Memoirs of Mehri Hajinejad from “The Last Laughter of Leila” – Part Three
In part two of Mehri Hajinejad’s memoirs, she recounted her first interrogation at Evin Prison. In this third installment, we continue to follow Mehri’s experiences as a teenage student entering the prison ward and meeting one of her courageous comrades, Atiyeh Moharrer Khansari.
The Evin Medical Ward
The ward that later became the medical section had a few very small rooms. Before June 20, 1981, it had been used to house women accused of ordinary crimes. Those implicated in the Nojeh coup plot had also been held there. By the time I arrived, it was overflowing with PMOI[1] prisoners. The ward was so crowded that finding someone was nearly impossible.
At 11 p.m. on August 14, 1981, I entered the medical ward (formerly Ward 240). Immediately, a PMOI sister named Zahra received me at the door, helped me to a corner to sit, and gave me some water.
She asked for my name. I said “Mahboubeh,” and she didn’t press further. After finishing the glass of water, I stood up and walked around the ward to see what was happening. The only familiar face I saw was Atiyeh Moharrer Khansari[2], my comrade. I recognized some others by face but didn’t know their names.
From that night until November, we remained in this ward. Later I understood that one side of the ward was 216 and the other side was 209. On the night of August 23, in the early evening, I suddenly heard the terrifying sound of iron beams being unloaded from a truck.
The girls in the ward who were familiar with that sound immediately said, “That’s the sound of a firing squad.” I strained my ears and could hear the single gunshots. From that day on, every night we climbed onto each other’s shoulders and peered through the tiny window high on the wall to see how many were being taken to the execution site. Without exception, we heard this sound at night, sometimes at midnight, sometimes later, sometimes close to dawn, and sometimes at the very beginning of darkness, the cursed sound of our friends’ deaths.
In Memory of My Old Comrade
When I first entered the ward, my eyes landed on Atiyeh. I cannot describe how happy I felt. I had known Atiyeh Moharrer Khansari³ since 1979, and I liked her very much. Atiyeh came from a wealthy family in northern Tehran. She was extraordinarily kind, dignified, and lovable. When I saw her in the ward, I tried initially not to show my excitement to gauge her situation.
Then I noticed that everyone was calling her by her real name, Atiyeh. I was surprised because no one in the prison went by their real names. In a corner of the ward, I whispered to her, “Atiyeh, what happened? Were you exposed?” She told me that her father had handed over herself, her younger sister Nafiseh, her aunt Nasrin, and her uncle Emad to the prosecutor. Her father was a supporter of the regime, and they had deceived him, telling him that if he surrendered his children, they would not be executed.
From that day on, Atiyeh Moharrer Khansari became my main companion. We sang songs together and shared our memories. She was the only one who knew me while I used a pseudonym; the other prisoners assumed I had been mistakenly arrested since no one from the student section was in this ward.
One of the nights of mid-September, at midnight, as Atiyeh and I were whispering in bed, we heard the ward bell. I had always dreaded that sound; at night, it signaled that other beloved prisoners were being taken away.
The ward was pitch dark. Both of us jumped up to see who was entering. Suddenly, the female guard, named Nourbakhsh, came in and said, “Atiyeh, come!”
My heart broke. I didn’t expect that I wouldn’t see her again. Naively, I thought that perhaps because her father had surrendered her, she would not be executed. I held her hand and whispered, “See you…”
That night, I could not sleep and stayed alert, wondering when they would bring Atiyeh back. I thought they might beat her that night, and I stayed awake to quickly massage her legs and give her sugar water if she returned. That was the extent of my thoughts about Atiyeh.
Morning came, and there was no news of Atiyeh. My heart pounded. Around 6 a.m., another prisoner returned from interrogation. I immediately asked what had happened to Atiyeh. She said she had witnessed that Atiyeh had been told she had until 4 a.m. to decide: either denounce the organization or face execution.
After hearing this, I knew for certain that Atiyeh would not return. I regretted not saying a proper farewell, not holding her in my arms or kissing her one last time. Yet, I waited throughout the day. Occasionally, I thought perhaps they had intended to scare her and she would be returned, but by 6 p.m., the regime’s radio announced her name among dozens of others who had been executed. My dear Atiyeh had flown away, like an innocent, light-winged bird.
How cruel and heartless her father had been to hand his innocent daughter to the executioners. Later, I learned that Atiyeh’s mother separated from him because of this cruelty. But did the execution of Atiyeh make any impact on that father’s hardened mind regarding what Khomeini had done to him and his family?
From that day on, the empty space left by Atiyeh brought a bitter sorrow to my heart. Two months later, I was transferred to the upper section of Ward 240. Until March 1982, I had not been exposed, yet. In the new ward, everyone stood their ground.
[1] PMOI (People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran) – the official name of the group; often referred to as “hypocrites” by the regime as a curse.
[2] Atiyeh Moharrer Khansari – a young, committed PMOI supporter from a wealthy family in northern Tehran. She was born in 1963 in Isfahan and was 18 at the time of her execution. In her final moments, she told the executioner Gilani, “I have not even been tried; I cannot believe you will execute me.” Gilani replied, “In two hours, you will believe it.” She had known Mehri since 1979 and was one of the few in the ward to recognize her.
