Reign of Garshasp

Zav had a son who ruled by his own will; his father had named him Garshasp. He came and took his place on the throne, and set the royal crown upon his head. Once seated on his father's throne, he kept the world in order and splendor. And so the days passed, until the tree of misfortune bore its fruit of hatred. Word reached the Turks that Zav had died, and that the throne now stood empty. Afrasiab came to lowland Ray, dividing up the land and crossing the river. Not a soul brought greetings from Peshang; his head was full of spite, his heart set on war. His own heart had turned away from throne and crown, steeped in grief for Aghreirath. Peshang would never show his face to him; that bright blade had gone dark with rust. A messenger would go to him, but for two years and months he showed no face. He kept saying: if the throne needed a leader, Aghreirath was the worthy one to serve it. You spill your own brother's blood, yet you flee from a bird you raised yourself. I want nothing to do with you, ever; there is no path to see me at my side. Ears filled with the news that the imperial throne now stood empty. A message came, heavy as stone, to Afrasiab from bold Peshang: Cross the Oxus and march your army; let no one climb onto that throne. Afrasiab raised an army stretching from the plain of Sepijab to the river's edge. You would have said the earth had turned into a spinning sky, raining down souls from Indian blades. One by one the news reached Iran that a buyer had come for the royal throne. They turned their faces toward Zabolestan; the whole world filled with talk and rumor. They spoke to Zal with some harsh words: you have taken the world too easily into your grip. Since Sam, ever since you became champion, we have not had a single bright and easy day. An army has been drawn across the Oxus this way, so vast the sun has vanished from the world. If you know a remedy, arrange it now, for the enemy commander has closed in tight. Then the renowned Zal of the golden hair said: from the day I first buckled on my belt as a warrior, when a rider like me set foot in the saddle, no one could bear up against my sword and mace. Wherever I dug in my heel, the reins of enemy riders fell slack. Night and day I fought all the same; my only fear, year after year, was old age. Now the hero's neck has bent like a bow; it can no longer wield the Kabuli dagger. Now Rostam has grown tall as a straight cypress; the crown of leadership would suit him well. He needs a warhorse of his own, for none of these Arabian horses will do. I will seek a mount fit to carry that mighty body; I will call for one from every quarter where they gather. I will lay this matter before Rostam, to see whether he agrees to the task: that he gird himself against the vengeance of Zadsham's line, and take it up without gloom. All the people of Iran, hearing his words, grew glad at heart and bright of face. From every side a swift camel raced; the weapons of the war-riders were made ready. He said to Rostam: my mighty son, taller in stature than all others, a great task lies ahead, and long hardship, one that breaks all sleep, ease, and comfort. This is no time for you to fight yet, my son; what am I to do, when it is no season for feasting? Your lips still smell of milk; your heart still longs for play and delight. How can I send you to the field of battle, before the Turks so full of spite and pain? What do you say, what will you do, what is your answer? May greatness and good fortune be your companions. Rostam said to Dastan, son of Sam: I am not a man for ease and the wine-cup. These shoulders and these long, powerful hands were not made noble by being raised in luxury. If the field of vengeance and fierce battle comes, may God, the giver of victory, be my ally. You will see what I become in battle, once I set out to spill blood. I hold a cloud in my grip: colored like water, but raining down blood. Its steel strikes fire from its edge, and its point grinds the very brains of elephants. I need a mount as high as a mountain, one that I can bring down with the loop of my lasso. I want a mace like a slab of mountain, for when the hordes of Turan advance against me. I will crush their heads with that mace, and no attacker will stand before me. I will leave the face of the earth without an army, until clouds rain blood upon the battlefield.

The champion was so moved by his words that you would think he was about to pour out his very soul. He gathered whatever herds he had in Zabolestan and brought a portion of them to Kabol. They drove them all past Rostam, each one bearing the royal brand of its owner. Every horse that Rostam pulled forward, he pressed his hand down hard on its back. Under his strength their spines would buckle, and their bellies sank to the ground. So it went until a swift herder came from Kabol, driving a string of horses of every color. A gray mare passed by, quick and lean, her chest like a lion's, her legs short and firm. Her two ears like a pair of gleaming daggers, her chest and neck broad, her middle slender. Behind her ran a colt as tall as she, its haunches and chest as wide as her own. Black-eyed, chestnut with a bright coat, its tail like an ox's, dark-hooved and fiery, with hooves of steel. Its body dappled from head to tail, like the mark of a red rose scattered on saffron. When Rostam looked at that mare, he saw beside her that elephant-bodied colt. He looped his royal lasso, ready to catch the colt and halt its bolting. The old herder said to Rostam, 'Master, do not take another man's horse.' Rostam asked, 'Whose horse is this, whose two flanks bear no branding mark?' He answered, 'Do not look for its brand, for there are all sorts of tales about that.' 'We call him Rakhsh; he is a bright chestnut, fiery in temper and the color of fire.' 'We know of no owner for him; we simply call him Rostam's Rakhsh, and nothing more.' 'For three years now he has been fit for the saddle, and in the eyes of great men he stands out as the best.' 'When his mother sees a rider's lasso, she charges like a lion and fights.' Rostam cast his royal lasso and suddenly caught the bright colt's head in the noose. Its mother came on like a raging lion, trying to tear off his head with her teeth. Rostam roared like a raging lion, and at his voice the mare froze, dazed. He also struck a single blow to her neck, and from that blow her body reeled and shook. She fell, rose, and turned away from him, setting off swiftly back toward the herd. The mighty Rostam braced his thighs and drew the noose tighter around the colt. He reached out his hero's fist with force and pressed one hand down on the chestnut's back. The back did not give an inch under the pressure; you would think it felt nothing at all. He said in his heart, 'This is my mount. Now the work I must do lies in my own hands.' He asked the herder, 'This dragon of a horse, what is his price, and who claims payment for him?' He answered, 'If you are Rostam, then mount him and set the land of Iran to rights.' 'His price is the whole realm of Iran; upon him you will set the world right.' Rostam's lips reddened like coral with a smile, and he said, 'All good comes fitly from God.' He set the saddle on the rose-hued horse, whose spirit rose keen for vengeance and battle. He saw its jaw was open and its pace swift, and saw it had heart, mettle, and strong sinews. It could bear his armor, helmet, and mace, an elephant-bodied frame with a mighty chest and neck. The bright horse grew so splendid that every night they burned wild rue for it, to ward off harm. Right and left, you would say it had turned to magic; in the charge it became as swift as a living gazelle. The heart of Zal, golden of hair, bloomed like glad spring at the sight of Rakhsh and his fresh, fortunate rider. He threw open his treasury and gave out gold, with no thought for today or tomorrow.

He struck the signal drum on the elephant's back, and its sound carried for many miles. War drums roared with the trumpets, along with the mighty elephants and their Indian bells. An uproar rose from Zabolestan; its clamor cried out to the sleeping earth: Wake up! At the front rode Rostam the champion, and behind him the aged warrior Zal. The plains, valleys, and passes were so packed with soldiers that not even a crow could fly overhead. Drums were beaten from sixty places at once; the world showed neither beginning nor end. At the season when gardens burst into bloom, he brought the army out of Zabolestan. Afrasiab learned that Zal was on the move, and lost all his peace, his food, and his sleep. He led his army toward Khvar near Ray, to a meadow rich with water and reeds. From Iran the troops came marching on, crossing the desert road toward the battlefield. When only two leagues remained between the two armies, the commander summoned the seasoned, worldly men. He said to them: O wise ones, you experienced nobles who have seen the world and done great deeds, Here I have raised this army; I have long sought a leader and a ruler. Without a king on the throne, all counsel scatters; an army without a leader is all in disarray. When the blessed Zav sat upon the throne, a fresh chorus of praise rose from the world. Now we need a king of royal blood, one fit to bind the royal belt upon the throne of kings. A king who upholds the throne with majesty, for a human body cannot live without a head. The high priest at once pointed me to a king, one of youthful fortune and glory: From Fereydun's line, the hero Kay Qobad, a man of splendor, stature, wisdom, and justice.

The blessed Zal said to Rostam: Take up your mace and lift your horse's mane high. Ride hard until you reach Mount Alborz, and pick out a united army there. Give your praise and greeting to Kay Qobad, and waste not even a moment before him. In two weeks you must be back here; day and night, never rest from the ride. Tell him: The army has chosen you, and set out the royal throne in your honor. For we see no one but you worthy of the crown of the kings; O king, come to our rescue. The mighty Rostam swept the ground with his eyelashes in homage, bound his belt at his waist, and rushed off like the wind.

Many Turkish scouts were on the road when their champion, the army's shield, reached them. He clashed with the renowned warriors, an ox headed mace gripped in his fist. The brave men of Turan fought back, but in the end they fled the battle. They turned toward Afrasiab, hearts full of blood and eyes brimming with tears. They told him everything, great and small, and the commander grew grim at their report. He summoned Qalun to come before him, a bold and cunning champion among the Turks. He told him: Choose horsemen from the army, set out from here toward the mountains. Be brave, wise, and alert; stay watchful and keep good guard. For the Iranians are a treacherous people; they strike at the scouts without warning. Qalun left the king's presence, guides leading the way ahead of him. He blocked the road against the famous ones with battle hardened men and raging elephants. On the other side, brave and noble Rustam pressed on toward the king of Iran. A mile's distance from the Alborz mountains, he saw a place of youthful splendor. Many trees and running water, the resting place of a young man. A throne had been set beside the water, sprinkled with pure musk and rosewater. A youth, radiant as the shining moon, sat on that throne in the shade. Many warriors were lined up, belts fastened at the waist in the manner of nobles. A royal gathering had been arranged, like a paradise in its color and beauty. When they saw the champion on the road, they came out from that shaded place to greet him. They said: We are the hosts and you are our guest; dismount here at our command. So that we may all give ourselves to joy and drink wine in honor of a famous face. The mighty one answered them thus: O noble and proud men, I must go on to the Alborz mountains, on an errand of great importance. I must not lay my head and hands to rest on a pillow, for a long and heavy toil lies ahead. The throne of Iran stands without a king; drinking wine is no use to me now. Give me directions to Kai Qobad, if any among you remembers him. The leader of those brave men spoke up: I have news of Kai Qobad. If you come down and share our bread, your face will brighten our very souls. We will tell you all about Qobad, what his ways and nature are. The mighty one leapt from Rakhsh like the wind when he heard word of Qobad from him. He came swiftly to the edge of the stream; they sat beneath that shaded shelter. The youth sat back on his throne, taking Rustam's hand in one of his own. With the other hand he filled a cup with wine and drank to the memory of noble men. He passed another cup to Rustam and said: O renowned and valiant one, You asked me for news of Qobad; from whom do you hold this name in memory? Rustam replied: I bring a message from the champion, with a clear soul. They have adorned the throne of Iran; the nobles have called him to be king. My father, the chosen one of all heroes, the one they call Zal the golden, Told me: Go to the Alborz mountains and find brave Qobad among his company. Give him a blessing for the kingship, and do not delay even a little. Tell him the champions have summoned you; in joy they have made a world ready. If you can and you know him, give me directions and set him on the throne. At Rustam's words the brave youth laughed and said to him: O champion, I am Kai Qobad, of the line of Fereydun; I keep the name of my fathers in memory. When Rustam heard this he bowed his head and came down from the golden throne to serve him. He said: O king of the world's kings, refuge of the great and support of the noble, May the throne of Iran bend to your will; may the bodies of mighty elephants fall into your snare. May your seat upon the imperial throne bring both mastery and royal glory. I bring greetings to the king of the world from chosen Zal, that heroic champion. If the king would command his servant to let the messenger unbind his words, Brave Qobad rose from his place, his heart, mind, and will stirred by Rustam's words. The mighty one at once opened his tongue and delivered the message of Iran's commander. When the words reached the commander's ears, his heart leapt in his chest with joy. He raised a cup brimming with wine and drained it in honor of the mighty one. Likewise Rustam drank a cup of wine and blessed the life of the king. A cry rose up from low notes and high; joy grew great and sorrow grew slight. The king spoke thus to the champion: With a clear soul I saw a dream, That from the direction of Iran two white falcons brought a shining crown, bright as the sun. Gracefully and proudly they came to me and set that crown upon my head. When I woke I was filled with hope, from that shining crown and the white falcons. I arranged this royal gathering, just as you see it in this meadow. Now the mighty one has become like a white falcon to me; from him has come the promise of the crown of the great. When Rustam heard of the king's dream, of the falcon and the crown glowing like the moon, He said to the king of heroes: Your dream is a sign like those of the prophets. Now rise, let us go to Iran, to stand beside the brave men in support. Qobad sprang up from his place like fire and set foot on his war charger. Rustam fastened his belt swift as the wind and came striding behind Kai Qobad. Night and day they did not rest from riding, until they came near the scouts. Brave Qalun learned of what was afoot and came like fire toward the battle. When the king of Iran saw this, he wanted to draw up his own line against him. The mighty one said to him: O king, seeking battle does not suit you. I, Rakhsh, my mace and armor, they have no match, not even for me alone. He said this and spurred Rakhsh forward; with a single blow he cut a horseman apart. Qalun saw a demon broken loose from its chains, with mace and a coiled lasso in hand. He charged at him like the wind, struck with his spear and split the fastenings of the armor. The mighty one reached out and seized the spear; Qalun stood amazed at his courage. The renowned one wrested the spear from his hand and roared like thunder from the mountains. He struck with the spear and lifted him from the saddle, then planted the spear's butt in the ground. Qalun became like a bird on a spit; the whole army watched, man by man. Qalun's army was routed by him, their ill fortune crushed all at once. The mighty one, mounted, passed through the scouts and hurried toward the mountains. Where there was pastureland and running water, the champion dismounted at that spot. Thus until dark night drew near, the mighty one made ready every kind of preparation. The adornment of royal robes, the crown, and the kingly steed as well. When night grew dark, the far seeing hero set out with the king of Iran. He brought him to Zal by night; through the whole journey he never opened his lips. For a week they sat in counsel; the wise priests gathered in that assembly. On the eighth day the ivory throne was arrayed, and they hung the crown above the ivory.