The Owner of the Voice
A Jam of Jar - The Owner of the Voice
South of Kooshk Sahara up to Hosseinieh station was the heart of the area. The order was to regain this area, regain Zeid outpost, and move the Islamic Republic up to the international borders. It happened, but Iraqis poisoned everywhere while f leeing like a wounded snake. Everywhere was full of mines. They even set mines under the body of martyrs and a squadron was positioned to shoot at our boys. It was like squadrons came back with 90% casualties. Now, the work of the boys in Cooperation was a masterpiece to return .the martyrs and the wounded One of these painful days, in the nearest point to the frontline, we heard moaning behind the Cooperation rifle pit. When we reached the edge of the earthwork, we saw someone wounded, bloody head to toe, carrying a dead body on his back, crawling towards us. He had no energy or blood; we searched for the reason of blood loss and found out one of his legs is cut off from ankle. We stopped the bleeding, used bandage on his leg, and sent him to hospital with an ambulance. When the ambulance left, we remembered how could he carry a dead body without a leg and a wounded body. Not to mention on his back, from the frontline up to here. It’s a long distance. There’s definitely a story behind it. Mr. Sabetkhah and I went to the hospital. “How could you carry a martyr with your leg cut off?”, I asked. “My leg is cut off?”, he said with surprise. “Yes, tell me the story”, I said. He was silent. He nodded his head and took a pause. Then he said that on the night of the operation everywhere was dark and they set foot on the mines unconsciously. Iraqis started to fire on them as soon as they heard the mines explode. They used guns, machine .guns, RPGs, etc When I woke up, there were dead bodies” and wounded scattered everywhere like leaves in the autumn. Where was I? Nothing was clear. The plain, the earthwork, the hot sun, and lips that collapsed on each other out of thirst like two stones. I got unconscious. When I woke up, I think it was the third day. T he thirst was taking away my last bit of energy. Then, I heard a voice. “Here’s a flask of water.”, the voice said. I didn’t see the owner of the voice, but beside me there was a flask full of cold water. I drank it. I went unconscious and then I woke up again. Again, I drank the water and went unconscious. This time when I woke up, I was fully conscious. I searched for the f lask of water but it wasn’t there. “Where is it?”, I asked out of misery. “I can’t give it to you. Stand up and move, your parents are waiting for you”, the voice said. “Our line is scattered, my leg is hit by a shrapnel, the ground is full of mines”, I said. The voice said that my leg won’t bother, I shouldn’t mind the mines and I should go straight forward. I did so. A bit further I found a martyr on my way. The voice told me to carry the martyr. “I’m wounded, thirsty and starving. How can I carry him? Do you know how many days have passed since I’m left in this hot desert? I can’t do it”, I said. “I will help you; his parents are crying day and night”, he said. Then, he helped me put him on my back and he told me to go and he will help me. I don’t know how I came all that way and you know the rest of the story. Then, he got silent. He cried like a kid who just realized he is lost. He cried a lot; we cried, too. He closed his eyes full of tears. “Why didn’t I turn my head to see the owner of the voice. Why couldn’t I see my Agha1. What do I do now? Oh my god, oh my .god”, he said
