In the Darkest Corner there is Light: Part Three by Jennie Hart

credit: Gencraft AI

Mother: a nurse

Kamel: father

Arman: elder son

Naghma: daughter

Babek: younger son

Mina: Babek’s wife

Part 3

Next day, dressed discreetly in the faceless burka with only eyes showing, mother and Mina accompanied Arman to Grandfather’s and this time, the officials made a cursory search and waved them through. Mother had brought bread and potato dumplings, poor food but augmented by Mina’s spicy sauce. It was a hot day but they made sure all windows and doors were closed before nervously bringing out the instruments.

Mother felt defiant and joked, ’You must sing quietly Arman, your voice can be heard as far away as the Pul-e-Khisti mosque!’ There wasn’t much to joke about in Kabul today.

‘Mother, I’m not going to sing, I would lose my job and worse; the work I’m doing is unbelievably important, I’m going now and will come back at sunset.’

For a while they forgot the terror of the regime and made Grandfather weep at the hypnotic sound of his daughter-in-law’s robab and Mina’s mizmar. At sunset, Arman returned; the women hugged the old man and said goodbye. Arman kissed his cheek and held him close. It was important the women were back in their homes before dusk wearing the burkas they had taken off at grandfather’s.

 ‘Wasn’t that a precious time for all of us, it has truly lifted my spirits,’ Mother said, ‘I will ask Arman to take you with Babek next time, Mina, I will stay home, but we must wait a few days so as not to cause suspicion.’

The next time Babek and Naghma accompanied Mina, driven by Arman while Mother stayed home. They left early, before Arman started work and the dusty roads were crowded with cars, carts and all manner of animals. Grandfather wept to see his other grandson. He made mint tea and had prepared a platter of fresh dates from his trees. He longed for news of the city and Naghma told of shopping in the market and the shortage of bread. Babek described the influx of children to the hospital with malnutrition, a desperate problem in their politically isolated country. Arman said goodbye saying he would return after work. Naghma tuned her robab and Mina her mizmar and they began to play; Babek tapped the beat on his dohol and they all began to sing.

‘Your grandmother will be listening from her grave; she played this on her mizmar with great accomplishment. Thank you,’ murmured Grandfather.

Their happiness was disturbed by a frenzied battering. The door swung open and two hostile guards stood in the doorway blocking the dazzling sunlight.

‘You are disobeying orders and will be punished,’ one said.

The other grabbed Naghma’s arm and her robab fell to the floor. Mina moved backwards and avoided his stick but lost her balance. Her mizmar slid under the table. The first guard hit Babek hard across the face and again on the leg, this time with a baton he pulled from his belt. Grandfather was not spared; he was pushed and fell against the wall. The women were ordered to cover their faces and get into the prison vehicle. The guards were thugs and beat the men as they shoved them in with the women.  

Naghma saw queues of people as they drove through the looming, black iron gates of the sprawling Pul-e-Charkhi prison. Guards were waving sticks and shouting. She had heard the jail was full to breaking point because of the daily new restrictions. Women were queuing separately from the men, all hidden beneath their ugly, grey garments. She saw women being violated with a hand or baton.

Towards evening, she saw Babek and Grandfather being pushed through a doorway; it was stiflingly hot and Naghma and Mina had joined a queue where they crouched on the ground with many other women. They held each other; they’d heard terrible tales. Both women were exhausted and it was towards dawn when first Mina was taken. Later, Naghma was pushed into a bare, brightly lit room. A government official in uniform hit her twice across the head with a heavy hand, followed by a tirade of warnings should it ever happen again.  She was directed to the door and told to go home, obey the law and attend to women’s duties. She was astounded at her mild treatment but guessed the Taliban were not coping with the terrifying but absurd situation. Out in the street several women sat against the prison wall or leaned on each other, dazed or weeping. One of them was Mina. Naghma bent and hugged her before leading her down a street to a bus stop. Early buses were moving round the city and they knew they must get home to avoid arrest for being unchaperoned

 Babek was less lucky, he was handcuffed and shoved down wide stone steps to a prison yard. He was pushed against a wall, stripped of his shalwar kameez and his hands raised and secured to a heavy metal ring. Within moments he felt extreme pain but before he could recover it happened again; five lashes on his naked body. Other men were having the same treatment. His back felt numb and blood dripped onto his bare foot, but the punishment stopped. Some men were being treated more severely and their cries died out as they lost consciousness. Babek felt sick but was freed and led out with a few men through another yard where some prisoners were exercising, walking one behind the other. He feared another beating if he turned his head, but moving his gaze, was astounded to see his father. Kamel’s head was down and he shuffled with painful steps, but, as Babek passed him, father and son made eye contact. Despite his pain, Babek felt a surge of joy; his father was alive.

Arman meanwhile discovered the abandoned house. He always brought the spare key and unlocking the door now, saw the disarray; a fallen chair, the abandoned instruments. He was overcome with fear and dread; the Taliban were ruthless and unforgiving.

Babek and a few more men were shown the exit. His body stung and his kameez stuck to the raw weals on his back, but he was alive, for which he thanked Allah. He retrieved his sandals from the regimented numbered shelving in the prison lobby before being pushed out into the forecourt with a threatening warning. ‘Next time, you won’t be leaving.’  It was night-time still and Babek struggled to stay upright. He saw another batch of men being led from the building and grandfather was amongst them. He watched as another man caught him as he stumbled. Babek limped over to take grandfather’s weight; his clothing was bloody and he was silently weeping.