It was the winter of last year, precisely the beginning of February 2022; a few months had passed since the fall of the republican system and the arrival of the terrorist Taliban group in Afghanistan. On that day, which I don’t remember the exact date, and it was early February 2022, my father, Elaha, and I, Sodaba, were at home as usual. It was a cold winter, and that evening, it was decided that Ms. Elaha would go shopping at the market. Then, Elaha is gone!
My father, Sodaba and I were at home. My father was busy, and Sodaba and I remember very well that we had started working on Sodaba’s 11th literary work and continued to write enthusiastically (that Sodaba book was never finished due to our lousy situation).
I was busy writing with Sodaba in a corner of the house. Two hours went by. But Elaha did not come home from the market! Even though my father was busy, he suddenly said: “Two hours have gone by, why didn’t Elaha come?”
I was still looking at the book’s pages and said: “She is coming; it is still early.”
Sodaba, who understood my father’s anxiety very well, said: “Maybe she is late because there is a lot of traffic on the roads at this time.”
My father got busy with his work again with sadness. Sodaba and I also continued our writing. The sky slowly turned dark, and my father’s discomfort and anxiety grew increasingly. I thought the Elaha might be late because of the traffic on the roads. I told them: “Don’t worry, she will come, maybe she is stuck in a traffic jam.”
Another two hours went by, and my anxiety also increased.
My father and sister Sodaba got up and went to the mansion in the darkness of the night when the street lights slightly lighted the alley. My father waited for Elaha outside the house gate for an hour. I also came with Sodaba. We opened the house gate and watched the street with great anxiety. We knew that after our mother’s death, none of the relatives, not even a single male or female relative, came to our house, and we had not visited their houses either. Therefore, Elaha never goes to a relative’s house and has never gone.
So, there was no reason for Elaha to come home late. I remember I asked Sodaba more than thirty times: “Why do you think she didn’t come? Why did Elaha be late?” Sodaba, with fear in her eyes, asked me this question again and again. My father went to the end of the alley and returned and said to Sodaba: “Give me my coat, so I want to go out and look four sides around. Why is Elaha late? Surely, something happened with her.” The confusion and anxiety on my father’s face had increased. The father went and said to us: “Close the gate and do not open it to anyone. If Elaha comes, open the gate for her soon and let me know.”
After my father left, Sodaba and I were still standing on the roof of our house for one and a half or two hours in the same cold weather. Anxiety and confusion did not allow us, so we returned to the room. My father had walked to (Golai-e Heseh Awal-e Khairkhana). It’s one part of Kabul city and after waiting there for a while, he went to Qalai-e Najara. Then, almost two hours after searching for Elaha, he came home and said: “I could not find Elaha.”
When I heard this sentence, it was cumbersome and painful, as if a world of hatred, fear, and despair was hidden behind it. A storm seemed to be coming from behind this heavy word, which showed no mercy to anyone. I used to console myself by saying I would not allow negative thoughts to enter my mind, but it’s a pity that these thoughts came and went again.
My flurry and my sister Sodaba intensified. I told her, “So what should we do? Where should we look for Elaha?”
My father said: “I will go again to look for Elaha.”
And this time, my father and sister Sodaba went together to look for Elaha. I stayed at home alone. I was thinking about when my father and sister Sodaba would return home. After a few hours, in the darkness of the night, my father and Sodaba came back. They said with sadness and despair that we could not find Elaha.At that time, my father’s scattered thoughts and Sodaba’s cold hands were telling me about a bad event. We were left with a world of words to which we never knew the answer.
My father’s and Sodaba’s faces were sad and upset. We returned to the room and were talking about the same thing very anxiously: “Where is Elaha? Why didn’t she come home?”. During these few hours of searching, my father and Sodaba had gone from Golai-e to Sarai-e Shamali and then again to Qalai-e Najara, and they had even searched the hospitals in those areas to see if any traffic incidents occurred.
At that time, the Taliban’s violence was much higher than now because some of our relatives and neighbors had told the Taliban about my father. We knew out of fear that we could not go to the Taliban police department. Every day, we saw and read the media and news that the Taliban were killing innocent people in every region.
The fear of Taliban terrorists made us not go to the Taliban office to find and search Elaha.
So, who were we referring to?
To those who shed human blood like sheep and don’t even raise an eyebrow?
To whom did we turn, to those who have no heart in their chest and no brain in their head?
To the terrorists whose logic the world is ashamed of?
To the terrorists who kill hundreds of people every day?
Which door should we be knocking on?
The door of Taliban terrorists?
It was not possible. We did not do so.
So, we did not refer to the Taliban fighters’ office.
We were all weakened. Inability and weakness are easy to pronounce, but their meaning is difficult and profound. Everyone knew our courage. I was saying to myself at that moment, and I wish it would be a miracle that we would know where Elaha is. This thought quickly crossed my mind, and another thought came to my mind: no! Now, it is not the time of miracles anymore. It would have collapsed that day if it were the sky instead of our family. If it were a mountain, it would melt bit by bit and be leveled on the ground; even if it were a stone, its cry would reach the sky. We were waiting for Elaha and counting the seconds.
That night was brutal and terrifying. My father and Sodaba were sitting awake until morning, and we were all talking:
Why Didn’t Elaha Return? Where Is Elaha Now?
Our fear and distress were too great to express at all. Thousands of cruel words were attacking my mind at once. One word was that there may have been a traffic accident, but she may not have been kidnapped or killed! What will we do if she never comes again? The three of us were fighting a world of distress and pain. Finally, it was morning, and my father and sister Sodaba went in search of Elaha again to find her. I cleaned some rooms and cooked food. I soon realized that it was noon, and my father and Sodaba returned home again. Their fear and anxiety had doubled, and they said: “We searched everywhere, but we couldn’t find Elaha.”
Sodaba’s eyes were filled with hatred and pain. I felt that my father’s shoulders were bent. Five years ago, when my mother died, we had no grief left to endure. Elaha’s disappearance and her abduction by the Taliban group had destroyed our strength and ability. We were all troubled and sad, and distress is not a good thing that burns the marrow of people’s bones; it is ferocious. Suddenly, your lips will crack, your hands will be numb, and your heart will tremble. Therefore, several days have passed since Elaha’s kidnapping and disappearance. During this time, my father and Sodaba searched all over Kabul City day and night but found no news about Elaha.
To be continued…
This piece was written by Maryam Sadaf Delavarzi and translated by Asadullah Jafari “Pezhman”
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