355th Night of Memory – 4

Compiled by: Leila Rostami
Translated by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

2024-9-11

The 355^th show of Night of Memory titled “Songs and Hymns of the Time of Captivity" was held on 3^rd of Esfand 1402 (February 22, 2024) attended by the freed POWs and combatants of the holy defense in Sooreh Hall of the Art Center of Islamic Revolution. The “Album of Songs of Hope” was also unveiled during the show. In this show, Nasser Qarehbaqi, Amir Hossein Tarvand and Abbas Ebrahimi retold their memoirs. It was hosted by Davood Salehi.

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The third narrator Abbas Ebrahimi at the beginning of his speech said, "I was dispatched to the war fronts in the year 1359 (1980). I served as a watchtower guard for two years. Our position was disclosed in an overseas operation near the Iraqi city of Khanaqin. After the martyrdom of my closest friend Mohmmad Momeni who was from Kahshan's Ravand and the wounding of myself, I was captured by the Iraqi forces. We were taken to Air Force Hospital. There were some sixty of the guys of the Operation Moharram. All of them were members of the Bsaiji force and I was the only army soldier. Ahmad Pakar was from Isfahan. He was taking care of the guys by himself. I had lost much bleed from my waist, and because of this, they took off my clothes and put Iraqi green clothes on me. Everyone thought I was an Iraqi soldier. They did not talk to me and did not pay attention to me. Everyone would pass and give bad looks. Well, I was still young. I had long hair and no beard. The Iraqis paid more attention, they said that he was 100% an Iraqi citizen; for example, they gave everyone one apple, two to me, one piece of drumstick chicken to them, two pieces to me.

None of the Iranian captives paid attention to me until they brought the late Seyed Kamal Mousavi. The Seyed's bed was next to mine. He was in a very bad mood. I said: "Where are you from?" all of a sudden, they said: "Ah! Guys! He speaks Farsi (with an Esfahani accent)." I said: "Yes, guys! I am from Iran." They said: "Ah! He is an Iranian." I said: "Yes, I am from so-and-so." Pakar said: "We thought you were from Iraq!" I said: "No, I am from Mahallat." The guys gathered around my bed slowly and I imitated the sound of the Tennessee Tuxedo cartoon, which was an old cartoon. Seyed Kamal Mousavi barely rolled over on his bed to see who was imitating these sounds! Although he was shot, wounded and captured, he was in the mood to imitate the sound of Tennessee Tuxedo! He turned back and saw it was me who was imitating. With this look, Mr. Seyed and I got to know each other. After we got some treatment, they put us on a bus to take us to the camp. Major Mahmoudi, whom everybody knew him, stood up in front of the bus and said: “Hi”. We said, “Hi”. He said, “I am major Mahmoudi.” “How well he speaks Farsi!” He said: “It is not front here, whatever I say, you only say yes.”

The first person told Saeed Sabziforoushan whose name became Saeed Mahmoudi later, “Where are you from?” He said with Isfahani accent, “I am from Isfahan.” He said, “You son of gun, an Isfahani man! The Arabs eat locusts in the desert, the dogs of Isfahan drink ice water. Saeed was in a very bad condition and his leg was in a splint. He lifted Saeed and threw him down from the bus with a slap. The next person was Ahmad Ali Taheri who was from Khomein. He said: "Where are you from?" He said: "Khomein" said: "Oh! Oh!... great.” He slapped Ahmad Ali in the face and threw him off the bus. He asked the next person, “where are you from?” He said, “Qom.” He said, “Uh! Qom! The center of sedition.” And he threw him off the bus too. Then, he came and asked me, “Where are you from?” I said, “Mahallat.” He said, “Where is Mahallat?”  I said where to say! If I say Qom I am beaten, if I say Isfahan I am beaten, if I say Khomein I am beaten, I said near Saveh. He said: "Where is Saveh?" I said: "What can I say?!" I said: "Qazvin, near Qazvin." He said: "Get off." I got off the bus without being slapped and went into the hospital room. There, Mr. Dr. Majid, this divine angel, great man, exceptional and unrepeatable, put us under his protection. He taught us how to behave, what to say and what not to say.

We came from the hospital to room 13 of the camp. There were 10-12 people from Mahallat there. They introduced us and said that he knows how to play a theater and is good at performing arts. They told us to play a theater. In that mood of spirituality, something happened in Khorramshahr that was an interesting memory. It was that on the first day of the war, a young boy and his family were leaving Khorramshahr. When everyone got into the car, the young man did not get into the car. The mother asked: "Mom, why don't you come?" The young man said: "Where should I come?" The mother said: "Everyone is leaving, there is a war." The young man said: "If I leave too, who will protect our soil?!" And I wrote and performed the play about this incident. I saw the guys crying in the middle of the theater performance. I felt sick and said to myself, "Abbas! Dad, what are you doing?! They themselves are captives, so all this sadness, why are you crying over them?" After the theater was over, I vowed that all my work would smell of humor and focus on making children laugh. They don't remember my name, but when they see me, they say "Ah!" Do you remember that theater? Do you remember that play?

The narrator talked about the night when the guys were beaten till morning. It was a horrible night. The first series were beaten till morning. They forced every five people to lie down and at the top of every five people had stood one soldier with cable in their hands.  The Iraqi major would take one minute time: he would say: "Start beating!" In this one minute, at least each person would receive between 10-20 whips with terrible cables. After the first beating, we thought that it was over! I was the inner chief of room 23. The Iraqis went out, I said: "Come on guys, roll up your clothes and put olive oil on your backs so that it doesn't get inflamed." Everyone fell asleep and four or five of the guys, who were the best and most energetic, began to apply olive oil and massage. All the backs were whipped, swollen and bruised. Some were lying down and moaning. Some were laughing. Some were telling jokes. An hour passed and we saw them beating and coming from room 9 again. Involuntarily, they cleaned all the waists and removed the oils.

There was an old man in our room named Khaloo Sheikh. The friends may know him. He would walk in the yard and the soccer ball would always hit his head. No matter how the guys played on the other side, the ball would come and hit Sheikh's head and he would get angry. We had another old man who was from Sari named Uncle Rastgoo. This uncle Rastgoo did not learn a word of Arabic until the end of his captivity. He spoke with the same strong northern accent until the end of captivity. We said that these are old men, they deserve pity, they should see that they are old, maybe they would feel sorry for them and should not beat them. We sent them to sit at the bottom of the queue. We placed 5 old men at the end of the queue. Khaloo Sheikh and Rastgoo also went together and slept in the back. The major came into the room and said: "Attention... sit down in prostration." Well, these were old men and they had not properly prostrated, their waists were a bit high. The major yelled louder: "Well... sit right back there." No one moved. He said: "Am I not with you!" Sit right back there." Again, no one moved. Khaloo Sheikh himself said these things - in Lori's accent - he was from a town near Shushtar. He said, "I told Uncle Rastgoo that he was with us. He is saying something about us." The Uncle Rastgoo, who did not know a word of Arabic, said: "He says that those who sat in the back row are old men, don't do anything with them." The major found out that he couldn't do anything. There was a dumb, rude and wild soldier named Khezer. He said: "Khezer! Go, force them to sit properly." The soldier came over and stood behind Khaloo Sheikh's head and hit a cable from behind Khaloo Sheikh's neck to his waist, which made the old man scream. God damn them, this old man really didn't walk anymore. Everyone had fallen. The backs were hot. Honest uncle was right in front of Khaloo Sheikh. I saw aunt Sheikh looking very badly at uncle truthful. I said, what is Khaloo Sheikh? Are you looking so bad?! Yes, it destroyed me tonight. "Why?" I said. He said: "When He doesn't know Arabic, why did he translate Arabic by himself?" He said it has nothing to do with you, I took it easy, but to no avail."

The narrator told another memory of a captive named Ashur in room 22. Major Mofid had ordered that when I came to the camp, as soon as the soldier blew the whistle, everyone, wherever they were, should stand alert. No one should do anything. Even those who were in the toilet, the soldier would kick the door so that if he was sitting down, he would learn to stand up next time when the whistle was blown. I think Mohammad Rajavi was the head of room 22. We were in room 23 and I, as a senior, was standing at the door and we were watching. They had blown the whistle and everyone was standing around the room. Ashour was praying in the middle of the room. Major insulted Ashur and said: "Didn't I tell you not to pray?" and stand on alert?" Ashour did not care and patiently prayed. The major was also angry. 10-15 soldiers standing behind him, his order had been violated and trampled. The prayer was over. "Didn't I say break your prayer when I whistle?" He said: "Yes Seyedi!" "Why didn't you do it?" he said. Those who know Ashur know that neither his Persian nor his Arabic could be understood. He said: "We had a mullah in our village who used to tell us the rules. He said that you should not break the prayer unless your life is in danger. [For example] when a wild animal is coming." They took Ashour and beat him so that when he came back, you would not recognize his face.

The narrator told another memory about Ashur. At that time, the propaganda against the people and country of Iran abroad was very terrible. We were shown so petrified, backward, uneducated and uncultured in front of the soldiers that they came and taught us how to eat watermelon! They cut the watermelon and said don't eat the green skin, you should eat the red ones. They had installed these ceiling fans; they came into the room to explain how these fans work. Ashour was sitting in the middle of the room, they said: "These fans turn on like this, number 1 is fast, 2 is faster, 3 is so-and-so... Be careful not to touch it because your hands will be cut off." It's dangerous, don't go near the fans." As he was explaining, we saw a voice raised from the middle of the crowd, the soldier said: "Who spoke?" Ashur said: "I am." The officer said: "What?" He said: "In Iran, our cows sleep under the cooler." They took him out again and beat him severely.

The narrator continued to say: There was a prisoner named Shakour. He was a driver's assistant who was captured. He was very funny. He helped the guys clean outside. He was interested in football and sports. They had just brought a soldier. He was tall and young. His name was Khezer. Every day, he would pick up a sports newspaper and bring it with him to the camp. He sat on the platform that was for Iraqi soldiers and read it. This Shakour was also very interested in reading sports news. As the soldier was sitting there, Shakour was tilting his neck, asking him to give the newspaper so we can read it too. He didn't give any answer to Shakour either. He also said quietly: "Seyed Khezer!" He didn't answer either, he said: "Seyed the calf!" He said: "Huh..." He said: "I didn't know your name has changed..." This Shakour was also a mechanic assistant. There was a truck emptying sewage. Where sewage was collected, it came once a week or two. The truck came and stopped to empty the sewer, but it didn't start again. No matter what they did, it did not turn on. No matter what this poor driver did, it did not turn on. They went and brought two engineers from outside, dressed in uniform clothes, who were also carrying a big box. The engineers went under the truck. No matter what they did, the truck did not start. Saeed, the official in charge of Ghate’e 3, was also standing there. Shakour would look and understand what was wrong with the car and said to Saeed: "Seyed Saeed! Did they come to fix it?" he didn’t pay attention to Shakour. No matter what these engineers did with the car, it was not fixed. Saeed said to Shakour: "If you don't fix it, I will kill you." Shakour went under the car and came up within 30 seconds. He started the car. It turned on.

The End