Book E8Shiruyeh’s Coup and the End of the Great Reign

When Shiruyeh sat upon the splendid throne,And took the royal crown to be his own,

Iran’s chiefs gathered round the royal seat,And offered fitting blessings at his feet.

They cried, “O honored Shah, whom God has crowned,O king of many gifts, of worth renowned.

The ivory throne bears you safe and sure;May earthly rule within your line endure.”

Qobad replied, “Be conquering and blessed;May happiness within your hearts find rest.

We never will take evil as our part;Justice with mercy gladdens every heart.

The world I keep in peace beneath my hand,And Ahriman’s works I cut from the land.

By law of old and precedent secure,The Faith’s full grace shall steadfastly endure.

I will dispatch a message to my sire,And tell him all that justice must require.

His wicked deeds have brought him to this plight,For he forsook the path of truth and right.

Let him before Yazdan confess his sin,And let a life of just accord begin.

If he shall heed me, he will not resentMy conduct, nor condemn my whole intent.

Then I will strive for justice in all cares,In public and in private state affairs.

I will do good where good is rightly due,And break no poor man’s heart in what I do.

I need two honest men of measured speech,Whose minds old lore and ancient lessons teach.”

He asked the gathered chiefs, “Whom shall I send?Who in Iran is shrewd, a truthful friend?”

The warriors’ glances silently bestowedTheir choice on two wise men to take the road.

Qobad perceived the choice in every glance:Ashtad was one, well versed in circumstance.

Kharrad Barzin was named, the other sage,Who spoke with wisdom gathered through his age.

Qobad addressed them: “O experienced men,Wise chiefs who know how Fortune turns, and when,

Do not find worldly hardship strange or vain;The great through travail gather wealth and gain.”

With brimming eyes the two prepared to ride,Their purpose firm, though sorrow swelled inside.

Kharrad Barzin set forth upon the way,With Ashtad Gashasp, sorrowing that day.

When both had mounted, Qobad, as they went,Said, “Leave the palace now with good intent.

Take now the road to Tisfoon; there conveyTo my glorious sire the words I say.

Bear every word in mind from first to last,And let no part be hidden, blurred, or passed.

Say: ‘Neither we nor Iran caused your fall;Your own misjudgments brought about it all.

You left the path of Faith and goodness due;God’s punishment has therefore fallen on you.

No rightful son would strike his father dead,Nor give assent when others urged bloodshed.

Again, your treasures overflow the earth,While your exactions drain each province’s worth.

You filled the hearts of upright men with pain,And left them bowed beneath your harsh domain.

Many brave riders, famed in Iran’s name,Who gladdened courts with courage, birth, and fame,

Have left their lands, their sons, their kin most dear,And scattered through Rum, Chin, and each frontier.

Again, when Caesar labored much for you,And gave you legions, daughter, treasure too,

He asked that Christ’s own Cross to Rum be brought,To bless his land and home, as he had sought.

What profit was the Cross, kept in its place,When yielding it would win his friendly grace?

You did not yield it; wisdom failed your mind,And none could turn your heart toward being kind.

Again, your greed obscured clear wisdom’s eye;You seized poor people’s goods and heard their cry.

Their curses rose and brought ill on your head;Your justice failed where royal law lay dead.

Moreover, sixteen sons you kept confined,Year after year to prison walls consigned.

No chief could sleep secure because of you;Each hid in fear from what your will might do.

Know, what has struck you now is sent by God;Reflect upon the evil roads you trod.

For all your wrongs, I was the means, no more,By which this trouble reached your royal door.

By God, it was not my design or aimTo wreck the throne or bring the Shah to shame.

Seek pardon for these wrongs; tell Iran’s chiefs;Turn back to God for help in all your griefs.

Perhaps He will relieve the griefs you bear,And show a passage from your last despair.’”

On hearing this, the two rode from the court,Their hearts grief-stricken by the dark report.

In tears they rode until they reached the wallOf great Tisfoon; grief lay on them like a pall.

To Mahraspand’s ancestral house they pressed,With heavy grief weighing on every breast.

For there the exalted king was kept confined,With court and royal power left behind.

Galinush sat before the palace gate;His martial splendor seemed to shake the state.

He wore his helm and breastplate, armed for fight,With steel gorz grasped, his heart all storm and light.

The Arab steeds wore armor row on row,And sword-armed soldiers stood with martial show.

When old Kharrad and Ashtad had dismounted,Those sages whose renown the wise recounted,

Galinush rose, rejoicing at their sight,And welcomed both famed chiefs with great delight.

He gave them fitting place and proper cheer,And honored them as men of name held dear.

The eloquent Kharrad then spoke with art,With boldness on his tongue and in his heart:

“The glorious Qobad, now crowned, maintainsIn peace the wide Kayanian domains.

Iran, Turan, and Rum have heard the thing:Shiruyeh sits now as king of every king.

Why helm and armor, why this ready bow?Whom do you fear? Whom do you count a foe?”

Galinush answered, “Veteran, prosper long;May Fortune keep your honored spirit strong.

You ask about this delicate frame of mine,Clad in an iron shirt of such design.

Your kindness wins my blessing; you deserveRich gems and honors, all that kings reserve.

Your words are good. May sunlight crown your way;First state your purpose; then ask what you may.”

Kharrad replied, “The glorious Qobad’s wordHas sent me here, and it must now be heard.

He charged me to address the fallen king;Now seek an audience for the words I bring.”

Galinush said, “Who else could keep them true,O honored sage, remembering as you do?

Yet Qobad gave me counsel on this head,And charged me thus about the king; he said:

‘Let no man visit Khosrow night or day,Until you first have heard what he would say.’

In Farsi or in Pahlavi, I must hearWhatever message you would carry here.”

Ashtad replied, “My message is not sealed,O favored warden, with your sword and shield.

It says, ‘The sword bears fruit in this embrace:Proud chieftains’ heads within the lap find place.’

Now ask for audience of the captive king,That we may speak what Shah Qobad would bring.”

Galinush heard and rose and bound his belt,Then entered where the fallen monarch dwelt.

With folded arms, as servants should, he said:“Live ever, Shah; let no ill touch your head.

Ashtad and Kharrad Barzin, men of fame,Bring words from him who bears the royal name.”

Khosrow laughed and said, “Speak words more wise;If he is king, what am I in your eyes?

If I am held a captive in this place,Why seek my leave to come before my face?

Whether their words be false or words be true,What need to ask my leave to bring them through?”

Galinush came back to the waiting two,And gave the Shah’s reply, complete and due.

He said, “Go in with folded arms, and sayThe words you bear; then hear him out today.”

In Chinese silk they wrapped the mouth and chin,As ancient rites required of men within.

They bowed before the Shah, their heads bent low,And stood a long while there before him so.

Upon his jeweled throne the Shah reclined;There sheep and wolves in woven gold were twined.

With gems and gold the figures shone arrayed;His mattress lay beneath yellow brocade.

He leaned against a cushion lapis-blue,A quince in hand, while grief within him grew.

When he beheld those chiefs of wisdom bright,He roused himself and prayed to God for light.

He set the quince upon the cushion down,Then greeted both the envoys of the crown.

The quince slipped from the cushion, smoothly round,Rolled down across the couch and reached the ground.

Ashtad ran forward, wiped away the dust,And laid it on his head in loyal trust.

Khosrow turned his face from Ashtad’s place,So he would neither see nor scent its trace.

They set the quince again upon the throne,And stood aside, uncertain, still as stone.

The falling quince alarmed the captive king;He found no happy omen in the thing.

He said, “O Judge of truth, the One, the Just,Who raises what Your sentence casts to dust?

Who joins what You have broken with Your hand?Who can restore what You will not let stand?

Bright Fortune from our house has taken flight,And brought deep sorrow after days of light.”

Then to Ashtad he said, “Now bring the wordFrom my own monstrous child, whose shame is heard,

And from that scattered band of servants, soreWith hatred, black of heart and base at core.

Malignant fools they are; in folly’s net,They drown in malice, blind to all regret.

Our Fortune leaves; our joy and crown decay;The throne will pass to worthless folk one day.

This royal tree will be destroyed by fate;The base will rise, the noble fall from state.

Nor will our line remain as high and great;Our friends will turn against us, filled with hate.

They will revile and ruin all our race;This quince has shown the secret to my face.

The throne of kings is stripped of fruit and flower;Now speak the words you heard in this dark hour.

His words are worth less than the stream’s swift flow;Repeat his charges; let me hear and know.”

The two men loosed their tongues and told him all,All Qobad said concerning rise and fall.

They kept not even one small whisper back;The king heard all and felt his spirit crack.

He writhed in grief and drew a deep cold sigh,Then spoke to them with pain in voice and eye:

“Hear now my answer; carry every wordTo that young prince whose charge from you I heard.

Say: ‘Quit your own misdeeds before you blame;These are not words that from your own mind came.

A curse upon your tongue for such a speech;Do not let folly give your foes such reach.

Nor let them learn from words that others frameYour mind lacks knowledge worthy of your name.

If you put trust in speech that brings no gain,Both soul and judgment suffer equal stain.

Who calls you wicked, then proclaims you kingShould not before you judge a single thing.

Let no such man direct affairs of state,In any matter, whether small or great.

Send no such messages another day,Or foes will take delight in what you say.

God has prepared my work and paved my road;My treasure in the other world is stowed.

And by these lying charges you have made,No noble heart will praise the part you played.’”

“Now I will make full answer; mark it well,Repeat my words wherever people dwell.

They shall remain my witness when I die,A truthful record none may set awry.

Then you will know, when I unfold my pain,That all my treasures came through toil and strain.

You first have spoken of my father’s days,Of Hormizd’s anger and his bitter ways.

My father’s wrath against us rose through lies,By slanderers’ tongues that darkened royal eyes.

When I perceived the purpose of his thought,By night I fled the roads his servants sought.

I sought a road of flight and slipped away,Nor let the trap of trouble make me stay.

His hostile purpose was no fault of mine;Escape alone could foil his dark design.

When tidings of my father’s harm were heard,I left Barda upon that grievous word.

That knave Bahram Chubin with his trainOpposed me fiercely on the battle plain.

I fled from him upon the day of fight,Lest I should fall within his grasp and might.

But afterward I came with troops afield,And fought him with the force I chose to wield.

Not once alone did we contend in strife;The world looked on as each fought for his life.

By God’s command, whose blessings never cease,Who guides through good and ill, through war and peace,

Iran and Turan came to peace again,And all of Bahram’s schemes proved fruitless then.

Released from war, I turned at once to takeThe vengeance owed for my slain father’s sake.

Bandvi and Gostaham, my mother’s brothers,Were peerless men, surpassing many others.

They risked their lives for me through love and kin,And yet my father’s blood cried out within.

His murder left me grieving and dismayed;I would not let my vengeance be delayed.

I struck off Bandvi’s hand and foot that day,For he had helped to sweep my sire away.

And Gostaham, who sought a distant land,Was suddenly struck down at my command.

Those murderers’ lives and purposes were crossed;Their aims were broken, and their hopes were lost.

Next, as to what you said of your own case,Your narrow bonds, your prison, and disgrace,

I kept my sons apart from evil ways,Lest harm recoil upon their future days.

You were not bound in hardship or in pain,Nor made to fear disgrace or hurtful strain.

No scorn was meant; my treasury was yours,As former Shahs had opened royal stores.

I acted by precedent, not in pride,Nor cast ancestral custom there aside.

The chase, the harp, the polo field, the feast,All princely sports were yours, from most to least.

You had your hawks and cheetahs, gems and gold,And all delights a princely house could hold.

Your so-called prison was a palace bright,Where you passed days in pleasure and delight.

I feared you, too, for what the star-readers said,Their dark prediction burning in my head.

Yet now the very harm I feared appears,And all their words have ripened into tears.

I never parted with the starry scrollThat warned of danger to the crown and soul.

I sealed it, then to Shirin gave the same,To keep the secret of your star and name.

When thirty-six years of my reign had passed,Amid those happy days that could not last—

You surely keep this matter still in mind,Though time has left those distant days behind—

From distant Hind a letter reached your hand;I too had read it, and I understand.

The Raja sent us with that letter’s graceFine jewels, cloth, and treasures from each place,

An Indian sword, an elephant snow-white,And all that I could wish for my delight.

With that keen sword came cloth of golden weave,And polished gems whose worth none could conceive.

The letter sent to you on silk then boreThe script of Hind, whose words I would explore.

When I beheld the Indian script displayed,I called an Indian scribe to give me aid.

He read the Raja’s words, then shook his head,And shed his tears upon the words he read.

It said, ‘Live joyfully, for you are worthBoth joy and realm and mastery on earth.

In Azar’s month, when Dey’s day comes around,You shall become world-ruler, and be crowned.

Your sire will reign for thirty-eight full years;Then stars will set your crown above your peers.

Your fortunate days will shine with royal light,A crown of greatness on your head set bright.’

These words have been fulfilled to me today,Yet love should not be washed from hearts away.

I knew that fortune had decreed for youA throne made bright while mine was darkened too.

I knew my portion would be grief and care,My shining day would darken to despair.

Compassion, faith, and kinship held their part;Through love, that letter never chilled my heart.

I read it, pondering each warning deep,Then gave the letter to Shirin to keep.

In Shirin’s keeping lie the letter sealed,And horoscope that once your fate revealed.

No great or small man knows of either one;The secret has been hidden from the sun.

If you would see them, ask, and you shall learn;Then judge what thoughts within your heart may turn.

I think that seeing it will make you rue,And seek some cure for what you came to do.

You spoke of bonds, imprisonment, and pain,And how we injured others in our reign.

That is the rule of kings from former days;Ask learned Mobadan of the old ways.

If you do not know, ask what they advise;Their answer will stand clear before your eyes:

‘For him who is God’s enemy, this lifeIs evil, darkened by his wicked strife.’

Those in our prison were mere Divs in form,Whose deeds against the just became a storm.

Bloodshed and cruelty were never mine;I never made oppression kingship’s sign.

I kept the wicked caged, because their spiteHad wrought such harm as no man counted slight.

But now I hear that you have freed these men,Worse than fierce dragons loosed from pit and den.

For this you sin alike in word and deed,Before the God whose judgment all must heed.

Now you are king, be prudent in your will;Consult the wise if you lack royal skill.

Spare not the man from whom afflictions flow,Though hopes of treasure from his service grow.

What better check than prison to restrainThe man who brings the world but grief and pain?

Your charge about my wealth reveals you blindTo royal judgment and a prudent mind.

We sought but toll and tribute men could pay,From those with strength to bear that charge each day.

Men called them foes, born of an evil breed,The wicked offspring of Ahriman’s seed.

But since we kept the thought of God in view,We passed those words by, giving them no due.

From Him I had the crown and royal state;The price was dear, as all men know my fate.

The Maker, righteous Judge of king and slave,Has willed this change and darkened what He gave.

In all this world His will is paramount;We seek no more when He has closed account.

We sought to please our Judge through every toil,Yet could not flee the share of fate’s recoil.

When He shall question me, I will tell all;His judgment weighs both rise and final fall.

That Questioner is wiser far than you,And judges what is false and what is true.

Those miscreants who stand before you nowAre neither friends nor faithful to their vow.

What they say now of me, they will say tooOf you before your foes when time is due.

They are the slaves of silver and of gold;No helper will you find in such a fold.

Through them your heart is stained; yet let us clearThe guilt with which you charge your father here.

These words lie far beyond your mind’s poor reach;No man shall profit from such evil speech.

I speak for those in future days who readThis Pahlavi account of word and deed.

It shall remain a record, standing fast,A banner of wise counsel at the mast.

It shall console each searching, thoughtful mind,And teach our policy to humankind.

After our death, whoever reads this pageWill know the rule that governed king and sage.

From Bartas and from Chin troops I conveyed,And sepahbods throughout the realm arrayed.

I struck my foes through mountain, plain, and land,Till none against me dared arise and stand.

When they were scattered, treasure filled each store;The whole land labored and produced still more.

So many gems they drew from ocean’s floor,The sailors wearied with the work they bore.

Plain, sea, and mountain all my will obeyed;Their wealth was daily to my treasury paid.

When all the silver in our vaults ran dry,New minted gold renewed the whole supply.

There precious stones and royal jewels lay,With clothes and gear of war in bright array.

When I had worn the crown for twenty-six years,Our treasuries were rich beyond all fears.

I struck new silver coins and turned to joy,To merriment no sorrow could destroy.

That year, I counted tribute, reckoned all;A hundred thousand bags of coin met the call.

Each bag held twelve full thousand coins of gold;Their royal worth was more than could be told.

Besides came wealth from India’s royal hand,From Rum and every distant foreign land.

Besides came tribute from each province wide,And gifts from lords and rulers on each side.

Our court received their offerings at New Year,And Mehr brought gifts when autumn days drew near.

They brought fine horses and fair-faced slaves,And arms in shining heaps like running waves.

Cuirasses, helmets, gorzes, blades well-wrought,As tribute to our palace door were brought.

Musk, camphor, sable, costly furs they bore,Black, white, and tawny pelts piled on the floor.

Our subjects loaded beasts with costly freight,And hastened to our royal palace gate.

None held back tribute or refused to serve;Their payments did not falter, fail, or swerve.

We built this guarded hoard through toil and care,Reserved for war and hardships we might bear.

Beside the hoards Arus and Khazra layThis wealth, reserved against an evil day.

We long debated what its name should be,And called it Bad Awar by royal decree.

Thus in the twenty-sixth year of my crown,High Heaven smiled and set my foes all down,

Until the thirty-eighth full year had come;My chiefs were safe, my enemies struck dumb.

Now I have heard the orders you have made;Through them, the world is troubled and dismayed.

The world, deprived of pleasure, must be mute;Your reign will fill the earth with bitter fruit.

You will make earth calamitous and bare,With suffering and ruin everywhere.

Moreover, those destructive men you found,Whose counsel lights your darkness all around,

Will cast your throne away and leave no trace,And rob your kingship of its joy and grace.

Were there one sage beside you in your hall,To light your darkened mind before its fall,

You would not err in giving wealth away;The worthy would receive it day by day.

My son, your days are few, your wisdom slight;Anxiety will rob your soul of light.

Know this: our treasures are your royal stay;The chance remains within your grasp today.

These treasures are the sinews of the crown;A king without them soon is beaten down.

A pauper Shah will rule unjustly still,And empty hands lack strength for royal will.

Without the means to give, a king will fall,Declared a fraud and not a Shah by all.

Should riches reach your foes at your command,They are like idols in a Brahman’s hand.

Then worshippers will turn aside from God,And spurn your fame beneath dishonor’s rod.

If you are treasureless, no army stays;Your subjects will not hail you with their praise.

The dog begs bread; but sate his appetite,And he may turn against you with a bite.

Again, you blamed my battle plans and saidI stationed troops along each road ahead.

You blame through ignorance, not knowing gainFrom loss, nor how kings guard the open plain.

Through toil I gathered treasure for the crown,Took foreign cities, fought and struck foes down,

That we might sit in peace, without alarm,Upon the pleasant throne secure from harm.

I set my horsemen on each frontier line,To guard the realm and keep its borders mine.

When you recall the troops from every side,The foe will see the roads stand open wide.

Iran is like a garden in the spring,Where happy blossoms never fail to cling.

It bears pomegranate, quince, and flowers bright,And apple branches fragrant with delight.

But when that orchard stands with none to tend,Its fragrant roots and branches meet their end.

The quince and pomegranate boughs they break;The fragrant herbs up by their roots they take.

Iran’s stout wall is army, arms, and gear;Along its fence, each thorn a sharpened spear.

If wantonly you tear its garden wall,The garden’s bloom will perish, root and all.

What then divides that garden from the plain,The sea or upland, when no walls remain?

Cast not its wall down through a rash mistake,Or hearts and backs throughout Iran will break.

Then raid and ravage, horsemen’s battle-cry,And drawn-out vengeance follow, rising high.

Expose not wives and children, realm and landTo ruin by your young and reckless hand.

Let but one such year pass, and sages allWill name you fool for that destructive fall.

Now I have heard you give high place and rankTo men unworthy, men whose hearts are blank.

Know this: wise Anooshirvan, Qobad’s son,Set down this counsel on what should be done:

Who gives his weapons to a hostile handGives up his life to slaughter in the land.

When he would claim those arms again for fight,His foe will turn them on him in his might.

As for the message Caesar sent to you,You called me self-willed, wavering, untrue.

You do not know the facts, nor judge them right;Some counselor has darkened all your sight.

You praise his faith, and blame my faithless way;What faith or faithlessness is, can you say?

Receive my answer, you of little wit,Yet hear the right in what I now submit.

You are the plaintiff and the witness too,A thing no man of wisdom ought to do.

When Caesar cast the dust of grief away,He chose me as his son-in-law that day.

For valor’s sake he joined his house to mine,And placed his kin within my royal line.

Who does not walk with evil as his guideKnows Bahram first began that violent tide.

The Iranians took his side to strike me down,And raised their hands once more against my crown.

No Roman force could make that army yield;Can drifting sand contest a mountain’s field?

But God granted His aid upon that day,And all the world’s great armies seemed as clay.

The Iranians know these matters as they stood;Ask them and judge the truth, as wise men should.

As for myself, I gave him every goodAnd served Niyatus kindly as I could.

Upon the day of battle I showed grace,And dealt with him in honor face to face.

I reckoned his reward upon that day;Zad Farrokh too can witness what I say.

Look not upon the world with boyish eyes;Let Gashasp tell you where the record lies.

He was our treasurer and kept the store;Our minister, the priest, can tell you more.

I gave the Roman legions from my hoardA hundred thousand bags of coin as reward.

A thousand ruby jewels to him I sent,Red stones for earrings, rich in ornament.

Each jewel weighed a thousand mithqals then,By treasury weight accounted among men.

I gave a thousand robes of Chin, arrayedWith gems and gold upon their rich brocade.

A hundred thousand silver coins would payFor each, so those who valued gems would say.

I gave a hundred flawless pearls, a giftWhose value jewelers alone could sift.

Each pearl was worth full thirty thousand more,In silver coins by every jeweler’s score.

I sent one hundred noble steeds beside,Selected from my stables in their pride.

Fifty were saddled, fifty choice and fleet,Each fit to race where desert pathways meet.

They wore brocade and matched the wind in pace;I sent them all to Caesar with my grace.

As for the Cross of Christ within my store,That ancient wood you asked about before,

It brought no loss or gain to me at all;Some Christian’s talk has held your mind in thrall.

I marveled that great Caesar, strong and wise,With priests and learned men before his eyes,

With philosophers and counselors of fame,Should call one executed God by name.

As for that dry and rotten piece of wood,If it were God, Yazdan Himself there stood

Within our treasury, where it would not stay,But vanish like Christ from the world away.

Again, you said: ‘Before Yazdan confess;Amend your conduct, and your wrongs redress.’

My answer is: may Qobad’s hands decline,His feet and tongue and lips all waste and pine.

It was God who placed the crown upon my head;I took His gift and wore it till it fled.

Since He required the crown, I gave it back;What more remains upon this bitter track?

To Him I will confess, not to a childWho cannot judge what ruin has defiled.

All that God ordains is welcome to my soul,Though grief and misery have claimed their toll.

For thirty-eight full years I held the land;No king among all kings matched my command.

He who bestowed the world can grant it twice,And lays on me no debt, and asks no price.

I will pronounce a blessing on the realm:May wise men ever guide the turning helm.

While God remains our helper and our aid,No curse against us need by men be made.

Say to that foolish, rash, impetuous boy:‘The luster of our face has lost its joy.

Farewell forever. Now my words shall findTheir home among the sages of mankind.’

And as for you, illustrious envoys both,Eloquent Iranians, faithful to your oath,

To both of you I also bid farewell;Repeat only the words you heard me tell.

I give my blessing to the world at large,A passing thing that none may keep in charge.

All born of mothers die, however great;Kay Khosrow and Kay Qobad shared that fate.

Hushang, Jamshid, and Tahmuras are dead,Though fear and hope once gathered round each head.

And all whom Div and beast acknowledged diedWhen time extinguished all their strength and pride.

Blessed Fereydoon, who brought Zahhak to harm,And checked the Arab tyrant’s cruel arm,

Escaped not fate, though brave in heart and hand;No valor made his mortal lifespan stand.

So Arash died, whose shaft flew far from sight,Its flight by farsangs measured in its might.

So Gharan, lion-catcher, paid death’s debt;So Kay Qobad’s bright day of kingship set.

From Alborz came a man of strength and worth,Who won the rule of all the folk on earth.

He built a world-famed house of crystal bright,With pearl and jeweled gates of gleaming light.

So Siavash, famed lion, passed from sight,Who slew two tigers in his youthful might.

He built Gangdezh with toil, yet did not gainEnduring treasure from that work or pain.

Where Rostam, Zal, and Esfandiyar of fame,Whose memories are monuments of name?

Where Gudarz and his seventy chosen sons,Those lions of the fray, those mounted ones?

Where Shah Goshtasb, who chose the Good Faith’s light,And made its holy farr renew its might?

Where now Jamasp, who read the heavens clear,Whose wisdom outshone sunlight in its sphere?

Gone are the wise and great, the men of old;Gone are the warriors, valorous and bold.

All left the palace, hall, and riding-ground;Their pride is dust, their fame a passing sound.

My son’s throne too shall pass when I am gone;His Fortune from that seat shall hasten on.

When comes the angel, I shall make this plea:‘Take gently now this parting soul from me.’

Repentance shall make bright the heart within;Our harmlessness be armor for our skin.

When we must cross the Chinvat Bridge one day,May flowers lie beneath our feet, we pray.

This is the message that I leave behind:My words are for the world, for all mankind.

Farewell to you; may gladness with you stay,And cast all evil thoughts of me away.”

Ashtad and Kharrad Barzin heard with grief,And beat their heads before the fallen chief.

They rued the words that they themselves had said,And struck their cheeks, with dust upon each head.

They left in tears; Shiruyeh heard each word,The Shah’s full message, just as they had heard.

When Shiruyeh heard, his bitter tears ran down;His heart grew fearful of the throne and crown.

The gathered chiefs withdrew; their words had fedThe call for blood against his father’s head.

Their ugly words had burned the young king’s heart;He left the throne and drew himself apart.

With both his hands he clasped his head to weep;His grief denied him food and peaceful sleep.

For Khosrow’s pain, his eyes with tears were red;He wept; his bosom caught the blood he shed.

The army heard; its chiefs were filled with fearTo learn the king still held his father dear.

They gathered, spoke of Khosrow’s fallen state,And spoke of all they feared would be their fate:

“If he should sit upon the throne again,The gallows wait for us, his leading men.”

When sunlight climbed above the eastern hills,The malcontents awoke with angry wills.

They went to court; the Shah, when this was known,Came forth and took his place upon the throne.

Then chiefs, both kin and strangers, filled the place;They sat in silence, anger on each face.

He knew the cause of all their silent grief,And spoke these words to every troubled chief:

“A king not moved by his own father’s painIs base in heart and birth, and earns disdain.

For he is like a willow rotted through,Yet fouler still; let none believe him true.”

“Who serves two kings,” a rebel captain said,“Is fool and wretch, however nobly bred.”

Shiruyeh said, “A king must have his storeOf treasure, or his army is no more.

For one month more, let gentle words be heard;Let no one speak a harsh or bitter word.

His counsel yet may bring us joy and gain;His treasures fill the breadth of his domain.”

On hearing this, the chiefs rose from their place,And each went homeward with a guarded face.

Then to the cooks Shiruyeh gave commands:“Withhold no food that Khosrow’s need demands.

Serve rich and sweetened dishes, all displayedOn golden trays before the captive laid.”

The servers brought him dishes of each kind,But Khosrow, touching none of them, declined.

From Shirin’s loving hand alone he fed,While on her breast she wept with grief and dread.

Now hear Barbad’s lament; within your breastLet love for noble greatness find its rest.

He heard the Shah had lost his throne and state,Driven against his will to such a fate.

From Jahram Barbad came in grief profound,To seek Tisfoon, where royal woes abound.

He saw the fallen Shah, his aspect bleak;The ruby glow had faded from his cheek.

Awhile before the king he stood in pain,Then left the hall and raised his mourning strain.

The Shah could hear his lamentation rise;His keeper heard those agonizing cries.

The guards began to weep; their hearts becameAs flesh consumed upon affection’s flame.

With faded face, and heart that grief laid low,In Pahlavi he let his mourning flow:

“O Shah, O noble chief, O great Khosrow,O mighty hero, hear my cry of woe:

Where is your greatness, where your royal throne,Your crown and all the splendor you have known?

Where is your stature, where your crown so bright?Where armlets, ivory throne, and royal might?

Where is the manliness that ruled alone,Beneath whose wings the world became your own?

Where are your women, minstrels, now withdrawn,Your gate, your hall, your chiefs from dusk to dawn?

Where is your crown, the Kaviani sign,And violet swords that made your armies shine?

Where are your earrings, golden throne on high,The lofty state that none but you came by?

Where is your helmet, jowshan wrought of gold,Your gem-linked armor glorious to behold?

Where is Shabdiz, with golden stirrups bright,Who stirred beneath you, restless in his might?

Where are the riders, gold upon each rein,Whose swords found sheaths in foes that they had slain?

Where are your mules, the litters bright with gold,The servants who obeyed your word of old?

Your mounts and camels, white elephant too,Have lost all hope that life remains for you.

Where is your fluent tongue, your courteous art,Your purpose, ardent soul, and kingly heart?

Why have you now been left bereft and lone?What book foretold the grief this day has shown?

Trust not this world, whose cure is weak and vain;Its remedy is feebler than its bane.

You wished a son to lend you strength and aid;Now with his gift of pain you are repaid.

By sons kings gather strength that will endure,And pass through time’s dark night with honor pure.

Yet as his son grew strong and straight and tall,The king of kings beheld his vigor fall.

Let none who hears Khosrow Parviz’s fateTrust worldly promises and learn too late.

Count ruined all Iran, a broken land,Where leopards, lions roam on every hand.

The Shah stood head of Sasan’s royal line;No crown or throne shall see his equal shine.

The foemen’s wishes now are satisfied;The line lies ruined, Iran at its side.

No king commanded troops of greater might;Yet who among them helped him in his plight?

The realm’s protector caused this bitter fall;Now through the breach the wolf comes past the wall.

Say this to Shiruyeh: ‘Shah devoid of shame,Such conduct stains the court and royal name.

Your army will not stand and hold its groundWhen war arises on all sides around.’

God aid your soul, my master, in its pain,And fling your foemen headlong to the plain.

By God, your name, my king, I swear this thing,By Nowruz, Mehr, and by the joyous spring:

If ever this hand touches harp or lute,May blessings shun my door, and joy be mute.

My instruments of music I will burn,And from your enemy in loathing turn.”

Four fingers from his plucking hand he sheared,His face with blood and tears of sorrow smeared;

He went back home and lit a blazing fire,And burned his instruments upon the pyre.

All who had wronged the Shah took deep alarm,And feared lest Fortune’s turning bring them harm.

Shiruyeh, young and fearful, came to seeHis throne a trap from which he could not flee.

Each man of judgment saw the realm’s decline:The days of greatness would no longer shine.

The men who had conspired against his reignCame to the royal court, a sullen train.

They stood before Qobad, grim men of guile,And pressed their dark design with speech of bile:

“We said before, and now repeat our claim:Your heart’s concern and ours are not the same.

Two kings now share a single royal seat:One holds the throne, and one lies at his feet.

If love should grow between the son and sire,Your servants’ heads will answer to their ire.

This cannot be; of such things speak no more.”At this, the Shah grew frightened to the core.

He shook with fear, for there within their handHe was a slave, though lord of crown and land.

He said, “None but a man of evil nameWould draw Shiruyeh to this snare of shame.

Go home, take counsel, find a man who mayIn secret take this grievous care away.”

The Shah’s ill-wishers sought a murderer then,To kill by stealth the greatest one of men.

But none had courage for that bloody deed,Or dared to make the royal Khosrow bleed.

Who dared to hang a mountain round his neck?The very thought would hold such men in check.

They found a wretch, blue-eyed and pale of face;Dust on his feet proclaimed his wretched case.

His body gaunt and hairy, lips dark blue,His head was bare, and hunger gnawed him through.

No man of high or low rank knew his name;May Paradise deny his soul all claim.

For his slain father’s blood, and gold beside,He pledged to pierce the monarch in his pride.

“This task is mine,” he said. “Give ample fare;Then this proud quarry falls within my snare.”

Zad Farrokh said, “Go, if your strength is true;Speak now no more of what you mean to do.

I have a bag of gold to pay your fee,And I shall hold you as a son to me.”

He gave the man a khanjar keen and bright;The murderer hurried to the captive’s sight.

He came upon the king in his retreat,And saw the fetters binding both his feet.

Khosrow Parviz now trembled, full of dread,And down his cheeks the bitter tears were shed.

He cried, “What name is yours, you wretch? Now speak;Your mother’s tears must flow upon her cheek.”

The man replied, “Mehr Ormozd is my name;Without a friend or fellow here I came.”

Khosrow replied, “My final hour I see;The basest hand has come to murder me.

That face is not a man’s; no heart draws nearTo seek your love or hold your friendship dear.”

He bade the boy who waited at his side,“Bring basin, water, musk, and robes,” he cried.

“Bring abir, too, and garments fresh and clean.”The boy was blind to what these words might mean.

The little servant hastened on his way,And brought the golden basin straightaway.

He brought the robes, with ewer, water too;The Shah urged haste in all he had to do.

He held the barsom twigs, took baj in prayer,And cleansed his soul of worldly grief and care.

He donned the robes and murmured, breath by breath,Confession for his faults before his death.

He drew a new cloth closely round his head,That he might not behold the face of dread.

Then Mehr Ormozd, with khanjar drawn to slay,Shut fast the door and pulled the robe away.

He plunged the blade into the monarch’s waist;The king expired, in death’s cold arms embraced.

Such is the working of the whirling sphere,Whose secret no created eye sees clear.

The sage and braggart judge its whole domainAnd find that all its works are void and vain.

Be rich, or trapped in evil case and pain,You will not in this fleeting world remain.

Choose harmlessness and truth in all your ways,If you would win through justice honest praise.

When roads and markets rang with cries of woe,“Khosrow Parviz is slain by treachery’s blow,”

His foes went to the prison-house of grief,Where fifteen sons were bound without relief.

They killed the guiltless prisoners that day;The Shah’s good Fortune now had turned away.

Shiruyeh, though now crowned, dared not complain,But hid the tears he struggled to restrain.

He wept awhile; then twenty guards would goTo shield their wives and children from the foe.

So fell that mighty reign beyond recall:Force, majesty, and manhood, power, all.

No king of kings had held such power before,Nor tales of ancient glory told of more.

He now was equal to the man who ownsNo ample bread, no land, no palace stones.

The wise hold cheap the man who feels secureAgainst the dragon, certain to endure.

This world, a fierce nahang with tooth and claw,Gnaws every prey it seizes in its maw.

The work of Khosrow Parviz now is past;His hoards, his throne, his famed troops could not last.

Now Khosrow’s tale is told; hear what befellShiruyeh and Shirin, whose end I tell.

When fifty-three full days had passed since then,Since that great Shah was slain by faithless men,

Shiruyeh dispatched a messenger to sayTo Shirin, “Wicked sorceress, come away.

You potent mistress of the darkened arts,Most guilty woman known in Iran’s parts,

By spells you kept the Shah beneath your hand,And drew the moon down at your own command.

Tremble, guilty one, and heed my decree;Do not sit in palace ease, secure and free.”

Shirin grew furious at his foul abuse;Such vile and senseless words had no excuse.

She said, “May he who has his father slainLose height and farr; may neither one remain.

I will not see that wretch in joy or woe,Not even from afar will I do so.”

That mourning lady called a scribe to hand,To set in Pahlavi what she had planned.

She gave instructions, set her wealth in view,And told the learned scribe its value too.

She kept some poison in a chest close by;No need to search the town for a supply.

She sewed a burial shroud for her own form,That garden-cypress soon to leave the storm.

Then she returned this answer to the king:“O crowned, exalted Shah, hear what I bring.

Your words are leaves and wind, of little worth;May your vile heart and soul sink to the earth.

Who knows of witchcraft more than just its name?Who ever found delight in such a claim?

Had Khosrow’s mind found joy in magic’s grace,What witch within his bower had seen his face?

He kept me for good fortune and delight,And called me from his bower at morning light.

At sight of me he gladdened, soul and mind;Why slander him with words so harsh, unkind?

Remember God, whose gifts sustain us here;Speak not these words for anyone to hear.”

They bore her words; the king blazed into flameAgainst the woman who was free of blame.

He said, “You must come here, before my throne;No thirst for blood so fierce as yours is known.”

Shirin, on hearing this, was filled with pain;She writhed as pallor spread its ashen stain.

She answered, “I will come, but first there mustBe learned elders, men of lore and trust.”

Shiruyeh then summoned fifty aged men,Experienced chiefs of speech and practiced pen.

He sent to her, “Arise. Enough of talk.”She robed in mourning blue and black to walk.

She hastened to the rose garden, where allThe nobles gathered at the royal call.

Behind the royal curtain she took a seat,As modest women keep themselves discreet.

He sent to her, “Two mourning months are done;Become my wife and share what I have won.

Avoid a mean estate and take your pleasure;I will support you with still greater treasure.

My father kept you honored in his day;I will give more respect in every way.”

Shirin replied, “First grant me justice; thenMy life is yours before these noblemen.

I will not hesitate in answering you,If justice first declares my honor true.”

Shiruyeh quickly gave his full assent;The noble lady spoke, on justice bent.

Behind the curtain thus she spoke: “O king,May crown and victory their blessings bring.

You called me wicked, treacherous, and vile,A witch whose purity was lost to guile.”

Shiruyeh said, “My youth spoke in that way;Bear no resentment for what young men say.”

Then Shirin turned toward Iran’s chiefs in hall,The gathered nobles, elders, one and all.

“What have you seen in me of fraud or ill,Of folly, crookedness, or darkened will?

For years Iran had hailed me as its queen;I gave the brave a strength on which to lean.

I sought the truth in everything I tried;From crookedness and fault I stood aside.

Through me, men gained whole cities in their hand,And many kinds of fortune in the land.

Who saw my shadow pass beyond my door?Speak, if you ever witnessed this before.

Who saw the shadow of my crown pass by,Or of my jewels? Let him testify.”

The nobles answered fairly, one and all:“No peer has she in private court or hall.”

Then Shirin said, “O lords of honored name,Three things bring women honor and acclaim.

First, modesty with wealth to grace a spouse,That he may deck and dignify his house.

Next, she must bear a son of blessed birth,And add to her good husband’s joy and worth.

Third, beauty in her stature and her face,With hair kept veiled in modesty and grace.

When I was joined to Khosrow Parviz’s side,And knew the world anew as his own bride,

He came from Rum with thwarted hopes, and foundNo place to settle on his native ground.

But afterward he reached such royal heightAs none had heard or seen beneath the light.

Moreover, I bore four sons to his joy:Nastur, Shahryar, Forood, each noble boy,

And Mardanshah, the jewel of the sky;Their father’s joy in them was lifted high.

Jam and Fereydoon sired no sons to vie;May my tongue perish if I speak a lie.”

Then she unveiled her face before them all;Her musky hair in waves began to fall.

“This is the third: my face, now shown to you;Speak out if what I said has been untrue.

My hidden excellence was all my hair;No eye on earth had ever seen it bare.

This face and hair comprise my magic art;No fraud or dark enchantment played a part.”

No eye had seen her hair; astounded, allBit on their fingers in that silent hall.

When Shiruyeh saw Shirin’s face unveiled,His spirit fled him, and his senses failed.

He cried, “I want none but yourself as wife;Iran could give no greater gift to life.”

The lady of the lovely face replied,“First let my own requests be now supplied.

I have two wishes I would now declare;May kingship long remain within your care.”

Shiruyeh said, “My soul is at your feet;Whatever you desire, I shall complete.”

She said, “Assign me all the treasured storeThat I have laid within this land before.

Before these noble chiefs now make it clearThat every part of it is mine to steer.

Write on this roll that you renounce the whole.”Shiruyeh made haste and granted her control.

When she had gained her wish, she left the hall,The rose garden, the chiefs, the court, and all.

She went back home and freed her slaves, and pouredRich gifts upon them from her private hoard.

She gave her other wealth to those in need,And more to family, by loving deed.

She gave to fire-temples, rites, and days,To Nowruz and to Sadeh’s sacred blaze.

She gave to ruined homes and lodgings whereGreat men had rested, free of toil and care.

She gave in Khosrow’s name, that goodness mightBring to his soul rejoicing and delight.

Unveiled, she sat upon the garden ground,Bereft of scent and color, sorrow-bound.

She summoned all her folk at her behest,And kindly bade each one sit as a guest.

She cried aloud, “All hear, for none of youShall see my face again as now you do.

Speak only truth; let no deceit arise,For falsehood is unworthy of the wise.

Since first I entered Khosrow Parviz’s bower,And was his chief wife, joy, and garden flower,

Has any fault appeared in me at all?Speak now the truth before my final call.

No need remains to save my face from blame;For one who seeks escape, what use is fame?”

All rose and answered, “Lady wise and chaste,Bright-souled, whose name no slander has defaced,

By God, no man has seen you or once heardYour voice beyond the curtain, not one word.

Your like has never sat on royal throneSince Shah Hushang made kingly greatness known.”

The watchful slaves replied from every side,“O lady praised in Rum, Chin, and Taraz wide,

Who dares speak ill of you or of your grace?Could evil deeds befit so pure a face?”

Then Shirin said, “This wretch, whom skies condemn,Has slain his father for the diadem.

May he no more behold fair Fortune’s smile,Nor joy return to one so base and vile.

Has he built walls to keep out death and doom,Who lightly sent his father to the tomb?

His message darkened all my soul; I liveTo serve the Maker; this reply I give.

I stated fully what I meant to do,Lest he defame me when my life is through.”

Her words released their sorrow from its chains;They wept for her and Khosrow’s bitter pains.

Her hearers sought the Shah, and there they toldWhat they had heard from Shirin, pure and bold.

He asked, “Has that good lady one wish more?”She sent, “One final grace I now implore.

Let Khosrow’s tomb be opened, and revealedOnce more the face that death has now concealed.”

He gave consent; the keeper of the tombDrew back the seal, and bared the royal room.

That pious lady entered weeping low,And laid her face on Khosrow’s face in woe.

She spoke of former days and drank the bane,Its poison broke her hold on life’s domain.

Beside the Shah she sat with veiled face,Clad in one robe of camphor-scented grace.

She leaned against the wall; her life was done,Her voice forever silenced, her course run.

Shiruyeh sickened when he heard; his heartGrew pained to see her, pierced by sorrow’s dart.

Beside the Shah he laid her form to rest,In that same vault, with musk and camphor dressed.

He sealed the Shah’s tomb; little time went by.They gave him poison; he in turn would die.

The world had had its fill of Shahs; his birthAnd death were ill-omened upon the earth.

He left the throne of kingship to his son;His short and troubled sovereignty was done.

He reigned seven months; in the eighth he woreThe camphor crown and passed through death’s own door.

Of earthly goods, the throne is counted best;Of evils, early death brings deepest unrest.