English
Bahram and the Lost Whip
Bahram ran to his father and said: You who are chief of all the champions,
back when I seized that crown and raised it high upon my spear,
I lost a whip somewhere; if these worthless Turks find it in their hands,
what shame will fall on Bahram! The whole world would turn black as ebony before my eyes.
My name is written on that leather; if the commander Piran takes it up,
I will go swiftly and hard, and bring it back, however long the struggle takes.
But this omen troubles me, that my name may be dragged down into the dust.
Old Gudarz said to him: My son, you are bringing your own good fortune to its end.
For the sake of one strap-bound stick, you walk straight into the breath of an ill-starred fate.
Bahram the warrior answered: I am no better than my family and my people.
A man can only die when his time comes; why should I fear the worst without cause?
Giv said to him: Brother, do not go. I have plenty of new whips.
There is one of solid gold set in silver, its two lashes strung with pearls and jewels.
When Farangis opened her treasury, she gave me weapons and belts in abundance.
I took that armor and whip, and left the rest behind in Turan as of no worth.
King Kavus gave me another too, of gold and gems, bright as the shining moon.
I have five more, all worked in gold, woven over with royal jewels.
I will give you all seven. Do not leave this place; do not stir up some senseless new battle.
Brave Bahram said to Giv: This disgrace cannot be counted a small thing.
For you it is a matter of color and ornament; for me it is my name yoked to shame.
Either I bring that whip back, or I lose my head in the effort.
But God's will for him was otherwise, and the turning of fate was against him.
Whenever fortune falls asleep, the wise man said, even the right choice comes out wrong for you.
He spurred his horse and came to the battlefield, the face of the world bright with moonlight.
He wept bitterly over the slain, over those luckless men with grief-scarred hearts.
The body of Rivniz lay there in blood and dust, drowned in it, his armor slashed to ribbons.
Bahram, brave as a lion, wept aloud: Alas, young and daring rider,
now that you are slain, what are you but a handful of dust? The great ones rest in their halls, and you lie in the pit.
He went among the dead one by one, all of them fallen across the wide plain.
Among those famous men one lay wounded, who had barely escaped their swords with his life.
He recognized Bahram at once,
and groaning, asked him his name.
He said to him: My lion, I am still alive,
though cast down and helpless among the dead.
For three days I have longed for bread and water;
how I wish for a bed to lie down on.
Bahram hurried to his side,
tender in heart and gentle in his own body.
He circled around him weeping, clawing his own face;
he tore his shirt and bound the man's wounds.
He told him: Do not fear because of these wounds;
you are failing only because they are left untended.
Now that I have bound them, you can make for the army,
and you will soon recover from these injuries.
On this battlefield I have lost a whip,
gone from me, one meant for the crown of the king.
When I have found it again I will come back to you
and quickly carry you to your army.
From there he rushed to the heart of the army,
searching until he found the whip.
It lay among a heap of the slain,
soaked in mingled dust and blood.
He got down from his horse and picked it up,
and from there he began to raise a cry.
His horse caught the breath and call of a mare
and seethed with fire like the sacred flame.
It bolted swiftly toward the mare;
Bahram was stricken with grief and ran after it.
He kept charging until he reached it,
his face streaming with sweat from helmet and mail.
As soon as he caught it he mounted,
an Indian blade gripped in his hand.
When he pressed his thighs it left no trace of a track;
rider and horse's flanks were caked with dust and sweat.
He grew so heartsick, all at once,
that he struck the sword against his own mount's legs.
And from that place to this battlefield
he crossed the road on foot, swift as the wind.
He saw the whole plain covered with the slain,
the earth planted red like roses and redbud blossoms.
He said: Now what road shall I take,
searching this plain without a mount?
The enemy chiefs learned of him,
and a hundred riders sped from their center.
To seize him there on that battlefield
and carry him off to the army's commander.
Bahram the lion strung his bow
and, bold, rained down arrows from it.
Whenever he loosed a single arrow,
no one could stay standing anywhere near him.
He wounded and killed many of them;
on foot he did not flinch nor turn his back.
The riders all turned back from him
and set their faces toward Piran.
When the army had vanished from Bahram's sight,
he gathered many arrows from every side.
When the troops came before their commander,
the warriors told him everything.
Much was said about that man of war,
about his fighting, both open and hidden.
They said: what a bold lion this is; even on foot he never tires of battle.
Piran asked: who is this man, and among those famous ones, what is his name?
Someone answered: he is Bahram the lion-slayer, the one who lights up the whole army.
Piran said to Ruyin: rise, for Bahram has no way to escape.
If you can take him alive, the world will finally be at rest from his fury.
Take with you from the army whoever is needed, whoever is renowned and eager for combat.
When Ruyin heard this he came at speed, with no dark doubt in his heart.
Bahram the lion set an arrow to the string, holding his shield above his head, the sky below.
He unleashed such a hail of arrows on Ruyin that the bright moon turned dark as lapis.
When his arrows wounded Ruyin son of Piran, the hands and feet of all the champions grew slack.
Weakened, they returned to their commander, full of pain and with darkened souls.
They said: never have we seen a single man on foot fight like a sea-dragon in battle.
When Piran heard this he was struck with grief, trembling like a leaf on a tree.
He mounted his swift, spirited horse and rode out, many warriors going with him.
He came to Bahram and said: renowned one, why have you made war on foot?
Were you not with Siyavash in Turan, ever in the thick of quarrel and fighting?
Between you and me there is bread and salt shared, and sitting together nurtured our affection.
It would be wrong that with this lineage and noble stock, with such lion's courage and so much skill,
your head should fall from your height into the dust, and your loving mother's heart should burn.
Come, let us make a pact and an oath, on whatever terms your heart finds good.
After that we shall become kin to one another; once we are kin, we will seek greater ends.
You are on foot against a famous army; you cannot hold out. Spare your own life.
Bahram said to him: commander, wise, clear-sighted, and bright of soul,
all I need from you is a single mount; otherwise, for me it is a fight to the end.
Piran said: seeker of renown, do you not know there is no sense in this plan?
The words I spoke are better for you; do not be reckless, do not rage in vain.
Consider whether the riders of that host would take such a shame upon themselves,
that so many men of noble seed, crown-wearers and heroic warriors,
were killed and wounded by your fighting, that such a battle was joined so suddenly.
Who would now seek passage toward Iran, unless their brain and blood are boiling with rage?
If it were not for the wrath of Afrasiyab, whose head would spin in fury at such words,
I would have given you a horse, young man, to carry you to your champion.
He said this, then turned and went back to his place.
He left, and from the army came Tazhav, his heart full of hatred and his head full of scheming, a rider whose fury matched a lion's.
He asked Piran about him, and Piran said that Bahram has no equal among the heroes.
With kindness I gave him plenty of good counsel and showed him the right path and a worthy alliance.
But those words found no way into his heart; he only seeks a route to the Iranian army.
The warlike Tazhav said to Piran: you have no stomach for anything but kindness.
I will go, and even on foot I will seize him, and in an instant crush his head beneath a stone.
He hurried out to that battlefield where Bahram the hero stood without an army.
When he saw Bahram with spear in hand, he roared out like a maddened elephant.
He said to him: against this whole famous army, a single man on foot facing so many riders?
Do you mean to march boldly on Iran? Do you mean to lift your head so high?
You cut down the chiefs in an instant; now the hour has come for your own time to end.
Then he ordered: close in on him, strike him with arrow, mace, and javelin.
A whole troop gathered against him, every man who was a leader among the brave.
Bahram the warrior strung his bow and with his arrows he blotted the light from the sky.
When his arrows were spent he turned to the spear, and mountain and plain became a sea of blood.
When his spear snapped he fought on with mace and blade, splashing blood up onto the dark clouds.
As the battle raged on in this way, many a brave man was wounded by his arrows.
When Bahram the hero grew weak and drained of strength, Tazhav came at him from behind.
He struck a blow with his sword to the top of his shoulder, so that the lion pitched forward face down.
The dagger-wielding hand was severed from his body; he could fight no more, and his fortune was overturned.
Yet the tyrant Tazhav's own heart burned, and his face flared up like fire.
He turned his face away, full of pain and shame, and hot blood came seething up in his liver.