Reign of Yazdgerd

When the former king passed on, Yazdgerd took the throne, in the month of Esfand, on the day named Ard. What did that eloquent, brave man say when he grew weary of the turning days? He said: If only my mother had never borne me, if only the high heavens had never wheeled above my head. Caught in a tight circle between two spinning spheres, what can I say? There is nothing to do but stay silent. Neither the days of greatness nor the days of need last long for anyone. If you look closely, time does not belong to us; no one holds the power to sit in judgment over it. Set out the feast, fill the cup and drink; do not so much as name the sorrows of the world. Even if the turning heavens raise you high in the saddle, in the end your pillow will be dust. Do not bind your heart to endless grief, and never feel too safe beneath the lofty sky. When it toys with elephant and lion, know that it does so out of sheer indifference. You will lose your life while it lives on; the tale runs long, so do not boast. You are no greater than Fereydun, nor grander in throne and crown than Parviz. Look deeply at what this soaring wheel of seven spheres did at last to Yazdgerd. When he sat glad upon the royal seat and placed the crown of greatness on his head, he said: from the turning of the swift heavens, I am the pure son of Nushirvan. Kingship is mine, father to father; the sun, the Ear of Grain, the House of Pisces are mine. I will grant honor to whoever is lower than me, and I will not wrong the one who stands high. I seek not only greatness and wisdom, but also battle, fierceness, and manly courage. For no one keeps their strength and fortune forever, nor their treasure, nor the royal diadem, nor the throne. What you need is a lasting name, not mere pleasure; cast aside desire and raise your name high. In this way, for twice eight years, the moon and the sun passed above his head.

He sent Umar, son of Sa'd of Waqqas, with an army to seek war against the king. When Yazdegerd learned of this, he gathered troops from every direction. He ordered the son of Hormozd to set out on the road and march with the army. His name was Rustam; he was alert, wise, brave, and skilled in the affairs of the world. He was an astronomer of great intelligence, and the high priest listened closely to his words. He set off and took the noble men with him, everyone who was watchful and brave. In this way thirty months passed, and they kept fighting at Qadisiya. Many soldiers fell on both sides, yet neither army turned its face from the other. Rustam understood the reckoning of the heavens; he was an astronomer, just and kind. He said: this war has no good outcome; the flowing line of the kings will not follow this course. He brought his astrolabe and read the stars, and at the sight of the day of ruin he clutched his head. In sorrow he wrote a letter to his brother, and set down all he had to say. First he gave praise to the Creator, through whom he had known the good and evil of his days. Then he said: from the turning of the sky, a searching man grows full of dark suspicion. I am the most guilty man of this age, for I am caught in the grip of the Evil One. For this house is now emptied of its kingship; this is no time of victory or of glory. From the fourth sphere the sun looks down, warning that ruin will come swiftly upon us in this war. Mars and Venus bring us harm; there is no escaping the high wheel of fate. Mercury and Saturn stand face to face, and Mercury has entered the sign of the Twins. So it is, and a great trial lies ahead; my heart grows weary of my own life. I see all that is bound to happen, and so I choose silence. I weep and grieve for the Iranians, and my heart burns for the house of Sasan too. A pity for this crown and throne, this justice and this seat; a pity for this greatness, this splendor and good fortune. For after this, defeat will come from the Arabs, and the stars will turn only to our loss. Four hundred years will pass in which no one will count anyone of our line among the world's rulers. An envoy came to me from them, and all kinds of talk went round in the assembly. That from Qadisiya to the riverbank we should divide the land with the king. And open on that side a single road toward a city where there is a marketplace. So that we may buy and sell our goods, and seek no more than that from now on. We will accept heavy tribute and taxes, and no longer seek the crown of the mighty warriors. We would even obey the King of Kings; if he asked, we would hand over hostages. So they say, but they never act on it; it is nothing but the crooked turning of fate's compass. And on top of this there is battle at every moment, where a hundred roaring lions are slain. The nobles who fight at my side pay no heed to their own words. You there, a man of Tabaristan, and you, an Armenian, are locked in war against the devil's creed. Like Gulbuy of Sur and these great chiefs who carry maces and heavy clubs, they hold their heads high, asking who these newcomers are that come plundering Iran and Mazandaran. Whether it is border and road, or good and bad, it must be won with the mace and the sword. Let us strive and show our manhood; let us make the world narrow and dark for them. No one knows the secret of the turning sky; it has turned its face on us in a different way now. When you read this letter, do not drive off reason; get ready and set your affairs in order with the chiefs. Gather together all the wealth there is: the servants, the garments, and the mounts. Ride hard toward Azarabadegan, to the place of the great and the free-born. Likewise take every herd of horses you have to the treasurer of Azargoshasp. Whether from Zabulistan or from the army of Iran, whoever comes seeking mercy, shelter them, clothe them, and show kindness; then look at this ever-turning sky. From it comes joy, and from it comes dread; one hour it lifts you up, another it brings you low. Tell our mother everything I have said, for it seems she will not see my face again. Give her our greeting and much counsel, so that she does not sink into grief in this world. If someone brings you bad news of me, do not be too heartbroken over it. Know that in this fleeting inn of a world, whoever piles up treasure through the toil of his hands, when his time comes and he passes from this world, another reaps the fruit of his labor. Always incline toward those who worship God; empty your heart of this passing world. For time has drawn tight around me; the king will not see me again after this. You, together with everyone of our line, whether old or a young man, all of you, pray before God; praise Him in the dark of night. Strive, and be generous too; do not hoard your food away for tomorrow. For I am caught with an army in hard straits, in suffering, grief, and misfortune. In the end I will find no escape from this. Farewell, sweet air of the land of Iran. When the world closes in on the king, do not hold your treasure, your body, or your life dear. From this noble and honored line, nothing remains except the high king. Do not slacken in your effort; nothing of us will be left in this world as a memory. He alone is what remains of the Sasanians; after him, no one from this line will be seen. What a pity for this crown, this throne, this love and justice, all of it, that this royal throne will be swept away. Farewell to you; be gentle and harm no one, and give your care to guarding the king's life. If harm comes to him, step forward and hand the aggressor over to your sword. When they set the pulpit level with the throne, and everyone takes the names Abu Bakr and Omar, all these long labors will be ruined; there is a long descent ahead of the climb. You will see no throne, no crown, no city; by the turning of the stars, everything falls to the Arabs. When day gives way to a long, weary day, the proud king will become unworthy. A group among them will dress in black, and set caps of brocade upon their heads. No throne, no crown, no golden slippers, no jewels, no diadem, no banner overhead. One will toil while another reaps the reward, caring nothing for justice or generosity. Night will come and someone will light a shining spring, and rouse to fury a person hidden away. Those who seize the day will be different men, with belts at their waists and caps on their heads. They will turn away from their word and from honesty; crookedness and corruption will be prized. The warrior who fights on will go on foot, while the one who boasts and prattles rides in the saddle. The fighting farmer will be counted worthless; lineage and skill will bring less profit. Each will snatch from the other, this from that and that from this; they will not tell curse from blessing. What is hidden will grow worse than what is open; the heart of their king will become hard granite. The father will grow spiteful toward his son, and the son, in the same way, will scheme against his father. A worthless slave will become the ruler; birth and greatness will count for nothing. No one in the world will keep faith; souls and tongues will be full of cruelty. From Persian, Turk, and Arab, a mixed race will emerge among them. Neither noble farmer, nor Turk, nor Arab; words will be like empty games. They will hide all their treasures under their robes, then die and hand their striving to the enemy. There will be one known as a scholar and an ascetic, who will labor to bring things to his own advantage. Grief and hardship and turmoil will become so common that they will seem like joy in the days of Bahram Gur. No festival, no music, no striving, no delight; everything a matter of scheming and setting traps. Father will feud with son over silver; their food will be dried whey, their clothing coarse wool. People will harm others to serve their own gain, and put religion forward as their excuse. Spring and winter will no longer be told apart; they will not raise a cup of wine in times of joy. When much of this tale has passed away, no one will spare a thought for freedom. They will spill blood for the sake of property, and the fortunes of the great will dwindle. My heart is full of blood, my face gone pale, my mouth dry, my lips turned blue as lapis. For since I became champion of this land, so dark has the fortune of the Sasanians become. So faithless has the turning heaven grown; it has soured and cut its love from us. My sharp iron arrowhead, that once pierced armor, no longer works even on the naked flesh of these men. The very sword that never had its fill of striking the necks of elephants and lions in battle no longer cuts the skin of the Arabs. From all my knowledge I have gained only loss upon loss. If only I had no such wisdom, no thought of good and evil at all. The great men who stand with me at Qadisiyya are hard and fierce, sworn enemies of the Arabs. They imagine this will pass and be undone, that the enemy's blood will flow like the Oxus over the land. But no one knows the secret of the sky; they do not see that this suffering will not be brief. When a whole lineage is overtaken by the age, what good can come of struggle and of war? May your body flourish, my brother; may the heart of Iran's king be glad in you. For this Qadisiyya is my grave, my coat of mail my shroud, my blood my crown. Such is the secret of the lofty sky; do not bind your heart to grief for me. Never take your eyes off the king of the world; give your own life freely in the fight. For this devilish day comes swiftly on, when the turning heaven turns to enmity. When he had sealed the letter he said: may the messenger travel wed to blessing. Let him carry this letter to my brother, and say aloud whatever else may fit.

Like lightning and thunder, the messenger too was sent racing toward Sa'd. A scribe wrote out a letter on white silk, bright and gleaming like the sun. Its heading: from the son of King Hormozd, the world's champion, the goodwilled Rostam, to Sa'd ibn Waqqas, seeker of war, who has made the world tight and dark upon himself. The letter opened: in the name of the pure Lord of the world, let us live with awe and dread of Him. From Him the wheeling heavens stand upright; all kingship, justice, and love come from Him. May His blessing fall upon the king who is worthy of the crown, the throne, and the seal, who by his glory keeps the devil bound, master of the sword and the high crown. This unwelcome business has now arisen, this pointless suffering and this war. Tell me now: who is your king? What kind of man are you, what is your creed and your way? From whom do you seek power and standing, with a naked commander and a naked army? You fill up on a single loaf, yet stay hungry, with no elephant, no throne, no baggage, no gear. Just staying alive in Iran should be enough for you, for the crown and the seal belong to someone else, who has elephants and treasure and splendor, a renowned king, king after king before him. In beauty no moon in the sky matches him; in stature no king on earth stands beside him. Whenever he laughs at a feast, his lips part to show teeth like silver. He could hand out gifts worth every Arab head, and his treasury would suffer no loss from it. His hounds and cheetahs and hawks number twelve thousand, decked with bells and gold and earrings. In a whole year, all the spearmen of the plain, from end to end, could not eat what they eat. For he needs the cheetah and the hound to run down the game across the plain in the chase. His hounds and cheetahs eat more than that, and the king counts it as nothing at all. Is there no shame in your eyes, no love or reverence born of wisdom? With that face, that breeding, that nature and temper, how did you come to crave a crown and throne like this? If you would measure the world truly, you would not speak such empty words. Send us a man who can speak, seasoned in the world, brave and worthy. So that he may say what your purpose is, and who guides you toward the throne of kings. We will send a rider to the king, and ask him for whatever you wish. Ask. Do not seek war with such a monarch, for its end will bring you only grief. The grandson of the world's ruler Anushiravan, by whose justice the old grow young again, king after king before him, and himself a sovereign, the age holds no memory of his equal. Do not fill a world with curses against yourself; do not turn suspicious of your own faith and way. Without noble lineage on the royal throne, no lord will pursue culture and justice. Look well at this letter full of counsel; do not shut your eyes, your ears, your mind. When the letter was sealed and given rightly to the victorious Shapur of blessed lineage, the champion went off to Sa'd ibn Waqqas, along with the bright-souled nobles of Iran, all sheathed in armor, silver and gold, with golden shields and golden belts.

When Sa'd heard the news, that noble man went out to meet him with an army thick as dust. At once they gave the messenger a resting place, and Sa'd asked after the champion's own health, about the king, his counselor, and his army, about their vigilant commander and their land. He threw his cloak over his armor and said: We too have spears and matching swords. True men do not boast of silk, of vineyards, silver, sleep, or feasting. The noble Piruz handed over the letter, recalling all the words of Rustam. Sa'd listened to his words and read the letter, and was struck with wonder at what it said. He wrote a reply in Arabic, and set out in it what was fair and what was foul. He spoke of jinn and of mankind, and of the teachings of the Prophet of Hashim's line. Of God's oneness, the Quran, His promise and His warning, of divine support, and of new customs. Of tar and fire and bitter cold, of paradise, its maidens, and its river of milk. Of camphor, edicts, and pure flowing water, the tree of paradise, and wine and honey. If the king accepts this true faith, both worlds are his in kingship and in joy. He will keep the same crown, the same earrings, forever amid fragrance, color, and beauty. Muhammad will intercede for his sins, and his body will be sweet as distilled rose water. In a deed whose reward is paradise, you should not sow hatred in a garden of ruin. The person of Yazdgerd, the wide world, all these gardens, fields, halls, and palaces, all the thrones, the feasts and celebrations, I would not trade for a single hair of a heavenly maiden. In this fleeting house of a world, both your eyes have been dazzled blind by the chase of crown and treasure. You have grown so secure on this ivory throne, with its hunting cheetah and hawk, its seal and crown. For a world not worth a single cup of cold water, why do you keep your heart in such pain? Whoever comes against me in battle will see nothing but hell and a narrow grave. If you believe, paradise is your dwelling place; consider now what your decision will be. He set the Arab seal upon the page and gave the blessing of Muhammad. When Mughira's man, Shu'ba, said at that time that he would go to Rustam the champion, from Iran a man of note came along the road to the commander of the army, saying: An envoy has come, old and frail, with no horse, no weapons, and not even sound eyes. A thin sword hangs at his neck, and the tear in his shirt is plain to see. When Rustam heard this report, he had a pavilion of brocade raised up. They drew out threads of Chinese gold cloth, and the troops poured in like ants and locusts. They set down a golden seat below, and the army's commander took his place above it. Beside him stood sixty men of Iran, riders and warriors of the day of battle, in robes of purple woven with gold, with golden shoes upon their feet. All wore collars of rank and earrings, the pavilion arrayed in royal splendor. When Shu'ba reached the pavilion's threshold, he would not set his foot upon that cloth. He walked upon the bare earth, humbly, using his sword as a walking staff. He sat down on the ground and saw no one; he did not so much as glance at the army's commander. Rustam said to him: May your soul be glad, your spirit rich in wisdom and your body sound. Shu'ba said to him: O man of good name, if you accept the faith, I will be filled with joy. Rustam recoiled at his words; his brows drew into folds and his face went pale. He took the letter from him and gave it to a reader, who recited its words to him. He answered thus: Tell him that he is neither a king nor a seeker of the crown. Your spear-point has not yet seen good fortune, yet your heart has come to long for the throne. A word is never cheap before the wise; you have no insight into this matter. If Sa'd were a man wearing the crown of Sasan, fighting him would be an easy thing for me. But know that your star has turned faithless; what can I say, for today is a day of ruin. If Muhammad is your guide and leader, I speak of the new faith in this old tongue. This crooked-set, hunchbacked wheel of heaven means to be harsh with us as well. Now go back with all this cheer of yours, for the day of battle is no place for talk. Tell him: to die with honor in battle is better than a living enemy pleased with his triumph.

He gave the order and the trumpets blared; the army surged forward from its place like a sea. A cloud of dust rose and a roar went up, until men with the sharpest ears went deaf. Diamond spearheads gleamed in the dark dust like fire behind a curtain of blue sky. Spears struck the polished helmets, yet no blow could break through and hold its mark. For three days the fighting raged in that place; the hooves of horses ground down human heads. Thirst weakened the arms of the heroes, and even the noble horse failed in the fray. Rustam's lips turned to dust from thirst, his mouth dry, his speaking tongue split and cracked. Scorched and weeping from the battle, both horse and man began to eat the wet clay. A cry went up like thunder, from Rustam on one side and Sa'd on the other. The two of them rode out from the center of the army and drew apart to one side of the field. Once the two men were alone, away from the troops, they took their stand beneath a tall cypress. The two commanders charged across the field, both of them driven by hatred in their hearts. Rustam let out a cry like thunder and brought his blade down on the head of Sa'd's horse. When the war horse crashed down headlong, the battle-hungry Sa'd was thrown from it. Rustam drew a sharp sword, meaning to deal him double doom. He was about to sever the head from his body, but through the dust of the army he could not see the danger. He climbed down from the panther-covered saddle and fixed the end of his lasso to his belt. The dust hid Rustam's sight, and Sa'd came rushing back to the fight. He struck a blow to the top of his helmet, so that blood poured down over his crown. When Rustam's vision darkened with blood, the Arab warrior gained the upper hand. He struck again at his chest and neck and threw his warlike body down into the dust. On both sides the armies knew nothing, and no one had a way to reach the champion. The troops went searching for their commander and came out to the edge of the battlefield. From afar they saw him covered in blood and dust, his whole body cut open by the sword. The Iranians turned and fled, and many renowned men were killed among them. Many died of thirst still in the saddle; the world's measure was filled with fallen kings. The army made its way back to the king of Iran, racing along the road through dark night and day. Yazdgerd was in Baghdad at that time, gathering an army around himself.

Farrokhzad Hormozd, with tears in his eyes, came to the Arvand River in fury. He charged into Karkh so hard that not a single brave lancer was left standing. At once they poured out of Baghdad and rode onto the open plain to seek battle. When the dust of combat rose and settled, defeat had fallen upon the Iranians. Farrokhzad turned back and went to the king, covered in dust and still carrying his gear of war. He climbed down from his horse and bowed low, his eyes full of blood and his heart burning. The king said to him: why grieve so much, and why let the royal throne fall into disarray? No one is left of the royal line but you, worthy of sitting crowned upon the throne. You are a single man against a hundred thousand foes; how can you wage war in the middle of the world? Go toward the forest of Narvan, and a whole world will gather around you. From there set out like Fereydun, young man, and start some fresh enterprise anew. So Farrokhzad spoke, and the world's guardian listened, and yet another thought took shape in him. The next day the king sat upon his throne and set the royal crown upon his head. He gathered a council of the wise, the great nobles, and the clear-hearted priests. He said: what do you see in this tale? What do you recall of the ancient days? Farrokhzad says that with this assembly I should make my way to the forest of Narvan. In Amol the people are your servants; in Sari they are all your subjects. When your army grows large, come back, for with such people you can wage war and wipe out disgrace. Does this counsel please you? With one voice they said: this is not the right course. The king of kings said: these words are fitting, but in my heart I hold a different thought. The nobles of Iran, so vast an army, a flourishing land, the throne, and the crown, if I take only my own way and hang back, there is no greatness in it, no manhood and no wisdom. Better for me to fight the enemy than to bear disgrace; the leopard has left us a saying about this: do not foolishly turn your back on your enemy when a harsh day comes upon you. Just as the lesser man, at the king's command, must keep watch over good and evil alike, so a ruler must not stay idle in hardship, then run off to hoard treasure. The nobles called down blessings on him: this is the way of the kings of the faith. Now consider what command you give, what you want, and what pact you make with us. The king answered the great ones thus: worry is wearing my heart to ruin. It seems best that we go toward Khorasan and free our bodies from war with the enemy. For on that side I have a mighty army, all of them valiant, battle-hardened champions. The nobles and the Turks of the Khan of China will come and bless our name. We will deepen that friendship still further, for we are bound by marriage to the emperor's daughter. A heavy army will come to our aid, the great ones and the warlike Turks. The margrave of Merv, Mahuy as well, with his troops, his elephants, and everything else. He who is the overseer of our shepherds, a man raised up by our own field-keepers. I promoted him because he was eloquent, and eager to seek out battle too. When we gave a worthless man rank and worth, a margraviate, elephants, men, and lands, however low-born and slight he may be, he is a creature raised at my own court. I heard this tale from a priest, who recited it from the words of the ancients: beware of the one you have wronged, whom you have vainly aggrieved. Place your hope in the one whom, through kindness, you raised from nothingness into the sky of fortune. Farrokhzad struck his two hands together and said to him: O king who worships God, do not trust too much in men of evil nature, for about this there is a fresh saying too: however much you cast spells over base metal and strive to draw a false color out of it, since the Creator fashioned it as it is, you will never find the key to God's lock. Their color and their breed cannot be cut away. May nothing but greatness and kingship be yours. The king said to him: O raging lion, no harm can come from putting this to the test. That night passed, and at early dawn the men of high rank set out on the road. From Baghdad he took the road to Khorasan, taking all his hardships lightly to heart. The nobles of Iran, all filled with grief, set out with the noble, freeborn king. They called down blessings upon him: may the world and time never be without you. A bitter cry rose up from the army, out of sorrow and the king's departure. All among them who were landed nobles, or kin and relations of the Khan, came weeping before the king, their eyes streaming like flowing streams. They said: how can our hearts be glad in home and resting place without the sight of the king? We will leave behind our flourishing land, our children and our treasure, and choose hardship at your side. We do not want a world without your throne; may your fortune never be twisted awry. We will all come with you and see what game fate plays at the moment of battle. Those of the Khan's people who were smooth of tongue laid their faces upon the black earth. They said: we abandoned our flourishing homeland, believing the world was under your protection. Now, with grieving hearts, shall we go back to the Khan, from the land of the Arabs toward the borders of the landed nobles? The king of kings filled his lashes with tears and spoke thus, sorrowful, to the men of renown: all of you together, pray to God, and increase your praise of Him. Perhaps I shall see you again one day, and the sharpness of the Arabs will grow a little less. You are all pure creatures raised by me, and keepsakes handed down to me from my father. I do not want any harm to reach you; do not share in this evil fate with me. Let us see whom the turning wheel of heaven will now favor with kindness on this side. Fall in step with its motion, for there is no escaping its turning and its will. Then to the merchants of China he said: for now, in the land of Iran, do not stay a while, lest in seeking this profit from the Arabs the loss end in ruin. They turned back from him in pain and turmoil, grieving, with wailing and loud cries. Farrokhzad Hormozd led the army on and summoned the seasoned men of Iran. The king rode on in grief and lamentation, the commander riding ahead with the troops. When, stage by stage, he reached Ray, he rested a while with music and wine. From Ray he came like the wind toward Gorgan, spending a while now sorrowful, now glad. From Gorgan he came toward the road to Bost, his face lined with care and his heart unwell.

The king summoned the wise scribe to his side and poured out all the sorrow that filled his heart. When the king turned his course toward Merv, toward Mahuy Suri, the governor of Merv, he wrote a letter full of grief and anger, his heart brimming with longing, his eyes with tears. First he gave praise to the Creator, the wise Lord who nurtures all things. Lord of the turning Mars and the sun, Lord of the elephant and Lord of the ant. When He wills it, He makes something out of nothing, and needs no teacher to show Him how. He wrote: see what has befallen us, how the color and fragrance have drained from this realm. Since Rostam was slain on the day of battle, the world has closed in on us with grief. Killed by the hand of one named Saad-e Vaqqas, a man of no homeland, no lineage, no learning, no worth. Now, while the army still holds Ctesiphon, that same mottled crow keeps pressing forward. So ready your army for war, and rally your troops to this cause. And I, right behind this letter, swift as the wind, will come to you, pure and noble one. He chose another messenger from the gathering, clear-sighted and wise in counsel.

He wrote a letter and sent it off to Tus, his heart full of blood, his face pale as amber. First he gave praise to the just Creator, from whom he had gained strength, fortune, and skill. Lord of victory and royal glory, Lord of the imperial crown. From the leg of a gnat to the wing and talon of the eagle, like the elephant on land and the whale in water. Nothing steps outside His pact and command; no creature counts even its own breath without His will. From the king of the world, Yazdegerd the Great, son of the renowned and mighty sovereign. Commander of God's victorious host, guardian of all that lives and of the land and its borders. Of the seed of the great, the God-fearing ones, who owe their crowns to the favor of the stars. Through whom the face of the earth was made prosperous, the crown, throne, and signet made bright. To the frontier lords with their treasure and thrones, men of glory, stature, justice, and right conduct. Of Shemiran, Ruyin Fortress, and Rabeh Mountain, of Kalat by another hand and another company. May God be our guardian, and may you stay safe from the evils of the age. May the high heavens bring you no harm, nor the ruinous strife of the demon. Surely the proud chiefs have heard this word, for it rang out through all the world. That toward the warrior and the man of noble birth our heart is full of respect, love, and justice. Especially toward your lineage, whose hardships weigh more with kings than any treasure. When Bahram Chubineh rose up, he rebelled against the command of our crown. Your hearts turned away from the broad cities, from garden, field, and palace. On these ancient uplands and high mountains you built your homes for fear of harm. If the Creator grants us strength, and time turns to our heart's desire, We will multiply the reward for goodness, and offer thanks for this readiness of yours. Surely word has reached you of what the stars have brought down upon us. From these snake-eating men with demon faces, devoid of wisdom and shame, Who care nothing for treasure, or name, or throne, or lineage, they mean to give the world to the wind. Much treasure and jewels have been scattered, and many heads have been buried in the dust. So the compass of the high wheel has turned, that harm should fall upon this kingdom. From these crow-natured men, colorless and dull, without sense or knowledge, without name or honor. For Nushirvan had seen this in a dream, that color and luster would flee this throne. He saw that a hundred thousand Arabs, on frenzied camels with broken reins, Crossed the Arvand River, and left no warp or weft standing on this land. In Iran and Babylon there would be no sowing or reaping, and dark smoke would rise to the sphere of Saturn. The fire would die in the fire-temple, and Nowruz and the Sadeh feast would grow dark. From the palace of the world's king the battlements would all crash down into his courtyard. Now the meaning of that dream has appeared: fortune will turn its neck away from us. Everyone who is honored will be scorned, and the base-born will see their fortune rise. Evil will spread through the world, harm out in the open and goodness hidden away. In every land a tyrant will arise, and some vile monster will appear. The signs of the dark night have come; the light is about to fly away. Now, with a guiding counsel, along with all the pure-minded champions, We have set our face toward Khorasan, toward the frontier lords who seek the crown. Let us see what the turning of time will say to this uncertain plan. So now, for the sake of the frontier lord of Tus, we have led our elephants and war-drums this way. Farrokhzad is of one skin with us, and by kinship he is also our friend. He is now at Baltuniyeh, ready for battle, having turned his face toward war with the enemy. Now Kashmagan, son of that warrior, has come to us at this court. He told all that spoke of worthiness, of loyal service, and of duty. We heard all that he said of these frontiers, their heights and lows, their caves and hidden places. The domed fortress on the mountain up to Khormaneh, and the other, Lajvardin, meant for the stores. That heart-piercing man described them in every way, and out of goodwill told all that was in his heart. From this place men went out in every direction, investigating matters front and back. Such a great army as we have cannot settle in these cramped fortresses. We sat down and took counsel; all the champions gathered together. We spoke and debated in every way, and at last we all settled on this. That of crown and throne, of seal and signet, and the robes of Rome, Kashmir, and China, Of every precious thing that came to hand, from Rome and Taif, all that there is, And everything of ours not yet scattered, whether garments or things to be laid aside, Of gold-work and uncut cloth, of anything not fit to be worn, And of foods of every kind of preparation that we may need, Of oxen that draw wagons, forty thousand, brought with great effort so they may be of use, And then twelve thousand kharvars of wheat in the ear, brought in loads, And millet, pistachios, and pomegranate seeds, a knowing priest should bring them, Ten thousand camel-loads of each, let the Bactrian camels carry the burden, And a thousand wagons of salt drawn by oxen, let them bring it, to see how the heavens turn, A thousand of dates and a thousand of sugar, weighed out and reckoned exactly, Twelve thousand of honey and manna, let them carry it all together to the fortresses, Some forty thousand salted, cured hides, let them bring what may be of use, Three hundred camel-loads of the king's gold brocade, let them bring on their burdens over two months, Let a priest come with a company from the seat of Shemiran and from Rabeh Mountain, To meet with the elders and the learned, the great ones among the frontier lords. Within two days let them file the accounts in the fortresses, and give one copy to our treasurer, And let the great ones of that assembly keep another with themselves. Surely on those uplands and high mountains no harm will come from Turk or Arab. In this dire age you will be one great support to us. Our skilled and eloquent minister now gives this order to our treasurer: That whoever does not find this a burden should be sent five Persian robes. And a fine headband figured in gold, they shall receive at the end of this task. In this ruined and gloomy time, each shall receive from our treasurer forty dirhams. By weight, whoever is a subordinate, if he receives one of these dirhams, From that sixty, upon its face, six dangs and four, let him bring what is written and read it aloud. On one side the name of the pure God, from whom comes hope and from whom fear and awe. On the other, its stamp bears our crown and face, the earth made fruitful by our love. It is adorned with Nowruz and Mehr; these are two great feasts, and worthy ones. The greeting of the world to the man who does little harm, to anyone who remembers our crown. A rider of high fortune, a seeker of renown, came bearing the king's letter in his hand.

From there they raised the war drums and marched, from Bost and Nishapur all the way to Tus. Mahuy of Suri got word of the king, that the army had reached the border of Tus. He came out to meet him with a mighty host, all of them lancers clad in armor. When the king's glory and majesty appeared, the great banner and so vast an army, Mahuy quickly dismounted from his horse and heaped humble service upon that lowliness. He walked gently over the hot earth, both eyes brimming with tears from shame. He kissed the ground and bowed low before him, and stayed there a long while. When Farrokhzad saw Mahuy's face and the army drawn up in ranks like that, his heart grew glad at Mahuy of Suri, and he reminded him of much good counsel. He said: I hand you this king of the line of the Kayanids; gird yourself to serve him. Not even a breath of wind should touch him, and he should feel your care upon him. I must go now toward Ray; I do not know when I will see this royal crown again. For like me, many lancers have been ruined on the battlefield by war. There was no rider in the world like Rostam, nor did any wise ear ever hear of one. Yet he was killed by the hand of a crow-headed wretch; on me too such a day of reversal has come. May God give him a place among the good, and give the black crow the pain of the arrowhead. Mahuy said to him: O champion, the king is like light to my eyes and soul. I accept your trust, your heavens, your sovereign. Farrokhzad son of Hormozd, from that place, came toward Ray by the king's command. Some more time passed under the wheel of heaven, and love drained away from the evil-minded man's mind. The shepherd began to crave the throne; he changed for the worse in ways and temper. For a while he pretended his body was sick, and made serving the king a hard, grudging thing.

There was a champion of wide fortune, of the line of Tarkhan and Bizhan by name. His seat was in the city of Samarkand; his ties to that frontier ran deep. When wretched, willful Mahoy grew reckless, a letter went from him to Bizhan. It said: You champion, born unharmed, a war has come your way that will profit you. The king of the world is here with his army, with his crown and throne and diadem. If you come, his head and crown and throne are yours, and so are his treasure and dark royal canopy. When Bizhan looked and read that letter, he saw the willful Mahoy ruling everything before him. He said to his minister: You wisest of men, what comes to mind about this affair? If I lead an army to aid Mahoy, my cause here will be ruined. The king of China will mock me, calling me base and a flatterer. And if I don't, he will say I acted out of fear, that I dread the day of shame and battle. The minister answered him this way: You lionhearted, battle-seeking man, it would be a disgrace for you to leave here, to go to Mahoy's aid and then return. Order Barsam to go with an army to that battlefield to help. If you march to war on the word of Suri, that man of stone will call you frivolous. Bizhan said: This is the plan, then; I need not stir from my place at all. He ordered Barsam to take ten thousand dagger-wielding warrior horsemen, to prepare for war in Merv, so he might seize the treasure of Iran. The army from Bukhara, like a flying pheasant, reached the city of Merv within a week. In the dark night, at the crowing of the cock, the sound of war drums rose from that frontier. The world-ruler knew nothing of this, that Suri, Mahoy's man, wished him harm. At dawn, in the hour of first light, a rider came running toward Khosrow. He said: Mahoy reports that an army has come from the Turks; what does the king now decide? The commander is the Khan and the emperor of China; the earth cannot hold his host. The king grew furious and put on his armor; the whole world went black with dust. When he saw the fighting strength of the Turks, he set his hand and drew his sword from the sheath. He charged into the enemy like an elephant; the ground turned like the river Nile. When he attacked the Turkish army, not one warrior stayed behind at his back. They all turned their backs on their crowned king and abandoned him among the enemy horsemen. When Mahoy turned away, the king of the world understood his hidden treachery. This had been Mahoy's whole plan and scheme: that the king be left alone amid the army. The king of kings grew restless in the fight, striking with sword, with foot and stirrup. He killed many of those famous men; when he grew more helpless, he turned to flee. Many Turks were at his back; in his fist he held a blade of Kabul steel. He raced on, seething, like lightning from a cloud; there was a mill on that gleaming stream. The king of the world dismounted from his steed and hid himself in the mill from his enemy. The horsemen set off in search of him; that whole stream buzzed with talk of him. Left behind was his horse with gold-worked reins, his mace, and his gold-sheathed sword. The Turks clamored to find him, roused to fury by that steed and its gear. Hidden inside the mill house, he sat down on a scrap of dry grass. Such is the way of this house of deceit: its summit is high, and its slope is a steep fall. In the days when his fortune was awake, the heavens raised his throne to the sky. Now a mill was all his lot; his poison far outweighed his honey. Why fix your heart on this house of illusion, where every moment the war drum reaches your ear? A cry goes up: Pack your bags; you will find no throne but the tomb of the grave. Mouth unfed, both eyes full of tears, he stayed until the sun came up. The miller opened the mill door, on his back a load and some grass. Khosrow was a lowly man in name now: no throne, no treasure, no crown, no desire. He made his living from that mill and busied himself with nothing else. He saw a man like a tall cypress, seated on that stone like one in sorrow. A royal crown upon his head, his chest shining with Chinese brocade, on his feet a pair of golden shoes, his sleeves of pearls and gold. Khosrow looked, and the miller stood amazed; in his wonder he called on God's name. He said: You king with a face like the sun, tell me, how did you come to this mill? What place to sit is a mill for you, full of wheat and dust and stalks of grass? What man are you, of such glory, stature, and face? Surely the heavens have seen none like you. The king said: I am one of the Iranians; I fled the army of Turan. Ashamed, the miller said to him: I have no companion but poverty. If barley-broth bread will do for you, or these unworthy greens from the streamside, I will bring whatever else there is; a poor man lives in lament. For three days the king of the world had, since the battle, no table or feast at all. The king said: Bring whatever you have; food will be useful with the sacred twigs. Quickly the humble man set down a wooden tray with greens and barley bread on it. He hurried for the barsam and set off on the road to the place where the wine-house stood. He went straight to the chief of that stream to ask him for barsam twigs. Mahoy had sent men in every direction, searching the world for the king alone. The chief asked that miller: For whom, good man, do you want barsam? Khosrow said: In the mill sits a hero upon the grass. Tall as a slender cypress, in his face the sun with royal grace, two eyebrows like bows and two dark, wounded eyes, his mouth heavy with sighs, his brows drawn tight with pain. He wants to take up the barsam and murmur the prayer; you would be right to marvel at him. I set before him an old wooden tray with barley bread, the best I had. The chief said to him: Run from here and tell all this to Mahoy Suri too. That vile, base-born wretch must not, when he hears this, uncover the man's noble descent. Quickly the chief handed him over to a man and took the world-tried king before Mahoy. Mahoy asked this scheming man: For whom did you want the barsam? Tell the truth. The frightened man answered him: I was only fetching a load. I opened the mill door in anger; know that I saw the sun itself with my eyes. Two eyes like a startled buck's in fear, two eyes like the night's third watch gone by, the mill has become bright from him as if from the sun; his food is dry bread and his seat is grass. Whoever has not seen the divine glory should hear it now from this miller. His crown is full of flawless jewels, his chest ablaze with Chinese brocade. You would say he is a spring in April; no farmer's cypress grows to his height.

When Mahoy looked around the gathering, he realized this could only be Yazdgerd. He said to his men: Hurry, out of this assembly, cut his head from his body right now. Or else I will strike off your own heads, and leave no one alive from your line. The nobles heard these words from him, the wise elders and the brave warriors. The whole assembly filled with rage at him, tongues full of protest and eyes full of tears. There was a priest whose name was Radvi, a man who reined in both his life and his reason. He said to Mahoy: You wicked-minded man, why has the demon darkened your sight? Understand this: kingship and prophethood are two jewels set in a single ring. If you break one of these two, you throw both soul and reason underfoot. Watch what you say, and hold back from this; do not turn faithless toward the Creator of the world. The first harm will fall on you from it; you are like a field left to your own child. Its fruit will be bitterness and its leaves blood; soon you will see your own head brought low. Through you God's faith will be ruined, and crown and throne will curse you. Your ugliness will be laid bare before the world; your son will surely perish, cut down. There was a devout man, a worshipper of God, who never once set his hand to evil. His name was Hormozd Kherrad, and in this faith he found his peace. He said to Mahoy: You tyrannical man, do not turn away like this from the path of pure God. I see your heart and your mind grown dark; I see thorns held in your embrace. Strong of body but empty of brain and weak of soul, you keep begging smoke from a fire. I see greed will bring you the world's reproach: eager to turn away from it, yet melting in torment. Your life now will be wretched, and when you die, your seat will be in the fire. He sat down, and Shahrvi rose to his feet and said to Mahoy: Why this insolence? You have come to make war on the king of kings, and to side with the khan and the emperor of China. Many have found members of this royal line helpless, yet never rushed to kill them. If you are a servant, do not spill the blood of kings, for it will curse you until Judgment Day. He said this and sat down weeping in grief, his heart full of blood and his lashes wet with pale tears. When he had sat down weeping, Mehrnush stood, full of grief, with wailing and outcry. He said to Mahoy: You wicked, base-born man, you know neither the wisdom of consequence nor justice. Even the crocodile shrinks from royal blood; the leopard, seeing them slain, will not tear them. You, worse than a beast in nature and temper, now you crave the king's very throne. When Jamshid was killed at Zahhak's hand, how many turns of the sky passed over his ruin. When Zahhak seized the face of the earth, then Abtin appeared in the world. Feraydun of blessed lineage was born, and the world took on another shape. You have heard what the tyrant Zahhak brought upon his own head in the end. Perhaps a thousand years passed over him, and at last his reckoning came for him. And another: Tur, that proud man, whom greed for Iran drove to trouble. He killed pure-hearted Iraj; and for that the wheel of heaven turned harsh against him. Manuchehr appeared from that same lineage, and became the very key to that evil bond. Third: Siyavash of the royal seed, who girded himself for war against his own wish. At Garsivaz's words, Afrasiyab stripped shame and honor from his soul and mind. The world-ruler Kay Khosrow came from his loins and filled the world with talk of him. He cut his own grandfather in two with his dagger and filled the heads of the vengeful with dread. The fourth tale is the vengeance for Arjasp, who was the spiller of Lohrasp's blood. When Esfandiyar came into that war, vengeance gave him not a moment's delay. The fifth is the vengeance for King Hormozd, when Parviz's power grew strong. To Bandvi and Gostahm he did what he did; this turning wheel never rests from raising dust. When his hand was free, he took their lives; the door of vengeance cannot be treated lightly. Soon this day will come back to your memory, and you will writhe over your worthless scheme. Whatever you sow here, your son will reap; time does not sleep even for an hour. Keep away from this adorned treasure, from this ill-omened crown and these riches. You turn your head to the demon's command, and cut off the path of the world's Lord. Over a thing that does not befit you, do you not see the demon is deceiving you? Do not burn the sapling of your heart in the fire; do not darken this world-lighting crown. Gather the scattered army together, and do not twist your words the way you have been saying. Go from here to the king in penitence; when you see him, offer your service anew. And from there prepare your troops for the fight; do not rest at all from strategy and apology. For you will lose both this world and the next if you will not heed the words of the wise. For a task you should do today, if it slips to tomorrow, they will raise dust over your ruin. You count King Yazdgerd, the king of kings, as worse than a hostile, evil Turk, a lion in battle upon the royal throne, shining like the radiant moon. A keepsake of the Sasanians, whose equal will never gird his waist for war. Father after father, a giver and a lover of knowledge, from Nushinravan the king back to Ardeshir. Ardeshir was his eighth ancestor, and world-ruling Sasan with his justice and glory. God set the crown of kings upon his head; all his royal forebears were of blessed line. There have been many governors in this land like you, yet no one ever formed such a plan. Take Bahram Chubina: three hundred thousand rein-holding, armored horsemen turned their backs at a single arrow of his and abandoned the field of battle to him. When his head grew glutted with royal ambition, the head of his bright fortune was turned down. Faraayin, who sought the throne of greatness, was not worthy to wash the hand of evil. In such a way he was killed, wretched and disgraced. Give up this idle scheme of the times. Fear God, the Creator of the world, who made the throne, the crown, and the signet. Do not rashly disgrace yourself, for these words will soon bring your own end. Anyone who does not speak truthfully to you, know that he is the enemy of your life. You are the sick one now, and we are like physicians, physicians crying out with tears of blood. You are less than the servant of servants; do not scheme in your heart to be a lord. You bear a grudge against pure God, and seek the throne of greatness off the road of reason. The shepherd's son had a heart full of the throne; the priests' counsel weighed hard on him. So it has always been, and this is nothing new: the work of the age keeps to no measure. It raises one man to the high wheel of heaven, and makes another wretched, downcast, and broken. It has neither ties to the one nor a grudge against the other; who has ever known the Creator's secret? All the priests, until the world turned black and the moon took the sun's place in the sky, spoke in this manner with the vengeful man, but not a hair's worth of it reached him. When the dark night came, he said to the priests: You wise men must now depart. Tonight I will discuss this matter with my son, and gather up wisdom of every kind. We will summon twenty of the learned from the army, so that no one need weep over this. The learned men left his presence, and one priest came from among his own troops. When Mahoy sat down with the honest men, he said: What do you see in this affair? If Yazdgerd stays alive, armies will gather to him from every side. This secret of mine has been laid bare to the world; high and low have all heard it. His evil will bring my own life to its end; neither my body nor my land and estate will survive. The wise man answered him thus: This is exactly what you should not have done in the first place. If the king of Iran becomes your enemy, harm will surely reach your body from him. And if you spill his blood with your hand, then his avenger in the world is God himself. Left and right there is only pain, sorrow, and grief; look now to what you must do. The son said: O father of blessed judgment, once you make him an enemy, clear the ground of him. Otherwise armies will come to him from China after China, and the face of the earth will grow narrow for us. Do not think this a small matter; now that you have gained the upper hand, carry out the wish of brave men. If they raise a banner from the fringe of his cause, they will uproot you and your army from your very base.

When the tyrant Mahuy heard the words his son had spoken to him, he told the miller: Get up, take horsemen and spill the enemy's blood. When the miller heard these words, he could see no beginning or end to such a deed. At nightfall in the month of Khordad, he went toward the mill, close to the king. As he left Mahuy's court, his eyes were full of tears, his heart full of blood. Mahuy quickly sent the horsemen, and the miller went swift as smoke behind them. He gave orders about the crown and the earring, the royal seal and the kingly robe: they must not soak them all in blood, but strip the royal garments from his body. The miller went, his eyes brimming, his two cheeks yellow as the sun. He kept saying: O radiant Creator, you are higher than the turning of time. For this shameful order of his, twist his body and soul this very moment. He approached the king, his heart full of shame and fear, his cheeks wet, his mouth dry as dust. He came near the corner, cautiously, like someone whispering a secret in another's ear. He drove a dagger into the king's side, and a moan escaped the king at that wound. His head and crown fell to the dust, with the coarse barley bread still before him. If anyone could find a way out of this world, he would; but reason keeps nothing hidden. These seven turning heavens grow tired of what they nurture, and innocent Yazdegerd is killed. So a crowned king died, and not a single horseman of his army came to his aid. There is no reason in the turning sky's wheel; its pain and its anger are not plain in its love. It is better not to see the world with such eyes, and to hold neither love nor anger for its deeds. Mahuy's ill starred horsemen looked upon that royal tree, now at rest from throne and battlefield; each came and gazed upon his face. They loosened the fastenings of his violet robe, the crown, the collar, and the golden shoes. The body of Iran's king lay cast in the dust, full of blood, his side split by the sword. They rose from the presence of the king of kings and set their tongues to cursing: May Mahuy's body lie just like this, cast bloodied on the face of the earth. They went quickly to Mahuy with the armlet and the untouched jewels. They told Mahuy: That king has passed from rest and from the fight. He ordered that during the night, they throw him from the mill into the water. Two heartless servants moved swiftly and dragged the bloodied body of the king. They did not know the worth of that slain man, and cast him into the treacherous whirlpool. When night turned to day and people appeared, two worthy men arrived at that place. One of those pious mourners came to the bank of the stream. He saw the naked body in the water, was shaken, and came back in haste. He went straight to the monk's house and told those mourners what he had seen: that the king of the age was drowning, naked in the treacherous whirlpool. Many of those mourners set out, bishops and monks, all sorts of people. A cry of grief rose from the monk: O crowned king, O free and noble man, The monk said: No one has seen such a thing, nor has anyone heard of it since before Christ, that a servant should strike down a king, a base born, castoff wretch, raised only so that evil could reach his body. For this, Mahuy deserves nothing but curses. Alas for your head, your crown, your stature; alas for your heart, your knowledge, your wisdom. Alas for the last of Ardashir's line; alas for this young and gallant rider. You had strength, reason, and spirit. Carry this news to Nushinravan: that in a mill, your moon faced one, the world ruler who sought the crown, they split his heart open with a dagger and threw him naked into the water. Four of those mourning bishops stripped and went into that stream. The gashed body of the young king, grandson of the world ruler Nushinravan, they drew up from that pool onto dry land, and young and old wept long over him. They built a tomb in a garden and raised its roof up to the clouds. They sealed the wound of that dagger, with mastic, pitch, camphor, and musk. They adorned him in yellow brocade, fine linen beneath and lapis blue above. Wine, musk, camphor, and much rosewater the bishop spread across his resting place. What did that worthy landowner of Merv say, who laid to rest the height of that noble cypress? That giving, kept hidden, comes from striving; whoever is content leaves this world in peace. He said again: though a man may seem to laugh, know that he is among the grief stricken, for he takes the turning wheel's deceit, which shows him now heights, now depths. He said again: do not call that man wise who serves the body and not the way of the soul. He seeks wealth and a bad name, yet his soul fears an evil end. He said again: if the king has closed his lips, he no longer sees crown or throne or seat, neither seal, nor servant of the court, nor diadem, nor kingdom, nor crown and cap. He said again: for his good words I have no praise that could equal him. He planted a cypress in the garden of paradise; his soul will see the tree that he planted. He said again: God has taken your soul and entrusted your body to these mourners. This was the benefit to your soul; this was the harm to the evildoer's body. Now the king's marketplace is in paradise, while the malicious one's soul makes its way to hell. He said again: O king who welcomes wisdom, who stood with kingship and with Ardashir, you will reap the very thing you sowed in the garden; that royal lamp has shone forth. He said again: O young king, you have slept, but your soul is awake. Your lips are silent, and your soul, with so many griefs, has departed, leaving your body abandoned here. You are idle, but your soul is at work; your evil wishing body bears the fruit of its deeds. The soul speaks though the tongue is bound; the spirit finds rest though your body is broken. If your hand has let go of the rein, your soul will grasp the lance in its grip. He said again: O newly renowned one, you have gone, and your deeds went ahead as your guide. Your throne is in paradise, and that is enough; this land of sorrow is for someone else. He said again: whoever killed one like you will now see harsh days ahead. The bishop said: we are your servants, we who pray for your pure soul, May this tomb be a garden of tulips for you, your shroud a field of joy, your meadow of gladness. They spoke, then lifted the coffin and carried it from the plain to the tomb. The king went unwillingly to that resting place; his toil, his throne, and his crown all came to an end.

So we call it justice from Yazdgird, or we call it spite from these seven wheeling spheres. If a person cannot tell spite from justice, no philosopher has ever given me an answer either. And if a religious man spoke, he spoke with everything sealed shut; the real answer stayed hidden. If you have any wealth at all, my wise friend, put it to good use and don't wait on tomorrow to gladden your heart. For this world keeps passing you by, and time keeps counting every breath we take. Let yourself enjoy your food and drink; if you survive, the one who gives justice will provide. If my income and my spending had only balanced out, time would have been like a brother to me. This year the hail came down like death itself; for me, death would have been kinder than that hail. It cut me off from firewood, wheat, and sheep, this towering, spinning sky. Bring the wine, for little of our days remains; so it has always been, and it stays with no one.

Someone came to Mahuy of Sur and said that the king of the world now lay wed to the dust. The bishop, the priest, and the monks of Rome, all mourned across that land and soil. Young and old went out wailing, and lifted the king's body from that pool of water. They built him a tomb in a garden, tall and grand, rising higher than a hillside. That wretched, cursed Mahuy said: Iran was never kin to Rome before this. He sent orders that everyone who built that tomb, and everyone who grieved over that work, should be killed, and he plundered the border. Such was the wish and worth of Mahuy. After that he looked around the world and saw no one left from the line of the great. The crown and the king's royal ring were with him, so the shepherd's son craved the throne. He called all his confidants before him and spoke out every thought that filled his heart. He said to his minister: O worldly man, the day of shame and battle has arrived. I have neither treasure nor name nor noble blood; I am about to throw my own head to the wind. Yezdgerd's name is on the signet ring; they will not submit to me by the sword. All the city of Iran was his servant, whether his own kin or scattered strangers. No wise man will call me king, and the army will not settle under my seal. I had another secret path; why did I ever spill the blood of the world's king? All night my heart bled with worry; God knows what I was and how I felt. His counselor said to him: Now it is over; the world is loud with news of this deed. Now you must look again to your own affairs, for you have snapped the thread of your own life. He is in the tomb now, gone to dust; his soul has been made poison and antidote both. Gather all the men who have seen the world, and sharpen your tongue with sweet words. Say this: the king himself gave me this crown and ring, so that I might rule as chief. When he knew the Turkish army was coming, as the night grew darker the king summoned me. He told me: when the wind of war rises, who in the world can say who will be victor? Keep this crown and ring safe; there may come a day of vengeance when your crown proves useful. I have nothing else in the world but this, and this must stay hidden from the Arabs. From now on do not surrender my throne to the enemy; by this same token, guard my path. I hold this crown as inheritance from the king; by his command I take my seat on the throne. With this trick, put a shine on my evil deed; who can tell whether this is truth or lie? When Mahuy heard this he said: Well done; you are my minister, and none stands above you. He called all the chiefs of the army together and spoke to them at length in this fashion. The army knew this was not true; his insolence deserved that his head be cut off. One champion said: this is your own concern, whether the story is true or false. When he heard this he sat on the royal throne; by trickery Khorasan fell into his hands. He parceled out the face of the earth among the great, saying: I am the one who holds the king's seal. He seized the whole world by handing it out; the stars looked on in astonishment, how strange! He gave Balkh and Herat to his eldest son, and sent an army to every quarter. He raised up all the ill-minded men, just as suited his own base nature. He set the wicked as commanders everywhere, and cast the wise down headlong. Once honesty was brought low, corruption showed itself on every side. When his army and his wealth grew large, this soulless man's heart was decked with pride. He handed money to the troops and enriched them, and swelled the head of his own clan with vanity. The commander went to Amuy as vanguard, with an army of fresh, battle-ready fighters. As scout at the head of the army marched a worldly-wise man named Gareston. They set their faces toward the city of Bukhara, with a war-hungry army thus prepared. He told him: with this seal and crown we must seize Samarkand and Chach. By the command of Yezdgerd, king of the world, who was the chief over these seven regions, I will demand vengeance from Bizhan with the sword, for through him the fortune of Iran went dark.

Word reached Bizhan at last: Mahuy had seized the royal throne. He had sent his seal and signet in every direction, bringing the land under his rule. Now he had turned toward the Jayhun, spoiling for battle with a warrior army. Bizhan asked who had handed him the crown, and the messenger explained the whole affair. Barsam said to him: O king, when I led so many horsemen out of Chach, and brought so much baggage from Merv, Yazdgerd was left utterly alone. You had been promised his golden throne and his jewel-studded armlet, and I would send his treasure and crown to Chach; the ivory throne of the world was to be yours. In Merv I fought three days, and on the fourth, when the world-lighting sun rose, with a heavy heart I fought hard, and cruel Mahuy turned and fled. Then Mahuy brought the treasure of his own master, easily gained, and laid it before them. Once a worthless coward is stuffed with riches, he acts as though he had never even met you. The army stayed two months in Merv, and he never once looked kindly upon us. In secret he killed his master, a king so great in the world, a horseman who, they said, in the midst of the army raised his head above the wheeling moon. None of the Turks dared face his mace; the hearts of famous warriors split with fear of him. When that king was slain, Mahuy took the crown and behaved with such wickedness. The scout keeps warning: the army is coming; they must not cut off our path. When a warlike enemy reaches your very pillow, you must not lie at rest with your troops. May no such flower ever grow in the garden of kings; and if it grows, let no one recall that garden. When Bizhan heard this, he gathered his army, the Turkish riders fit for the day of battle. He came rushing from Qajqar Bashi, wasting no time at all along the way. When he neared the city of Bukhara, his forces spread across the whole plain of Nakhshab. He told his companions: now do not hurry until he reaches this side of the water. Let him bring his army against us in battle, so we may avenge the king's blood upon him. Then he asked whether any child of the noble king remained who could be of use, for the world-ruling king had a brother; and if he had no son, surely he had a daughter, so that we might bring him forth and support him, and give him victory over Mahuy. Barsam said to him: O king, the days of this royal line have come to their end. The Arabs now hold sway over those cities; neither king nor worshipper of God remains. When Bizhan heard this, he moved his army and, in grief at the state of the world, put his hand to his head. The scout came saying: the enemy army has arrived, making its battlefield at Paykand. An army so vast crossed the water by boat that the sun was lost behind their dust. Commander Bizhan came to the front of his army to array the battlefield. When Mahuy Suri saw the army, it was as though his soul flew from his body. So many coats of mail, helmets, and golden shields, so many spears, maces, and Chach-made axes, that he grew sick with dread and drew up his ranks; the air turned indigo, the ground vanished from sight.

Once Bijan had set his whole army in order, he laid an ambush against the Iranians' foe. Mahuy understood, and from the center of the field he charged out roaring through the middle of the ranks. Bijan watched and saw his banner, and knew that Mahuy meant to slip away and escape. He ordered Barsam to move the troops he commanded aside from the center of the field. So that Mahuy of Sur would not take fright at the battle and flee at once toward the Oxus. Do not let him slip your sharp gaze, he said, for we will deal with him another way. When Barsam of China saw the banner, he drew his men aside from the main army. Mahuy galloped on toward the sands of Farab, his face full of fury, his lips full of curses. Bijan overtook him at the sands of Farab, pressed hard in the stirrups and rushed forward. When he came level, face to face with Mahuy, he showed his courage and drew his dagger. He seized him by the belt, tore him from the saddle, and threw him easily to the ground. He dismounted, bound Mahuy's hands, flung him down before him, and climbed back into the saddle. At that moment Mahuy's own men arrived, and the whole plain filled with their clamor. They said to Barsam: do not carry this man off, his neck should be struck with the axe here and now. He answered: that is not the way, nor is Bijan unaware of this raid. Just then word reached Bijan that the secret quarry had been caught. The world-seizing Mahuy, deranged of mind, full of malice, godless, a king-slayer. When Bijan heard this he rejoiced; he swelled with pride and was freed of his worry. They pitched a canopy over the soft sand, and Mahuy came on like a hot wind. When the guilty man saw Bijan's face, all reason vanished from his brain. He stood like a body without a soul from terror, and scattered the loose sand over his own head. Bijan said to him: you of vile stock, may no one ever have a servant like you. Why did you kill that just king, the master of victory and the throne? King upon king for generations, himself a sovereign, a memorial to the world from Nushirvan's line. He answered: for one who has done evil, nothing awaits but death and reproach. For this crime, strike off my head now and cast it down before this assembly. He feared that Bijan would flay off his skin and drag his body through blood in vengeance. The brave man read his hidden thought, and for a while he delayed his reply. Then he answered: I will act in such a way as to drive this hatred out of my heart. With this manliness, this wisdom, judgment and temper of yours, you came to desire the crown and throne. He cut off Mahuy's hand with his sword and said: this hand has no equal in wickedness. When he had cut off the hand, he said: cut off his two feet as well, so he stays right here. He ordered his ears and nose cut off and crushed, then mounted his own steed. He commanded: hold this man here on the hot sand until sleep comes over him from his shame. A herald went round the whole army, passing by the door of every tent. Crying: you servants who would slay your lord, do not stir up trouble anywhere without cause. May whoever, like Mahuy, showed no mercy to the king's life, never see the throne, and may he be gone like the wind. Mahuy's three young sons were in the army, and all three had shared his throne and crown. There in that very place a fire was kindled, and the father and all three sons were burned. No one of that seed was left in the world, and whoever saw a survivor drove him off. The great men curse that whole house, their hearts full of rancor for the killing of the king. May curses be upon him and may he never exist, the one who does not rightly send curses on him. Now after this comes the age of Umar; when he brought his faith, the pulpit replaced the throne.

When sixty-five years had passed over me, I only gathered more worry, more pain, more toil. I turned in need to the history of kings, and faced a slow and grudging fate. The great men and the free-hearted scholars all wrote their pieces free of charge. I sat and watched them from a distance, as if I were nothing but their hired hand. All I got from them was a 'well done', and at their 'well done' my heart burst with grief. The old money-bags stayed tied shut, and that bright chain left my heart wounded. Among these famous notables of the city, Ali the Deylami was one who had a share to give. His affairs always ran smoothly, and he was esteemed among the great and bright of soul. Hosayn Qotayb is one of the noble free, who does not expect my words for nothing. From him come my food and clothing, my silver and gold, and from him I gained my movement, my feet, my wings. I know nothing of the roots and branches of taxes; I just roll about comfortably under my quilt. If the king of the world were not tight-fisted, I would have a seat on his throne-side of honor. Now that my years have reached seventy-one, I can bring the very heavens beneath my verse. May the court of Mahmud stay flourishing, may his head be green and his heart be glad. I praise him in such a way that across the world his fame will be spoken of, openly and in secret. It is my task to praise the great, and my praise only adds to his standing. May that wise man live forever, always acting as his heart desires. He has judgment, knowledge, and noble lineage, the lamp of Persia, the sun of Arabia. Now the tale of Yazdgerd is complete, on the day of Ard in the month of Esfand. Four hundred years had passed since the Hejra, in the name of the Lord who rules the world. Now that this book of fame has come to its end, the whole land will be full of my words. After this I will not die, for I am alive, since I have scattered the seed of the word. Everyone who has sense, judgment, and faith will bless my name after I am gone.