English
Section 14: Bijan's Triumphant Return
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.