Having rendered praises unto Yazdan, Rostam mounted his crimson steed, Rakhsh, and set his course toward the winding paths of the sorcerers' domain. He pressed across the vast wilderness until the glowing sun turned past its zenith. Suddenly, a lush glade appeared before him, filled with verdant trees, fresh grass, and flowing streamlets—a place fit for noble youths. By a spring as clear as a pheasant's eye, he discovered a lavish banquet laid upon the grass: a golden goblet brimming with crimson wine, roasted meat, warm bread, and savory condiments. It was the feast of demons, who had fled into the shadows at the sound of Rostam's approaching tread.
The champion dismounted, unbridled Rakhsh, and rested by the blessed spring. He partook of the food and lifted the golden goblet. Beside the feast, he found a lute; in an instant, the solitary desert seemed transformed into a festive hall. Rostam took the instrument into his embrace, strummed its strings, and sang a mournful song of his own destiny: that Rostam is an outcast who knows no joy, whose garden is but barren mountains and wild steppes, and whose life is an endless trial of battling fierce lions and fiery dragons.
The melodic strains of the lute reached the ears of an enchantress dwelling nearby. Though hideous by nature, she cast a spell to adorn herself like springtime, painted with vibrant colors and sweet scents, and approached the hero with a seductive smile. Rostam, unaware that an evil demon lay concealed beneath that enchanting mask, praised Almighty God for bestowing a banquet and a fair maiden in the heart of Mazandaran's wilderness. He filled a golden cup with wine, raised it, and invoked the holy name of the Creator.
At the mention of Yazdan, the sorceress's glamorous illusion dissolved. Her soul could not endure the holy praise, her tongue faltered, and her face turned black as pitch. Rostam immediately recognized her demonic nature; whipping his lasso into the air, he ensnared her tight. The glamor melted away completely, revealing a withered, foul hag full of wrinkles and deceit. Rostam drew his sharp dagger and cleaved the enchantress in two, striking terror into the hearts of all the sorcerers of Mazandaran.