Rustam's Grief for Sohrab

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.'