INSIDE THE GHOST TOWN OF PANJSHIR
Panjshir, or “five lions” is one of the most scenic of 34 provinces in Afghanistan. The provincial capital Bazarak is the lion’s den accommodating tomb of the most powerful guerrilla commander in Afghanistan’s history of resistance – Ahmad Shah Massoud. The Panjshir valley rarely ever ceases to bestow upon its fortunate lot a clear blue sky, with the warm sun shining on their backs and a cold breeze gushing across their cheeks. The valley is intertwined with crystal clear fresh water streams, which emanate from its mineral rich snow clad peaks. One sip of the valley’s ever burbling streams is all it takes for the longest of walks worth of tiredness to fade away into utter bliss. Its ever green and flourishing grasslands are an unparalleled heaven for the eyes and the cattle both alike.
On a routine day it’s really unsurprising to witness an ideal life unfold in front of our eyes, in any part of the town. The higher grazing grounds can be found with picturesque blue tents, on the banks of a cold nourishing and clear stream, surrounded by green pastures all around and snowy peaks on the horizon. A relaxing and content with life, god fearing Sheperd can be seen absorbing the blissful warmth of this heaven bestowed upon him by the almighty. During winters these Shepherds move down to the foothills and run sundry businesses in the town market.
Kids of all age can be witnessed rushing past pedestrians on a busy street on their lightening speed bicycles. The elders have instilled into their succeeding generation a god fearing and righteously unbiased interpretation of the holy Quran. The able have taken upon themselves the responsibility to safeguard the province and the country and sacrifice their lives in this holy pursuit if need arises to keep the wolves of Taliban at bay.
As a young girl of 10 years of age in September 2001, I witnessed the uprising growing ten folds strong, even when the lion of Panjshir -Ahmad Shah Massoud- was assassinated by the cowards of Al-Qaeda. Although the terrorists dressed as journalists, with a bomb disguised as a camera managed to get an interview with him in order to bring their nefarious plans to life, they only went on to make the legend immortal thereafter. A few days after this, the infamous 9/11 incident happened and the world was scared to death of these monsters wearing cloaks of nobility. But Panjshir never gave in to the enemy. The valorous warriors of the NRF (National Resistance Front of Afghanistan) were fighting off the enemy with highest standards humanly possible and never since then was the devil ever able to lay even its shadow on the pure soils of Panjshir.
My mother, whenever we got scared of the bombings or firefights, used to assure us that the almighty is on our side, he’s got our warriors’ backs and we have got nothing to be afraid of. Women lived with honour and an assurance of safety. Men were respectable and protecting. The air, that we breathed, although however tense, tasted as fresh as freedom and as safe as our mothers’ embrace. Last month the wolves of Taliban managed to break inside. The godly town lies in shambles. Not a single monument or building is left untainted by the wounds that tell stories of assaults on its dying pursuit for existence. The silence of the ghosted town is only broken by the cawing of ravens. The abandoned streets and houses are barely passing through life like stardust in the universe. The sun is same, so is the weather, but the air is chilling and depressing. The higher reaches of the grasslands have overgrown pastures dying under its own weight. The fragrance of womanhood, the warmth of motherhood and the chirping of childhood had to leave in order to give way to the power of extremism.
People who could leave, did, and the ones who couldn’t were killed. Their women are imprisoned in jails guarded by the Taliban for charges, not yet decided and terms not yet fixed. Few were forced to marry the militia and the ones who refused ended up giving birth in their cells in absence of any medical staff whatsoever. I was one of the unlucky few, who got a chance to tell her tale when another imposter journalist managed to get an interview of one of the Taliban militia commanders by crooking him into publicising.
– Maj Jayant Charan
