The story of generations who were killed in advance
Walking peacefully in the far west
of Iran, where one can easily reach Iraq by driving for few minutes; I face great
monuments and interesting people and astonishing history which surprised me a
lot.
Hitchhiking along the Silk Road, in Kermanshah province in the west part of
Iran, I found an ancient statue which was like a huge lonely door gate. Locals
believe Farhad (a man played whom an important role in the most well known Persian
mythic love story, a favorite of the nation and undying symbol of a true lover)
made it for his beloved Shirin. Historiographers are disagree; they wrote it
might be a guard’s room or something similar from Sassanid era.
Almost near that remote monument I
found a sideway track with a woman waiting for a car there, and as I saw a
truck moving in that direction, I instantly decided to change my destination!
The way was so unique and beautiful, a road which crossed massive mountains,
forests, fast rivers and at last a very small village in which the truck
halted. As I found out, it was the last village in Iranian border of that area.
In the very first seconds, I saw 2 old disabled men watching the front of their
house. Further, it was a disabled boy running after a wheel, although he could
hardly run and one of his hands was twice the size of the other.
‘Why is it like this, three
handicapped men, just in the first sight? It’s totally abnormal!’ I wondered.
As soon as locals saw me, they started greeting me. “Hey brother, you seem so
tired. What brings you here?” It was an old man, offering me a cup of tea.
“By destiny or chance, which ever you believe”
I answered.
“Destiny, destiny my friend. You
know something? You are not my guest, but
god’s. I have the honor to have you in my house. But all had brought you here
were just by god’s demands
It was a big silence between us for
a while. He broke the silence:
“Where do you come from my friend?”
“From the other side of the country, Mashhad”.
I answered.
An old man smiled and said:
“Oh, dear Mashhad, I always loved to
come there and visit the shrine of Imam Reza and pray there, but I never had a
chance so far”
“Hope you’ll come there very soon father; and
it would be my pleasure to host you there. Then, you are Shiite sir, aren’t
you?”
“No, I’m not. We are Yaresan. But it
doesn’t mean we are not believed in Imam Reza; we do love him a lot”
To be honest, I never heard of such a religion before, but soon I learnt more.
There was also a shrine after their village, in the middle of mountains, that
is known as a holy place for them and also both Shiite and Sunnite. They never
had trouble with each other and lived very peacefully together.
“By the way, whoever I’ve seen in
this village was handicapped. Does it have any special background?” I asked.
An old man whispered and stood up and went to
his small kitchen without saying a word. He brought a few fruits and put them
in a plastic bag:
“It’s a long tragic story my friend, do you
want to hear?”. I nodded and he continued “Then let’s walk around, we can talk
outside”.
Yazgerd fortress was on the peak of a mountain near their village, it used to
be very strong and enormous in its time, but now most parts are ruined and
nobody cares about it. It was in the red sunset that he had started telling me the
story of his village, starting with: “Did you know our village, Zarde, was the
first place which had attacked by chemical bombs during Iran-Iraq war?”
Neither the fortress with eagles, flying on top of it, nor the big, huge
mountains with the sound of wolves that just started, could not drag my
attention away from his unbelievable true story. He told me of a time airplanes
came…. OOOOOvaaaaaaaaaaaaah… and when they started dropping huge bombs, one
just in the center of their small village and some in their farms… Pah, Pah,
BOOOOMB!... and when they suddenly realize those were chemical bombs… “RUN…
RUN, DON’T BREATH!!! WOOOOVE”… and when one of the planes crashed and felt down
in his own farm. BAMB. He even told me of a time they arrested one of the
pilots and about his confession “ We were forced to come back without our
chemical bombs, we should have dropped them somewhere… and we couldn’t fly any
further!”. He told me what they did to defeat our country, and how after
2decays after war, they could not neither leave nor live there, chemical bombs
had destroyed their fields indeed. He told me how people brought their sheep
and cows far away from the village to let them eat normal grasses! And, and,
and…
When anyone would accept their offer
for a tea, he can easily stay for lunch, dinner and breakfast at a same place
too! So did I, respecting their great hospitality. I was thinking about their
land, about all had happened to them during 8years war and much more after. His
disable little boy came and sat in front of me, “For how long those chemical
bombs will remain and affect further generations? Why should he bear it?” I
thought and remembered what he told me before:”At least 50 percent of
children are born disabled here”. I couldn’t help myself getting rid of all
these imagesi couldnt help but shake the thoughts away.
There is no way out, this is History, some
more of its black pages. Respecting all of the people who stood in front of the
cruel attacks from human against human, I whispered “ This world will never go
this way again, oh my Lord, help my little earth finally breathe for a few
years”. But the handicapped boy broke my thoughts and wishes by turning on the
television…
