Seyyed of Quarters 15 (20)

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

2017-02-27

Seyyed of Quarters 15

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

Edited and Compiled by: Sassan Nateq

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company

‎2016 (Persian Version)‎

Translated by: Zahra Hosseinian

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At the first day of school, my brother, Seyyed Hojat, took my hand and we went to school together. A few days ago, my older brother, Jaber, had enrolled me in Reza Pahlavi School[1]. At the first day of school, many had worn new clothes. A few of students came with their parents. Two or three of students had taken their father’s and mother’s hand and were close to tears. We queued. Our names was called and along with a few others I went to a classroom. In the center of classroom, I sat down behind a three-seat wooden bench. With military uniform and medals on his chest, the Shah was looking at us through the frame above the blackboard.

The first day, a white-haired man came and sat behind the teacher’s desk. The second day, we found that our teacher's name is Fazaee, and when he entered the class, one of students should cry, ‘on your feet!’ and we should stand up and don’t sit down until the teacher has not permitted.

As quick as I learned to write letters, realized that I shouldn’t count on Fazaee’s old age; or I will be faced with Mr. Mehrani’s wooden ruler. It was enough one of students write his homework with poor hand-writing; Mr. Fazaee pounded on the table and said, "Monitor!"

The monitor jumped up and the teacher said, "Go and get the ruler from the principal."

We were scared to death until the monitor came back. Mehrani was the principal. He had a flat and very solid ruler and whatever Mr. Fazaee hit our hands with it, it didn’t break. At the break time, this ruler was in the hand of assistance principal. The principal’s assistance crossed his hands in back and walked in the yard; and I thought that don’t run toward Seyyed Hojat when I see him, and if I wanted to call him, did it with very low voice; otherwise, the blade of ruler descended on my head and the assistance shouted on me angrily: "Didn’t tell you don’t make a racket!" it pained badly and the center of our heads swelled in the size of big marbles which we had in the pocket.

 One day I went to Mohammedia mosque for prayers at sunset. I was Maokber[2]. Suddenly I saw Ali Daneshparvar among the lines of prayers. He was one of assistances of the principal. I was embarrassed. It was close to make a mistake. Since then, I saw Mr. Daneshparvar several times. With the arrival of Ramadan, the assistance principal recited daily prayers of Ramadan with a special tone after praying. He recited and people said, Amen. I liked his voice.

At the second grade, the shadow of Mr. Fazaee still was over our heads, but this time his son, Jalal, was our teacher instead. Jalal was a young, good-looking and handsome man and most importantly he didn’t beat us.

Punishment had become a part of our life necessities. There was no day I didn’t witness somebody’s punishment. One day, in the middle of study, the door of classroom was knocked. The teacher opened the door. One of students’ father was behind the door. He had beard and as smiling, rubbed his hands. He greeted and then said, "Mr. Fazaee, please advised and punished my little kid. Most of the time, he make a noise in the house."

Sometimes, I went over the cinema and saw some kids go into. I changed my way. I crossed the street and peeped the cinema board and quickly distanced from there. I was afraid my brother see me and think that I come out of the cinema. Sometimes, posters of half-naked actresses were installed and many people did not like their children go to the movies. If one of the neighborhood children went to the movie, local women and men talked about him in such way as if he has stolen something.

Reminiscing was pleasant and helped me to be away from the environment of camp for a while. One day, when we go to the school, were told: "School is closed today." It was said the Shah was going to come to the Ardabil tomorrow. The teachers and the assistances of the principal explained for students to stand in the welcome path tomorrow and to whistle and to clap as soon as they saw the Shah. We went home. The next day, I stood in the Mojasemeh Square toward the Pahlavi intersection along with my brother, Seyyed Hojat. The fifth year students had worn scout uniforms and they waved small paper flags of Iran. A helicopter passed above our heads roaring. I was more pleased to see the helicopters than seeing the Shah. Adults said that it might land in the stadium. An hour later, the Shah appeared in a car. We died of clapping so much. The one who had stood next to me put two of his fingers into his mouth and whistled continuously. The Shah’s car came and passed in front of us. I saw him for a moment. He half-smiled and nodded. The teachers and the assistances of the principal were with and encouraged us to clap for His Majesty and his companions. The order of a few minutes ago was disordered after the Shah passed and went away. Some people followed his car, but I and Seyyed Hojat went home. On that day, I clapped so much that my palms had reddened.

 

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The soldiers whistled and gathered the prisoners of quarters 13, 14 and 15 in the ground. One of the Iraqi officers came and lectured us. One of the interpreters had stood by his side and translated his speech for us. The interpreter said he is the commander of camp-15. The camp commander laughed and said: "Each time you saw I entered the camp, you should know I have good news for you."

He seemed too happy and tipsy. One of the prisoners said quietly: "be sure, this asshole is drunk."

The soldiers had stood at attention beside him. Iraqi officer pointed to the soldiers and told us: "no body hurts you. Be comfortable and let's talk."

After praising themselves, he said, "Our Language is Arabia, the Qur'an is ours, the Prophet is ours. But what about you... you Ajams… what is yours?"

I could not stop myself. I asked permission, got up, and said: "we confirm the Arabic is your language, but the Shimr and Yazid were Arabic-speakers too."

There was whispering among the captives. They scared the end of story without any doubt, but I should not be silent about the things which was expressed by camp commander. The soldiers’ faces showed their anger and if the camp commander wasn’t there, they beat me up. "Also, I agree that the Quran is Arabic," I continued, "but we respect the Quran, and value it more than you and we are more knowledgeable about it than you."

The camp commander didn’t know what to say. A crooked smile appeared on his lips and when he was going out, said to soldiers, "don’t do badly by him."

As soon as the Iraqi officer stepped out of the camp, the soldiers rushed to me and knocked me head off.

A few days later, a person with plaster cast leg was brought to our quarters. Little by little we got to know each other. Hadi Kurani was Kurdish and the artillery commander of one of the battalions, but in interrogations he had said to the Iraqis that he is one of people of Sarpol-e Zahab. "I was at home when was told the hypocrites have attacked us." with his Kurdish accent he said, "with my brother-in-law’s Peykan we drove toward the region, but we encountered the Iraqis in the Kalehdavood Strait. My brother-in-law was killed by Iraqi’s fire, and I was captured. "

One day, Seyyed Mojtaba asked permission from the guards and came to our quarters to visit Karami. He told them he is Karami's niece and when he had gone to Sarpol-e Zahab to take his things, had been captured. Karami was commander and if the Iraqis discovered it, gave him hell. Seyyed Mojtaba said: "It had been rumored in Jalula that the Iraqis have captured the commander of one of the brigades, but do not know him."

After finding out Karami is there too, he had told the Iraqis that Karami is his uncle. Seyyed Mojtaba said that the Iraqis came Jalula every day and beat up a northern draftee whose shirt had a writing. He said, "due to severe injuries, I crawled toward him and asked: 'What did you do? Why they offend you?' He answered: 'They were fifteen people; I killed five of them and then I was captured.' When we realized what he has done, took off his shirt and the next time the Iraqis came to the quarters, they couldn’t find him."

One day they were told the wounded prisoners came out of the quarters to be taken to the clinic. Seyyed Mojtaba and a few others had gone out. Seyyed Mojtaba said: "the name of one of them was Muhammad Shekarzehi. Iraqi soldier asked him: 'Why did you go out?' Muhammad showed his arm and said, 'it’s been shot.' Iraqi soldier brought him back to the quarters and said, 'you want to go to the clinic for a shot?'"

Besides the clinic, Seyyed Mojtaba and a few others had been taken to the Baquba and Altamouz hospitals. They left them behind in a big hall in which the picture of Saddam had been placed on a table. Seyyed Mojtaba said: "at the end of the hall, there was just a bed on which two men had lain down. The hall was full and there was even no room to sit down. Hadi Kurani was also there and we didn’t know what to do. I said to myself they operate and treat us, but there's nothing. We stayed there for about five days and during this period, they changed our wound dressing every two days. The wounded died in front of our eyes and five of them martyred."

 

To be continued…

 

 
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