Pashotan, the noble and wise vizier, felt his heart deeply grieved by the plunder and slaughter that King Bahman had wrought upon Zabolistan. Standing before the young monarch, he spoke words of profound wisdom: 'O righteous King, if your heart sought vengeance, the score has been settled and truth has emerged. Issue no more commands for pillage and carnage. Fear God and look upon the turning wheel of Time, which raises one man to the high clouds only to cast another down in humiliation. Was it not your father Esfandiyar who returned in a wooden coffin to Nimruz? And did not Rostam perish in the treacherous pit of Kabul? No mortal abides forever. As long as you live, do not afflict those of noble lineage. If Zal, son of Sam Nariman, should cry out to the Almighty from his fetters and lay his grievance before the Creator, your star, bright though it may be, will wane. Remember that the Kianian throne endured through Rostam’s blade; from Kay Qobad to the pure-minded Kay Khosrow, every sovereign held their majesty by his strength. If you are wise, unclasp his chains and turn your heart from evil.'
Upon hearing Pashotan's counsel, Bahman was struck with remorse for his ancient grudge. A cry went out from the royal pavilion ordering the champions to cease pillaging and prepare to march back. Bahman commanded that the iron fetters be removed from Zal’s feet and offered him wise words of respect, while ordering the bodies of the fallen to be enshrined in tombs.
When Zal stepped out of prison into his hall, he and Rudabeh wept bitterly over their agonizing loss. Rudabeh wailed aloud: 'Alas, brave Rostam! While you were alive, who even knew that Goshtasp held the kingship of the world? Now our treasures are looted, Zal was fettered, and my champion son lies slain by an arrow! May no eye behold such bitter days!'
The sound of Rudabeh's grief reached Pashotan, whose face turned pale with sorrow. He approached Bahman once more, saying: 'O new King, lead the host away from this borderland at break of dawn, for this matter has become heavy and perilous. It is not fitting for the Shahanshah to linger in the sorrowful house of Zal.' As dawn painted the mountains the yellow hue of sandarach, warhorns and heavy cymbals echoed through the court. Bahman led his army out of Zabolistan back to the heartland of Iran. Settling upon the throne in joy, he governed with tradition and justice, bestowing coin upon the poor—even as the fickle World continues to afflict the hearts of all those it nurtures.