When King Khosrow Anushirvan returned from his arduous campaign in Rome, the crushing weariness of the journey weighed heavily upon his frame. Weakness claimed his limbs, and unable to continue his march, he was compelled to halt in the region of Jordan to recover his failing strength. In those shadow-draped days, a false rumor sped across the realm, reaching the ears of his son, Prince Nush-zad. Messengers claimed that the brilliant Glory of the Great King had dimmed forever and that Anushirvan had yielded his breath to the eternal void. They whispered that the world would soon descend into dark turmoil, left without its vigilant guardian.
Upon hearing that his royal father was dead and the crown vacant, Nush-zad did not weep; instead, his heart filled with unfilial joy and he celebrated the false tidings—proving himself unworthy of a sweet and noble name. His cold delight invoked the ancient wisdom of sages, who declared that he who rejoices in the death of another should himself never taste immortality. A son who strays from the righteous path of his progenitor is either a tyrant or utterly devoid of wisdom. Just as the bitter root of the colocynth plant can never bear fragrant musk, a bad seed bound to dust and discord can never yield noble fruit or offer shade under the sun.