The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind. Christian Tyoder
source of protein for the family, himself and continued his journey alone. He arrived to that decision after giving himself the following thoughts: His father, the sole bread and butter provider for the family, would risk being kidnapped by the bandits. Zekirullah had a bad left hip diagnosed last year as slipped capital femoral epiphysis by his uncle Faisal; he was still wearing a body brace and could not walk long distances. Mother and Omira, if not carefully hidden in the boat, could be gang-raped by roaming bandits. And the remaining male siblings were too young to handle three lively goats.
The rocky footpath ran very much parallel to the river. After a short rest and having something to eat, everybody stood up, ready to continue their journey. Abd’s mother, fearful for his defenselessness and safety, approached him, pulled him to her khaki burka-wrapped waist, held him tight for a few minutes, and softly murmured to his ear with tears running down her cheeks, “Stay alert and pay attention to human noises while walking. Don’t resist when someone tries to take away the animals. Let him have them. I love you.” Each member of the family took turns to hug Abd before getting in the boat. Abd’s mother and father wiped their eyes welling up with tears.
Abd started walking with the three goats on leash. He waved at his family, and they quietly waved back. The mountain’s echo could attract bandits, a risk the Rasulovs didn’t want to take. Abd had to make several stops along the walking path to let the animals graze the grass very much burned by the past summer’s heat. Frequently the goats had to descend the steep sloped riverbank to get to the stream. Likewise, Abd filled up several times his gourd with crystal clear Helmand River water. Intense midday heat could cause exhaustion. Once in a while well bundled up large Afghan families with several children, silently walking in the same direction, hurriedly overtook this lonely nine-year-old boy with his three goats. Abd wondered whether they also were on their way to a hiding place. Off and on, he was able to watch his family’s boat floating downstream from his roadside vantage points, as the footpath ran alongside the river. The rough current combined with multicolored ragged and dangerous rocks jutting out of the water slowed down the boat with Zekirullah at the helm.
Once the sun was behind the highest peak, Tirich Mir, Abd was still only a little more than halfway to the hiding place. Before a few first stars appeared to the east side horizon, Abd settled down for the night between two large boulders off the beaten path. The temperature dropped to almost the freezing point. Crouching on his side, the boy was encircled by the three goats. He covered himself with a sheepskin and kept himself warm by the body heat of the animals. On the next morning, the young shepherd resumed his journey at the first sunrays of dawn. The family boat was at some distance downstream but still clearly visible. By noon, the whole family arrived at the hideout. Ali and Aamir took over and guarded the goats while Zekirullah, Abd, and their father inspected, then cleaned up the two nearby caves to be used as family dwellings. Abd’s mother, in the meantime, rekindled a leftover dead fire by adding a few dried twigs, and then used an aluminum pan to cook the first away-from-home meal.
During the two and half weeks spent at the site, the Rasulovs subsisted on fish caught from Helmand River and flour they brought with them. Occasionally Abd’s father walked to a few neighbor refugee campgrounds to get news of Bamyan City from latecomers. Finally, the words reached the dislodged people that fighting between various rebel groups had moved to Maymana province and calm had returned to the city now occupied by Afghan government troops friendly to the Russians. The Rasulov family was waiting for the confirmation of the good news from people who came to these camps to bring their loved ones home.
On that sunny morning in late March, the whole family left the hideout, heading home. Abd volunteered once again to accompany the animals on foot. The rest of the family returned home by boat. They had to move the vessel upstream, in countercurrent, with long wooden poles. Abd’s parents instructed him to be as often in sight as possible. They feared of bandits still possibly roaming around in the area. Quietness reigned on all fronts except for the flapping noise of water waves against the boat’s hull.
Suddenly, on the left riverbank and at some distance appeared, in front of Abd and approaching him, three fast-walking men carrying rifles and bandoliers. Abd’s father recognized immediately that these men were bandits. He and Zekirullah, with all their arm strength, quickly moved the boat to shore. He jumped off the boat, ran toward Abd and the accompanied animals, hoping to deal in person with the bandits. Trying to prevent his son from further beating, he squeezed himself between the attackers and Abd still lying on the ground bleeding. Unfortunately, the bandits had already inflicted a great deal of damage to Abd before his father could get to the scene, and the robbers had already seized all three on-leash goats. The boy had a deep gash on his left temple and an oozing cut on his vertex. He was groaning in pain. Abd’s father saw traces of fresh blood on one of the attacker’s rifle butt, and his face cringed. At the very moment appeared another much taller man dressed in some sort of green-tan uniform, wearing also cartridge-loaded bandoliers, but with a headgear similar to sea captain hat instead of white Islamic turban.
This newly arrived man stepped forward, facing Abd’s father, who was fearfully trembling and having a staccato voice in his mother tongue Dari. “We are poor and displaced refugees.” The man kept looking at Abd’s father, failed to reply, and showed no change in his facial expression. Realizing that his interlocutor did not understand what he had said, Abd’s father then tried to speak in Pashto, the other main Afghan language.
The tall man smiled and then replied in Pashto, “Sorry for your boy’s injuries. These rascals shouldn’t have done that to a little child. Can you speak more than these two languages?”
“I can speak five more Afghan dialects.”
The tall man appeared to have the three robbers as subordinates, for he abruptly yanked the three animals’ leashes off the hand of one of them and then handed them over to Abd’s father. At the same time, he reached into his pocket for a card with a mailing address. “If you are looking for a well-paying job, we can use your service. You are free to go, and you can have the animals back.”
At that time, Afghan warlords were recruiting educated individuals they could trust to be used as middlemen for liaisons between friendly tribal groups. Turning around, the tall man sternly looked at the robbers and loudly talked to them while pointing his finger to the direction where they came from. All four men walked away in a hurry while Abd’s father pulled him up from the ground, cleaned his wounds with water from his gourd, and then put pressure on the injured areas to stop the bleeding. Still very frightened by the attack, Abd clung to his father, sobbing and groaning from burning pain. Both stayed in the same place for a while until there was no more bleeding. Abd’s father offered to release him from the goats-escorting task, but Abd declined, insisting that his visible injuries would spare him from further attacks by bandits from here on. Father and son continued their way home separately.
A few hours later, Abd’s father moored the boat once again to its marina and the whole family was back on foot before dusk. From the hilltop, they rejoiced on seeing their home still standing and illuminated by the last sunrays of the day. The double-dosed aspirin Abd’s father gave him right after the incident had minimized the burning pain, and his uncle Faisal, who happened to make his weekly house call in town on that day, stitched the wounds on that same evening.
During the next five months, routine activities returned to members of the Rasulov family. Bamyan schools were reopened. The head of the household resumed his daily out-of-town school inspection trips by bike, and the children went back to half-day school sessions. Omira tended the three goats with the help of her brothers after school. Abd’s mother made her routine twice-a-week pilgrimage to the local Buddhist shrines and her daily firewood gathering and additional house chores. Life went on without being affected by still ongoing wars between warlords’ soldiers in the neighbor provinces.
It was mid-August. The scorching heat was already felt by nine in the morning. After the boys left for school and after washing and clothing Nabeela, Omira went to the back of their house to get the goats. She then escorted them to the public land for grazing. The soil was sandy and dry, barely supporting the growth of scarce sagebrush. Hay was nonexistent, yet the Rasulovs had to keep the goats alive and well enough to provide milk, which was the only source of animal protein necessary to nourish the entire family. The three