The Mourning of Fereydun

Fereydun kept his eyes fixed on the road, longing for the king, his army, and his crown. It was the season for the king to return; how could the father know what had happened? He had a throne of turquoise made ready for the king, and set jewels into the crown. They prepared to welcome him, calling for wine, music, and singers. They brought out drums and elephants from the gate, and hung banners across every province. The king and his army waited in their saddles when a cloud of dark dust rose from the road. Out of that dark dust came a camel, and on it sat a rider heavy with grief and pain. The mourning heart let out a cry; at his side he carried a golden coffin. Inside the golden coffin, wrapped in silk, lay the head of Iraj. With wailing and sighs and a pale face, that bold man came before Fereydun. They lifted the lid from the golden coffin, for they had thought his words might be too much to bear. When he drew the silk aside from the coffin, the severed head of Iraj came into view. Fereydun fell from his horse to the ground, and the whole army tore their garments in grief. His face turned black and his eyes went white, for he had hoped to see something wholly different. When the king returned from the road in such a state, so too the welcoming army turned back. The banners were torn, the drums turned upside down, the faces of the nobles dark as ebony. The drums were blackened, the elephants' faces too, and indigo smeared across the Arab horses. The commander on foot, the army on foot, their heads full of dust, they took to the road. The champions cried out in pain, tearing the flesh of their own bodies for that noble man. This is how the heavens turn against us: the moment they show their face, they mean to snatch away. Do not put your trust in the love of this age; a bow that is drawn straight bends true only to strike. Treat it as an enemy and it shows you affection; call it a friend and it hides its face from you. I give you one piece of true advice: you must wash your heart clean of love for this world. With hearts branded by grief for the king, wailing and crying, the army turned toward Iraj's garden. In a place where once the kings held their festivals, and before that had been their banquet halls, Fereydun came, staggering, carrying in his arms the head of the young king, his son. He looked upon that royal throne, but he did not see the king's head beneath the crown. The same pool of the kings, the tall cypress, the blossom-scattering tree, the willow and the quince, he found the festive garden empty of the free and noble, its dark dust risen to the star Saturn. He set the garden ablaze, tore at his own face, shed tears and pulled out his hair. He bound his waist with a blood-red belt of grief and set fire to the hall where he had sat. He uprooted the rose-garden and burned the cypresses; all at once he sealed his eyes against joy. Cradling Iraj's head against him, he lifted his own head toward the Creator. He said: O just Judge, look upon this innocent one who was slain. His head was cut off with a dagger before my eyes, his body devoured by the lions of that gathering. Burn the hearts of those two tyrants so fiercely that they never see anything but dark days. Sear their livers with such a brand that even wild beasts would pity them. I ask this from the radiant Creator: that I may be granted enough time in this world for a famous son to come from Iraj's line and gird himself to avenge this blood. Once I have seen that, I will be content, even if the dust of the grave covers me over. He wept in this way so long and so bitterly that grass grew where he sat. The earth his bed and dust his pillow, his world-seeing eyes went dark from weeping. His eyes shut tight, his tongue loosed, he kept saying: O Judge of the righteous, no crowned king ever died the way this renowned hero has died. The evil one cut off his head in cruelty, and the jaws of lions became his body's shroud. A cry of grief, an eye full of tears, robbed every beast and bird of rest and sleep. Across the whole land, men and women gathered in mourning everywhere. All eyes full of tears, all hearts full of blood, they sat in sorrow, burning within. All dressed in blue and black, they sat in grief, mourning the king. How many such days they passed, until all of life seemed to them like death.