My dear, let me tell you a lovely story tonight, the story of a hero named Rostam. Rostam was a tall boy and very, very strong, stronger than any other child in the world. And in his heart he had one great wish: a horse of his own.
But Rostam did not want an ordinary horse, my darling. He was as heavy as a mountain, and under his heavy hand every horse would bend. He wanted a horse strong enough to bear his strength.
One day his father brought the herds of horses to him, beautiful horses from Zabul and from Kabul. Rostam stood beside them and looked at them one by one, searching carefully for his own.
He laid his hand gently on the back of each horse, and every one bent under it. One by one they stepped aside, and not one stayed. Rostam was a little sad but not discouraged. He knew his horse was surely somewhere.
Suddenly his eye fell on a young, lively colt. Its colour was like red rose petals on saffron, its body like a lion's, and its two eyes sparkled like two stars. "Oh," Rostam said softly, "what a beautiful colt."
The shepherd said this colt had run free for three whole years and nobody had ever caught it. "Be careful, my boy," the old man said quietly. Rostam only gave a big, kind smile. His heart wanted this quick, spirited colt.
Rostam lifted his lasso from his shoulder, swung it smoothly in the air, and threw it very softly. The loop settled lightly round the colt's neck. The colt stood still and flicked its ears.
He drew the colt slowly towards him and spoke to it kindly and softly. Then he laid his heavy hand on its back. This time, my dear, the back did not bend at all. The colt stood firm and steady.
Rostam laughed out loud from the bottom of his heart. "This is my horse, this very colt." Yes, my dear, this horse could bear Rostam's strength. Their two hearts became one, and Rostam was never alone again.
Then Rostam asked the shepherd, "Whose colt is this?" He wanted to know his new horse's name. In Persian, rakhsh means a mixed red and white, and that was exactly the beautiful colour of the colt.
"This colt has no particular owner," said the shepherd. "We all call him Rostam's Rakhsh." Rostam smiled and named his horse Rakhsh. From that moment, Rakhsh belonged to Rostam alone.
From that day Rakhsh and Rostam were always together. They ran together and rested side by side, and Rakhsh carried Rostam wherever he wanted to go. They were kind friends who could not be parted, and they never left each other alone, my dear.