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* * *
My wife Keghouhi and my in-laws biography
Araxi Guenkababian is the spouse of my oldest living brother, Haroutyun. She
was born in Esguishehir (means Old City). The Guenkababian family, originally
from Kaysseri, was saved miraculously during the Turco-Hellenic War of 1921.
They then took refuge in Egypt. My second sister-in-law is Mary Yaghdjian, the
wife of my brother Stepan. She was born in Bergama, a small county near Izmir.
Her family also escaped the massacres of Izmir of 1921 with the skin of their
teeth. They then immigrated to Egypt. As regards my wife and her family, they
come from one of the townships of Kaysseri, namely Evereg. The Tchétchénians,
a big family, all escaped Turkey in 1931
Biographic notes about my twin half-brothers Parsegh and Simon
Parsegh was exiled from Turkey in 1908. He too took refuge in Egypt. His
wife's name is Azniv (which means "kind" in Armenian). They had both
passed away at the time of writing these notes. They had 5 children. The oldest,
Dikranouhi, immigrated to Armenia with her family, which consisted of her
husband and daughter, Shaké. They had a second child in Yerevan whom they
called Kégham.
Parsegh's second daughter Siranoosh died at a young age. The
other three children: Vartoohi, Mary and Dikran are all married and have
immigrated to the USA.
My other half-brother Simon whom I remember very vaguely as a dream died at a
young age. He was barely 25, during the First World War of 1914. Upon the advice of my
father and by order of the government (Ministry of Defense), he was enrolled in
the Turkish army to fulfill his services and duties to the motherland as a
responsible citizen. The tragedy of the Armenians had not started yet.
What I
remember of him is his leaving home to go to the Big Mosque where the military
recruits gathered before being sent to the front line of the Army. I remember my
mother and sister taking a good supply of dried bread biscuits (baksoomats) for
him to his place of lodging, the Big Mosque. The front line of the army was at
the Straight of Çanak Kalé (Tchanak Kalé, pot-like fortress or castle). We
received a letter from him a few months later. This was the last news we got
from him. He was surely martyred among the others.
* * *
Now I shall turn my attention to my immediate relatives.
They are my father, my
maternal aunt and my innocent brother Hagop, about 20 years old, and describe
how they became martyrs.
The scourge of the year 1915 had not yet started; annihilation of all the
Armenians in a premeditated systematic plan by the barbaric government of Turkey
of that period, and implemented by its military high command. When they started
to carry out their plan, my father was living in a village called Boghazlian,
between Kaysseri and Yozgat. They say Armenians in this village spoke more
Turkish than Armenian. They were mostly farmers, attached to the soil;
hardworking and peaceful people.
My father was involved in a litigation
of land ownership. An exhausting lawsuit that lasted 20 long years
that involved the right of inheritance of
24 acres of land and 2 mills, left to our twin brothers Parsegh and Simon.
While negotiating with the Cherkez chieftains of the town
(about the credits and debits of each side) the grandfather of the 2 brothers
passed away. The Cherkez chiefs took advantage of his death and unjustly
expropriated the land. Later, as the twin boys matured, they took over the
rightful cause of our father. Many years later they won the case. My dear kin,
imagine the amount of effort, sacrifice (material and moral) and loss of
precious hours; you can then figure out how despaired my father and brothers
were when they saw all those efforts go down the drain after the outbreak of the
First World War of 1914.
* * *
Let us now see how our blood relatives, my father, aunt Fouliané and my
brother Hagop were killed; how they became martyrs.
As I mentioned above, my
father lived in the village of Boghazlian all by himself. My mother and
ourselves lived in Kaysseri; the exodus of the year 1915 was underway. As if the
gallows, various other tortures were not enough, Mother Nature also turned its
back to us... an invasion of grasshoppers began. Countless, perhaps millions of
them - enough to prevent the passage of sunrays and obscure the land. Those
large insects, as they passed by, fell upon the grass and vegetables. Most
plantations were harmed by the grasshoppers. Thereupon, by order of municipal
authorities, the compulsory collection of grasshoppers was ordered. Each capable
youngster was obliged to collect 2 okhas (measure of weight used throughout the
Middle East; 1 okha = 400 dirhem=1.28 kg) of hoppers, shove them in a bag, then
bury the bag deeply in a pit.
This operation ought to be done before dawn since
at the first strike of sun rays, the grasshoppers would fly high in the sky.
Curiously, during the collection of those insects, a number of these youngsters
would disappear...now and then. After hearing the bad news about this
infestation and disappearances, our father wrote a letter to our mother asking
her to send for Hagop, Stepan and Grigor to him until the end of this storm.
"For now this place is peaceful and there does not seem to be any sign of
danger." I cannot remember how they came to that decision. The three of us,
Hagop, Stepan and myself set forth for the journey to Boghazlian township.
The
latter is 14 hours away from Kaysseri by horse ride, but on a caravan it is 80
hours with 3 stop-overs. As a child, this trip was very enjoyable for us, but I
could see some sad expressions on the faces of the grown-ups. We passed by the
famous Kizil Irmak (Red River); there certainly were many people with us but I
don't remember them, nor would I recognize their faces. We reached a lodge (a
khan, in Turkey). It was lunch and rest hour. Suddenly we noticed the arrival of
4-5 persons riding on horses. It was ordered for us all to stand up, except for
me and my brother Stepan. Two of those cavalry-men took with them my older
brother Hagop. My memory goes so far back as to recall that those soldiers were
military men. As for us, we continued our journey, the next day at dawn, and
reached finally the town of Boghazlian.
* * *
Our father was informed of our arrival, thus he had come to meet us. I was as
happy as I could be at that tender age of childhood. Our lodge was the home of
shepherd. My father's part-time job was town's crier (moonédig - like an
auctioneer, i.e. he would collect and sell the Eushur (üsur: the levy or its
equivalents in goods imposed by the government).
It has been my father's aim to please, be liked and respected by the government
circles through his function as tax (or levy) collector to add cash to the state
coffers. He felt that this way he would be out of danger. It was exactly with
this conviction that he called us to Boghazlian. He hoped to call the rest of us
from Kaysseri, soon. Barely a few weeks after our arrival to the town, signs of
extermination of Armenians, much like their martyrdom in other villages with
high ethnic dominance (i.e. Armenians), had also reached us here. The previous
Käymakam (Governor of a Kaza/Ilçé; district governor) was replaced by a new
one. This change was a bad omen for the peace-loving population; the new
Käymakam hated the Armenians. He was carrying out the orders he was receiving
from higher ranking authorities. People of the village were filled with awe and
fear.
Moreover, he was prepared to carry out new plans. Overnight he gave orders
to arrest all Armenians and starting off with young boys they would disappear
within 24-30 hours. This piece of news started to spread through the town like
lightning. Fear and awe fell upon everyone. As a precaution, men started to
hide. Following suit, my father and brother Hagop found for themselves a hiding
place. You may rightly ask where and how. In villages and small towns in Turkey,
generally the fuel used to warm houses or cook food is made up of dried excreta
of stable animals, usually cow dung or horse dung. People used to collect this
material, put it in casts and dry it thoroughly to use in summer as in winter.
They would put some in the stove and use it as fuel, like coal or wood. This was
the hiding place for my brother and dad. Piled up dry animal dung 15 cm in
thickness and roughly 50 cm in diameter. Did you know that the house of a
shepherd measured 12 square metres?
This area was divided into 2 separate
spaces: one space or "room" was the rest or sleeping quarter. The
stove was fitted there. The other half, to lodge the animals. Their food and
dried dung were piled up a little distance away. We had 5 sheep, one milking
cow, a faithful dog that belonged to the shepherd. I used to play with. I think
the shepherd did not have any children. My father and brother improvised a
hiding place for themselves. Heaps of dried dung piled up in the corner to form
a kind of room. Two people could spend the night in this "room." As
mentioned earlier, fear and awe dominated people's hearts during those days. It
was time for them to inspect and search each and every house. To leave home was
impossible.
My brother Stepan and myself would leave the premises, in disguise
to get some information, come back and tell our father the events of the day.
Inspection authorities would not miss any district unchecked. While we were away
from home we saw 5 young men arrested and carried away. A few days later it was
our district's turn to get searched. At the sight of military policemen armed
with swords, we panicked. We were already in our hiding places when they were
too close to our house. We were waiting for a miracle form God. They rushed in,
they looked around here and there, then left empty handed. There was no limit to
our joy when we saw them leave. A few days later they repeated their search. As
during the previous inspection, they watched the area of dry dung. They
whispered to each other "it's a stable, just a stable" and they went
away. During those critical days, Hagop made a suggestion to our father:
"Dad! Why not escape from our hiding place at midnight. You know the roads,
by travelling at night in darkness, we'll reach Kaysseri." My father
replied that he would agree with him but " you may not be aware that
according to what I've heard from friends, the roads and bridges are under
surveillance by sentinel police. How will we cross the Kizil Ermak River? The
current is so strong that its noise can be heard a mile away..."
My brother
Hagop appeared convinced with father's objection yet expressed his foresight:
"In this place, we are now hiding, we are not safe enough. I feel one of
these days we shall get arrested and slaughtered like sheep; instead of falling
in the hands of the barbaric people, I would rather we jump into the river. We
shall either drown or be lucky and be freed." Those thoughts could not be
settled in an hour or two. Going through in moments to make life and death
decisions, we felt we were already late. The storm was not over yet, on the
contrary it was getting more intense. A third search was quite likely. Indeed,
sharply at noon, turmoil broke out again in the Armenian district. Fear and awe
got the better of us again. It seemed as though they wanted to revise their
search. They had in mind to arrest and take to slaughter-houses as many of us as
they could find. This continuous dread had a deep influence on us, the
adolescents. The news of appearance of policemen with swords spread out like
lightning in the districts. Everybody went to his hiding place including my dad
and brother. I saw countless arrests with my own eyes. While searching and
inspecting a pile of heaped hay, the sword of police hit the eye of a young man
and burst it out. The poor boy was carried away with blood sprinkling.
This
scene has upset me so much that it comes to me like a vision every once in a
while. We then noticed that they were approaching our house. One of the
gendarmes said to his chief:" we have been in this house now for the third
time and we have come out empty handed. It seems to be just a shepherd's home
with four walls. By order of their superior, the gendarmes rushed into our home.
Stepan and I we were watching from afar to see what was to happen. We were
praying "Oh Lord ! Do us a favour and reward us for our innocent hearts by
making them come out of our house empty-handed. Oh God! Let us also see your
miracle! Our hearts were beating so quickly during those critical moments. You
can imagine what horror our kin were going through in their hiding-place;
minutes, seconds would pass like hours for them. They were aware of what was
going on outside. My father did not smoke before; he started smoking one
cigarette after another. We were very impatient for the outcome. We had
approached so close to the entrance door that we could hear the voices of the
gendarmes (policemen). Their chief ordered to remove some of the piled up animal
dung and to look into them carefully. His order was carried out immediately.
The
soldiers shattered and smashed the "wall" which was quite thin and
light. The sad moment had arrived; they recognized Hagop and Dikran saying
"the town crier and his son. Thus Dikran and Hagop, hand-cuffed, were taken
to the police station (sheriff's office). As for ourselves, me and my brother,
we followed suit with tearful eyes up to the premises of the penitentiary. On
our way we could see many other arrested people, like ours, and their dear kin
were following them like in a procession. Some of those arrested had been
waiting. Behind the building there was a small window, protected all around by
police guards. I asked myself naively" where is God Almighty and where is
his miracle?" We stood still like statues. Our father called us. This is
what he had to tell us, emphasizing it to Stepan more than me: "Sons,
listen to me now. You know that time is precious, go right now to the Ghady
(Judge) effendi's home. Tell him that our father is under arrest. The Ghady is
quite intimate with me, besides I am respected by many who know me. You will ask
him about the ways to help me." We took leave of him in tears. We flew away
as fast as a bird to the residence of the Ghady. Luckily he was at home. We
approached slowly and politely, we kissed his hand and informed him of the
events that had taken place. After listening to us, he replied: "Listen to
me, sons, you can be reassured, I shall personally meet the Kaymakam bey
(Lieutenant-Colonel) and other colleagues of mine. I shall do whatever I can.
With God's will, I have great hopes that I could get them freed. By tomorrow
morning, we shall have the lives of your dear ones saved." He even tapped
us on our shoulders in a fatherly way. He then told us that we could leave. We
gave this hopeful news to our father and brother as fast as we could. I could
see signs of happiness glitter on their faces and eyes.
As mentioned earlier, our father was arrested around noon time. We met the
Ghady late in the afternoon. Hence our problem would be dealt with the following
day. This waiting period seemed too long for us. However our father wanted to
console us by saying, "now my sons you can leave, and may God help us
all." You can imagine how hard it was for us to leave them in the
penitentiary and go away.
Our father had advised us to pass by the residence of
the Ghady before he left for his office since he might have thought of some
means to set us free.
We hardly slept that night. My brother Stepan woke up before me. The
shepherd's wife was making bread in the oven and preparing some food for my
father and brother. Before taking the food over to them, we went to meet the
Ghady again.
As he saw us, he said: "It is a good thing that you came by
today; in one hours you will go and meet the Kaymakam Bey (Lieutenant-Colonel)
and this is what you should say to him, in a kneeling, respectful position: Most
respectful Kaymakam Bey, do us this favour and spare the life of our father and
brother for the sake of God. Under the protection and reign of our dear Padishah
(King) we have been useful to our beloved government for many years. Our father
has tried the best he could for the progress of our motherland. He has served
faithfully and was of great use in matters of finance. We have always prayed for
your well-being and wished you long life. We shall remain grateful
forever." After having said this much, you bow to him and leave. Thereupon,
we thanked Ghady effendi for his advice and took leave of him. We rushed to go
home. The food for our kin was ready. Taking it along with us, we ran to the
penitentiary and we delivered it to my father and brother. Father was anxious to
her about the result of our meeting with Ghady effendi. We informed him of the
advice he gave us. "Now children," get ready to leave. God bless your
innocent hearts and help you succeed in your endeavours. It was then time to get
up and leave. Leaving our father and brother behind, we went straight to the
governor's building (police station, sheriff's office). While going up the
stairs I heard some whispering sounds and saw the lips of my brother move. I
asked him whom has he been talking to. He replied with God that he gives us
courage to speak to the Kaymakam to ensure that our supplication is met with
success and the lives of our dear ones saved." Meanwhile, we had already
reached the office of the Kaymakam. The military man with the sword on his side
noticed us. He looked at us very attentively and asked us what we had in demand.
We replied that we wanted to meet the Kaymakam bey.
After noticing our young age
and making sure we were harmless youngsters, he allowed us in. We noticed a few
people in the office. Among them we recognized only the Ghady (judge) whose
advice we had learnt by heart. We bowed politely in front of the Kaymakam bey
and in a kneeling position we recited our speech slowly then we parted. I should
also mention that the Ghady, who knew us well now, tapped on our shoulders in a
caring gesture and told us: "With the help of Kaymakam bey, we shall
examine the problem of your father and brother. God willing, we should be able
to find a solution to your problems with the co-operation and foresight of his
Excellency.
We then rushed to our father to keep him posted about the result of
our supplication. After hearing the news, Dikran and Hagop both broke out in
tears. I could not understand if those tears were caused by feelings of
happiness or sorrow or perhaps a fear of darker days to come. As for us, the 2
brothers, we stood still like statues beneath the window of the penitentiary. My
kin and many others around us were busy consoling each other. Suddenly, our
father turned around and said: "My precious boys, you have acted like
grown-up men in fulfilling your duty and you did it very well." We went
back home, tears in our eyes; we were not interested in eating and we had a very
hard time to go to sleep. We were only hoping for a divine miracle to occur.
That particular night lasted as long as a year for us.
The next day, early in
the morning, we carried their food. I don't even know if they could eat what was
prepared for them or not. On the spot, we went to meet the Ghady in his office
who as ked us to come in. In a fatherly way, this is what he said: "Our
yesterday's meeting with the Kaymakam was very useful for your father. As
regards your brother, I shall try everything in my power.
Go now downstairs;
wait for an hour and you will be joining your father." We were petrified of
our joy, wondering if this was true or a mere dream. The judge had understood
what state we were in. Sharply one hour later we did join our father. His joy
can hardly be described in words or writing: endless kisses... Then approaching
the rear window of the prison we found our brother Hagop standing in front of us
behind the bars. Tears in his eyes he asked us; "Dad! Dear brother of mine!
I wonder if you will be leaving me here all by myself, like a
sheep-offering?"
My father was so moved from this unexpected question that
he broke down in tears. "My very dear son, you know I shall try to use all
the means at my disposal to save your life also."
We did not realize how
long this emotional encounter lasted, until the policeman on guard came near us
and said," enough us enough, there seems to be no end to this."
His
warning expedited our departure and separation from Hagop. The tearful looks in
each other's eyes shook our body. Our departure was naturally very hard. We
looked back and overheard him say the same sentence: "Dear father, dear
brother please don't leave me here like a sheep for offering." Those words
still ring in my ears today.
His stay in the prison lasted 24 hours. They did not keep detainees longer
than that. New prisoners substituted older ones. The latter would be taken away
to unknown areas where they would be massacred. The delay of Hagop's departure
was due to our intervention to save him.
That night our father did not sleep a wink. He kept smoking incessantly. The
next day he carried on with his work as usual. All his companions starting from
the Ghady down to the district soldiers wanted to keep their close ties with
him. I don't recall the steps that he took to rescue his son Hagop. Being
familiar with all the key people of the district, he did not need our help. Time
was running out without any result. He was virtually depressed with signs of
despair appearing on his face.
He did not want to leave the rescue of his son's
life to the next day. He seems as though he was living moments of life and
death. He was truly confused waiting for the miracle of God. Dear fellow readers
allow me to ask "Where was God almighty, the miracle-maker at that critical
moment? Could it be that he was waiting for a more serious catastrophe to take
place to show us His miracle. In which Holy Book is it written about our
tortures." Our peace-loving and hard-working people were being uprooted
right in front of His eyes. We might all wonder if He is the God of evil-doers
and not the God of good-natured people.
Could it be that he was waiting for
worse days to perform His miracle. If I may express my conviction to you after
begging your pardon: "God does not exist..."
Because if my testimony
presented here, in utmost clarity, is considered erroneous, or if I am faulty, I
shall recount here another eye-witness event. The physician of our village was
deaf and elderly, nevertheless the Kayamakam effendi because of the lack of
another physician had not taken him to the prison. However, he wanted to test
him and for that purpose he ordered his inferiors to take him away and then
bring him back. His command was fulfilled. He then called the doctor and asked
him with hand gestures what he had seen; implying to give the answer, likewise,
by finger and hand movements. The physician using his fingers made the sign of a
knife then bringing them to his throat he meant that they were slaughtered. Dear
reader, I request that you consider this event as another fact.
Later on, however, the Kaymakam changed his mind. In order to conceal the crimes
he had committed and cover up his brutality, he considered the physician too old
to be useful. He thus gave the order to carry him away then to kill him. The
death of this physician happened during the period when our brother Hagop was
still in prison. Undoubtedly my father had heard about it, and that was the
reason of his despair, regarding his son's rescue. That night aw we came home,
we noticed a great change in his complexion from disappointment and worry. His
efforts went in vain. Nevertheless he said: "The power of God is
immeasurable and so are His miracles." The following morning the three of
us went to the prison. I don't remember if we took his meal or not. Approaching
to the window of the building, we looked through. I didn't see him. We inquired
with his fellow prisoners: "they took him away before us" was their
reply. I think he was led away at sunrise.
Dikran (our father) was aware of all those events. He kept us company together
hoping for a divine miracle. We wanted to look and see with our own eyes what we
had been told. How we came back home without him is simply too painful for me to
describe. Hagop's impleading, sweet voice was ringing in our ears: "father
dear, sweet brothers, don't leave me here alone like an offering sheep."
The fact of the matter is that being detained in the prison, he died as a
martyr. Was this a fair judgement by our Lord? Dear readers, I beseech you to be
my judge. Do you condemn me of atheism, ungodlesness? Perhaps we should leave
this argument to future historians and theologists who might come up with a fair
outcome or judgement.
My father had written about all those happenings to my mother. A few weeks after
Hagop's martyrdom, one day our father started making preparations and getting
ready to leave the village. Boghazlian now seemed so gloomy to his eyes after
the loss of his son that he found no sense to stay there any longer, especially
because of the fact that we were still young and that our mother was in
Kaysseri. His decision was sensible.
We were growing impatient to depart and make the trip back to our family. All
of the sudden, we were informed that our father, while walking on the road, got
arrested and was taken to the penitentiary. The news spread fast and reached our
ears. We ran to the prison hoping to see him. With dusk approaching, there was
no one around to show us the detainees. We had no choice but to wait till the
next day. Before going anywhere else we went straight to the penitentiary to get
news or to see our father. To no avail, he was taken away.
Thus, dear relatives, our genealogical tree got uprooted due to the martyrdom
of my father.
We became fatherless orphans. After Hagop's martyrdom, we felt unsafe at the
house of the shepherd. We then took refuge at the house of one of our father's
Turkish friends. We mentioned to him all that had happened to us. The man took
the news with surprise and felt sorry for us. He broke into tears like a child.
"You are now under my protection," he said. He consoled us by saying
that for so many years he had sat down for dinner with our father. He would have
considered it ungrateful to forget our father's kindness to him.
By way of a caravan heading to Kaysseri, we informed our mother about the
death of our father. Not later than a few days, our inn-keeper received a
telegram which was also addressed to the district judge. The telegram requested
"the return of these two boys to Kaysseri," signed by the previous
mayor of Boghazlian Kaza [District governed by a Kaymakam]. This decision was
taken after a joint meeting between the district-attorney and the inn-keeper.
Naturally it was in our favour.
For further safety, our protector, the inn-keeper, had us circumcised and
changed our names to Satalla and Selion. As safe as we could feel in daytime, at
night we would wake up in horror having dreamt of some fearful events. For
example, police-soldiers with swords coming, conducting searches and taking
captives with them. When we would wake up in the morning, we would tell our
dreams to each other. This was the condition we were going through. Who knows
how much my mother was suffering over in Kaysseri all by herself with her two
children.
When we went back to our hometown, we became aware of the difficulties our
mother had before she could find the residence of the Mayor of Kaysseri. But
before meeting him she presented her problems to the wife of the Mayor. She told
her that the rescue of her two depends on them, and that presently they are
under the care and custody of the inn-keeper. Her presentation being full of
emotion, the conscientious lady felt sorry for her. Then they both presented to
the mayor who naturally inquired about the identity of the woman accompanying
his wife and asked the reason for her visit.
My mother, breaking out in tears recited the tragic events of her husband and
son. I should mention here that the Mayor of Kaysseri was quite familiar with my
father. He promised to send for the two boys immediately and moreover, to take
care of them. "I shall do everything I can so that you will be reunited
with your children. Don't you worry about it." Then my mother and the
Mayor's wife after they expressed their gratitude, took leave of him.
The telegram I saw that was addressed to the judge and the inn-keeper read as
follows: "I request the expeditious return of the two sons of Tellal (Town
Crier) Dikran effendi in all safety to Kaysseri. Thank you in advance."
Signed Former Mayor of Boghazlian region.
* * *
Dear fellow relatives, I would now like to draw your attention to our
maternal aunt Fouliané. I shall recount the circumstances of her death as a
martyr. Fouliané had lost her husband many years ago. She was a widow. She had
requested my mother (her sister) to let raise her son Hagop. My mother, with all
sincerity, had accepted her request. She took devout care of our late brother
Hagop who would call both of the "mother."
Before her martyrdom, she heard about the death of her adoptive son. When the
exodus Kaysseri started, she decided also to migrate, hoping to find her lost
son. My mother opposed her sister's decision and together with her neighbours
they begged her to change her mind and stay with them. She said: "We are a
military family; exile will not be imposed on us. Please stay away from this
idea of migration; whatever may happen to us will also happen to you." My
aunt replied to her obstinately, "I have made up my mind. I am going to
leave, in search of Hagop. Thus she self-exiled herself along with many others
from Kaysseri, heading to Der El Zor. Some witnesses in this town claim to have
seen her. The twon's Mayor had given the order to separate the widows. The fate
of these was death, in the hands of the barbaric Turks. Thus Aunt Fouliané
became the third martyr of the Dikranian family. Our respect to her physical
remains, buried who knows where.
We will keep her image in our memory for
generations to come. We have named our daughter Fouliané after her aunt's name
so that we could always remember her. Blessed her heart, she was truly a lady (a
khatoon).
* * *
Further to the recommendations of the aforementioned telegram, it seemed that
the judge and our inn-keeper had both agreed to send us back to our folks in all
security. We heard suddenly a voice from a distance calling by our new names,
Satalla and Selim. It was our protector, the inn-keeper. We went to him running.
"My dear boys" he said, in a fatherly tone. The ghady effendi (judge)
and myself we are in receipt of a telegram from Kaysseri, signed by the previous
Mayor of Boghazlian region. It concerns you. It is our duty to send you both
back to your mother." I will ask you to be ready within 24 hours. We
thanked our protector by bowing to him. Stepan and I we looked at each other in
astonishment, wondering whether this was reality or a dream.
Whatever we had as belongings we packed them up in a hurry. Time was too slow to
pass. We heard of the arrival of the posta (horse-driven carriage). We were told
that it was due to leave in the morning. I cannot describe how glad we were. Yet
we were sorry for the loss of our closest relatives. "Oh Lord! For what sin
we had committed that you took from us our brother and father, as if they were
offering-sheep?"
Early at dawn, we went to the residence of the ghady to thank him for being
so helpful to us. He bid us farewell with a fatherly expression. The same
gratitude for our inn-keeper and protector. Finally we went to take our seats in
the posta, reserved for us. As I mentioned earlier, they had taken every
precaution to ensure our safe arrival to Kaysseri. After we sat properly in the
coach, Stepan and I, we started to chat whisperingly. We probably were wondering
about our expectations from this town-village on arrival and the bleak outcome
at our departure. Our dear brother and lovely brother were no longer with us.
The hard-working element of the town who was keeping it so lively and joyful was
exterminated; they perished.
On the other hand, our thoughts went to our mother,
sister Aroussiak and older brother Haroutyoun. How would we meet them, what an
emotional scene we had to witness; would it be possible for us to answer all
their questions. These thoughts kept us busy while waiting for the coachman. He
arrived in time and was ready for the departure. Haydé yavroom (come on my
little animals, let us move along). The sign was enough for the horses to move
swiftly. We reached the outskirts of the village. We looked back a couple of
times. A squeezing sensation in the throat caused by emotion, bothered us. My
brother tried to reassure me: " Dear Krikor, don't get upset, don't cry.
Soon we'll be home in our mother's arms." Although 4 years older than me,
Stepan appeared more nervous. The posta (horse-drawn carriage) was running at a
speed of 25-30 km per hour, a speed far too rapid for an ordinary cart. This
speed, however, was required for postas. We could rest only at half way distance
between Boghazlian and Kaysseri. I felt thirsty. When I inquired to the coachman
with a soft voice if the drive to the rest area was too long, "Barely one
hour, we should be patient," he replied. We finally made it half way. There
was a small inn very close by the Kizil Irmak (Red River) in the rest area. We
had one hour to rest. I don't remember if we had anything to eat. After an hour
of rest we were ready to continue the trip. Upon a sign by the coachman, the
horses took off in a gallop. We still had six hours to go.
From Boghazlian to Kaysseri, the regular time required is 30 hours, but
postas make that distance in 12 hours. The coach was running as fast as before.
The scenary was so picturesque: meadows, mountains, valleys one after the other.
We finally could see the Mount Argeghos [presently Ergyas] with its snow-laden
summit. We were so happy for that. I wished I could have wings of an eagle to
fly and reach our destination sooner. I admit though that the posta was almost
as fast.
As we approached the city the coachman lashed his "haydé (hurry
up) yavrum (dear) horses" who doubled their speed. The posta's rule was to
enter the city whistling so that the people would stay away from the road. We
made our entry into the backyard of the Government building. We had changed a
lot during our stay in Boghazlian.
During the time of our stay in Boghazlian, we had become hard to recognize,
so much had changed. For one thing, we hadn't bathed in six months! While we
were getting off the coach, the three of our kin had noticed Stepan. My mother
and sister were wearing tcharshafs (a dress with veil). Their dress looked like
a scarf but wider and longer, about 2 metres. It is worn by women when they go
out doors. It comes down to the forehead.
They had been informed of the arrival of the posta and had come to the
government building to greet us. As a matter of fact, I could not recognize them
until they were close enough. The first one to take me in her arms was my
mother.
Exclaiming, "Oh my dear ones!" she took us in her arms as they
do to children. She had missed us so much, she did not let go of us, not giving
a chance for our sister and brother to give us their embrace. The scene is too
hard to describe in writing. I leave it to your imagination. My mother felt
sorry for our lost kin. She said, "Four of you left, only two of you came
back. Until we reached home, she hugged and embraced us one after the other. We
noticed our neighbours among the people there. They also found us very changed.
Whispering to each other with astonishment. "Is it true they're the sons of
Nartané?" I heard them say. We owe our survival to our father's friend
Ghady effendi (Judge), our protector, the inn-keeper of Boghazlian and
especially to our mother's foresight and love and finally to the former Mayor of
Boghazlian. Our mother, by winning the affection of the Mayor through the
intermediary of his wife, she requested our rescue and safe return home. This is
not a small achievement Stepan and I, we ought to be forever grateful to her and
the Mayor.
Dear fellow relatives, before closing these memoirs, I should like to remind
you that in this year of 1965, we shall commemorate the 50th anniversary of the
great massacres- the genocide, upon the command of His Holiness Vasken I,
Catholicos of all Armenians. Those ceremonies will be held throughout countries
where there are Armenian diaspora makes a number. We shall show the good-willing
people all over the world that we (Armenians) are the sole legitimate heirs of
our ancestral lands and properties. We demand their return to us. It might be
that God will show us His miracle only now, thereby our demands will be
satisfied. If that miracle comes true then I shall believe, with you of God's
presence and His rightful judgement.
My dear brethren, sisters, sisters-in-law; children and grand-children, the
Dikranian family in all: at the cost of repeating myself, I would like to
mention that the purpose of my writing these memoirs is particularly intended
for our future generations. I wrote it from my memory as well as I could.
Whatever is presented in writing lasts longer. The author of this document, now
alive, may no longer be with you later. That is why it was my wish for you to
remember the events we went through, no matter where you happen to be. If you
take these memoirs lightly or you forget our dear martyrs who have neither a
tomb nor a tombstone that is when I shall really die. If you do recall them with
due respect, we shall then survive for a long, long time.
I have specified that these notes are for our whole family. I did not address
them to anyone of us in particular. I wish you all farewell. May God be your
companion wherever you go. Retain your Armenian ancestry and origin, proudly
mention it. At the same time, make every effort not t o forget us. Please keep
my historic memoirs as a relic. I believe they are quite valuable particularly
for the newcomers of our family.
I embrace you all warmly.
Remembering each one of you and surviving through you.
Grigor Dikranian
Cairo, 15 October 1964.
The Armistice
The year 1918. Four years after the declaration of the First World War.
Turkey was defeated. The surviving Armenians from the townships migrated slowly
to safer countries. Railway transportation was easy and available and harbours
were accessible and functional. No difficulties were in encountered by those who
left the country. Whereupon, we chose to go to Constantinople (Istanbul). What
did we hear upon our arrival? The Kaymakam of Boghazlian township was being
punished for his crimes. And this was based on the witnessing and testimony of
Armenians. He was executed by hanging. Unfortunately, his death penalty was
decided before our arrival to Istanbul. We missed the opportunity to attend his
trial in the courtroom. We could have added three more witnesses. Seeing him in
the courthouse face-to-face, we could have revenged to some extent by saying to
him and spitting on his face: "you man-faced beast, blood-sucking hyena, I
wonder you can recognize us 2 youngsters, we are the sons of the town-crier
Dikran, three years ago kneeling in front of you, we beseeched you to save the
lives of our dear father and brother; but you were unwilling, not only for him
but for the entire population of the town you made to perish. To execute you by
hanging is not punishment enough. You should have died by the same kind of
tortures that you subjected those people, after making them suffer, you used all
means and methods of brutality, bestiality to thousands of innocent souls. Most
respectful judges and public prosecutors: "Do you know who I am? I am an
adolescent boy and the man standing in front of me, this beast was the cause of
death of my dear father and brother. It is by his orders that the hardworking
people, faithful to our government were massacred.
"Honorary judge, most respectful public prosecutor, please trust me to
carry out your death penalty to this beast. I know the appropriate was of his
disposal. From his hair down to his toes I would tear him to pieces. Let this be
my duty. It is precisely my desire and that of the survivors of our
village."
Leaving Istanbul, we arrived in Egypt, the hospitable country. I am presently
one of the faithful, hard-working citizens of this country. I am moreover
grateful to our dear President, Gamal Abdel Nasser and the brotherly Egyptian
populace. God bless them, may they live many, many years and long enough life
for me to enjoy their company.
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