The Words of Daqiqi

When the king learned that his son had come, wearing the royal crown upon his head, he summoned all the great and the humble to his presence, and the priests with their sacred books beside him. He seated all the priests on chairs, then called for that sword-wielding prince. The warrior came forward, hands folded upon his chest, standing before his father like a servant. The king of kings spoke to the priests, to those noble men and army commanders: What do you say, he asked, you who are free-born and have raised your children through hardship? In this world, whoever has a son, the crowned one's heart rejoices in him. In his sweet infancy he hands him to a nurse and sets a golden crown upon his head. He keeps him until he grows skilled, and teaches him how to eat and how to ride. The worthy man endures much toil until the son proves himself in battle. When the free-born reaches the path of manhood, like gold that ripens to a yellow gleam from the mine, people seek him out as seekers do, and the speakers praise him all the more. He becomes a fine horseman, victorious in war, foremost in gatherings, in combat and in feast. When he grows strong in neck and shoulder and stature, the father has grown old and sits in his palace. The son would empty the whole world of him, thinking him no longer fit for the throne of kingship. The father keeps only the name of the throne, sitting in his hall as a watchman over his belongings. For the son, the world, the banner, and the army; for the father, only a crown and a golden cap. He is not content even with the son; do the champions approve of such a tale? For the sake of a single crown and diadem, the son wants his father's head cut from his body. He then sets out against him with his army, his heart bent on making war upon him. What do you say, elders, about this son? What is the good and proper thing for the father to do? His chosen men said: O king, such a thing can never be counted right. The father alive and the son seeking the throne, ask for nothing more raw and shameful than this. The ruler of the world said: here is that very son who plots to take his father's place. But I will strike him with a rod, so that all my streets take warning. Then I will bind him as he deserves, in bonds no one has ever placed on anyone. The son said: O king of noble nature, when did I ever wish for your death? I know of no sin, O king, that I have committed in all my days. By your life, O king, if I have harbored evil in my heart, then cut off my head. But you are the king, and the command is yours; I am yours, and the chains and prison are yours. Now order the bonds, or if you wish, kill me; my heart is steady and my mind is calm. The chief of kings said: bring the fetters, bind him, and do not fall short of this. The blacksmiths brought forward heavy collars, shackles, and chains. In that assembly no one moved his tongue to plead before the king of the world. They bound his head, his hands, and his feet before the world-ruling lord of the earth. They bound his feet so firmly that everyone who saw it wept bitterly. When they put the chain around his neck, he ordered him carried off bound through the gate. Bring, he said, a male elephant, swift as a bird, running as though it could fly. They brought up an elephant vast as the Nile and bound the prince upon its back. When they led him away from his royal father, his eyes were full of tears, his cheeks wet. They sent him toward the domed fortress, the army commanders surrounding him front and back. Full of grief they carried him up the mountain and brought four pillars of iron. They set up great iron pillars, their tops in the air and their bases in the ground. They bound him fast there; fortune had cast him from his throne and turned away. Then they set several men to guard him, that champion's son, in scorching pain and sorrow. He lived on in that narrow confinement, weeping bitterly from moment to moment.