In the March 9 issue of Novaya Gazeta, in the article “Daughter of War,” I spoke about the fate of a woman named Mehriban and her newborn daughter Gunay, with whom life brought me together on February 25, 1992, during the war in Nagorno-Karabakh.
Gunay was born in the basement during shelling, then she and her mother were taken prisoner. Then they were exchanged on the front line, and how the life of these people developed in the future, I found out only after 19 years. Baku-based journalist Shahin Hajiyev helped me find Mehriban and Gunay.
Here is an excerpt from my article:
“The girl is sitting in a chair with her legs tucked under her. She has smooth, slicked back hair and an expressionless, dispassionate, mask-like face of an Indian chief.
“She is sick,” Mehriban says. - At first she still spoke, but for five years she completely stopped talking. We don't know what she understands and what she doesn't.
... I was ready for any end of this story: for the fact that the girl is sick, or even that she is no longer in the world, or that she got married, lives with relatives and I will not see her, but Gunay's impassivity plunged me into completely stupid despair and complete stupor. The rest of life, all the joys and victories, all the ups and downs remained somewhere far away and seemed completely unnecessary and worthless in comparison with what happened to the girl Gunay.”
The essay was reprinted by various publications, and some kind of movement of doctors and social services began around Gunay (for some reason she was not considered disabled and did not receive any medical assistance and pensions). And a few days ago I received a message from Shain Hajiyev:
“Vika, today Mehriban called and told me terrible news: Gunay died of an attack.”
So long and hopelessly I did not cry for many years.
Farewell, daughter of war, and forgive us all, Gunay girl! It was we who trampled on your life, it was we who mutilated the life of your unfortunate mother, finally taking you away from her too.
If there is a paradise somewhere, then you are there now, this is my last hope.