So Rustem, stifling his tears, promised that Sohrab’s every wish should be fulfilled. And he said:
“O my glorious son! Never shalt thou be forgotten. For behold! I will build thee a stately tomb, with a tall pillar rising unto the skies. And so imposing shall it be that all men shall see it from afar, and point to it as Valiant Sohrab’s tomb. Yea, and all thy brave deeds shall be recorded there, cut so deep in the marble that not even Time shall be able to erase them. So shalt thou live forever, thy glory rivalling that of all the heroes of Iran. For, generous hast thou been, as well as mighty and valiant!”
Now hearing these wonderful words, Sohrab smiled radiantly upon his father, caressing his mighty hand. Then sinking back into his arms, he murmured:
“Ah, the world is so beautiful! So beautiful! And I am young to die. Nevertheless, I am content. For, O my father! that was a glorious fight.... And I am not ashamed. Only, my poor young mother!”
So, with his mother’s name upon his lips, Brave Sohrab sighed gently, his head drooped, and then, white and motionless, the fair young body lay forever quiet in his father’s arms. But behold, the smile upon his lips still spake of content, for it said that the beautiful spirit had soared once more unto the sunny Gardens of the Blessed.
But alas! In departing, Sohrab took all the sunshine of the world with him. For now night came down, heavy and dark, upon the plain, and a chill fog rose up from the rushing river. By and by, however, the moon came out, shining solitary through the mist, and its rays fell softly upon Sohrab, lying with radiant, upturned face, so still upon the sand. But alas! The Queen of the Night could not lighten the dark figure that—with horseman’s cloak drawn low over bowed head—sat silent and immovable by the side of the sleeping youth. Nay; not even Rakush could rouse his master now, though he caressed and whinnied and coaxed for long hours.
Alas! so it was that the warriors, sent out by the two great chiefs, found the morning’s gay champions. But so great was their awe that none dared draw near to question. So, silently they rode back, and gave the news unto their leaders. But not even the Shah dared disturb the Great Pehliva in his grief, when it was learned that Rustem had slain his son. In the morning, however, the gentle hands of many brave warriors lifted the sleeping Sohrab and bare him in a litter, sorrowfully unto the Persian camp, amid such wailing as the earth ne’er heard before. For the mighty hosts of both great armies mourned for the brave young Hero gone.
Yea, and after this, Rustem, having built a great fire, flung into it his tent of emerald and his trappings of Roum, his saddle and his leopard-skin, his armor well tried in battle, and all the appurtenances of his throne. Now thus was the pride of the mighty warrior laid low. Yea; and without regret saw he his heart’s treasures burn, for his soul was sick of war. And he cried:
“O Sohrab! Sohrab! Not even for thee will I fight more. For what availeth glory unto me now?”
And having thus sacrificed his pride, behold, Rustem commanded that Sohrab be swathed in rich brocades of gold, worthy his fair young body; and when they had thus enfolded him, he made ready his army to return unto Seistan. But for one night, Brave Sohrab lay in state, watched over by his own gallant chiefs, who had feasted with him so merrily in his tent, and who now, alas, mourned for him with a bitterness that filled the night with woe.