That camp was the dwelling place of fierce and cruel people. He came from the same camp; he was very handsome, otherwise boys generally don’t happen to be so handsome.

He had come with the large group of refugees who had left Kabul and entered Pakistan to save their lives. It was a hellish journey in that severe winter when food and survival were the two most important things in their lives, though the boy, in the lap of her mother, sitting in an overcrowded truck, was ignorant of the cruelties that were being committed in the name of religion. 

The place was, in fact, the gathering of the cruel people who were made so by poverty and starvation. For their survival killing others was nothing new to them, rather they rejoiced in looting and killing, ever ready to indulge in this particular act. When they had reached this camp, they were not like this but the adverse and inhuman circumstances had made them so.

It was hard to believe that they were actually from very good background, from a civilized society, from the people who had their little desires and they believed that they would never kill their parents, brothers, and sisters. But in the camp everything had changed. They were acting like wild beasts. Their women and children were beaten to death but they were hardly affected. Some of them committed suicide but most of them were too timid to do so.

The year was 1988 and Russian forces had invaded Afghanistan.

More than one hundred and fifty thousand Afghans had taken shelter in that camp run by the Pakistani administration. The soldiers kept strict watch on the new arrivals. Their names, and in some cases only numbers, were recorded in registers. They were being treated like animals there. It also transpired that many of the young girls were missing, either carried away by the militants or by the Pakistani soldiers who in the name of justice never refrained from committing atrocities. They were the ones who brought shame to the justice and system and no one punished them because they were the guards stationed there to maintain law and order.

When the trucks brought the edible things, they thronged towards and often fights broke out. It happened to be very difficult to control them. The powerful Afghans had taken over the camp and they were running their parallel administration there. The Pakistani soldiers did not interfere in their way of administration because they ruled by the Islamic law of Shariyat. Whipping, stoning, and shooting the accused could be seen almost every day.

That place was quite far from the nearest town; it was near the dumping ground where the garbage from the town was dumped every day. The empty boxes, plastic and paper bags, and all sorts of rubbish things were cluttered around that camp. They were forced to live in that inhuman condition.

The boy was wandering in that maze of humans, trying to find his mother who he believed had gone to bring food for him. He was nibbling at a dry slice of bread, his nose running, and streaks of dry tears under his eyes, but all this made him look more pious and lovable.

“What is your name?” an authoritative looking bearded Pakistani soldier pulled the boy towards him.

“Hamid…” the boy was obviously terrified.

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know…”

“Where are you going now?”

“I don’t know…I am hungry,” said the boy, looking at the bread and butter kept on the table near the soldier.

“Do you want to eat bread?”

“Yes.”

It transpired that the boy’s father was a rich merchant in Kabul and, unfortunately, had been murdered by the Afghan fighters who wanted to dethrone the king of Afghanistan. Somehow his mother had succeeded in escaping from there and reached the camp with her son. Since she was from a rich family, her appearance and personality could not be kept hidden from the prying eyes of the enemies who were none other than her own people from Afghanistan. On her second day in the camp, a few gunmen came there and they enquired about her husband and family. She did not hide anything and told them all that had happened to them. Instead of sympathizing with her, two bearded Afghans, armed with AK-47 rifles, whispered something to each other and, finally, they took her away. Obviously, the helpless mother’s beauty had become her curse. Like her many other beautiful Afghan girls were kidnapped by those so called Islamic fighters. According to their law, they were free to choose a woman of their choice because in their system of law women could not protest, and even if they protested, no one took their side.  The boy was left alone.

The soldier developed a soft corner for the boy. He talked to his seniors and they decided to keep the boy in their own camp. The boy was too small to understand what had happened to his parents; he was hardly eight at that time.

Javed Khan, the soldier, had been married for ten years but he had not been blessed with a child.

Hamid would stay with the Pakistani soldiers day and night. They would ask him many questions and some of them made fun of him.

“Do you want to become a Taliban, Hamid?” said a soldier one day.

“Yes, I want to be a Taliban but I want to read books. I don’t want to carry guns.”

There were tears in Javed Khan’s eyes when he heard the boy’s answer. ‘Talib’ means ‘student’ and Javed Khan knew that though they were training Taliban, it was wrong. They should be reading books and studying to be good human beings but in Pakistan they were taking the training of warfare and accumulating hatred against the non-Muslim world.

Javed Khan said to the boy, “Will you come to my house with me?”

Hamid was shy but he said, “Who is there in your house?”

“There is my wife and my mother. They will love you and give you many things to eat,” said Javed Khan, patting the boy’s cheeks lightly.

“Will you beat me like them?” said the boy, pointing to the crowd of the Afghans who were fighting with each other over the distribution of the ration brought by the trucks.

“No, I will not beat you. I will send you to school and you will become an officer one day,” said Javed Khan and smiled.

Next morning, when the boy Hamid opened his eyes, he heard noise outside. He ran out. Javed Khan stopped him.

It transpired that a woman was being stoned to death because the Taliban believed that she had extramarital relations with someone. She was made to stand in a circle made by the men present there. One of them, a kind of priest, came forward and announced his verdict.

The ill-fated woman was stoned to death and no one raised voice against that inhuman act. Even the Pakistani soldiers remained mere spectators. They did not want to interfere in Afghan matters. According to the Taliban, it was their way of justice as handed over to them by their divine law.

Javed Khan had kept his hand over Hamid’s eyes so that he could not see that grotesque scene of bestiality.

He decided then and there to take Hamid away from there. Next morning, with the help of his seniors, he made arrangements to take the boy along.

Javed’s wife was very happy to see her husband because he was not supposed to come back home before coming Sunday. It was Wednesday. Her delight was added to when she saw the cute looking, chubby boy with him.

“How cute the boy is!” said she and hugged and kissed he boy.

“He is Hamid, our son. He is from Afghanistan. He will stay with us if it is all right with you,” said the soldier.

“God has listened to my prayers and sent me this angel of love and delight,” she was not ready to let the boy go from her embrace.

With the progression of time, many things happened: Russians were compelled by the Taliban to leave Afghanistan, Americans supported the Taliban in every possible way, the Taliban began to rule over Afghanistan, their barbaric and cruel face was exposed when they began to treat common Afghans like animals, Americans got furious, Osama Bin Laden planned 9/11, America invaded Iraq and removed and killed Saddam, allied forces entered Afghanistan, Pakistan began to help America in her fight against the Taliban and Al Qaida, militants attacked Indian cities, and so on.

Twenty years passed so swiftly that Javed Khan did not realize. He was looking at the letter in front of him.

Respected Abba,

                          Salaam,
                                        I am fine here and pray to Almighty for your and Amma’s health. It is very cold in London but I hope that I will adjust. I am happy in my new college. It was very difficult in the beginning but now it is all right. They used to look at me with suspicion. I was showered with millions of questions about Afghanistan and Pakistan. They would laugh at me and I was sure that it would be difficult for me to study in this London college.

I decided to take everything very lightly. When they asked me who I was, I answered them I was a Taliban. God…you should have seen their faces, they were shocked and surprised. Then I told them what ‘Talib’ means and when they came to know that ‘Talib’ means ‘Student’, they began to laugh and then we became good friends. I want to be a real Talib and with the help of my learning here, one day, I would help the people there and make them understand the real meaning of the Holy Scriptures and divine teachings. I have realized that this world still exists because there are good people like you who pick a boy from a hell camp and give him name and family and all the love that the little one needs. Abba, I love you and I love you Amma.

Now, I must sleep because I have to take my first semester test tomorrow.

I will phone you next week.

Your loving Taliban

Hamid