Information about this story:

A presentation of the research institute "Andishe Online Germany (AOG)"

Excerpt from the book "The Miracle of Guadalupe"

Author: Faramarz Tabesh

Date of completion/publication of the original Persian version: December 20, 2022/ December 20, 2022

Publication date of the English version: May 01, 2024

The following text was translated by Faramarz Tabesh.

“In memory and in honor of all heroes, especially the children who died as 

 martyrs during the Great Social Movement of 2022-2023 in Iran.”

A falling leaf



The girl held her little sister's hand and almost pulled her along. As the girl and her sister were barefoot, the uneven, sandy, and, in places, stony ground scratched the soles of their feet. The eight-year-old child was only wearing an old, hand-embroidered Baluchi dress. The child's hand was wet from sweating and kept slipping out of his sister's hand and letting go.

The older sister knew what was happening and what terrible could happen, so she always pulled her little sister behind her.

In this indescribable crowd, the whole of fear and anxiety, the little girl suddenly saw to her left, at a distance of two meters, a hideous, disgusting man in a strange black robe pointing the barrel of his pistol at her body and laughing unnaturally loudly and hysterically.

…….

This unfortunate incident caused the little girl's hand to detach from her sister's, and the child fell to the ground.

The older sister turned her head to see what had happened and asked her sister, who was now sitting on the floor, in a voice full of anger and fear:

"Mona, what happened? Why did you sit down?"

In a quiet, barely audible voice, the girl answered slowly:

"I think I've been shot."

The older sister noticed that the blood had darkened the girl's light green patterned dress and was quickly spreading over the entire surface of the fabric.

Yes, she realized what had happened and, with great concern, decided to rush the girl to the hospital. She ran there with her sister on her back.

To comfort her injured sister, the baby girl talked to her incessantly:

"Mona, we'll be right there. There's nothing left."

But the hands that could no longer grasp her neck and Mona's silence told of a bitter event that should never have happened. The girl was aware of this, stopped running, and laid her little sister's lifeless body on the ground.

Yes, Mona was dead.

The Baluchi girl sat beside the corpse and leaned against the wall. Her gaze was stern, soulless, stony. She didn't cry but stared in shock at the many men and women dashing back and forth. Now, she couldn't even hear the voices of the people and the sound of the constant gunfire.

Mona Naqhib was a Baloch child. It still needs to be discovered whether she had a family other than her sister or whether she was just one of thousands of Baloch and Afghan children who had no birth certificate, no identity, and perhaps no parents. She was one of the thousand children who played barefoot among the sand hills throughout Baluchistan, turning day into night.

In that sad and heavy moment, the girl whispered something next to her sister's body. Perhaps something like this:

“My dear little sister, don't worry. You will come back one day; this time, the world will undoubtedly

be a little kinder to you. I want you to know I will always love and remember you fondly.”



Excerpt from the book "The Miracle of Guadalupe"

Faramarz Tabesh

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