Wednesday, Jul 06, 2022

Fairies In The Memory Garden

The wise old aunt and the idyllic world of a starry-eyed youngster coming to terms with the realities of life

Disconnection-2022 Artwork by Khytul Abyad

Pophtaeth, the beloved aunt—my great aunt—was the wisest, the most graceful and the one with the brightest smile, even after her teeth fell off. She was the storyteller, the adviser, the healer and the hafiz. She had stories that no one else did. She dreamt and the dreams always came true. When Papa or my uncles needed spiritual advice, they would go to Pophtaeth the wisest—not only because she saw the future, but also because she saw the present like most didn’t. Her house, the safe haven, was located on the road to the Sherbagh garden, next to the Divibal temple. Me and my siblings spent most part of our childhood around the garden. When there was rain or snow, we would run to Pophtaeth’s house. When the elders came looking for us, for Sherbagh was despised by them, we would run to Pophtaeth’s house. When there were grenade attacks, we would run to her house. When there was firing, we would run to her house. Divibal temple was holy, the army would never enter its street.

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