You people have the mind to convert to Christianity after my father’s death.

Once I deal with you, I will see if your Jesus will save you.

Foolish people.

Anybody who converts to Christianity, I will know.

I am the only prince in this run.

Hello viewers from around the world.

This testimony was originally recorded in Persian and translated to English for the understanding of everyone.

We encourage you to share this testimony with someone who needs hope.

We would also like you to comment where you are watching from.

>> My name is Hassan Darvishi and I was born in the dusty city of Shiraz, a place famous for poetry, gardens, and old stories whispered by our grandparents under the evening sky.

Growing up there, life felt simple.

We woke before sunrise, prayed, worked, and gathered at night with tea and bread while the elders discussed politics in low voices.

In Iran, politics is not something people shout about openly.

It lives in whispers.

The day the Supreme Leader died.

The entire country changed overnight.

I remember that morning clearly.

I was in my small mechanic workshop near the bazaar.

The smell of engine oil filled the air as I worked on a broken motorcycle.

My friend Kareem rushed inside, breathing heavily, his face pale like someone who had seen a ghost.

Hassan, he said, grabbing my arm.

Have you heard the news? I wiped my hands on a dirty cloth.

What news? He looked around before speaking again, lowering his voice.

The Supreme Leader, he’s dead.

For a moment, a room went silent except for the ticking sound of cooling metal.

I laughed nervously.

Don’t joke about things like that.

I’m serious, he whispered.

State radio just confirmed it.

Outside the streets were already filling with people.

Some looked shocked, others looked afraid.

In Iran, when power shifts, no one knows what will follow.

Within hours, soldiers appeared everywhere.

Armored vehicles rolled through the streets.

Television broadcast repeated the same message again and again.

The nation must remain calm.

But calm never lasts long when power is changing hands.

Two days later, a man appeared on television whom most of us had never seen before.

He was introduced as Prince Romani, a powerful political figure from one of the elite families connected to the ruling authorities.

He was tall with a trim beard and sharp eyes that seemed to stare through the camera.

He spoke slowly with authority.

My fellow Muslims, he said, this is a time of purification for our nation.

His words were strange.

He talked about loyalty, about protecting the faith, about removing those who betray Islam.

At the time, I didn’t understand why those words made my stomach tighten with fear.

But some people already knew.

A week later, I visited my cousin Far in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of Shiraz.

Far had always been different.

He was calm, thoughtful, and he asked questions most people were afraid to ask.

When I entered a small house, I noticed something unusual.

A group of about 10 people sat quietly in the living room.

They weren’t arguing or discussing politics.

They were praying, but it wasn’t the Islamic prayer I knew.

One woman was crying softly.

Another man held a small worn book in his hands.

Farad stood up when he saw me.

“Hassan,” he said warmly.

“I’m glad you came.

” I sat down confused.

What is this gathering? He hesitated then spoke carefully.

We are reading about Isa al- Masi Jiz.

The room suddenly felt tense.

You mean the prophet Isa? I asked.

Farid shook his head gently.

No, we believe he is more than a prophet.

My heart began pounding.

You shouldn’t say things like that.

I whispered urgently.

If the authorities hear this, they already know.

one of the older men said quietly.

Everyone turned toward him.

His name was Reza, a former teacher from Isvahan who had recently moved to Shiraz.

His voice carried both peace and sadness.

Many of us have been followed, he said.

Prince Ramani’s men are searching for people like us.

The woman who had been crying wiped her face, but we cannot stop now.

She said, we have found the truth.

I felt trapped between fear and curiosity.

What truth? I asked.

Far opened the book in his hand.

It was a Bible.

We believe Jesus is alive, he said softly.

And he is calling people even here in Iran.

I stood up quickly.

You’re all going to get arrested.

I said, this is dangerous.

Far looked directly into my eyes.

Hassan, I know you’re afraid.

We were too, but many of us saw dreams.

Dreams? I asked.

Yes, Reza replied.

The same dream.

A man in white standing beside a river calling our names.

The room went silent again.

Something about their calmness unsettled me more than if they had been shouting.

I didn’t know what to say, so I left.

Three nights later, the soldiers came.

I woke up to loud banging on my door.

Open in the name of the state.

My heart nearly stopped.

When I opened the door, our men pushed their way inside.

Their uniforms were black, their faces cold.

One officer held a folder.

Hassen Darvishi.

Yes.

You are under arrest for association with religious betrayal.

I don’t understand.

I protested.

They grabbed my arms and dragged me outside.

That’s when I saw something terrifying.

Across the street, a military truck was already full of prisoners.

And among them I saw Farid.

His hand were tied but when he saw me he gave a small peaceful smile.

The officer standing beside the truck spoke loudly so everyone could hear.

By order of Prince Romani.

All those spreading the religion of Jesus will face imprisonment.

Fear gripped my chest but I didn’t convert.

I shouted.

The officer laughed.

You attended their meeting.

That was enough.

They pushed me into the truck beside the others.

As a vehicle began moving through the dark streets of Shiraz, I realized something terrifying.

There were many more prisoners than just our group.

Men, women, even elderly people, all accused of the same crime, believing in Jesus.

And none of us knew where we were being taken.

But the worst part, Far leaned toward me and whispered something that made my blood run cold.

Hassan, Prince Romani plans to make an example of us.

The truck drove deeper into the night, and none of us knew that something supernatural was already coming, something that would shake the prison walls themselves.

But at that moment, all we felt was fear and the sound of chains.

The truck drove for hours.

No one spoke.

The chains around our wrist clinkedked softly each time the vehicle hit a bump on the rough road.

Outside, the night was dark and endless, and the cold desert wind slipped through the cracks of the truck like whispers of danger.

I tried to calm my breathing, but fear sat heavy in my chest.

Across from me sat far, his hands tied like the rest of us, yet his face was strangely peaceful.

It made no sense.

We were prisoners.

We had no idea where we were going.

Yet, he looked as if he already knew something the rest of us didn’t.

Finally, I leaned closer to him.

Farid, I whispered.

Tell me the truth.

What is going to happen to us? Before he could answer, one of the soldiers slammed the metal wall with his rifle.

Silence.

Everyone froze again.

Beside me, an old man began quietly reciting prayers in Arabic.

His voice trembled.

Another prisoner.

A young woman wrapped in a dark scarf wiped tears from her face.

The fear inside that truck was thick like smoke.

After what felt like forever, the truck finally slowed down.

We heard the grinding sound of massive metal gates opening.

Then the truck rolled forward and stopped.

“Out!” a soldier shouted.

The back door opened and cold desert air rush inside.

When we climbed down, my heart sank.

We were standing in front of a large concrete prison surrounded by tall fences and watchtowers.

Flood lights lit the compound like daylight.

Armed guards stood everywhere, their rifles ready.

There was nothing around us except endless desert.

Farad looked around quietly.

I have heard of this place, he whispered.

What place? I asked.

Bondar Desert Detention Camp.

I had never heard of it before, but something about it felt wrong.

This wasn’t a normal prison.

It was a place meant for people the government wanted to disappear.

They lined us up in rows.

A tall officer walked slowly in front of us, studying each face carefully.

His black coat moved with the desert wind.

When he stopped, the soldiers immediately stood straighter.

One of them saluted.

Sir, the officer nodded.

Even before someone said his name, I felt a chill run down my spine.

Prince Romani.

He looked exactly like he did on television.

Cold eyes, perfect posture.

A man used the power.

He walked slowly along the line of prisoners like a hunter examining captured animals.

Finally, he spoke.

So these are the traitors.

His voice was calm but sharp.

Reza stepped forward slightly.

We are not traitors, he said quietly.

We are simply believers.

The guards immediately shoved him back.

Ramani studied him for a moment.

You followed Jesus? Yes, he asked.

Resa didn’t deny it.

Yes.

The prince laughed softly.

A foreign religion, he said.

A weakness brought into our nation.

Then his eyes moved across the rest of us.

Anyone who abandons Islam for this belief will learn something tonight.

My heart pounded.

Ramani raised his hand toward the prison behind him.

This place will teach you fear.

Then he gave a simple order.

Separate them.

The soldiers moved quickly.

Men were dragged one way, women another.

As they pushed me forward, I shouted a forid.

Farid, he looked back at me.

“Stay strong, Hassan,” he said.

Those were the last words I heard from him that night.

Inside the prison, the air smelled like rust and dust.

They threw us into a large concrete cell with iron bars and dim yellow lights.

There were already many prisoners inside.

Some looked weak, some looked injured.

One man had bruises covering his face.

When the guard slammed the door shut, the entire room went silent.

A tall prisoner sitting near the wall spoke quietly.

New ones.

I sat down on the cold floor.

What is this place? I asked.

The man shook his head slowly.

This is where they bring people who refuse to deny their faith.

How long have you been here? I asked.

3 weeks.

My stomach tightened.

Another prisoner spoke from the corner.

They want us to confess, he said.

Confess what? That Jesus is not Lord.

The room grew quiet again.

Then I noticed something strange.

Several prisoners were smiling.

One of them, a thin man with tired eyes, looked at me.

Brother, he said gently, “Why are you here?” “I’m not even believer.

” I answered quickly.

“I just visited a friend.

” He nodded slowly.

Sometimes Jesus brings people to places they never expected.

His words irritated me.

This is prison, I said.

Not some spiritual journey.

But before anyone could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The guards returned.

They opened the cell door.

Reza, one of them shouted.

The older man from Far’s house stepped forward calmly.

They grabbed him and dragged him out.

Where are you taking him? Someone asked.

No one answered.

The door slammed again.

Minutes passed.

Then we heard something chilling.

Screams.

Ray’s voice echoed through the prison halls.

Painful, terrible.

Some of the prisoners bowed their heads and prayed quietly.

But the man beside me whispered something that confused me, “God, give him strength.

” I stared at him.

How can you pray after hearing that? He looked at me gently.

Because we are not alone here.

I wanted to argue, but deep down something inside me felt uneasy.

Hours passed.

Finally, the guards returned.

They threw Reza back into the cell.

His face was bruised.

Blood ran from his lip, but he was smiling.

I rushed forward.

What did they do to you? He struggled to sit up.

They asked me to deny Jesus.

And he wiped the blood from his mouth.

I told him the truth.

What truth? I asked.

His eyes looked brighter than before.

That Jesus is alive.

The guards watching from the hallway laughed mockingly.

One of them shouted inside the cell.

Enjoy your faith while you can.

Then he added something that made the entire room go silent because tomorrow Prince Ramani will decide who dies first.

Fear gripped everyone, but Reza closed his eyes calmly and in a weak voice he whispered something that none of us understood yet.

Do not be afraid.

Help is coming.

At that moment, I thought he was delirious from the torture.

But later, I would realize he was telling the truth because far beyond the prison walls, something powerful was already moving.

something that would soon shake the entire desert and bring a flood no one could explain.

The night inside the prison felt endless.

The dim yellow bulb above our cell flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete floor.

Every sound echoed in the hallway, the footsteps of guards, the distant clang of metal doors, and sometimes the quiet sobs of prisoners who had lost all hope.

None of us slept.

Prince Romani’s words echoed again and again in my mind.

Tomorrow I will decide who dies first.

I sat against the cold wall, my knees pulled close to my chest, trying to slow my breathing.

Across the room, several of the believers were praying quietly.

Their voices were calm.

Too calm.

It confused me.

How could they pray when death might be waiting just hours away? Finally, I looked toward Reza, who lay resting against the wall.

His face was swollen from the beating, but his eyes were open.

You said, “Help is coming.

” I whispered, “Yes,” he replied softly.

“How do you know?” He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looked up toward the ceiling as if listening to something I could not hear.

Then he said quietly, “Because Jesus promised he would never leave us.

” I shook my head.

“You still believe that after what they did to you?” He gave a faint smile.

especially after what they did.

His confidence unsettled me.

I had grown up hearing about ISA, the prophet in Islam.

But these people spoke about him differently.

They spoke as if he was alive, as if he could hear them.

It sounded impossible.

Yet the peace in that room was real.

A young man sitting beside Reza began speaking softly.

“My name is a mirror,” he said.

“I was arrested in debris.

” Several prisoners turned toward him.

They caught us during a prayer meeting, he continued.

Six of us.

Where are the others? Someone asked.

Amir’s voice trembled.

They took two of them yesterday.

Silence filled the room.

Everyone understood what that meant.

They never returned.

Suddenly, loud footsteps echoed in the corridor.

The cell door opened violently.

Stand up.

The guard stormed inside.

Behind them walked a familiar figure, Prince Romani.

The entire room stiffened, he stepped slowly inside the cell, examining the prisoners one by one.

His eyes were sharp like a man studying insects under glass.

So he said calmly, “This is the group from Shiraz.

” No one spoke.

Romani stopped in front of Reza.

You, he said coldly.

The teacher, Reza slowly stood.

Yes.

Romani circled him slowly.

I hear you are encouraging the others.

Res didn’t respond.

Romani leaned closer.

Do you believe Jesus will save you from his prison? Resa looked directly into his eyes.

Yes.

For a moment.

The entire room froze.

Then Romani laughed.

A harsh mocking laugh.

You Christians always speak about miracles, he said.

Let us see one.

He turned toward the guards.

take three prisoners.

The soldiers grabbed a mirror, another older man, and a young woman from the neighboring cell.

Their cries filled the corridor as they were dragged away.

I felt sick.

What will they do to them? I whispered.

No one answered, but we already knew.

Ramani walked back toward the door.

Before leaving, he turned to face us one last time.

Tomorrow morning, he said calmly.

Anyone who denies Jesus will be released.

He paused.

Anyone who refuses will be executed.

Then he left.

The heavy door slammed shut.

And for the first time since arriving in that prison, I saw real fear in the eyes of the believers.

Hours passed slowly.

The night grew colder.

Some prisoners tried to sleep.

But most of us simply stare at the floor, waiting for morning.

My mind was spinning.

I wasn’t even a Christian.

Yet somehow I had ended up in a prison where people might die for believing in Jesus.

Anger began to rise inside me.

This is madness, I muttered.

Resza looked toward me.

Hassan.

Yes.

Can I ask you something? I sighed.

What? When the soldiers arrested you, did you feel something strange? I frowned.

What do you mean? Did you feel like your life was being pushed towards something? I laughed bitterly.

Yes, prison.

Reza shook his head gently.

Sometimes God allows darkness so people can see the light.

Before I could respond, something strange happened.

A deep rumbling sound echoed faintly through the prison walls.

At first, I thought it was a truck passing outside, but the sound grew louder.

The floor vibrated slightly.

Several [snorts] prisoners looked around nervously.

Did you feel that? Someone asked.

Another prisoner stood near the small barred window.

It’s probably thunder, he said.

Thunder? That made no sense.

We were in the desert.

Rain almost never came here.

The rumbling sound faded, but a strange tension remained in the air.

Then Reza whispered something quietly.

It has begun.

I frowned.

What has begun? But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he closed his eyes and prayed softly.

Sometime later, distant shouting erupted outside the prison.

Guards were yelling to each other.

Running footsteps echoed across the compound.

More rumbling followed, this time louder.

The ground beneath us trembled again.

One prisoner rushed to the window.

“What is happening out there?” he asked.

Lightning flashed briefly in the distance.

Then we heard something shocking.

the faint but unmistakable sound of rushing water.

I stood up quickly.

“That’s impossible,” I said.

Reza slowly opened his eyes.

His voice was calm.

“Nothing is impossible for Jesus.

” Another thunderous rumble shook the prison walls.

Outside, the guard began shouting in panic.

Then, one of the watchtower lights suddenly went out.

Darkness spread across part of the compound.

And in that moment, I felt something deep inside my chest.

A strange mixture of fear and hope.

Because whatever was happening outside the prison, it was growing stronger.

And none of us yet realized that by morning, this entire prison would be underwater.

The rumbling outside the prison grew louder.

At first, it sounded like distant thunder rolling across the desert.

But soon, the entire building began to tremble.

Dust fell from the ceiling as the concrete walls vibrated.

The prisoners jumped to their feet.

“What is happening?” someone shouted.

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