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aftaabmagazine · 6 days

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Short Story: The Fragrance of the Rain-Soaked Earth

The Fragrance of the Rain-Soaked Earth By Qader Moradi

Translated from the Farsi by Farhad Azad

Renna stood on the flat roof of the house, staring over the worn-out wall's edge. Viewing the green fields and tall trees filled her with joy. Everything seemed fresh and new to her. The scent of the rain-soaked earth stirred an unfamiliar sensation within her.

The moist mud-brick domes of the houses appeared anew to her as if she noticed them for the first time. The spring air carried her emotions and imagination to far-off, magical lands, giving her a strange yearning.

However, the fear and dread that had taken root in the corner of her heart stopped her from finding peace. Despite understanding she had defied Rahman Bai's orders today, she attempted to drive away her fear of him.

She heard a whisper, "Renna, finish the rug. The tourists are waiting."

She knew that if Rahman Bai found out she had not worked on the rug today and scaled onto the roof, another frenzy would follow. As always, Rahman Bai's senseless anger would flare up, and he would mercilessly thrash her. Renna knew this all too well, but she was ready to take any beating this time. She no longer wanted to live fearing Rahman Bai's crazed wrath.

Renna didn't want to be terrified of Rahman Bai anymore. She didn't want to miss such lovely weather and the sight of blossoming trees and lush green fields. Living like this for a moment was worth everything. She imaged Rahman Bai's protruding belly, thick fleshy neck, and bloodshot eyes. She felt that she wasn't afraid of him today.

A smile crept onto her lips. Rahman Bai seemed small and powerless to her. In her heart, she whispered, "Let him do whatever he wants."

She forced the thoughts of Rahman Bai.

After many years, it was as if her feelings and fantasies, like butterflies, had been liberated from captivity. They flew to mysterious lands of emotions, filling her ill and forlorn body with an unrecognizable happiness. Being removed from these beauties saddened her. Her past returned.

Six months had passed since the severe and persistent coughs had been taking her life away. These days, she spewed blood and phlegm. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she astonished herself with her reflection of how fast she had lost her freshness and spirit in her father's house. She was terrified to look at her sunken cheeks and dark-circled eyes. She examined herself more finely and drifted into thought.

A great sadness weighed on her heart. She would hear the same mouthpiece again at such moments, bellowing: "Renna, finish the rug. The tourists are waiting."

She would have to go to the rug-weaving loom, but her illness and persistent coughing prevented her from weaving the rug perfectly.

Plunging into her bed and coughing from the intensity of the pain, she would twist and turn in pain and become weak, calling out to her mother in a high-pitched voice. But no one came to her help. Just as she stared absently into space, without control, tears glided down her thin, gaunt cheeks.

She had a yearning rooted in her heart. She wished to release herself from rug weaving and Rahman Bai's torture. She imagined her as a free bird, but with clipped wings, grounded to weave rugs forever.

Now, she saw herself as a bird flying with wings amidst the lush fields and blooming trees. She flew to wherever her heart desired. She felt happy. She thought she shouldn't taint life's unmistakable and captivating moments with painful memories.

The sun, the pleasant spring air, and the scent of rain-soaked earth aroused a peculiar feeling. For the first time, she felt the charming taste of fleeting, exciting moments of life. She no longer wanted to die young, she was no longer afraid, and she no longer wished to return to the rug-weaving loom. But the past memories returned continuously, breaking her heart.

Her past was dim and stifling, like the room where she wove rugs or the stable where she milked Rahman Bai's dairy cows. She didn't want to think about it. Today, after many years, she felt that she had emerged from a moonless well and saw a glow. She didn't want to spoil these sweet, pleasant beats with bitter memories.

Renna's father would take her rugs to the market and return with pocket money, happily shouting: "Everyone treasured them! The tourists were dazzled, dazzled…"

Two years ago, when she turned fifteen, they fetched her from her father's home to Rahman Bai's. Renna entered a new life among Rahman Bai's old women and young girls collection. Life took on a different shade.

Rahman Bai roared: "You shameless woman! I didn't get you for free. I paid money… money!"

He squawked: "I've already sent three of my wives to the graves, and I'll send you there too…"

With his buddies and in high spirits, he laughed and announced aloud, "Learn from me…pleasure…and money."

He puffed his chest, "At a high cost, I hire a rug-weaving girl. She weaves rugs, and her price is covered after six months, with the rest being my profit."

His friends laughed, and Rahman Bai gloated with pride, affirming: "If one dies, I'll take another rug-weaving girl. Do you understand, a little girl…another fourteen-year-old rug weaver…"

Everyone chuckled. Rahman Bai joined in and blissfully shouted, "Learn from me, from me."

Many times, Renna overheard these exchanges from behind closed doors. Rahman Bai's other three wives and all his elderly and young daughters were aware of these talks, but they pretended ignorance. They were scared of Rahman Bai's wrath.

Fear had become a regular partner in Renna's life. She was afraid of Rahman Bai, his wives, his daughters, and even the servants. She was terrified of everything and everyone. She had no one to confess her sadness to. A world of dread and loneliness trapped her.

But today, Renna felt different for the first time in a long time. She felt a sense of independence and hope. She believed she could escape the clutches of fear and loneliness and lead a different, better life.

The sun shined brightly, the birds sang happily, and the flowers bloomed as gems. For Renna, the entire world smiled at her. She breathed deeply in fresh air, and energy flowed through her veins.

She knew she had to do something, that she had to change her life. Unsure what to do or where to begin, she knew she couldn't stay. She had to break free from the chains that tied her and discover her own way.

She pretended she hadn't heard and behaved as if nothing had been said. But Renna's mind bore to those exchanges, particularly after the illness and coughs that had woven into the lives of all Rahman Bai's women and girls, shaking the branches of their youthful spirit. Like them, Renna's youth was robbed.

Once again, tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered another sore memory. She couldn't overlook her newborn child's death last year because of Rahman Bai's beatings.

She gazed again at the lush green fields—the sun's warmth soothed her illness and exhaustion. The world seemed attractive and stunning. Again, she thought she shouldn't taint life's captivating moments with painful memories. She no longer wanted to die young. She was no longer afraid. She yearned to glide from the rooftop like a bird, flying in the clouds and reaching faraway lands. But she knew she couldn't.

Unconsciously, she looked at her fingers, the bluish dye of her bones visible. The threads of the rugs she wove caused her sore nails to become gnarled and bloody. She saw herself as a clipped-wing, mutilated bird.

She looked at the sky, fascinated by the clear blue color and the white threads of the clouds. She craved to fly, to spread her wings and soar among the clouds. The world seemed beautiful and alluring to her. She saw everything in tints of green, everything in flowering. The fragrance of rain-soaked earth stirred a mysterious longing. She didn't know what she wanted but felt uneasy and restless. Her heart murmured, and a rousing excitement rushed through her veins. Renna wanted to do something, but she didn't know what. Suddenly, a voice surprised her.

Rahman Bai's angry voice growled inside the courtyard, shattering her fragile daydreams. "Where is Renna? Renna…”

A woman answered, "We don't know where she went. We have no idea."

Rahman Bai asked, surprised, "You don't know? Why don't you know? Find her!"

He then shouted a couple more times, "Renna! Renna! Where did you go, Renna!"

Renna knew what was expected of her. She remained still. Ignoring Rahman Bai's shouts, she stared off into the distance. The hollering didn't stir an inch of fear. The warm sun rays brought the lush green fields and flowering trees to life. She didn't want to lose these precious and pleasant moments. She wished to remain in this form until her last breath, with the butterflies of her imagination gliding freely to unknown lands of hopes and feelings overflowing her with this lovely, unspoken desire.

Rahman Bai continued, "Find Renna! She needs to finish the rug. The tourists are waiting for it."

Renna had always hated the word "tourists." She had never seen them but heard that they were rich outsiders. She sensed she was in this miserable condition because of the tourists. In her heart, she cursed the tourists: the hell with them.

Her head spun, and she realized she could no longer stand. Rahman Bai continued to shout and scream. The rhythmic clacking of looms could be heard from inside the houses. Rahman Bai's elderly women and young girls had returned to their looms.

Renna sat down quietly on the rooftop and leaned against the wall. She coughed a couple of times, spitting up phlegm and blood. She covered her eyes, imagining the foliage and flowers. The heat of the sun tickled her ill body. Everything appeared like lush green fields and trees in full bloom. Everywhere smelled of sun-kissed blossoms and the azul sky. Multicolored butterflies fluttered everywhere. She found herself in the white clouds of the sky. The scent of rain-soaked earth stirred a mystifying sensation, drawing her to unknown lands and a delightful feel.

Abruptly, she heard Rahman Bai's raging, furious voice nearby, "You shameless woman, what are you doing here?"

Renna understood the situation. She didn't move, not even open her eyes. She decided to remain in her colorful and lyrical dreams. She thought that opening her eyes would once again drop her from the sky's white clouds into a dim, stifling well.

Rahman Bai's heavy kicks showered down on her head and body a moment later. Rahman Bai's screams reached a crescendo. He bombarded like a madman, screaming and hollering. Like birds with broken wings, the women and girls gathered mutely and mournfully, watching Rahman Bai and Renna on the nearby rooftops.

Renna squirmed under Rahman Bai's kicks. She had decided not to open her eyes to him. Her heart couldn't bear to see his cruel mug and bloodshot, terrified eyes again. She squirmed under Rahman Bai's heavy boots like a bird with broken wings.

The cauldron of Rahman Bai's rage and madness boiled over. Like a ferocious and wild animal, he growled, attacked, kicked, pulled Renna's hair, and flung her about.

But Renna's eyes never opened. She felt closer to the sweet scent of rain-soaked earth, to the lush green fields and the fragrance of blossoms, to the unknown and mysterious lands, and Rahman Bai grew even more angry.

He hollered and said, "The tourists are waiting… the tourists… you had to finish the rug, you shameless woman, the rug… the rug…"

And Renna said to herself, "Curse the rug, curse the tourists," and inhaled the scented rain-soaked earth.

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About the Author

Qader Moradi was born in Balkh Province in 1958 and grew up in Faryab province. He completed high school and studied journalism in Kabul.

He was a teacher and reporter for Bakhtar New Agency. In 1990, his first collection of short stories was published in Kabul.

He was forced to leave Kabul in 1994 because of the Islamist destruction of the city. He currently resides in Holland.

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Summary of this Short Story

In his short story "The Fragrance of the Rain-Soaked Earth," Qader Moradi offers a tragic look at the lives of oppressed women exploited in sweatshop weaving compounds within his native northern provinces of his youth.

He focuses on Renna, a teenager robbed of her adolescence, child, health, and spirit under the ownership of a cruel weaving master. Yet, one morning, veering into the vista of lush tall grasses, trees, and flowers, this spring beauty awakens Renna's soul, stirring dreams of escape.

She longs to soar into the clouds and distant lands, but knowing her circumstances, she understands her wings are clipped – a familiar metaphor in Farsi literature (پرو بالم شکسته). Unable to escape, Renna clings to her dreams, seeking solace in the season's beauty even when struck violently.

Writer Mohammad Hossein Mohammadi summarized Moradi's frequent themes: his characters seek a way out into dreams in the face of unbearable circumstances. "The Fragrance of Rain-Soaked Earth" reflects this theme, with even the simple scent of rain becoming a pathway to defiance against her cruel reality.

—Farhad Azad, April 21, 2024

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Caption: Photo of a Balkh province rug with a classic pattern woven by young girls and women.

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