Section 25: Rustam's Wounds and Zal's Counsel

From there Rustam reached the great hall, and Zal saw him in that broken state. Zavara and Faramarz burst into tears, seared with grief at his wounds. Rudabeh tore the hair from her head, clawing her face at the sound of their crying. Zavara quickly loosened his belt, and they drew the tiger-skin armor off him. Every wise man in the land came and sat, one and all, at his door. He gave the order to bring Rakhsh before him, along with everyone skilled in remedy. Noble Zal tore his hair, and rubbed his face against those wounds. He said: I, alive with my old gray head, have lived to see my dear son like this. Rustam said to him: what use is this grief? What happened was written in the heavens. Ahead of me lies a harder task, one that fills my heart with even greater dread. However much I plead and try to soothe this lionhearted man, he seeks nothing but trouble, in word and deed and stubborn pride. I have traveled to every corner of the world; I have learned its open secrets and its hidden ones. I seized the White Demon by his belt and slammed him to the ground like a willow branch. Yet I cannot turn my head away from Esfandiar, from that strength and that gift for war. My poplar arrow would pierce through an anvil, and cut down a shield if it found one. I struck Esfandiar's armor many times, but my striking hand meant nothing to it. If a leopard had seen my blade, it would have hidden itself beneath a rock. But my sword could not cut the mail on his chest, nor the piece of fine silk upon his head. I thank God that the dark night came, and in that darkness his eyes were blinded. I escaped the claws of that dragon, but I do not know if I will survive these wounds. What can I think now? There is no other plan than to turn Rakhsh's feet away tomorrow. I will go somewhere no trace of me can be found, even if he scatters ruin over Zabulistan. In the end he will grow tired of this business, though he is slow to tire of doing harm. Zal said to him: my son, listen, and keep your wits about you as you remember these words. Every affair in the world has its door, except death, which opens onto a different one. I know one remedy, and it is the best: to call the Simorgh to help us in this. If she guides us through this trouble, our land and home and place will remain ours.