Until now we have mainly been studying sources that tell us about the KhwadÄynÄmag and its translations. This chapter will focus on the material that we find, or that we do not find, in those of our sources that should be dependent on the KhwadÄynÄmag among other sources (Chapter 5.1). At the other end of the tradition, it will try to evaluate, based on one case study, how stories developed during the transmission process (Chapter 5.2).
5.1 Rustam in Arabic and Persian Literature
The greatest hero of FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme, Rustam, is sparsely documented from pre-and early Islamic times,1 but there can be little serious doubt as to his importance in at least the East Iranian world. From the tenth century onwards he became in a short time a national hero, as not only shown by FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme, and its tenth-century sources, but also by the proliferating genre of later epics, largely centred on Rustam and the other Sistanian heroes, much of the material going back to times before FirdawsÄ« (see Chapter 4.7).2 The scarcity of extant Middle Persian references to Rustam3 is clearly due to the lack of preserved sources in Pahlavi and/or the fact that Rustam stories continued to circulate in oral transmission as part of the repertoire of storytellers (cf. Chapter 1.4).
Most of the stories of Rustam are linked to Persian national history and are, at least tangentially, related to the material in the KhwadÄynÄmag. As Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation has been lost, its contents have to be deduced from later quotations and references and Arabic and Classical Persian sources. One of the open questions is whether and to what extent Rustam and the other Sistanians had a place in the KhwadÄynÄmag. Another question is when have the two traditions been joined together to form one continuous narrative. These two questions will be discussed in this chapter.
Although Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation has later disappeared, it was influential in its own time and several centuries thereafter. In order to discuss whether it contained material on Rustam, we have to go through early Arabic sources, or sources that contain early material. FirdawsÄ« became influential in Iran especially in the twelfth century, and also Arabic works written later than that are always open to doubt as to whether or not they have been influenced by material derived directly or indirectly from FirdawsÄ«âs work. Sources earlier than this, in both Arabic and Classical Persian, mainly derive their material from the now lost earlier sources and often differ in details from FirdawsÄ«. Arabic and Persian historical works remained largely untouched by the epic tradition even later, though, and, especially on the Arabic side, FirdawsÄ«âs influence was limited, despite his overwhelming influence on Persian belles lettres from the twelfth century onward. Arabic sources usually circulate material derived from earlier historical works and show only limited marks of borrowings from FirdawsÄ«âs epic, presumably through Classical Persian historical works. On the Persian side, FirdawsÄ«âs influence is stronger, but here, too, many sources prefer the âhistoricalâ tradition to FirdawsÄ«âs âepicâ tradition.4
When going through first-millennium Arabic texts, the first thing that strikes one is how rarely Rustam is mentioned and how little the Arabs seem to have known about him. The list of Arabic sources that completely ignore Rustam is long. To take but a few examples, al-JÄhÌ£izÌ£, who is usually well informed about everything, does not even mention him in his main works (BayÄn; HÌ£ayawÄn; RasÄʾil), and we search in vain for him in al-IsÌ£fahÄnÄ«âs KitÄb al-AghÄnÄ«. Likewise, Ibn Qutayba, mentions him neither in his MaÊ¿Ärif, which contains a chapter on Persian kings (pp. 652â667), deriving its material from kutub siyar mulÅ«k al-Ê¿ajam, nor in the Ê¿UyÅ«n, and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« is equally ignorant of him in his ThimÄr and has little to say about him in his other works. In his IÊ¿jÄz, pp. 32â33, there are some maxims attributed to Rustam (and others to ZÄl), but one can hardly recognize FirdawsÄ«âs Rustam from these rather stereotyped sayings that have nothing heroic in them.5 Ibn HÌ£amdÅ«n, Tadhkira i: 278 (no. 733), only gives a brief saying by an unidentified Rustam (âwhen you want to be obeyed, ask what can be doneâ idhÄ aradta an tutÌ£ÄÊ¿ fa-sal mÄ yustatÌ£ÄÊ¿). Al-ZamakhsharÄ«, RabÄ«Ê¿ ii: 792, gives the same saying, but attributes it to IsfandiyÄr.6 Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs IÊ¿jÄz, p. 33, gives us a clue as to how this confusion was generated: there the saying is implicitly attributed to Rustam, who has been identified as the speaker of the previous saying and who gives this piece of advice to IsfandiyÄr (wa-qÄla [i.e., Rustam] li-IsfandiyÄr).
When one does encounter the name Rustam, it is usually the general of al-QÄdisiyya who is being referred to. ZÄl, SÄm, and the other members of the Sistanian family are equally unknown in these sources. On the Christian Arabic side, the situation is similar: e.g., Eutychius does not even mention the name Rustam.
It is often, but erroneously, stated that Rustam and his deeds were already known on the Arabian Peninsula in the early seventh century and that stories about him were brought there by al-NadÌ£r ibn al-HÌ£Ärith, who had learned them in al-Ḥīra.7 In modern studies, Theodor Nöldeke (1920): 11, n. 5, seems to be the first to mention this, twice referring to Ibn HishÄmâs (d. 218/833) SÄ«rat rasÅ«l AllÄh. In SÄ«ra i: 246, Ibn HishÄm tells that al-NadÌ£r ibn al-HÌ£Ärith learned in al-Ḥīra tales of Persian kings and âahÌ£ÄdÄ«th Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄrâ. In SÄ«ra i: 294, he says that al-NadÌ£r related stories about the mighty Rustam and IsfandiyÄr (wa-hÌ£addathahum Ê¿an Rustam al-SindÄ«d â read: al-shadÄ«d â wa-Ê¿an IsfandiyÄr) and the kings of Persia.8
In Nöldekeâs time, Ibn HishÄmâs SÄ«ra was mainly taken at face value, miracles excluded. Over the last few decades, it has become increasingly clear that historiansâ reports on early Islam and the life of the Prophet should not be taken as faithfully reflecting the conditions of the early seventh century, but should be considered products of their authorsâ time or, at most, of the eighth century.9 Hence, the passages only prove the obvious, namely that Arab scholars of the late eighth, early ninth century knew about Rustam.
How vaguely even later authors probably did this is shown by al-SuhaylÄ«âs (d. 581/1185) commentary on Ibn HishÄmâs SÄ«ra, al-RawdÌ£ al-unuf. The main passage on Rustam comes in RawdÌ£ iii: 157â160, commenting on Ibn HishÄmâs mention of al-NadÌ£r. In iii: 158, al-SuhaylÄ« writes: âRustam, who is called the Lord of BanÅ« *DastÄn,10 was a Turkish (sic) kingâ. Some lines later he adds: âThere is also another Rustam who has earlier been mentioned in the stories about Kay QubÄd. He lived before the time of Solomon. After Kay QubÄd, Rustam was Vizier to his son Kay QÄwÅ«sâ. A page later he has this to say (iii: 159â160): âand I do not know whether the Rustam whom (sic) IsfandiyÄdh killed was the same as the Rustam who accompanied Kay QÄwÅ«s, or someone else (⦠wa-lÄ adrÄ« hal Rustam alladhÄ« qatalahu IsfandiyÄdh11 huwa Rustam sÌ£ÄhÌ£ib Kay QÄwÅ«s am ghayruhu), but it would seem that he was not, because the period between Kay QÄwÅ«s and Kay YastÄsb12 is very long. We have already mentioned that he was a Turkâ. If anything, these passages show how ignorant the writer was about Rustam.
In QurʾÄnic commentaries, Q 31: 6 is understood to refer to this al-NadÌ£r, and more or less the same scanty information is given in almost all tafsÄ«rs. In some, such as that of al-BaydÌ£ÄwÄ« (late seventh/thirteenth century) (AnwÄr iv: 150), it is further stated that al-NadÌ£r found the story of Rustam and IsfandiyÄr and bought it. While seemingly an interesting reference to the story existing in a buyable, and hence written, form, the verb is unfortunately derived from the formulation of the QurʾÄn, which is here taken in a literal sense: wa-min al-nÄsi man yashtarÄ« lahwa l-hÌ£adÄ«th (literally: âamong people there are some who buy diverting storiesâ).13 The verb is merely copied from the QurʾÄn into al-BaydÌ£ÄwÄ«âs narrative and the exegetical tradition in general.
It should be emphasized that the fact that Ibn HishÄm and the authors of the commentaries knew Rustam and that they connected him to al-NadÌ£r and the asÄṭīr al-awwalÄ«n only shows that they were aware that there were some stories about Rustam circulating in Persian lore. It does not follow that they would have known these stories in any detail.14 That Rustam was the hero of long stories of the Persians was common knowledge by the end of the eighth century, cf. Chapter 2.2.1 and below.
When we come to historical sources, we find some information about Rustam, but it is still meagre and sometimes disquietingly different from what we might expect on the basis of Firdawsī.
In his al-AkhbÄr al-tÌ£iwÄl, al-DÄ«nawarÄ« (d. not later than 290/902â3) first, p. 6, mentions that the Indian King Porus (familiar from the Alexander Romance and other Alexander narratives)15 and, according to some, Rustam were descended from GhÄnim ibn Ê¿AlwÄn. On pp. 27â28, he tells that Rustam was the governor of Sistan and Khurasan for BishtÄsb. He was in the service of Kay QubÄd and grew furious because BishtÄsb had converted to Zarathustraâs (new) religion and for this reason rebelled. BishtÄsb sent his son IsfandiyÄdh against him. IsfandiyÄdh challenged Rustam but was killed by him, and âPersians tell a lot about thisâ (fa-yaqÅ«lu l-Ê¿ajam fÄ« dhÄlika qawlan kathÄ«ran). The author adds that Rustam died soon after, but gives no details concerning his death. On p. 29, he tells that later Bahman killed those he could of his offspring and family, but again gives no names. Much later, p. 82 (in the story of BahrÄm ChÅ«bÄ«n), he lets BahrÄm briefly refer to Rustam having saved QÄbÅ«s when the latter was imprisoned, but does not mention his role in extracting revenge on SiyÄwushâs account. This is all this historian from DÄ«nawar, in Western Iran, has to tell about Rustam.
Except for a few stray notes on Rustam, al-DÄ«nawarÄ« concentrates on the battle between Rustam and IsfandiyÄr, which is typical of most early Arabic historians, as will be seen. Another theme that should be pointed out is the conversion of BishtÄsb to Zoroastrianism, contrasted with Rustamâs refusal to leave his ancestral religion, an event used to explain the falling out of BishtÄsb and Rustam. Later Arabic and Classical Persian sources often elaborate on this and, either implicitly or explicitly, identify this ancestral religion with monotheism.16
The anonymous NihÄyat al-arab seems to share the same sources with al-DÄ«nawarÄ«âs AkhbÄr, but the mutual relations of the two are still unclear.17 It is evident, however, that they represent traditions that circulated in Arabic before al-TÌ£abarÄ«, who, in general, derives much material from the same tradition.
The NihÄya shows that its author was intimately familiar with the battle between Rustam and IsfandiyÄr. On p. 26, he briefly mentions that Rustam the Mighty (text:
The story is related in a more extensive form than in al-DÄ«nawarÄ«âs version, but in a similar fashion. According to this version, some learned Persians claim that Rustam lived in Sistan and was descended from TÌ£asm ibn NÅ«hÌ£, while others (still Persians?) say that his mother was a TÌ£asmÄ«, but his father descended from Nimrod. BishtÄsf converted to Zarathustraâs religion. Earlier he had been imprisoned by a king descended from HÌ£Äm and had been freed by Rustam. BishtÄsf had given Rustam Khurasan and Sistan to rule and had crowned him. But when Rustam heard about the conversion, he became furious and rebelled. BishtÄsf sent his son IsfandiyÄr against Rustam. Rustam told him that he would fight until BishtÄsf left Zoroastrianism.19 They fought for 40 days. Rustam made a trick and led his army, against the agreement, into battle against IsfandiyÄrâs army, but to no avail. Again they fought a duel, in which IsfandiyÄr shot a thousand arrows at Rustam and all hit their mark. IsfandiyÄr called to him and suggested they stop for that day.
His horse Rakhsh could not take him over a deep river, so Rustam dismounted. Back home, he attended to his wounds and called for a kÄhin. The kÄhin predicted that Rustam would kill IsfandiyÄr, but would himself die soon thereafter. He further told that he would be able to kill IsfandiyÄr with arrows made of the tamarisk which grew on the island of KÄzarÅ«n. Rustam sent a message to IsfandiyÄr and asked for a longer respite. IsfandiyÄr consented to this, and Rustam sailed to an island near TÌ£abaristÄn and got the wood for his arrows. (There is no mention of SÄ«murgh, usually called al-Ê¿AnqÄʾ in Arabic sources,20 in the story, nor in the whole book). On the following day Rustam shot three arrows and killed IsfandiyÄr, whose army returned to report to BishtÄsf. The king died of sorrow, and Bahman ascended the throne. Soon after Rustam had a hunting accident and died in a pit, but it is also said that he died of the wounds caused by IsfandiyÄr. The killing of his family is not mentioned.
These two sources lead us to the greatest historian of the first millennium, al-TÌ£abarÄ« (d. 310/923). The information we receive about Rustam is marginal and strictly centred on the episode of Rustam and SiyÄwukhsh.21 Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 598â604//iv: 2â7, is the longest passage on Rustam and it only narrates the episode of SiyÄwukhsh (also giving Rustamâs full name with four forefathers between DastÄn, i.e., ZÄl, and Sahm, i.e., SÄm), with reference to âa long storyâ told about him. Then the text continues with the attempt of Kay KÄwÅ«s to fly and relates how he was imprisoned in Yemen and saved by Rustam. This is partly narrated on the authority of HishÄm (ibn MuhÌ£ammad al-KalbÄ«, d. 204/819).22
The other mentions of Rustam are marginal. Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 681//iv: 76, tells, on the authority of Ibn al-KalbÄ«, that IsfandiyÄr was killed by Rustam, and Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 687//iv: 81â82, that Bahman slayed Rustam, DastÄn, AzwÄra, and FarÄmarz. The only remaining reference to Rustam in the whole Taâ ʾrÄ«kh comes in ii: 1154//xxiii: 98, where a mighty warrior is first compared to Satan and then to Rustam.
The Persian translation/reworking of al-TÌ£abarÄ«âs Taâ ʾrÄ«kh by BalÊ¿amÄ« (d. towards the end of the tenth century) is hardly more informative, even though its author had at his disposal Persian works belonging to the Book of Kings tradition (Chapter 3.6). His unwillingness to provide more material on Rustam hardly depends on his wish to follow al-TÌ£abarÄ« here more closely â elsewhere, he freely adds material from Persian and other sources â but on the fact that he had little additional material at hand. Whatever the reason, it proves that in BukhÄrÄ, where BalÊ¿amÄ« wrote (or partly commissioned) his work, Rustam was not the central character of national history: BalÊ¿amÄ«âs SÄmÄnid patron Manṣūr ibn NÅ«hÌ£ obviously did not expect him to deal any more extensively with Rustam.
BalÊ¿amÄ« concisely narrates the following episodes related to Rustamâs life: SiyÄwukhsh (pp. 419â421); Kay KÄwÅ«s in Yemen (pp. 422â423); Rustam kills IsfandiyÄr (pp. 468â469); and finally, with explicit reference to al-TÌ£abarÄ« (p. 482), Bahmanâs killing of Rustamâs father and brother. A couple of lines earlier, based on KitÄb-e AkhbÄr-e Ê¿ajam, BalÊ¿amÄ« had told that Rustam had already been killed by a brother of his, which, unsurprisingly, shows that FirdawsÄ« did not invent this motif but that it was already in circulation in the tenth century.
Other early Arabic historians also indicate that Rustam was strongly present only in the episodes concerning SiyÄwush and IsfandiyÄr. Al-MaqdisÄ« (d. after 355/966), a very well-informed historian, who used native sources (Chapter 3.6),23 is only slightly more informative. In his Badʾ iii: 147â148, under the title âThe story of how Rustam saved Kay KÄwÅ«sâ, he tells how the latter was imprisoned by the HÌ£imyar. Rustam came from Sistan with a great army and asked al-Ê¿AnqÄʾ (i.e., SÄ«murgh) for help. The bird gave him one of his own feathers and promised to come if Rustam were to burn it. The HÌ£imyarÄ« king had, by magic, suspended his town between heaven and earth. Rustam called al-Ê¿AnqÄʾ to help him and the bird took his horse in his claws and let Rustam ride on his back. Thus, he took Rustam to the town, where Rustam rescued Kay KÄwÅ«s from the pit, taking also SuÊ¿dÄ (Arabicized for SÅ«dÄbe) back to Babylon. Then the author briefly refers (Badʾ iii: 148â149) to the story of SiyÄwush and SuÊ¿dÄ, which, he says, is like that of Joseph and ZulaykhÄ. SiyÄwush is imprisoned, and Rustam comes to kill SuÊ¿dÄ. (There is no mention of the Turkish adventures of SiyÄwush, except that he was killed in the land of the Turks.) The passage ends by throwing doubt on the credibility of the story of al-Ê¿AnqÄʾ, wa-llÄhu aÊ¿lam.
Even the best authority on pre-Islamic Iran, HÌ£amza al-IsÌ£fahÄnÄ« (d. 350/961 or 360/971), almost completely ignores Rustam in his Taâ ʾrÄ«kh sinÄ« l-mulÅ«k, which was written on the basis of several versions of the Arabic translations of the KhwadÄynÄmag and other historical works (Chapter 3.6). In the chapter on the South Arabian kings (not the Persians), HÌ£amza only mentions (p. 101) that the South Arabian Shammar-YarÊ¿ash was, according to some, killed by Rustam ibn DastÄn. It is indicative that the focus here is on the South Arabian king, not Rustam. This absolute paucity of Rustam material is significant since HÌ£amza seems to have followed very closely the Arabic translation(s) of the KhwadÄynÄmag, on which he is our most reliable and best-informed authority.
Another usually well-informed author is Miskawayh (d. 421/1030), whose TajÄrib again provides meagre results concerning Rustam. TajÄrib i: 70â72, resumes the story of Kay QÄbÅ«s, SiyÄwukhsh and Rustam: Rustam educates SiyÄwukhsh (i: 70). SiyÄwukhsh implores Rustam to ask Kay QÄbÅ«s to send him to fight against AfrÄsiyÄb (i: 71, as in FirdawsÄ«, but this detail is lacking from al-TÌ£abarÄ«, one of Miskawayhâs sources). When BÄ«b (= GÄ«w) brings Kay Khusraw to Iran, Rustam comes with an army to welcome him and in several battles defeats the Turkish forces that had followed the fugitives (i: 72). Finally, Rustam saves Kay QÄbÅ«s from Yemen. This is the longest passage on Rustam in Miskawayhâs work, but there is also a reference to the Persians telling stories about Rustamâs strength (i: 72). Miskawayh (i: 72), presents a manumission letter to Rustam, a Persian version of which is found in Ibn al-BalkhÄ«âs FÄrsnÄme, p. 43.24 He provides no further references to Rustam in the Kayanid history and has nothing on him in the chapter on Kay Khusraw.
Other early Arabic historical and geographical sources, excepting al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, Ghurar, to be discussed later, provide only negligible references to Rustam or follow one of the above-discussed sources. Al-BalÄdhurÄ« (d. 279/892), FutÅ«hÌ£, p. 394, Ibn al-FaqÄ«h (wrote in 290/903 or soon after), MukhtasÌ£ar, p. 208, and Ibn al-AthÄ«r (d. 637/1239), KÄmil iii: 128, mention âRustamâs Stableâ in connection with the Arab-Islamic conquest of Sistan, which has been taken25 as an indication that Rustam was already famous at that time. As the passage concerns Iran and more specifically Sistan, he was obviously famous, but again one should keep in mind the historiographical difficulties: what in a historical source is set at the time of the conquests, need not, and very often does not, date from that far back.
In his ÄthÄr, al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ« (d. about 442/1050), mentions in one sentence (p. 121/104//112) how Rustam ibn DastÄn ibn KarshÄsb al-malik rescued Kay KÄwÅ«s when Shammar-YarÊ¿ash of Yemen had imprisoned him, deriving this information from HÌ£amza (in whose Taâ ʾrÄ«kh this detail is, however, not given or preserved). Some pages later, on p. 151,26 Rustam is said to have killed Shammar-YarÊ¿ash, which does come from HÌ£amza. In this book, al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ« seems almost completely unaware of Rustamâs heroic deeds. It should be noted that al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ« is one of the rare Arabic authors who had AbÅ« Ê¿AlÄ« al-BalkhÄ«âs al-ShÄhnÄma at their disposal (ÄthÄr, p. 114/99//107â108, cf. Chapter 4.1.2), and al-BalkhÄ« had been able to use both Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs Siyar and possibly other Arabic translations of the KhwadÄynÄmag. Hence, the almost complete lack of Rustam material is highly significant when assessing what Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag contained and what it did not.
The situation does not change much in al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ«âs other books. In KitÄb MÄ liâl-Hind, there is only one mention of Rustam at the very end of the book, p. 547 (trans. Sachau 1910, ii: 246). The rainbow, qaws-QuzahÌ£, is attached by Indians to the name of a hero of theirs âjust as our common people attach it to the name of Rustamâ.27 Al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ«, who is usually extremely well informed about matters Persian, seems to know surprisingly little about Rustam (although the short note in KitÄb MÄ liâl-Hind is interesting in itself).
Later geographical works are equally sparse when it comes to Rustam. YÄqÅ«t (d. 626/1229), MuÊ¿jam, mentions him twice.28 In an article on ZÄbulistÄn (iii: 125), he explains that the toponym derives from an eponymous ZÄbul (cf. ZÄl), the grandfather (sic) of Rustam ibn DastÄn. The second mention comes in an article on Sistan (iii: 191) and, on the authority of Ibn al-FaqÄ«h, defines it as the kingdom of Rustam the Mighty, who had been made king over it by Kay QÄwÅ«s.
Finally, we come to al-Masʿūdī (d. 345/956), one of our main sources on pre-Islamic Persia. In his Tanbīh, p. 94//136, there is an extremely important passage on the wars between the Persians and the Turks:
At the end of the seventh part of KitÄb MurÅ«j al-dhahab we have mentioned the reason why Persians exaggerate the [regnal] years of these kings, their secrets concerning this, and their wars against the kings of the Turks â these wars are called BaykÄr, which means âbattleâ â and other nations, as well as the battles between Rustam ibn DastÄn and IsfandiyÄr in Khurasan, Sistan, and ZÄbulistÄn.
The term baykÄr would seem primarily to refer to the battles between the Persians and the Turks, where Rustam plays a major role.
Al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«âs MurÅ«j, §§541 and 543 (on FarÄsiyÄb), gives the key to our understanding of the place of Rustam in pre-Islamic and early Islamic sources. The passages read:
The Persians tell a lot about AfrÄsiyÄbâs death and his battles, the battles and raids between the Persians and the Turks, the death of SiyÄwush, and the story of Rustam ibn DastÄn. All this is found explained in the book titled KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn, which was translated by Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ from Ancient Persian into Arabic. The story of IsfandiyÄr (â¦) and how Rustam ibn DastÄn killed him is narrated there, as well as how Bahman ibn IsfandiyÄr killed Rustam and other wonders and tales of the Ancient Persians. Persians think highly of this book because it contains stories about their ancestors and their kingsâ histories. Thank God, we have been able to narrate many of their histories in our earlier books.
Murūj §541
According to what is told in the Book of al-SakÄ«sarÄn the Persians say that his paternal grandfather Kay QÄwÅ«s was the king before Kay Khusraw and that Kay Khusraw had no offspring, so he gave the kingship to LuhrÄsb.
Murūj §543
Thus, this KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn seems to have concentrated on the Turkish wars, SiyÄwush, IsfandiyÄr, and Rustam. It also shows that the story of Rustam was already integrated with royal matter in the KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn.29
In another passage, al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« seems to derive partly the same information from KitÄb al-BaykÄr, also translated by Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿:
This fortress was built by an Ancient Persian king of old times, called IsbandiyÄr ibn BistÄsf (â¦). This is one of the fortresses in the world that are described as impenetrable. The Persians mention it in their poems (ashÊ¿ÄrihÄ) and tell how IsbandiyÄr ibn BistÄsf built it. IsbandiyÄr waged many wars in the East against various peoples. He was the one who travelled to the farthest parts of the Turkish lands and destroyed the City of Brass. The deeds of IsbandiyÄr and all the things we have told are mentioned in the book known as KitÄb al-BaykÄr, which Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ translated into Arabic.
MurÅ«j §§479â480
What the passages clearly tell is that there was a vivid tradition of historical books, other than the KhwadÄynÄmag, and some of these came to be translated into Arabic, whether by Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ or others (see Chapter 2.2.1). At least two such books, KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn and KitÄb al-BaykÄr, contained Rustam material, and it is specifically this material that we find quoted, or referred to, in early Arabic works. The KhwadÄynÄmag, or its Arabic translation, the Siyar al-mulÅ«k, on the contrary, is not mentioned by al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«, and may have contained next to no mentions of Rustam, which would not be surprising, as the refractory vassal would not have fitted in easily into a royal chronicle. The two books, as described by al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«, cover virtually all the material that may be found in early Arabic sources, and it is probable that they were the sources the other authors tapped, too, for this material, not the KhwadÄynÄmag and its translations. It should be emphasized that no source of ours, excepting the problematic NihÄya, claims to derive Rustam material from the KhwadÄynÄmag or its Arabic translations. To speculate about this without tangible evidence is rather futile.
In MurÅ«j §542, the unlucky Yemenite excursion of Kay QÄwÅ«s is referred to, and the Yemenite king is identified as Shammar-YarÊ¿ash, and his daughter is SuÊ¿dÄ, the SÅ«dÄbe (SÅ«dÄwe) of the Iranian tradition. Al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« briefly tells how Rustam ibn DastÄn marched to Yemen with 4,000 men, killed Shammar-YarÊ¿ash, and saved Kay QÄwÅ«s, together with SuÊ¿dÄ, which led to the scene between SuÊ¿dÄ and SiyÄwukhsh âuntil what famously happened to him with AfrÄsiyÄb the Turk, how he sought asylum with him, and married his daughterâ, how Kay Khusraw was born, how SiyÄwukhsh was killed by AfrÄsiyÄb, and how Rustam killed SuÊ¿dÄ and took revenge for SiyÄwukhshâs death by killing noble Turks.
According to MurÅ«j §550, it was Bahman who, after several battles, killed Rustam.30 The conversion of BishtÄsb to Zoroastrianism is mentioned in the same paragraph, but the two incidents are not explicitly connected.
Al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« is not alone in giving us information about separate translations of Rustam stories into Arabic. Ibn al-NadÄ«m (d. in 380s/990s), Fihrist, p. 364/305//716, mentions a KitÄb Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr, translated by Jabala ibn SÄlim (late second/eighth century) (cf. Chapter 2.2.1).31
Al-JÄhÌ£izÌ£ (d. 255/868â869), RisÄlat al-HÌ£anÄ«n (RasÄʾil ii: 408) may refer to this bookâs Middle Persian original: âthe MÅbad has told that he has read in the Life of IsfandiyÄr (â¦), written in Persian,32 that when IsfandiyÄr raided the land of the Khazars in order to save his sister33 from captivity (â¦)â. This quotation explicitly comes from a written Persian, most probably Middle Persian, source, not its Arabic translation. If it refers to the original text of the Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr mentioned by Ibn al-NadÄ«m, then the focus of this book may have been on IsfandiyÄr rather than Rustam.
The only case where the KhwadÄynÄmag, in its Arabic translation, would seemingly be the source for an episode related to Rustam and his family is NihÄya, p. 82, quoted above. In addition, on p. 85, it is told, again on the authority of Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿, that Bahman married the great-granddaughter of Solomon, ŪmÄ«dh-dukht: âI have found in Siyar mulÅ«k al-Ê¿ajam in the story of Bahman ibn IsfandiyÄr (â¦)â. At first sight, this would seem to locate at least these episodes in an Arabic Book of Kings. The NihÄya, however, is a highly problematic source, which attributes materials in a blatantly anachronistic way to eminent authorities to gain prestige for its tales (cf. Chapter 3.4). The latter passage is also problematic because it makes Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ refer to his own translation as his source.
Thus, reading extant early Arabic sources only, one receives the impression that, with the exception of the story of IsfandiyÄr, Rustam is a minor hero, on a par with other Persian generals. It is significant that none of the stories about him are attributed to Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag (except for the dubious case of the NihÄya), and the information is probably derived from other, independent works, either translated from Middle Persian or written in Arabic on the basis of (Middle) Persian sources, either written or oral.
KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn, KitÄb al-BaykÄr, and KitÄb Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr (perhaps translated from the Persian SÄ«rat IsfandiyÄr), as far as we can deduce their contents, actually cover all the material that was transmitted in other Arabic sources, which means that there is no reason to attribute any of it to the Middle Persian KhwadÄynÄmag where, moreover, Rustam would have been out of character if we assume, as is usually, and with good reason, done that the KhwadÄynÄmag was a royal chronicle.34 A subaltern prince would not too easily have been shown superior to the kings in such a source, so one would expect this to be the situation: the Rustam storiesâ mise-en-scène could more easily be expected to be separate narratives of perhaps more popular origin than a royal chronicle.
On the other hand, there is reason to assume that many such stories were not translated from Middle Persian but were first composed in Arabic, although based on Persian lore. In some cases, such as that of BahrÄm GÅ«r, it would be difficult to explain how the Arabs could have played such a major role in a book authored by Persians in Sasanian times or even soon after. If, on the other hand, the Arabs are removed from this story, very little remains, which makes it rather obvious that the story was first composed in an Arab context and probably in Arabic.
Once we turn to Classical Persian sources of the sixth/twelfth century and thereafter, the picture dramatically changes. The anonymous Mujmal (written 520/1126) shows both the influence of FirdawsÄ« (explicitly mentioned), of other tenth-century versions of the Classical Persian Book of Kings, and of various other nÄmes (Chapter 4.7), some of the last mentioned probably not in the form they have been preserved to us, but as earlier versions. The author also used the historical works of HÌ£amza and al-TÌ£abarÄ«, thus combining various lines of traditions. The âofficialâ Islamic version of history, as presented by al-TÌ£abarÄ«, does not, however, push the Persian tradition aside. On the contrary, on, e.g., p. 71/89, the author explicitly prefers these ancient sources to al-TÌ£abarÄ«.
The difference to Arabic sources is huge. The anonymous author summarizes virtually everything FirdawsÄ« narrates about Rustam, but it must be kept in mind that the author is also partly using the same sources as FirdawsÄ«, so we cannot be sure whether in a particular case he is summarizing FirdawsÄ« or his other sources. The Mujmal lists the family members of Rustam, both ancestors and descendants, with genealogical details (pp. 23â24/25â26) and synchronizes or equates them with Biblical figures: NarÄ«mÄn is identified with Noah and Rustam is given an alternative Arab genealogy (p. 32/38).35 IsfandiyÄr fled from Rustam to TurkistÄn, but Rustam followed him there to kill him. âThis is utter nonsense,â concludes the author, âbut we mention it because it is found in (the Persiansâ) tall tales (khurÄfÄt) and decrepit (dÄris) books, which we have seenâ (p. 34/38).
The marriage of ZÄl to MihrÄb, Rustamâs mother, is mentioned on pp. 36â37/42â43, and the following page (p. 37/43â44) summarizes the deeds of SÄm. On p. 38/45, we come to Rustamâs story: ZÄl sends him to bring Kay QubÄd to be crowned. Rustamâs first battle (p. 38/45) is told in the same way as in FirdawsÄ«: Rustam almost captures AfrÄsiyÄb, but AfrÄsiyÄbâs belt breaks and he gets away.
Mujmal, p. 39/45â46, narrates how Rustam saved Kay KÄwÅ«s and killed the White Demon and the King of MÄzandarÄn. Rustam and AfrÄsiyÄb fought in the SawÄd of Baghdad or, according to another version, Rustam followed the Turkish King into TurkistÄn and fought him there. On the same page, it is told how Rustam freed Kay KÄwÅ«s from HÄmÄwarÄn. Brief mentions of Rustamâs new battles against AfrÄsiyÄb follow and then we are told the story of SuhrÄb with all the details familiar from FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme, starting with Rakhsh having gone missing and ending with Rustam tragically killing his own son.
After this, the Mujmal moves on to narrate the story of SiyÄwush. Rustam rears SiyÄwush, whom SÅ«dÄwe later attempts to seduce, although to no avail. Finally, Rustam slays the scheming stepmother and brings Kay Khusraw to Iran. Rustam fights in TurkistÄn for seven years (p. 40/46).
In Kay Khusrawâs time Rustam intercedes for Ṭūs, kills FÅ«lÄdwand, and fights against AfrÄsiyÄb. This is followed by âthe story of AkwÄn DÄwâ. Then Rustam frees BÄ«zhan by disguising himself and his men as merchants and attacking AfrÄsiyÄb by night. All this is told on p. 41/48. FarÄmarz is sent to India, and Rustam takes part in renewed battles against AfrÄsiyÄb (pp. 41â42/49). Later, p. 44/52, it is told how GustÄsf sent IsfandiyÄr to fight Rustam and bring him to Iran in chains. IsfandiyÄr was mortally wounded (no mention of SÄ«murgh is made) and left Bahman to be reared by Rustam. Later GustÄsf demanded Bahman back. ShaghÄd managed to kill Rustam and ZawÄre (p. 44/53), and later Bahman marched to Sistan to take revenge on the remaining family members (pp. 44â45/53â54).
There are also a few scattered mentions of Rustam elsewhere in the book, which further testify to Rustamâs fame at the time (cf. the Index of the Mujmal). Zarathustraâs sleight-of-hand in Balkh is mentioned on p. 72/92, but Rustam plays no role in this context.
Keeping in mind that the author wished to present a concise historical work and hence condensed his material, it can be said that the whole Rustam material found in FirdawsÄ«âs epic, and some other episodes, is contained in this work. The additional pieces certainly came from the group of narratives known as the Sistanian Cycle, i.e., independent epics on the family of Rustam (see Chapter 4.7). We do know from the Mujmalâs Preface (p. 2/2) that the author used several Sistanian books as his sources (Chapter 3.6). These early versions should not be confused with later epics with the same titles.
Although the Mujmal is the clearest example of Rustamâs importance in early Persian sources (excluding FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme), many other works give a similar impression of his fame. Ibn al-BalkhÄ«âs FÄrsnÄme (written before 510/1116) is largely dependent on Arabic sources, but the author has augmented these with Persian ones. In this book, the main passage on Rustam comes in the chapter on Kay KÄwÅ«s, pp. 40â43.36 The passage relates how Rustam educated SiyÄwÅ«sh (sic, elsewhere in the FÄrsnÄme SiyÄwush) in ZÄwulistÄn; how with his troops he brought Kay Khusraw to Iran and slew the army of the pursuers (no other generals are mentioned: Rustam is the sole hero); and how he freed Kay KÄwÅ«s from Yemen. Two versions of this are given, one according to Persian and the other according to (South) Arab historians, but both come from Arabic sources. The passage ends with Kay KÄwÅ«sâ manumission of Rustam, and the manumission letter (ÄzÄdnÄme) is given in full (cf. above).
In addition, there is on p. 53 a short mention of how WishtÄsf sent IsfandiyÄr to fight (paykÄr) Rustam-e DastÄn âas is well knownâ and IsfandiyÄr was killed. Although this is only a brief mention, it shows how this particular episode was considered to be generally known. The use of the word paykÄr is again worthy of attention.
In GardÄ«zÄ«âs Zayn (written in the early 440s/1050s), the influence of FirdawsÄ«, or his source, explains Rustamâs strong presence.37 Rustam frees Kay KÄwÅ«s from âMÄzandarÄn, which is called Yemenâ. Kay KÄwÅ«s rewards him by giving him Sistan and other fiefs (p. 74, no manumission letter is mentioned). In the SiyÄwush episode, Rustam marches to TurkistÄn to take revenge on AfrÄsiyÄb for the death of SiyÄwush and fights many battles there, finally killing AfrÄsiyÄb (p. 76). When he grew tired of worldly life, Kay Khusraw gave presents and fiefs, giving Rustam Sistan (again) and other provinces, as well as his personal clothes and gardens. Rustam and the other nobles followed him on his last mysterious trip (pp. 76â77). On pp. 77â78, GardÄ«zÄ« tells how at the time of Kay GushtÄsp, Zarathustra introduced a new religion. No mention of Rustamâs reaction is given. On pp. 78â79, it is told how GushtÄsp sent IsfandiyÄr against Rustam, and IsfandiyÄr gave him the choice either to convert, to fight, or to be bound in chains and brought to the court of the king (the demand of conversion was not mentioned on p. 78). Rustam chose to fight. SÄ«murgh is not mentioned, otherwise the fight follows (in an abbreviated form) the version of FirdawsÄ« (or his source). The dying IsfandiyÄr left Bahman for Rustam to rear. Finally, on p. 80, it is told that when Bahman took his revenge, Rustam was already dead.
HÌ£amdallÄh MustawfÄ« (d. 750/1349), TÄrÄ«kh-e guzÄ«de, follows the model of FirdawsÄ«. Kay QubÄd freed Iran from the hands of AfrÄsiyÄb by the aid of ZÄl-e zar and his son Rustam and made Rustam the champion (jahÄn-pahlawÄn, p. 86). In the chapter on Kay KÄwÅ«sâ reign Rustamâs heroic deeds, the haft-khÄn, are referred to but not related, and later he frees the King in HÄmÄwarÄn, and KÄwÅ«s gives him his sister MihrnÄz as wife (p. 87). This is followed by Rustamâs hunt in SamangÄn and the episode of Rustam and SuhrÄb, told in five lines, under the indubitable influence of FirdawsÄ« (p. 88). Next, Rustam, the atÄbak of the king, kills SÅ«dÄwe, and later destroys TurkistÄn, taking part in the war against the Turks, to revenge SiyÄwushâs death (pp. 88â89). The story of BÄ«zhan and ManÄ«zhe is briefly told in FirdawsÄ«âs version (pp. 89â90). Then GushtÄsf marches against ArjÄsf, but Rustam remains behind. Later, IsfandiyÄr is sent against Rustam and is killed. Finally, Bahman kills FarÄmarz in his war against Rustamâs family (one manuscript mentions that Rustam had already been killed by a brother of his) (pp. 93â94).
In the anonymous TÄrÄ«kh-e SÄ«stÄn (the main part of which was probably written soon after 448/1062) the whole Sistanian family is prominent.38 In this book, Rustamâs story starts during Kay QubÄdâs rule when the hero is fourteen and fights in TurkistÄn, taking revenge for SiyÄwukhsh (p. 53, trans. Browne 1905: 5). The anonymous author refers to FarÄmarzâs deeds, which he knows in an edition of twelve volumes.39 As the deeds of NarÄ«mÄn, SÄm, and DastÄn are told in the ShÄhnÄme (but it remains open to whose ShÄhnÄme the author is referring) they need not be repeated here, the author says. He also knows that the hÌ£adÄ«th-e Rustam has been versified by BÅ« l-QÄsim FirdawsÄ« and repeats the legend that MahÌ£mÅ«d of Ghazna said that the ShÄhnÄme was nothing, except for the story of Rustam, and that he had in his army a thousand Rustams. All the heroes of the Sistanian family are well known, the author adds, and it is not possible to repeat all their deeds. He even mentions the BakhtiyÄrnÄme, thus bringing the story of Rustamâs family up to the fifth generation, counting from Rustamâs grandfather, SÄm.40 All this is told within the limits of one page, p. 53 (trans. Browne 1905: 5). On the next page, p. 54 (trans. Browne 1905: 6), the genealogy of the authorâs patron is taken up to Rustam and the Sistanian heroes.
The author also knows BÅ« l-Muʾayyadâs KitÄb-e GarshÄsb (p. 75, trans. Browne 1905: 24).41 He emphasizes that the Sistanian family, up to FarÄmarz, kept their aboriginal religion, which they derived from Adam (p. 73, trans. Browne 1905: 23). The battle, paykÄr (note again the word), between IsfandiyÄr and Rustam was caused by the new religion of Zartusht (pp. 73â74, trans. Browne 1905: 23).
To end the section of Persian authors, ṬūsÄ«âs Ê¿AjÄʾib is a valuable, but all too little studied book. It takes us to a different tradition, which is sparsely documented. ṬūsÄ«âs Ê¿AjÄʾib taps sources, oral or written, which are more popular than those used by historians of the time and gives us a glimpse of what went on outside learned circles. It is not surprising that ṬūsÄ« includes references to stories which later surface in popular epics.
ṬūsÄ«âs Ê¿AjÄʾib was written soon after the last date mentioned in the text, 562/1166 (p. 300, cf. Preface, p. xvi)42 and it uses a lot of material familiar from later epics, but little from FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme. However, the author highly respects HÌ£asan-e (sic) FirdawsÄ« of Ṭūs (p. 246).43 On p. 473, there is the earliest attestation of a story, another version of which is found in, e.g., the BÄysunqurÄ« ShÄhnÄme.44 According to it, FirdawsÄ« became rich after having seen Rustam-e ZÄl in a dream and been told about a treasure in Ṭūs. The book also contains dozens (if not hundreds) of references to Alexander, largely familiar from the various versions of the Alexander Romance,45 and also to AnÅ«shirwÄnâs miraculous deeds and journeys. AfrÄ«dÅ«n, DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, and BahrÄm ChÅ«bÄ«n also often appear.
ṬūsÄ« mentions NarÄ«mÄnâs conquest of China (pp. 191, 419) and tells an interesting variant concerning the reason why ZÄl was abandoned by SÄm (p. 418): it was the blackness of ZÄlâs body, not the whiteness of his hair that was the cause of shame. Also otherwise the story differs from FirdawsÄ«: the author knew FirdawsÄ« and respected him, but he either did not know the contents of the ShÄhnÄme too well or did not care to offer the version told there, but preferred other narratives that, as in this case, directly contradict what FirdawsÄ« wrote.
ṬūsÄ« uses Rustamâs standard Arabic epithet al-ShadÄ«d, the Mighty (pp. 263, 419),46 which may indicate that at least sometimes he used, either directly or indirectly, Arabic sources for Persian national history. The author tells that Rustam and ZÄlâs tombs are in SamanjÅ«r and that Rustamâs palace lies in ruins outside of ZÄwulistÄn (p. 230). He also tells that the descendants of Rustam still rule
Like many other sources, ṬūsÄ« tells (p. 420) how Rustam liberated Kay KÄwÅ«s. The story of Rustam and AkwÄn DÄw is mainly told on the lines of FirdawsÄ«, but with some significant differences (pp. 493â494). The source is given as âit is told in booksâ (dar kutubhÄ Äwurde-and) and FirdawsÄ« is not mentioned. On p. 510, ṬūsÄ« briefly relates the story of Rustam and the White Demon. The most interesting passage comes on p. 75, where it is told why Rustam did not believe in Zarathustra: in his early career Zarathustra had practised jugglery (hÌ£uqqa-bÄzÄ«) in the court of Rustam, who had given him a small reward. When Zarathustra later claimed to be a prophet, Rustam did not believe in him.47
The Sistanian material of the book in the main differs from that in the earlier Arabic and Persian sources, including FirdawsÄ«. Most probably it comes from the separate epic stories about the Sistanians (Chapter 4.7) and thus through a line separate from that of the KhwadÄynÄmag and its Nachleben. Note that very few traces of these traditions are found in early Arabic literature, as shown above, which further supports the by now rather obvious conclusions that there was no such material in the KhwadÄynÄmag.
This selection of Persian sources shows that the image of Rustam was much more central in the Persian than in the Arabic tradition. Yet even though all early Persian historical sources, except BalÊ¿amÄ«, are later than FirdawsÄ« they do not slavishly follow his version of Rustamâs adventures. In some, the influence of FirdawsÄ« is clear, and some mention him as one of their sources, but even these add incidents known neither from FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme nor from the Arabic tradition. When narrating the same episodes, they may also have significant differences to FirdawsÄ«, which implies that they also had other sources at hand and sometimes preferred these to FirdawsÄ«.
It is clear that in early Islamic Iran a wide range of Rustam narratives was in circulation. Some may have been oral, but references to separate books, where Rustam played a role (KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn, KitÄb al-BaykÄr, KitÄb Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr, SÄ«rat IsfandiyÄr) and which were not integrated into the KhwadÄynÄmag, or its Arabic translation(s), imply that written Middle Persian versions were also available. Some of these separate stories may first have been written down in Arabic, while others may have circulated in written Middle Persian texts, and yet others may have been set down in early Classical Persian in the tenth century directly from oral tradition.
Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs Ghurar stands out among early Arabic sources (cf. Chapter 4.4). The difference to earlier Arabic sources is considerable. For al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« â and one should keep in mind that he may, or may not, be the same al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« as the famous author of the ThimÄr and the IÊ¿jÄz â Rustam is a figure of central importance and there are few stories of him in FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme that are not paralleled in the Ghurar. Thus, one finds there the story of Rustamâs birth and youth (pp. 104â106), his finding a horse, Rakhsh (pp. 140â145), his first fight against AfrÄsiyÄb (pp. 145â147), his freeing Kay KÄwÅ«s from the King of Yemen, DhÅ« l-AdhÊ¿Är (pp. 161â163), a brief mention of Rustam being made the isÌ£bahbadh of Iran by Kay KÄwÅ«s, who also renews his vice-regency (tawliya) in NÄ«mrÅ«z, ZÄbulistÄn, and India (p. 165), the story of SiyÄwush, including Rustam rearing him (pp. 168â170), SiyÄwush going to war against AfrÄsiyÄb with Rustam and their making peace with the Turkish King (pp. 187â198), the killing of SuÊ¿dÄ alias SÅ«dÄne (sic)48 by Rustam, and the revenge for SiyÄwush (pp. 216â218), Rustam and others welcoming the returning Kay Khusraw (p. 221), his receiving a legacy from Kay Khusraw, and the new King, LuhrÄsf, giving an audience to him (p. 238), and the haft-khÄn of IsfandiyÄdh, which ties up with the story of Rustam (pp. 301ff.).
The conflict between IsfandiyÄdh and Rustam is discussed in detail on pp. 341â375. The story is very similar to that given by FirdawsÄ« (and, presumably, the source common to both), but it contains some interesting differences, the most remarkable of which is the mention of a raven that guided Bahman, the son of IsfandiyÄdh, to where Rustam was hunting. This detail is attributed to khurÄfÄt al-Furs, which, again, implies that al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« is using other (oral or written) sources to complement his main source. Finally, on pp. 379â385, it is told how a brother of Rustam, ShaghÄy,49 killed him by a ruse, and how Bahman later took his revenge on the other members of Rustamâs family (pp. 386â388). The same passage, p. 388, also mentions that according to MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«-ye MarwazÄ«âs Persian muzdawija, Bahman also killed ZÄl during this expedition, a detail running contrary to the main story of al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« (and FirdawsÄ«). What it shows is that al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« al-MarwazÄ« had already interwoven the fates of the dynasty of the Sistanians with national history, which, of course, we also know on the Arabic side from the other al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«, the author of the MurÅ«j and TanbÄ«h, onward.
On pp. 301â302, al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« refers to IsfandiyÄdhâs haft-khÄn as irrational and says that he repeats the story only because it is famous, and kings and ordinary people like it, and because it is found on sÌ£uhÌ£uf (separate, short manuscripts?) as well as in pictorial representations.50
The version of al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« gives Rustam the central place he also has in FirdawsÄ«âs epic, and it seems obvious that the Prose ShÄhnÄme is the origin of the Rustam stories that are common to both FirdawsÄ« and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«. Episodes found in FirdawsÄ« and lacking in al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« and presumably in the Prose ShÄhnÄme are few, the most important being the story of BÄ«zhan and ManÄ«zhe; Rustamâs haft-khÄn; AkwÄn DÄw; and the tragic story of Rustam and SuhrÄb.51 These were probably lacking in the common source of al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« and FirdawsÄ«, as al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« does not usually drop whole scenes, and only the dropping of Rustamâs haft-khÄn and his encounter with AkwÄn DÄw could be explained by al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs negative attitude towards the khurÄfÄt al-Furs. More probably they were added to the whole story by FirdawsÄ«, the haft-khÄn probably on the basis of IsfandiyÄrâs similar deeds.52 However, they cannot be used as binding evidence for FirdawsÄ« having invented these episodes or having been the first to insert them into national history. What does strike one, though, is that these particular episodes stand out as rather separate stories, not quite as clearly linked to the main story as most other episodes are.53
The inspection of early Arabic and Classical Persian sources enables us to assess the position of Rustam before Firdawsī. Our sources on Rustam in pre-Islamic times are meagre, but there is no reason to doubt that he was a major character in the Eastern Iranian world, that stories about him were told or sung in some Iranian language(s), and that he was known at least by name also in the Western parts of Iran and in Armenia.
In the mid-eighth century some of these stories reached the Arabic world through the translation by Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ of KitÄb al-BaykÄr and KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn and Jabalaâs Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr. It is not clear whether it was Rustam or IsfandiyÄr who was the main focus in the last-mentioned book: the title SÄ«rat IsfandiyÄr, used by al-JÄhÌ£izÌ£ and possibly referring to the same work, would imply that it may well have been IsfandiyÄr, who, despite his final defeat at the hands of Rustam, was the workâs main character.54 In the first two books, Rustam was clearly present but again it remains uncertain whether or not he was their main character.
The Rustam episodes of these separate books influenced only a small part of Arabic historical literature. Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag was, on the other hand, extremely influential and many later Arabic historical works seem to tap it for materials. Thus, we have no dearth of material on mythological figures such as al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk (cf. Chapter 5.2) or JamshÄ«d and later kings in Arabic sources that discuss pre-Islamic Iran. Yet, Rustam is almost ignored in the Arabic tradition before al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, except for the matter covered by the separate translations by Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ and Jabala and quoted only in a few books. Had Rustam been strongly present in Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag, it would be difficult to explain why certain early sources, such as al-YaÊ¿qÅ«bÄ«âs Taâ ʾrÄ«kh and Ibn Qutaybaâs MaÊ¿Ärif, have nothing on Rustam, though they have plenty of material on other figures of Persian national history.
This seems to leave but one explanation. Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs widely-known translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag contained little material on Rustam. Further, although it is not impossible that Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ could have left out such material on purpose, no obvious reason for this can be seen. More probably, Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs translation of the KhwadÄynÄmag had little to tell about Rustam because its Middle Persian original did not have much on Rustam either.
This is actually what we might expect. If the KhwadÄynÄmag was, as it seems to have been, a royal chronicle, the counterweight to the kings had little to do in it: the Sasanian kings were hardly enthusiastic about a hero who is often shown to be superior to his overlords in a moral sense. Hence, a priori, one expects Rustam not to have been given much place in such a work and Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿âs lack of Rustam stories corroborates this. The Arabic evidence makes it hard to claim Rustam had more than a marginal role to play in the KhwadÄynÄmag, if even that.
The Arabic translations of some separate episodes of Persian national history (KitÄb al-SakÄ«sarÄn, KitÄb al-BaykÄr, Rustam wa-IsfandiyÄr, perhaps the same as SÄ«rat IsfandiyÄr) show that by the mid-eighth century Rustam had to some extent been integrated into the history of the kings, but this does not mean that he would have found a place in the KhwadÄynÄmag itself. The integration took place through independent books that have nothing to do with the KhwadÄynÄmag.
Tenth-century evidence shows that at that time Rustam was fully integrated into the storyline of national history and had found a place in works that related this history. This should not be taken to mean that the KhwadÄynÄmag would later have been revised in its Middle Persian form.55 When tenth-century kings patronized the writing of Persian history, Middle Persian texts were not what they were after. They wanted to have texts in their own literary language, the emerging Classical Persian, such as the translation/re-working of al-TÌ£abarÄ«âs Taâ ʾrÄ«kh by BalÊ¿amÄ«. The story about the compilation of the Prose ShÄhnÄme does not indicate that the scholars involved would have written their work in Middle Persian and it is not even clear to what extent they used Middle Persian works as their sources (Chapter 4.2). They probably did use whatever Middle Persian material they had at hand (Chapter 4.6), but they will also have used earlier texts written in Persian or Arabic, as well as oral information, whether epic songs or prose stories. To claim that these scholars, or anyone else, wrote new Middle Persian versions of the KhwadÄynÄmag â or any new Middle Persian works â is speculative and unwarranted. We have no evidence for this, and it would run counter to the currents of the tenth century, which favoured translations from Middle Persian into Classical Persian, not new secular works in Pahlavi.
From the point of view of FirdawsÄ«, it seems that he received most of the Rustam material already integrated into national history in the Prose ShÄhnÄme.56 In addition, he may well have found other separate stories involving Rustam in a variety of roles, such as that of BÄ«zhan and ManÄ«zhe or Rustam and SuhrÄb, which first surface in his ShÄhnÄme. Whether they derived from ÄzÄdsarw57 we cannot know, but it is possible. Some of these stories may already have been added to the Prose ShÄhnÄme or the other ShÄhnÄmes of the tenth century, even though the evidence from al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs Ghurar would seem to speak against this.
A separate origin for at least some of FirdawsÄ«âs Rustam stories finds some evidence in his habit of referring to old dihqÄns and other authorities when he comes to such passages. It seems that when versifying his main source, the Prose ShÄhnÄme, FirdawsÄ« does not bother to give proofs for the authority of his stories â he was resuming well-known material and hence was not in need of further authorization. When adding separate incidents, on the contrary, he was stepping outside the limits of the authoritative history of Iran and had to defend his additions by referring to authorities. Only when he was being innovative did he feel the need to refer to venerable sources. This is also seen in the fact that references to âancient sourcesâ start with the Rustam cycle, as if FirdawsÄ« wanted to emphasize that these stories, too, were worthy of inclusion into national history. Other orphan stories, which are marked by such references and thus probably originally come from outside the established tradition, seem mainly to include stories inappropriate for a Middle Persian KhwadÄynÄmag (e.g., especially, DÄrÄbâs fight against the Arab army led by ShuÊ¿ayb, perhaps modelled after stories about AbÅ« Muslim, d. 137/755).58
To resume, we have next to no indication that Rustam would have been known to the Arabs before Ibn al-MuqaffaÊ¿ in the mid-eighth century. Up until the mid-tenth century, sources seem to concentrate on a limited number of scenes in Rustamâs life and these particular scenes were the subject of separate texts on Rustam, known to have existed in the mid-eighth and the ninth century and nowhere claimed to have constituted part of the Middle Persian KhwadÄynÄmag or any of its translations into Arabic. They were only integrated in the tenth century into the ShÄhnÄmes written in early Classical Persian. The Middle Persian KhwadÄynÄmag, as we can see from the Arabic books that used it, may not perhaps even have mentioned Rustam and if it did, he was probably on a par with other heroes, and was not the central character of the narrative. The separate Arabic texts, on the other hand, show that the stories of Rustam were interwoven into the lives of some Persian kings (especially Kay QubÄd, Kay KÄwÅ«s, and Kay Khusraw), which proves that the process of intermingling the two traditions had begun by the mid-eighth century.
In the tenth century, as shown by FirdawsÄ«âs epic, other ShÄhnÄmes, and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs Ghurar, the process had been finalized and Rustam had become the greatest hero of Persian national history, but there is no tangible evidence that this would have found form in any rewritten version that would have been titled KhwadÄynÄmag or would have been in Middle Persian. What is clear, though, is that the various ShÄhnÄmes of the tenth century had produced a storyline mainly in harmony with the later work of FirdawsÄ«.
The existence of a voluminous repertoire of stories about the Sistanian heroes is proven by the later epics which contain individual details that can be corroborated by sources earlier than Firdawsī and have, hence, to tap sources (oral or otherwise) that existed before him. This also makes it probable that instead of inventing new episodes, Firdawsī, as most contemporary authors were wont to, received the stories from older tradition and merely versified them. Later, he inserted them into his magisterial epic. It is possible that he himself conceived the concept of a unified narrative only after he had begun his career as an epic poet by composing separate stories.
5.2 ArmÄyÄ«l and GarmÄyÄ«l: The Formation of an Episode in FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme
In the previous chapter (5.1), I endeavoured to approach the question of the contents of the KhwadÄynÄmag through an analysis of several works that may derive their material partly from the KhwadÄynÄmag, although mainly indirectly. This chapter (5.2) turns the focus on FirdawsÄ« and his ShÄhnÄme and studies one specific episode to show what may have been FirdawsÄ«âs part in developing the text he versified (cf. also Chapter 4.6).
Among the many impressive episodes in FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme is the feeding of human brains to the snakes which grow out of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders. It is a favourite passage in Arabic and Classical Persian literature and the concomitant aetiological myth of the origin of the Kurds is told in perhaps more sources than almost any other passage of the ShÄhnÄme.
Told in brief, IblÄ«s, who earlier had incited DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk to parricide, reappears to him in the shape of a cook and accustoms him, now the King of Yemen, to eating meat instead of his earlier, mainly vegetarian dishes (J125â146).59 In J147â155 IblÄ«s, as a reward for his gastronomic prowess, asks permission to kiss DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders. Receiving the permission he kisses him and instantaneously disappears, as if the ground had swallowed him up. Two black snakes grow out of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders. Whenever cut down the snakes grow again, and physicians are unable to help the king (J156â160). IblÄ«s again reappears, now in the shape of a doctor, and tells what to do: the snakes have to be fed with human brains (J161â166). FirdawsÄ« does not explicitly say that the snakes annoyed DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, but, evidently, they would have done so.60
After telling this, FirdawsÄ« drops the subject for some forty verses, to return to it in Z12â37. Here he tells how two pious men, ArmÄyil and GarmÄyil,61 discussed the iniquities of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, now also known as BÄ«warasp, who had meanwhile become the King of Iran. They infiltrate his service as cooks in order to save at least one of the two men daily slaughtered for the snakes and each day start letting one of the two intended victims free and replacing his brains with those of a sheep. When two hundred (or, according to a variant, twenty) men have been rescued, they give them some sheep and some goats and send them off, telling them to keep out of towns. This, says the narrator, is the origin of the Kurds. After this, the narrator goes on to relate the revolt of KÄwe and the uprising of FerÄ«dÅ«n.
Some of the themes in this episode go back to Indo-Iranian mythology. From Avestic times myths about the man-eating Azhi DahÄka had hovered between him being a humanized dragon or a dragonized mythic hero.62 The episode as a whole, though, is much more recent and the purpose of this chapter is to delineate the development of the episode in Early Islamic times, focusing on the figure of ArmÄyÄ«l.
The oldest testimony for ArmÄyÄ«l is ShahrestÄnÄ«hÄ Ä« ÄrÄnshahr §28, where an ArmÄyÄ«l is mentioned in connection with Azhi DahÄg:
Twenty-one cities that were built in PadishkhwÄrgar were either built by ArmÄyÄ«l or, following his order, by the mountaineers, who had acquired from Aži DahÄg the mountains as their dominion.63
The passage tells us little more than that DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk and ArmÄyÄ«l were somehow connected at the time of this text, the final redaction of which seems to date to the eighth century, although much of the material is considerably earlier.64 It uses the term kÅfyÄrÄn âmountaineersâ, which we will meet again in later sources as kÅhyÄr (Arab. kÅ«hiyar [written kÅ«hbÄr] in al-DÄ«nawarÄ«, AkhbÄr, p. 10; al-TÌ£abarÄ«, Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 229//ii: 26, has qÅ«hiyÄr).65 It also presents ArmÄyÄ«l as a person who was important enough to have twenty-one cities built by or for him.
The name ArmÄyÄ«l has been explained by Markwart (1931: 68) as the Middle Persian ArmÄyÄl with a Georgian ethnic suffix (âthe Arameanâ), and it is attested in Armenian sources.66 The etymology is less than certain, though, and one might equally well see it as an invented name.
It seems that the next reference to the episode comes from Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889), who in his MaÊ¿Ärif, p. 618, mentions that the Kurds are the leftovers of BÄ«warasfâs food. He also tells that BÄ«warasf ordered two persons to be slaughtered every day, but that his Vizier ArmÄʾīl pitied the victims and let one of them live. It is noteworthy that Ibn Qutayba does not speak about the brains of the men, merely saying that BÄ«warasf ate their flesh.67 Ibn Qutayba does not mention snakes, but sees BÄ«warasf in his archaic role as a cannibalistic monster, DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk-e mardÄs.68
This seems to be the original scenario of the episode: one nobleman, ArmÄyÄ«l, feeds DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk. Only late sources mention two persons and make them cooks, and even they make it clear that they were no ordinary cooks but noblemen disguised as such. There is no evidence that the other character, GarmÄyÄ«l (or KarmÄyÄ«l) would have been invented before the mid-tenth century and, taking into consideration the large number of texts that do contain this episode, it is improbable that a variant version with two cooks would have left no traces, had the second cook been an early addition. The second name seems to have been created as a Schallwort to echo the first.69
The earliest source to speak specifically of brains and at the same time the first to mention the snakes on the Kingâs shoulders is al-YaÊ¿qÅ«bÄ« (d. 284/897), Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 158. Al-YaÊ¿qÅ«bÄ« is very concise, criticizing the irrationality of these stories.70 He does not identify this Persian king by name but, obviously, he is speaking of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk. His knowledge of this mythical material was, though, not intimate, as can be seen from the list in which he claims that one of the kings had several mouths and eyes and another had snakes on his shoulders and ate menâs brains. Anyone familiar with Persian mythology would have seen he was speaking of the one and the same monstrous king.
The dislike of khurÄfÄt may have been behind the rationalizing explanation for the snakes growing on DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders. The first to explain away the unnatural was the contemporary of al-YaÊ¿qÅ«bÄ«, al-DÄ«nawarÄ« (d. not later than 290/902), who offers this explanation in al-AkhbÄr al-tÌ£iwÄl, pp. 6â7. He uses the word silÊ¿a âsebaceous cystâ for the things that grew on DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders. This remains the standard expression in rationalistic descriptions, although lahÌ£ma71 and fadÌ£la, or gÅ«sht-fadÌ£la,72 are also occasionally used. In late versions this rationalization is taken a step further by speaking of wounds.
From a medical diagnosis, there was only a short step to a medical cure. Al-DÄ«nawarÄ«, however, does not take this step. Contradicting himself he says that the brains were fed to the silÊ¿as. Al-TÌ£abarÄ« (d. 310/923), Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 204â205//ii: 3â4, is the first to speak of anointing the silÊ¿as with brains to alleviate the pain. Al-TÌ£abarÄ« claims that this passage, as well as much else he tells about DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk in his Taâ ʾrÄ«kh, derives from Ibn al-KalbÄ« (d. 204/819). The first to mention that the snakes grew after IblÄ«s had kissed DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk is al-MaqdisÄ« (d. after 355/966), Badʾ iii: 141, and the first to explain this as a reward for his gastronomic feats is FirdawsÄ«, followed by al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« (wrote around 412/1022), Ghurar, p. 18.
The archaic version of the story seems to have been that DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs vizier fed his master, or the snakes growing out of his shoulders, with human flesh, or brains. This is amply documented in early sources. The following list contains the most important early (pre-1200) attestations of the theme, as well as one later one which is of particular interest. Most later sources merely repeat what FirdawsÄ« or the historical tradition have already said. The contents which are related to this episode in each work are briefly described after each item.
Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889), MaÊ¿Ärif, p. 618: Persians say that the Kurds are the leftovers of BÄ«warasfâs food. Every day he ordered two people to be slaughtered and ate of their flesh. He had a Vizier, called ArmÄʾīl, who slaughtered one of the intended victims but let the other live, sending him73 off to the mountains of FÄrs, where they multiplied.
al-YaÊ¿qÅ«bÄ« (d. 284/897), Taâ ʾrÄ«kh, i: 158: upon the shoulders of a king there were two snakes that ate menâs brains.
al-DÄ«nawarÄ« (d. not later than 290/902), AkhbÄr, pp. 6â7: Persians call al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk by the name BÄ«warasf. Two silÊ¿as grew out of his shoulders in the shape of snakes. They pained him until they were fed (sic) with human brains. Four bulky men were daily brought to be slaughtered. He had a Vizier, ArmiyÄyÄ«l, who let two of them live, substituting their brains with those of two rams, and told them to go where no one could find them. They went to the mountains. People say that this is the origin of the Kurds.
Ibn al-FaqÄ«h (wrote in 290/903 or soon after), MukhtasÌ£ar, pp. 275â276: AfrÄ«dhÅ«n brought al-BÄ«warasf to Mt. Demavend and put ArmÄʾīl in charge of him and his nourishment. Every day he used to slaughter for him two people with whose brains al-BÄ«warasf nourished himself. ArmÄʾīl thought it a sin to slaughter people and managed to save (some of) them.74
al-TÌ£abarÄ« (d. 310/923), Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 204â205//ii: 3â4 (â Ibn al-KalbÄ«, d. 204/819): Two silÊ¿as grew out of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs, alias BÄ«warasbâs, shoulders and pained him until they were anointed with human brains. Every day, two men were slaughtered. i: 206/ii: 6: Many people say that they were pieces of swollen flesh, shaped like a viperâs head, while others say that they were snakes.
al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« (d. 345/956), MurÅ«j §§1115â1116: Two snakes grew out of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders and fed on human brains. This led to the death of many until people rose against him. AfrÄ«dÅ«n chained him in a cave in Mt. Demavend, as has been mentioned (§538). Every day the Vizier of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk had slaughtered (qad kÄna ⦠yadhbahÌ£) a man and a ram, mixing their brains for the snakes to eat. He drove the other man to the mountains where the freed men grew numerous. This is the origin of the Kurds.75
al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ« (d. 345/956), TanbÄ«h, pp. 85â86//123â124: Persians exaggerate about al-BÄ«warasb, alias al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, telling how two snakes grew out of his shoulders and were only pacified by human brains. More about this has been told in the MurÅ«j.76
HÌ£amza al-IsÌ£fahÄnÄ« (d. 350/961 or 360/971), Commentary to AbÅ« NuwÄs (d. c. 198/813), DÄ«wÄn ii: 2: Persians claim that al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk is still alive on Mt. Demavend. On his back there are two snakes, which daily feed on flesh. If flesh is not given to them, they bite him.77
BalÊ¿amÄ« (wrote in 352/963â4), TÄrÄ«kh, pp. 97â99; TÄrÄ«khnÄme i: 102â103: two long pieces of flesh (gÅ«sht) grew on DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs, or as Magians say, BÄ«warasbâs, shoulders and after 700 years of his rule these became wounds and started to ache. No one knew how to cure them until DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk had a dream, wherein a voice said to him that he should cure the wounds with human brains. After this he daily slaughtered two people and put some of their brains upon the wounds. This went on for 200 years. He had a cook (khwÄn-sÄlÄr) who took care of this. Every day he killed one man, but let the other one go, mixing lambâs brains with one of the victimâs. When some time had gone by, he smuggled the saved people by night out of the town. This is the origin of the Kurds.
al-MaqdisÄ« (d. after 355/966), Badʾ iii: 141â143: IblÄ«s, in the shape of a young man, came to al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, i.e., BÄ«warasb, and kissed his shoulders. Two snakes grew out of them and fed on human brains. Every day al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk slaughtered two men. BÄ«warasb had a cook, called AzmÄyil. When young men were brought to him to be slaughtered, he let one of the two live and sent him out into desert. The Kurds derive from these men.78
FirdawsÄ« (d. 411/1019â20), ShÄhnÄme (see above).
Miskawayhi (d. 421/1030), TajÄrib i: 62: al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, alias BÄ«warasb, had on his shoulders two silÊ¿as, which he moved to frighten people, claiming they were snakes. (No mention of slaughtering anyone, except for the general one that al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, alias BÄ«warasf, killed and crucified people, but this is not connected with the silÊ¿as).
al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« (wrote around 412/1022), Ghurar, pp. 20â25: Two snakes grew out of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs, alias BÄ«warasfâs, shoulders when IblÄ«s kissed them and blew on them. Some say that they were silÊ¿as, merely resembling snakes. IblÄ«s appeared to him and told him that the snakes will never be separated from him, but that they can be pacified by feeding them with human brains. Al-TÌ£abarÄ« has said that most people of the Book say that they were lengthy pieces of flesh, like the head of a viper. Two men were slaughtered every day and their brains were fed to the snakes. Al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk had two cooks, ArmÄyÄ«l and KarmÄyÄ«l, who one day decided to set free one of the two men and to substitute a sheepâs brains for those of his, feeding the (freed) one with the (rest of the) sheep. Set free, they became the origin of the Kurds.
al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« (429/1038), ThimÄr, p. 284: the two âhornsâ (qarn) of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, alias BÄ«warasf, were two silÊ¿as, which people call snakes.79
al-BÄ«rÅ«nÄ« (d. about 442/1050), ÄthÄr, pp. 282â283/227//213â214: BÄ«warasf ordered two men every day to be slaughtered to feed his two snakes with their brains. AzmÄʾīl was commissioned to take care of this, but he freed one of the two, replacing the brains of the freed one with those of a ram. Others say that they were two silÊ¿as, which were anointed with the brains.
GardÄ«zÄ« (wrote in early 440s/1050s), Zayn, p. 67: two snakes, some say two wounds, grew on the shoulders of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, alias BÄ«warasp. Every day two men were killed and their brains were given to the snakes or put upon the wounds. P. 70: after DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk was imprisoned, AfrÄ«dhÅ«n thanked the Vizier of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, ArmÄyÄ«l, who had set the men free. They became the Kurds of the West of KÅ«histÄn. P. 354: BÄ«warasb, i.e., DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, wanted two men to be slaughtered daily, but his Vizier ArmÄyÄ«l set one of them free.
Ibn al-BalkhÄ« (wrote before 510/1116), FÄrsnÄme, p. 35: Upon the shoulders of BÄ«warasf, alias DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, there were two silÊ¿as, i.e., gÅ«sht-fadÌ£las. To frighten them he let people think they were snakes. Finally they became painful, but the pain was alleviated when they were anointed with brains. The killing of young men continued until the rebellion of KÄwe.
Mujmal al-tawÄrÄ«kh (written 520/1126), pp. 34â35/40â41: there was on BÄ«warasbâs, alias DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs, shoulders a sickness (Ê¿illat), which people called snakes. The world was depopulated as peopleâs brains were extracted to feed the snakes. After 700 years ArmÄyil and KarmÄyil came into his service and slaughtered one of the two men but let the other one free and sent him off into the desert. The Kurds are the offspring of the freed men.
MuhÌ£ammad ṬūsÄ« (wrote in the late sixth/twelfth c.), Ê¿AjÄʾib, pp. 130â131: DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk was a tyrant who used to give human flesh to feed the snakes which grew out of his shoulders. After imprisoning DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk in a pit in Mt. Demavend, AfrÄ«dÅ«n ordered ArmiyÄyÄ«l to provide him daily with two human brains. Some time went by. Finally, ArmiyÄyÄ«l repented and started giving him the brains of two sheep and let the men go. P. 236: Sarakhs is a city built during the time of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, who ate people. People were fed to the snakes which grew out of his shoulders, but some of these people escaped.
YÄqÅ«t (d. 626/1229), MuÊ¿jam ii: 475 (â Ibn al-KalbÄ«): ArmÄʾīl, the Nabatean from al-ZÄb, supervised al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs, alias BÄ«warasfâs, kitchen. He used to slay one young man and let the other free, mixing the flesh of a ram with that of the other. After having imprisoned al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, AfrÄ«dÅ«n wanted to kill ArmÄʾīl.
When this act of cannibalism took place is somewhat obscure. Early sources give two possibilities. Either DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, or his snakes, ate the victims while he was ruling as the King or he did this when imprisoned in Mt. Demavend.80 The latter option is slightly surprising, as this evil act is difficult to explain when the monster is in chains. This unmotivated act might yet be the earlier, for two reasons. Firstly, we may take this as a lectio difficilior of sorts: it is easier to understand why the eating would have been retrojected from the imprisonment period back to DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs rule than vice versa. Secondly, the freed men, the forefathers of the Kurds, are in many early versions said to live around Mt. Demavend, which is understandable if they were set free there. However, DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk is also otherwise connected with Mt. Demavend, so this is by no means decisive.81
Eating people during DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs reign is attested earlier in our sources than the other option, being implicitly mentioned by Ibn Qutayba in his MaÊ¿Ärif, p. 618, where BÄ«warasf is said to have ordered two men to be slaughtered. The earliest source to date this habit to the period of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs imprisonment in Mt. Demavend is, though, not much later, as the detail turns up in Ibn al-FaqÄ«hâs82 MukhtasÌ£ar, pp. 275â276. Here the one to feed the beast is ArmÄyÄ«l, set by FerÄ«dÅ«n to guard the prisoner.83 Whether the tradition which derived the Zoroastrian dynasty of MasÌ£mughÄn from the descendants of ArmÄyÄ«l is ancient or not is uncertain, but it, too, is already found in Ibn al-FaqÄ«h.
BalÊ¿amÄ« (wrote in 352/963â4) is the first to mention that the habit of eating brains only began after 700 years of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs reign (TÄrÄ«kh, p. 98, TÄrÄ«khnÄme i: 102).84 This is in contradiction to FirdawsÄ«âs version because in his ShÄhnÄme the snakes grow out of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs shoulders and IblÄ«s gives his nefarious advice before DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs victory on JamshÄ«d. BalÊ¿amÄ«, who does not mention IblÄ«s at all, also has the curious detail of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk seeing in a dream the cure for his pains, whereas all other sources attribute this advice to IblÄ«s. BalÊ¿amÄ«âs version cannot be easily brushed aside because he has remarkably archaic features in his narrative. Implicitly, and rather surprisingly, this is supported by ps.-Ê¿Umar-e KhayyÄmÄ«,85 NawrÅ«znÄme, p. 9, which tells that in the beginning of his rule DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk ruled justly, which is directly contrary to the main tradition.86
At whatever time DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk adopted his, or his snakesâ, unnatural diet, all early sources agree, if they mention the matter at all, that he was fed by only one man, ArmÄyÄ«l.87 For the entrance of the second nobleman/cook we have to wait until FirdawsÄ« himself. But was he the inventor of the second cook?
Most of the earlier sources have disappeared, but Arabic and Persian texts that derive their material from the lost sources help us partially to reconstruct the material in circulation before Firdawsī.
The earliest source, after FirdawsÄ« and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, to have two cooks is the anonymous Mujmal, which mentions them by name (p. 35/40â41). In the same passage the author quotes a verse (Z309) by FirdawsÄ«. By the 13th century FirdawsÄ« had attained great fame and it is easy to find sources following his version of the story, but it should be emphasized that until the 13th century the existence of two cooks is rarely mentioned and the scene with one cook, or vizier, remains standard throughout the twelfth century.
So far, FirdawsÄ« seems the obvious inventor of the second cook, but the question is not as simple as one might think. Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs Ghurar closely agrees with FirdawsÄ« in this episode, as well as in many others, though also using al-TÌ£abarÄ« and other sources. Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, too, has two cooks with these names. Did he use FirdawsÄ« as one of his sources or do both authors derive the second cook from the lost common source, the Prose ShÄhnÄme?
As we have seen, the Prose ShÄhnÄme was the source of both FirdawsÄ« and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« (Chapters 4.4â6). In this episode, there is one significant detail that strengthens the case and shows that al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« did not base his translation on FirdawsÄ«âs text. FirdawsÄ« mentions (Z35) that whenever a group of two hundred (duwÄ«st) men, rescued from the kitchen, had been collected, or in a variant twenty (bÄ«st), they were sent off to the wilderness. The rhyme (kÄ«st) fixes the possible readings to 200 or 20. Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, however, speaks of groups of ten (Ghurar, p. 25). When he wants to embellish his text al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« freely elaborates his source by adding maxims or using rhymed prose, but he rarely invents unnecessary details. Moreover, the number of the men does not seem to be an issue in any early source and one wonders why in his prose he should have changed the original number.88 FirdawsÄ«, on the other hand, has a possible reason for doing so because of the rhyme, although one has to admit that he would have mastered rhymes well enough to keep the number had he wanted to do so. But as the exact number is of no great importance he may well have changed the original âtenâ to âtwentyâ for an easy rhyme.
On the other hand, we come across certain difficulties with GardÄ«zÄ«âs Zayn, which contains a version with only one cook. GardÄ«zÄ«âs version is very similar to both FirdawsÄ«âs and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs, though there are significant differences, which show that the author cannot be dependent, or solely dependent, on FirdawsÄ«. The combat scene between DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk and AfrÄ«dÅ«n (pp. 69â70) is firm proof that GardÄ«zÄ« used another source or other sources. The scene is full of seemingly archaic magic, DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk taking the shape of a sparrowhawk to get on the roof of the pavilion, kÅ«shk, whereas in FirdawsÄ«âs version he does the same prosaically with the help of his lariat.89 On the other hand, there are detailed lexical links between GardÄ«zÄ« and FirdawsÄ«, including the very significant use of the word mahÌ£dÌ£ar (GardÄ«zÄ«, p. 68; four occurrences in Z210â215), which cannot be a coincidence. In FirdawsÄ«, this manifestly Arabic word calls attention to itself. The scene in which it is used is rarely found in other sources and it is even lacking in al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«. If we assume it was invented by FirdawsÄ«, we encounter two difficulties. Why did FirdawsÄ« break his habits and use a manifestly Arabic word where Persian words would easily have been available?90 And secondly, how does GardÄ«zÄ« end up using that particular word? In short, we seem to be in a situation where we have to assume that both authors are here making use of the same source, which, however, only had one cook, or vizier.91
Incidentally, also in another case GardÄ«zÄ« and FirdawsÄ« agree with each other as opposed to the Prose ShÄhnÄme, as documented in its Older Preface. The Preface mentions that AfrÄ«dÅ«n stopped with his foot the stone his envious brothers had set rolling down upon him.92 FirdawsÄ« makes him use magic (Z291)93 and GardÄ«zÄ« implies the same by making (Zayn, pp. 68â69) him stop it with his word. Al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« does not have this scene.
There may also be a third significant similarity between FirdawsÄ« and GardÄ«zÄ«. In several early versions of the story, ArmÄyÄ«l is the Vizier of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk, but in FirdawsÄ« a mysterious character called Kundraw takes this role and also warns his master of the unwelcome guests that had stormed his harem, shabistÄn. In the notes (on Z369) to his edition, Khaleghi-Motlagh (2001): 98, takes up the possibility that the name is a corrupt form of Gandarw, another pre-Islamic dragon, but provides no evidence for this.
It seems that the name is attested, besides Firdawsī, in only two sources, both intriguing in their ways. Mujmal, p. 71/89, refers to a certain Kundrawaq. The author of the Mujmal often follows Firdawsī, even quoting his verses and mentioning him by name, so there is a proven dependency of the work in general on Firdawsī.
But there are difficulties. The Mujmal does not place the character into the story, merely mentioning him at the end of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs rule as his wakÄ«l,94 in a way that closely resembles the style of early chronicles. But how do we explain the form Kundrawaq? The prosaic author of the Mujmal had no need to change the name, but again the reverse is true: for a poet writing in the mutaqÄrib, the name Kundrawaq is difficult, as it should regularly become KundÄrawaq, with two short syllables following each other, and other options are equally unpersuasive. The only way to solve the problem is to posit another source (possibly with a chronicle structure) using the name Kundrawaq, which the author of the Mujmal has kept, while FirdawsÄ« has changed it to fit the metre. The final Q would speak for an Arabic source, as the expected Persian form would be *Kundrawag, which is not attested in any of the preserved sources.
As the author of the Mujmal knew FirdawsÄ«, we cannot know from which source he took the second cook. One should, though, note that the detail of the two cooks comes in the middle of a passage quite unrelated to what is given in the ShÄhnÄme of FirdawsÄ«, and the two cooks are said to have come to DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs service after he had ruled for 700 years, a detail lacking in FirdawsÄ«, but supported by BalÊ¿amÄ«, TÄrÄ«kh, p. 98; TÄrÄ«khnÄme, p. 102. Without this detail, the passage on the cooks would evidently be an unmarked interpolation from FirdawsÄ«, as it comes somewhat abruptly and interrupts the narrative. It is quite possible, perhaps even probable, that the author of the Mujmal has throughout his book used FirdawsÄ« only as a secondary source, excerpting him whenever convenient but basing his narrative on other sources. Thus, he could well have changed his main sourceâs ArmÄyÄ«l to ArmÄyil and KarmÄyil by inspiration from FirdawsÄ«.
The name Kundraw/Kundrawaq is also found, albeit in a somewhat garbled form, in GardÄ«zÄ«, Zayn, pp. 69â70, which mentions a treasurer (ganjwar), who performs more or less the same function as FirdawsÄ«âs Kundraw. It is probable that ganjwar is a corruption of either Kundraw, which it rather closely resembles, or Kundrawaq (or *Kundrawaj), which is not far off either.95 Thus, it does not help in deciding which of the forms is the older, but again it shows the dependence of GardÄ«zÄ« on either FirdawsÄ« or their common source.
The Mujmal is a compilation that uses various interwoven sources96 and it is quite possible its author took the passage on ArmÄyil from another source, but added the second cook from FirdawsÄ«. In a similar fashion, he has added much material from the GarsÄsbnÄme, which he mentions among his sources on p. 2/2, and has woven this into his narrative, which otherwise follows other sources, FirdawsÄ« and GardÄ«zÄ« virtually ignoring GarsÄsb.
If we focus on the word mahÌ£dÌ£ar and claim that FirdawsÄ« and GardÄ«zÄ« used the same source, we come across the difficulty that GardÄ«zÄ« (Zayn, p. 70) only knows one Vizier, AzmÄʾīl (p. 70 â p. 354 reads ArmÄyÄ«l). If the common source of al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« and FirdawsÄ« already had two cooks, then GardÄ«zÄ« should agree with them if he, too, used the very same source as FirdawsÄ« as the use of the word mahÌ£dÌ£ar would imply. Hence, it is easier to assume that this common source only had one cook and the second cook was added by FirdawsÄ«.
That the second cook was not present in FirdawsÄ«âs source might further be supported by some linguistic evidence in FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme. In Z30â32 and 35â36, FirdawsÄ« lapses into the use of the singular when speaking of the cooks. Such use of singular forms for plurals is not unknown in early Persian and without any supporting evidence, one might take this as an admissible linguistic lapse in marking the plural. Considering, however, all the evidence, the verses may well echo a text where there was only one cook, ArmÄyÄ«l. FirdawsÄ« would have added another character but not been consistent when versifying his source and making the necessary changes.
This, however, would mean that al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, who also has two cooks, must have used FirdawsÄ«, besides their common source. Thus, it seems that the only way out of this labyrinth is to posit that al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« did occasionally use FirdawsÄ« as a source, as already suggested in Chapter 4.4.
Why was the second cook invented out of thin air? Whoever did this, and I believe it was FirdawsÄ«, probably did it in order to heighten the dramatic effect of the narrative by letting the two discuss the matter with each other and also perhaps to parallel the two victims. One is also tempted to see the mirroring scene of IblÄ«s as a cook due to an acute and conscious literary mind. However, we know this scene to have been invented before FirdawsÄ« and to originate with another author: creative literary minds had been working with the material even before FirdawsÄ«. It seems, though, that the âvegetarianâ scene may well have developed hand in hand with turning a vizier into a cook. Both episodes are dramatic and thematically tied together. Both have cooks that are not what they seem and serve the king only to drive through their own agenda and manage to do so without arousing the kingâs suspicions. Obviously, they are the creation of a fine literary mind, or several fine literary minds.
What has this little study on ArmÄyÄ«l taught us? Any analysis of FirdawsÄ« should be based on a detailed study of both the epic and the early testimonies. To understand the working of the literary mind we have to know what materials the author had at hand to build on. An analysis of the text of the ShÄhnÄme which does not look at its sources may become seriously flawed. We all too easily think of FirdawsÄ« as handling raw material to forge his unique epic, whereas in reality he may be closely following earlier sources of some literary value. This does not, however, diminish the value of FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme. Whatever the authorâs relation to his sources, the final result is a superb piece of epic poetry. This, though, should not blind us to the fact that the Book of Kings tradition can boast of more than one creative mind.
Secondly, we should not draw a line between history and literature. The ShÄhnÄme belongs to world literature, but it tapped historical sources and was itself used as a serious source for Persian history. Even today it provides materials for the study of Sasanian history. Similarly, not all historical sources are devoid of literary interest.97 We have no way of clearly determining what kind of work the Prose ShÄhnÄme was, but undoubtedly it was a valuable literary work in its own right.
See Sims-Williams (1976): 54â61, for a Sogdian epic fragment on a fight of demons against Rustam and Rakhsh (Rwstmy, Rghshy). For the murals in the so-called Rustam Room, see Marshak (2002): 25â108, who dates (pp. 30â31) the Pendjikent murals to 700â740
See van Zutphen (2014): 2â3. There is little relevant material in Gazerani (2016).
According to Christensen (1931): 131â132 (see also van Zutphen 2014: 32, n. 55), the appearance of Rustam and DastÄn (ZÄl) in the Iranian Bundahishn (Anklesaria 1956: 275, 301) is due to later additions that took place under the influence of the national epic.
It should be pointed out, though, that there is no clear borderline between the two traditions, âhistoricalâ and âepicâ. The clear division between history and belles-lettres is modern, not Mediaeval.
It should be remembered that he is not necessarily the same person as the author of the Ghurar. In this chapter, the Ghurar will be studied after the other Arabic sources, for reasons that will become clear later on. For the Ghurar in general, see Chapter 4.4.
In addition, he mentions an unidentified Rustam in Rabīʿ ii: 525.
Cf., e.g., Barthold (1944): 137, n. 4; Yamamoto (2003): 56, 74; Omidsalar (2011): 40â44. Omidsalar collects an impressive number of attestations for this story, but as they are all interdependent they only show that the story circulated widely in sÄ«ra and tafsÄ«r literature. For al-Ḥīra, see Toral-Niehoff (2014). For the later use of al-NadÌ£r and the story of him narrating stories of Rustam, see also Savant (2013): 173â177.
See also Toorawa (2005): 80 (and n. 80 on p. 161). The idea (of F. Bedrehi, cf. Toorawa, n. 80) that al-Naḍr would refer to the stories of Kalīla wa-Dimna is mere speculation and based on no evidence whatsoever.
Passages from Ibn IshÌ£Äq represent the late eighth century, the additions of Ibn HishÄm the early ninth century.
The edition reads RaysÄn. The error may have been made by the copyist or even the editor.
Sic. This could, though, easily be emended to qatala[[hu]] IsfandiyÄdh. A similar sentence, also emendable, occurs on p. 158.
A form (for BishtÄsb) commonly used by Arab historians, and not to be taken as a mere scribal error.
IshtarÄ is mostly used in the QurʾÄn in a figurative sense (e.g., alladhÄ«na shtaraw-u l-dÌ£alÄlata biâl-hudÄ âthose who prefer erring to guidanceâ Q 2: 16).
The same goes for the rare mentions of Rustam in Umayyad poetry, cf. Nöldeke (1920): 11 (al-Akhṭal).
For Porus, see Aerts-Doulfikar (2010), Index.
For others, though, Zarathustra was a prophet (e.g., al-MaqdisÄ«, Badʾ iii: 149, cf. Hämeen-Anttila 2012: 154â155). Both attitudes put Iranian national ideology within an Islamic framework, the former by identifying the first Persians as monotheists, the latter by identifying Zoroastrians as such. The third option for Persians fell outside the framework of Islam, viz. denying Islam as Godâs religion. This was not only the way Zoroastrians often put it, but also what many sectarian rebels opted for. According to many historians, including al-MaqrÄ«zÄ« (d. 845/1441), Khabar §8, it was Noah who brought monotheism to the Persians, whereas BÄ«warÄsf (in other sources BÅ«dÄsf, i.e., Buddha) brought HÌ£anÄ«fism, or SÌ£Äbianism, to them.
See Grignaschi (1969), (1973).
Also Jackson Bonner (2015): 41, doubts the attribution of this story to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ.
Zoroastrianism is also intimately related to IsfandiyÄr in al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, Ghurar, p. 315, which mentions a magic-proof chain (silsila) given by Zardusht to IsfandiyÄr. There may well be a connection between this and the chains Rustam was supposed to be put in.
For an explicit identification of the two, see, e.g., ṬūsÄ«, Ê¿AjÄʾib, p. 512.
In al-TÌ£abarÄ«âs case, one could argue that his book is focused on prophets and kings, as its full title indicates (KitÄb Taâ ʾrÄ«kh al-rusul waâl-mulÅ«k ), and for this reason he leaves Rustam aside. However, considering the scarcity of material on Rustam unrelated to SiyÄwush or IsfandiyÄr in earlier Arabic sources it seems improbable that al-TÌ£abarÄ« had much more material on Rustam and had excluded it on purpose.
The famous
See also Hämeen-Anttila (2012).
Ibn al-NadÄ«m, Fihrist, p. 15/12//23â24 (from al-JahshiyÄrÄ«, d. 331/942â3, KitÄb al-WuzarÄʾ, where, however, the letter is not found in the present editions), gives the first part of the letter in a very similar form, but ignores the latter part of the text. The letter is also reproduced in, e.g., al-MaqrÄ«zÄ«, Khabar §115 (as in Miskawayh) and in Persian in TawÄrÄ«kh-e Shaykh Uways, p. 57. Cf. also MÄ«rkhwÄnd, RawdÌ£a ii: 670.
Nöldeke (1920): 11; Barthold (1944): 134.
Lacuna in ed. Sachau after p. 131.
Cf. also al-Ṭarsūsī (d. 589/1193), Tabṣira, p. 79, according to whom Rustam was among the very first to use a bow. The first was Adam, who had been taught by Gabriel.
In addition, there are three possibly related place names, RustamÄbÄdh, RustamkÅ«ya, and al-Rustamiyya (iii: 43), but without explicit reference to Rustam ibn DastÄn.
For this book, see Chapter 2.2.1.
For a theory about the meaning of Rustamâs killer, see Davidson (2006): 90â91 (= first edition, 1985, pp. 72â73). See also Yamamoto (2003): 75, n. 64.
Listed sub AsmÄʾ al-kutub allatÄ« allafahÄ l-Furs fÄ« l-siyar wa-l-asmÄr al-sÌ£aḥīhÌ£a allatÄ« li-mulÅ«kihim. For another of Jabalaâs translations, that of the story of BahrÄm ChÅ«bÄ«n, see Ibn al-NadÄ«m, Fihrist, p. 364/305//716 (BahrÄm ShÅ«s, i.e., ChÅ«bÄ«n). Cf. also al-MasÊ¿Å«dÄ«, MurÅ«j §644, and Christensen (1936a): 59. For Jabala, see Shahîd (1984): 408â410. In Ibn al-NadÄ«mâs Fihrist, p. 305/245//589, he is called the secretary of HishÄm, and Barthold (1944): 140, takes this to imply that he was probably the secretary of the Caliph HishÄm ibn Ê¿Abd al-Malik, not the historian HishÄm ibn MuhÌ£ammad al-KalbÄ«.
For the language terminology in al-JÄhÌ£izÌ£âs time, see, most recently, based on Lazardâs studies, Perry (2009).
Note the singular. In the Firdawsian version, there are several sisters.
Whereas Agathias (Chapter 1.3.1) claims to have derived his information from an official source, Arabic and Persian sources do not make a similar claim for the KhwadÄynÄmag, though. It is, however, natural to assume that the Sasanids did keep official records of their own, and their Empireâs, history, and the KhwadÄynÄmag would fit well the role of an official chronicle.
There is also an interesting story about IsfandiyÄrâs invulnerability, which ties his story to Biblical characters: God created for Solomon a spring of molten copper, of which statues were made. Solomon prayed to God to give these statues souls, and as he had no son, GustÄsf adopted IsfandiyÄr, who was one of the animated statues, which explains his unwoundable body. This is also why he was called rÅ«yÄ«n-tan, Copperbody (Mujmal, pp. 32â33/38). Cf. NihÄya, p. 83, which says that âaccording to the Arabs, his (IsfandiyÄrâs) skin was made of copperâ.
Incidentally, the chapter is very close to the Arabic tradition, as exemplified by al-MaqrÄ«zÄ«, Khabar §§112â122, which shows that at least here Ibn al-BalkhÄ« closely follows Arabic sources.
On the relations between the two, see Chapter 5.2.
MalikshÄh SÄ«stÄnÄ«âs (d. after 1028/1620) IhÌ£yÄʾ al-mulÅ«k follows TÄrÄ«kh-e SÄ«stÄn rather closely while elaborating some parts.
Cf. van Zutphen (2014): 416.
For the BakhtiyÄrnÄme, see van Zutphen (2014): 261, 270.
Cf. Chapter 4.1.3.
Other contemporary dates mentioned include 555 (p. 276) and 561 (âin our timesâ, p. 299).
This shows how misguided we are if we automatically expect Firdawsī to dominate the twelfth-century sources: Ṭūsī knew Firdawsī, but either did not feel inclined to use his epic or did not have it at hand. For the name of Firdawsī, cf. Shahbazi (1991): 20 and note 3.
See DabÄ«r-SiyÄqÄ« (1383): 180 (= ShÄhnÄme, ed. Macan i: 41â42). Cf. Shahbazi (1991): 7.
E.g., pp. 5â9. In general, see Doufikar-Aerts (2010).
Written al-Sadīd on p. 419.
On pp. 442â443, the origin of Zoroastrianism is again told, but this time without mentioning Rustam.
Whether this is a mere scribal error for SÅ«dÄbe or a sign of a tradition different from that of FirdawsÄ« is not clear. The Arabicized name SuÊ¿dÄ shows the influence of Arabic historical works, but the author mainly uses the Iranian form SÅ«dÄn/be.
I.e., ShaghÄdâthe change is easily explainable either by a phonetic or orthographic change and cannot be taken as an indication that al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« would here be using a different source.
In addition, there are some passing mentions of Rustam. For pictorial representations of BahrÄm GÅ«r, see Fontana (1986).
Cf. also van Zutphen (2014): 235.
This was suggested early on by Nöldeke (1920): 47â48. Later, e.g., in the ṬūmÄr, several Sistanian heroes perform their own haft-khÄns, thus showing how this topic found favour among the audience of epic tales.
Shahbazi (1991): 66, believes that the stories of BÄ«zhan and ManÄ«zhe, AkwÄn DÄw, the White Demon, and SuhrÄb belonged to the first edition of FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme. Did FirdawsÄ« start his career by complementing the received version of the Book of Kings by versifying episodes that were lacking from the Prose ShÄhnÄme?
I find it improbable, but not impossible, that there could have been a version where it was IsfandiyÄr who slew Rustam, not the other way round: the sole piece of evidence for this comes from a late and somewhat insecure passage in al-SuhaylÄ«âs RawdÌ£. IsfandiyÄrâs haft-khÄn were clearly older than Rustamâs, and the latter may have been copied from the former by FirdawsÄ«.
Pourshariati (2008): 462, speaks of âeditorial manipulations of the IspahbudhÄn familyâ through which Rustam found a place in the Book of Kings tradition, but sees this as a redaction of the KhwadÄynÄmag.
Van Zutphen (2014): 28, 552, believes that the Sistanian heroes had been incorporated into the KhwadÄynÄmag, but sees this as a âcollective titleâ.
For ÄzÄdsarw, see van Zutphen (2014): 29â31, 111, 113.
Cf. Yamamoto (2003): 74â76, which also includes a list of such orphan stories. Yamamoto does not quite seem to realize the implications of her own argumentation as to FirdawsÄ«âs use of sources. For the âopening linesâ, mechanically used in the tales of the Sasanian period, see Yamamoto (2003): 76. Cf. also Jackson Bonner (2011): 37 on the story of AnÅ«shzÄdâs insurrection, attributed to an old dihqÄn.
J refers to the story of JamshÄ«d (i: 41â52), Z to that of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk (i: 55â86).
Other sources stress the pain and many mention DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs inability to sleep.
The characters have been discussed by Asmussen (1987): 413, in a slightly disappointing article. In Z15 Khaleghi-Motlagh prefers the variant zi-kishwar-e pÄdishÄ to zi-gÅhar-e pÄdishÄ, which was adopted in the Moscow edition. Whichever variant we prefer, it is obvious that for FirdawsÄ« the two were noblemen, not ordinary cooks. For the length of the vowel, see Khaleghi-Motlagh (2001): 71 (on Z16), who takes the original form to have been ArmÄyÄ«l, which was changed, metri gratia, into ArmÄyil by FirdawsÄ«. As will be seen, most sources have a long final vowel in this name. Khaleghi-Motlagh also mentions other, stray variants of the names.
See Skjaervø (1989).
Daryaee (2002): 19, translates this as â21 cities were built in PadiÅ¡xwÄrgar, either ArmÄyÄ«l or by the order of ArmÄyÄ«l were built by the mountaineers who had acquired from Aži DahÄg the dominion of the mountains.â In his notes, p. 44, he understands this to mean that they acquired the dominion out of fear of AzhdahÄg. I am not convinced of this interpretation, and one should beware of retrojecting later legends back on this early text. The oldest sources present ArmÄyÄ«l as DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs vizier and linguistically the least forced interpretation is to take this as a royal gift to the mountaineers.
Daryaee (2002): 1. Daryaee, p. 7, dates the main material of the text to the sixth century.
For the title, see Markwart (1931): 69â70, and Bailey (1930â32): 947.
Cf. Dowsett (1961): 108, 225. Markwart seems to have been inspired to this etymology by YÄqÅ«t, MuÊ¿jam ii: 475, which he quotes and which tells us that ArmÄʾīl was a Nabatean from al-ZÄb.
Cf. ṬūsÄ«âs Ê¿AjÄʾib, p. 130, where the text, and even more clearly a manuscript variant, gives us to understand that it was DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk himself who ate human flesh.
For the original meaning of mardÄs âman-eatingâ, see, e.g., Roth (1850): 423, and UmÄ«dsÄlÄr (1381a), but see also Nöldeke (1920): 19, note 2. FirdawsÄ« or his source has, consciously or not, associated the original epithet with the Arabic name MirdÄs and made it DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs patronym.
Markwart (1931): 68, analyses the name as âthe man from BÄth GarmÄâ.
This is a common motif among Arab historians, who seem to have vied with each other in who could say the nastiest thing about Persian myths. Ibn al-AthÄ«r perhaps goes furthest in saying (KÄmil i: 66) that he only tells stories about JamshÄ«d to show the Persiansâ ignorance. He calls these stories âstupid lies of the Persiansâ (i: 76), as does Ibn IsfandiyÄr in his TÄrÄ«kh-e TÌ£abaristÄn, p. 83. The latter author is loth to transmit mythological tales from Persian national history but eager to relate various other Ê¿ajÄʾib.
Al-TÌ£abarÄ«, Taâ ʾrÄ«kh i: 206//ii: 6; Ibn al-AthÄ«r, KÄmil i: 75.
Ibn al-BalkhÄ«, FÄrsnÄme, p. 35 (in explanation of the word silÊ¿a); HÌ£amdallÄh, TÄrikh-e guzÄ«de, pp. 81â82.
Strictly speaking, this would imply that they were sent there one by one, but as Ibn Qutaybaâs version is very short, he may just have simplified the story.
Ibn al-FaqÄ«h goes on to tell how ArmÄʾīl built the village of MandÄn for the people that were saved. It should be noted that he does not mention the rams that were substituted for these freed people.
Note that this is told only after the mention of al-DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs imprisonment on Mt. Demavend, implying that this happened at that time.
Actually, al-Masʿūdī tells little more than this in the Murūj. When cross-referencing, he sometimes exaggerates the amount of information contained in his other books.
This is only found in
Again this is told only after the mention of BÄ«warasbâs imprisonment.
This is related to the question whether DhÅ«âl-Qarnayn should be identified with DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk or not.
FirdawsÄ«, who seems to have invented the scene that takes place in Yemen, lets this habit start before DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk had become the Shah, but when he was already the King of Yemen.
For the connections of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk and other legendary kings with Mt. Demavend, see Tafazzoli (1993).
Ibn al-FaqÄ«h wrote in 290/903 or soon thereafter. The edition of de Goeje is based on the textâs abridgement, mukhtasÌ£ar, but there is no reason to take this passage as a later interpolation. The whole text has been edited by YÅ«suf al-HÄdÄ« in 2009, but his edition has not been available to me.
The motif of a talisman/spell (tÌ£ilasm) used on DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk to keep his food eternally in him is related to this situation: to avoid the need of fresh brains, the monster is sealed up and made to live on what he already had eaten. This motif is found in, e.g., Ibn al-FaqÄ«h, MukhtasÌ£ar, p. 275.
This, though, may be a later interpolation. On l. 6 (of TÄrÄ«kh) we have the sentence khalq-e jahÄn az-Å« sutÅ«h shudand and on l. 15, this is more or less repeated (hame jahÄn az way bi-sutÅ«h shudand). For a similar case, which seems to be proven to be an interpolation by a comparison of manuscripts, see Peacock (2007): 64. Mujmal, pp. 34â35/40â41, says that the two cooks came to serve DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk after 700 years of his rule, implying that the snakes appeared only then.
The real Ê¿Umar probably died in 526/1131, but the text is somewhat later.
The tension between the evil and good characteristics of DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk is clearly visible in AsadÄ« ṬūsÄ«âs GarshÄsbnÄme, where the eponymous hero, GarshÄsb, is in the service of the monster King. It may well be that this goes back to a version where DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äk had not been demonized, but may have been an ambivalent character similar to JamshÄ«d.
With orthographic and phonetic variants. The variation in the vowel length of the final syllable is not relevant as it is easily generated by the writing system. Its shortening in FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme is due to the exigencies of the metre. The variation between ArmÄʾīl, ArmÄyÄ«l, and AzmÄyÄ«l is due to careless copying, but the variation in the forms of BÄ«warasp in Arabic and Persian is relevant for an analysis of the interdependencies of the sources and the names have been carefully kept in the form they are attested in the texts.
A rare case of mentioning the number of freed men comes in GardÄ«zÄ«, Zayn, p. 354, where the festival of sade-ye buzurg is said to have derived its name from the hundred (sad) men freed by ArmÄyÄ«l. The passage is transmitted on the authority of Magians (mughÄn) and is clearly based on a folk etymology (sadâsade).
Cf. Meisami (1999): 69.
Omidsalar (2002) has heavily criticized seeing FirdawsÄ«âs language as consciously purified of Arabic elements and has claimed that it represented the normal language of the day. This, however, seems a somewhat exaggerated reaction to equally exaggerated claims about FirdawsÄ« single-handedly vivifying a dying language. In fact, the language of FirdawsÄ« seems more âPersianâ than contemporary prose texts, although this may not have been a nationalistic avoidance of âforeignâ words but just an archaisizing tendency dictated by the subject matter.
FirdawsÄ«âs ShÄhnÄme does not show any signs of being a work of compilatory character, where within one episode there would usually be materials deriving from several sources. In each case, FirdawsÄ« seems to be versifying one source at a time.
Ed. QazwÄ«nÄ«, pp. 37â38; ed. Monchi-Zadeh, p. 7, l. 2; trans. Minorsky (1956): 170, §7.
This was noted by de Blois (1992â97): 122.
DÌ£ahÌ£hÌ£Äkâs Vizier is here named BanÄh.
As is well known, early Persian manuscripts rarely differentiate between K and G.
In this passage, one can clearly see the compilatory character of the Mujmal. The heading of chapter ix: 2 implies that the chapter draws on BahrÄm mÅbad-e ShÄpÅ«r (p. 33/39). In fact, this comes through HÌ£amzaâs Taâ ʾrÄ«kh, p. 26ff., as a comparison of the two texts shows. While Mujmal, pp. 33â34/39, more or less comes from HÌ£amza, Taâ ʾrÄ«kh, pp. 26â27, the wanderings of the disposed JamshÄ«d and his final death, pp. 34/39â40, are told according to another source, clearly the GarsÄsbnÄme, before the author comes back to JamshÄ«dâs building activities which again come from HÌ£amza, Taâ ʾrÄ«kh, p. 27.
It is curious how little attention al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«âs Ghurar has received as Arabic literature, whereas its versified Persian counterpart is unanimously, and with good reason, considered a great piece of world literature. There is a difference between FirdawsÄ« and al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ«, but the difference is not enormous and occasionally al-ThaÊ¿ÄlibÄ« is even able to outdo the Persian master.