I am not who I have once been, and yet part of me stays the same. This is my story. Listen carefully, for it may be the last tale I tell. Just as this may be the last rug I weave, or the last day I live, life is uncertain, full of changes.
Now gather around. Drop your pens and inks. Drop your needle and thread. Listen to my life story, and take it to heart.
First there wasn't and then there was. Before God, no one was.
Once, in a village somewhere in the mountains, there lived a girl. She was a girl who was loved by her parents, a girl who loved them back. She spent her days learning how to weave carpets with her mother and walking in the woods with her father. Her family had close to nothing, but to them, their love for each other was enough.
None of them knew of the disaster which was coming to end their happiness. Their life was so happy and peaceful, until the day everything fell apart.
Disaster struck like a tiger. The father died, leaving the girl and her mother in poverty. They tried to make the best of things, but it was difficult to feel happiness at a time of sorrow.
However, she had a wealthy uncle who lived in the big city of Isfahan who might be able to help them. So the girl and her mother packed up whatever they had left and headed to the great city.
City life was difficult for them. The crowds, the hustle, the splendor; they weren't used to any of this. Likewise, they were received warmly by the uncle's family, but they were forced to work as servants in his house. They complied, but only because there was nowhere else for them to go.
Through all the difficulties, the girl found one thing which was a refuge for her. Her uncle was a famous rug maker, favored even by the Shah Abbas, the great ruler at the time. She watched, wide eyed, as he showed her how the carpets were made in the city. All this time, the girl thought her work was great and beyond comparison, but now she realized there was a lot more to learn about this beautiful art.
The girl begged her uncle to show her how such marvelous carpets were made. He agreed after she promised to finish all of her household chores first. The girl learned very quickly, and she surprised her uncle with what she was able to do. Eager to learn, she sometimes made choices hastily and without thinking, which lead to severe punishments.
Under her uncle's instruction, the young carpet maker not only learned lessons for the hands, but also for the heart and soul. She learned how to control her actions, and no matter how good she thought she was at something, she still had to listen to her teacher.
To survive her harsh aunt and the emotional pain from her father's death, the girl found encouragement from her friend Naheed. Naheed came from a wealthy family, and was about her same age. The two of them spend quite some time together, sharing their deepest secrets and hopes.
This simple life didn't last. Finding a great need for money, the girl's family decided she should be married. Her marriage was an unusual one, for she was married temporarily, which means that it could be canceled any time they wished, and in return, the groom's family would send her money. The girl was very displeased with this arrangement, for she wanted to marry someone she wanted to marry, and she wanted her marriage to be permanent. However, she knew she had to do this for her family, so she consented.
The girl was warned not to tell anyone of this marriage, not even her friend. To make life easier, the girl decided to turn to her carpets for comfort. Life seemed normal enough for a while, until two events changed her life forever.
A few months later, Naheed brought devastating news to her friend. Naheed's parents found out that she has been writing letters to a boy she loved, so they decided they would marry off their daughter before anyone found out the disgraceful thing she did. The girl felt increasingly sorry for her friend. Then she found out that her friend's new husband was to be the man she has temporarily married to. She wanted to tell her friend of how their fated were tied together, but she knew her family would be angry, so she held back from saying anything.
She tried to forget what had happened, so she turned back to her carpet. Working on an extremely detailed and costly carpet, she found that the colors didn't go together as well as she thought they would go. So she destroyed the carpet. Her family was angered beyond belief.
Then, just when things started to quiet down a little, her friend found out the secret she was trying to hide. Hurt, Naheed blamed the girl for hiding from her and hated her for doing it.
Life fell apart again. The girl wondered why she was still going on. To appease Naheed, she decided to end her marriage. Her family was even more upset this time. They drove her and her mother out of the house, leaving them to live on the streets.
Struggling to live, the girl sacrificed her pride and went back to her uncle's hose, begging for forgiveness and admitting her mistakes. She found that pride was a dangerous thing, and it could control you easily. So putting aside her pride, she found a way to live happily, even though she was poor.
Just like the carpets which she loves so dearly, each strand, each knot, contains millions of sacrifices made to create something wonderful, something that combines happiness and sadness, joy and grief, laughter and tears.
Every carpet is made from the blood of flowers. Every soul is made from the memories of the past.
Without pain, nothing can be whole.
This was the story of my past. It has become only a memory, like seeing my carpet hung on the wall, remembering every knot, every color, every strand.
This is the end of my adventure. I settled down and contented myself with my carpets, and later on, a loving husband. You, my children, will someday have adventures as great as my own, maybe even greater.
Remember your past. Pass those stories on to your children, and you, too, will be able to savor the bittersweet taste of remembering years past.
Remember, my children, remember your mother's words.
First there wasn't and then there was. Before God, no one was.
That's how my mother begins every one of her stories. They're about many things. Stories of love, adventure, wisdom, laughter. Once in a while, she tells stories of sadness, anguish. When she tells those stories, her eyes fill up and her voice is filled with sadness. There's one particular story she likes to tell, the one about the girl who lost everything trying to save herself from her mistakes, and in the end, the girl turns into a bird and flies away from her sorrow. I don't quite understand it. Once, after she told the story, I asked her, "Mother, why did she give up so much? I know she tried very hard, but why did she do so much? I wouldn't want to lose my friends or my family for something as silly as that."
Mother would smile a sad smile and pull me into a hug. Then she would say,"Pride is something that takes hold of you and blinds you. God willing, my daughter, you will never give in to pride."
Well, I, for one, will never be so stupid as to give up everything for a silly mistake. A mistake is a mistake. As father says, when you mess up, ask for forgiveness from God, and from the person you offended. Never try to cover up your mistakes, for one day they will be unearthed.
My mother is very wise. She is also very skilled with her hands. She's a carpet maker, and her carpets are one of the best things in my life. Just like her skill with storytelling, she could weave flawless carpets that dazzle the eye and engages the mind. She grew up in a little mountain village, but after her father's death, she moved to Isfahan, which is where we live still today.
Father is a musician. His skill with the kamancheh equally matches mother's skill with words. His woodworking skills also match mother's work at weaving. He doesn't tell us much about his childhood, unlike mother. One time, I asked my brother Amir about this, but he just shrugs and tells me that from what he knows, father once worked for a wealthy man, but was kicked out and lived on the streets for a while. That was as for as the gossip went. No one knows how he met mother, or what happened next.
Amir is tall, and well, my friends say he's handsome. He's older than I by two years, and he tends to be annoying some of the time. He's training to become a scribe, and his calligraphy is one of the best I know. Of all his friends, he's the cleverest one, and is always able to get out of whatever mess he's in.
Sagiya is my little sister. Helima is my other sister. They are twins, Sagiya being the oldest by a few minutes. They are seven years younger than be, for they are eight years old. Heli is quiet, and she likes to play by herself. Sagi whines all the time, and likes to put on airs. Like everyone says, both of them are quite pretty. Heli just acknowledges this with a big eyed look. However, Sagi believes she has power over everyone else in our family because she is pretty. When we were little, Amir and I would play along with her act. She would be the beautiful princess, I the evil witch, Amir the prince, and Heli the fairy. It was enjoyable when we were younger, but now it has become unbearable.
My name is Ireni. Mother says that all great storytellers remain unnamed, but I'm not at that stage yet. In fact, my storytelling is horrid. I always forget some detail, and then have to go back and fix it. I guess I don't have the skill of making up stories like my mother or Amir. Father says that when God made men, he gave each person a different talent. For father, it's the gift of music and carving. For mother, it's the gift of weaving. For Amir, it's the gift of language. For Heli and Sagi, it's the gift of dance. For me? I don't know what. I could sing well enough, but women don't sing in public. My cooking is a mess, my weaving a disaster. I fear I'll never be married. No man in his right mind would even consider me as a bride. Mother simply tells me not to dwell on such thoughts. She says I should only marry the man who truly sees me for who I am, not just as something to his own advantage. I trust that she's right. I wonder if she knows that from experience. Then again, father loves her very much. It's not possible for her to have experienced such a thing. Besides, I've heard of men who have two wives, but not women who have two husbands.
My mother is different from other women. She has her own carpet making business. Of course, she never weaves tem herself anymore, because she's already overburdened with her duty as a mother and wife. She has twelve workers, and her friends, Malekeh and Katayoon, help her tend over the shop when she is busy, because their children are already grown.
My mother doesn't sell her carpets on the streets like other carpet sellers. She is always available for commissions, although at times her carpets are so much in demand some people have to wait for a year for their carpet. Mother still draws the designs herself. She tells me that it pains her to know that the carpets people praise her for are not made from her own hands. To know that the design is her own is a comfort for her.
Often times, I stay at home and help my mother with the household chores, but sometimes she allows me to help Amir with his scribe work. I help him copy out passages from the holy book or help him with the mixing of inks and such. Most girls don't know how to write. Mother wants me to stay free of Iran's presumptions of women. So she lets me learn what Amir learns. I can read, write, and do some mathematics. Amir allows me to work with him. It's enjoyable working with him because he is very talkative and always has some good jokes on hand.
When I'm not in the house, watching over the girls, or helping Amir, I like to go visit my friend Pahed. She lives on the North side. Like me, she is also fourteen, but her parents think differently than mine. For them, all Pahed needs is a wealthy and affluent husband. I pitied her, and secretly taught her what I learned from my brother. She, in turn, gave me her friendship and shared her gossip with me.
Of all the things she had tried to teach me, there was one thing we both enjoyed to do. One day, after yet another long day of trying to teach me embroidery, she decided to show me her rose garden. I was enthralled. I have never seen anything so beautiful. Not even my mother's carpets could compare to this. When I arrived home that day, I begged my parents to let me have my own garden. They were surprised, but they didn't object.
So from then on, our friendship grew stronger.
Mother taught me things other than the normal household chores. She told me about her past, and what happened to her when she was my age. I was surprised she has gone through so much. The ignorant, naïve girl in her stories doesn't sound like my mother. She wants me to know that she loves me very much and would support me through whatever that happens to me. She sounds so different than Pahed's mother, who is usually very self-absorbed.
One day, as I was walking to meet Amir, I noticed Pahed standing in the middle of the square. She was dressed in her chador and picheh like the other women, but I noticed the way she was standing. I called out to her and she came rushing over. When I greeted her, I noticed something was dreadfully wrong. She looked like she has been crying. Then she told me what had happened.
She has fallen in love with a young man a few weeks before, and the two of them have secretly been meeting at a secret spot. Unfortunately, the spot was no longer secret. Her parents have found out what has happened.
"My mother says that I should have asked her first. She would have granted permission for us to marry. Then things wouldn't end up like this." She sniffed.
I didn't quite believe her mother would simply let her marry whichever man she chose. Pahed saw that doubt in my eyes.
"You're right. I didn't believe her, either. Now they hate me." She wiped her eyes with the corner of her chador.
"Don't worry, Pahed-joon, things will get better." I tried to comfort her, but I knew that her parents would probably marry her off a quickly as possible, probably increasing her dowry. I was certain they were sending their daughter off on her deathbed.
"Ireni, oh Ireni, you don't understand. I'm going to become a second wife."
I froze. Of all things, Pahed's parents would never allow such a thing to happen. It would be disgraceful for someone of such high rank to be a second wife.
"If no one would take me, then this would have to be so." She looked so little, so lost, that I couldn't help but pull her into a hug. She sobbed onto my shoulder, while passerby stared at us.
After a while, she let go and said she had to be heading home. I hugged her one last time and wished her good luck. I watched her depart, so small and vulnerable in this cruel world that would someday crush her soul.
When I arrived home, I told Amir about what had happened. He sighed when I asked him why the world was so unfair. He just told me that since we are so fortunate in this world, it is God's command for us to go help the unfortunate.
I didn't know what to do. My best friend was going to be married within a few days, and probably going to die soon afterwards. I couldn't just stand around and watch I had to do something. But how could I help? How could I possibly make everything better?
The next morning, I was determined to visit Pahed and somehow find a way to turn the world right side up again. This wasn't going to be an easy task, but I feel like God wants me to do this.
When I knocked on the door, a servant looked surprised at my appearance. I pretended not to know anything about the marriage. I smiled and greeted her cheerfully, and she let me in. Pahed was along in her rose garden, tending to her flowers. I remembered the first time she showed me her prized flowers. We were young then, perhaps only eight or nine. How quickly time changes us all.
Pahed looked up at me when I entered. Her eyes were red from crying, but she greeted me all the same.
"Pahed, love of my heart, your suffering makes my heart suffer for you." I hugged her and vowed never to let go of her, never to leave her at the mercy of the world.
"I would rather be anywhere but here. Somewhere where I could start over again, and not ever be Pahed, but someone else." She said stubbornly, in the way I've always known her for having.
"Oh Pahed, I would miss you dearly then, for you mean the sun and the moon to me."
"Please, Ireni, don't you have some way of getting me out of this?" She pleaded, with her voice, with her eyes, with her heart.
Pahed has always let me choose the plan of action for our childhood games and such. She trusted me to find a way that will work. I saw the same Pahed right now, handing over her entire future to my care, trusting that I will somehow find a way to make everything better again.
"Pahed, I would do anything I can to help you. I will try to think up something, don't worry, my friend."
That night, as I was lying in bed, I thought of what my mother had told me about her village in the mountains. About how it was far away, how it was separated from the rest of the world. About her childhood friend Goli, who was kind and always had room for one more…. A flicker of hope started in my mind. Perhaps I could make this work, but it's going to require some help.
The following days, I tried to find out as much as I can about this village from my mother without giving away my plan. I haven't told her about Pahed's marriage yet, because I felt like it was unnecessary. I felt guilty about it. I have always trusted my mother, but now I'm purposely disobeying her. I promised myself I would tell her what I have done after it is carried out.
I also went to my brother. I wanted him to escort Pahed, mainly because it's dangerous for women to travel on their own. Also, I trusted him. He might be rash at times, but he has a kind heart and would keep her safe.
Finally, the day arrived. I have met with Pahed many times before to talk over our plan. We secretly gathered supplies. We would leave at night, when everyone else was asleep. Pahed would tell her parents she is visiting me, and I have invited her spend the rest of the afternoon with her. She has done this before, and sometimes she arrives home well after dark, so her parents aren't surprised at this anymore. Then, when everyone is asleep, Amir would have saddled the horses already and have the supplies ready with him. His scribe work can wait, he has said. When he has seen to it that Pahed is safe, he would come back. Pahed, well, she would stay in the little village for quite some time. Who knows when we will see each other again? As for me, I will tell my mother what has happened. She will understand. I will handle Pahed's parents. I don't care what it takes. I finally realize the meaning of my mother's favorite story, the one about the girl who gave up everything. For me, I am willing to give up my honor and my reputation for Pahed, because she deserves a happy life, like me. It's pure chance I'm the one with the loving parents and she's the one with the difficult decision. I know that if it was the other way around, she would have helped me, too.
"I will miss you, my friend." Pahed gave me a big hug, crying softly.
"Don't worry, God willing, we will see each other again."
Pahed looked at me, her eyes shining with a thousand words left unsaid.
"I have something for you." I took out a wooden box, painted a rich red color, decorated with gold. My father has made it for me on my eighth birthday. He told me this will remind me of his love forever. But I don't need the box to know he loves me. I already have sufficient proof.
"Thank you. You will always be in my dreams." Pahed hugged me one last time.
I watched her ride away, brave, and ready to face whatever happens. As I turn around, I see the fist light of dawn shining through the clouds. And soon, I will have to be brave also. The two of us, we are different, coming from different places, raised different ways. But at the core, we are the same person, thinking as one, and feeling as one. We are together in this now, in this battle against the world and its ways.
My dear, dear friend. I will miss you forever. Every night, I will see your name written in the heavens. Every time I smell a rose, I will think of you. Do not forget me, my friend. Do not forget.