Ceaseless infant cries enthralled me from the first moment I heard and it made me go to the headquarter of the military unit prodding me by force.
Although I realized my feelings and excitements, my will to oppress them inner my heart was not ended.
I did not have a clue about what was happening around, but I realized how powerless and lonely this voice was among the armed soldiers and bullets and missiles being out for blood.
***
The war does not care about anything and anyone. It breaks the fortitude of all people...
The war is like the water granulating the rocks with its consistent perversity. But it is not water, It is fire, flame…
I know its cruel rules well. It made me be acquainted with its all encumbrances. It enslaves the people with its claims with its characteristic sincere and assured dictation easily and make them accept everything as ordinary.
War failed to make me love it.
War failed to make me love it, but I was not urged to hate it…
KHOJALY TRAGEDY which rends my heart intended to spoil all my human feelings in my heart. It took me from myself.
It turned me a strange person.
But I neither wanted to be submissive to this war nor to be changed…
***
It was summer of 1992 when ceaseless infant cries enthralled me from the first moment I heard and made me go to the headquarter of the military unit prodding me by force.
I did not remember the exact day, month. but there were some more important cases which nailed in my mind. I was writing for the first time regarding this tragedy...
***
When I entered into the headquarter, I was struck and tried to determine where the ceaseless voice of infant came from…
My vision was blurred. I was unconscious. But I realized that everyone looked at me with great astonishment: Although welcoming the young officer who was sent to the battle-front for several days seemed so natural, but his extraordinary movements seemed unexpected and incontrovertible...
When I tried to determine where the ceaseless voice of infant came from I suddenly heard an excited and trembling voice of someone behind my shoulder:
- He is a child of Armenian, Mr. Commander, we threw him with his mother to the ground. ...
I did not wait for the next comings, I immediately run to the mentioned place...
***
She was a young and beautiful lady being approximately 20-25 years old...
She was stuck in the corner of the room, so I guessed that her other part was inside of the wall.
The baby drew back himself against his mother’ s stomach and tried to reach her chest. (This place was the only place she knew). As if she was climbing a mountain…
And each time she dropped with disappointment, cried and screamed more loudly...
***
- Who is his father?...
I did not know that why I asked this question...
And I realized that this was the toughest, the cruellest question and torture that might be given to a woman in this desperate circumstance.
- Who is his father?!.
As I did not know that why I asked this question, I did not understand why I asked this question for the second time with a bit louder voice…
I did not have a chance to understand it...
When I repeated this question with a louder voice, the woman broke the silence of her body...
She raised her head up for the first time.
Our eyes met for the first time…
She was ready for everything: being raped for not being killed, being killed for not being raped...
***
I was stuck to the commander’s room as I urged to go into the underground. And I realized that I was controlled by invisible divine power. I have left everything to angels on my shoulders. The word which I said to the commander who stared at me with excitement and tried to understand the accident was the dictation of the said angels I guessed:
- Protect the Armenian woman. I have relative in hostage in Khojali. I will change her with my relative…
This was a rare lie that I fabricated occasionally throughout my life.
I had some interesting lies. But none of my writings was a lie. It was not a lie that I went out of the room without waiting for the answer, reached to “store” and bought child meal and feed the hungry baby...
The truth of the war which was not met and heard beforehand.
***
I had forgotten myself. My all attention was on the baby. The baby nearly swallowed the soother with the meal. I hardly took him out of the embrace of his mother. She did not want to give him. They were nearly grasped to themselves.
The baby went to dreams in my arms by sucking the soother among his open veins. I raised my head up toward the woman when I gave him to his mother and I was stuck to the woman’s eyes on me…
She tried to say something to me...
But she could not say it...
***
The dialogue which started just now between me and Armenian woman was left unfinished by the tired and dreadful voice of commander:
- Look, I have called the person who replaces the hostages. Do not be late. Go there. They are waiting for you.
***
After exactly two hours we went to replace five Armenian hostages together with a woman with a baby in her arms with Khojali hostages…
I was not allowed to near the line of contact.
I only observed clearly that some military officers white banner in their hands came face-to-face.
The conversation did not last so much. I understood that agreement reached beforehand.
After officers, the hostages were brought to the neutral zone where they stood.
The woman caught my attention- she runs ahead of everyone with her baby in her arms as if she flown.
Then I did not understand what happened. It was very crowded.
Suddenly I felt that someone’s hand stretched toward me. But in this moment everyone turned toward me.
***
...I was not able to describe the circumstance of people who were a hostage in Khojali. Each of them was in the arms of two-three soldiers. Neither they were able to speak, not to walk…
I have first witnessed the biggest torture in the faces of these people.
I have never seen the world as disrespectable.
I have seen the impersonality of Armenians from the faces of these people.
I have witnessed so many things on the faces o these people…
The people who did not know the true meaning of honour and dignity may decrease the honours and dignities of the people.
The strong may be lost to the weak.
Armenian zimVORner deserved the hardest penalty for Khojaly massacre.
We will make them know this right, will definitely make them know.
***
Statue of my thoughts was broken by the rough voice of “leader” replacing the hostages:
- Here you are. "Your friend," wrote it in one glance. She requested me to give it to you.
It was a piece of paper. Three or four words were written here. In the Armenian language.
I was a piece of paper. But I felt that I had taken a heavy load on my shoulders. On a sudden, everything was drowned from my control. My hands and legs were trembling and my thoughts were confused; nothing was under my control…
The war made me its sacrifice: of goodness or badness? I did not know!
Now everything was unclear and strange as some words are written on a piece of paper…
"Leader" has immediately “read” my thoughts
- Don’t worry, there is someone who knows the Armenian language. You can go to him for translation after I inform him.
I was deeply concerned. and I did not pay attention the leader’s cunning smiles by smoothing his beard...
I rushed to the said address...
***
But the person whom I looked for was not at home. he would be at home in the evening. I had given the “letter” to his wife.
I did not know how I reached to the station, how I got on the bus and arrived in Baku. I did not blink throughout the journey. As though I was dead or blind...
***
I called the said person in the evening. He took the phone himself. I introduced myself. He smiled when he knew me and read the words written in the paper firstly in the Armenian language then in Azerbaijan language with a strange irony:
- You are, father of my son, you are...
