First Grain of Sand — Page 181
THE JOURNEY TO HOME 165 time? When I finished praying, I immediately got up from that place and sat on the other side of the ship. I thought that as soon as I get off the ship, the Soviet officer would part ways from me and I would be handed over to an Iranian officer, and there would be no telling what they would do to me. Alas, when the ship arrived at the port and everyone began to disembark, I also exited the ship. The Russian officer gave me a visa, which displayed two photos of me taken while in Moscow-along with a statement that I am an Arabic Studies graduate and missionary of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community headquartered in Qadian, in India's Gurdaspur district in Punjab, where I should be transported after entering Iran. While at that time I did not read that statement, I took the visa and spoke in Russian to thank the Russian officer. An Iranian officer checked every passenger's passport and visa papers before they were allowed into the city. He looked at my visa and also ushered me on. I set off to the city like others but was petrified of being arrested. After every few steps towards the city, I looked back to check if someone was coming to arrest me as the guard may have let me out by mistake. I was in a strange situation at that time. I had in my possession just a small sleeping bag, a couple of pots, and I was ten or fifteen miles from the residency of the British Ambassador and did not even have the fare to get there. But a noble Iranian man I met on the ship kindly arranged for me to get there by talking to the bus driver. Once there, I stayed in a small hotel room. The next morn- ing, I left my belongings with the hotel and told them I would return later that day and promised that when I check out I would settle the bill for the accommodations and food.