MEMORIES
Mazra-e Kalantar has had ups and downs in its history and these events have effected and influenced the lives of its people. These events, whether good or bad, have become our memories. In order to preserve these precious memories, which are part of our village history, and so as to pass them on to our children, for their knowledge of the past of their ancestors, we have opened a page and named it "Memories of Mazra-e Kalantar". You may wish to mail your memories to the site's email and we will bring it on the site, for others to read and know more about how our ancestors lived. We look forward to receive your memories.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sweet and Bitter Memories
Sohrab Kademi
I was just 3 years and 3 months old and my sister had 10 months when our father passed away, at the age of 27. Our mother, who was 22 when our father died, became both father and mother for us. The hardships that she went through in those years, is beyond words. A few years passed in this way, and one day we moved to Dad Ardeshir’s house. Contrary to our house, in which nothing could be found, in Dad Ardeshir’s house there was everything, including many cows and sheep. Each time a calf or a lamb was born, they would become my toys and I would play with them and enjoy their company. Though I was still a child, but wasn’t so small that my mother shouldn’t dare to give my favorite calf’s rein in my hands to take out to the fields to graze.
One of those days, when I had taken the calf out to graze, I tied her rein to an oleaster tree, to allow her to graze around the tree where there was lots of grass, and I myself ran up a hill, famous as the Hiromba Hill, and started throwing stones towards the opposite hill. I would find smooth stones and throw them on the opposite side, to test and increase my strength so that whenever kids in the village would gather to compete in stone-throwing I had enough practice. I would do this practicing not once or twice, but forty-fifty times until I was completely exhausted. Then, I would come down the hill.
That day, like other days, I came down the hill and went towards my calf, which was still grazing, and started groping her, then took her to another tree and tied her there. I was so tired from my stone-throwing practice that I sat under another tree and feel asleep. I suddenly woke up to noises around me and heard my mother crying. I was later told that Morvarid Mehrali (who is still living in Mazra) was passing by when she saw the calf fallen inside a brook, dead. Since she knew who the calf belonged to she rushed to our house and told my mother that a snake had bitten the calf and killed it. Thinking that I could have also been harmed by the snake she ran to the site with a few other women, crying and screaming. She ran towards me, hugged me tight and kept on kissing me. She was thanking God for keeping me safe. Then only I understood what had happened; that my dear and beloved calf had died. I started crying. My mother was crying from joy for seeing me safe and I was crying for my beloved calf. An hour or two later, Dad Ardeshir and my brother, Shahvir, came and took the calf to an orchard nearby and buried her under a fig tree. Whenever I would go to that orchard I would sit where my calf was buried and review my memories.
Though my calf died and never grew up to be a mother and give us her milk, but the fig tree where she was buried gave more and more fruit and we benefited from its sweet and juicy figs.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Nowrooz in Mazra-e Kalantar, in the near past
By Sohrab Kademi
It is the month of Esfand (February) and winter is breathing its last. It’s going away and the pleasant warmth of spring is on its way. We go to the fields and see the trees waking up from their winter sleep. In the next few days they will start budding. Though it is still cold in the evenings and early mornings but daytime is becoming beautifully warm.
We have to get prepared for Nowrooz. There’s lots to be done and we can’t let all the work wait for the last moment. So, we start our work as early as possible. Today, we will soak wheat to prepare it for extracting starch, which we are going to cook into tiny pulps for the ‘faludeh’ drink. We pick the dried apricot and peach fruit from the ‘lork’ that we have collected from the gahanbars throughout the year, and if it is not enough we buy some more, plus dried prune and black berries. We wash them together and soak it one or two days before Nowruz, in a big basin. There should be enough water in it to well cover the dried fruit. This is another delicious Nowruz drink. We have to check our flour stock and if we don’t have sufficient amount, we should take wheat to the flour mill. What about shoes and clothes for all members of the family? Nuts, sweets, rice and lentils should also be checked to make sure there is enough of each item. Everything should be checked. The house itself should be thoroughly tended to. The walls of some of the porticos, especially close to the floor, may need repair. Wherever the straw and clay layer is coming off it should be scraped and taken to the animal shed and spread on the floor so that it gets mixed with manure. This type of manure is ideal to enrich the wheat field soil. In order to prepare fresh straw and clay plaster, for covering the scraped patches, we have to bring clay soil from the fields, straw from the barn and mix them with water that we bring in large pitchers from the brooks. There is no need to hire labor because we do all the work ourselves. Of course, the work is divided and each member is given a specific task. Me and Shahvir have to mix the straw and clay into a blend and patch up the scraped parts of the walls, in maximum 2 or 3 days time. Inside some of the rooms may also need repair, which we have to finish also.
Our mother thinks that some of the mattresses are getting hard and so we have to call for Fathollah, the cotton beater, to rip up the mattresses, beat the cotton, and fill it again, stitch it up and make it soft and new.
We hear that one of these days the coppersmith is coming to our village. We have a few copper pots, pans, basins and bowls which have lost their inner tin layer and need new garnishing, so we take them to the coppersmith. In those days all sorts of ceramic and earthenware was used. Some of the jars and bowls have chipped brims. These have to be replaced by new ones. We would never throw the broken ones away, in the streets. Whatever that was to be discarded had to be taken outside the village, to a spot called ‘larz’ (dump) and dumped there. Each time we came back from the dump we had to take a bath and change our clothes.
Just 2 weeks are left and it is time to put some wheat to sprout, also prepare green jar by spreading soaked cress seeds on the outer wall of a small jar and fill it with water to make the cress seeds sprout. Both sprouts are among the main items on the Nowrooz spreads (spotless white dinner cloth); one for the deceased and the other for Nowrooz. Also, on all four corners of each portico a vase shaped container is carved in the wall, in which wheat sprout are grown.
Now, it is the turn for house cleaning. You might think that a house made of adobe and clay doesn’t need cleaning! But, let me tell you that we would have detailed house cleaning. All the clothes and mattresses and quilts/blankets were taken into the open and shaken to remove dust from them, and wash them if needed. The storage room had a lot of work. The wheat and barley sacks and other stored stuff should be shifted and the floor under them swept, after which the items were put back in place. All the walls of the house had to be dusted to remove cobwebs and dust from the ceilings and corners.
Hectic work would go on right until Nowrooz eve. Two days left to Nowrooz, the dinner cloth to be spread for the deceased plus the vessels used for the deceased ceremonies had to be taken to the village brook and washed thoroughly. Even the line on which the dinner cloth was to be dried had to be washed.
Now, almost everything is ready and tomorrow is Nowrooz. Our mother is spreading the Nowrooz cloth under the ‘veeju’ (veeju is a flat square wooden plank hung from the ceiling by ropes on 4 corners of the plank tied to one hook in the ceiling) and places items like mirror, rose water sprinkler, portrait of Zartosht, Avesta book, wheat and cress sprout (the green jar), one glass bowl of clear water, milk, sweet drink, wine, sweets, nuts, and homemade bread and cake. Different types of eatables are also prepared for the occasion. A lit lantern is the most important item.
The cloth for the deceased is spread in the room, called the purified room, and whatever is on the Nowrooz spread is also put on this spread. Whatever pictures we have from the deceased members of the family are put on this spread.
Before transition to the New Year we all gather around the spread with new clothes on, and pray ‘Sorush Baj’, Kusti prayer, Tandorosti and Berasad. We wish each other health and happiness. After transition to the New Year we all greet each other joyfully and then the New Year traditions start. We first visit families which have lost a member in the past year, to express our feelings towards them, then go to the Fire Temple. It is full of the people from the village. We all exchange New Year greetings and good wishes. Then, the men folk visit the village headman, followed by a visit to the village mobeds (priest). Next is the turn to visit elders of the family, relatives and friends.
The next day we all go to Pir-e Rafee-abad and on the way sing and play the traditional musical instruments. The day after, we go to Pir-e Mazra-e Haji and enjoy every minute of our ‘ziarat’. Everyday we have some joyful program to enjoy. On 6th Farvardin, the birth of Zarathushtra is celebrated in the traditional manner, by prayers, music and dance. For the children Nowrooz holidays still went on and in the afternoons we would go to a playground we called ‘baghog’ and play a game very similar to the present baseball, wrestling and other games. Swinging on the swing was also one of the Nowrooz games for us. We would fix a big and heavy piece of wood on the roof of the archway and tie two ends of a rope to the wood. A thick pillow would serve as the seat on the rope. We would sit on it and swing ourselves. Some of the elder children could swing so high that their legs would touch the archway roof.
The elders would very soon go back to their farming and husbandry because these two jobs couldn’t wait, especially since it was the season to plant spring products.
I have tried to draw a picture of Nowrooz in Mazra-e Kalantar in the near past. Though the customs haven’t changed today but the thrill and excitement of Nowrooz was much more in those days.
Happy Nowrooz to whoever is reading my report. May your wishes come true your life give you joy.
The nights of the spinning wheel house
Memories of Sohrab Kademi
I remember I was 6 or 7 (because when I was 8 I was sent to Markar School in Yazd, and only during summer holidays I would return to Mazra) my mother (may her soul rest in peace) would take me with her, in the long winter nights, to the spinning wheel house (after midnight, during the long winter nights, girls and women of the village would gather in one house and would spin cotton or wool until dawn). In those days, like most other villages of Iran, Mazra-e Kalantar did not have electricity. Radio was rarely found in a house and the people did not have the means of recreation that now-a-days people have. So, in winters when the nights were longer and from 6 in the evening upto 7 in the morning it was dark, people would go to sleep early. After midnight, when the roosters crowed, the girls and women in the village would go to the spinning wheel house. In every block there was one such a house so that the women didn’t have to walk a long distance in the cold.
The women in our neighborhood would gather in the house of (ravanshad) Morvarid Khodadad, wife of (ravanshad) Dinyar Fereidoon and spin thread until dawn. Morvarid’s house had quite a spacious room towards the entrance, which was made into a spinning wheel room. The spinning wheels of the ladies would stay in this room all through winter and no one would take hers home. Each one’s place was reserved and had a cushion, which was made by the owner, from handmade cloth filled with cotton or wool. This cushion, which was soft and warm, was placed on the floor for the owner to sit on it and start spinning. It was a custom that each one would bring with herself melon seeds or sunflower seeds or other snacks which were all homemade, together with some cotton for spinning.
In a corner of the room there was a kerosene cooking stove to warm up the room and at the same time used for cooking a pan of turnips, which also was a village product and each day one of the ladies would bring it. In another corner there was a brazier full of burning coal, which Morvarid would prepare every night and put a kettle full of water on it with a teapot full of tea next to it. When everything was ready, the main work, which was spinning, would start. The ladies would spin the cotton and make it into thread and prepare it for weaving it into cloth (weaving was done in their own houses). Most households had a small and simple weaving workshop. One of the arts that girls had to learn at home was cloth weaving. While spinning, the ladies would exchange village news, for example, who is pregnant, who has given birth, who has left on a trip and who has returned from travel. They would give news and get news and drink tea in beautiful china bowls with a big piece of sugar in it (so that God forbid they don’t get stomach ache!).
Today, most of the ladies who went to the spinning wheel house in our neighborhood, are dead and gone. May their souls rest in peace. From among them only Keshvar Ardeshir is living and is presently in the States. May she live a long and healthy life. Keshvar Ardeshir was one of the permanent attendants of this house. She had a very powerful memory and had a skill in telling stories of the past. She remembered very well all the sweet and bitter events and would recount them in a very interesting way. Other ladies would recite popular poems from famous poets, one after another. Some lady may have even shed a tear or two. In those days infants and small children would often die of some disease or the other. There were ladies among the group who may have lost a dear one and by listening to the sad poems, would start crying. There were also those who would crack jokes and make the atmosphere lighter and jollier. Stories would go on until dawn broke. All would start eating the steamed turnips. The stay in the house would be as long as 3 or 4 hours. Before the dark turned into day everyone would go home to sweep their houses and doorsteps and sprinkle water on the swept floor. Then it was the time for burning incense on fire and taking the censer all over the house and outside the house. At that hour the street would become full of sweet smells of incense. Breakfast was prepared for the family before tending to indoor and outdoor chores. Day would pass and night would arrive and time for another gathering in the spinning wheel house.
I tried to take you on a visit to a spinning wheel house in Mazra-e Kalantar. Hope you enjoyed the visit. See you next time on some other occasion.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Memories of Farangis Namiri
Written by Ardeshir Jamshidi
I met Farangis Namiri in the California Zoroastrian Center on 25th Day (15 January). Farangis is in love with Mazra-e Kalantar. Whenever she finds an opportunity she talks about Mazra. After exchanging greetings, she asked me about news from Mazra. I gave her a picture and told her about the changes during the past 3 decades. I felt she was sailing in the winding streets of Mazra. She talked about her childhood memories. She said in detail who lived in which house and which street of Mazra. She remembered each and every inhabitant and had joint memories of them. I asked her if she wanted to go back to Mazra. She felt a choke in her throat and her eyes became full of tears. She said it was her only wish to see Mazra once more and pay pilgrimage to Pir-e Hrisht. I asked her why only Pir-e Hrisht and why not other shrines. She replied that she did want to visit all the holy places but Pir-e Hrisht is her mother and she is her child. I asked her to explain what she meant by saying this. She said, “Don’t you know, my mother, Homayun Khodadad, had given birth to 6 children, all of whom died, before I was born? I was her 7th child and when I was 2 years old I had become very ill and my mother took me, in despair, to Pir-e Hrisht to beg for my recovery. It seems that in Pir-e Hrisht I practically died and my body was wrapped in white linen and kept aside, to be taken to Sharifabad Dakhma. At that moment, my mother went crying to the shrine, threw herself on the stone and cried: “My child is dead, but she is your child now. Give her new life.” At the same moment people were heard saying that the child got back life and is crying. This is how I got new life from Pir-e Hrisht; I’m the reborn child of Pir-e Hrisht. While I was in Iran, I would go to my mother for pilgrimage every year, and it is my wish to go there once more.
Let us hope that Farangis’ wish comes true and she goes to Pir-e Hrisht once again, and also to her mother land, Mazra-e Kalantar. We wish her health and long life.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Mazra-e Haji
A friend of mine, who was working for the German Archeological Institute in Tehran, describes: "One day I was driving to Yazd with two German archeologists. When we reached Ardakan, I informed them that there was a village nearby where I was born, and all its inhabitants were Zoroastrian. I suggested that we could visit it, if they liked. They welcomed the idea and so we drove to Mazra-e Kalantar. While showing them around the village we came to the old fire temple. They carefully observed it and commented that it was built in the No-bahar Fire Temple style, and that it should be repaired and preserved as a valuable building. We walked towards the mosque and their eyes fell on the ruins of the wall near the graveyard, called the City Wall. They inspected it and after close obsevation guessed that it was some 800 years old. After this interesting visit, we continued towards Yazd City."
I was interested to know the purpose this wall may have served in that desert land. A hypothesis is that this wall enclosed the fields and houses of Mazra-e Haji Fort. Therefore, Mazra-e Haji seems to be older than Mazra-e Kalantar. We thank Farrokh Jamshidi, who was an inhabitant of Mazra-e Haji, for relating part of the history of this old fort, which had inhabitants until a few decades ago, and from whom he learned its history. Farrokh Jamshidi writes: "I was born in Mazra-e Haji Fort. I remember walking daily the distance between Mazra-e Haji and Mazra-e Kalantar (about 1 km), where I would attend the first 4 years of school. Since the school only had 4 grades and I was so eager to continue school, I went to Yazd City. I enrolled in Dinyari Primary School, and together with studying I worked in that school to help finance my living. I completed the 6th grade, and was now determined to go to high school, but had no money. I started
working at a tailor's shop, learned sewing and soon became a tailor. I would work during day and study at night. This way I could complete the 9th grade. In those days the irrigation water in Mazra-e Kalantar started drying out and my father was no more able to help me in my expenses, so I was forced to leave my studies and only continued my job as tailor. Today, besides my job, I am the keeper of the fire of Homa Fire Temple, in Yazd. With God's grace I will serve the fire till the day I die."
Farrokh Jamshidi has written for us the history of Mazra-e Haji Fort and we will bring it on the site (with minor alteration) for the readers to learn about its past. We would appreciate to receive any information about the history of Rafei-Abad and any other place attached to Mazra-e Kalantar, to enable us transfer the knowledge to others.
I was interested to know the purpose this wall may have served in that desert land. A hypothesis is that this wall enclosed the fields and houses of Mazra-e Haji Fort. Therefore, Mazra-e Haji seems to be older than Mazra-e Kalantar. We thank Farrokh Jamshidi, who was an inhabitant of Mazra-e Haji, for relating part of the history of this old fort, which had inhabitants until a few decades ago, and from whom he learned its history. Farrokh Jamshidi writes: "I was born in Mazra-e Haji Fort. I remember walking daily the distance between Mazra-e Haji and Mazra-e Kalantar (about 1 km), where I would attend the first 4 years of school. Since the school only had 4 grades and I was so eager to continue school, I went to Yazd City. I enrolled in Dinyari Primary School, and together with studying I worked in that school to help finance my living. I completed the 6th grade, and was now determined to go to high school, but had no money. I started
working at a tailor's shop, learned sewing and soon became a tailor. I would work during day and study at night. This way I could complete the 9th grade. In those days the irrigation water in Mazra-e Kalantar started drying out and my father was no more able to help me in my expenses, so I was forced to leave my studies and only continued my job as tailor. Today, besides my job, I am the keeper of the fire of Homa Fire Temple, in Yazd. With God's grace I will serve the fire till the day I die."
Farrokh Jamshidi has written for us the history of Mazra-e Haji Fort and we will bring it on the site (with minor alteration) for the readers to learn about its past. We would appreciate to receive any information about the history of Rafei-Abad and any other place attached to Mazra-e Kalantar, to enable us transfer the knowledge to others.
The Story of Mazra-e Haji
by: Farrokh Jamshidi
Course of time has broken me down, but at one time, I flourished and lived with honor. Come, listen to my story. The inhabitants of Mazra-e Kalantar know me by the name of "Mazra-e Haji Fort". This name comes from my founder, Haj Abolghasem Rashti. In those days, people would call him 'Haji' and so I became known as Mazra-e Haji.
Haj Abolghasem Rashti dug a qanat well, and where the water came to ground level he built a small building and started encouraging the farmers to do farming in the fields around the well, against a very low rent. He believed that with the low rent that he was offering even thorn was worth planting, but no one showed interest. The reason was that in that period of time, Iran was ruled by Holaku Khan, a Mogul ruler, and Moguls were, of course, tribal men. During their frequent migrations and movements from place to place, they would loot and plunder whatever was on their way. Their lawless behavior spread among Iranian opportunists and thus the country went into a chaotic situation. Haj Abolghasem decided to build a wall around the area where the qanat water reached ground level, and watchtowers on four corners of this wall. The farmers, then, started building their houses inside the fort. Since then I was called Mazra-e Haji Fort. The farmers
would work in the fields outside the Fort and take shelter inside my walls at nights. I had a huge gate, which was closed at nights. Most of these farmers were Zoroastrian. They lived in peace and worked in harmony with each other. They would perform all their religious and national ceremonies with joy and merriment, as was the custom, and thus, I had witnessed happiness and flourishing among the farmers. Every inch of my land is full of memories of those who lived here; memories of their birth, weddings and death. Well, thinking philosophically, I must have been growing old. At a moment in time, the qanat water started drying, and my inhabitants started leaving their houses and settling in Mazra-e Kalantar. While yet, a few households were living inside my walls, they would go to the second story on top of the gate, in hot summer days, and chat with each other, but none thought about my fate. Those whom I had given shelter to in difficult
times, left me to slowly go into ruins. The two story building, on top of the gate, was completely ruined and the gate itself was broken and used as firewood. Now, I am living in my memories. No one cares for me and my past, I who had a history full of life and honor.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Memories of Amir Yekta and his team of cyclists from their visit of Mazra-e Kalantar
Mazra-e Kalantar
We turned on the left of the road where we saw the sign of Mazra-e Kalantar, and drove towards the village. This is the only village in this area, whose inhabitants are all Zoroastrian. Mina had coordinated our visit with the village governor, beforehand. At the village entrance, near an archway, Mrs Samia, the village governor, was waiting for us. She talked about the works done for the village, in the recent years: “At a time, this village was bigger and more prosperous than the other villages in this area, and that is why it was called Mazra-e Kalantar (the bigger village)… most of the houses in the village are empty and its owners are residing either in Tehran or abroad, but they haven’t sold their houses and orchards. Therefore, the population of the village has remained purely Zoroastrian.”
Some time back, my son had come, after 30 years, to pay visit to the village fire temple. But the old fire temple had been destroyed … when he saw the new fire temple he leaned on the wall and cried… how could they do such a thing… how could they wipe out such a historic building.
I asked Mrs Samia to show us the interesting spots and she smiled: “Every lane here is worth seeing”. We started strolling in the winding streets of the village. In one of the streets we met a Shirazi girl named Leila. The inhabitants thought we were foreigners and therefore, had sent her to meet us. Leila was tourist guide in Takht-e Jamshid site and her field of study was archeology. She spoke in three languages and had a lot of precise knowledge about ancient Iran and architecture, and well versed in answering our questions. It was our pure luck that she had come to the village, the day before, to attend a wedding ceremony of one of her Zoroastrian friends in the village. We went together towards the new fire temple, which was in no way comparable with the glory of the old one. We wore white caps when entering. Leila gave us some explanations and said a prayer for our health, from the Avesta book. And then we joined a group of the people who had mostly come from Tehran for the wedding. We walked on a gravel road on the outskirts and came to an ancient water reservoir and two shrines (Pir). Among these people we easily felt like one of them, and not visitors.
They invited us for lunch, and we gladly accepted. According to the Zoroastrian tradition there are some days in the month, when meat is not eaten. They ate a dish that was prepared without meat and we ate the delicious “ghormeh sabzi” left from the previous night’s wedding. We all experienced a very good feeling during our visit, and this feeling made it difficult for us to leave. But we had planned to go to Ardakan before night fell, in order to sleep the night there and start towards Pir-e Sabz early next morning.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We turned on the left of the road where we saw the sign of Mazra-e Kalantar, and drove towards the village. This is the only village in this area, whose inhabitants are all Zoroastrian. Mina had coordinated our visit with the village governor, beforehand. At the village entrance, near an archway, Mrs Samia, the village governor, was waiting for us. She talked about the works done for the village, in the recent years: “At a time, this village was bigger and more prosperous than the other villages in this area, and that is why it was called Mazra-e Kalantar (the bigger village)… most of the houses in the village are empty and its owners are residing either in Tehran or abroad, but they haven’t sold their houses and orchards. Therefore, the population of the village has remained purely Zoroastrian.”
Some time back, my son had come, after 30 years, to pay visit to the village fire temple. But the old fire temple had been destroyed … when he saw the new fire temple he leaned on the wall and cried… how could they do such a thing… how could they wipe out such a historic building.
I asked Mrs Samia to show us the interesting spots and she smiled: “Every lane here is worth seeing”. We started strolling in the winding streets of the village. In one of the streets we met a Shirazi girl named Leila. The inhabitants thought we were foreigners and therefore, had sent her to meet us. Leila was tourist guide in Takht-e Jamshid site and her field of study was archeology. She spoke in three languages and had a lot of precise knowledge about ancient Iran and architecture, and well versed in answering our questions. It was our pure luck that she had come to the village, the day before, to attend a wedding ceremony of one of her Zoroastrian friends in the village. We went together towards the new fire temple, which was in no way comparable with the glory of the old one. We wore white caps when entering. Leila gave us some explanations and said a prayer for our health, from the Avesta book. And then we joined a group of the people who had mostly come from Tehran for the wedding. We walked on a gravel road on the outskirts and came to an ancient water reservoir and two shrines (Pir). Among these people we easily felt like one of them, and not visitors.
They invited us for lunch, and we gladly accepted. According to the Zoroastrian tradition there are some days in the month, when meat is not eaten. They ate a dish that was prepared without meat and we ate the delicious “ghormeh sabzi” left from the previous night’s wedding. We all experienced a very good feeling during our visit, and this feeling made it difficult for us to leave. But we had planned to go to Ardakan before night fell, in order to sleep the night there and start towards Pir-e Sabz early next morning.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to Fariborz Jamshidi for sharing his memories of his grandmother.
In the 1320 decade (1940s) Iran was suffering from war and famine. Plunderers would attack Mazra-e Kalantar (among other villages) and loot whatever that they could put their hands on. Families who were robbed had to suffer from loss of food and livestock. They would go to Shirin Rostam for help, and since she had many friends in Yazd City, she would take one of the children from that family to the well-to-do families in the city and keep them there as servants to do shopping, cleaning and cooking, and in return receive free meals, clothes and schooling. Such help from Shirin Rostam would drastically change the life course of these children. She did many such good deeds for the inhabitants of Mazra-e Kalantar. May her memories be cherished for the future generations.
Mazra-e Kalantar site
"I'm going to share with you my memories of my grandmother, Shirin Rostam. My randmother believed that helping out needy people was better than saying prayers, and that good deed was the best prayer. She had a very strong built and because she was a very frank and outspoken person, the people of Mazra would all respect her. she was known as a problem solver, and whoever came across a problem would go to her for help. She also acted as the village midwife.
One day, a man came running to her and asked her to help his wife give birth to their baby. She left her house in a hurry and forgot to close the door. She had a very beautiful horse in her shed. Incidentally, a government police was passing by her house and his eyes fell on the horse in the shed. He entered the house, opened the horse's rein and took the horse with him to the archway in the main road of the village and tied it there while he tended to some work he had in the village. When my grandmother returned she found her horse missing. she asked my grandfather, "Where is the horse?" My grandfather replied that the police came in and took it away. She asked, "And you kept quiet?" He replied, "Well, he was a police, what could I do? The horse is right now tied in the archway." My grandmother rushed to find her horse, opened the rein and was taking the horse back when the police arrived and lashed the whip on her hand. He yelled, "Where
are you taking the horse?" My grandmother replied, "It's my horse and I'm taking it home." the police started whipping on her hand but she didn't let go the rein. Her hand bleeded badly from the lashes but she held the rein tight. The police gave up and said, "You're a lioness". My grandmother went home with a bleeding hand. From that day the people of Mazra would call here "Lioness".
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A reminiscence of Fariborz Jamshidi from
Almost everybody from Mazra-e Kalantar should be knowing Fariborz Jamshidi. Though he was brought up in Tehran, but in his childhood and youth he spent 9 months of each year in the hope of spending his 3 months summer holidays in Mazra. He had to study well in order to pass his term, and be allowed to go to Mazra in Summer. Whenever Fariborz was upto mischief, his father, 'ravanshid' Jamshid, would threaten not to take him to Mazra in summer. In this way Fariborz was forced to behave and study hard, not knowing that studying hard would one day cause his separation from Mazra. Fariborz, whose world was as big and beautiful as the fields of Mazra, found himself, one day, in America (to continue his studies). He describes his separation with a deep feeling of pain and regret. Though many, many are suffering from being away from their homeland, yet few can bring their feelings into words so meaningfully.
"Greetings to all my compatriots, fellow Mazrai's and all who love Mazra-e Kalantar. I was asked to write my memories of Mazra. I have many memories from my childhood and youth and even the present. In 1348 (1969) I traveled to the States, to study. Of course, at the beginning, everything in America was new for me. For the first few weeks I was busy getting acquainted with my surroundings, the school, car, streets, etc. Gradually, everything became routine for me and my American life started. It was then that I felt I was missing something. This feeling would not leave me. I was searching in myself for something which I couldn't find and didn't know. One day, I received a letter in the mail, in which a picture of our house in Mazra was enclosed. I stared at it and felt a strange feeling come into me. My heart was filled with deep joy, the type that I cannot forget, after all these years. After finishing my studies I returned to Iran and
immediately went to Mazra. When I entered our house, I gazed at the clay and straw walls. I opened the door to the parlor, entered and leaned my backed to the wall. I felt that lost peace come back in me. I was so happy to be away from all the complications of life in America. I understood and felt how simple, peaceful and beautiful life was in Mazra-e Kalantar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Greetings to all my compatriots, fellow Mazrai's and all who love Mazra-e Kalantar. I was asked to write my memories of Mazra. I have many memories from my childhood and youth and even the present. In 1348 (1969) I traveled to the States, to study. Of course, at the beginning, everything in America was new for me. For the first few weeks I was busy getting acquainted with my surroundings, the school, car, streets, etc. Gradually, everything became routine for me and my American life started. It was then that I felt I was missing something. This feeling would not leave me. I was searching in myself for something which I couldn't find and didn't know. One day, I received a letter in the mail, in which a picture of our house in Mazra was enclosed. I stared at it and felt a strange feeling come into me. My heart was filled with deep joy, the type that I cannot forget, after all these years. After finishing my studies I returned to Iran and
immediately went to Mazra. When I entered our house, I gazed at the clay and straw walls. I opened the door to the parlor, entered and leaned my backed to the wall. I felt that lost peace come back in me. I was so happy to be away from all the complications of life in America. I understood and felt how simple, peaceful and beautiful life was in Mazra-e Kalantar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A reminiscence of Bahram Khodabakhsh Samya
"The sun was setting when we got off the bus at the Mazra road. The three of us,: me, my Aunt, Dowlat Zohrab, and Rostam Ardeshir, wrapped our shopping from Yazd in wrappers, tied them on our backs and hurried off towards Mazra, in the hope of putting behind some of the way while it was not too dark. Very soon, it became completely dark. We took faster steps, to reach Mazra sooner, not knowing that we were going the wrong way. However much we walked we couldn't see any light as a sign that we were nearing Mazra. We wandered in the desert for hours and finally gave in to the fact that we were lost. Fear came over us. We put down our loads in order to take some rest and think of what to do. To our bad luck there was no moonlight. The sky was covered by clouds and it started drizzling. It was a rule among the people of Mazra that, since they did not have any place in Yazd to spend the night, they would return to Mazra by the evening of the same
day. Those who knew we had gone to Yazd that day and hadn't yet returned, started worrying. A group gathered, each with a lit lantern in his hand, and started searching for us in the desert. It was nearing dawn when they found us and saved us from dying the desert. When Rashid Bahram, who was in Tehran at that time, heard the news, came to Mazra, employed labor to build mounds on the dirt road starting from the main road right upto Mazra, so that passengers could follow the mounds upto Mazra. He also built a little mud hut at a spot where the road to Mazra branched off from the main road, so that passengers could take shelter from heat, cold, rain or storms.'
May his soul rest in peace.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
day. Those who knew we had gone to Yazd that day and hadn't yet returned, started worrying. A group gathered, each with a lit lantern in his hand, and started searching for us in the desert. It was nearing dawn when they found us and saved us from dying the desert. When Rashid Bahram, who was in Tehran at that time, heard the news, came to Mazra, employed labor to build mounds on the dirt road starting from the main road right upto Mazra, so that passengers could follow the mounds upto Mazra. He also built a little mud hut at a spot where the road to Mazra branched off from the main road, so that passengers could take shelter from heat, cold, rain or storms.'
May his soul rest in peace.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Introduction
In ancient Iran a dog had an important guarding role among human beings and was not only not harrassed but respected and had its own rights and benefits. Being kind to dogs, as members of nature and also as useful animals, was a part of Iranian culture, and in order to preserve its presence in our culture it gained importance in Zoroastrian religious ceremonies, as well. For instance, on the various ceremonies for the dead, when special dishes were prepared for prayers, some were first given to dogs, meaning that dogs had a first serve of the bread and food prepared for the ceremonies. In Mazra-e Kalantar, since these customs have been preserved ever since, each household that performs such ceremonies will first feed the dogs in the village. Thus, the inhabitants of Mazra are not afraid of the dogs roaming in the village lanes or in the firlds, and are even protected by them if attacked by wild animals, at nights in the fields. Some years back, when the people of Mazra had to travel to Yazd to buy their necessities, they had to walk the distance between the village and the inter-city road, which was 6 km, and then wait there for the bus to arrive, and since they did not have any place to stay overnight in Yazd, they had to take the evening bus and return to Mazra before dark. It is interesting to know that when they went towards the main road in the mornings they were escorted by the village dogs, and on return, as soon as they reached the mound built on the way from the road to the village, the dogs would run barking, to welcome the inhabitants.
These few lines were to give a broader view of the below story, narrated by Rostam Bahram Samya.
"My mother, Morvarid Rashid, had told us about her experience on this road. One early morninng, before it got hot, she set off, with my Aunt Shirin, from Mazra toward the inter-city road. The dogs, as usual escorted them, and as they got close to the road the dogs went back, except one big dog belonging to Goshtasb Ardeshir. As the two ladies arrived at the road side, this dog also started going back to the village. It hadn't gone very far when a wolf ran out towards my mother and Aunt. My mother screamed "It's a wolf", but my aunt tried to cool her down and said that she doesn't think so. In a second the wolf fell upon my aunt and pushed her to the ground. Both started screaming in horror. In no time Goshtasb Ardeshir's dog rushed to their help, barking. The wolf immediately ran away. Both ladies sat there trembling, and the dog sat beside them until the bus arrived from Ardakan. One couple by the names of Rahat and Mandegar, got off the bus to go to Mazra to visit their daughter-in-law, Gohar Fereidoon. When they saw my mother and Aunt in that state and heard the story, they got scared and got on to the bus again and went to Yazd (instead of going to Mazra)!
My mother has often repeated this story and each time she says "that day I realized how faithful dogs can be."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------One of my memories from Mazra-e Kalantar
I was born in Yazd City, but my roots are in Mazra. I was in love with Mazra, from the very first years of my childhood. I remember that each time I went to Mazra I had to be brought back to Yazd by force and I would cry all the way. Sometimes, when my parents were not able to overpower my resistance and my crying, they would allow me to stay a few more days in Mazra, next to my grandmother, Khorsheed, grandfather, Khodabakhsh and Aunt Simin. Grandpa had a few sheep and one or two cows and calfs which were the best pastime for me. I would keep myself busy with them. For breakfast, I was entertained with fresh cow milk and cream, being their first grandchild. In those days Mazra was full of life and excitment. Most of the houses were inhabited with elders and lots of children, who were my playmates. To tell the truth, I didn't like the nights of Mazra because as it turned dark the whole village would fall into darkness (electricity had yet not come) and I couldn't play in the dark, with my friends, and had no way but to sit in the house and listen to the stories of the elders, none of which I ever understood. I remember that the jackals would howl in the darkness of the fields, and I would stick to my grandmother, through fear. She would hold me tight and would assure me that the jackals were not close by but far away in the fields. To make me feel more secure she would turn the wick up to make the lantern burn brighter. All houses in Mazra would use lanterns to light the house, after dusk.
There was no paved road towards Mazra, and the only road was a long dirt road, connecting the village to the intercity road. Each time we had to go back to Yazd we had to pave this dirt road (only used by mules and pedestrians) for hours until we reached the main road. When reaching the main road we had to wait for hours, in the cold or heat, in that vast barren desert, until a bus came to take us to Yazd.
I was 4 or 5 years old, I'm not sure. In one of the autumn days, when my father, Farokh, had taken leave for a few days, me and my sister, Parvin, forced him to take us to Mazra. From our house in Yazd, me, Parvin and my father walked all the way upto the Yazd bus depot. We were so excited to go to Mazra that we didn't complain about the long walking distance. In the bus depot we got onto a bus, which I think was Layland, with a long front nose. We started off towards Mazra. I don't remember how long it took but for me it was very long. Finally, we reached the spot where the dirt road to Mazra started, which was actually in the midst of the barren desert. To our bad luck, a dreadful sandstorm came up, and sand began blowing all around us. We couldn't even see each other. My father suggested that we take shelter in a small room, which was built for passengers to use in bad weather, until the storm subsided. This room didn't have any door, so the sand would hit our faces and would burn our skin. After a while, our father said it was no good staying in the room and we should continue towards Mazra, because it was getting dark and then it would become more difficult for us. I remember that my father was carrying some packets filled with sugar and some other stuff. He emptied them in his wrapper and pulled the packets over our heads to protect our faces from the sand. He made holes in the packets so that we could breathe. The sand soon covered the road to Mazra and it became very difficult to find our way. My father taught us to follow the mud piles and not to lose sight of them (these piles were made of earth that was piled upto a few meters, to create a bulge and since these heaps of earth were made in a row passengers would follow these piles upto Mazra). I had traveled so often between Yazd and Mazra but only that day I came to know the secret of these piles and what an important role they played for the people of Mazra. They served as today's sign posts, to help us find our way.
Anyway, finding these piles one after another in the storm, became fun for me and Parvin and we had a competition in reaching each one. After hours of walking in the storm, Mazra buildings came into sight, and in excitment, we completely forgot the difficulties of the trip. Unlike other times when we found children in the lanes, this time no one was seen, because the storm had made everyone stay in their houses. When we reached our house, our mouths and noses were filled with sand, and it wasn't an easy job to wash it off. Oh! the good old days! Grandma Khorsheed prepared her famous tea with cinnamon, which I loved. Now that I look back I realize how difficult life was but I liked its difficulties and built them into good old memories. They take me to the far away days, to the far away joys of childhood. I grew up and left Mazra, Yazd and Iran. But, I feel a part of me is left behind in the winding lanes of Mazra.
Ardeshir Jamshidi Kalantari
There was no paved road towards Mazra, and the only road was a long dirt road, connecting the village to the intercity road. Each time we had to go back to Yazd we had to pave this dirt road (only used by mules and pedestrians) for hours until we reached the main road. When reaching the main road we had to wait for hours, in the cold or heat, in that vast barren desert, until a bus came to take us to Yazd.
I was 4 or 5 years old, I'm not sure. In one of the autumn days, when my father, Farokh, had taken leave for a few days, me and my sister, Parvin, forced him to take us to Mazra. From our house in Yazd, me, Parvin and my father walked all the way upto the Yazd bus depot. We were so excited to go to Mazra that we didn't complain about the long walking distance. In the bus depot we got onto a bus, which I think was Layland, with a long front nose. We started off towards Mazra. I don't remember how long it took but for me it was very long. Finally, we reached the spot where the dirt road to Mazra started, which was actually in the midst of the barren desert. To our bad luck, a dreadful sandstorm came up, and sand began blowing all around us. We couldn't even see each other. My father suggested that we take shelter in a small room, which was built for passengers to use in bad weather, until the storm subsided. This room didn't have any door, so the sand would hit our faces and would burn our skin. After a while, our father said it was no good staying in the room and we should continue towards Mazra, because it was getting dark and then it would become more difficult for us. I remember that my father was carrying some packets filled with sugar and some other stuff. He emptied them in his wrapper and pulled the packets over our heads to protect our faces from the sand. He made holes in the packets so that we could breathe. The sand soon covered the road to Mazra and it became very difficult to find our way. My father taught us to follow the mud piles and not to lose sight of them (these piles were made of earth that was piled upto a few meters, to create a bulge and since these heaps of earth were made in a row passengers would follow these piles upto Mazra). I had traveled so often between Yazd and Mazra but only that day I came to know the secret of these piles and what an important role they played for the people of Mazra. They served as today's sign posts, to help us find our way.
Anyway, finding these piles one after another in the storm, became fun for me and Parvin and we had a competition in reaching each one. After hours of walking in the storm, Mazra buildings came into sight, and in excitment, we completely forgot the difficulties of the trip. Unlike other times when we found children in the lanes, this time no one was seen, because the storm had made everyone stay in their houses. When we reached our house, our mouths and noses were filled with sand, and it wasn't an easy job to wash it off. Oh! the good old days! Grandma Khorsheed prepared her famous tea with cinnamon, which I loved. Now that I look back I realize how difficult life was but I liked its difficulties and built them into good old memories. They take me to the far away days, to the far away joys of childhood. I grew up and left Mazra, Yazd and Iran. But, I feel a part of me is left behind in the winding lanes of Mazra.
Ardeshir Jamshidi Kalantari