Reminiscing Past Life in Iran | Stories of Life

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STORIES OF LIFE – Reminiscing Past Life in Iran

Yesterday, on BBC News I heard about the dire fate of a Christian woman in Pakistan. Apparently, she had an argument with a group of Pakistani Muslim women, who reported her to the police. They claimed that the Christian woman insulted their prophet Mohamed’s name. Whether this is true or not, it is not clear. However, the poor woman is in jail, awaiting execution.
This story reminds me of an event that happened to my deceased brother, when he was fourteen. My father had just passed away. I was nine, and we were living in a strict Islamic city in Iran called, Arak. In Arak, we, Armenians, being Christian, were considered spiritually unclean – “najis”. They called us, “sag Armani”, meaning, “dog Armenians” as for Muslims dogs were “najis”.
One day, Mother sent my fourteen-year-old brother to the bazaar to do some shopping. An Araki, boy, in baggy pants, and a wrinkled up dirty shirt, upon setting his eyes on my brother, began shouting, “Hey you, sag Armani.”
My brother stared at the tramp, lifting an eyebrow, and told him to shut up. The boy began shouting in rage, “Hey, Muslims, this Armenian boy is insulting our religion.”
(Now, regarding the Pakistani Christian woman, I wonder if those women who reported her to the police, might have made up the story.)
When the boys accused my brother of insulting Islam, within no time, a furious group of young and middle-aged bazaaris stormed forward and encircled him. From their shouts and angry looks, it was obvious that they were about to punish him. Normally, this would mean beating and kicking the guilty person to death.
Fortunately, before they had a chance to teach the teen- aged Armenian a lesson, a young, dark bearded man from among the crowd recognized him. He shouted loudly above the din of the furious mob.
“Leave him alone. He is Taddevos Petrossian’s son. “Don’t harm him. These people are good Iranians.”
Upon hearing my father’s name, the pack immediately turned around and dispersed.
Arakis working at the bazaar – or the bazaaris – all knew my father and respected him a lot. Imagine what might have happened if that nice man who recognized the innocent boy, had not been present among the crowd.
STORIES OF LIFE – Reminiscing Past Life in Iran

6 comments

  1. MADLEN says:

    That’s very scary. My only wish is that we all live and let live.
    Thank you for sharing your stories Armineh jan, love reading them.

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