So Wísa, chief of the Túránian troops,
Departed with a noble, vengeful army,
And saw before he overtook Káran
His loved son lying slain, his banner rent,
His kettledrums o'erturned, his shroud of blood
Like tulips, and his face like sandarach;
While warriors and chieftains of Túrán
Were flung in numbers with him on the route.
The sight grieved Wísa so that thou hadst said:—
“His heart is rent by anguish,” while his eyes
Wept scalding tears. He sped to catch Káran.
Thus like a torrent Wísa rushed along
And shed calamity throughout the world.
“He marcheth on in triumph gloriously,”
Such was the news that reached Káran, who sent
His Arab horsemen forward to Nímrúz
And followed them himself—the Sun of earth.
Now when from Párs he reached the waste, a dust-cloud
Appeared upon his left, and from the dust
The sable flag emerged, while from the van
The Turkman chief led on his host. Both armies
Arrayed their ranks; the warriors sought the fray.

Then from the centre Wísa shouted, saying:—
“Gone to the winds are crown and throne of greatness.
All from Kannúj up to Kábulistán,
Ghaznín too, and Zábulistán, are ours:
Our throne is graven on their palaces,
Where wilt thou refuge since the Sháh is taken?”
The other said: “Káran am I, and cast
My blanket on the waters.* Neither fear
Nor any idle rumour sent me forth.
I marched to fight thy son, and having taken
Revenge on him will take it now on thee,
And show thee how brave warriors fight.”

They urged

Their chargers on, the clarions blared, dust rose
To left and right and moon and sky waxed dim.
Men grappled eagerly and showered blood.
Káran and Wísa met once in the mellay,

But Wísa turned away and fled the field
Where many a chief had fallen, yet Káran
Pursued not. Wísa, broken by misfortune,
Appeared before Afrásiyáb in pain
And weeping for his son that had been slain.