His Dad’s Calamity
A Jar of Jam - His Dad’s Calamity
Me, a clergy, a father of a martyr and two IRGC members were going to deliver the news of a village’s resident becoming a martyr. It was cold and snow had whitened the alleys of the village. Near the house of the martyr, a woman was sitting in the snow with a hookah in her hand, wearing a curly skirt. She was monitoring the commuters. “Oh, dear God. Who kicked the bucket?”, she shouted after noticing our presence. She followed us. She whispered to herself repetitively and taunted us sometimes. She shouted so much that she caught everyone’s attention. We reached to martyr Gol Mohammadi’s home. “It’s Gol Mohammadi, it’s Solat. He is his dad’s calamity, his mom’s calamity”, she shouted. Long story short, we entered the house with utmost disgrace. As soon as the clergy opened his mouth, the mother of the martyr jumped towards the shelf and picked up the knife. The clergy picked up his cloak in the middle of his way and jumped in the yard. I hardly caught her wrist which was aimed at her heart. “I don’t want this life! I don’t want to be alive anymore”, she said while I was taking the knife. “Ma’am, Islam is alive thanks to the sacrifices of Imam Hossein and his dedications”, I said. God knows it was only the name of Imam Hossein which extinguished her fire and she fell on the ground crying. Her cries were .“suffocated by saying “Ya Hossein
