English
The Murder of Yazdegerd
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.