Ramadan in Hospital

It was about five months that I had been bedridden in Shahrbani Hospital. It was getting closer to Ramadan that SAVAK asked the hospital to afford the arrangements for my transference to prison. The hospital advised that I still needed more treatments and I had to stay there more. They said it was enough if I could stay by a crane. I understood what they wanted. I was sad that their decision was going to happen at the brink of Ramadan. I asked God to do me a favor and keep me there another month. I wanted to fast relaxingly. I knew that outside the hospital I would be tortured and even executed.

The supervisor of that section in the hospital was kind and gentle lady named Ms. Moslehi[1] who would care about my conditions. She would repeatedly remind the doctors and nurses to take care of me. She was also careful about my treatment. Once she told my doctor during the morning visit: “This No. 62 is a champion of pain tolerating. He had tolerated pain but never injected Novalgin. He has got used to pain.”

I decided to share my anxiety with her. One day I was coming back from physiotherapy on wheelchair that I saw her. She came to me and asked about my legs. I said: “Not bad, but I hoped it would never be ok!”

She saw my sadness and worries. She took me to the room and asked: “Why? What’s up?” I said: “They are going to take me out to kill me. I like to stay here one month more to fast in Ramadan. Then after, it’s not important to me. They can do whatever they want to me.” She said: “So you want to stay! Be sure I won’t let them take you.” She got a bit angry either and went out fast. It seemed she had planned to do something. I could not believe it; I was surprised. Since they had thrown my clothes because of my injuries, I did not have something good to wear. The agents wanted to take me out with hospital clothes. Right then, the orthopedist doctor and Ms. Moslehi burst in the room. They began examining me. Then the orthopedist prescribed that I had to have 15 other physiotherapy sessions every other day. One of the agents called his higher ranks and while reporting my condition asked for new orders. It seemed they had accepted what the doctor had prescribed and told him that there was no problem. Thus, I stayed there in the hospital another month.

There was a man named Band-Ali Jaan. I asked him to take me to the bath. He did what I had asked the same day and took me to the bath and washed me. He brought new clean sheets and I thanked him by two cans of compote.[2]

That year month of Ramadan was coincided with September. My body was weak and injured. However, I decided to fast. The personnel who would see my feelings and prayers would show more attention to me; they would bring me water for ablution and hold the basin for me to wash my face and hands.

On the first day of Ramadan Ms. Moslehi came and asked: “How do you fast?” I answered: “I will keep my lunch to break my fast at sunset and my dinner for the dawn.” She called the food section supervisor and told him: “You should give the bed No. 62 a can of compote every other day and give him his dinner warm at sunset and keep his lunch for dawn and give it to him warm then.”

By Ms. Moslehi’s orders I benefited good conditions. Thus, she shared my good deed in fasting. Then after I would always recall her in my mind every Ramadan month and pray for her.[3] That Ramadan month was the same as the one I experienced in Anti-sabotage Committee in 1973; really interesting and instructive. I had a good spiritual feeling.

Once an evening while the room’s door was open a man passed and turned his face right after he saw me. In the first glance he seemed familiar to me. Then I remembered him after few moments of thinking; he was Faramarz, a friend of mine in Abbassi quarters.

Few days later, while I was going to toilet on wheelchair, I noticed somebody was pushing it. He was moving it in a way that I could not see him. When came out of the toilet I saw his face. He said: “Dear Mr. Ahmad! I am not traitor! I am not a hireling! I am an Army man. I have been obliged to come to the Committee; if I had not depths I would have come out of it.” I said: “Do not be sad and neither tell them that you know me.” Although my family was not aware of my conditions for a long time but since I thought that I would be hanged or executed by death squad, I did not ask him to inform my family about me.