Below is an excerpt from the novel Ghoulyabânî (1913), authored by Hüseyin Rahmi Gürpınar (1864-1944) and translated by Hande Eagle. Should you find yourself yearning for more of this delightfully eccentric tale, order your copy here.
Chapter 3 ~ The Seven Shepherds’ Farm
The cover of the first Turkish edition of the novel Gulyabani (Ghoulyabânî)
We covered a lot more ground. At last, Ayşe Hanım lifted her arm and with her finger pointed at the somewhat smoky and green woodland atop a hill, rising steep after vast flat plains:
“Here we go. Just there. The Seven Shepherds’ Farm.”
I looked in its direction. A woodland buried in gauzy fog. Among the dark green tree clusters of this little wood, I could see unkept roofs, walls, buildings of various sizes, windows, and chimneys. Once again, a profound sense of fear came over me. This name, “The Seven Shepherd’s Farm”, was a fearsome title for my heart of pure desolation. I immediately pictured a line of seven shepherds, all hulk-like, heeled highwaymen. How could I spend that night among them? Suddenly my eyes filled with tears again and I asked:
“Nanna Ayşe, how can a frail woman like me tend to seven such shepherds? They can keep their hundred kuruş, all of it. I can no longer think of anything other than going back.”
“Dear oh dear, you halfwit! You’ve really turned out to be a handful. You really don’t understand what I am trying to put across to you, do you? You silly woman! There are no seven or eight shepherds. That’s the name of the farm, it has been for yonks. In any case, it’s not even really a farm. It’s just a great big ruin surrounded by a few smaller buildings. There you will find women like yourself – or ones who are ten-fold more proper and polite than you – and you shall stay with them. What could a shepherd or a groundsman have to do with you?”
I kept quiet again. This time, Ayşe Hanım turned towards the coachman:
“Come on chief, speed up. This isn’t a bridal coach. You’re going too slow.”
The coachman gently tapped the animal on the rear with his whip.
“Bridal coach, you say… What do I know? It’s a day’s journey. The steed’s exhausted. Look at him, breathing like a pair of bellows.”
“Ah, so you call this weak gelding a steed?”
“If he weren’t, how could he go to The Seven Shepherds’ Farm, to such an ominous place?”
“Ominous, you say?”
“That’s the playground of djinns and evil spirits. Just the other week, they possessed coachman Veli’s horse there. The poor animal was gasping for breath. He was flat as a frog. Never stay there after the ezan[1].”
“Come on, you rattlebrain. You speak lies for a tip. The mansion is full of people. How can they live there if what you say is true?”
“Only Allah knows how they can live there… They live there, but are they at peace? The lady who owned the farm went home with the evil spirits. She went nuts. I heard that every evening, the djinns form an assembly around the pool in the courtyard. I heard that the lady goes to sit with them and talks to them. Anyone else that happens to go out into the courtyard at night gets strangled by the evil spirits. Nobody returns alive from there, neither butlers nor housekeepers. Nobody can wander there when it starts getting dark. They even possess owls and wolves.”
“You do tell tall tales, don’t you? May Allah never allow you lot to spread lies. Your kind, coachmen, villagers and the like, turn tales into truth. Did the lady go crazy there? She had already lost her mind when she was living at her mansion in Istanbul. She’s a wealthy woman; of course they weren’t going to put her in the loony bin. They brought her here to the farm for a change of air.”
I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I asked Ayşe Hanım:
“Am I to be a maid to a mad lady?”
“Inn Allah M’a As-Saabireen[2]. She is not a violent lunatic. Just a curious and confused woman, that’s all.”
The coachman whipped his animal a few more times before slanting his head toward us:
“What about Ghoulyabânî, who appears by the old cemetery at the farm? The size of a minaret, they say. Just recently, he chased away three riders in the moonlight. The poor wretches were dog-tired when they finally caught their breaths in Bulgurlu. Two of their horses died of exhaustion.”
“Just shut up, you mug. You are scaring this simple woman. Can’t you see that she’s white as a sheet?”
“I heard that Ghoulyabânî’s meals are supplied by the farm kitchen. If they neglected him for one night he would turn the whole place upside down. He would leave neither a hen in the coop nor an animal in the stable, or a sheep in the barn.”
“Hold your tongue. I told you that’s enough. How can Ghoulyabânî – an evil creature the size of a minaret – be satiated by the food made in a farm kitchen? A man must surely be a real idiot to believe all this hearsay.”
“I’m just telling you what I heard, lady.”
“Just keep it to yourself.”
Cold sweat poured out of my whole body as I listened to the rumours. I was stunned. I felt faint. I had no strength left to speak or protest. Ayşe Hanım turned to me:
“Don’t be scared, my girl. He is telling tales. Hear it but don’t believe it. If any of these things were true, would I ever take you there? Am I your foe? Your enemy? You are a clever girl, you understand things. We’ve come all this way. First see the mansion, the people. If you like it, all is well. But if you don’t, I’ll take you back.”
[1] T.N. Ezan is the Turkish word for the Islamic call to public prayer in a mosque recited by a muezzin at prescribed times of the day.
[2] T.N. An Arabic phrase that means “Indeed, Allah is with the people who have patience” and which can be found in the Quran, 2/153.
translation attached 