A dame of honied speech was go-between
And bore the lovers' greetings to and fro.
Zál called this woman, told about his sire,
And said to her: “Go to Rúdába. Say:

‘O Beauty kind and young! when matters come
To grievous straits we quickly find a key
For their enlargement. Now the messenger
Hath come from Sám rejoicing with good news.
Sám hummed and hawed but in the end consented.’”
Zál sent his father's letter by the woman,
Who hurried with the good news to Rúdába.
That fay-faced damsel showered drachms upon her,
Placed her upon a gold-embroidered seat
And for her news gave her a change of raiment;
Then brought an Indian turban woven so finely
That warp and woof were not distinguishable,
With patterns wrought thereon in gold and rubies,
So that the gold was hidden by the gems.
This, and a costly finger-ring to match,
As bright as Jupiter, she sent to Zál,
With many greetings, many messages.
Síndukht observed the woman in the hall
And cried: “Whence art thou? Speak! Dissemble not!
Thou passest in and out from time to time
Without regard to me. I much suspect thee.
Wilt thou not say if thou art string or bow?”
With face like sandarac she kissed the ground
And answered thus: “A needy woman I,
Who have to get my living as I can;
I visit houses of the gentlefolk
Who purchase clothes of me and jewelry.
Rúdába wished to buy rich gems and trinkets;
I brought to her a gold adorned tiara
And hoop of royal gems.”

Síndukht said: “Show them

And quench my wrath.”

“I left them with Rúdába,”

The woman answered, “and am fetching more.”
“Show me the purchase-money,” said Síndukht,
“And set my heart at rest.”

The woman answered:—

“The moon-faced lady told me she would pay
To-morrow. Wait until I have the money.”
Perceiving that she lied Síndukht used force,
Searched up her sleeves and found her knavery.
Síndukht discovering Rúdába's ring
And costly stuffs was very wroth, and catching
The woman by the tresses flung her down

Upon her face, and in a burst of rage
Haled her in shameful plight along the ground,
Then let her fall, and bound and spurned and smote her.
The queen returned in dudgeon to the palace,
O'erwhelmed with disappointment, pain, and grief,
Shut herself in and was as one bemused.
She sent to call her daughter and the while
Kept buffeting her face, and from her eyes—
Those wet narcissi—bathed her burning cheeks;
Then to Rúdába: “O thou noble Moon!
Why choosest thou the ditch and not the throne?
In what respect can I have failed to teach thee
Propriety in public and in private?
My pretty! wherefore hast thou wronged me so?
Tell mother all thy secrets—who despatched
This dame to thee and why. What is all this?
Who is the man for whom this splendid turban
And finger-ring are meant? In that great treasure—
The Arabían crown—much good and ill was left us.
It had a name. Wilt fling it to the winds?
May mother never bear a child like mine!”
Rúdába looked away and hung her head
In overwhelming shame before her mother,
And tears of love descending graced her cheeks.
“O most wise mother!” thus she made reply,
“Love hunteth down my soul, but I had wrought
No good or ill hadst thou not borne me first.
The chieftain of Zábul is at Kábul,
And love of him so fireth me, and things
Have come to such a pass within my heart
That, if in others' presence or alone,
I weep and only live to see his face.
One hair of his is worth the world to me.
Know too that he hath seen and sat beside me,
And that we hand in hand have plighted troth.
We did but see each other—nothing more—
And lo! a fire sprang up betwixt us twain.
A messenger was sent to mighty Sám
And he hath given his valiant son an answer.
Though vexed at first he grew amenable
And gave large presents to the messenger.
By means of her whose hair thou didst pluck out,
And whom thou didst fling down and hale along
Upon the face, I have read all his letter:
This stuff was my reply.”

Síndukht was lost

In wonder, glad that Zál should wed Rúdába,
But said: “This is no trifle. Zál is peerless
Among the chiefs for valour, he is great,
Son of the paladin of paladins,
With all the virtues, and a single fault
Which dwarfeth them—the Sháh will be displeased
And send the dust up sunward from Kábul.
He wisheth not that any of our race
Should e'er mount saddle.”

Then, to make it seem

That she had been mistaken, she released
The woman and made much of her, and said:—
“Act ever thus, discreet and clever dame!
Shut fast thy lips. God grant they never prove
A chink for speech. Now hide this in the dust.”
She saw her daughter's secret bent was such
That she would listen to advice from none,
And laid her down in tears and in chagrin;
Thou wouldst have said that she had burst her skin.