English
The King's Message and Piran's Grief
At dawn, when he set the crown upon his head, he at once had the messenger brought in.
He ordered him to return to his place, back to the renowned servant and steward of the realm.
He gave this answer: Tell him, you kind man, good of heart and true of speech,
from the day your pure mother bore you, you have stood proud in every gathering.
You hold the highest standing at my side; you rank above all my champions in honor.
Always you have been armor before me, making your soul a shield and your body a sacrifice.
In every task you spent your own treasure, and chose to suffer hardship for my sake.
You led an army from China to Iran; you darkened the heart and fortune of the enemy.
No army will ever see a commander like you, nor will any so clear-headed gird for battle.
Though it turn to affection, the sky will never bring forth from Tur and Pashang a champion like you.
First, as for what you said, that among the people you hold yourself guilty,
because Kaykhosrow came from Turan to Iran and spread this feud against us,
I, who am king, have not been wounded by this; I have never let such a thought enter my heart.
You should not be so grieved by this; do not let sorrow rust your heart.
For what happened was ordained by the Creator; no one taught this evil into being.
Kaykhosrow does not draw his splendor from me; call him no grandson of mine, for that is false.
I am likewise no grandfather to him; I seek no alchemy of profit from such talk.
In this affair no one is to blame; I hold no quarrel with the Lord of the world.
So it was, and this was a thing destined to be; why should my heart hold any grievance against you?
And next, as for what you said about the state of the army, and the turning of the dark sun and moon,
the way of war is always like this: from every side this dark dust wheels about.
Sometimes it lifts your head up to the sun; sometimes it brings you down from the sun.
The high heaven does not turn all one way; at times it makes glad, at times it grieves.
At times with wine and music and minstrels; at times with sorrow, sighing, and grief.
Do not let this pain wound your heart; do not bind your soul to this trouble.
The dead have fallen silent into sleep; do not turn your face from avenging your brother.
A heart clawed by grief for a brother finds no cure in the healers' treatment.
Third, as for what you said, that at dawn Khosrow will come to battle with his army,
may no one's eye ever see the day when he strikes the first blow in this business,
for I myself am resolved to march an army from here across the far side of the Oxus.
I will leave neither Gudarz, nor Khosrow, nor Tus, nor throne, nor crown, nor horn, nor war-drum.
I will drive such an army into Iran that afterward no one will see crown or throne there.
I will not leave this world to Kaykhosrow; I will fall upon him suddenly and end him.
I will cut off his head with the sword in such a way that his army and his country will weep for him,
unless the heavens turn matters another way through the wheeling of fate.
You, proud man who has seen the world, God has left you in need of nothing.
Warriors, treasure, and strength of arm: whatever you require is a divine gift already yours.
A renowned army, ten thousand strong, brave, wise, valiant horsemen,
I now send to you, to brighten your darkened soul.
Set ten of the Iranians against one of these; ten of their riders will seem few beside one of ours.
When the army reaches you, do not linger; tear Gudarz's head and crown from their place.
That mountain he has turned into a fortress, bring it down under the hooves of your war-horses.
Do not hold your hand from shedding their blood; you will be victorious in the fight.
Leave none of them alive on earth, for many of them will come against you.
The messenger heard the king's message and came before the commander of the army.
He came forward like a worshiper, bowed low as a jasmine branch bent under its blossoms.
He delivered the king's message to Piran, and word of those renowned warriors of the army.
When Piran heard, he summoned the troops, as the messenger repeated these words.
He gave heart to all the soldiers together: Be free of sorrow, take courage.
But secretly his soul was full of pain, his heart full of blood, his fortune turned away.
For on every side he saw the king's army dwindling in the battle.
His heart was also grieved over King Khosrow; he feared he would come to war one by one against them.
He said to God: O Creator, how much wonder there is in this age of ours.
Whom you raise up is never cast down; there is no ruler and sustainer but you.
Look at Khosrow: who but the Creator knew that a king would rise from him?
Consider the work of this turning age, upon the one it has made its own portion:
it brings a fresh rose from a dry thorn; with waking fortune it turns dust into musk.
Stranger still, out of greed a man forever keeps his own heart in pain.
Between grandfather and grandson, two kings, I do not know why this ground of feud must be.
Two kings and two lands so bent on war, two armies faced off against each other.
What can you say of how this battle ends, whom the turning of fate will raise up?
Then he cried out bitterly to God: O bright and just Creator,
if Afrasiab in this ground of feud, along with the renowned lords of Turan's army,
is to be slain on this battlefield, and our good fortune is to be undone,
and when Kaykhosrow comes from Iran for vengeance the whole land returns to him,
then let it be right that, wounded in my armor, the Creator draws my soul out of my body.
May my seeing eye never behold anyone taking over my way and my custom;
for the one whose fortune does not turn to his wish, his life and his death are all one.
After that, from the Iranian army the trumpets rose, the blast of horns and Indian bells.