Khatoon’s Unbreakable Love and a Father’s Fury
My parents’ house was spacious. It required at least two people to keep in tip-top shape, with a weekly day help. They entertained often, and they had many out-of-town house guests. At one point, Sultan and her stepdaughter, Khatoon, worked inside the house, while Khatoon’s husband was in charge of the gardens. In the back of the house was a building where all their family lived. There were four rooms plus bathrooms, etc. They had a little yard in the back which they shared with about three dozen chickens who roamed and fed there when they were not in their coops. Khatoon and her husband had lived in a village a few hours’ distance away from Tehran. They raised their ten children in that village. Alas, one day an awful malady swept into the air of the village and drastically decimated the population. In a matter of a week, Khatoon lost all of her children. She was devastated! She could not bear to stay in the village a moment longer than she had to. Since Sultan and other relatives had moved to Tehran a few years earlier, Khatoon and her husband decided to follow.
That is how Khatoon and Mash Kambar came to serve our family alongside Sultan. Prior to coming to work for us, Khatoon had given birth to a daughter. She adored her daughter and would not let her out of her sight. After losing ten children, it is small wonder she cherished the little tot so. Working at my parents’ home made it easier for her to have the child living with them, since they lived in the quarters in the rear of the main house. At first, she wrapped the infant to her back in papoose-fashion as she worked. Every once in a while, she would stop to nurse and change her. The baby was a good baby and did not fret much. She was happy to be carried by her mother, and Khatoon was quite content doing so.
Coming from the village, their sense of hygiene was quite slack. As the baby grew, she was allowed to crawl about and to sit in the backyard in the dirt, surrounded by the chickens as they picked the grains scattered about for them. Perhaps she ingested some of their chicken feed, or perhaps she was left undiapered on the bare ground; there is no way of knowing how she got ill. What is known is that she developed a serious case of diarrhea. Khatoon and Sultan tried boiling some rice and fed her the thick rice broth to drink. When that did not work, they made her a thin gruel of soupy rice and yogurt.
The baby just would not get better; in fact, she was getting worse by the minute. Mama bundled up Khatoon and the baby, and off to the pediatrician they went. After examining the baby, the doctor wrote a prescription and carefully explained the directions in detail. Mama bought the medications, then they headed home. At first, the baby improved, but then she took a turn for the worse. The situation seemed dire. My parents were quite concerned. My father and mother decided the child needed to be hospitalized. As Khatoon was about to get into the car, Mash Kambar ran up to the car and firmly stated, “This is my daughter! It is the will of Allah that the child should die! You cannot take her to the hospital. It is the will of Allah, I tell you!” Poor Khatoon, the look of distress on her face was painful to see. She clutched her child closer to herself. Her husband had spoken, and she did not dare to disobey. She had visions of this child dying in her arms. Silently, her tears ran down her face. Her tears seared her face, feeling like acid etching her cheeks. Her pain of losing this child was palpable. It was just too painful to bear! But Khatoon had an ace up her sleeve that she was not aware of. My father’s face had his rage written all over it. His face turned purple. He bit his tongue in an effort to control his anger. That was always a bad sign. It meant he was extremely angry, beware! He raised his hand and struck Mash Kambar hard across his face and neck. “You spawn of a dog,” he thundered. “No one is going to die under my roof! Do you understand me? No one! What kind of nonsense are you blathering? This infant WILL go to hospital! Your Allah does NOT decree that she die!”
Khatoon hid her face into her chador, as she smiled with satisfaction. Mash Kambar retreated warily. Papa got into the car in the front seat, next to Mama. “Drive,” he said stonily. Mama drove. They headed to the hospital. They made sure that the baby was well taken care of. For the next few weeks, Khatoon spent her days in the hospital with her child. She came home late at night, making sure the baby was asleep and comfortable. My parents gave her money to go back and forth in a taxi and for food. There was no need to take a bus on top of all her anxiety, they explained.
One night she left the hospital later than usual. Women did not go out alone after dark in Iran. It was not at all safe. It did not matter what their station in life was. They could be mistaken for ladies of the night. As she hailed a taxi that night, she was easy prey. The taxi driver began to make obscene advances toward her. She was terrified. She was already under a great deal of strain. She began sobbing. “I am a poor mother,” she pleaded. “My child is very ill. My master and mistress took pity on us and put her in the hospital. If it weren’t for them, my baby would have died, like her siblings had,” she sobbed. It was as if a dam had broken. She told him about her ten dead children and how this was the only child left to her. She sobbed and sobbed all the way home. The taxi driver was quiet all the way. When he dropped her home, he said, “Forgive me, little sister, for thinking badly of you. May Allah grant your baby health.” He refused to take her money, despite it being quite a long ride. That is what I love about the Iranians. They can be hot-headed, but they had a heart.
I am happy to say the girl survived and grew to be healthy and beautiful. She remained their only living child. Many years have passed since then. I lost touch with all of them because of the revolution. I often wonder what life would have been like if the revolution had not occurred. Which direction would fate have twisted us in? I shall never know…