SABAH (97)

Memoirs of Sabah Vatankhah

Interviewed and Compiled by Fatemeh Doustkami
Translated by Natalie Haghverdian

2022-2-16

SABAH (97)

Memoirs of Sabah Vatankhah

Interviewed and Compiled by Fatemeh Doustkami

Translated by Natalie Haghverdian

Published by Soore Mehr Publishing Co.

Persian Version 2019

It had been few days that the mood of the hospital had changed. New operation was going to take place. All leaves were cancelled and all were in alert mode. The storage of the hospital was full of required medical and treatment equipment and facilities. From the reverberation going around, it was obvious that an important and big operation was in process. When I heard about the operations, my heart started pounding for Khorramshahr. I always thought to myself, is it possible that my city become free in this operation? In the new operation, most of Khorramshahr army members have participated. Although a significant number of members of Khorramshahr army members had been martyred since the beginning of the war and the army was on the verge of dissolving but the same little number had participated in the operation.

I had heard from others that Morteza, son of Ms. Pour Haydari, has been martyred on the tenth day of second month of spring. She was a symbol of a resisting and patient woman. During our acquaintance, I had come to know her special moral. Her husband had been missing in the fall of Khorramshahr and nobody had any news about his imprisonment or martyrdom. It was not obvious what had happened to him[1].

Ms. Pour Haydari was in Karevansara hotel and worked in the kitchen. One day when I had little to do in the hospital, I went to Karevansara to see her. I wanted to tell her good health.

I saw her. She was calm and strong as always. I asked her to tell me about the martyrdom of Morteza. She started talking as if she had been waiting for a chance to tell everything she had in her heart. She said: “I had made an oath to send Morteza to frontline myself. I wanted to help him wear the war clothes and tie the knot of his boots. I had had a strange dream but didn’t share it with anybody. On the day that he left, I buttoned his shirt. I tightened his belt myself. I placed his polished boots in front of his feet. When I tightened the knot on his boots, I stood in front of him. My eyes met his. Morteza looked more beautiful than ever. Maybe if felt like that.

I was sure that this is out last visit in this world. I kissed his forehead and took the Quran so that he can pass under it. He looked at what I was doing without saying a word. I started talking highly of him. I told him mother turn in front of me and walk a few steps so that I can watch you. He did. He walked a few steps for me and laughed for me. I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. I kissed his head, face, shoulder, chest and hand. He didn’t let me, he felt shy. He took his hand away from me and tried to kiss my hand.

I told him my son. You will be martyred today. Our next visit will be in the doomsday. Dear Morteza be brave. Don’t even think about recessing for one second. Don’t look back. The way you are walking into is the right way, and don’t even doubt for a second. I passed him under the Quran again. I didn’t want to turn my eyes away from him for a second. I was sure that I will not see my young son. I was ready to hear the news of his martyrdom.

Morteza was martyred on the same day. My dream had been materialized. I wanted to bury him in Khorramshahr. I didn’t want him to be buried elsewhere but I had no choice. Khorramshahr was in the hands of Iraqis. I had to bury him in Abadan; in Abadan graveyard for martyrs[2].

She talked and we cried; in the last seconds, what a lovely and spiritual moments she had had with her martyred son. Only God knew what is going on in the heart of this mother. I envied her belief and beautiful patience a lot.

It was seventeenth day of second month of spring; the birthday of Hazrate Ali. I was in the ward when one of our members who were crying hardly came from emergency and said that Abdol Reza Mousavi has been martyred. My heart dropped for a second. Abdol Reza was the Deputy of Jahan Ara; a tall and brunet young man who was studying dentistry in the University of Jondi Shapour. Ali was a guard under the command of Mousavi. He told many things from him to us.

Before the victory of the revolution, due to the active participation in revolutionary activities, he was arrested and sent to Karoun prison. After the victory of the revolution, he was present wherever Jahan Ara and other members of the army were. Ali said that AbdolReza was the one who questioned many of the Arab public and hypocrites who had been arrested. As Ali said he was so charismatic and awe and acted very professionally in his questioning sessions that when the anti-revolution members heard his name, they were terrified. From the talks Ali did from him and martyr Gheyvaraseli, I saw these two much alike in my mind.

I went towards the emergency. When I got to the door, I saw Abdol Reza’s body on the bed. He was not in a good condition. The lower part of the face was gone completely and one hand and one foot were amputated. The quiver had raptured his stomach and chest and smashed them. Those who had brought him to the hospital said that Abdol Reza had been on a motorcycle heading to check the frontline when he was hit by the quiver of the Iraqi planes’ bomb.

Abdol Reza’s pale face and his bloody and dirty hair loosened my feet. His head was tilted towards the door of the emergency and his semi-open eyes could be seen from there. When I entered the emergency, I couldn’t step forward. I stared at him right from that point. He had been martyred all alone. In the kaki uniform of the army, he was much more oppressed and estranged. I don’t know why I felt that I am shocked to see his dead body. I sighed. With Abdol Reza’s martyrdom, my hope for victory of Khorramshahr was fading away.

Due to the position that AbdolReza had, many were worried for him. In emergency many of his forces had come to see what has happened to their Commander. They were all crying and hitting their heads and faces. They said that we are orphans again! We have nobody to turn too again! I went back to the ward weak and bored. I couldn’t stop my tears. I cried silently.  I was not in the mood to see anybody, even myself. I just wanted to go to a corner and sleep for a few days and be away from this world.

A few days had passed from the start of the operation. We heard from the injured who were brought to the hospital that the axis of the start of operation, is from Ahwaz Hosseyniyeh station and towards Ahwaz-Khorramshahr road. Little by little the number of injured increased. The new wounded had no good news for us. As they told us, a large number of Khorramshahr members who had joined the frontline from Shalamcheh, had been martyred.

We were all mourning. We waited every minute to hear the martyrdom of one of the members. When we were in the ward, we had Tavvasol Prayer in our hands and whispered to God. During this time, many of Khorramshahr army members had married. Most of them had brought their wives to Abadan. It was not an easy task to convey the news of martyrdom of these soldiers to their wives who were mostly pregnant. Individuals like Robab Hoursi, spouse of Esmaeil Khosravi and Maryam Banoui and a few others, were all pregnant and looked forward to hear something from their husbands.

Gholamreza Abkar and his brother Alireza were among the first martyrs whom we heard of. We were very worried and anxious. We were all praying and whispering Zeker. With all the stress that we had for the result of the operation and safety of our fighters, the hope of victory and triumph of Khorramshahr had kept us standing.

Those were hard days; especially for those whose spouses were in operation. We could see the fear and worrisome in their faces. As the time passed, the number of martyrs of Khorramshahr army increased; martyr Hassan Taherian Pour, Mansour Goli, Ebrahim Ghate’I and … most of the martyrs and injuries that were brought had been directly shot. Very little number had been hit by quiver and this meant that the progress of our soldiers had been much.

A number of martyrs of operation were brought to Taleghani hospital. I went to pilgrimage their bodies. I felt strange when I saw them. I had heard about their courage and epic; the news of love and honor they had shown for the victory of Khorramshahr. Their death was a harsh strike to the army of Khorramshahr. It was unknown when the army could replace these fighters and stand up again. The bodies of many of the martyrs were not brought as it was told that they had progress so much that they could not be brought back. After the martyrdom of members, almost every night Gholam Koveytipour had mourning and lamentation ceremonies in Persian hotel.

The hospital was on alert mode. There was a lot of anxiety going around in the hospital. The coordination and follow-ups didn’t finish. On the nineteenth day of second month of spring, the 61 operation entered a new phase. The aviation forces transformed the empty area in front of the hospital to a runway for the aid helicopters. They drew a very big circle with cast and wrote the letter H inside it. They told us that the injuries will be brought here directly. The level of conflicts was so high that the ambulances didn’t have time to bring the wounded to the hospital. It was two three days that the wounded were brought only by helicopters.

Among the injured soldiers that were brought to the hospital, I saw a young fifteen sixteen years old boy whose both feet had been amputated from thigh and whose both hands were amputated from forearm. When we got to him, he only said “Thanks God” in Arabic and Farsi. Everybody looked at him with envy. The thought that this young man wants to live like this, didn’t leave our minds.

It was the noon of second day of third month of spring when the whole building of the hospital trembled with a massive explosion. We all ran to the yard. The voice came from Fayyazieh; where a big volume of fire had started and the flames reached the sky following constant explosions.

From the constant explosions that followed each other, it was obvious that the Iraqis had targeted the ammunition thicket. The fire was burning behind the hospital. Every explosion had its own beam; some less and some more. The voice of explosions had mixed with the voice of helicopters bringing the wounded to the hospital. We found out that wounded soldiers are coming. We ran to the ward. In those days we were constantly busy doing something. Nobody rested. Radiologist, transfer of patient from ward to surgery and from there to recovery or ward, injection, bandaging, changing bandages, giving water to the patients, preparing catheter bag, holding galipot for the wounded who vomited, estimating fever, measuring blood pressure, fixing splints and … were only a few tasks that we did.

To be continued …