Andrea Busfield - Born Under a Million Shadows

In no part of the story did I hear that Majnun was a little tired and might or might not have been happy to see Laila.

“Were you pleased to see him, then?” I asked.

“Fawad, I’m always pleased to see Khalid, but life is complicated, you know.”

“No, I don’t know actually. I’m only a boy; I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Georgie smiled.

“Sorry, Fawad, sometimes I forget your age because you’re so wonderfully grown-up! But you’re right, there are complications in life you won’t know about just yet. So, yes, I was happy to see him, of course I was, but then we argued a little and there were a lot of hot words said, and that doesn’t really make me very happy at all.”

“What did you argue about?”

“I don’t know really… the usual. We never used to fight like this, not back when we first met. In those days everything used to be quite lovely. But things change, don’t they?”

“Yes, I guess they do,” I replied. Then, bowing my head to look at her from the side of my eyes, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, sometimes it helps to talk. It chases the bad spirits out from your head.”

“Well, that serves me right, doesn’t it.” Georgie laughed, recognizing her own words from the day before. “Okay. I’ll try.

“When I first met Haji Khalid Khan I was working on your country’s first ever elections. It was an exciting time, a moment of real hope and opportunity, and walking into all this crazy expectation came the most beautiful man I had ever set eyes upon. Up to that point I’d never believed in love at first sight, and it’s not something you can easily explain, but it’s a state of the mind and heart that makes your body feel alive and makes each morning that comes worth waking up for.

“So there we were, me and a group of other internationals and a team of Afghans who had arrived in Shinwar to prepare for the elections. In those days Shinwar was said to be a pretty dangerous place, filled with hiding Taliban and bloodthirsty bandits, so Khalid offered our party a place to stay and also his protection.

“Coming from London, it was all terribly exciting—we don’t have men with Kalashnikovs driving us around there. And your country was just amazing to me right from the start: the incredible scenery; the beautiful call to prayer that would drift into my dreams at five in the morning; the people we met who had lived such hard, broken lives yet retained the most wonderful spirit. You know, one day I went to visit a refugee camp to speak about the coming elections, and the people I found there were so horrendously poor that they were saving animal dung to burn for the winter, yet when we turned up they immediately offered us tea and what little bread they had because we were guests. To me that was really very humbling, and I began to feel something really special for this country.

“Of course, not every Afghan I met was that poor, and even in those days Khalid was a rich man. But it wasn’t his money that brought me to him, no matter what your friend Pir Hederi likes to think; it was his attitude, his warm humor, and his tenderness. He was really kind, Fawad, and in those days he taught me so much about this country and about your ways without me even realizing it. I’d never met a man like him before, and looking back on it, I think I fell in love with him almost immediately.

“Although my colleagues and I stayed in his house, which wasn’t as big as the one in Jalalabad, we rarely saw him throughout the day, as we were all busy with our jobs and he was always locked in talks with various elders, politicians, and military men. However, sometimes when we used to return to the house he would be sitting in the garden amid a circle of men dressed in turbans and lavish robes, and when we passed by to go to our rooms I would glance in his direction and our eyes would meet and I would see a small smile play on his lips.

“Once the sun had gone down and the guests had gone home, Khalid would come to our rooms to sit and talk with us for a while, joking with the men and charming the ladies, and I think every one of us fell in love with him—even the boys! But even though the room was full of people, it felt like we were alone. Of course, I didn’t know for sure at that time that he was really interested in me; it was just a feeling I had. But for my part, I spent the days desperate to be back in his company, and most nights his face filled my dreams.

“Then one day, while I was visiting a village some thirty kilometers away from his home, a convoy of cars pulled up and Haji Khan stepped into the sun. All the villagers we were talking to immediately ran to greet him, treating him like a king and leading him to the elder’s home for sweet tea. I kept a discreet distance, but as he passed by me he stopped to shake my hand and said under his breath, ‘See what you are making me do just to get one look at you?’ I nearly fainted with the heat of his words, Fawad, and I knew then that there was something between us and it wasn’t only in my head.

“That day, after drinking himself full of tea, Khalid said thank you to everyone as his driver handed out money, and then he offered me a lift home in his car. I remember looking at my driver, not sure if that was really allowed, as we hadn’t even finished half of our work in the village, but then Khalid spoke to him. I didn’t know Pashto or even Dari in those days. My driver just shrugged and nodded his head, so I left with Khalid. He immediately jumped into the front seat in order to drive, and the door was opened for me by a guard so that I could take my place in the back. Then, as we pulled out of the village I noticed Khalid adjust his mirror so he could see me. Every time I found the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes were so dark and intense that I felt like my skin was on fire. I wanted that journey to last forever. But of course that would have been impossible.

“Anyway, when we got back to the house I was relieved to find that my colleagues hadn’t come home yet, and Khalid and I took the opportunity to drink tea in the garden together—we obviously couldn’t sit in the house alone, so we had to sit outside where everyone could see. Still, the guards kept their distance, and we were able to talk for once without everybody else wanting to join in.

“As we sat there talking and picking at our biscuits, Khalid revealed a little of his life to me: about how he had fought the Russians alongside his father as soon as he was man enough to do so; about how his family had moved to Pakistan in fury and disbelief as freedom turned into civil war; about how he had returned to fight again when the Taliban took control; and about how he had been captured trying to creep back into Pakistan one night. You know, Fawad, he spent six long months locked inside a Taliban prison in Kandahar, where he was whipped almost daily with electric cables on the soles of his feet. Even now he suffers from those beatings. His legs cramp with a pain so bad he can barely walk.

“Khalid eventually escaped thanks to a sympathetic guard and a healthy bribe, and he fled to Iran with another man, who lost his life when their vehicle hit a land mine. Amazingly, Khalid escaped with only cuts and bruises. After that he traveled to Uzbekistan and met up with some leading members of the Northern Alliance. He agreed to join their war, bringing what he could to the effort via his contacts in Pakistan. Unfortunately, this is probably the reason that his wife and daughter were murdered.

“After their deaths, Khalid said he was almost numb with grief, but he had one more daughter and a son to think about. You see, Khalid loved his wife very much. They were cousins, but because they had grown up together and the adults saw it was a love match they were allowed to marry—something pretty rare in Afghanistan. And then there was his daughter, his first child. Khalid was so proud of her because she was such a clever little girl.