Dilshad the Enchantress

Yemenat

Abil Hasanov

My cousin was a high-ranking state official. I saw him often, usually on the television screen. We had spent our childhood inseparable, and my mother never once made a distinction between us. Yet, as the years marched on, they pulled us apart inch by inch. The day eventually came when my cousin became one of the most prominent figures in the country. The higher he ascended the ladder of power, the further he drifted from our lives. Our encounters became a rarity.

One day, he called me from an unknown number. I picked up the phone with a sense of hesitation. The voice was familiar, though I recognized it only with difficulty. It was indeed my cousin. A thought immediately flashed through my mind: How did he get my number? And why is he calling now? When I answered, he greeted me with unexpected warmth and asked where I was. I told him I was at home, to which he replied:

“I am sending a car for you this instant. Please, come to me. I need you.”

I began to wonder what this cousin of mine, absent for so long, could possibly want from me. While I was lost in thought, the car arrived, its horn sounding outside my door. I climbed in, and the vehicle sped away. Minutes later, I was by his side. He was waiting for me in a lavish restaurant. From his visible agitation, I could sense the urgency of the moment. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he began to pour out his troubles in a hurried breath.

“My cousin,” he began, “my affairs are no longer as they should be. Even His Excellency the Minister has ceased to speak with me frankly. As he grew distant, the visitors who once swarmed my assistants began to dwindle. Now, he barely speaks to me at all.

Consequently, no one bothers to knock on my door anymore. As you know, I own restaurants and wedding halls, but the patrons have vanished. I have a medical center that was once teeming with patients; today, it stands hollow. I have spoken to many, yet no one has found a solution. You are my last hope, cousin.”

I was struck with bewilderment. The more he spoke, the more my astonishment grew. What could I possibly do? I was on the verge of speaking when he continued.

“Cousin, do you know what I have done?”
“What have you done?” I asked.

“I finally found the root of these troubles. I went to a Sheikh. He consulted his books and said: ‘As long as the Minister, who is beloved by God, was in touch with you, your bounty was plentiful. But when that noble soul withdrew, your fortune withered. May God protect you from such calamities!”

“This is a great misfortune indeed, cousin,” I remarked.

“It is not God who does this,” he countered, “it is the Minister.”

He went on, “The sorcerers told me there is magic hidden in my house. They said, ‘Summon Madam Dilshad to cleanse your home of this spell.’ Now, Madam Dilshad is your neighbor, and you know her well. If she aids me, I shall grant her whatever sum she desires. In fact, I shall reward you as well.”

“My cousin, a man of your high standing… how can you believe such things?” I asked.

“I do believe them,” he replied firmly. “Despite being an educated man, I am certain these forces exist. Many people believe in them. Please, bring Madam Dilshad tomorrow if possible.”

He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to me. Tempted by the money, I agreed and promised to bring Dilshad. I returned home and spoke with our neighbor, Madam Dilshad. She was delighted by the offer and said, “Set the arrangements, and I promise to give you a share of whatever I earn.” True to my word, we went to my cousin’s house the following day. My cousin and his wife received us with wide, welcoming smiles.

They set aside a room for Dilshad to prepare. A few moments later, she emerged looking utterly bizarre. She wore tight black trousers that stopped at her knees and a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Her hair was teased into a wild mane that spilled over her face and shoulders. She was a sight to behold, terrifying and grotesque. Dilshad began to mutter something in a low, guttural hum, searching through the blankets and bedding, finding nothing at first. Then, she heaved up the mattresses, thrust her hand deep beneath them, and let out a sharp cry.

“I have found it!”

With her right hand, she pulled out a small bundle wrapped in blue cloth. I was watching her every move with surgical precision. As she withdrew her hands from the bedding, it appeared as though her left forearm had momentarily vanished into thin air. Thus, she “cleansed” my cousin’s house of its curse. Then, it was time for the acrobatics.

And what a performance it was! Dilshad, who suddenly took on the air of a profound scholar and a master sorceress, began to dismantle the spells in the house one by one. She held out what she had “uncovered,” her eyes wide and piercing, and commanded:

“Take this charm to a hidden place and perform the rite upon it! Then, give it to the children; let every one of them urinate upon it. Only then shall this magic be broken until the Day of Resurrection, and…”

My cousin cut her off: “Sister, break it in such a way that it remains broken even after the Resurrection! I will give you whatever sum you desire!”

Dilshad turned to me. “Neighbor, what was your cousin’s rank again?”

“He was one of the giants of the bureaucracy!” I replied.

Dilshad hummed, “Hmm… marvelous!”

Thanks to Dilshad and my cousin, I began to reap a fortune. Both of them held me in the highest regard. Through my cousin’s connections, my social circle expanded, and other families began to seek us out. As the clientele grew, so did our profits. Money began to flow like a torrential stream. It reached the point where clients offered me real estate just for the privilege of Dilshad’s presence. One gave me a shop, another a café, and a third a car dealership. Dilshad never went anywhere without me, for I was privy to all her tricks. Had she pushed me away, I would have unmasked her entire charade. We even took our “cleansing” operations to the homes of clients abroad.

One day, a client offered me a high ranking position in one of the ministries in exchange for Dilshad purifying his home. My wealth had grown exponentially. I moved from the village to the city, acquiring homes not only in the most prestigious neighborhoods but in foreign countries as well. As the days passed, my status soared. I became a household name, and my face was a fixture on television screens. I had long since forgotten Dilshad because my affairs were flourishing.

But one day, black clouds began to gather over my head. The very Minister I served turned his back on me. He no longer even wished to see me. I was on the verge of a thunderous fall, just as my cousin had fallen before me. We had not met in years, but somehow, I found his number and called him.

“Hello, cousin!”
“Hello!”
“Cousin, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“That Dilshad… the enchantress, Dilshad…”
“Yes?”
“Do you happen to know… is she still alive?”

Azerbaijani Writer and Short Story Author