Daughter of

Api

Neda Kazemifar
for Mamai,
who taught me patience.

Story and illustrations by Text by Layout and design by

NEDA KAZEMIFAR ILIA NICK RAM DEVINENI

The book was made possible by the National Endowment for the Arts and New York State
Council on the Arts with the support of New York State Governor and the New York State
Legislature. Copyright 2023 by Neda Kazemifar. ISBN: 978-1-892494-72-6. All rights
reserved. Published by Rattapallax, Inc. and Power of Priya.
More information at www.powerofpriya.com
Daughter of Api
Neda Kazemifar
 Author’s Note
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the heart of Iran,
lived my dear Grandma Mamaei. This village was like a magical
oasis, a vibrant burst of green amidst the vast desert. Life flourished
there, thanks to a remarkable source called the Qanat. It brought
water to our village, quenching the thirst of the land and nurturing
our crops. But alas, everything changed when industrial drilling and
factories began to surround our once peaceful village. The Qanat
dried up, leaving our people in despair. Grandma Mamaei had no
choice but to leave behind her beloved farm, with its majestic
almond and pomegranate trees, and come to the city to be with us.
I would often sit with her on our balcony, watching as she patiently
combed her hair. I often wondered what thoughts filled her mind.
It seemed as though she was preparing herself, waiting.
Oh, child, do you even
wonder
why you begin to
comb your hair

when this voice

you start to hear?
It was you who heard them
singing first, and dreamed
of being a child to give
them hope.
I was there, flowing from
the deeps, in the streams,
in the fruits, in the grass.
And you were amazed and happy because you were
as you are. But they wanted more, and your generosity
was divine like the summer noon sunshine.
 Oh, child, do you even wonder
why you begin to comb your hair

When this voice you

start to hear?
So, you dreamed to growing up and becoming a
fair lady to help them. You took the unknown paths,
whispering unfamiliar songs, and I was with you...

in the roots,
in the branches,
in the leaves.
But they received less although you tried to increase.
And they left like the autumn evening breeze.
Oh, child, do you even wonder
why you begin to comb your hair
when this voice you
start to hear?
Time seemed to pass, and you were trying to give
them what you did not have and I was with you in the
clouds, in the rain, in the fog, but you did not see me.
Although you were
searching for a familiar
face everywhere.
So, to reach beyond and know the unknown,
you dreamed of growing up again.
But then you simply grew old and your hair
turned white, like the snowy winter night.
Oh, my girl, do you even wonder

why you begin

to comb your when this
hair voice you
start to hear?
It is not because you
need to grow not for
what you do not know.

It is because you
need to flow.
Is it not the time to sing
your old song again?

Sing it with me then,

and comb your hair,
making the way to
remember, so that
you can find me again.
Because I can’t come where
you are, but you can hear
my voice and come to me.
You will flow to the
depths again, because
you are my daughter.
Daughter of Api,
the goddess of
waters.
And now you see we are one again in
the below, and we will then forever flow.
Open your eyes and look now.
Everyone is returning, and everything is
refreshing, it is like a bright morning of
the spring.