Sohrab

If a sudden storm rises from some corner and knocks an unripe orange to the ground, should we call it cruel or just? Call it skilled or without skill? If death itself is just, then what is injustice? And why all this outcry and complaint against what is fair? Your soul knows nothing of this secret; you have no way behind this veil. All have passed on, driven by desire, yet for no one has this door of mystery opened. Perhaps in leaving, a better place awaits, where the soul finds peace in another world. The breath of death, like a terrifying fire, has no fear of the young or the old. This is a place of passing through, not of lingering, when death tightens the saddle of the horse of doom. Know that it is justice, not injustice; since justice has come, there is no room to complain. In the eyes of death, youth and old age are one, since there is no strength left in the body. If your heart is filled with the light of faith, better for you to stay silent, for you are a servant. You have no share in this secret of God's work, unless your soul has joined hands with the demon. In this world, strive so that, when you pass, you carry goodness with you at the end. Now let me first tell the battle of Sohrab, and how he set out to avenge himself upon his father.

From the farmer's telling I will weave a tale, stitched together from the words of old. The priest recalled it in this way: that one day, at dawn, Rustam, heavy in heart, set out to hunt. He girded his belt and filled his quiver with arrows. He turned his face toward the borders of Turan, like a fierce lion seeking prey. When he reached the frontier of Turan, he saw a plain filled from end to end with wild asses. The crown giver's face lit up like a flower; he laughed and spurred Rakhsh forward. With arrow and bow, with mace and lasso, he brought down some of the game across the plain. From brushwood, thorns, and tree branches he kindled a roaring fire. When the fire had spread, the mighty one ripped up a tree to serve as a spit. He skewered a wild ass upon the tree; in his grip it weighed no more than a bird's feather. When it was roasted, he tore it apart and ate it, and cracked its bones clean of their marrow. He lay down and rested from his labors, while Rakhsh grazed and roamed in the meadow. Seven or eight Turkish riders passed across that hunting ground. They spotted a horse in the meadow and circled about the riverbank. When they found Rakhsh out on the plain, they hurried to bind him up. They caught him and rushed him off to the city, each of them coveting Rakhsh for himself. When Rustam woke from his sweet sleep, he had need of his trained mount. He looked out across the meadow, but nowhere could he see the horse. Grief seized him when he could not find his steed; bewildered, he hurried toward Samangan. He said to himself: now, running on foot, where can I go from this dark disgrace? What will the warriors say, that his horse was stolen, that the great champion slept like this and lost it? Now I must go on in helplessness, and surrender my heart entirely to sorrow. Now I must strap on my weapons and belt; perhaps somewhere I will pick up his trail. So he went on, full of grief and toil, his body in torment, his heart in anguish.

When he drew near the city of Samangan, word of him reached the king and the nobles. News came that the crown-bestowing champion had arrived on foot, for his horse Rakhsh had bolted from him at the hunting ground. The king and the nobles went out to welcome him, every man who wore a crown upon his head. The king of Samangan asked him: what happened? Who dared to test himself in battle against you? In this city of ours we are your well-wishers, ready at your command and at your service. Our bodies and our wealth are under your command; the lives of our nobles are yours to dispose of. When Rostam considered his words, his suspicion of any treachery grew slight. He told him: my Rakhsh, out in this meadow, ran off from me without bridle or rein. There are hoofprints leading toward Samangan, and beyond it, toward the streams and the reeds. If you search him out, you will have my gratitude, and I will repay your kindness in kind. But if he stays lost from me, many a noble head will have to be cut off. The king said to him: worthy man, no one would dare do such a thing to you. Be my guest and set aside your anger; everything will turn out as you wish. Tonight let us gladden our hearts with wine and free our minds of every worry. The trail of blessed Rakhsh will not stay hidden; a mount so famous throughout the world cannot vanish. The mighty Rostam was cheered by his words, and his soul was freed from worry. He thought it fitting to go to his house, and the good news made him a glad guest. The commander gave him a place in his palace and stood before him in attendance. He summoned the leading men of city and army and seated them worthily beside him in joy. The cupbearer prepared the wine, dark-eyed, rose-cheeked, lovely idols of Taraz. They sat together with the musicians, so that the mighty Rostam would not be downcast. When he grew drunk and the time for sleep came, he rose from the gathering in haste. They prepared for him a fitting place to rest and sleep, and laid out musk and rosewater.

When part of the dark night had passed, the night bird began to sing on the turning sky. There came whispered talk, spoken in secret, and gently the bedroom door was opened. A servant, a perfumed candle in hand, came gliding, intoxicated, to his pillow. Behind her, in the doorway, a moon faced girl, radiant as the sun, full of color and fragrance. Two eyebrows like bows, two braids like lassos, her figure tall as a lofty cypress. Her soul was pure wisdom, her body a clean spirit; you would say she had no share of common earth. The lion hearted Rostam stared at her in wonder, and praised the world's Creator for her sake. He asked her: 'What is your name? What do you seek in the dark night? What is your wish?' She answered: 'I am Tahmineh; you might say sorrow has split me in two. I am the daughter of the king of Samangan, descended from the lineage of lions and leopards. Among all the beautiful, I have no equal on earth; under this blue sky there are few like me. No one has seen me outside my veiled chamber, nor has anyone ever heard my voice. Like a legend, from everyone I have heard your story told again and again, how you fear neither lion nor demon, neither crocodile nor leopard, and are so fierce clawed, how in the dark night you ride alone into Turan, roaming those borderlands without ever resting, how alone you roast a wild ass for your meal, and make the very air weep with your sword. Anyone who sees the mace in your grip, the heart of a lion and the claw of a leopard breaks in fear. When the eagle sees your bared blade, it does not hurry to strike its prey. The lion bears the marks of your lasso, and the cloud rains blood from dread of your spear. When I heard these tales of you, again and again I bit my lip in longing for you. I searched for your shoulders, your neck, your chest; and God has brought your path to this city. Now I am yours, if you will have me; no one but the birds and fish shall ever see me again. First, because I have become so lost in you that I have killed my reason for the sake of desire; and second, so that perhaps through you God may set a son upon my lap, one who might match you in manhood and strength, whom the heavens grant the fortune of Saturn and the sun. And third, I will bring back your horse and lay all of Samangan beneath your feet.' When Rostam saw such a fairy faced girl, and found her rich in every kind of wisdom, and when she also gave him news of Rakhsh, he saw no outcome but blessing and good fortune. He ordered that a skilled priest be brought to ask her hand from her father. When the king heard this, he grew glad, standing free and tall like a cypress. He gave his daughter to that champion, just as custom and faith required. With his contentment, consent, and command, he beautifully arranged their marriage bond. When he entrusted his daughter to the champion, all rejoiced, old and young alike. In joy they scattered much gold and called down blessings upon the champion, saying: 'May this new moon be blessed for you, and may the heads of your enemies be cut off.' When she became his companion in secret, that dark night grew long and lingering. When the shining sun from the high sky was about to cast down its glittering lasso, on Rostam's arm there was a jewel, a jewel famous throughout the world. He gave it to her and said: 'Keep this. If fate should bring you a daughter, take it and fasten it in her hair, for good fortune and a bright destiny.' But if the stars should bring a son, bind on his arm this token of his father. He will be as tall as Sam, son of Nariman, with the manhood and nature of the noble. He will bring down the soaring eagle from the clouds, and the sun will not shine harshly upon him. That night he stayed with the moon faced girl, speaking with her of every thing. When the shining sun rose in the sky and adorned the face of the earth with love, in farewell he took her into his arms and gave her many kisses on her eyes and head. The fairy faced girl turned back from him weeping, becoming a companion to grief and pain. The noble king came to Rostam and asked him about his sleep and his lodging. When this was said, he gave him news of Rakhsh, and the crown giving hero's heart grew glad. He came and stroked the horse and set the saddle on; he was delighted by Rakhsh and pleased with the king.

When nine months had passed for the king's daughter, a son was born to her, bright as the shining moon. You would say he was the mighty champion Rustam himself, or Sam the lion, or Nariman. When he smiled and his face grew radiant, Tahmineh named him Sohrab. At one month he seemed a year old; his chest was as broad as Rustam, son of Zal. At three he took up the polo mallet; at five his heart was set on arrows and spearheads. By ten there was no one in that land who dared test himself in battle against him. He came to his mother and questioned her, saying, 'Speak to me plainly and hold nothing back.' 'Since I stand above all the children of my own kind, and my head reaches to the sky,' 'from whose seed and lineage do I come? What shall I say when someone asks about my father?' 'If this question stays hidden from me, I will not leave you alive in this world.' His mother said to him, 'Listen to what I say; be glad of this and do not be so fierce.' 'You are the son of the mighty champion Rustam, of the line of Dastan and Sam and Nariman.' 'That is why your head rises above the sky, for your seed is from that famous stock.' 'Since the Creator first made the world, no rider like Rustam has ever appeared.' 'No one like Sam, son of Nariman, has lived on earth; even the heavens could not touch his head.' She brought out a letter from Rustam, seeker of war, and showed it to him in secret. Three glowing rubies set with three seals of gold his father had sent him from Iran. She said to him, 'Afraseyab must never learn a word of this, from beginning to end.' 'If your father learns that by these signs you have grown into a proud and towering hero,' 'he will call you to his side when he knows, and your mother's heart will be torn with grief.' Sohrab replied, 'In all the world no one keeps a matter like this hidden.' 'The great warriors of old still tell the tale of Rustam even now.' 'A warrior born of such a line, what custom is it to hide it from me?' 'Now I will gather from the warlike Turks an army beyond counting.' 'I will topple Kavus from his throne and drive Tus out of Iran.' 'I will give Rustam the throne, the mace, and the crown, and seat him on the throne of King Kavus.' 'From Iran I will march to Turan as a warrior and face its king head on.' 'I will seize the throne of Afraseyab and lift my spearpoint higher than the sun.' 'With Rustam as father and me as son, no one else in the world should wear a crown.' 'When the faces of the sun and moon are bright, why should a mere star lift up its crown?' From every side troops gathered around him, men both of noble blood and skilled with the sword.

Word reached Afrasiab that Sohrab had launched his ship upon the water, that he had risen to war. The smell of milk is still on his breath, yet already his thoughts turn to sword and arrow. He washes the earth clean with his blade, and now he seeks battle with Kavus himself. A great army has gathered around him, and he takes no account of any single foe. Why draw this tale out at length? His skill has proven greater than his noble birth. When Afrasiab heard these words, they pleased him; he laughed and showed his joy. From his army he chose the boldest chiefs, men who could wield the heavy mace. Twelve thousand valiant warriors he entrusted to Human and Barman. The commander told the champions of his host: this secret must be kept hidden. When the two face each other in battle, Rostam will surely look for some way out. The son must not come to know his father, nor bind his heart and soul in a father's love. So that this aged, mighty champion may be slain at the hands of this young lion. After that, deal with Sohrab: one night, close his eyes in sleep forever. The two vigilant champions set out toward Sohrab, the bright of spirit. Before them went the king's gift: ten horses and ten mules, saddled and loaded. A throne of turquoise and a crown of ruby, a golden crown and a footstool of ivory. And a letter, full of flattery and charm, written to that noble youth. It said: if you seize the throne of Iran, the world will find rest from its judgments. The road from this land to that is not far; Samangan, Iran, and Turan are as one. I will send you all the troops you need; you sit upon the throne and wear the crown. In all Turan there were surely none braver or better as commanders than Human and Barman. See, I send them here at your command, to be your guests for a while. If you seek war, they will make war, and press the world hard on your enemies. Such a letter and the king's robes of honor they carried, with many mounted riders. Along the road, news came to Sohrab of Human and Barman and the army. He went out to meet his grandfather like the wind; he saw so many troops, and his heart grew glad. When Human saw his shoulders and mane of hair, he was struck dumb with wonder at him. Then he gave him the king's letter, with the gift, the horses, and the loaded mules. When the world-seeker had read the king's letter, from that place he swiftly drove his army on. No one could stand against him in battle, whether a lion came at him or a leopard. There was a fortress they called the White Castle; on it rested the hopes of the Iranians. Its guardian was Hojir, seasoned in war, a man of strength, courage, and command. In those days Gostaham was still a boy, but even in his youth quick and gallant. He had a sister too, a brave rider, sharp-minded, proud, and renowned. When Sohrab drew near the fortress, the valiant Hojir caught sight of the army. He mounted his swift steed like a whirlwind and rode from the castle out to the field of battle. When the war-loving Sohrab saw him, he flared up in anger and drew his sword of vengeance. Like a lion he charged out from the ranks and came boldly against Hojir. He said to the battle-tested Hojir: you have come to fight alone, rashly and for nothing. What sort of man are you, and what is your name and lineage, that your mother must weep for you? Hojir answered him: enough. I need no comrade among the Turks. I am Hojir, brave and a commander; right now I will tear your head from your body. I will send it to the king of the world, and bury your corpse deep beneath the clay. Sohrab laughed when this talk reached his ears, and sharply turned his face to fight. They clashed lance against lance so hard that they could no longer tell each other apart. Hojir struck a lance at his waist, but the point could not find its mark in him. Sohrab the lion drew his point back, then struck the butt of his lance at the brave man's waist. Like the wind he lifted him from the saddle; Hojir could remember nothing of himself. He came down from his horse and sat upon him, meaning to cut his head from his body. Hojir twisted and rolled to the right; grieved, he begged Sohrab for mercy. Sohrab let go his grip and spared him, and when he was appeased, gave him much advice. Then the warrior bound him in chains and sent him off to Human. When those in the fortress learned about Hojir, that he was captured and led away a prisoner, A great cry rose, the lament of men and women, that Hojir was lost from among their company.

When the daughter of Gazhdaham learned that the leader of that company had been lost, she was a woman who rode like a warrior, always famous in the thick of battle. Her name was Gordafarid; no mother had ever borne one like her. She felt such shame at what Hojir had done that her tulip cheeks went black as pitch. She put on the armor of the mounted fighters; there was no time in that moment to delay. She hid her long hair beneath the coat of mail and tied a Roman helmet fast upon her head. She came down from the fortress like a lion, a belt at her waist, a swift horse beneath her. She swept before the army like dust and let out a war cry loud as thunder: Where are your heroes and your warriors, your brave men and your seasoned commanders? When Sohrab, the lion-slayer, saw her, he smiled and bit his lip. He said: Here comes another wild ass straight into the trap of the master of sword and strength. He put on his mail and set upon his head a Chinese helmet, and moved like the wind. He rode roaring toward Gordafarid; and when the lasso-throwing girl saw him, she strung her bow and let the arrows fly; not even a bird could pass before her shots. She rained arrows down on Sohrab, fighting left and right like a mounted champion. Sohrab looked on and felt disgraced; he grew furious and charged fiercely into the fight. He raised his shield above his head and pressed forward; from the clash, blood ran in streams. When Gordafarid saw Sohrab blazing forward like fire, she slung her strung bow over her arm, and her steed reared up toward the high clouds. She turned her spear point toward Sohrab, putting fury into rein and lance. Sohrab flared up and turned savage as a leopard, for his foe was cunning in the fight. He gathered the reins and wheeled his horse, and came on like a bolt of sacred fire. Then he snatched up his polished spear and bore down on her like smoke. He struck at Gordafarid's belt and tore her mail apart, link by link. He lifted her from the saddle like a ball, as a polo mallet sends the ball flying. As Gordafarid twisted on the saddle, she drew a sharp blade from her side and cut his spear clean in two. She settled back in the saddle, and the dust rose. She was no match for him in open combat, so she turned her face away and quickly fled. The commander gave his dragon-horse its head, and in his rage he seemed to blot out the daylight. When he came roaring up close behind her, he reached out and lifted the helmet from her head. Her hair broke free from the fastenings of the mail, and her face shone bright as the sun. Sohrab realized she was a girl, her head and hair worthy of a crown. He was astonished and said: If the army of Iran sends such women onto the battlefield, then their fighting horsemen on the day of war must surely raise dust up into the clouds. He loosed the coiling lasso from his saddle strap, threw it, and caught her round the waist. He told her: Do not try to slip from me; why do you seek battle, you moon-faced one? No wild ass like you ever fell into my snare; you will not escape my grip, so do not struggle. Gordafarid saw she was caught fast and found no cure but a clever ruse. She turned her face to him and said: O brave one, lion-like among the bold, two armies are watching this fight of ours, watching our maces, our swords, our onslaught. If I now uncover this face and hair, your army will be filled with gossip, that on the field of war, against a mere girl, you raised such dust into the clouds. It is better if we settle this in secret; keeping one's wits is the mark of a great man. Do not invite blame upon me from every side, here between two ranks of drawn-up troops. The army and the fortress are now yours to command; no need to seek battle over such a peace. The fortress, the treasure, the keeper, all are yours; when you come, arrange things as your heart desires. When she showed her face to Sohrab, she parted her ruby lips over pearl-white teeth. She was a garden set within paradise; no farmer's cypress grew as tall as she. Her two eyes those of a deer, her brows two bows; you would say she was ever blossoming. She told him: Now do not turn back from this, for you have seen my time on the battlefield. Do not set your heart on this fortress wall; it stands no higher than the towering clouds, yet the blow of my mace has felled its match; no one has driven a lance against my neck. Gordafarid turned her reins around and led her proud steed up toward the fort. She rode on with Sohrab beside her, and came to the gateway of Gazhdaham's fortress. Gordafarid flung the wall's gate open and dragged her battered, bruised body into the fort. They shut the fortress gate and grew sorrowful; their hearts were full of grief, their eyes ran with blood. Over the torment of Gordafarid and Hojir, young and old alike were full of pain. They said: O good-hearted lion-woman, the whole company's heart was sick with worry for you. Yet you sought battle, and cunning, and craft too; no shame has come upon our line from your deeds. Gordafarid laughed long and hard, climbed the wall, and gazed out at the army. When she saw Sohrab still on his saddle, she said: O king of the Turks of China, why trouble yourself? Turn back now, from this coming and from the field of war. She laughed and mockingly told him: Turks find no bride among the people of Iran. So it was, and no fortune from me was yours; do not grieve yourself with this pain. Surely you yourself are no Turk at all, for you seem worthy only of the praise of the great. With that strength, those arms, those shoulders and neck, you have no equal among the champions. But when word reaches the Shah that a hero has led an army out of Turan, the king of kings and Rostam will set out; you will not stand against the mighty one. Not one of your army will be left alive, and I do not know what evil will fall upon you. It grieves me that such shoulders and such a frame must be hidden away from the leopards. It would be better for you to obey, and turn your famous face toward Turan. Do not put too much faith in your own arm; the foolish ox is eaten because of its own flesh. When Sohrab heard this he felt disgraced, for the fortress had fallen too easily into his grasp. Below the fortress there was a place over which the fort stood high on its foundation. He gave all that land and its dwellings to plunder; at one stroke he washed his hand clean of mercy. He said: Today it has grown late; our hand is cut short from the fight. At dawn I will raise dust from this wall, and they will feel the sting of the day of battle.

When Sohrab turned away, old Gazhdaham called for a skilled scribe and had him sit down. He wrote a letter to the Shah and sent a swift rider off on the road. First he offered praise to the Creator, then spoke of how fortune turns. He wrote: a heavy army has come upon us, all of them warriors hungry for battle, mighty men. At their head is a champion who cannot be more than twelve years old. In height he stands taller than a straight cypress; like the shining sun, he has two bodies of strength. His chest is like an elephant's, his stature towering; I have never seen such an arm or such a mace. When an Indian sword comes into his grip, the sea and the mountains feel too small for him. No thundercloud roars like his voice; no cutting blade is sharper than his arm. The brave Hojir girded himself for war and mounted a swift steed. He rode out to face Sohrab in combat; I saw him unhorsed almost before he stood in the stirrups. Faster than a fighter can blink, quicker than a scent reaching the brain from the nose, Sohrab lifted him clean off his saddle; his chest froze in amazement at that arm's power. Hojir is unharmed and now a prisoner in Sohrab's mercy; my soul is heavy with worry over what will come of him. I have seen many Turkish riders, but I have never heard of a horseman who wields the reins like this. God forbid that in the space between two battle lines he should ever get a single warrior into his hands. The very ground would pity the mountain over which he gallops his horse on the day of vengeance. No one has ever seen a rider like him; you would say Sam himself is riding, no one less. Imagine his greatness reaching the sky, and the fortune of our heroes all fallen asleep. Even if we hold our patience a while longer, we cannot fight, and there is nothing more to say. If the king of the land pauses, does not send his army, and lays no ambush, this boy will seize the fortress and its walls by his sheer strength; no one can hold his hand back. For this fortress cannot withstand him; even a lion would be left slow by his sudden speed. When the letter was sealed that night, Gazhdaham sought out the messenger and opened his mouth to speak. He told him: ride so that by morning no one in that army will catch sight of you. He sent the letter off on the straight road, and then the messenger rose to his feet. He loaded his baggage, pulled in his reins, and vanished onto that trackless road. The people of the fort turned toward Iran and left that fortress behind for Sohrab. When the sun raised its head over the dark mountain, the band of Turks girded themselves for battle. The commander Sohrab, spear in hand, mounted a strong warhorse. He rode up to the walls and looked closely, but saw hardly anyone within them. He came to the fortress and they opened the gate; inside they found not a single fighter. By his command everyone came before him, each one pleading for their life. When the letter reached Kay Khosrow, his heart grew heavy at the words he heard. He summoned the nobles of his army and spoke to them at length about this story. The great men of the army, high and low, sat together with the Shah of Iran. Men like Tus and Gudarz son of Keshvad and Giv, like Gorgin and Bahram and the brave Farhad. The commander read the letter aloud to them; he asked many questions and was left bewildered. He said quietly to the champions: this affair will drag on and grow heavy for us. The way Gazhdaham describes it, it washes all resolve from the heart with worry. What shall we do, and what is the cure for this? Who from Iran can stand against this man in single combat? They all agreed on one thing: that Giv should go to Zabol, to the brave chieftain. He should bring this news to Rostam: that the royal throne itself is in danger. He should summon the elephant-bodied hero to this battlefield, for he is the backbone of the army. Then the king sat and took counsel with his scribe, for a painful task had become unavoidable.

Then the king commanded a letter be written to the renowned Rostam. First he offered praise to the Creator, the ruler of the world who sustains all through time. Then he blessed the champion: stay alert of heart and clear of mind. You are the heart and backbone of Iran's warriors; in the grip and strength of lions, you are the one. You broke the chains of Hamavaran, you seized back the frontier of Mazandaran. At your mace the sun weeps; at your blade the star Venus is scorched. No stretch of ground can match the dust your Rakhsh raises; in all the world no elephant can stand against you. Your lasso brings the lion down; your spear tears a mountain up by its roots. You are Iran's refuge from every evil; because of you the warriors raise their heads with pride. A grievous trouble has come upon us; the thought of it has left my heart in wounds. The warriors gathered before me together when we read that letter from Gazhdaham. May it be that in all the world no one but you can answer any call for help. The brave warriors judged it best that the noble Giv should come to you. When you read this letter, by day or by night, do not open your lips to tell tales and linger. Instead, with soldiers full of wisdom, ride out from Zabol and raise a battle cry. For the one Gazhdaham described, no one but you should be his opponent in battle. Then he said to Giv: like smoke you must set out, wearing down the reins of a swift horse. You must reach Rostam; do not stay in Zabol, and do not sleep. If you arrive by night, turn back by day; tell him the battle has closed in upon us. This warrior is fierce and proud; an ill-wishing enemy must not be taken lightly. He took the letter from him and, swift as water, set off, seeking neither rest nor sleep. When he drew near to Zabolistan, the shout of the vanguard reached Dastan's ears. The mighty Rostam came out to meet him with his army; the great men placed their helmets on their heads. Giv dismounted, and the warriors together, everyone there, high and low alike. The famed hero climbed down from his horse and asked after Iran and after the king. From the road they went to Rostam's hall, stayed a while and caught their breath. Giv told what he had heard and gave the letter, and spoke a little too about Sohrab. When Rostam heard and read the letter, he laughed and marveled at the news. That a rider like the hero Sam, among the great, had appeared in the world. From the noble line this is no wonder; but from the Turks such a thing is hard to imagine. I have a son from the daughter of the king of Samangan, and he is still a child. That dear one does not yet know that when honor and shame are at stake, one must make war. I sent much gold and many jewels to his mother by a trusted hand. The answer came back that the noble boy would not take long to grow tall. He drinks wine, his lips still smelling of milk; without doubt he will soon become a seeker of battle. Let us stay one day and rest, and moisten our dry lips with a drink. After that we will head toward the king and lead the warriors of Iran on the way. Perhaps my shining fortune is asleep; otherwise a task like this is not so hard. When the sea rises up in waves from its place, the swift, fiery breath cannot endure it. When this boy sees my banner from afar, his heart will turn to mourning at the very hour of feasting. He will not rush so eagerly into battle; there is no need to treat this matter as so urgent. They reached for the wine and grew drunk, and in their revelry they forgot the commander. The next day at dawn, still hungover, Rostam came and set things in order. But that day too the drinking held him back, and setting out slipped his mind a second day. On the third day at dawn he called for wine again, and King Kavus never crossed his mind. On the fourth day Giv made ready and spoke to the brave commander. Kavus is hot-tempered and not calm; this matter will not seem trivial to his heart. He was troubled by this affair, his heart in turmoil, so that food, rest, and sleep had left him. If we delay here in Zabolistan and turn again from wine to war and fighting, the king of Iran will grow angry with us and, from a rash impulse, seek revenge. Rostam said to him: do not worry about that, for no one on earth would rise against us. He ordered Rakhsh to be saddled and the brazen trumpets to be blown, note after note. The riders of Zabol heard the trumpet and set out with helmets and armor from their places.

The champions came to the king's court, open-hearted and full of goodwill. When they arrived and bowed low before him, he flared up and gave them no reply at all. First he shouted at Giv, and then he washed all shame from his eyes. Saying: Who is Rustam, to break my command and twist away from my agreement? Seize him, drag him off, hang him alive, and speak no more of him to me. Giv's heart was crushed by these words, that a hand should be raised against Rustam like this. He raged at Giv and at the mighty champion; the whole assembly stood stunned and speechless. Then the king ordered Tus: Go and hang both of them alive. King Kavus himself rose from his seat, blazing like fire in a reed bed. Tus went and took the hand of the mighty one, who stood there, oddly, still eager to fight. He wanted to lead him out from before Kavus, hoping to work some spell to cool that fury. The mighty champion flared up at the king: Do not keep so much fire in your lap. Every act of yours is worse than the last; kingship does not suit you at all. Go hang Sohrab alive; humble that vicious, riot-stirring enemy. He struck one hand hard against Tus's hand, you would say a raging elephant had thundered. Tus tumbled headlong from where he stood, and Rustam strode past him in his fury. He went out the gate in anger and mounted Rakhsh: I am the lion-slayer and the giver of crowns, he said. When I am roused, who is King Kavus? Why does he reach out at me, and who is Tus? The earth is my servant, Rakhsh my throne; my seal is the mace, my crown the helmet. I turn dark night bright with my flashing blade; on the battlefield I scatter severed heads. The point of my spear and my sword are my only friends; my two arms and my heart are my only king. Why does he torment me? I am no one's servant; I serve only the Creator. If brave Sohrab comes to Iran, neither great nor small will be left standing. Now each of you must find a way to save your own life; put your minds to work on this trouble. You will not see me in Iran after this; the land is yours, the vulture's wing is mine. The hearts of all the famous nobles sank, for Rustam was the shepherd and they the flock. They said to Gudarz: This task is yours; what is broken becomes whole in your hands. The commander listens to no one but you; your good fortune will not rest until this is settled. Go to this mad king and raise the matter with him, one fresh argument after another. Speak smooth, drawn-out words; perhaps you can bring back the luck we have lost. Gudarz, the son of Keshvad, the army's chief, rose and hurried swiftly to the king. He said to King Kavus: What has Rustam done, that today you have raised such dust over Iran? Have you forgotten Hamavaran, and that struggle with the demons of Mazandaran? That you say, hang him alive? Kings should not speak so recklessly. Now a great army has marched here, with a warrior like a wolf at its head. Whom do you have to meet him on the field, someone who could scatter dark dust upon him? Gozhdaham has heard and seen all your champions, one and all, in great and small. He says: Let that day never come when a rider must face him in battle. Whoever torments a fighter like Rustam has little sense of his own. When the king heard Gudarz's words, he knew that Gudarz spoke with reason and right. He grew sorry for what he had said; his mind had been clouded with folly. He told Gudarz: These words are fitting; the lips of an elder are best with counsel. A king's heart must be wise; sharpness and temper are worth nothing. You must go to him and tell him many gentle tales. Empty his head of anger at me, and show him a path to a better time. When Gudarz rose and left his presence, he set off quickly after the champion. The chiefs of the army went with him, and they took the road toward Rustam. When they saw the mighty, valiant one, all the famous nobles gathered around him. They began to praise the champion: May you live forever with a bright soul. May the whole world lie beneath your feet; may the head of the throne be always your place. You know that Kavus has no sense; there is nothing fine in his hasty speech. He boils over in a moment, then repents, and kindly returns to his old promise. If the mighty one is wounded by the king, the people of Iran are not to blame. He too has repented of those words; in remorse he bites the back of his own hand. The mighty one answered them again: I have no need of King Kavus. My throne is the saddle, my crown the helmet; my coat is armor, my heart set on death. Why should I fear the anger of Kavus? To me Kavus and a handful of dust are the same. My head has had its fill, my heart has had enough; I fear no one but the pure God. When the assembly had heard their fill of talk, Gudarz spoke to the mighty one: The city, the brave men, and the whole army will read this differently now. They will whisper that this proud lord grew afraid of the Turk, murmuring such things in secret. They will say that, just as Gozhdaham warned, we must empty every field and dwelling. That since Rustam himself dreads him in battle, there is no place left for you or me to linger. I saw the talk at court over the king's rage and his rash quarrel. All the talk has turned to brave Sohrab; do not turn your back on the king of Iran like this. Do not let this retreat hide a name so exalted throughout the world. And besides, the enemy's army presses close; do not darken this crown and throne out of stubbornness. He recited these lessons to Rustam, and when the mighty one heard, he stood confounded. He said to him: If my heart were to feel fear, I would not want it, I would tear it from my body. He turned back from this disgrace and took the road, striding briskly toward the king. When he entered, the king rose to his feet and begged pardon for what had passed. Saying: Hot temper is my nature and my essence; one must live as God has fashioned him. And over this new, unexpected foe my heart grew thin and pale as a crescent moon. I called you to find a remedy for this; when you were slow to come, my anger flared. When you took offense, O mighty one, I repented, may my mouth be filled with dust. Rustam said to him: The world is yours; we are all your servants, and the command is yours. Now I have come; whatever you order, may your soul never be empty of wisdom. Kavus said to him: Today let us choose feasting, and tomorrow we will prepare for war. He arranged a royal hall of pleasure; the palace became like a garden in spring. With the sound of silk strings and the cry of the flute, jasmine-cheeked ones stood before the king. They drank wine until midnight, while the minstrels sang with parted lips.

The next day he ordered Giv and Tus to strap the war drums onto the elephants at dawn. He opened the treasury and handed out pay, mounted the troops, and loaded the baggage. A hundred thousand shield bearers and men in armor came riding to the muster ground, counted one by one. An army poured out onto the plain from the flank, so vast that the air went dark with their dust. They pitched the royal pavilion and tents across two leagues, covering the earth with hooves and elephants. The air turned deep blue, the mountains black as ebony, and the sea itself seemed to boil at the roar of the drums. Stage by stage the world moved on, dim as night, the daylight lost from view. The gleam of spear and javelin through the dust was like fire behind a curtain of lapis. From so many kinds of blade and banner, golden shields and golden greaves, you would say a cloud the color of ebony had risen and rained down pale amber light. The world could not tell night from day; you would think there was no sky, no Pleiades at all. So it went until they reached the fortress, and earth and stone vanished from the world. A loud cry came from the watchtower; they told Sohrab that the army had arrived. When Sohrab heard the shout from the lookout, he climbed the rampart and studied the troops. He pointed out to Human an army with no visible edge. When Human saw that host from afar, his heart filled with dread and his breath caught. The brave Sohrab said to Human: you must wipe such fear from your heart. In all this endless army you will not see a single fighting man with a heavy mace who could face me on the field of battle, even if the sun and moon came to his aid. There are plenty of weapons and plenty of men, but I recognize no famous champion among them. Now, by the good fortune of King Afrasiyab, I will turn this plain into a sea of blood. Sohrab did not let his heart shrink at all; he came down from the rampart with a glad spirit. He called the cupbearer for a cup of wine, and never let the thought of war trouble him. On the other side they drew the king's pavilion out onto the plain before the fortress. With so many tents, men, and canopies, no space was left on plain or mountain.

When the sun vanished from the world, dark night marched its army across the plain. The mighty Rostam came before the king, girded for battle, his heart hungry for revenge. He said: 'Crowned lord, grant me leave to slip out from here without crown or belt, so I can see who this young warrior is, who the great ones are, and who leads them.' Kavus told him: 'This task is yours. May you stay alert and stay unharmed.' Rostam put on a Turkish outfit and hurried toward the fortress. When he drew near the stronghold, he heard the Turks calling out their toasts of joy. The brave man slipped inside that fort, like a fierce lion stalking gazelles. There he saw Sohrab seated on the banquet throne, Zhende-Razm at his right hand, and at his other side the bold rider Human, and beside him the renowned lion, Barman. You would think the whole throne was Sohrab alone; he was like a fresh, glowing cypress. His two arms were like a camel's thighs, his chest broad as an elephant's, his face flushed like blood. A hundred bold Turks circled him, young and proud as fierce lions. Fifty servants stood, hands folded, before that bright and lofty throne. One by one they praised him, his height and stature, his sword and signet ring. Rostam watched him from afar, sitting still, studying the feasting men. For some errand Zhende went out; there he saw a warrior tall as a cypress. There was no one like him in that army. He came up to Rostam and quickly questioned him. 'What man are you? Tell me. Step into the light and show your face.' The mighty Rostam struck a fist so hard on his neck that the life burst out of his body. On the spot Zhende-Razm went stiff; he never came back to the feast. For a while Sohrab waited; the lion-hearted Zhende did not return to him. Sohrab asked where Zhende-Razm had gone, that his place at the feast stood empty. They went out and found him thrown down, wretched, done with feasting and with war. They came back crying out in grief, stunned and bewildered at what had befallen Zhende. They told Sohrab: 'Zhende-Razm is gone; his days of battle and banquet are over.' When Sohrab heard, he leapt up at once and rushed to Zhende like a gust of smoke. With his attendants, torches, and musicians he came and found him dead like that. He was struck with wonder and stood dazed; then he summoned his warriors and chiefs. He said: 'Tonight no one should sleep. All night long we must keep our spears in hand, for a wolf has gotten into the flock and has tested every dog and every man.' 'If the Creator of the world stands with me, once my steed's hoof touches this ground, I will loose the lasso from my saddle straps and take revenge for Zhende from the Iranians.' He came and sat upon his throne and called all his noblemen before him, saying: 'Though Zhende-Razm is lost from my throne, my heart could never have its fill of feasting.' When Rostam headed back toward the king, Giv was standing guard over the Iranian army. On the road he saw the elephant-bodied hero; he reached out and drew his mace. He roared like a maddened elephant, raised his shield above his head, and showed his hand. Rostam realized that Giv must be the Iranian army's night sentry on the road. He laughed, then let out a shout; when the sentry heard Rostam's voice, he came on foot up to him and said: 'O great war-chief, where have you been on foot in the dark of night?' The mighty one opened his lips to speak. He told Giv what he had done, how such a lion of a man had been struck down. From there he went to the king and spoke of the Turks and their banquet hall, of Sohrab, his height and stature, his arms and his handsome shoulders, saying no one like him had ever risen among the Turks; his frame stood straight as a cypress. In Turan or Iran he resembled no one; you would say he was Sam the rider himself, no less. And he told of the fist to Zhende-Razm's neck, after which he never came to war or feast again. They talked; then they called for wine and music, and all night long the army made itself ready.

When the sun threw its lasso toward the heights, flames rose from the high wheel of the sky. Sohrab put on his battle armor and mounted his stone gray horse. An Indian sword in his grip, a royal helmet on his head. A lasso coiled sixty loops on his saddle, coil upon coil, his face set grim. He rode out and chose a high hill, a place from which he could see the Iranians. He ordered Hojir brought before him and said to him: an arrow flies straight. The target must not bend aside; when it twists, the blow falls short. In everything, make honesty your practice, if you want no harm to touch you. Whatever I ask, speak the whole truth; never turn your face from the straight path. If you want to win your freedom from me and stand proud in every gathering, answer everything I ask about Iran; never turn your face from the straight path. I will hand you a treasure fit for kings; you will gain robes of honor and much wealth. But if your mind bends toward deceit, then chains and prison will be your place. Hojir answered him: my lord, whatever you ask about the army of Iran, I will tell him all I know. Why should I speak to you in lies? Sohrab said: I will ask you about all of them, the proud chiefs, the king, and the ranks. All the famous men of that land, men like Tus, Kavus, and Gudarz, Bahram and the renowned Rostam; name for me every one I ask about. Tell me: that pavilion of seven colors, with leopard skin tents inside it, a hundred mighty war elephants tethered before it, and a litter as blue as the Nile, a tall banner with the sun for its emblem, tipped with a golden moon, its sheath purple, at the heart of the army, whose place is that? Among the champions of Iran, what is his name? He answered: that is the king of Iran; at his court stand elephants and lions. Then he said: on the right wing there are many horsemen, elephants, and baggage. A black pavilion raised up, with troops pitched all around it on every side, countless tents circling it, elephants behind and heights before it. An elephant emblazoned banner planted before it, at its gate horsemen in golden boots. He said: that is Tus, son of Nozar, the one whose banner bears the elephant device. Then he said: that red pavilion, with many horsemen standing around it, a banner in gold with a lion device, a jewel gleaming at its center. He said: that is the glory of the noble ones, Godarz of the line of Keshvad, conqueror of the world. He asked about that green pavilion, with a huge army standing before it. A splendid throne set in its midst, and before it the royal banner of Kaveh raised high. On it sits a warrior, majestic, broad of shoulder, with the neck of a hero. Above everyone who stands before him, his head rises a full forearm higher. A steed stands before him, as tall as he is, with a lasso hanging down to its feet. The horse keeps roaring under him; you would think it churns beneath the saddle. Many armored elephants stand before him, while that man seethes there in his place. No man in Iran matches his height, nor do I see a horse that is its equal. He saw a banner shaped like a dragon, with a golden lion's head on the spear. Hojir said: a famous man came recently from China to serve the king. Sohrab asked lucky Hojir his name; he said: I do not have his name to tell you. I was inside this fortress at the time when he came to join the king. Sohrab's heart grew heavy at this, for no sign of Rostam had come to light. His mother had given him the signs of his father; he kept searching, but his eyes could not confirm them. He kept hunting for the name from Hojir's lips, hoping those words would finally please his heart. But what was written on his brow was otherwise; fate neither lessens nor adds to its decree. After that he asked about those great lords whose pavilion was pitched off to the side. Many horsemen and elephants standing there, and the wail of the war trumpet rising up. A banner with a wolf's figure above it, its golden head raised over the tent. Hojir told him: that is the son of Godarz, called Giv, whom the champions name Giv the Brave. He is the greatest and finest of the sons of Godarz, and among the Iranians he stands head above the rest. Sohrab said: on that side, toward the shining sun, I see a white pavilion rising. Before it, horsemen in Roman brocade, drawn up in ranks more than a thousand strong. Foot soldiers with shields and spearmen, an endless army gathered together. The commander sits on an ivory throne, with a chair of teak set upon that ivory. Fine brocade draped down from the litter, and slaves standing rank upon rank. By the tent near the pavilion, in the entryway a number of men stand on foot. Hojir said: call him Fariborz, for he is the king's son and the crown of the champions. Sohrab asked about that red pavilion, with a number of men standing on foot in the entryway. All around him, red and gold and purple banners of every kind were raised. Behind them stood a banner bearing the figure of a boar, its top a golden moon, its shaft tall and high. Hojir said: his name is Goraz, a man who never bows to fear in battle with lions. He is shrewd, of the line of the house of Giv, and hardship and pain never make him whine. Sohrab sought word of his father, but Hojir would not tell him; he kept the truth hidden away. Whatever plans you make in this world, the world has already made its own; the Lord of the world has settled this matter. Fate had written it differently; what fate hands over, you must let go. Again Sohrab asked the proud commander about the one he so longed to see. About that green pavilion and the tall man, about that horse and that twisted lasso. Then Hojir the commander told him: why should I hide anything from you? If I fall silent on this name, it is only because I do not know the man. Sohrab said to him: this is not fair; you have not mentioned Rostam at all. The champion of the world cannot stay hidden among the army. You said that he is the chief over the host, the guardian of every border and every land. Hojir answered him: it may be that the lion-hearted hero has by now gone off to Zabolestan, for it is the season of feasting in the flowering gardens. Sohrab said: do not say such a thing, that the commander has turned his face away from war. That the champion of the world sits back in pleasure; old and young alike would laugh at him. I have one bargain with you today; let me speak, and our words will be few. If you show me the champion, you will be honored in every gathering. I will make you free of want in this world; I will open hidden treasures for you. But if you keep this secret from me, and cover up the plain truth, your head will not stay upon your body; look and see which choice serves you best. Do you not recall what the sage told the king when he unveiled the secret from its hiding? A word unspoken is like a jewel still untouched by the cutter's stone. But once it is freed from its bindings, it becomes a brilliant, priceless gem. Hojir answered him: when the king grows weary of his crown, his throne, and his glory, he looks for someone in the world to face in combat, someone mighty enough to bring down a raging elephant. Anyone who has Rostam as his opponent will have his head dragged down from the sky into the dust. His body holds the strength of a hundred strong men, and his head rises higher than a tall tree. When he grows angry on the day of battle, it makes no difference whether his opponent is a raging elephant or a man. No elephant on earth can stand against him; the dust his horse Rakhsh kicks up looks like blue indigo. Sohrab said to him: unlucky is Gudarz of the line of Kishvad. Why should he ever have to call you his son, with all this strength, this knowledge, and this skill of yours? Where have you ever seen real warriors? You have not even heard the sound of a warhorse's hooves, that you go on talking so much about Rustam and let your tongue open in his praise. You should fear fire only as long as the sea lies calm and smiling. When the green sea rises from its place, the swift, fierce fire loses its breath. The head of darkness sinks into sleep when the sun draws its sword from its sheath. Then the experienced Hujir thought to himself: if I point out this lion-catching champion, if I tell this Turk, with his powerful arm, this broad build and this kingly bearing, he will single Rustam out from the army and the assembly and drive this elephant-bodied warhorse at him. With this strength, these shoulders and this frame of his, Rustam may be slain in his grip. Then no avenger would rise from Iran, and he would seize the throne of King Kavus. The wise priest has said: to die with honor is better than to live and let the enemy rejoice. If I am killed by his hand, the day will not turn black nor the stream run with blood. With Gudarz and his seventy chosen sons, all the champions who are blessed and praised, Iran will not be left without defenders, so let me perish. This is how I keep the pure priest's counsel: that when the cypress is torn up by the roots from the meadow, it is fitting the pheasant no longer smells the grass. He said to Sohrab: what madness is this? All you speak of to me is Rustam, Rustam. You should not seek battle with him; on the field he will grind you into dust. You will never break that elephant-bodied hero; he does not come easily into anyone's hands.

When he heard these harsh words, he turned his face away and showed his back. He struck the man hard from above with the back of his hand, knocked him down, and returned to his seat. He put on his armor and set on his head a Chinese helmet swift as the wind. His blood boiled with fury, and he mounted his swift steed. He roared, took the spear in hand, and went to the battlefield like a raging elephant. Not one of the famed warriors of the Iranian army dared to look him in the face. From his feet and stirrups, from his hands and reins, from his arms and his water-tempered lance-tip, the brave men then gathered and said: here is a hero with the body of an elephant. It is no easy thing even to gaze at him; who would dare go to battle before him? Then Sohrab the warrior roared out, calling upon King Kavus. He said to that noble man: how goes your work on the field of war? Why did you take the title Kavus the king, when in battle you have neither strength nor stamina? I will roast your body on this spear; I will make the stars weep at the deed. I swore a solemn oath at the feast, on that night when Zhande-Razm was killed, that I would leave not one spearman alive in Iran, and would hang Kavus the king upon the gallows. Which of the Iranians do you have with fierce claws who will come before me when war begins? He kept speaking, boiling with rage, but no one from Iran gave an answer. Roaring, he came to the royal pavilion and lifted its wall from the ground with his spear. Then he bent low, thrust the lance-tip up, drove in the spear, and tore out seventy pegs. One whole section of the royal tent collapsed, and from every side the trumpets blared. That brave and daring army fled like wild asses from a lion's claws. Kavus was distressed and cried out: among these famed men of noble blood, carry word at once to Rostam that this Turk has emptied the brains of our heroes. I have no rider to match him; no one in Iran can do this task. Tus went and carried Kavus's message, laying before Rostam the words he had heard. Rostam said to him: every king who has ever suddenly summoned me, sometimes offered treasure, sometimes the pleasures of feasting; but from Kavus I have seen nothing but the hardship of war. He ordered that Rakhsh be saddled and that his riders wrinkle their brows with anger. Rostam looked out from his tent toward the plain and saw Giv passing along the road. He set the gleaming saddle on Rakhsh while Gorgin kept urging: hurry, quick now. Rahham was tightening his horse's girth, and Tus gripped his armored coat. One kept telling this to that and that to this in haste, when the mighty hero heard the uproar from his tent. He said to himself: this is the work of Ahriman; this turmoil is not raised for one man alone. He reached out and put on his tiger-skin armor, and fastened that royal belt around his waist. He mounted Rakhsh and took the road, leaving Zavare to guard his position and the army. They carried his banner along with him as he rode, hungry for battle and grim of face. When he saw Sohrab with his mane and stature, his chest broad as that of warlike Sam, he said to him: let us step aside from here, and both go together to the battleground. Sohrab rubbed his palms together and went out from before the ranks to the field. He said to Rostam: it has come to pass that war and combat have turned from me toward you. You will need no other ally from Iran; when I face you, that is enough for the fight. There is no place for you on the battlefield; you cannot even stand against one blow of mine. You are tall of stature, with shoulders and mane, but your body has suffered from the weight of many years. Rostam looked at that proud youth, at those hands, that mane, and those long stirrups. He said to him gently: soft now, hot-blooded young man; the ground is cold and dry, and your words are hot and smooth. In my old age I have seen many a battlefield; I have laid many an army low in the dust. Many a demon has perished in my fighting; I never saw defeat on any side where I stood. Watch me if you see me in battle; if you stay alive, then do not fear the crocodile. Sea and mountain have watched me in war, when I fought against the famed champions of Turan. What I did, the stars are my witness; by my courage the world lies beneath my feet. Sohrab said to him: I will ask you a question, and only the truth must be laid as its foundation. I truly believe that you are Rostam, and of the renowned line of Nariman. He answered thus: I am not Rostam, nor am I of the line of Sam and Nariman. For he is the great champion, and I am lesser; I have neither throne nor high seat nor crown. Sohrab lost the hope he had held, and the bright day turned dark before his eyes.

He went to the battlefield, spear in hand, still marveling at what his mother had told him. They narrowed the field to a tight space and fought with short spears, weaving blows. Nothing was left of spear shaft or point, so both pulled their reins to the left. They clashed with Indian swords, striking sparks of fire from the steel. The blades shattered to pieces in the fighting; what wounds, wounds that could raise the dead. Then they took up heavy maces, and the arms of these brave men grew weary. The maces bent from the force of the blows, the horses panting, the heroes grim. The armor plating fell from the horses, and the chain mail tore at the warriors' waists. Both horse and rider broke down, exhausted; neither had strength left in hand or arm. Their bodies drenched in sweat, their mouths full of dust, their tongues cracked from thirst. They stood apart from one another, the father full of pain, the son full of suffering. O world, how strange are your ways: what breaks is from you, and what mends is from you too. In neither of these two did affection stir; wisdom stood far off, and love hid its face. Even beasts know their own young, whether fish in the sea or wild ass on the plain. But out of hardship and greed, a man cannot tell an enemy from his own child. Rustam said: never have I seen a crocodile come to battle like this. My fight with the White Demon now seems trivial to me; today my heart despairs of my own manhood. A youth like this, untested in the world, no famous hero, no renowned lord among the great, has worn me down and wearied me, and two armies stand watching this combat. When the horses of both men had rested from the struggle, the grappling, the shame, and the fight, they both strung their bows again, the young one and the old one alike. There was chain mail, a padded coat, and the tiger-skin cloak; the arrows and their points did no harm. Each grew weary of the other's blows, so both seized hold of the other's belt. Rustam, who if he set his hand to a rock could tear it from the mountain on a black day of war, tried to grip Sohrab's belt to heave him from the saddle in the fight. But the young man's waist did not so much as budge, and Rustam's skilled hand came away empty. The two lion-slayers grew sick of the fight; both wounded, both had lingered long. Once more Sohrab drew the heavy mace from his saddle and pressed his thighs against the horse. He struck with the mace and bruised Rustam's shoulder; Rustam winced but swallowed the pain in his courage. Sohrab laughed and said: rider, you cannot stand up to the blows of brave men. In battle your Rakhsh is like a mere donkey, and the rider's two arms are the worst of all. However tall and stately a champion may be, an old man grows old when he acts unwisely. Each was worn to weakness by the other, and the earth grew so tight upon the two brave men, that they turned their faces away from each other, leaving heart and soul to grief. Rustam charged into the army of Turan the way a leopard falls upon its prey. He came among the troops like a wolf, and that great army scattered. The valiant Sohrab wheeled his reins around and made a charge against the Iranians. He hurled himself upon the Iranian army, and many a famous man was destroyed by his mace. An evil thought crossed Rustam's mind: that harm would surely reach Kavus. From this so skillful young Turk, chest and arms adorned in armor. He raced quickly back toward his own camp, for that was the fear in his heart. There among the troops he saw Sohrab, who had turned the water red as wine with blood. Rustam grew sick at heart when he saw him, and let out a roar like a raging lion. He said to him: bloodthirsty Turk, who from the Iranian army picked a fight with you? Why do you reach out to strike them all, coming among the flock like a wolf? Sohrab said to him: the army of Turan was innocent of starting this battle. You were the ones who moved against them first; no one sought quarrel or feud with you. Rustam said to him: the day has darkened; what will the world-illuminating sword reveal? On this plain there is both gallows and pulpit, for the bright world lies beneath the sword. If it should be that the sword has grown so familiar with one still smelling of mother's milk, then may you never die. At dawn let us turn to the sword of vengeance again; go, and see what the Creator of the world wills.

They set out, and the sky above turned dark; even the heavens were stunned by Sohrab. You would think the sky was made of his fury, never resting from the charge for a moment. Even if his mount had iron beneath it, still, wondrous is his spirit and his body seems cast in bronze. The dark night came, and he returned to his army, his body worn from battle and the dagger's work. He said to Human: today the sun rose and filled the world with clashing and uproar. What did that bold rider do to you, the one with a hero's shoulders and a lion's charge? Human answered him: the king's command was that the army should not stir from here. All our arrangements were badly off; how could battle even have begun? A single warlike man came forward and set his face against this vast army. You would think he had risen fresh from wine, or that he had come dressed for single combat. Sohrab said: from this army, he brought down none of the champions to ruin. I have killed many of the Iranians; I have soaked the earth with blood and mire. Now the feast should be spread; we must ease the grief from our hearts with wine. On the other side, Rostam surveyed the army and talked it over with Giv, speaking and listening. He asked how Sohrab, that battle-tester, set foot into the fight today. Brave Giv said to Rostam: we have never seen a warrior like this before. He came thundering to the heart of the army and sought vengeance against Tus from the ranks. Tus was on his saddle, lance in hand; when Gorgin dismounted, Tus took his place. Sohrab came, and when he saw him with his lance, he roared like a raging lion. He struck a curved mace against his chest; the blow's force sent the helmet flying from his head. Tus could not stand against him and turned away; many of our champions rose to fight. Not one of the warriors had his mettle; none matched his rank except the mighty Rostam. We kept to our old custom and set a simple line of soldiers against him. No rider dared face him alone; he charged from the center to the right flank. Rostam grew troubled at Giv's report and set out toward King Kavus. When King Kavus saw the champion, he seated him at his own side. Rostam spoke of Sohrab, describing his height and his broad frame. He said: no one in the world has ever seen such lion-hearted courage in an untried boy. In stature he seems to touch the stars, and his body could crush the very earth. His two arms and thighs are thicker, it seems, than the flanks of a war camel. With mace and sword, with arrow and lasso, I tested him in every kind of contest. At last I told myself: before this I have lifted many a champion clean out of his saddle. I gripped the strap of his belt and pressed hard on his sturdy frame. I meant to tear him from his saddle and throw him to the dust like all the others. Even if a thorny mountain would sway in the wind, that renowned one did not budge on his saddle. When tomorrow comes to the field of battle, I must find my remedy in wrestling. I will strive, but I do not know who will win; let us see what God intends. For from Him come victory and glory and strength; He is the maker of the moon and the sun. Kavus said to him: may the pure God rip the heart of your ill-wisher to shreds. Tonight I will press both my cheeks long against the ground before the Creator of the world. For from Him come victory and dominion; by His command the moon shines from the sky. May He renew your desire this time and raise your name up to the sun. Rostam replied: with the king's good fortune, every wish of a well-wisher comes true. He set out toward his own camp, his mind full of thought and his head bent on vengeance. Zavareh came with an anxious heart, asking how the champion had fared that day. First Rostam asked for food, then he washed the worries from his heart. He spoke these words to his brother: keep your mind alert and do not act rashly. At dawn, when I go to the battlefield to face that Turk who demands single combat, bring out my army and my banner, my throne and my golden boots. Stay before the royal tent as the shining sun climbs into place. If I turn out to be victorious in the fight, I will not linger on the battlefield. But if things should turn out otherwise, do not begin your mourning and do not act rashly. Let not one man stay on this battleground; make no move to head into the fight. One by one, go toward Zabolestan; from here go on to Dastan, my father. You must console my mother's heart; tell her this is the fate God set upon my head. Tell her: do not tie your heart to me, for it does you no good to be grief-stricken. No one in this world remains forever; I have no special claim to escape the sky's turning. Many a lion and demon, panther and dragon fell ruined in my grip in the hour of battle. Many a wall and fortress we have leveled; no one ever brought my hand beneath his own. Whoever sets foot in the stirrup and rides forth from his place knocks upon the door of death. Even if the years passed beyond a thousand, the end of it all would still be just this. When she has grown resigned, tell Dastan: do not turn your face from the king of the world. If he calls you to war, do not be slack; do as he says, down to the last word. We are all bound for death, old and young; no one in this world remains forever. It is said Sohrab was awake through half the night; the other half was rest and sleep.

When the bright sun spread its wings, the black raven of night lowered its head and fled. The mighty warrior put on his tiger-skin armor and mounted his fierce, raging elephant of a horse. He fastened a lasso to his saddle strap and took an Indian sword in his hand. He came out onto the field of battle, an iron helmet set upon his head. All bitterness comes from wanting more; may no one ever be kin to greed. On the other side, Sohrab sat among his companions, drinking wine to the music of a lute. He said to Human: this lion of a man who keeps circling me in combat, he is no shorter than I am, and in battle his heart never sinks. His chest, shoulders, and neck are just like mine, as if a knowing hand had measured us to match. I keep finding the signs my mother described, and my heart turns toward him because of them. I suspect that he is Rostam, for few in the world are warriors like him. I must not fight my own father, and rashly stand against him in the field. Human said to him: in battle I have crossed paths with Rostam several times. I have heard what that brave man did with his heavy mace in the war of Mazandaran. This horse of yours resembles his Rakhsh, but it lacks his stride and his broad frame. At dawn, when the sun rose, the warriors lifted their heads from sleep. Sohrab put on his coat of battle, his head full of war, his heart full of feasting. He came roaring onto the field of war, an ox-headed mace gripped in his hand. With smiling lips he greeted Rostam, as if they had spent the night together as friends. He asked: how was your night, how did you rise this morning? What did you decide in your heart about the fight? Throw down this mace and sword of vengeance; strike war and injustice to the ground. Let us both sit here together on foot, and brighten our grim faces with fresh wine. Let us make a pact before the Creator, and turn our hearts away from seeking battle. Until someone else comes forward to fight, join me and let us set out a feast. My heart is drawn to love you; a flush of shy tenderness rises to my face. Surely you come from the line of heroes; tell me your noble stock, right here before me. Rostam said to him: young glory-seeker, we never spoke of any such thing. Last night the talk was of wrestling. I will not fall for your tricks, so do not try. You may be young, but I am no child; I have girded my belt for wrestling before. Let us try, and the outcome will be whatever the ruler of the world commands and wills. I have traveled through many highs and lows; I am not a man of empty words, snares, or deceit. Sohrab said: such words from an old man are not what a heart wants to hear. I had wished that you might die in your bed, your last breath leaving you in your own time. That whoever survives you would raise your tomb, your soul taking flight while your body rests in its place. But if your fate lies in my hands, then by God's will let us set to. They dismounted from their war horses, cautious in their armor and helmets. They tied their battle steeds to a rock, and both walked forward, covered in dust. They locked together in wrestling; blood and sweat poured from their bodies. Sohrab struck like a drunken elephant, lifted him off the ground and threw him down flat. Like a lion that sets its claws on a wild ass and brings it crashing head over heels, he sat upon the great warrior's chest, his claws, face, and mouth full of dust. He drew a gleaming dagger, meaning to cut the head from the body. Rostam said to Sohrab: brave lion-hunting champion, master of the lasso and the sword, our custom is different from this; the code of our faith is not like this. One who brings a man down in wrestling, laying a great head low in the dust, does not cut off his head the first time he pins his back to the ground, even in vengeance. Only if he throws him down a second time does he earn the name of lion for the kill. By this trick he hoped to escape from the grip of that dragon, to be spared from death. The bold youth listened to the old man's words and gave in, and the words seemed fitting to him. One reason was his heart, the second was fate, and the third, no doubt, was his own nobility. He let go of him and walked off across the plain, like a lion strolling past a deer. He went off hunting game and forgot all about the man he had just fought. Time passed until Human, like a whirlwind, arrived and asked him about the duel. Sohrab told Human where he had been and everything Rostam had said to him. Human said: young champion, it seems you have grown tired of your own life. What a waste of your chest and arms and neck, your heroic grip and mace, the lion you had caught in your trap, you set free from the snare, and left the work half done. See what this pointless deed of yours will bring upon you in the next battle. He said this and turned his heart cold against the young man's life, still marveling at him. He set off toward his own camp, angry, his heart heavy with grief over the youth's affair. There is a saying fit for a king: never make light of an enemy, however small. When Rostam was freed from Sohrab's hands, he became like a blade of tempered steel. He walked calmly to the running water, like one who has recovered his spirit. He drank, washed his face, head, and body, and first of all bowed before the Creator of the world. He prayed for victory and strength, unaware of the destiny fixed by sun and moon, of how the heavens would turn against him and snatch the crown from his head. From that stream he returned to the field of battle, his heart full of thought, his face pale. Sohrab came galloping like a drunken elephant, a lasso on his arm and a bow in his hand. Prancing, roaring at wild asses, his chestnut horse making the whole world leap beneath him. Rostam kept marveling at him, taking the measure of his fighting. When lion-slaying Sohrab saw him, his heart swelled with the wind of youth. He said: you who escaped from the lion's claws, you who survived the blow of the brave lion,

Once more they tied their horses fast for battle, while a hostile fate wheeled overhead. They set themselves to wrestling, each man gripping the other's belt. Whenever cruel fate turns angry, it can soften solid granite like wax. Proud Sohrab, with the strength of his hands, could have bound the high heavens themselves; you would think so. Rostam was in anguish. He reached out and seized that warrior chest and neck, fierce as a leopard's. The brave youth's back bent low; his time had come, and no strength was left in him. Rostam threw him to the ground like a lion, knowing the boy would not stay pinned for long. Swiftly he drew his sharp blade from his waist and tore open the breast of that wakeful, lionhearted youth. Sohrab twisted in pain, then let out a sigh, cutting short all thought of good and bad. He said: This came upon me by my own doing. I handed fate the key with my own hand. You are innocent in this; it was this hunchbacked sky that raised me up only to kill me so soon. Boys my own age will say in play: his mighty frame was laid low in the dust like this. My mother told me the signs of my father; out of love for him, my soul has reached its end. Every time you thirsted for blood and stained that gleaming dagger, fate will one day thirst for your blood, and the hairs on your body will turn to blades against you. Now, even if you become a fish in the water, or vanish into darkness like the night, or turn into a star up in the sky and lift all trace of yourself from the face of the earth, my father will still demand vengeance for me from you, when he sees the dust is my pillow. One of these proud, renowned champions will carry word to Rostam, telling him that Sohrab has been killed and thrown down in disgrace, the very one who was searching for you. When Rostam heard this, his head reeled; the world went dark before his eyes. When he came back to his senses, he asked the boy, with a wail and a cry: What sign do you carry now of Rostam? May his name be erased from among the champions. The boy said: If you truly are Rostam, then you have killed me senselessly, out of your own bad nature. I tried in every way to guide you toward the truth, yet not a single spark of love stirred in you. When the sound of the war drums rose from our gate, my mother came to me, both cheeks streaming with tears. Her soul was crushed by my leaving; she tied a small clasp onto my arm. She told me: Keep this token from your father, and watch for the day it comes to use. Now it has proved its use, when all use is gone: the son lies humbled before his father's eyes. My mother, with her bright soul, also sent a champion along with me, so that he could point out my father to me and speak the truth in every gathering. But when that famous champion was killed, my own day turned against me as well. Now unfasten the clasps of my armor; look upon my bare, bright body. When Rostam opened the coat of mail and saw that clasp, he tore all his clothes upon himself. He kept crying: You who were slain by my own hand, brave and praised in every assembly, He shed tears of blood and tore his hair, his head full of dust and his face full of water. Sohrab said to him: This makes it worse; there is no use in weeping with both eyes. What good is it now to destroy yourself? It went this way; this was a thing that had to be. When the shining sun turned across the dome of the sky, mighty Rostam had not returned from the plain to the army. Twenty watchful men came out from the army to see what was happening on the battlefield. Two horses stood there on the plain, and Rostam, covered in dust, was somewhere else. When the warriors did not see the elephant bodied hero upon his saddle on that field of vengeance, they guessed that he had been killed, that the chief of all the champions was gone. They rushed the news to King Kavus: that the throne of greatness was now empty of Rostam. A cry rose up from the whole army; all at once the world came to a boil. Kavus ordered the horns and drums to sound, and the commander Tus arrived. Then King Kavus said to him: Send a swift camel rider from here to the battlefield, let him race off to learn what has become of Sohrab, for we may have to weep for the whole land of Iran. If Rostam the warrior has been killed, who from Iran would dare go up against Sohrab? We must strike him with a great mass of men; there is no staying idle on this battlefield. When the uproar rose from the gathering, Sohrab said this to the mighty hero: Now that my day has passed, everything for the Turks will turn out differently. Show all your kindness so that the king does not march his army against the Turks, for it was for my sake, seeking battle, that they turned their faces toward the borders of Iran. For many days I had given them promises; in every way I had raised their hopes. They should not meet any harm on the road; look upon them with nothing but kindness. Rostam mounted Rakhsh, swift as dust, his face full of blood and his lips full of cold sighs. He came before the army with a cry, his heart aching and burning at what he had done. When the Iranians saw his face, they all bowed their faces to the ground. They began to praise the Creator that he had come back alive from the battle. But when they saw his head in the dust, his clothes torn and his chest wounded, they asked: What is this? For whom is your heart in such a state? He told them the astonishing thing he had done: that he had struck down the one dearest to him. They all raised their cries along with him; the earth was full of wailing and the air full of turmoil. He said to the proud chiefs: Today it is as if I have neither a heart nor a body left. Let none of you seek war against the Turks; the evil I have done this day is enough. When the hero turned from that place, he came to his wounded son, still breathing. The great ones went along with him, men like Tus and Gudarz and Gostaham. The whole army, for that noble youth, loosed their tongues all at once from silence. They said: May God bring a cure for this, may He make this ordeal easier for you. Rostam took a dagger in his hand to cut off his own base head from his body. The great ones clung to him, pouring blood from their eyelashes. Gudarz said to him: What good is it now to raise smoke over the whole world in grief? If you inflict a hundred wounds on yourself, how does that bring any ease to that noble boy? If time still remains for him in this world, then stay alive so you may remain with him, free of sorrow. And if this youth is meant to leave this world, look at the world: who lives forever? We are all, every one, prey before death, some heads beneath a crown, some beneath a helmet.

Then the warrior said to Gudarz: leave here at once, bright of soul, and carry a message from me to Kavus. Tell him what has come upon us. With a dagger I have torn open the liver of my brave son; may Rostam not linger long after him. If you hold any memory of what I have done, then trouble your heart a little with grief for me. Of that healing balm kept in your treasury, the one that makes the wounded whole again, it would be right if you sent some to me at once, along with a cup of wine. Perhaps, through your good fortune, he will recover, and remain a humble servant before your throne. The commander came swift as the wind and delivered the whole message to Kavus. Kavus said to him: from this gathering, if that giant of a man stays alive, Rostam's power will grow to back him, and he will surely bring about my ruin. If for a single moment harm comes to me from him, I will give him no reward but harm in return. How could this wide world hold him, with all that glory, that stature, that strength, that mighty frame? Did you hear him say: who is Kavus? If he is king, then who is Tus? When did he ever stand on his feet before my throne? When has he ever ridden beneath the royal shadow? When Gudarz heard this, he turned back at once and came to Rostam swift as rising smoke. He said to him: the king's evil temper is a tree that is forever heavy with poisoned fruit. You must go to him yourself and light up his darkened soul.

Rustam ordered his attendant to spread a garment beside the stream. He laid the young man to rest there on that cloth, then went to the king. As the mighty hero turned toward the road, a messenger came running to bring the news: That Sohrab had left this wide world, and now needed a coffin, not a palace. The father let out a cold sigh, groaned, and closed his eyelids tight. He wept and said: 'Brave young warrior, proud son of a hero's line, the sun and moon will never see your like again, nor armor, nor throne, nor crown and helmet.' Who else has faced what I now face? In my old age I have killed a youth, the grandson of Sam the horseman, ruler of the world, whose mother comes from a renowned house. My two hands deserve to be cut off; let me sit on nothing but dark earth. What father ever did such a thing? I deserve only cold, bitter words now. Who in this world has ever slain his own son, so brave, so young, so wise? Zal the aged will heap reproach on me, and so will the gifted Rudabeh. What excuse can I bring for this deed, to soften their hearts with my words? What will the champions and proud warriors say, when this becomes my mark among them? What will I say when his mother hears? How can I send anyone to her? What will I say: why did I kill him though he was innocent? Why did I turn his day to black? And his father, that noble champion, what will he say to that pure young woman? They will curse the line of Sam, and they will call my name faithless too. Who could have known this precious child would grow so tall like a cypress at this age, that his mind would turn to war, that he would raise an army and turn my bright day black? He ordered royal brocade to be drawn over the young man's body. The one who longed for a place and a city, all he received was a narrow coffin. They carried his coffin from that field and set out toward his own tent. They set fire to the pavilion, and all his army threw dust on their heads. The tent, the seven colored brocade, and the whole precious golden leopard throne, they threw upon the fire, and a great cry rose. Rustam mourned: 'You who might have ruled the world, alas for your face, your stature, your height; alas for all your courage and your wisdom; alas for this soul crushing grief and sorrow, cut off from a mother, with a broken hearted father.' He shed blood and tore at the dust, and ripped his royal garments to pieces. All the champions of King Kavus sat with him on the ground beside the road. The tongues of the great were full of counsel, but Rustam was in pain to the core of his heart. Such is the way of the high heavens: in one hand a crown, in the other a noose. Just as a man sits happy with his crown, the noose snatches him from his place. Why should we love this world at all, when we must set off with our companions in the end? When our schemes for treasure grow long, still we must return to the dust. If the heavens have any awareness of this, then surely their brain has gone empty. Know rather that they have no knowledge of their own turning; there is no path to their how and why. So we should not weep over this departing; I do not know what its final purpose is. King Kavus said to Rustam: 'From the Alborz mountain to the reed's frail leaf, the turning sky will carry everything away; we should not set our love upon this dust. One goes sooner, another later; in the end the road leads to death for all. Make your heart content with this one who has gone, and lend your ear to the counsel of the wise. Even if you smash the sky onto the earth, or set the whole world ablaze, you will not find that one who has gone again; his soul has passed on to the other world. From afar I saw his chest and shoulders, his height and stature and his mace, and fate drove him with an army so that he would be destroyed here by your hand. What can you do, what is the remedy for this? How long will you weep over the one who is gone?' Rustam replied: 'He himself is gone. But Human still sits in this wide plain, along with chiefs of Turan and some of China; hold no grudge in your heart against them.' Let Zavareh lead the army on its way, by the power of God and the king's command. The king said to him: 'Fame seeking hero, this battle will only bring more sorrow to your face. However much harm they have done to me, however much smoke they have raised over Iran, my heart is full of pain from your pain; I will not even bring them to mind.'

From there the king set his army marching, moved toward Iran, while Rostam stayed behind. He waited for Zavareh to arrive by the road and bring him news of that army. When Zavareh came at the break of dawn, Rostam at once set his troops moving too. Then he headed for Zabolestan, and word of his coming reached Dastan. All of Sistan came out to meet him, coming in grief, in pain, and in anguish. When Dastan, son of Sam, saw the coffin, he climbed down from his gold-bridled horse. Rostam walked ahead on foot, his clothes torn, his heart in shreds. The warriors all loosened their belts, and bowed their heads to the dust before the coffin. Zal said: what a strange and terrible thing, that Sohrab took up the heavy mace. He had become a mark among the great; no mother will bear his equal in this world. He spoke, and his lashes filled with tears, his tongue full of talk of Sohrab. When Rostam came to his own hall, he cried out and set the coffin before him. He pulled out the nails and opened the lid, laid the shroud aside before his father. He showed the body to those famous men; you would say smoke rose up from the sky itself. The great ones of the world tore their clothes, and dust and grit rose up to the clouds. The whole palace was one coffin, end to end, with a fierce lion lying asleep in the chest. You would say it was Sam, broad-shouldered and strong, weary of battle, come to lie down and rest. He wrapped him again in yellow brocade and fastened the coffin's narrow lid tight. He said: even if I build a tomb of gold and fill it all around with black musk, once I am gone, nothing will remain; yet I can think of nothing better to do. He built him a tomb shaped like a horse's hoof, while a whole world went blind from weeping. Bahram, who spoke well, said: do not make friends with the dead. You will not stay here long yourself; be ready, and do not linger. Your father had his turn one day; it is fitting that your turn will also come to an end. This is how it is, and its secret stays hidden; you seek the key in vain and will never find it. No one knows how to open the locked door; your life will scatter to the wind in this struggle. This is a tale that fills the eyes with tears, and makes a tender heart rage at Rostam. I have shaped my words upon this story, and now I turn to the tale of Siyavash.