Afghanistan: Tale of a birth and war | Bridges TV

“Oh my God, what should I do? His fever is so high, he’s burning like hell,” my wife said with tears trickling from her eyes and sweat exuding from forehead. All the colours on her face just disappeared as soon as she kept her hand on my son’s neck as if she got an electric shock. Worry, it seemed, was trying to rewrite the features of her beautiful face…

“I’ll go out and fetch a doctor,” I shouted and started to put my tunic on. My wife suddenly grabbed me by my hands and looked into my eyes with a strange expression on her face. Her face was distraught but her eyes had a request in them. They said: “Please don’t leave us alone. We’re already in trouble if and something happens to you, we won’t be able to take it.”

I closed my eyes and embraced her. I couldn’t resist her tension anymore…

“I brought some ice from our neighbour’s house this evening and kept it in the ice box. I think we can soak some strips of cloth in the ice water put it on Karrar’s forehead. Let’s try this first. It will help, trust me,” she said in a soft, assuring voice. I wasn’t convinced but her tone helped me understand her plea.

My grandmother, an 85-year-old woman, who was asleep nearby, woke up and asked how my son was doing. “He’s having a high fever mom and I don’t know what to do. I want to go and bring the doctor but Saajda won’t let me go out,” I said in one voice. “Cool down son, cool down. You know the situation outside is not good. God forbid, if you get caught in some trouble then it will be bad for all of us,” she said in a slow voice while trying to get up from the charpoy.

She went to the kitchen to look out for some ice and found my wife bringing it to me. “This will do my son. Do it in the name of God and it will work,” she whispered. I accepted their suggestion heavy-heartedly…

It is the ninth anniversary of the war in Afghanistan and I’m sure no one is celebrating it. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m the one who is celebrating it. Ironic it may be, my son was born today exactly nine years ago. Yes, on the same day when U.S.-led coalition forces invaded Afghanistan to topple the Taliban government and capture Osama bin Laden.

That night the earth shook with bombs as heavy as cars. And they’ve got a wonderful name for them – the ‘daisy cutters’. The birth of my son was a miracle as my wife delivered the baby at home in presence of my grandmother. With all the violence and turbulence around, I named my son ‘Karrar’ – Arabic for violent, impetuous attacks.

The city where I live, Kandahar, is locked down completely for the last few days due to an ongoing military operation conducted by the foreign forces against the Taliban. I could have gone out and arranged a doctor but the place is infested with roadside bombs and snipers. After dark, it is not wise at all to risk your life and drive on the dusty roads of Kandahar.

“Karrar darling, look what dad has got for you. You like ice cubes don’t you?” I said in a merry tone to my son who was boiling like an egg. Despite all the hardships, he put up a brave smile on his face which puzzled me. “What a brave kid this is! Bravo big boy bravo!” I uttered while lifting him from the bed and putting him properly on the pillow. “This is daddy’s boy and he likes to chill out now!” I exclaimed while putting a fake smile on my face. I sucked an ice cube with a funny face and then popped it back in the tray. He was laughing…

“Dad, why does ice melt?” he asked. It was his favourite habit. He asked me loads of questions every day, some of them, which I had no clue of. He was a curious and intelligent boy so I had to be careful with my answers. I noted them down in a diary and used to ask my friend, a school headmaster, for answers. In fact, my friend was my lifeline as he provided me answers to some very tough questions that a growing kid asks eagerly.

“Well son, you’ll get the answer. Let’s put this strip on your forehead and check out what happens to the ice cold thing,” I invited his curiosity and tried to turn it into an interesting science experiment. Not that I knew anything about science as I never got the chance to go to high school but I had a rough idea.

“Dad, you know the ice melts because of the heat around us,” my 9-year-old son surprised me. “You’re right my son. The heat in your body is melting the ice,” I said while gently spreading the small cotton sheets soaked in ice water on his forehead. It is an old remedy to make the body temperature drop. I felt sorry for not having medicines at home but I had no idea of him contracting a high fever out of the blue…

“It feels better now dad. My body is not hot anymore. I think the fever has evaporated,” he opined like a young scientist. I smiled and cleaned his wet forehead and brushed his soaked hair. He looked at me and had this wide grin on his face. I knew he was about to ask another question…

“Dad, I know it is my birthday but why was I born when the war started?” he lobbed another tough question. “My son you were supposed to be born that day but the war shouldn’t have started that night. In fact not at all,” I replied knowing he’s going to start his question offensive.

“But dad, why didn’t you do anything to stop it? It is really bad. All these bombs and killings, I don’t like it dad,” he said while hiding his face trying to forget some bad memories. I had to reply so I said: “Well son, they can be stopped but soon it is too late. There is always a reason behind every war and birth,” I tried to answer philosophically to water down his curiosity but to no avail…

“So tell me why was I born dad, and why did the war happen?” he asked innocently and there was a sudden but awkward laughter in the house. My grandmother and wife were laughing while I sat scratching my head with a sheepish smile on my face.

“Well my darling, as to why were you born, I have to enquire with your mom so we’ll leave it for tomorrow. As to why did the war started; I’ll tell you a story. Is that OK?” I said while taking my face closer to his head and kissing him on both his cheeks. Taking his curiosity into stock, my cute boy will become a journalist one day, I vowed, while retreating back to my chair.

“Son! There used to be a lion who lived in a jungle beside a lake. He lived with other animals who feared him a lot because he had a long mane and sharp teeth. He took care of the animals but ruled with an iron fist and did not let them live a life according to their nature and wishes.

“There were some strange rules that the lion decreed. He ordered all the female animals, including other lionesses, not to hunt, as it was the duty of the lion to prey and provide food to the family. The lionesses were asked to sit home while the males were asked to do the hunting. This order baffled all the animals, especially the lions, as it is the lioness that mostly does the hunting and feeds her cubs,” I explained to my son who was listening to the story with amazed eyes.

“What was his name? And why did he issue such a strange order, dad?” quizzed my little boy. “His name was Mullar. Mullar – King of the Lions. He wanted to restore the pride of the males who took little part in hunting and left it to the females. He thought females should stay away from the hunting business as it suited the males to make the risky maneuvers and prey on animals. He blamed female lions were making the males lazy and ignorant about raising a pride.”

“And he extended his orders to all the other animal couples in the jungle. From tigers, cheetahs and wolves to nilgais, zebras and hippos, everyone found this order bizarre and outright unnatural but they couldn’t challenge Mullar as he was all too powerful and well supported by his clan.

“He used to leave remains of his prey for other animals thinking they would like to have some easy food but it didn’t work. The animals, especially the females, missed their hunting days and the kids lost their learning skills as the males cared less about their cubs and did not take them to hunting grounds.

My son interrupted with a quick question: “So this way the children didn’t know how to hunt?”

“Yes Zarrar, my sweet boy, they couldn’t learn the skills required for hunting. They were no better than the animals in the zoo,” I replied and continued my story.