365th Night of Memory – 4

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

2025-2-25

The 365^th show of Night of Memory entitled "Waiting" was held in Andisheh Hall of the Art Center of the Islamic Revolution on the 4^th of Bahman 1403 (January 23, 2025). Several combatants of the Martyrdom Battalion of "The 27^th Division of Mohammad Rasoullollah (SAWA)" narrated their memoirs.  The wives and mothers of the martyrs attended the show. Mr. Ahmad Karimi, Mrs. Maryam Rahimi (the wife of martyr Ali Asghar Abdolhossein Zadeh), Dr. Mohammad Bolookat and Saeed Lavasani recounted their memoirs during the show. The mother of martyr Mohammad Javad Haj Abolqassem Sarraf (Javad Sarraf) a commander of the Martyrdom Battalion was also honored in this show. Davood Salehi hosted the show.
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The fourth narrator of the show was Farideddin Lavasani who started his memoirs by showing a photo and remembering his friends and comrades and said, “I am sitting here in the middle of the photo. Martyr Mehdizadeh, my good brother Hassan Amiri, martyr Seyed Abbas Mirqoli Mir Ali Naqi, martyr Ali Nosrat Eftekharian, martyr Qorbani, Mr. Dr. Liaee, martyr Hamid Kermanshahi, Hamid Mostafaee and the friend of martyr Kermanshahi who has covered the face of martyr Abolfazl Komijani. This is the brother of my wife martyr Ebdaee who was martyred before our marriage, and this is my good brother Mohammad Fallahi.
The narrator continued: "Our story began here, after we left the Shahid Safavi camp, we were sitting near the Panj Zelei [pentagon]. They came in a car and threw us a package of food. Then, a pickup truck came and threw blankets. I got a torn blanket. Thank God I got that blanket. When I pulled the blanket over my head, my legs would stick out! When I pulled it over my legs, my head would stick out! That torn blanket was exactly on my kidneys. In the morning, a Toyota car came and took us to the designated spot where this photo was taken. There was a tradition among the combatants that still continues, and if someone wants to take a picture, they say that we want to take a "single photo." "It's a single photo, anyone who likes, come and take." At any given moment, 40-50 people, or more or less, participate in this "single photo." The photo is single, but it's also collective. This photo is very memorable to me, and every time I look at it, I feel sad.
He went on by saying, “After performing evening and night prayers, they said that tomorrow afternoon, Javad Sarraf and two other dear ones should go to reconnoiter the area on the orders of Haj Mohammad Kowsari to be briefed on the area. Then, the first company should lead its forces forward, and behind them, the first and third companies should enter the line. We were the third company of Amir al-Momenin. We were waiting to see what would happen. There was no news of Javad Sarraf and the forces that had gone forward. Haj Akbar Atefi came as commander. It was sunset. After performing evening and night prayers, we moved in a single column on the road. We were moving forward in the darkness of the road. There was a dead end on the left and right of the road and in front of us, but we had not yet reached a dead end. We moved forward. As we were passing a Toyota, I saw the bodies of three martyrs in the back of the Toyota; the first body I saw, I recognized him by his pants; they were the pants of martyr Javad Sarraf. I looked at the second pants, but no matter how much I looked, I didn’t recognize him. I stared at the third pants. It was martyr Abbas Esmaeeli.
We passed, went to the Shahadat (martyrdom) crossroads. We turned and entered the crossroads. The entire embankment that was on the side had water at the bottom and the path was slippery. We moved forward with difficulty and caution. We came to a path, and suddenly, after walking 800 meters, I heard the sound of a direct collision between a cannon and a tank. There was mud under my feet. I didn’t know whether to crawl or not? There was an explosion. I fell face down into the mud. I could hear the sounds, but I couldn’t do anything. Our dear Hajj Mohammad Taheri, the panegyrist, came with another dear person, who I didn’t know who he was at the time, and they looked at the people one by one. I should have been a martyr, but there is a story and I will tell you why I wasn’t martyred!
The narrator continued: I could hear the voice, Haj Mohammad said: “I think this one is alive, get him out of the mud.” He wiped my face, eyes and forehead and kissed my forehead. I will never forget that kiss. If this dear one had not come and wiped away the mud, I would not have been able to breathe. After that, our rescuer, Mr. Haidari, came. When he saw my condition, he smiled a little and asked how I was. I said: “My body hurts.” A strong explosion wave had taken hold of me. As I was bent, I remained bent. He had an athletic and strong body. He said: “I only have one request from you, if you help me and don’t raise your voice, I will press with my hand to straighten your back. I will put on a splint and a combat bandage, otherwise you will have to remain bent forever.” I said: “Ya Zahra.”
With the help of other friends, he straightened my back and put on a combat splint and bandaged it. In this tangle, "Darvish" arrived. Many of our comrades know him; Darvish was a hero and a Bastanikar (wrestler). He threw me on his shoulder. I said with that weak expression: "Darvish! I'm not feeling well, don't throw me on your shoulder." He didn't listen. He went towards the Shahadat Crossroads of martyrdom. He almost slipped and fell to the ground two or three times; but he controlled himself. We reached a stretcher. A dear person was lying on the stretcher. May God bless his soul; he had been martyred. I am ashamed of that martyr. He put the martyr on the ground and put me on a stretcher. He didn't know what to do! He couldn't drag the stretcher on the mud! Meanwhile, four young men were coming from the rear of the line. He handed me over to those four young men. We nearly fell three times before we reached the Shahadat Crossroads. The last time, at the crossroads, the stretcher fell from their hands and I fell too. At that moment, a 60 mm mortar fell next to us. Perhaps if I had been on the stretcher, I wouldn't be here with you now. This was the second time I got away scot-free from being martyred.
I was lying on a stretcher at the Shahadat Crossroads when a Khashayar (armored vehicle) came and stopped. It unloaded the personnel and ammunition. They threw the wounded guys on top of the Khashayar. It has an exhaust that gives off heat. By gassing the Khashayar several times, my body warmed up; I had lost a lot of blood and was shivering. The Khashayar turned around and left. About a kilometer away from the Shahadat Crossroads, it reached the dock. Apart from a wrecked boat, there was no other boat. There was no rower or helmsman! One of the guys who was with us said, "I'm from the north, I know how to row." He got into the boat and turned on the engine. Finally, he turned it on. We and a few other kids who were getting on board got into the boat. We hadn't even gone 100 meters from the dock when the boat turned off. He pulled the engine out of the water. He looked; barbed wire was stuck in the blades. He released the barbed wire, turned the engine around, and turned the engine on again. We went about 150 meters when the engine got stuck again! He took the engine out again and saw that the barbed wire was still stuck in the blades. He turned it on again. We really didn't know what the secret was, the engine got stuck for the third time, but this time it wouldn't start again! Oh my God, what should we do! In the middle of this water! In the dark of night! We were in this situation when we heard the sound of a boat passing by us. The guys started shouting and making noise. They said whatever happens, let it happen. It can't get any worse than this.
The boatman who was coming was a local. He came and stopped about 100 meters from us and turned off the engine. The guys said, “Hey! ... This is our luck! The engine broke down!” The boatman called out, “Who’s the helmsman?!” The helmsman said, “It’s me!” He said, “Don’t start the engine, tell the guys to paddle by hand, or if you have something to paddle, come close to me.” We went and reached five or six meters away. He threw a rope from inside the boat, said, “Tie this to your boat.” We tied it to the boat and he pulled us. We went until we reached the field hospital. When we got there, we asked, “Sir! What was the matter!” He said, “Shall I tell you?” We said, “Tell me! Let’s find out.” He said, “When you came from the dock, the whole path was a minefield! The barbed wire that got stuck, the barbed wire that was on the mine!” In short, we arrived at the field hospital, and from there we were transferred to Shahid Baghaei Hospital. As soon as we arrived, I was taken to the operating room. The next morning, we went to the airport and left for Rasht.
At the end of his words, the narrator mentioned the secret of not being martyred and said: It was the year 1361(1982). I was about 9 or 10 years old. My brother was martyred; martyr Saeed Lavasani. He was a member of the 92nd Armored Division of Ahwaz and an RPG operator. Before the Khorramshahr liberation operation, they went to build an embankment to provide shelter for the fighters. His friends narrate that loaders and mechanical machines were building an embankment. At the same time, the Iraqi tanks came out of the shelter they had built underground and targeted them. Their company commander tells the RPG operator: "Shoot!" Now he was either a coward! Or he didn't want to! Or he didn't shoot! My brother gets up and takes the RPG from his hand and destroys the first tank. Then, my brother went inside the loader to take shelter and prepares the second RPG to hit the second tank. As soon as he came out, he was martyred by a direct tank shell. I really wanted to find out how my brother was martyred! My father had told his comrades: "Don’t allow him to get close to the grave and see the body under any circumstances." Whatever it was, and you think, I went to see the body, but they didn’t allow me.
This had become a problem for me. I always talked to my brother Saeed in my words, dreams, and waking moments and said: "Saeed! I want to know how you were martyred!" It was time for the Operation Karbala 5 to be carried out. I said to myself: "Now it is the time... Saeed! I want to be wounded at the same spot where you were martyred." After I was wounded and came back, I found out that my brother had been martyred at the exact same spot where I had been wounded.

The End