The Mazandaran Campaign (Part 1)

Zal the golden-haired rode at the head, and behind him came the great men with golden belts. When Dastan son of Sam beheld Kay Kavus seated upon the throne, content of heart, he bowed low, hands folded, and went to his place. He spoke: "O lord of the world, most exalted among the mighty — none has sat upon a throne or worn a crown like yours, nor has the turning sky heard of fortune such as yours. May you be victorious and glad for all time, your heart full of wisdom, your mind full of justice."

The king recognized him and welcomed him upon the throne, and asked of the hardships of his long road, of the champions, and of Rostam the proud. Zal answered: "May the victorious king live forever. We are all joyful and radiant in your fortune, our heads held high beneath your throne."

Then Zal opened a tale and laid out the words that needed saying. He said: "O king of the world, worthy of the throne and the crown of greatness — I have heard a grave new rumour. Kings mightier than you have ruled, yet none ever trod this path. Many days have passed over my head; the sky has turned many times above the earth. Manuchehr departed this wide world and left behind him treasure and palaces. After him came Nowzar and Kay Qobad — how many great ones we remember, with their massed armies and heavy maces. That land is the house of sorcerous demons; it is sealed with spells and bound by enchantment. No one can break those bonds. Do not cast your strength and treasure and wealth to the wind. That place cannot be conquered by the sword, nor won by riches or wisdom. No one counts it auspicious to go there. Do not lead your army in that direction — no king ever judged that a fortunate course. If these champions are lesser than you, still they too, like you, were masters of the world. For the sake of ambition, do not plant a tree whose fruit and height are a curse — that was never the way of the kings of old."

Kay Kavus answered: "I do not scorn your counsel, yet my valor and strength and treasure surpass those of Fereydun and Jamshid, of Manuchehr and Kay Qobad — who never even spoke of Mazandaran. My army is greater, my heart bolder, the world lies beneath my sharp sword. When the standard is raised the world opens before it — why should we keep it hidden behind walls of iron? I will bring them one by one into my snare, in the manner of warlike kings. Whether I impose heavy tribute or leave no one standing in Mazandaran — these demons and sorcerers are contemptible in my eyes. You will hear the news yourself: the face of the earth will be emptied of them. You and Rostam — be the guardians of Iran while I am gone. The Creator is my ally; the heads of the mighty demons are my prey. If you will not be my companion in war, then do not delay me upon the throne."

When Zal heard these words he saw no distinction between wisdom and folly in them. He said: "You are the king and we are servants. We speak to you out of devotion. Whether you speak justice or injustice, we must march and breathe at your command. I have emptied my heart of its thoughts; every word I knew I have cast before you. No one can strip death from his own body, nor sew shut the eye of time with a needle, nor through caution alone escape need. The seeker of the world finds no exemption from these three. May the bright world be fortunate for you. May you never have cause to remember my counsel. May you never regret your deeds — may your heart, your faith, your creed remain radiant."

With that, Zal bade the king farewell and departed, his heart full of grief and smoke. He came out from the presence of Kay Kavus, and the sun and moon had gone dark in his eyes.

As soon as Zal the commander departed, the army set its face to the road in haste. The king ordered Tus and Gudarz to lead the host forward. When night became day, the king and his warriors turned toward Mazandaran. He entrusted the land of Iran to Milad, along with the keys to the treasury, the crown, and the royal seal. He told him: "If an enemy appears, you must not draw the sword of vengeance yourself. In every danger take refuge with Zal and Rostam, for they are the backbone of the army and worthy of the throne."

The next day the drums sounded. Gudarz and Tus drove the army onward. Kavus, torch of the host, marched until he pitched camp before Mount Aspruz, at the place where the sun disappears — the haunt of savage demons, a place so fearsome that even elephants trembled there.

Then the king commanded Giv: "Choose two thousand men from the army, every one skilled with the heavy mace, young and old alike. Let none survive — and whatever settlements you find, put them to the torch. Turn night into day wherever you go, until word of it reaches the demons. Empty the world of sorcerers."

Giv went forth and carried out the command. He rained swords and heavy maces upon the city of Mazandaran. Neither women nor children nor men found mercy from his blade. He burned and plundered the city, pouring poison where there had been balm. He found a city like paradise — in every lane more than a thousand servants with torques and earrings, attendants with crowns and faces like the shining moon, treasuries heaped with gold and jewels. "Blessed be the singer who told me of this realm's glories," Kavus declared, and marched after Giv with the rest of his host. For seven days they never ceased plundering, nor could they be sated with the gold and gems they found.

On the eighth day, word of the Iranian plundering reached the King of Mazandaran, and his heart grew heavy with anguish. Among his demons was Sanjeh, and to him the king said: "Go to the White Div, swift as the turning sun upon the sky. Tell him that a mighty army has come from Iran to plunder Mazandaran. They have burned our cities and kindled the fire of vengeance. Kay Kavus leads them, with many eager warriors. If you do not come to our rescue, you will find no one left in Mazandaran."

Sanjeh went swiftly and bore the message. The White Div answered: "Do not lose hope. I will come with a heavy host and cut their foothold from Mazandaran." He spoke, and rose up like a mountain, his head level with the turning sky.

Night fell, and a black cloud spread over the Iranian army. The world became dark as the face of a Zangi — you would have said the world was a sea of pitch with all its light hidden away. A canopy of smoke and darkness was pitched overhead. The sky went black, eyes could see nothing. From the heavens stones and bricks rained down. The army of Iran scattered across the plain, and many took the road back toward Iran, their hearts bitter at what Kavus had brought upon them.

When night passed and day drew near, the world-seeker's eyes had gone dark. Two-thirds of the army had lost their sight. The leaders were full of fury. All their treasure was plundered, the army taken captive. The king — once young upon his throne — had become an old man.

The White Div thundered: "O king, fruitless as a willow — you arrayed yourself in pride, you saw your own strength like a maddened elephant and gave no one else a hand. You could not content yourself with crown and throne, and so deceived your own reason. You took many captives in Mazandaran and slew many with the heavy mace. Had you no knowledge of my power? You grew vain upon the throne of kings. Now you have found what you deserve — your heart has gained the desires it sought."

He chose twelve thousand sword-wielding demons to guard the Iranians, and set them over the captives. He gave them just enough food to survive — enough to drag from one day to the next, for he did not wish them to die, but gloried in their wretchedness. Then he handed all the king's treasure — crown, rubies, turquoise throne — over to Arzhang, the commander of Mazandaran. To the King of Mazandaran he sent word: "Seek no excuse from Ahriman now, for I have done everything that was needed. I have brought the whole flock to the dust. All the champions of Iran's army shall see neither sun nor moon. I did not kill them — so that Kavus may learn the difference between fortune and ruin, and his senses may leave him in misery, and no one else will ever dare attempt such a thing."

The White Div returned to his mountain lair, and Kavus remained in the land he had yearned for, his heart heavy, repeating: "This fault was mine."

After this, the world-seeker — his heart broken — sent out a rider swift as a bird on the wing, dispatching him like smoke toward Zabulistan, to Dastan and Rostam. The message read: "See what fate has brought upon me. My head, crown, and throne have fallen to the dust. That army, that treasure, arrayed like flowers in spring — the turning heavens handed them all to the demons. You would say the wind came and carried everything away. Now my eyes are dimmed, my fortune darkened, my body, crown, and throne overturned. Wounded, in the clutches of Ahriman, my soul is being torn from my body. When I remember your counsel, cold sighs rise from my heart. I did not heed you wisely; through my own lack of sense this calamity has fallen upon me. If you do not gird yourself for this cause, all gain and all capital will be lost."

When the messenger reached Dastan and he heard the news, his skin nearly tore from his body with grief. He hid it from stranger and friend alike, but with his clear mind he had long foreseen from afar the evils that would come.

Zal said to Rostam: "The sword has grown short in its sheath. We can no longer feast and take our ease and groom ourselves for the throne. The king of the world is in the jaws of a dragon, and upon all Iran there falls boundless calamity. Now you must saddle Rakhsh. You shall seek vengeance with your world-conquering sword. Surely it was for this day that I raised you on my knee. You are fit for this task now — my own years exceed two hundred. From this deed you will gain an everlasting name and deliver the king from harm. There can be no rest, no drawing of breath, while this work of Ahriman endures. Bind the tiger-skin upon your breast, clear your mind of all other thought. Whatever body has seen the point of your lance — who would say its soul found peace afterward? If you make war upon the sea it turns to blood; at your voice the mountains flatten to plains. Neither Arzhang nor the White Div, neither Sanjeh nor Pulad Ghandi nor Bid, must hold any hope of life from you."

Rostam rode out from Nimruz, leaving his father behind — that dust-raising torch of the world. He covered two days' journey in one, treating darkness as daylight. In this way Rakhsh's hooves devoured the road through shining day and black night alike.

When his body craved food, he came upon a plain teeming with wild asses. He urged Rakhsh into a gallop, and the onager's speed was nothing against his. He cast the royal lasso, caught a fine beast by the throat, struck sparks from an arrowhead, gathered thorn-brush and scrub, and roasted the wild ass over a fierce fire. He ate it and flung the bones aside — that was his pot and his feast.

Then he removed the bridle from Rakhsh and set him loose to graze in the meadow. He made his bed among the reeds, taking a place of danger for a place of safety — for hidden in that reedbed was the lair of a lion so fearsome that no elephant dared pass nearby.

When one watch of the night had passed, the lion returned to its den and found a man of elephantine strength sleeping there, with a restless horse standing guard beside him. The lion thought: "First I will bring down the horse — then the rider will be easy prey." It lunged at Rakhsh. But Rakhsh surged like fire. He brought both forelegs crashing down on the lion's skull, sank his sharp teeth into its back, and hammered it against the ground until the beast was torn apart.

When Rostam woke and saw the lion's body sprawled in death, he said to Rakhsh: "O clever one — who told you to fight a lion? If you had been killed, how would I have carried this tiger-skin and war-helm, this lasso, bow, sword, and heavy mace to Mazandaran on foot? If my sleep had been disturbed, your battle with the lion would have been short." He spoke, then lay down and slept again — that bold and famous champion.

When the sun raised its head above the dark mountains, he groomed Rakhsh, set the saddle on his back, and gave thanks to God the giver of good.

A road opened before him that could not be avoided — a waterless desert of brutal heat, where birds would be torn apart in mid-flight by the burning air. The plain blazed as if fire had passed over it. Both the horse's body and the rider's eloquent tongue were struck dumb by the heat and thirst.

Rostam dismounted and walked on foot, javelin in hand, staggering like a drunkard. He could find no path to deliverance. He turned his face to the sky and spoke: "O just Creator, You bring all hardship and suffering to its end. If You are content with my suffering, then my treasure in this world is full. I press onward so that perhaps the Maker will grant Kay Kavus deliverance, and release the Iranians from the demons' claws without harm. They are sinners and outcasts — yet they are Your worshippers and servants."

As he finished speaking, his elephantine body went slack with thirst. He collapsed onto the burning sand, his tongue cracked and split. At that very moment a fine-haunched ram crossed the ground before him. The sight stirred a thought: "Where does this beast drink?" He said to himself: "Surely this is the mercy of the Creator, come upon me in my hour of need."

He gripped his sword in his right hand, rose to his feet by the strength of the Lord of the world, and followed the ram's tracks, blade in one hand and lasso in the other. Along the way a spring came into view — the very place the ram had reached. Rostam turned his face to the sky: "O just and truthful Creator — at this spring there is no sign of the ram; that wild creature of the plain is no kin of mine. When speech grows narrow and all hope is gone, seek refuge in none but the pure God, for whoever turns from the one just God has no hold on reason."

He blessed the ram: "May the turning sky do you no harm. May the grass of your plain and field stay green. May no hunter's bow and arrow ever find you — for through you the elephant-bodied champion was brought back to life, who otherwise was already thinking of his shroud."

He unsaddled Rakhsh, washed him in the pure water until the horse shone like the sun, drank his fill, then hunted a wild ass, roasted it, ate, drank again from the bright spring, and prepared for sleep. He said to Rakhsh: "Do not fight with anyone, and do not seek a mate. If an enemy comes, run to me — but do not make war on lions or demons yourself." Then he slept, and Rakhsh grazed and wandered until midnight.

From the plain there came a dragon so vast that even an elephant could not escape it. That place was the dragon's lair — so fearsome that not even demons dared pass that way. The dragon approached and saw the world-seeker sleeping, with a restless horse standing above him. It marveled: who dared take his rest in such a place, where neither demons nor elephants nor lions ventured?

The dragon advanced toward Rakhsh. Rakhsh galloped to Rostam's side and struck the earth with his iron hooves, stamped and lashed his tail. Rostam woke, his keen mind ready for battle — but he searched the dark desert all around and the fearsome dragon had vanished. He turned on Rakhsh in anger for waking him from sleep, and went back to his rest.

A second time the dragon emerged from the darkness. Again Rakhsh rushed to Rostam's pillow, pawing the ground, scattering earth. Again Rostam woke, flushed with fury. He scanned the desert from end to end but saw nothing except blackness. He said to faithful Rakhsh: "You refuse to let the dark of night lie still. You keep dragging me from sleep. If you raise this commotion one more time, I will cut your head off with my sharp sword and walk on foot to Mazandaran."

A third time sleep came over him. A third time the dragon roared, its breath kindling fire. Rakhsh abandoned his grazing, yet did not dare approach his master — his heart was split in two, for he feared Rostam's wrath as much as the dragon. But love for Rostam would not let him rest. He rushed before Rostam like a raging wind, shrieked and stamped and tore the ground until the earth cracked beneath his hooves.

Rostam woke from sweet sleep and raged at the obedient steed — but this time the bright Creator of the world willed that the earth should not hide the dragon. In the darkness Rostam saw it. He drew his sharp sword from its sheath and roared like a spring thundercloud, setting the field ablaze with the fire of battle.

He called out: "Tell me your name, for after this you will never see the world in comfort. No nameless creature shall have its soul leave its dark body at my hand." The savage dragon answered: "No one escapes my claws. A hundred by a hundred, this place is mine — the high sky above it is my domain. No eagle dares fly over my head; the stars never see this ground even in dreams."

Rostam said: "I am Rostam. I am of Dastan and Sam, of the line of Nimruz. Alone I am an army; on bold Rakhsh I tread the earth. You shall see the hand I strike in battle — I will raise your head in dust this very moment."

The dragon lunged and coiled around him. When Rakhsh saw his master's peril, he sprang upon the dragon from behind, tore its flanks with his teeth as he had torn the lion, and ripped its haunches open like a lion itself. Rostam, astonished, drove his sword through the creature's body. Between the two of them the dragon was finished. He struck his blade and severed its head from its trunk, and a river of blood gushed forth. The ground vanished beneath the enormous carcass; a fountain of blood sprang up from it.

Rostam gazed at the fearsome body — its bulk, its venomous breath — and the whole desert lay buried under it. He trembled, and stood a long time in awe, calling upon the name of God. He washed his head and body in the water and spoke to God: "O just Creator, You gave me wisdom and strength and glory, so that before me a lion, a demon, or an elephant, a waterless desert or the Nile itself — whether the enemy be many or few — when my wrath rises, they are all as one before my eyes."