An Afghan Girl

I recollect the moment when Sofia said with such tenacity and subtle in her voice “We are the Delhi chicks. The beauty and the brain.” It reminded me of the period when I as a child used to play an offbeat hide-n-seek game with education when my father who was already half dead sent me distant for my studies.

Girls here in Delhi have so much remark in them that makes me feel so low making it laborious to make an eye contact with them. I was in Delhi to attend my friend’s marriage: a true big fat Indian wedding. Every girl was in a blazing colour lehnga-choli and streaming party gowns where I was sensing it very suitable with my salwar suit apparently seeking no skin. This was the dissimilarity. But, amid the enjoyment and the majestic occasion of the wedding I was overwhelmed by the thoughts of empowerment of women. How in Delhi women are so empowered unalike to my place? This question has been nibbling my spirit to the nucleus by seeing all the women here bopping and singing.

The next day I had Air India flight to catch back to my place at morning 11. I packed my valise and changed my attire to a long sleeved, dark blue dress on top of my white patyala suit with a matching hijab and agnate coloured slippers. This was all the fashion we used to follow.

I landed Kabul and in no time took a bus to my village, Surobi which was 80 kilometres away from the international airport. I could sense the unforeseen suffocation in the air. The colour of the city was now visible as dull brown where Delhi was bright in white. I could see the fear of risk and threat among the faces of the people here in Kabul unlike Delhi, which is incredibly constant motion. I could not point a single women roaming around the street distinct, where Delhi is known for its feminine element.

The bus abruptly stopped at a T-junction with a jerk, “you have to walk from here” the conductor said in dismissive manner counseling with his hands. I took my airbag and my purse and started walking towards my residence. The streets were bare and tedious as ever, small immature flora grown on one side of the road. I got an uncanny gaze by two pasthun men wearing long black kurta and holding their Ak-47 and talking something in heavy pashto dialect. I reached the end of the dusty lane to enter into my adobe; it’s a two story structure with small garden at the front. I noticed the new grey metallic gate I have told mother to fix for superfluous safekeeping. If one looks today no one can envisage how this very house was the pride of our small colony but after the invasion of the Russians and coup by non state actors everything has changed. Life has turned harsh where meeting the regular needs has become difficult as result become intricate to keep the house in a brimming state.

I walked up to the door and knocked it thrice to which my 8 year old kid- Hassan came running yelling at his highest pitch “Ammee jaan.. Ammee jaan...” he jumped on my lap instantly and started playing with my hijjab making some chirpy noises within him. My eyes were constantly searching for my mother who came up with entire bowl of saffron kheer especially for me. After the death of my father all we had is this property and the two farms on the country side which my mumma and I regulate. My petite family holds each other firmly and we used to stay on pleased with each other’s cheerfulness.

At night, I was writing my personal diary about what all I learned from the democratic India and how I felt low in front of those girls even though I had same qualification as them. And sooner I realized it was not only education but freedom that gave them the poise and courage.

“We realize the importance of our voices when we are at silence.” I read it in a novel- I am Malala and I realized the thing between the noise and sound during the weeding.  A single pen and a single teacher can make a change so, I decided to teach the girls of my village to understand what’s right and wrong and various other aspects of life so that a fresh wave can be created paving a way for the future generations to live a life where they are free to follow their beliefs.

I started my idea by planning what will be the course and how it will be planned throughout the year. Along with my regular households stuff I used to streamline my efforts for making this idea a successful. After the course evaluation which was mainly based on house related jobs and daily basis logical aspect, came the admission.

The job made seems real easy to what I thought was going to be. In the period of a month I started the classes in my own house for teaching girls by the name of “fateth mudrisa”  (school for girls). Looking that gracious smile everyday while teaching was the only fees I was contended with. From the day itself I had a chaotic procedure of handling to my house in the morning and teaching girls in the evening.

A day after, I was standing in my balcony and looking at the beauty of the mountains presenting firm and steady for centuries and thinking will I be able to stand the decision to provide education to the little girls? Contemplating the future of these little girls along with the future of my homeland enjoying a warm evening tea, I was feeling superior about my decision to bring a giant transformation by empowering the girls. But, through the side of my balcony I was able to oversee the dusty by-lanes of Kabul, clothes hanging on the strings and children playing with their makeshift football with American soldiers.

Being in such confusion I closed my eyes allowing myself to take free fall into my own world and fly like an illustrious eagle ready to prey on symbols of injustice and oppression. As soon as I finished my evening tea, I realized it was time to prepare for the evening prayer to gratitude for god’s mercy, forgiveness and for courage but, suddenly Hassan approached with his big watchful eyes looking directly towards me. He stood besides me and could not stop staring at me to which I asked him the problem. “Ammee, are they men dangerous?” he asked in a very low and scared tone.
Being a single parent is not an easy job with a surrounding where one can easily see men walking with their handy Ak-47 and enormous merciless killing of men, women and children over various issues which are considered trivial in enlightened part of this world. Also where was definitive change in the dialect and words he picks for girls and others, cuss words were becoming common from his innocent mouth common as the days progressed.

“No, bachha they are not. They are the safeguards. They will protect you from any problem you might face in your future.” I softly made him understand as I cupped his tiny soft face with my hands.

He smiled unwillingly and said “but, they stare very awfully.” I got scared, maybe he was right about the stare meant some harm or else this could be wrong as he is just a kid. I have over heard from people about the people against my teachings that could do worse for proving their integrity for their perception. Thousand of explanations started flowing in my mind like thousand of ping pong balls going in every direction of the room.

“Did they say anything to you? And if they ever do, come directly to me and ammee will punch them.” I said faking a smile to make him relax. By hearing this he smiled walked his way to the kitchen when I just sat on my bed thinking about what may happen in the coming days of my life.

The next very morning I was in a hurry, searching for my spectacles to read the headlines of the newspaper. I shouted for my mother and my son to search for the same but where was not any reply but I heard some giggling from the other side of the walls. I took off my slippers and made my way to the opposite room and found both of them hiding and laughing in their own world. By looking both of them I realized what all I have is them and they are most vital in my life as a needle to sew the clothes. I patted on their back and suddenly their smiles sways away and a stun came across their face. I was controlling my smile forcefully while Hassan stood up lowering his head down. I laughed continuously on his expression  “O baby, you are getting naughty day by day. What should I do? Tell me.” I questioned him holding his nose.

“Naah aami, not my fault. This was Dadi’s idea.” His eyes made its way to my mother and I smiled in acceptance.

“acha okay, I am off now, I have to work now.” I paused and looked for my specs. “So, I love you. And don’t disturb me for an hour” I said and left the room when Hassan and mother were fighting about whose fault it was.

Fighting and cuddling with Hassan was excessively cute to handle, the way his half-inch mouth opens and burst so many words within one breath was remarkable. His light brown eyes on his whitish complexion suited him perfectly. He was an angel to me handling my anxiety and making me comfortable with his polite words. After the death of his father, we both have been supporting, giving shoulders to each other. I know, sometimes he feels very lonely at home but due to these circumstances I have to exert so much to get his future on track but, he being so small understands all of this and helps me to work and achieve.  I remember when I was feeling ashamed of working so long but he explained what all my works meant to him, that made me cry. His sprightly voice is like a song to me I can hear for my whole day long. I wanted to be with him for the whole day but I was feeble.

I decided to give all the girls a lesson on how our nation was the highest seat of literature and science in the ancient times so that they can feel proud about their homeland and experience the essence of belongingness. I said loudly to them using the native language “Afghanistan was on the crossroads of the south East Asia and east Asia which connected two great empires in the ancient times”.

“SLAM!!” There was a loud bang of the door and with this Azmal khan, strong eccentric Pasthun along with his men, each of them carrying fully loaded AK-47s stood strongly in front of me. All the girls got frightened and shifted to the back side of the room. I was not able to recover what happened he screeched using his heavy Pashtu language “you will be lying on the crossroads naked if u tries to cross your limits. Listen to me and better you close this dim-witted piece of wood immediately.” I was standing straight glaring straight in his eyes.

“No, you listen.. aah” I protested. He held my hair so strongly cracking my neck and pulls me close to his face. I was screaming there for help but none of these harsh men could see and feel the pain I was going through. None of the ill-human being could feel what all I was doing was good for their future.

“You whore, I will show you what all I can do with you and your family. Obey the laws that are laid down.” He said slowly keeping his face an inch away from mine and pushed me away audaciously.

He turned around signaled all his men to move out of the room giving a dead-stare to all the girls. There was a sudden silence in the room just filled with the sobbing and weeping of innocent girls. I asked them to go to their homes safely and to come tomorrow.

I was a brawny and determined sort; I was very self-righteous about my plan to release a discipline for girls and at any. At night I couldn’t sleep but was thinking about every possibility doing for this situation. I know this was not just a situation for me but many people were related to me. My family and every girl coming to my school were at risk and I can’t let them be at a risk too all because of my good will to change this nation.

 “One personality is capable of making a difference” this sentence was going through and through my mind as I sat down on the wooden chair and scanned each and every corner of her class, photos of all the leaders of Afghanistan at the back of the class and of the monuments on other wall so that the girls connect to their land and make vow to serve the land. I cursed these self appointed allah ke bande for their foolishness and coarseness. But more I felt ashamed of myself by remaining silent which was not an ideal example.

“Be the change you want to see” said and written by Gandhi, bar now I know the power related to it. How difficult is to imbibe these lines in oneself and follow it when the time requires. I decided that next time I won’t allow my helplessness and insecurities to overcome courage. My father used to say when I was a kid that education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world. For this hard time, I had to use education as my weapon to serve this country with the good philosophy.

For the whole next week my life was harsh as a fish living in a desert. I was exchanging outlandish looks in my neighborhood, my relatives and friends have started being rude to me and talking behind my back. All this have specified a warning about the school I have been running for girls. But I know all this was happening because of my opinion which is somewhat different from all of them. Now, with my personal life my societal life was also on stake.

But the second part of the problem arises when the girls of the school gradually decreased in their number due to fear. The number of girl has been diminishing from 28 to 3 in just three days period which even I want to help, though I can’t. I have gone to each girls home to make their parents understand about the situation and the benefits of all this but what all I get from them were accuses for the danger with maltreated abuses. After all this also my inner heart said to work more and continue what all I was doing for this, so I continued teaching the three girls. But every day, there was still a danger and threat about the Azmal khan coming and dominating his power upon us.

The next day I woke up late and got ready late. In the afternoon I, Hassan and mumma were having our brunch in our verandah with our favourite qabili palau and ginger tea. We three were sitting in a triangle facing towards each other sitting cross-legged while eating and chatting. Hassan was in between telling about his dream of last night which was about a fairy who took him to fairyland.

Instantaneously I heard someone’s step inside our house and within the moment in time five Talibani men stood around us with their grave guns. I was shocked to see them coming in this way after threaten all the girl’s family members. Mumma started crying in a minute started begging them to leave them.

Seeing mumma cry, I got a nerve, turned around to face him and shouted “Now what? What you want? I have told your chief that I won’t close this down. This is my life and I am doing for a good cause. Understood?” I pointed my index finger towards him.

He clutched my finger in whole of his palm and inclined it in the opposite direction which makes me cry aloud. Seeing this mumma and Hassan screamed for help and begged them to leave my finger and he did. I was looking straight in his eyes with such courage and dauntlessness but with his metal arms he was much more powerful we can ever be. He signaled something ambiguous to one of the army men with his palms and he acknowledged his head in acceptance. We didn’t know what he meant but then, unexpectedly one of them fires a gun shot in the air and all the men gripped three of us limbs, dragged and squashed us on to the main street.

A man came and pulled me with my locks and asked “do as Khan sahib said or else..”

“Or else what?” I stopped his statement and continued looking up with courage, “Han? You will kill me? KILL! KILL ME NOW. But I won’t let it go.” I ordered him with the sense of heroism trying sturdy to get my hair from his hands. He left off my hair and started walking barbarously like a villain and stood behind Hassan. He gave me an oddball smile with a canny look on his face. He gripped Hassan’s neck and pulled him up like a pulley. Hassan instantly started to cry aloud in pain. “Ammee save me, it is paining. Ammee Ammee.. Ahhhh… Ammmeee..” he cried aloud but I could not helped me as one of the soldier were holding my hands from behind. I was helpless. My own blood was in brutal pain all because of me still I could not do anything about his but see what was happening.

The Talibani men took out a rifle from his pocket. When I saw that rifle, I froze for a second. It probably wasn’t big but it was a gory rifle. He instantly pushed Hassan and he fell upon his lower back crying aloud. He pinpointed the gun at him and shot. The appalling burst chocked my head and before I could react to save my child the bullet was gone through his chest.

I got numb and could not react. Tears silently started flowing at their severe speed with my eyes wide open. I could not blink to see my own child to leave this world in front of me and in this way. The man released my hands and I fall on the ground with a thud. Paralyzed and abandoned I lay there on the road crying for my child. My whole body started to jitter with dread and abhorrence. A sudden wave of loneliness strikes my face telling me that I have been shunned by my own byplay. I tried to locate but could not gesticulate myself or assemble control over my body to stroll and go get my other half. I can’t. My spirit assent stability of courage and what remained was me partially dead seeing my family kaput and killed on the streets.

I got up and ran toward Hassan who was lying on the road in the midst of a hundred staring eyes, a thousand hands capable of saving him. But with each sob and each choke, a bit of him passed away, his breath going away slowly, eyes stopped blinking, the fingers stopped trembling. I looked at him, like a stargazer watching a midnight sky, silent and motionless. I dropped on my knees with a thud and as soon I could touch him, the man pulled me away from him.

One of them took his motionless body and threw him like a ball in their truck. I started running behind the truck for my boy, for my soul but they didn’t let me took a mother’s own child. I tried what all my body could do but all went in vain. I was left there devastated, detached, Forsaken.

Days went and month flew by nothing could be done. I tried all my contacts to get the body of my Hassan but all what I can was ineffective, no details of my boy I get. I never got a chance to touch my Hassan again not even for the funeral. I and mumma did all the ceremony without him as we left with no option. I used to stay all day in Hassan’s room and memorize him; else I could not do anything. After a year, mumma also left me without an explanation. She just stops breathing one morning and left me all alone in this cruel world.

After going through so much I was begging Allah to bring back my Hassan so that I could get a reason to live my life again with a hope. All day long I used to sit besides Allah and pray for Hassan, but at the end of my patience I decided not give pains to my health more but will search for Hassan’s body in afterlife. I decided to die. The day I made the choice of commending suicide I got a letter, which read:

Tehsina Khanam, Due to the heavy floods caused in the eastern part of the country, many dead bodies have been flown to the mountains area of northwest. We are trying to identify many bodies and contacting their family members. With regards of your complain of your lost child, we are sorry to say that we have found the body of Mr. Hassan Khanam. You may contact at 020 999 8888 should you require any explanation. Government of Afghanistan.

© Ayushi Sharma