English
The Rise of Garshasp and Rostam's Vow
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.