When both were set on this bold project Zál,
Whenas the first watch of the night had passed
Thou wouldst have said: “The face of air is darkened!”
And gazing from the eminence Zál saw it
Filled with the fluttering plumes of the Símurgh.
Just then the bird, surveying from the air
And seeing fire ablaze with Zál before it
Set seared and sad, swooped down upon the dust.
Beholding the Símurgh he praised her greatly,
And did obeisance, filling up the censers
With incense in her presence and surcharging
His cheeks with his heart's blood. Said the Símurgh:—
“What was't, O king! that made thee need these
fumes?”
Zál answered: “May the ills that miscreants
Have brought upon me fall upon my foes.
The body of the lion-hearted Rustam
Hath been bewounded, and my care for him
Hath fettered me. In short his injuries
Raise fears about his life; none hath beheld
A man so stricken; thou wouldst say withal
That Rakhsh is dying, he is writhing so
With anguish from the shafts. Asfandiyár
Hath come against our land and knocketh only
Upon the door of war. He asketh not
For land or crown or throne, but he would have
The tree yield root and fruit!”
“O paladin! be not distressed hereat,
But let me presently see Rakhsh and him,
The exalted chief who meteth out the world.”
Then Zál sent one to Rustam with these words:—
“Make shift, I prithee, to bestir thyself,
And give, moreover, orders that they bring
Rakhsh instantly to the Símurgh.”
When Rustam
Came to the height to that sagacious bird
She said: “O mighty, raging Elephant!
By hand of whom hast thou grown thus distressed?
Why didst thou seek to fight Asfandiyár?
Why kindle thine own breast?”
Zál said to her:—
“O queen of love! since thou hast shown to us
Thy holy face, say where shall I take refuge
If Rustam be not healed? They will lay waste
Sístán, will turn it to a lair for leopards
And lions, and our race will be uprooted.
Now in what manner shall we deal with Rustam?”
The bird surveyed and sought to heal the wounds,
Sucked them and, drawing forth eight arrow-heads,
Stroked with her feathers on the wounded parts,
And Rustam was restored to might and Grace.
She said: “Bind up thy hurts and for a week
Shun danger, moisten one of these my feathers
With milk and stroke therewith inside the wounds.”
She in like manner having called for Rakhsh
Employed her beak on him to make him whole,
And drew out from his neck six arrow-heads—
All that there were. Rakhsh neighed. The crown-
bestower
Laughed for delight.
Said the Símurgh, “thou art most famed of folk.
Why didst thou seek to fight Asfandiyár,
The brazen-bodied and illustrious?”
He made reply: “He talked of binding me,
Else I had not been vexed, but I prefer
Death to disgrace if in my present straits
I shun the fight.”
She said: “'Tis no disgrace
To stoop to dust before Asfandiyár,
Because he is a warrior and a prince,
A holy man who hath the Grace of God.
If thou wilt make a covenant with me,
Be penitent for having sought the fight,
And seek not triumph o'er Asfandiyár,
The work of war or moment of revenge,
But make submission to him on the morrow,
And proffer soul and body for his ransom,
Then if his time be coming to an end
No doubt he will regard not thine excuses.
For such an issue I will furnish thee,
And sunward raise thy head.”
When Rustam heard
He joyed and put away all thought of strife;
He said: “I will not disobey thy words
Although the air rain swords upon my head.”
Said the Símurgh to him: “I will declare
In love to thee the secret of the sky:
Whoe'er shall shed that hero's blood will be
Himself pursued by fortune. Furthermore
Throughout his life he will abide in travail,
Find no escape therefrom, and lose his treasures,
Be luckless in this world and afterward
In pain and anguish. If thou art content
With this, and present triumph o'er thy foe,
“Go and mount Rakhsh,” she said, “and choose a
dagger,
A bright one.”
When he heard he girt his loins
And, mounting, fared until he reached the sea,*
And saw the air all dark with the Símurgh.
When Rustam had arrived beside the waters
That noble bird descended, and he saw,
Sprung from the soil and with its head in air,
A tamarisk, and on it perched that fowl
Imperious. She showed him a dry path,
The scent of musk exhaling from her breath,
Then bidding him come near to her she stroked
The feathers of her wing upon his head.
“Choose out the straightest, longest, slenderest bough,”
She said to him, “because this tamarisk
Is fatal to Asfandiyár; so hold not
This wood of small account. Let it be straightened
Before the fire, choose good, old arrow-heads,
And fit it with three feathers and two points.
Now have I shown thee how to work him woe.”
When Rustam had cut off the branch he went
Back from the sea toward his hall and hold
With the Símurgh still acting as his guide,
Then the Símurgh,
Embracing Zál as woof embraceth warp
In bidding him farewell, took flight content,
While Rustam, when he saw her in the air,
Took order to prepare a goodly fire,
And straightened out thereby the tamarisk wood.
He fitted arrow-heads upon the shaft,
And fixed the feathers to the finished haft.