The Happiness of the Qarasu Valley is the work of Ali Mohammad Afghani.
Qarahsu is the name of a river in Kermanshah, and Afghani is a writer who writes in the style of social realism. He created the book Shadkaman Darreh Gharasoo in 1344 using the ordinary way of life of the people in the street and the bazaar. According to some critics, beautiful descriptions and precise characterizations are the features of this book.
Bahram Saviz was 19 years old. His father, Ustad Bashi, was an experienced 60-year-old man who had gone to Doroud, a rural area east of Kermanshah, as necessary. Ustad Bashi had agreed to build a dam on the Qarah Su River for Badi al-Mulk and his brother Jalayr Khan, who owned the villages of Dorud, and deliver it in six months.
But now, eight months had passed, and three times in a row, the spring floods had removed the dam and taken it away. Ustad Bashi had hardly compensated some of the damage. Bahram, who was going to high school in the city, when he saw that his father was in need and for the family’s livelihood, he exiled himself to ten, left school and went to exile to help his father out of duty as a child.
About the author of the book Shadkaman Darreh Qarasu, Ali Mohammad Afghani
Ali Mohammad Afghani was born on December 12, 1304 in Kermanshah. He was born into a relatively poor family. After finishing high school in his hometown, he came to Tehran and entered the officer’s college. As an outstanding student, he went to the United States on a scholarship, where he became acquainted with literature and novels. In 1333, when he returned from the United States, he was arrested on charges of membership in the party and was transferred to Qasr Prison for 4 years.
In prison, he began writing the novel “The Deer Lady’s Husband”, which depicts seven years of a family life, and tells the story of Seyyed Miran Sarabi, a man with a deer and the uninvited guest of his second wife, Homa. . This novel was named one of the most important Iranian classic novels and in 1340 was selected as the selected novel by the “Iranian Book Association”.
After his release from prison, he was hired by a Japanese company, then wrote the book The Happiness of the Qarahusu Valley. He expected “Shadkaman Darreh Qarahsu” to be well received by “Ahoo Khanum’s husband”, which did not happen and was only mentioned in some magazines; “It was intentional and they wanted to beat my book,” Afghani said.
After that, he did not write anything for 10 years, because he worked for a Japanese company to finance himself, in which there was a healthy working environment, and he received a decent salary and worked alone. He also thought that if he wanted to write, he would fall into the trap of the regime’s newspapers, and the literary atmosphere of the time would be published with the help of government spending, which he would have to cooperate with. Afghani published books in later years, but his other works did not become as popular as “The Deer Husband”.
Afghani has written less short stories and believes that his short stories do not match some of the short stories of other writers. Afghani immigrated to the United States and settled there. He also wrote his biography in English.
Excerpts from the book Shadkaman Darreh Qarasu
The land must have been plowed and prepared beforehand, and corn and millet or beans and hemp can be planted in the place of the finished cows. The thirsty slaves under Julian are now praying for rain. None of the inhabitants of this Saman dreamed that one day the Julian slaughter would draw its third water from Qarahsu.
At the beginning of the book Shadkaman Darreh Qarasu we read:
Bahram Saviz, who was saying goodbye to his mother in the dark and light of that morning, the moment when the clock of the Emad al-Dawla Mosque announced the end of the night with five consecutive beats, had passed the city after six miles of continuous march. It was three in the afternoon. However, even though he weighed more than twenty kilos and walked all the way in the heat of June, he did not feel tired at all.
Kadkhoda Buchan Siahgili, the hostess of him and his father in Deh, as soon as he noticed the hustle and bustle of the dogs from a distance, ran to greet him in front of the pavilions. The river is working on the dam they wanted to build;
His father, Ustad Bashi, brought lunch to the pavilions that day because he did not have much time to work. Then, with the help of his thirteen-year-old daughter, who was pounding salt in the shadow of a crack, he took the items that the ten dealer had brought with him from the city to offer to the villagers to the clean, lined tent that counted the court ten.
Bahram, on the side where the sun was shining and was still at the peak of its warmth and radiance, turned his eyes to the river with his canopy over his eyes and looked at the shore from afar. There, a group of fifty dam builders were moving from side to side with a swarm of ants who had seen sunny weather on their roofs after a few days of rain. Their windswept worms swooped down on the rising water, and the hennaed sheep that were to be sacrificed when the stream turned blue were tied to a tree next to it.
Bahram was a nineteen-year-old man from the city who, shortly before the story began, was thrown to Dorud, a village in the eastern part of Kermanshah, with his father, in order to provide hope for the family bread and the future to which everyone is dependent. Irrigate your human.
His father, Ustad Bashi, was an experienced man in his sixties who had been caught up in ships, seen up and down, and now that he had nothing to gain but the failures and weaknesses of old age. , From which area they later owned the entire village of Dorud to Kan and Makan, to build a dam along the Qarahsu River and to deliver it within six months with the streams below it, wherever the water was restrained.
Ustad Bashi had been working in this area for eight months now, with hard work day and night, and although three consecutive times, in the same month last year, he had removed the spring floods and carried them away, he was an unborn man, neither sad nor heartbroken. He bent his eyebrows, stubbornly and with ten times more force and preparation, went to war with the rebellious water, and turned half of it out of the way by digging up temporary temples. He rolled down the orchards with giant saws and saws of giant juniper and maple trees, with spade beams and two sprigs of spruce wood on the grooves of the river and by the river in the depths of the water. .
Ustad Bashi, this white-haired man from Kermanshah, who used to dig gardens and neighborhoods in the city and its suburbs for a while as a young man, and until recently introduced the locals and accepted the municipality, was an honorary indicator of the government’s water. There was no doubt that he was doing something outside his jurisdiction. The sons of Sardar Nusrat, their stewards and Kadkhodians, and in general all the subjects of Dorud, acknowledged this point.
Because this man, who happened to have wise thoughts about everything in life, was a proverb everywhere in the field of action and its adaptation to the idea of his story. He had ordered about twenty large baskets, about the size of a barrel of oil, to be made from willow twigs and kept ready by the river. Everyone wondered what he wanted them for. As soon as the dam began to close, he ordered the workers to hold one of the baskets in the middle of the river, the site of the dam, across the river, with a handle and pedestal in the middle of which it must land. Then other people filled it with stone and the bottom of the water remained fixed. (Happiness of Qarasu Valley)
There was no doubt that the willows would take root in the water, and after sprouting and shaking the foliage, not only would it gain more strength, but it would also give a pleasant natural view to the restrained river. In spite of all this, and with all the compliments and praises that the Dorudis made of Ustad Bashi, both in front and behind, they all unanimously doubted that a string of stalks had been plucked, starting from the apricot orchard and circling the village, and walking twenty miles down the hill. And he traveled eight kilometers to the distant villages of Kan, Makan, and Simera, so that the slope would not be reversed.
This issue was not insignificant. Reza Ali Khorehtaw, the real estate officer of Jalayer, whose language was nothing but praise and, like all idiots, had great respect for the citizens, came and stood at the mouth of the atmosphere, folded his arms and said:
– Master, I am ashamed to say, but well, this is something that everyone says; It is true that in order to get rid of this atmosphere, apart from sweating for eight months, you have only paid 300 tomans for a morsel, no one denies it, but cut off my head and do not say that its slope is towards Kan and Makan. Unless you want to bring water from Siamel to Siagol, which of course is another matter.
But Master Bashi, like all self-confident subjects, smokes his cigarette with a smile and does not care about these comments and doubts out of patience and innate expertise. Even Bahram, his son, had his heart pounding at the thought of the day when water would fall into the air and he would not kill himself. In this case, in addition to the fact that the work of fifty people had been wasted in eight consecutive months of purity, they lost their hopes and prestige like the dowi in a gamble.
It is easy for Badi’at al-Mulk, who was a stubborn and strict man who used to pull our hair out of our property, not only to not incur the expenses incurred by Ustad Bashi up to now, but also to claim damages from him and to surrender from there. ژاندارمش مينمود. All around Dorud, the only one who was sure that these statements were superficial and baseless was Sarabig, the chief who, one day this spring, after a torrential downpour on the hillsides, went on horseback due to the weather and saw everywhere where the water was. The side is in progress.
Bari, Bahram, while moving his belongings in the court of Kadkhoda, did not get tired of the taste and haste that had come to visit his father and to consider the end of the dam. Brought. It is necessary to explain that the nineteen-year-old boy in this story, who went to school in the city until a year ago and is in the second year of high school, did not allow his zealous child as a child when he saw that his father had deported him to ten due to the inconsistencies of his life. Leave him alone in the land of exile. (Happiness of Qarasu Valley)
Despite his wide forehead and always smiling lips, he was a sensitive and very thin young man whose heart, like the pulse of a family, was constantly throbbing with unknown grief. On the second time, his father traveled to Dorud and their work on the property of Sardar Nusrat’s sons was finalized, he suddenly decided to leave school and came to Siagol with him.
This unprecedented decision, which inevitably brought long sorrows to their small family, doubled the grief and anxiety of the mother, but in the present situation and quality there was no other choice. If life always happens to be a human desire, then where did these great words, which are an essential part of our existence, occupy a place in human culture ?!
Bahram then, after staying in the village for a few weeks and getting to know the villagers, became acquainted with the goods he had brought from the city, half-full, for a hobby, or so-called duodenum, in order to “get his hands on one and fifty.” Be a rich source of income for him. Was it not that the few villages adjacent to Siahgol, each of which were in the other Sadars, together formed two hundred families of the population, which did not fall into the city year after year?
And was it not that these people, no matter how primitive their lives were and how they lived in real life, were finally human beings and had needs that they had to provide somewhere? Prior to that, many years ago, in Siahnoosh, a village below Zia Siagol, which was located in the valley, Yar Ali Beyg was named by the owner’s manager and had a shop under his supervision and direct supervision that was still in place and traded with his subjects. Yar Ali naturally had many freedoms in his work, none of which he could have ever enjoyed.
Like Kharzavil grocer, he did not have anything in his shop except the specific and limited goods that the peasants needed in the first place, which guaranteed him a generous use.
He sold the salt in the scales of the cloths of each stone to three heads of wheat, and his stones were ten ounces of garlic and four ounces of garlic each. When he wanted to weigh sex, he would throw ten kinds of garlic and half-garlic stones in the scales, a hundred times more or less, and so on.
And he did. It was well known that once when Jalayr Khan was also present above his head, he wanted to sell grapes to the peasants – in the vicinity of Kermanshah, each one is fifty and a half quarters – the price is one grape, one me and fifty wheat. Buyers bargain. Yar Ali does not accept and says:
– Now this is one me and fifty grapes one me wheat.
Khan laughs and makes fun of him for this stupidity and the man answers:
– Arbab, Yar Ali Bey should have his hand in one and fifty.
And this statement has been a proverb ever since. (Happiness of Qarasu Valley)
But the young and novice salesman, whose stones were all unobtrusive and unsuspecting, treated his subjects fairly, in addition to not lacking in tricks. And this in the field of good manners and manners of his city had caused him to be known for his goodness and virtue in a short period of time in the villages around Siahgol, and a flood of impeccable love flowed to him from all sides.
Now he had everything in his possession, from dates and raisins to cheap cloths, expensive shirts, oil or small household items, and even some medicines and ointments for eye pain or sores. In his work, over time, he had followed the taste that is often the guide of young people and can be revived constructively if it falls into the right direction. In this process, of course, the sincere welcome of the villagers, who seemed to respond to the good deeds with their hearts and feelings, as if they were poorer, played an essential role in encouraging him.
In Mahal Doroud, and especially in the property of Sardar Nusrat’s sons, there were no rural houses, and therefore a kind of common life, or in Kurdish terms, belonged to one ruler, which arose from the intimacy of poverty.
Another would take things without considering himself too obligated to get permission from the owner of the thing. If something stays with someone for a long time, it becomes his own. It’s easy in the countryside, everyone in the area was aware of the details of life, and everyone knew what else was going on. But Bahram and his father, who had not yet had the opportunity to mingle with the subjects around the black wild beasts, could not see them all with one eye.
Ultimately, he was considered by his high nature to buy anyone with more courage and in a larger number than them, although this purchase was a promise of a harvest, they thought he was richer. Yar Ali Beyg, an old salesman, once sent a message to a young boy through Reza Ali Zabet: We, the people of Dorud, have nothing to do with even a snake that nests under our roof and gives birth to a child, and we leave it alone for it to go away. But who does not know that the ewe’s milk is her right ?!
In the past one case, no one has been able to say something explicit so far that Bahram takes it seriously and grows a beard. One was because everyone considered his father, who was a respectable old man, and it was impossible for them to work out a plan that, if successful, would clean up the situation in a large area. As Sarabig, the steel man who was flogged in one hand and swept in the other with his strong hand in the spirit of the subjects like the Sphinx statue, was never seen speaking or pointing out that he was opposed to the new salesman. Be. (Happiness of Qarasu Valley)
It was that Yar Ali Beyg or any of the servants of the two khans knew better not to go to the pulpit before the mullahs; It’s easy, more or less none of them wanted to turn their unrequited love into resentment in the hearts of these kind and kind guests. Ustad Bashi lived among the villagers in such a way that he always wanted to hit, not to collect money and hit the road. He saw the world and the people of the world as greater than what was supposed to be the case.
Just as he had a special respect for the elders and always considered their speech as a kind of booty, he was the same with the poor and anonymous people. Because his son accidentally enjoyed the loud and cheerful sound, he had instructed him, as he offered his goods loudly to the inhabitants, and in the process, to convey his voice to them, he did not hesitate to recite any kind of verse or lyric, in the evenings when the sun rose. And when the cattle return from the field, say the call to prayer on a high hill in front of the village and illuminate the light in the hearts.
And Al-Haq, the young boy and his father, during their stay in Dorud for several months, were like the fire that the shepherds light in the mountains when it is dark, the flames that brought the warmth, hope and openness of hearts to the same distance. And if we want to talk about Ustad Bashi in particular, the issue was not limited to the people of Dorud, this man was considered a good person by all people, and it was for this reason that he also knew all people well. (Happiness of Qarasu Valley)
While the young boy was moving his belongings in a tent, Rangineh, the wife of Kadkhoda Buchan Siahgoli, wore a Kurdish rug, which was the only important bedspread in the family and was always piped next to him in times of need, as if the guest had arrived. And tired, he may want to rest, and while trying to get rid of depression and sadness from his face and drive away his excitement, he opened his arms under the headbands with apologetic gestures, and as is the usual way of Kurdish women, with the happiest expressions. He began by saying:
– The color goes around you, I do not know if you will forgive my sin or not. I confess to you that this time it was not the chicken or the goat, but me who took care of your belongings. My dear sacrifice, on the day you went to the city, at noon, Jasmine’s wife suffered. It was very difficult for him. Han, Faradeh’s ear, do you hear? This is the one who moans. The other poor man is on the verge of death. Behold, it breaks a man’s heart! Anyway, a lot of me and I came here after we searched everywhere and found nothing. It was a shiny black ointment in a can that tasted like dirt.
I remember once you gave it to the abundance that hurt his heart. We gave it to him, but he was healed and could not. They said that if the children recited the Faraj prayer on the top of the colas in front of ten, no one in ten would know it. We turned to your father, he knew another prayer. He called it hot water and we gave it to his throat with candy and sorrel.
2- Introducing the book in Aparat