It’s less common for someone to remember their memories from when they were one or two years old. God has given me a talent that I didn’t have the chance to use for scholarly purposes. Among ordinary people, there are many hidden talents that, if not guided, will go to waste, just like water flowing down from the mountains and, following its natural course for millions of years, ending up in the plains; unless we dam it to generate electricity. They say that one day, Avicenna (Ibn Sina) went to the market to meet one of his friends. He was sitting in his room when the neighbor’s apprentice came to borrow some fire. At that time, there were no matches, and people made fire by rubbing two sticks together. The neighbor’s boy didn’t have a flint or a piece of iron. Avicenna’s friend jokingly told him to open his hand so he could place the fire in it. The boy immediately poured some ashes onto his palm and said, “Put the fire on this.” Avicenna was amazed by the boy’s intelligence and took him as his apprentice. Later, he became one of Avicenna’s greatest students. In society and among ordinary people, there are many individuals with talents that need to be identified and nurtured.
When we lived in the village, I had to help my father with agricultural and animal husbandry work; I started working when I was three or four years old and was a helping hand on the farm. My father had ordered a small hoe for me from the blacksmith. I used to go with him, and he would make the hoe for me. My father would harvest the crops, load them on the donkey, and entrust them to me. He would say, “You go with the donkey; it knows where to go.” My mother was in the village, helping us put the load down.
I remember it well; it was spring 1928. My father had loaded manure onto the donkey for me to take to the farm. I rode across the river and, on the other side, in the field, I spread the manure. On the way back, the donkey stopped in the middle of the river; no matter how much I urged it, it wouldn’t come out. I started crying; the river water was deep, and I couldn’t get down. A local man passing by asked what the problem was, and I told him the donkey had stopped in the middle of the water and wouldn’t come out. He said he knew how to solve it, and with the chain he had, he struck the donkey until it finally came out of the water. Since the donkey knew I was going to take it back to work, it didn’t want to come out; some donkeys are intelligent, and they call them “Qaldan Chekh Maz,” which means “It won’t come out of castle.”
I was always working, and I enjoyed it. However, I didn’t have the opportunity to study because of the different stages of life and the circumstances I was in. My father only sent me to school once when I was four years old, and at that time, I only learned how to read. In the village, the schoolhouse was only open in the winter; during the summer, spring, and autumn, children had to work, and I was one of them. This was the situation in our village. Later, when we migrated to Karaj, there was still no news of school, and I had to help in the shop’s work. I wanted to study, but they wouldn’t let me. In 1937, in Burqan, I finally went to school, but only for one year. My father had remarried, and I had to help support the family; on the other hand, World War II was underway, and there was famine and sickness; so, I had to give up my education and continue with the semi-urban and rural life until today.