It was Ramadan; the month of God, month of purity and mercy. It was for the several times that I was in the regime’s prison during Ramadan. Fasting, and praying in those solitary confinements had another atmosphere. I was happy of reaching to healing Ramadan after all those hard tortures and hardships and I could heal my heart wounds and pains. It cannot the expressed how much I enjoyed those Ramadan dawns and sunsets in that loneliness of my cell. The loneliness which was always something bothering to me, I was enjoying a lot then; because I was worshiping my God in this loneliness frankly and clearly.
In this month I found out that Mr. Hashemi Rafsanjani was being imprisoned in the cell No. 17 just right in front of mine. I knew him before because of brother’s activity in Islamic Coalition Councils and knew his ideas. I had participated in some of his speeches’ sessions.
He was an inexhaustible comrade and would not consider the prison wall as impediments for his will. SO, he began a series of speeches and discussions inside that solitary confinement cell. It seems strange, speech in solitary confinement cell (!). But he did it. I tell you how. The door of Cell No. 17 had a window on top with a broken glass. When the two guards, I mean Anousheh and Athari, would go for beak fasting at sunset, Mr. Hashemi would begin making his speech through that broken glass window. This was repeated for several nights. In one of vigil nights his speech prolonged. He was speaking so warmly that he had forgotten what was going around. I suddenly found out some people entered. I began coughing to signal him to stop, but he did not get what I meant. Then 4 or 5 people stood right in front of his cell. When he saw those men, he fell down on the rug inside his cell. The guards looked at each other and said: “All right! So interesting! Such a nice prison is here. He is making a speech here! So nice! ...” Then they arrested him while insulting with bad words and then took him and went.
We found out that Anousheh had noticed the matter and reported it. We were waiting for the next step by them. The next day the guards came and went right inside cell No. 17. Then we heard some banging sounds. They were hitting and beating Mr. Hashemi by punching and kicking. Then they made him lie down on the ground. They held his legs and hands in order to stop him moving. Then they tried to pour water into his throat by force. Mr. Hashemi resisted and did not let them to open his mouth. He would move his head side to side so fast in order not to let them open his mouth. They could not succeed to pour a drop of water into his mouth finally. Then they thought of a dirty action and one of the guards closed his nose to stop his breathing. He resisted for some moments but he was choking. At last, he opened his mouth and they poured water inside his throat and then let him be free. They proudly and victoriously stood up and went. Few days later they took him somewhere unknown. I was not aware of his reason for resistance in impeding them from pouring water to his mouth.
It was about six months from my imprisonment in that cell. One day, when I was looking at the yard, I saw somebody standing under the sunshine. I was shocked of seeing him. I thought I was dreaming something. He looked like Mr. Azimi. I shouted “God would help the people who wait!”, hearing this verse, he also noted me and moved straight to me. When he reached to the back window of my cell, he asked: “Ahmad! Is that you?” I said: “Yes!” He said: “Where the hell are you? It’s been months that we do not have news from you.” I answered: “Didn’t you know that I was in prison? What are you doing here?” It was interesting to him to see me there in Qezel Qal’eh prison. He told me that he had been arrested for carrying political papers. Right then a guard came near to us. So, we stopped our conversation. Azimi began worshiping. The guard asked him: “What the hell were you saying?” He said: “Worshiping only.” Then the guard took him with himself. Azimi looked back once or twice and looked at me. An hour later I found out he was in Cell No. 23. When I knew that I called the guard and told him that had to go to toilet. The guard opened the door. He would look at me as an old prisoner there. So, he did not follow me to the toilet. I took the chance and went to Cell No. 23. I moved the cover on the hatch and called him: “Dear Azimi, are you there? How are you? How is it going?” He got close to the hatch and I asked what had happened. He explained he had been waiting for the motorcycle driver to deliver him the political papers that police would get suspected to him and he had been arrested. I found out he had been “wanted” for some time and had been arrested just right at the time that he had been committing his heaviest crime. I asked him if he had revealed any name or not. He said: “No! Not at all; the heavier they hit me, more severely I did not admit to own that pouch of political papers.” He had been hit so hard to confess who owns that pouch but he had not said anything. I told him: “Why you did not say a fake name.” He said: “I would not!”
I could not prolong my dialogue anymore and moved back to my cell fast. That afternoon I noted the guards who were taking him with themselves. I guessed he was about to face interrogation, torture and Surgery Room. It was after sunset that I heard the shouts of "Ya Ali! Ya Mahdi!". I stood up and looked through the hatch. I saw them bringing back Azimi to his cell beaten and bloody.
Few moments later, once again I pretended to have urgent need for toilet and reached myself to his cell. I saw he was in a very bad condition. As he narrated for me, he had been badly tortured in a way that he had been fainted several times and they had recovered him by pouring cold water on his head. I told him: "Dear Azimi! It is only the beginning! They hit you until you confess where you have brought those papers from and who owns them."
It was 8 o'clock that they took him once again to Surgery Room and brought him back again. He said: "Finally I told them those papers were mine." I said: "Now they hit you until you confess where you have brought them." He said: "I won't tell this one, even if I die!" I asked: "Why!" He said: "Because the papers belong to Seyyed Mehdi Tabataba'i. He is a bony and weak young clergy. If they get him, he would die under tortures." I could not do anything; so, I got back to my cell and whispered for him.
The next night, they took Azimi several times to Surgery Room and each he was hit more and more. His body was totally torn, swollen and bruised. I advised him to massage his bruised body parts with salty warm water. I asked the guard to give him some warm water and salt.
The next day he was hit so badly in a way that he could not walk any more. He came while limping and saying "Ya Ali, Ya Mahdi" and putting his hand on the wall to ease his steps. They had tortured this godly man limitlessly. Day by day he was getting weaker and run-down; however, he was still not about to say anything about Seyyed Mehdi Tabatabaei to SAVAK.
The tortures on him were in a way that one day I saw two soldiers were holding his arms and dragging him on the ground and then they dropped him down inside his cell. He shouted of pain so harshly and loud. They held his mouth and kicked him and said "Shut up!"
Those days were among the worst days in my life because I was observing my friends being torn and tortured. I was seeing him finishing bit by bit. I could sleep those nights because thinking about him. It was so harrowing. I did not know what to do. Those nights I cried a lot for Azimi and the barbarism he was tolerating. I was really ready to be tortured instead of him.
I would never forget the day I told him: "Dear Azimi, it has been days that you have been arrested and that clergy Seyyed has surely noticed your absence and has secured himself. Tell them his name. They cannot arrest him now. And even if he becomes arrested it is not important anymore because you have done much more than what you could tolerate. Torture and resistance are enough for you." But he said: "No, Ahmad! I cannot answer his holy Mum Zahra (PBUH) on the Judgment Day."
He asked me how to kill himself and get free out of that condition. Finally, I told him there was no way except using electricity plug.
An hour later suddenly power outage happened. I guessed Azimi had committed suicide. A guard shouted: "It is from the toilet!" Then group of guards went there and took him out. He was still alive. I was surprised. Later I understood the electricity voltage there was only enough to light the fluorescent lamps and it was weak to kill somebody. So, the fuse had just only jumped and he was not hurt.
That night they took him to Surgery Room again and this time they almost killed him. His body, torn and tortured was brought back covered in blanket in his cell. He was in coma. I could reach myself to his cell again. I could not hear his voice. He was not able to move at all. I was disappointed to see him alive any more. I told anyone passing my cell that Azimi is going to pass away tonight, whisper for him.
Next morning, group of soldiers came and took him inside the blanket to the public row. Via a friend in public row, I informed the other friends there that Azimi was one of us and asked them to not let him die. There, a group of our Muslim imprisoned doctors nursed him. They could save him after a good and effective attempt and by the God's wish and help.
Later I heard that his wife's attempts had resulted in his move to public row. He could be freed from prison by the mediation of a high-ranking army officer. I consider his freedom as a result of worships by the comrades in solitary confinement.
Archive of Footnotes
leave your comments