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TO KILL THE JARISH / Mahdi Mousavi Nejad
TO KILL THE JARISH / Mahdi Mousavi Nejad

TO KILL THE JARISH / Mahdi Mousavi Nejad


By Mahdi Mousavi Nejad

We are on our way to hunt the Jarish. My job is to sit near their den and wait, until they come and drink from my breast. Years after years I come with the hunters to hunt. Now I know the tricks. I believe that among all the women of the tribe, there is only me to accomplish the Sheikh’s instructions; I am either pregnant or breast-feeding. I guess, I never fed the children to whom I gave birth from my breast. This milk belongs to the Jarishes. Sometimes when my husband shows me a child and says this is our baby, I think about whether the Jarishes are my real children.

Spring is the season of Jarish hunting, and the other nine months are the season of my pregnancy. When hunting season arrives, the hunter’s messenger comes for me. He is always up to it; he puts his hand around my breast to see if they are full. They usually are so full that his hand gets wet with a little squeeze, and that time, the messenger says something to my husband. They never speak aloud and in my presence. He goes to the corner of the room, where my husband lolls all day and whispers the hunter’s message in his ear. I secretly watch them and from the smile on my husband’s face, I know if I can go hunting or not. They speak for a while and at last, write something on a piece of paper and sign it with their fingerprints.

They say this year Jarishes are plentiful. I can see them gamboling on the faraway hills. They look like goats with a small horn on their heads. So nimble and so nifty! They are sagacious, nothing can enthrall them except my white full breasts.

The hunter took off my blouse. My brassiere too. And I go, half-naked, and sit where they showed me. The others hide until I call them. I must sit and wait for hours until a Jarish comes along.

I’m sitting on the boulder. The weather is gloomy and cloudy. Usually at this time of the day Jarishes are not in the den. After an hour or so they come back. This is the moment that my job begins. When one glimpses my bare full breast and my white body, it comes along. At the beginning with a little bit of fear and hesitation and then, with perfect confidence it surrenders itself to my arms stretched forward to stroke it. With one hand I hold my breast, with the other hand I pull tenderly its head towards myself. It sniffs my bosom and comes closer. Then that’s it, the job is done. It takes my nipple in its mouth and starts sucking the milk, whose fullness was causing pain to my breast.

The eyes of the Jarish when it is sucking my breast are so gorgeous. Its large black eyes become dreamy, while a pleasant sense of releasing from the stiffness of my breasts rushes through my body. I look into its eyes which are getting sleepy : “Oh lovely little Jarish, in the whole wide world I am the only one who can caress you like so, and hold you in my arms while you are alive and conscious.”

It starts drizzling. I stroke its soft and fuzzy fur. The rain drops rolling on its fine brown fur are so beautiful! I caress its forehead and listen to the sound of the milk going down its throat. Have your fill!

Drink my dear Jarish! Drink my sweet and lovely Jarish! Drink until you get drunk and fall asleep in my arms. Then I will raise you up and surrender you to the hunters.

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