Modern Azerbaijani Women’S Prose

By Vagif Sultanly and Iraj Ismaely

This anthology presented to reader consists of the artistic prose of the last thirty years. As this period covers the collapse of the Soviet Union and Azerbaijans independence, the literature reflects the influence of these momentous changes of that period. This book contains the works of writers representing a wide literary generation to include the likes of Aziza Jafarzade, Sara Oghuz, Manzar Nigarli, Afag Masud, Nushaba Mammadli, Mehriban Vazir, Gunel Anargizi, Zumrud Yaghmur, Nazila Isgandarova, Aygun Hasanoghlu, Eluja Atali, Khumar Alakbarli, Shalala Abil and others. It consists of the best examples of Azerbaijani womens prose created during this period .
Azerbaijani female writers works have certain artistic licenses from the point of view of content and style. These writers works contain various topics, starting from the social and political problems up to moral, ethical and family issues. Besides, the written works are based upon various creative styles. The stories selected in the anthology were based on their relevance to the world readers interest and taste. Thus, there are epic-analytic, lyrical psychological and conditional-metaphorical works among these stories. All of these aspects express the wide variety of genre, style, and topic that represents the female writers artistic research.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490724690

Book preview

Hypotheses of the Contemporary Azerbaijani Women’s Prose

As any nation having a cultural past, Azerbaijani history also has a specific place to be deemed of value in its historic contribution to cultural and ethnic values.

The Koran, the saint’s book, says: ‘Paradise lies beneath the feet of mothers.’ Certainly, such high appreciation of woman impacts on their destinies. However, in various historical periods, an Azerbaijani woman was exposed to severe ordeals. It’s not occasional that through the ages, one of the main topics of Azerbaijani literature was connected namely to women’s independence (unfortunately, the topic of women’s independence still remains actual in Azerbaijani literature up to date). However, despite all complications, an Azerbaijani woman has gained her achievement not only in social and political life, but also in artistic creation. In this concept, female writers have a significant place in Azerbaijani literature, having ancient and rich history.

Mahsati Ganjavi, a poetess and philosopher of the twelfth century, Nizami Ganjavi’s contemporary, spent her most creative periods in the palaces of Sultan Mahmud Saljugi and Sultan Sanjar Saljugi, his uncle, writing her own poems in the genre of the quatrain in the Persian language. About 200 quatrains written by Mahsati Ganjavi have been available till date. Mahsati Ganjavi used to deal not only with poetic creation, but also music. Her quatrains expressed the romantic dreams, love, and moral-ethical features of an Oriental woman. She devoted her own poems to thoughts against obscurantism and fanatism. Owing to unusal talent and free-thinking, Mahsati Ganjavi’s personality has turned into myth and legend even in her own period.

Sara Khatun, the first female diplomat not only in Azerbaijan, but the entire East, had great political experience and leadership abilities. She was mother of Uzun Hasan (1423-1478), the great ruler of the Aghgoyunlu state, and made significant contributions to strengthening her own country and in the determination of its foreign policy as well as regulation of state policy. It’s not occasional that Uzun Hasan would send his mother for the most complicated negotiations. Sara Khatun was famous not only in her own country, but also in Western ones as the sole talented female diplomat.

Partitioning in the destiny of a few nations of the world was not restricted only with the geographical, political, and economic essence in the history of Azerbaijan, but also significantly impacted on the content and direction of development of the culture and literature. Thus, the Azerbaijani nation, divided in two between the Iranian and Russian empires upon the Gulustan (1813) and Turkmanchay (1828) agreements, tried to develop its own culture on differing planes even to protect and keep it. Thus, the Western literary values were ruling in the west of the country, and the traditional Oriental criteria were preferred in the eastern part of the country, and this difference gradually penetrated into the content and form of its literature. Division of the country into two parts left certain traces in all sectors, including its women’s destiny.

Further periods of history also have pages connected to the literary and political successes of an Azerbaijani woman. Thus, poetess Aghabayim Agha (1780-1832), daugther of the Garabagh Khan Ibrahimkhalil and wife of Fatali Shah, the Iranian king, had implemented social and political activity connected to the palace in Tehran, and her poems even today prove her unusual talent.

Tahira Gurratuleyn (1818-1852), nicknamed Zarrintadj, a talented poetess and active participant of the babies’ movement, was born in Gazvin City of southern Azerbaijan and became one of the first women in the Islamic East to unveil herself. She accepted death in her young age and remained in the memory of the nation as an unusual person. Her legendary personality was the topic for much research and many works of art.

Khurshudbanu Natavan, a great Azerbaijani author of the nineteenth century, was the author of wonderful ghazals—Oriental poems. She had a significant role in the literary and cultural life of Shusha City, established by Panahali Khan, ruler of Garabagh (1693-1758), presently occupied by Armenia. She used to lead the literary assembly named ‘Madjlisi-uns’ for a long time and made a great contribution to the revival of the literary progress of that period.

Heyran-khanym (1790-1848), another famous figure of Azerbaijani poetry of the nineteenth century, had written poems in classic style and simple public language, glorifying in them saintly and sincere love and choosing the grief of separation and the desire of reunification as the topic. The poetess’s poems with social motive are full of complaints against the period and rejection of the social disparity and absence of women’s rights.

Sakina Akhundova, Umugulsum Sadigzade, Umbulbanu (Banin), Nigar Rafibayli, Khalida Hasilova, Aziza Jafarzade, Mirvarid Dilbazi, Alaviyya Babayeva, and other writers had a great role in development of Azerbaijani literature in the twentieth century. The works written by these writers in various genres of literature attract attention with their originality and ideal-aesthetical essence. Furthermore, the first female author of opera in the East was Shafiga Akhundova, an Azerbaijani composer.

However, it’s noticeable that in the period of Russian Soviet colonialism, Azerbaijani women overcame severe ordeals and were exposed to repression and exile, as well as cruel physical and moral torments. In the years 1937-38, they were punished by the cruel Soviet machinery led by I. V. Stalin, exiled to the Siberian ‘icy hell’, together with husbands and children, and lived hard and anguished lives but didn’t disown their own ideas and principles. In the period of the Soviet Union, women were involved in hard physical labour and were made to work together with men in cotton fields, factories, construction brigades, generally various manufacturing sectors.

After the collapse of the Soviet political regime, Azerbaijan achieved its own independence again, and it was an essential page in the history of Azerbaijan. Drastic changes were established both in social-political and literary-cultural sectors. Collapse of the unique creative method, removal of censorship, absence of literary prohibitions, and strengthening of contact and integration with world literature positively impacted on Azerbaijani literature, including women’s prose. Female writers have actively participated in the revival of the literary process achieved after national independence.

The present anthology presented to readers consists of the artistic prose of the last thirty years. As this period covered the collapse of the Soviet political regime and the literature of the period of achievement of the independence of Azerbaijan, there exists specific artistic traces in the created artistic resources. The literary process was impacted by the serious conflicts occurring in the social life of the aforesaid period, political contradictions and changes of power as well as the mass genocide caused by the Russian Soviet troops in Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan on 20 January 1990 and the tense periods of the mountainous Garabagh confrontation. Totally, the social-political and moral-ethical spirit of the period had penetrated into the female writers’ works.

Such a collection consisting of the Azerbaijani female writers’ works is presented to the English-language audience and generally, world readers. However, it’s noticeable that the presentation of literature of any nation on the plane of female writers has certain conditional specificity, because distinguishing the artistic literature on a sexual plane may seem inexpedient, and besides the factor of gender, existence of the angle of an exotic view also attracts the attention.

This book, combining the works of writers representing various literary generations like Aziza Jafarzade, Sara Oghuz, Manzar Nigarli, Afag Masud, Nushaba Mammadli, Mehriban Vazir, Gunel Anargizi, Zumrud Yaghmur, Nazila Isgandarova, Aygun Hasanoghlu, Eluja Atali, Khumar Alakbarli, Khuraman Ismayil, Sevinj Nurugizi, Tarana Vahid, Afag Shikhli, Shalala Abil, Shahnaz Kamal, etc., consists of the best samples of Azerbaijani women’s prose created within the last years.

The works by Aziza Jafarzade, known among female writers as the author of historical novels like My Voice Is All over the World, Return to the Motherland, Baku-1501, Zarrintadj-Tahira, From Land to Land, Tragedy of a Voice, Sultan of Love, etc., deeming as valuable samples of the Azerbaijani artistic prose. In the aforesaid novels, the author illuminated the dark and unknown pages of the history of Azerbaijan and created a vivid artistic view of the far and near past. This collection presented to readers contains samples of the stories written by the author in the style of tales.

Sara Oghuz, Manzar Nigarli, Afag Masud, Aygun Hasanoghlu, Gunel Anargizi, and Zumrud Yaghmur write principally on modern topics. Their works draw attention to social problems, styles of analytic thinking, and philosophic features. However, it’s noticeable that each of the aforesaid writers have individual creative manners and specific writing styles, and the factors distinguishing them are more evident than those unifying them.

The anthology contains also works by Mehriban Vazir, Nisa Bayim, Khuraman Ismayil, Natavan Damirchioglu, Khumar Alakbarli, Naringul, and Tarana Vahid expressing sensitive treatment of modern problems and the preference of the public elements. This feature allows them to turn the issues interesting the community into an object of topic in an open and direct order.

The destiny of some contemporary Azerbaijani writers is connected to migration. They are the female writers among the people leaving the country within the last years due to social, political, economic, and other reasons. Gulshan Latifkhan, Nazila Isgandarova, Eluca Atali, Aytan Agshin, Afag Shikhli, Shalala Abil, and Shahnaz Kamal, whose works are also included in the present anthology, have left the motherland due to various reasons and presently live abroad. This factor significantly impacted on the content of their creation, ideas and problematics, form, and artistic aspects.

At last, Azerbaijani female writers also have detective and fantasy works, as well as those devoted to the children’s world. All of these aspects express the variety of genre, style, and topic that factors the female writers’ artistic research.

Certainly it’s impossible to separately specify the creative world of the writers included in the anthology. Consequently, only the general concepts are expressed here.

Generally, Azerbaijani female writers’ works have certain artistic licenses from the point of view of content and stylistic form. These writers’ works contain various topics, starting from the most social and political problems up to moral and ethical issues. Besides, the written works are based upon various creative styles.

The stories included in the anthology were selected considering their compliance with the world readers’ interest and taste, as well as a variety of topics and contents of these works. Thus, there are epic-analytic, lyrical-psychological, and conditional-metaphorical works among these stories. Surely, we don’t intend to insist that all of the works included in the anthology be deemed as of a high-level literary source. However, in our opinion, the selected works express the real view of the contemporary Azerbaijani artistic prose personified by female writers.

Generally, we are sure that the anthology’s title, ‘Modern Azerbaijani Women’s Prose’ will attract the attention of world readers and cause real interest in Azerbaijani literature.

Vagif Sultanly and Iraj Ismaely

Baku, Azerbaijan

Aziza Jafarzade

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The Bread

Once upon a time, there lived a very diligent man named Etibar. He toiled from dawn to dusk and earned his living by his own labour. He had a kind and affectionate wife and twelve little children. Every day, Etibar got up before dawn, harnessed two oxen, ploughed the soil, sowed, and watered the wheat. In sultry summer, he reaped and threshed, being drenched in sweat, so he appreciated the bread that he got with such difficulty.

He didn’t waste any grain; he didn’t let any bit of bread get trampled underfoot. So there was abundance in his house. Though he toiled quite alone, he was able to support his big family in prosperity. He paid tribute to the shah and carried out all the khans’ and beks’ demands. Bek is a tittle in the past like lord, duke; a form for addressing sir, mister at present. Moreover, all the priests got their portions too. He ordered his wife to keep an eye on their children, follow them, and pick up each breadcrumb.

One day, the shah of that country, returning from his hunting trip, stopped in front of Etibar’s house. He saw the dozen children playing in the clean and tidy yard. The children looked like one another. The shah understood that they were brothers and sisters. Each of them were pink-cheeked and bursting with health, as if they had no idea about the lack in the country. The shah immediately called his main overseer and asked, ‘Whose house is it? Whose children are they?’

‘Your Majesty,’ said the overseer with fear, ‘this house and yard belong to the ploughman named Etibar. He has twelve little children—one smaller than the other.’

The shah was astounded.

‘How does he succeed in supporting such a big family during the time of scarcity in the country? Perhaps he doesn’t pay tribute? Perhaps you don’t take tribute from him?’

The overseer grew bold.

‘Oh no, Your Majesty, it is impossible! I do take tribute from him! He even pays everything with abundance!’

The shah’s astonishment increased.

‘Perhaps he has another source of income or a legacy from his ancestors?’

‘No, Your Majesty, he has only a couple of oxen.’

While the shah was talking to the overseer, his wise vizier was watching the children. He thought a little and said, ‘Your Majesty, the overseer is right. There is a secret that I have already guessed.’

The shah asked with interest, ‘What is it?’

The vizier answered, not tearing himself away from the children, ‘Bread is respected and appreciated in this house, Your Majesty! Look! There are such a lot of children in this yard, but there is no breadcrumbs under their feet!’

At that moment, Etibar’s wife came out of the bakery. There was a big tray on her head, and the tray was full of fresh, nice, and brown loaves of bread. Their wonderful smell exhilarated everybody. The children put their arms round their mother’s feet crying, ‘Mummy, bread! Mummy, scone!’

The mother didn’t react to her children. She went towards the house with a graceful carriage and said to her children, ‘Go and wash your hands thoroughly, and I’m going to lay the table. Then you may come home and have dinner.’

When the visier heard it, he said, ‘Your Majesty, now you can see that bread is respected and appreciated in this house very much!’

The shah said, ‘I can’t believe that not a breadcrumb will be dropped. They are children and bread is crumbled!’

‘No, Your Majesty! It seems to me that their mother gives them such a kind of bread that isn’t crumbled. Her children have got used to eating such a kind of bread, so they drop not a crumb.’

The shah returned to his palace. He thought a little and ordered: ‘It is forbidden to bake such a kind of bread that isn’t crumbed. Everybody is to bake only thin bread, thin scones that are easily crumbed.’

Several days later, the shah asked his vizier, ‘Do you know how that ploughman is?’

‘Your Majesty, I have found out that there has been a bumper crop, and he lives in abundance.’

The shah sprang to his feet.

‘Let’s go. Come on. I must see everything with my own eyes. I can’t believe it. If the children eat thin brittle bread, it must be crumbed, and children must strew crumbs everywhere. If there aren’t any breadcrumbs under their feet, there can’t be any abundance. Perhaps he didn’t obey my orders!’

They reached Etibar’s yard talking to each other. They saw a small, clean, white sack hanging on each child’s neck. When eating the bread, the children kept their mouths in the sacks and all the crumbs fell into them. Seeing it, the vizier said, ‘Your Majesty, now you have seen for yourself! There will never be lack of bread in this house. Bread is highly respected and appreciated here. They let not a breadcrumb drop and be underfoot.’

The Tale about the Moustache

Once upon a time, there lived a very poor man who had nothing but his large thick moustache, a wife, and a dozen children. He lived in a miserable hovel near the green mosque. He was called ‘Moustache’ because of his extraordinarily large moustache. Every day, he got up at dawn, put on his wretched clothes, his torn shoes that were hardened because of grime, took his crook, and began going from house to house. He gathered people’s cattle and grazed them. In the evening, he returned the cattle to their owners and was given some bread, cheese, and milk. Thus, he supported his family. One day while grazing cattle, he sat on the green grass, leant on a big stone, and said, ‘Oh, invisible God! Why do I suffer so much? Why do I have such a terrible fate? For what? What is my fault? Why do you dishonour me before my family? I must go and find God! I must ask him myself. My neighbour Haji Gulam is so rich. He is rolling in money, but I have to pass a beggarly existence. Why?’

Moustache settled down after this decision. In the evening, he returned the cattle to their owners and said, ‘Tomorrow I won’t graze your cattle any longer. You should find another herdsman.’

He came home and gave the bread to his children. They ate the bread, drank some tea, and went to bed.

The next morning, his wife began to wake him, ‘Get up. It’s time to go grazing.’

Moustache said, ‘I won’t go grazing any more. I’m going on a trip.’

His wife became furious:

‘Are you in your right mind? What trip?’

Moustache said, ‘I’m going to find God and ask him about my suffering. I wonder what my fault is. Why we are half-starved, why my children can’t eat enough.’

When his wife heard these words, she thought that her husband had gone mad and began crying. Moustache said, ‘My dear, it’s no use crying. Please, visit all our neighbours and gather some bread and cheese for me.’

There was no alternative, so his wife had to obey. She visited all their neighbours and brought some food for her husband.

Moustache put on his wretched clothes, his torn shoes, put his scanty things into the weathercock, took his crook, and set off.

Several days later, he reached a desert. It was a boundless desert with yellow sand. There was a spring in the middle of the desert. The spring was surrounded by wonderful green meadows, but there was a tree over the spring with no leaves on it. The tree was dry, as if there was poison under it instead of water.

The man sat by the spring, washed, drank some clean cool water that tasted sweet, and said, ‘Thank God! I wonder why this tree has dried. It stands by the spring and among green meadows. Why?’

After having rested, the man rose to his feet and set off. No sooner had he walked a little than he heard a voice.

‘Oh, man, you are going to God, aren’t you? Please tell him about my request!’

The man was astonished. He began to look from side to side, but he saw nobody. He thought, ‘Perhaps I thought I heard a voice.’ He continued walking. No sooner had he walkded a little, he heard the same voice again.

‘Oh, man, you are going to God, aren’t you? Please, tell him about my request!’

Moustache stopped and began to look from side to side again, but he saw nobody. He was terrified and thought that he was going out of his mind. Shaking with fear, he tried to walk, but suddenly, he saw the dried tree bend down and he heard the voice from there.

‘Oh, man, you are going to God! Please, tell him about my request too.’

The man understood that the voice was coming from the tree. He grew bold and said, ‘Certainly, I’ll do it with great pleasure!’

Moustache set out. The tree stood up straight again.

He crossed the desert and reached the sea. He stopped and thought how he could cross the sea. Suddenly, he saw a large fish appear. He heard a voice.

‘Oh, man, you are going to God! Please, tell him about my request. Tell him that I have a terrible unbearable headache. What should I do? If you tell him about it, I’ll take you across the sea.’

At that moment, Moustache wasn’t frightened and said, ‘Certainly, I’ll do it with great pleasure!’

The fish ordered him to sit on its back. Moustache sat on its back, and that way, they crossed the sea. When they reached the shore, the fish said again, ‘Please, don’t forget to tell God about my suffering!’

‘Don’t worry. I shan’t forget. I’ll tell him about it.’

Moustache said goodbye to the fish and set off. Some days later, he reached a camp. There were a lot of tents and fully laid tables in front of them. The tables were weighed down with the different kinds of viands. The soldiers and their commanders were eating, drinking, talking, and laughing together; some of them were sleeping. Chaos and disorder reigned there.

Moustache sat at the table, ate his fill, and put some food into his weathercock. He wondered who those people were. Suddenly, he noticed a wonderful tent made from scarlet silk among the other tents. He said, ‘I’m sure that the solution would be in this tent. I must find out.’

He went up to the tent. Nobody said anything. He grew bold and entered the tent. He saw a table covered by a wonderful tablecloth in the middle of the tent. The table was also weighed down with the different kinds of viands. Some people were eating; some were sleeping at the table. There was a gold throne, and a handsome young man was sitting on it. He was breathtakingly good looking. He was dressed in splendid clothes with beautiful jewellery. Moustache had never seen such magnificence, even in his dreams. As soon as the wonderful young man saw Moustache, he greeted him heartily and offered him a seat beside him. He said, ‘Brother, it seems to me that you are a traveller. If you are hungry, you may help yourself.’

Moustached said, ‘Thank you very much. I have had enough. I am full up. Could you tell me what all this means? What strange troops!’

The young man said, ‘Brother, I will not keep from you anything. I am a shah of this country and these are my troops, but my sorrow is great…’

The young man didn’t finish speaking, his eyes filling with tears.

Moustache looked at his magnificence, wealth, jewelry, at the young shah who was the owner of all this wealth, and thought, ‘Oh, my God! Does he have sorrow too? But who doesn’t have any sorrow in this world then?’

The shah asked, ‘Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you going?’

Moustache told the shah everything in detail. The shah said, ‘You may take anything you want from these tables. I don’t want you to be thirsty or hungry. Take anything you like for your journey. But if you find God, please tell him about my secret sorrow.’

‘Certainly, I’ll gladly do it. Only sufferers can understand sufferers.’

Moustache spent the night in one of the tents. He had a rest and set off at dawn. He was very satisfied and buoyant, and he walked with a jaunty gait and buoyant spirits. He had enough food. Suddenly he reached a ploughed field and was astonished. What a scene! There were plenty of people on the ploughed field and work was on in full swing: some were ploughing, some were sowing, some were threshing on the threshing floor, and the others were sorting everything. The work was going fine and everybody was working without respite.

Moustache seized one man’s hand and asked, ‘Brother, I entreat you in the name of God to explain to me what place it is, who all these people are, why you are working so hard!’

The man answered hurriedly, ‘This is the country of fortunes and lots. Each of us is a lot of a concrete person. While we are working, people are lucky. If we stop working and begin sleeping, they will be worse. Haven’t you heard the proverbs Someone’s fortune is on their feet. Someone’s fortune is sleeping?’

Moustache asked, ‘And where is my fortune?’

The man showed a waste ground that was overgrown with weeds.

‘Look! Your fortune is sleeping by the ditch near the baulk! How loudly he is snoring! Now leave me alone. I must work!’

When Moustache saw his sleeping and snoring fortune, he became furious. The waste ground that was overgrown with terrible weeds shook him. He came up to his sleeping fortune and struck him in the small of the back with his crook.

‘Hey, damn it! While I am disgraced before my family, you are sleeping and snoring here!’

Moustache began to beat his fortune. The fortune got up groaning, but Moustache continued beating him, wreaking his anger on him.

Suddenly, God saw it from the heavens and said to his angel Jabrayil, ‘Jabrayil, go down! Otherwise, Moustache will break his fortune’s back.’

Jabrayil came down and said, ‘Hey, man, stop beating him. Don’t break your fortune’s back!’

Moustache asked, ‘Who are you? Why are you meddling in the relation between my fortune and me?’

Jabrayil said, ‘I am God!’

Moustache got angry.

‘Really? Are you God?’ Saying it, he tried to strike Jabrayil on his head, but Jabrayil took wing and stood above the man’s head. Moustache shook his crook and shouted at the top of his voice, ‘You have moved away from me and now you are in the heavens. Come down and I’ll give you a box on your ears. You will understand all my shame before my family.’

While Moustache was arguing with Jabrayil, his fortune escaped from his grasp and began working. He joined the other fortunes and worked very hard too.

Jabrayil said, ‘Well, I am not God. I have joked with you. I am Jabrayil. Your fortune has already woken up. Now you may return to your family confidently.’

Moustache said, ‘Just a minute, Jabrayil. Stop just a minute, please! All my matters are in order. But there are some other requests. I have promised to tell God about them. I must keep my word.’

‘By order of God,’ Jabrayil said, ‘You may tell!’

‘If you know everything, explain the following situation. On my way here, I saw a dried tree. There was a spring under it. The tree was surrounded by the picturesque meadows, but it was quite dried…’

‘Oh, I know! There is a golden treasure under that tree. The tree has dried up because of it. The water can’t reach its roots. Go! God is presenting you with that treasure. Dig it up, and the tree will turn green.’

Moustache touched his thick moustache and said, ‘There is also a large fish in the sea that suffers from a terrible headache.’

Jabrayil answered, ‘I know it too. Once, Prophet Suleyman dropped his magic ring into the sea. The fish didn’t know anything and swallowed the ring. It stuck in its mouth, not far from its ear. If you pick the ring out of its ear with your crook, the headache will stop.’

Moustache stole a furtive glance at his fortune and saw him working hard. He thought, ‘How lucky I am! The ring!’ Then he looked at Jabrayil and said, ‘Oh, now about the young shah’s suffering.’

Jabrayil disappeared and then appeared again. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.

‘Man, you must know! That young shah is a beautiful girl. Her parents had no son, so they brought her up as a man, dressed her in men’s clothes. After her father’s death, she was chosen by her people and became a shah, but nobody obeys her. Now she has blossomed out. By order of God, you must marry her and become a shah!’

Moustache burst into peals of laughter and said, ‘Me? What are you speaking about? Evidently, God doesn’t know my wife. Really, she will tear me to pieces. She will dig my ancestors out of the ground and heave them on me. I’ll never do it. Save me from this danger!’

Jabrayil laughed and said, ‘It is up to you to decide. When you see the girl, tell her to choose one of her commanders and marry him. Let him become a shah instead of her. Thus everything will be in order.’

Moustache said, ‘That’s quite another thing. Goodbye!’

Then Moustache returned to his fortune, showed him his crook, and said, ‘Look and remember! If you dare to sleep, I’ll pay no attention to Jabrayil. I’ll come here and give you a terrible beating.’

After giving a good scare to his fortune, Moustache set off. When he reached the young shah’s country, he saw the same scene: disorder and chaos. He came into the scarlet silk tent. As soon as the young shah saw him, he asked, ‘Oh, man, did you find God?’

‘Yes, I did, Mistress!’

The young shah got angry.

‘Who is the mistress?’

Then Moustache told him everything without keeping anything back and said, ‘You are a beautiful girl, and it’s time to marry. Go and choose the best and bravest commander and marry him. Be a wonderful wife and mother.’

The girl was very glad. She gave Moustache a lot of presents and saw him off.

Then Moustache reached the sea. The large fish was waiting for him. As soon as the fish saw the man, it asked, ‘Did you find God?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you tell him about my suffering?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘What is the solution?’

‘Take me across me to the other shore and I’ll tell you.’

The fish took him to the other shore on its back and asked again, ‘What is the outlet?’

Moustache said, ‘I didn’t quite catch what you said. Please, come up to me nearer.’

As soon as the fish approached the shore, the man neatly extracted Suleyman’s magic ring from the fish’s ear with his crook. The man quickly put on the ring. The headache stopped and fish drew a sigh of relief.

‘Oh, thank God! I’m so grateful to you! I’m quite well!’

Then Moustache reached the desert and approached the spring. As soon as the tree saw him, it bent down and asked, ‘Did you find God?!’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you tell him about my suffering?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘What is the solution?’

‘Just wait a little. You’ll see.’

Moustache began digging the bottom of the tree. At last, he found a gold jug and put into his weathercock. Then he filled up the pit. At that moment, the water reached the roots of the tree. The tree drank its fill and said, ‘Oh, man, thank you very much! I’m so grateful to you!’

The man washed his hands and face, took his things, and went to his own country.

And now, my dear, let tell you about his family.

Yes… after he had left his family, their life got worse and more unbearable. The wise men of that country gathered and said, ‘We ought to be ashamed ourselves! Moustache was our herdsman for a long time. Unfortunately, he went out of his mind, left his family, and went roaming. We must take care of his family. It is matter of honour!’

The wise men decided to give the calves to Moustache’s eldest son and tell him to graze them. Thus, he could get some milk, cheese, and flour instead.

Moustache’s wife was very glad. She prepared some food and necessary things for her son, put them into his knapsack, and blessed him. Sometimes, she visited her son on the grazing-ground and kept an eye on him.

One day, her eldest son brought a mangy goat to her and said, ‘Mummy, I have found this goat in the mountains. I have tried to find out whose goat it is, but nobody wanted it. The people turned me out of the door, as they didn’t want their cattle to get the mange. So I have brought it here.’

The woman was very glad. She washed the goat with tobacco water and treated its wounds with kerosene. In two days, the goat recovered and its mange went off. It was quite healthy. It turned out that the goat was pregnant, and a week later, it gave birth to a couple of female kids. Thus, the family had both milk and bread. Then, the female kids also gave birth to a couple of kids, and the situation improved (Moustache’s fortune had woken up!). The family had a flock, and all their neighbours, wise men, were very glad for them.

One fine day, Moustache returned to his own country. On seeing the prosperity in his house, he grinned and remembered his fortune:

‘He isn’t a scoundrel. He is still working. God forbid if he sleeps!’

In short, Moustache joined his family, built a nice house, and bought a lot of wonderful clothes for his wife and children. Their life became better and happier. I wish you happy days, too, my dear!

The essence of this tale is: You shouldn’t rely on anybody in this world. You must create your fortune yourself. You must look for your happiness and find it yourself. Remember: no pain, no gain.

The Interpreter of Dreams

One of the greatest disasters in the world is a tongue, my dear! The proverb says: ‘One’s tongue runs before one’s wit.’ One must be master of his tongue.

Any word must be appropriate and pertinent. One must think over each word and be as good as one’s word. Otherwise, one can be in trouble because of the tongue.

Once upon a time, there lived a very satiated and impudent shah. He said to his vizier such terrible words that the poor vizier didn’t know what to do with himself. The shah was in the habit of asking him sudden tricky questions.

One day, the shah got up, washed, had breakfast, sat on the throne, and summoned the vizier. The vizier came up to the throne shaking with fear. He respectfully bent his head, folded his arms, and waited for the order.

The shah said, ‘Vizier, I had a dream last night. Wish it to be a good sign.’

‘Your Majesty, let it be a good sign!’

‘Why don’t you ask me about my dream?’

‘Your Majesty, if you consider it necessary, you will tell me about your dream. I don’t dare to ask you about it myself.’

‘Vizier, you must interpret my dream. Otherwise, I’ll die of impatience. When I had this dream, I woke up and couldn’t feel less like sleep.’

‘Your Majesty, please, tell me about your dream and I’ll try to interpret it.’

The shah gave a short smile ironically and said, ‘No, Vizier, if I tell you my dream, its impression will disappear. You must guess my dream yourself and interpret it.’

‘Your Majesty, for goodness sake! How can I guess what dream you had?’

‘No, Vizier, I won’t tell you. You must guess yourself.’

The poor vizier was astonished and taken aback. The shah said, ‘Vizier, you have only three days. If you don’t guess and interpret my dream, the executioner will chop off your head.’

The poor vizier left the shah’s palace shuddering with horror. He wandered aimlessly. Suddenly, he found himself at the edge of the village. He saw a man sitting and mending his shoes. When he saw the vizier, he was frightened and thought, ‘Who is this man? He is wearing such expensive clothes. What is he doing here?’ Then he said, ‘Brother, where are you from? You aren’t of this place.’

The vizier came to his senses and said, ‘Yes, you are right. I am not a local resident.’

‘You look very anxious.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘What is your trouble?’

‘Can you help me?’

‘Maybe.’

The vizier’s heart missed a beat. He said, ‘I’ll tell you everything without keeping anything back.’ And he told the man everything.

The man said, ‘Is that all?’

The vizier was stunned.

‘What do you mean? Are you joking? I have only three days. If I don’t find the interpreter of dreams, my head will be chopped off.’

The man thought that the vizier was joking. It’s impossible to guess anybody’s dream if you don’t know what dream it is. He didn’t know about the shah’s whim and said, ‘Oh, you are lucky! I am an interpreter of dreams. What will you give me?’

The vizier was beside himself with joy. He wanted to embrace and kiss the man. He gave him all money he had with him. He even gave the man his precious ring. The man was also beside himself with joy and happiness. He said, ‘I beg you, Vizier. Let me go home and make my family happy. They may worry about me.’

The vizier said, ‘All right, you may go home. Give all this money to your family. I’ll go and find a horse in your village. We must hurry to the shah’s palace. Time is short.’

The man went home damning his tongue, ‘May my tongue be withered! A plague on my tongue! Curse my tongue that said it!’

He came home, gave money to his wife, and told her everything. She began to cry and wail. The man said, ‘Wife, hide this money and ring in a reliable place as far as possible. It will be enough for our children. I’m going away. Bless me. I am neither an interpreter of dreams nor a fortune-teller. The shah will kill me.’

‘Go and rely on God. Hope for the best. Cherish the hope. God is merciful.’

The man left his house. He thought, ‘It would be better for me to go to the bloody ravine. They say the king of black snakes lives there. Let him bite me. Let him kill me. It’s much better to be bitten by the king of black snakes than to be killed by the executioner. Let people say that I was bitten by the snake on my way to the shah’s palace. Then, my family won’t be disgraced. If I am killed by the executioner, it will cause my family a lot of harm.’

He went to the bloody ravine. When he reached there, he went down and saw plenty of black snakes hissing. As soon as they saw him, they scattered. Only one of them stayed there. It was such an incredible snake! His black skin was glistening; there were emerald-green stripes on his skin. The wonderful crown was sparkling on his head like stars in the sky. The man came up to the snake bravely, walked round him, but the snake paid no attention to him and wasn’t going to bite him. The man built up his courage and stretched out his leg to the snake’s mouth. He wanted to make the snake bite him. Suddenly, the snake said, ‘Hey, man, what do you want? Why aren’t you going away? Leave me alone.’

The man said, ‘Oh, King of Snakes! Look, the shah had a dream. He didn’t tell anybody about his dream, but he wants his dream to be guessed and interpreted. The vizier has only three days. Time is up!’

The snake said, ‘What do you care? You have nothing to do with the case. You aren’t the vizier, are you?’

The man let out a sob.

‘You are right, oh, King of Snakes. I am neither a vizier nor a fortune-teller. I suffer from my own tongue. I told a lie. I said that I am an interpreter of dreams. The vizier will take me to the shah’s palace, and I will be able neither to guess nor to interpret his dream and I’ll be killed. If I don’t go there, the vizier will punish me.’

The king of snakes laughed and said, ‘It’s known that feet suffer from stupid heads. It turns out that heads can suffer from long tongues. Man, I am sorry for you. Go to the shah and say to him that he dreamt about foxes’ tails falling from the sky. It means that the shah is surrounded by people in the guise of foxes. They are very cunning. They scheme against the shah and want to ruin him. The shah shouldn’t trust anybody and should be on the alert. But you must give me exactly half of what the shah will give to you. Otherwise, there will be discord between us.’

The man was very glad and swore, ‘Oh, King of Snakes! I don’t need any wealth. All I have got from the vizier is enough. I’ll bring you everything.’

The king of snakes smiled ironically and thought, ‘We shall see what we shall see!’ and crawled into his hole.

The man returned to his village and got on a horse. When the vizier and he were leaving the village, the place was in a turmoil. The whole village gathered to look at them.

The vizier brought the man to the palace. The shah ordered them to bring him to his chamber.

The man said, ‘I’ll interpret the dream only alone with the shah.’

Everybody left the room. The shah sat on the throne waiting for his explanation. The man knelt down respectfully, kissed the ground, and said, ‘Your Majesty, you dreamt about foxes’ tails falling from the sky.’

As soon as the shah heard it, he exclaimed, ‘You are absolutely right! But how can you interpret it?’

The man answered, ‘Your Majesty, you are surrounded by very sly, cunning people in the guise of foxes. They intrigue against you and want to harm you. Beware of such foxes!’

The shah clapped his hands, called his courtiers, and said, ‘Let those who love me most of all give this man presents!’

The man was showered expensive gifts. There were such a lot of gifts that they had to load two camels. The man was very joyful. At first he wanted to give one of the camels with all the gifts to the king of snakes, but then he thought a little and said to himself, ‘To hell with him! What does the snake need wealth for? It’s necessary for people. He is a snake and he is the king of snakes. He can get any wealth he wishes, even more than all these gifts. It is my part. The shah will never need me, and I’ll never need the king of snakes.’

Thus, he forgot his promise and returned to his village. He built a wonderful house and began to live in grand style.

One day, the vizier’s servant knocked at his door and said that the shah had a dream again and wanted him to guess and interpret that dream. The servant hurried him.

The man was dumbfounded and thought, ‘It is all up with me! What a terrible mistake I made! If I had given the snake’s part to him, I would be able to go to his place again. But what should I do now? I’d better visit him. Let him bite me. He has a right to do it. If he doesn’t kill me, I’ll thrust this dagger into my heart.’

The man went to the bloody ravine. When he reached the ravine, the king of snakes was in front of his hole. His crown was sparkling like the stars. As soon as he saw the man, he grinned, ‘Oh, you have come here again!’

The man said, shaking with fear, ‘I have come, King! I would like to be your sacrifice. I am ashamed of myself. Bite and kill me!’

‘The shah had a dream, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he did. It is all up with me!’

‘Don’t be afraid. I’ll help you again. Go to the shah’s palace and tell him that he dreamt of wolves’ tails falling from the sky. Tell him to be very vigilant! He is surrounded by the beasts of prey. They are worse than wolves.’

Hearing it, the man was beside himself with joy.

The snake said, ‘But on condition that you will bring me exactly half of the gifts.’

The man could hardly say a word. He babbled, ‘Surely, surely. Your goodness saves me. I’ll give you everything, even my life. All I was given then is enough.’

The snake grinned, ‘Leave your life for yourself. Half of the gifts will be enough for me.’

Having said these words, the snake crawled into his hole.

The man ran for his life. He rushed without stopping and rushed into the shah’s palace. As soon as everybody left the shah’s palace, he knelt down, kissed the ground, and said, ‘Your Majesty, you dreamt about wolves’ tails falling from the sky.’

The shah exlaimed, ‘You are absolutly right! And how can you interpret it?’

The man said, ‘Your majesty, you are surrounded by very cunning people who are much worse than wolves. You should be vigilant and careful.’

The shah clapped his hands, called his courtiers, servants, and said, ‘Let those who love me give presents to this man! He was able to guess and interpret my dream. You all are wolves, blast you!’

The people were so frightened that they showered beautiful gifts upon the man, who had to load four camels instead of two. They honoured him and saw him off.

The man was very happy. While passing by the bloody ravine, he thought about the snake, ‘To hell with him! He doesn’t need wealth. He isn’t a man to wear clothes or jewellery. He can go to hell! I have to rid myself of him all at once. I am not going to give him anything.’

He approached the snake’s hole. The snake was basking in the sun in front of his hole. The gold crown on his head was sparkling like the stars. As soon as he saw the man, he crawled into his hole quickly, but his tail was on the outside—he didn’t have time to hide his tail. The man drew his dagger and threw it at the king of snakes. The dagger brushed against the snake’s tail, but it didn’t kill him. The man was frightened of snakes and got out of the ravine rapidly. He and his family were comfortably off. The man forgot his low trick.

God works in mysterious ways! Sooner or later, one must answer for his doing; one must be punished for his sins.

One day when the man was in a heavenly mood, one of the shah’s servants knocked at his door and said, ‘Hey, interpreter of dreams! Our shah had a new dream and he is waiting for you. He wants you to come to his palace immediately and guess and interpret his dream.’

The man sighed and thought, ‘I wish he hadn’t had that damned dream!’ He began damning himself, ‘If I hadn’t been so greedy and grasping, if I had shared the gifts with the king of snakes, I would be able to go to his place and tell him about it and he would help me. But I pinched his tail, I let him down, I cheated him. I’m afraid to appear in front of him. If I don’t guess and interpret the shah’s dream, he will kill me. He will either bring to ruin my family or send my family to the farthest village of our country. There is only one thing to do—I should go to the king of snakes. He is better than the shah. Let the snake kill me. If he does it, the shah will leave my family alone.’

Thinking of it, the man reached the bloody ravine and saw the king of snakes basking in the sun. As soon as the snake saw the man, he roared with laughter, ‘Why! You have come, haven’t you? I knew that you would come.’

The man could only mumble, ‘I’m guilty. I’m ashamed of myself. Bite and kill me, Brother Snake! I want you to do it.’

‘Oh, now we are brothers, aren’t we? I know your trouble. God loves three, so I’ll help you the third time on condition that you will bring me half of what you will be given.’

The man cheered up,

‘I swear, I don’t need anything. If I’m lying, let my children die. I’ll bring you everything, not half.’

‘No, I need only half. Go and tell the shah that he dreamt about sheep’s tails falling from the sky. Its interpretation is that he doesn’t have to be afraid of anything any longer. The people surrounding him have already grown quiet like sheep. He has to be afraid of neither anybody nor anything. Wolves and sheep coexist peacefully in his country.’

Having said it, the king disappeared in his hole. The man left without saying ‘thank you’ to the snake. He straddled the horse and darted off. He hurried to the shah’s palace so quickly that the air was full of dust. At last he reached the palace and spoke to the shah privately, ‘Your Majesty, you dreamt about sheep’s tails falling from the sky.’

The shah said, ‘You are absolutely right! How can you interpret it?’

The man answered, ‘Peace has been established in your country. Wolves are getting on with sheep peacefully. Everybody obeys and submits to you like sheep. You needn’t be afraid of either anybody or anything.’

The shah was very happy. He clapped his hands and exclaimed, ‘Let those who love me give him gifts!’

The man was given a beautiful bondmaid and such a lot of gifts that they all were loaded on eight camels. The man went to the bloody ravine with all these gifts. He approached the hole and saw only the snake’s crown sparkling like the stars. The man brought the camels and bondmaid to the hole, stepped back, and said, ‘Oh, the wisest king of snakes! You were very good to me. You have saved me from death several times. But I have always been greedy, insatiable, and mean. Everything that I have brought from the palace is yours. The previous gifts are enough for me.’

The king of snakes grinned bitterly and said, ‘Go and own your treasure! I need neither your wealth nor the beautiful bondmaid. I don’t need anything. Know that all the shah’s dreams interpreted by me were right. For the first time, you were one of those cunning foxes. For the second time, you were a treacherous wolf. You hit my tail, you cheated me. Now you are saying such beautiful words—you are bleating like a sheep. Go and use all your wealth. You are welcome.’

The snake disappeared in his hole quickly. The man returned home with his camels, gifts, and beautiful bondmaid. He lived happily, but he repented his misdeeds very much.

My dear children, you must live honestly in order not to repent your misdeeds.

Translated by Sevinj Maharramova

and edited by Iraj Ismaely

Sara Oghuz

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Fortune’s Wheel

Alakbar thought he was already able to bridle his desires and harness his dreams. His wisdom and experience made extinguishing the desires that sparked in a corner of his soul as easy as drinking water. When he weighed everything in his heart, he felt relief like a painter looking at his own creation. As he dived into the blue-green depths of the sea, he refreshed the picture, adding brightness and new colours to it. Every Sunday, he used to go to a stretch of coast, which like-minded people had illegally turned into a beach. When he got there, he felt he was beginning a new life. As he clambered over the dilapidated walls of the sanatorium and reached the rocks on the shore, the century and millennium seemed to change. The rocks stood nose to nose, belly to belly, reminding him of the era of the giant lizards. Their coarse, frightening appearance froze his blood in his veins. The old fig tree on the sandy beach near the rocks tried to hide its aged roots, laid bare by the wind. As though stroking the hair of a young woman, the wind caressed the sand dunes that were lined up along the shore like heaps of wheat on the threshing floor. A precipice bowed to the sea. The expanse of the sea suddenly appeared, embracing the sky and dazzling the eye. The uneven shore came alive with small clusters of people scattered here and there.

Alakbar would not look for his old acquaintances. He walked straight to the shade of the rock close to the old fig tree. Every Sunday from sunrise till noon, he was sure to find people crazy for the sea. One by one, sooner or later, they would hurry to the shade of the rock either to change their clothes or lie on the sand and sleep or join in the lazy talk of his beach friends lying on the sand.

Alakbar never slept so soundly and calmly at home as here. Wherever he laid his patch of linen the size of a prayer cloth down, it became a cradle for him. He used to find shelter and lie at the bottom of the rough rock, which felt like a flower bed in the cool of the morning. He would turn from one side to the other, and it seemed to him that he owned the whole world. He covered his face with an old straw hat and used to look into the sky through the holes. He also liked to pretend he was looking into the sky through binoculars and watched the circular particles sailing round and round as if in a rainbow.

When he was short of breath under the straw hat, he would turn his face and look out at the expanse of the sea, at the blue-green waves rushing after each other. Then he would turn back to the sky, to the line of jagged rocks, to the sea wrapping himself in infinity.

Till noon, he would feel as safe as in his mother’s womb. He would forget his own self in the bosom of nature, which he had missed the whole week. He knew that his fellow beach lovers would not leave him and go, nor would they disturb him and speak to him if he himself did not initiate it. He knew that his friends, just two steps away from him, would not stop wandering half-asleep along the moon-lit beach at midnight because of the heat and closeness. As the rays of the sun darkened and hardened the skin, this coolness chilled him, cured the wounds of his heart, refreshed him. The captives of the sea, who did their own thing until noon, would gather around an oil cloth in the shade of the rocks near the old fig tree at the same time, as if they had phoned each other, like the members of an ancient tribe. Each would take the food from their own bag, put it on the cloth, then share it with everybody there. These Sunday friends enjoyed food better than at any dinner party. Then they would wash their dishes in the sea and hide them together with the oil cloth in their usual place. Then they would start out for the station to take the train.

But this time, Alakbar suddenly awoke from his slumber. He felt that there was no movement, no noise. He removed the straw hat from his face. He turned on his belly and looked around. He smiled when he saw what people were looking at. Far from the shore, a couple (it was impossible to tell their sex) was disappearing, emerging, embracing each other in the sea. He thought in his heart: a young couple demonstrating their love. They have swum a long way from the shore so as not to be seen by anyone. And the people on the beach are staring at the poor youngsters as though they had never seen the like before. They are even pointing at them. Alakbar first wanted to turn on to his back and doze again. But he could not turn his gaze from the magic of the couple fighting in the waves, moving further and further into the depths of the sea. Their movements sometimes resembled a pas de deux in ballet and sometimes a cruel duel on the battlefield. Though it was impossible to tell male from female, Alakbar thought that the one that disappeared the most must be the female. There was something resembling the resistance, the capitulation of a woman. Alakbar leapt to his feet, crying out in a rush of feeling.

The land, the sky, and the sea had merged in huge infinity, as if this event was diminished by the huge backdrop of water, air, and land. In an instant, a crowd of men simultaneously jumped into the sea as a shoal of dolphins streamed as one towards the couple vanishing into the water. It seemed to Alakbar that in the waves of this huge sea, the men resembled a shoal of dolphins and the couple disappearing from sight formed a single body. Therefore, their movements were in harmony and connected with each other. Amazed by the grandeur of the scene, Alakbar moved automatically down from the rocks. In no time, he was burning his soles on the hot sand and at last reached the edge of the water. Thinking about his own safety as he scrambled down the rocks, he forgot what was going on in the sea.

When he reached the yellow sand of the beach, he was suddenly faced with a heroic scene from a film. A tall, handsome young man was emerging from the sea carrying a woman lying sideways in his arms. The head, arms, and legs of the woman hung down feebly, touching the young man’s knees as he walked. The dolphin men were also hurrying to the shore on both sides of him, in harmony. As the woman was laid on the sand, they began to perform artificial resuscitation. The couple, which Alakbar thought to be lovers, had been drowning. The man who rescued the woman had been tired and nearing the end of his strength. He had hardly been able to hold the weak body of the woman. The current had been drawing them into the sea. Somebody on the shore had seen them and cried for help. If the men had not reached them in time, the current would have taken the rescuer and the woman into the open sea. When Alakbar remembered his fantasy about the game of love, he was surprised at his own imagination. He involuntarily joined the men attempting to bring the woman back to life.

The woman had been put face down and shaken and slapped on her sides like a newborn baby. They massaged her belly in an attempt to get the water out. When Alakbar saw water spurting from her month together with bits of chewed up fig, his bones shivered in the heat of the sun.

Alakbar knew that there were many elderly pensioners among his Sunday friends. One of the reasons his friends covered such a long distance to come to the beach was the fruit of the big mulberry trees growing by the roadside and the gardens neglected by their owners. The pensioners headed for the gardens before sunrise in order to get there before the refugees and homeless children. They were eager to taste even the unripe fruit, which they could not buy in the market. They also picked medicinal herbs for their own treatment in the gardens and on