The 346th Night of Memoir– 3

Compiled by: Leila Rostami
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad

2024-01-17

Note: The 346th Night of Memoir was held by the presence of the Ehya(revival) Group and members of the Holy Defense Combat Medical Institute in the Surah Hall of the Islamic Revolution Art Center on Thursday of the May 25, 2023. The narrators of this program were Sardar Ali Asghar Molla, Dr. Abdullah Saadat, Dr. Ahmed Ebadi and Dawood Khanazer. They reminisced about the Operation Beit-ol-Moqaddas (Jerusalem) and the liberation of Khorramshahr, focusing on the treatment of the wounded with minimal casualties. Dawood Salehi was in charge of this program.

 

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The second narrator of the program, Dr. Abdullah Saadat, born in April 1335, was a pharmaceutical specialist and technician. He started relief and defense from Khorramshahr Grand Mosque. A section of his memory was told in the initial teaser of the Night of Memory.

At the beginning, the narrator mentioned that the memory of his arrival in Khorramshahr was mentioned in books like "Da", "Sabah", "Bright Lights" and "Maryam's Boots", and said: I was not a fighter at all. I had neither an order nor a letter of introduction. From Naderi Street in Ahvaz, whose name is now Salman Farsi, I took a bus for eight or twelve riyals with my bag, passport and organization to Khorramshahr. When I entered Khorramshahr, I didn't have a ticket and the train had already left for Tehran. There was a minibus there, the driver of which was an old Arab man. He said to me: “Where are you going?" Even though I was a kid from Khuzestan, I had not yet been to Khorramshahr. I did not know where. There was a person behind me who said: "Ali Khali bin Grand Mosque" until I heard the name "Mosque", it gave me peace and I also said: "I am Masjid Jame". I forgot to say the word "Khali".

When we reached Khorramshahr, from the forty meters that turned towards the mosque, once Iraq attacked. Iraq had not yet arrived, but it was hitting Khorramshahr with its long-range cannons, which were called Khumsa, Khumsa. Khumsa is like Katyusha; But there are five bullets. If he hits the first one, he hits the other four at the same point. In short, when getting off one foot up and one foot down, the minibus driver ran away. Because he knew that the remaining four bullets would come and his existence would go. I used to say: fare fare...! I did not pay the rent! They hit the second one. They wanted to hit the third one, when martyr Farrokhi said: Sir! Sleep, sir! Sleep, it's like walking on the Champs-Élysées! Well, with that type and clothes, I felt sorry to sleep on the gunpowder. Martyr Farrokhi pushed me and said: Sir! sleep. As we cannot, we have no place to take the injured. I also slept on the floor. When they shot the five, everyone who was lying on the ground got up. May God bless him, martyr Farrokhi came and hugged me, kissed me, apologized and said sorry.

The narrator continued his observations of Khorramshahr Grand Mosque as follows: I saw the Grand Mosque on my right. When I entered the mosque, I saw old women, old men, brothers, sisters and warriors, everyone was busy with something. Someone was cleaning a gun. One prays fast so as not to be judged. Supply forces were unloading watermelons, dry bread and dates from trucks. What caught my attention the most was the presence of young rescue brothers and sisters and the splints, serum and medicine. I knew first aid, splinting, injections and stitches. We were not empty handed. Everyone had come to Khorramshahr with four-pocket, six-pocket trousers and khaki clothes, but I had come with this outfit! They later wrote in their memoirs how much they laughed behind my back and teased me.

There was a man named Khalil Najjar who was in charge there. I went to him and said it's night now, what should I do tomorrow! I saw that he went to them. I also went and said: My brother has also come. One of them looked at me from head to toe and said: What do you know?! We don't need just one gender. Some of them laughed at once. Some laughed a little from behind. Then we stayed and Mr. Farrokhi, may God have mercy on him, came in and said: Are you here?! Did you come here?! I said: I also want to help now. If I miss something. He said: Well, let's go to this brother. I pulled his hand and said: No! No! For God's sake, don't take me to these places so that I will be lost once and for all. I don't know what he said in his ear. Then he came again and said: Dad, this is a night. Like a few nights ago, two or three doctors came; but at night, they go to Arin or Taleghani hospital under the pretext of taking a shower. They also needed a doctor, a doctor and a surgeon since morning, but they were gone. In any case, this caused them to think that they, who came fully prepared, left like this; It doesn't even last until midnight. With this situation, it disappears by itself.

I stayed and was happy. What a charm this mosque had! What was his plan! All the youths, brothers, sisters, old men, old women and people who were there came sincerely. From this mosque, they were sent to Pol Nou, Shalamcheh, customs and railways, etc. and were martyred. Maybe their holy breath in this mosque made me not go to Tehran and home and see my parents and... My only wish was to be able to serve among these fighters as a simple aid worker.

The narrator went on to say: We prayed at night. I really still miss the spirituality of those evening and night prayers! Khorramshahr was dark and completely silent. The fifth column of Iraqis had night vision cameras and came to the Grand Mosque in Khorramshahri clothes. They took all the reports and did all the espionage and returned. I myself witnessed one night in the courtyard of Jame Mosque, a beautiful Iraqi was sleeping next to us. He disappeared at three o'clock in the morning, and then strange reports were rejected. Children used to go to Shalamcheh and Customs early in the morning without any provisions and return hungry, thirsty, tired and stuffed. They were really oppressed.

The narrator further added: Khorramshahr was one of the big and prosperous ports of Iran, and many of the drugs there were imported from famous multinational companies, including Abchenan, Rosho and Merco. People's aid medicines were arranged up to the ceiling of the mosque. Once a series of patients were brought in with symptoms of poisoning, diarrhea and vomiting. Khalili said, "Sorry, our doctor have gone." Because I had a lot of control over drugs, I said this is such and such a pill; This ampoule is so-and-so, this is so-and-so serum. They said: "Aren't you...!" I said: Well, I'm finally here. They said: So why didn't you say?! I said: You are all paramedics here, I also said paramedics. They brought the poisoned people until dawn and made them sleep in the courtyard of the mosque. It happened that old men and old women became the basis of my head. The next day, I saw that most of the drugs are specialized. It's a pity and it doesn't help there. This is what I said to Khalili: Leave eight people at my disposal to send these medicines to the Hospital of Naft Abadan Company. We sorted and classified the medicines based on the expiration date, as well as the type of pain reliever and antibiotic, and put them in boxes for mortars and weapons. We also gave medicines and basic equipment that can be found in many people's homes to the brothers and sisters who were going to Shalamcheh, customs and police.

Continuing his words, the narrator said: A week had passed and no one from my family knew where I was. I had so much fun that after a week I said to myself: We have taken you as the fifth column! Oh, not a paper! Not a letter of introduction! At that time, when I didn't have a national ID card and mobile phone and these things, I only had a passport with me. Because I wanted to go abroad. I said, well, now I will go and see a training course and come back with combat uniform, introduction letter and full preparation. But I saw that the situation worsened and in the first week we said, Wow! What will happen if this war continues for another week and there are also killed, wounded and destroyed?! The people of Khorramshahri or those who were there still did not believe the Iraqi attack. They were not willing to evacuate Khorramshahr at all. For this reason, in the beginning, we had the most wounded and martyred non-combatants.

I had already decided to go when some people left and some dignitaries intervened that if you go, we will be alone. I stayed for a short time until a situation arose when we were injured at the customs with Mrs. Zahra Hosseini. We are left! From the date of my first arrival in Khorramshahr, it took 9 months until Khordad, when my late father found out and came to Khorramshahr. I was injured and very ill. After my recovery, they took me to Taleghani hospital, where I made many friends. The first clinic at Station 7 of Abadan[1], which was the closest area to Zulfiqari[2] and the crossing road, was fortified with sandbags. Some nights we would sit with Mr. Dr. Farhoudi - who was then the head of Imam Reza (PBUH) hospital and a university professor and we didn't know - and talk about our experiences and plans. We were in Arian hospital the same day, when after some time friends and the brothers and sisters of Khorramshahri came. The children of the devotees of Islam also came from Tehran and we were all at the caravanserai hotel. The children of the devotees of Islam were in the group of irregular and guerilla wars and were very active in the Tir Abadan shooting field and in Zulfiqari. We also did not leave the children for a moment in Zulfiqari Abadan and in Tir Square and wherever it was.

At the end of his speech, the narrator pointed out the oppression of the brothers and sisters in the difficulty of transporting the wounded to Choebdeh[3] and moving with lances and hovercraft and said: There were no helicopters and air cover, and they collected the wounded from the hospital with difficulty. Then they were taken to Choebdeh by bus and ambulance. Sometimes, the movement of mud-supplied cars would go to the same square where they called "Falakeh" at night. In places like Zulfikari, which was in the sight of the enemy, the wounded were transported quickly. The vans and ambulances were going up and down so much that sometimes the oppressors or the rescuers themselves were martyred or their wounds got worse. The water level in Khorramshahr was high and there was no place to bury the martyrs. His loved one had been martyred, but there was no place to bury him and he was left on his hand. Now, can it be taken to Abadan or not? That's a lot!

 

To be continued…

 
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