Section 6: Esfandiyar and the Simorgh

The world-seeker bowed low before the Creator of the world, pressing his face to the earth for a while. He pitched his tent within that forest and had a fitting feast laid out. Then the prince ordered the executioner to drag the wretched captive in, bound and humiliated. They brought him before the hero Esfandiyar, and the captive saw the prince's face. Esfandiyar gave him three cups of royal wine, and Gorgsar grew merry from the ruby wine. He said to him: You Turk of fallen fortune, look at that old sorcerer's head hanging from the tree. The one who boasted he would march his army to the sea and raise his own head to the stars. Now, what marvel will I face at the next station? By this sorcerer I should judge what comes. Gorgsar answered him: You elephant of war, on the day of battle, at this station the task is harder still. Be more alert and more sharply awake. You will see a mountain with its peak lost in the sky, and upon it a ruling bird. The eager creature is called the Simorgh; it is like a flying mountain that hungers for combat. If it sees an elephant, it snatches it up to the clouds, a crocodile from the sea, a lion from the land. It feels no strain in lifting them. Do not measure it against the wolf or the sorcerer. It has two young ones as huge as itself, their intent bound tightly to its own. When it takes to the air and spreads its wings, the earth loses its sense and the sun its glory. It would be wiser to turn back; what need have you of the Simorgh and the towering mountain? Esfandiyar laughed at him and said: How strange, I will pin both its shoulders with my arrows. I will cleave its breast with my Indian sword and bring its head down from the heights to the dust. When the shining sun turned its back, the heart of the East grew grim behind it. The chief of the warriors set his troops in motion, the Simorgh's warnings turning in his mind. All night he led his own band forward, until the blazing sun rose over the mountain, renewing the lamp of time and earth, giving valley and gate a fresh measure. He took the horse, the cart, and the iron chest, and handed the army over to its commander. The prince moved on like the wind and saw a mountain with its peak in the sky. In its shadow he halted his horse and cart and set his mind to careful thought. He praised the one God, by whose command the world stands firm. When the Simorgh saw the chest from afar, and behind it the army and the blare of horns, it swept down from the mountain like a black cloud; no sun stayed bright, no moon. It meant to seize the cart in its talons, the way a leopard snatches its prey. It struck its two feet and two wings against those blades; no beauty or splendor was left to the Simorgh. It struggled a while with claw and beak, but when it was worn down, it grew still. When the young ones saw the Simorgh crying out, blood dripping from both its eyes, they bolted from that place in such terror that dread made them lose their way. When the Simorgh grew weak from those blades, it washed the chest and cart with its blood. Esfandiyar came out of the chest and roared, his weapons of war in hand. Mail on his chest, his Indian sword in his grip, what strength could a bird bring against a crocodile? He struck it with his sword until it was torn to pieces; so the crafty bird was left helpless. He came before the Lord of the moon, who grants mastery over every beast. He said: You just judge, Lord of purity, strength, and skill, you swept away the trace of the sorcerers, you were my guide to this good fortune. At that very moment the trumpet cried out, and Pashutan brought the great tent forward, the brother's arms, the army and the son, the nobles of Iran, crown and belt. Of the slain bird, no one could see the plain, only the warrior's limbs and blood. The ground from mountain to mountain was covered with feathers; the whole field shone with their splendor. They saw the king's body drenched in blood, his face that had put the moon's own face to shame. The chiefs called out their praises to him, the mounted warriors and the champions. At once Gorgsar heard the news that the famed prince had triumphed. His body began to tremble, his cheeks turned pale; he went on stumbling, his heart full of pain. The young prince pitched his tent, with brave, clear-hearted warriors circled around him. They adorned the ground with fine brocade, sat down at the feast, and called for wine.