When the tragic duel ended, King Kavus marched his army back toward the heartland of Iran, while Rostam lingered on the grief-stricken battlefield, awaiting his brother Zavareh to bring news of the Turanian host. As the dawn broke, Zavareh returned, and Rostam, crushed under the weight of sorrow, set forth toward Zabulistan, bearing the heavy casket of his young son Sohrab.
When word reached the venerable Zal, the entire populace of Sistan poured out to meet the mournful procession, their hearts molten with grief. Seeing the coffin of his noble grandson, Zal dismounted from his golden-bridged charger. Rostam walked barefoot before the bier, his garments torn to shreds and his soul wounded beyond repair, while the assembled champions unbuckled their war-girdles and pressed their brows into the dust. Zal wept tears of bitter agony, lamenting how a youth who lifted the heavy mace and shone as an unrivaled peer among magnates had been cut down so swiftly—a titan whose like no mother would ever bear again.
Upon entering his royal hall, Rostam set the coffin down, drew out the iron nails, and pulled back the shroud to reveal Sohrab's form to the gathering of noble lords. A cry went up as if smoke rose to the heavens; the slain prince lay like a sleeping lion, echoing the stature and breadth of his great-grandfather Sam, as though resting after an exhausting battle. Rostam rewrapped the youth in golden silk, sealed the chest, and erected a magnificent mausoleum worthy of the heroic child.
As all the world wept for the fallen youth, the narrative reflects upon the impermanence of mortal life: every generation receives its fleeting turn upon the stage of existence, yet no human hand can unlock the sealed door of destiny. Thus closes this tragedy of tears, yielding to the forthcoming epic of Siyavash.