A window-dressing girl, a gift of a necklace to a border guard, the last scene of a 30-year-old drama |

If only I could see our village, our house…

We passed Beylaga. The villages of Fuzuli too. The surrounding landscape is the last scene of a horror movie called war – stone and earth wounded, white. We are in Gabriel. Trip the goal of the organizers is to make a film. They will welcome us, the people of Jabrayl, who have been displaced for 30 years, longing for these lands, in our own home. For us, this is not a new film, but the last scene of a drama film called longing. The final scene…

Actress Malahat Abbasova, her mother, my sister Ganira Gurbanli and me Pomegranate We were going in Jabrayilli’s car. We were all going to our village, the first was Anar’s village – Balyand.

There is no danger of mines, Pomegranate He drives his car right in front of his yard. We cannot say in front of the house, because there is no house…

A spring is boiling in the middle of the village, it is surrounded by greenery, and the rest of the places are dry. Somewhere our glorious flag is flying. When we looked at the remains of the house and returned, the film crew arrived and set fire to the samovar. Director Fariz Ahmadov got out of the car and came towards us. “It is very nice to see you in Jabrayl,” he says.

I say, “How much we have wished to meet in Jabrayl at each of our meetings, and we have achieved our dream.” Home warmth has brought everyone so close that we hug happily.

If only I could see our village, our house…

We reach Dashkesan village. Malahat Abbasova’s mother was born and raised in this village. When the woman entered the village, tears flowed down her cheeks, she said something under her lips and cried. There is nothing we can do except to watch in silence.

Fariz Ahmadov found his grandmother’s bag in the yard. He called, the poor woman said that even if you come in the middle of the night, come directly to us, bring it, I’ll see if it’s okay…

Another hero of the film is Gabriel Elmin Hamza is lying on the ground behind the car, crying and pouring out his heart.

I have a strange feeling. I don’t want to cry, I even understand that I should be happy, but there is a sadness mixed with comfort inside me. The sadness of the lost years, the people we lost during the occupation of these lands, the scattered villages, families, and… the sadness of spending more than half of my life in pain and longing… I think of the sons who returned these lands, whose blood remains here, the feeling of gratitude increases, but it is little, their rights are nothing. time will not pay…

This is Horadiz. I thought I was dreaming, are we really reaching our village, it is very close, are we going towards it? In fact, we’ve been heading towards it since the day we were forced out. But look, this road, this path, this area is the first time after 30 years…

We passed the Great Coral. My breath expands…

Both sides of the road from here to Lower Maralyan are whitehunger was I loved it way, as a child I thought it was the most beautiful road in the world. Now there is no sign of those trees. There is only a dry road. But now I understand that look now, this moment is the most beautiful in the world way indeed this is the way…

My attention is on the right – we will pass suddenly, – he said. It should be here. I mean our school. The name of the village should be written at the crossroads – “Lower Maralyan”. Now if they give me the world, I don’t want it, I want to see our village, see our house, see its remains, any sign, nothing else is needed.

The building visible from a distance attracts me with its naturalness and warmth… I can’t believe that it is the building of our school, that we have reached the village. That’s why I don’t believe, we have reached. After all, I knew that it was the only intact building, the rest were only rubble. A relic of my most innocent years, a teacher of my father and mother, whom we love as students and know as a temple school. The greatness of this place is not in its stone and cement. Its place in our minds and hearts is glorious.

The car turns the corner and passes right in front of the building. At school now our border guards are stationed, well maintained. “Pomegranate, won’t you keep it?” – the question that comes from inside me makes me jump. “I’m keeping this minute,” he says.

We fall. I go to school, my sister goes to the village. They warned from the beginning that everyone who reaches their village takes their head and leaves, we cannot stop them, they forget the rules. Despite hearing this, we forget ourselves, they are worried that we will suddenly go astray and regret. The enemy has sown mines like seeds in our villages. Also, our fellow countryman should record the moment when he saw our house in the memory of the camera, this is the topic of the documentary film.

For two years, I haven’t had a door that I haven’t knocked on a script for – I’ve asked people I don’t even want to talk about to make a film and to see our house. Fariz Ahmadov realizes my idea with his project.

If only I could see our village, our house…

I saw our soldiers at school. May they be happy, they fought and took it back from the enemy, it is their right. Once, somewhere, someone took a picture and posted that enemy soldiers had settled in our school and I was burned to the core. Now it is beautifully renovated. We bought it from the invader and looter, we are rebuilding it. Probably new school building is also built.

There is no water in the Gavur ditch, I saw not even a drop of it. It is full of garbage. Those who occupied this land were not only enemies of mankind, but also enemies of the universe. They dried up the springs, rivers, and canals, destroyed the greenery, looted the homes, and insulted the land…

At the beginning of summer, and when they came home from school in September, the boys would take off their outer clothes and throw themselves off the bridge into the Gavur canal, competing to see who would swim the furthest and come out on the surface later. We would look and find out who came out, and then continue on our way… Then those who came out of that ditch very quickly, and the boys who were not afraid to jump there, fought for this ditch, for these lands, martyr they were

Two stone masonry remains from the office building – I saw it as well. That building too school was handed over in 1986-87, it was a new building. Our village was so prosperous that…

After the office is the grandmother’s yard. The reeds are overgrown and the yard is not visible. You can go through reeds, but you can’t go through mines. I raise my heel and look as far as possible. My grandmother’s voice comes to my ears – “Hey, baby, you’re going to fall down those stairs, don’t go there.” The second floor is of brick, half remains, the stairs are broken in half. This is what I saw. If I could enter the yard, I would probably see more, maybe my grandmother’s dishes would be worth looking at. It’s strange, finding something rusted and rotten brings joy to a person.

I saw that there was no sign left from the two-story house of the Vilayat teacher. There is no tunnel under the railway next to that house. Everything that was there has been leveled and it is a plain.

I’ve already squeezed the wormwood I picked from the side of the road in my palm, and as I smell it, I’m proving to myself where I am… It brings other smells that are very familiar, familiar, that I haven’t heard in a long time. The voice of the dragonfly breaks the peace, just like in that distant, happy, carefree childhood…

After determining the location of the neighbors’ houses along the newly built railway line, my sister and I walk along the road. This is the house of Garash Dayigil. Or rather, the location of his house. This is Hasan Dayigil. After that, it’s my cousin’s house.

No, it’s better, let’s go from “pereezd” to the other side of the railway, our house is close to “pereezd”. That’s what we do, the yards remain green. It is surprising that all the greenery in the upper mountain villages – Shaybey, Nüzgar, Dashkasan, Garacallar – has been destroyed, but there are still greenery in our Araz gorge. Apparently, the same wisdom is in Araz, it protects the trees by giving juice from under the soil.

After Guloglan Daigil’s house, it is ours, there was a dispute between them and our garden.

We know the border of our yard from the crows, but it’s good that they cannot be rooted out.

This is… our house. “We are at home, sister, look…” My sister’s speech is dry. Tears speak…

The last time we were forced to leave this house and yard, we went out together with him. My sister was 15 and I was 23. We are standing in front of our ruined yard. We are happy to see its ruins… We cannot take a step inside. We look at the broken stones left from our house, bent mulberry, aged cherry and mulberry trees, and they look at us. “Where have you been? – they ask, – where did you leave us?” “Do you know what happened to us, what we experienced?” – I answer in my heart, I’m looking for a word to justify ourselves, but I can’t find it. Both sides have lived the same “life”, both we, who were forced to leave our homeland from the hands of the enemy, and the homeland, which remained in captivity without us…

From here on, I don’t know anything more, what happened, how did it happen? One thing I know is that I spoke so much on the side of the road facing our yard that the film crew did not want to interrupt me, they listened, filmed and cried without even considering the time. I also know that sometimes my lips were dry and locked, I could not speak. The children gave me water, I drank, I spoke again. Passing through the mulberry tree, apricot tree, vineyard, in front of our house Baku– From the Minjivan train, from our collection of windows between the barbed wires of the border with Iran, from giving my necklace to the Azerbaijani border guard…

I wish my father and mother could come and see it. I quickly change my mind, if they are lucky enough to see our beautiful yard, they will not tolerate this situation.

What I remember is that Anar Jabrayilli climbed onto the railway and told us that it’s enough, let’s go, it’s getting dark, we have to get to Baku.

I also felt that I spoke very sadly, I didn’t want to be in a pitiful situation, we never tried to look pitiful when we were in a pitiful day, we didn’t ask anyone for help. My 70-year-old father and mother built a new house and established a yurt. Will he devote his life to building a house in the old ancestral home? How many times does a person build a house and get displaced in a lifetime… What kind of fate have we experienced?

If only I could see our village, our house…

I have only one word for those who yearn. I sighed a lot and went to see. I saw what was left of the village, the village, the house. I didn’t see our village, our house…

He villagethat country, those houses were taken away from us, our childhood and youth, which were taken away, died and went out like a ray of light far away…

More beautiful villagemore beautiful houses will be built, we will go, we will see, we will live… but nothing and no one will be able to return what was taken from us…

After us, no one should experience this again!

***

We arrived in Baku in the dark, but there was a light inside me. A light that no force can extinguish. My feet received energy from the soil of my native country and transferred it to me… I did not live away from you for 30 years, Motherland, I considered every air I breathed, every day as forbidden to me, from now on to live… I bow before the souls of those who passed away for this life. Not them, but we need it, and it will be like this for a lifetime.

from his native land,

Ramila Gurbanli

PS Fariz Ahmadova. I would like to thank Aygun Hasanova and the entire Baku Media film crew. Additional information about the film will follow.