No room was left for further parleying.
Forth from beneath the shadow of the cypress
Bízhan proceeded hastily afoot
Toward Manízha's tent and entered it,
In favour like a stately cypress-tree,
Girt with a golden girdle round his loins.
Manízha came and clasped him to her breast,
Unloosed the royal girdle from his waist,
Asked of his journey, equipage, and business,
And said: “Who came with thee to fight the boars?
Why trouble with a mace, O comely one,
Who hast a shape like this, such mien and bearing?”
They bathed his feet in musk and pure rose-water,
Then hasted to set meat, they spread the board
With various viands in profuse abundance,
And held high revelry with wine and harp,
Excluding every stranger from the tent.
The handmaids standing in attendance there
Played on the lyre and lute. The ground resembled
The colours of a peacock with brocade
All dappled with dínárs like leopards' backs,
While all the tent-enclosure was adorned
With musk and jewels, ambergris and gold.
Old wine in crystal cups gave to Bízhan
New strength, but, when three days and nights had
passed
In pleasure, sleep and drink prevailed at last.