Mihráb, much gratified by Zál's attentions,
Returning found Síndukht upon her couch
Pale and distressed; he asked her: “What hath happened?
Speak! Wherefore are thy rosy lips thus faded?”
She said: “I have been musing for a while
About these goodly treasures and this wealth,
These Arab steeds caparisoned, this palace
So noble and its pleasure-grounds, the friends
Who cheer our hearts, these servants of my lord,
Our favour and our stature cypress-tall,
Our fame, our knowledge, and our policy.
In time our pride and glory must abate;
We yield them to the foe; our toil is wind;
A narrow bier is ours at last. We plant
A tree whose antidote is bane to us,
We water it laboriously and hang
Thereon our crown and wealth, but when it mounteth
Sunward and giveth shade its lusty head
Descendeth to the dust. With this before us
I know not where we ever shall find rest.”
Mihráb replied: “Thou tellest an old tale:
It is the fashion of this Wayside Inn.
One is abased, another flourisheth,
One cometh in, another goeth out;
Canst thou see one whom heaven hunteth not?
Fret as we will our woes remain; we cannot
Contend against the All-just Judge.”

She answered:—

“The wise would take a very different view
Of what I said. Now can I hide from thee
A secret such as this and these grave doings?
A blessèd wise archmage once told his child
The parable of the tree which I adopted
In hope my lord would understand the meaning.”
She hung her head and bent her cypress-form,
Her eyes dropped dew upon her rosy cheeks.
“O full of wisdom,” she went on to say,
“The sky must not revolve above us thus.
Know that the son of Sám hath striven to snare
Rúdába and misled her ardent heart.
Now 'tis for us to find a remedy.
I have exhorted her without avail;
Her heart I see is troubled, her face wan.”
Thereat Mihráb sprang up and seized his sword,
His cheek grew livid and his body shook
With rage; his heart was full, he groaned and cried:—
“Her blood shall flow for this.”

Síndukht sprang too,

Clasped him about the waist, and cried: “Now hear
Thy handmaid speak one word, then do what heart
And wisdom counsel thee.”

He shook her off

And bellowed like a maddened elephant:—
“I should have cut her head off at her birth.
I left her grandsire's way and let her live;
Now she hath wrought on me this devilry.
The son who walketh not his father's path
Is but a bastard in a brave man's eyes.
Thus said the leopard grown keen-clawed for strife:

‘I glory in the conflict, and I wis
My sire inherited the taste from his.
Life must be risked when honour is in sight;
Why strivest thou to stay me from the fight?’
If Sám and Minúchihr shall get a handle
Against us smoke will go up from Kábul,
Seedtime and harvest cease throughout the land.”
She said: “O marchlord! do not speak so wildly.
Sám knoweth all: be not so greatly moved.
He left the Kargasárs for this: all know it.”
Mihráb replied: “Fair dame! deceive me not.
Could one imagine wind obeying dust?
I care not I so thou canst keep us scathless.
A better son-in-law than noble Zál
There cannot be as all know, great and small.
Who is there from Ahwáz to Kandahár
That wisheth not to be affined to Sám?”
She said: “Great prince! ne'er may I be enforced
To use deceit with thee; thy harm is mine;
I share thy sorrows. What I said is true
And it was on my mind. I had at first
Myself the same misgiving, which is why
Thou sawst me lying down absorbed in grief;
But if this is to be 'tis not so strange
As to occasion this anxiety.
Sarv of Yaman pleased Farídún; prince Zál
Is not unmindful of that precedent.
By mingling fire with water, air with earth
Earth's dark face is made bright.”

She brought Sám's answer,

And said: “Rejoice! Thou hast thy wish. When strangers
Affine with thee thy foes grow black of face.”
Though vengeful still and greatly moved Mihráb
Gave ear, then bade her: “Rouse and bring Rúdába.”
Síndukht, in terror lest that lion-man
Should lay her daughter dead upon the dust,
Replied: “First promise to restore her to me
Unscathed, and that Kábulistán shall still
Possess this Rosary like Paradise.”
The chieftain promised, but he said: “Now mark!
The Sháh will meditate revenge for this.”
Síndukht did reverence, bending to the ground;
Then with her lips all smiles and face that showed
The dawn beneath the night went to her daughter
With this good news: “The warrior-leopard's claws
Have spared the wilful onager. Now hasten!
Take from thy face thine ornaments and go
Before thy father, weeping bitterly.”
Rúdába answered: “What are ornaments?
What are these worthless trinkets to my wealth?
My soul is wedded to the son of Sám;
Why hide what is so plain?”

Then went she in

Before her father, like a rising sun,
And overwhelmed in gold and jewelry.

Her father called on God in mute amaze.
She was a Paradise adorned and fair,
Like shining Sol in jocund spring. He said:—
“O witless one! would virtuous folk approve
That Áhriman should have a fairy-bride?
May neither crown nor finger-ring be thine.
If but a serpent-charmer from Kahtán
Turned Magian we should slay him with an arrow.”
Whenas Rúdába heard her father's words
Her heart grew full, her face like fenugreek.
She let her dark eyelashes droop and veil
Her melancholy eyes and scarcely breathed,
Her father all the while with furious heart
And full of menace roaring like a pard.
With blood returning to her pallid cheeks
His love-sick daughter went back to her chamber,
Where with her mother who had gained the day
She prayed Almighty God to be their stay.