sand let him remain,Until he sleeps in shame,” he told his train.

They bound his head and arms with cords pulled tight,And cast him down; the horns rang at the sight.

A herald went about the ranks to cryHis warning, passing every tent nearby:

“You servants who have slain your lords, beware;Let not vain thoughts disturb you everywhere.

Let him who spared not royal life be shownThe fate of Mahwi; may he find no throne!”

Three young sons of Mahwi were there that day,All crowned, with thrones, within his armed array.

They kindled fire upon that very ground,And burned the father and three sons they found.

None of that stock remained; if one should stay,Whoever saw him drove the man away.

The chiefs cursed all that house in Yazdegard’s name;Their hearts sought vengeance for the deed of shame.

“A curse on him; let no man fail to castThe curse his deeds have earned, from first to last.”

Now Umar’s age would follow; Faith would rise,The pulpit serve as throne before men’s eyes.