Tale of Bizhan and Manizheh

A night like a face washed in black pitch: no Mars in sight, no Saturn, no Mercury. The moon had put on a strange new dress and set out to cross the sky. It had grown dark in its resting place, its waist gone thin, its heart shrunk tight. Two thirds of its crown had turned to deep blue, and it gave the air over to rust and dust. The army of dark night spread over plain and meadow a carpet made of a crow's black feathers. From every side a demon showed itself to my eye, like a black snake with its mouth thrown wide. The sky was like rust-eaten steel; you would say its face had been smeared with pitch. Whenever a cold wind rose up, it flung dust from its fingers like an African. The garden and the streambank became such that waves seemed to break from a sea of tar. The turning wheel of heaven stood still in place, and the sun's hands and feet went slack. Wrapped in that pitch-dark veil, the sky seemed to have fallen fast asleep. The heart of the world was full of fear for itself, and the night watchman had sounded his bell. No cry of a bird, no roar of a beast: the age had gone silent about good and bad alike. Nothing showed, no high from low; my heart grew tight from that long, drawn-out night. In that distress I sprang from my place; I had a kind companion there in the house. I called out and asked her for a lamp, and my sweet love came to me in the garden. She said to me, what do you want with a candle? On a dark night what you need is sleep. I told her, lovely one, I am not made for sleep. Bring me a candle bright as the sun. Set it before me and prepare a feast; take up the harp and start the wine. That kind love of mine went from the garden and brought back a shining candle and lamp. She brought wine, pomegranates, citrons and quince, and a polished royal goblet. She said to me, get up and keep your heart glad; free your soul from pain and sorrow. See that you do not lay your heart to waste with worry; call for justice and speak out. The world slips by however you pass through it; why should a wise person eat their heart out with grief? One moment she poured the wine, the next she played the harp; you would say Harut himself had worked his magic. She made my heart victorious over every wish, for she turned that dark night into a festival for me. I said to that slender cypress, moon-faced one, tell me a story tonight, a story whose love gives the heart splendor and warmth, one that leaves even the heavens dazzled. Now hear what my kind companion said, after we were joined in delight. She said, keep pouring the wine while I tell you a tale from the words of the ancients, full of scheming and love, of trickery and war, and fit for a person of learning and steadiness. I said, bring it on, lovely one; recite the story and deepen the love. Of the good and bad of the unruly wheel of fate, which brings people every kind of turn, see that you do not let your heart grow tight; why turn from it, why look for delay? No one knows its way and its order; neither its pain nor its cure is ever plain. Then she said, if you will listen to me, and set it into verse from the Pahlavi book, I will tell it and take your thanks in return. Now listen, my companion who knows what is good.

When Kaykhosrow rose to seek revenge, he set out to build the world anew. The old throne and seat vanished from the land of Turan, and the king's crown climbed as high as the sun. The heavens joined themselves to the king of Iran, and spread their love over the noble and free. The times became as they had been at the start; Khosrow washed his face clean in the water of loyalty. A wise man will not make his bed by a stream whose water flowed past long ago. When part of the world had been set right for him, he began to demand payment for the blood of Siavash. One happy day he sat at the feast, calling to mind the heroes of his army. The king's throne was dressed in brocade, and on his head sat the royal crown. He sat upon his throne, wine in hand, his heart and ear given to the sound of the harp. The great ones sat together in delight: Fariborz son of Kavus, and Gostaham, and Gudarz son of Keshvad, and Farhad, and Giv; Gorgin son of Milad, and brave Shapur, and prince Nozar, and Tus who breaks armies, and Roham, and Bijan the warrior. All held royal wine in their hands, all champions devoted to their king. The wine in the cups was like the carnelian of Yemen, and before them lay tulips and wild roses. Fairy-faced maidens stood before Khosrow, the tips of their hair brushing musk against the jasmine of their skin. The whole feast breathed the scent and color of spring, and the chamberlain stood ready, belt fastened. A curtain-keeper came in from behind the screen and went quietly to the chief steward. He said that at the gate the Armanians waited, people from the border of Turan and Iran, seeking a way to the king; petitioners come from a long road to demand justice. When the alert steward heard this, he went at once, hurrying to Khosrow's side. He reported what he had heard and awaited the command, then brought them in with proper ceremony. With hands crossed on their chests, they pressed their faces to the ground, weeping before him. They said: O victorious king, live forever, for you alone deserve eternal life. We have come far to seek justice, from a place where Iran lies on this side and Tur's land on the other, a place people call the House of Arman; and from the Armanians we bring a message to Khosrow: May you live in joy, O king, forever; in every land you have power over the wicked. In all seven regions you are the sovereign; against every evil you are the ally of each city. The border of Turan lies within our city, and from those people such great disaster has come upon us. Toward the land of Iran there was a woodland that we depended on and cared for greatly. How much farmland lay within it, and trees grown tall, all bearing fruit. It was our pasture, and this is our cry: King of Iran, grant us justice! Wild boars have come now beyond all counting; they have overrun every thicket and meadow. With tusks like elephants, bodies like mountains, they have worn down the whole land of Arman. To our livestock and our crops alike, how much harm they have brought upon us. As for our trees, we have no strength to save them; with their tusks they gladly tear them in two. Even hard stone will not resist their tusks, unless our fortune has turned against us entirely. When the king heard the plea of the petitioner, his heart twisted with grief. Kaykhosrow pitied them in his sorrow, and called out to his proud, defiant champions. 'O my renowned ones, my brave warriors, who among this gathering will seek out honor?' 'Who will go to that thicket where the boars devour, for the sake of great fame, of shame and battle?' 'He who cuts off the heads of the boars with his blade, I will not begrudge him a treasury of jewels.' The king ordered a golden tray, and the treasurer set it before the court. They poured every kind of gem upon it, all mingled together, one with another. Ten precious horses with golden bridles, branded with the mark of Kavus's name. They adorned them with Roman brocade, and called forth many of the renowned from the assembly. Then the lord of the earth spoke thus: 'O my celebrated and honored ones,' 'Whoever takes on this hardship out of respect for me, afterward my treasure shall become his own treasure.' No one in the gathering gave any answer, except Bijan, son of Giv, of noble stock. He stepped forward from among the warriors and offered praise to God for the king. 'May you live forever, victorious and joyful; may your head stay green and your heart be full of justice.' 'Wine cup in hand, night and day, in remembrance of King Kavus.' 'May your soul dwell happy in paradise, and your command be spread across the world.' 'I will step forward to carry out this task at your command; for your sake I hold my body and soul.' When Bijan spoke this way, Giv looked over from the side, and the matter weighed heavy on him. First he offered praise to the king, then he pointed out the way to Bijan. He said to his son: 'Why this rashness of youth? Why this overconfidence in your own strength?' 'A young man, though wise and well born, cannot master a skill without experience.' 'One must endure every kind of good and bad, must taste every bitterness and every sting.' 'Do not walk a road you have never traveled; do not recklessly risk your honor before the king.' At his father's words he flared up sharply; he was young, sharp-witted, and blessed with fortune. He said: Victorious king, do not think me weak or lacking in resolve. Accept these words from me: I am young, but in wisdom I am old. I am Bizhan, son of Giv, the breaker of armies. I will tear the boar's head from its body. When Bizhan spoke like this, the king was glad; he blessed him and gave him the command. Khosrow said to him: You, so full of skill, always be a shield against evil. Anyone who has a younger warrior like you at his side, yet fears the enemy, is a fool. Then he said to Gorgin, son of Milad: Bizhan does not know the roads to Turan. Go with him as far as the border river; be both his guide and his companion. From there Bizhan prepared for the road; he fastened his belt and set the helmet on his head. He brought Gorgin, son of Milad, to share the journey and to answer any call for help. He set out from the king's court with cheetah and falcon, off on a long road to hunt. He moved like an elephant flecked with foam, striking the heads of wild ass and gazelle from their bodies. The whole plain of mountain sheep was torn open by the cheetahs' claws, their chests and hearts burning with wounds. Every wild ass's neck bore the mark of the lasso; whether Bizhan or Tahmuras the demon-binder, the skill was the same. Pheasants clutched in the falcons' talons, blood dripping from the air onto the white jasmine petals. In this way they passed along the road, and the whole plain seemed to them a garden. When Bizhan turned his eyes to the forest, his blood boiled and his body filled with rage. The boars roamed on, unaware that Bizhan had already saddled his chestnut horse. He said to Gorgin, son of Milad: Come in with me, or else stand clear to one side. Go over near that pool, while I close in on the boars with my arrows. When a roar rises from the forest, take up your mace and keep your wits about you. The warrior Gorgin said to Bizhan: This was not the agreement made with the new king. You were the one who took the jewels, silver, and gold; you were the one who girded yourself for this battle. When Bizhan heard these words he was stunned; his eyes went dark at the sight of Gorgin's face. Like a lion he plunged into the forest; the brave man strung his bow. He roared like a thundercloud in spring, and the arrows rained down like leaves from a tree. He went after the boars like a maddened elephant, a tempered dagger in his hand. They charged at him, all at once for the fight, tearing up the earth with their tusks. They struck fire from their tusks; you would think they were setting the whole world ablaze. A boar came at him like a demon and ripped the armor on Bizhan's body. Like a steel file grinding on hard stone, the beast kept sharpening its tusks on the tree trunk. They kindled the fire of battle, and smoke rose up from that meadow. Bizhan struck a dagger into its middle, and its elephant-like body split clean in two. When those bold beasts grew cowardly as foxes, their bodies bloody from the blade, their hearts sick of the fight, he cut off their heads with his dagger and tied them to the saddle of his headstrong black horse, so he might bring their tusks before the king, and drag their headless bodies down the road, and show his skill to the champions of Iran: heads severed from beasts as huge as battle-elephants. He heaved each one, mountain-sized, onto the packsaddle, until even the buffalo was worn out from hauling them. The scheming Gorgin, all in turmoil, came burning with envy from one side of the wood. The whole forest looked dark to his eyes; still he praised Bizhan and made a show of joy. But pain over that deed crept into his heart, and the man grew afraid of his own disgrace. The devil twisted his heart, and he set his mind on doing evil to Bizhan. Such was his scheme, so it was fated, and he gave no thought at all to the Creator of the world. Whoever digs a deep pit in another's path deserves to end up lying at the bottom of it himself. For the sake of greed and for his own name, he spread a snare across the young man's road. See what that faithless man devised, and what cruelty he brought down upon Bizhan. In that moment he showed him kindness and praised his goodness again and again. When they had finished with fighting and slaughter, they set up a place to sit with wine and music. Bizhan knew nothing of Gorgin's true intent; he took his words to be honest. When they had drunk a little of that red wine, Bizhan turned once to look at Gorgin and said, 'How did you find my fighting, the way I went at those boars like this?' He answered, 'You with the heart of a lion, in all the world I have never seen a warrior like you. In Iran and Turan you have no equal; a task like this is no hard thing for you.' Bizhan's heart grew glad at his words, and he stood tall like a free cypress. Then the champion Gorgin said to Bizhan, 'You renowned hero of bright spirit, how many such feats you have accomplished, by the power of God and your high fortune. Now let me tell you the things worth telling, of how long I have spent in these parts, with Rostam, and Giv, and Gazhdaham, with Tus son of Nozar, and with Gostaham, how many great deeds on this wide plain we performed, deeds beyond the reach of the turning heavens, so that our name rose high through them, and we became honored in the eyes of Kay Khosrow.' There is a festival ground not far from here; two days' ride and you can reach it swiftly. You will see a plain all green and gold, a sight that gladdens the heart of any noble man. All woods and gardens and running water, a place fit for a champion. The ground like silk, the air scented with musk; you would think the stream was flowing rosewater. Its earth is amber, its stones are rubies, the air smells of musk and the land shines in every color. The jasmine boughs bend low under their blossoms; the garden becomes an idol and the rosebush a worshipper before it. The pheasant struts among the roses, and the nightingale sings out from the cypress branch. From now on, in no long time, that whole meadow will turn into paradise. You will see fairy faces filling the plain and hills, groups seated in joy on every side. There Manizheh, daughter of Afrasiab, makes the garden blaze like the sun. All the girls of Turan with veiled faces, each tall as a cypress, each with musk-dark hair. Every cheek full of roses, every eye heavy with sleep, every lip filled with wine and fragrant with rosewater. If we go near that festival ground and ride there in a single day, we can carry off a few of their fairy-faced women and return honored before the king. When Gorgin spoke this way, the champion's blood surged in young Bizhan. Now he longed for fame, now for pleasure; being young, he stepped forward like the young. The two of them set out on the long road, one driven by desire, the other by scheming spite. After a day's ride, between two woods, that army's protector dismounted. For two days the people of Arman had been enjoying those meadows with their hawks and hunting cheetahs. When Gorgin knew the bride had come, the whole plain turned bright before him like a rooster's eye at dawn. Then he told Bizhan the whole tale and spoke much of that festival and its revelry. Then Bizhan said to Gorgin, 'Let me be the one to make this journey first.' 'I will go and view the banquet from afar, to see how the Turks are preparing their feast.' 'Then from there I will turn my reins back and raise my spear high over the enemy.' 'Then we will make our plan more shrewdly; the heart grows more alert when it has seen with its own eyes.' He said to the treasurer, 'Bring the golden crown that I wore on my head at the banquet,' 'the one that lit up the whole gathering. Bring it; now is our moment.' 'And bring Kaykhosrow's collar and earrings, and Giv's armlet set with gems.' He put on a shining Byzantine robe and hung a phoenix feather from his crown. They set the saddle on the back of his night-black horse; he asked for his belt and his champion's seal-ring. He came near that thicket and drew close; his eager heart filled with restless thoughts. He rested beneath a tall, leafy tree, so the sun's heat would do him no harm. As he came close to that lovely tent, love kindled and blazed up in his heart. The whole plain, ringing with the sound of harp and song, seemed to send greetings to the soul. When Manizheh looked out from her tent, she saw that tall figure, the shelter of an army. Cheeks bright as the star Suhayl of Yemen, with two violet locks resting on petals of jasmine. A mighty warrior's helmet on his head, his chest shining in Roman brocade. The veiled girl, hidden behind her curtain, felt love surge in her and her whole mood changed. She sent her nurse off swift as a courier: Go, stand beneath that tall cypress tree. Find out who that moon faced one is: is Siyavush come back to life, or is he a fairy? Ask him: how did you come here? Why not join us in this feast? Are you fairy born, or are you Siyavush, that all hearts boil over with love for you? Or has doomsday risen in the world, that you have lit the fierce fire of love? For years I have held my festival in this meadow every spring. I have never seen anyone at this feast; but I have seen you, and you, free cypress, are enough. When the nurse came up to Bizhan, she praised him and bowed low before him. She gave Manizheh's message to Bizhan, and his whole face bloomed like a flower. Bizhan answered her thus: My lovely messenger, I am not Siyavush, nor born of fairies; I am from Iran, of the line of noble free men. I am Bizhan, son of Giv, come from Iran to war; I came at once to strike down the wild boars. I cut off their heads and left them on the road, to carry their tusks back to the king. When I learned of this festival, I did not hurry off to Giv and Gudarz. I came here to this field, having traveled a long, long road, hoping that lucky fortune might show me the face of Afrasiab's daughter, as if in a dream. I see this plain all adorned, rich with treasure like a Chinese temple. If you show good sense, I will give you a golden crown, earrings, and a belt. Bring me to that lovely face, and turn her heart toward mine with love. When Bizhan said this, the nurse went back and whispered the secret in Manizheh's ear: His face is like this, his height like this; the Creator of the world made him this way. When Manizheh heard these words from the nurse, she gave the order to go to the cypress tree. At once she sent her answer back: what you had wished for has come true. If you come strolling to my side, you will set my darkened soul aglow. There was no room left for more words, and he set out from the shade of that cypress tree. Toward the tent of the noble hearted girl he walked on foot, full of longing. He entered the curtain, tall as a cypress, his waist bound with a golden belt. Manijeh came and took him in her arms, and loosed the royal belt from his waist. She asked him about his journey and its long toil: who went with you to fight the wild boars? Why, with such a face and stature and height, do you wear yourself out with the mace, you beautiful one? They washed his feet with musk and rosewater, then hurried to bring the food. They set out the table with dishes of every kind, preparing more than one could imagine. They arranged a place for music and wine, and cleared the tent of every stranger. The attendants stood ready on their feet, with lute and harp and songs of joy. The floor was made peacock bright with brocade, spread with gold coins and silk like a leopard's back. With musk and amber, with rubies and gold, the whole pavilion was decked from end to end. Aged wine in cups of crystal roused its strength against Bijan, son of Giv. For three days and three nights they were happy together, until the sleep of drunkenness overcame him. When the time to leave drew near, she was seized with longing to keep seeing Bijan. She ordered a servant to mix a drug that steals the senses into a sweet drink. They gave it to Bijan, son of Giv, that good hearted, renowned hero. When Bijan lay there with his face gone dull, Manijeh called her attendants to her. She had a covered litter made ready for the road, for that sleeping man in that place. On one side she set a place for pleasure, on the other she arranged a place for rest. She spread camphor over the sleeping place, and poured rosewater over sandalwood. When she came near the city, she drew a veil over the sleeping man. In secret she came into the palace by night, opening her lips to no stranger. When Bijan woke and came to his senses, he found a jasmine skinned beauty in his arms, there in Afrasiab's palace, his head on a pillow beside that moon faced girl. Bijan writhed within himself, and cried out to God against the devil's work. He said: Creator, if there is to be no escape for me from this place, then take my vengeance from Gorgin, and hear my grief and my curse upon him. For it was he who led me toward wrongdoing, casting endless spells of temptation over me. Manizheh said to him: Keep your heart glad, and let go of things that have not even happened. For men, every kind of thing comes their way: sometimes feasting, and sometimes battle. From every tent they called out lovely, rose-cheeked women and dressed them in fine Roman silk. The fairy-faced ones took up their lutes and passed the whole day in joy.

After some time had passed this way, the doorkeeper at last caught wind of what was happening. He probed their hidden business and looked closely into the affair from the start. Whoever speaks careless, reckless words only shakes the tree of misfortune. He looked into who the man was and where his city lay, and why he had come to Turan. He learned the truth and grew afraid for his own life, so he hurried toward his own remedy. He saw no other course than to report it, and rushed out from behind the curtain. He came before the king of the Turks and said: Your daughter has chosen a mate from Iran. When Afrasiab, the world-seeker, heard mention of this, it was as if a wind woke him. Blood streamed from his lashes; enraged, he told the story over again. Whoever has a daughter behind the curtain, even if he wears a crown, is ill-starred. For one whose daughter comes instead of a son, no door-bridegroom is better than the grave. His heart was stunned by Manizheh's deed; he summoned Qarakhan the commander. He said to him: About this shameless woman's act, give me sober counsel. Qarakhan answered the king thus: Look more carefully into the matter. If it is true, there is no room for talk; but hearing of a thing is not like seeing it. Then, in grief, he spoke to Garsivaz, his heart full of blood and his eyes brimming with pale tears. Why does fate lay this chain on me: worry over Iran's realm and over my own child? Go with alert, wary horsemen and guard the palace, its roof and its doors. Whoever you find inside the palace, bind him and drag him here to me. When Garsivaz came near the door, from the hall came shouts of feasting and drinking. The clamor of the harp and the sound of the lute rose from Afrasiab's own hall. The horsemen seized the doors and the roof of that royal palace and blocked every path. When Garsivaz saw the palace doors shut and heard the wine and the endless revelry, the horsemen gathered around him as the commander went toward the locked door. He set his hand to it, tore the bolt from its place, and burst in through the doorway into the hall. He came quickly to that chamber where the stranger held the seat of honor. When from the doorway his eyes fell on Bizhan, his blood boiled and his skin flushed with rage. In that room were three hundred serving girls, all with lutes and wine and song. Bizhan writhed within himself: How can I fight when my body is bare? I have neither my black horse nor my swift bay; it seems the sun of my luck has set today. In the whole world I see no friend to help; no one comes to my cry but God. Where are Giv and Gudarz of the house of Kashvad now, when a man must give his life for nothing? He always kept, inside one boot-leg, a bright, gleaming dagger. He set his hand, drew the dagger from its sheath, took command of the room and cried out his name: I am Bizhan, son of the house of Kashvad, chief of the champions and the free-born. No one will pierce my skin unless he first grows sick of his own life. Even if the Day of Resurrection breaks upon the world, no one will see my back in flight. You know my ancestors and my king, and my rank among the heroes. If they mean to fight, then to battle, and I will forever wash my hand in blood. With this dagger I will cut off the heads of many Turanian chiefs. But if you bring me to the commander of Turan and plead my case well for me, if you ask him to spare my blood, it would be right for you to guide him toward mercy. Garsivaz made no move against him, seeing how sharp and fierce his grip was. He knew the man spoke the truth, and that he was ready to soak his hands in blood. He kept faith with him through oaths and gave him much kindly counsel. By a pledge he got the dagger away from him, then gently drew him into bonds. He brought him tied like a hunting leopard. What use is skill once your day has turned? Such are the ways of this hunched sky: when you enjoy its softness, you soon meet its harshness. When the hero came before the king, hands bound and head bare, he saluted him and said: O sovereign, if you seek the truth from me, I will tell you the whole story from start to finish, if you will hear me out. I did not seek out this festival ground by choice; no one is to blame in this affair. I came from Iran to hunt wild boar and stumbled upon this Turanian festival. For the sake of a hunting-hawk that had gone astray, I strayed far from my loving family. I lay down to sleep beneath a cypress tree, to have its shade against the sun. A fairy came, spread her wings, and carried me off asleep in her arms. She parted me from my horse and set out, for an army and the king's daughter were coming. Horsemen were scattered all across the plain, and how many litters passed by me! From afar an Indian canopy appeared, with Turan's riders around it on every side. In the midst was a litter fashioned of aloeswood, draped over with a silken curtain. Inside it slept an idol-fair figure, a crown laid at her pillow beside her. The fairy invoked the demon over and over, and swept in among the riders like the wind. Suddenly she set me in that litter and chanted a spell over that lovely face, so that until she reached the palace she did not stir from sleep, while my own eyes filled with tears. I have no guilt in any of this, and Manizheh is not tainted by this affair. No doubt it was fortune, turned against me, that made the fairy try her magic on me. It happened just as I said, no more, no less; here now I have neither kin nor friend. Then Afrasiab answered him: Your evil luck has hurried you to this. You are the one who sought war from Iran with sword and lasso, chasing a great name. Now, like a woman, hands bound before me, you babble of sleep like a drunken man. By practicing your lies, you think you will snatch your head away from me. Bizhan said to him: O sovereign, hear one wise word from me. Boars with their tusks and lions with their claws can put up a fight anywhere. And heroes too, with sword, arrow, and bow, can struggle against those who wish them ill. But one man stands bound and bare, another armored in steel. How can a lion tear when its sharp claws are gone, however full of fury its heart may be? If the king wishes to see me show my courage before this gathering, order me a horse and a heavy mace, and pick a thousand of the finest Turkish chiefs. On the field of battle, set them against me, all thousand; if I come out alive, do not count me a man. When he heard these words from Bizhan, he threw his eyes over him and flared with rage. He looked at Garsivaz once: See what we have suffered from Iran, and what we still will. Do you not see how this vile wretch keeps plotting still more against me? The evil he has done was not enough for him; he still seeks battle and disgrace and war. Bind him like this, hand and foot, and in that very hour clear him out of this place. Order a gallows raised before the gate, where there is a crossing on every side. Hang that ill-starred man up alive, and speak no more of him to me. So that from now on no Iranian will dare to even look toward Turan. They dragged him away from Afrasiab, his heart wounded with pain and his eyes full of tears. When Bizhan, broken-hearted, reached the gate, the blood from his lashes left his feet stuck in the mud. He kept saying: If the Creator has written on my brow that I die in this cruel hour, I do not fear the gallows or the killing; I fear the heroes of Iran, that my enemy will call me a coward, my body hung on a gibbet without a wound. Before my noble ancestors, even after death, there will be reproach upon me. My soul will linger here in this place; from shame before my father, how can I return home? Alas that my enemy will rejoice when they see my bright body on the gallows. Alas for the king and the brave men; alas that I am far from the sight of Giv. O wind, pass over the land of Iran and carry a message from me to the chosen king. Tell him that Bizhan is caught in hardship, like a deer that could not escape the lion's claws.

God took pity on his youth and broke apart the doubt that hung over him. The workman was still digging up the tree's roots when, by fate, Piran appeared in the distance. When Piran son of Viseh reached that place, he saw the whole road lined with soldiers, belts tightened for battle. A tall gallows had been raised, and a noose was fastened to it like a fetter. He asked the Turks, 'What is this gallows for? Who is the man the king wants to hang?' Garsivaz told him, 'This is Bijan, the enemy the king has brought from Iran.' He spurred his horse and came to Bijan, and found him with a wounded heart and a stripped body. His hands were bound behind his back tight as stone, his mouth dry, all color gone from his face. He asked, 'How did you come here? You must have come to Iran's enemy seeking blood.' Bijan told him the whole story, how his own bad luck had joined him to disaster. Piran son of Viseh took pity on him, and tears rolled down his face from his lashes. He ordered them to hold the hanging for a while; they did not proceed, and he said, 'Keep him right here.' 'So that I may see the king's face and show him the path of good fortune.' He entered the palace like a humble servant, standing before the king with hands folded in respect. He came hurrying up to the throne and offered Afrasiab deep and earnest praise. He remained standing before the throne, like a pure and guiding counselor. The commander understood that noble Piran was standing there because he wanted something. He smiled and said, 'Tell me what you want; you hold great honor in my eyes.' 'Whether you want gold or jewels, or the rule of any land,' 'I will not begrudge you my treasure. Why do you choose to trouble yourself?' When Piran, devoted to his king, heard this, he kissed the ground and sprang to his feet. 'May your fortune and your place endure forever; may your throne never stand empty.' 'Among the kings of the world, praise belongs to you; your splendor rises higher than the sun.' 'Whatever I need I already have through your fortune, in men, in treasure, and in strength of hand.' 'This request of mine is not for my own gain; none of your servants is a beggar.' 'Let the high-minded King of Kings, praised and blameless in all he does, know' 'that many times before I have given the king advice on several matters,' 'yet nothing came of my counsel; I withheld my hand from those affairs.' 'I told you: do not kill the son of Kavus, or you will make enemies of Rostam and Tus,' 'for they will crush us with elephants from Iran and tear our bonds apart.' 'Siyavash, who was of the royal line of the Kayanids, had girded his belt to serve you,' 'yet you killed Siyavash for nothing, mixing poison into the honey.' 'You saw the evils the Iranians did, what they did to the land of the Turanians.' 'Two thirds of the Turks were trampled under horses' hooves, and our fortune turned to bitter water.' 'Even now the blade of Zal son of Sam has surely not yet rested in its sheath,' 'for Rostam still lets heads roll from it and drips their blood upon the sun.' 'Yet in this calm you go on seeking vengeance; foolishly you keep smelling a flower of poison.' 'If you spill Bijan's blood on top of all this, that same dust of vengeance will rise against Turan.' 'You are a wise king and we your servants; open the eye of reason and look.' 'Consider the vengeance you have already spread: what fruit did you gain from the King of Iran?' 'Yet you are inviting the same again, bringing the tree of ruin to fruit.' 'If the feud grows twofold, we cannot hold our ground, O champion, lord of the world.' 'No one knows Giv better than you, nor Rostam the brave, that crocodile of disaster.' 'And Gudarz son of Keshvad with his steel grip, who will come to war for his grandson.' When he poured this cool water on that blazing fire, Afrasiab answered him thus: 'Do you not see what Bijan did to me? Before Iran and Turan my face has turned yellow with shame.' 'Do you not see what disgrace this shameless man has brought upon my old age through my daughter?' 'He tore the good name of my veiled women from behind their curtain and spread it before everyone.' 'For this disgrace my whole realm and army will laugh at me forever.' 'If he escapes from me with his life, tongues will wag against me on every side.' 'I will be left in disgrace and grief, weeping pale tears from my eyes.' Again Piran praised him and said, 'O king of good fortune, speaker of truth,' 'it is just as the king says; he seeks nothing but a good name.' 'But let my sober-minded lord look deeply into this thought of mine:' 'Let him bind Bijan in heavy chains instead of choosing the gallows and death for him.' 'Whoever remains bound in your prison, no one will read his name from the records of the demons of state.' 'The Iranians will take warning from him and will not gird themselves for evil after this.' The commander did as counsel advised, and found his heart in agreement with the king's word. Through the pure and guiding counselor, the king grows radiant upon his throne. Then the king ordered Garsivaz to prepare heavy fetters and a dark pit. 'Chain both his hands, put a collar on his neck, a Roman shackle laid on like a heavy weight.' 'Have the blacksmiths rivet him with iron nails, and bind him within it from head to foot.' 'When you have bound him, cast him head first into the pit, so he is cut off from the sun and moon.' 'Bring that boulder of Akvan the demon, the one the lord of the deep world's sea' 'flung into the thickets of China. Fetch it, and take vengeance on Bijan with it.' 'Haul that stone with a team of elephants, the one that can cover the mouth of the Arzhang pit.' 'Bring it and seal the mouth of his pit, so that his soul may leave him in misery.' 'And from there go to the mansion of that shameless one, Manijeh, who brings disgrace upon her noble birth.' 'Go with your horsemen and plunder it; strip that ill-starred girl of crown and standing.' 'Tell her: O accursed, wretched creature, the crown and throne no longer suit you.' 'With disgrace you have lowered my head before the Kayanids; you have thrown my crown into the dust.' 'Drag her naked to the pit, so she may see in the pit the one she once saw on the throne.' 'You are his spring, you are his comforter; in this cramped prison you are his visitor.' Garsivaz strode out from his presence and carried out the will of that malicious man. They dragged Bijan son of Giv away from the gallows and brought him, bound, to that pit. They bound him in iron from head to foot: his chest, his arms, his neck, his legs, his hands. With the blacksmiths' steel hammers they drove in heavy rivets. They cast him head first into the pit and fastened a seal over its mouth. From there Garsivaz led his troops to the mansion of that daughter. He gave all the treasure and jewels to plunder; he took from one purse and gave to another. Manijeh, in a single wrap and nothing more, her feet bare and her head uncovered, he dragged running to that pit, her eyes full of blood, her cheeks like a flowing stream. He said to her, 'Here is your home and household; you are the visitor of this bound man forever.' She went wailing round and round the plain, until a day and a night had passed over her. Crying out, she came to the mouth of the pit and pushed one hand down into it. When the sun raised its head over the mountain, Manijeh went door to door gathering bread. All through the long day she collected it and brought it to the hole of the pit. She handed it down to Bijan and wept; on that wretched fortune she lived on.

For a week Gorgin waited beside the road, but Bizhan never returned. He rushed off searching in every direction, washing his cheeks with tears of blood. Regret came over him for what he had done, for the treachery he had planned against his friend. He galloped back to that festival ground where Bizhan, son of Giv, had lost his way. He circled the whole forest and saw no one, nor even heard a single birdsong there. He kept roaming around that meadow, searching everywhere for his companion. At last, from a distance, he saw Bizhan's horse emerging from the meadowlands. Its bridle was torn and its saddle overturned, and it stood there frozen and grief stricken. He understood that things had gone badly for Bizhan, that he would not return to Iran anytime soon. Whether hanged, or thrown in a pit, or bound in chains, harm had come to him from Afrasiyab. He threw his lasso, caught the horse, and turned back, sorry for his deed, his heart heavy with anguish. He led Bizhan's horse from that meadow, brought it to his tent, and stayed a day. Then he hurried toward the land of Iran, finding no rest or food night or day. When word reached the king from Gorgin that Bizhan had not been with him on the road, the ruler told this news to Giv, so that Giv might question Gorgin himself. So at once the news came to Giv that his brave warrior son had gone missing. He rushed from his house out into the street, his heart wounded with pain, his face streaming with tears. He kept saying, Bizhan has not come back; I do not know what could have befallen him. He ordered the chestnut steed of Keshvad to be brought, the horse he kept for the day of battle cries. They set the saddle upon it, and Giv, fierce as a leopard, took vengeance to his heart. The moment he set foot upon it, he shot off like the wind from where he stood. He rode out to meet Gorgin and ask him where Bizhan was and how things had gone. Meanwhile Gorgin kept telling himself: surely fate has been secretly plotting against me. I am doomed if he sees me without Bizhan; he will strike my head from my body on the spot. When Gorgin came near and saw Giv, he leapt down from his horse and ran toward him. He rolled in the dust before him, his cheeks clawed raw, his head bared. He cried out, saying: O chosen one of the army, commander, leader, and sun of the throne, why have you come out on this road to meet me, your eyes brimming with blood? I no longer want this sweet life of mine; let it end now, and worthless it will be. For when my eyes meet your face, shame makes hot tears pour down from my eyes. Do not worry now, no harm has touched his life, and I will tell you where he is. When Giv saw his son's horse in Gorgin's hand, caked with dust and staggering like a drunk, and when Gorgin's words reached his ears, he fell from his horse and lost his senses. His head disappeared into the dust, and he tore apart all his warrior's robes. He ripped the hair from his head and beard, and, crying out, poured dust upon himself. He said: O Maker of the heavens, you filled my heart with reason and love. If my son is taken from me, I accept it, even if my own thread of life is cut. Carry my soul to the place of the good; you know the pain of my heart better than anyone. In all this world he was everything to me, my one comfort in sorrow, my one rescuer in distress. Now cruel fate has torn him from me, and I am left like this, afflicted in the world. Then he questioned Gorgin, asking how it had all happened from the start, whether time had chosen another in his place, or whether he had simply vanished from your sight. Tell me what evils fell upon him, what shackle the heavens laid upon him. What demon came before him in the meadow that destroyed him and turned his fortune? How did you find this cursed, riderless horse, and where did you turn your face away from Bizhan? Gorgin said to him: Come to your senses; listen to my words and open wide your ears, how this thing happened, how it was done, and how the battle with the boars went in that forest. Know it, great warrior, and be aware; may you always be the light of the throne. We set out from here to fight the boars and drew near the heights of Arman. We saw a woodland worked over like a hand, its trees cut down, its pastures laid low, everywhere turned into a den of boars; all the land of Arman was in ruin because of them. When we turned our spears to battle and raised our war cry within the woods, the boars charged in like mountains, not one by one but gathered in a herd everywhere. We fought a battle like lions; the day passed and still our hearts had not tired of the fight. We hurled them together like elephants and tore out their spike-like tusks. From there we turned our faces toward Iran, joyful all along the road and seeking game. Then a wild ass rose up from that meadow, more beautiful than any painted picture one could see, its coat like the rose-red color of Gudarz's horse, its face like the white steed of Farhad, its two legs like silver, its hooves like steel, its head, ears, and tail black like Bizhan's night-dark mount, with a neck like a lion's and a run like the wind, as if it were descended from Rakhsh. The wild boar charged at Bizhan like an enraged elephant, and Bizhan flung his lasso at it. The moment the rope was thrown, the beast bolted; the boar raced ahead and Bizhan galloped after it. From the running of the boar and the dust of the rider, a cloud of dust rose over that meadow. The ground churned up like a stormy sea, and both the lassoing rider and the boar vanished from sight. I searched every plain and mountain, following their trail until my steed was worn out. Nowhere did I find a trace of Bizhan, except this horse and saddle I dragged back with me. My heart burned with grief for him, wondering how his fight with the boar had gone. I lingered a long time in that meadow, searching for him in every direction. I turned back from there in despair, for the boar was ferocious and the ground held white demons. When wise Giv heard these words, he understood that something was terribly wrong. He saw that Gorgin's whole story was confused, and his own eyes went dark looking at that face. Gorgin's face was pale with fear of the king's commander, his words trembling, his heart heavy with guilt. When Giv realized his son was lost, and heard the tale so tainted with lies, the demon of rage tore Giv's heart from its place; he longed to strike Gorgin down. He wanted to take revenge for his chosen son, no matter how much good Gorgin had once done him. Then he stopped and thought it over, but no clear answer came to light. He said, 'What would I gain by killing him? Only the wish of this evil, demonic wretch.' 'What use to Bizhan is taking this man's life? Let us find another cure for his plight.' 'Let us wait until this matter reaches the king, and Gorgin's guilt is made plain.' 'Taking revenge on him is no great feat; my spear does not falter before a mere wall.' He shouted loudly at Gorgin, 'You wicked, foul, poisonous villain!' 'You have robbed me of my sun and my moon, the finest of riders, my very king.' 'You have thrown me into ceaseless running and struggle, wandering the world in search of a remedy.' 'Now, with your tricks and traps and deceit, where will you ever find rest, sleep, or peace?' 'You will have no power left, once I go and stand before the face of the king.' 'Then I will demand my vengeance from you, for the sake of my precious, world-beholding son.' From there he went to the king, his eyes filled with tears of blood, his heart set on revenge. He gave him blessing: 'O sovereign, may you always pass through the world in joy.' 'Long live our fortunate ruler of good stars! Do you not see what has befallen me?' 'I had one young son in all the world; day and night I was devoted to him.' My heart was full of fear, I wept for him, burning with the pain of our parting. Now Gorgin has arrived, my king, off the road, his tongue full of nonsense, his soul full of guilt. He has brought terrible news of my son, that famous, pure young man I entrusted to him. 'I saw a single horse, its saddle overturned; no other sign of Bijan remains but this.' If our commander would look on this matter fairly and study it with care, let the king give me justice against Gorgin, for because of him I am left broken in the world. Giv grew sick with grief in his heart; he raged, then set down his royal crown. The king's face went pale upon the throne; his heart tightened with sorrow for Bijan. Then he asked Giv: what did Gorgin say? What does he claim, where did he lose his good companion? So, based on Gorgin's account, Giv then spoke with Khosrow about the brave young man. When Khosrow heard Giv's words, he told him: do not worry, do not mourn. Bijan is alive, so be content; keep your hope for the son who seems lost. For I have heard this from the priests, from the clear-hearted, renowned wise men: that I, with the horsemen of Iran, for war will go without delay toward the land of Turan. To avenge Siyavash I will lead an army, and with elephants I will overrun that country. In that revenge Bijan will be there, seeking battle like a demon. Do not let your heart grieve over this matter; I myself am the one who will demand his safety. Giv left with a heart full of grief and pain, both eyes brimming with tears, his face gone pale. When Gorgin reached Khosrow's court, he found the king emptied of his warriors. Out of sorrow for Bijan, all the nobles, all the chiefs, had left the court with Giv. All full of pain, all full of anguish, like men who had lost a hundred kinds of treasure. Their minds scattered, their hearts scattered, they had turned the dust of the road to mud with their tears. And from this side, Gorgin went distraught, hurrying up to the palace hall. When he came before Kaykhosrow, he kissed the ground and offered his praise to the king. The boar's tusks, gleaming like diamonds, he placed before the throne and bowed low. 'May Khosrow be victorious in every task, may all his days be like a festival of spring.' 'May the heads of your enemies be cut off with the shears, severed just as these boar tusks were.' When the king looked at the tusks, he asked him: how was the journey? 'Where did Bijan become separated from you? What trick did the demon play on him?' When Khosrow said this, Gorgin stood there, struck dumb, frozen on his feet. He had no idea how to answer him; he stood frozen in place, his face gone pale. His tongue full of nonsense, his soul full of guilt, his cheeks yellow, his body trembling in fear of the king. When his words did not match one another, the king grew furious and drove him from before the throne. He saw him both reckless and treacherous, and Khosrow opened his mouth with curses. He said to him: Haven't you heard the old tale that Dastan told from ancient days, that if a lion sets out with malice against the house of Gudarz, its days are numbered, its life is finished? If it were not for the shame of a bad name, and for a wretched fate before God, I would order your head torn from your body as though it were the head of a demon-bird. Khosrow commanded the ironsmith: Make heavy chains with riveted heads, and at once put his feet in irons, so the evil-minded man may take a lesson from his bonds. Then he said to Giv: Gather your wits; search for him everywhere, in every direction, and strive. I will now send troops in great numbers to every side to seek him and look in every place. Perhaps we will find some news of Bizhan; let us hurry to this task with clear minds. And if word of him comes slowly, do not empty your heart of reason. Wait until the month of Farvardin comes, when the sun of the faith brightens the world. In that time when the breeze seats you among the flowers, and the wind scatters blossoms over your head, when the earth puts on its green cloak, and the air sighs tenderly over the flowers, when the worship our God has commanded carries our decree purely to every side, I will call for that world-revealing cup; I will stand before God in prayer, where all seven regions of the earth lie within it, and I will see the land and soil of every region. I will bless my ancestors, my chosen kings and my pure forebears. Then I will tell you wherever Bizhan is; in that cup this becomes clear to me. When Giv heard these words, he grew glad, and he was freed from grief for his son. He laughed and blessed the king: May time and earth never be without you. May the high heavens turn to your desire; may harm never touch your life. May the Giver of good things bless you, for the crown and the royal ring befit you well. When Giv left Khosrow's throne, he swiftly sent riders in every direction. They began searching all around the world, hoping to find some trace of him somewhere. They crossed the whole land of Arman and of the Turanians, but no sign of Bizhan appeared. When the blessed New Year drew near at last, the king felt the need for that bright cup. The champion came, his heart still full of hope, bent and trembling for the sake of his son. When King Khosrow saw Giv's withered face, he saw a heart wounded through with grief. He came and put on a Roman robe, so that he might stand before God. He cried out before the Creator of the world, and offered praise many times toward the sun. From the one who answers cries he begged for strength and aid; against the wicked demon he sought justice. Then he came out gracefully at the right moment and set the blessed crown upon his head. He held in his hand a goblet filled with wine, and within it the seven regions of the world appeared. The time, the signs of the lofty sky, all were revealed there: the how, the why, the how much. From Pisces in the goblet all the way to Aries, every figure of the zodiac was painted, one and all. Saturn, Mars, Venus and the Lion, the Sun and Mercury above, and the Moon below. All that was to happen lay within it, and the wise, magic-knowing king could see it. He looked, then set the goblet before him, and saw within it all that would come to pass, from beginning to end. He gazed across all seven regions, yet found no trace of Bizhan anywhere. He reached the land of the Wolf-heads, and by God's will he caught sight of him there. Bound in a pit under heavy chains, in his misery he was longing for death. And a girl of royal Kayanid blood had girded herself to care for him. Then the king turned his face toward Giv, smiled, and the whole court grew bright. He said: Bizhan is alive, so gladden your heart; keep the noble one free from every harm. Do not grieve over prison and chains, since no injury has come to his life. For Bizhan is bound in Turan, and his nurse is a renowned girl. From all his pain and hardship and sorrow, I too have grown full of grief at his plight. He passes his days in such a way that at every moment his nurse weeps over him. Cut off from kin and family with no hope left, swaying like a single willow branch. His two eyes full of blood, his heart full of pain, his tongue full of memories of his kin. Weeping like the spring clouds pour down, in that living state he keeps seeking death. Now, for this remedy, who will stir from his place? Who will rise, girded, to set this right? Who has enough loyalty for this task of ours to bring him free from such hardship? None can do it but Rostam of the fierce grip, who can haul a crocodile up from the deep sea. Fasten your belt and set out toward the south; do not slacken the journey, neither by night nor by day. Carry my letter to Rostam, and do not delay this tale upon the road.

He called the scribe to his side and spoke to him at length about this matter. The king ordered a letter written to Rostam, from a great lord to a loyal well-wisher. It said: You, noble born hero full of skill, who rise above all the champions of the army, the heart of kings and the backbone of the royal line; at your command everyone stands ready for battle. You are the living memory of my ancestors, forever girded for war. The heavens gave you a leopard's courage; even the sea monster roars in fear of you. You cleansed the world of the demons of Mazandaran and cut off the heads of the wicked. How many crowned kings you have torn from their thrones and cast down from their high seats. Many an enemy has lost his life to you; many a land and home has been laid waste by you. Chief of champions and shelter of the army, you hold high standing in the eyes of kings. You bound every sorcerer with your mace, and made the crown of kings shine bright. Whether Afrasiab or the kings of China, they have all carved your name upon their seal rings. Whatever knot your hand has tied left the hearts of those who tried to loosen it wounded. You are the one who unties the tightest bonds; you are the auspicious sky above the royal line. God gave you the strength of elephants, and gave the noble race heart, wisdom, and skill, so that you might take the hand of anyone who cries for help and lift them out of the dark pit. Now one urgent task lies before us, and here is a deed worthy of you. Gudarz and Giv place their hope in you, for today you are the true champion of every land. You know how high I hold their rank, and how loyal their tongue, heart, and counsel are to me. It befits you not to spare yourself trouble in this; ask for whatever you need of men and treasure. For never has grief struck this royal house so brightly painful as what I have now heard. Giv had no one but this single son, who was both his child and his rescuer. In my eyes he had great standing, a well-wisher to me and to my ancestors. Wherever I seek him he is there, standing by me in good times and bad. When you read this letter of mine, do not delay; rise at once and set out with Giv. So that in this affair you may join us and lend your blessed judgment in matters great and small. Of men, of treasure, and of goods I will bring all in fine array before you. May your steps be fortunate and your name exalted; may your every wish be won from Turan. Prepare whatever is needed, so that Bizhan may perhaps be freed from his chains. When Khosrow set his seal upon the letter, Giv departed and blessed the king. He mounted all the horsemen of his clan, put his trust in God, and set the army moving. Wherever a hunter would pause to rest, he crossed a two day journey in a single day. He took to the desert and the road along the Hirmand, racing forward swift as a fine steed. They turned toward mountain and plain, pressing on with anxious hearts, searching out the way. When the lookout on the watchtower spotted him, he raised a cry toward Zabulistan. He called out that a rider was coming toward the Hirmand, with a band of horsemen around him. A gleaming banner rose behind him, and a Zabuli sword was gripped in his fist. Dastan, son of Sam, heard the lookout's cry and ordered the reins put on his gray horse. Full of thought, he rode out to meet them on the road, in case some enemy seeking vengeance had come. On the road he saw Giv with a withered face, coming on in a daze, running and stumbling. He said to himself, 'Some new trouble has struck the king; this is Giv, the messenger, who comes down the road.' When the army's chief drew near, they greeted each other with words of respect and took up the road. Dastan asked the Iranians for news of the king and of the war with the Turanians. Giv delivered the greetings of the great ones to Dastan, from the king and from the heroes of noble birth. He poured out all his heart's grief before Dastan, and spoke of his sorrow for his lost son. He said, 'You will not see my face with any color left; from the blood of my weeping, even my step limps.' Then he asked for word of the mighty Rustam, and said, 'Where is Rustam now?' He was told, 'Rustam has gone hunting wild ass; he will surely return by the time the sun sets.' Giv said, 'Then I will go to see his face; I carry a letter from Khosrow for him.' Dastan said to him, 'Do not leave from here, for he will soon come back from the hunting ground.' Stay in the house until Rustam arrives; for this one day, spend it happily with us.' As Giv entered the palace from the road, the mighty Rustam came in from the hunt. Giv went out to meet him as he approached, dismounted from his horse, and bowed low before him. His heart full of longing, his face flushed with feeling, from both his eyes two streams poured down his cheeks. When Rustam saw Giv's heart so wounded, and saw his face washed with tears from his lashes, he said to him, 'It seems things have gone wrong at the palace and hard times have befallen the king.' He came down from his horse and took Giv in his arms, and asked him about the crowned Khosrow. About Gudarz, and Tus, and Gostaham, and all the army's heroes, great and small, about Shapur, Farhad, and Bizhan, about Roham, Gorgin, and Harta. When the name of Bizhan reached his ear, a cry of grief broke from him against his will. He said to Rostam: You who deserve all praise, the finest of all the kings of the earth, seeing you has filled me with such joy, and so have your kind questions and your words. All those whose names you mentioned are well; they send you abundant greetings and messages. Do you not see what ill fortune has fallen on me, fitting for these old years of mine? What evil eye struck the house of Gudarz, that after such gain only loss remains for us? In all the world I had but a single son, who was both my son and my faithful counselor. He has vanished from my sight into the world; no one in this family has known such grief. See the state I am in, upon the back of a mount, riding night and day through the dark of dawn. Like one who has lost his senses, night and day I searched every side, asking everyone for word of Bizhan. Now the king, holding the world revealing cup, stood before the Creator of the world. How he cried out and gave praise, at the royal feast of Hormuz, in the first days of spring. Then he came from the fire temple to the throne, girded his belt and set the crown upon his head. He placed the shining cup before him and gazed beyond measure in every direction. The king saw in it the sign of him in Turan, in heavy chains and in wretched days. When Keykhosrow's cup revealed this to him, he quickly sent me off to the champion, Rostam. So now I have come with a heart full of hope, my cheeks gone pale and my eyes turned white with weeping. I have seen you as the one who solves the world's troubles; you gird yourself to answer everyone's cry for help. He spoke on, his lashes wet with pale tears, drawing cold sighs up from his heart. After he gave the letter to Rostam, he told him the whole story of Gorgin. Rostam took the letter from him, his eyes full of tears, his heart full of hatred for Afrasiab. Then he wailed bitterly for Bizhan, and blood poured down from his eyes to the side. Then he said to Giv: Do not worry over this, for Rostam will not take the saddle off Rakhsh until he has taken Bizhan's hand in his own and torn down all his bonds and prison. By the power of God and the command of the king, I will overturn this crown and throne away from Turan. From there they went to Rostam's palace, planning along the way the road they would take. When Rostam read the king's letter, he was struck with wonder at Khosrow's words. So much praise for the ruler of the world lay in that letter to the leader of the army. Then he said to Giv: I understand; by his command I have made ready the road. I know of this labor and effort of yours, the grief you have borne for this whole affair. How much strength you have with me, ready to seek vengeance on the field of vengeance. Whether for the vengeance of Siyavash or the war of Mazandaran, I have stood ready, belt tightened, before the warriors. You bore the hardship of coming here; you crossed such a difficult road. Seeing you filled me with joy, and yet for Bizhan I broke into grief. I never wished to see you like this, mourning, worn down and wounded by fate. For the sake of this letter from the king, I will surrender myself and rush along the road at his command. For your sake my very heart is torn; for Bizhan's rescue I have tightened my belt. I will strive at this task even if it takes my life, even if the pure Lord parts my soul from my body. For Bizhan I count it no hardship to give up my life, my men, and my treasure. By the strength of God I will gird myself, and by the fortune of the victorious king of kings. I will bring him out of that dark pit of a prison and set him before the king at court. For three days be happy here in my house; be free of hardship and of worry. This house is not withheld from you as another's; with you my treasure, my body, and my life are one. On the fourth day we will go toward the land of Iran, to the court of the king of the brave. When Rustam spoke like this, Giv sprang up and kissed the hand, head, and feet of the hero. He blessed him, saying: O renowned one, in manhood, strength, fortune, and skill, may there stay with you forever a body like an elephant's, the wisdom and heart of the sages. May you gain a share of every good thing, for you have wiped the rust of grief from my heart. When Rustam saw Giv's heart at ease, he foresaw a good outcome for the venture. He told the steward of the feast: Bring out the food, and summon the nobles and the wise. Zavara, Faramarz, Dastan, and Giv all sat at the table of the noble host. They ate the meal and cleared the table, then set up a place for music and wine. The lute player came with the cupbearer into the jewel-inlaid hall. Every ruby-red hand held ruby-colored wine; the harp cried out and the cup rang loud. On the fourth day they made ready, when the time to set out drew near. Rustam ordered: Load the packs, prepare everything for the road to the king of Iran. The proud, defiant riders of his realm had all readied the road at his gate. He came, set foot in Rakhsh's stirrup, tightened his belt, and put on his Roman coat of mail. He slung his grandfather's mace onto the saddle, his head full of war, his heart full of cunning. Rakhsh pricked his ears toward the sky, his crown-bestowing head raised higher than the sun. He himself and Giv, with a hundred Zabuli riders, chose from the army those fit for battle. They turned back from the errand that could not be won, leaving Zal and Faramarz behind. They set their faces toward the land of Iran, hurrying all the way, their hearts set on revenge. When Rostam drew near to Iran, he reached the city of the brave. A sweet breeze brought the heavens' greeting to Rostam, joyful with affection. Right then Giv came to Rostam and said the mighty hero should not ride farther from here. 'I will go and tell the king,' he said, 'that Rakhsh has carried the great one down the road.' When the champion Giv left Rostam's side, he came to the court of the young king. When he came close before Kaykhosrow, he praised him greatly and bowed low. Then the king asked Giv, son of Gudarz, where Rostam had stayed and how the road had been. Giv said to him, 'O renowned king, by your good fortune every task turns out well.' 'Rostam did not turn away from your command; I saw his heart bound to his promise to you.' 'When I gave him the king's letter, he pressed it to his eyes and face.' 'He bound his reins beside mine, just as a devoted servant of the king should.' 'I rode ahead to tell you, my king, that the mighty champion has come down the road.' Then the king said to Giv, 'Where is Rostam, the pillar of greatness and the seed of loyalty?' 'He deserves to be honored, for he is a doer of good and devoted to the king.' Khosrow commanded the wise men, the noble-born, and the brave, to go out with an army to welcome him, since he had come by the king's command. Word was sent to Gudarz son of Keshvad, to Tus king of the Nozar line, and to Farhad. Two thirds of the proud, defiant warriors, along with the mace-wielding slayers of men, rose up in the custom of Kavus and made ready to go out and welcome him. The world turned dark with the dust of riders, spearheads flashing and banners gleaming. When they came near to Rostam, they dismounted and paid their respects. The champion of the world climbed down from his horse, while the great warriors bent low before him. He asked each of them about the king, about the turning sun and the shining moon. The warriors took their seats, and Rostam rode on, bright as blazing sacred fire.

When he came before the king who welcomes even the humble, he stepped forward with respect and bowed low. He hurried to Khosrow with words of praise, for love and honor truly suited him. He lifted his head, blessed him, and said: may you never be matched with anything but a triumphant fate. May you hold this rank like Hormozd, and like Bahman be the guardian of the fortunate crown. All year long may gentle Ordibehesht watch over you with wisdom and seasoned judgment. May you be victorious like Shahrivar, in greatness, glory, and skill. May Esfand be your watchman, may wisdom be the bright soul of your life. May Khordad grant you help, and through Mordad may you rejoice in your land and home. May Dey and Ohrmazd be blessed for you, and may every evil be barred against you. May Dey kindle fire for you and bring auspicious days; may you be joyful, and your crown light up the world. When Rostam finished this blessing on his feet, the king greeted him and gave him a place at his side. Khosrow said to him: you have arrived in good health; may all harm stay far from your life. You are the champion of the kings of the world; the hidden is plain to you, the plain is your secret. The chosen of the kings, the backbone of the army, the guardian of Iran and the shelter of its soldiers. You have gladdened me by your presence, with this skilled and watchful soul of yours. Are Zavareh, Faramarz, and Dastan son of Sam well? What word do you bring from them? Rostam bent down and kissed the throne, saying: O renowned and fortunate king, by your good fortune all three are well and happy; blessed is anyone the king remembers. The king ordered the officer on duty to summon Gudarz, Tus, and the warriors. The chamberlain opened the garden gate for the audience; it was a truly royal gathering place. He commanded that a golden crown and a throne be set beneath a tree that scattered blossoms. All the royal brocade was spread through the garden, and the flower bed shone like a lamp. They set up a tree above the king's seat, casting its shade over the crown and the throne. Its trunk was silver, its branches ruby and gold, with many kinds of jeweled clusters upon it. Its leaves and fruit were all agate and emerald, hanging from the crown like earrings. Its whole harvest was golden citrons and quinces, and inside the citrons and quinces they were hollow, filled with musk ground into wine, their surfaces pierced all over like reeds. Whenever the king seated someone on the throne, the breeze scattered its musk over him. All the wine bearers stood before him, jeweled crowns upon their heads, in Chinese robes of gold-woven brocade, standing before the commander's seat, all wearing collars and earrings, their garments patterned with gems, their faces colored like Roman silk, aloe burning bright and the harp crying out. Their hearts full of joy, wine in hand, cheeks like red blossoms, yet not drunk. He ordered Rostam to the throne, and he sat upon the seat beneath the tree. Then the king said to Rostam: O good and faithful ally through all my days, you are Iran's shield against every evil, always spreading your wings like the Simorgh. At the court of Iran and before the kings, you gird yourself for every hardship. You know the deeds of the house of Gudarz, in ease and toil, in gain and loss. They stand girded before me, ever guiding me toward what is good. Giv alone, out of the whole assembly, was a shield for me against every evil. No grief like this has ever struck this family; the grief and pain over a child outweigh all else. If you gird yourself for this task, not even a raging lion could stand against you. Now seek a remedy for Bizhan's plight, for evil has befallen him at the hands of Turan. Warriors, horses, swords, treasure, take whatever you need; do not trouble yourself over this. When Rostam heard this from Kaykhosrow, he kissed the ground and fell silent. He blessed him and said: O man of good name, spreading your rule everywhere like the sun, may the two eyes of need stay far from you, and may your enemy's heart burn and melt. You are the king, the commander, and the emperor of the world; the kings of the earth are dust beneath your feet. For neither the shining sun nor the turning moon has ever seen a king like you upon a throne. You have set the wicked apart from the good; with spells and bonds you can master a dragon. I tore out the heart of the demon of Mazandaran with royal glory and a heavy mace. My mother bore me for your hardships; you should live in peace and joy. I lend my ear to your command; I will never turn from my pledge to you in any way. My heart and soul are devoted to the crown; I will walk the road the king has commanded. And for Giv's sake, even if the sky rained fire on my head, I would pay it no heed. Even with a spear point reaching my eyelashes, I will not turn my reins from Khosrow's command. By your fortune I will accomplish this deed; I need no army, nor any warrior of men. The key to such a bond is cunning; this is no time for the mace or the day of terror. When Rostam spoke thus, Gudarz and Giv, Fariborz, Farhad, and brave Shapur, and all the great men of the army, called down blessings upon him from the Maker of the world. They reached for wine along with the king, opening their hearts to joy in the fresh spring.

When Gorgin heard word of the mighty Rostam, he knew the key to ending his sorrow had come. He sent a message to Rostam: 'You who are the sword of fortune and the sheath of loyalty, a great tree of greatness, a treasure of faith, a man of generosity even while in chains of trouble, if my words do not tire you, let me tell the story of what I have done. Look at this hunched, wheeling sky that senselessly snuffed out the lamp of my heart. It led me into darkness; what was written was written, and what happened, happened. I will throw myself into the fire before the king, if only he will forgive me this sin, so that my bad name may be lifted, this wretched end that comes to me at the last. If you ask the young king to release me, I will come running at your side like a fierce wild ram. I will go and throw myself in the dust before Bijan, hoping to regain that pure faith of mine.' When Gorgin's message reached Rostam, he drew a cold sigh up from deep in his chest. He writhed at that pain and at the message, grieved by Gorgin's pointless desire. He said to the messenger: 'Go back and tell him, you reckless, corrupt man, have you not heard the tale of the leopard that fought the crocodile in the deep sea? If passion wins out over reason, no one escapes the grip of that passion. The wise man kept his desire subdued; his story became like that of a brave lion. He need not go out to hunt, nor does harm from wild beasts ever reach him. You played your tricks like an old fox, yet you did not see the trap that catches the prey. It is not right, after this pointless whim of yours, that I should carry your name before the king. But since you are now so utterly helpless, left with no way out at all, I will beg the king to pardon your sin, and I will light up this dark moon of yours. If Bijan is freed from his chains, by the command of the Creator, God of the world, you will be freed from bondage and saved with your life, and the malice of the suspicious will fall away from you. But if the heavens turn any other way, then let go your love of your own life and body. I myself will be first to come seeking this vengeance, by the power of God and the command of the king. And if I do not come, then men like Gudarz and Giv will demand from you vengeance for the brave youth.' A day and a night passed over this affair, and about it he opened his lips to the king not at all. On the second day, when the king put on his crown and sat upon the silver throne of ivory, Rostam came and made his plea before the king whose splendor was like the sun. He spoke to the king about Gorgin, about that man of lost fortune and evil days. The king said to him: 'My great commander, you are breaking my vow and my oath, for I swore by throne and crown, by the just judge, by Bahram, by the sun and moon, that Gorgin would see nothing but misery from me, unless Bijan is freed from his chains. Ask for anything but this: throne, seal, sword, and crown.' Then Rostam said to the king: 'You skilled and renowned lord of the court, if he plotted evil, he now writhes in regret, and he is ready to give up his life, if the king's forgiveness does not come to him, he will have no name and will fall from the faith. Whoever strays from the path of wisdom will in the end recoil in regret from his own deeds. It is fitting that you recall his service and set him always to fight for vengeance, girded before your ancestors, on the field of vengeance against some spiteful foe. If the king sees fit to grant him to me, perhaps his lucky star may shine again for him.' The victorious king granted Rostam's request and freed Gorgin from chains and the dark pit. Then the king asked Rostam: 'How will you carry out this kind of task? Ask what you need of treasure and of army, and whoever should go along the road with you. I fear the evil nature of Afrasiab, that he will act in haste against Bijan's life. He has a wretched demon full of empty boasts, one who has read many spells and tricks and bindings. Ahriman could shake his heart from its place and throw that swordsman off his feet.' Rostam said to the king of the world: 'I will arrange this task in secret. The key to such a lock is cunning; one must not make this task a matter of force. This is no time for mace, sword, and spear; for this work one must draw in the reins. We need much treasure, gold, and silver, going full of hope and staying amid fear, to go in the guise of merchants and to stay long in Turan with great patience. Of things to spread out and things to wear we will need goods for trade and gifts to give away.' When the king heard Rostam's words, he ordered that the ancient treasuries be opened. The king's treasurer opened them all completely and adorned the court with coins and jewels. Rostam came and looked over everything, and chose from it whatever he needed. He loaded a hundred camels with gold coins and a hundred camels with silver from the treasury. Rostam ordered the master of the court: 'Pick a thousand from the warriors of the army. From the proud and renowned men, a few must gird their belts, such as Gorgin, and Zangeh son of Shavaran, and Gostaham, that lion among warriors, fourth, Goraza who leads the army, and Farhad, guardian of throne and crown, and Farhad, and Rahham the brave champion, and Ashkash who brings down the fierce male lion. Seven such heroes must be prepared, as guardians of this army and this wealth.' They cast off all crowns and ornaments and made ready everything just as it needed to be. Then word reached the proud men, those mace-bearers who slay their enemies. Zangeh asked: 'Where is the king? What has happened to him that he has summoned us?'

When the commander's turn came to march out, at dawn the warriors buckled on their belts. All of them spear-bearing fighters, all famous guardians of the frontier. All with spears and arrows loaded on their camels, all with hands washed in blood, ready for battle. At daybreak, at the crowing of the rooster, they strapped the war drums onto the elephant's back. The mighty hero came forward like a tall cypress, a mace in his fist and a lasso coiled on his saddle. The army behind him, the champions ahead, each of them holding his life in the palm of his hand. He left the king's court with his troops, and blessed his homeland again and again. When he neared the border of Turan, he picked out the leaders from among the army. Then the hero addressed his soldiers: 'Stay here, and keep your spirits bright.' 'Do not move from this place, unless the pure God tears my life from my body.' 'Be ready for war, every hand sharpened for blood.' The army stayed at the border of Iran, while he and his chosen champions rode toward Turan. They all dressed in the clothing of merchants and untied the belts from their waists. The champions unfastened their silver belts and put on coarse woolen cloaks. They set their faces toward the city of Turan, a caravan full of color and perfume. Seven precious horses came with the caravan, one was Rakhsh, the others mounts for the warriors. A hundred camels loaded with jewels, a hundred camels bearing the soldiers' garments. With so much clamor and the ringing of bells, it sounded like the trumpet of King Tahmuras. From city to city he led the litters along, and traveled on until he reached the city of Turan. When he came near the city of Khotan, men and women came out to watch him. All the champions of Turan stood in their place, gathered on foot before Piran son of Vise. When Piran son of Vise came back from the hunting ground, the mighty hero met him on the road. Rustam wrapped a golden cup full of jewels in silk brocade. Ten precious horses with their trappings, fittingly adorned with brocade. He handed these to his servants and went ahead himself, striding swiftly to Piran's court. He blessed him, saying: 'Renowned one, famed for fortune and skill in Iran and Turan.' The Lord of the world had so altered his face that Piran did not recognize him. He questioned him and said: 'Tell me where you are from. What sort of man are you, and why have you come hurrying here?' Rustam said to him: 'I am your humble servant. God has made my livelihood in your city.' 'As a merchant I have traveled from Iran to Turan, crossing this hard and distant road.' 'I am a seller and a buyer alike; I sell and buy goods of every kind.' 'My heart is glad because of your kindness; such hope has taken hold of me.' 'If the great hero takes me under his protection, I will buy livestock and sell jewels.' 'Under your justice no one will harm me, and from the cloud of your favor I will rain jewels.' Then he set that royal, jewel-filled cup before him, among the nobles, as a gift. The precious horses of Arab breed, over whose coats the wind scatters no dust. He offered many blessings and gave that wealth to him, and so the matter was settled. When Piran gazed at those jewels that appeared from that gleaming cup, he blessed him and treated him warmly, and seated him upon that turquoise throne. 'Go, glad and safe, into the city; now we will make a place for you near ourselves.' 'You need have no worry over these goods; no one will quarrel with you about them.' 'Go, bring out whatever you have of value; find buyers among those who want it, everywhere.' 'Come lodge in my son's house; be with me as though you were my own kin.' Rustam said to him: 'O hero, let us stay right here with the caravan,' 'for all sorts of people are with us, and I would not want any jewel to be lost.' He said to him: 'Settle wherever you wish; I will guide you and go before you on foot.' He chose a house and set up his affairs, and stored his goods and baggage in the lodging. Word spread that a caravan had come from Iran to the famous hero. From every side buyers pricked up their ears when news came of the jewel-seller. Buyers of brocade, carpets, and jewels turned their steps toward Piran's court. When the sun adorned the world each day, the marketplace in that lodging came to life.

Manijeh heard news of the caravan and came running into the town at once. Bare and staggering, the daughter of Afrasiab came to Rostam, her eyes brimming with tears. She greeted him, asked her questions, and spoke, wiping the bloody tears from her lashes with her sleeve. May you find joy in your life and your treasure; may you never regret the hardships you have borne. May the high heavens turn to your desire; may the evil eye never harm you. Whatever hope your heart has fixed upon, may the pains you suffered not go to waste. May wisdom always be your teacher; blessed be the land of Iran and its happy days. What news do you have of the king's champions, of Giv, of Gudarz, and the Iranian army? No word of Bijan has reached Iran; his grandfather will not come to his rescue, for such a young man among Gudarz's line is breaking down in his misery. His feet are worn raw from the heavy chains, his two hands bound by the blacksmiths' iron spikes. Dragged in chains and fettered fast, the whole pit is filled with the blood of that wretched man. In my own destitution I find no sleep; from his moaning my eyes are full of tears. Rostam grew afraid of her words; he shouted and drove her from his sight. He told her: Get away from me. I know neither the king nor any new commander. I have no knowledge of Gudarz or Giv; you have emptied my brain with your talk. She looked at Rostam and wept bitterly; from the shame of it, blood poured down her cheeks. She told him: Great and wise lord, cold words like these do not suit you. If you will not speak, at least do not drive me away, for I have a heart torn raw with pain. Is this then the custom of Iran, that no one gives a poor beggar any news? Rostam said to her: Woman, what is the matter? Has some demon shown you doomsday? You have ruined my trading; that is why I quarreled so with you. Do not vex me more with this sharpness, for my heart was set on my business. And besides, in the city where Kai Khosrow rules, I have no dwelling at all. I do not know Giv or Gudarz, and I have never traveled that borderland. He ordered that whatever food there was be set at once before the poor woman. One by one he began to question her: Why has fate turned so grim against you? Why do you ask about champions, the king, and the army? Why do you keep watch on the road to Iran? Manijeh said to him: Why ask about my plight, about my ill fortune and my grief? For with a heart full of pain, I ran from that pit to you, O noble man. You shouted at me like a soldier ready for battle; you had no fear of the Judge of all judges. I am Manizheh, daughter of Afrasiab; the sun itself never saw my face uncovered. Now, with eyes full of blood and a heart full of pain, I run from door to door, round and round. I scrape together bread made of barley meal; this is the fate that God has decreed for me. How could my days be more wretched than this? Perhaps the Creator will finally bring my life to an end. Then there is poor Bijan in that deep well, who sees neither sun nor moon by night or day. Bound with a yoke, spikes, and heavy chains, he begs God only for death from all this suffering. This has piled grief upon my grief; because of it, the tears keep pouring from my eyes. Now, if your road ever takes you to Iran, seek out news of Gudarz, son of Keshvad. At the king's court perhaps you will find Giv, or brave Rostam himself. Tell them that Bijan is in dire straits; if you delay, everything will fall apart. If you want to keep him alive, do not rest for long, for above his head is stone and beneath him iron. Rostam said to her: You of the lovely face, may the heavens never strip you of your kindness. Why do you not send pleaders to your father, stirring up nobles from every side? Perhaps your father will take pity on you, his blood will stir and his heart will burn. If your father were not already angry with you, I would give you far more than you could measure. He told his cook to bring him every kind of food that Bijan might need. He ordered a warm roasted fowl, with soft bread tucked around it. Then, deft as a fairy, Rostam hid his ring secretly inside the food. He gave it to her and said: Take it to that well, for you are the guide of the helpless. Manizheh came to the mouth of the well, running, carrying the food with her. She lowered what she had wrapped in a cloth, and just as she received it she handed it to Bijan. Bijan looked and was struck with wonder; from that well the sun-faced man called out. He said: Kind one, where did you find such food that you rushed here with it like this? So much hardship and pain has come upon you; for my sake you wander the world, tireless. Manizheh told him: From a caravan there came a wealthy merchant. He had traveled from Iran to Turan for the sake of coin, enduring every kind of sorrow. A pure man, sharp of mind and of noble bearing, carrying with him gems of every kind. He had set up a rich and generous establishment, building a small booth before the palace. He gave me this laden tablecloth and said: bless the Creator of the world for me. Go near that pit where the prisoner lies, and bring along whatever else is needed. Then Bijan spread out the clean bread, his heart full of hope in God, free of fear and dread. When he reached for the food to eat, he noticed the ring hidden inside. He looked at its stone and read the name; he laughed with joy and sat there stunned. It was a turquoise seal with Rostam's name on it, cut into the metal fine as a hair. When he saw the fruit of the tree of loyalty, he knew the key to his sorrow had arrived. He laughed a laugh worthy of a king, so loud its sound rose up out of the pit. When Manijeh heard him laughing from that dark pit where his body was bound, for a moment she was baffled by such strange behavior and said: what laughter is this, my lucky one? It amazed her, and she told a saying: only a madman laughs at his own plight. How can your two lips open into a smile, when you see night as day and day as night? What is this secret? Come, tell me. Perhaps good fortune has shown you its face. Bijan said to her: from this hard fate I now have hope that luck has opened its hand. If you swear an oath and make a pact with me, that you will not break your faith to me, I will tell you the whole story, once you are bound by that oath to agree. For if you seal your lips against causing harm, women rarely can keep their tongues in check. Manijeh cried out and wept bitterly: what evil days have fallen upon me! Alas for my days that are gone, my heart broken, my eyes raining tears. I gave Bijan my body, my home, and all I had, and now he grows so suspicious of me. My treasure of gold coins and my crown of jewels, I let it all be plundered, every bit. My father has disowned me, my kin have turned away, and I run naked before the crowd. I lost all hope for Bijan; the world went black for me and my eyes went blind. And still he hides his secret from me like this. You know better, O Creator of the world. Bijan said to her: it is all true; you have spent everything you had for my sake. What I just said I should not have said, O tender friend and clear-headed companion. It is right that you should guide me in every task, for my mind has been emptied by suffering. Know this: that jewel-seller, whose cook gave you food to bring me, came all the way to Turan for my sake, for otherwise he had no need for jewels. The Creator of the world has had mercy on me; perhaps I will see the wide face of the earth again. He will free me from these long sorrows, and free you from all this running, this fever and grief. Go close to him and tell him secretly: you who are the champion of the world's kings, with a kind heart and a body that seeks solutions, if you are the master of Rakhsh, say so. Manijeh came like the wind and delivered Bijan's message to Rostam. When he heard the words of that lovely face, who had come running from that long road, Rostam understood that Bijan had spoken, had opened his heart to that tall, tulip cheeked woman. He took pity and said: you of the beautiful face, may God never take love from you. Tell him: yes, the master of Rakhsh is the rescuer God has sent to you. From Zabol to Iran, from Iran to Turan, for your sake I have crossed this long road. Tell him: like a leopard in pursuit, my waist and claws have worn down for your sake. When you speak with him, keep the secret; in the dark night, save some meat and call out. By day gather firewood from the forest; when night comes, light a fire. Manijeh grew glad at his words; her heart was freed entirely from its sorrows. She came running to that pit where her comforter lay imprisoned. She told him: I delivered the whole message to that blessed, good named man. He answered: I am indeed the one whom he sought by the name and sign of Bijan. How long will you wander with a wounded heart, washing your face in tears of blood? Now that a true sign of you has come, you will see the sword's edge of men who slay. I will tear open the earth now with my hands, and hurl the heavy stone up to the Pleiades. He told me: when the air grows dark, when night is freed from the grip of the sun, light a fire as huge as a mountain, so the stone and the pit's mouth grow bright as day, so that I may see the mouth of the pit and by that light find my way. Bijan said: light the fire, for we have both escaped from a dark day. He raised his face toward the Creator of the world: you who are pure, giving, and just, in every trouble, be my helper; aim your arrow at the heart and soul of the enemy. Give me my justice against the one who wronged me; you know my grief, my scars, my pain. Grant that I may find my land and home again, and not be left to the shame of a cursed fate. You, girl who have tasted suffering for me, sacrificing your life, heart, wealth, and body, for the pain you took upon yourself for me, you counted my loss as your own gain, you gave me treasure, crown, and jewels, your royal kin, your mother and father. If I escape the grip of this dragon, freed in these young days of mine, Like the good who worship God, I will hurry on foot and stretch out my hands to help. Like a servant before kings, I will gird myself to repay your kindness. Manijeh rushed hard for firewood, climbing up the branches of the trees like the birds. Her eyes on the sun, wood on her back, watching for when night would lift its head over the mountain. When the sun's face vanished from sight, the dark night spread its skirt over the mountain. At the hour when the world falls still, and what was visible slips into hiding, when dark night marches its army before the day, and the world lighting sun turns away its head, Manijeh quickly kindled a fire that burned through the eyes of the pitch black night. In her heart came a sound like a brazen drum, that the steel hoofed Rakhsh was coming down the road.

When Rostam knotted his belt tight and fastened his armor over it, he turned to God, the maker of sun and moon, and made him his shield and refuge. He prayed: May the evil eye be blinded; give me the strength to free Bijan. He ordered his warriors to gird their loins likewise for the work of vengeance. They saddled their swift horses and sharpened their claws for battle. The mighty champion turned toward Rakhsh and rode ahead, seeking the way. When he reached the boulder Akvan had cast, over that pit of grief and burning torment, he said to his seven famous warriors: We must sweep this ground clean. Now you must set to work and clear the mouth of the well of its stone. The army's leaders dismounted to shift that stone away from the well. They clawed long at the stone; the warriors grew worn out while the stone rested unmoved. When sweat had poured from those famous men, yet the stone would not budge from the well's mouth, the brave lion of a man came down from Rakhsh and tucked the skirt of his mail into his belt. He asked strength from God, the giver of life, set his hand to the stone, and lifted it clean away. He hurled it into the forest of China; the earth trembled at the fall of that stone. He called down to Bijan and wept bitterly: How has it gone with you in this cruel fate? Sweetness was always your share of the world; why did you take from its hand this cup of poison? Bijan answered from the dark pit: How was the hard road for the champion? The moment your cry reached my ears, every poison of the world turned sweet to me. Look at my home now: the earth is iron and the sky is stone. My heart has torn free of this fleeting world from so much pain, hardship, grief, and suffering. Rostam said to him: The bright keeper of the world has had mercy on your life. Now, you wise and noble soul, I have one wish to ask of you. Forgive Gorgin son of Milad for my sake; drive the hatred and thoughts of revenge from your heart. Bijan said: My friend, you do not know how my struggle went. You do not know, great lion of a man, what Gorgin son of Milad did to me. If my eyes fall on him, a day of reckoning will rise against him from my rage. Rostam said: If you are stubborn and ill tempered, and will not heed my words, I will leave you bound by the foot in the well, mount Rakhsh, and ride back home. When Rostam's words reached his ears, a cry rose up from that narrow prison. He answered: My own ill luck, not the warriors, my family, or my kin, brought upon me what came from Gorgin; a day like this too I must endure. We have endured it, and I am content with him; my heart is at peace from its grudge against him. Rostam let the lasso down into the prison and drew him up from the well, still fettered. His body bare, his hair and nails grown long, wasted away by suffering, pain, and want, his whole body caked with blood, his face pale, worn by the rust-eaten chains of his bonds. Rostam cried out when he saw him, his whole body hidden away beneath iron. He set his hand to it and snapped the chains and bonds, freeing him from the ring around his feet. They went home from that pit, Bijan on one arm and his fetters on the other. The champion ordered his head washed clean and dressed him in fresh clothes. After that Gorgin came to him and rubbed his face in the dust. He came forward begging pardon for his wrong, tormented by his own crude act. Bijan's heart let go of its grudge; he did not repay the offense with punishment. They loaded the camels and saddled the horses, and Rostam put on his chosen armor. The famous warriors mounted their steeds and drew their swords and heavy maces. He sent off the baggage and set everything in order, as befitted the coming battle. The keen-witted Ashkash went off with the baggage train to keep watch over the army everywhere. Rostam told Bijan: Go now, ride with Ashkash and with Manijeh, for tonight, in our vengeance against Afrasiyab, we will find no rest, no food, no sleep. Now I will do such a deed at his gate that tomorrow his own kingdom will laugh at him. Bijan said: Let me be the one in front, for it is against me they are stirring up fresh hatred.

Those seven warriors rode out with Rostam, leaving the baggage in the care of sharp-witted Ashkash. They dropped the reins over the front of their saddles and drew, every one, the blade of vengeance. He went straight to the court of Afrasiab, at the hour of slackness, rest, and sleep. Suddenly the shouting and the seizing broke out, the flash of swords and a rain of arrows. Many a chief had his head cut from his body, beards full of dust and mouths full of blood. From the corridor Rostam called out: 'May your sleep be sweet and your champions glad.' 'You slept on your throne while Bizhan lay in the pit, as though you had never seen an iron mount on the road.' 'I am Rostam of Zabol, the son of Zal, this is no time for sleep, for rest, or for ease.' 'I have broken open the door of your prison, that heavy stone which was its keeper.' 'Bizhan is freed, head and foot, from his chains, for no one harms his own son-in-law.' 'Enough of this feud and vengeance over Siavash, enough of Rakhsh wheeling across this plain.' Then Bizhan too raised a cry: 'You Turk of evil stock and darkened mind,' 'think back on that blessed royal throne, with me bound and dragged before you by the feet.' 'You sought battle like a leopard, while my hands were tied as helpless as stone.' 'Now see me free upon the open field, where no raging lion of vengeance dares face me.' Afrasiab struck at his own garments in alarm, seeing that sleep had bound his warriors. Then Rostam ordered his men to fall on those renowned nobles who filled the palace. On every side rose the clamor of the assault, and from the spilling of blood a stream ran at the door. Whoever came from the army of Turan, for him the world was emptied of its place. They rushed to press the vengeance home, and out of that house Afrasiab fled. The lord of Rakhsh entered the palace and shared out all its carpets and brocade. The fairy-faced maidens who served the king, every one, took the hands of the champions. There were priceless horses and leopard-hide saddles, and arrows notched with jewels set in their feathers. After that they packed the loads from the hall, for they did not linger long in Turan. For the baggage they drove the horses hard, so that no uproar would rise from the deed. Rostam was so worn by the hardship of the road that the very weight of his helmet ached upon his head. The riders from exhaustion and the horses from galloping, not a vein in any of them still stirred. Rostam sent a message to his army: 'Draw the sword of vengeance from its sheath.' 'For I have no doubt that after this, in revenge, the earth will turn black beneath the horses' hooves.' 'Afrasiab will muster a mighty army, and with their spears they will hide the face of the sun.' The war-riders all set out together, every one sharpening his grip for battle. All the spearmen with polished points, all of them gathering their reins for the fight. Manizheh sat within her tent, a servant standing before her as her guide. Rostam offered her a fitting parable: 'Though the wine be poured away, its scent does not spill.' 'Such is the way of this fleeting inn: now delight and drink, now pain and grief.'

When the sun lifted its head above the mountains, the horsemen of Turan tied on their gear. The city shook and a roar went up; you would think the noise itself had deafened every ear. They came to the court of Afrasiyab, and the belted warriors lined up before his door. Every one of them ready for war, their hearts emptied of home and peace. The nobles of Turan, belts loosened for battle, bowed their heads to the ground before the commander. All had girded themselves for the fight, every heart full of hatred for the Iranians. They said: our talk has gone past all bounds; how must an end be set to this affair? For from this disgrace to the king and his proud lords, the mark of Bizhan's deed will linger. In Iran they will not count us as men; they will call us women who have belted on swords. Then the king flew into a rage like a leopard, and after that he ordered them to prepare for war. He commanded Piran to beat the war drums, for only mockery had come to them from Iran. The brazen trumpet sounded at the king's court, and the army seethed through the city of Turan. The heroes formed ranks at the palace gate; the blare of horns and Indian bells rose up. So great an army rode into that region that nothing of the earth was left uncovered but the sea. When the watchman looked out from his lookout, he saw the ground like a boiling sea. He came to Rostam: get ready for action, for the world has gone black with the dust of riders. Rostam told him: we have no fear of this; we will scatter dust over their fight. He sent off the baggage and Manizheh, then put on his own battle garments. He climbed a height, saw the army, and let out a roar like a raging lion. The bold rider spoke a proverb: what weight has a fox against the claws of a lion? He called out to his warriors: today has come the reckoning of honor and battle. Where now are the sword and the poison-tipped javelin? Where the spear and the ox-headed mace? Now our skills must be shown; on this plain the score of vengeance must be settled. The trumpet's blast rang out, and Rostam pressed his foot into Rakhsh. He rode down from the mountaintop to the plain as the enemy army came pressing near. They spread their forces across that broad plain, and on every side they raised a wall of iron. Rostam arranged a battlefield so that the sky went black from the dust of horses. On the right wing were Ashkash and Gostaham, with many horsemen alongside them. On the left were Roham and Zangeh, wholly given over to the bloodshed of war. He himself and Bizhan, son of Giv, held the center, guarding the champions and the army's rear. Behind the army, like a Bisotun mountain, stood a fortress of swords set out in front. When Afrasiyab saw that army, and saw that Rostam had appeared as their leader, he grew troubled and put on his battle armor, and ordered his troops to hold their ground. He drew up a ranked line facing them; the sky turned indigo, the ground vanished from sight. He gave the left wing to Piran, and the right to Human the champion. He entrusted the center to Garsivaz and Shideh, and kept watch on every side. Rostam circled around the army, in iron like a black mountain. He cried out: You Turk of a shaken fate, you are a disgrace to your army, crown, and throne. You have no fighting heart like real horsemen; you feel no shame before the champions of your host. Yet you keep coming against me for revenge, blanketing the ground with men and horses. When the army grows fierce-clawed in battle, I see only your back turned to the fight. Did you never hear the tale from Zal, the one he keeps in memory from ancient days, that a lion fears not a whole plain of wild asses, and no star shines against the blazing sun? The heart and ear of the great wild ram burst if it hears the name of the wolf's claw. When the hawk spreads its wings in the sky, the male partridge dreads its talons. The fox does not grow bold by trying, nor do wild asses blunt the lion's claws. May no king be as light-headed as you; when one is, he throws his kingdom to the wind. On this plain and open field you will not escape my hand, neither with your life nor your body. When the grim Turk heard these words, he trembled and drew a sharp, hard breath. He flew into a rage: You famed men of Tur, this is a field of war, not a place for feasting. You must bear the hardship of this battle, for I will grant you many crowns and treasures. When their commander's words reached their ears, a roar rose up from the army's champions. The sun grew so dark with dust that you would think it stayed drowned in water. They strapped brazen kettledrums onto the elephants, and blew the trumpets with the horns. The champions drew across the earth a wall of iron made of chain mail. The plain boiled and the mountains shook with the shouts of the riders of both hosts. Sharp swords flashed within the dust; you would say the Day of Resurrection had come. Maces rained down like hail on armor and helmets, along with arrows. And from Rostam's dragon-marked banner the face of the shining sun turned violet. The dust of the elephants veiled the sky; it was as if the sun had been smeared with indigo. Wherever Rostam flung Rakhsh, he parted the heads of chieftains from their bodies. In his hand the ox-headed mace, and he like a camel that has snapped its halter. He killed and bound on the battlefield, and destroyed many of the great. He plunged into the center like a wolf and scattered that mighty army. He drove those chieftains from their places like the wind, along with their swift, noble steeds. Gorgin, Roham, and Farhad the champion swept away the left wing of the Turanian king. Ashkash swept in from the right like the wind, seeking vengeance with his sword from Garsivaz. In the center the fierce-clawed Bizhan made the feasting-place his field of war. The heads of the riders fell like leaves from a tree, and their fortune was overturned. The whole battlefield was one stream of blood, and the Turanian commander's banner lay toppled. When the commander saw fortune turned against him, and saw the brave of Turan all slain, he threw the Indian sword from his hand and mounted a fresher horse. He and his intimates fled toward Turan, for they had found neither triumph nor revenge from the Iranians. Rostam, seizer of dust, went after him, and rained mace and arrow upon his army. For two leagues, like a grim dragon, he tore the breath of life out of them. A thousand warlike horsemen of Turan they took alive after the battle. He returned from that battlefield to the camp, to divide the spoils among his troops. He shared it out and loaded the rest on the elephants, and came in triumph to the king.

When word reached the brave king that the lion had returned victorious from the thicket, that Bijan was freed from the chains and the prison, freed from the bonds of that evil dragon, that he had shattered an army of Turan and crushed the whole host of the enemy, with joy he pressed his face and crown to the ground before the Creator of the world. When Gudarz and Giv heard the news, they hurried to the victorious king. A great shout rose, the army came, and the drummers took to the road. The horn-blowers blared their trumpets at his door, and the roar of his troops went up. The hooves of countless horses turned the field black; the whole city rang with the sound of brass horns. On one side lions and leopards were held on leashes, on the other the warriors bound in chains. The riders came proudly, roaring and eager, while great elephants tore at the earth with their tusks. At the head of the army marched the horns and kettledrums; the banner rose behind Gudarz and Tus. To go out and greet the returning champion's army, the watchful king gave his commands this way. The troops marched out group after group; the ground was heaped with warriors like a mountain. When the hero appeared out of the crowd, Gudarz and Giv dismounted from their horses. The world's champion stepped down from his mount and asked after the warriors worn by hardship. Gudarz and Giv praised him, saying: 'O renowned one, O leader of heroes, through you the lion grows bold in every place; may the heavens never grow weary of you. May God be your shelter forever; may the sun and moon turn to your wish. You have made this whole family your servants; through you I have found my lost son. We are the ones you have rescued from grief and sorrow; we are those you have girded to serve Iran.' Then all the great ones mounted their horses and rode proudly toward the king of the world. When that hero, the shield of the army, drew near the city of the sovereign king, the world's renowned lord came out to greet him, the guardian of Iran, the king of the great. When Rostam saw, by the king's royal splendor, that the king himself had come out to meet him on the road, he dismounted and bowed low before him, worn out from hardship and the long journey. King Khosrow took him in his arms, saying: 'O hand of valor, O soul of every skill.' The mighty Rostam gently took Bijan's hand, just as he had received him from king and father, brought him forward and handed him over, then stood tall, and so straightened that bent and broken back. After that he brought a thousand captives of Turan, bound, before the king. Khosrow praised him with affection: 'May the heavens forever turn to your desire. Blessed is Zal, for when his days pass, you will remain in the world as his memorial. Blessed is the land and soil of Zabol, where the lion rears heroes and brave men. Blessed is the country of Iran and its fortunate warriors, who have a champion like you. And higher than all three is my own crown and fortune, for one like you serves my throne. Your deeds are like the sun; your good works are spread across the world.' Then the king of the world said to Giv: 'Your standing with the Creator is good, for through the hand of Rostam the Maker of the world gave your chosen son back to you in victory.' Giv praised the king: 'May you be joyful as long as time endures. May Rostam's life stay ever green, and may fortunate Zal's heart be glad in him.' Khosrow commanded that the table be laid and the noble high-minded lords be called to the feast. When they rose from the steward's table, they arranged the place for wine. There were those who lit up the gathering and poured the wine, and the harpers played with their attendants. All wore heavy crowns upon their heads, gold set with figures of jewels. Their faces glowed like Roman silk in color, and fairy-born players made the harp ring out. Silver trays were full of pure musk, and before them a pool held rosewater. The royal splendor shone out like the two-week moon rising above a slender cypress. All the champions, devoted to their king, left the steward's hall drunk with wine. At dawn, when Rostam came to the door, glad of heart and girded tight for the road, he raised the matter with the king, soberly, asking leave to return home. The king ordered a set of robes, woven with jewels, along with a coat and a crown, a goblet filled with royal gems, a hundred horses and a hundred camels saddled and loaded, fifty girls with faces like fairies, girded ready, and fifty servants wearing golden collars. All of it he brought before the king, the master of the world, and set it standing ready. He handed all of it to Rostam of Zabol, who kissed the ground and rose in a cloud of dust. He placed the royal crown upon his head and bound that kingly belt around his waist, praised the king, and set off, hurrying to prepare for the road to Sistan. The great men who had been with him through it all, in battle and in feast, in joy and grief, he gave each one gifts according to their rank, and they left Khosrow's hall content. When the king had finished with these affairs, he sat down at ease in his place of honor. He ordered Bijan brought before him, and Bijan spoke of his suffering and his grief. He said much to the king about that narrow prison and the hardship of his ordeal, and told Khosrow the whole tale of the cruel turns of fortune. The king was moved and pitied him deeply, out of grief for the fate of the lost girl. He ordered a hundred robes of Roman silk, all figured with jewels, gold, and rich cloth, a crown and ten purses of gold coins as well, servants, carpets, and every kind of thing. He told Bijan: 'Take these treasures to that Turkish girl whose spirit is worn down. Do not add to her suffering, do not speak coldly to her; remember what you brought upon her. Spend your life with her in joy, and consider well this turning of the world.' It lifts one person up to the high wheel of heaven and shields them from grief and pain, then rolls them back down toward the dust; everywhere is fear, sorrow, and dread. And the one it has reared in comfort it flings, without reason, into the pit of want. Another it brings up from the pit to the throne and sets a jeweled crown upon their head. The world feels no shame at its evil deeds; it holds no honor or dignity for anyone. It always has the power for good and ill, yet it never seeks anyone's respect. Such is the way of this fleeting inn of a world: now comfort and sweetness, now pain and toil. So long as you can live without grief for the sake of a few coins, it is better to be a generous man who harms no one. With this I have shaped the story of Bijan; now I turn to Piran and Gudarz.