The story of the assassination of a 14-year-old girl by the hypocrites / Tell me I am not Mitra, Zeinab!

Life group; زینب نادعلی: During the Islamic Revolution, girlsAlthough Iranian mothers worked a little farther from the battlefields, they played a major role in the victory of the Islamic Revolution. Zeinab Komayi’s life is a narrative that depicts both the courage and resistance of women against the imperial regime and the cruelty and brutal behavior of the opponents of the revolution. Where a 14-year-old girl is strangled with her chador just for her love of Imam Khomeini and the revolution, and she is martyred so cruelly. Martyr Zeinab Komayi’s mother narrates her daughter’s memories in this way.

I’m not Mitra, tell me Zainab!

He changed his name after he knew himself and understood what he wanted from life. “I am not Mitra,” he said. Tell me Zainab. “Call me by my new name!” She was upset with her grandparents for naming her Mitra. After the revolution, my daughter no longer wanted to be Mitra. He liked to peel all kinds of skin and become something else. Zeinab fasted for one day to make her name clear forever and invited her like-minded friends home for iftar. By doing so, he wanted to tell everyone that Mitra is no more and that this name should be forgotten. Incidentally, two other friends of Zainab also wanted to change their names.

I cooked rice and vegetable stew for the girls’ iftar. Everything was ready and we were waiting for Zeinab’s friends to come. But they were mean and no one came to our house that night for iftar. Zainab was very upset. I said to her, “Mom, why are you upset? Intention yourself and change your name. We are by your side. “My grandparents and siblings know your intentions.”

That night, Zeinab ate only bread, milk and dates instead of rice and stew. He said: “The iftar of Imam Ali (as) was nothing more than bread and salt!” He spoke so firmly and believed what he said that he surrendered to others. Zainab turned to each member of the family and said, “From tonight on, my name is Zainab. “Don’t call me Mitra anymore!”

After that, if my mother or children called her Mitra by mistake. Zeinab did not answer. They also had to call her new name. I forgot Mitra’s name very soon. It was as if her name was Zeinab from day one.

He was more interested in prayer and fasting than playing games!

Zeinab was the most compatible among my children. She did not object to anything. He eats every food. He rarely asked me for anything. The first grade of measles primary school was very difficult. His whole body was crushed. He did not cry with all the pain he had. I wrapped Zeinab in a blanket and took her to the clinic. The doctor at the clinic wrote him a few “injection” needles. While injecting, he would lie down oppressively and rest his head on my legs. He endured the pain without any crying or protesting.

Zeinab was more like me than all my children. Patient but smart and active. She has been helping me with household chores since I was a child. You slept as much as I did. Sleep played a strange role in my life and Zeinab’s. Zeinab is more than looking for clothes, food and games. He was looking for prayer, day and Quran. I always said that out of Jafar’s 8 children, “my husband” is Zeinab. It was as if our hearts were divided. It has been around me since I was a child. He loved all his sisters, brothers and neighbors, and it was as if there was nothing called malice, jealousy and selfishness in him. It was the same even with people outside the home.

He was five years old when he saw the dream of Hazrat Zahra, peace be upon him

When he was four or five years old, he had the first strange dream of his life. From that moment on, I realized that Zainab is like me. He dreamed that all the stars in the sky bow to one star. When he woke up, he said to me, “My mother, I realized who the bright star everyone was bowing to.” I asked in surprise, “Who was it?” He said, “Hazrat Zahra, peace be upon him.” My body still trembles after years when I remember it.

He said that he wanted to wear hijab

Zeinab became interested in hijab after going to Quran classes and communicating with veiled girls. My mother and I wore hijab, but the girls did not. Of course, they were very simple and they wore tight clothes. Zeinab was my youngest daughter, but she took the lead in everything. If he thought it was the right thing to do. He did and had nothing to do with those around him. One day he sat down next to me and said, “Mom, I want to wear the hijab.” I was very happy to hear that. Other than that, I did not expect Zeinab to be my other half. So he must have been interested in hijab. My mother was also happy to hear that.

The fourth grade of primary school was covered with hijab. My mother bought him three scarves. From then on, he would wear a headscarf and go to school. His classmates would make fun of him and call him Amal. Some days he would come home upset and it was obvious that he was crying. “My mother calls me Amal,” he said. One day I said to him, “Did you wear the hijab for God or for the people?” He replied, “Well, it’s clear to God!” “So let them say whatever they want,” I said.

From the middle of his guidance, his revolutionary activities began

Zeinab was not an indifferent girl, although she was younger than all the girls. She helped in all matters related to the revolution. We participated in all the marches of the Shah’s time. Our lives had changed. Zeinab started her revolutionary activities from Shahrzad Abadan Middle School. He wrote a wall newspaper. The head of the line reads the Quran. He argued with the Communists and the People’s Mojahedin. At the head of the line he reads revolutionary poems and speeches. He had been involved with school girls several times and had even been beaten once or twice.

After the revolution, he fasted on Mondays and Thursdays according to the order of Imam Khomeini to the youth. He himself was very committed to self-improvement programs, but he wanted to know and act on Mr. Motahar’s moral advice. Mr. Motahar had given his students a self-improvement program. He asked them to pray at night. To think a lot about death, not to overeat, to fast, to write letters to God, and to pay attention to their morals and behavior.

The night that Zeinab got lost

On the first night of April 1982, Zeinab got up, put on her chador, and went to the Al-Mahdi Mosque on Ferdowsi Street for congregational prayers. He usually prays in the mosque. The TV was on and the kids were watching the delivery year program. I did not want to oppose Zainab and ask her not to go to the mosque. Zainab left. More than an hour had passed since Zeinab left, but she did not return. I said to myself, maybe there must have been a lecture or recitation of the Quran that Zainab did not come.

Two hours passed. I put on a tent and went to the mosque, I did not understand how I got to the mosque. There was a commotion in my heart. No one was in the courtyard or dormitory of the mosque. Seeing the empty mosque, I lost my arms and legs. The air was dark and the wind was cold. I was asking myself, where did Zeinab go ?! There was no girl who could go anywhere without my knowledge. I walked the streets around the mosque. My eyes were on a tall, slender girl. I consoled myself once, maybe Zainab has returned home. I got home in a panic. I called Zainab. I understood from my mother’s worried face that Zainab had not returned. I wanted to cry, but I was ashamed of the children.

Her sister and I went to a neighbor’s house to call Zeinab’s friends’s house. Shahla had written the numbers on a piece of paper. But no one knew about Zeinab. We returned home. I went to the kitchen in vain. Cabinets shine with cleanliness. Zeinab had cleaned all the cabinets the day before. I put my hand on the cabinets and started crying involuntarily. A cry from the bottom of my heart!

Ghusl had testified!

That night we all went and explored the surrounding streets, but there was no news of Zeinab. We also went to the hospitals and gave Zeinab’s details, but we did not get an answer. Finally, we had to look for Zeinab in forensic medicine, and thank God she was not there. We were on our way home when my son said, “Mom, don’t let Zeinab be kidnapped.” “No, God forbid,” I said as if I was not there. Subconsciously, my mind went to Zeinab’s writings: “I built my house, this is not my place. “I have to go, I have to go!” Where had Zainab gone? Where was his house? These questions kept running through my mind. “Mom, we went to the bathroom in the morning. Zainab told me to take a bath,” Shahla said in fear. My mother threatened the children not to continue. I thought about Zeinab’s wills.

Zeinab was only 14 years old!

On the second day of Zeinab’s disappearance, we had to go to the police station and tell the story of Zeinab’s disappearance. The intelligence chief was silent for a few minutes, then said so that I would not panic: “I have to tell you something. You are a religious family. You are from the war and the front, and Zainab is also veiled and revolutionary. “The hands of the hypocrites are probably at work.”

I, who did not even dare to think about it until that moment, said: “How old is my daughter? Or what is it that the hypocrites seek? Zeinab is a fourteen-year-old girl who has just finished first grade of high school. “No one will be harmed.” The head of intelligence promised to follow Zeinab with all his might.

The hypocrites called and said that they had killed Zainab!

It was the third day that one of Zainab’s friends came to our house, she was scared and trembled like a willow. “The hypocrites called our house and said we killed Zeinab Komayi,” he said. “If you get injured, we will bring the same disaster on you.” Our house was like the noon of Ashura. I took the new dress I had sewn for Zeinab from the closet and showed it to her friend. I said that on the first day of Eid, she did not accept whatever I insisted on wearing. My daughter knew we did not have Eid this year either.

He was martyred by the hypocrites because of his love for the Imam and the revolution

That day, construction workers found Zeinab’s body in a desert. Zeinab’s body was taken to the morgue. I had to go and see my daughter. I sat next to Zeinab. I kissed her thin, bony face. I kissed his closed eyes one by one. I put my head on his chest. His heart does not beat. I took his hands, it was cold. His scarf was still on his head. I covered a few strands of hair left out of her scarf. My daughter was not happy for anyone to see her hair.

The hypocrites strangled Zainab with her chador to show their hatred of chador and revolutionary girls. Little by little, we informed everyone about Zeinab’s martyrdom. After the congregational prayers, Mr. Hosseini, the Friday Imam of our city, announced the news of Zeinab’s martyrdom and said: “Zeinab, a fourteen-year-old student, was martyred by the hypocrites because of her love for the Imam and the revolution.”

After the funeral, I had a dream about Zeinab

The day Zeinab was buried in Golzar Shohada. It is as if a piece of liver is buried under the ground. My wish was to stay there and not return home, but I had promised myself and Zainab to behave the way she wanted. After the funeral, I dreamed of Zeinab. She was very beautiful. When she was alive, she decided to go to the seminary in Qom. I fell asleep and said, “Mom, do not grieve for me! Do not cry for me, I study at the seminary of Najaf “

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