English
The Death of Forud
When the shining sun revealed its face and rose gracefully into the arch of the sky,
from every side came the shouting of the chiefs and the swinging of heavy maces.
The roar of the war drum mingled with the wail of the trumpet, the blast of the horn, and the Indian bell.
Forud rode out from the fortress wall, and with him all the brave warriors of the Turks.
With the dust of riders, with maces and arrows, the mountaintop turned into a sea of pitch.
There was no open plain, no room to fight; the rocks and stones bewildered the horses.
In this way, until the sun stood at noon, the army of the brave Forud dwindled.
On slope and hollow they were all cut down; the young man's fortune had turned dark.
The Iranians stared at him in wonder, for they had never seen such a raging lion.
Not one Turkish rider was left at his side; he now faced the field of battle alone.
He turned his reins and rode off alone, hurrying down from the heights toward the fortress.
Rohham and Bizhan had set an ambush, riding up the slope and down.
When Bizhan appeared in the hollow below, Forud's reins grew light and his stirrup pressed hard as he charged.
Young Forud saw Bizhan's helmet, reached out and drew his sword from its sheath.
Then the warrior Rohham came up from behind, roaring, an Indian blade clenched in his fist,
and struck the brave man on the shoulder; his arm fell away from his body.
With his arm and shoulder severed from him, he still spurred his horse and cried out.
Bizhan reached him near the fortress and with a blow hamstrung his mount.
Now on foot, he and a few of his servants were ruined by the hands of those warriors.
He entered the fortress and the gate was quickly shut; so ended that famed lion of war, Forud.
He went to the women who served his mother, and the veiled ones gathered him into their arms.
In grief they laid him on the ivory couch; it was no day of crowns for the young king.
His mother and the servants tore out their scented, musky hair by the roots.
Beloved Forud lay dying; the whole couch was mourning, the whole fortress wept.
When he could part his lips, he spoke: 'This tearing of hair is no wonder now.'
'Soon the Iranians will come, girded and ready to plunder the fortress clean.'
'They will take the serving women captive and lay waste the fortress and the mountain walls.'
'Whoever's heart grieves for me, let their love keep my soul aglow.'
'You must all go up onto the wall and cast yourselves down to the ground,'
'so that nothing is left for Bizhan, and I too will not linger here, save a little.'
'The one who kills me is his own pain in body and soul; what are my servants and treasure worth to him?'
He said this, his cheeks turned pale, and his spirit departed in sorrow and pain.
This drunken wheel of heaven is like a juggler who plays his tricks with seventy hands.
One moment with the dagger, one with the sword, one with the wind, one with the mist,
one moment in the grip of some unworthy fool, one moment freed from pain and hardship.
One moment it gives you throne, treasure, and crown; the next, grief, toil, disgrace, and the pit.
Everyone alive must swallow this; I am heartsick now that I have grown empty-handed.
If a wise man had never been born, he would never have seen the world so hot and cold.
One must live blind and thwarted; over such a life one must only weep.
In the end, dust is his pillow. What a pity, that heart, that wisdom, that noble way of his.
The serving women climbed to the top of the fortress and threw themselves all down to the ground.
Jarira herself kindled a fire and burned all the treasures to ash.
Then she took a sword in hand and went into the stable of the Arab horses.
She slit their bellies and cut their hamstrings, weeping tears of blood and sweat.
She came to blessed Forud's bedside with a dagger blue as water in her hand.
She pressed both her cheeks against her son's face, tore open her own belly, and gave up her life beside him.
The Iranians broke into the fortress and, all girded, set to plunder.
When Bahram drew near that wall, his heart was torn to pieces with grief.
He said to the Iranians: 'This one died a far more wretched, more pitiful death than his father.'
'Siyavash's killer was no servant of his, and no mother lay slain at his bedside.'
The whole fortress was ablaze from end to end, every home and hearth torn down and burned.
He said to the Iranians: 'Fear the Creator and the turning of the days.'
'The hand of fate reaches far and long; it will not turn kindly toward the unjust man.'
'Have you no shame now before Kay Khosrow, who spoke so gently with Tus,'
'who sent you to avenge Siyavash and gave you so much counsel and advice?'
'When he learns of his brother's blood, all shame and honor will be cut short for him.'
'From Rohham and hot-tempered Bizhan, no fine deed ever comes into the world.'
At that very moment the commander Tus arrived, beating the war drums along the road to Kalat,
with Gudarz and Giv the warriors, and a heavy host of Iran's champions.
The general marched toward Mount Sepid and from there came near to the great throng.
When he came to the bedside of that pitifully slain youth, cast down in disgrace upon the couch beside his mother,
on one side Bahram sat, his eyes brimming, seated at the bed and full of rage;
on the other side, Zanga son of Shavaran, with the warriors gathered around him.
The young man lay on that ivory couch like a tree, his face like the moon, his stature tall as teak.
Like Siyavash he lay sleeping on the golden throne, with armor, sword, mace, and belt.
Gudarz and Giv wept bitterly over him, and great men too, like Gorgin and brave Bahram.
Tus's face filled with the blood of his liver, grieving for Forud and for his own son.
For rashness brings you a harvest of regret; do not sow the seed of rashness in your garden.
Thus Gudarz spoke to Tus and Giv and to the famed ones and the brave champions:
'Rashness is no work for a commander; a general who acts rashly is a bad one.'
'A youth like this, of the royal seed, with such glory, such height, such neck and waist,'
'you gave to the wind through haste and temper, along with Zarasp, that general of Nowzar's line.'
'Through haste Rivniz was taken captive; nothing is left untouched by our evil luck.'
'Skill without wisdom in a hot-tempered heart is like a blade gone blunt with rust.'
When they had said all this, tears poured from his eyes, and out of temper he flew into a rage.
He answered: 'From ill fortune, much toil and hardship comes upon men.'
He ordered a royal tomb to be built on the ridge of that mountain.
Beneath him they laid a golden throne, with gold-woven brocade and a golden belt.
They adorned his kingly body and called for roses, musk, camphor, and wine.
They dried his head with camphor and anointed his face with perfume, rosewater, and musk.
They laid him on the throne and turned away; so passed that lionhearted, proud-necked king.
They laid the proud Zarasp and Rivniz too beside the young king.
The general wept upon that camphor-white beard, and rivers of blood poured from his eyes.
So it is: however long we linger, neither the proud elephant remains nor the lion.
The heart of stone and anvil dreads death; no leaf, no fruit escapes it.