English
Rostam's Hunt and the Ambush
What did that bold poet-singer say, who once suddenly grappled with a fierce lion?
If you seek to earn the name of a real man, then wash the face of your Indian blade in blood.
You must not shy away from hardship, for the day of honor and battle will come to you.
When your fated hour presses close, it will not turn back from you no matter how you avoid it.
If you bring reason along as a companion to war, the brave will not count you among the warriors.
Reason and faith walk a different road; the best words are bound within restraint.
Now here is a colorful, fragrant tale about the warrior Rostam.
I have heard that one day the mighty-bodied hero threw a great feast for the gathering.
In a place called Navand, where tall palaces stood,
the very place where the fire-temple of Azar Borzin now blazes as a guide.
The nobles of Iran came to that feast, a famous host gathered as one army.
Men like Tus and Gudarz son of Keshvad, like Bahram and the noble Giv,
like Gorgin and Zangeh son of Shavaran, like Gostaham and Khorrad, the fighting men,
like proud sword-wielding Borzin, and Gorazeh who led the assembly.
Each of these chieftains brought several men, forming one renowned and honored force.
The army never rested a moment from its work: polo, archery, wine, and the hunt.
One day in his cups Giv said to Rostam, 'O renowned champion,
if the thought of a hunt appeals to you, and the swift cheetah is put to use for you,
let us go to the hunting ground of Afrasiab and darken the bright face of the sun.
With the dust of riders, hunting cats, and hawks, let us seize a full long day of pleasure.
Let us cast the lasso over the swift wild ass, and bind the lion with our swords.
Let us make such a hunt on the plain of Turan that it becomes a legend in the world.'
Rostam said to him, 'May nothing ever cross your will until your very end.
At dawn let us go to the plain of Turan, and never tire of the hunt and the chase.'
They all agreed together on this plan; no one proposed a different idea.
At dawn, when they rose from sleep, they prepared to set out on their desire.
They set off with hawk and falcon and litter, striding cheerful and happy toward the Shahd river,
to the hunting ground of Afrasiab, with sand on one side and water on the other.
On the other side lay Sarakhs and its desert; the plain was covered with herds of deer and sheep.
The whole plain filled with pavilions and tents, and the deer grew frantic at the crowd.
The land was emptied of tearing lions; word of it reached even the birds in flight.
On every side lay heaps of birds and game, some killed, some wounded by arrows.
Their lips never rested from laughter for a moment; they were bright of heart and joyful.
For a whole week it went on like this with wine: now the chase, now sitting in revelry.
On the eighth day the mighty one came early and laid a fitting plan before the army.
Rostam said to those proud men, to those mace-bearing warriors:
'By now, word of us has surely reached Afrasiab without doubt.
He will scheme, come to battle, and close in the hunting ground against our cheetahs.
We need a scout on the road, so that when he gets the slightest news,
he can come and warn the army, lest the enemy seize the way against us.'
Gorazeh, bow strung and ready, came and girded himself for that task.
With a guardian like him over the army, dealing with the enemies seemed an easy thing.
They turned back to the hunt and to feasting; no one gave a thought to the coming fight.
Then, in the dark of night at the hour of sleep, word of them reached Afrasiab.
He summoned the seasoned men of his army and told many tales about Rostam,
and about those seven brave mounted champions, each of whom was like a lion.
'Now we must make ready and suddenly launch a raid.
If we can seize these seven heroes, we will make the world narrow for Kavus.
We must move as if on a hunt, and fall upon them suddenly with the army.'
He chose thirty thousand swordsmen, all eager for battle and ready for war.
He said to his famed warriors, 'This is no time for us to delay.'
They rode out across the desert road, all of them raising their heads for the fight.
He sent countless troops from every side to cut off the road against those proud men.
When Gorazeh saw the dust of the army, he came and studied the whole force.
He saw the face of the world turn black, the banner of Turan's commander looming.
From there he turned back like a roaring wind; you would say a wild boar had charged in for the strike.
He came galloping to the hunting ground, where the mighty one was drinking wine with the army.
The lion-like man said to Rostam, 'Rise, and turn away from your merriment.
For there is an army beyond all measure; the whole host looks like one solid mass, hill and hollow alike.
The banner of tyrannous Afrasiab gleams through the dust like the sun.'
When Rostam heard this he laughed hard and said, 'Victorious fortune is on our side.
Why do you fear the king of the Turks like this, and the dust of the horsemen of Turan?
His army is no more than a hundred thousand rein-turning, armored riders.
On this field of vengeance, if there is even one of us, then fighting the Turks looks like a small thing.
We are seven mounted champions gathered, all so renowned and skilled with the sword.
Each one of us is worth a thousand of them, so what does the count of the Turkish host matter?
On this plain, even if I alone stand here, mounted on Rakhsh and clad in armor,
if such a foe comes seeking vengeance against me, I would need no army from Iran.
You, cupbearer, pour me Babylonian wine, measure me a nightingale's-fill to the brim.'
The cupbearer measured the wine and gave it quickly; the mighty one grew glad at once at the gift.
He took that shining cup in his hand and first spoke the name of Kavus the king.
'May the king of the age be remembered by me; may his land and realm be ever flourishing.'
Then the mighty one kissed the ground and said, 'This wine is in memory of Tus.'
The world's leading men rose up and made a plea to the champion:
'This cup of wine is beyond our measure; even the Devil cannot keep pace with you in drinking.
Wine, the single-stroke mace, and the field of war have come to no one's grasp but yours.'
Red Babylonian wine in a golden cup, the mighty one drank to Zavareh's face.
Zavareh, like a nightingale-cup, took it in his hand and also spoke the name of King Kavus.
He drank and kissed the ground, and the mighty one praised him,
saying, 'A brother drinks the brother's cup; a true lion is he who drains the cup of wine.'