Along The Lanes Of Kabul

The sky was red and black, as if it had borrowed the colour from the blood on the streets, and one could tell that death was rapidly on its way; its sound akin to a shrill wind. Somewhere down the streets of Kabul, a mother screamed in pain as she felt Death’s bony fingers mercilessly snatch her only son away. Nature did nothing but watch on silently, as mankind foolishly brought destruction to its own race.

A rusted metallic sign scraped against the asphalt road, dragged away by the wind from its former position on the wall of ‘Asif’s Automobile Shop’. The ear of a stray dog perked up at the noise, but he did not dare come out from underneath the broken-down school bus. Fear had gripped the city in gradual waves, and everyone trembled as they were grappled by it.

The same fear had forced its way through into the soul of a young girl, who, although was standing in her home, wasn’t safe because the walls were no longer impervious, thus allowing uncertainty and danger to encircle her and her mother.

“Now, we must hurry Maryam. We don’t have much time left,” said her mother Zeenat, straightening out the ten year old’s dress. Slinging an old moth-eaten cloth bag around her, she said “This has your share of some food and water. Don’t waste it. Eat only when required, and drink water at regular intervals.”

Taking one last look at the house which contained memories of her marriage and her daughter’s childhood, she smiled nostalgically, as the happiness obtained from her retrospection took away the harsh reality of the current situation for a brief moment. She shook them away as Maryam tugged on her hand, bringing her back to the present. Just as they were about to leave, there were three loud, firm knocks on the door.

“Open up,” a man yelled, his voice firm and dominating.

It caused both mother and daughter to start trembling with fear. Without thinking twice, the Zeenat bent down on her knees, facing her daughter for what could be the last time.

“Go Maryam! Run! Leave through the kitchen window, and don’t turn back even once. Do you understand?”she said, running her fingers lovingly through her daughter’s brown hair.

“But what about you and Abba? Where will you be? Where will I go?” Maryam questioned, her small mind unable to comprehend and keep up with her mother’s distraught, but her heart knowing that something was very wrong.

At hearing Maryam mention her father, pain pierced Zeenat’s grey eyes, but she shook the tears away, as her protective maternal instincts overpowered her grief.

“I don’t know darling. However, you can help both of us.”

“Me? How?”questioned the little girl, her expression reflecting curiosity.

“Well, you can keep on praying to Allah. Never lose your faith Maryam. Tell the Universe to protect Abba and me, and to protect you. Be careful, and don’t trust anyone. We will always love you very much, no matter what happens. Promise me that you will not give up, and that you will be the brave little girl I know you are,” said her mother, tears spilling out.

“I promise,” Maryam mumbled, wiping her mother’s tears away with her small hands.

As three more knocks, much louder this time, resonated through the house, the mother clasped her daughter’s hand, pressing her slightly chapped lips to the girl’s forehead, before pushing her in the direction of the kitchen.

“Run Maryam; run,” pleaded Zeenat, sending a quick prayer to Allah, asking Him to protect her.

Maryam looked at her mother for one last time, before running to the kitchen, her little feet slapping against the marble floor. She could hear Ammi open the door, and the deep voices of two men. Using her hands to push herself up to the counter, she opened the window, before gingerly putting one leg out. Fortunately, there was a slab on concrete just below the window on which she could support her legs.

Just as she was about to move the rest of her body outside, she heard two distinct and sharp gunshots, followed by a blood-curdling scream from her beloved Ammi, before something, most likely her mother's body, hit the floor with a thump.

Stupefied, Maryam couldn’t cry out loud, as shock racked her small body. Tears flew freely down her cheeks before her mind could even fathom what had happened. However, some force pushed her to continue her task of escaping the house, and as she heard footsteps grow louder, she quickly slithered out of the window and jumped to the ground, brazing her knee against the wall. However, the drive to survive made her oblivious to this minor injury, and she ran away from what she once called her home.

She ran through the narrow lanes of Deh Dana, making sure to use those which weren’t very populous and had less houses on them. Although she didn’t know where she was going, Maryam’s legs didn’t stop moving. All that was running through her mind right now was the fact that her Ammi was dead and she had no knowledge of her Abba’s whereabouts. He had left home a month ago, promising his wife and child that he would somehow find a safe way out of the city for them, but they hadn’t heard from him since.

Maybe the fact that she couldn’t stop running was her brain’s way of dealing with the fear and the grief. Maybe it was her innocent mind’s way of avoiding the fact that humans could be so cruel, and that she had lost one of the most important people in her life. She refused to accept the events, and running allowed her to channel her thoughts elsewhere.

However, with the dry weather, her lungs were burning as she slowly ran out of breath. She decided to go inside a small shed, that was hidden by the shadow of a large tree. A subtle and tepid sunlight which shared the yellow of daffodils cast a geometric pattern on the roof as it passed through the small gaps between the leaves.

Taking big gulps of the water, she wiped off the sweat from her cheeks, which had dissolved into her dried tears. The shed was soon filled with the aroma of rice and kofta as Maryam opened the tiffin, hungrily gulping down the savoury dish. Food reminded her of her parents. It took her all her willpower to stop eating and save food for later.

Now, completely idle, her mind started drifting. Running her tiny fingers against the walls of he temporary abode, she found a comfortable spot in the corner. A few blades of grass had somehow found their way into the inside of the shed, and a bunch of wild flowers grew in between rocks. It could be assumed that this was Allah’s way of making sure the little girl didn’t lose her conviction.

Pulling her knees close to her body, she rested her chin on her arms, recollecting the events of the day. Her mother’s scream still reverberated through her eyes, and the girl pressed her eyes shut as tight as she could, as if trying to wipe the memory away. Panic soon filled her. She had no one to depend on, nowhere to go. Nonetheless, as fatigue overtook her body, the panic subsided, and gently rocking her body back and forth, the little girl fell asleep.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour and half after which she woke up. There was a small scourge of mosquitoes around her, and her feet were cramped. There was still light outside, but it only reached the entrance of the shed, leaving the rest of the area cool. Not moving from her position, she began humming a lullaby her mother would sing to her every night.

Suddenly, she could hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel. Gasping, she grabbed her bag, and slowly crawled out. There was a car just in front of the shed, and she quickly entered it, hiding under the leather seat. She tried not to squirm, although she was quite uncomfortable, because any movement would cause the empty chocolate wrappers to crinkle. She could feel a spider walking up her leg, and tried in vain to lightly shake it off.

The sound of heavy boots grew closer, and she shifted as back as she possibly could as the strong ray of light from a torch shone into the car. A man mumbled something in Pashto, and Maryam was afraid that he could hear the sound of her heartbeat. Remembering Ammi’s words of asking Allah for help, she squeezed her eyelids shut and prayed with all her soul.

‘Allah, please protect my Ammi and Abba! Please protect all the little children and families. Please protect our city from this horror. And if you still have time, please protect me.’

A tear rolled down her cheek, and as the car door slowly opened, she had given up all hope. She flinched at the sound of the gun cocking, as a small whimper escaped her lips. Unanticipatedly, silence cast its spell again, and as Maryam slowly opened her eyes, she was facing the face of a woman.

“Poor child. Come out. I won’t hurt you,” said the woman. For some reason, Maryam trusted her instantly, and she soon found herself outside the car. The woman gave her a warm hug, much like her mother’s. Outside was a man too, holding a gun, and he gave her a sympathetic smile, before his facial features turned stoic again.

“Come on Aziza. We must leave now,” said the man in a deep voice, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Taking Maryam’s hand, Aziza lead her to a car, with tinted windows.

“Where are we going?” Maryam questioned, her voice slightly raspy.

“We’re going to the National Museum of Afghanistan. There are many families and children there. At night, we shall all escape through a safe route. You don’t need to worry now,” said Aziza soothingly.

Maryam nodded, before peering out the window, staring at the familiar yet unrecognisable Chilsitun road, with bodies lying scattered like stones on the banks of a river. There were no cries from birds or animals, although she could see some scavengers feeding on something. Belongings from shops and homes had been tossed out on the street, and they lay there as worthless as their owners.

Maryam looked up at the sky, and in her mind questioned Allah. Why had he inflicted this much destruction on so many people who had loved ones and unfulfilled journeys. Resting her head on Aziza’s firm shoulder, Maryam fell asleep again, with these thoughts running through her injuring head.

“We’re here darling,” said Aziza, softly shaking her awake. They stealthily made their way to the basement of the Museum, and judging by the low amount of destruction, it was obvious that the Taliban had not reached here yet.

Entering the sanctuary, Maryam’s eyes didn’t know where to settle. In her peripheral vision, she saw families huddled together, some talking, others nursing loved ones who were injured. Not knowing where to go, she stood in the middle of everything, suddenly missing her parents more than ever. Staring at the ground, she played with her fingers, as tears refused to surface because of the amount she had already cried.

“Maryam?”said a man, standing behind her. The deep voice, which was firm and yet had traces of love and compassion, was very familiar. Turning around slowly, Maryam faced the man.

He was wearing khaki pants and a white cotton shirt, that had blood stains on it. Dark circles highlighted his tired face, and there was a small cut on his pink lips. However, she was could still recognise him, for his eyes were exactly the same.

“Abba,” she whispered, before running into his arms, safe and happy, finally.