Water by Amin Faqiri translated by Iraj Bashiri © copyright 1987, 2002

The end of the sowing season for barley and wheat coincided with the beginning of the villagers' leisure and idle time. They sat under the sun chatting about past and future concerns. Talking behind absent friends' backs was the staple of their talks and, occasionally, when they tired or ran out of stories, they tied a bird to a tree branch or to an awning as a target and practiced with a shotgun--two tumans a shot. At other times, they played games with either knuckle-bones or matches. In all, winter for the farmer was a tranquil time during which he either took care of his family's problems or, without really needing to, traveled to town.

Fall was giving way to winter when, suddenly, the villagers realized that they had not had any rain. Talk of rain dominated all conversations. They talked of God and His blessings. Then they realized that they did not have a prayer for rain; they had never had a need for one. They had been self-sufficient. Issuing out of the side of the mountain in the Pass, water came to them in a stream. As if out of a ten-inch caliber artificial well, the spring gushed out of the side of the mountain providing water sufficient for five villages. Yet the villagers complained that the amount of water in the Pass had decreased. Soon the wheat germinated and broke through the soil; a green haze covered the field. A couple of rains later, the wheat stocks became strong and healthy. They stood up. The farmers looked at them anticipating a bumper crop. Some time Passed. No more rain graced the land. The sky became chintzy and, as if avenging a past misdeed, it brought on dark clouds only to quickly scatter them and send them away. The long faces of the farmers indicated that they had over sown the land. It did not rain and it did not snow. Without these vital sources of water, a difficult year was in store--a year of tough living and of shortages.

Before the New Year, the Irrigation Department jeep noiselessly crept in; the irrigation engineer got off and said, "As of spring, the Department will take over the water." The villagers laughed. How could a spring that had provided these villages with water for thousands of years become part of the Irrigation Department?" they asked. "Perhaps we will have to pay water rights, too!" they joked. They were familiar with water fees; there already existed irrigation fees for the river. And nobody contested that. Because, they believed, the river carried a lot of water. But they didn't understand why the water of this spring that supplied five villages should be taxed? Everyone in the villages considered taxing the spring water a joke. It rained a couple of times, and the wheat grew. Before the New Year's day the wheat stalks were already twenty centimeters high. Every face in the village showed joy and contentment, especially the shopkeepers who controlled the lives of the farmers--the farmers owed the shopkeepers everything they produced. Because the previous harvest, the shopkeepers had bought the wheat that would now sell for three tumans, for only one tuman and a half; The rice, they had bought for two. Usury was so profitable that, at least two shopkeepers had gathered enough wealth to make the pilgrimage to Mecca and become hajis . And perhaps that was the reason why it were the shopkeepers who measured the wheat stalk and made estimates for the forthcoming harvest. They owned the land and the crop. The farmer owned the headache of irrigation, the fear of drought, and the fight over water rights which, at times, ended in the farmer's death. Of course if it did not rain, the shopkeepers, too, would suffer--the farmers' payments would be in arrears. Could the shopkeepers complain? No. If they did, the farmers would crush them. Before the shopkeeper could realize it, the farmers would concoct a rumor that would force him out of the village. All considered, however, the farmers were the losers. The shopkeepers could wait for the harvest. It didn't really matter whether it happened this or next year. What difference could it make for him? If the farmer paid this year, his debt would amount to half of his harvest. Were he to pay the next year, it would amount to all of his harvest.

The Land Reform, while giving individual farmers the ownership of their plots, had affected their attitude. It had turned them into a bunch of complainers: they refused to pay manal , they refused to pay the two percent, they infringed upon each others' rights and, they were constantly at each others' throats. They no longer heeded the kadkhoda. The village of Qasem Abad's seven hundred acres of arable land was mostly sown. The Kadkhoda said, "Well then. where is Agri-corps? They are supposed to interfere; they are supposed to regulate things and prevent an overuse of the land. Before Land Reform, the landlord prevented the farmers from using more than fifty percent of the land each year. That led to a profitable yield. But now, Asad has sown all his land near the Pass. So have Mohammad Aqa, Rustam, Kavus, and Qorbun Ali. When the time for culturing the rice comes, how are they planning to irrigate those portions of their fields that are far from the water source? They should leave part of the land fallow. They should allow the land a year to rebuild. Besides, don't they know that there is a water shortage this year? Nobody listens? 'I am a free farmer,' is their response to kind council. To hell with you and your freedom! I believe the Shah distributed the land among the farmers to create brotherhood and equality. Instead, we are trying to wrest our neighbors' lands; they are trying to swindle ours...

A quarrel over water was inevitable. Trying to keep up with the Joneses, the farmers had sown more than their individual land's capacity. Zaker had used all his land, therefore, Vali Khan, too, had followed suit. It was the duty of the Agri-corps to force them to moderation. But there were no indications of that. Instead, day in and day out more fields were plowed and more seeds sown.

The rice in the husk, which had been stored in gunny sacks to sprout, had sprouted. The sprouts were ready to be cultivated in five days' time. If they were not cultivated by that time, they would spoil. They would grow too long to be handled properly. The next task was to produce fertilizer. For this, every sewer in the village was cleaned, at times creating quarrels over small amounts of crap. It was rumored that chemical fertilizer was hazardous and that it wore out and burnt the seedling before it had a chance to grow. Everyone, adult as well as child, was now in fertilizer production. Everyone struggled with life to produce better living conditions for the relentless shopkeepers and money lenders.

Then, one late afternoon, the engineer came. Work finished, the men folk were resting by the village gate. They had heard rumors about the water from the spring. They wanted to confirm their information. The engineer said, "Tomorrow all the trustees of the village of Qasem Abad, Ja'far Abad, Norsrat Abad, Ali Abad, and Hassan Abad should come to the Pass for water distribution."

People shouted, "Mr. Engineer, God has already apportioned the water. What is the wisdom of dividing it again?"

The engineer answered, "I have no personal interest in this. I am simply following orders. If you do not show up tomorrow, you will be considered absent. Your water will be divided among the others. Your case then would go to the government for a decision."

Then the engineer's jeep sped up rising dust in the distance. A hush fell on the community. The farmers continuing their rest, discussed the roots of the problem. They unanimously blamed the village of Ahmad Abad. Finally, they sent messengers to other villages for consultation and they resolved not to participate in the water distribution process at the Pass the next day. The engineer, they thought, could do whatever he wished.

The village was slightly feverish. Everywhere discussions were about water and about how water should be divided. Early the next morning, when the sun graced the tips of the poplar trees, the village water patrols brought the news that the Ali Abadis had taken over the Pass and were building a road. They were cutting the trees so that the engineer's car could reach the Pass. All that flattery just to get on the engineer's good side.

The trustees of all the villages, except the trustee of Ali Abad, had a meeting and talked. The village head of Ja'far Abad said, "I have information that in addition to flattery, the Ali Abadis have also paid money. He said that they had paid forty tumans per acre twenty days ago.

The trustee of Hassan Abad said, "We, too, better grease the engineer's palm. No job goes forward without some bribe!"

The trustee of Qasem Abad said, "Isn't this aggravating that the Ali Abadis, who for years begged us for water for their fifty-acre land, should now get as much water as required for our seven-hundred-acre villages? This is not to mention Ja'far Abad which has eight hundred acres."

The trustee of Nosrat Abad said, "I shall not allow this to happen even if it means my death! The rice seedlings are ready for plantation. If we cannot take care of them right away, why live in a village? Wouldn't landing in prison be preferred over living in a village, where your rights are infringed upon and where your life is destroyed?"

The trustee of Hassan Abad said, "As I said, we must satisfy the engineer. We must bribe him."

The door opened and a farmer entered. He informed the trustees that the engineer had gone to the Pass and that he had written up a report and therein he had indicated their absence. The engineer also had dammed the water so that only a third of the usual amount of water now reached the villages. The farmer also said that the sluice to Ali Abad is open all the way and that the river to Ali Abad is overflowing. The trustees were crestfallen. They were ruined. They knew that if they did not go to the Pass, the engineer would not release the water. They worried about their rice seedlings.

The villagers had all gathered at the gate of the house in which the meeting took place. Their faces red and their tempers volatile, "We shall burn the Ali Abadis!" they said.

The village head of Hassan Abad appeared in the threshold. He invited the villagers to be calm. He said, "None of this nonsense! We shall go and talk to the engineer. Quarrel will settle nothing. We must demand our rights peacefully. Besides, do you like to land in prison? Don't you think of what you would be putting your wives and children through? Do you intend to ruin them?"

The people calmed down. They all said, "May Allah bless us."

It was 2:00 in the afternoon when the trustees departed the village on horseback. The spring sun was hot. There was a great deal of commotion for collecting funds. Since they were mostly poor folks, the villagers approached the shopkeepers. They borrowed money and had the shopkeepers put it on their tabs. At 4:00 in the afternoon, Mash Sabz Ali came with the funds collected. He poured them on the floor. They had gathered two thousand tumans . This, he said, was the contributions of three villages. The Qasem Abad village itself had seven hundred tumans , raising the total to two thousand and seven hundred. That was enough. On the outskirts of the village, Hossein Khan and Mash Sabz Ali set out for the Water Distribution Center; the villagers watched them from the nearby hill.

They reached the Water Distribution Center at sunset. The engineer and the local gendarme chief sat in front of the building. The villagers said hello, but both the engineer and the chief ignored them. When they got a chance, the villagers talked about water and about their rights. The engineer said, "I had to divide the water the way I did. I know nothing about rice culture and I do not intend to get involved in a discussion of acreage."

"But this is not fair," said one of the villagers. "Neither God nor the Prophet would like this. Our seedlings will perish prematurely."

The other villager continued the thought, "The land, too, will die. The land is thirsty. It must become pregnant, it must give people rice. It must give people wheat and barley. Altogether, Ali Abad has only fifty acres of barley and wheat plantation. For their rice plantation by the river, they draw on the river. But Qasem Abad has seven hundred acres. Mr. Engineer, is what is happening here logical? How can Ali Abad have two shares and we two shares?"

"What impertinence!" the engineer blew up. "Give a couple of villagers some land and they become rabid!"

"We are not rabid," said the villagers. "We work for His Majesty. For four years now we have worked on the land without paying any shares. That makes us His Majesty's farmers. Besides, Mr. Engineer, why beat around the bush. Why shouldn't we come to a mutual understanding?"

Saying this one of the farmers produced the bundle of money from his pocket and tried to give it to the engineer, saying, "This here is a token of..."

The engineer slapped the man who was offering him the bribe across the face. The man's face turned purple. His nose began to bleed. With anger written all over his face, he shouted, "Why is Ali Abad treated so royally, then?"

"Is that what you think?" shouted the engineer. "You nincompoops! Do you think I have accepted a bribe?"

"We are not saying, sir," the other villager explained. "The Ali Abadis say."

The chief said, "Mr. Engineer. That is a lie. They are bluffing. No one can match the cunning of the village folk."

Before the chief had an opportunity to call his gendarmes, the two horsemen were making dust on the way to the village. The engineer was laughing. He said, "What a people!."

The chief said, "And that is just the tip of the iceberg."

When Hossein Khan and Mash Sabz Ali returned from the Water Distribution Center, the villagers were waiting for them. As soon as they knew what had happened, the villagers sent word to the other villages. They blamed the Ali Abadis for all that. Hossein Khan said, "I have no doubt that something gives. Why did the Ali Abadis build a road?" Then he added, "Of course it is not proper to accuse a governmental official of bribery. You can, of course, if you don't fear exile. We have to find a way to defend our rights."

The people all agreed, saying, "Be it this year or the next, without water we are dead. Water, like blood in our bodies, must circulate in the village."

They took their maces and slingshots and climbed the hill. There was dust in the distance. Other villages, too, had been mobilized. The villagers walked in the desert, their trustees leading on horseback. The village of Qasem Abad joined the other villages. Faces were angry. Everyone carried a mace. Mash Siyavash said, "We must annihilate the Ali Abadis so that they cannot build any more roads or pay bribes. We will break that dam." At the same time the news had reached Ali Abad. They had chosen the other side of the river whereon to dig their trenches. The flood of people flowing like locusts into the land, ruined their crops. But they did not care. They shouted curses and threw rocks with their slingshots. The four villages, feeling strength in union, crossed the river. The Ali Abadis took to flight. Three or four heads were cracked. Dust covered everything. It was war. Shrieks and anger dominated the scene. From the hill, the Ali Abadis looked on the plain and shot at those from the four villages. Some of the people were wounded. When the villagers realized the futility of fighting on the plain, they gave up and, tired, returned to the Pass. Out of fear, the Ali Abadis did not move down. The villagers in the Pass dammed up the water to Ali Abad, not allowing even a drop. They then assigned patrols and left.

News of all this had reached the gendarme command post. But no gendarmes appeared. The chief of the gendarmes had said, "I can move on them only if someone is killed." This was the night of victory.

It was the night of victory, of course, but those familiar with the situation knew that no matter what action they took they were condemned. In the morning, they had refused to participate in the water distribution process; later in the day, they had tried to bribe an official, and in the late afternoon they had mounted an attack. If there was any consolation, it was in the fact that the two parties had not met. Otherwise, angry as they were, at least twenty or thirty individuals would have been killed.

At night, the streams were overflowing, but water was of no use. Nobody felt like irrigating anything. Besides, it was impossible to culture all that rice in one night. Especially that the next day could be a repeat of the previous one. Undoubtedly, the villagers thought to themselves, the Ali Abadis would not remain idle. They felt helpless. They wondered when the engineer comes back to the Pass tomorrow, what their reaction should be. They could apologize, but the damage was too great for an apology to remedy. They had to plead for mercy. They were confused. They knew that they were in the right. They also knew that in spite of their rights being infringed upon, they had to kowtow and plead for mercy. How hard it is when all the avenues reach dead ends and, when no one comes to restore people's rights!

The words of old man Oroj stayed with them. He had said, "You should not have done this. You should not have sent two inexperienced fellows to the engineer. Why were two men so easily provoked and just as easily intimidated selected to settle a delicate problem like this? These situations must be handled by old hands; people who can speak the language of the other side and who can, with soft speech, bring a point home to them. Is it proper to overtly bribe a government official, especially in the presence of the chief of the gendarmes? True, these fellows work as a team and divide the loot but, in public, they maintain distance from each other. Your attempt to bring the engineer's acceptance of bribe to the attention of the gendarme chief in this way is tantamount to bringing a henchman's petty larceny to the attention of a gangster."

In the morning the sky was hazy, the air was heavy and it was warm. The trees in the garden were thirsty. It was as if their sap had dried. The leaves of the trees were turning brown and the clay at the bottom of the stream was cracking. The village was awake. It was burdened with the responsibility of the actions of the previous day and with the anticipation of what was about to happen. This was the day that the engineer, possibly accompanied by the gendarme chief, was coming to the Pass. The Ali Abadis had not remained idle; they had taken action. The engineer and the gendarme chief were totally on the side of the Ali Abadis. How could the Ali Abadis be innocent? Isn't this a fact that the slimiest of the individuals always presents himself as the most trustworthy?

The sun spread its golden light on the road. People gathered at the village gate. The trustees walked in their districts inviting the people to unite. People were ready. All talk was about honor and about upholding honor. "Without water there is no honor," they said, "and without honor there is no life. Better us killed than the fields go thirsty." The stream passing by where the villagers sat was brimful. But the villagers knew that as soon as the engineer came, it would become dry again. The men carried their lunch bread in a kerchief on their back. In their hands they carried their weapons: clubs, spades, maces, and slingshots. Their only gun had already been taken to the Pass secretly.

In the Pass, women wearing pantaloons under their skirts, shrieked the kel . The children sat calmly before their fathers. In the village, silence ruled. Everyone was gathered at the village gate. The sun burnt the ground. Their faces were glum. They had realized that they had handled the matter incorrectly. But there was no return. They didn't give themselves the right to return. "Now that things are going wrong," they said, "let them go wrong all the way!"

Around noon, the dust around the other villages indicated that they have begun to move. Soon the kel of their women could be heard and the women of Qasem Abad responded. It was an exciting scene. The men of the village of Qasem Abad began the march and their women followed them, shrieking the kel. The field outside the village was overflowing with people. Women's long skirts, sweeping the ground, rose much dust in the air. Old women prayed to God to avert a real confrontation with the Ali Abadis. They pledged dates, saying," Oh, God, don't let the Ali Abadis come to the Pass!" Not a person could be found in the village. The heartbeat of the village had stopped, its veins had dried. When the two crowds joined each other, the noise subsided, while the amount of dust increased.

The Pass was a pleasant place. It was a valley, about two kilometers in length. At the valley's lowest point, the water passed unimpeded. A row of oak trees and other wild fruit trees extended from there to the mountain slope. The villagers looked, with contempt, at the road that the Ali Abadis with great difficulty had built. They intend to acquire as much water for their fifty-acre land as was needed for a seven-hundred-acre land. And they thought building a road would accomplish that for them! The men scattered. The two kilometer stretch along the stream was turned into picnic grounds. The villagers ate lunch while their women shrieked the kel and watched them dance. They thought if they could bring this day to night, everything would be fine. As if there were no tomorrows and no accounts to settle. They knew that they were in the right. And they knew that God knew that they were in the right. What they did not know was the schemes of the earthling demons for whom "God" and "rights" were meaningless words. What did they know about crops drying in the field?

At about three in the afternoon, the roar of a car in the distance was heard. The binoculars showed the irrigation department vehicle dusting its way towards them.

Their hearts were about to jump out of their breasts. But they stood their ground; the vehicle entered the Pass. The newly built road was uneven and somewhat dangerous, but the jeep made it. People stood on both sides of the road. The engineer was pale. The large jeep was full of gendarmes. Seven or eight gendarmes were pushed in there. They were perspiring; they pressed their M1 rifles against their chests. The villagers opened the way for the jeep. It was obvious that the big wheels were at the spring. Slowly, the jeep approached the spring. Water splashed five or six meters away from the jeep on the faces of the people. It was cool. The trees shielded the sun. Water dripped from the leaves. The crowd was silent. The silence frightened the engineer. If people talk, one knows what is afoot. But when they choose silence, their intentions become unknown. The engineer got off the jeep. The gendarmes surrounded him. No one moved. No one stood up to indicate respect for the engineer. No one said hello. Vengeance was written across every face. An old woman who had placed a loaf of flat bread and a Qur'an in a tray approached the engineer. She pushed the gendarmes aside. The sun shone bright. Large beads of sweat rolled down the engineer's face. He was confused. What would happen if something happened to him? Who would care for him in this God forsaken place? The day when they had handed him his diploma, he had thought that he had it made. But now his pride was hurt. A glance at the shiny barrels of the guns, however, returned him his confidence.

The old woman with quivering voice said, "Mr. Engineer. Let us handle our water our own way. The Ali Abadis and we have been neighbors for centuries. We are relatives of each other. We have dealt with each other according to the ancient custom of kadkhodamaneshi . Water for the rice is like milk for the baby. We wait a whole year for the day we culture our rice. Culturing the rice for us is tantamount to the festivities of the qorban . If the pilgrim does not sacrifice, he will not become a haji . If we don't culture our rice within the next few days, it will spoil and we will become destitute. Mr. Engineer, I ask you to respect this bread and this holy book; have mercy on us."

The old woman's beseeching did not affect the engineer; it only made him more angry. Thinking that the presence of the gendarmes would prevent any mishap, he picked the bread off the tray and tore it up. With his other hand he upset the tray with the Qur'an . There was a commotion. Cries of "He is a Baha'i,... He is a Baha'i..." filled the air. The women screamed. The engineer was pale. He attempted to go to the sluice that supplied Ali Abad with water, but people attacked him. The women tore the engineer's shirt into pieces. The gendarmes were forced to shoot a few rounds into the air. Rocks began to slide down the mountain slope. It was no longer safe to stay. The gendarme chief took the engineer to the jeep. People walked with them. When in the safety of the jeep, the engineer stuck his head out and said, "I shall make you pay for this!" The villagers made faces at him. Anger overwhelmed the engineer. He had been ridiculed; he could not easily forget that.

On the way to the headquarters, the gendarme chief said to the engineer, "Mr. Engineer. You did not handle this situation correctly. If you wish to gain the goodwill of the people of this region, you must respect them, you must respect society. They are people, not quadrupeds. You are not dealing with the village folk of a hundred years ago. They cannot be duped any more."

The engineer kept his composure. The jeep made dust. The air was filled with the crack of guns fired out of joy. Once again water flowed in the main stream. But no one was using it. The sun had quietly set. They all felt a burden had been lifted from their shoulders. What if the law retaliates?

The village continued to struggle feverishly. People were excited and happy. They thought that they had seen the last of the engineer in the Pass. They thought law and order had no teeth and that honor had abandoned the engineer. Everyone in the region knew that women had ridiculed him.

It was ten o'clock in the morning when the Qasem Abadis were informed that the engineer accompanied by the major who was the regional gendarme commander, and the local gendarme chief were their guests for lunch. Quickly, they killed a sheep. The party arrived in the Irrigation Department jeep, accompanied by a van full of gendarmes. Everyone was cheerful. The officials asked for all the trustees to assemble for questioning. No one appeared. The engineer and his company waited in the Farmer's Aid office for a long time, but no one showed. Only Hossein Khan, the head of the Farmers' Aid office stood by, one hand continually on his chest as a sign of respect. Hossein Khan had visited Tehran and was a notable in the village. Women worked in the yard. They had to prepare food for thirty people. Hossein Khan took the engineer and the major onto the rooftop. He showed them the soaked rice seedlings and, with a sigh, said, "They were scheduled to be cultured today." The engineer nodded. The sunbeams worked on the rice sprouts. From the adjacent roof, women watched the engineer. Men pitifully looked at the dry stream. The stream bed was still damp, but the sun was taking care of that. Early in the morning the van, carrying all the gendarmes, had made a trip to the Pass. Sluices for the four villages had been closed. People were apprehensive. They did not know how to prove that they were in the right. They did not feel that they were responsible for what had happened. Their hope was to end the quarrel with Kadkhodamaneshi .

Until lunch, all talk circled around threats. At lunch Hossein Khan had brought a lot of salt. He said to the engineer, "We villagers respect salt. All we are asking you is only to let us live. We want our water."

The engineer said, "Considering what you did yesterday, you are not fit to live! Why did you bring your women to the Pass?"

Hossein Khan said, "Sir, His Majesty has given women their freedom. They can go wherever they wish. Besides, don't they have a share in the water?"

The local gendarme chief said, "Apparently you still don't know me well enough!. Don't you know what misery I can bring upon you all?"

Hossein Khan said, "Certainly, sir. You can do anything you wish. We don't have any complaint against you. You have been very kind to us. Our request is this: since you are a friend of the Kadkhoda of Ali Abad, have him come here so we can resolve this situation with Kadkhodamaneshi. The engineer smirked, "Tomorrow," he said, "come to the Water Distribution Center. We will settle the problem there. I have given the matter some thought and I have come to he conclusion that you people should be helped."

Hossein Khan stared at the engineer. In his heart he said, "You rascal, you," but outwardly he said, "We must live under your shadow. But we must shake on this. Give me your word."

Hossein Khan guaranteed to bring twenty men to the Center. When the guests were leaving, the women surrounded the car. The regional commander said to the engineer, "Do you see why it would be advantageous not to arrest them here? A struggle would ensue and two or three people would lose their lives. The women alone would tear us into pieces. We really have to be foxy about this."

The engineer smiled. The car rose a great amount of dust as it departed.

People murmured, "They are lying."

Hossein Khan said, "They gave me their word!"

Oroj said, "What word? If they were telling the truth, they would allow the water to flow. They know that we are in the right."

The next morning everyone put some money in his pocket and came to the village of Qasem Abad. They had all lost heart. They were not sure of anything. They had accepted to go to the Center. The women were sad. They gave men their bread and money. People said to those going, "You will not return!"

The trustees said, "They gave their word."

The stream was bone dry. The stream bed was dry and cracked up. When the trustees left on horseback and on foot, the villagers stood on top of the hill and watched them go. Then their eyes caught the fields directly below them. They felt like crying. They looked at the village of Ali Abad and its orchards. Could they forget this grudge? But the Ali Abadis were innocent. Mash Siyavash had said, "It is the fault of the regional engineer who had surveyed this area. He should have reported that the division of water for the region is unjust. But who cares for innocent children who might go without food or who might die?" The gendarmes were in the Pass. No water flowed. The rice culture had spoiled. Late in the afternoon, the villagers were sitting under the sun, looking at the fields. A black speck appeared in the distance and gradually grew. When close enough, they recognized ten horses and donkeys. A man had brought them back. Their riders were all arrested and imprisoned. The villagers felt their back break. Who was there to help them?

The trustees no longer had to worry about rice culture. They were scheduled to be taken to town the next day. They were charged with treason, armed robbery, anti-governmental activity, and shooting at the Irrigation Department jeep! The messenger said," The engineer wrote up a report and all the gendarmes witnessed it."

The villagers combed the village, collecting the money they had just given back. The next morning they sent one of their accomplished fellows to town to shore up support by contacting the friends of the village and hiring attorneys. The trustees were moved to town under guard. The Ali Abadis were taken to town in the engineer's jeep. People were astounded. Sorrow had broken their backs: they said, "God, You bear witness to this!"

The next day some water was allowed to flow; just enough for daily needs of cooking and drinking. No one dared complain. A week later, word came that the trustees will remain in prison until their trial. But even their freedom now meant little. The time for rice culture had passed. The rice seedlings had rotted. Women took care of them in the morning and softly cried. Finally the day came when the seedlings were used for chicken feed or thrown into the alley. The villagers hearts were thrown out with them. The sun shone relentlessly on the unused fields. The ploughs uselessly occupied space.

The engineer visited the Pass regularly. There he and the other officials held parties, played music, danced, and had a good time. The water in the Pass was cool and tasty, its air light and pleasant. The villagers treated the engineer with kindness, so much so that he thought the villagers had overcome their plight and forgiven him. He did not, however, know that there is no end to a villager's grudge. Like the quiet weeping of their wives, the villagers pushed their ominous plan forward.

Shiraz , 1967