End to Kabul War ,,, Muhammad Suban

 End to Kabul War.

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I don't know what it was that provoked me to pack my stuff and planned to go back to Kabul. "After all those years, will it be the Kabul of my Baba" I said to myself. "Or it will be the Kabul of that black day of my life". 

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"Please Sir, fasten your seat belt"  the air hostess said very calmly. I remembered during Talib regime when I was flying from Kabul to Jalalabad with a NGO worker.

There was not any seatbelt. They  would use a rope instead of a seatbelt. Uff, how fealthy they were. I was just seven and the marks of rope did not go until I reached Los Angeles.

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A seat forward was a father who was learning Milli Surood with his child. 

The flashback started. I was a four year child when Baba taught me Surood e milli. Till the day when Islamic Republic of Afghanistan formed. Everyday in Los Angeles, I sung it " garam sha la garam shaa"

My Baba was a poet. He would teach me the poetry of Khushal khan, Sulaiman laiq(baba's favourite) and Ghani Khan(Amma's favourite).

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"Atal, there is your mother" Baba pointed to stars. "She is waiting for this war to end and see you as a groom". I would gigled at those words.

"I will always be with you, Baba" I would take Baba's face into my little hands. 

Every morning Baba shaved. I would rub my face against it so that my shave would also come. How little things that were but our whole world was those little things. 

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And then it came the darkest day of our life. It was 1997 when people having long hair broke into our house. In a few seconds Baba kept me under stairs. 

"Are you a poet?" One man asked. "And you write against Ameer-ul-momenin" the same voice echoed. "Who say poetry is a sin?" Baba asked. 

"Astaghfirullah" another voice came to me in the din, where Baba kept me. "I do poetry to seek peace through soul. Because physically there is not anything you have left for peace" 

Baba was saying these words in a hurry. 

"You murtad, one is that you have not beard on your face. Second is that you do filthy poetry, Astaghfirullah. Third is that you wrote against Ameer-ul-momineen. So I , the commander of Taliban Bamyan chapter, state that you are a murtad, filthy poet and a traitor to Amarat-e -Islami. Therefore, you are wajibul-qatal" a man finished these words. I did not know what wajib-ul-qatal mean. Then I heared eight bullets firing one by one for eight paradises with each time slogging Allah Akbar.

After two days, someone open the din door. It was a NGO worker and then I flew to Los Angeles, leaving all the things, I had in Bamyan. 

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The plane set on runway. Very soon I was in Kabul and what I breath at first when I came out of airoplane was the air of my own Kabul. The Kabul of my Baba's stories. The Kabul for which I dreamt to see once ever in my life. I will not let those bastards to enter this Country again. No Afghan will. 

I spoke to sky, "Hey, Baba and Amma. War is over in Kabul. come down so that we will celebrate it" 

I hugged Kabul ground. In this soil I felt both Baba and Amma celebrating the end to war.

Muhammad Suban.