In those dark and perilous days, a ruler named Bizhan—of the lineage of Tarkhan—held sway over the realm of Samarkand. Mahoy Suri, the treacherous governor of Merv whose heart had grown black with ambition, dispatched a secret letter to Bizhan, inciting him to strike. Mahoy promised that the supreme crown, throne, and vast ancient treasures of King Yazdegerd III were ripe for the taking, provided Bizhan marched immediately upon the unsuspecting monarch. Reading the letter, Bizhan consulted his trusted advisor, who counseled against Bizhan going in person—lest the Faghfur of China mock him as a greedy flatterer or a coward. Instead, the vizier urged him to send his valiant commander, Barsam, at the head of a formidable host.
Bizhan approved the strategy and dispatched Barsam with ten thousand sword-wielding, seasoned horsemen. Like swift pheasants, the army sped from Bukhara to Merv within a week. At the dark hour of dawn, the thundering of war drums shattered the silence. King Yazdegerd, entirely unaware of Mahoy's deep-seated treason, donned his heavy coat of mail as news arrived of the approaching force. Mounting his steed, the Shahanshah charged into battle like a furious elephant, drawing his razor-sharp Kabuli blade and carving a path through the enemy lines. Yet, at the critical moment, Mahoy Suri ordered his troops to withdraw, abandoning their sovereign amidst the surging tide of the enemy.
Realizing Mahoy's wicked betrayal, Yazdegerd fought with frantic bravery, slaying scores of Turanian warriors until, overwhelmed by numbers, he was forced to flee. Spurring his horse to a raging stream, he dismounted near a secluded watermill, leaving behind his golden-bridled charger, heavy mace, and jewel-adorned sword. He crept inside the mill and hid upon a patch of dry grass. The pursuing enemy cavalry swept the countryside, finding only his abandoned weapons and majestic steed.
At sunrise, an impoverished miller named Khosrow arrived to open his mill. He was a poor man whose daily bread came solely from grinding grain. Inside the dim mill, he was astonished to discover a tall, sun-bright youth sitting upon the dry straw, dressed in fine Chinese silks, gold-embroidered robes, and a gem-studded crown. Awestruck by the majestic divine glory emanating from this stranger, the miller called upon God and asked how such a royal figure had come to sit in a place filled with flour and dust. Yazdegerd replied that he was an Iranian warrior fleeing the Turanian army. With humble shame, the impoverished miller offered the king his only food: coarse barley bread and wild river herbs. The King accepted the humble offering, but required a bundle of *barsam* twigs to perform the sacred Zoroastrian grace over the meal. The simple miller hurried to the local Zoroastrian priest to request the twigs—unaware that his innocent quest would reveal the final refuge of the fallen Shahanshah to the treacherous Mahoy.