English
Part 21: The Coffin of Sohrab
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.