English
The Birth of Rostam
Not much time had passed in those days before the noble cypress, Rudabeh, came to bear fruit.
The heart-brightening spring of her wilted; grief and pain took hold of her heart.
Her belly grew heavy, her body weighed her down, and her rosy cheeks turned yellow as saffron.
Her mother asked her: dear child, dear soul, what has happened that you have turned so pale?
She answered: day and night I open my lips only to cry out in pain.
It seems my time has come, and I no longer have the strength to carry this burden.
You would think my skin was stuffed with stone, or that what lies within me is made of iron.
So it went until the hour of birth drew near; all she wanted was sleep and rest.
It happened that one day she fainted, and a cry rose from Dastan's palace.
Sindokht wailed and clawed at her face, tearing out her musk-scented black hair.
One by one the word reached Dastan: the leaf of the slender cypress has withered.
Zal the golden went to Rudabeh's bedside, his face wet with tears and his heart wounded.
Then he remembered the Simorgh's feather; he smiled and gave Sindokht the good news.
He brought a censer and lit the fire, and burned a small piece of that Simorgh feather.
At once the sky grew dark, and the commanding bird appeared.
Like a cloud whose rain is coral; and what coral, an adornment for the soul itself.
Zal offered her long praise, honored her greatly, and bowed low before her.
She said to Zal: what is this grief? Why are there tears in the lion's eyes?
From this silver-breasted, moon-faced cypress a fierce lion, a seeker of fame, will be born.
A lion will kiss the dust beneath his feet; not even the clouds will dare pass above his head.
At his roar the hide of the battling leopard will tear apart, and it will gnaw its own claws.
Any warrior who hears the sound of his mace, and sees his chest, arms, and shoulders,
will collapse at his voice, and the heart of the fighting man will leap from its place.
In wisdom he will be as steady as Sam, and in his rage a warring lion.
Tall as a cypress, strong as an elephant, in battle he will hurl his javelin two miles.
But by the ordinance of the just Creator, the child cannot come into the world the ordinary way.
Bring a bright, sharp dagger and a wise, skilled man versed in charms.
First make the moon-faced one drunk with wine, so that fear and worry are stilled in her heart.
Let him cut open the side of the slender cypress so that she feels no pain.
Let him draw the lion cub out from her, staining the moon's whole flank in blood.
Then sew up the place where the cut was made; drive fear, sorrow, and dread from your heart.
A herb that I will name you, mixed with milk and musk: pound all three and dry them in the shade.
Grind it and spread it over her wound, and that very day you will see it close and heal.
Then rub one of my feathers over it, for the shadow of my glory is blessed.
You should rejoice at these words, and go before the Lord of the world.
For it is He who gave you this royal tree, one that fortune makes bloom anew each day.
Let your heart feel no sorrow in this matter, for your fruitful branch has come to bear fruit.
She spoke, then plucked a feather from her wing, dropped it, and soared high into flight.
Zal went and picked up that feather, and did all she had said, and wondrous it was.
A whole world watched over that deed, every eye full of blood and every soul wounded.
Blood streamed from Sindokht's lashes: how will the child ever come out from the side?