Chapter V: Story of a Bold Soldier

In great Isphahan, a companion had I,Who was warlike and bold and uncommonly sly.His hand and his sword were with blood always dyed ;Like flesh on the fire, hearts of foes through him fried.Not a day did I see him with quiver unlashed ;From his steel arrow-heads ev'ry day the fire flashed.He was brave, and his strength was exceedingly great ;From dread of him, tigers were restless in state.Such reliance in shooting his shafts he would show,That he failed not to smite with each arrow a foe.I have not seen a thorn pierce a flower so quick,As the heads of his arrows pierced shields that were thick.He smote not an enemy's head with his spear,That he did not cause helmet and head to adhere.In battle, like sparrows 'mong locusts in flight ;Men and sparrows, for slaughter, were one in his sight.If upon Faridun an attack he had made,No time he'd have left him to flourish his blade.By the strength of his fingers were leopards subdued ;He his nails in the brains of fierce tigers imbrued.He would seize by the girdle one used to the fray,And were he a mountain, would dash him away.On a man clad in mail when his battle-axe fell,He passed through the man and smote saddle as well.In valour and generous qualities shown,His equal on earth, no one ever had known.For a moment he let me not out of his sight,For with men of good nature he gathered delight.From that country a journey soon called me away,For it had not been fated that there I should stay.From Irak into Sham ' I was carried by Fate ;In that sanctified land I was happy in state.In Sham, then, I finished my measure of toil,And a longing I felt for my own native soil.By chance, it occurred that while journeying back,I again had to pass through the land of Irak.One night, with my head hanging down in deep thought,To my mind was that skilful one's memory brought.The salt of remembrance renewed my old sore,For oft had I eaten his salt, long before.To great Isphahan to behold him I went;Out of friendship, on searching and asking intent.I saw that Time's changes had made the youth old;His straight figure bent and his red hue, like gold ;His snowy-haired head like a white-crested hill ;From the snow of old age down his face the tears rill.The sky having mastery over him found,Soon twisted the hand of his manliness round.The world from his head having ostracised pride,Infirmity's head, on his knees must abide.I exclaimed, " Oh great chief! who with lions engaged,What has polished you down like a fox that is aged?""Since the Tartar invasion," he smilingly said,"I have driven strife-seeking away from my head.The ground filled with spears, like a cane-break, I watched,With their banners of scarlet, like fire-brands attached.Like smoke, I excited the dust-clouds of war;But what 'vantage gives bravery when Fortune's afar?I am he, who, whenever an onset I made,A ring from the palm with my spear I conveyed.But because in my 'star' no assistance I found,Like a ring, they immediately circled me round !The path of retreat I esteemed as a friend ;For the foolish alone will with Fortune contend.What succour do helmet and armour bestow,When my planet refuses assistance to show?When you hold not possession of Victory's key,Conquest's door by your arm cannot broken up be.A host came, leopard-felling, of elephant might ;Iron-clad the horse-hoofs and the head of each wight.As soon as the dust of this army we spied,To put on our armour and helmets we hied.Like clouds, we urged forward our Arabs, amain,And brought our swords down, like a torrent of rain.Both armies together from ambushment crashed ;You'd have said that the sky on the earth they had dashed.From the raining of arrows, like hail, 'mong the foes,The whirlwind of death, in each corner arose.In hunting the lions accustomed to war,The mouth of the dragon like noose was ajar.From the dust, azure coloured, the earth became sky,And the helmets and swords flashed like stars twinkling high.As soon as the enemy's horse came in sight,With our shields knit together, dismounted we fight.What strength can the hand of man's labouring show,If the arm of God's grace does not succour bestow?Not blunt were the swords of these brave men of war;But fierce was the spite of their rancorous star.Not a man of our army came out from the fray,With doublet unmoistened with blood, on that day.The shafts of those men into silk did not go,Who, I've said, with their arrows an anvil could sew.Like a hundred grains, joined in one cluster, we start ;We were scattered, each grain in a corner apart.We through cowardice further resistance forsook ;Like the fish clothed in mail which succumbs to the hook.When Fortune averted her face from our field,'Gainst the arrows of Fate, of what use was a shield?"