Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a young woman. The land was covered with mountains and water springs as cold as ice. Their shores were overgrown with healing herbs. The woman would pick these herbs, make a remedy for sick people, apply it to their wounds and cure them. Then one day a foreign army occupied the land. Every man went to fight this army. Bit by bit the war, once fought in the distance, came closer and closer. The sound of guns and bombs ignited the mountains. One morning, when the woman returned from picking herbs, she saw a wounded man lying in front of her door. From his uniform, she noted that he was a soldier of the foreign army. He was unwell. She drew her dagger and closed in on him. Right before the man fainted he said, “Please, help me.“ Then he lost consciousness. The woman carried him home. When she undressed him, she saw that he had burns all over his body. She made remedies from the healing herbs and applied them to his wounds. Without sleep, she waited at his side day and night. She caressed his hair. She told him stories.
Then one day, finally, the man recovered. The woman was very happy that the herbs had helped. The man said to the woman, “I feel certain that it wasn’t the herbs that healed me. Because those are just common herbs that grow by the waterside. What cured me were your healing hands, don’t you know that?“ She was surprised; she wasn’t aware of that. He put on his uniform, took his gun and just before he went out the door he said to her, “One day, eventually, this war will end. When it’s over I will come to get you. Would you come with me then?“
“I would,“ she replied. He asked for her name, she told him, but he couldn’t hear it because right then, he was shot in the middle of his forehead. His dead body fell right at the place where she had found him wounded before. She couldn’t stay in that land anymore; she escaped somewhere else. After that day, she never touched herbs again. She healed people with her hands.
Years later, a man showed up in front of her. He was very rich and strong. But he was helpless against his headaches. “Cure me and I will give the world to you,“ he said.
She looked at him and answered, “I will cure you and you will give me the world anyway.“ She laid him on her lap, caressed his hair with her healing hands and told him a story. The man never left her again. He gave her a daughter. Even when he couldn’t be by their sides, he always made sure they felt his presence. The daughter inherited her mother’s healing hands. Just like her mother, she could cure people with her hands. And not just that, the daughter’s hands could bring people back to their happiest moments.
Years passed, the daughter grew up and a wounded man showed up in front of her. When she touched him, this time, it was her who went back to her happiest moment. That’s why she could never forget that man. Even if he hurt her or if he continued to hurt her, she couldn’t possibly forget about him. The woman’s name is Şifa, the man’s name is Baykal, the daughter’s name is Efsun.
