Short Story: A Man's Love

[shovon13]

A Man’s Love

- The Matchmaker

That year of the ‘True Era’ also marked the 25^th year of my life. For most of the decade passed, I had been traveling across the heart of the Eurasian continent - from Khorasan, through the sacred sands of Hejaz, to the great city called Constantinople. Then I had settled for a time below the Caucasus Mountains, on the ancient lands of Armenia – and had built myself a wooden abode near the mountainous woods of Khosrov Forest. I had a horse for companionship and support, a Karabakh.

This era of peace is kind to a young man. While I journeyed, I met a number of women and men who had imparted wisdom and assistance on me. I had begun by saying goodbye to my mother. I saw the Earth in front of me - as if painted in aquarelle– in her eyes, when I turned back toward her one last time while she waved goodbye. Her strong shoulders hid the weakness she might have been feeling at that moment. Resolve is a thorny rose, stained with the blood of heroins.

I met a man in a perahan wa tunbaan on the outskirts of Kandahar, sitting by a field of grapes and enjoying some kishmish. A younger man – and yet older than me – traveled alongside me for a short while as we passed near the city of Shiraz. A woman near Basrah supported me with dates and knowledge of the path ahead.

My hut at the feet of the Gegham mountains was a good ride from Lake Sevan, past the rivers Tzakkar and Yeranos. I had taken up fishing to sustain me, along with a bit of farming to provide myself and my horse with grains and legumes. In the orange of the setting Sun, I sometimes sat by my steps and scribbled symbols on parchments – mostly in an effort to grasp the dimensions of whole numbers. What is it that takes One from zero to one? From profound silence to a comforting monotone? To Life?

It was during one such evening that I saw her, perplexed eyes that stared back at me in fearful curiosity, the rest of her camouflaged among the leafy woods. As I turned on my straw bed that night - I realized that the fear I had seen in her was for me, not of me. But I struggled to understand. I did not see her again for a few months, though she lingered on in my thoughts.

***

Later, a new morning marked the completion of one half of one year since my arrival at the Khosrov Forest. A warm stellar glow had begun to bathe me while I saddled my horse. She stood serenely, and the season was winding down. I sensed a comfort in her eyes as I massaged her neck and shoulders. “Hey, do you remember how I found you?” I asked her. The mare half-snorted at the memory and lifted her shoe to smack a mini boulder lodged in to Earth. “You made me chase you for three days. And even then, afterwards when you feigned some interest and when I tried to treat you, you ran off again. Those were some good raisins you know. A man in Kandahar had given them to me.”

After hearing all of this, the horse was bored and started toward the lake with an easy gallop – without me. This was not unexpected from her. My father had once told me of our opposite gender – “I understand a male ape better than your mother.” I had realized this better after meeting my horse.

So I started behind my mutinous mare with a slow jog, taking careful strides through the remainder of the down-slope, then settling into a faster pace toward the lake. We ran like this for an hour, past fields and fields – then alongside Tzakkar for a bit. The leader of the two-mammal group soon found a place to her liking. She began to graze by the course of water, after giving me some trouble about unloading her saddle. “You are quite something today,” I chastised her. She snorted again and took off.

“She only means love, and wants you to spend time with her,” an unknown voice spoke from a nearby tree. I retreated swiftly and unsheathed my knife into my left hand, while pulling out a dart from my right waist pouch. A moment passed, during which I felt a connection to the eyes from many weeks prior to the voice I had just heard. “These are times of peace, friend. What unnatural purpose do those weapons serve?” the voice spoke again, and her voice roughened while uttering the word ‘weapons’.

“To overcome challenges. A man must always be ready for battle, not for war – but to participate in sports against other men,” I returned, while restoring the sharp edges.

“A brutal way to live,” she commented while announcing her appearance in the light. Her qualities were hidden, beneath a bubbling surface. She reminded me of a foggy and moonlit night – whence hidden mystery intermingles with truthful clarity to affect one’s heart in a way that has not yet been explained by scholars. Alas! Books of scholars were all I was equipped with to attempt at becalming my then beating chest.

“Yes,” I muttered, not clearly knowing what it was I was replying to. The newly discovered girl walked towards me as would a comfortable friend. She sat nearby, and laid her eyes on me again. This did not help.

“It is best for you not to approach a strange man in such a manner,” I blurted out.

“So?” She looked incredulous at my unexpected statement. “All men that I know, and all women, and all strange women and men that I have met – not one have ever been as hostile as you. We live free in this Age of Truth, liberated from the bondage of fear. What a thing to say, and what a horrible time you allude to.”

She looked unsettled, but remained seated. I was unsettled. I was not certain of a reason behind my apparently roguish remark. I looked at my horse, and found some comfort. She noticed this.

“You have a good mare. She is quite loyal to you,” she offered.

“Yes,” I managed.

***

That was our second meeting, on the eve of winter. My family of two weathered the snowy season with our six feet up, sleeping for fourteen hours and worrying over ration during the rest. But I never saw her in the snow. I did not see her with her black hairs white, not with her sleeve-covered arms stretching out from behind a branch to pull at some twigs, not as she admonished me as I pulled at my cold-stuck knife in its sheath. I spent the winter with my horse and my symbols, but I looked about.

***

We met again at the beginning of spring. Now she was accompanied by another, a man. Her moonlit night felt foggier. I had been traveling on my mare back from the lake, with baskets tied to either side of her saddle. We had been fishing for a long while, and were carrying the fruits of our labor. The horse neighed happily as we crossed a bridge on our way back to the hut. I was about to ask her if she had given up on hay in favor of fish. But I saw her riding toward us. She had neighed in anticipation of companionship, and in greeting an old acquaintance. A man of a similar countenance followed some meters behind her. He was riding on a gray Orlov Trotter, wearing a Taraz with a silver belt. I did not like him.

“Barev, friend. How are the fishes?” She shot a greeting.

“Barev. Gutted. I like to prepare them before storage.” I responded as I brought my horse to a stop.

The man in the silver belt trotted up to us.

“Do you like to pickle them, before storage?” He asked.

“I salt them.” I returned.

A moment hung, before she spoke again.

“We rode this way in hopes of seeing you.”

“It is pleasant to see you.” I admitted, before giving a reluctant nod to the accompanying man. He nodded back.

“I must admit, we rarely see strangers brave this forest through a winter. May I ask of your heritage?”

I was taken aback by the man’s mannerisms. I preferred that he was confrontational. I much rather preferred to drive him into the ground.

Then I leashed back my thoughts. This was unfamiliar. Perhaps I needed to meditate more.

“I come from Bharat.”

***

No man can tell the story of his own love, for Love encompasses his beyond. Though he may tell stories of other loves, studied from without. So, I wish to tell you a love story.

The girl was called Parandzem, and the boy with the silver belt was called Hakob. Their families lived nearby, on the beautiful plains of Armenia. Parandzem loved to eat sweets, but Hakob found them unhealthy. He was a well trained man of my age, versed in both ancient literature and contemporary science. She was a free spirit, bursting everywhere.

I met them many more times over the ensuing Spring and Summer. Parandzem loved Hakob. Hakob’s usual conservative demeanor changed when he played with her. He became a boy, a friend in her games. Those were the only times I saw her laugh fully – an ache that I may never forget. Her spirit unfolded over the grassy fields, carrying the moths, the grasshoppers, the birds, alongside.

I never saw such beauty, as I saw in Parandzem when Hakob professed his love for her. He did it in many ways – with the fast dive when she slipped on a wet stone, and with his eyes when she cared for his wound afterward; with an unplucked flower; when they swam together; during a meal when he offered her sweets that he obtained earlier; again; and again.

I am afraid it is a short story. That Fall I decided against braving another winter among the woods of Khosrov. My mare and I began traveling towards Tehran. An old acquaintance of my parents had been living there.

[shovon13]

I want to use this occasion to protest a recent Turkish Decree that suggests conversion of the Church of Hagia Sophia into a masjid. I believe that this act shall NOT stand the test of Time, nor shall it be considered favorably by history.

[Shingara]

Why are you protesting?
It was a church during the Byznatine empire. The Ottoman empire turned it into a mosque. It was then turned into a museum but has now resumed prayers. You were not Ottoman and are neither Turkish. So, what's it to you? Nijer chorkay tel dow.

I am pleased that I can visit it without paying hefty tourist fees. There was nothing inside worthwhile.

[shovon13]

Originally Posted by Shingara
Why are you protesting?
It was a church during the Byznatine empire. The Ottoman empire turned it into a mosque. It was then turned into a museum but has now resumed prayers. You were not Ottoman and are neither Turkish. So, what's it to you? Nijer chorkay tel dow.

I am pleased that I can visit it without paying hefty tourist fees. There was nothing inside worthwhile.

Why do you have a problem with my protest? Do we not express contrary beliefs on subjects, and argue to increase our knowledge? [although you have lost that merit with your ignorant comment, so my respond should be likewise].

I am a Muslim, and the current Turkish acts are contrary to my beliefs. I am fully aware of the history of the Church, of Ottoman history in general, of the Young Turks and their root motivations, of the supposed Turkish 'hero' Kemal Ataturk.

If you are a Muslim, then study your own religion. Think before posting comments on subjects that are beyond your grasp. Unless, of course - you are an instrument of the satanic engine running the world right now. Then beware.

Nijer chorkay tel dow, buddy. And look in the mirror while doing so.

[Shingara]

Originally Posted by shovon13
Why do you have a problem with my protest? Do we not express contrary beliefs on subjects, and argue to increase our knowledge? [although you have lost that merit with your ignorant comment, so my respond should be likewise].


I am a Muslim, and the current Turkish acts are contrary to my beliefs. I am fully aware of the history of the Church, of Ottoman history in general, of the Young Turks and their root motivations, of the supposed Turkish 'hero' Kemal Ataturk.


If you are a Muslim, then study your own religion. Think before posting comments on subjects that are beyond your grasp. Unless, of course - you are an instrument of the satanic engine running the world right now. Then beware.


Nijer chorkay tel dow, buddy. And look in the mirror while doing so.

So, a mosque has resumed it's use as a mosque again.
And ..... you are protesting because ????
Tumi Turkish na, onno desher decision niye protest na koira nijer desher aro onek jhamela niye protest koro jegulu worthwhile.

[shovon13]

Originally Posted by Shingara
So, a mosque has resumed it's use as a mosque again.
And ..... you are protesting because ????
Tumi Turkish na, onno desher decision niye protest na koira nijer desher aro onek jhamela niye protest koro jegulu worthwhile.

I am a Muslim, so I fight for Hindus. I fight for Christians. I fight for Buddhists. I fight for Jews, Sikhs, and other Faith. And I expect the followers of those religions to fight for Muslims. This is the world we are working to create.

Hagia Sophia is a symbol of oppressive Muslim policies over centuries. Muslims are going to correct their mistakes by returning this Church to its former state, an immensely important place of worship for the followers of Prophet Isa (p.b.u.h.). In return, we expect the Christians, Jews, Hindus, and followers of other faith to atone for their past oppression over Muslims.

This is the world we are moving toward. This is in accordance with the teachings of the Quran.

[Shingara]

Originally Posted by shovon13
I am a Muslim, so I fight for Hindus. I fight for Christians. I fight for Buddhists. I fight for Jews, Sikhs, and other Faith. And I expect the followers of those religions to fight for Muslims. This is the world we are working to create.

Hagia Sophia is a symbol of oppressive Muslim policies over centuries. Muslims are going to correct their mistakes by returning this Church to its former state, an immensely important place of worship for the followers of Prophet Isa (p.b.u.h.). In return, we expect the Christians, Jews, Hindus, and followers of other faith to atone for their past oppression over Muslims.

This is the world we are moving toward. This is in accordance with the teachings of the Quran.

In Britain, many churches have been bought by Muslims and have been turned into mosques. What do you have to say to that?

[shovon13]

Originally Posted by Shingara
In Britain, many churches have been bought by Muslims and have been turned into mosques. What do you have to say to that?

I have some information of the on-ground indoctrination happening all over Europe in the name of Islam. Same is happening in the United States in the name of Christianity. These are endeavors that only serve to bloody the feet of believers on their path.

I cannot say which one of those masjids are being used as a front for nefarious purposes. As a broad rule, a Muslim should be respectful of churches, and of course, of masjids.

Hagia Sophia is a symbol, Church among churches - perhaps akin to Al Azhar Masjid in Cairo. The conversion of this church serves to continue the wedge that has been lodged between families of faith for centuries. For this and some other reasons, I am able to make a definite statement with regard to this.

I may be unable to respond to any more of your queries.

[Shingara]

Have you been to Hagia sophia?
There is nothing inside, I repeat NOTHING ... there's a mural and that's the only Christian thing about it.