The Daughter of Smyrna
by Halida Edib Khanum (English Translation by Muhammad Yakub Khan)
Chapter 6
ON MARCH 25, I was taken seriously ill. The doctors said it was Spanish fever. I was already feeling extremely depressed. The thought that I had Spanish fever, together with the anxiety on account of Aysha’s loneliness, greatly distressed me. This was, however, a short-lived distress. I soon lost all consciousness. As a matter of fact I was suffering from typhoid.
During this state of unconsciousness, I had a strange experience. I felt as if some aeroplane had taken off with me and was at a tremendous speed whirling me round and round in space, over Constantinople. This greatly horrified me and I tried to close my eyes. My head seemed to pierce through the white clouds and what added still more to my terror was that in these clouds I saw the bald pate of Mr. Cook, the British press representative, with the same long drooping moustaches and the same big pale teeth. With his small eyes which were now bloodshot, he cast a threatening glance at me, so that, even in my unconsciousness, I gave out a shriek and heard my mother say:
“Ah Biyami! Ah my son!”
After some time, when I regained consciousness, I came to know that all this fearful experience was just a hallucination due to unconsciousness. I saw my mother seated by my side and keeping my head cool with cold water.
“What is the date today?”
I asked her.
“March 26, my dear boy,”
came the reply.
Just then the physician informed me that the English had occupied Constantinople, the Assembly of Deputies had been closed and most of its members exiled to Malta, including some women. This was a bolt from the blue. I felt giddy once more not only at the thought of my own helplessness but also at the distress, that this must have caused Aysha. I could not possibly confide this feeling to my mother. Lately, when she was feeling apprehensive of arrest owing to Aysha’s presence, I had told her that she had left for Smyrna. The only persons whose assistance I could seek to get into touch with Aysha was the physician. To see whether this was at all advisable to do, I looked at his face and closely scanned it. And when I asked him as to when I might leave my bed, he smiled and my mother’s face seemed to say,
“Ye, hot-blooded youths! It is all due to you!”
My physician did not consider it desirable to add to my mental worry and so he did not tell me the details of the occupation of Constantinople and kept me in the dark as to the events there. My brain, was already upset and I was feeling much depressed. So he would not tell me anything. I felt, however, that unless I got some news of Aysha, I must once more take a lift upward in an aeroplane of unconsciousness, this time perhaps never to descend from it.
In the beginning of April, I sent word to Ahmad Agha of the Foreign Office asking him to come and see me. One day he came along and managed to find out my whereabouts. I knew that he was a bitter enemy of all foreigners. He had given fight to the Armenian and Russian troops when they advanced towards Turkish territory. I told him all about Aysha — the fate she had met in Smyrna, how she was busy doing propaganda against the oppressors of Turks and how she had inspired officers, young, and old alike, to serve her. I asked him to find out how and where she was and let me know. He returned the following morning and in breathless tones informed me that he could not trace her in the Kadak Pasha Street which was full of Armenians and Greeks.
“Don’t you worry,”
he added;
“I will go tomorrow or the day after and see Zainab, the green-groceress. She may know about her.”
Ahmad Agha was not long in keeping his word. He duly turned up as he had promised, his face beaming with joy.
“Here are some letters for you,”
said he, pulling out some papers from underneath his cloak.
“I understand that Aysha is absconding. She left these with Zainab with the instruction to hand them over to you, when you call on the latter to ask about her. She had even called at this house but she was disposed of with the word that you were ill.”
I eagerly seized at these letters. One of these was written on a notepaper. All the rest were on yellow sheets of paper from exercise-books which students use in schools. These letters relate to Aysha and I think I must reproduce them in this narrative before I bid my servant to consign them to flames, so that never more should mortal eyes fall on the handwriting of Aysha who is now lying in eternal rest in the cemetery of Kokaja Minar.
Aysha’s First Letter:
“Kadak Pasha
“March 18.
“Dear Biyami,
“Not a word about you for the last couple of days. At first this made me anxious, but then it came to my mind that auntie must have forbidden you to leave the house and a man like you must implicitly obey his mother. Nevertheless I could not help wondering why in these critical days you are breaking away from me. This does not look like you.
“Constantinople, too, had to go through the same fate for a couple of days as did Smyrna. When on Tuesday, March 16, people woke up in the morning, they found the metropolis present a strange spectacle. The •streets were not actually deserted by the people but every face reflected the deepest anguish and distress. Perfect silence reigned and there was not a pair of lips that moved. Constantinople had witnessed such a scene of ominous silence only once before—viz., on the Demonstration Day. Leaving my house, I was winding my way through the narrow, dark lanes leading to the tram-car road, when I came upon a scene which touched me to the marrow of my bones.
“At the doorsteps of a house there lay a cradle. A young woman wearing a shawl was standing by, with a lovely suckling in her lap. You may recollect I often talked to you about this little house. Till yesterday it sent out sweet strains of the guitar. Sometimes one would hear the music of the rocking cradle there or the soothing lullaby of the mother who would pat the baby to sleep.
“Before the English took possession of it, it was the happy home of a loving youthful pair. When I approached the young woman -to speak to her, from above came the strains of English music. She informed me that her husband who was a young officer, had joined some irregular army as a volunteer and gone. She was left alone. One of her uncles was living in Askadar. I helped her in findings out a cab for her and procured the necessary things for the child who would not cease crying. It was a bonny baby with deep dark eyes which reminded me of the dark eyes which were now cold in death and motionless. Ah, my sweet child, how it was made the target of a bullet! I accompanied this woman to the steam, boat “Ihsania” and we both got on board. When the ship whistled and smoothly glided away with us, we noticed war-boats lying at anchor in the Bosphorus with their guns turned- on Constantinople.
“I had a mind to catch the first steam boat back from Askadar and call at your house, even at the risk of upsetting auntie. I simply could not help it. Yours was the only house where I could safely put up or I must spend the night on some public thoroughfare. Things, however, turned off differently. When I reached the plane of Dokhanjilar I saw Saifi clad in simple rustic clothes, running along towards me. Relieving me of the bundle of clothes I was carrying in my hands, he told me that he was just thinking of calling at my place. His eyes shone like two torches. He was putting up at a house far removed from the frequented quarters. He suggested that I should accompany him there. Many brothers, he said, would be coming there, for that had been fixed as the rendezvous- for all those who were anxious to emigrate to Anatolia.
“Soon after I found myself at a yellow wooden house, standing under a Cyprus tree by the side of a cemetery. A human hand from above pulled up the rope, the door opened and we entered the courtyard. The house consisted of two rooms on the first floor. The master of the house had a young and noble wife whose spotless heart sparkled like a diamond. His mother was also there, a woman of pure soul and neat habits. I spent the night with her in one of the rooms and told her the whole of my tale of woe in Smyrna.
Aysha.”
Aysha’s Second Letter:
“March 20.
“Dear Biyami,
“I sent my first letter to Zainab to hand it over to you. I understood she could not see you. What is. wrong with you? Are you feeling unwell? Saifi is thinking of crossing over the Koberi to the other side and there find out about you. He cannot take the risk of coming over to the Sicilian quarter.
Aysha.”
Aysha’s Third Letter:
“March 25.
“Dear Biyami,
“On ascertaining it has been discovered that you are bed-ridden. Saifi sent Zainab to your house but she was not admitted in. She was told you were unwell. I am feeling quite at home where 1 am now putting up. Saifi’s friends from all quarters come to see him and we get news, through them. Just opposite to our house there stands a big old building by the side of the cemetery and a garden. The gardener is a dirty- looking fellow, wearing loose dress, with a Haidari robe pulled all over. All the day long he keeps watering the garden. At the mid of night when I sat crouched near the pathway, I beheld the forms of. some men in front of the deserted building. One of them was gently tapping the door. Up through the window above protruded the head of the dirty-looking gardener and cast searching glances at the men below. When he accosted them, they simply replied:
“The secret of the night.”
At these passwords, the man in the window pulled back the rope and the door flung open. The mysterious men were lost in the dark inside.
“I mentioned this strange incident to Saifi. He told me this happened every night. The men I had seen were the volunteers on their way to Anatolia. They are trying to take away Hashmat as well to-morrow. The following night I sat by the pathway as usual and closely watched the men that passed by. I could, however, see among them none answering to the stature and build of Hashmat. Coming back home, I enquired of Saifi whether Hashmat had gone. Saifi has also made up his mind to run off. I am anxious to start at once but I am waiting for you, so that we may go out together. Your illness is drawing rather too long.—Aysha.”
Aysha’s Fourth Letter:
“April 1.
“Dear Biyami,
“Last night I had a talk with Saifi and the young officers who are thinking of stealing off to Anatolia. They informed me that the Barusa Railway was closed for public traffic. I wish I could get some word from you. But lately the thought is holding my mind that we must not depend on it that gradually you would join our activities. Saifi will take me to Ihsan who is roaming about in the region of Azza Bazar and it is said that Jamal has also arrived there from Smyrna. Anyway, it will be possible for me to do some work only if I manage to get to Anatolia.
Aysha.”