For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child

the royal family, and had been at one time a
top advisor to the former king. Her family appeared modern and
happy compared to my father’s conservative family. She was an
unusually ambitious girl. She had been one of the first women to
enroll in medical school, although she had switched her major to
education. After graduation, she postponed marriage to assume a
position teaching history and geography at the prestigious Malalai
High School, built specially for girls in the early 1920s with
French cooperation. And that is where my father first saw my
mother.
    ‘Arrange the marriage,’ my father choked.
    Although jubilant to be proven right, Rahim
said nothing as the two men drove away from the school grounds.
    During the long drive back to the galah, my
father experienced a roller-coaster of emotions, exhilaration and
terror. He was energized because he had made up his mind that he
would marry Sharifa Hassen. He was petrified because he knew his
uncompromising brother would ruthlessly fight against a union
linking the Pashtun Khail family with an educated Tajiki woman, an
unthinkable combination in Shair’s bigoted mind. In fact, there was
a good chance Shair Khan would murder his brother to avoid such a
scandal.
    Over the next few weeks my father visited
Sharifa’s father and brothers, although he didn’t ask for her hand
in marriage. He was impressed by the Hassen men, finding them
intelligent and thoughtful. They were men whom he felt a connection
with, unlike his own brother, who was a cruel, ignorant man.
    My father knew he could not postpone the
confrontation with his brother much longer. It was inappropriate
for him to continue calling on the girl’s family without expressing
his purpose, so he gathered his courage to visit his brother. He
stood quietly on one of the many colorful tribal rugs in the grand
suite, waiting for his brother to complete some paperwork. Finally
Shair looked up, his cold eyes in an unsympathetic stare. ‘What?’
Shair shouted, as impatient as always.
    My father knew if he hesitated his courage
would disappear. ‘My brother, I have found the woman I want to
marry’ He plunged fully, admitting, ‘She is as you said. She only
speaks Farsi. She is educated. She works as a schoolteacher. She
shows her face to people who aren’t part of her family.’ My father
paused before adding the most damning bit of information, ‘She is
of the Tajik tribe. Her father is closely linked to the royal
family.’ Then my father did something so unlike him – he lied. ‘I
have already proposed to her father.’ My father watched as Shair
Khan’s face reflected his formidable anger. Shair’s face paled,
then reddened, then paled again. His dark eyes sparked with rage.
He clenched his fists before slowly rising to his feet.
    My father braced himself for a physical
assault.
    Shair cleared his throat as he moved from
behind his massive desk and walked in measured steps, the whites of
his eyes streaked with red. His angry face was only inches from my
father’s face. The two stepbrothers locked eyes.
    The staring challenge felt endless, but to my
father’s surprise, Shair Khan broke his gaze first, shouting over
his shoulder for his special servant to summon his main wife Nina
and his favourite daughter Seema. Nothing more was said between
Shair and my father until the two women rushed in.
    A fuming Shair snarled, ‘My brother Ajab has
assumed my position as head of this family. He has gone behind my
back to ask an unsuitable woman to be his wife.’
    The women were still as stones, never having
heard of such impertinence in their life. They probably assumed
that Shair had ordered them to appear so they might plan my
father’s funeral. Pashtun men had been sent to the grave for lesser
offences.
    Shair sneered. ‘Because my brother has moved
forward with something that is none of his business, I am forced
into an impossible situation. Our honor is at stake, so the family
must continue the process. But I refuse to be involved. Instead,
you’ – he nodded first at Nina, then at Seema – ‘and you, will
approach the family and complete the obligatory arrangements.’
    Nina and Seema trembled at the
responsibility. Such an important marriage was normally arranged by
the head of the tribe, but now Shair was delegating the mission to
women. They knew that if their efforts did not please him they
would be blamed.
    The two frightened women crept from the room
and my father followed. The heavy