The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 1

Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-4-6

The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 1

Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

Persian Version (1990)

Sooreh Mehr Publishing House

***

Supreme Leader’s Eulogy to this book

As we approach the end of this writing, the spirit of sincerity and purity within it becomes more evident. I can't help but feel a sense of admiration and envy for these courageous and devoted young individuals who, in less than half our lifetime, have achieved a level of status that inspires a spiritual ascension when their experiences are recounted. Hopefully, they will continue to uphold their accomplishments in the realms of jihad and sacrifice.

This writing is not only artistic but also possesses a solid prose that enhances its value. A significant aspect of this book is its depiction of the experiences of aid workers. It is crucial that individuals in non-combat roles, such as jihadists, aid workers, drivers, cooks, and logistics personnel, each with their own unique world and sometimes facing dangers equal to or greater than frontline combatants (such as trench builders and embankment workers), share their stories through biographies or by having someone document them.

I am grateful to the young man and the publishers responsible for this impactful book. I am unsure of the author behind the book about aid workers, but I recognized the importance of such a work. It was evident that the author had firsthand experience as an aid worker.

Ayatollah Seyed Ali Khamenei

***

Reference

We saw Sabah after the UN resolution. He looked like someone who had just lost his job, equally upset. When we suggested to him, "Tell me about your seven-year memories of the front," he didn't say no. He started. Patiently, he filled 32 one-hour tapes with the words that had been swirling in his chest. All those tapes, sentence by sentence, were written on paper. After being edited, they became a collection that we have now started reading; the memoirs of an aid worker.

The Office of Resistance Literature and Art – 1^st of Aban 1369 (October 23, 1990)

***

One morning, I left a note by the window and quietly slipped away. I had to leave without anyone noticing. In the alley, I signed the consent form myself. I couldn't wait any longer; they wouldn't grant me permission. My mother had not returned from the hospital yet, so I took advantage of the early morning opportunity. She would go to the hospital at night to be with my little brother, who had undergone stomach surgery. My father had passed away two years ago, leaving my older brother Khaled as the family's provider. Mother always said I was too young for such things and should focus on my studies. I was in the second grade of theory.

When I arrived at school, only ten of us were ready to go on the trip. The other children's parents had not given consent. They looked at us with longing and envy. I felt as though all eyes were on me, maybe it was just my imagination. But I felt a sense of pride, as if I already had a gun in my hand.

There were ten of us from ((Marvi)) High School in Tehran who were going to fight! We went from school to the War Support Headquarters on 30 Tir Street. When we had lunch, they told us to choose one of us as the leader of the group. The children chose me. I became the leader of the group of ten people, which later was no longer ten. One was martyred (Saeed Badamchian), one had both legs amputated (Zarrabi), one had his eye shattered and fell out of its socket (Shahsavari), one went missing (Hosseini) and...

Things were done quickly on the afternoon of 1^st of Azar 1361(November 22, 1982), as the group was put on a train to arrive in Ahvaz 24 hours later. Along the way, the group of ten had become completely familiar with each other. At the Ahvaz station, a car was waiting for the children to take them to the Karbala Headquarters. We passed through the city streets until we reached the camp. Life continued in the city, with the Karun river flowing calmly. The streets, alleys, sidewalks, people, and shops all appeared normal but were covered in ashes; when the red siren sounded, a storm would disrupt the city's peace. Ahvaz, Karun, and its people were living under constant enemy bombardment.

At the Karbala Headquarters, the forces were divided, and our group was taken to the Martyr ((Jorqi)) barracks in Ahvaz, where we received light weapons training and learned how to fight at night. The first night of night combat training left a lasting impression on me.

After a few days of intense training at the barracks, which included running, rolling, crawling, and heavy physical exercises during the day, we would sleep exhausted at night. One night, while we were in a deep sleep from the day's training, there was a sudden commotion in the infirmary as shots were fired. Thinking it was an attack by the enemy, we panicked and rushed to the door, only to find it barricaded. As we headed towards the window, shots were fired in our direction, catching us off guard. After a few moments of fear and panic, the shooting ceased, and we were questioned about our reaction to the situation…

We were just starting to grasp the situation. From that day forward, the training became more challenging and intense. I put in a lot of effort, so much so that I ended up coming in first in shooting. Our commander, an eighteen-year-old whom we call him ((Yar Ali)) – Yar Ali Boeri - was a skilled shooter. When I won the competition, he challenged me to compete against him. He grabbed a rifle and we were each supposed to take three shots. I fired two bullets at the target and one bullet next to it. Yar Ali hit all three bullets at the base of the target. Then he stood up and looked at me. It was as if he saw something in my eyes, so he sat down and took aim again, firing thirty more bullets. All the bullets hit the target’s base, until it broke.

In addition to military training, moral education was also provided during the course. After it ended, we returned to Tehran -15^th of Dey 1361 (January 5, 1983).

Khaled and my mother found out the day I left without telling them, but it was too late. When I returned, Khaled joyfully remarked that I had become a man and that I now had to decide my own future. His words sounded slightly happy. I resumed my studies and took the exam in Esfand (March 1983) of that year...

A few months had passed and I was feeling bored and restless. It felt like something was pulling me away, my heart was elsewhere and I knew I had to go. This time, I was accompanied by the local guys: Gholamreza Ajorloo - Reza Partovi Shabestari - Seyyed Ali Sajjadi, and Morteza Samadi. We went to the Sahib al-Zaman (May God expedite his reappearance) Mosque to begin our preparatory work.

It was the first of Khordad 1361 (May 22, 1982) when we visited the Imam Hussein (AS) barracks in Tehran, with three makeups in my bag. After two days of inactivity in the barracks, everyone was gathered to be organized. The guys of Malek-e Ashtar were chosen as aid workers to assist in the division of troops. The troops in the barracks came from various locations, each area known by a specific name. We were assigned to the Malek-e Ashtar Battalion, and I was selected to be an aid worker!

To be continued ...