Love In the Shadow of War. A Forbidden Love in War-Torn Afghanistan

By Farid Mostamand

Set amid the relentless gunfire and towering peaks of war-torn Afghanistan, "Love in the Shadow of War" unfurls a forbidden love story as powerful as it is enduring. This gripping tale follows Sahar and Sohil, two lovers whose destinies are entwined with the chaotic tapestry of their homeland's struggles.

Sahar, a brave young w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crescent Health Center
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869057952

Book preview

Part One

Panjshir, Afghanistan

Chapter One

Kabul, 1975

Sahar

As the sun disappeared below the horizon, it not only signified the end of a crucial part of my life but also hinted at the journey awaiting me in the evening glow spreading across Kabul.

The interruption of a gentle knock at the door dragged me back to reality.

Sahar, are you there? asked my mother, Noorya.

Yes, Mom, I replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Settling on the edge of my bed, my mom met my gaze, her eyes brimming with understanding. You're feeling a bit overwhelmed, aren't you?

I nodded, my eyes threatening to spill over. I've never known anything beyond our life here in Kabul. It's daunting.

I found myself enveloped in the comforting arms of my mother as she spoke gently. Fear is natural when facing the unknown, but remember, we will not be alone in Panjshir; your father’s friend Hussein will be our neighbor. They are a fun family to be around. You used to play with his son, Sohil, when you were a little girl.

My mother’s words comforted me, assuring me we wouldn't be alone in the unfamiliar city. My father's description of the beauty of Panjshir intrigued me.

My mom prepared our farewell meal in our Kabul home - steaming bowls of aushak, delicate dumplings filled with leeks, dressed in yogurt, and crowned with a ground beef stew.

She moved around the kitchen with a grace that spoke of years spent perfecting recipes and crafting meals that satisfied our hunger and carried the essence of home. Her eyes were a mix of nostalgia and excitement, her hands steady despite the upheaval. The kitchen was her sanctuary, where she found peace amidst the chaos. I watched as she packed the last utensils, her face a canvas of resolve.

I attempted to concentrate on the thrill of the forthcoming adventure yet couldn't suppress the sadness that came from leaving behind the only home I'd ever known.

On the day of our departure, we loaded our belongings into the truck, and my father, Karim, brought the engine to life. I watched our life in Kabul recede in the rear-view mirror, a mix of sadness and anticipation swelling within me. This move marked the dawn of a new chapter, and I vowed to seize every moment.

Our departure from Kabul carried a bittersweet air. The pain of parting with my school and friends stung, but I strove to maintain a positive outlook as we ventured onto our new path. My father led us forward in our sturdy old truck while my mother rode shotgun. My brother, Latif, and I occupied the back seat, and our gazes fixed on the magnificent Hindu Kush mountains as we journeyed past. Our family filled the long, winding journey with laughter and stories, easing the hours. We halted our journey at Salang Pass, taking a break by the riverside. Over lunch, we picked fresh, cold mulberries - a fruit I cherished. We relished the tranquility of the surroundings and welcomed the chance to stretch our legs.

Upon reaching Panjshir, our neighbor Hussein, a former classmate of my father from his days studying in Russia together, he greeted us.

Salaam, Karim Jaan! Hussein's voice rang out, greeting my father with three affectionate pecks on the cheek.

Thank you, Hussein Jaan; it's a joy to see you again, my father responded warmly.

We spent the evening in Hussein's company, talking and exchanging our hopes and concerns for the future. I was touched by the enduring warmth of their bond, undiminished despite the years of separation.

The following morning, after breakfast, Hussein guided us to our new home, conveniently located on his street. Nestled on a hill, the house overlooked the picturesque Panjshir Valley and boasted a lush garden. Excitement bubbled up within me as I absorbed our new surroundings. My mother admired the outdoor tandoor, a clay oven, and already envisioned baking fresh, hot naan. My father expressed his delight over the rustic backyard. Latif, meanwhile, had found a comfortable bench outside and was engrossed in a book.

With time, I developed a close friendship with Sohil, Hussein's eighteen-year-old son, my childhood playmate. We connected over shared interests—books, hiking, nature, poetry, and music. I was grateful for this camaraderie in our unfamiliar environment.

The move to Panjshir marked an important chapter in our lives. It was an intertwining of apprehension and exhilaration, but with my family by my side, I knew we were prepared to face any challenge ahead.

As the sun sank below the horizon, we gathered in our new home, taking in the awe-inspiring vistas of the encircling mountains and valleys. The melodic Adhan, a call to prayer, echoed through the valley.

As observant Muslims, my parents were diligent about upholding the customs and traditions of our faith. We prayed together as a family and observed the fasting rituals during Ramadan. Our participation extended to community activities like local weddings and festive Eid gatherings. These events allowed us to meet new faces and gain deeper insight into the region's culture.

My parents exchanged contented smiles, their spirits buoyed by the promise of our life in Panjshir. As we grew familiar with our new home, we explored the deep-seated cultural heritage of Panjshir, which is deeply rooted in Afghan history. We were introduced to the region's vibrant music, traditional dance, and delicious local cuisine—a delightful fusion of Central Asian flavor.

The trials and transitions associated with this new way of life served to fortify our familial bond. We were confronted with challenges but faced them with an unwavering support system.

Embracing new friendships and learning about my surroundings, I developed an appreciation for the life-changing opportunity before me. I fell in love with Panjshir—the beauty of the landscape, its warm-hearted residents, and its rich historical and cultural fabric. As I looked into the future, I knew I found a place I could call home.

On Friday, Hussein's family invited us for a traditional Afghan meal. The tantalizing scent of spicy Kebabs and aromatic rice filled the air as we gathered around the table, sharing stories of our lives and experiences in Panjshir. My father and Hussein recalled their time studying in Russia while my mother and Nasreen, Hussein's wife, exchanged culinary wisdom and recipe ideas.

After dinner, we moved to the garden. Hussein played his Rubab and filled the air with the melody of traditional Afghan music, which my father accompanied on his Tabla, a type of drum. As the evening progressed, we gathered around a campfire, sipping Chai and sharing stories. Hussein narrated tales of Panjshir's historical legacy and vibrant culture while my father spoke of his involvement in the highway project and plans. When it was time to say our goodbyes and return to our homes, our bond felt closer than before. We were grateful for the friendships we had formed in Panjshir and anticipated the adventures that lay ahead.

Two weeks after we arrived in Panjshir, we found ourselves walking through a different section of the Bazaar to buy furniture for our new home. As we navigated the bustling marketplace, we savored the buzz of vendors selling their goods and the fragrant scent of local produce.

Look at the quality of these rugs! exclaimed Mom, to which Nasreen responded with an approving nod.

While my mother and Nasreen purchased fresh vegetables, fruits, and spices, my father and Hussein began selecting beds and other furnishings. This bed seems quite comfortable, wouldn't you agree? my father asked Hussein, who nodded.

Upon returning home, we cleaned and personalized our living space. Latif, could you lend a hand with hanging this painting? my father requested as they collaborated on setting up our home.

Our settling into our new home signaled exploratory excursions around the valley, basking in the region's natural beauty. Excursions to neighboring towns and villages opened opportunities to engage with local people and learn about their unique traditions. Such beautiful blooms are gracing this garden! I expressed awe during a visit to a nearby village. The small farm in our backyard lets us grow fresh produce, adding an organic touch to our meals. These tomato plants are flourishing quite nicely, remarked Dad, his voice a blend of pride and satisfaction as he tended to the vegetable garden.

Latif, laser-focused on academics, divided his time between school and home study. I need to ace this exam, he said, with my words of encouragement in response. Mom found contentment in her new environment, delighting in the serene village ambiance and fresh air. While I miss our dear ones back in Kabul, the peacefulness here is a welcome change, she confided to Dad.

As the weeks passed, the unfamiliarity of our surroundings gradually faded. We broadened our social circle, inviting neighbors for shared meals and communal traditions. Why don't you join us for dinner tomorrow? My father extended an invitation to a newfound neighbor.

Gradually, we adopted the local customs and practices, seamlessly integrating them into our everyday lives. I've never seen such a dance form before, I remarked as we immersed ourselves in a wedding celebration.

Taking joy in life's simple pleasures, we cherished the time spent together as a family. It's heartwarming to be here, all together, Mom voiced, her eyes brimming with love and appreciation. Reflecting on our journey, we settled into our new dwelling in Panjshir. We had embraced the local culture and traditions, adapting to our novel environment with grace and grit.

There was a pervasive sense of contentment and gratitude for the opportunity to embark on a new chapter of our lives in this picturesque and hospitable locale.

One day, curiosity struck me as I exited the school gates with Najiba. Hey, Najiba. You wouldn't happen to know any scenic hiking or walking trails around here, would you? I love nature.

Of course! Najiba responded. And if you're fond of hiking, we could also hike Baba Ali Mountain. It's quite a climb, but the view from the top is breathtaking.

That sounds incredible, I said, my interest sparked. Do you often go hiking?

Najiba smiled. No, I fetch woods and take the goats up there.

Najiba was the kind of person I admired. She was born into a Hazara family, like Sohil, yet her circumstances were very different. Her father, a simple shopkeeper, and her mother, a homemaker, raised her with values of hard work and respect for education.

I met her within the first few days of my arrival in Panjshir, and our friendship blossomed almost instantly. Najiba lived a far more conservative lifestyle, which, in truth, often left me in awe. Her days were filled with chores - she gathered wood for cooking and heating, carried water from the nearby stream, and led their goat to graze. But never did I hear a complaint escape her lips. Instead, she embraced these duties with a discipline I understood was part of her identity.

In between her chores, she found time for schoolwork. And not just found the time but excelled in it. Her dedication to her studies was as unyielding as her commitment to her duties at home. It was inspiring. Her disciplined lifestyle extended to her faith, too. I often saw her, head bowed in quiet prayer, five times a day with her family. Her devoutness was integral to her identity, a testament to her faith and respect for traditions.

Every interaction with Najiba highlighted our stark differences, bringing us closer. She challenged me to look at life from perspectives I hadn't considered. She was more than just a friend; she was my guide into this new world, and her influence shaped how I saw life in Panjshir.

Later that afternoon, when I came home, I found Hussein talking with my father. They were seated on plush cushions in our living room, their teacups releasing faint trails of steam. The air was rich with the smell of the aromatic brew, adding a certain intensity to the atmosphere.

Hussein wiped away a sheen of sweat from his forehead with a severe expression. Karim, he began, his voice filled with concern. Have you heard about last night's attack on Rukha's garrison?

My father nodded. Yes, it was the work of Ahmad Shah Massoud and his guerrilla fighters. It's astounding that they managed to strike such a blow against Daoud Khan's forces.

Hussein's expression was thoughtful as he spoke. He's a strong leader with a clear vision for our people.

Respect shone in my father's eyes. Yes, Hussein, Massoud is indeed a remarkable man. His bravery, coupled with his strategic insight, is inspiring. It's no wonder he's rapidly gaining the status of a local hero, especially among the younger generation.

Hussein's gaze drifted towards Sohil, It's clear why Sohil admires him so much. He recently told me that he dreams of joining Massoud's guerilla group.

As their conversation about recent events and the future of Afghanistan unfolded, I found myself thinking about the courage of figures like Ahmad Shah Massoud. Such qualities seemed vital to overcoming the imminent challenges of our time.

What are your thoughts about the future? Dad inquired.

It's hard to say, replied Hussein, his brow furrowed. Much depends on the government's response. If they choose to deploy more troops, it will inevitably escalate the violence.

Chapter Two

The Forbidden Flame

Sahar

Over those summer months, something within me had begun to change. It was like the blossoming of a delicate bud, uncurling its petals to reveal a bloom flushed with color and life. This change was invisible to everyone but myself, and it came in the form of a warmth, an ache, a longing that I could not ignore, nor could I fully understand. It arose in the quiet moments I spent with Sohil, something that stirred within me each time our hands accidentally brushed, our eyes met, or when his laughter filled the air.

My heart would flutter wildly within my chest whenever Sohil was near, and his absence would render the world a touch less vibrant, a tad duller. I found myself yearning for his company, his voice, and his smile. As his eyes twinkled with joy or grew solemn with concern, I realized that my feelings for him had grown more profound than mere friendship. I fell in love with Sohil.

But this revelation did not come without its share of agony. Love, a sentiment so pure, so profound, was considered a sin in our culture if it manifested in the heart of an unmarried woman. And this realization was my burden to bear alone. The joy of love was steeped in fear so deep that it threatened to shatter me.

For months, I struggled silently, fighting an internal battle. The part of me that was young, free, and in love with Sohil battled the part bound by tradition, faith, and societal expectations. I knew the consequences of my feelings being revealed - the disgrace it would bring upon my family, the tarnishing of my reputation. It was a constant torment, a ruthless tug-of-war between heart and mind.

Ultimately, I could no longer bear the weight of my secret alone. I needed to confide in someone, someone who could understand, someone who could hold my secret safe. Najiba was that someone. She was more than my friend; she was my sister in all but blood.

One day, under the old oak tree where we shared countless secrets, I finally mustered the courage to share my deepest, most precious one. The words trembled on my lips as I revealed my feelings for Sohil to Najiba. Her eyes widened in surprise but not in judgment. In her eyes, I saw the understanding and compassion I desperately needed. She held my hands in hers, giving them a comforting squeeze. We sat under the tree for what seemed like hours as I poured out the contents of my heart to her.

It was a moment of shared vulnerability that solidified our friendship further. And though the path ahead was uncertain and fraught with peril, having Najiba by my side gave me the courage to face whatever was to come.

Upon hearing my confession, Najiba paused, her expression thoughtful. She took a deep breath before responding, Sahar, I understand your feelings for Sohil are strong, but you must exercise caution. Panjshir, as you're aware, is far more conservative than Kabul. You must be careful with your actions.

I sighed, feeling the weight of my emotions. I get you, Najiba. It's just that I can't help loving him. Sohil is nice and caring, and he loves his country. I feel like we understand each other.

Najiba patted my shoulder, trying to make me feel better. I know it's hard, Sahar. But you must be realistic. You're about to turn 18, and having a secret thing with someone is complicated. Sohil might not feel the same way about you. And even if he does, it might not work out because of how things are here. If people start gossiping, it could mess things up for you later.

I knew she was right, but it was hard to hear. I understand, Najiba. It's just tough when I love him so much. And it's not just me. Sohil has been acting awkward around me, too.

Najiba looked worried. What do you mean, Sahar?

I stared at my hands. Well, he's been asking me how I'm doing more often. And the other day, when we walked by the river, he held my hand for a second. It was quick, but it felt like a lot longer.

He held your hand? Sahar, that's a big deal. Are you sure he didn't just do it by accident? You gotta be careful about this stuff here in Panjshir.

Nobody was around. It was just for a second, and then he let go as if nothing had happened. I don't know what to think..

Najiba thought for a moment before speaking. Well, if he did hold your hand for real, it could mean he likes you too. But Sahar, you need to be careful. Don't risk your family's reputation over this.

I just don't know what to do. These feelings are taking over me.

Najiba gave me a small smile, trying to make me feel better. I get it, Sahar. But remember that you live in Panjshir.

I sighed. I am lost, Najiba. Don’t know what to do.

*****

Sohil's family invited us to Iftar the day after my heart-to-heart with Najiba. We all sat around the Desterkhan, a cloth on the floor for meals. Sohil, Latif, and I played cards while waiting to break our fast. I couldn't help but sneak glances at Sohil, wondering if he was feeling the same kind of stuff as me.

He seemed caught up in his admiration for Ahmad Shah Massoud and talked non-stop about him. Latif just listened, not saying much about the whole political thing.

I think Ahmad Shah Massoud is the only one who can make a difference, Sohil said, his eyes lighting up.

Latif raised an eyebrow. Why do you think so?

Sohil explained, He's a real patriot, standing up to Daoud Khan and his puppet government. They're communists who don't respect our religion or traditions. They want to change everything we hold dear.

My dad and Hussein entered the living room, laughing about something. Our country's going through a tough time, my dad said, settling down on a Toshak, a floor Mattress.

Hussein agreed. They're trying to erase our traditions and religion. It's horrible.

Just then, my Mom and Nasreen called us to the Desterkhan. It was time for Iftar to break our fast for Ramadan. We all gathered, prayed, and broke our fast with dates. Then we dug into the delicious food. As I looked at Sohil, I felt intrigued and a little scared by the strength of his beliefs.

As Afghanistan faced political instability and rising unrest, many viewed Daoud Khan's government as corrupt and too aligned with Russia. This environment led to protests and demonstrations in cities and universities. Infiltration of the military by Afghan Communist Party factions, Parcham and Khaliq, escalated the situation.

Amid this, Ahmad Shah Massoud stood out as a charismatic leader opposing Daoud Khan's regime. After his failed coup attempt against Daoud Khan and an assault on the Rukha garrison, he fled to Pakistan. However, Massoud returned to Panjshir and began assembling his guerrilla army to fight the government. He foresaw the Communist party factions seizing control of the country and aimed to prevent this.

As I sat among these discussions, I felt the complexities of my life swelling. My secret love for Sohil tangled up with the religious challenges and political turbulence around us. I wondered how I would navigate this volatile landscape, keeping my love a secret in these uncertain times.

Days flowed into weeks, and weeks into months. The political landscape shifted, and my life in Panjshir changed.

One day, during the crisp fall season, Sohil asked me to meet him at a secluded spot by the oak tree high on the mountain.

On the day of our meeting, I left for school earlier than usual and told Mom that I intended to study with Najiba before the test. I walked toward the mountain to see Sohil. Every step I took up the mountain path toward the old oak tree felt like flipping a page in an unscripted novel, each footfall writing the tale of my secret love story. My heart echoed each step, and it beat a drum in my ears, a rhythm in my chest, resonating with the question that had been haunting me: was Sohil about to confess his love for me?

As I neared our meeting spot, I saw him leaning against the old oak tree silhouetted against the sun. His smile welcomed me, but I detected an unfamiliar tension beneath the casual ease. It was mirrored in me, a flutter in my heart, a catch in my breath.

Sahar, he began, his voice holding an undercurrent of emotion. His gaze locked onto mine, and the world around us seemed to blur. There's something I need to tell you...

His words echoed in the silence, my breath trapped in my chest, my heart pounding as though trying to break free. I nodded, silently urging him to continue.

Sahar, he said again, with a conviction that sent chills down my spine, I am in love with you, Sahar.

His words echoed through the mountain air as if the universe paused to absorb them. My world tilted on its axis, my heart skipped a beat, and a tidal wave of emotions crashed over me—surprise, fear, joy, and a rush of affection that I could no longer deny. I had secret feelings for Sohil, but to hear him confess his love was overwhelming and exhilarating at once. A warmth spread across my cheeks, and my gaze met him, filled with hope and vulnerability. At that moment, there was a quiet confirmation within me. I stood silently, my eyes telling him everything my words couldn't convey. Sohil, I finally whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of my unspoken feelings, I...I...

My faith and culture hindered me from expressing my feelings as openly as he did. Still, when our eyes connected, they mirrored the intensity of my sentiments. Our shared glance communicated volumes as we stood below the ancient oak tree. Our silent but clear hearts echoed our profound love for each other.

Perched on a rock with the panorama of the valley below, Sohil entwined his fingers with mine,