English
Part 15: The Ruined House
He slept that night, and at early dawn he set out toward the hunting plain.
The army crossed every road and off road path; it turned out he stayed a whole month on the plain.
They pitched the royal pavilion and the tents, and cleared the plain of its game.
No one on that plain gave a thought to sleep: wine, and the meat of the hunt, and harp and lute.
They kindled fires across the wilderness and burned great heaps of wood, both green and dry.
Many people came out from the city, anyone who had need to earn some coin.
For a while there was buying and selling; the wilderness blazed bright with the army's fires.
From the game of the plain and the waterbirds, whoever asked could get so much roasted meat
that he carried it home by the load, for his small children and his guests.
When a month had passed, his hurry came to him, and his thoughts turned again to sleep with beauties.
He led the army back from the hunting ground; for the dust of the riders they could not see the road.
The army moved along like a cloud of dust, until the face of day turned lapis blue.
A town came into view along his path, full of lanes and alleys and a marketplace.
He ordered his army with its baggage to pass on ahead, and he himself stayed behind alone.
He asked where the village headman lived, then lowered his head and rode straight on.
He saw a broken door, wide and tall; the owner came out and bowed low to him.
He asked, whose is this ruined house? Why is this wreck standing in the middle of the village?
The owner said, this dwelling is mine; this same bad luck is my only guide.
No ox here, no clothing, no donkey; no learning, no manliness, no foot, no wing.
You have seen me, now look at my house: for such a home a curse is better than praise.
He got down from his horse and looked at that dwelling; the king's own hands and feet went weak.
The whole house was dung from the sheep; a single arch still stood, and one high spot.
He said to him, bring something for me to sit on, you who love your guests.
The man answered: why do you mock your host so pointlessly, my lord?
If I had anything at all to spread out, you might have praised me as a proper host.
There is nothing to spread, nothing to eat, nothing to wear, nothing to lay down.
You had best look for a house somewhere else, for here every comfort is lacking.
He told him, find me at least a cushion, so I can sit on it a little while.
The man said, this is no fit place; it seems you are craving bird's milk here.
Then he said to him: bring warm milk, and, if you can find it, one loaf of soft bread.
He answered: I imagine you ate your fill and were made happy by it.
If there were bread in me, there would be life; though even my life is worth more than bread.
He said to him: if you have no sheep, then who came to your house and left dung behind?
He answered: the night has grown dark, and your talk has left my head spinning.
Pick a house where you will find a rug, one whose owner has thanks and comfort to give.
Why stay beside a wretched man who makes his bed at night from the leaves of trees?
You carry a gold-hilted sword, gold on your stirrups; take care no thief comes to terrify you.
Fear God and keep away from me; in every task be as worn out and troubled as I am.
Since the house is ruined like this, it is a passage for thieves and lions.
He said to him: if a thief had carried off my sword, you would not be standing here beneath me now.
The farmer said to him: do not be vexed by this, for no one finds even a night's lodging in my house.
The king said to him: wise old man, why do you keep arguing pointlessly before me?
As I suppose, at least offer some cold water; show a little kindness, you free and generous man.
The farmer said to him: that pool lies ahead, less than an arrow's throw away.
Drink as much as you want and carry some off; what could you seek in this destitute house?
You surely see a poor man, left helpless in his labor by old age.
He answered: if you are no lord, do not pick a fight with an army.
He asked his name; the man said: Farshidvard. No home, no clothing, no sleep, and no food.
Bahram said to him amiably: why don't you seek bread with a name like yours?
The farmer said to him: perhaps by the will of the Creator these days of mine will come to an end.
I pray before my God that I might one day see my ruin free of you.
Why did you come into an empty house, where you will never find moonlight or plenty?
He said this and wept so bitterly that the king fled from the sound of his voice.
He laughed at the old man and took to the road; the army came streaming after him.
When he left that famous town, a thorny thicket came into view before him.
A man with an axe was digging up thorns; the king came forward from his troops to him.
He said: chief of this town, tell me, whom do you know here, enemy of the thorn field?
He answered: Farshidvard has lived all year long without sleep or food.
Yet he must own a hundred thousand sheep, and horses and mules in that same count.
The ground is packed full of his hoarded gold coins, may his brain shrink smaller than his own skin.
His stomach empty, his body bare; no children, no relatives, no belongings, no home.
If he sold his crops for gold, he could fill a whole house with jewels.
His shepherds boil meat in milk, while he himself eats millet bread with cheese.
He has never owned two garments at once; even his own body suffers his stinginess.
The king said to the thorn gatherer: if you do not know the count of his sheep,
you surely know where he keeps them; how could he dare to tell you their number?
The man replied: valiant, battle tested rider, no one knows the count of that wealth.
He gave the thorn gatherer a few gold coins and said: now you have become a man of worth.
He ordered that from among the army a wise man should come forward on the road.
The name of that man was Bahram; a bold rider with a calm, comforting heart.
He sent along with this renowned man thirty riders, chosen and capable men of action.
He picked a careful, pious scribe, one who knew well how to keep accounts.
He told the thorn gatherer: go from here; once you gathered thorns, now you reap gold.
A tenth of that wealth is yours; guide these men straight to the place.
The thorn gatherer's name was Delafruz, a swaggering man of great bodily strength.
The king gave him a precious horse and said: you must race side by side with the wind.
Delafruz became a light of the world; when he reached the court, he triumphed.
He led the army over mountain and plain; the sheep were beyond all counting.
On the mountain there were ten caravans of camels, and each caravan had its own camel driver.
There were oxen for plowing and cows for milk, with wool and butter, crops and cheese.
The whole plain, mountain, and desert was his pasture, yet no one in the world knew his name.
The desert was entirely churned by hooves, and cow's butter was stored in great jars.
From Shiraz and the surrounding land there were three hundred thousand camel loads by the riverbank.
Bahram the radiant wrote a letter to the King of Kings, Bahram Gur.
First he praised the Creator, who is the victorious one and the sustainer of all.
Then he praised the King of Kings, who had overturned the religion of evil.
He wrote: King of the world, from you all people, humble and great, are glad.
Your justice passes all measure; but this silence lets the treasury of punishment go untended.
In all worldly affairs, moderation is best; a king's heart is best kept fresh with good thoughts.
One man, named Farshidvard, has gone missing; not at the feast, nor on the battlefield.
No one in the world knew his name, neither among the humble nor among the great.
He worshipped neither king nor God, and never knew how to give thanks for anything.
He hoarded wealth like this in the world, yet sat hidden away, empty handed and full of grief.
The king's justice was starting to look like injustice. Do not count my counsel as a fault.
Lay the foundation of a treasury from this wealth; within three years it will be complete and adorned.
I called in the learned scribes and settled them here on this flourishing mountain.
The full count is not yet clear; the accountant's back has bent and hunched over it.
The one who spoke says that in the ground there is even more gold and jewels than this.
Here on this mountain I keep both my eyes fixed on the road, waiting to see what command the royal court will give.
My greetings go out to the king of Iran; may you live as long as cloth is made of warp and weft.
He set a swift camel racing along the road to carry the letter to the king.
When Bahram Gur read that letter, a turmoil rose in his heart over the matter.
He grew grim and his eyes filled with tears; his warrior's brows twisted into a frown.
He ordered the scribe to come before him; he called for a pen and Chinese silk paper.
First he offered praise to the Creator, the Lord victorious and everlasting.
The Lord of wisdom and glory, the Lord of the crown of kingship.
He wrote: if I were truly just, I would not have let this man suffer such hardship.
He did not gather this wealth through theft or bloodshed, nor did he lead anyone into wrongdoing.
It was only that this man was ungrateful, and held no fear of God in his heart.
He was a mere watchman over this wealth, wearing down his heart and soul just to make it grow.
On this plain, what difference is there between wolf and sheep, when it is all just strife and brings no profit?
Under the earth, what difference is there between a jewel and a stone, if from it comes neither food nor clothing to hand?
Let us not build a treasury out of that toil; let us not tie our hearts to this fleeting lodging house of a world.
Fereydun is nowhere to be seen in the world now, nor Iraj, Salm, and Tur among the great ones.
Nor Jamshid, Kavus, and Kay Qobad, and the other famous names we still remember.
My own father, who left my heart full of grief, was not just; he was a cruel man.
None of these great ones remains; against this fate there is no quarrel to make with God.
You, gather up all that wealth, whatever there is; distribute it, and do not keep a single thing for yourself.
Give to the one who keeps his need hidden, the one who through misfortune finds relief only late.
And to the old man too, who has been left without work and become worthless in the eyes of the wealthy.
Everyone else had something and ate it up; now they are left with pain and cold, empty wind.
A man with a good name but no money finds no partner in the marketplace.
Then there are the orphaned children you see: their fathers dead, left with neither gold nor silver.
And women with no husband and no clothing, who know no trade and have no means to strive.
Give all this wealth to them; brighten their diminished souls and lives.
As for you who set out toward the treasure like the wind, let justice and piety be your whole way.
The gold that Farshidvard hid away, leave it be, so it brings no sorrow.
What good to him are gold and jewels, or plain dirt, when he must be laid in the grave?
May the turning heavens be your friend; may justice and restraint be your work.
They set the king's seal upon the letter; the messenger turned back and took to the road.