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

terrorist Osama Bin Ladin.
    It was our good fortune that we had no way of
knowing Afghanistan’s ill-fated future during the week of the 1978
coup, or that our family life would be destroyed for ever. We were
only one of many thousands of helpless Afghan families who were
praying that the chaos and violence would quickly pass and we could
return to our normal lives.
    If only our prayers had been answered.
     

Chapter
IX
    It was no surprise that our much anticipated
senior class field trip never occurred. Like most Afghan citizens
our little family hunkered down in our home, waiting to see what
might happen. Several days later our new government announced that
children should go back to school. We did as we were told. Upon my
return I made a careful survey of all those I knew. The only
missing students were members of the royal family. Although we kept
hoping they would soon return, none of those vivacious girls was
ever seen again.
    A rumor went round Kabul that the coup d’etat
began on the orders of Hafizullah Amin, who had been put under
house arrest by President Daoud after Amin gave a rallying speech
for the Afghan Communists. President Daoud did not murder his
opponent, as previous rulers might have done. Instead, he was
lenient, even allowing the prisoner Amin to entertain visitors.
That benevolence was a dreadful blunder, for, it was whispered,
Amin’s visitors hand-carried the plans for a coup from Amin to his
followers. It was only years later that we learned what happened
that day. The carefully planned rebellion was started by mutinous
soldiers at Kabul International Airport. The rebels mowed down
military units loyal to President Daoud until they had battled
their way into the city centre.
    Hearing about the armed disturbance, royal
relatives fled their individual residences to seek refuge at the
palace. Perhaps the family believed they would be safe if they
clung together, when in fact some might have survived had they
spread out over the city, or even left the country.
    When the palace came under attack by the
anti-government forces, the frightened family sought protection by
gathering in a large reception room where the doors were secured
and faithful employees manned the entrances, prepared to defend
them.
    President Daoud told his family he would
never relinquish power. Even if he had the opportunity to
capitulate, he would not. Before the day ended, the entire family
was murdered, other than two princesses who were wounded in the
mayhem and taken to a hospital, where they later died.
    Muslims must be buried within twenty-four
hours of death, and generally even a harsh enemy will allow proper
burial. Yet there were no bodies presented for laying in their
graves. The fate of our royal family remained a huge mystery, and
thirty years would pass before the truth of that day would finally
be revealed, that all were murdered and their bodies dumped in a
mass grave.
    Soon we learned that our new president was a
man named Nur Muhammad Taraki. His Prime Minster was Hafizullah
Amin, the man who was rumoured to have planned the coup. Those two
set about conferring with Soviet officials to determine the fate of
all Afghan people.
    Within three months of the coup, the new
President Taraki announced a program of reforms, one that would
obliterate our traditional culture. In December, President Taraki
travelled to Russia to sign a Soviet-Afghan Friendship Treaty, a
twenty-year treaty of ‘friendship and cooperation’, which involved
Soviet military intervention. Soon afterwards, spontaneous revolts
spread throughout the provinces. There were periodic explosions in
Kabul. The people of Afghanistan were angry and quick to make their
opinions known.
    I was stunned by the rapid changes that came
over our personal lives. The school curriculum was quickly changed.
Suddenly our history classes had nothing to do with Afghanistan.
Instead, we were taught about the glorious Russian Revolution and
the outstanding achievements of Communist rulers.
    School drama events no longer had any
connection with traditional Afghan legends, such as the Stone
Dragon or the Holy Grave of the Bride and Groom, folklore known by
every child. Now everything put before the malleable students was
steeped in propaganda. Our songs were no longer the traditional
ones of passionate Afghan poetry. Instead, we were ordered to sing
our appreciation of the new socialist government. I remember one
silly song about prosperity under Russian rule.