...I just don't want anybody to know!"
Kasra responded:
"Be careful!" As though he could predicate future and he could tell this would be a very emotional meeting for Neda; or perhaps because of the streets and door to door Revolution and riot, he knew the route to any destination would be hard and sometime even unreachable. He knew the viciousness of both side, specially the one, which would become victor, and the fickleness of the people who were changing face and moving to Tehran in droves, where the power, money and corruption would be shortly. He called them party of wind, meant they would go after money and power by seeing where the direction of the wind was.
He hugged her before she left. Followed her to the yard, and hugged her again in front of the gate; and said again: " Be careful!"
It was December of 1978. The Revolution would come to fruition in February of 1979, when The Shah would leave Iran; this time with no fan fair, no red carpet, no lines and lines of soldiers standing to salute him, or school children giving flowers to the Shabano (his wife); a cancer- stricken man who knew he had not much to live, yet decided to escape under pressure and not be a real leader, not would be the last to either be killed, abdicated, or arrested, so he could stay for ever in hearts and minds of people for ever!! No, he failed to rule this ancient land, and like many before him, he forsook to respect HUMAN GOD GIVEN RIGHTS; he refused to build the country everywhere with the wealth that Persia had, but only a few big, tourist cities like Tehran, Shiraz, Isfahan... But in the final analysis, history would prove that most Persian people would have preferred him to this blood suckers, to this religious Republic, who in the name of religion, would have become the worse the country had yet seen. So many were killed and still being killed or arrested. HUMAN RIGHT became non existence. To achieve their victory, the mullahs under the rule of Khomeini, and likes of him covered the streets of Iran with river of blood, the blood of our brothers; our sisters, our countrymen!
Soon after The Shah would leave, Khomeini would come victoriously from Paris. It seemed as though he was the natural leader. All the blood that was shed, all the deaths, the misery, the unfortunate ones...!!! Most of the students, which claimed this was their Revolution, had to go under ground, some would fight, some would smuggle, some joined the Party of WIND, (Where ever wind was blowing), some joined Mujaheddin ( An Islamic Marxist Organization, which their leaders, a young husband and wife, again were sheltering in Paris).
☯
Ariana was very disconsolate and unhappy waiting for Neda at her friend, Roya's home. Roya had found out about this sudden event exactly at the same time that Ariana had. The two friends were big fans of the greatest poetess of their time, Neda. They read every book she had written, Ariana, herself wrote poetry, something her father and mother making fun of and trying to make her stop. Ariana did not know the reason. So she stopped telling them that she wrote or read poems. Connecting the dots had happened only less than a week ago, when the two friends had bought Neda's last book, and that night She stayed in Roya's home. For some strange reason, or some may call it God's providence, they looked at Neda's picture in the back cover. That photo was taken recently. Publisher wanted a new picture. " Not the same old one, Neda!"
All of the sudden, Roya said:
"She is getting old too fast. This is a new picture of her. But look at her, how much you look like her!"
"Let me see, let me see."
We know the rest, how Ariana had talked to her parents about this and how Mitra had finally confessed.
Ariana sat on the floor, leaning on Roya'd bed. She was so motionless, so passive that Roya would not dare to talk to her; nevertheless, she said:
"It is the right thing, Ariana!" She was trying to make Ariana to speak. But Ariana had simply had lost all hopes. She was still sitting on the floor, leaning on Roya's bed, with her knees brought in to her chest, her head between her legs as if she was hiding from her friend; but what she was hiding was her tears. In her speechless attitude, there were things she was telling herself but not loud enough for her friend to hear. She felt that she needed to be carried away from that dim hope to her own familiar home, to her father and mother, who had lied to her all her life, who had gotten her a birth certificate that indicated she was six months older than her real age; because her sister was born only five months after her. Her real mother was not coming; so wasn't it better for her to go to the ones that raised her even though they have lied to her all her young life and then covered up their tracks. She thought to herself:
"To my mother, I really never lived, so I really never existed. To my mother, I've always been a dream, a phantom, that came to a play and left without any trace."
To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment