English
Rustam Against Pouladvand
When the bright sun raised its banner,
the violet silk of the sky turned crimson.
The war drum sounded from the king's court,
and the army's roar rose to the clouds.
At the front of the host stood Pouladvand,
mighty in body, his arm strong with the lasso.
When the two armies drew their ranks,
the air turned violet and the earth turned black.
The great hero put on his coat of mail
and mounted his raging war elephant.
In fury he charged the right wing
and threw down many warriors of the enemy.
After that, Pouladvand grew grieved
and loosed the coiled lasso from his saddle.
He fell on Tus like a maddened elephant,
a lasso on his arm, a mace in his hand.
He seized his belt and tore him from the saddle,
lifted him high and dashed him easily to the ground.
When Giv looked upon that fight,
he saw Tus, son of Nozar, hurled down headlong.
He spurred his horse Shabdiz from where he stood
and set body and soul to the combat.
He grappled with the demon like a fierce lion,
clad in armor, wielding an ox-headed mace.
Pouladvand cast his lasso,
and the head of the warrior Giv was caught in its coils.
From the field, Rohham and Bizhan watched
that strength, that stature, and that skill.
They rushed forward, both of them,
to bind Pouladvand's hand in the loop of a lasso.
Pouladvand struck out, knocking many senseless,
spurred his horse, and a great cry went up.
Two of the brave and noble champions,
proud, valiant, and of high worth,
he threw to the dust and trampled with contempt,
while so many riders looked on across that plain.
He came to the Kaviani standard
and with his dagger cut it clean in two.
A cry rose up from the army of Iran,
for not one warrior was left standing on the field.
Fariborz, Gudarz, and the proud chiefs
took the measure of that battling demon.
They said to Rustam, the avenger,
that here on this battlefield Pouladvand
has left no man of name upon his saddle,
no rider among the warriors of the host,
whom Pouladvand has not thrown to the earth
with mace and dagger, arrow and lasso.
The whole battlefield, end to end, is in mourning;
in this crisis only Rustam can save us.
After that a wailing and lament arose
from the center, the left, and the right of the army.
When Gudarz lost both his sons,
he cried out to the just Judge.
Saying: I had so many sons and grandsons,
I held my head higher than the sun.
In battle, before my very eyes, they were slain;
such has my fortune, such my day, become.
The young are gone, and I, an old man, still live;
let me be ashamed before my crown and belt.
He loosened his belt and lifted his helmet,
and broke into shouting and lament.
When Rostam heard this he grew deeply grim,
and trembled like a leaf on a tree.
He came near to Pouladvand
and saw him standing like a towering mountain.
He saw his own troops mostly wounded,
and from the other side an endless attack pressing on.
He said to himself: our day has turned dark,
our finest captains are dazed and helpless.
It seems our compass has turned against us,
and our once wakeful fortune has fallen asleep.
He pressed his legs and spurred Rakhsh sharply,
flared into rage and set himself to fight.
He said to him: you defiant demon,
now you will see how fortune turns.
When Rostam's voice reached the champions,
the mighty hero saw his warriors fighting on foot.
Four brave champions were grim with grief,
like wild asses hunted, yet fierce as lions against the foe.
He spoke thus to the Maker of the world:
you who are above all things seen and unseen,
had my eyes gone blind in battle,
it would be better than seeing this bitter day,
when such a cry rose up against Iran
from Piran and Houman and the savage demon,
with Giv and Roham and Tous forced on foot,
and Bizhan too, who once mocked lions.
The great men's horses ruined by arrows,
leaving them tangled in a hopeless struggle.
Pouladvand said to him: brave one,
world-tested, famed, a lion in war,
the mightiest elephant would flee before you,
but now you will see the surging waves of the Nile.
Behold now the fire of my fighting,
my lasso, my heart, my strength, my resolve.
After this you will find no trace of your king,
nor of your famous men and proud captains.
You will see this land only in your dreams;
I will hand your army over to Afrasiab.
Rostam answered Pouladvand:
how much longer this threatening, trickery, and traps?
Let no warrior grow too loose with his tongue,
for if he does, he surely throws his own head to the wind.
When Pouladvand heard these words,
old sayings came back into his mind:
that whoever seeks battle through injustice
comes back with a wounded heart and a pale face.
Whether harm comes from your enemy or your friend,
it is best to deal justly with both bad and good.
This is the same Rostam who took Mazandaran
in the dark of night with his heavy mace.
He said to him: you battle-tested man,
why should we stand here pointlessly so long?
They wheeled about, and dust rose from the plain,
two raging elephants, two lions of war.
Pouladvand drove his mount forward
and hurled his twisted lasso after Rostam.
That warrior rider ducked his neck aside,
and so the fight went on, blow after blow.
He struck with his blade and cut the lasso's knot; the sword became the key that undid that cruel bond.
Then Pouladvand twisted toward his right hand, for he knew this day was a day of doom.
The mighty Rustam brought his mace down on his head, and the whole gathering heard the crash of it.
Pouladvand's eyes went so dark that his hand could no longer hold the reins.
Rustam expected that his enemy's brain would spill out, drenching his chest in dark blood.
When Pouladvand slumped from his saddle, Rustam called upon the Maker of the world:
O you who are above the turning of the ages, ruler of the world, all-seeing, the Nourisher,
if this turn of battle I have brought is not just, then my soul deserves no home in the next world.
I would accept that Pouladvand's own hand should free my soul from the body's bonds.
But if Afrasiab is the tyrant here, do not take my strength and skill from me,
for if I am killed by his hand, not one warrior will be left in Iran,
no farmer, no craftsman, no land, no country, no home, no harvest.
The two proud champions, both fighters, turned to wrestling,
on the pledge that from neither army would any avenger come to help.
Half a league lay between the two armies; even the stars looked down to watch that fight.
When Pouladvand and Rustam closed in together, those two grim lions locked in struggle,
they wrenched hand against hand, each fighter gripping the other's belt.
When Shideh saw Rustam's chest and shoulders, he drew a cold sigh from deep in his heart.
He said to his father: this powerful man, the one you call Rustam the demon-binder,
with that towering frame and that mighty grip, will drag even the demon's proud head into the dust.
You will see nothing from our champions but flight; do not foolishly wage war against the turning heavens.
Afrasiab said to Shideh: your words have set my mind on fire with worry.
Go and see how Pouladvand binds his hands and wins in the wrestling.
Shideh answered: the king's pledge before the army was not this.
If you break your word and your mind is clouded, no fine battle will ever come from your hand.
Do not turn this clear water black, for the fault-finder will lay the blame on you.
The king let loose a torrent of curses, flared with rage, and grew suspicious of his son.
He told him: if the demon Pouladvand takes harm from this spiteful man,
and no one is left alive on this battlefield, then your so-called virtues bring nothing but loss.
He seized the reins and came like a lion to the field where the two brave men fought.
He watched the fight of two enraged elephants, each one locking its arms upon the other.
He said to Puladvand: 'Proud lion, if you throw him down, then kill him.
Split open his heart with your dagger. What matters is doing the deed, not boasting.'
Giv looked hard at Afrasiyab, at all that reckless talk and hasty scheming.
He spurred his horse and rode up in a fury, suspicious now, for the pact had been broken.
He said to Rostam: 'O warrior, give your servants their orders; tell us what you command.
Look at how Afrasiyab keeps his word: the moment he saw the peril, he rushed to break it.
He came to inflame his champion's heart, teaching him to use the dagger in the wrestling.'
Rostam told him: 'I am the man of battle; in the grappling I take my steady time.
Why should fear come over you? Why should your hearts split into two halves?
If you lack the strength and skill for war, my heart should not be broken for nothing.
If this witless sorcerer breaks the pact he swore before God,
why should you fear breaking the treaty? He has poured the dust of ruin on his own head.
Now I will bring the demon Puladvand's head down from the high heavens to the dust.'
Then, like a lion, he stretched out his claws and seized the chest and shoulders of that battling monster.
He lifted him over his neck and slammed him to the ground, praising the Creator all the while.
A great shout rose from the army of Iran; the drummers began to strike up their march.
The blast of the trumpet climbed into the clouds, the roar of flute and cymbal and bell.
They cried that Puladvand was lifeless now, writhing on the dust like a broken snake.
Rostam supposed that Puladvand had no sound bone left whole in his body.
He set his brave Rakhsh moving forward and left that dragon of a body lying there.
When the lion-hearted hero came before the ranks, Puladvand shot up like an arrow.
He fled toward Afrasiyab, his heart full of blood and his face streaming.
He lay stretched out on the dark earth; for a while that fighter lost all his senses.
When mighty Rostam saw that Puladvand still lived, he saw the whole plain scattered with the enemy army.
His heart grew heavier; he drove his troops on and called the world-tested Gudarz to his side.
He ordered them to loose a rain of arrows, to make the sky like a spring cloud.
On one side Bizhan, on one side Giv, and the world-seeking Roham and brave Gorgin.
You would have said they had kindled a fire and were burning the world down with their blades.
Puladvand said to his army: 'Now, without throne, without treasure, without high renown,'
Why must a head be thrown to the wind? Why must we keep speaking of battle?
He drove the army before him and moved on, while Rustam tore the bonds of his life apart.
Piran said to Afrasiab: the face of the world has turned into a sea of blood.
Did I not say I would not stand against Rustam? There is no safe place to sit in this land.
The blood of youth that was spilled beyond escape has wounded our hearts in this fierce fight.
Why linger, when no one can stand beside you? The demon Pulad is gone, and his army has fled.
Surely the Iranians number more than a hundred thousand armored horsemen.
At their front stands Rustam, the lion-tamer; the ground is soaked in blood, the air thick with arrows.
From sea and plain, from lowland and mountain, the army poured in, all as one.
When no fighting men were left, we tested the demons in such warfare, such combat, and such uproar.
Leave the army lined up in ranks like this, and take your chosen few toward the sea.