Her Faithful Eyes By Roya Khorshid January - March 1998 Lemar-Aftaab Darkness was putting its shadow on Anaar Gol's hut while she was trying to turn on her old oil lamp. She made herself some hot tea in her tiny steel kettle and placed it in front of her with some sugar and a piece of cold bread. That was to be her dinner. She took a few bites from the bread and sipped her tea quickly. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, for her entire week was spent sewing clothes for Mirza Habib's family. Sewing was her profession since she could remember. Spending her whole life in a corner and sewing by hand, she had turned into a hunch-back. Her dream was to be able to afford a sewing machine, but poverty stood in her way. As each day passed, she was getting weaker and less patient. Her fingers and arms no longer had the strength they used to have. Her back was always in pain, her eyes wearied, and yet, she had no choice but to sit and sew. Tonight, she was especially tired and felt the need to take some extra minutes, eating her dinner. Suddenly, she remembered that Nowrouz was coming in three days; Mirza's family needed their clothes and she needed the money for food. She put her food aside and started sewing the green dress for Mirza Habib's wife, Khanom Gol. The darkness prevented her from seeing her work, so she made the lamp brighter. She moved up her head to sip her tea and saw her shadow on the wall. She studied the dark figure on the wall carefully and thought how the shadow was her only friend through out life. People might have changed their ways with her, leaving her stranded in the middle of nowhere, but her shadow was always there, loyal and accompanying her every step of her life. Its only change was that it, too, looked weaker and smaller with a convex hump on its back. It used to be tall and upright like Anaar Gol, but life's obstacles had altered both her shadow and herself. Anaar Gol's father had died before she was born. Her mother had ran away from her village to escape a forceful marriage to her brother-in-law. She had settled in Chashma Saar, working in Mirza Qayum, Mirza Habib's father's, house as a servant. The people seemed to accept her until they found out that she was carrying a child. In a matter of days, the "wise" ones of the village had spread the rumor that she had run away because she was carrying an illegitimate child. They wanted her out for fear of a bad name, but Mirza Qayum, out of the goodness of his heart, sought permission for her to stay on the condition that she would be banished from all village activities. Anaar Gol was born to the lonely world of her mother, a world that she would inherit, too. She was a normal, healthy baby with beautiful black hair, a straight nose, a nice mouth, and a very unique pair of eyes. It was not the shape of the eyes that mesmerized one; it was their color. One was as black as a moon-less night while the other was a strong blue, like the mighty ocean. To her mother , her eyes were a blessing from God and to the villagers, it was a curse thrown upon her for being illegitimate. This "curse" was to follow and haunt her entire life and it did. She grew up as an outcast , being mistreated by her community. To the children, her name was not Anaar Gol or Anaari as her mom called her; instead, it was "devil's child," "spurious girl," "bastard" and worst of all, "wicked eyes". Her innocence kept her in ignorance until she turned into a young woman. No longer accepting things as they appeared, her mind questioned the intrigue behind her eyes and her mandatory seclusion. She would ask her mother what was so wrong and evil about her eyes. Is that the reason she was disliked by everyone? Why were her eyes that way? Why couldn't they be the same as others? Was the strangeness of her eyes a curse of illegitimacy? And her mother would always give her the same answer: "Your beautiful eyes are a blessing, not a curse. What they say is worthless, for God is a witness to our innocence." In the beginning, that was an acceptable answer, but now, even God was not an acceptable excuse for her. She would sit in the corner of the Haveli in the sunshine, and while sewing, she would think of finding solutions to her problem. What she didn't know was that she would spend years in that corner, thinking, and the only useful thing coming out would be the clothes she sewed. As if her life was not without hardship, it took away her only friend and family- her unfortunate mother. No one offered help to arrange a funeral for her and once again, Mirza Qayum did everything in his power to make sure that she got a final resting place. Lonely no longer sufficiently explained how she felt, for she was far worse. She would stare at her eyes in her mother's little mirror, and blame them for everything. As days passed, she started to believe she really was cursed and that was why she was deprived of everything in life, even family. She decided to completely seclude herself from all humankind and if people were afraid of her eyes, she didn't blame them because her eyes were wicked. So she just spent many lonely days and nights in a corner, sewing and pondering. After a few years, Mirza Qayum arranged for her to marry one of his farmers, Shah Agha. There was a short religious ceremony for them and in less then twenty minutes, she was married to a man she had never seen or heard of. He took her to his only possession on earth, his tiny hut and her new life began there. Even though it took him weeks to be able to look her straight in the eye, he ended up admiring her every move. The blue and black colors of her eyes looked more beautiful and mesmerizing to him as each day passed. Anaar Gol's struggling life had changed for the best this time and she was the happiest woman on earth for two months, for Shah Agha, just like her mother, left her again alone in the world. His death affected her in a way that was far from one's anticipation. She would sit in the dark hut, and cry for hours and laugh. She would pick up his clothes and talk to them, thinking they were him. Someone had even reported to Mirza that she was caught trying to dig Shah Agha's grave one night, so he sent his wife to comfort her. She came back convinced that she had gone insane. The villagers had complained that her cries in the middle of the night frightened them, but no one had the heart nor courage to stop her. "Oooof!", Anaar Gol cried, as she poked herself with the needle. The pain had brought her back to the present, sitting in her dark hut, sewing Khanom Gol's green dress, which now had a few drops of blood on it. Her face was wet with tears and sweat and her eyes were hurting. She hadn't cried for a very long time. She pulled her mother's mirror from underneath her pillow and after many years, looked at herself. Her face looked tired, but without any indications of her struggles; it almost looked expressionless. It was her eyes that held all the pain and the injustice of her life. She realized that her black eye, which used to be as dark as the midnight, had taken the color of cold ashes, and her ocean blue eye looked as gray and dull as a rainy sky. That night, she sat there for hours, staring at them, and the more she looked at them, the more her hatred toward them enhanced. Finally, when she had enough, she threw the mirror against the wall with a loud, painful cry and closed her eyes to end the misery forever. Roya Khorshid is a member of the Association of Afghan Writers. Copyright © 1998 Aftaabzad Publications. All Rights Reserved. May not be duplicated or distributed in any form without permission.