BY NORA MARKARIAN YACOUBIAN
We began our journey to Arstakh with military helicopters hovering over our head. We gazed at the sky in silence.
I sat next to Samvel, our Artsakhtsi driver while Vahakn sat in the back with a gentleman, and his young daughter. I sensed that the gentleman was no ordinary man, nor was our driver… their eyes had much to tell. It was in this very car that Vahakn had met Officer Gayane Harutyunova two years earlier. We discovered that the man with the light, intense eyes in the seat behind me was Major Nigola from the Military Air base in Artsakh. He insisted that we visit soon and have a private tour. A typical warm and welcoming Artsakhtsi hospitality. There was kindness in his voice.
On April 2, a moment stopped in time. Our cellphones and computers were flooded with stories of Azeri attacks, killing 18 of our soldiers, our sons, brothers, husbands, breaching the cease fire agreement once again. We read in disbelief. How dare they! Our sacred land meant nothing to them, but everything to us. It defines who we are. Hundreds of thousands of Armenians around the world came together in solidarity and volunteered to help in every way possible. Never had a nation and its Diaspora become one fierce fighting unit! Hundreds of international reporters occupied our trenches to tell our story.The message was clear. We are determined… Artsakh belongs to us!
No amount of sophisticated enemy artillery or Israeli drones could break us. Paid mercenaries were prevented from advancing. The enemy acted like cowards, and resorted to barbaric practices. Yet, they could not crush our spirit.
Veteran heroes from the 1992 war signed up along with their sons to once again protect and defend our borders. They came not only from Artsakh and every corner of Armenia, but the Middle East as well.
Again, we read in disbelief…
I too, was there in 1992, and had prayed never to see hostile conflict in this region again. But then again, Azeri appetite for historical Armenian lands cannot be underestimated.
The faces of war were so much younger this time, average age being between 18 – 25… Sarkis, Vladamir, Hayk, Armen, Yuri.. yet they all fought with the heart of lions as did our former fedayees … Bedo, Shahen, Meroujan, Garod, and Monte…they were born defenders and protectors… freedom and independence at any cost…immortals in our collective memory. Several risked their lives to save their commorades or volunteered to get food and water supplies amidst enemy sniper fire.
A young Armenian soldier, just recently out of high school, head-on downed an Azeri helicopter. 19 year old Robert Abajyan, wounded and alone, surrounded by Azeri Special forces and seeing no way out, pretended to surrender. He waited until the last possible second for the enemy to get closer. He then pulled the pin from his grenade, killing not only himself, but every single Azeri soldier as well. Blessed is the man that sacrifices his life defending his country. What secret power within fueled such braveness and courage? Priests, holding a cross in one hand, bearing arms in the other.
“Sirdernin nurp, payts Vahani bessâ€
