English
The Sorcerer's Snow
Among the Turks there was one named Bazur, who worked his tricks and got his way wherever he went.
He had mastered deceit and sorcery, and knew both the Chinese tongue and Pahlavi.
Piran, that student of spells, told him: from here go up to the mountain's peak.
And at once bring down snow and cold and a howling wind upon them.
The air was dark, for it was the month of Tir, and black clouds kept rolling over the mountain.
The moment Bazur reached the mountain, up rose a storm of snow and howling wind.
The hands of those spearmen all went numb, useless in battle because of the snow.
In that upheaval and biting frost there were the cries of warriors and a rain of arrows.
Piran ordered the whole army: launch a single charge from this battlefield.
But their hands froze fast to their spears, and no one could manage a striking blow.
Then Human raised a roar and charged in like a demon.
They killed so many of Iran's army that the field became a sea of blood.
Gate and plain filled with snow and blood, and Iran's horsemen lay fallen face down.
There was no room left to move and fight; snow and the fallen crowded every space.
Sword and hand turned black across the field, men slumped forward like drunkards.
There was no room to maneuver on that battleground, and the army's hands were ruined by the cold.
The commander and his proud captains then turned to heaven with their lament.
Saying: you who are higher than knowledge, mind, and reason, not confined to place, yet present everywhere, above and below.
We are all your sinful servants; in our helplessness we beg your justice.
You stand above all spells and sorcery, lord of the world and judge over judges.
In our helplessness you are the one who takes our hand, stronger than fire and than bitter frost.
Rescue us from this snow and cold; we have no rescuer but you.
A man learned in such matters came and showed Rohham that mountain peak,
where the tireless Bazur had his place, working his spells and trickery on that mountain.
Rohham stirred from the battlefield and galloped his horse out from the army's midst.
He tucked the skirt of his mail into his belt and climbed that peak on foot.
When the sorcerer saw him he came to fight, a mace of Chinese steel in his grip.
As Rohham drew near the sorcerer, swiftly he pulled his keen sword from its sheath.
With the sharp blade he struck off the sorcerer's hand, and a wind rose up like the day of resurrection.
It swept the dark clouds from the face of the sky, and Rohham came back down from the mountain, a hero.
One who wielded the force of sorcery took to the open plain and mounted his horse.
The weather turned back to what it had been before, and the blazing sun showed its face again.
He told his father what the sorcery had done, what it had brought upon us on the day of battle.
After that the king's brave warriors saw the battlefield turned into a sea of blood.
The whole plain was strewn with slain Iranians: bodies without heads, heads without bodies.
Then Gudarz said to Tus: not one war elephant is left, and not even the sound of a drum.
Let us all draw our swords together and raise a roar, whether we kill or are killed.
It seems our time has come; this is no longer a day for combat, arrows, and bows.
Tus said to him: you seasoned man of the world, the air has cleared and the cold wind is gone.
Why should we throw our lives to the wind, when the rescuer has given us glory and strength?
Do not be the first to strike in our battle; these brave enemies will make for us themselves.
Do not rush out to meet your fate; do not blindly charge into the enemy's grasp.
You, at the center with the royal banner of Kaveh, keep the gleaming sword ready in your hand.
On the right wing set Giv and Bizhan together, and let Gustaham guard the left.
Let Rahham and Shidush stand at the front rank, and Garaza, foaming at the lips for vengeance.
I will go and draw the mace of vengeance from among them, and give my body as a sacrifice before the Iranians.
I will not turn my horse back from this battlefield, unless my place becomes the dust, like Zarasp's.
If I am killed in this battle, then lead the army home to the king of Iran.
Death is more honorable to me than reproach, than being everywhere the mockery of an evildoer.
The world is like this, full of pain and hurt; as far as you can, do not chase after more of it.
Its excess will harm you one day; a moment's more of living adds nothing to you.
Once again the trumpets rose in blast, the clash of bells and the ring of Indian cymbals.
From the shouts of quarreling riders, the flash of swords and the blows of axes,
from spearheads, maces, javelins, and arrows, the ground became like a sea of pitch.
The whole plain was heads and shoulders without bodies; every ear was filled with the crash of clubs.
When the battle with the Turks grew this fierce, the Iranians saw no sign of fortune.
The harsh face of the star grew dark, and the brave men turned their backs to the enemy.
Tus and Gudarz and brave Giv, Shidush and Bizhan and Rahham the lion,
all placed their lives in their palms, all sought battle at the front rank.
Everyone who fought alongside Tus was a renowned man and a border-lord.
At the front they were spilling blood, while the champions fled behind them.
A priest called out to Tus the hero: 'No fighting force is left at your back.'
'They must not drive you into the thick of it, or bring ruin on the commander's life.'
Then Tus said to brave Giv: 'This army has no sense left in its head.'
'They have abandoned us like this and turned their faces from the fight.'
'Go, turn the troops back from this road, away from the enemy's mockery and the king's shame.'
Giv went, and the whole army withdrew; they found the plain and desert heaped with the dead.
The commander said to the nobles: 'This is what the war of warriors comes to.'
'Now that the face of day has turned dark, the whole land looks like a sea of blood.'
'We must pick a place to rest, if any rest is possible on this black night.'
'Perhaps a slain man may find, in place of a grave, a bed of sand and a blanket of dust.'
They all turned back from battle together, their hearts wounded for their kin and their heads bowed in disgrace.
Just then the moon rose over the mountain, like a victorious king upon a turquoise throne.
The commander Piran summoned his troops, saying, 'Few of the enemy remain.'
'When the sea of yellow ruby, the dawn, casts its waves upon the deep-blue land,'
'whoever is still alive we will strike down, and torment the heart of their king over them.'
They went off from that place rejoicing and settled down before the royal tent.
All night, from the sound of harp and lute, no sleep came to that army on the plain.
But on the other side the whole army grieved, father mourning son, downcast and broken.
The whole plain was full of the dead and wounded; the earth was washed with the blood of great men.
Left and right of the battlefield lay hands and feet; no one could set his foot down anywhere.
All night they gathered up the wounded, but the dead they left behind, cast off like strangers.
They cauterized the wounded with fire, and bound and stitched their torn flesh.
Many of Godarz's people were hurt; many were slain and many taken captive.
When Godarz heard, he let out a cry; the ground churned with the noise of horses.
All the nobles tore their garments, and Godarz scattered dust upon his head.
He said, 'No one in the world has ever seen such grief in old age as has come to me.'
'Why should I stay alive, a gray old man, when I have cast so many sons into the dust?'
'From the day I was born I have never once loosened the armor from my waist,'
'and in the end I must watch so many sons of my line lie slain before me like this.'
My son Bahram, that renowned lion, that proud warrior, has been torn away from me.
When word of Godarz reached Tus, his lashes filled with blood and his face went pale as wax.
Then he cried out in bitter grief, and tears of blood poured down his sides.
He said: If pure Nozar had not cut down my roots and lineage on this field,
I would not now be racked with pain, sorrow, and grief, mourning the dead in the heat of battle.
For as long as I have girded myself for war, my heart has been wounded, even if my life survives.
Now cover the bodies of the slain with earth, in some hollow of the ground.
Bring the severed heads back to their bodies, and carry the baggage toward Mount Hamavan.
Let us drive the whole army together, tents and pavilions, toward the mountain.
Let us send a swift camel to the king; his heart will kindle, and he will send troops.
For this I have already sent a rider, and warned the king of our plight before.
Perhaps he will send Rostam, son of Zal, with an army to us at this field of battle.
Otherwise, not one brave and famous warrior of ours, like a lion, will be left on the field.