Khalid has written this piece about his Mother and her extraordinairy life. This work was shown to the writers group in Pudsey who all agreed that perfect English is not necessarily the main ingredient in telling a powerful story which has been written in another language. Too much attention to grammar and spelling and the emotional heart of a story could easily find itself lost in translation. Khalid has achieved a great balance here and produced some work which is poetic and has great clarity.
“In the very hot summer in my Country, Shade your eyes from the blinding Sun and look in to the distance you will see about fifty to sixty ancient houses made of clay and set in to green landscape . Don’t think it is mirage.
This verdure is the colour of the Berry and fig trees which are their presence similar in age my Grand Father. They state says there is a life here also. I remember I was going to my Grand parents house with my mother when I was small. I threw stones at these trees. In response to my cruelty, they gave me what they had, the figs and berries. After when I grew up I learnt this proverb from them. Humans must be like these trees.
If you look at the style of the houses and river, how it crosses the village, you can see that the builder of this village obviously was Samarian or Medyn or maybe Babylonian.
As I remember I was in my grandmothers house and she told me that on rainy night my mother signalled her arrival to the world in this house by her shouting . My mother, like all the woman from the third world countries had to live by the correct rules decided for her, a mans by the power was full. He was the ruler deciding what a woman must do or not, even the clothes she wore.
Her destiny was decided before she was born. But my mother when she grew up was brave like a modern woman. She defied these old rules and she chose her life for her self. A famous Russian writer, Dostoevsky, says that the strongest memory is a child hood memory. What ever happened to me or will ever happen, the memory of this day can never be removed. This day was when my father returned home suddenly and took my mother to the other room for few minutes.
He said “Khawar the revolution will start. I leave this children with you.take care of them in my absence you will act on my behalf. There is a great duty for me. Its the day that I have always dreamed of, we will fight against this regime for our children and the others. We must give them freedom. And about you I spoke with my comrade. They accept that you will start your duty as a messenger” I heard them after this fantastic conversation they came out of the room. My father called all of us together. we are four brothers and one sister. He kissed all of us and said” my little kids do what your mothers says” Tears ran down my mother face and she said ” they will do ” my father said “I will be away from home for some time ”
After he said farewell to us, he took his bag and he left and he didn’t came back. Since that time I did not have the joy of seeing my father even once?.
After that, at least once a week my mother she was going to the city or mountain as a messenger in the revolution. For all this dangerous and hard work she was still a mother completely. After several month of the
revolution she became a weak and her face changed at least 15 years older than her age, after the comrade in the mountains told her that my father had become hawk in the mountains. He become light for the rising generation. But my mother continued her duties with this tragic news, she didn’t stop.
One day my mother was travelling back form the mountain for a time she was very cautious and so she feel I ambush. some one had betrayed her. She was arrested whilst carrying documents from the revolution. They transferred her to the prison. For more then six months we lived without a mother also, we stayed at our uncles house in her absence. The revolutionary comrade after much hard work freed my mother. When she returned home she was very weak.
A few weeks later she decided to leave the village and we moved to the city. there the revolutionary comrades rented a house for us and they paid the rent. It was not obvious for me and my brothers why my mother decided to leave the village. By the time we knew the regime destroyed the village and taken the village people prisons. The excuse for this was that the village people had helped in the revolution. This was always the government plan, to destroy the village and take the to prison. We stayed in the city until the revolution had a victory and the regime was removed from power. The revolutionary comrades came to our house occasionally.
I think there is no poem or story or novel that can tell the tragedy of my country. If you look at the near, you will eyes fall to the new village. You can find all the services, health care, schools, paved streets.
The revolutionaries named the new village after my mother (KHAWAR )to show honour and respect to this revolutionary woman.”
