English
Rustam's Prophecy at Qadisiya
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.