The Donkey That Counldn't

The Iranian landscape is rife with natural impasses to even the most intrepid of travelers. From the mountainous terrain surrounding the nations’ borders to the arid dry lands at the heart of the country, it was a remarkable feat for Mansoor to travel by donkey across the Lut Dessert. The first time he attempted the perilous passage through the dessert plains, his friends and family were doubtful he would last three days into his journey and harshly criticized him for his complete disregard of his own life. “The Deranged and Foolish Son of Khosrow” he was called, and Mansoor didn’t really deny that.
Mansoor always excelled at endurance sports and never met a challenge he could not meet. After accepting a challenge to live for two weeks in the remote mountains of Kerrnan and successfully living there for not only two, but three weeks, he was known and respected for being the most daring young man of Kerrnan, with unparalleled survival skills and instinct. And holding this unofficial title – since his official title to the locals would always be “The Deranged and Foolish Son of Khosrow” -, Mansoor looked push himself to the limit if not to prove it to himself, then to prove it to others. By the age of twenty eight, he had successfully crossed the Lut Dessert from Kerrnan to Birjand eleven times with nothing but what he could carry by donkey; no one else has reported even doing it once.
By the time Mansoor was thirty, possessing only his limited schooling and brave dessert excursions, he began to worry about his future and reputation. He was single, had no job, and knew nothing of the world outside his home – aside from the dessert. “The scorpions in the dessert know more about you than even I do, let alone anyone outside Kerrnan,” teased his mother. Of course his name had spread through the local cities as “Mansoor: Conqueror of Lut,” but there was no face, no personality behind that name. No one would recognize him on the streets accept his old childhood classmates who were now preoccupied with marital and business matters. His name was a legend, but he was a fading memory.
One morning his mother woke him from his sullen sleep, handing him the local newspaper. This aggravated him because she knew very well he would not be able to read more than a few words. But before he could thwart his mother’s teasing and turn his head, Mansoor caught a word he knew in the headline: TERRORIST. He glanced up at his mother, and through his confusion, she completed the sentence: TERRORIST IN HIDING, REFUGE IN LUT. After his mother had his full attention, she explained to him what was afoot. Ahmadinejad had won the presidential election, and the runner up, Mir-Hossein Mousavi, was livid at the voting results, accusing Ahmadinejad of fraud. Despite proving the election was legitimate, Mousavi advocates called for a civil war, forcing Mousavi into hiding for his life. And as long as Mousavi lived, his supporters would rise up in rebellion. Mousavi was last seen entering the Lut Dessert. Mansoor, his eyes wide with anxiety, understood what his mother was telling him. He was the only one who knew the Lut Dessert. He was the only one who could find Mousavi.
Mansoor could barely clothe himself with his trembling hands. It was all starting to come together for him. Mousavi was the reason there was war and death in neighboring cities, and Mousavi was the reason his father, Khosrow, stayed up at night keeping watch over his family. Deep in his soul, Mansoor knew he must accept what fate presented him. He must go in search of Mousavi and end this rebellion. Fate prepared him, and Mansoor could never turn down a challenge.
The townspeople caught wind of what Mansoor had decided to do, and provided him with the best donkey they could offer. They also procured a cart with enough C4 explosives to blow up the whole city of Kerrnan. The sound of the blast would send a message to all that Mousavi has been killed. But when they affixed the cart to the donkey, the donkey could not produce enough leverage to balance the cart. And like a seesaw, the donkey was lifted into the air. This posed a small logistical problem for Mansoor, and he quickly called for the largest camel in the city to replace the now bewildered donkey. Within an hour, Mansoor was ready, and headed for the dessert.
Weeks passed with no sign of an explosion, and the town feared the oncoming onslaught of the rebels. They had nothing to defend themselves and knew Mansoor was their only hope. The sound of a horn was heard at the city gates, heralding the unwelcome rebels, and the entire city fell to their knees, with their final prayers on their lips. As the first rebel entered the city, their prayers were answered. An explosion was heard in the east. The rebel halted, paused, and fell to his knees. As he did so, the whole city rose up and looked to Khosrow for affirmation. And in a voice like that of a prophet, he exclaimed, “My son. My hero. Our savior!” The crowd broke into cheers, shedding tears of joy for Mansoor’s sacrifice and their own freedom.
Khosrow would later say of his son that there was a reason he named him Mansoor. For it means “Protected by God.”