THE LAMP REMAINED BURNING
The imam of the village was still
there. He had not left. Unlike him, imams from nearby villages left before
other emigrants from their communities. Imam Hassan had a different vision
of religious obligation. He was educated and broad-minded. During the
period of the Yugoslav Kingdom he served as an imam in the military. For
the first couple of years of his service the garrison’s priest engaged in
an attitude of superiority, even offending the imam on occasion. However,
that did not last long. In a short period of time Imam Hassan proved that
he did not deserve such treatment. He used to read a lot. In order to
fulfil his duties properly he daily increased his religious knowledge; he
even read many books on Christianity. So, from the beginning he
demonstrated that he could stand side-by-side with the garrison’s priest in
fulfilling his duties. For that reason the Muslim soldiers who served in
his garrison were proud of their imam. After every Friday prayer,
especially, they listened to his sermons with great adoration and
attention. Even long after they finished their military service, the young
soldiers were happy to receive the imam into their homes as a cherished
guest.
After the Second World War, Imam Hassan faced a great
problem. The old Yugoslav Kingdom’s army was dismissed. The new conquerors,
the Bulgarians, didn’t want any Muslim soldiers in their service, therefore
leaving the imam unemployed. So that he and his family would survive, he
accepted an assignment to a village far from the place he used to live. It
was a small village. He soon became accustomed to life in the village, and
the people who lived there soon accepted him into their community and loved
him dearly. He was a wise, capable, pleasant, modest man. Imam Hassan was
not only an imam for them, but also somebody always ready to help them in
many different ways.
Imam Hassan never mentioned anything about leaving the
village, though it was obvious he would. He couldn’t possibly stay there by
himself, all alone. He always said that he would be the last one to leave
the village, like a brave captain who leaves the sinking ship last.
Hashim Aga had great respect for Imam Hassan. His son, Veli,
had read his first verses of the Quran with Imam Hassan. Imam Hassan was
present at all the family’s happiest moments, like when the son was
circumcised and later when he was married. He always prayed for the health
and happiness of Hashim Aga’s family.
As Hashim Aga thought about this, he remembered an event that
occurred when the first emigrations started.
In the days when his fellow villagers were in search of
customers for their property, Hashim Aga started to build a fountain on the
road leading to the large town nearby.
Imam Hassan, who was passing by, said, "Hashim Aga, you are
just like our old rulers, the pashas and the governors. Even though they
knew it was the end of their rule here and they would soon have to leave
these areas, every now and then in various parts of Rumeli, they built new
schools, hospitals, and post offices, as if they wanted to show they had no
intention of leaving these places. You too, though you know very well that
you’ll have to leave and say farewell to this village, you’re building a
new fountain. What for, Aga?"
Hashim Aga answered, "I am building this fountain for those
who come after us, Imam Hassan. For the ones coming… after we leave this
village there will be others coming for whom this fountain will provide
drinking water."
"Hashim, what are you talking about? None of our fellow
villagers was able to sell their house or land. Who would want to come to
this small, remote village? Haven’t you realized yet that not a single soul
is coming here after we leave?"
"They will come, Imam Hassan. They will come. When we all
leave the village they’ll take up our lands and houses. This is a nice
place to live. They all know we’ve made up our minds to leave, that’s why
they’re not buying our houses. Once we leave they’ll all come. Then, when
they come, they’ll knock down the Mosque. Even if they don’t, the mosque
will soon be in ruins, because no one will take care of it. But the
fountain nobody will knock down, because they’ll need it. Who knows? Maybe
they’ll even name it after me—Hashim Aga’s Fountain. That’s why, Imam, I
want this fountain to be a salaam for those coming after us. It’s in our
nature, it’s an old custom we’ve inherited from our grandparents. We always
want to leave something behind us. We’re a people that wants to do good
things!"
Imam Hassan simply said, "Well, you certainly know what
you’re doing!"
Hashim Aga was sitting next to the fireplace with three of
his friends who came to bid him farewell. There was a deep silence in the
room, interrupted by the voice of Hanimsha, his wife.
"Our daughter-in-law is asking whether she can take the
cradle," she said.
Hashim Aga stared at his wife in a stupor, unable to say yes
or no. Hanimsha patiently stood in front of him, waiting for an answer. For
a while they just silently looked at each other.
At first his wife’s question angered him. They were leaving
the house, the land owned by his grandfathers, and she was asking whether
she could take the cradle! At that moment he was ready to tell her all
those things he later would have regretted saying, but then he remembered
that this was the very cradle his grandfather had made from an old walnut
tree. He, his children, and his grandchildren had all been raised in that
cradle. That is why he said, "Let her take it. At least we will have
something to remind us of our childhood."
His wife left to pack the last belongings before they left.
Hashim Aga again fell into deeply grave, gloomy thoughts. The fact that he
was leaving this place was breaking his heart; he just couldn’t accept it.
He, the grandson of Adam Aga, the majordomo of Zulfikar Bey’s estate, had
to leave the land of his grandfathers. It hurt his pride and dignity.
Moreover, a heavy burden of guilt lay upon him. He thought that by leaving
this place he was betraying his ancestors. That is why he wanted to leave
last. There were even times when he wanted to say to Imam Hassan, "Go, Imam
Hassan, you too leave this place, so I can be the last to desert it!"
Occupied by his gloomy thoughts, he fell asleep he by the fireplace.
Dawn was breaking when he felt his wife’s hand on his
shoulder. "Wake up! Sulejman`s carriage is in front of the house," she
said.
Hashim Aga, perhaps because he fell asleep by the fireplace,
or perhaps because of his grief, was soaking wet. While he was wiping the
sweat from his forehead, he said, "Good you woke me up. I was having a
nightmare. I was dreaming about our son we lost a long time ago. With his
hands stretched out toward me, he was begging me not to leave him alone
here, to take him with us."
"Inshallah this bad dream is for the good. Now go put our
luggage on the wagon. I’ll go wake the children," Hanimsha said, her eyes
moist.
The children woke up. All their luggage was loaded on the
wagon. Hashim Aga first made room for their grandchildren; he put the
youngest one in the cradle, and the eldest one was already peacefully
sleeping in one corner of the wagon. He tried to appear calm. It was not
hard to see that his son and daughter-in-law were in a state of panic. His
son, Veli, kept going in and out of the house, always bringing out
something he had not taken with him but desperately wanted to. Then, when
he realized there was no more room in the wagon, he would take it back to
the house.
Sulejman, realizing that his neighbors were in dire straits,
said, "Don’t worry, calm down. There is plenty of time till the train
leaves. We’ll make it on time; and the weather is just fine."
Hanimsha and Hashim Aga were the last to leave the house. She
wanted to turn off the lamp.
"Don’t turn it off, let it burn. Once it is out of gas it
will go out by itself," Hashim Aga said.
They put the lock on the latch of the gate, but they didn’t
snap it shut. Whoever came could just walk into the house, could even live
there.
From that day on, like other emigrants’ houses, Hashim Aga`s
house would be empty. There would be nobody to look after it, and very soon
the birds and mice would build their nests there. He knew this very well.
There was nothing he could do about it. Departures that had started with
the Balkan Wars finally knocked at his door. He was paying his share of the
five-hundred-year-old bill of history.
Hashim sat next to Sulejman. As he turned his head to check
on his family, his house caught his eye. He noticed that the two poplar
trees in front of the house had grown very tall. Hashim planted them when
his children were born. When his daughter was getting married he wanted to
sell them to provide her a proper dowry. But the crops were so good that
year that there was no need to cut the trees and sell them. These memories
filled his eyes with tears. Hashim didn’t want his family to notice his
tears or see him so defeated, so he just said, "Let’s go, Sulejman." His
voice was hoarse; his soul was on fire. They started the journey. Just a
few months ago, Hashim Aga himself was seeing off his friend Kucuk Yousef
at the train station. At the time Kucuk Yousef said, "Ah, Hashim Aga,
there’s no coming back from this departure."
Hashim Aga remembered these words. Kucuk Yousef was right.
Hundreds, thousands of times, this road led him to the large town nearby.
Each time he left the village he came back with sweets and chocolates, to
the joy of his children and grandchildren. This time he was leaving and not
coming back again. Leaving and not coming back. He remembered that Kucuk
Yousef was much stronger than he was when he left the village. There were
no tears in his eyes, only an old song on his lips:
Mountains, mountains, ruined mountains.
My face is smiling, my heart is crying
Go and ask why it is crying…
Hashim Aga`s eyes were still moist, his jaws an iron vise.
Everybody in the wagon was silent. For a while his youngest grandson,
disturbed by the jolts of the wagon, woke up and cried. Very soon he fell
asleep again.
In Imam Hassan`s house the lamp came on. He was preparing for
Morning Prayer. That morning Hashim Aga would not attend the Morning
Prayer. The mosque congregation had lost one more member. A day at a time
the prayer row was shrinking. Imam Hassan was very aware of that. That
morning, as he had done for each soul who left the village, he would pray
for Hashim Aga and his family. He would ask Allah to give them happiness,
health, and peace wherever they went.
The village roosters started to crow. In the east dawn was
breaking.
Translated by Dilara Dzafic
