In the Artillery Division, every 100 or 150 people formed a firing squad, and each firing squad had four cannons. Some time after our complaint incident, four of us were selected for artillery training; each cannon had to have a person responsible for it. I was one of those four and had to undergo a six-month course.
Before the training started, one day they lined us all up; the responsible sergeant ordered everyone to raise their right hand, clench four fingers, and keep the thumb up. Then he started checking one by one; when he reached me, he grabbed my collar, pulled me out of the line, and dismissed the others. I asked, “What’s the matter?” He said, “The carpentry needs a carpenter, but among you, if anyone is a carpenter, he won’t admit it; I found one myself!” He explained, “Carpenters, when they work with an axe, their thumb bends backward over time; I realized from your thumb that you’re a carpenter.” No matter how much I insisted that I was not a carpenter and didn’t know the work, he said, “Yes, you do!” Then he took me to the carpentry and handed me over; the person in charge there accepted me and gave a receipt; I became a carpenter. That day, they placed a log there and said, “Cut it in half!” There was a piece of chalk there, which I charred, fixed its top, marked the cutting line, and sawed it. The head of the carpentry, seeing this, said, “You claim you’re not a carpenter; I say I am a carpenter, and I can’t cut it this well”; I replied, “Honestly, I’m not a carpenter; I’ve just seen carpenters work and did the same with my common sense.” Then he gave me a plane and asked me to do another task, which I also did well; seeing this, he recommended, “Stay here! It’s better here; you’ll learn the work and rest.” Anyway, I didn’t stay more than a week and somehow returned to the training center.
The artillery training course had seventeen books on various topics; I learned all the subjects excellently and was the top student there. The firing squad was divided into four parts; each part was under the command of one of the four selected individuals; meaning I was responsible for one cannon, a quarter of the people, and the horses. Six horses pulled the cannon itself and another six pulled the ammunition; two horses were for pulling the cart with hay and barley; besides, I was given a riding horse, and one was given to my deputy; two others were specifically for pulling the food cart and other items.
One day, we were ordered to saddle up and headed towards Selsebil in the west of Bagh-e Shah; it was a desert area. That day we didn’t bring the cannons because it was intended that we first learn riding; also, bringing cannons with six horses involved many complications and required several people to engage with them. The procedure was such that when the commanding officer raised his sword, we had to put our foot in the stirrup, then he lowered his sword as the command to mount and move. The firing squad lined up with the horses, and the commander raised his sword; as I was about to lift my right leg, my horse bolted; all other horses stayed put, only mine galloped into the desert. All I could do was grab the saddle knob and pull myself onto the horse; I couldn’t control the animal; the stout-necked horse just ran, no matter how much I pulled the bridle, it wouldn’t stop; it took to the desert. This way, the commander and his deputy followed me. Now three riders were galloping in the desert; people were wondering where they were going?! The animal ran maybe ten or fifteen kilometers like this until it reached a river; a large river near Tehran coming from the surrounding mountains; as it approached, the animal suddenly put its front legs down, and I was thrown forward onto its neck; then, with a neck movement, it threw me back onto the saddle; in the meantime, the commander and his deputy arrived and controlled the animal from both sides. I was very scared, my heart wasn’t in it, no matter what I did, I couldn’t hold that stout-necked horse; we stayed there a bit until I recovered, and then we returned. The commander taught me there how to control a disobedient horse; he said you have to pull the bridle from one side so the animal’s head turns, pulling from both sides won’t make the horse stop. That day’s program was canceled, and we returned to the barracks.
Those who knew the tricks of horseback riding told me that the horse recognized only its previous rider. Before me, a bulky man used to ride the horse, but he had completed his service and left; the horse was familiar with him, not with me, and would misbehave. I decided to deal with it. After some time, we went to an area in the north of Tehran to stay for a while; above Pasdaran, in Aghdasiyeh, there was a fruit garden with flowing qanat water. There was a quince tree there; I tied the horse to the tree with a hobble; I called two soldiers and told them to whip it. They did so from both sides; I stood in front of it, holding a whip as well. They whipped it until the animal lay down. Then, I washed its body with cold water and massaged it well to prevent swelling from the blows and also to make the animal recognize me; after that, I lifted it, petted it, and took it for a walk. After this incident, it no longer resisted and stayed calm for me to mount.
Horses generally develop a bond with their rider and do not easily accept others. I have loved horseback riding since childhood; I was about twelve years old, and at that time, we had a shop near Kamali shopping center. A registry officer named Misbah, from Taleghan, had bought a foal for commuting and such, but the animal wouldn’t let anyone ride it; Misbah sought advice from my father, who said a horse rider needed to tame the animal. I said, “Let me ride it.” My father responded, “Let it be, son! Ali Khan, who is a forty-year horse rider, can’t manage it. Do you think you can calm it down?” I insisted, “I can.” There was a step there; I jumped from it onto the horse; it started moving, and I let it go wherever it wanted; it ended up in the fields of Hassanabad and kept going until it reached near Siyahkalan, then it stopped; I petted it and turned it back; it had calmed down by then, and I handed it back. Horseback riding has its own special knack; a rider must be able to maintain balance under any circumstances.
The artillery horse simply didn’t accept me; sometimes, it was necessary to discipline a horse. The artillery horses usually ate barley and were often intoxicated; once, one of them kicked in the stable and broke another horse’s leg; a horse that breaks its leg is no longer usable; that animal was put down. I tied another one to a cart for a month and, instead of barley, gave it fodder to calm it down.