English
Zal and the Daughter of Mehrab
One day it happened that he made up his mind to move about his kingdom.
He set out with his chosen knights, men who shared his mind and his faith.
He turned toward the land of India, toward Kabul and Dombar, Marg and May.
At every stopping place he made a feast, calling for wine and music and singers.
He opened his treasure and cast off care, living by the ways of this fleeting inn of a world.
From Zabol he reached Kabul at last, striding proudly, smiling, with a glad heart.
There a king named Mehrab held power, mighty, with treasure and every desire fulfilled.
In height like a free-standing cypress, his face like spring, his walk like a pheasant's.
He had the heart of the wise and the mind of chiefs, the shoulders of a champion, the good sense of priests.
His blood ran back to Zahhak the Arab, yet all Kabul's land was under his rule.
Each year he paid Sam a tribute, since in war he had no strength to stand against him.
When word reached him of Zal, son of Sam, he came from Kabul at dawn.
With treasure and horses in fine harness, with slaves and gifts of every kind.
Bringing gold coins, rubies, musk and amber, brocade shot with gold and Chinese silk.
A crown set with jewels fit for a king, and a golden collar patterned with green stones.
When news came to Zal, son of Sam, that Mehrab had arrived in all this splendor,
Zal went out to meet him and welcomed him warmly, seating him with the honor he deserved.
They returned to the turquoise throne, hearts open, ready for the feast.
They laid a hero's table and sat down together, joyful and blessed.
The cupbearer brought wine and the goblet, and the son of Sam kept looking at Mehrab.
The sight of him pleased Zal greatly, and his heart grew keener about the man's affairs.
When Mehrab rose from Zal's table, Zal gazed at his fine height and bearing.
Zal the golden-haired said to his nobles: who is more worthy than this man to gird his belt?
One famous man among the chiefs spoke up: O champion of the world,
Behind his curtain there is a daughter whose face is brighter than the sun.
From head to foot she is like ivory, her cheek like paradise, her figure like teak.
On her silver shoulder falls a musk-dark lasso of hair, its end curled like an ankle ring.
Her cheeks are like pomegranate blossom, her lips like its seeds; on her silver breast rise two pomegranates.
Her two eyes are like narcissus in a garden, her lashes darker than a raven's wing.
Her brows are like a well-strung bow, sheathed in supple bark scented with musk.
She is a paradise adorned from end to end, full of beauty, delight, and every good thing.
This set Zal's heart boiling, until his calm and his senses left him.
When night came Zal sat lost in thought, longing for one he had never seen, with no food, no ease.
When the sun's blade struck the mountain peak and the world's face turned white as a ruby's gleam,
Zal, son of Sam, threw open his gate, and his knights came out in their golden scabbards.
They dressed the champion's court finely and led forth the horses of the noblest men.
Mehrab, lord of Kabul, went out toward the tent of Zal, lord of Zabol.
When he neared the royal pavilion, a cry rose at the door: make way!
The hero walked in upon the champion, like a tree laden with fresh fruit.
Zal's heart grew glad; he made him welcome and raised him above that whole gathering.
He asked: what do you want of me? Name it, throne or seal, sword or crown.
Mehrab said to him: O king, exalted, victorious, and commanding,
I have only one wish in all the world, and that wish is not hard for you to grant.
That you come in joy to my house, and light up my soul like the bright sun.
Zal answered: that would not be wise; I have no place inside your house.
Sam would not agree to it, nor would the king, once he heard the tale,
That we drank wine and grew drunk and went off to the house of idol-worshippers.
Whatever else you ask I will grant; I set my heart with joy on seeing you.
When Mehrab heard this he praised him aloud, but in his heart he called Zal a man of impure faith.
He walked gracefully away from Zal's throne, still calling blessings on his fortune.
As Zal, son of Sam, watched him go, he praised him greatly, as was fitting.
Yet because the man was not of his faith and his path, Zal held his tongue from full praise.
No one there fixed their eyes on him with respect; they counted him among the devil-worshippers.
But when they saw their clear-hearted champion so warm with him in conversation,
The nobles began to praise Mehrab one by one, and the daughter hidden behind his curtain too,
Her height, her looks, her gentle grace, her worthiness and her fitness.
Zal's heart went mad all at once; reason fled, and love became his wisdom.
The Arab-descended chief, leader of the just, once told a story of this kind:
As long as I live my grey horse is my mate; the arch of the turning sky is my only shelter.
I need no bride, lest I grow soft and vain and disgrace myself before the wise.
Zal's heart was wounded by these worries, yet he set it firmly on that pursuit.
His heart kept writhing at the thought of the gossip, fearing his honor might be darkened by it.
For a while he wandered beneath the wheel of heaven, his heart wholly filled with love.