When one week passed, and still Bízhan returned not,
Gurgín began to search on every side
In haste and bathed his face in tears of blood.
Repenting of his ill intents he sought
The place wherein Bízhan had gone astray,

Went all about the forest but saw no one,
And heard not e'en a twitter from the birds.
He sought too in the mead, and all at once
Spied in the distance on the river-bank,
With bridle broken and with saddle dragging,
With hanging lip and in an angry mood,
His comrade's steed, and knew: “Bízhan is sped!
He will not live to come back to Írán.
By gibbet or by prison or by bonds
Ill hath befallen him from Afrásiyáb.”
Repentant and perplexed he flung his lasso,*

And turning led Bízhan's steed from the meadow
Back to his tent where he abode one day,
Then, sleepless and unresting, sought Írán.
The Sháh, on hearing that Gurgín had come
Without Bízhan, would fain have been the first
To question him, so told not Gív, yet Gív
Heard of his brave son's loss, rushed to the street,
Pierced to the heart with anguish and with cheeks
All tears, and cried: “Bízhan returneth not!
I wis not why he stayeth in Irmán.”
Then, vengeful as a crocodile at heart,
He gave command to put the poplar saddle
Upon Kishwád's own bay, which he was wont
To hold reserved against the day of need,
And, having mounted, parted like a blast

To meet Gurgín and ask him where Bízhan
Was, and about the case. “Good sooth!” he thought,
“Gurgín hath done him mischief secretly.
I will behead Gurgín or see my son.”
Gurgín on catching sight of Gív dismounted,
Ran up to him and, wallowing in the dust
With head uncovered and torn cheeks, exclaimed:—
“O thou that art the chosen of the host,
Chief of Írán and captain of the Sháh!
Why hast thou come to meet me on my way?
Why hast thou come thus weeping tears of blood?
I shall not wish to live if aught more wretched
Shall now betide me. All ashamed am I
To look thee in the face; I too am pouring
The hot blood from mine eyes, but be not troubled
About his life. No harm hath come to him
As I will prove to thee.”

Gív, when he saw

His son's horse and Gurgín, all dust and dazed
Like one bemused, thus leading it, and when
He heard those words, fell from his steed and swooned.
His head was hidden by the dust. He rent
The raiment that he wore as paladin,
Plucked out his hair, and with a cry of anguish
Poured dust upon his head.

“O Thou,” he said,

“Who art the Almighty Master of the sky,
And hast endowed my heart with sense and love!
I hold it good, now that my son is lost,
That thou shouldst snap my cord of life and take
My spirit to the mansions of the blest:
Thou knowest best the anguish of my heart.
I had no son but him to soothe my griefs
Or aid me; now ill hap hath severed us,
And I am left thus in the Dragon's maw!”
He asked Gurgín again: “How went it all?

Hath fate filled up his place or did he will
To quit thy sight? What ill befell him? Speak!
Who flung at him the meshes of the sky?
What dív encountered him upon the mead?
Who murdered him and ruined everything?
How didst thou find this charger riderless?
Where didst thou quit Bízhan?”

Gurgín replied:—

“Compose thyself and listen. In respect
To fighting with the wild boars in the wood,
Know, O thou paladin! and understand,
And be for aye the lustre of the throne,
We went to fight the boars and reached Irmán.
We saw a wood converted to a waste,
With trees cut down and trampled pasturage.
It was a haunt of boars, the people melted
Because of them! We raised our spears in fight,
And made a mighty shouting in the wood;
Wild boars came charging like so many mountains,
Not one by one but everywhere in herds.
We battled like two lions, and day failed
Before our hearts were satiate of strife.
We threw their elephantine carcases
In heaps and prized their teeth out. Thence we set
Our faces toward Írán and merrily
Went after game. An onager was started,
And none will see a goodlier sight. Its coat
Was like Gulgún's, the charger of Gúdarz;
Its face was like Farhád's grey Shabáhang,
With limbs like the Símurgh's, and hoofs like steel.
'Twas like Bízhan's Shabrang in head and ear
And tail, its neck was lion-like, its speed
Like wind. Thou wouldst have said: ‘Its sire is
Rakhsh.’

Like some tall elephant it charged Bízhan,
Who flung his lasso o'er its head. To fling
Was one with to be borne away! Off rushed
The onager! Bízhan sped after it,
And through the beast's pace and the horseman's
dust
A reek arose, the earth heaved like the sea,
The lassoer and onager both vanished.
My steed was weary, so I ran o'er hill
And plain, but found no traces of Bízhan,
Except this steed whose saddle dragged behind.
My heart burned at his plight: ‘How will he fare
In his contention with the onager?’
I tarried long upon the pasture, searching
On all sides for him, and have come back hopeless,
For that fierce onager was the White Dív!”
Shrewd Gív, on hearing, deemed: “Bízhan is sped!”
He marked Gurgín's confused account, those eyes
That could not look him in the face, those cheeks
Grown wan with terror of the Sháh, that body
A-tremble, and that conscience-stricken heart,
And ascertaining that his son was lost,
And that the whole account was fraudulent,
Was moved by Áhriman to lay Gurgín
Dead on the road in vengeance for Bízhan,
The well-beloved, although disgrace might follow.
Albeit on reflection he perceived
That this would leave the matter dark, and said:—
“What shall I gain by slaying him save pleasing
Malignant Áhriman? How will it aid
Bízhan to slay Gurgín? We must employ
Another means; revenge is no great task;
He is no wall to stop my lance's point;
So let us tarry till his guilt is clear
Before the Sháh.”

He cried out at Gurgín:—

“Thou wicked and injurious Áhriman!
Thou hast deprived me of my Sun and Moon—
The choicest of the horsemen and my Sháh—
And set me searching all the world for aid.
Where through thy practice, guile, and lies shall I
Henceforward find contentment, rest, and sleep?
I will not suffer thee to go at large
Until I have an audience with the Sháh;
Then with my poniard will I wreak on thee
Revenge for him who was mine Eye to me.”