Rostam and Sohrab (Part 2)

There was a fortress the people called the White Fortress — the hope of Iran stood upon its walls. Its guardian was Hejir, a battle-tested warrior of strength and courage, skilled with sword and bow. Gazhdaham was still young then, tending toward wisdom though already a warrior, and with him was his daughter, a mounted fighter famed for her rein-work and horsemanship.

When Sohrab drew near the fortress, Hejir the brave saw him coming. He mounted his swift horse and rode out to the field of battle like a dust-cloud. Sohrab the warrior saw him and blazed with fury, drawing his sword of vengeance. He charged out from his host like the wind and cried: "You whose life is forfeit! You come alone against me — reckless fool. Now stand firm and hold your reins tight!"

Hejir answered: "I need no one's help against you. I am Hejir, the bold commander. I will tear your head from your body this very hour."

Sohrab laughed when he heard this boast and set his face toward him. They clashed lance against lance. Then Hejir struck at Sohrab's midsection, but his spear-point found no purchase. Sohrab the lion reversed his spear and struck Hejir with the butt — a blow to the waist that lifted him from the saddle like the wind and hurled him to the ground like a slab of mountain rock. He dismounted and sat upon Hejir's chest, about to sever his head. But Hejir writhed and twisted and begged for quarter. Sohrab released his grip and granted him mercy, gave him much counsel, then bound him and sent him as a prisoner to Hooman.

When those in the fortress learned that their commander had been captured, a great lamentation arose from men and women alike — Hejir was lost to them.

When the sun raised its head above the high mountain, the Turanian host girded themselves for battle. Sohrab the commander, lance in hand, mounted a swift charger, resolved to seize every defender of the fortress and bind them like a flock of sheep.

But when he stormed the fortress, he found no one. He let out a roar like a raging lion. The gates stood open and not a single warrior remained within. In the night, Gazhdaham and his horsemen had escaped together through a hidden passage beneath the walls — a path the enemy did not know.

When Sohrab and his host entered the fortress and found no sign of Gazhdaham, all who remained in that place — guilty or innocent — came forward and submitted, each seeking to save his life. Sohrab searched for Gordafarid but could not find her. His heart had chosen her; love and longing had taken hold of him. "Alas, alas," he said to himself. "The shining moon has vanished behind clouds."

Meanwhile Gazhdaham's letter reached Kay Kavus, and the king was stricken with grief when he heard its contents. He gathered his nobles — Tus, Gudarz, Giv, Gorgin, Bahram, Farhad — and read Gazhdaham's account aloud. The old commander had described a Turanian champion barely fourteen years old, tall as a cypress, bright as the sun, with the chest of a lion and a grip unlike any Turk before him. "He resembles none so much as Rostam," Gazhdaham had written. "He is of the race of Nariman." The king asked who among them could stand against such a warrior. With one voice the nobles answered: to Rostam alone could they look in this danger.

When the sun raised its golden shield and thrust its tongue of flame above the wheel of heaven, Sohrab put on his battle-armour and mounted his dark-maned horse. He flung a warrior's surcoat over his chest, set a royal helm upon his head, and hung a coiled lasso at his saddle-strap, his face grim. He rode to a height from which he could look down upon the Iranian camp.

He summoned Hejir before him and said: "Do not deal falsely with me. In all matters put truth first, if you would not bring ruin upon yourself. Answer every question I ask with honesty — do not scheme or seek evasion. If you wish to win your freedom and hold your head high, tell me everything I ask about the Iranian host. I will give you a treasury of ornaments and wealth beyond measure. But if you choose falsehood, then chains and prison will be your portion."

Hejir agreed. Sohrab pointed to the golden pavilion in the centre of the camp, with its hundred war-elephants and turquoise throne, its violet standard bearing a sun and moon. "Whose is that?" — "That is the Shah of Iran."

He pointed to a black pavilion with an elephant standard. "That is Tus, son of Nuder." A red pavilion with a lion flag of gold — "That is Gudarz the brave; his eighty sons of valour stand around him." A camp with a wolf-head banner — "That is Giv, son of Gudarz, whom men call Giv the Valiant." A white pavilion draped in Roman brocade — "That is Fraburz, the son of the Shah." A yellow tent encircled by flags of many colours — "That is Guraz the lion-hearted."

Then Sohrab pointed to a green pavilion before which stood the royal banner of Kaveh. Upon its throne sat a warrior nobler than all his fellows, whose head struck the stars. Beside him stood a horse as tall as he, with a lasso coiled at its feet, and the steed snorted like a boiling sea. Many armoured elephants stood before it. The warrior's standard showed a dragon with a golden lion's head.

Hejir thought to himself: if I reveal the signs of Rostam to this lion-hearted Turk, he will seek him out and destroy him. Better to conceal the name. So he said: "That is some ally who has come from distant Cathay. I do not know his name."

Sohrab's heart sank. Though the signs matched everything his mother had told him, he could not credit his own eyes against Hejir's words. He asked again and again about the green tent, but Hejir denied knowledge each time. When Sohrab pressed him directly about Rostam, Hejir said the champion had gone to Zabulestan for the feast of roses.

Sohrab grew angry: "Why do you keep Rostam's name from me? No army of Kay Kavus would march without the world's champion. Show me Rostam's tent, or I will strike your head from your shoulders." But Hejir held firm. He thought: if this boy overcomes Rostam, all Iran is lost. Better that I die than betray the champion. So he said: "You will know Rostam in battle. He will strike you dumb and quell your pride of youth. But I will not show him to you."

Old Gazhdaham summoned a scribe and dictated a letter to the Shah. He dispatched a swift rider upon the road. He opened with blessings upon the king, then laid bare the turning of fortune:

"A great host has come against us — all of them battle-seekers and champions. At their head rides a warrior not yet past fourteen years of age. He is taller than any straight cypress, and his form shines like the blazing sun. His chest is that of a lion and his stature immense — I have never seen such arms and such a mace among the Turks. When an Indian sword comes to his hand, the sea and the mountains are put to shame. His voice is no less than rumbling thunder, and no blade cuts so keenly as his arm. In all Iran and Turan there is no man his equal; among the warriors none can match him. His name is Sohrab, the brave hero — he shrinks from neither demon nor elephant nor lion. You would think he is Rostam himself reborn, or that he carries the war-might of the house of Nariman."

Gazhdaham described how Hejir had been lifted from the saddle in the blink of an eye and now lay bound in the enemy camp, and he warned: "If the king does not act, if he sends no army and prepares no ambush, then consider Iran's glory already departed and the world laid waste by this warrior's sword. He is beyond the power of this fortress. The lion itself grows cautious before his fury."

The letter was sealed in the night and the messenger was told to ride so that by dawn no man of the Turanian host would see him.

Kay Kavus commanded a letter be written to Rostam the renowned. He opened with blessings upon his champion: "Be alert of heart and clear of spirit. Know that a famous Turk has made a raid with an army. He has seized the fortress and blocked the road against its defenders. He is a warrior both bold and valiant — in body an armoured elephant, in heart a male lion. No one in Iran can withstand him, save you who alone can darken his glory."

The king recalled Rostam's past deeds and implored him once more to be Iran's refuge. He wrote: "When you receive this letter, do not pause to speak the word upon your lips. If you hold roses in your hand, do not stop to smell them. Sharpen your wits and show your face. Ride with your Zabulestani horsemen and raise a battle-cry. According to Gazhdaham's account, none but you can be this warrior's match."

The letter was sealed and given to Giv, swift as the wind. The king charged him: "Neither rest nor linger in the courts of Rostam, nor tarry by the roadside." Giv obeyed and took neither food nor rest until he reached the gates of Zabulestan.

When Rostam read the letter and questioned Giv about Sohrab, he laughed in wonder. "I would not marvel if such a hero arose in Iran," he said, "but that a warrior of this renown should come from among the Turks — I cannot believe it. I myself have a son in Samangan, but he is still a child. His mother writes that he delights in the games of his age. It is not yet his time to lead an army."

Then Rostam bade his cooks prepare a banquet and feasted Giv, troubling his head with wine until he forgot both cares and time. When dawn came, Giv remembered the Shah's orders and urged Rostam to make haste. But Rostam said: "Do not trouble yourself. Death will fall upon these Turanians. Stay another day. Though this Sohrab be a hero like Sam and Nariman, he shall fall by my hands."

Three days they feasted. On the fourth Giv rose with resolve and said: "Kay Kavus is choleric and impatient. The fear of Sohrab weighs upon him, and he has lost sleep, and hunger and thirst torment him. He will be wroth if we delay."

Rostam said: "Fear not. None on earth dare be angry with me." But he did as Giv wished — he saddled Rakhsh, mustered his army, and set forth from Zabulestan with a great host, with Zvareh as his army's commander.

When the nobles came forth to meet Rostam's host and do him homage, he dismounted from Rakhsh and hastened into the presence of the king. But Kay Kavus, when he beheld him, was burning with anger. His brows were knotted with fury. When Rostam had made obeisance, the king opened his mouth and words of folly escaped his lips:

"Who is Rostam, that he defies my power and disregards my commands? If I had a sword in my hand I would split his head like an orange. Seize him and hang him upon the nearest gallows. Let his name never be spoken in my presence."

Giv trembled and said: "Do you raise your hand against Rostam?" The Shah was beside himself and cried that Giv be hanged alongside him, and commanded Tus to lead them out. But Rostam broke from Tus's grasp and stood before the king, and all the nobles were filled with dread when they saw his anger.

Rostam flung reproaches at the king. He recalled Kavus's follies — the march into Mazandaran, the disaster in Hamaveran, the flight into heaven — and reminded him that without Rostam he would not now sit upon the throne of light. "I am a free man and no slave," Rostam declared, "and am servant only to God. Without Rostam, Kay Kavus is nothing. The world is subject to me. Rakhsh is my throne, my sword my seal, my helmet my crown. Had I desired it, I could have taken this seat for myself. But now I am weary of your follies. I will turn away from Iran, and when this Turk puts his yoke upon you, I shall not hear of it."

He strode from the presence-chamber, sprang upon Rakhsh, and vanished before the nobles had recovered from their astonishment. They were filled with dread. Without Rostam's arm and counsel, they could not stand against the Turk. They blamed Kay Kavus and counted over Rostam's good deeds, and at last chose Gudarz to go before the Shah. The aged warrior spoke without fear, and the Shah knew that his words were reason and truth. He was ashamed. "That which you say is right," he admitted, and begged Gudarz to seek out Rostam and bring him back.

All the chiefs of Iran rode out and found Rostam, and Gudarz told him the Shah craved his pardon. He urged: "Though Rostam be angered, the land of Iran has done no wrong. If Rostam saves it not, it will fall to this Turk." Rostam answered: "I depart not because of Sohrab, but because scorn and insult have been my reward."

Yet when he had considered longer, he saw that he must return. He rode to the gates of the king, who stepped down from his throne, came before Rostam, and craved his forgiveness. "I was angry because you tarried," the Shah said, "and I forgot myself in my vexation. My mouth is filled with the dust of repentance." Rostam replied: "The world is yours. Until old age my loins shall be girded in fealty to you. May power and majesty be yours forever."

They feasted together far into the night, pouring gifts and holding counsel. Joy returned to the court of the king.

When the sun cut through its pitch-black curtain and emerged from behind the veil, Kay Kavus commanded Giv and Tus to lash the war-drums upon the backs of the elephants. He opened the treasury, paid the soldiers, mounted his host, and loaded the baggage train. A hundred thousand armoured horsemen rode out to the field. The army spread across the plain until the dust of their horses darkened the sky. Pavilions and tents stretched for two miles; the earth was blanketed with hooves and elephants. The sky turned indigo, the ground ebony, and the plain shook with the thunder of drums.

They marched stage by stage until they reached the fortress of Hejir. They pitched their camp in the customary manner. The watchman on the battlements raised a cry, and when Sohrab heard it, he climbed the ramparts and looked out upon the Iranian host — an army without end.

Hooman, seeing it from afar, was filled with dread. But Sohrab said: "Drive care from your heart. I see no warrior in all this boundless host — no man with a heavy mace who could stand against me on the field. By the fortune of King Afrasiab, I will make this battlefield a sea of blood."

He descended from the walls with a light heart, called for a cup of wine, and did not trouble himself over the coming battle. Meanwhile the royal pavilion was raised before the fortress, and tents covered every span of plain and hill.