My Family in Iranian Azerbaijan
My father and mother, their parents and parents' parents for generations, as well as myself, were born in Nazie, a small village in the fertile province of Azerbajin in northern…
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From When I was a Boy in Persia by Youel Benjamin Mirza, 1920
My father and mother, their parents and parents' parents for generations, as well as myself, were born in Nazie, a small village in the fertile province of Azerbajin in northern Persia.
That my parents were in love with each other from their early days cannot be doubted. My mother often used to speak of her early love affair and of events which took place before her marriage to my father, but owing to the existing custom in Persia, where boys and girls never under any circumstances associate with each other, my mother never had an opportunity to express herself openly in this matter.
My parents had first seen each other by chance at the village spring or brook, where my mother was carrying an earthen jar full of fresh drinking-water for the use of the household, and my father was watering his Persian steed. They were perfectly suited to each other in looks, as my mother was beautiful and my father very handsome.
My mother and her younger sister were considered the best-looking girls in the province. Mother had an unusually light complexion for a Persian maiden; dark hair reaching far below her waist, hazel eyes, and dark eyebrows. Her figure was tall and slender as a cypress-tree. My father was short, with black hair, rosy cheeks, and piercing black eyes which made him unusually attractive and pleasing in appearance.
Most love affairs in Persia start in about the same way. It is customary to have fresh drinking-water brought to the house at least twice a day, and this duty is usually assigned to young women. To the Persian boys sometimes falls the task of taking the cattle and horses to water. This is done about the same time the girls go to the spring, so not infrequently a love affair is started by a glance. I once saw a boy on the picturesque bridge of a brook gazing so hard at a girl that he lost his balance and fell overboard. Gazing, however, is about all the boys can do. They dare not speak to the girls, for that is considered a great insult and would result in a family quarrel.
My father, therefore, had no chances of saluting his sweetheart or of bestowing upon her gifts, except secretly. He would see her at times on the housetops, and, as he passed by, when no one was looking, he would toss boxes of candy up to her. Occasionally he would sing a Persian love song to inform her that he was in the neighborhood, but the only thing my mother could do was to listen and keep the affair from the knowledge of her parents. Otherwise there would have been not only trouble for her, but my father would have been exposed to a great deal of danger and humiliation.
The love which existed between them to the last of their days, was, indeed, love at first sight. Although family friction kept them from taking matrimonial steps for some time, they never lost sight of each other, and whenever there was a chance of taking a glance or peeping through hedges or fences, the precious opportunity was not neglected.
Unwilling to keep up this kind of love affair indefinitely, my father finally informed grandfather of his desires, and requested that he ask the girl's father for her hand in marriage.
Being the youngest and favored son of his father, he almost invariably obtained anything that attracted his fancy. In this case, however, the gift he asked was too precious, and his desire was beyond his father's wealth. Land, money, property and earthly ambitions were no consideration. The prominent factors concerned were those of caste, family, and religion. My father's parents, though wealthier, were not considered socially equal to my mother's family.
Castes and Differences
In Persia before a marriage can take place the equality of the parties is strictly considered. Caste, family, religion, character, fortune, profession, and beauty, all play an important part in the field of matrimony. On such grounds my two grandfathers differed.
Mother's father, Kasha Nweeya, was a clergyman by profession, and the best-informed man in the community. In the village in which the two families lived were three Christian churches, Greek Catholic, Nestorian, and Presbyterian. The Catholic and Nestorian priests were painfully ignorant. Neither of them could read or write. They merely memorized a few prayers written in the old Syriac or Latin languages, and every Sabbath they repeated them to their congregations.
My maternal grandfather, being a Presbyterian, was not only highly educated but owned the only library in the village. This library consisted of a dozen or more religious books. The volumes, with the exception of a Syriac Bible were all manuscripts, bound in coarse leather, and looked like ledgers. My grandfather had three sons and two daughters. The sons were Lazarus, Yousuph, and Shimuel. Two of his sons were college graduates, and Yousuph looked after their land and stock. Rachel and Sara, his daughters, were also quite well educated. Rachel, who finally became my mother, was the oldest.
Grandfather Nweeya, being the best-educated man in our community, was also the most highly respected. He had studied theology under the early Nestorian and American teachers. He was ordained a clergyman at the age of eighteen, which profession he followed for nearly sixty years. Upon seeing him the villagers would stand up, and in passing he would say, "Peace be with you,” and in answer they would all say, "On you be peace.”
My paternal grandfather was different from mother's father in every respect. In the first place nature had endowed him with an imposing figure and physique. He was over six feet tall, and was fearless of everything and everybody. The town folk, when speaking of his strength, would say, "He is as strong as a buffalo.' He had never been known in his manhood days to lose a wrestling match. He became mayor of the village as soon as he was able to command authority, which position he held till old age robbed him of his powers.
He was known throughout the province as Mirza Pachow. Sometimes he was known as Mirza Ketkhoda, which means the leader in the community.
Instead of carrying a Bible or a staff in his hand, like my mother's father, he carried a stout club. As he approached the villagers would say, "Mirza Pachow is coming,” and they would all quickly rise and salute, saying, "Peace be with you.” His answer would be quite arbitrary or according to his mood. He would either say, "On you be peace,” or he would simply give them a stern glance and pass on. This grandfather had one daughter and three sons, Benjamin, Namatoe, and Moshie, who was my father. To his great sorrow, none of his sons ever patterned after him. They did not have the strength and physique to follow in his footsteps and preserve the family traditions as he had. He knew this quite well, and I remember that he often used to grieve over it.
His mode of dressing was most picturesque. He wore the usual Persian hat covered with lambskin; wide trousers, which came to his ankles; and a long and unusual overcoat. The inside was red and the outside blue, dotted all over with buttons. He had two brass buttons on each shoulder. Just why he wore these ornaments I am unable to say.
He used to make frequent trips to Kurdistan, and because of his bravery and fearlessness, he was greatly beloved by these bloodthirsty people. It was on that very account that, when the majority of people making trips to Kurdistan would come back robbed and bruised, grandfather Mirza would return with flocks of sheep, goats, and exquisite Kurdish rugs and tapestry. Some of these he bought, but most of them were given him as presents.
This man was generous to all boys, and I can safely say that he was the best-hearted man I have ever known. When I was sick with smallpox, I remember his staying by my bedside day and night. In order to make me happy and forgetful of my sufferings, every day he would present me with pieces of money, and tell me stories of the Kurds.
He was generous to a fault. His home and stables were always open to everybody. When other village men were frightened almost into panic upon hearing that the Kurds were in the vicinity, grandfather would take the frightened men into his home and entertain them lavishly. Our village was on many occasions attacked by the Kurds, and several families who had expressed a dislike for my grandfather had their property and cattle stolen, but his house was never attacked.
His voice was tremendous and many men recognized him from a distance by his sonorous tones. When he shouted the village men would say, "The lions and bears from fear of his voice flee to the mountains and disappear.”
This powerful, fearless, but lovable man acted as a mediator between the Kurds and the city market-places. The Kurds always feared going to the city to sell their sheep, goats, wool, and rugs, lest they should be arrested by the Government officials, as practically all they had had been stolen, so these merchants would bring their commodities to my grandfather to sell. He would usually buy half of them and the other half they would give him as a present.
Market in Urumiah
Upon one occasion I heard the following story with regard to him and the Kurds, and I believe it is quite accurate. He had bought what stock the Kurds had brought to him, and in order to sell it he went to Urumiah, a city of five or six miles from his own village. Unable, on account of the lateness of the day, to return, he spent the night in the home of some of his friends. That very night, the Kurds with their full force attacked the Home in which he was staying, and finally forced their way within the gates of the yard. The family, upon realizing that the dreaded robbers were about their house, became panic-stricken, but my grandfather simply called for his club.
When the Kurds heard the unmistakable voice of Mirza Pachow they left the house, postponing their attack until some more favorable opportunity. As a matter of fact, they were not afraid of my grandfather for they had a big force, but he, being their friend, they considered it unmanly and un-Kurdish-like to attack the house in which he was making his abode for the night.
I have given this account of my paternal grandfather to show why a marriage connection between the two houses seemed impossible. The animosity which my two grandfathers held toward each other, besides being due to the Kurdish problem, was also, to a great extent, due to their religious differences. Had my paternal grandfather become a Presbyterian, as was the other, the affair of the marriage might have been easily arranged. But Mirza Ketkkoda could not even understand the term Presbyterian. His parents had never talked of such a name, and he did not believe that Presbyterianism could either take him to heaven or send him to the place of eternal punishment, and if they really had such power, what about his forefathers? Were they to be lost for not being Presbyterians? He, of course, knew about Christianity and Christ, but he could not grasp the idea of associating Presbyterianism with Christianity.
In fact, in my grandfather's time, very few people in our country did grasp such an idea. Grandfather Mirza would not even listen to the teachings of a new doctrine. He believed in old wine, old friends, old religion, and he preferred to believe and die in the faith of his fathers. With the exception of my father, who really followed my mother rather than any religion, all of his sons refused to admit the missionaries to their homes. I distinctly remember one bright, sunny winter day, while I was standing on the housetop, a missionary who was visiting my preacher grandfather, came to call and incidentally to convert the oldest brother of my father. Almost immediately after his entrance into the house. I saw him thrown to the yard, and from the vard into the street with Lotie Bashie after him.
My parents regretted the affair, but Grandfather Mirza was not only highly pleased over it, but expressed his feelings in such words as would not bear repetition here.
It can thus be seen why the two families did not want to associate with each other. My two grandfathers never exchanged gifts or greetings. They condemned one another to their friends most vigorously. My maternal grandfather, Rev. Nweeya, disliked the idea of connecting his name with one who, besides mistreating the missionaries, was a friend of the Kurds, and in return he was scoffed at by my father's father for his Apostolic ideas, and for preaching about what was going on in heaven. In all my life I never saw my two grandfathers together.
Of my two grandmothers, there is little to be said. They were both the heads of large families. Their word in their own home was law, and it did not take their children very long to find it out. They were both, however, very sympathetic and kind in nature. The name of my mother's mother was Monna, and I loved her next to my own mother. The grandmother on my father's side, I never saw, as she died the year I was born. Her name was Sheran, which means "Sweet,” and from all I used to hear of her from my father, she possessed qualities which made her worthy of her name. It was told that my two grandmothers, unlike their husbands, always got along well together.
But my grandmothers had no power to make marriage settlements for their children, and especially in the case of my parents, as Rev. Nweeya refused to have any relations with Grandfather Mirza. It was therefore decided that my mother should be taken by force. Her father was finally told that if his consent could not be obtained, his daughter would be kidnapped. He knew that this could easily be accomplished with a few Kurds. Grandfather Mirza could easily storm the house and take away the girl for his son.
Even now this practice is not rare. I remember quite well how one of my own relatives was kidnapped by the Kurds and given to her lover in Kurdistan.
This situation brought much uneasiness to the home of my mother. For fear of having her taken against her father's wishes, Grandfather Nweeya compelled her to stay at home guarded until she was finally taken to the city and married to some one who pleased his fancy. In the meantime my father, in order to drown his sorrows married some one else.
As fate would have it, the man whom my mother first married died within a year after their union. She therefore returned to her father's house, where she remained a widow for some years. In the meantime, the woman whom my father had married, also died, thus leaving the lovers free again.
This freedom seemed to be heaven's way of bringing my parents together, so the subject of matrimony between them was again renewed, even though the same difficulties that had barred them before remained, as her father still opposed the match. But my mother and father had by that time grown older; both having been married once, they had gained much experience and possessed some knowledge in judging human nature. So they wisely decided to follow the dictates of their own hearts. They were finally united in a happy marriage, for all of which I am indeed very grateful.
Mirza, Youel Benjamin. When I Was a Boy in Persia. Lothrop, Lee, Shepard Co., 1920
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