When news of a magnificent merchant caravan arriving from Iran echoed through the cities of Touran, Manizheh—the fallen princess and daughter of Afrasiab—ran barefoot and weeping toward the merchant's encampment. With tears streaming down her face and clothes torn by sorrow, she approached the colossal merchant, who was Rostam in disguise. She bestowed blessings upon him and mournfully inquired if he had any news of the Iranian heroes, of Goudarz, Giv, and above all, her beloved Bizhan, trapped in a bloody abyss.
Rostam, guarding his high-stakes mission of espionage, feigned harshness and ignorance, barking at her to leave and claiming he knew nothing of kings, war, or the house of Goudarz. Yet behind his stern veil, his heart melted with pity for her plight. He commanded his cook to prepare a sumptuous hot roasted fowl wrapped in soft bread. Hidden deftly within the dish, Rostam placed his turquoise signet ring, finely engraved with his own name.
Manizheh hurried back to the dark pit, carrying the food. As the chained Bizhan reached for the bird, his fingers struck the metallic ring. Holding it up, he read the sacred name of Rostam carved upon the gem. A royal laugh of unbridled triumph erupted from the depths of the pit. Astonished, Manizheh begged to know what caused such sudden laughter in a place of death. Bizhan demanded an oath of absolute secrecy before revealing the mystery, which wounded Manizheh deeply after all the royal treasures, family ties, and comfort she had sacrificed for him.
Bizhan repented his doubt, comforted her, and revealed that the merchant was none other than the savior of Iran. He sent her back with a coded question: to ask the merchant if he was the Master of Rakhsh. Manizheh sped back like the wind. Rostam confirmed his identity and bade her return to collect mountain high piles of firewood. As night wrapped its dark mantle over the earth, Manizheh lit a blazing beacon above the pit, igniting the black sky like a fiery sun while awaiting the thundering hooves of steel-shod Rakhsh.