CHAPTER XI.

STORY OF THE SHĀH NĀMAH.

SĀM SUWĀR—THE SĪMŪRGH’S NEST—THE FATHER’S DREAM—RŪDABEH—THE MARRIAGE— RUSTEM—THE TŪRĀNIAN INVASION—THE WHITE DEMON.

In the golden age of Persian chivalry there lived a famous warrior by the name of Sām Suwār. He was the son of the great chieftain Narimān, and he was the commander-in-chief of the Persian armies, and not only a valiant hero upon the battlefield, but more than once he had warred against the allied hosts of demons, and come off victorious. He had conquered the furious monster Soham, which was of the color and nature of fire, and, bringing it beneath the obedient rein, he made it his war horse in all his later battles with the demons.

Suwār had an heir born to him, and knowing that a son would inherit his own power and fame, his heart was filled with exultation. But when the child was placed in his arms, this dark-haired Persian warrior was appalled, for the babe, otherwise perfect, had a head of silvery white hair.

“His hair was white as a goose’s wing, His cheek was like the rose of spring, His form was straight as a cypress tree, But when the sire was brought to see That child with hair so silvery white, His heart revolted at the sight.”[241]

The gentle mother gave the child the name of Zāl, but the superstitious people began to whisper that this white-haired child was an evil omen to the house of Suwār. Surely it could bring only calamity into the family. It must be that in some way the child belonged to the demon race, or,

“If not a demon, he, at least, Appears a parti-colored beast.”

The father bore the sneers and reproaches of the people for a time, and then resolved to abandon the boy upon the mountain crags to be destroyed by beasts of prey. In vain the faithful mother pleaded to be allowed to retain her babe; in vain she promised to keep him in seclusion so sacred that the sight of him should never again offend the father’s eye; her child was torn from her arms, and carried to a distant mountain in the depths of the night, and there deserted by the cruel and superstitious father.

THE SĪMŪRGH’S NEST.

An inaccessible cliff of the Alborz mountains is said to be the home of the Sīmūrgh,[242] a mammoth bird with golden plumage, who carries elephants to her nest for her birdlings to feed upon. Far beyond the reach of man, this wondrous nest is hidden amidst the white cliffs, which are threaded thickly with veins of golden quartz, while around the base of the structure there gleam the stones of fire—the amethyst, the topaz and ruby, and in the rocks not far away the sunset fires have left their glow in the heart of the opal. The bird of golden plumage loves these precious stones, for they flash back the fire of her eye, and seem to warm her heart with their gleaming beauty. The night was dark, for even the stars were hidden behind the floating clouds that told of a coming storm, then

“A voice not earthly thus addressed The Sīmūrgh in her mountain nest— To thee this mortal I resign, Protected by the power divine. Let him thy fostering kindness share, Nourish him with maternal care; For, from his loins in time will spring The champion of the world, and bring Honor on earth, and make thy name The heir of everlasting fame.”

The bird listened to the voice, and peering down between the mountain crags and rocky cliffs, she saw a man with coward heart leaving a tender babe upon one of the foot-hills. Her mother-heart beat faster while she waited a moment listening to the coming storm, and then the strong wings moved upward through the darkness, and circling round in stately flight, she swept nearer and nearer to the desolate babe. Down she came at last, and the little one looked up with wondering eyes upon the great mass of plumage that seemed to have been borne to him upon the wings of the coming storm, and the boy smiled and reached out his baby hands toward his new-found friend. The tender mother-bird fastened her talons carefully in his little dress, and floated away past mountain stream and rocky crags, beyond the foothills and the higher peaks, until she reached the wondrous nest hidden amidst the stones of fire. A sweet, familiar note caused the nestlings to cling more closely together, and here, in the newly made space, the banished child was laid, and his shelter from the cruel storm that night was the golden feathers of the Sīmūrgh.

When the sunlight touched the white cliffs and lighted up the fires in ruby and opal, the great bird was awakened by a strange cry beneath her wing, and she remembered the human nestling within her habitation. Then, like the sacred bird of Jove, she rises from her nest, and

“Wide as appears some palace gate displayed, So broad the pinions stretched their ample shade, As stooping dexter with resounding wings, The imperial bird descends in airy rings.”[243]

Not as a guide to the tent of Achilles does the Sīmūrgh wheel her lofty flight, but to find food for the helpless babe within her walls. With dainty bits within her bill she comes again to her mountain home, and the stranger babe is fed before her own young have broken their fast. The Sīmūrgh’s nestlings learned from the mother-bird the lessons of mercy and love, and soon on tender wing they too brought dainties to the banished child, and year after year he lived in the Sīmūrgh’s home, or played amidst the rough jewels in the crags around her nest.

THE FATHER’S DREAM.

The years went by with muffled feet, bringing no balm to the heart of the bereaved mother. The cruel way in which her child had been torn from her arms by the unnatural father, to suffer a still more cruel fate, had left a wound in her heart that her husband’s later kindness had no power to heal. The father, too, was ashamed of his own brutality, but too cowardly to confess his fault, no word of repentance had ever passed his lips. The only sign of remorse was seen upon his head, for the dark locks of the Persian chieftain had grown as silvery white as the hair of the banished child. His sleep was disturbed, and he was haunted night after night by strange and troubled dreams. One night there flashed before his vision a gallant youth of martial bearing, who rode at the head of a troop of horsemen, with banners flying before him, and coming into the warrior’s presence, he cried:

“Unfeeling mortal, hast thou from thine eyes Washed out all sense of shame? Dost thou believe That to have silvery tresses is a crime? See thine own head is covered with white hair, And were not both spontaneous gifts from heaven?”

Suwār awoke with a scream and called the astrologers around him. They declared that the boy was still alive, and in the early morning the father went to the lonely mountain, and climbing into its cliffs as far as possible, he bemoaned his child and prayed for his return. His cry went up to the wondrous nest amidst the stones of fire, and the Sīmūrgh shook her golden plumage as she looked lovingly down upon the white- haired child that played with unpolished gems upon the cliffs beneath her.

Rising from her nest, she nestled down beside him, and while he stroked her feathers, she caressed him with her beak, and said: “I have fed and protected thee, but now the Persian warrior has come for his boy, and I must give thee up.” The child wept and flung his arms around the soft neck of his foster mother, but the Sīmūrgh told him it were better so, and taking from her wing one golden plume, she gave it to him with the promise that she would not desert him. “Take this,” said she, “and when thou art in danger put the feather upon the fire, and I will instantly come to thine aid.”

Then the Sīmūrgh took the boy carefully in her talons and in graceful circles she slowly swept down toward the wondering father. “Receive thy son,” said the wondrous bird. “He is worthy of a throne and diadem.” Then the repentant father gladly caught his rescued boy in his arms, and bore him exultingly homeward, where he placed him in the glad arms of his mother, who wept tears of joy over the white-haired child. The beautiful plume was laid carefully away as one of the treasures of the household, to be used by the boy only in times of greatest need.

When the Persian king Minūchir heard the story, he sent to Suwār a splendid troop of horsemen, led by the heir to the throne, and they conveyed the royal congratulations to the warrior and his son, and escorted them into the royal presence. Here

“Zāl humbly kissed the earth before the king, And from the hands of Minūchir received A golden mace and helmet. Then those who knew The stars and planetary signs were told To calculate the stripling’s destiny; And all proclaimed him of exalted fortune, That he would be prodigious in his might, Outshining every warrior of the age.“

The delighted king then presented the boy with Arabian horses and gorgeous armor, with gold and rich garments, and appointed the father to be the ruler of Kabūl, Zabūl, and Ind. Zāl accompanied his father upon the return homeward, and then he was placed under the care of renowned instructors at Zabūlistān.

RŪDABEH.

While the Persian youth was reaching the age of manhood, in the delightful pursuits of art and science, he was also occasionally intrusted with the care of the province during the father’s absence. Kabūl, one of the provinces which the Persian king had assigned to Suwār, had been ruled over by a chieftain named Mihrāb, who was descended from Zohāk, and this chieftain still retained a subordinate position in the government by paying an annual tribute to Suwār.

Mihrāb had a beautiful daughter named Rūdabeh, and although she was kept in the most careful seclusion, still the fame of her great loveliness was spread among the neighboring princes.

“If thou wouldst make her charms appear, Think of the sun so bright and clear, And brighter far with softer light, The maiden strikes the dazzled sight. Think of her skin, with what compare? Ivory was never half so fair! Her stature like the sabin tree, Her eyes! so full of witchery, Glow like the Nigris[244] tenderly, Her arching brows their magic fling, Dark as the raven’s glossy wing. Soft o’er her blooming cheek is spread The rich pomegranate’s vivid red; Her musky ringlets unconfined In clustering meshes roll behind. Possessed of every sportive wile, ’Tis heaven, ’tis bliss, to see her smile.”

Zāl was not insensible to the charms he had heard so vividly described, but he remembered that Mihrāb was descended from Zohāk, the Serpent King,[245] and he knew that if he made any advances toward the fair daughter of the fatal line he should provoke the rage of his father, and also of the Persian monarch Minūchir.

Mihrāb had occasion to communicate with Zāl, and on his return homeward his wife, Sindokht, inquired after the white-haired youth, asking what he was like in form and feature, and what account he gave of his stay with the Sīmūrgh.

Mihrāb described his host in the warmest terms of admiration, telling of his valor, his accomplishments, and his manly beauty, his only defect being the strange crown of silvery hair.

The beautiful princess was present, and, with her dark eyes fixed upon her father’s face, she drank in every word of his eulogy, and her heart warmed toward the stranger. When she retired to her own apartments, she confided to her maid the fact that she was deeply impressed with the description she had heard, and a few days later she declared to the attendant that she was deeply in love with the stranger, and besought the maid’s assistance.

The servant was startled and frightened by this confession, and remonstrated with her beautiful mistress upon the absurdity of her position:

“What, hast thou lost all sense of shame, All value for thy honored name! That thou in loveliness supreme, Of every tongue the constant theme, Should choose, and on another’s word, The nursling of a mountain bird! A being never seen before, Which human mother never bore! And can the hoary locks of age A youthful heart like thine engage?“

But her remonstrance was in vain, the willful Persian beauty had set her heart upon a man whom she had never seen,[246] and she quietly answered:

“My attachment is fixed, my election is made, And when hearts are enchained ’tis vain to upbraid. Neither Kizar nor Faghfūr I wish to behold, Nor the monarch of Persia with jewels and gold; All, all I despise, save the choice of my heart, And from his beloved image I never can part.”

When the attendants learned that the princess was so deeply in earnest they loyally entered into her feelings far enough to aid her in every possible way in bringing about a meeting with the man she loved.

It was springtime in the beautiful vales of Persia, and the earth was rich with many colored flowers, while the breath of hyacinths and lilies of the valley floated upon the air. The glittering pheasant moved through the undergrowth, and the bulbul sang his love song in the lofty trees.

A party of maidens strayed near the tent of Zāl in their earnest quest for the most beautiful roses to be found in that sunny vale. Already their baskets were laden with fragrance, but still they lingered, until the prince asked his attendants why these girls presumed to invade his territory. He was told that the damsels were sent by the beautiful princess of Kabūlistān from the palace of Mihrāb to gather roses for her boudoir. His eyes brightened, and calling a servant to bear his bow and arrows, he rose carelessly and started for a ramble along the winding river. He was not far from the maidens, when he sent an arrow through a beautiful bird sailing above them. The bird fell at their very feet, and his servant was sent to bring it.

When he approached them they inquired who this skillful archer was. He answered, “Know you not that this is Zāl, the greatest warrior ever known.” The maidens then told him that they belonged to a beautiful princess, the star in the palace at Mihrāb, and cautiously inquired why, as these young people were of equal rank, a marriage might not be arranged between them. The servant reported the question to his master, and was sent back with royal presents for Rūdabeh.

“They who to gather roses came—went back With precious gems and honorary robes, And two bright finger-rings were secretly Sent to the princess.”

The maids returned exultant, but still the way was full of peril, and political difficulties seemed to forbid even an interview between the lovers. There was, however, a beautiful summer retreat seldom visited in the absence of the Persian king, which was luxuriously furnished and adorned with paintings of Persia’s most illustrious chieftains. It stood midway between the two territories, and to this resort the princess and her maids retired while on a pleasure excursion, and Zāl was duly invited by the attendants to visit them as soon as the stars came out.

The shadows of evening had fallen upon the rose gardens, and the air was heavy with their fragrance, when the young warrior cautiously approached the balcony from which he heard a sweet voice singing. Soon the low musical tones of a manly voice were borne upon the breeze as he softly chanted—

“How often have I hoped that heaven Would in some secret place display Thy charms to me, and thou hast given My heart the wish of many a day.”

And soon the singer stood by the woman he sought. They passed hand in hand within the gorgeous chambers, where the porphyry pillars upheld the rich fretwork of gold in the roof, and the vast illuminated halls were silent and bright, save the gentle music of the waters that were rippling from many a jasper fountain. The royal abode was glowing with softly colored lights, which reflected the rare beauty of painting and statuary, but Zāl could scarcely see what art had done, for his eyes and thoughts were absorbed with the witching radiance of his love. Long they remained rapt in admiration of each other. At length the warrior rose and exclaimed: “It becomes us not to be forgetful of the path of prudence. How will my father rave with anger when he hears of this adventure? How will King Minūchir indignantly reproach me for this dream?—this waking dream of rapture! But I call high heaven to witness that whoever may oppose my sacred vows, still I am thine, affianced thine, forever.”

And Rūdabeh answered,

“Thou hast won my heart, and kings may sue in vain; thou art alone my warrior and my love.”

Then Zāl, with fond adieus, softly descended from the balcony and hastened to his tent.

The loyal son wrote a letter to his father, frankly telling him the story of his love, and asking his sympathy and co-operation. To his great joy, these were promptly accorded, and he wrote an exultant letter to the princess, informing her of the fact. But the girl was detected by the queen in carrying messages and presents to the princess, and the queen approached her daughter, who frankly told the story, and it was thus communicated to Mihrāb, whose rage knew no bounds. The infuriated king drew his sword, and would have rushed to his daughter’s room and slain her upon the spot, if his wife had not thrown herself at his feet and pleaded that time at least might be given her.

The daughter was then summoned to her father’s presence, but she disdained to come as a culprit or a suppliant, therefore she fearlessly appeared in the royal presence, and proudly told him of the valor of her betrothed. She retired from his presence without harm, but when Minūchir, king of Persia, was apprised of the loves of Zāl and Rūdabeh, another storm broke over the heads of the royal lovers, for he anticipated only the ruin of his kingdom if so valiant a warrior as Zāl joined his fortunes with a member of the house of the Serpent King.

When Suwār returned, however, from his successful expedition against the demons, he ingeniously pleaded his son’s cause before the king:

“I am thy servant, and twice sixty years Have seen my prowess. Mounted on my steed, Wielding my battle-ax, o’erthrowing heroes, Who equals Suwār the warrior? I destroyed The mighty monster[247] whose devouring jaws Unpeopled half the land, and spread dismay From town to town. The world was full of horror; No bird was seen in air, no beast of prey In plain or forest: from the stream he drew The crocodile: the eagle from the sky. Armed for the strife, I saw him towering rise Huge as a mountain, with his hideous hair Dragging upon the ground: his long black tongue Shut up the path; his eyes two lakes of blood. Forward I sprang, and in a moment drove A diamond-pointed arrow through his tongue, Fixing him to the ground. Another went Down his deep throat, and dreadfully he writhed And deluged all around with blood and poison. There lay the monster dead, and soon the world Regained its peace and comfort. Now I’m old, The vigor of my youth is past and gone, And it becomes me to resign my station To Zāl, my gallant son.”

But while approving cordially of the work already done, he gave the warrior a new commission, which was no less than the destruction of Kabūl by fire and sword, especially the house of Mihrāb, and declared that the ruler of the serpent-race and all of his adherents were to be put to death. In vain the horror-stricken warrior pleaded the cause of mercy, the king’s vindictive intentions were well known, and the greatest consternation reigned at Kabūl, especially in the family of Mihrāb.

Mihrāb himself a tyrant, and consequently a coward, could see no way of avoiding the king’s wrath except by putting his wife and daughter to death.

At last in his desperation, Suwār sent an earnest letter to the king, and sent it by the hand of Zāl, who thus obtained permission to plead his own cause. The king finally consulted the astrologers, who informed him that the marriage was most propitious, and from it would be born a hero of matchless strength and valor—the champion of Persia. So at last the faithful lover bore back to Rūdabeh the joyous tidings that the greatest obstacle was removed, after which it was an easy matter to pacify Mihrāb, and the approbation of all parties was finally secured.

THE MARRIAGE.

The marriage was celebrated at the beautiful royal retreat where the lovers first met, and it was a scene of unequaled magnificence. There were splendid horses with gold and silver housings, and multitudes of richly attired damsels bearing golden trays of jewels and perfumes. There were camels laden with the richest brocades and velvets of the East; there were Indian swords and elephants; there were bowers of roses and orange blossoms, and garlands of fragrant lilies, and finally there was a golden crown and throne. Having consented to the union, the Persian king taxed the treasury to the utmost to make it the grandest wedding in the land.

After several days had been devoted to the festivities, the newly married pair settled down amid the roses and fruits of their vine- wreathed home. From the white crown of a distant mountain down to the river that flowed by their garden temples, the very air seemed tinted with a golden haze, while every breeze was laden with rich perfume.

The time passed blithely and rapidly to the young chieftain and his beautiful wife; but one night there was darkness in the garden temples, and gloom in the thickets of roses where the night-bird trilled his sorrowful song to the drooping flowers. There was darkness upon the inner room, for the shadow of death was falling upon court and hall—the fair young wife lay in terrible peril, from which there seemed to be no rescue. The court physicians held council in the adjoining room, while the agonized husband bent over his suffering wife.

At last he bethought him of the Sīmūrgh’s plume, and, hastily unlocking the casket, the golden feather was laid upon the fire. His heart stood still while he waited and listened, and lo, there came the rushing sound of a tempest, as the wing of the Sīmūrgh gleamed through the darkness, and she stood beside her foster child. Zāl’s eyes lighted up with hope and gladness as he threw his arms around her soft golden neck, and leaned upon the gorgeous plumage. Then she bent her head caressingly toward his face and whispered a few directions into his ear. Immediately her command was obeyed and the court physicians were interrupted in their solemn conclave, for the cry of a newly-born babe was wafted to their ears, and the young wife was shedding happy tears in the arms of her joyous husband.

RUSTEM.

The boy who was born that night was a herculean babe, and he became the champion of Persia.[248] As the years went by his marvelous strength became the wonder of the nation, and the especial pride of his father and the old chieftain Suwār.

“In beauty of form and vigor of limb, No mortal was ever equal to him.”

Before Rustem reached the age of manhood the king of Persia died, and the kingdom fell into the hands of weaker princes. The Tartar chieftain, Afrāsiyāb, improved the opportunity which he long had sought, of making an invasion upon the rich provinces of Persia, and collecting an immense army he marched to the front, under the pretext of avenging old wrongs.

“Afrāsiyāb a mighty army raised, And passing plain and river, mountain high, And desert wild, filled all the Persian realm With consternation and universal dread.”

The Persian hosts were in confusion, for the Tartar chief was continually threatening the border. The people looked to Zāl as their natural preserver, but Zāl decided to place his boy at the head of the army, for although very young, Rustem had been carefully trained in warlike exercises, and the long line of warrior blood from whence he came, thrilled his veins with martial valor.

All the horses of the imperial stables were brought forth, that the young commander might take from them a steed to bear him through the campaign. But Rustem was not content to choose from these, for his eye fell upon a wild horse of wondrous strength and beauty which was the offspring of a demon. After a fearful struggle the magnificent animal was conquered, and placed beneath saddle and rein, when the young warrior rode into the conflict.

THE TŪRĀNIAN INVASION.

Mihrāb, the ruler of Kabūl, was the leader of one wing of the Persian army, and Gustāhem of the other, while Rustem led the front, and the glorious banner of Kāvah[249] was flung to the breeze. The Tūrānian king rode in black armor at the head of his dark legions, while his ablest generals led the wings and protected the rear of his vast army.

There was one terrific onslaught in which it seemed as if heaven and earth had closed in deadly conflict. The clattering of hoofs, the shrill roar of the trumpets and the rattle of brazen drums were mingled with the cries of dying men, while the glittering spear hastened to the deadly work, and the Tartar king believed that the imperial crown of Persia was just within his reach.

When the tide of battle ebbed for a moment, Rustem shouted to his father that he intended to engage the hostile monarch in single combat, but Zāl endeavored to dissuade him from so hopeless a task.

“My son, be wise and peril not thyself; Black is his banner, and his cuirass black— His limbs are cased in iron—on his head He wears an iron helm—and high before him Floats the black ensign; equal in his might To ten strong men.... Then beware of him. Rustem replied: ’Be not alarmed for me— My heart, my arm, my dagger, are my castle.”

He bravely urged his splendid horse toward the foe, and the warriors closed in a long and doubtful struggle. At last, however, Rustem caught him by the belt and dragged him from his horse. He intended to drive his captive thus to the Persian king, but the belt gave way and the Tartar fell upon the ground, and was quickly borne off by his own warriors, but not before Rustem had snatched off the monarch’s crown, which he carried away as a trophy with the broken girdle.

The fight now became general again, and the earth shook with the trampling of the steeds; the drums rattled; loud clamors from the troops echoed around, and by the mailed hands of contending warriors many a life was sacrificed. With his huge mace, cow-headed, Rustem flooded the ground with the crimson blood of his foes, and wherever seen he was impatiently urging forward his fiery horse. Severed heads fell like the withered leaves in autumn when he brandished his sword, horseman and steed falling together. On that dreadful day, with sword and dagger, battle-ax and noose,[250] he cut and tore, and broke and bound the brave, slaying and making captive. The Tartar hordes fled in dismay, and their black banner trailed upon the earth until captured by the Persian troops.

Day after day the conquered legions pursued their noiseless retreat, for neither drum nor trumpet told their foes which way they took. The Persian host, burdened with a multitude of prisoners, fell slowly back to the capital, where Rustem was received with the wildest demonstrations of joy. Soon there came from Tūrān a messenger bearing proposals of peace. To this the Persian king replied that the war had not been of his seeking, but he would accept the overtures of peace upon condition that Afrāsiyāb take his solemn oath never to cross the boundary line formed by the river Jihun, or disturb the Persian throne again. Peace was accordingly concluded, and the highest honors were conferred upon Rustem and Zāl. Rustem was appointed captain general of the armies, under the title of the “champion of the world.” He was also given a golden crown, and the privilege was granted him of giving audience while seated upon a golden throne.

THE WHITE DEMON.

After many years a new king, Kai-kaus,[251] ascended the Persian throne. Lacking the wisdom of his father, he sought the fascinations of the wine cup, and while under this influence he astonished and mortified his people by his intense self-admiration and pride. One day, when he was half-crazed with his favorite beverage, a demon, disguised as a musician, waited upon him and sang a song extolling the beauties of Mazinderān:

“And thus he warbled to the king, Mazinderān is the bower of spring, My native home; the balmy air Diffuses health and fragrance there. So tempered is the genial glow Nor heat, nor cold, we ever know; Tulips and hyacinths abound On every lawn; and all around Blooms like a garden in its prime, Fostered by that delicious clime. The bulbul sits on every spray, And pours his soft melodious lay; Each rural spot its sweets discloses, Each streamlet is the dew of roses. And mark me, that untraveled man Who never saw Mazinderān And all the charms its powers possess, Has never tasted happiness.”

No sooner had the king heard the minstrel’s lay concerning the unknown land than he began to foster the desire for conquest, and he declared to his warriors that the glory of his reign should exceed that of his most illustrious predecessors. The warriors, more cautious, protested against their monarch’s insane idea of making war upon the demons, and Zāl was chosen as the most influential of their number to bear their protests to the king. But the conceited king announced that he was superior in might and influence to any of his predecessors—that he had a bolder heart, a larger army, and a fuller treasury than any of them. He haughtily announced that he needed neither Zāl nor Rustem, that they might stay at home and care for the kingdom, while he himself conducted the campaign in person. The keys of the treasury and the jewel chamber were left in the hands of Milād, with instructions to act under the advice of Zāl and Rustem. Then the great army was put in motion, while at its head rode the conceited king, with his magnificent retinue of richly caparisoned horses and camels.

When the columns came near to Mazinderān, the king ordered his favorite general, Gīw, to select two thousand of his bravest men, the boldest wielders of the battle-ax, and proceed rapidly toward the city. In accordance with the king’s command, this was a vandal march, marked by fire, sword, and the pitiless murder even of women and children.

While the terrible work of slaughter and destruction was going on under the hands of his chosen men, the Persian king was encamped in splendid state on a plain near the city, indulging in the wildest dreams of complete victory, and intending to follow his advance guard with the main body of his army the next day.

But when the insulted king of Mazinderān saw this ruthless invasion of his beautiful realm, he called the White Demon[252] to his aid, and that night the dark storm-clouds rolled over the Persian host, and pitiless hailstones fell upon the panic-stricken army. The morning light found the troops dismayed and scattered, while many of them were killed outright, and the conceited king with his leading warriors were smitten with blindness.

There were selected from the demon army twelve thousand chosen warriors to hold in custody the Īrānian captives, which were easily taken, together with the treasures and horses of Kai-kaus. Arzaṉg, one of the demon leaders, having taken possession of the wealth, the crown, and jewels of the audacious invaders, escorted the captive king and his troops to Mazinderān, where they were placed in the custody of the guards.

The blind king, however, succeeded in sending information concerning his condition to Zāl, and that warrior, though furious over the conduct of the royal imbecile, was still loyal enough to attempt his rescue, and turning to Rustem, he said, “The sword must be unsheathed since Kai-kaus is bound a captive in the dragon’s den. Rakush must be saddled for the field, and thou must bear the weight of this campaign.”

Rustem replied that it was a long journey to Mazinderān, and the king was six months upon the road. But Zāl replied that there were two roads, one of them being very short, but filled with dangers, lions and demons haunting the pathway. Still, if he could overcome these foes, he might reach the capital city of demon-land in seven days.

The gallant warrior promptly chose the shorter road, saying:

“It is not wise, they say, With willing feet to track the way To hell: Though only men who’ve lost All love of life by misery crossed, Would rush into the tiger’s lair, And die, poor reckless victims there; I gird my loins whate’er may be, And work and wait for victory.”

He then donned his armor and walked toward the richly caparisoned Rakush, who stood impatiently waiting for his master. The young warrior took his beautiful mother in his arms and kissed her tenderly, then mounting his gallant steed he rode away into the unknown dangers of his perilous campaign.