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

credit Gencraft AI

Mother: a nurse

Kamel: father

Arman: elder son

Naghma: daughter

Babek: younger son

Mina: Babek’s wife

Part 1

Naghma moved restlessly around the gloomy living space and gazed towards the two blacked-out windows; faint streaks of morning light seeped through. She shared the typical mud-and-stone-built house with her mother, her elder brother Arman who was unmarried and her younger brother Babek who had brought his young wife Mina to live with them.  Since the latest decree, no woman must be seen through any window facing the street, and new buildings in Kabul were ordered to be built with none overlooking women’s areas. Naghma had applied the black paint herself while thinking bitter thoughts on the latest edict,  

‘Those pathetic bullies, what are they scared of? Do they think they’re going to see us half-naked? What other nasty ideas will they come up with?’

Privately, Naghma dreaded each day, but for her family’s sake, she strived to be optimistic. As a child, she had been fun, seeing light in the darkest corners but it was getting increasingly difficult. She was a tall young woman, with bold, dark eyes, the only parts of her body visible when she stepped outside. She cared for her brothers and knew they equally despised the regime. Babek preferred to be clean-shaven, appreciating the soft, fresh air on his skin, but today, each man must wear a beard. He was stocky in build, like his father with the compassionate nature suited to his profession. He was a qualified junior doctor at the Kabul Jamhuriat Hospital where their mother was also a nurse. Her position was fragile and might be terminated with no warning at the whims of the Taliban.

The family were very angry at Naghma’s plight; four years ago, she had completed her medical studies and was to be a doctor at the Indira Ghandi Children’s Hospital in Kabul. She was fond of children and had enjoyed helping Paternal Grandmother care for Babek while her mother was working. When the Taliban gained power they allowed only experienced women in the medical profession to remain; Naghma’s graduation was too late. Babek’s wife Mina was a comforting friend to Naghma, she was an educated girl but her career had also been terminated. It was at the Jamhuriat hospital that she met Babek while training to be a nurse but when she was forced to stop working, Babek had asked her family if they could marry and she came to live in the family home.

Naghma could not bear to witness her mother’s anxiety, now virtually a widow but a strong woman and not yet old. Her husband, Kamel, a modern father, had wanted his children to have the opportunities he’d been given. His education had been his downfall because, after studying languages, he became an English teacher and an ideal recruit as interpreter for the British army. After the rapid departure of the British from Afghanistan in two thousand and twenty-one, Kamel was arrested and the family still knew nothing of his fate. Their mother was under suspicion as the wife of a designated traitor and under regular surveillance. She frequently saw guards watching the house from the street corner and since Kamel’s disappearance, she had been called each year for questioning before the National Security Committee. The family lived close to a number of bus routes and each day Babek chaperoned his mother to work. Women were harassed by the Taliban if not accompanied by a male family member. If mother wanted to visit her parents in a distant village, it was unlawful for her to go alone.

Arman was tall like his mother and sister and might have been an athlete. When young and not studying at the madrasah, he had liked to run and fly his kite and work strenuously in the garden, growing vegetables and helping his father tend his treasured trees; a pomegranate, apricot and fig.

At school leaving age, Arman received training in agriculture through the Aga Khan Development Network. There was an urgent need to grow food for the Afghan population and since the extreme decree forbidding most women to work, the economy was failing. The Agronomy department, where Arman held a senior position, lay in the Kabul River Basin. At eighteen hundred metres above sea level, Kabul was one of the highest capital cities in the world and the Hindu Kush formed a stunning mountainous backdrop. Only a small percentage of land in the Kabul River Basin was designated for agriculture because there were several more cities in that region, and an expanding population, but of all the crop-growing areas in Afghanistan, this was the most important.

Arman had progressed in his studies and was a senior researcher in crop cultivation, most importantly, potatoes, a valuable food crop for the under-nourished Afghani people. Amongst mothers and children, malnutrition was rife and potatoes were a life-blood. Much of the land was poor and drought-ridden, yet also likely to flood. Arman’s carefully researched solutions had come to the attention of the Taliban and he had received commendations. He was a frequent advisor to the Canal Irrigation Board and his ideas helped the success of the sophisticated irrigation techniques in operation, channelling water in a series of canals and capturing surface water, especially when the river flooded.

He was especially passionate about the soil. Chemicals were used in commercial farming but were not the preferred method, as they were harsh and expensive to import. The Afghans, a rural nation, had a long and deep love for the trees and flowers they grew and for all aspects of their land. Arman had developed the age-old idea of using the poorest land to grow nitrogen-fixing crops that could be harvested and made into nutrient-rich fertiliser. This was all part of a major project using circular agriculture to ensure organic material from poultry and livestock farms was also kept in the food chain loop and nothing wasted. Arman’s colleagues and students were proud to be working with him and excited when his achievements came to the attention of the Taliban. Most attended the ceremony when he received his latest award. Even so, Arman hated the totalitarian government and disliked the narrow, unreconstructed thinking of some of his fellow workers, in particular their views on women’s rights, but he never shared his thoughts. He had learned a phrase from the British, ‘Walls have ears’.

Naghma’s lively mind and sense of humour made her family smile, so despite the constant fear from local officials, she begged her family to be positive;

‘They’re tyrants, they’re not going to win; good will win and we’ll look back on our suffering as a bad dream.’

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

credit: Gencraft AI

Mother: a nurse

Kamel: father

Arman: elder son

Naghma: daughter

Babek: younger son

Mina: Babek’s wife

Part 2

At home with Mina, Naghma secretly pursued her education and was fortunate the family owned a laptop. So far there had been no government decree to ban internet access and WhatsApp was a popular chat site, but many websites were controlled by the state. She was thankful her brothers were supportive, unlike some men, who wouldn’t hesitate to tell the authorities if they disapproved of their women’s behaviour. A young woman who lived nearby, had carelessly gone out with her ankles showing and the guards had beaten her so badly they had broken her legs.

Naghma’s sister-in-law, Mina, knew she had been fortunate to gain a qualification in nursing, but since the ban on women working, she looked back on her past life with longing, despite its limitations. Confined to the house, Mina helped Naghma prepare the daily meals and was surprised that making delicious meals out of sparse ingredients excited her. She used cayenne and cumin, coriander and turmeric or whatever was growing in the garden, to transform basic vegetables into appetising dishes. Mina’s uncle ran a canteen offering lunches to city workers and when she was younger, she had learned her cooking skills in her uncle’s kitchen. Uncle had been impressed by her talent. Later, her main focus had been her nurse’s training, but now, every Afghan woman was rethinking her future.

‘When we are free, I want to open a restaurant,’ she said to her mother-in-law, Babek will help me, but for now, I will invent new recipes and share them with my friends.’  

‘When we are free’, was a daily aspiration.

‘It’s good to have a plan, to look forward Mina, I will help if I am not too old, or, if you have a child. Once I stop working, I could care for the baby. Let’s hope for an end to this cursed life.’

Mina’s other desire of course was to have a child with Babek, but she was still young and both had agreed to wait until their baby could be born into a safer world. Mother looked for the light in life too but she trembled at the thought of her families’ future.

Afghanistan was a nation of music and it was a terrible blow to all Afghans that the Taliban had declared music a corruption and had forbidden it. Naghma still sang to herself while in the kitchen and Mina often joined in. Mina sang with Babek too, but all knew the risk they were taking. They had heard of women being stoned for less. Arman just smiled and shook his head; too much was at stake for him. Before the repressive government, Naghma and her mother had played the robab, a popular instrument the British had likened to a lute and Babek played the doho,l a type of cylindrical drum. Mina played the mizmar, a wind instrument she had once played in the school band. Arman sang in perfect pitch but since the edict, he never sang. They were all afraid. Even the books they possessed had been scrutinised by the authorities and any with unsuitable subjects, had been taken away.

Mina was speechless at the music ban; her own mother had taught her the traditional dances of the region and when very young, she would dance and sing with Mother and their neighbours after the evening supper. ‘How can we ever dance without music?’ Mina said to Naghma, ‘It’s was a cruel law.’

Mother came home from the hospital that evening with Babek and she wept. Government officials had taken over the hospital, even entering the operating theatre, and by the end of the day, all women employees other than a very small handful, had been told to go home and stay there.

‘I’ve been caring for women young and old in that hospital for years and the personal care and kindness I give the women, cannot be given by a man. What despicable, ignorant cowards they are not to revere our role! What a sick government we have.’

‘How terrible for you Mother-in-law, and even more of our income will be gone; can we manage do you think?’ asked Mina.

‘We shall manage Mina,’ They say I will get a small proportion of my pay, but I am more anxious about those sick women. I am also concerned about my husband, I’ve heard nothing. Soon I plan to go again to Pul-e-Charkhi prison soon and make enquiries, but I can only go if Babek or Arman come with me.’

‘Poor Mother,’ said Naghma, ‘How can they do this to you? There is one good bit of news; the powers have decreed that women can go out alone in the city providing they are fully covered; you only need a male chaperone if you are travelling more than fifty kilometres’

‘Well, I can’t believe anything they say, probably tomorrow they will change their mind and I will be arrested for going out alone!’

It was Paternal Grandfather’s idea to take the musical instruments to his home and if they wanted to play them, the music would be muffled by his thick stone walls, his orchard and surrounding scrub. He lived alone on the outskirts of Kabul in one of many scattered dwellings.  Paternal Grandmother had died of a heart attack and grandfather blamed the Taliban. Grandmother had never recovered from her son’s disappearance and she had no longer wanted to live. Grandfather was grief-stricken at her death too but prayed to Allah on behalf of his son and hoped that no news was good news. Arman drove a battered old Toyota Corolla, essential for getting to work and agreed to take the instruments to grandfather’s hidden beneath some sacks of potatoes. Guards on the city boundaries randomly stopped and searched vehicles, so it was a risk, but Arman had some status in the city and was waved through. The next day was his day off and as mother no longer had work, unlike Babek, Arman agreed to take Mina and his mother to Grandfather Kaspar’s.  

‘We’ve been talking about doing it so let’s go today.’

 Naghma said she would stay to use the computer while the rest of the family were out. Since the Covid pandemic she had secretly been studying the latest papers on the behaviour of microorganisms, hoping that one day, women would work again and she could become a specialist in infectious diseases. She desperately wanted to heal children; she had seen their suffering and preventing illness in infancy was vital. Naghma was skilled in quickly closing down a suspicious website and opening an approved one should any prying Taliban call unannounced.

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.

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

credit: Gencraft AI

Mother: a nurse

Kamel: father

Arman: elder son

Naghma: daughter

Babek: younger son

Mina: Babek’s wife

Part 4

Arman risked being stopped by the Taliban as he drove in the early hours towards the prison complex to look for his family. He parked where he had a partial view of the entrance and waited. He stood by his car and lit a Marlboro, still available and his favourite smoke since his dad worked for the British. An official vehicle slowly drew up and parked before government buildings near the prison. He had no time to get back in the car before the chauffeur opened the passenger door and a Taliban officer got out. He looked over and walked towards Arman. He shuddered with fear; he knew it was a crime to be loitering at this hour, but the officer examined him closely, hesitated, then held out his hand. Arman was amazed but extended his hand in return, a tradition they had both learned from the west. It dawned on him that this was the Minister for Agriculture, Irrigation and Livestock who had presented Arman with his awards.

‘In the name of Allah, I am honoured to see you again and to give further praise for your ground-breaking work for our magnificent nation. You may remember me; I am Abdul Rahman Rashid and here is my card. That is my office you see over there alongside the Pul-e-Charkhi. You may call on me if it pleases you, and in gratitude, I will be honoured to bestow any favour I consider worthy, should you have need.’

Arman bowed, gave humble thanks and Abdul Rashid turned and walked to the headquarters. He was still reeling from the encounter, when a few men came out of the Pul-e-Charkhi gates and among them, was Grandfather, leaning on Babek and both walking slowly in unsteady steps. He embraced them and cautiously helped them into the Toyota.

 

Arman gave his familiar knocks and Mother unlocked the door. She was overjoyed to see the men but incensed at their state, especially her father’s and extremely concerned that the women were not with them. She boiled water to bathe their weeping wounds. Grandfather’s treatment had been similar to Babek’s but he was ninety years old and far more frail. Five lashes were more than he could endure and he too had been given dire warnings. Babek shouted in fury;

 ‘What are these rodents doing to our country? They are mad, mindless criminals.’

Arman and Mother helped grandfather lie down on the low divan and he was asleep in moments. Both knew sleep was healing. Another tap on the door and it was the women. Babek held Mina close and then Naghma; Arman put his arms round both.  The women spoke of their mild treatment, each recognising there would be no second chance. They wept to be back home but when Babek revealed the joyful news of seeing father in the prison yard, everyone was astonished. It was Arman’s turn to tell his story and for him to digest the significance of the favour handed to him by the minister. After hearing his father was alive, a request was already taking shape in his mind.

It was already morning and Arman had to go to work, but the explosion of ideas concerning his father, helped him face the day. Babek was on a two-day break so had a second day to recover. He knew his name and address but not his employment, had been recorded at the prison. Staff was depleted in every field, especially health. For this reason his crime was unlikely to be followed up and in any case, how could they do without him? Arman came home that night exhausted but excited; he had an appointment to see the minister and would prepare a request for his father’s release.

‘Salam Alaikum,’ said Abdul Rashid in a warm greeting, placing the customary hand over his heart and Arman did the same.

‘My father, Kamel Aziz, is an honourable man,’ explained Arman. ‘His only sin was to be an educated man who spoke English and to be selected by the British army to be an interpreter to the officers. When the army left, he was arrested as a traitor.  As you know, many things changed during the war and my father used his skills to maintain his family but was never once disloyal.’

Arman made his case with passion and the minister sat immobile. It was impossible to read his thoughts and Arman feared he had said too much. Abdul Rashid remained silent, looking beyond Arman, staring at the wall. Then he spoke;

‘Arman Aziz, you have done well; in your studies; in your contribution to our great nation, and now in your earnest plea for Kamel Aziz. Tomorrow, I will go to the Pul-e-Charkhi prison and announce your father’s release. I have an honourable relationship with the prison governor; he is my brother. You are a worthy son and I believe your father is a good man.’

There was no more to be said, Arman gave his most gracious thanks, bowed and left the building.

 The next day, Kamel Aziz brought light into the darkest corner and the family gave praise to Allah.