بخش 84

کتاب: ملت عشق / فصل 84

بخش 84

توضیح مختصر

  • زمان مطالعه 4 دقیقه
  • سطح ساده

دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

این فصل را می‌توانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید

دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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متن انگلیسی فصل

Aladdin

KONYA, MAY 1247

Being forced into a decision that I knew I would deeply regret later, I remained silent and did not openly object to this marriage. But on the day Kimya was going to be married to Shams, I woke up with a pain such as I had never felt before. I sat up in bed gasping for breath like a drowning man, and then, annoyed with myself for wallowing in self-pity I slapped my face again and again. A strangled sigh escaped my lips. And it was that sound that made me realize I wasn’t my father’s son anymore.

I had no mother. No father. No brother. And no Kimya. I was all alone in the world. What little remained of my respect for my father had disappeared overnight. Kimya was like a daughter to him. I thought he cared about her. But apparently the only person he really cared about was Shams of Tabriz. How could he marry Kimya to a man like him? Anyone could see that Shams would make a terrible husband. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that just to make Shams safe, my father had sacrificed Kimya’s happiness—and along with it mine.

I spent the whole day struggling with these thoughts while having to watch the preparations. The house was spruced up, and the bedroom where the newlyweds would sleep was cleansed with rosewater to ward off evil spirits. But they forgot the biggest evil! How were they going to fend off Shams?

By late afternoon I couldn’t stand it anymore. Determined not to be part of a celebration that meant only torture for me, I headed for the door.

“Aladdin, wait! Where are you going?” My brother’s voice came from behind me, loud and sharp.

“I am going to stay at Irshad’s house tonight,” I said without looking at him.

“Have you gone crazy? How can you not stay for the wedding? If our father hears this it will break his heart.”

I could feel rage rising from the pit of my stomach. “How about the hearts our father is breaking?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? Our father arranged this marriage just to please Shams and make sure he doesn’t run away again! He offered Kimya to him on a silver tray.”

My brother pursed his lips, looking hurt. “I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong. You think this is a forced marriage,” he said, “whereas it was Kimya who wanted to marry Shams.” “As if she had a choice in the matter,” I snapped.

“Oh, God! Don’t you understand?” my brother exclaimed, lifting both palms up as though asking help from God. “She is in love with Shams.”

“Don’t say that again. That is not true.” My voice cracked like thawing ice.

“My brother,” Sultan Walad said, “please don’t let your feelings veil your eyes. You are jealous. But even jealousy can be used in a constructive way and serve a higher purpose. Even disbelief can be positive. It is one of the rules. Rule Number Thirty-five: In this world, it is not similarities or regularities that take us a step forward, but blunt opposites. And all the opposites in the universe are present within each and every one of us. Therefore the believer needs to meet the unbeliever residing within. And the nonbeliever should get to know the silent faithful in him. Until the day one reaches the stage of Insan-i Kâmil, the perfect human being, faith is a gradual process and one that necessitates its seeming opposite: disbelief.

That was the last straw for me.

“Look here, I’m sick of all this syrupy Sufi talk. Besides, why should I listen to you? It’s all your fault! You could have left Shams in Damascus. Why did you bring him back? If things get messy, and I am sure they will, you are the one who is responsible.” My brother gnawed the insides of his mouth with a look that verged on fearfulness. I realized in that instant that for the first time in our lives he was frightened of me and the things I was capable of doing. It was a bizarre feeling, but strangely comforting.

As I walked to Irshad’s house, taking the side streets that reeked of foul smells so that nobody would see me cry, I could think of only one thing: Shams and Kimya sharing the same bed. The thought of him taking her wedding dress off and touching her milky skin with his rough, ugly hands was revolting. My stomach was tied in knots.

I knew that a line had been crossed. Somebody had to do something.

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