“Sznek was already in the hands of the enemy. We were fleeing through the forests to the village of Khachmach. On the way, I thought, no matter what, at least let’s not be captured,” recalls 55-year-old Hranush.
Hranush Aghabekyan now lives in Yerevan with her two children. In the living room is a photo of her husband Melikset Sahakyan, next to which is the NKR Medal of Courage and his military ID. Hranush speaks about her husband with long pauses. She says that her life was cut short since November 9, 2020.
During the 44-Day War, Hranush’s son Armen was a conscript, and her husband had left for the front lines. The situation in the village of Sznek was tense. “Very early in the morning, explosions were heard near the village. A few hours later, we already knew that there was a war. The enemy was very close,” she recalls.
On November 9, Hranush’s husband was mortally wounded. Although a ceasefire had already been signed, artillery fire continued in the direction of the positions. “My husband was wounded. My comrades-in-arms were trying to pull us out of the positions, and at the same time they were firing in their direction. Many were wounded, one of them was killed.” While the situation was calmed down and comrades-in-arms managed to transport her husband to the hospital in the village of Vank, their life could not be saved.
Her husband is buried here, in Byureghavan (Armenia), because it seemed to Hranush that she would never be able to return to Artsakh.
My house was in ruins. I returned to clean it up
On December 12, Hranush returned to her native village, Sznek. She remembers that the house was damaged; it was obvious that there had been a war. After returning, Hranush tried to transport her husband’s remains to Artsakh to be buried in the fraternal cemetery in Stepanakert. A year later, the transfer succeeded. “When I returned, I thought that my husband should be in Artsakh. I also wanted to put flowers to my husband’s grave,” she recalls.
She was able to take only a small part of the memorabilia left by her husband with her during the deportations. The most important ones are the recording of their wedding day, the military ID, the flag, medals, and a few photos. She keeps them with special care because she found them with great difficulties.
She says that when she identified her husband’s body, there was nothing in his pocket, although she remembers him taking his military ID and a little money before saying goodbye. “It was the only thing left of my husband that I wanted to find. I fought hard to find these things.” Hranush’s long struggle is paying off. She manages to find her husband’s jacket, in the pocket of which he had left the things. She still can’t find the mobile phone, which contained the family’s personal archive.
I was always hearing the enemy’s voices; they were very close
After returning to Artsakh, Hranush’s children were admitted to university in Yerevan and moved here, and she went to Stepanakert to be close to her husband. She recalls how she would regularly visit their house in the village, clean, cultivate the land, and communicate with neighbors. “The enemy’s conversations and the sounds of gunfire could be heard very clearly in the village. When I moved to a rented apartment, I missed the village house; I would regularly go and stay there for a few days.” Once again, Hranush decided to leave for the village on September 16 of last year, not knowing what awaited her. “I hadn’t been there for four months, because during the blockade it was very difficult to find gasoline to reach anywhere. When my nephew said he was going to the village, I was happy: I quickly collected myself and we set off,” she recalls.
When the last war started, Hranush was in the garden, working in the yard in her house clothes. She says that when the shooting started, she froze because she didn’t know where she could escape to. The shooting didn’t stop. “The boys from the village were in positions, and we were left only with women, children, and the elderly. It was uncertain how we should organize ourselves.”
Hranush somehow manages to escape to her neighbor’s house, where she waits in the basement with her fellow villagers for a ceasefire. She remembers the journey: “My legs didn’t seem to obey me. The journey seemed very long. I managed to get into the house, get my phone and purse. I didn’t manage to take anything from the village house. I was thinking, at least I’ll be saved.”
After waiting in the basement for about an hour, one of the men in the village calls out, calling everyone together. “It was our village electrician. He had left the village, and as soon as he returned, he saw that the war had started. He quickly organized the evacuation of the village, because the enemy was entering the village. Our village head was also in position; we didn’t know what to expect.”
Video telling about leaving the village
Soon, the villagers begin to leave for the village of Khachmach in several cars, hoping to be saved. Hranush describes the road: it was hellish. Hranush gets into one of the cars where there were more than 7 people in the back seat.
She remembers like today how they left the village. “We drove as far as possible. We could already see the enemy. At some point, we were under their direct fire.” When it was no longer possible to drive, Hranush and her fellow villagers got out of the car and headed towards the forest, with the prospect of reaching the neighboring village along off-road paths. “It was a terrible sight. The adults were walking with canes. When we reached the village, the situation in Khachmach was the same: the enemy was arriving here. We didn’t have much time. It was already evening, so we immediately left for Stepanakert,” recalls Hranush.
“If I eat the candy, I’ll get thirsty: there’s no water in the forest”
Under normal circumstances, Hranush could have reached the village of Khachmach from Sznek in just ten minutes, but this last journey took more than 5 hours. Hranush now recalls the feelings of the journey: “They could have killed us at any minute. The men who were accompanying us said, ‘Walk far apart.’ If one of us was killed, at least the other would have been saved. What I felt is indescribable,” she says.
To this day, Hranush remembers little Mane, a fellow villager. On the way, when everyone was hungry and thirsty, Hranush offers a 6-year-old girl candy, but the girl refuses. “I’ll never forget how she put her little fingers to his lips and told me to be quiet, the enemy could hear us. She told me that if sh took the candy, she would get thirsty, and there was no water in the forest.” Halfway through the journey, Hranush managed to write a note to her daughter, saying that she was fine and was walking to a neighboring village.
On November 20, when they were already in Stepanakert and the situation had relatively calmed down, Hranush tried to find out information about her fellow villagers. “We arrived in Stepanakert quite late; we had no strength. I didn’t have the opportunity to stay in the basement of my apartment. That night, we all stayed in the basement of a relative of one of the villagers. There was no food, no water. We were all trying to find out news about our villages.”
Already in Stepanakert, Hranush learned that some of her fellow villagers from the village of Khachmach had been captured and one of the old men had been killed on the way. “We have four prisoners in total from the village, and the fate of two more is unknown. I know that relatives are calling the prisoners, they are in touch through the Red Cross, but we still have no news about their return.”
Hranush remains in Stepanakert until September 27 because her nephew was injured in an explosion at a gasoline depot and needed to go to the hospital. “My nephew was supposed to bring me to Armenia. I was waiting. Then I found out that he was injured in the explosion. I went to the hospital. It was a terrible sight: everyone was covered in blood, unrecognizable; it was a real mess,” she recalls. Hranush travels for about 36 hours with her husband’s sister-in-law’s family and arrives in Armenia. She has managed to take a few things from the two deportations.
She put today’s coffee cups in a bag at the last minute and brought them from Stepanakert to Armenia. She also keeps her mother’s handiwork in her house, which are the only reminders of her younger years.
Shushanik Papazyan