Here we cry secretly / Memories of pilgrimage from afar

group Family; نعیما جاویدی: The table of two months of Hosseini’s mourning is gradually gathering. When did the road from Karbala to Mashhad not end? The martyrdom of Anis has reached the population, one’s heart sometimes bursts with nostalgia; Going through all the years when the corona has gone to the shrines and delegations without any hesitation, panic and panic, and now I have to look out of the house at the golden dome of Shah Tus and say: “Hello to you from afar!” He will not let go.

The memory of some delegations and delegations is so strong and precious, sweet and lasting that it seems as if it is still in front of one’s eyes and its memory reduces the nostalgia of these days. People who had sometimes tasted the shrines themselves, not just heard them. Like that old man who sheds his stealthy tears in the company of his grandparents … Here I am narrating one of those memories to you. Maybe under the pretext of this click, the word, a few broken hearts and wet eyes became Khorasani here …

Did anyone know Corona was coming?

Remember, in the days when there was no corona, I used to go to the delegation and the delegation of the fathers of the martyrs was one of the most beautiful ones, which gave a good atmosphere to one of the neighborhoods in the south of the city. I do not remember the last time I went was 5 years ago or 6 years? I trusted the world so hard and I was unaware of tomorrow that I forgot that this period and the time I live in is the golden age of the Ahl al-Bayt (AS). Abundance of pure blessings that I seemed to forget to say thank you. When they said, “Let’s go to Karbala,” I said, “You go. I have a little work to do.” This “myself”, the selves, these selves, and forgetting that the blasphemy of blessings came out of my floor became a disaster for me. Hey, I said that this year, nine years later, I will bring Muharram and Safar to the Board of Fathers of Martyrs. This month did not happen, finally one or two more months, not forty! Forty days later I will go to Karbala and alas for all this ignorance. Did anyone know Corona was coming? This damn evil comes and gets a disaster? Roads are closed, even shrines for a while, and travel is difficult?

Board of “Fathers of Gadakmani”

Gradually, the delegations and the religious assemblies became different, it was not like before. It became less and less so that the founders could follow the coronary hygiene guidelines. I even heard that one or two of the clear old men of the Martyrs ‘Fathers’ Committee have left. Their delegation was set up in a compact basement. It had a short roof and limited ventilation. The conditions there were not very suitable for holding religious gatherings in these conditions. As a result, his plans gradually faded. I heard that the fathers who could not afford it could not bear it and did not spend for Imam Hussein (AS), as much as they had the air of those whose hardships Corona had made. I had named them “Fathers of Qadakmani” when they were younger, Dagh was young and the martyr bent their backs. They were a little older, they were old, they had arched on their torso and their backs were folded. It became even more arched when they wanted to come down the stairs of the delegation, which had a short roof above them, below their folded waists. With difficulty, they reached the Hosseini circle with a cane and clinging to the gray iron fence.

Parking for canes …

I had found the subject in the words of one of the mothers of the martyrs: “Our gentlemen also have a board for themselves, they named it, the board of the fathers of the martyrs. 20, 30 old men gather together. “One is a praiser, the other is a praiser and a summary who follow the work of Imam Hussein (AS).” My eyes sparkled and Haj Khanum laughed and said, “If you look with us, we have a lot of such subjects to introduce.” And I completely forgot about my job. I forgot my reporter and now my eyes have to shine more: All the new subjects and what plans I had to draw in order to write and nurture the subjects in my head. But I was used to it and I really liked staying in front of the parents of the martyrs. Mother who hot two children; One had seen a martyr and the other a martyr veteran, I saw that the old man was laughing and talking to me like a friend of the same age, young and old, with sweet and youthful literature. One Thursday, the fathers agreed and agreed to prepare a report. I told myself that this report would be one of those reports … but as soon as the fathers came down the stairs, the story was different. The outer wall of the board was parked. At the same time or after sitting for a while and swallowing with tea, he would go to the praiser and say something in the ear and come back. They used to say that as always, as you know, and the praiser of the burnt chest, he also asked God and said: Oh, on my eyes! I was not there at all. They told me to sit in a corner until the program was over.

The wet eyes of the willows of the bow

The shrine of Hazrat Ali Akbar (AS) was recited. Now I had the secret of that paternal order; An old man board that no! A party of burnt-breasted fathers heard the same roza every time, sang and their breasts were grilled. Have you ever been on the board of old men? When it is the turn of the tail and the arrival of Miandar, we are accustomed to seeing a tall man with a strong voice who warms the shrine and gives salt. There, that night, however, the story was very different. When the fathers opened the alley for breastfeeding, it was as if you had seen two parallel rows of madmen. He was shorter and taller than everyone else. A weak vein of Bam’s voice was left to him from his youth and he sang: “Come, young people of Bani Hashem / Take Ali to the tent / Leila flower, my young Leila flower … / Ali Lai Lai Ali Lai Lai my youth …” It was extremely shaky. On the one hand, old age, and on the other hand, the hot youth he saw shook his voice. Fathers cried more than they beat their breasts. It was a strange fast and fervor.

We are clouds, we are raining stealthily …

Haj Akbar when the parliament ended; One of the fathers said, “Our Miandar cries when he says that Leila’s flower is on the rock and he cries.” In 1986, when his son was brought, he was abducted by a mortar. “Arba, do you know what Arba means?” He showed the palm of his hand and said: “It means so much …” In their own words, Miandar had gone, as always, to eat rose water and syrup in the yard after each assembly so that he could recover and return. When we returned, Miandar said, “We cannot cry in front of the mother of the martyr and the family. Unhealthiness We are the pillar of a house. “Whenever we feel like it or there is an occasion, we come here to pray and lighten our hearts.”

Then, little by little, the market of words and memories became hot … “Our Mohammad was 17 years old when he went to Paveh and Mehran …”, “My son Hadi was very different from children of his age and age. .. »« My Reza was in love with Imam Reza (AS). “Every time he got sick, his mother vowed to Mashhad and …” For two years now, this unfortunate disease has plagued the world. I mean, how is Miandar now? What does he do with the heat of the shrines piled on his chest? Haj Akbar, who kissed the food of Imam Hussein (AS) and gave it to me, how are you? I still remember his version: “The food of the Majlis is healing. “Freeze one or two grains of rice at a time in your diurnal meal.” Even his sweet and beautiful sentence: “Do not freeze only food from Muharram and Safar. “Save good morals, good mood with old fathers and mothers, deadlines in debt, and so on.”

Mom bought perfume again ?!

What a night it was. It was a story, more interesting than the previous one. Like the story of a martyr who was in love with Imam Reza (AS) and his comrades said that there was a lot of light on the front. When he was martyred, he smelled the perfume of the embankment. Riza had eaten a piece of Mashhad perfume bottle in her pocket. He once said to his friend with a laugh: “If I became a martyr, this perfume would be yours.” Everyone laughed when a bottle of perfume reached and when to look? The sound of the explosion whistle clarified the task, the smell of Mashhad perfume rose and the hot wind of Shalamcheh divided it between the embankment and the smell of the fighters. A thought steals all my thoughts suddenly. That is, the mother of the martyr went to buy perfume from Mashhad again? I remember his father saying, “We still buy perfume for him. We wash his grave with a little water, rose and perfume. My son loves Imam Reza (AS). “The human body dies, but not love!”

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