AFGHAN DILEMMA
Chapter 1
Holidays
were over and the schools were again in session. Bilal had not done his
home-work. Yesterday he was busy entertaining his friends from the
neighbour-hood. They played, talked, cycled on the streets, and then had
cookies and milk and went home. Bilal had a lovely time with his friends
but he had forgotten to do his home work. It was first day in school and
he was staring at the empty pages of his exercise note book and would not
look up for the fear of catching the teacher’s eye; who might ask him
about his home work.
He was
still in a state of confusion when suddenly he heard loud bangs, and a
deafening sound of a tank shell. Some-body was screaming and then
there was another blast with a loud explosion. He looked around and saw
that his class room was hit by the tank shell and one section of it was
burning. Thick smoke was every where and bright orange flames were
flickering on the wooden desks and chairs in one corner of the room.
Every-body was screaming now; and so was he. In panic his class mates were
trying to run out of the burning class room, but the only door that could
let them out was a wooden door and it too had caught fire
Children
were panicking and Bilal was so shocked that he was rooted to his desk and
could not move. Then to his horror he saw his best friend’s clothes
catching fire and in no time the boy was engulfed in flames. Bilal was
crying and the thick smoke was hurting his lungs. He could not breathe. In
desperation he called for his mother, Bibi Gul. “Mama, mama.” And then
blissful darkness engulfed him and there was no more pain for him to
endure.
Bibi Gul
was feeling very restless today. Her husband Rasheed Khan was at the
office and her two sons Bilal and Saleem were at school.
‘Why am I
feeling so low?’ She wondered.
‘May be
she thought, its time of the month that is giving me the blues.’
She
looked out of the window at her beautiful garden. There was a tennis court
and a playground for children, and a very nice rose garden in front of the
house. Her husband Rasheed Khan was a good tennis player and at times
invited his friends for a friendly game. The house also had a high
boundary wall around it. Many houses in Kabul have high and thick boundary
walls. These walls have outer layers of mud bricks to stop bullets from
piercing them. It was a clear day and her four year old son Abid was busy
running after a big bright butterfly in the garden and her one year old
daughter was sleeping peacefully in her push chair. Suddenly she heard
loud piercing gun shots that echoed though the walls of the house. There
was a lot of noise and her servants were running and shouting about
something. She was a little confused as to what was going on. She was
worried and called her son.
.“Abid----Abid
come here, and stay indoors with me.”
He obeyed
but he would have preferred to see what was going on out there. She
picked up Marriam and got hold of Abid and went to the safety of her back
rooms.
Bibi Gul
was a beautiful woman. She was tall, about five feet eight inches, had
light brown heir, and sparkling blue eyes. She was an educated young
woman, with a master’s degree in Physics from Kabul University, and had
taught in a college for a year before her wedding. She married Rasheed
Khan and led a very happy life. She was familiar with guns. She was a
remarkably good markswoman. She had learned to fire hand guns while
practicing with her brothers when she was young. In Afghanistan almost
every one knew what guns were and how to use them. It was common practice
to carry guns.
Suddenly
Bibi Gul heard footsteps of someone approaching her. To her relief it was
her driver Wahab Khan who came running in the room and said.
“Bibi Gul
lets go to your father’s house.”
“Why!
What is the matter?” she asked.
She
could hear the noise of gun shots. These sounds were not new to her ears.
She had experienced many tribal skirmishes before.
“I don’t
know what is going on, but ever- body is running and taking shelter. We
must go too.” Wahab Khan said.
“No! No!”
she said. “Where is Rasheed Khan? Find out where he is! Call his office”.
She was
beginning to panic.
“I called
his office, and many other numbers as well, the news is not good. All our
employees and domestic servants have run away. We should leave the house;
I want to take you to your father’s house, where you will be safe. Then I
will go to my village to look after my family.” Wahab said.
“What
about my children? Please, I will pack a few things…you go and get the
boys from school.” Bibi Gul was worried for her two sons.
“There is
no time for packing, please try to understand. Take only your jewellery
and cash if there is any in the house. I have parked the small car at the
back of the house.”
He said
breathlessly as if he had been running for miles.
“Please
Bibi Gul come; we will try to get Saleem and Bilal on the way if we are
lucky.”
Wahab
implored. She picked up one-year-old Marriam, some milk and food for the
children, some cash and jewellery and came to the back door of the house.
As she was going out towards the door she could hear the pounding on the
main door and shots being fired.
Wahab
was a faithful servant; he had locked the main gate after taking out the
small car and parked it on the street a little away from the back door. He
had heard about the disturbance in Kabul and as a precautionary measure
took out the car, so that he was ready to take Bibi Gul and her children
away. She ran towards the car with Marriam in her arms and Abid running
with her. They just managed to get out of the house when with a thud the
main door came crashing down from its hinges.
They had
managed to leave the house just in time. Wahab, her faithful driver was
now driving as fast as he could, to her father’s house and promised her
that he would go back to school to get Saleem and Bilal. Bibi hugged Abid
and Marriam to her bosom and pleaded with her driver.
“Please
drive fast; you can drop me near the village. I will walk from there to my
father’s house; do go back quickly and get my children.”
“Yes---yes---I know ---I know,” Wahab kept on driving.
Bibi
Gul’s father, Sardar Allah-Yar khan, was a tribal chief and was very well
respected. Wahab dropped them very near Sardar’s house and all three ran
towards the main gate.
Wahab
drove away towards the school to get the children and they reached the big
gate of the house. The village was calm and nothing extraordinary was
going on there. Bibi banged the front door, crying, which frighten Abid.
After a little pause someone asked from inside the house.
“Who
is there?”
“Open
please”. Bibi managed to whisper in her sad voice. The door immediately
opened, as one of her father’s gunmen recognized that it was Bibi Gul.
“Bibi Gul!
What is the matter? Where is your car? Where is Rasheed Khan?” He was
shocked to see her like that and asked many questions in one go.
“Oh! I
don’t know?”
She
passed him and went running inside the house.
“Oh! Agha
Jan---where are you?” She called her father.
“What
happened?” Everybody in the house came running to her, she was in the
house now and a servant took Marriam from her arms and she collapsed on
the sofa.
Sardar
Allah-Yar came from his outer office, which was known as Divan-I- Aam.
“What is
going on? What is this noise? What is happening?” He said in his gruff
voice. Every one became silent. He was a regal man who commanded a lot of
respect and awe. He was loved by the members of his tribe and his
household. He was their Chief, their Sardar, and their tribal head. He
came into the room. He was tall, about six feet four inches, and weighed
about two hundred and twenty pounds indeed a very handsome man at seventy.
“What
is it?” He asked again.
“Oh! Agha
Jan,” Bibi got up from the sofa.
“Some
terrible things are happening in Kabul.”
Sardar
Allah-Yar kept quiet, as he wanted to know more.
“My house
has been vandalized by the hooligans. I do not know the fate of my
husband or of my children.”
She
started crying again. Sardar Allah –Yar pulled her towards him and hugged
her.
“Sh---Sh---calm
down and tell me everything.” He said.
After a
little while Bibi Gul was calm enough to relate how her driver was
intelligent enough to put one of the cars out of the house and how they
had barely managed to escape.
“Where is
Rasheed?” He asked.
“I don’t
know, Wahab rang his office many times but there was no reply. All my
servants had run away and there was no time to waste, so we left the house
and came here”.
She
sobbed.
“Okay!
Okay; I will ask some one to contact Rasheed to find out what is going on
in Kabul. You get some rest; everything will be all right.”
He
turned and went back to his outer office.
Bibi knew
that every thing would not be all right as her father had predicted. How
could she rest when her husband and two of her sons were missing? She had
no mother to comfort her.
Sardar
Allah-Yar’s wife had died of cancer five years ago. He had not
remarried. He had one daughter and three sons. Two of his sons were
married and worked with him. They had small departmental stores in their
area and also across the border in Pakistan. These stores were in Landi
Kotal and in Peshawar’s Baara Bazaar only a few miles from Peshawar city.
These areas were known as Tribal Belt. In this area Government of
Pakistan had very little control. The law was the local self governments
known as Jirga.
The
tribal people were very good businessmen, they were also smugglers and gun
runners. The Government of Pakistan had no jurisdiction over them. The
tribal people would not observe any border formalities and could cross the
borders with impunity. In winter thousands of Afghans would come down
from the rugged hilly areas of Afghanistan to Pakistan. They would pitch
tents in Pakistan to live for four months of severe cold and would go back
in April when the weather
became
tolerable. Many tribal lords had their businesses in the tribal belt.
They had their second house in Peshawar and some of them lived permanently
in Peshawar. Allah-Yar’s sons had four stores there. Nobody paid excise
tax on imports and could, therefore, sell the goods at much lower prices.
In these stores smuggled goods were openly sold. People would come from
all parts of Pakistan to buy those goods, which included imported fabrics,
cosmetics, electrical appliances, and electronics.
Sardar
Allah-Yar called Rasheed Khan’s office but there was no reply. He tried
many phone numbers and finally someone answered the telephone. The person
knew Sardar Allah-Yar as he belonged to the same tribe.
“Malik
Sahib,” he said. “Everything is finished here. I have heard Hafizullah
Amin has been taken prisoner by the Russians. Please Malik Sahib, take
care of yourself, there are Russians everywhere.”
“Where is
Rasheed Khan?”
Sardar
Allah-Yar asked, his gruff voice seething with rage; this was the seventh
telephone call he had made to know the fate of his son-in-law.
“Malik
Sahib—I don’t know for sure but I have heard that Rasheed Khan’s office
was one of the first few that were attacked by the Russian Army and in
consequence many people were killed. I do not know if Rasheed Khan was
among them. Things are not good here; I am leaving for my village to see
what I can do to save my family. May Allah be with you? Goodbye.”
Then the
petrified man hung up.
Allah-Yar
was now really worried about Rasheed khan and his grandsons. He was also
worried about the political situation of Afghanistan. He was a prominent
politician and his son-in-law Rasheed Khan was a minister in the
government.
Wahab was
driving very fast, he was in a great hurry to reach the school to get
Saleem and Bilal from there, after dropping the children and Bibi Gul at
the village.
At that
time the whole of Kabul was in an unprecedented uproar and commotion.
Many buildings were burning, people were running and screaming. There was
pandemonium and turmoil in the streets. One could see Russian tanks and
armoured cars everywhere. It was a chaotic mess.
Wahab
took a turn to find a narrow lane, and tried to take a shortcut to the
school. That lane was deserted and all the shops were closed. People had
either gone home or taken shelter behind closed doors. He turned left,
but unfortunately it was a dead end. It took him ten minutes with his
expert driving skills to turn back. He avoided the big roads and main
streets and reached the school following a dirt track. As he reached, he
saw that there was a lot of confusion and chaos in the school. Some
parents had managed to take their children away; others were trying to
find them. A tank shell had hit the outer wall of the school. Two
classrooms and the office were hit; thick black smoke was spewing out of
the rooms. Orange flames could be seen from afar. Wahab rushed inside
Bilal’s classroom--it was empty. He felt helpless as he had promised Bibi
Gul that he would get the boys from school. Now he could not even find
them. The courtyard was full of army personnel, rudely interrogating the
school’s Principal. They wanted to know the names and addresses of the
children of high ranking government officials. The Principal was trying to
avoid questions in the hope of not giving any information regarding the
parents of his students.
“There
are more than four hundred boys in this school; I do not know every boy’s
or his parents’ name.” the principle said .
“Yes, but
you have the records of their admission. Where is your secretary?” A Major
asked.
The
Principal looked at the secretary who was looking with blank eyes at him,
standing behind the intimidating Major.
“He is on
sick leave.” he lied.
The
secretary was either intelligent enough not to refute him, or was too
afraid to speak.
“Where
are your records?” again the same Afghan Army Major shouted at him.
“Look at
the state of the school! Look what you have done to it.”
Again the
principal started a fresh subject, to avoid giving a direct answer.
“Why not
come tomorrow and get the information you want? The building is on fire,
the children are scared; please put out the fire.”
He was
not afraid of the young major, he knew his family, but there were two
Russian officers who were speaking very quietly and ordering the young
Afghan Major in their own language. This Major had lived in Russia for
more than two years, on an exchange program and was fluent in Russian.
Wahab
lost interest in the conversation. He had to find Bilal and Saleem quickly
.The Principal was a good man. It was his sacred duty to protect the
children and not to give any clue about their background. In all this
confusion most of the children were frightened and running around. Wahab
got hold of one of Saleem’s friends Khalil.
“Have you
seen Saleem anywhere?” he asked.
“No!
Please take me with you Wahab Lala.” The little boy cried
“Yes,
come with me.” They ran back to their car and as they approached the car
they saw a child behind a trash-can, and Khalil cried,
“There is
Saleem, look!” Wahab went to the boy.
“Saleem
Khan?” He called. It was Saleem, who stood up when he saw his driver and
his best friend, and came running towards them. His clothes were black
with soot
and he had been crying. His face had streaks of tears mixed with black
soot.
“Come, let’s go!”
Wahab was
happy that he had found at least one of the boys. They ran all the way
towards the car. Behind them there was the deafening noise of bombs and
gunfire.
“Where is
Bilal?” He asked Saleem as they reached the car.
“I don’t
know Lala. I was trying to find him but I could not.” He said, and
started crying again.
“Never
mind. Do not cry. Everything will be okay. We will come back later for
him.”
After
dropping off Khalil, whose house was nearby, Wahab drove the car towards
his village. Wahab was worried about Rasheed Khan and Sardar Allah-Yar
Khan. He knew that they were very close friends of president Hafizullah
Amin. Though Sardar Allah-Yar was not an active member of the government,
he remained an advisor of sorts to President Hafizullah. When Saleem
realized that he was not going towards his house he said.
“I want
to go home Lala.”
“Look, I
have dropped Bibi, Abid and Marriam to your grandfather’s house. You have
to stay with me for the night because things are not good in Kabul and
it’s not safe to go there.” What else could he tell a ten-year-old boy?
Who was traumatized and terrified by the attack on his school.
Saleem
always thought that after his home, the safest place was his school.
Today he had a terrifying experience. He wanted to go home to his mother.
He thought that his driver will take him there, but instead Wahab took him
to his village and introduce him to his family.
He had
two sons: Shahab and Rubab. They were much older than Saleem. They all
tried to calm him down, as he would start crying at short intervals.
“Please
Lala, take me home!” requested Saleem.
He would
ask Wahab again and again.
“Okay,
we will go back first thing in the morning, now do not cry.”
His wife
and both his sons were trying to calm Saleem down, and after great
difficulty he drank some milk, ate a few biscuits and finally slept. He
had been too drained of energy to continue crying.
Wahab
Khan went out to see his village elders; he wanted to discuss the news of
turmoil in Kabul. He reached the village square where the elders would
gather in front of a teashop to discuss the day’s events.
“Hafizullah Amin is no more in power and Soviet troops are everywhere.”
One man said.
“No! No!
It’s not possible. Where did you get this ghastly news?” replied another.
“It’s
true.” The first man continued. “My brother is in the Army. He called me
a few minutes ago with the news.”
“Then it
must be true.” Another man interrupted.
“But
Amin had also misused his power by throwing out and killing the previous
president Noor Mohammad Tarkie.”
The
Afghans were discussing their future. Wahab kept quiet but was very much
worried about Rasheed Khan. He knew that if all the rumours were true,
Rasheed Khan was in mortal peril, as he was a close friend of President
Hafizullah Amin.
“What
will become of Hafizullah?” One man asked.
“It is
the fate of our country which is at stake, not Hafizullah Amin. He is just
one man. I have heard that Soviet forces have surrounded Kabul. They have
tanks and armoured cars while we have rifles only.”
“All this
talk of Russian invasion seems like a fantasy, but I am a witness to all
that.”
Wahab
joined in the conversation. Every one looked at him.
“What
do you mean?” Some one asked him.
“I was
working at Rasheed Khan’s place; I saw the invasion with my own eyes.
When the Afghan army with Russians came to raid Rasheed Khan’s house I
evacuated his family to Malik Allah –Yar’s house.”
Every one
was eager to know more and started to pull their chairs towards Wahab’s
table. They wanted to know what was going on in their country.
“You saw
the Russian soldiers?” One man asked.
“Yes, and
it was scary. I went to get Rasheed Khan’s children from school and I saw
them there also. They were every -here. They were behaving like conquerors
of our land. They were interrogating the Principal of the school and it
was not a friendly chat.”
“What
will happen now?” One man asked. None of them had an answer.
“Why is
this happening to us?” A man said with a lot of emotions.
“It
is our own fault, we ousted King Zaire Shah and since then we are having a
lot of trouble.” One of them said.
“Yes, he
was a good king. Look how, only after five years of king’s removal by
Mohammad Daud, he was assassinated by Noor Muhammad Taraki, who was later
replaced by Hafizullah Amin..” The other man said.
Wahab was
worried and said.
“We are
discussing politics as if it is happening some where else, and not in our
own country. I am telling you I saw Russians, and they were behaving not
as a friendly force but as conquerors, and it is not a good sign.”
Everybody
was silent.
“What
shall we do?” A young man asked.
“There
are not going to come to the villages----are they?” It was not a question
but a worried observation.
“Why not.
Who is going to stop them?”
“What
shall we do?” The same man asked.
“I don’t
know about you, but I think I will take my family to Pakistan if there is
too much trouble.” one of them said.
Many
others agreed with him, and Wahab was also thinking along the same lines.
He was
worried for Saleem Khan and his parents. He suspected that Saleem’s father
Rasheed Khan had been killed. He did not know what to do with Saleem. He
was unable to take him to Allah-Yar’s village, because he had to cross
Kabul city to reach their village. He did not want to go through Kabul
until things settled down.
