Part 2: The Cry for Justice

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.