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

free. You live under your
own flag.’
    Free to be poor and backward, I thought to
myself, but said nothing more, for it was clear my father was
exceptionally proud of the fact that Afghanistan’s warriors
defeated all invaders.
    The train ride to Delhi was memorable. We had
a compartment to ourselves, with a bunk bed and a wide seat. I
gazed out of the window for hours, seeing a new world that I could
have never imagined. Along the way Mother served us delicious
sandwiches and cups of hot tea courtesy of our kindly
relatives.
    We slept the night on the train and when I
woke up the first thing I needed was a toilet. That’s when I
discovered that not everything in Pakistan was perfect. The toilet
on the train was so filthy that no one in my family could bear to
use it. As soon as the train stopped in Lahore, I was jumping up
and down with bladder pain. Father said the ride to the hotel would
be brief, but in fact it was a 30-minute journey. By the time we
arrived I couldn’t hold back a minute longer and ran inside the
lobby jumping from one foot to the other. The manager checked my
father in as quickly as possible and I dashed to the room to use
the toilet. My misery was finally relieved.
    The following day we boarded yet another
train to take us to our final destination, New Delhi. After we
arrived, I begged Papa to take me for a walk. But he was exhausted
from the journey and retired for a nap. I pleaded so eloquently
that Mother agreed to take me out for a short walk to explore the
city.
    After walking a short distance from our small
hotel, Mother and I were in for a big shock. We heard panicked
screams and running feet. Too late we saw a massive crowd of people
rushing straight for us.
    Mother and I quickly jumped aside to avoid
being trampled. The alarmed crowd zipped past with such a force I
felt a brisk breeze. Thankfully we were not knocked to the ground.
Mother and I glanced at each other in relief, thinking the worst
was over. That is when we realized with horror that the crowd had
been running away from an angry bull. Now that bull was stampeding
directly towards me! He locked his eyes on to my lone figure before
lowering his horns.
    I didn’t know about the Indian habit of
allowing cows and bulls to roam freely in their cities. But
realizing I was about to be gored, without looking I leapt into the
congested street.
    The bull didn’t get me but a car did. A
moving vehicle was unable to stop in time. One moment I was running
away from the bull, and the next I was tossed high into the air. I
thought the bull had thrown me with his horns. My body slammed to
the dirt road with a thud. Pain gripped every part of me, from my
head to my feet, but the wind was knocked out of me so I could not
cry out.
    An agitated crowd quickly gathered round me,
with witnesses shouting, pointing and poking. Although I was the
centre of excitement, the scene felt far away, with every image
materializing blurry and indistinct, like a black and white
television with poor reception. Voices carried an echo, and I found
it impossible to hear what was happening. I had a vague notion that
some considerate people were gathering my purse and contents, which
had flown from my hand and scattered over the road.
    Where was my mother? I tried to turn my head
but was unable to move. I couldn’t see her.
    Suddenly a man on a motorbike pushed his way
through the gathering crowd. I felt myself being lifted from the
roadway. The man commandeered an automobile and shouted at the
driver. I had a vague fear I was being kidnapped, but there was
nothing I could do. I was injured and helpless, and far away from
my parents.
    It was only when we arrived at a hospital
that I understood I had been rescued by a Good Samaritan. I was
lifted from the car and taken inside, where doctors gathered around
me. I looked down, horrified to discover my right leg swollen like
a tree trunk. Time blurred, but I discovered later I had been
rushed into an operating room.
    When I came out of the anesthesia, my mother
was hovering over me. Mother had fainted from sheer fright at the
sight of her daughter being threatened by a horned beast and
finally run down by an automobile. The kind bystanders had revived
her enough to escort her to the nearest hospital, where my Good
Samaritan had told someone he was taking me.
    My injuries were severe. I was bleeding
internally on arrival at the hospital. My right ankle and leg were
crushed. Skilled Indian surgeons were able to