Book Review:

"Two Mashals"

Memoirs of Mashallah Hormatti

2022-4-26

In the introduction of [the book] "Two Mashal", which is included in the table of contents, it is presented to "the mother of a hero who lost her heart while waiting for her children during the turbulent years of the war." In the following, after the preface, we come across two handwritings on two consecutive pages, the first of which is the confirmation of the text by the narrator (Mashallah Hormati) and the second one is the praise of the author's work by someone who - as evidenced by the "Narrator's note" that follows - had valuable guidelines during the formation of this work. The text of the memoirs, according to the list, consists of eighteen chapters or sections without numbers and, of course, with titles; however, in the text, sometimes some chapters are listed below and continuously. Then, there is a collection of black-and-white images, some of which are mediocre and some of which are of acceptable quality, and finally a representative.

       Before beginning the memories of the war, the narrator first narrated a Saturday night that, like most Saturday nights, he was sitting next to old friends in the Pirvadi Mosque in Hamedan. A friend of the sacred defense era comes up with a list and informs him, "We want to go visit war zones." And it immediately illuminates the sparks of the narrator's heart: "I say to me: O, guy; What is it like to go after twenty years of being away and staying in one place and wandering around?! And I say write my name, and from there I start calculating my behavior and actions. I have to reconsider some behaviors so that when I get there, I will be less ashamed of the martyrs and to be an actual human being."

       The promised time arrives and they move towards the Fatah al-Mubin operational area ... When they step on that holy land again, the narrator remembers those who were martyred there oppressed ... The enemy side was abandoned. Many volunteered to go to the mines to make way for others ... We were with them. Their hands were in ours. We sat with them, we got up, we prayed, we fought, we won, we lost, we were injured, we removed the wounds and we still had wounds, we escaped from the hospital and came back to the front, But they knew the way and reached the destination and we stayed. They reached out to take and hold our hands, but we refused. This is what we deserve now, to put our face on their footprints."

       He felt the fire of regret clinging to his throat like cancer. He found himself almost unable. What was the compensative solution? He should use every opportunity in this journey and review his memories. Maybe at least he could make up [his regret] a little.

And so she returned to her childhood home and neighborhood in her imagination:

       He was born on the first day of April 1968. At that time, his parents lived in two rented rooms in the Qala-e-Sabzi neighborhood of Hamedan. The father was a hard-working and zealous man who worked in the blacksmith shop from morning till night. She was a diligent mother who, in addition to doing housework and caring for her little children, should do the work of neighbors.

      After a few years, his father was able to buy a house in one of the alleys of the neighborhood known as "Alireza Jabbarۥs Garden" and surprise his mother with a few pieces of new furniture such as an old cooking stove, oil samovar, and a wood heater with some other items. The mother was a worthy cook. Sometimes, when the smell of his food wafted through the alley, the father would say, "My lady, make a little more food and give it to the neighbors so that we do not owe them anything."

     It had not been long since the move to the new home, which had a good relationship with all the locals. In their alley, different people lived with different people with different behavior and manner.

     Their neighbor, Mr. Ostareza, was a godly man. Amira, his eldest son, was kind and helped the helpless old men and women and took them home or took water from copper dishes and gave it to them. Another neighbor was a pigeon-fancier. He had spent most of his life on the roof of his house. They named him Asmali Asmani. Dove was all his life and he saw everything as a dove. The neighbor next door was Sheikh Hussein, whose recitation of the Qur'an after the Morning Prayer made one happy. Their opposite neighbor was known as Hassan Marghi, one of the founders of Beit al-Abbas. It was from him that the children became acquainted with the hussainiya. On Friday nights, the father used to gather the children and take them to Bait al-Abbas mosque to pray and listen to religious speeches.

         Mashallah grew up in such an atmosphere, and when he was ten years old, from the same neighborhood and the same house of Bait al-Abbas, after the perfect Friday night prayers, the elders would march together and be organized in different groups. For some time, the sound "Allahu Akbar"[1] and shooting could be heard every night. The revolution was slowly raised. In the fall of 1978, Mashaallah, together with one of the local friends, gathered the rest of their friends and chanted in the alley: Death to the Shah ... Peace be upon Khomeini...

Until the revolution won

        It was after that that his father bought a plot of land in Farhangian town and started building a house there. Mashaallah's older brother, who had studied building at the conservatory, was building, and others were helping him. Finally, after a year, the house was ready and they moved to a new house and found new neighbors. His mother was a good-natured and friendly neighbor, and she attracted everyone to her. On the other hand, she was experienced. He knew the properties of foods and plants. She became a doctor of the neighborhood. People first used their mother's prescription drugs before taking their children to the clinic.

        Mashallah had been a student of agricultural machinery in a garage for two years. In 1982, he worked as an assistant mechanic in the Jihad Construction Camps with his brother, who was in the IRGC. It was during this period that Ayatollah Sanei published the magazine Ahkam and he always reads it. He even participated in a religious precepts competition, won, and went to Mashhad. On the way back, one night in a dream world, he found himself standing in the courtyard next to the shrine of Imam Reza (PBUH) and ... when he woke up, he was in a strange mood, he felt happy, but attending Jihad Construction no longer meant anything to him. In those days, Iran was engaged in a confrontation with the Ba'athist aggressors. Since the beginning of the war, the enthusiasm for the front has given a new atmosphere to the city and its homes. Everyone, including his brothers, was thinking of leaving. He liked to take part in the sacred defense. He resigned from the jihad and under the supervision of his army brother, at the local military base, he engaged in the activity and training of J-3 weapons and patrolling with his father, who was their commander after his brother. Even the mother was the father's deputy; He was both the [military] base's cook and the solver of the ladies' problems.

      When he was fourteen, there was a deployment headquarters, but whatever he insisted on being sent, they did not accept. June 1984 was another sixteen years old. Anyway, he reached the headquarters and registered. He and others were introduced to the heroic garrison for military training. A month passed with hard training. He had not even gone home during this time. At the end of the period, they were ready to be sent to the front.

      On the other hand, his two brothers were on the front lines. Hassan fought the enemy in the Sarpol-e Zahab area, the heights of Kuramush, and Houshang served in the army, and in Kurdistan, he was involved with the counter-revolution and Komala. In the summer of 1984, among the reeds of Majnoon Island, he was also working as a radio operator for the Ansar al-Hussein Brigade, and fifteen days later, he became an artillery radio operator.

      The first time he returned to Hamedan for vacation, as soon as he arrived, he jumped into his mother's arms. The mother was speechless with joy. He just shed tears from her eyes and kissed her. It was not long before the siblings and family members were informed and came to him. He was stacked among the brothers, people of Mashal, the kisses, the tears and laughter. That night, he went to the local mosque to see the forces of the base. He had brought a few DShKۥs bullet-shell to share as a souvenir. The welcome of the comrades was better than he had previously thought. They surrounded him and asked him a lot, "Where have you been?" How many Iraqis did you kill? What operation were you in? And..."

      Well, this is how the comings and goings of him and those of his brothers and other comrades to the front; they came unawares, they went unnoticed, leaving their parents and all their relatives with lots of thoughts, anxieties and expectations.

      However, when the war ended, his backpack was full of various memories that each one had to say a lot: whether when he joined the 154th Battalion and took part in the Ashura operation in the Memak area, or when he went to Hoveyzeh and passed desserts or sent with the 155th Battalion of Ali Asghar (PBUH) and joined the forces at the Al-Faw area and appointed as a second RPG launcher, and when he was injured in Shalamcheh, or when his family heard the news of his martyrdom and ...

       But when the resolution was signed, he and his comrades were in a state of disarray ... On the other hand, we heard bad news about the chemical attack on Al-Faw, and from the forces who retreated to the other side of the Arvand, and many of the corpses remained on the other side of the water. The enemy retreated step by step from Shalamcheh, which had been captured with all the blood."

      After the end of the war, he had a strange and unknown feeling. He had come to the front in pursuit of great goals. However, he was fighting on two fronts: the internal and external enemy ... he had a great struggle with himself ... while he had lost most of his dear friends ... he was now looking for his lost part; did he succeed? He did not know!

       "In the IRGC, I was an honorary and volunteer force. They needed us until then, but now I felt a lot. The task was taken away from me. I had to say goodbye to the corps. I had to go and live with my bittersweet memories. I had to go and tell my nostalgia to my friends' graves on Friday nights or hug a photo album and speak heartily with them."

      And today he thinks to himself: "How can a person who has been dealing with bullets and shrapnel for years return to a normal life? This was the common destiny of our generation; The fate that the imposed war imposed on us." Nevertheless, his thoughts lead him back to the sacred front and defense with all his spiritual mood, and he returns with enthusiasm and regret to Inside the bulwarks, the pilgrimage of Ashura, tears, mourning, the wet and waiting eyes, the prayers, the resistance, the trusts, and patience.

      "I am still alive; but a feeling, which I do not know what it is, makes space between me and here. I have a wife, I have children, I have grandchildren, but at every opportunity - timely and untimely - I travel to those days. I am divided: one here in the present and one there in the past; "Two Marshals."

       "Two Mashal" was written by Mahin Samvati and its first edition was published in 2020 under the supervision of the Office of Culture and Sustainability Studies of Hamadan Province and in Surah Mehr Publications (affiliated to the Arts Center), in 192 pages with an Octavo format and numbers 1250 copies have been published and have entered the book market at 35,000 Toman (Iranian currency)