Daughter of
Api
Neda Kazemifar
for Mamai, who taught me patience.
Story and illustrations by Text by Layout and design by NEDA KAZEMIFAR ILIA NICK RAM DEVINENI The book was made possible by the National Endowment for the Arts and New York State Council on the Arts with the support of New York State Governor and the New York State Legislature. Copyright 2023 by Neda Kazemifar. ISBN: 978-1-892494-72-6. All rights reserved. Published by Rattapallax, Inc. and Power of Priya. More information at www.powerofpriya.com
Daughter of Api Neda Kazemifar
Author’s Note Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the heart of Iran, lived my dear Grandma Mamaei. This village was like a magical oasis, a vibrant burst of green amidst the vast desert. Life flourished there, thanks to a remarkable source called the Qanat. It brought water to our village, quenching the thirst of the land and nurturing our crops. But alas, everything changed when industrial drilling and factories began to surround our once peaceful village. The Qanat dried up, leaving our people in despair. Grandma Mamaei had no choice but to leave behind her beloved farm, with its majestic almond and pomegranate trees, and come to the city to be with us. I would often sit with her on our balcony, watching as she patiently combed her hair. I often wondered what thoughts filled her mind. It seemed as though she was preparing herself, waiting.
Oh, child, do you even wonder why you begin to comb your hair
when this voice you start to hear?
It was you who heard them singing first, and dreamed of being a child to give them hope.
I was there, flowing from the deeps, in the streams, in the fruits, in the grass.
And you were amazed and happy because you were as you are. But they wanted more, and your generosity was divine like the summer noon sunshine.
Oh, child, do you even wonder why you begin to comb your hair
When this voice you start to hear?
So, you dreamed to growing up and becoming a fair lady to help them. You took the unknown paths, whispering unfamiliar songs, and I was with you...
in the roots, in the branches, in the leaves.
But they received less although you tried to increase. And they left like the autumn evening breeze.
Oh, child, do you even wonder why you begin to comb your hair
when this voice you start to hear?
Time seemed to pass, and you were trying to give them what you did not have and I was with you in the clouds, in the rain, in the fog, but you did not see me.
Although you were searching for a familiar face everywhere.
So, to reach beyond and know the unknown, you dreamed of growing up again.
But then you simply grew old and your hair turned white, like the snowy winter night.
Oh, my girl, do you even wonder why you begin to comb your hair
when this voice you start to hear?
It is not because you need to grow not for what you do not know.
It is because you need to flow.
Is it not the time to sing your old song again?
Sing it with me then, and comb your hair, making the way to remember, so that you can find me again.
Because I can’t come where you are, but you can hear my voice and come to me.
You will flow to the depths again, because you are my daughter.
Daughter of Api, the goddess of waters.
And now you see we are one again in the below, and we will then forever flow.
Open your eyes and look now.
Everyone is returning, and everything is refreshing, it is like a bright morning of the spring.