AFGHANISTAN IN THE Seventy’s was an arena for a tug of war between American and Russian influences. Mohd Daoud held the reins of power as the President of Afghanistan of this tiny hill locked country surrounded by Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Pakistan, Iran and China. Mohd Daoud had recently deposed his cousin king Mohd. Zahir Shah, with whom he was bound in five family relations, in almost a bloodless coup and proclaimed his dictatorial rule as a democracy. Currency notes bearing his portrait had just come into circulation and I saw Allahnawaj, a peon in Kabul University examining with curiosity a crisp ten-Afs note, on which was written in Persian ‘note jamhoori’ meaning the currency of democracy. Relations between Afghanistan and India were very cordial, but superficially so were with most other countries as each country vied with each other to win favour with the government in power one way or the other.

 

As a proof of this, one could see schools of Japan, Germany, Russia, America and India scattered all over Kabul. Education was free unto the university level. I was on an English teaching assignment at Kabul University, known as ‘Pohntoone Kabul’ in Persian, under the ITEC (Indian Technical and Educational Cooperation) programme. The first day, even before I could start teaching, the students asked me to give them free books as they were eligible to them under the University regulations, but I politely expressed my inability to do so. They had to contact the University authorities in this regard.

 

Mohd Daoud ruled over Afghanistan from 1973 to 1978 when Taraki replaced him in a bloody coup. Daoud was killed, but Taraki too was killed in 1979, just after about 3 months. Babrak Kamal succeeded him in December 1979. In accordance with an accord between Pakistan, the USSR and the USA, Kamal Babrak resigned. Mohd Najeebullah was made President and he ran the government till 1992. The Taliban made their advents, who in turn were defeated by the American forces. The national hero Ahmad Shah Masoud was killed. Hamid Karzai took over the reins of power and later won in the peaceful elections.

 

How the Taliban treated people in Afghanistan is known to all of us. Growing a beard was compulsory for men Women had to cover themselves in burqa from head to foot. If even ankles were exposed, the Taliban police would hit the women with sticks at the exposed place. But in seventies, during Mohd Daoud’s regime, people enjoyed a lot of freedom. They had the liberty to dress themselves up as they wished. Most young men wore shirts and bell-bottom trousers and women wore tight fitting blouses and bell-bottom trousers or short skirts. Rarely would one see a burqa clad woman. I frequently heard young girls whistling Hindi film song tunes outside my classroom. Once in the bazaar, I was going along with my wife and some woman shouted Meena Kumari, Dharmendra. In taxis, Hema Malini and Dharmendra’s photos were flanked with that of their President Mohd Daoud.

 

Afghans are a mixed race. A good percentage is the descendants of the soldiers of Alexander who stayed back when Alexander passed through Afghanistan. Then, there are the descendants of Mongol soldiers, similarly settled after Gengish (Chengiz) Khan and Tamerlane (Taimur Lung) passed through Afghanistan as conquerors in 13^th and 14^th Centuries. But the natives and these have integrated very intimately over the passage of time. Those of Greek lineage are fair complexioned and handsome like their ancestors and the others have Mongol features with flat noses and squinting eyes. I was told that when Genghis Khan was in Afghanistan, the Afghans killed one of his sons. Angered over this act, Genghis Kahn ordered general slaughter of all human beings and animals in an area of 20 km in the Bamiyan valley. We saw a few ruined mud houses on top of a hillock known as Share-Golgola, i.e. the city of hue and cry as the people were butchered by the forces of Genghis khan and the dead bodies thrown down the hill.

 

Along the highway, either it was barren hilly region for miles together or almond trees lined across the road for miles. The crew of our hired bus would bring unripe almonds and all of us relished the kernels’ milky taste. There were hamlets comprising a few mud houses on hills and children would hold out baskets of fruit for sale to the passengers as the vehicles passed by. These villages didn’t have electricity, or telephones. They were not bothered which government was in power and the government too didn’t have to bother about them.

 

Along the way, the hefty Afghan, our driver, would stop for saying his prayers.

Afghans are very religious people, very friendly and hospitable. Only rarely did we notice slight hint of the religious affinity when some shopkeeper asked, “Az kuza astain?” (Where are you from?). When told from India, they would say “Dost ast,” (It is a friend). But if someone said from Pakistan, they would say, “Bashyar khoob ast, brother ast” (very good, he is a brother).

 

It was in August when we visited Bamiyan valley but it was cold. I had to borrow a sweater from the head of the Indian Archaeological team. They were in the valley for preservation work on the Buddha statues. The bigger one was 53 meters and the smaller one was 38 meters in height. These statues were bombed and destroyed later by the Taliban ignoring the protests by the world communities. On the way to the head of the bigger statue, one had to pass through small cells carved out in solid rock without any ventilation or outlet to the outside world. We saw signs of soot from the lamps of the ‘Bodha Bhikshus’ who meditated there centuries ago. We climbed the head of the bigger statue, which could accommodate about a dozen people and looked down at the valley below as the perch afforded a stunning view from there.

 

A few months later, we visited Ghazni. On the way we saw the well-preserved tomb of Mohd Ghazni, and farther down we came across the old crumbling fort of Ghazni with more than a metre thick crumbling mud walls still seen around. The army had a post there. Unknowingly we went in, as it was the only passage to the new modern city of Ghazni. Suddenly we were challenged by revolver carrying soldiers. When we explained our predicament and produced our passports they condescended to listen to us. A few cans of beer passed hands as a gesture of goodwill and we were allowed to proceed on our way. But our troubles were not yet over.

 

It was Friday and our party comprising men, women and children was surrounded by local Afghans, in long kameez, salwar and turban and with flowing long beards. They glared at us with unblinking eyes and gradually narrowed the circle around us. The threatening posture unnerved us. One man from our party managed to slip through the cordon and reach the army post to bring back with him an armed soldier who threatened the Afghans with his revolver shouting in native Persian. We were released as if from captors.

 

Once we went on a picnic to a beautiful picnic spot known as Pagman. Our late Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had also visited the spot when she visited Kabul. The spot is situated on a slope and is covered with fruit trees. A crystalline stream gurgled down into the fields below. People carry their meat alive, sheep, calves and chicken and butcher them on the spot and cook the meat on large kerosene stoves. We were hailed and invited to share the food in a display of warm Afghan hospitality.

 

The bazaars had enough to boast of. Shops were full of local woolen carpets and camel leather goods. In the old city, the dry fruit market bursts with fruit, almonds, resins, akhrot, and local fruit. Afghanistan imports cashew from India and dates from Arabia. Refrigerators, cycles and tea too are imported from India. In the vegetable market fruit and vegetable were sold in abundance. Partridges with their necks twisted were hanging in strings like bananas. Small sparrow like birds were kept in cages and were sold by a piece at a certain price. Sellers carried chickens, a few tied together by their legs and hanging from the seller’s shoulders. A small girl ran after me calling “saat chand ast?” but I couldn’t understand her. When she pointed towards my watch, did I realize that she was asking the time. I explained the time by showing my fingers indicating what time (o’clock) it was.

 

Once when I was returning home with a camera, I was accosted by about half a dozen girls in modern dresses. The tallest of them with bobbed hair and wearing bell-bottom trousers said, “Agajaan mara aks bigin” (Babuji, please take our photograph).” By that time I had picked up enough Persian. I asked her,”Babaksheed, chi gufte shuma?” meaning thereby “I beg your pardon, what do you say?” “Wallah, farshi mefahima,” (Oh God he understands Persian). Her attempt at pulling my leg was negated. An older woman with them asked for my forgiveness saying, “Babaksheed agajaan, bashyar shareer ast,” (Forgive us sir, she is very naughty.) and I responded, “Parwa naiast.” (It is all right).

 

We enjoyed our stay immensely and returned to India with the hope that someday we could visit this sweet country again.

 

* Prof MS Verma was a lecturer in Kabul University and is currently professor at an engineering college in Sonepat, Haryana