They tied their steeds while fate malignantly
Revolved o'erhead, and when dark fate is wroth
Flint rocks become like wax. The two began
To wrestle, holding by their leathern belts.
As for Suhráb thou wouldst have said: “High heaven
Hath hampered him,” while Rustam reaching clutched
That warrior-leopard by the head and neck,
Bent down the body of the gallant youth,
Whose time was come and all whose strength was gone,

And like a lion dashed him to the ground;
Then, knowing that Suhráb would not stay under,
Drew lightly from his waist his trenchant sword
And gashed the bosom of his gallant son.
Whenever thou dost thirst for blood and strain
Therewith thy glittering dagger, destiny
Will be athirst for thy blood, and ordain
Each hair of thine to be a sword for thee.
Suhráb cried: “Ah!” and writhed. Naught recked
he then
Of good or ill. “I am alone to blame,”
He said to Rustam. “Fate gave thee my key.
This hump-backed sky reared me to slay me soon.
Men of my years will mock me since my neck
Hath thus come down to dust. My mother told me
How I should recognise my father. I
Sought him in love and die of my desire.
Alas! my toils are vain, I have not seen him.
Now wert thou fish, or wrapped like night in gloom,
Or quit of earth wast soaring like a star,
My father would avenge me when he seeth
My pillow bricks. Some chief will say to Rustam:—
‘Suhráb was slain and flung aside in scorn
While seeking thee.’”

Then Rustam grew distraught,

The world turned black, his body failed; o'ercome
He sank upon the ground and swooned away;
Till coming to himself he cried in anguish:—
“Where is the proof that thou art Rustam's son?
May his name perish from among the great,
For I am Rustam! Be my name forgotten,
And may the son of Sám sit mourning me!”
He raved, his blood seethed, and with groans he

plucked
His hair up by the roots, while at the sight
Suhráb sank swooning till at length he cried:—
“If thou indeed art Rustam thou hast slain me
In wanton malice, for I made advances,
But naught that I could do would stir thy love.
Undo my breastplate, view my body bare,
Behold thy jewel, see how sires treat sons!
The drums beat at my gate, my mother came
With blood-stained cheeks and stricken to the soul
Because I went. She bound this on mine arm
And said: ‘Preserve this keepsake of thy father's
And mark its virtue.’ It is mighty now,
Now when the strife is over and the son
Is nothing to his sire.”

When Rustam loosed

The mail and saw the gem he rent his clothes,
And cried: “Oh! my brave son, approved by all
And slain by me!”

With dust upon his head

And streaming face he rent his locks until
His blood ran down.

“Nay, this is worse and worse,”

Suhráb said. “Wherefore weep? What will it profit
To slay thyself? What was to be hath been.”
When day declined and Rustam came not back
There went forth twenty trusty warriors
To learn the issue. Both the steeds were standing
Bemoiled with dust, but Rustam was not there.
The nobles, thinking that he had been slain,
Went to Káús in consternation saying:—
“The throne of majesty is void of Rustam!”

A cry went up throughout the host and all
Was in confusion. Then Káús bade sound
The drums and trumpets, Tús came, and the Sháh
Said to the troops: “Dispatch a messenger
That he may find out what Suhráb hath done,
And if there must be mourning through Írán.
None will confront him with brave Rustam dead.
We must attack in force and speedily.”
While clamour raged Suhráb said thus to Rustam:—
“The Turkmans' case is altered since my day
Is done. Use all thine influence that the Sháh
May not attack them. They approached Írán
Through trust in me, and I encouraged them.
How could I tell, O famous paladin!
That I should perish by my father's hand?
Let them depart unscathed, and treat them kindly.
I had a warrior in yonder hold
Caught by my lasso. Him I often asked
To point thee out: mine eyes looked ever for thee.
He told me all but this. His place is void.*

His words o'er-cast my day, and I despaired.
See who he is and let him not be harmed.

I marked in thee the tokens that my mother
Described but trusted not mine eyes. The stars
Decreed that I should perish by thy hand.
I came like lightning and like wind I go.
In heaven I may look on thee with joy.”
Then Rustam choked, his heart was full of fire,
His eyes of tears. He mounted quick as dust
And came with lamentations to the host
In grievous consternation at his deed.
The Íránians catching sight of him fell prostrate
And gave God praise that Rustam had returned,
But when they saw the dust upon his dead,
His clothes and bosom rent, they questioned him:
“What meaneth this? For whom art thou thus
troubled?”
He told the fearful deed, and all began
To mourn aloud with him. His anguish grew.
He told the nobles: “I have lost to-day
All strength and courage. Fight not with Túrán:
I have done harm enough.”

Zawára came

With breast and raiment rent and body wounded,
Whom Rustam told about his slaughtered son,
And added: “I repent me of my deed,
And have unmeasured retribution. I
Have slain my son now when my head is grey.
He is cut off both root and stem, his loins
Are pierced, and heaven will weep for him for ever.”
He sent and told Húmán: “The scimitar

Of war is sheathed and thou commandest now.
Watch o'er thy host. This is no day for fight
Or further words with thee because through malice
Thou didst not speak but sear my life and eyes.”
Then to Zawára said the paladin:—
“Escort Húmán, brave hero! to the river,
Eschewing every act of violence.”
Zawára went forthwith and gave the message,
And he—the warrior that taught Suhráh
The art of war—thus answered: “'Twas Hajír,
That evil-purposed stirrer up of strife,
Who hid the matter of your general,
And when Suhráb sought token of his sire
Spake not but left his mind in ignorance.
The black behaviour of Hajír hath brought
This ill on us. His head should be struck off.”
Zawára came back to inform the hero
About Húmán, the host, of what Hajír,
The evil and malevolent, had done,
And how Suhráb had perished by his means.
The hero was distracted at the words,
The world grew dark before his eyes, he quitted
The battlefield and coming to Hajír
Laid hold upon his throat and threw him down.
Then drawing forth a dagger of bright steel
Was minded to behead him, but the nobles
Took part with him and saved him from death's door.
Then Rustam hurried to his wounded son
With Tús, Gúdarz, and Gustaham, while all
The troops, concerned for Rustam, said to him:—
“God will provide a remedy for this,
And make thy sorrow easy.”

Rustam seized

A dagger to behead himself, but weeping
Their own hearts' blood the chieftains hung on him.

Gúdarz said: “Will it help thee to send up
The world in smoke? Though thou shalt do thyself
A hundred harms, how will it soothe thy darling?
If there remaineth time for him on earth
He will remain; do thou remain with him;
But, if the youth is passing from the world,
Think! Who abideth in the world for ever?
We are the quarry, and death hunteth us
No matter whether we wear casque or crown,
But all are borne out when their end hath come.
And afterward we wot not how they do.
Our tears are needed on our own account.
Who is there, chieftain! free from dread of Death?
However long or short the way may be
We scatter when he joineth company.”