Dear Mr. Mortazavi,
He hates being called anything else, just Baba. You call him papa, daddy, pedar…he won’t answer, just Baba. He first became a Baba on March 5th at 1:00 am, some twenty five years ago. He has been a great Baba ever since. He has stood by me and with me in sickness and health, like a lover should. I have always been very weak. I used to get sick a lot. Every month I used to come down with a fever. He used to sit by my bed at night. He then massaged my little back with his big hand. What a sense of relief it was. A sense of security I never had in life again.
I know a daddy, my dear Mr. Mortazavi. I don’t know what he likes to be called. He has been forced to exile because of you, and your likes. His little daughter is sick. She has a fever. He is sick. He has a fever, because he cannot be beside her by her bed at nights to comfort her and secure her life.
You my dear Mr. Mortazavi, you are a horrendous criminal. You separated the little girl, from the loving embrace of her daddy. May that god of yours forgive what you have done to all those little girls!