Persian Literature, Ancient and Modern

by Elizabeth A. Reed

Then Isfendiyār arranged with his brother to lead the rest of the troops to the attack as soon as he saw signal fires upon the summit, and set out with his caravan of merchandise for the fortress. He was received as a Persian merchant bringing valuable goods, and the avaricious demons exulted in the thought that a rich caravan had unsuspiciously fallen into their very hands. Isfendiyār carried rich presents to the king, and besought permission to sell Persian goods to his subjects. The liberality of the newcomer won the heart of the king, and the rich Persian wines that he brought proved especially attractive. Soon the king and his court, and also his leading warriors, were helpless under its influence. Then the signal fires were lighted, and the warriors were released from the chests, while the brazen gates were opened to admit the invaders. Soon the Persian banner floated from the walls, for the demon king and his leading warriors were slain, and the sisters of Isfendiyār were rejoicing in the arms of their brother. The conqueror issued a proclamation offering pardon to all who would swear allegiance to the Persian king, then with his camels laden with the richest treasures of Arjasp he returned in triumph to his native city. The royal banners were flung to the breeze when the prince returned with his recovered sisters and heavy spoils. A great banquet was given, and the wine flowed freely. Isfendiyār was placed in a golden chair to receive the adulations of the multitude, while he gave them the thrilling story of his great Heft-khān and the capture of the demon fortress.

THE CONFLICT WITH RUSTEM.

Partially crazed by prosperity, and also instigated by jealousy against his own son, Gushtāsp demanded of Isfendiyār that he should lead a campaign against the provinces over which Rustem reigned, and either slay that chieftain or bring him in irons to the Persian king. In vain the son pleaded the loyalty and nobility of the warrior, the father answered that by the foolishness of his predecessor nearly half of Persia had been given into Rustem’s hands, and he demanded a restitution of the territory, and the captivity of their ruler. “Take with thee,” said the king, “my whole army and all my treasure. What wouldst thou have more? He who has conquered the terrific obstacles of the Heft-khān, and has slain Arjasp, and subdued his kingdom, can have no cause to fear any other chief.” Isfendiyār replied that he was not prompted to decline the campaign from cowardice, but that Rustem had been the monitor and friend of their ancestors, enriched their minds and taught them to be brave, and he was ever faithful to their cause. “Besides,” said he, “thou wert the honored guest of Rustem two long years; and at Sistan enjoyed his hospitality and friendship—his festive social board; and canst thou now, forgetting that delightful intercourse, become his bitterest foe?”

Gushtāsp replied: “’Tis true he may have served my ancestors, but what is that to me? His spirit is proud, and he refused to yield me needful aid when danger pressed; that is enough, and thou canst not divert me from my settled purpose.” Kitabūn, the mother of Isfendiyār, begged him to disobey the king rather than to undertake so dangerous and dishonorable a campaign. She claimed that curses must fall upon the throne, and ruin seize the country which returned evil for good and spurned its benefactor, and pleaded with him to restrain his steps, and engage not in a war which could do him no honor.

But Isfendiyār replied that his word was pledged to his royal father, and taking a tender leave of his mother and bidding the king a formal farewell, he placed himself at the head of the Persian host, and set out upon the campaign in which he had so little heart. When he arrived in Rustem’s province, that chieftain rode out to welcome him, and cordially invited him to accept their hospitality. Isfendiyār was obliged to refuse the kindly offer and explain the unpleasant nature of his mission, whereupon Rustem promptly declined to be bound and carried in fetters to the Persian king. In order to save unnecessary bloodshed, it was decided to settle the matter by single combat, and the next morning Rustem rode out to meet his unwilling foe, and both were clad in shining mail.

Rustem sat upon[upon] Rakush, while Isfendiyār rode a night-black charger, swift as the driving cloud, and in his stride he scattered the desert stones as if a hail-storm reveled around his master’s head. The chieftains closed in the long and useless fight, while many javelins whizzed upon the air, and helm and mail were bruised. Spear fractured spear, and then with gleaming swords the strife went on until they too snapped short. The battle-ax was next wielded in furious wrath; each bending forward struck the bewildering blows—each tried in vain to hurl the other from his fiery horse. Wearied at length, they stood apart to breathe, their chargers covered with foam and blood, and the strong armor of steed and rider both were rent. So severely was Rakush wounded that Rustem dismounted and impelled his arrows from the ground, while the gallant horse pursued his way painfully homeward.

When Zūara saw the noble animal riderless crossing the plain he gasped for breath, and in an agony of grief he hastened to the fatal spot, where he found his gallant brother fighting still, even while the blood was flowing copiously from every wound. Isfendiyār had escaped with fewer wounds, and Zūara placed Rustem upon his own steed and offered himself as a substitute; but Rustem refused, saying that to-morrow he would continue the fight.

Isfendiyār retired sadly to his tent and wrote a letter to his father, saying: “Thy commands must be obeyed, and Heaven only knows what may befall to-morrow.” When Rustem arrived at his court Zāl discovered that he, as well as his gallant steed, was terribly wounded. The old chieftain carefully dressed the wounds of his son, and Rustem said to his father: “I never met with any foe, be he warrior or demon, with such amazing strength and bravery as this. He seems to have a brazen body, for my arrows, which I can drive through an anvil, cannot penetrate his chest. If I had applied the strength which I have exerted to a mountain it would have been moved from its base, but he sat firmly in his saddle and scorned my efforts.”

“Let us not despair,” replied the father. “Did not the Sīmūrgh promise her assistance in the time of greatest need.” So saying, Zāl took the precious feather, which had been only slightly burned before, and going out upon the cliff he burned it in a censer. The darkness grew deeper for a moment, and then there was the rush of mighty wings, as the mountain bird circled slowly down out of the darkness and stood in her rich and massive beauty beside her foster child, now an old and retired warrior. Zāl’s eye lighted up with hope and love as he gently laid his hand upon her golden plumage and told her of his sad affliction.

The faithful Rakush stood near by with drooping head and bleeding form, and he first caught the eye of the loving mother-bird. Going to him she pulled out the cruel arrows with her beak, and gently passed the feathers of her wing over the wounds; they quickly healed, and the old war horse raised his gallant head and stamped his feet impatiently as if he longed again to hear the trumpet call to battle. The Sīmūrgh then went to Rustem and soothed him with the gentle caresses of her head and beak, and drawing forth the hidden darts from his body she sucked the poisoned blood from out the gaping wounds, and then they closed and healed; so the champion was soon restored to life and strength. Being thus invigorated under her magic care, he sought her aid in the battle of the coming day. But the bird replied: “There never appeared a more brave and perfect hero than Isfendiyār, for in his Heft-khān he succeeded in killing a Sīmūrgh, and the further thou art removed from his invincible arrow the greater will be thy safety.”