Shahrbanu’s Tragic Tale
Soltan worshipped Shahrbanu. She was her youngest child and she was the apple of her eye. The family left their village and came to Tehran the last time a fatal epidemic swept into their little hamlet. Khatoon, Soltan’s stepdaughter, lost five of her children leaving her with only one child. Soltan lost a son and her husband. They were reeling with shock and grief at losing so many members of their family in such a short time.
Once, when their relatives who lived in Tehran came for a visit, they recounted to them all of the wonders that existed in the city. They told them of the superiority of the doctors that saved people’s lives. They described how they gave people some magic pills and other concoctions that made people all get better, even if they were burning with fever or throbbing with pain. They told of the crystal clear water that came out of taps and wonder of wonders, the taps ran both hot and cold! One did not have to trudge down to the well to draw water in all kinds of weather. They described how they pressed a button and like magic night turned into bright daylight. Of course one should not believe everything that was told, but even if a fraction of the tales they recounted were true, it was worth moving to the city. They had lost too many loved ones in the village. Soltan worried over her family. She could not bear losing anymore loved ones. Her heart was in tatters. And so they packed their meager belongings, bought bus tickets, got on the bus and off they went.
At last they arrived in the southern end of the city. They were not used to the hustle and bustle surrounding them. They were not used to the sound of cars incessantly blaring their horns, nor the peddlers advertising their wares in loud, discordant voices. Their village population was about two hundred or so people. Their mode of transportation was either their legs or a ride on a donkey. They were used to the crowing of the rooster to wake them up at dawn, the clucking of the hen as they laid their eggs, the gentle mooing of the cows, wanting to be milked, and the braying of the mule. They were used to the quiet sound of the brook trilling as it ran through the middle of their village.
As they got off the bus, they hesitated as they looked about them in wonderment. They were astonished at all the people and all the sounds. In that one small area there were just as many people as there were in their whole village! They looked about them and then, Soltan, as the matriarch, asked for directions to their relatives’ house. With their bundles of belongings balanced on top of their heads, they slowly hoofed it to their destination.
Their relatives occupied two sparse rooms in a one-story building. The building was protected by high brick walls. The rooms were situated around a courtyard with a little shallow pool in the center. Around the pool, someone had placed pots of geraniums that provided a sense of cheer. These pools were common in homes such as theirs. To one side would be a manual pump from which they would draw water for their various needs. They cooked with it, they washed their clothes and dishes with it. In good weather, the female lodgers would all squat around the pool performing their daily household chores as they chatted amongst themselves.
When they arrived, Soltan and her family were welcomed by their relatives. They were offered food and tea. In return, Soltan and her family presented them with gifts of fruits and honey in their honeycombs from their village. It had been a long day fraught with anxiety concerning their future. They had been on the bus all day. Traveling had exhausted them. The sun was beginning to set. The sky was rapidly darkening. Soon everyone unrolled their bedding and laid them out, side by side across the room and slept.
The next morning, their hosts told Soltan that the husband’s master’s friends were in need of two women to work in their home. That is how Soltan and Khatoon ended up working at my parents’ house. In the back of the main house, there was a building that housed the servants’ quarters. There were four rooms altogether. Two of these rooms were used as storage rooms. They were lined with shelves where homemade jams, tomato paste, pickles, and other essentials were placed in earthenware jars. The other two rooms were where Soltan and Khatoon stayed. Eventually, Mash Kambar was hired as well. Mash Kambar was Khatoon’s husband. He served as the gardener. They had rented one of the rooms adjacent to their relatives’, where Shahrbanu and her brother lived. Their relatives kept an eye on the siblings. Soltan, Khatoon, and Mash Kambar stayed at my parents until their days off.
Shahrbanu was a quite beautiful young girl. She had a pleasing face, jet black silky long hair which she braided. She dressed modestly. Her head was always covered, but the end of her braids seemed to sway merrily down her back as she walked. She had a ready smile and a cheerful nature. She was about twelve or thirteen years old, which meant she had almost reached the age to get married. However, there was one thing that was wrong. She suffered from seizures, epilepsy. Perhaps that was the reason that Soltan was so protective of her. They all worked, but not Shahrbanu. To Soltan that was out of the question! Sometimes, when Soltan came back from her day off, she would bring the girl with her.
In front of the servants’ quarters, there was a small garden with a long strip of grass. Alongside of one garden wall there was a large two-tiered chicken coop. During the daytime, the chickens freely roamed about in the back yard. At night, they were caged to protect them from predators. Shahrbanu delighted in scattering feed for them to eat. They would rush close to her as she did so, clucking noisily. I witnessed this once accidentally. The joy on her face and the eagerness of the clucking chicken made me smile. I made it a point to watch her once in a while. Sometimes, Khatoon’s little girl would toddle alongside her aunt, trying to feed them as well. So many years have passed since then, yet even now, when I think of that moment in time, I cannot help but smile wistfully.
Soon the day came when Shahrbanu wed. Soltan was thrilled. She liked the young man. He was from their village. He was a hard worker and he treated Shahrbanu like the princess that Soltan considered her daughter to be. Soltan was joyous. The smile and the laughter never left Shahrbanu’s face. In a very short time, Shahrbanu was expecting. It was wintertime. In the evenings, when they retired to their quarters, Soltan and Khatoon would snuggle under the heavy quilts over the korsi, the little square bench that housed the embers in the brazier under the huge quilts which kept the family cozy and warm. As they snuggled under the korsi, the women would happily knit baby clothes and blankets for the little baby that was arriving soon. They sewed and embroidered for the soon-to-arrive infant as well. They would chat eagerly as they worked, trying to guess the sex of the baby.
Sometimes in the month of February, the baby finally arrived! Soltan asked for a week off to care for her daughter and grandchild. It was granted. To Shahrbanu, the baby seemed to be her little doll. She delighted in the infant. As the weather warmed up, she started to venture out with him. One day, as she was about to cross the street, she suddenly suffered an epileptic seizure and began to convulse. With a heavy thud, she dropped to the ground. Just then, a parked car backed over her. As she writhed from the seizure, the car crushed her skull. They rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. She was already dead. Her child was still clinging to her breast, mewing piteously.
She had no identification upon her person. It was late at night before the family found her. They had searched everywhere! They had not expected her to be dead!
At my parents’ home, the house was still. Everyone was fast asleep when the telephone rang ominously. It rang and rang. Finally my father answered. Her brother was sobbing uncontrollably. He said, “My sister is dead. Could you please send my mother home?”
Papa and Mama were in a state of shock! What did her brother mean, saying Shahrbanu was dead? Surely that was a prank call! But no, no one would have such a sick humor! My parents sat numb and visibly shaken, trying to comprehend how such an unthinkable thing could happen. They anxiously waited for daybreak to come. They did not want to wake Soltan up. They thought she would be facing many sleepless nights in the coming months. For now, there was nothing she could do but sleep. That poor, poor, wretched mother, her daughter was lying in the morgue, cold as could be, all life snuffed out of her. They waited for daybreak and finally went to wake her up.
“Sultan, someone is very sick in your family. You are wanted at home.” They gave her money for a taxi and extra for that will needed, and sent her home. The family, in their grief and shock, seemed to have forgotten about the poor baby. No one fed him or took care of him. He did not survive. They buried him with his mother. He rested on her bosom with her arms wrapped about her lifeless babe.
Sultan was never quite the same after that. She was quieter and sadder. She and Khatoon stayed with us until Khomeini came. At that point, all the help all over the city disappeared, just like the children did when the Pied Piper of Hamlyn led them into the heart of the mountains…
A short while after the beginning of the revolution, we all left as well. We were never to see our country nor the people that were a part of our lives ever again. Sometimes I wonder how many people have touched our lives and how many people have we lost along the way? How many people, how much pain from loss have we all experienced?
I look up from my writing. I notice the sun has set, the skies have darkened. The sun reluctant departs with a reddish tinge trailing behind it. I have been writing for many hours. The house is silent. I become aware of the hum of the fridge and the gentle sound of Pussycat preening himself. I gradually realize that I am stiff from sitting down for so long. I get up to draw the curtains and call Pussycat to me. Slowly we climb upstairs. Day is done. Night has fallen…