English
Rostam and the Champion Kalahur
When the king sealed his letter shut,
the world-seeker Rostam set out on the road.
He slung the heavy mace across his saddle
as he drew near to Mazandaran.
Word reached the king that Kavus the sovereign
had sent a letter on its way:
a messenger fierce as a grim lion,
a coiled lasso hooked to his saddle straps,
beneath him a horse with a swift stride,
his body like a raging elephant.
When the ruler of Mazandaran heard this,
he picked some chiefs from among his warriors.
He ordered them to gather in a ring
and go out to meet that fierce lion.
When the mighty Rostam's eyes fell on them,
he saw beside the road a thick-branched tree.
He tore it up and gripped it like a javelin;
the whole army stood there stunned.
When he reached them he hurled it,
bringing down many riders beneath its branches.
He took one man's hand and crushed it,
testing him and putting him in pain.
The elephant-bodied Rostam laughed at him,
and that gathering stared at him, dazed.
Even as he laughed he squeezed his grip,
draining the blood from the man's hand and the color from his face.
The battle-tested man lost his senses
and slid down from his horse to the ground.
One of them rode to the king of Mazandaran
and told him everything he had seen, from end to end.
A rider named Kalahur,
whose fame set all Mazandaran astir.
By nature he was like a raging leopard;
he craved nothing but battle.
The king called him forward to go meet Rostam,
and for his valor set him high as the turning heavens.
He told him: go out before the messenger
and display your skills one after another.
Do it so that Rakhsh flushes with shame
and hot tears well up in his eyes from disgrace.
Kalahur came like a fierce male lion
before the bold and mighty man.
He asked his questions like a leopard,
then with a grim face offered his hand to him.
The proud, elephant-strong Rostam pressed his grip,
and from the pain the man's hand turned dark as indigo.
Kalahur writhed but kept his fear hidden;
by his courage he held a warrant from the sun.
Then Kalahur squeezed hard in return,
but his own nails fell off like leaves from a tree.
Kalahur, with his hand hanging limp,
its sinew, skin, and nails all torn away,
brought it and showed it and told the king:
you cannot hide a pain like this from yourself.
Peace will serve you better than war;
do not squeeze your own heart into a corner.
You have no strength against such a champion;
if he can be won over, that is better than tribute.
Let us accept terms for the land of Mazandaran
and share the burden among low and high alike.
Let us make this hard ordeal easy;
it is better than letting our lives fall into dread.
The mighty Rostam came at once
before the king, like a raging lion.
The king looked him over, seated him with courtesy,
and asked about Kavus and his army.
He spoke of the road and its long hardship:
how did you fare across the highs and lows?
Then he said to him: are you Rostam,
who has the chest and arms of a champion?
He answered: I am only a servant,
if I am even fit for servitude.
Where he stands, I am of no account,
for he is the champion, the hero, the horseman.
Then he handed the king the famous letter,
the message of the willful world-seeker.
He said: the one whose sword rains down destruction
has laid the heads of the defiant at his side.
When the king heard the message and read the letter,
he grew grim and was left astonished.
He said to Rostam: what is all this searching for?
Why this pointless talk?
Tell him: you are the commander of Iran,
even if you have the heart and claws of lions.
I am the king of Mazandaran with my army,
on a golden throne, a crown upon my head.
To summon me before him for nothing
was never the custom of kings nor the way of old.
Think again, and do not covet the throne of the great,
for from such ambition only disgrace comes.
Turn your reins back toward the seat of Iran,
or a spear will bring your days to an end.
If I stir my army from its place,
you will not be able to tell your head from your feet.
You have surely fallen into delusion;
choose one path and lay your bow aside.
When I press in hard, face to face,
all your talk will come to its end.
With a clear mind Rostam studied
the king, the army, the nobles, and the champions.
The heart of his words did not sit well with him;
his will grew sharper for battle with him.
When the mighty Rostam rose to take the road,
the king ordered robes of honor be brought.
He would not accept the garment, horse, or gold;
he found that crown and belt beneath his dignity.
He left the king's throne, grim,
seeing his own star and moon all darkened.
He came out from the city of Mazandaran,
his head weighed down by those words.
When he reached his own king,
his grudge-bearing heart boiled with blood.
Everything he had seen and heard in Mazandaran
he laid out plainly before the king of Iran.
Then he told him: do not worry at all;
be bold and prepare for war against the demons.
Those heroes and warriors of that gathering,
know this: they count for nothing in my eyes.