Sira

Sira was born into a small house of mud brick and timber on the high plain south of the Zagros ridges, where scattered hamlets worked rainfed fields and kept sheep and goats. Far to the west, the Kassite kings held Babylon; closer, Elamite traders sometimes passed through with goods from the lowlands. But Sira’s family lived apart from those powers. They spoke a local plateau tongue and answered to nearby lineage elders who arranged dues in grain and animals when collectors came through the valleys.

Her mother, Taresh, carried her close while grinding barley and emmer on a stone quern and while twisting wool into thread. The hearth sat against the inner wall; soot darkened the roof beams. At first light Taresh poured a little milk and crushed grain onto the coals and spoke her grandmother’s name and her aunt’s, asking for guarding and steady milk.

Nimash, Sira’s father, spent his days walking the field edges, setting stones to mark irrigation channels from brief mountain runoff, then pushing goats toward rough scrub. When he came back he checked the skin water bag, brought dung fuel, and held the child while Taresh mixed sour milk and thin porridge.

After Sira’s first winter, she began taking more food than breastmilk. Her stools turned watery and frequent. Taresh tried boiled water cooled in a clay jar and a pinch of salt, then stopped the porridge and offered only milk. Karit, a neighbor, brought fresh yogurt; Sunash, an older woman who attended births, rubbed the baby’s belly with warm fat near the hearth.

Sira died in the spring, before the fields ripened. Taresh washed her with warmed water, wrapped her in a wool cloth, and Nimash laid her in a small pit beyond the house wall. They set a little bowl of milk and a pinch of grain beside her and covered the grave with stones.