Bemused (1)

With the sunrise, a new day began. In the early morning hours, which were colder than the coldest hours of the night that was desolate and filled with the unknown, a village that seemed small and simple slowly woke up to the new day. Inside one of the few adobe houses in the village, a family was sleeping with light murmurs in quilts tightly wrapped around each other and placed side by side. Inside the house where sleep wandered, there was a small movement in one of the beds lined up parallel to each other. A small boy woke up lazily in his warm bed, rubbing his eyes. Bringing his little hand to his ovally opened mouth, which was pushed to his limits, he yawned with all his might. He wiped away the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand and stood up lazily.

On it was a very old and worn sweater that looked like it was from his ancestors. The upper part of the sweater, made of sheep's wool, was covered in brown with a brown color sprinkled on top of white, while the lower part of the cow of the sweater was covered with a pale gray color. As far as the little boy knew, he was also worn by his two older brothers and his father. After straightening his worn and patchy outfit with a hard and quick sleight of hand, without stepping on his brothers, he reached the door that led to the hallway like an agile cat and stepped on the cold floor with his bare feet along with the slow creaking sound of the door. After checking out of the corner of his eye that his siblings, who were still sleeping, had not woken up, he closed the door heavily and began walking down the aisle.

He quickly wrapped his cold body with both hands. He greedily inhaled the smell that reached his nose. The smell of the bread he smelled every day told his body where to go. He moved forward, feeling the cold wall with his hand. The boy, who had just woken up from sleep, came to the front of a room with an open door, put his head inside the room as he always did, and struck a sudden warmth on his face.

Inside the room, there was a brown tandoor, showing the small touches of time. Tandooris, which appeared thousands of years ago and were used to cook food in ancient times, are baked enough tandoori bread to be consumed for a long time thanks to tandooris established in many regions of more than one empire, in village houses, in certain rooms of houses. The little boy understood that he had bought this tandoori made of mud and straw from the native merchants of the desert, who had come to their village a few months before his father died, for a large sum of money for their small family.

Small child; He saw a woman with a thin and weak back turned against herself, with messy and dirty hair, checking the bread baked in the tandoori burning over high heat with her roughened hands, which were not affected by the high temperature. The little boy went to the knees of this dirty-looking woman and sat lazily.

The woman, who looked old and sick, glued the dough of the bread to the tandoori wall. Very soon the tandoori bread in the tandoori was baked. After taking the baked bread from the wall of the high-temperature tandoori with sleight of hand, she took the dough of the bread that was standing next to her in her hand.

The little kid, looked blankly at his mother's face from the heat and cold, from the traces of people and life, and then at the bread baked on the fire. Realizing that her son has come, the woman stretched out one hand covered in idle flour and briefly rubbed her youngest son's brown hair. Although the little boy never felt 'kindness' from this harsh love, in this case, without knowing why the little boy was in a state of calm and peace.

He even started to feel a little sleepy, but if he didn't hesitate to go back to sleep, he might already snore right now!

The little boy took a pinch of his brown hair, which his mother had pulled his hands-on, and brought it before his eyes, which were still in a state of sleep confusion. As usual, he didn't tear off a strand of his hair. In a slow-motion, he picked it up and wrapped his finger around the strands of hair. He felt the texture of his brown hair with his little hands filled with baby oil.

There was a madness that threatened people of this brown color and evoked good feelings. It was a color that contained very contradictory to people. Maybe that's why they called brown the color of madness. He was thinking about dealing with his hair, which reflected all the colors of brown in a wavy way. He wouldn't know he was thinking so much unless he thought about it.

Why wasn't I born my eldest brother?

Why can't my sister walk comfortably but I can?

Why am I not the fire that burns in the tandoor?

Why does my father live without us in what we call a dream or heaven? Why doesn't he come to see my mother and my siblings, me?

The child thought for a while after these questions came to his mind. It seemed like questions that interested him and didn't know the answer to. It seemed like it would take some time to find the answer.

Then he put his hand on his forehead and continued to think.

To his surprise, he realized that he could not find answers to the questions. Due to his short life and unexplored and unlearned knowledge, he could not find an answer to his question. At least that's what he thought. In short, he was still too young to know the answer to this question.

So he decided to ask someone who might know the answer.

It would be difficult for the little one to find the answers to these questions, even when he grows up. But you know what they say; those who find the big answers are the ones who have the big questions!