Conflict among villagers over small issues is a common occurrence in villages. In Dorvan, when we were building the gardens, we had a laborer and some workers. They were making a canal that needed to come down from higher ground to the land. At that time, wages were low, four rials a day for laborers and five rials for the foreman.
One of the workers, named Mashti, was a relative of my mother. He was a good worker, strong, intelligent, and understanding. Since he couldn’t make ends meet with his wages, he had taken some extra, essentially a form of prepayment, as he seemed ashamed to ask for a raise. Therefore, he left the job and I had to take his place. I was about eighteen years old at the time. My father was upset about Mashti owing us money, and he believed that if Mashti intended to leave, he should have settled his debts before leaving. My father confronted Mashti and asked him to pay his debt. Mashti replied defiantly, ‘I can’t do anything about it; you can take it if you can.’ Upon hearing this, my father got angry and attempted to hit him. Mashti was physically strong, but my father held onto his hair, and several people who were there couldn’t separate them. In the end, I used a long iron rod that was available to separate them, and my father managed to free himself. Mashti immediately fled to his house, and my father intended to follow him. We followed my father, and once again, Mashti fled and went to the house of our cousin, who also worked for him. Our cousin paid off some of Mashti’s debt to settle the matter, but there was still a dispute between my father and Mashti. Mashti threatened my father that he would kill him. After that, he went and bought a Beretta pistol, and his nephew also bought one. They were armed and went to the mountains for hunting, where they would kill people’s livestock and bring the meat home. They had threatened my father that they would shoot him in the stomach.
A few months passed, and two more people joined them, making a group of four armed men. They became dangerous and started committing armed robberies. That autumn, some herders came to Dorvan, and they had economic dealings with my father as they lived on our land. Mashti and his gang came, scared away the herders, and stole their livestock and crops. I went to my father and informed him of the situation. He said, ‘We need to resolve this with them.’ So, I stayed in Dorvan while my father went to the Gendarmerie in Karaj to file a complaint, saying, ‘These are four armed thieves who have disrupted security and stolen my property.’ They asked him if he had any local disputes, to which my father replied that it didn’t matter; they were armed, and they should send officers to make sure. Two Gendarmerie officers accompanied my father, and we all went to Dorvan.
Mashti’s group did not have permits for their guns; those guns were government property, sold to them by deserters who had sold their own guns to Mashti and his gang. That night, we arrived in Dorvan, and my father was planning to capture them somehow. We went to the farm, and my mother and the children were there. My mother said that Mashti and his gang had been there, had some tea, and left for the mountains for hunting. We inquired with the locals and found out that they were indeed in the mountains. So, we set out in that direction. The path was rocky and dark, and it was difficult for the horses to see. We traveled until we saw a light from a distance, indicating their presence. They had lit a fire, and their faces were visible in the light. The darkness of the night prevented them from seeing us, and the noise of the river masked the sound of our horses’ hooves. They were sitting around the fire, smoking their pipes, and sharpening their knives. Their guns were nearby.
My father told the rest of us to stay there while he went ahead. He wanted to capture their leader, whom he had grabbed. He said that once he had him, we should come forward. However, he asked me to go after him. We cautiously approached them until we were within a few steps of them. At that point, my father shouted loudly, ‘Oh God, Oh God!’ They were surprised to see us. My father asked, ‘If you’ve come for hunting, where’s your prey?’ Mashti realized what was happening. His gun was next to him, and he was trying to put on his jacket slowly and then reach for the gun. He was busy putting on his jacket when my father suddenly punched him under the chin, and he fell to the ground. My father held him down, and the others were in confusion. I quickly grabbed the guns and moved to the side. The Gendarmerie officers and the others joined the situation. They arrested those three, but they couldn’t handcuff Mashti; he resisted. Finally, one of the Gendarmerie officers fired a shot into the air, which sounded like a bomb in the mountains, echoing. We were in the mountains now, and the echo made it even more deafening. The Gendarmerie officer threatened to ’empty his stomach,’ and eventually, they managed to handcuff him. We bound all four of them so they couldn’t escape.
This incident happened in 1953. They didn’t commit any more robberies for a long time.