Piri sat inside the courtyard on a chair to finalize the hunting trip arrangements with Ahmad Khan over the phone. “The weather has become milder, Ahmad Khan! Be prepared to set out in two days. I think if we head east, we might be able to hunt some wild goats again.” When the topic of hunting wild goats came up, she leaned back in her chair and rested her feet on her feet, leaning comfortably. Her eyes narrowed cunningly.
As she rhythmically tapped her slender but weathered fingers on the chair’s armrest, pride and ambition surged within her. Following tradition, she first discussed the hunting trip with the household manager, Salimeh.
“We’re leaving in five days. See what we need for eggplant stew and lentil rice, and have Butash prepare it,” Salimeh hesitated to say anything.
The prince asked, “Is something wrong?! Are you still standing there?!”
“Oh sir, you’ve just got up. Thank God your weakness has passed. I wish you would let your health return a little before setting off,” Salimeh replied.
“I know my condition better than anyone. My heart is rotten. This disease has drained us. Tell Butash to prepare the gun-cleaning kit. It’s been a long time since I held it in my hand,” the prince instructed.
As Salimeh prepared to leave, she continued, “Also, don’t forget to order roasted dates with butter along with the lentil rice.”
At dawn, a crimson carpet was spread until the sun timidly rose in the wide expanse of the sky. With the sunrise, the prince and his entourage set off.
Midway, the snowfall began to slow. As each snowflake settled on the ground, the prince said to Ahmad Khan, “God rest my father Mohammad Ali Khan’s soul, he always used to say, ‘Khanlar! Be careful of the slow and fine snow, it’s deceptive.'” After five hours of continuous driving, as they neared the mountains, the snowfall became heavier and the fog thicker.
A cold wind whispered. The gusts of wind stirred up a commotion among the snowflakes, pounding themselves against the car. The road was covered in snow, and on both sides, the vast, untouched expanse of snowfields reflected light, hurting the eyes of any beholder. It seemed as if life had frozen in that moment, which filled the prince’s tone with awe and fear. “It’s as if this place is the end of the world,” the prince said to Rahim to stop.
“Ahmad Khan! I think if we go further, we might get stuck in the snow. Maybe it was about five kilometers down that I saw a sign for a village. Do you think it wouldn’t be wiser to spend the night there and set off in the morning?” Ahmad Khan, the prince’s attendant of twenty years, was well aware of his habits.
“Prince! I agree with you. If we continue, the snow might trap us, and then it’ll be too late for regrets,” Rahim replied as he turned the car around from the middle of the road and headed towards a side road. As they approached the village, the snowfall lessened, and the weather improved. It seemed as if the village was situated in a zone shielded from the wrath of the cold and snow.
They arrived at the gate. They were met by a middle-aged man. He was tall and robust, wearing a fur hat on his head. His hat covered his ears as well. The wheat-colored beard on the guard’s face bore witness to his hardship, and the redness of his cheeks from the cold gave him a fierce and fearless appearance. He wore a gray overcoat and had a weapon slung over his shoulder.
After Rahim communicated with the guard about the prince’s inquiries, Khanlar personally stepped out of the car and went towards the gate.
The prince, seeming like a man who had seen the world, did not rush into things. He returned to the car. The guard’s words had stunned him. On one hand, continuing the journey was not possible, and on the other hand, the atmosphere of the village and what the guard had said seemed extremely suspicious.
The curious boy inside him constantly urged him to tell others what he had heard, but his inherent discretion, due to his age and experience, prevailed, and he sat in a corner.
In the end, he resigned himself. Khanlar decided not to tell anything about Piri and her prophecy to his companions.
The cedar trees, with their steadfastness, dragged winter along until the snow felt humiliated and melted. The entrance to the village ended in a rocky square. A large circular stone with a diameter of ten meters, devoid of any inscriptions or carvings, stood in the middle of the square and caught everyone’s eye.
On the outskirts of the square, there was an old reservoir and houses with mud walls. A tall wind catcher was built on the roof of the reservoir, bearing deep cracks on its surface as a reminder of a terrible earthquake.
The villagers were mostly dressed in black. As their attention was drawn to the car with its strange occupants, they were moving towards a house where mournful music and the sound of drums could be heard from inside. The entrance to the house was semicircular and adorned with mosaic tiles. The paintings of Rostam’s combat with Afrasiab captivated the gaze of every passerby.
The guard on horseback brought the prince and his companions to the house. He respectfully requested, “Please hurry. We must be present at the ceremony before sunset.” With that, the guard said and led the guests towards the house.
From the room where the crowd was gathered, an old woman emerged, wearing black clothes and holding the hand of a young lady. She wanted to lift her chair from under the roof and pass through the courtyard where the people were standing. Everyone hushed, and silence fell. The old woman kept her head down.
The old man began his speech, “I have lived ninety years by the grace of God. Both the world and I have aged, yet we both remain unwilling to part from this existence and our struggles. Twenty-one years have passed since the deaths of my sons. Every year on this day, we gather here. Though my eyes cannot see, throughout all these years, your presence has been a solace to my heart.”
The old man turned his ear towards the crowd, awaiting a response to his address. He inquired, “Shir-Ali! Our guests should have arrived by now, isn’t that correct?”
The guard standing beside the prince replied, “Yes, as you instructed, I respectfully went to receive them. They are here now.”
The prince and Ahmad Khan were seated inside, as the old man entered once again, this time adorned in floral attire, accompanied by the same young lady. The old woman’s eyes, defeated by the tyranny of time and the sorrows of days past, had bent her back.
Addressing the prince, the old man said, “As long as you’re in my domain, be at ease. I’ve donned black attire out of respect for the guest.”
Despite her age and physical condition, the old woman spoke eloquently. The prince said, “As Shir-Ali mentioned, you are aware of our intentions for this journey, but snow hindered our progress.”
The old woman nodded in agreement with the prince’s words, as if she already knew what she was about to hear.
The rooster’s crow announced morning, and Shir-Ali entered the room. He held a silver tray with everything breakfast had to offer. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, enticing anyone with an appetite.
“Shir-Ali! Whenever you’re ready for breakfast, Mrs. Piri is waiting for you,” he said before leaving.
With a calm and reassuring voice, the old woman continued, “My husband was a nobleman from Abadi. Nearly forty years ago, during the famine caused by the English, like many others, he lost his life. I was left with two children to raise. My pride didn’t allow me to become a beggar. I had to fight for many things. After becoming a widow, I stood tall again. I couldn’t consider agriculture beneath me. No one dared to look down on me or my life choices. I raised my children single-handedly.”
The prince was absorbed in the old woman’s words, unable to interrupt her. He wondered what role the old woman had assumed.
Piri lowered her head slightly, her hand instinctively moving to her face. She continued, “When they brought my sons’ bodies, the men of Abadi went with them. It took two days to find them. The men said they found them surrounded by wild chamomile flowers. It was as if, without anyone knowing, angels had come for their burial. The night my sons were laid to rest, a strange storm and earthquake occurred, blending earth and time together.”
With her final words, her tone changed. Pride and a sense of boasting about her sons enveloped her, covering her heartache with a cloak of pride as she leaned back in her chair.
Piri continued, “Although the storm took my sight, it gave light to my heart. Over the years, neither regret nor fear has overwhelmed me. When the world showed its harshness, I realized I must be the beginning and end for myself. No one remains for anyone. If anything is to be achieved, I must take the first step. I am not waiting for miracles from anyone. Two nights ago, I had a strange dream, with a strange atmosphere. I woke up drenched in cold sweat, screaming.”
The prince, observing the trembling hand of the old woman resting on her cane, realized the impact of the dream on her.
As they returned on the way back, Khanlar clutched a piece of black cloth wrapped around a piece of paper, mulling over Piri’s dream in his mind.
“Three men entered my house. One of them, a hunter, carried a gun on his right shoulder. They laughed heartily. In his left hand, I saw two small carcasses of animals, which were babies. Their souls had left so quickly that their eyes remained open. Their heads hung limp. The hunter’s back was turned towards a female animal, uttering curses as if his children’s blood were upon her.” Piri passed over the moments following her dream, the speechless passage, feeling her guest’s emotions.
Khanlar, affected by the old woman’s story, rose abruptly from his seat, and without uttering a word, took a few steps towards the prince.
As Khanlar, troubled by his experiences, left the room, the wooden floor creaked. The color drained from his face, and his pupils remained fixed in a heavy, opaque gaze.
Ahmad Khan, observing his condition, rose from the edge of the pool without a word and took a few steps forward towards the prince.
Khanlar, after his conversation with Piri, which lasted for two hours, rose hastily from his place and said, “My wife is on the verge of giving birth…”
In the courtyard of Piri’s mansion, with a peculiar gait, she grabbed her collar, gripping it tightly, as if struggling with her condition.
“Ahmad Khan! Gather… Gather, let’s go… We must return,” she urged.
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