My Absent Comrades: Memoirs of Mahmoud Shirafkan

By Hassan Shirdel and Hossein Shirdel

No sooner had I heard the blast that I smelled the blood. I could not see my surroundings. All I could see was crimson red. My body was heavy and I could not move it; I could not breathe as if my lungs were blown up. For each scream, a mass of blood rushed into my mouth. My hand slipped and went into a sluggish hole. I wondered as there was no holes there before, just a dry and rough land. I could feel the roots of plants in that sluggish hole. The moment I hardly opened my eyes and saw around myself, I screamed piercingly…I winced, aghast at what I saw…there was no holes, no roots…My hand was inside the cut-into-half body of my brother-in-arms, Hossein.
These events repeated for me in the wartime to the extent that I came to perceive what I was seeking. The truth I continuously searched for; years before setting foot on the battlefield. I realized there existed something which was worth it, something worthy of being torn up, something beyond the daily activities, what you can grant your life for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781794841635

Book preview

18

Chapter 1

In 1982, I joined the Basij¹ of our neighborhood and it made me interested in studying. In Basij meetings, sometimes they introduced a topic to us and asked us to conduct research and study about it, take our findings to the class and present them.

I was not into extra-curricular readings at all. I spent my whole days and night studying my lessons. This high amount of studying oriented me towards extra-curricular reading of religious books. I became familiar with the works of Ayatollah Dastgheib² and Motahhari³ and some other scholars who were famous at the time.

The only reason for these readings was the meetings of Basij. For a while, reading books was so epidemic among people. The reason behind this was that people wanted to learn about the principles and foundations of the Islamic Revolution⁴ and religion. I had no one at home, except for an older sister and a brother who had just entered the elementary school. I was busy with my lessons. I was not the kind of person to make friends with others or anything like that. I have no idea where it came from, but at that very age, I could feel a strong sense of spirituality inside me. I had the feeling that I was really close to God. I became prayerful and attended the mosque. Of course, I served my fast and prayers since childhood, despite the fact that the atmosphere of our home was in a way that no one insisted on such issues. These books boosted my spiritual feelings day by day. I progressed so well that I could understand so many things and cried when I read about some of the topics related to the resurrection.

I was alone inside a room which was on the upper floor of our house. No one was there, only my sister who was settled in another room. As I remember I was about to read a book by Ayatollah Dastgheib which was titled the Resurrection. Although I was not old enough, I could understand it so well. By the way, simple language which could be understood by everybody was used in writing the book. A window was open to me and I was moving in that atmosphere. I was crying and shedding tears in my loneliness. I was thinking all about finding a path and getting closer to God. I liked to know more. Sometimes I looked around the room, at the walls and the door, wanting to find something to get my claws on it. I had no idea what to get. I was begging them to get me closer to God. I studied so much that I could easily understand philosophical issues of that time. Sometimes the educated ones at the meetings told me, Have you had anybody round? I gradually learned about Midnight Prayers, committed myself to reciting prayers⁵ and having a prayer beads. As I said before, my sister and I were in two separate rooms in the upper floor of the building. When I got up to observe my Midnight Prayers, I forgot to cry quietly so that no one could hear me. Sometimes I cried so loudly that my sister would wake up and stay up by the time I finished my praying. Sometimes my prayers lasted for two hours. She even came to my room once and said, Mahmoud, why are you bothering yourself so much?

It made me upset that she found out about it. I told her, Why do you listening? Mind your own business.

One could see some sadness in her eyes when she said, You make so much noise. It awakes me. I can’t sleep.

Studying those books brought a thorough challenge upon me. The discussion was about Imam Khomeini⁶ and many people especially those in traditional families only regarded their religious and personal issues and paid no attention to the Revolution.

Who is the Imam whom they are talking about? Does Imam Mahdi⁷ (May God Hasten His Redeeming Appearance) approve of him?

My studies were finally on the right track and within a special framework, especially those related to the Quran, Monotheism, Resurrection, Divine Justice and Imamate⁸. In this way, I accepted different issues and, through research, selected my religion. I can even remember that I studied some books related to Christianity at that time. I also found a book on Judaism and read it. I then compared them with my own religion. The only thing, except reading books that could satisfy me, was observing prayer rituals. I liked to observe my prayers and enjoy the sweetness and love of being a Muslim.

I had nothing to do with other people anymore. I would sit in my room for hours through day and night and studied. I did not make friends with anybody and kept my distance from other people. I had only one friend named Ghasem Pabarjaei who was our neighbor. He was the one who drew me closer to Basij. Ghasem was not like me. That is to say, he was not into studying. However, he encouraged me and every now and then provided some books for me.

At that time, I never hanged out with them. They spent all their time in Basij, sentry, dispatch and cooperation units, Islamic associations and Friday prayers. Except for Ghasem, all the other guys saw me as a neat body, a disciplined urban boy who looked after his hair and clothes all the time and used hair dryer. From the very beginning, I was a neat and clean boy. I was meticulous about my clothing and looks. In my religious studies, cleanness was emphasized and I saw nothing wrong with what I did. At the time, I paid no attention to what was inside me; it was all about appearance. I was interested in the beauty of my appearance and now I wanted to work on what was deep inside.

A while passed. What was discussed in Basij meetings sounded shallow to me. To be honest, I thought that a group of illiterate people who knew nothing about Islam used to gather there.

I was unaware of the fact that intrinsic conflicts, especially the evidence of Monafiqeen⁹ in the north and the atmosphere of war were taking most of their time. Everyday something new happened to the young revolution that was also involved in war. Nevertheless, as I said previously, I was away from all the people. It was as if that room with all the books that I had collected gave me something that other people and the commotion that was out there could not give me. I was oblivious of the fact that the outside world was nothing but what was inside and vice versa. I was sixteen. I found some learned people among Basiji guys; such as Ghasem Pabarjaei’s son-in-law and Mr. Halimi. However, I felt that none of them could do anything for me. I had to find a new place, somewhere like university and complete my studies in there.

Some strange questions were crossing my mind for which I had no answer. Not even scholarly people at Basij could answer my questions. They had something in hand for any questions that I raised. However, these things could not convince me. I was so frank and told them, The answers are not correct.

Finally, someone told me, You should talk to one of the clergymen in the city.

I was taken aback by what he said, swallowed my words and said goodbye to him. Somehow, I did not like clergymen. Later, they introduced some clergymen to me, but I did not go to them. All my relation with them was the prayers that I performed behind them. At that age, I only had two friends, Ghasem Pabarjaei and Muhammad Reza Gholizadeh, and that was simply because they were our neighbors.

Those days I liked the personality of Ghasem more than that of Muhammad Reza’s. He was an understanding person with high apprehension. It was that time when I first went to his house for studying. That was because I was a studious student and taught others mathematics. Muhammad Reza was also there.

Some of the books that I read were gifts from Ghasem. He liked it that I was into studying. Gradually we began to talk about the front and its atmosphere while studying. The answer to the scattered pieces of puzzle inside my brain could only be found in the front. Ghasem and Muhammad Reza could not answer my questions. In their view, all the events and states inside me could be resolved by going to the front. However, there was a major problem. I began to tremble with fear as soon as I heard of war.

I was a coward; a pampered boy who was even afraid of darkness. I could not still overcome my fear. Shall I go to war one day? What is it that I am saying?

From its early days, war looked like a dragon to me, which appeared in between what Ghasem talked about. Slowly what they said found their way into my heart. It was as if something was missing when they were not around. For this reason, guarding the nights became another part of our friendship.

In the beginning, I just stayed in a corner and did not get close to any weapon. I used to go home before the dark because my father was sensitive to it; some nights I asked for permission and some nights without permission. Gradually, I made friends with weapons. I could touch and caress them. It seemed as if something was happening. When I got my hands on a gun, my fear would die away as I enjoyed this feeling. Then I became more familiar with Basij’s weapon class.

Finally, the day that should have never come arrived. I could still fell some fear, but it was less. I still put on colorful clothes and jeans I had read an ocean of books, and thousands of questions were still in my head. I had not yet made contacts with clergymen. But Ghasem was worried about me. He could hear my questions and the way I looked for their answers wherever I could. I could sense that he felt sorry for me. He thought nothing inside me was in its right place; he should have done something. One night after our guarding when we were going back home, Ghasem’s question slowly melted the ice which had for a long time covered my body.

Mahmoud, why do not you go to the front? Do you know that its atmosphere is exactly what you are looking for? I think you can find the answer to all your questions there. I have told you about it.

Why do not you go? Leave this place. Go!

The influence of his words was because he has just finished his basic combat training. He went to the front for the first time. When he talked, it was like his words had change. They attracted me. It was like I could not find the answers no matter how much I tried. I got frightened again and said, What are you saying Ghasem? I can’t. I am afraid.

No man. It is nothing like you think. It all depends on your belief. War has nothing to do with what is going on inside your mind.

It was lost in what he was saying. I say myself alone all inside him. His words were simple, but intriguing. I had no idea what I should do with the background that I said. Is it possible? No, it is not. With the traditional atmosphere in my family, I even faced some disagreement from my father for the guard. The night before that he said, What does it mean? Leave those plays aside. I do not like them. You should be at home at night. Where do you go? What is a guard? What are these things?

I did not like such treatment. I had continually been reading books for one year and I had grown up so much. His behavior was not appropriate. It was not my right to be treated like a fourteen-year-old girl. I was moving against the stream in my family. With his breath, Ghasem had totally roused me. I was all thinking about his words.

Books, phrases, words, all became about the front. I only had one wish in my Midnight Prayers; the front, with all its fears and uncertainties. Exactly like someone who asks God for something but does not know what it is! The only thing that I knew was that I had to go. That was it. While saying prayers, I had found a good purpose which was vivid to me. And it was that, I cannot find what I want in this city. There was no answer in the room and this city. I needed something like going, departure, migration. Gradually I brought it up in the family. They got extremely shocked! What does it mean? A big question mark popped in their mind.

The next time you talk of the front, I will bury you alive. I will put your head inside a hole and bury you. I myself will kill you. There is no need for them to kill you and bring you to me, that was the first thing my father said.

It means shut up and do not talk anymore.

My mother was the only solution. She did not disagree that much, but always said, If you go, you will be immediately killed!

She knew his child more than anyone else did. How could I live in sand and blood with that way of getting dressed and that appearance? However, I said, Mother; talk to father and persuade him to let me attend the basic combat trainings. I will not go to the front. All my friends know the ropes of such things but I know nothing. I feel embarrassed.

In the beginning of 1983, some of the Basiji guys were also receiving basic combat training. I was lagging behind. Although I thought of myself as having a higher level of mental power than them, I felt that I should listen to them more carefully in our meetings.

They could achieve what I had dreamed of sooner than I could do. This very issue was burning me from inside and smashing the past of which I was so proud.

On the whole, I felt those guys who had nothing to say in those meetings were ahead of me. It had not cut me to the bone, but the blade of another knife was right under my neck. Without telling anything to my family, I went for enrollment in the morning. The man who was responsible for enrollment said, You are not old enough!

But, he did not let me talk or reason. He kept on and said, You have a big body. It is ok!

He looked at my look and clothes. He is being guided. I had better dispatch him. In the basic combat training, they will give him a hard time and he will forget his looks, perhaps that is what he said to himself.

But he said, Trust in God, I will enroll you.

The day for being dispatched to the front had been specified. From the very day that I arrived, everybody looked at me in a strange