Lost before the war: The tragic death of 11-year-old Eduard Aleksanyan
Images by Ani Gevorgyan
Editor’s note: In the past few weeks, the Armenian Weekly has featured a series of interviews conducted by Shushan Papazyan and Ani Gevorgyan documenting the stories of children killed by Azerbaijani aggression in Artsakh. This is their fifth and final interview. While Eduard’s death was officially ruled an accident, his family questions this ruling and continues to seek answers.
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From 2016-2023, various phases of the Artsakh conflict—from the Four-Day War to the mass displacement—claimed the lives of many civilians, including children.
The exact number of children killed is difficult to determine due to conflicting reports. According to a report compiled by the Tatoyan Foundation, 21 civilians, including six children, were killed as a result of Azerbaijan’s attack on Artsakh on Sept. 19, 2023.
Documenting the stories of children killed by Azerbaijani aggression in Artsakh reminds us that behind every statistic is a human life—with dreams, hopes and visions of a future cut short by violence.
Kristine Kocharova shared her heartbreaking story in an interview conducted by the author.
Kristine Kocharova watches her two sons playing in the living room. “Alex and Edgar saved me after Eduard’s death. I can’t sleep without them. I hug them, hold them tight so no one can take them away,” she says.
Kristine’s 11-year-old son Eduard died two months before the 44-day war under unclear circumstances. His body, along with that of his friend, was found tortured and drowned. The family still has unanswered questions, after all these years.
“We think it was a diversionary attack. My child went missing while playing with his friend, and we found them tortured and drowned in the river. The whole village said it was the enemy’s doing,” Kristine recalls.
In the living room are also Kristine’s two daughters. Sometimes, they help their mother tell the details of that day. Kristine says that when she got married, she wanted to have many children. “My husband participated in all the wars. We lived in the village of Verin Horatagh. My husband worked in the mine, and we had seven children. Now, we live for these six,” she says.
“I see my son every day. At night, I wake up and it seems like he’s calling me. My daughters took Eduard’s death very hard. Satenik was 17 at the time and lost her ability to speak for about a month. We were in the yard when we learned that my son had died. My daughter was probably frightened by the screaming. I had to pull myself together to take care of her,” Kristine recalls.
On July 3, 2020, during an event commemorating the anniversary of the military unit’s establishment in Drmbon, Eduard and his friend Davit went missing.
“The children always went to the Tartar River to swim. That day, they were supposed to follow the sheep and bring them home. My eldest son went looking for them because they were late. He couldn’t find them and thought they were playing a joke. After searching for a long time, he called his father and said that Davit and Eduard were nowhere to be found,” Kristine recounts.
Eduard was killed in peaceful conditions, with no sign of war
“We were at home, preparing lunch, when my husband ran out. I lost myself. The whole village was in chaos. They were looking for Davit’s family. One villager called my husband, saying he saw some boy by the riverbank, seven kilometers away from our house. My husband went into the water to save him, boy, but it was too late. Eduard’s heart had stopped. He had scratches on his face. My husband said it looked like his heart stopped from fear,” Kristine remembers.
After finding Eduard’s body, the search for 14-year-old Davit lasted about three days.
“They found him in worse condition. His body was tortured and unrecognizable. During my son’s funeral, people came up to me and said that at least I had a place to cry—they hadn’t even found the other child. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I was feeling,” Kristine says.
Though forensic examination ruled the deaths accidental drownings, the family rejects this conclusion. When the 44-day war began, they renewed their demands for answers.
“We were sure it was the enemy’s doing. An Armenian wouldn’t do such a thing to another Armenian. They told us, ‘you’re just suspicious; you have no evidence.’ In 2022, they told us the case should be closed. We didn’t agree.”
Kristine remembers that the whole village came to her son’s funeral. Everyone knew what had happened, but they remained silent. When they found Davit’s body three days later, she convinced their relatives to let her see the boy: “They brought Davit out in a closed coffin—his whole face was tortured. Who needed to do that? It was a horrible sight. I fainted. His whole face was bruised, wrapped in bandages.”
“I remember when they told me Eduard was gone, I fainted. People held my hands. I said I wanted to wash, but when they let me go, I started running. With all the strength I had, I ran and reached the riverbank. I heard my son’s voice; he was calling me, saying, ‘Mom, come save me; I’m scared.'”
Two days after the funeral, Kristine learned that her daughter Satenik was hospitalized. “I somehow came to my senses and they told me my daughter needed me. She wasn’t eating and wanted to see me. It was very cruel. I didn’t know what to do—how to tell her that her brother was gone. They told me if I don’t go, I’ll lose my daughter, too,” Kristine says.
Satenik joins the conversation. She remembers seeing her mother in the hospital. “Mom was saying, ‘Sat, speak.’ I couldn’t. I took out paper and pen and wrote, ‘Where is my brother?’ Mom looked at the floor and said Eduard was in the hospital with a fever, so that’s why he couldn’t come to me.”
Satenik guessed her brother had died on the day of the funeral, when none of their relatives had come to her. “They put me to sleep so they could go to the funeral. I understood everything. I had baked a cake so he would come home and we’d all sit at the table together. He didn’t come.”
“I go to Yerablur to at least ease my longing for my boy”
During the 44-day war, Kristine’s family was the last to leave the village. “I felt like I was betraying my boy. We had to return because my boy’s grave was in Artsakh. We returned and I continued working at a school so I could at least ease my pain. After the war, my husband and I didn’t talk about our loss. We tried to grieve separately so we could live for the others,” she says.
Kristine often talks about her grief with Davit’s mother, Alvina. She remembers comforting Alvina during Eduard’s funeral, saying they would find Davit, too.
After the 2023 displacement, the mothers visited Yerablur to ease their longing for their sons. “Our pain will never ease. A mother never gets used to the idea that she might have to bury her child. We had dreams with our boys. Now, there’s nothing to comfort us. I often lock myself in a room, pretend to sleep, but I’m always thinking about my son. I talk to him; it helps,” Kristine says.
“Whenever I miss him, I open his notebooks and flip through them.”
This piece is translated from the original Armenian, which was published on MediaLab.am.
Shushan Papazyan
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Shushan jan, thank you for writing this story.