The son whose grave is awaited

Selahattin Tokat fell as a martyr in the attack carried out by the PKK on the Van Çatak Kanalga Gendarmerie Station. Selahattin and his comrades-in-arms began fighting at 01:00 on September 15, 1993, on the hill with an elevation of 2053 and the hill without an elevation to its north. When one of the traitor's bullets found Selahattin's heart, another struck his watch, which showed 01:15. With the stopping of the martyr's heartbeat, the hour and minute hands also stopped chasing each other incessantly. Following the departure of Selahattin, who left this world, he resigned himself to silence, saying, 'This was my time as well.' The Kanalga Station gave 12 martyrs that night.

That night, a fire fell into the heart of Sadık Tokat, a father of 8 sons, in the Ulualan neighborhood of Avlacık Village in Araç, Kastamonu. His chest burned as if the fate of his son, who would never see the light of day again, had become known to him. Until dawn, every time he seemed to drift into sleep, he felt as if he heard Selahattin calling out 'Father' from the courtyard gate. God knows how many times he went downstairs that night, thinking his dear son had arrived.

They brought Selahattin, who had been hennaed and sent off from his father's hearth, to Ulualan wrapped in the red flag. Sadık Tokat pointed to the spot under the great oak tree right next to the house. He sifted the soil for his son's grave himself and turned it into fine dust. He spread the soil, which did not contain a single stone the size of a chickpea, under the martyr with his own hands. He wanted his dear son not to be hurt while lying there. He had the grave boards carved from durable, resinous pine.

Selahattin, who has been resting for 19 years in the rustling shade of the great oak tree, waits impatiently every day for the hour his father, who has not been late for their conversation even for a single day, will arrive. Father Sadık tells Selahattin one by one everything that happens in the village and everything he sees on the mountains and stones. Elders say that when the conversation ends, there is no ember left in the hearth and no words left to say. They must have had so much to say that they haven't finished in 19 years. The father and son put their heads together and confide in each other without missing a day. Although he seems to cool down a little when talking to the martyr, the fire in his heart flares up even more day by day. He tells those who ask about the fire of his son: 'A fire fell into my heart that day. Just as it burned and scorched me when I first heard it, it has remained at the same temperature and never ceased. May God not show anyone the pain of their child. It is very difficult. This is something that does not resemble the pain of a mother, a father, or a sibling.'

Days turned into days, years into years. Relatives on the other side and neighbors on this side locked their doors and windows and went abroad. The sons who grew up at the door also joined the caravan of those leaving and flew from the nest one by one. In Ulualan, in the middle of a sea of forests surrounded by great pines that serve as pillars to the sky and firs reaching toward the heavens, no one remained but Sadık Tokat. Even though all his sons said, 'You are our elder, our father. We cannot swallow a morsel of food while you are here. You have a place above our heads. Whichever son's house you want, the head seat is yours,' Father Sadık could not leave the martyr in the grave. To those who told him to at least go to his two sons in Kastamonu, he always gave the same answer: 'My son, my martyr lies here. Can a village with a martyr be abandoned? I will look after my martyr's grave until I die. When my time comes, I will be buried next to him. Now they tell me to go. Where should I go? Is it right to leave him and go while my son lies here?'

For the 19 years he has suddenly appeared at his father's house, he has not aged a day past 22. Selahattin will always remain 21 and will not grow old. Sadık Tokat, who did not have a single gray hair when his dear son arrived, is now the eighty-year-old elder of the village. Even though he is tired as if he has been carrying all the world's troubles and hardships on his back for 19 years, he will continue to keep the father's hearth burning until the Creator sends the taker of souls. Thanks to the martyr's face, fire will not be missing from the Tokat hearth, and smoke will not be missing from its chimney. Selahattin will lie under the great oak tree with the serenity of brightening his father's house. When the day comes and the time is complete, Father Sadık will lie down next to his dear son. The insatiable father-son conversation under the great oak tree will continue forever in another realm.

August 11, 2012