Alifbépé ~ ا ب پ

II

1. Ahriman was sitting at his study table sorting out a bunch of loose papers. He was passing his time reading various books he had been collecting and arranging in the shelf – some of them from his grandfather’s collection. He was particularly engrossed in the ones dealing with religion and philosophy. After a sobering encounter with some great writers, who made his quest for uninstructed originality seem a shameful error, he had decided to take another look at the occasional poems he had previously written. Now these works of art, as he was led to believe by Sarah and other friends, seemed either obscure or childish. He cursed himself for writing such rubbish and giving himself false airs when praised by friends. Very few he still found bearable and put them back neatly in a folder. He was about to store the rest as well when something occurred to him. What if someone took them out and actually read them? Remembering that he once prided himself in these writings and was rewarded with generous applause heightened his disgust. With the intention of burning the papers, he went outside and started a fire with a little brush cleared by the gardener. Dense smoke curled up into the sultry air from the damp parts as the dry ones crackled. He threw the papers into the fire as it started blazing. He watched with a certain relief as the early fruits of his imagination went up in smoke along with the wild shrubs and the withered plants of his own garden that had once borne spring flowers. He teased the fire till nothing was left to burn on the barren ground.

Lost in thought, he turned back from the ashes. When he raised his eyes, he saw a woman with two children standing in the gateway of the neighboring house. She was smiling and her children still had their stares fixed on the ashes. Ahriman recognized her as the same woman he had seen some weeks ago. With her hair tied at the back, and in a light colored summer dress, she looked very different from last time – graceful, Ahriman thought. He was embarrassed to realize how silly he must have appeared playing with fire in the hot summer evening and he did nothing but met her eyes with a sheepish smile. “I hope you didn’t mind our watching this little bon fire,” said the woman. “My children have been enjoying it so much that they called me outside.”

“Oh, of course not. Actually, I needed to get rid of some papers and thought I would also clear up this waste that the gardener sometimes leaves in front of the house,” he said in confusion.

The woman stroked the little boy’s thick, black curls as he pressed closer to his mother. “This is my son, Mehernosh, my daughter, Mehreen; and I am Zareena,” she said putting her arm around the little girl who greeted Ahriman with an innocent glow in her hazel eyes. Ahriman introduced himself and asked how she liked the new neighborhood. “Very well. It’s better than where we previously lived. The silver oaks give this place a fresh, tranquil air. The neighbors are very polite and have been offering help more often than I see fit to trouble them.”

Ahriman was wondering at the pleasant bearing of this woman: in her friendly manner there was a calm which verged on sadness as she spoke slowly in a mellow voice, but her eyes betrayed a certain vivacity. “It took some time putting the house in order,” she said, “and now with the carpenters leaving, it has become more peaceful.”

“Definitely,” said Ahriman. “But what about the lawn? I think if it is uprooted and tilled properly, a better variety of grass could be grown.”

“Well, yes. The workers have removed most of the undergrowth, but the grass still needs to be mown at least, so that the children can play comfortably. You seem to be interested in gardening.”

“Yes, I am. And I think I’ll send the gardener over to do this little service right away.” Zareena was reluctant to accept the favor but Ahriman had already summoned the gardener. He left after giving him instructions and receiving Zareena’s gratitude.

2. Ahriman had not seen his Ustad for years. Recently, he had been recalling how irresponsibly he had ignored the old man, who, for all his musical talent and knowledge, was always in bad financial circumstances. His failing health was another concern; heavy smoking had given him chronic breathing problems. The wish to see him became more urgent when he realized how stiffly he played the simple runs which he could once render reasonably well. The gloom deepened as he reflected further on these thoughts. The diversion with guitar seemed a complete waste of time. He could only make it good if the Ustad would lead him on the path he had initially learned to follow.

The very next day, he went to his Ustad’s house only to find him in a very bitter mood. He had been trying to teach his own son, about Ahriman’s age, who hardly took any interest in music. Whatever progress he made in a rigorous spell of forced practice, he would soon waste by playing cricket for weeks whenever his father stopped admonishing him in his own way. Ahriman began by trying to explain his absence with ‘valid’ reasons. He could see that the Ustad was not convinced and only shook his head at his frivolous explanations. “I’d rather die than live without music, Khan Sahib!” he finally exclaimed leaving his previous justifications aside. “Life leads us from one passion to another and I’ve not been the best at watching myself. But I can tell you that the love I have developed for this instrument I couldn’t give up even when I deliberately tried to do away with it. I misled myself once, but who’ll forgive the whims of youth if not our elders, who have experienced them in the past and can watch them from a comfortable distance. Please try to understand and give me the attention that you always did. Forgive me my conceit and I will show you that the promise you made to my grandfather could yet be fulfilled.”

The Ustad listened attentively. He looked into Ahriman’s eyes and said, “It’s not entirely your fault; I understand. That playing this instrument as a casual pastime is not possible, you already know. Perfecting this art calls for undivided attention. If you think you have the time and patience to subject yourself to the rigor it demands, I won’t grudge you any knowledge that I am capable of imparting despite my failing powers.” Ahriman already had a very cheerful smile on his face, seeing that he had won his Ustad’s sympathy. “Another thing.” the Ustad went on. “Don’t forget that you have lived a life of leisure. If you pursue your passion while disregarding the life you’ve grown accustomed to, you might, one day, find yourself in circumstances which won’t offer what you’ve come to see as your birthright. And it might make you regretful. Don’t deceive yourself with beautiful dreams before reconsidering whether you still want to pursue this art, which is a noble one, indeed. Reconsider everything and then tell me because if I set my hopes on your becoming a worthy disciple, it will give me immense pain to see you recede again for the sake of another diversion. My son has already made life a bleak affair for me. He was rude enough to say once that as a father, suffering and poverty was all I’d given him.”

Ahriman was moved by the emotion in his Ustad’s feeble eyes. It only served to dispel the doubts he had had. He held his Ustad’s hand and said, “I’ll never give you occasion to complain as far as my devotion is concerned. My progress will follow the path that you point out, and I’ll never be so immodest as to ask for more instruction than I can justify with my skill.” This made the Ustad smile and he said, “Get the Sarangi in tune; I will beat you with a stick if more than three resonating strings are out of tune. This much leniency I can show on the first day.” Both of them laughed and Ahriman promised to commence formal lessons from the next morning. Before leaving, Ahriman asked the Ustad to play the Sarangi for him. The Ustad gladly took the instrument out of the case and sat down with his legs crossed. The bow began to glide effortlessly and the Sarangi seemed to merge with the posture of this short, old man. Ahriman was soon in a trance: feeling the sound descending into the depth of his being and watching it flow like a weightless vapor out of the open window towards the setting sun. He felt a strange, sublime happiness as he left his Ustad’s house after some pleasant reflections on the beauty of music. This kind of happiness he had never experienced, and perhaps never felt the need to experience either.
Rare are the moments when one sheds all semblance and vanity, and willingly submits the value of existence to a noble heritage without feeling the slightest doubt or regret. The demands of life soon drag us out into the open where we have to assert ourselves most obstinately in the face of obstacles. But in order to stay afloat in a storm, we have to hold on firmly to the fragile raft of fortune, and let our little songbirds fly away. Why not revel in sublime feelings as long as they last! And especially, when we know that they may last only a short while.

The next day, Ahriman sat for a lesson with his Ustad. Overlooking many faults that immediately struck his trained ear, the Ustad began by pointing out only a few basic mistakes and urged Ahriman to play for a few hours each day at certain timings. Tea was brought in. Seeing Ahriman deep in thought, the Ustad said, “Don’t be discouraged; it is the first day and you will improve quickly because you are no longer a beginner.”

Ahriman seemed to agree. He got up from his place and put on a recording of an Indian Sarangi player. After listening for a while, the Ustad expressed his distaste at the clumsy rendition. When Ahriman told him the name of the performer, the Ustad suddenly exclaimed, “These wretched Hindu vegetarians! The wretches don’t eat meat and lack soundness, both moral and musical.” Ahriman could hear the faults of the player now but he was not very pleased with the personal attack. “I don’t understand why we should slander someone on the basis of religious differences. Don’t you think we should be a little more tolerant?” said Ahriman.

“Let be!” the Ustad retorted, “I’ve known them too closely and too well to doubt my opinion. And what would an artist care about anyone’s religion if the religion is not art itself!”

“What else have you seen that makes you so harsh towards them?”

The Ustad nodded as he took a deep breath – as deep as his delicate lungs allowed – and said, “I did once tell you that I spent my childhood in Delhi. At the time of partition, my father had already died. My mother took care of my brother, my sister and me. We had lived quite peacefully in our Basti with a mixed population of Muslims and Hindus. But now we did not know what would become of us. One day, when we were still thinking what to do, a kind old woman of the neighborhood called my mother. She was a respected elder of a Hindu family. She secretly told my mother that a meeting had taken place between the Hindu residents in which they had decided to eliminate the Muslims from the Basti. ‘They say they would set your house on fire, tomorrow.’ she said. ‘I was supposed to keep the secret but how could I forget the good times we have spent together and the plight of your innocent children. And I’ve already seen enough to be moved by sentiments which our freedom has triggered in the hearts of young hopeful men. Leave as soon as possible; I’ll pray for you.’ My mother returned in tears and started packing whatever she could carry along with our assistance. My sister was only four at that time. We left our house at night and bade farewell to the streets where we had spent many joyful years. The place once so dear to us was now only a painful reproach. It was not ours anymore. We later found out that our frugal house was burned, nevertheless.”

Ahriman was reminded of the Hindu families in his paternal village which, according to his father, had not been fortunate enough to attain the status of refugees. Not a single one escaped death. He looked at his Ustad who was trying to blink away the pain while gazing at the wall, and said, “I am sorry for evoking such bitter memories.” The Ustad soon recollected himself. “This instrument with its hundred colors has made me endure many tough times. My father taught me music before he died, and then many less sympathetic teachers. But they were great talents and I couldn’t complain too much about the hardships they made me go through. I did learn music well in the end,” he said with a smile.

From that day, the music sessions became regular and both the master and disciple were happy to be working so well together for the continuation of a tradition that had been in so precarious a state ever since modernity has augmented the impatience and lack of taste inherent in human beings.

3. After hours of musical practice, Ahriman took out the Bible from his grandfather’s bookcase. He was going through some passages he had already read, while pacing back and forth in the lawn. Children were playing in the neighboring house; running about and occasionally shouting, “Die! Die!” They must be playing a strange game, Ahriman thought, and was tempted to look over the hedgerow between the two houses. He saw little Mehernosh running after his sister. He was trying to target her with a spray gun. And when he was at a close enough range to spray her with what must have been water, she would fall down and play dead. They took turns playing the hunter and the victim. Ahriman smiled at their involvement in the game. Once, while Mehernosh had almost soaked Mehreen, she kept running around while her brother shouted angrily, “Die! Why don’t you die when I tell you to?” Mehreen only giggled and Mehernosh soon broke into tears and threw the spray gun away. Presently, Zareena came out. Upon hearing Mehernosh complain between sobs, she said, “Oh dear! Why is everything so unfair in this world!” Mehernosh saw that his mother was not taking him seriously and cried more loudly, but she had held him close in her arms. Mehreen also came for a little kiss from her mother. “Come on, Mehernosh, let’s play hide and seek,” Mehreen said as she reconciled her brother and took him away. Ahriman was watching and Zareena had noticed him too. “Children come up with strange ideas,” she said after greeting him. “Just the other day, Mehernosh saw the maid spraying insecticide in the kitchen; and there he was with his own spray gun and ingenuity. He is fortunate to have such a caring sister, although she cannot deny herself some mild pranks all the time.”

“Well,” replied Ahriman, “watching children invent their own games and occasionally break the rules is itself a pleasure.”

“Before I forget,” said Zareena, “let me thank you for sending the gardener over. The lawn looks much neater – he also trimmed the hedgerow on our side.”

“Please feel free to call him anytime. He is quite an expert; he tended the spring flowers so well this year. You should have seen them, really.”

“I like the dahlias in front of your house. What else have you grown for summer?”

“I wish I had greater variety – the zinnias have turned out very well though. Would you like to see them?”

“Sure.” she said as she went around the hedgerow and came to Ahriman’s house. Ahriman showed her the flowers and some healthy plants with variegated leaves. She liked them and made sensible comments even if her interest in gardening did not match Ahriman’s. Pleased with her genuine appreciation, Ahriman said, “I wish I could arrange the flowerbed for you. I’ve yet to transfer the chrysanthemums, and I’ll definitely send you some flowerpots.”

“I’ll be grateful; I’m fascinated by your lively interest in all this. By the way, do you like floral paintings? They look very pleasing if done by a practiced hand.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen good ones. And I doubt I’d be able to appreciate them anyway.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Actually, I play music and I’ve read some literature; it has made me wary of uninformed opinions about any medium of art. I’ve often been misled into trusting my taste too much and was distracted to my own disadvantage.”

“That’s a lesson to be learned! There was a time when I meddled with painting. A little we were taught at school and college but whenever I tried to choose a subject from nature I could hardly do justice to it. Once, I was trying to paint lotuses on a lake; it was a fateful day. They came out so bad that I decided never to paint again.” Meanwhile, the children were calling for their mother and she had to excuse herself. “I’ll invite you for tea some day so that we can have a relaxed conversation; perhaps we could share our interest in reading too.” She said with a gesture towards the book in Ahriman’s hand.

4. The invitation came. Late in the afternoon, Ahriman went to see his new friend. The maid led him into the drawing room which was decorated simply but in good taste. A Persian carpet was stretched along the length of the room. A fragrant candle was burning on a corner table. On one of the walls, there was hanging an oil painting of poppy fields. An old divan in the opposite corner caught his attention and he went closer to look at it. Presently, Zareena entered and welcomed her guest. “What do you think of this piece of furniture?” she asked.

“I must say it’s beautiful,” replied Ahriman. “The carving is not over intricate and yet it has been carried out with a lot of attention to detail.”

“It’s such a pleasure to finally hear about this furniture’s beauty without having to account for its price. Actually, it was a little extravagant of me to buy this piece in my present circumstances, and I’ve been made painfully aware of this fact by some visitors. But I can’t complain because they mostly say it out of sympathy – so that I may set my priorities right. One can hardly go on to seek sympathy for one’s interests. I am sorry; I forgot to ask you to sit down. Please have a seat.” She seated herself opposite Ahriman. After talking about a few general things, she said, “I believe you said something about music the other day.” Ahriman nodded and told her about his growing passion for a medium of art he had been practicing for some years now.

“It would be a pleasure to hear you play some time.”

“Only if I considered myself competent enough!” said Ahriman. “But I promise to introduce you to my Ustad who will give you a fairly entertaining performance.”

Tea was brought in as they talked. Zareena told him that she did enjoy listening to classical music and that she was never allowed to have an Ustad for vocal lessons. She thought she did not have a particularly bad voice, but there were other reasons. “Most of my life I have lived in a very secluded environment; first with my parents and then with my husband. As I grew up I turned more and more towards the inner world and exposure to the outer world came only through books. Although my in-laws found the books objectionable too, they could not ban them altogether. What do you like to read?”

“Well, my grandfather had a good collection of books which was sent to the village after his death. I asked my father to have someone bring them back. Apart from some military maps, manuals and aerial photographs, I’ve found many classics. As for the modern writers, I try to find something to my taste whenever I go to a book fair.”

“One of my maternal uncles has been very generous towards me in this regard. He would bring me books when I was a child and even after marriage, I would get ones of my choice whenever he happened to go abroad.”

“I may be wrong,” said Ahriman, “but have you ever felt how seldom recent writers produce something of worth?”

“That’s why one has to go through such trouble while selecting new books. Actually, one can never go wrong with the classics because they’ve survived the test of time, and whatever belonged only to contemporary taste and fashion has long gone into oblivion. While in the times one lives in, a lot of dross exists alongside rare excellence.”

“I agree.”

“Another thing, which is slightly bothersome, is that some moderns are too caught up in the spirit of the age. As if arts progressed like the sciences!”

“Yes, and some are very proud of their scientific approach towards the humanities as well.” Ahriman said, thinking of Sarah’s uncle. “What people say or interpret after reading even the classics is very misleading and makes it seem as if they were written only for the purpose of psychological or scholastic analysis.”

“I have nothing against that, but perhaps you are saying that few try to comprehend the spirit in which they are written.”

“Exactly!”

“Some of them do dissect works of art the way a child dismantles a toy, although with lesser success and justification – the child has a fascination; he even learns something in the end and develops, while this other lot only gets more entangled in its own confusion. You should be glad that music is relatively immune to tedious interpretations,” she said, smiling, “although few other forms of art stir our emotions with comparable force.”

Ahriman could not conceal the pleasure in hearing his opinions confirmed. “Coming back to our literature,” he said, “don’t you feel that many let the environment spoil their taste rather than instruct it? I don’t know why they have to wallow in depravity instead of overcoming it.”

“Absolutely!” exclaimed Zareena. “We can’t deny the fact that the environment affects us very deeply. If we take the structures erected in our cities, they have foundations resting more on technological advances than on sound aesthetics – they are works of civil engineering rather than architecture. I’m not saying that some chapter on aesthetics in an encyclopedia would save us from these ill effects, but one can always try to fathom something as indefinable as the beautiful or the truly artistic.

“And as you said, many artists have taken it upon themselves to stress so much ugliness with an ill-bred taste. And if producing a shocking effect is the desired goal, there are enough means to be found everywhere. Even if we try to understand such weak efforts, it does not entail that we should also commend them. No doubt, there is much to be said in favor of experimentation; it is justified because mimicry leads nowhere; but an experiment should not be flaunted as a piece of art. Those who are sickened by works of classicism or romanticism and value their work only because it is a realistic revolt against tradition, should be told that they are romantic philistines who cannot cope with their ugly experiences. Irredeemable as their case appears, they do succeed in killing art by expounding its death at such length.” Ahriman was mesmerized by the charm of her eyes; they seemed to lend force to her opinions which already sounded like music to his ears.

“In poetry today,” Zareena continued, “we hear the mythological heroes being mocked – as if they were at fault in eluding us – not to speak of screeching tires, enameled walls, the vanishing green, traffic signals, and so on expressed with morbid mannerism and obscurity. One can hardly grant them a poet’s laurel for such accomplishments.”

“Perhaps, we should crown them with braided optic fibers and copper wires beaded with microchips and diodes.” said Ahriman with a prankish smile.

“I only fear that they will not get the joke.”

“What do you say of the Greek classics? There is a lot of pathos portrayed in their tragedies.”

“Yes, but with art! We know that the times in which the ancients wrote,” she continued after a pause, “were far from beautiful, and yet one cannot deny the noble grandeur apparent in their works. The insecurity of war, famine and savagery was no less than it is in our times, if not more. And the plight of women could only have been far worse or at least, just as bad. It takes an artist as great as Euripides to make us sympathize and shudder at the same time while beholding a character such as Medea’s. What must she not have suffered! And how she suffers yet again and makes it felt by those around her through the most vicious means when her husband remarries for political reasons. Although she ruthlessly kills her own children, anyone with some depth of feeling will have to suspend moral judgment in such a case, and eventually in many events of real life.

“But who has the time to sit and reflect on such themes and try to improve the understanding. I already see a group of feminists running with open arms offering emotional asylum to the woman and cursing the husband.”

“Indeed, Medea would have despised that.” Ahriman said jokingly.

“I agree. Mankind, as a whole, has suffered so much that the feminists only make fools of themselves by emphasizing an exclusive womankind.”

“Well, it makes sense,” Ahriman said, laughing, “and hearing this from a woman, I find it all the more fascinating.”

“I think we should stop slandering the world now and silently go our own way.”

“But this sort of discussion is a very instructive way of determining one’s taste.”

“And old maids like myself would do well to occupy themselves with such worthy problems rather than indulging in harmful gossip.” Ahriman wanted to tell her that she was being too modest about her grace, but could not bring himself to say it. She soon changed the topic, saying, “I would like to give you my books if you’re interested, but wait till I open the trunk. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t touched them since coming to this place.” Ahriman promised to show her his own collection so that she could also select the books she found interesting.

It was sundown when Ahriman left. After having spent a delightful afternoon, he stepped outside and cast a tranquil glance on the sky. It was the end of a solemn day. His contentment was ineffable, lending a spiritual meaning to whatever struck his eye. The lilac wisps over the western horizon were like dust clouds whirling behind the chariot of the sun god as it descended across the heavens to another dawn. There was inspiration even in the flight of a few late birds he could see hurrying to their nocturnal abodes.

5. Sarah was busy with her preparation for the final examinations. She would talk to Ahriman on the phone; some casual exchange of mutual feelings and repeated confessions of love took place. But as happens in life, the immediate concerns were far from common. She was preoccupied with her academic performance and would ask Ahriman about the books she could consult, whenever she was unsure. He would give sound advice on that matter, but somehow found it hard to communicate whatever was close to his heart. Sarah’s talk was more purposeful while he was occupied with his spiritual life. It was manifested in dreamlike images that he could now see more vividly and they were laying greater claims to his outer reality. His mind was full of aspirations, ideas about music, and books which he was reading with great fervor. Until now, he had shared with Sarah every little thought, every little experience or fancy that went through his mind. And the mere fact that he was not sharing everything worried him. He blamed himself for his strange behavior although it had not given Sarah any occasion for complaint.

He decided to pay her a surprise visit. She was pleased to see him drop by so unexpectedly. Ahriman usually did not like disturbing her when she was busy with studies. She was a student of considerable merit who had her good scores to maintain. Ahriman asked about her progress, which he found to be quite satisfactory. “I was wondering, Ahriman,” she said pensively, “if you have any plans about your professional life. I know you didn’t like your previous work, and losing it is not something of great consequence to you. But you know, everyone has to choose one profession or another, just to carry on with life.”

No matter who it was coming from, such special concern regarding his future was not to Ahriman’s liking. Repressing a frown, he said, “I’ve been telling you what I’m interested in and I’m aware that these things don’t lead to great monetary rewards, but I still want to try and assimilate the spiritual instruction they have to offer. I hope you don’t take it for a joke.”

“For God’s sake, Ahriman! What makes you feel like that? I cherish every word you say.” She said while pressing Ahriman’s hands; he was now smiling. “Please, don’t feel so despondent about your interests.” she continued. “They will lead you somewhere,” she said, trying to comfort him. “Take my uncle’s case. He too is a non-conformist who chose an uncommon path and is now quite happy with his professional life. He has held several positions abroad teaching literature. And even here, he’s well adjusted. Thanks to the breadth of his knowledge, he just acquired an economics chair in the university and has already started teaching. The students have given excellent remarks about his teaching skills. I think you should meet him again. There’s so much else you could discuss with him, and then, he’ll also be better able to guide you as far as professional options are concerned.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” Ahriman replied, thinking to the contrary.

“Don’t worry so, sweetheart! Everything will be fine,” she said. Ahriman returned her reassuring smile. “What a lovely thing you are!” he said. After a while, he wanted to leave but Sarah asked him to stay and play something for her on the guitar. First, he refused because he was not sure if he would be able to play it well enough after months of neglect, but finally gave in to the requests she made in the most loving manner. He played some progressions to exercise his fingers and then started with his own instrumental. Sarah was as pleased with it as she was on the night when he first played it for her, after making an affectionate dedication. The same could not be said of Ahriman. The music did not appeal to him any longer and he was anxiously waiting for it to end. He was surprised to find himself so tortured by his own creation. Many times, he found himself on the verge of speeding up the tempo but restrained himself so as not to displease Sarah with a poor performance. She had been listening intently. He could not tell if it was the music that was bad, or if something was wrong with the instrument, or if it evoked unpleasant associations, or worse, if it was he himself most hopelessly spiraling into an unbalanced state of mind. Before he could reach a conclusion, the melody reached its end, and he received warm-hearted praise. Ahriman found her presence agreeable, and yet the love he saw in her eyes made him frightful.

6. Children from the neighborhood were playing at Zareena’s house when Ahriman arrived. Mehreen came to receive him and said, “Mama’s in the kitchen; she’s baking cupcakes for us. Will you be staying for supper?”

Ahriman wanted to return saying that he would come later, but Mehreen insisted on his staying and announced his arrival to her mother. She came out wearing an apron, her hands covered with flour. She apologized for her appearance and asked him to sit in the drawing room. “Do you mind if I see what else you are doing to spoil these restless souls?” asked Ahriman. “See how they are swarming in and out of the house.”

Zareena smiled and looked pleased with the compliment. “You are welcome to the kitchen if you can bear the heat,” she said.

“Why not?” said Ahriman and followed her to see the arrangements being made.

“Mehernosh told me that his friends would like to stay for supper, today. So I asked Mehreen if she would like to invite hers too. She usually doesn’t make such demands if I don’t ask her.”

“She’s quite happy about the cupcakes, though.”

“Yes, that’s what she is waiting for and if I leave her alone, that’s all she’ll ever eat. But I’ll make them all have a proper meal first. Why don’t you eat here too? We’ll take our share to the veranda.”

Ahriman willingly agreed. After a while, the children were made to sit at the table and food was served. Zareena left the maid to look after them and see if they needed anything else, and laid another table outside.

Heavy clouds were rolling in from the western horizon with a low rumble. A deep red circle was glowing where the sun was about to set. The eastern horizon was still cloudless and was shedding diffused light on the houses and trees against a dark cloudy background. There was a magical brilliance about the scene. Ending the last long spell of intense, dry heat, a cool breeze had arrived as a pleasant harbinger of the monsoon.

“How are your music lessons coming along?” asked Zareena.

“I’m working hard. Sometimes, I feel that it’s already late to improve my skill considerably, but my Ustad is very encouraging. The only problem is that his knowledge and talent are almost intimidating. He’s been playing for more than fifty years now, starting when he was eight. But such has his life been otherwise that whenever the topic diverts from the purely musical, his tone gets very bitter, and rightly so. That’s when he mentions how badly he is rewarded for his efforts and how conveniently his talents are ignored. He has four sons none of whom have started earning. He is the sole supporter of the family at an age when a human being should definitely be allowed to rest. Fortunately, three of his four daughters are married already. Well, I’m not sure if I should call that fortunate.”

“It’s good you corrected yourself on the last part,” said Zareena, with a meaningful smile. “For the development of art, these are bad times. Promotion and support is in the hands of the public, and only popular fame can secure a comfortable position for the artists. But popular fame, these days, is almost an argument against the artist. Although good artists have often been in a bad way, with the loss of patronage which some of them enjoyed in the past, there’s not much to be hoped for in terms of material reward.”

The food was delicious and Ahriman did not hold back due praise to which she said, “I am glad you liked it. Actually, I’ve been trying various recipes for my children.”

“It might not be proper to ask you about your personal life,” said Ahriman, “as I’ve known you only for a short time, but if you don’t mind, please do say a little more.”

“Knowing you has been a pleasant change for me,” replied Zareena, “and I somehow feel very comfortable with you. So I will tell you more. I was married to a cousin of mine. We were in love, and it was also in keeping with the wishes of our elders. I tried to be a good wife and my husband didn’t have much to complain about. Perhaps, that’s what bothered him more than anything else. He was not a very reasonable person. You can say for the sake of love, I tried to endure this disappointment,” she said lowering her eyes.

“How did it all end?”

“He fell in love with another woman. He would return late from work and there were other incidents to confirm my suspicion. I feared that our marriage would be threatened if I confronted him. But then he was rude enough to tell me that he wanted to marry this other woman and would even relate his blissful experiences to me. I had tried my best to understand his excessive desires, and I could do that very well from a distance. But when he wanted to share his new romance with me, I had to tell him that I couldn’t tolerate such barbarity any further, to which he replied that I would have to, and that it was my fate. And this was not the only problem. He was becoming very indifferent and even unkind to the children too. One day, I decided to leave with my children and went to my parent’s house. He did marry the other woman but the marriage didn’t last long. Under the family’s pressure, he returned to me and pleaded with my parents to send me back. When I refused, he wanted to take my children away.

“My husband was a weak man,” she said looking into Ahriman’s eyes, “and at times I cannot help pitying him – I think his weakness hurt my vanity.”

“What did your parents say?” asked Ahriman.

“I said all I could to justify my decision only to hear my parents say that I should have compromised. It’s very frustrating to realize that whatever you’ve said in your defense is either not heard well or hardly remembered. People have preconceived notions with which they ward off complicated situations. I tried to justify myself till I found out that I was wasting words; till I realized that it was better to be silent.”

“I understand.” said Ahriman in a low voice. “It was quite wise of the Egyptians to worship a Harpocrates – the child-god of silence.”

“Yes! Silence too is godlike and deserves to be revered like a god – even in positive ways. Higher culture teaches us not only to be able to comprehend and speak clearly about life and its phenomena, but also to be silent, out of the wish to learn more, out of politeness, out of compassion for those who would suffer from disillusionment, and out of respect for fatality; for we ourselves have many times been spared revelations before we could endure them.”

The first drops of rain fell. Looking towards the sky, Zareena reached beyond the shade and caught some drops in her slender hand.

“The weather is beautiful,” said Ahriman.

“Yes,” replied Zareena. “Mehernosh will have another entertainment tomorrow, although I find hard to approve of it. He likes catching frogs and earthworms.”

“And Mehreen?”

“She’ll join him too, but she’s more refined if left to herself,” said Zareena, smiling. “She collects ladybirds; and loves the yellow ones.”

“She’ll find many next spring. My lawn will be her paradise.”

“I can imagine. This reminds me of something else. Mehernosh once came to me with Mehreen’s badminton racquet. He had removed the gut and wanted me to sew a light cloth around it so that he could use it as a net for catching butterflies. Mehreen obviously protested when she saw her racquet like that and I had to buy her a new one. Later, she even liked Mehernosh’s idea and took the gut out of the new racquet too. This is how they usually squabble and reconcile.

“Well, playing racquet games alone is no fun at all.” said Ahriman.

“I agree.” she said, laughing. “And watching them play together brings me back to life.”

Rain was now pattering with heavy drops and at such a slant that it fell directly in the veranda. Zareena asked Ahriman to come inside but he wanted to leave. Asking him to wait, she went inside and returned with two books in her hand. “I opened the trunk yesterday and took out these books,” she said. “See if you like them.”

7. Ahriman met Sarah after her examinations. She had done well and was very happy with her performance. “So what have you been doing all these days?” she asked with an exuberance which almost offended Ahriman because he thought he had told her about his recent pursuits and if that was not enough, he could not hope to improve her understanding by going further into the details of musical theory and religious philosophy. He cursed himself for having such thoughts and decided to share a more human encounter to which Sarah could relate well. He started telling her about Zareena, and to make up for the lack of communication that had burdened him so much, he explained his experience with this new friend to the minutest detail. Sarah listened but it took Ahriman a while to realize that she was not pleased. She had tears in her eyes. “Sweetheart! I love you so much that at times I forget what I am sharing with you,” he said trying to reconcile her. “You know there’s nothing that I keep away from you; and how could I not mention something that has made such an impression upon me!” He went on and held her in his arms.

Zareena’s forthright manner, her observations, and her calm bearing had left Ahriman with a very agreeable opinion of the woman who had made a curious first impression. It would be harsh, if not unfair, to say that Ahriman was misled by a single instance; but it would definitely make sense to ask whether he was not too possessed to consider whom he was addressing with this passionate although well-meant account.

When Sarah recovered from her sobs, they resumed a cheerful conversation that they had grown so used to over the past years. Sarah was reassured by their gestures of mutual affection. But she did not learn further about Ahriman’s feelings other than those of mutual affection.

8. Lately, Ahriman had not been meeting his friends; and with those who came to see him, he found nothing of interest to share. He had found a wonderful new friend in Zareena. A strange tranquility had come over him ever since he had met her. He would stay at home playing music and reading his books, and whenever he found the opportunity, he would go to see her. The children seemed to like him too and welcomed him warmheartedly. Apart from their little age-mates, there were not many other visitors to lighten up their small world. Just watching their mother talking to a grownup with lively animation would lift the curse of isolation that they were not old enough to perceive. But anyone watching closely could have felt the tender joy that had visited them. They were too sure of their mother’s love; they only wanted to be assured of her happiness.

Ahriman had to accompany his father to the village to look into some matters of property. He had been absent from home for a week; the first thing after his return, he called on Zareena. She was happy to see him again and he felt duty bound to explain his absence, especially to the children. After staying with him for a little while and relishing the cherries he had brought them, the children went off to play.

Turning to Zareena, he held out a small bouquet. “I saw these tiny wild flowers growing on the wayside,” he said, shyly. “I thought of you and decided to pick them. First, the idea pleased me so much that I could sense a subtle fragrance in them, but I was wrong,” he said with an unsure smile.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you!” replied Zareena as she took the flowers and looked at them with pleasure. “How was your trip?”

“Not very fruitful; we could reach no agreement over the issues we were to sort out. Otherwise, I really enjoyed going to my uncle’s house and meeting my cousins there. I had not seen them in a long time. They have all grown up. There was one I knew as a very, very sweet, talkative child. Now she’s fifteen and more reserved as would be proper, but her smile is sweet as ever.” Ahriman paused here and looked at Zareena who was smiling and listening as if asking him to go on. “There were some disappointments too.” Ahriman continued. “The manor-house and the mosque that my grandfather built have deteriorated badly; I wish I could do something to restore them but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do so.”

“I also have some beautiful memories of my own village,” said Zareena. “I used to spend whole vacations there with my family. Even now, I occasionally long to see the peach blossoms and capture the scent of the earth after the first summer rain. I don’t know why, but people don’t figure very prominently in these childhood reminiscences. It’s just an expanse of orchards and wheat fields under an overcast sky through which I walk; now alone, now with my younger brother.”

“Where does your brother live?”

“He died a long time ago,” replied Zareena with a sigh. “He was my closest friend and companion in those days.
I… ”

Zareena was interrupted by a loud scream from inside the house. “Mama! Mehernosh caught his bed on fire!” Mehreen shouted as she came running down the stairs.

“What?”

Zareena and Ahriman rushed to the upper story of the house as Mehreen repeated her words. When they opened the door to Mehernosh’s room, the bed cover and the sheets were actually ablaze.

“Where’s Mehernosh?” asked Zareena in an alarmed voice.

“I don’t know!” replied Mehreen.

Without wasting another moment, Ahriman rushed to the driveway where he had seen a water bucket. Lifting it, he ran back upstairs and splashed the water over the bed. Then he turned the mattress upside down to extinguish the flames completely.

After the alarm, there was an equally sudden relief. The danger was over and now Zareena lost her temper as she started looking for Mehernosh. She called out his name several times but he did not reply. Finally, Zareena happened to open the closet in his room. Mehernosh was found there timidly curled up on top of his clothes, clutching a matchbox in his hand. His eyes were wide open with fright. He knew that the fire had been put out but he expected the worst from his mother. “Didn’t I tell you not to play with matches?” she said angrily. Mehernosh burst into tears saying that he tried putting out the fire and burned his hand.

With a very sad look in her eyes, she embraced Mehernosh as he folded his arms around her neck. She took him to the washbasin and held his hand under the tap. Then she rubbed it with an ointment but for several hours, Mehernosh was in considerable pain.

It was getting dark. Zareena looked tired after the day’s work. Ahriman offered to take the children for a stroll. The full moon had risen bright and high. Ahriman noticed that Mehreen was looking at it and was deep in thought. “Our teacher told us that there are other planets which revolve around the sun,” she remarked after a while, “and that some of them have more than one moon. I wonder why they don’t get in each other’s way.” Ahriman was pleased with her curiosity and explained how the planets and their moons move in fixed orbits. The children listened with great interest as the discourse went on and Ahriman tried his best to make it as comprehensible as possible. Almost forgetting his pain, Mehernosh asked, “If we live inside this round world, there must be holes through which we see the sky.” Ahriman smiled and said that he would have to grow a little older to understand.

After some time, they returned to the house. Ahriman wanted to leave but the children pressed him to stay a little longer. “You talked to Mehreen about so many things,” complained Mehernosh, “now you will have to tell me a story.” Ahriman could not put off the request. He recalled a fairy tale that his grandmother had once told him, and decided to retell it with some changes. He sat down on the stairs in front of the main door with the children at his side.

9. One day, a boy called Sanober was passing by a Bodhi tree. There he saw an injured dove sitting at its foot. He took her home and tended her wounds. He decided to keep her in a little cage and feed her till she was healthy and strong enough to fly off. One night, when Sanober was asleep, the dove turned into a beautiful fairy. She stepped out of the little cage and woke him. He marveled at her beautiful ethereal form. “I am a daughter of the Bodhi Tree,” the fairy said. “The tree under which you found me is our old father. He rejuvenates himself from time to time by letting a root drop to the ground. As soon as a root touches the ground, our mother, earth gives birth to another fairy like me. During the day, we come out as little birds and are vulnerable to the forces of nature. That is how a wanton child tried to kill me and I was saved but badly injured. At night, we come out as fireflies if we want to charm some good-hearted humans who have been hurt or sickened by the cares of the world, and also those in love. The others we shoo off by hanging as ugly bats from the branches of the Bodhi tree. You have saved me from an untimely end and I want to show my gratitude by taking you to our fairy world. Would you like to come?”

Sanober started following her dreamily. When they reached the place where Sanober had found the dove, she held his hand and guided him through a door in the tree trunk. He found himself descending into a world so beautiful as he had never imagined. There were houses, gardens, springs and orchards but all so excellent as could only be in a fairy world. And the fairies! Sanober tried to see if he could tell which one was more beautiful but it was a tough question for his poor mind. They were sitting on the thresholds of their little houses playing harps and lyres and singing lively songs in their soft, mellifluous voices. They asked him to join them in singing. He tried but his voice wavered so pitifully that he decided not to make any contribution.

Then he ate of the fruits of the orchards and they tasted better than anything he had ever had. Before daybreak, the fairy led Sanober back to his house. As she left, she gave him a pearl from her necklace, telling him not to let anyone know of his secret finding. Sanober promised and fell asleep.

After this interesting night, the fairy would visit him occasionally and take him with her. There he had begun to recognize the faces of the many fairies and they also liked to see this alien creature in their fairy world. And every time his friend bid him farewell, he would receive a pearl from her necklace.

One day, the fairy came to tell him that they were going to celebrate the birth of another sister. When he reached there, the other fairies were busy lining with gold the little dress they had sewn for Sanober. After finishing their work, they also gave him a silver sword. He wore the dress and looked like a little prince with the sword at his waist. “Now you are ready to meet our father,” the fairies said.

He accompanied them to a huge palace and entered an imposing gate with gigantic pillars. The path led to the pavilion where the primeval father was sitting on his throne. He was a tall old man with a long white beard and a scepter in his hand. Sanober bowed before him as told. The father rose from his magnificent throne and asked Sanober to be seated at his side. “I thank you for the favor you did me by saving my daughter’s life,” he said. “I would have liked you to stay here with us and learn rare secrets one by one, but you are destined to be a man of the world too. What does it matter? Here you can come and drink the refreshing waters of the fountains and eat the fruits of the orchard that are not just fruits. They will invigorate your soul with invisible powers that you shall cherish for a lifetime. Each visit shall do you some good, but on one condition: that you never let others know about us.” Sanober promised solemnly to act in accordance with the father’s wishes. Then the ceremony proceeded as the newborn sister was brought in and the father held her in his arms. He blessed her with a kiss on the forehead and put her back in the golden cradle. Entrusting her to the sisters’ care, he walked out of the court and left. The festival continued as the fairies sang gentle songs to their harps and lyres. They all turned to fireflies when it was time for Sanober to leave, and accompanied him home.

In this manner, Sanober became a cherished member of this family and everyday he learned secrets and lessons which he was not supposed to relate to anyone.

The story unfolded with several interesting events before Ahriman concluded it thus:

Although Sanober enjoyed the leisure of his mysterious visits to the fairy world, he could not keep the secret for long. One day, he called his best friend to his house and confided everything to him. When the friend found it unbelievable, Sanober showed him the several pearls that he had carefully hidden in a small casket. The friend was overjoyed. Sanober was very good at heart and wanted to share the precious gift with his friend. He gave him a few pearls and asked him to take them home. His friend was not as reliable as Sanober had expected because he was also a child like himself. The very next day, his parents came and talked to Sanober’s about the jewels their son had brought home. Sanober was called and he had to confess everything because he never lied to his parents. Upon seeing the pearls, his parents were extremely tempted to examine the tree. They looked around it but found nothing of particular interest. They found their son’s words lacking in truth, but the pearls and various ideas of soon becoming the richest family of the neighborhood inspired belief. When they found no clue to the secret of the tree, they decided to fell it and seek the treasure directly. Sanober pleaded with them to spare the tree, but no one lent him an ear. With the help of woodcutters the tree was soon brought down. Earth was dug so deep under it that water appeared from below but no treasure was found. On returning home, Sanober was greatly grieved and held himself responsible for the death of the old father. He went to his room and opened the casket to take a look at his treasure, but all the pearls had turned to pebbles…

Mehreen had fallen asleep resting her head against Ahriman’s shoulder. Mehernosh’s eyelids were drooping over his big black eyes, but he wanted to hear another story. “Look at this little arsonist!” Zareena said with an affectionate smile, hearing the request as she came outside. The maidservant came and took the children inside. Zareena apologized for the inconvenience that the day’s events had caused him, but Ahriman refused to acknowledge such formalities.

10. Ahriman’s father received a letter from the village reporting at length the current situation of their family property. Some of their farmlands had been leased to tenant farmers by Ahriman’s grandfather. Payments were received by Ahriman’s father through relatives and now, the problems of absentee ownership were arising. The tenants who had been making minimal payments were asked to vacate the land after the summer harvest. This news had taken them aback and they had initially agreed to do so, but the letter suggested a complete reversal. The farmers demanded that either they be allowed to continue working on the land without being asked for higher payments than had been agreed upon years ago, or granted ownership of a part of the land upon vacating it. It was also rumored that they were not afraid of any lawsuit if the landlord chose resorting to legal means.

The letter was worrying Ahriman’s father considerably because he knew that these decades-old tangles of tenancy could not be resolved by distant correspondence or occasional visits to the village. It required him to spend a few months there. But there was not enough time to spare; his work in the city could not be abandoned for so long without loss. There was a possibility which he did not want to consider; he was very indulgent towards his only son. But Ahriman was told by his mother about the state of affairs, and how it was making the father morose and irritable. Without her mentioning, Ahriman did have the feeling that his parents were concerned about his future, and that his promises of eventually settling for some suitable occupation did not convince them altogether. The aspects of practical life suddenly weighed so heavily on him that his recent preoccupations appeared only as so many aimless extravagances, and he grew very suspicious of their indisputable significance.

When his doubts became unbearable, he consoled himself by thinking that he could continue his musical practice and reading in the village, nevertheless; that is, except for the absence of the Ustad and Zareena, the village offered everything conducive of silent contemplation and deep learning. Without revealing his intentions to his parents, he went to discuss the matter with Zareena. He found her in the lawn helping the children with their home assignments. She greeted him cheerfully; the children were overjoyed to see him, but Zareena sent them inside to complete their work.

“Mehernosh told me today what he was trying to do when he set the bed on fire.” said Zareena, smiling. “He would light a thread of the bedcover’s fringe and then blow it out, letting the flame spread a little each time. When the last attempt failed and the flame started blazing to his repeated blowing, he hid himself in the closet.”

“I find his curiosity commendable,” replied Ahriman, “although his hiding away could have had dangerous consequences. Still, we can’t blame the poor child; it must have struck him as the best alternative.”

“Yes. He is just a child, sometimes adults behave the same way, if we look carefully – of course without praise or censure because that would only confound our observation.”

“You are very right,” said Ahriman. “Interestingly, I find myself in a similar situation, and I have to decide now if I am to prove my worth to others.” Ahriman went on to explain everything to Zareena, and told her how he intended to be of some service to his father.

“I find your sentiments very noble,” remarked Zareena, “and if you have considered everything carefully, nothing should stop you from declaring your good intentions to your parents.”

After thinking for a while, Ahriman said, “I really feel that knowing you at this stage has had a profound effect on me. I think this burden of responsibility is also a part of it.”

“I’m glad to hear such a beautiful thing, although I hardly consider myself capable of such influence. Whatever the reason for this harmony of souls might be, I can’t deny that you have colored my life too in the most charming way. And I don’t know how to express my gratitude for the way you entertain the children.”

“You know,” Ahriman exclaimed, “it also pains me to think that I’ll have to stay away from you!”

“It does not make me happy either,” Zareena said calmly, “but you are serving a higher aim and learning to live in the practical world. Self-discipline and moral restraint are great virtues. You must have heard this a thousand times, but now is the time to let yourself experience their worth through your own deeds.”

“Hmm.”

“And remember that you have to write to me while you are away. I’ll write to you too.” What an effect these words had on Ahriman cannot be easily imagined. In an elevated state of mind, he went to his Ustad and begged to be excused for a few months. Careful not to put him out of humor, he said, “Please, bear with me. This is an exceptional situation where I lose everything if I keep thinking only of an isolated interest. And nothing should keep me from playing music in the peaceful atmosphere of the village. Just give me enough work so that I can sustain my present level of skill and make some improvement. As soon as I return, I will be on your doorstep, at least a little furthered in dexterity, if raising my level of understanding is not possible without your guidance.”

11. After having set his mind at ease, he revealed his plans to his father. The father was not very eager to assent to the idea but was very pleased with his son’s good sense. Like in many other things, here too, the son prevailed over his parents’ hesitation, but in a more amiable way. Preparations were made for his departure and a servant was arranged to keep the rooms of the manor-house in good order.

Until the last moment, Ahriman had not discussed any of his plans with Sarah. He had somehow managed to stay away from her for two weeks. What happened when he went to meet her was beyond his expectations, and yet it was not uncalled for. She was very displeased to see him after such a long time, but her pleasant nature did not allow her to be too harsh.

“I was dying to hear something from you. Where have you been?” she asked in a serious tone.

“O, I have – I’ve really been busy doing a few important things,” replied Ahriman.

“You should have at least called to let me know that you were alright.”

“I’m sorry! But why are you in such a bad mood? You know, I love you.”

“I love you too. Perhaps you’re right. There’s nothing to worry about, but I think I do have a right to show my concern.”

Formidable thoughts which Ahriman had never been strong enough to think, let alone mention to someone, started revolving in his mind and he was overcome with a total lack of sensation. It was the same numbness he had felt while approaching Sarah to give her the birthday gift on that memorable day, but now for a different reason.

“Sarah, there’s something I want to tell you,” he said with grim detachment.

“What?”

“Whatever I’ve been saying in regard to our relationship came only from the depth of my soul. And I know I was the one to take the initiative. But I – I don’t feel the same for you anymore.” A heavy burden was lifted from his heart with this confession.

“Didn’t you just say you love me?” she asked in bewilderment. “Oh, my God! How foolish I am! It must be out of habit that you said that! I can see it takes longer to be rid of habitual phrases than feelings.” Now Sarah had broken into tears. “I could already tell that something was going wrong. You had been growing quieter; you always held something back, complaining about the way of life you felt you were forced into. I felt as if it were my fault. Tell me! Did I force you to do this or that? I tried my best to comfort you but I never knew it was me that bothered you most.”

“I feel ashamed even as I say sorry to you. You are such a good person and I take all the blame, but what I say is true nevertheless.” Ahriman said reluctantly.

“So you don’t feel anything for me?” she asked in utter disbelief.

“I know how difficult it would be for you. Please forgive me, if possible.”

Sarah was quite beside herself. “What’s the matter with you, Ahriman? What went wrong? And where? How did your feelings change? Do you like someone else? Is it because you like that other woman?”

“Not at all!” Ahriman revolted at her conjecture.
“Then what? I’ve not even pressured you to marry me because I knew you were not settled in your professional life.”

“Oh, it’s none of that!” said Ahriman, impatiently sweeping his hand in the air. “I’ve told you I no longer harbor those feelings which brought us closer, and I thought it better to inform you because it would have been even more unfair – not that it is fair now – but it would have been worse if I had said all this when the question of marriage became inevitable.”

“How could you change so suddenly? I fail to understand all this. So we won’t see each other again?” Sarah said in a trembling voice.

“I would like to be your friend always, but it’s better in such relationships to stay away as much as possible, if we really want to sever them.” Ahriman replied coldly, with the detachment of an analyst.

“What has happened to you, Ahriman? I could never imagine that you’d change so much!” Sarah was a girl of lively temperament and had lived in happy circumstances. This was her life’s first great sorrow and she could not help wishing that it were just a bad dream from which she could wake up.

Ahriman was quiet with his head bowed down. Sarah’s anguish pierced his heart. He had bewildered himself by bringing up such an issue but was least compelled to put it off. He wanted the whole affair to dissolve then and there.

“I fail to understand what’s so urgent that you want to be rid of me so quickly. Give me another chance,” she said pleadingly, as she wiped her tears, “to make up for not being a worthy friend. You also tried more than once to convince me of your love, didn’t you?”

Ahriman knew he did not have any other presentable reason. The affection he wanted to show her he held back because that would have only rendered his present effort meaningless.

“My sister was right!” cried Sarah. “Men are all the same. Goodness! She was right! But why am I pitying myself so?”

“Don’t forget that I will always be there as a friend, Sarah,” said Ahriman for the sake of saying something.

“To hell with your friendship!”

“Why don’t you try to understand?”

“Understand what? That you are such a fickle idiot?”

Sarah was angry but now she could also see his tears through hers. She was so deeply in love with her capricious friend that she soon composed herself enough to say, “I can’t see you cry like this, dear. With me, it does not matter; when do girls not cry? Men seldom cry. The only time I saw tears in my father’s eyes was when my grandmother died. And it made everything seem more terrible. I will not bother you anymore. Let this be a proof of my love for you. Please leave now and never see me again. Oh God! Why do I feel so wretched? Please leave me alone!” Sarah did not mean what she had said, but Ahriman made for the door as if he were waiting just for that last command. A day later, he left for his village.

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