Dárá, when he had read that answer, mused
In wonder at the process of the world.
At last he said: “'Tis worse than to be slain
For me to gird myself before the Rúman.
A grave is better for me than disgrace,
For, as a wise man said in this regard:—
‘When any river riseth in its pride
A drop of rain is viewless in the tide.’
I used to succour every one in war,
But, since disaster hath befallen me,
I see not any helper in the world,
And I have none to cry to, saving God.”
As there was no one far or near to help
He wrote to Fúr a humble, flattering letter
In deep distress and, having first of all
Praised God, said: “Ruler of the men of Hind,
Thou man of wisdom, rede, and ardent soul!
Thou surely must have heard of my misfortune:
Sikandar hath led forth a host from Rúm;
No crops or settlements or kin or children,
Or crown or throne or royal diadem,
Or treasury or host are left to us.
Now if thou wilt help me to keep away
Destruction from myself I will dispatch
So many gems to thee out of my treasures
That never shalt thou need to toil for more.
Moreover thou shalt be renowned on earth,
And held in honour by the great.”

He sent

Like wind a cameleer who came to Fúr,
The scion of the race of Fúrs.

Sikandar,

On hearing what Dárá, son of Dáráb,
Had done, bade blow the trumpet. There arose
The din of kettledrum and Indian bell.
Sikandar from Istakhr led forth such powers
That Sol was lost in heaven. Dárá too marched

For his part, and his Grace renewed the world.
The war-cry rose from both sides and the troops
Had little rest. Sikandar ranged his host,
The air grew dark, earth viewless. When Dárá
Led forth his troops—no army bent on strife,
But broken-hearted and grown sick of war—
The fortune of the Íránians drooped its head.
They closed not with the Rúmans hand to hand;
They were the fox, the Rúmans were the lion,
And all the chiefs asked quarter, having come
Down from their pride to deep humility.
Dárá saw, turned away, and fled lamenting.
With him there went three hundred cavaliers—
The noblest of Írán. He had withal
Two ministers of high degree, who used
To comrade him in fight. The name of one—
An archimage—was Máhiyár, the other
Was called Jánúsiyár. These twain, on seeing
Their efforts fruitless and the star erewhile
So lofty, and the glory, of Dárá
Thus set, held talk and said: “This luckless man
Henceforth will see not crown and throne again;
We needs must poniard him upon the breast,
Or smite his head with Indian sword. Sikandar
Will give to us a province. We shall be
A crown upon the kingdom.”

Both of them,

One minister, the other treasurer,
Went with the Sháh; Jánúsiyár, the chief,
Upon the left hand, Máhiyár to right.
Night gloomed, a storm arose, Jánúsiyár
Laid hand upon a dagger, stabbed the king
Upon the breast, that famed head reached its fall,
And then the troops deserted, one and all.