Our Story Ends Here

Sarmad - Chapter 2

Sarmad

Who said life in Kabul is unproblematic when you are a part of a fundamentalist political movement. Certainly it was not easy for a person like me who wanted to live in a free world; a place that was free from all evils and political propaganda. At twenty-four, I thought I had seen most of the world. However, it wasn't true. I had only seen the tribal areas of Afghanistan and some parts of North Pakistan such as Muzaffarabad, Naran, Kaghan, Swat and Hunza valley.

Sitting in a cart among my tribesmen, I squinted at the sun that glistered on my face. As the cart progressed on a muddy path in Kabul, I thought deeply about my true identity. I was not mortified at being an important part of an extremist group; people who were commonly termed as terrorists. I knew I had an uncertain life that could end any moment, yet I was ready to embrace death.

This was the kind of uncertain life that I had chosen for myself; this was my destiny.

Kabul was the largest city as well as the capital of Afghanistan. I resided in an old house with my other tribesmen and their wives who were also a part of the extremist group.

Hakem Ullah, commonly known as Mullah, the leader of our group, ran a house of eleven members who were fully trained in spreading violence across the country.

I was a part of Mullah's clan, and he was the person who had taken care of my necessities since I was a child. He hadn't married and didn't have a family of his own. Instead, he had adopted ten children at a very young age.

Nafisa, twenty-one, was one of them. She secretly fancied me. I knew this and other clan members had felt so too. However, I paid no heed to her feelings. I had always been like that. Not paying much attention to women. Not that I had any sexual disorder.

Despite having beautiful Afghani looks, she had failed to cast a long-lasting impression on me.

On the other hand, Haider, Karim and Ramez were extremely close to me. Though I did not have any family members except Khan Baba, my only blood relative, I had found brothers in these three. All of us lived like a family; a family tortured by our past and grievances.

After observing drone attacks all over North Waziristan and some parts of Afghanistan and the consistent war since 2001, Mullah had ordered the insurgents to team up and move to Lahore. One of the US officials, James Henry, had planned a visit to Lahore to meet the prime minister. According to the grapevine, he was one of the people involved in taking an immediate decision to not end the war in Afghanistan. Mullah loathed this person and could not forgive him to his grave. He formed a group that included me, Haider, Karim and Ramez to carry out the operation of assassinating James Henry. Karim and Ramez were going to take the route to Peshawar via Jalalabad, whereas Haider and I decided to reach Quetta directly from Kabul.

We had packed our weapons in a way that no one could find them even if they searched our bags. We were well trained to do that.

Everyone at home had always admired my beard as it really suited me. Unfortunately, the young men had to adopt a clean-shaven look as they did not want people to become suspicious.

We had to leave early the next morning. Nafisa cooked shorwa for us, and everyone sat on the floor cross-legged and ate it with nan—unleavened, flat bread. However, I was not present at the dinner table that night. I was inside the room, listening to their conversation.

'Where is Sarmad?' Mullah asked.

'He's getting ready for tomorrow,' Karim replied, taking a bite out of the nan.