The Tale of the Demon Akvan

Set your praise upon the Creator of soul and reason, and consider what is truly fitting. See, wise one with a clear soul, how a person can even begin to praise Him. All our knowledge is helplessness itself; one should weep for such helpless creatures. Confess the One who exists and is single; for soul and reason there is no other path. You philosopher, full of endless talk, I walk a road down which you tell me not to walk. Whatever passes before your outward eyes cannot be held in your heart along with reason. Any words that are not about God's oneness are the same whether spoken or left unsaid. If you are sound of mind, then speak sound words; this arguing back and forth never reaches an end. In a single breath you slip free of both body and soul, though you think yourself so grand. Your days are passing by you; your true rest lies in another dwelling, not this one. First remember the Creator of the world, and build your worship on that remembrance. For by Him the turning heavens keep their course, and He alone is the guide to good and evil. The world is full of wonders when you look; yet no one holds the tools to sit in judgment. Your soul is a wonder, and your body too; you should first take the measure of yourself. And this turning wheel of the sky each day shows you a fresh new face. You will not agree with this tale the old storyteller tells from ancient times. The wise man who hears this story leans toward knowledge and does not simply believe it. But once you recall its inner meaning, he grows calm and cuts his judgment short. So listen to the words of the old countryman, if the tale is one your heart can accept. The storyteller of the old days recalled it thus: that one morning Kaykhosrow, adorned his garden bower like the spring, and the nobles sat down with their king, men like Gudarz, Rostam, and Gostaham, and Barzin and Garshasp of Jamshid's line, like Giv and battle-tested Roham, like Gorgin and Khorrad of fortunate mind. When one hour of the day had passed, a shepherd came from the plain to the court, saying: a wild ass has appeared among the herd, like a lion broken loose from its chain. Its color is exactly that of the sun, as if the sky had washed it in liquid gold. A single line is drawn along its mane, of pure black musk down to its tail. It is like a great bay steed, and those four legs strike like four maces. It seems a fierce, savage lion, tearing the necks of the horses apart. Khosrow understood that this was no wild ass, for no ass overpowers a horse by sheer force. The king said to Rostam: 'Weigh this hardship too, and take on this trouble in battle.' 'Go, but guard yourself against it, for it may be a vengeful demon.' Rostam replied: 'With your good fortune behind him, the servant of your throne fears nothing.' 'Neither demon, nor lion, nor male dragon can escape my sharp sword.' He set out to hunt like a fierce lion, a lasso in his hand and a dragon of a horse beneath him. To a plain where a shepherd kept his flock, and where a wild ass ranged and passed by. For three days he searched the meadow, hunting all around on horseback. On the fourth he saw it charging across the plain, passing like the north wind. It was a shining, golden-hided creature, yet under its skin it was a hideous monster. He spurred the brave Rakhsh forward, but as he drew close, his plan changed. He thought: 'I should not strike this one down; I must catch it with the coil of my lasso.' 'It should not be ruined by the blade; this way I will bring it alive to the king.' Rostam cast his royal lasso, meaning to bind its head fast. But when the daring wild ass saw the lasso, in an instant it vanished from his sight. Rostam understood that this was no wild ass, and that now cunning, not force, was needed. 'This can be nothing but Akvan the demon; I must strike a blade against the very wind.' 'Now I must deal with it by the sword, and make blood run down that yellow hide.' 'I heard from the wise that this is its haunt, and that it takes the shape of a wild ass.' At that moment it appeared again across the plain, and the commander launched into a fierce charge. He strung his bow and, at a full gallop, loosed an arrow like a lightning bolt. The moment he drew the royal bow, once more the wild ass vanished from him. He drove his horse across that wide plain, and three days and three nights passed over him. He longed for water and for bread, nodding with sleep upon his saddle. As he hurried in search of clear water, a spring like rosewater came into view before him. He dismounted and gave Rakhsh water, and, worn out, gave his own eyes to sleep. His lasso on his arm, his tiger-skin armor worn tight, his waist firmly girded. He loosened the girth of his royal saddle and laid the notched poplar bow at his pillow. Rakhsh went to graze and to rest; Rostam threw the saddle-felt down by the water. There he lay and sleep overtook him, for he was spent from toil and hard riding. When Akvan saw him sleeping from afar, it became a gust of wind and swept toward him. The demon cut out a circle of earth and lifted it, raising Rostam from the plain up into the sky. Rostam woke in distress, his wise head suddenly filled with thoughts of battle. When Rostam stirred and came to himself, Akvan said to him, 'You giant of a man, make a wish: from up here in the air, where would you like me to drop you now? Shall I throw you toward the water or toward the mountain? Where would you rather fall, far from your people?' When Rostam took the measure of these words, he saw that in the demon's hands everything worked in reverse. So the mighty warrior said to himself, this famed champion of every gathering: 'If he says he will throw me onto the mountain rocks, my body and bones will be useless there. Better the sea, where he could cast me and make the breasts of fish my burial cloth. But if I tell him to throw me into the sea, this vile, evil demon will hurl me at the mountain, for everything this demon does comes out backward. May the Lord of the world be my rescue.' So Rostam answered, 'The sage of China once told a story about this: whoever loses his life in the water, the angel Soroush will not welcome his soul in paradise. He will stay there in misery, unable to journey on to the next world. Throw me onto the mountain, so that the leopard and lion may see the claws of a brave man.' When Akvan the demon heard this from Rostam, he let out a roar toward the sea. He said, 'I will fling you to a place where you will vanish from both worlds.' He hurled Rostam into the deep sea, meaning out of spite to make him food for the fish. The moment Rostam fell from the air toward the water, he swiftly drew his sharp sword from his waist. The sea monsters that came at him were left dazed and reeling from his grip. With his left hand and his feet he swam, while with the other he sought a way from the enemy waters. Not a moment's delay served his purpose: that is how it is with a true man of war. If anyone could survive by sheer courage alone, then fate would never sweep him away. But such is the turning world: sometimes it gives you honey, sometimes poison. By his courage he pulled himself to one side of the sea, climbed onto the plain, and saw dry land. He began to praise the Creator who had saved His servant's body from harm. He rested and loosened the belt at his waist, and laid his tiger-skin armor by the spring. When his lasso and weapons had shed their water, the grim warrior put on his coat of mail again. He came back to the spring where he had been sleeping, still furious at that evil-natured demon. But his gleaming horse Rakhsh was no longer in the meadow, and the hero grew enraged at his luck. He flared with anger, grabbed the saddle and bridle, and set off on Rakhsh's trail until dusk. He went on foot, hunting for prey, until a wide meadow opened before him. It was all woodland and flowing streams, with partridges and turtledoves swaying everywhere. Afrasiyab's horse keeper lay fast asleep within the thicket. Rakhsh, wild as a demon among the mares, let loose his cry in the middle of the herd. When Rostam saw him, he threw his royal lasso and caught the horse's head in its noose. He wiped the dust from him and set the saddle on, and thanked God for His kindness and giving. He fixed the bridle on his head and mounted, laying his hand upon that keen sword. Wherever he saw the herd, he drove it all before him, calling God's name upon his sword. When the keeper heard the horses' noise, he jerked his head up, dizzy from sleep. He called the riders who were with him and set them all upon their proud horses. Each of them took up lasso and bow to learn who this suspicious man might be, who dared to come into this meadow and approach so many mounted men. So the riders galloped hard behind him, meaning to tear the hide off Rostam's back. When Rostam saw them rushing toward him, he swiftly drew the sharp blade from his belt. He roared like a lion and spoke his name: 'I am Rostam, son of Dastan, son of Sam.' With his sword he killed two out of every three of them; when the herdsman saw this, he turned and fled. In wonder and in haste, swift as the wind, Afrasiyab came to look upon the horses, to the place where every year the herdsman let the herd loose on that plain and by that water. He himself, with two thousand famous champions, came galloping into that meadow. They came with wine and music and heroes together, so he might ease the worry in his heart. But when he reached those meadows, he found no sign of the horses or the herdsman. One by one a clamor rose from the plain, and all the horses raced one past another. From the dust of Rakhsh's hoofprints a clear trail showed to the chiefs from afar. When the herdsman reached the king of Turan, he told him the astonishing thing he had seen: that Rostam alone had carried off the herd from the plain, had killed many of us, and moved on. A murmur rose among the Turks: 'This vengeful man came to fight all by himself.' 'We must draw our weapons one and all, for this matter has gone beyond a joke for us.' 'We have been brought so low, so despised and helpless, that a single man turns toward us thirsting for blood.' 'He is casting down our name for manhood, and with his blade he turns a mill with our blood.' He was driving off the whole herd single-handed; a task like this should not be left undone. The commander with four elephants and his troops then set out on Rostam's trail. When they drew near, Rostam pulled the bow from his arm and came roaring at them. He rained down on them like a cloud dropping hail, first arrows from the bow, then his steel blade. When sixty brave men had fallen, the lion turned from the sword to the mace. He poured down blows with the mace like a storm, and helmets and headpieces split apart. He killed forty more of their men; the commander grew sick at heart and turned his back to flee. Rostam seized those four white elephants from him, and that army lost all hope in the world. Rostam, mace in hand, drove after them for two leagues, like a spring thundercloud. When he turned back, he took the elephants and the herd, and every bit of loot that came to his hand. He came striding proudly back to that spring, his heart eager for battle, his long arm ready. Once again Akvan crossed his path and said, 'Have you still not had your fill of fighting? You escaped the sea and the jaws of the crocodile, yet you come back to the plain writhing for a fight.' When Rostam heard the demon's words, he let out a roar like a battling lion. He loosed the coiled lasso from his saddle-strap, cast it, and caught the demon around the waist. He twisted in his saddle and swung up the heavy mace, hoisting it like a blacksmith's hammer. He struck the demon, huge as a maddened elephant, on the head, and the mace crushed his skull and brains. He brought down his gleaming dagger, drew it out, and cut off the warrior demon's head. He gave praise to the Creator, from whom came his victory and the strength for vengeance. Know the evil person to be the true demon: it is the one who feels no gratitude to God. Whoever strays from the path of humanity, count him among the demons, not among mankind. If reason will not believe these words, it is only because a sound mind refuses to hear them. If a champion is powerful, thick in the arm and tall in stature, call him a hero, do not call him Akvan the demon, for that would wrong a true champion. What do you say, old master, you who have tasted so much heat and cold of this world? Who knows how many ups and downs this long span of time will bring before us? Because time runs on so long, it lets many words slip away from our grasp. Who knows how many feasts and how many battles this swift-turning dome of the sky still holds? When Rostam had cut off the fallen demon's head, he mounted that elephant-bodied steed. He gathered the whole herd before him, and all the loot the Turks had left behind. He set off with the elephant and the spoils, and the whole world was adorned by his coming. On the road the news reached the king that Rostam was returning in such glory, the one who once girded himself to hunt wild asses, catching them in the loop of his lasso; now demon and elephant had fallen into his grip, on land the leopard, in the sea the crocodile. No lion could pass the edge of his blade, nor demon, nor any vengeful man. The king made ready to go out and greet him, and the warriors set their helmets on their heads. They carried out the royal banner with the trumpets, the great war elephants, and the bells. When Rostam caught sight of the king's banner, the world ruler come out to welcome him on the road, he dismounted and kissed the ground; the army roared, and horns and drums rang out. The crown giving king, chief of proud men, commanded Rostam to mount Rakhsh again. From there they came to the royal palace, hearts open, full of goodwill. He shared out the herds among the Iranians and made his own person the one to be honored. He sent the elephants to join the king's elephant, so that they might block the lions' path. For a whole week they decked out the palace and called for wine, music, and minstrels. Over the wine Rostam began his story, recalling Akvan for the king. He said: I never saw a wild ass so fine, with such proud bearing, such color and scent. But when my dagger split the skin from its body, it spared neither enemy nor friend. Its head was like an elephant's, its hair long, its mouth crammed with a boar's tusks. Its two eyes were bruised blue, its lips black; its body was not fit even to look upon. No camel ever had such strength and such a frame; the whole plain became a sea of blood from it. I cut its head from its body with my dagger, and blood poured from it into the air like rain. Keykhosrow was struck with wonder at this; he set down his cup and lifted words of praise, praising the one who had created such a champion; no one in the world had ever seen such a marvel, for surely it was a man himself in its very deeds, in courage, in stature, and in its face. He kept saying: had the Maker of the heavens not granted me my share of justice and love, I would not have in the world so humble a servant, who at every moment hunts down demon and elephant for me. For two weeks they were joyful in this way, recalling Akvan and holding their feasts. On the third week the mighty one resolved to return home, victorious and glad. He said: I long for Zal, son of Sam; such a yearning should not be hidden. I will go at once and come back to your court; there is still vengeance to be prepared. He said the blood-price of Siyavash should not be treated so lightly, offered up for elephants and herds. The king of the world opened his treasury and brought out the precious things he had kept hidden. He took ten jeweled cups from the treasure, and five royal robes woven with gold. Bright-faced servants with golden belts, and attendants wearing golden collars. From the furnishings and the ivory throne, from brocade, gold coins, and a turquoise crown, the king sent these to Rostam, saying: take this gift with you on your journey. Stay with me just one more day, and after that make your plan to leave. He stayed and drank some wine, but at dawn he could think of nothing but leaving. The king rode two leagues alongside him, and took him in his arms to say farewell. When Rostam became one with the road, the commander of Iran turned back from him. The whole world stood upright in loyalty to him; he held the earth just as he wished. This is how the ancient wheel of fate keeps turning: sometimes it is like a bow, and sometimes like an arrow. Once you have heard this tale from start to finish, turn from Akvan toward the vengeance of Bizhan.