§ 23 How the Íránians suffered in a Snowstorm

Thereafter tidings reached Afrásiyáb:—
“The marches of Túrán are like a sea:
A host hath reached the Kása rúd, and earth
Is blackened in revenge for Siyáwush.”
The king said to Pírán: “Khusrau hath made
His object clear; perchance we may prevent him
By marching forth with flags and drums in force;
If not the army from Írán will come,
And we shall see not shining sun or moon.
Go gather troops together from all quarters;
Few words are needed.”

On the Íránian side

A tempest rose and none took thought of fight;
A dense cloud came like flying dust, their lips
Congealed with cold, the tents and camp-enclosures
Were turned to ice, snow carpeted the mountains,
And for a sennight's space earth disappeared.
There was but little food or rest or sleep:
Thou wouldst have said: “Earth's face is turned to
stone.”
They slew and ate their horses. Multitudes
Of men and cattle perished. None at last
Possessed a charger. When the eighth day came
The sun prevailed, the earth was like a sea,
The troops were mustered, and Tús spake of fight;

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He said: “The host hath suffered greatly here;
'Tis well that we proceed upon our march.
Cursed be these fields and fells, all from Kalát
And Mount Sapad down to the Kása rúd!”
Then from the warrior-throng thus spake Bahrám:—
“I needs must tell the general my mind
Concerning this. Thou makest us keep silence!
Thou fightest with the son of Siyáwush!
I told thee: ‘Do not so: it is not right.’
See what a loss hath followed and what ill
May yet confront thee, for the buffalo
Is still within its hide!”

“Ázargashasp

Is not more famed than was Zarásp the brave,”
Said Tús, “nor was Farúd slain innocent.
'Twas written thus, and what hath been hath been.
Look through the host and see whom thou canst find
In courage and in aspect like Rívníz,
Through whom my cup was filled with wine and milk.
His form was youthful but his words were sage.
Now let us speak no further of the past,
Or whether he was justly slain or not;
And since Gív took a present from the Sháh
That he might set that mass of faggots blazing,
Which now is in the way, 'tis time to do it,
And light up heaven with the conflagration;
Thus we may gain a passage for the troops.”
Gív said to him: “This will not be a toil,
Or, if it be, a toil not unrequited.”
Bízhan was grieved: “I cannot give,” he said,
“Consent to this. Thou rearedst me in stress
And hardihood, without a chiding word:

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It must not be that I a youth sit still,
While thou an old man girdest up thy loins.”
Gív said: “My son! I took this enterprise
Upon my shoulders; 'tis the time for arms,
Not for indulgence and decrepitude.
Be not in dudgeon at my going, I
Can burn a flinty mountain with my breath.”
He passed the Kása rúd albeit with stress,
The world for warp and woof had ice and snow,
And when he reached the barricade of faggots
Its length and breadth were more than he could tell;
He used a javelin-point to kindle fire,
Threw it upon the mass and burned the pile.
For three weeks conflagration, wind, and smoke
Allowed no passage through the burning mass,
But when the fourth week came the army went
Across the river for the fire was spent.