The bitter and painful narration of the 31 May 2020

Feature Stories Zabihullah DoorandishZabihullah Doorandish Monday May 31st, 2021 0 Views

 

The bitter and painful narration of the 31 May 2020 (Khurshid TV black day)

This text is taken from the Facebook page of Zabihullah Doorandish, one of the survivors of the terrorist attack carried out by the ISIS-K group on the employees of Khorshid TV. Mr. Doorandish wrote this text on the first anniversary of his dead colleagues. He addressed the bitterest realities of that shocking day in which two Khurshid TV employees were killed, and several others got injured.

 

It was Saturday the 31 May 2020, the beginning of a new week for us, and I had to come to the office in the morning to cover the program at the “Spider’s Palace.” Even though I was not feeling well for a few days and had a “cold” and a “runny nose,” I still had to come to the office only to cover this critical ceremony.

 

In short, at eight o’clock on that day, in the National Reconciliation Council office, a journalist named “Nasser” who worked for “Al-Jazeera” I made fun of him too much, several times I said: God did not want you to take you to heaven. This joke of ours continued for a few moments.

 

Nasser is a journalist who was wounded in the suicide attack on journalists in Kabul’s Shash Darak; ISIS-K took responsibility for the incident.

 

It was noon, and I came to the office after the program ended on that day.

 

The martyr “Mir Wahid Shah” was so happy, and several times he came to me to make fun of me. Several times he put his hand on my shoulder and asked me that you are affected with Covid-19. Wahid Shah laughs at me several times and asking the repeated question; we spent the moment with these “Corona” jokes, and then I started writing the report.

 

Over time, my report was finalized at 3:50 p.m., and I decided to listen to the song on my computer for a few minutes; But suddenly, I said, you have to go home.

 

I immediately shut down my computer to make my way home because it was four o’clock in the evening when the TV employees were leaving for their houses.

 

There were a few Haice cars in the office yard, which employees always rode to get to their destination.

 

I moved towards the car I was supposed to ride in. When I approached, Javid, one of our colleagues in the graphics department, pointed out that the vehicle is not going to Sara-e-Shamali (the northern part of Kabul). So I changed the route and went to the next car until I wanted to go up, That another colleague called me this is not the same car which goes from your way, the first car that you were about to go with is the accurate car, by far- I looked at Javid and smiled and said: It was an interesting joke.

 

I got in the car. Me, martyr “Mir Wahid Shah” and “Javid,” all three, sat behind the driver in the first seat.

 

I sat in the middle; martyr “Mir Wahid Shah” selected the seat behind the driver, in the left hand of the driver, and “Javid” on the right hand. Behind us, my colleague “Medina” and some others, including “Ayub Nasimi,” the newscaster who just joined as newly, sat.

 

Martyr “Mir Wahid Shah” shouted: guys, Doorandaish is affected with Covid-19. So please make yourself comfortable and protect yourself from him!

I said with a laugh again: he is lying. I am fine, and I told the martyr “Mir Wahid Shah”: Do not scare anyone from me, man.

 

It was four or ten o’clock, and the cars left the office one after another.

As soon as the car crossed the office alley and was connected to the public road, I suddenly felt strange, and my heart said: God bless us with these cars.

 

Because before, I was worried several times that one day one of our cars might be attacked again by the terrorists.

 

I was thinking about this when my father called. So I pick my phone and begin the conversation with him:

 

My father: Where are you, far-sighted?

Me: I’m on my way home.

 

My father: Do you have money

 

Me: Is charity temperamental?

My father: I have a guest tonight and bring some meat.

 

Me: Yes, I have money; I will solve the problem of the night.

 

My father said goodbye, and the phone disconnected. I looked at my pocket and remember that I do not have money right now, so I was thinking about where I can find money to take meat with me.

 

 

I reached the intersection of “Kolola Peshtah” and remembered to call my brother “Amir” and ask him to bring meat with himself as I am out of money.

 

In short, I took my mobile phone to call “Amir” when the car went around the “Kalolea Peshtah” intersection to move towards the “Gol Sorkh” intersection, which exploded as it approached the alley in the fourth district. The explosion voice was so loud, and our ears could not hear anything after the incident.

 

The car became helpless. I had fallen towards the gate, and I felt so much that our car was moving and destroying everything in front of it.

 

After a few minutes, the car hit one of the buildings at the intersection of Gol Sorkh.
My leg was severely injured, blood dripped from my ear, and I could not get up.

 

Shocking moans, strange noises, and smoke and dirt were everywhere. Then, finally, I looked up and saw my colleagues coming out of the car windows.

 

I, who had a superficial wound and could not move my legs, sat in the car. When I raised my head and looked at the martyr “Mir Wahid Shah,” I saw that the blood was blowing from his throat.

 

Despite everything I did, I could not open the gate because the car gate could not be opened due to a severe collision with the wall.

 

My leg hurt, and blood dripped from my ears, and my colleagues, who had saved themselves, asked me to keep myself out of the car, and they were shouting, moaning, and crying, and they could not come to the vehicle due to the fear they had.

 

Until then, I pulled my head out of the car window and called for help.

 

Two young men were looking at me and watching.

 

After asking for help several times, they just looked.

 

Blood was coming from my ears, and I could not hear anything. Finally, several colleagues approached me to ask how I was doing, and I said just one word to them:
I’m fine, find out about “Mir Wahid Shah”.

 

I said the same thing and sat down. I immediately picked up my phone and called my colleague “Shirshah Rasooli” several times, but he did not answer.

 

My leg was in bad condition. I was thrown into a police Ranger and taken to an emergency hospital. At the hospital, one staff member complains of back pain and another complaint of leg pain.

 

Along the way, all I could think about was “Mir Wahid Shah’s health condition,” and I asked everyone: How is Mir Wahid Shah? They said he is ok now.

 

But I had a different feeling about him, and I was more worried about his health situation.

 

Until ten o’clock at night, I did not know about “Mir Wahid Shah” whether he was good or not.

 

I left the hospital by ambulance and asked my brother how the condition is and how my colleagues. He said that two of your colleagues were martyred and several others were injured.

 

I told myself that one of the martyrs is “Mir Wahid Shah”. Then, of course, I remembered that Mir Wahid Shah had died in the very first moments of the event, but I realized it so late.

 

I did not sleep until morning on that horrible night because my two colleagues’ houses were a mess. The commotion of losing two of my good friends. Mothers and fathers who raised their children with the hope that one day they would have mercy.

 

But the abnormal situation of the country did not give this opportunity.

 

Now, a year later, I miss my dear “Mir Wahid Shah” very much. I miss his laughter, miss his good morals, and miss saying “Qawma,” most notably.

 

I wish it were, But that’s the part. One day we will come, and one day we will go.

 

The important thing is that we have a good memory of ourselves.

 

Maybe tomorrow I will not be.

 

But I pledge that I will never allow the threat to silence me against injustice, and I will fight as long as I live, and I will always continue to speak for justice and serve my people and my country.