ISFENDIYĀR.
THE HEFT-KHĀN OF ISFENDIYĀR—THE BRAZEN FORTRESS—THE CONFLICT WITH
RUSTEM—THE FALL OF THE WARRIORS.
“Rustem had seven great labors—wondrous power
Nerved his strong arm in danger’s needful hour.
And now Firdusī’s legend strains declare
The seven great labors of Isfendiyār.”
When the old Persian king, Kai-Khosrou, abdicated in favor of his
successor, he gave to Rustem the dominions of Zabūl, and Kabūl and
Nimruz, and in course of time Gushtāsp,[258] the Constantine of the
Fire-worshippers, came to the throne of Persia. This monarch had two
sons. One of them was Bashūtān, and the other was Isfendiyār, a knight
whose valor was only second to that of Rustem. He had led his father’s
armies in many a long campaign—had invaded Hindūstān and Arabia, and
several other countries, and had, to a greater or less extent,
established the religion of the Fire-worshippers in them all. But
Arjasp, a demon king, had invaded the Persian empire, and carried
captive two daughters of Gushtāsp. The fair prisoners were confined in a
brazen fortress on the top of an almost inaccessible mountain, which was
also the palace home of Arjasp, and he required the most servile labor
from the Persian maidens.
THE HEFT-KHĀN, OR SEVEN LABORS OF ISFENDIYĀR,
were therefore undertaken in order to conquer Arjasp, and restore the
sisters of the warrior. Like Rustem, he chose the shortest and most
perilous passage to the stronghold of the enemy, and in the first stage
of his journey he slew two monstrous wolves who disputed his advance. In
the second stage he conquered an immense lion and his ferocious mate. In
the third he slew a dragon, whose roar made the very mountains tremble
with fear, while the poisonous foam dropped from his hideous jaws. Upon
the fourth day he withstood the wiles of a beauteous woman, who appealed
to him most piteously to rescue her from the power of a demon, whom she
claimed had stolen her from her home and friends. She expressed the
strongest admiration for Isfendiyār, and pleaded with him
“To free me from his loathed embrace,
And bear me to a fitter place,
Where in thy circling arms more softly pressed,
I may at last be truly loved and blest.”
Isfendiyār called the beautiful tempter to him, and she came beaming
with smiles, and dropping words of sweetest flattery from her crimson
lips. Then he threw his noose around her, and writhing in the bonds she
could not break, the enchantress became first a cat, then a wolf, and at
last appeared in her true character of a black demon, with flames
issuing from her mouth, whereupon she was slain by Isfendiyār.
On the fifth day he had the misfortune to offend a Sīmūrgh, who attacked
him intending to bear him away to her mountain nest, but he succeeded in
slaying the angry bird with his trenchant sword.
The sixth labor consisted in bringing his troops safely through a
furious storm of wind and snow, when all the earth was covered with
whiteness, while “keenly blew the blast and pinching was the cold.” But
the seventh trial of his fortitude was found in the passage of a desert
waste, of which it was said
“Along these plains of burning sand
No bird can move, nor ant, nor fly,
No water slakes the fiery land,
Intensely glows the flaming sky.
No tiger fierce, or lion ever
Could breathe that pestilential air,
Even the unsparing vulture never
Ventures on blood-stained pinions there.”
But a rain had fallen and partially cooled the scorched earth, so that
this danger was safely passed.
THE BRAZEN FORTRESS.
When the darkness of night had fallen upon the landscape, Isfendiyār and
a few chosen men advanced rapidly and carefully up the long, precipitous
path, and examined the bulwarks of the brazen fortress that crowned the
summit of the cliff. They found its iron bulwarks and brazen gates
impregnable on every side, and returned to the command discouraged and
dismayed. It had been a difficult undertaking, and they came into camp
just as the tints of morning were lighting up the eastern sky.
It was indeed useless to attempt to storm this metallic fort, where
neither sword nor spear nor battle-ax could be wielded to advantage,
therefore Isfendiyār collected a hundred camels, and loaded a few of
them with embroidered cloths, and others with pearls and precious
jewels, while upon each of the others two chests were placed, and one
warrior was hidden in each chest.[259] Other warriors were disguised as
camel drivers and servants, so that altogether this caravan, which
carried apparently only merchandise, was quite a warlike host.
Then Isfendiyār arranged with his brother to lead the rest of the troops
to the attack as soon as he saw signal fires upon the summit, and set
out with his caravan of merchandise for the fortress. He was received as
a Persian merchant bringing valuable goods, and the avaricious demons
exulted in the thought that a rich caravan had unsuspiciously fallen
into their very hands. Isfendiyār carried rich presents to the king, and
besought permission to sell Persian goods to his subjects. The
liberality of the newcomer won the heart of the king, and the rich
Persian wines that he brought proved especially attractive. Soon the
king and his court, and also his leading warriors, were helpless under
its influence. Then the signal fires were lighted, and the warriors were
released from the chests, while the brazen gates were opened to admit
the invaders. Soon the Persian banner floated from the walls, for the
demon king and his leading warriors were slain, and the sisters of
Isfendiyār were rejoicing in the arms of their brother. The conqueror
issued a proclamation offering pardon to all who would swear allegiance
to the Persian king, then with his camels laden with the richest
treasures of Arjasp he returned in triumph to his native city. The royal
banners were flung to the breeze when the prince returned with his
recovered sisters and heavy spoils. A great banquet was given, and the
wine flowed freely. Isfendiyār was placed in a golden chair to receive
the adulations of the multitude, while he gave them the thrilling story
of his great Heft-khān and the capture of the demon fortress.
THE CONFLICT WITH RUSTEM.
Partially crazed by prosperity, and also instigated by jealousy against
his own son, Gushtāsp demanded of Isfendiyār that he should lead a
campaign against the provinces over which Rustem reigned, and either
slay that chieftain or bring him in irons to the Persian king. In vain
the son pleaded the loyalty and nobility of the warrior, the father
answered that by the foolishness of his predecessor nearly half of
Persia had been given into Rustem’s hands, and he demanded a restitution
of the territory, and the captivity of their ruler. “Take with thee,”
said the king, “my whole army and all my treasure. What wouldst thou
have more? He who has conquered the terrific obstacles of the Heft-khān,
and has slain Arjasp, and subdued his kingdom, can have no cause to fear
any other chief.” Isfendiyār replied that he was not prompted to decline
the campaign from cowardice, but that Rustem had been the monitor and
friend of their ancestors, enriched their minds and taught them to be
brave, and he was ever faithful to their cause. “Besides,” said he,
“thou wert the honored guest of Rustem two long years; and at Sistan
enjoyed his hospitality and friendship—his festive social board; and
canst thou now, forgetting that delightful intercourse, become his
bitterest foe?”
Gushtāsp replied: “’Tis true he may have served my ancestors, but what
is that to me? His spirit is proud, and he refused to yield me needful
aid when danger pressed; that is enough, and thou canst not divert me
from my settled purpose.” Kitabūn, the mother of Isfendiyār, begged him
to disobey the king rather than to undertake so dangerous and
dishonorable a campaign. She claimed that curses must fall upon the
throne, and ruin seize the country which returned evil for good and
spurned its benefactor, and pleaded with him to restrain his steps, and
engage not in a war which could do him no honor.
But Isfendiyār replied that his word was pledged to his royal father,
and taking a tender leave of his mother and bidding the king a formal
farewell, he placed himself at the head of the Persian host, and set out
upon the campaign in which he had so little heart. When he arrived in
Rustem’s province, that chieftain rode out to welcome him, and cordially
invited him to accept their hospitality. Isfendiyār was obliged to
refuse the kindly offer and explain the unpleasant nature of his
mission, whereupon Rustem promptly declined to be bound and carried in
fetters to the Persian king. In order to save unnecessary bloodshed, it
was decided to settle the matter by single combat, and the next morning
Rustem rode out to meet his unwilling foe, and both were clad in shining
mail.
Rustem sat upon Rakush, while Isfendiyār rode a night-black charger,
swift as the driving cloud, and in his stride he scattered the desert
stones as if a hail-storm reveled around his master’s head. The
chieftains closed in the long and useless fight, while many javelins
whizzed upon the air, and helm and mail were bruised. Spear fractured
spear, and then with gleaming swords the strife went on until they too
snapped short. The battle-ax was next wielded in furious wrath; each
bending forward struck the bewildering blows—each tried in vain to hurl
the other from his fiery horse. Wearied at length, they stood apart to
breathe, their chargers covered with foam and blood, and the strong
armor of steed and rider both were rent. So severely was Rakush wounded
that Rustem dismounted and impelled his arrows from the ground, while
the gallant horse pursued his way painfully homeward.
When Zūara saw the noble animal riderless crossing the plain he gasped
for breath, and in an agony of grief he hastened to the fatal spot,
where he found his gallant brother fighting still, even while the blood
was flowing copiously from every wound. Isfendiyār had escaped with
fewer wounds, and Zūara placed Rustem upon his own steed and offered
himself as a substitute; but Rustem refused, saying that to-morrow he
would continue the fight.
Isfendiyār retired sadly to his tent and wrote a letter to his father,
saying: “Thy commands must be obeyed, and Heaven only knows what may
befall to-morrow.” When Rustem arrived at his court Zāl discovered that
he, as well as his gallant steed, was terribly wounded. The old
chieftain carefully dressed the wounds of his son, and Rustem said to
his father: “I never met with any foe, be he warrior or demon, with such
amazing strength and bravery as this. He seems to have a brazen body,
for my arrows, which I can drive through an anvil, cannot penetrate his
chest. If I had applied the strength which I have exerted to a mountain
it would have been moved from its base, but he sat firmly in his saddle
and scorned my efforts.”
“Let us not despair,” replied the father. “Did not the Sīmūrgh promise
her assistance in the time of greatest need.” So saying, Zāl took the
precious feather, which had been only slightly burned before, and going
out upon the cliff he burned it in a censer. The darkness grew deeper
for a moment, and then there was the rush of mighty wings, as the
mountain bird circled slowly down out of the darkness and stood in her
rich and massive beauty beside her foster child, now an old and retired
warrior. Zāl’s eye lighted up with hope and love as he gently laid his
hand upon her golden plumage and told her of his sad affliction.
The faithful Rakush stood near by with drooping head and bleeding form,
and he first caught the eye of the loving mother-bird. Going to him she
pulled out the cruel arrows with her beak, and gently passed the
feathers of her wing over the wounds; they quickly healed, and the old
war horse raised his gallant head and stamped his feet impatiently as if
he longed again to hear the trumpet call to battle. The Sīmūrgh then
went to Rustem and soothed him with the gentle caresses of her head and
beak, and drawing forth the hidden darts from his body she sucked the
poisoned blood from out the gaping wounds, and then they closed and
healed; so the champion was soon restored to life and strength. Being
thus invigorated under her magic care, he sought her aid in the battle
of the coming day. But the bird replied: “There never appeared a more
brave and perfect hero than Isfendiyār, for in his Heft-khān he
succeeded in killing a Sīmūrgh, and the further thou art removed from
his invincible arrow the greater will be thy safety.”
But Zāl interposed, saying: “If Rustem retires from the contest his
family will be enslaved—we shall be in bondage and affliction.” Then she
told Rustem to mount Rakush and follow her. He obeyed, and she led him
far away across a broad river, and on the other side she came to a low
marsh filled with reeds, where the moonlight flashed on the white wings
of the pelicans and the night bird sang his lowest notes to the pale and
drooping lilies. Then from the stems that bloom on the banks of Īrān’s
rivers she chose the Kazū[260] tree, and directed Rustem to take from it
a straight shaft and form it into an arrow and shoot it into the eye of
his enemy. “The arrow,” said she, “will make him blind, and I would that
it were only so, for he who spills the blood of Isfendiyār will never
again in life be free from calamity.” Then she escorted Rustem, who
carried the charmed arrow, back to his tent, and caressing his face with
her beak and soft feathers she spread her golden pinions and soared away
into darkness.
THE FALL OF THE WARRIORS.
Isfendiyār was amazed to see Rustem bearing gallantly down upon him,
clad in full armor, and riding the self-same steed that seemed wounded
to the death the day before. “How is this?” he cried.
“But thy father Zāl is a sorcerer,
And he by charm and spell
Has cured all the wounds of the warrior,
And now he is safe and well.
For the wounds I gave could never be
Closed up except by sorcery.”
Rustem replied, “If a thousand arrows were shot at me they would fail to
kill, and in the end thou wilt fall at my hands. Therefore come at once
and be my guest, and I swear by the Zend-Avesta that I will go with
thee, but unfettered, to thy father.”
“That is not enough,” returned Isfendiyār. “Thou must be fettered, I
will not disobey the commands of the king,” and he seized his bow to
commence the combat. Rustem did the same, and as he placed the Sīmūrgh’s
arrow in the bowstring, he exclaimed, “I have wished for a
reconciliation, and I would now give all my treasures and wealth to go
with you to Īrān and avoid this conflict, but my offers are disdained,
for you are determined to consign me to bondage and disgrace.”
An arrow from Isfendiyār came quickly against his armor, but by turning
himself he eluded its point, and in return he quickly lodged the
Sīmūrgh’s arrow in the eyes of his antagonist.
“And darkness overspread his sight,
The world to him was hid in night,
The bow dropped from his slackened hand,
And down he sunk upon the ground.”
Bāhman, the son of Isfendiyār, seeing his father fall, uttered loud
lamentations, and all the Persian troops drew near in sorrow and
mourning. The stricken man was carried to his tent, and the next day
both Zāl and Rustem came to offer their sympathy and condolence.
The wounded prince replied, “I do not ascribe my misfortunes to thee;
fate would have it so, and thus it is. But I consign my son Bāhman to
thy care and guardianship; instruct him in the science of government,
the custom of kings, and the rules of the warrior, for thou art perfect
in all things.” Rustem readily promised, saying that it should be his
duty to see that the young prince was firmly seated upon the throne of
his fathers.
Then Isfendiyār sent a message to his father, and with a few tender,
loving words for his mother, he lay back and died. Then Rustem returned
home, carrying with him as a sacred trust the son of the slain prince,
who was carefully instructed in all the arts of war and the
accomplishments of peace, and finally placed upon the throne that should
have been his father’s.
But the blood of the gallant Isfendiyār carried with it a curse, as the
Sīmūrgh had said, and Rustem himself fell a victim to the treachery of
his half-brother. He and his gallant horse fell together in a pit which
had been prepared for them while on a hunting excursion, and although
Rakush bounded gallantly out of the first, it was only to fall into
another, and they struggled on, until mounting up the edge of the
seventh pit, and covered with deep wounds, both horse and rider lay
exhausted. With one supreme effort, Rustem sent an arrow through the man
who had betrayed him, and then Persia’s gallant son was dead, and not a
kingly follower remained. Zūara and other followers had fallen and
perished in other pits dug by the traitor king and traitor brother. All
were lost save one, who escaped and carried the sad tidings to Sistan,
where Zāl in agony tore his white hair and cried, “Why did I not die for
him, why was I not present fighting by his side?” And never again did
the land of Īrān bear a chieftain like the gallant Rustem slain.
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Footnote 258:
There is a tradition that Gushtasp was Darius Hystaspes, and that his
son Isfendiyar was Xerxes.
Footnote 259:
Compare the wooden horse that caused the fall of Troy, also the fall
of Arzestan, which the Saracen general conquered by smuggling into the
city a portion of his troops in chests, having obtained leave of the
governor to deposit there some old lumber which impeded his march.
Footnote 260:
Pichula, used anciently for Persian arrows. During the rainy season it
blooms profusely on the banks of the rivers, where it is interwoven
with twining Asclepias.—_Sir W. Jones in “Botanical Observations._”