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A Hopeless Afghan Mother, Sister, Daughter, and Wife.


Indubitable, you are the only sand in the huge ocean of this land, which is an unfamiliar world. Your life is full of gloom and glee. In some ways, you also may crack up like Fitzgerald, who cracked up in his early age. You may also own Nobel Peace Prize like the winners and owners who have owned it before you.

Once you were a new born baby, who had place in everyone’s heart. Once you were a new white and chrisom, soft and smooth blossom on the green and promising tree of your parents. Your two shinny eyes were the gate of their heaven, and your first words brought for them a message from the heaven.

Alongside your falling, your parents also fell down. They took your weak hands softly, they called you softly not by your name but by sweet and honey names.

They have been caring and loving you since you were only a green plant without any leaves and root. They gave you root, then water, and then nurture you by lovely talking and smiley face.

They granted you the most adorable moments, when you were out of good health. They cried for your pain and forgot their own relationship with themselves for your relationship.

However, it is you that in return give them back the terminally pain and illness to their lives, when you beckon your path with hate, joylessly, violent, and immorality with yourselves.

If you are very near to their heart then you will be able to find the seeds of bitterly sadness amongst the pearl beads on their lips. Otherwise, these bitterly seeds will grow their own plant inside. As a result, you will lose the tree or they will lose their blossom of the tree.

It was 4rd August 2010, I was laughing and joking with my little sister, a voice came to me,

“You are happy, joyful, and proud of your own being in this wasteland, you are alive.”

“But, still you are a girl; try to beckon each path of your true potential for being alive.”

“After you reach to your truthiness of desire you will learn how to live.” A mother said with lots of joy and hope, who was sitting beside me since I was sitting there on a carpet at the Women Clinic in a corner of Kabul City.
“Tashkoor, Thanks
The mother said,

“My daughter is pregnant, she is very weak and her baby is not in its right position, if Allah wants, next month she will have her baby on her hands, Enshallah.”

She asked, How about you? Why you are here?

Man yah mahseel astam dar khareg tahsel mekonam” “I am a student, and I am studying abroad. I came here with my mother, she is also pregnant.”
“Good,” she responded.

She found me a listener; so, she told me her life story.

In 2006, while the northern and some central parts of Afghan lands were secured by the Taliban, a family was being secured by the US Armies in Kabul. They had a middle class life, the father was a driver, and the mother was a cook, but in somebody else home. The two brothers and three sisters were the blossoms of a tree; they were very depressed of being rooted from the tree. The first boy was not anymore a blossom while he became eighteen years old now, the father said. Now he was parted from the tree, he got the job of a careless driver. He was the connector of Kabul, Mazar-i- Sharif, Qandahar, and Ghazni roads for six months. After the brother found his destiny on the roads, the eldest sister was also cut off from her childhood tree before becoming a fruit or flower of the tree.

Nargis, she, has got married with a 36 years old man while she was only sixteen. The brother was accustomed to drugs, and never come back from Mazar i Sharif way for visiting his childhood tree in a bitterly winter.

He is dead, No…he is coming, or maybe he is sleeping under Kotal Salank “Salank Bridge” the father is saying.He blamed himself for Rahmat’s missing head. He has ‘cracked up’; the tree is no more a tree. The father never says that Rahmat was filled with abhorrence of himself for not being able to change his life. Rahmat killed himself with opium, or he was killed by a person. Maybe his car took him to a region of wolves. Maybe his inside hate for his father called him to the final line of life. He hated his father, the mother says.

His joyless life joined him to the jungle of harsh and pain. He has gone alone without informing others forever, his father is waiting for his dead body till now. We haven’t found him, the mother says with cry and pain. My eyes didn’t show up their tears, maybe because I was angry on Rahmat for his ignorant. However, I felt frozen inside while I saw Nargis’ beauty in her silence pain.

Nargis is only twenty years old now; her eyes are watching you, while you will find yourselves into the mirror. She has forgotten the striking words of her mouth because of her physical and inner pain. She looks you but never asks you.

I love Nargis because she tells and shows you how worthy is your life.



Nusrat Ara's picture

thanks for sharing the story

thanks for sharing the story of your land. Keep writing.



parwana fayyaz's picture

Thanks for reading:

I am glad that you are reading my memories.
Love and bests

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