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

I would wish dead.
    Of course, our first thoughts were of Mother
and all our relatives. They were in danger. It was unbearable.
    Then Nadia burst through the door. She was in
medical school in Bangalore, but Papa had called her upon our
arrival and she had taken time off to meet us in New Delhi.
    Papa explained to Nadia all that had occurred
since she was last in Kabul. That’s when I learned something I had
not known before. Mother had insisted that Papa accompany me,
rather than herself, because Papa was in danger of being arrested.
A friend with high government connections had passed on a warning
that the communist regime was putting in place a plan to
exterminate all military officers who had formerly been loyal to
the royal family. It made no difference if the officer was long
retired. It was probable that Papa would have been arrested and
executed if he had stayed.
    It was imperative to get Mother out of
Afghanistan as quickly as possible. First Papa tried the legal
route, posting a letter to his friend in the ministry explaining
that his cancer had returned, that I was undergoing surgery, and
that Mother was desperately needed to take care of both of us. The
minister wrote back giving us the bad news that Mother had been
refused permission to visit us in India. He promised to continue
his efforts on her behalf, but Papa feared his efforts would be
useless. The Russians would not allow all members of one family to
leave the country but insisted on holding some family members back
as hostages. They believed we would return if they refused
permission for Mother to leave.
    Now Papa revealed that he had made
arrangements for a smuggler to take Mother out of the country if
her official permit did not come through soon. He had to bring her
out at all costs.
    I felt a terrible anxiety, knowing that if
Mother were caught when sneaking out of Afghanistan, the current
regime might execute her on the spot.
    Papa placed a call to Mother in Kabul,
telling her, ‘You must visit your aunt.’ That was their code word
for Mother to contact the smuggler.
    We heard later that the smuggler arrived the
day of the call, and brought Mother a dress, trousers and matching
scarf to wear, a traditional nomadic costume. The dirty outfit was
permeated with the stink of human sweat so that Mother would not
only look like a nomadic tribal woman but would smell like one too.
Mother later reported that the stench of body odor was so strong it
made her retch, but she forced herself to wear it nevertheless.
    Father had arranged for one of Mother’s
nephews, a young man named Qaseem, to be smuggled out on the same
trip. Qaseem was happy to be chosen as every member of the Hassen
family was now keen to flee Afghanistan, as well as many members of
our Khail family.
    Our homeland was being abandoned by all given
the opportunity.
    When Mother stepped out of the door, the
smuggler’s car was waiting outside. She saw Qaseem sitting in the
car. He leapt out to greet his auntie and settle her in for the
journey.
    Mother later told us that at that precise
moment she was struck by a frightening premonition. Something told
her urgently not to get into that car. She was sure there was grave
danger waiting for her on the journey.
    Qaseem said, ‘Auntie, let’s go,’ and the
smuggler growled, ‘Get in.’
    Mother pulled back, in a growing panic. ‘No!
I cannot go,’ she told the smuggler. ‘I have decided against
it.’
    The smuggler got angry. ‘Get in, I said!’ He
grabbed her arm and tried to push her into the back seat of the
car. ‘Get in now!’
    Mother slapped at his hands, struggling. ‘No!
I am not going, I told you.’
    The smuggler’s face turned red. ‘I will not
return your money!’
    Mother replied, ‘I understand. But I cannot
go.’ She looked at her shocked nephew. ‘I cannot go,’ she told him.
‘I have a bad feeling. This will have a bad end, my nephew, I feel
it in my heart.’
    Qaseem tried to reason with her. ‘Auntie, it
is your nerves. Come with us. This is the only way out of
Afghanistan.’
    But Mother refused, and the driver stomped
around the car and slid into the driver’s seat. ‘I will not return
the money,’ he snapped once more, before driving away at high
speed, taking Qaseem with him.
    Mother was sad that she had allowed her one
opportunity to flee to get away, yet was convinced she had made the
right decision.
    When Mother called us in Delhi, Papa was
upset that his wife could alter his carefully