English
The Reign of Piruz: Twenty-Seven Years
He came and took his seat upon the royal throne, just as a God-worshipping king should be.
First he spoke to the nobles: 'You skilled and pure-hearted leaders,'
'I ask this of the Judge who needs nothing: that my life be long,'
'so I may keep each person in their rightful place, the humble as humble, the great as great, and grow in wisdom day by day.'
The mark of humanity is patience; the frivolous mind is always brought low.
The pillar of wisdom is justice and generosity; giving is its finest ornament.
Eloquent speech and fine expression are its glory; courage and manliness are its wings.
Any famous man who has no wisdom, how will he ever enjoy the throne of greatness?
Yet even the wise man does not live forever; no glory rises higher than the glory of Jamshid.
When his crown reached the height of the moon, he died; and the throne passed on to another king.
No one remains forever on this earth; take refuge in God alone from every evil.
For one year he reigned with justice and good counsel, wise and untouched by any wrong.
The next year the face of the sky went dry; the water in the streams turned scarce, like the last drops in a musk-pouch.
The third year the same, the fourth the same; the drought left no one glad.
The sky's mouth grew dry as dust; from scarcity the stream's water became as bitter as poison.
So many people and animals died that no space was left on the ground for a corpse.
When the king of Iran saw this horror, he lifted all taxes and tribute from the world.
Every hidden storehouse he had, he shared out among the lowly and the great.
A cry went out from the king's court: 'You famous ones who have wealth and means,'
'bring out whatever grain you hold, and fill Piruz's treasury with gold coins.'
Whoever secretly holds grain, or has cattle, sheep, or flocks,
let him sell it at whatever price he wants; only see that no living soul goes without food.
To every official and every willful lord he sent, in haste, a letter:
'Throw open the storehouses to everyone in the world who is in need.'
'If anyone dies for lack of bread, whether young or old, man or woman,'
'I will spill the blood of that storehouse keeper, for he has held God's work in contempt.'
He ordered them to leave their homes; they came out to the plain and raised their hands in prayer.
A great cry rose to the heavens, from all the wailing, grief, and lament.
From mountain and desert, from plain and cave, they begged God for mercy.
In this way, for seven years the world saw no green, neither the small nor the great.
On the eighth day of the month of Farvardin, a blessed cloud rose in the sky.
It rained pearls down onto the parched earth, and the scent of musk drifted from the gardens.
The dew lay on the flowers like wine in a cup, and a rainbow shone out from the cloud.
The world was freed from its evil suspicion; everywhere bows were strung and ready.
When Piruz was freed from those hard times, he settled peacefully on the royal throne.
Piruz, now content, built a city and ordered a name given to it.
The world-ruler, its founder, said: this is Ray, the resting place of fortunate kings.
He named another town Badan-Piruz, and everywhere it was famed for peace and plenty.
That town you now call Ardabil, the one the Caesar still values for its justice.
When he had made all these lands prosperous, he gladdened the hearts of the wise.
He paid his renowned army in silver and set about preparing for war.
In that campaign Hormoz led the way, marching out with fresh commanders.
Behind King Piruz came Qobad, driving the army along the road like the wind.
Piruz had a pure and worthy son, a wise and fruitful branch of his line.
Balash took the throne with joy, though he was the younger son, full of love and justice.
There was a very famous Persian nobleman whom the king called Sufra.
Piruz ordered him to stay behind, since he was a fitting adviser for Balash.
He led the army against the Turks, a course worthy of a royal crown and throne.
He marched with troops, treasure, and gear to make war on Khushnavaz.
The marker that the hero Bahram had set, raising it high from the low ground,
bore a written pact of the kings of kings: that between the Turks and the Iranians of this world,
no one should ever cross beyond this mark, nor claim any land past that river.
When Piruz, slayer of lions, reached that spot, he saw the marker the king of Iran had placed.
He said to all his proud warriors: from the Turks, right at this same marker,
I will raise a tower with sword and treasure, so no one from Hital will be troubled again.
When the tower stands before the fortress, the great ones will bring me their pledges of tribute.
I will proclaim what Bahram Gur once did, through his courage, wisdom, glory, and strength.
I will leave Khushnavaz no foothold anywhere, no Hital or Turk, in low ground or high.
When the Khaqan's son heard that the king had crossed the Oxus himself with his army,
and was breaking the pact of Bahram Gur, killing, war, and turmoil flared up anew.
Khoshnavaz called for his worldly, experienced scribe, and ordered him to come forward.
The scribe wrote a letter of praise, invoking the Creator's blessing upon the king of the earth.
He wrote: since the days of just kings, no one has counted you brave, though you are of royal blood.
This was not the pact of your ancestors, your chosen rulers and your pure forebears.
When you break the oath of free and noble men, you throw your greatness down into the dust.
Now I too must break my pact with you, and of necessity reach my hand to the sword.
In the letter he informed him of every matter, and sent many gifts along with it.
An eloquent, proud horseman set off carrying Khoshnavaz's letter.
When King Piruz had read that letter, he flew into a rage before his renowned court.
He told the messenger: get up and go, return to that madman.
Tell him: up to the river Balkh, it was Bahram Chak who sent you all.
Now the far bank of the Oxus is yours, the heights and the lowlands and the plains are yours.
But look, I am bringing a heavy army, proud warriors, champions of battle.
I will leave nothing of Khoshnavaz but his shadow, stretched long across the face of the earth.
The messenger returned swift as the wind, and recalled all the words he had heard.
For a while he spoke with Khoshnavaz of that stubborn, obstinate king.
When Khoshnavaz heard the words and read the letter, he mounted his scattered troops for war.
He brought his army to the battlefield, and raised that old treaty high upon a spear:
the pact he had received from King Bahram, that the Oxus should stand as the boundary between them on the road.
He picked from his army a clear-sighted, smooth-tongued man of honor.
He said to him: go to Piruz; speak with gentle words and listen to his answer.
Tell him: the pact of your ancestor, that man of high fortune and guidance,
I raise here on a spear before the army, bright as the shining sun upon the road,
so that everyone who has wisdom may look upon the decree of that just king.
For me, to bless you would be to curse you, for your very name is that of a faithless king.
Neither God approves it, nor those who worship God, nor any humble person in the world:
that a man should seek injustice in the world, and turn his head from the oath of kings of kings.
No one ever wore the crown with the justice and the manliness of King Bahram.
To this the world-ruling God is witness, though it is unworthy to demand a witness of Him,
that it is he who seeks injustice by making war on me, and by marching against me with an army like this.
You will not come out victorious from this war; no lucky star will favor you.
From now on I will send no one to plead; in this war God alone is enough for me.
The messenger arrived with the letter like a whirlwind and repeated its words to Peroz.
When the proud king read Khoshnavaz's letter, he was filled with rage.
He told the messenger: an experienced old man would never say so many such words.
If he sets even one footstep from Chach toward the river, I will send him my greeting on the point of my spear.
The messenger came back to Khoshnavaz and spoke with him at length in private.
He said: I saw no fear of God in Peroz, and no one to guide him.
I saw him seeking only war; he does not bow to God's command.
When Khoshnavaz heard these words, he took refuge in God and bowed in prayer.
He said: Lord of justice and purity, you are the creator of sun and earth.
You know that the tyrant Peroz has no more skill than Bahram.
Wipe his footprint from the face of the earth; take his strength, his purpose, and his heart.
He speaks only words of injustice and seeks greatness by the sword.
Around his army he dug a great trench, covered its opening and disguised it well.
It was deeper than a lasso is long, and thirty cubits wide.
When this was done he called upon God's name and led his army out from before Samarkand.
From the other side, the bewildered king Peroz drove his army onward like the wind.
And on this side, his heart full of fear, Khoshnavaz advanced until he reached the trench.
From both armies rose the sound of horns and war drums; the sky turned black as ebony with the dust.
Such a rain of arrows fell from both sides that blood ran in the channels like water.
As he neared the trench, Khoshnavaz kept whispering his secret prayer to the pure Lord.
From the other side, king Peroz galloped like the wind with his scant force.
When he drew near Khoshnavaz, the Turkish commander turned away from him.
He wheeled his reins and showed his back, and behind him his army pressed hard in retreat.
Then king Peroz spurred his horse and rode on with his mace and his Roman helmet.
He plunged into the trench with several men, the great lords and lions of the battlefield.
Along with Narsi his brother and Farrokh Qobad, the nobles and kings of blessed lineage.
In this way the heads of seven kings went down, all the famous men with golden crowns.
And from there, glad at heart, Khoshnavaz came forward to the edge of the trench.
Everyone who came alive out of that trench, even the earth itself wept over their fate.
The great ones and the warriors, all of them, whoever met their end in that trench,
Piruz the king lay with his head and back broken, the king of the famous, once crowned and enthroned.
Of the royal line, none survived but Kayqobad; that army and that kingdom were scattered to the wind.
Khushnavaz rode on, his heart's wish fulfilled, proud and triumphant with his battle-ready host.
The army and its gear were given over to plunder; no one could find left flank or right anymore.
How many Iranians they carried off as captives, how many they cast on the ground or wounded with arrows.
A world-seeker should not be arrogant and hard, for the hard heart is wedded to the dark earth.
This is how the unsteady wheel of fate turns, the same with the lowly as with the king.
It turns against the very one it raised, even if you become the guardian of wisdom.
No one remains on this earth forever; let your provision for the road be honesty, nothing else.
When Khushnavaz had passed over the trench, his army had no more need of spoils.
They bound Qobad's feet in iron, giving no thought to his throne or his lineage.
When word reached the Iranian army about that trench and the battle of King Piruz,
a cry of grief rose up from the whole land, mourning those noble, freeborn kings.
When this news spread through the world, Balash came down from his golden throne.
He tore the flesh of his arms with his teeth, and poured wretched dust upon the throne.
Soldier and citizen alike throughout Iran grieved; woman, man, and child all wailed.
All with their hair torn out, their faces scratched, all searching for a king, all seeking a way,
wondering how they might flee from the land of Iran, should that vengeful army come from the plain.