TEHRAN- As I make my way from Bast-e Navab Safavi toward the attendants' rest quarters, a few young men stop me.

“We want to go and pay our respects to the Leader,” they say.

I point them toward Azadi Courtyard and the Bab al-Salam entrance. “Right in front of you, at the far end of the courtyard, there are two parallel pathways. One leads to the sacred shrine chamber of Imam Reza, and the other to Dar al-Zikr — the Hall of Remembrance — where the martyred Leader is laid to rest.”

If you are a attendant or volunteer attendant at the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza (AS), particularly if you wear the green uniform that makes you easier to recognize, people will approach you one after another. You must become a guide for the pilgrims, answering their many and varied questions.

“Peace be upon you, brother! Where is Bab al-Jawad? Where can I get a wheelchair? Which way is the Kowsar tea house? I want to go to the Ghadir guesthouse. Is congregational prayer also held in this courtyard? Where is the tomb of Ayatollah Raisi?”
And so on.

But for the past four months, one important and frequently repeated question has been added to all the others:

“Where is Mr. Khamenei's resting place? How do I get to Dar al-Zikr?”

As I write this account, nearly 250 days have passed since the martyrdom and 120 days since the burial ceremony of the second Leader of the Islamic Revolution at the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza (AS), the Compassionate Imam. Apart from the first few days, when the public could not enter

Dar al-Zikr because preparations were still underway to make the resting place of the martyred Leader ready, there has not been a single moment, day or night, when his tomb has been without a multitude of pilgrims.

What follows is a hurried account of these four months in Dar al-Zikr, at the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza (AS).

The pilgrims who climb the steps into Dar al-Zikr arrive with all manner of feelings and in all kinds of states of mind. Yet even now, those who enter this hall for the first time, in particular, find it impossible to hold back their tears.

Some women and men sob aloud, crying out in grief and anguish. Others, upon seeing the large portrait of Ayatollah Khamenei looking down at them with a gentle, contented smile, feel their tears quietly wash over their grief-stricken faces.

A Request for Fatiha and Yasin

In the early days, people stood behind the barriers that prevented them from entering Dar al-Zikr, speaking to their martyred Imam, pleading with him and pouring out their hearts. Two or three weeks later, the barriers were removed, and those longing to visit the Leader and the three martyred members of his family were finally able to enter the hall.

Now, women gather along two sides of the green square, and men along the other two, whispering their words to their Leader.

For weeks, reciters from the Holy Shrine — some among the country's most distinguished Quran reciters — took turns around the clock, reciting the Quran in mournful voices beside the tomb of Ayatollah Khamenei and his martyred family.

These days, however, there is always a shrine attendant standing somewhere in a corner of Dar al-Zikr, holding copies of the Holy Quran, their pages carefully bound. Anyone who enters takes one or several pages and, after reciting the Fatiha, reads them in memory of the martyrs who rest in this hall.

The Passion, Poetry and the Power of Chants

These days and nights, both poetry and chants have become an essential part of the announced and unannounced gatherings in Dar al-Zikr.

Distinguished poets from across the country stand beside the Leader's tomb, microphones in hand, reciting verses that come straight from their hearts. Sometimes their poetry is intensely epic, filled with martial imagery and battle cries. At other times, it is so tender and overflowing with emotion that the poet himself has to stop, wipe away his tears, and gather himself before continuing. Meanwhile, those listening are also weeping and sobbing, and then the poet resumes.

Sometimes there is no poet standing beside the tomb. Yet someone among the grieving pilgrims will step forward, turn toward the portrait and resting place of the martyred Leader, and begin reciting a quatrain or an ode, sometimes their own and sometimes the work of another poet.
And when there is neither a Quran reciter nor a poet, the people themselves keep the fervour alive with their passionate chants.

There is no one officially leading these chants, but a few are heard more frequently than all the others:

“Death to America!”

“Death to Israel!”

“Death to traitorous sellouts!”

“Death to the hypocrites!”

“Far be it from us to accept humiliation!”

“Haidar! Haidar!”

“Economic saboteur, American soldier!”

At times, some people direct their chants at negotiators or senior officials of the system, mentioning their names or leaving them unnamed. But usually, the people pay little attention to such provocative and divisive slogans, leaving those who shout them to their own devices.

Pilgrims from Beyond Iran

You might imagine that all these chants come from our fellow Iranians and are shouted in Persian. But that is far from the case.

Pilgrims from Arab countries, particularly Iraq and Lebanon, are among those who sometimes transform the atmosphere with poetry and chants in their own languages and dialects, raising their voices and drawing the attention of everyone around them. At times, others join in with words in English or Turkish.

Sometimes a boy of just ten or twelve takes the microphone and recites a long poem. But there is one moment I will never forget: an elderly woman, weeping as she softly murmured one or two short poems and quatrains in memory of the martyred Leader. I still regret that I failed to record her voice and the verses she recited while I had the chance.

During this period, in addition to Ayatollah Marvi, the custodian of Astan Quds Razavi, the heads of all three branches of government have also visited separately, quite unexpectedly. They bowed their heads beside the tomb of the martyred Leader, spoke to him, prayed, and sought his intercession. You have probably seen the images in various media outlets.

A few days ago, Dar al-Zikr also welcomed prominent Iraqi tribal elders and sheikhs, along with the organizers of Iraqi pilgrimage processions. They arrived carrying the flags of Iraq and Iran. In their interviews, they emphasized the enduring bond between the Iranian and Iraqi peoples, united by their love for the Master of Martyrs, Imam Hussein (AS). They also expressed their support for the people of our country and our courageous Leader.

Perhaps a month or two ago, I saw an Iraqi pilgrim weeping beside the martyrs of the ninth of Esfand in Dar al-Zikr. I waited until he stepped aside.

His name was Abu Karrar.

“Martyred Khamenei was the Imam of all of us Shias,” he told me.

Then he opened his mobile phone and showed me photographs of the funeral procession for our Leader in Iraq. Through his tears, he said: “I had set up a procession tent here, and I was serving food to those who had come to bid farewell to the Leader.”

He then showed me photographs of his home in Najaf, its walls adorned with portraits of the martyred Leader, Ayatollah Seyyed Mojtaba Khamenei, and Ayatollah Sistani.

I was reminded of a poem by Sheikh Baha'i:

“This homeland is neither Egypt, nor Iraq, nor the Levant;

It is a city whose name cannot be spoken.”

“That Was Not a Good Question!”

I want to speak with a few of those who have come to visit the Leader.

There is a man of about fifty. Unlike those trying to push their way forward to get a better view of the Leader's tomb and those of the other martyrs, eager to take photographs and videos, he stands leaning against a wall. His eyes are red.

His name is Alireza. He has come from Shahr-e Kord and is a physician. He has been in Mashhad for two days and will return home in another three.

I ask him: “Did you visit Imam Reza first, or did you come to visit the Leader?”

“That was not a good question,” he replies. “The path of devotion to the Household of the Prophet passes through love for the Leader. We came to know authentic Islam through Imam Khomeini. On the battlefront, we used to chant: ‘Without love for Khomeini, one cannot truly love the

Mahdi.’ And today, too, without the love for the representative of the Imam Mahdi, one cannot attain devotion to him.”

“Not This Close!”

Mrs. Safaeian, who has come from Damavand, is also in tears.

“I always wished I could see His Eminence up close, in his own Hussainiya in Tehran,” she says. “But not this close. Not as close as I see him today.”

Her voice breaks again.

Her seven- or eight-year-old daughter looks up at her mother in silence, her little face filled with sadness.

A young man pushes his way forward, activates a video call on his phone, and, trying to make himself heard above the loud and passionate chants of the crowd, shouts into the phone:

“Mom! I'm at the Leader's tomb! Do you see that picture of the little girl? That's the Leader's granddaughter!”

“Not That Far Away!”

On my way out of the shrine, I encounter a group of Bangladeshi men and women in Ghadir Courtyard. They want to visit the martyred Leader.

They do not speak much Persian. With gestures and my broken English, I give them directions and accompany them for part of the way.

There are twelve or thirteen of them.

One of the members of the group takes a small photograph of the martyred Leader from the pocket of his faded shirt. He kisses it and presses it against his eyes.

During all the time I have spent breathing the atmosphere of this Holy Shrine, I have witnessed an extraordinary and unadorned love among pilgrims from the Indian subcontinent for the Imam, the Revolution and the martyred Leader. On the occasions when I have had the privilege of

serving in Ghadir Courtyard, where special programs are held for these dear visitors, I have seen this deep affection with my own eyes. I have often found myself envying the purity of their feelings and the spiritual world they inhabit.

These pilgrims may be a little farther away from us geographically, but when it comes to love, their hearts may well be much closer.

This Beloved City

As someone from Tehran who spent more than three decades of his life in the capital working in journalism, reporting, writing and the media, and who now spends his retirement in Mashhad, I have always thanked God for granting me the blessing and privilege of living beside the Eighth Imam and visiting him again and again.

But in these past months, I have found yet another great blessing for which I am grateful to God.

There was a man whom I loved throughout my life. I loved him not merely as a leader, but as a human being: a man of great stature who, despite his lofty ideals, was profoundly realistic; a man of extraordinary patience and tolerance, an avid reader, and knowledgeable across many fields; a man of deep religious conviction, devoted to his people and patriotic, yet at the same time a believer in the idea of a shared human homeland.

In every field in which he expressed an opinion, those who were experts in that very field acknowledged the depth and precision of his views. And he possessed so many other admirable qualities.

Now, this man rests beside the Imam he loved, the Imam in whose shadow he grew and flourished. And I, too, have been granted the privilege of visiting him again and again.

I pray that I may be granted the ability to serve faithfully and fully the path, principles and way of life of this great man — and to serve those who come to visit him.

As Rumi once wrote:

A beloved once said to his lover:

“O young man, you have seen many cities in foreign lands.

Tell me, which of all those cities is the loveliest?”

He replied:

“The city in which my Beloved resides...”