Milad grew up in Iran, near the beautiful mountains that surrounded the town of Langaroud. But, as time went by and Milad's family grew in numbers and in distance, he found himself living in Turkey with his own wife and three sons. As Milad grew older in years, he contemplated moving back to Iran to be near the beautiful mountainous terrain of Langaroud, but he did not want to inconvenience his wife Mahim. After all, Mahim had sacrificed so much in order that the family move to Turkey to start a textile business, so Milad would not ask her to move again and leave their three sons and their respective families. Several more years went by and Milad eventually gave up on his dream of moving back home. After all, Milad's family was healthy and happy, and his business, although it had taken time to grow, it eventually became rather large and enormously successful. Milad retired at an early age and gifted the business to his three sons. Milad's beautiful Mahim passed away a few years later. The dream that had consumed so much of Milad's time as a middle aged man had once again reared its head now that he was elderly. Milad had a family meeting and shared his dream with his sons, and their families, of moving back to Iran. The sons were concerned, but they knew the yearning that Milad had for his home country. Much to Milad's surprise, Mahim had often told their three sons of Milad's wish to move back to Iran. Hearing of this touched Milad and almost brought him to tears. His precious Mahim had been paying attention to his gripes; moreover, she had regularly shared Milad's dreams with their sons.
Milad sold everything that had belonged only to him and Mahim and gifted the rest of his personal belongings to his sons and grandchildren. He only needed enough money to travel to Iran and buy some property near the foothills of Langaroud. He would build his own one-room cabin to mimic the very cabin in which he was born and lived until he married Mahim.
Such was planned and such was done: Milad moved to Iran. He bought prime land at the foothills as he had envisioned – the land even had a creek running through it. Milad was happy and lived another thirteen years before his tired body had had enough of this earthly realm.
Milad's sons were at his bedside when Milad took his final breath – just as they had been when Mahim passed away. The sons opted out of having a "body washer" bathe their deceased father's body. The sons instead took great care to wash their father's body and prepare it for immediate burial as is customary. Milad's body was wrapped in a simple white cloth, placed on a stretcher with his face covered. The men of the mourning party heaved Milad's corpse upon their shoulders, shouting “la ila ilallah,” which means “there is no God but God.” The men walked toward the cemetery in cadence, and the rest of the mourners followed in a long procession.
The love story of Milad and Mahim had also been laid to rest. Or was it.
Upon finishing this fascinating – yet poignant story to me for the first time, I asked Hassan why this was his favorite folktale, Hassan just smiled. It took several occasions of drinking tea and sharing stories for Hassan to finally admit that Milad had been his paternal grandfather. Milad passed away right before Hassan was born. The story and telling it was my dear friend Hassan’s way of paying respect to Milad and of keeping the family history "with his heart.” So, the folktale of one Milad was, in fact, a true story – not fiction. Therefore, the love story of Milad and Mahim continues – forever.
