Born in War Torn Decades: 8th March 1990
That night, the moon was beaming, but everyone was seeking for a better place for preserving peace. A blissful mother was pregnant a gentle father was watchful for the mother and the two small children were endearing. Their residence was a collapsed dwelling in a small corner of Afshar District, situates in the west of Kabul, Afghanistan. It was the confrontation situation of two nations Pashton and Hazara.
The bitterly cold winter’s night, the mother was walking off outside and watching the sky and smiling with sensitivity and knowing that the dull and beamless sky was not anymore darker, it had its golden coin, and the stars were shinning and singing. On that night, the blood did not have its gorgeous rosy color on the white surface of the earthy earth; the snow had washed up all. The sounds were harsh and aggressive for the pregnant mother, she couldn’t sleep that night. Softly, the pregnant mother felt a pain waking from the bottom of her spirit, but it increased slightly. She wanted to undergo the pain, but she couldn’t.
She said, “Sarwar, I think we should not go to hospital. We are two, and we can do something. ” The father jumped out of his peaceful sleep and saw the mother’s fearful face, “We can’t do anything, also it is almost 2 am, and I am sure that no one will open the door for us now.”
The father and mother captured a very risky way to Khushal Khan Hospital, which was an hour long way. In the way, the sounds of shooting, shouting, crashing, and blasting made the father to keep his hands on the mother’s ears for giving her inner peace and preserving her heavenly strength. In an hour, the opened gate of the hospital was seeable, they thanked God. The hospital was filled with injured people, dead bodies, and some nurses with filthy clothes and tired faces. The father called a nurse for helping the mother. An exhausted and upset nurse came up and took the mother to an uncovered room. After 15 minutes, at 4:14 am, a baby girl’s crying sound was heard. Now, the injured people were not anymore wounded heart people at the inhospitable hospital by hearing of the baby’s crying. A man without his right hand was shading tears and said, “I am now hopeful that there is way to go for home back,” father says.
Next night, after a big dinner, the parents offered a name for the baby girl.
The father said, “Her name will be Parwana, means butterfly. Butterflies are always free; they can reach to the flame of the sun, also they can touch the sunbeam moon, if they want to. Parwana will break the barriers just like a butterfly and fly high for her freedom.” The mother knows that the night’s pleasant light from the stunning moon was for Parwana, the mother, and the father at that late night. Everyone started calling me that “Parwana ko parayet ka parwaz koni” “Butterfly, where are you wings that you can fly.” This sentence sounds for some people very childish statement, but for me it is the key to my mysterious and vanished childhood life.