ã€ŠWhen the crescent meets the starã€‹


 A Sons Birth , December 02, 1998

    A son¡¯s birth occurred in a mud home nestled in the rough hills of rural Afghanistan during the severe winter of 1998. The distant echoes of gunfire were momentarily drowned in the cry that filled the room as the infant finally arrived. The 31-year-old father, who was pacing frantically outside in the snow, stopped in his tracks on hearing the news of his firstborn. He looked up at the sky, changing into a palette of subdued but beautiful hues; softer tones of pink and orange progressively replaced the solid purple and blue tones over the horizon as the first light peeked through.

    ¡°Alhamdulillah. Ya Allah shukr.¡± _____ All praise to Allah. I thank you, my Lord. ______The father spoke impulsively, overwhelmed by relief, a rare sentiment in an Afghan¡¯s life during those difficult times.

    And then, in those little moments of joy, tragedy struck with all the ferocity of its bite.

    The 26-year-old mother, an exceptionally energetic and resilient Pashtun of the Paktika province of Afghanistan, situated along the Pakistan border, looked ominously unwell to the old midwife. With years of expertise delivering infants, she was alarmed by the eerie pallor and cold skin of the young mother and, upon removing the quilt, discovered, to her horror, that she was bleeding continuously.

    ¡°Come here, Khan!¡± she sounded anything but happy. His feet skidded, and he almost fell as the father ran towards the door where the older woman stood. Her pensive eyes said it all.

    She held his forearm to comfort him and looked into his eyes.

    ¡°She is not well¡±, she muttered sorrowfully.

    ¡°No,¡± Khan heard himself saying.

    ¡°She is bleeding. I cannot stop it. She needs to be in a hospital.¡±

    ¡°Hospital?¡± he mumbled, as it struck him that his beloved was leaving him¡­..

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    The country¡¯s infrastructure was shredded to pieces by two decades of war, and during this time, the most heinous forms of human rights abuse predominated. The Taliban had now taken control of the country.

    As the twentieth century came to an end, the superpowers had spent billions of dollars killing and maiming the men, women, and children of this country in their rivalry to uphold socialist norms and defend the American way of life.

    Yet, there was no hospital in the vicinity to save the life of a young mother.

    As the father entered the room, the female attendants burst into tears. The young mother looked like a wax doll that was melting in the light of dawn; her cheeks had lost their pink lustre, and drops of perspiration were dripping along the contours of her face, which was fixed in a gaze at a portrait of her deceased father on the wall opposite her bed.

    Her husband, kneeling beside her and clasping her hand, reassured her in a broken voice, ¡°You will be fine. I have to take you to the hospital so that you are well and ready for our son.¡±

    ¡°Why did you give me so much love, father?¡± the pallid figure spoke in her mind to her father¡¯s portrait, insensible of her surroundings. ¡°Life could have been so explicit if you had treated me and my mother like your snow boots, stomping us on the ground when you came back from work and then leaving us in the shed outside till it was time to set off again.¡±

    ¡°When I ran outside to the balcony with my head uncovered, hearing the terrible blast, you should have pulled me inside by the hair and given me a loud and annoying lecture on how to behave like a lady. Instead, you hugged me and my brother and comforted me with a covering story.¡±

    ¡°Hating you would have prepared me to hate every male on the planet; my choices would have been clearer, and the acceptance of the harsh realities of this painful life would have been unambiguous. I would have been liberated from the notion that, despite the majority of men in my land keeping their women within the confines of a small mud house, there will come a time when earnest gentlemen, speaking my language and followers of my faith, will walk their daughters to schools and universities on the town streets and the country roads.

    The young lady was never known to have been ill. She seemed energised and empathetic; she cared about other people and ensured they didn¡¯t have to bear her burden. Today was no exception; she departed silently in an hour or so, relieving everyone of the responsibility to tend to her in those formidable times.

 Deborah

    Earlier that year, many thousand miles away, in Boston, Massachusetts, David Cohen, a wealthy, devoted husband and doting father of two sons, was standing by the obstetrician''s side as they watched the ultrasound examination of Deborah, his four-month-pregnant wife.

    "Congratulations! It appears you guys have to get a Barbie doll this time," remarked Dr. John McGregor, MD, an obstetrician with a thriving practice and a family friend of the Cohens.

    "John... you mean, we are blessed with a daughter?" remarked David, clutching Deborah''s hand as both were engrossed in watching their unborn baby on the ultrasound screen.

    "Are you certain, John? Is she? Is she well?" Deborah heard herself utter. She ought to have felt jubilant exhilaration; instead, an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and nervousness left her bewildered.

    "She is fine, and what a bonnie lass she is," replied Dr. McGregor as he gently wiped the gel off Deborah''s belly with a paper towel after finishing the examination.

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    The baby''s due date was sometime in early December, and as Deborah stepped out of the hospital building in the open, she suddenly felt immense contentment and pride, as if she had fulfilled an age-long obligation.

    "Tom, please take this change and hail a cab home," David instructed the chauffeur. "I shall be the one to take Mrs. Cohen home." The Cohens got in their black Cadillac Seville and drove to their favourite hilltop location, which overlooked a little park. "Are you okay?" David asked as he kissed Deborah''s hand.

    "I am so happy," Deborah replied as tears filled her eyes. "Without being ungrateful, I have not felt such happiness in my previous pregnancies."

    As they reached home, Deborah bathed and went to the private synagogue inside their grand house, on Commonwealth Avenue. Deborah''s mother, Leah Goldstein, who lived in London but regularly visited her daughter, established the synagogue. An impressive assortment of artefacts and relics, handed down from one generation to another, graced the home, serving as a monument to those who persevered in their faith in the face of persecution and prejudice.

    Deborah, a modern Jewish woman who had received a liberal education, would reserve her visits to the synagogue for solemn occasions. Even though David was not particularly religious, he did observe that his pregnant wife began to pray for long periods of time in their private synagogue as the pregnancy progressed.

 Warda: The Family. December 1979

    ¡°Warda! Come inside!¡± shouted Banou as she saw her seven-year-old daughter squatting in front of the metal railing of the balcony. Their apartment was on the second floor of a government-owned building in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. Afghanistan, the Graveyard of Empires.

    The child was intently watching a column of Soviet armoured personnel carriers roll down the adjacent road.

    Banou adjusted the scarf around her head and rushed out to the balcony.

    ¡°Naughty girl! You''re going to catch a cold,¡± she said, grabbing the child and locking the door behind her as she entered the sitting room.

    ¡°Stay inside, my kitten,¡± she said softly and kissed her daughter on the cheek.

    It was ten in the morning¡ªa day in the last week of December 1979.

    The proxy war between the Soviet Union and the United States of America had begun.

    Warda¡¯s father, Saifullah Suleimanzai, was a Pashtun by ethnicity.

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    The Pashtuns made up the biggest ethnic community in Afghanistan and the second-largest in neighboring Pakistan. Islam, Pashtunwali, and a grasp of the Pashto language formed the foundation of Pashtun society.

    The Pashtuns live by a code of conduct known as Pashtunwali. Its principles include hospitality, granting asylum, bravery, self-respect and pride in oneself, faith in God, dispute resolution through arbitration called ¡®Jirga¡¯, justice and revenge, loyalty, defence of the honour of women and the weak, kindness, and defence of the land.

    Born in Afghanistan''s Paktika province in his family house, Saifullah Suleimanzai completed his higher study in Kabul. While studying at the university, he developed feelings for Banou, an intelligent and attractive woman pursuing a bachelors in biology.

    Banou belonged to a wealthy, Persian-speaking family of the Herat province. Unlike Saifullah, she was an ethnic Tajik. Being rich, brainy, and beautiful, she had a long queue of suitors, which included members of the aristocratic elite, doctors, engineers, and academics, many of whom had settled in the West and could each provide her with a luxurious lifestyle in a much more secure environment.

    Instead, Banou gave her heart to a poet, married him against the wishes of her family, and decided to settle in life as a homemaker in the most dangerous place on the globe.

    Saifullah adored his wife. They had two children: Warda and her brother Mustafa, who was five years older.

    With access to appropriate medical facilities, a cosy house, and decent schooling for his children, Saifullah led a reasonably comfortable life; he taught contemporary literature at Kabul University and wrote poetry.

 Afghanistan: The Soviet Invasion

    The urban and rural social fabric differed greatly. In Kabul, women continued their studies in schools and universities; many went to work and could move freely within the city, even under the Soviet rule.

    In rural Afghan society, the birth of a son signified the strengthening of the family, whereas a daughter grew up to assist her mother with household chores and serve as her confidante.

    Financial considerations were also crucial in the impoverished rural community; having many daughters meant putting aside a significant amount of hard-earned money for the dowry.

    However, in many individual families and clans, daughters enjoyed a fair amount of liberty within the confines of their home, primarily due to the love and respect they received from their menfolk. These girls enjoyed greater freedom of movement, albeit in the company of a close male relative, and managed to acquire higher education because of the support of the male members of the family.

    Ironically, after the Soviet withdrawal, Afghans supposedly took charge of their fate, and things got worse.

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    The failure of the central administration to govern the nation from Kabul asserted the urban-rural cultural divide. It was unable to enforce authority over the entire state due to power struggles in the center, ideological differences between the urban and rural areas, and a lack of natural resources that could sustain the economy of the country. This resulted in widespread social injustice, impoverishment, and discontentment, ultimately shaping Afghanistan''s destiny.

    Kabul was a hive of uncertainty and anxiety in the late 1970s. Since April 1978, the assassinations of three successive heads of the Afghan government had left the country in complete turmoil, with the people declaring "Jihad" or holy war on the Soviets and their designated government in Kabul.

    Following December 1979, KhAD¡ªthe dreaded state intelligence agency of the Afghan government¡ªand its Soviet operators closely monitored and strictly controlled the political and security framework of the country and gained complete authority over the judicial system. The agency routinely carried out group arrests, abductions, detentions, and torture, with no right of appeal for the suspects it rounded up.

    Kabul University had consistently served as a center for political activity, fostering a blend of diverse ideologies that had given rise to a variety of political entities. The regime imprisoned or allegedly executed a large number of students and faculty members, while many others either fled the country or joined the partisan groups collectively known as the "Mujahideen."

 Warda: Fundamentals of Education

    Carefree recreation with neighborhood kids dominated Warda¡¯s early years, as did evenings spent in her father¡¯s joyful company, who would melodiously voice his poetry, popular folklore, and national songs.

    Little Warda would exclaim, clapping her hands with excitement, ¡°Yo zal bya, baba!¡± or ¡°Once again, dad!¡±

    Unaware of the nuances, she assumed that by cheering for her father, she could persuade him to continue his performance for a longer duration, thereby enabling her to enjoy his companionship for a few more moments.

    ¡°Enough! You, lazy bones,¡± chuckled Banou. ¡°Fancy words are not going to get you through school or college or fill your tummies with a decent meal.¡±

    ¡°God willing, Mustafa will grow up to become a doctor, and you,¡± waving her finger to Warda, who sheepishly took refuge behind her father¡¯s sofa, ¡°will be a janitor in his hospital.¡±

    ¡°Now have your dinner and learn A, B, C and 1, 2, 3, instead,¡± she continued.

    Warda grasped her father¡¯s sleeve to urge him to retaliate on her behalf.

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    ¡°Your mother is the boss. We have to obey her orders.¡± Saifullah shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Warda. ¡°Now let us wash our hands and have dinner as Commander Mummy dictates. We are her loyal subjects.¡±

    Kabul was under the shadow of the Soviet invasion when Warda started school in the late 1970s. Her ten-minute ride to the school on a motorcycle with her father would become one of her most treasured memories. In his company, she felt confident and secure, braced up to take on the world.

    On her way, she could identify the Soviet soldiers in their distinctive attire, and, unafraid, she would often frown at them as an act of defiance.

    Saifullah could perceive the transformation of Kabul¡¯s once spirited panorama into an uncomfortable locale of mistrust and uncertainty. Yet he decided to stay in the capital and continue his job to support his family.

    The university would often shut down, unexpectedly, for variable durations, allowing him to teach his children at home.

    Saifullah strongly supported his daughter¡¯s unquenchable enthusiasm for literature and education, which she displayed from an early age.

    Warda engrossed herself in learning amid all that was happening around her. Her father¡¯s tutoring served as a solid foundation for her spiritual and mental amelioration.

    She had no idea at the time how deeply his training would influence her perception of both her own identity and that of marginalized communities in society.

    Studying late into the night, she would often envision herself teaching literature at the university, like her father.

 Warda: The Dawn of Heartache

    Life carried on; the early- and mid-80s witnessed some revival of the education standards in the metropolis.

    One night, as she sneaked out of bed to grab a drink of water from the fridge, she was abruptly stopped when she heard her mother sobbing softly in the living room. Her father was trying to comfort her.

    She felt compelled to listen in on her parents.

    Banou cried, ¡°They were so young. Afshan¡¯s angels have left her. Take me there, please! My sister will die of grief.¡±

    ¡°It is a huge tragedy,¡± replied Saifullah in a shaky voice. ¡°I desperately want to go to Afshan and Haakim, myself,¡± referring to Banou¡¯s sister and brother-in-law, ¡°but Baba Jon has strictly instructed me, when I spoke to him on the telephone this afternoon, that we must not go there, as it is too dangerous.¡± Saifullah expressed Banou¡¯s father¡¯s concerns, stating that the area is teeming with landmines and the potential for the murderers to return.

    A precocious Warda could apprehend that calamity had struck her aunt Afshan and that her handsome young sons had met an ominous fate.

    A week later, Warda saw a group of older boys and girls gather under the living room balcony. With extreme caution, she stepped out onto the balcony. As her brother recounted the terrible fate that befell their cousins, she listened in horror.

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    The bombardment in the village of Banou¡¯s brother-in-law began during the night and continued the whole day. Smoke consumed all the lush vegetation in the area, severely damaging the houses. A safe passage evacuated the women and children, while the men stayed in a large mosque on the outskirts.

    The following morning, Soviet armoured vehicles rolled into the settlement. The Afghan troops leapt from them and began the gruesome torture of some of the villagers, as the Soviets looked on.

    They sought information about the whereabouts of specific Mujahideen leaders spotted in the area a few weeks ago.

    This continued for some hours. The soldiers then rounded up eight boys, all under twelve, and drove them, in a truck, to an intersection about five kilometres away.

    Gasoline was poured over them, and they were set on fire. Two of them were Banou¡¯s nephews.

    Cries of unprecedented distress ripped the stillness of the afternoon, and then clouds of smoke carried the story away, to adjacent settlements and villages, of murders most foul. They tied up the father of one of the boys and brought him to the site, forcing him to witness the harrowing scene.

    Warda was whimpering quietly as she slouched on to the floor. Each child, then, had a comparable tale to share. She was horrified by the cruelty that humans were capable of and realised that such wicked and merciless brutalities were being committed consistently throughout her homeland.

    The tremendous pain was gradually nourishing her soul, fostering a belief that women had an obligation to confront the tyrants and shield their loved ones from being taken away and slain.

 Shireen: The Teacher

    Shireen was the principal of Warda¡¯s school, the largest girls¡¯ school in Kabul and the headquarters of the Afghan Girls Scout Association, boasting expansive playing fields spanning more than five acres.

    Her late father had been a general in the elite Special Forces of the Afghan army. He maintained the king¡¯s intimate confidence and protected him from intrigues within the court as well as tribal uprisings in the provinces. A devoted military tactician, he instructed a generation of Afghan officers in both conventional and guerilla combat. He had three children, two of whom went abroad for higher studies and subsequently settled there. Shireen, the brightest of the lot, relished the military way of life and decided to stay with her parents.

    Her favorite pastime involved studying tactical and strategic military planning in her father¡¯s private library, as well as following the lives and achievements of renowned statesmen and military leaders who left a lasting impact on society. The general and the older members of his staff noted that Shireen gradually developed a tough demeanour assimilated with courage, integrity, and loyalty to her people. Her father would often quip that she should have been a boy.

    She frequently visited the firing range, where she trained with a variety of weapons, including handguns, machine guns, hand and rocket-propelled grenades, and more. In addition, she received training in improvising explosive devices from Bekobod, a retired Uzbek sergeant, without her father¡¯s knowledge, in a hidden workshop within the palatial residence. The sergeant was gifted with fabricating such lethal gadgets and had spent the greater part of his career in the general¡¯s service.

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    He continued to live as a trusted aide in the guard¡¯s barracks, and after the general¡¯s death, a year before the monarchy ended in 1972, the twenty-eight-year-old Shireen asked her former trainer to relocate to the school she was heading and take on the role of a sports coach and head of security. Above all, though, he served as her bodyguard for the remainder of her life.

    The general bequeathed Shireen a sizable estate in the capital, along with an extensive collection of his personal arsenal.

    Shireen revamped the Afghan Girls Scouts Association. She got along well with the socialist government in Kabul and received funding for the nation¡¯s Women¡¯s Advancement Program. The central government regarded women¡¯s education and their greater representation in state matters as a necessary component of a socialist society.

    Most political parties, including the radical Islamic groups founded at Kabul University in the 1970s, revered Shireen¡¯s father because of his commitment to the defence and security of Afghanistan and his contempt for political intrigues and manoeuvres.

    Members of these religious groups were more educated, and the leaders were younger than their counterparts in the rural areas. Many knew Shireen at the university, and their reaction to her ventures was initially mild. She managed to convince them that her primary goal was the education and priming of the Afghan woman according to the doctrines of Islam. Her narrative highlighted historical instances of Muslim women who cultivated social improvement while abiding by the standards of propriety and liberty established by their faith. In the heat of combat, many attended to the injured while others were accomplished religious scholars.

    Her school was an academic hub for girls, with a strong focus on athletics and physical health.

    Then the Soviets came, and life changed forever.

 Shireen: The Shadow Commander

    Shireen turned on the radio at five o''clock in the evening. 1983 was the year the Mujahideen sustained numerous casualties in the northern provinces. She turned down the noise to a soft hum and watched the woman seated across from her through the vapours of her hot tea.

    "Sitting here and pretending nothing is wrong isn''t going to cut it." Shireen talked softly to her, as if trying to help a young kid understand an observation. The forty-year-old school principal was an attractive woman with gentle eyes. She wore her jet-black hair in a stylish bun, her muted determination overshadowing her exquisite looks.

    "Do you intend taking on a superpower with your girl scouts?" Zainab, Shireen''s closest friend and confidante, as well as a fellow educator, inquired earnestly. "The city is crawling with Russians."

    "We can help our men battle the outsiders across the country by giving them crucial information beforehand," Shireen said.

    "Our girls are trainable," she continued.

    Zainab''s stunned eyes enlarged. "Teach them? They''re simply schoolgirls. They''re not combatants."

    "You..." Zainab cleared her throat. "Are you suggesting that these girls will spy against the Soviets and steal top secret data from their lairs?"

    "Your childlike fantasies about female resistance groups are based on tales you read about European wars inside your father''s library. Are you ignorant of our social customs and cultural norms?" Zainab continued her conversation while Shireen patiently listened, surveying her empty mug and clutching it with both hands. She would nod her head occasionally to indicate her conviction and compassion for her perspective.

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    "Can you imagine these girls treading the streets of Kabul late at night as undercover couriers or hiding from the enemy in barns in the countryside?"

    "I am sorry if I sounded rude, but your strategy puts the lives and honour of these young girls, who have a highly conservative background, at stake. Our men have bravely battled against all challenges in the past, demonstrating that war is a man''s domain."

    "Imagine the agony they would face if the government discovered them¡ªthe unending mental and physical torment they would face. The government would use public humiliation and character assassination to deter others from defying it."

    "Most people would welcome death as a tangibly agreeable substitute." Zainab felt she had pleaded her case well, leaving her best friend with less leverage to champion her cause.

    After a short pause Shireen looked up at Zainab, "My dear, it''s inevitable that they will relocate their families to their newly acquired colony and employ us as housekeepers and maids. They require tranquillity in the capital, which is why they have provided us with support thus far. The Mujahideen are fighting for every inch of our territory, keeping the Soviet Union and its goons at bay on multiple fronts. However, the element of surprise is the only way to overcome their significant technological advantage."

    "We can provide that advantage to our forces, ensuring their preparedness for the enemy and preserving a significant portion of our troops and assets."

    "The general''s daughter!" Zainab chuckled in her head.

    As if she had read her mind, Shireen looked at Zainab, raised an eyebrow and narrated a passage from one of her father''s books in a decorous tone: "Forces can succeed considerably beyond proportion to the amount of effort put in by aiming for surprise."

    Both laughed impulsively.

 Unseen Strength

    Shireen gave Zainab a list of potential candidates for her partisan organization the following week.

    As Zainab considered the options, she inhaled deeply.

    ¡°What about the girls, Shireen? How do you suggest approaching them?¡±

    ¡°We must include idealists with resilience in our team.¡± Shireen answered. ¡°I have compiled a list of possible contenders: instructors and senior students who have lost loved ones in the conflict.¡±

    ¡°We must assess their motivation before asking if they are ready to give up their existence so that others like them can have a better tomorrow.¡±

    ******************************************************************************

    Warda loved her school. It was located in a relatively safe district of Kabul with quite a few check posts on route.

    The cobbled compound of the secondary school building was bathed in an inviting radiance from the sun of the spring of 1983. After a three-day break, the children gathered to sing the national anthem and chatted excitedly about the bombings that shook Kabul four days earlier. The Mujahideen had fired rockets towards the metropolis; several dropped close to their school.

    With laughter resonating across the classroom, the kids walked in.

    ¡°Children, please settle down!¡± The class teacher declared, ¡°We will devote the first part of the lesson to our regular studies and the second to a unique activity.¡±

    As the first half of the class came to an end, Shireen entered the class and observed her pupils for a few moments.

    She smiled, her hands clenched in front of her chest, as if to galvanise herself into revealing a secret that she found difficult to share with her students.

    ¡°Dear students! We are delighted to have a dear friend return today.¡± There was suddenly silence in the room as the children looked at their teacher intently, searching for a clue regarding the mysterious companion.

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    Shireen¡¯s lips were quivering with emotion.

    ¡°Shandana is back!¡± She managed to utter.

    With a creak, the door opened. There were muffled expressions of pain and grief as a middle-aged woman, wearing a sorrowful smile, pushed the twelve-year-old Shandana in a wheelchair along the passageway.

    Shandana looked hesitant and sombre as the wheelchair finally rotated to face the class.

    She had not only lost her legs but also the compassionate and protective companionship of her parents when their Jeep blew up after hitting a landmine. The dreadful event took place when Shandana and her family were travelling to her grandparents¡¯ house in the backcountry to spend the school break with their grandparents and cousins.

    While the rest of the class froze in dismay, Warda summoned the courage to approach Shandana. She bent slightly to hug her and kissed her forehead. ¡°Your hair has grown. Look, they are longer than mine,¡± as she gently pulled Shandana¡¯s braided hair.

    ¡°Auntie!¡± Warda politely addressed the lady who had come with Shandana: ¡°From here on, we will take care of Shandana. She needs to catch up with the class.¡±

    The lady looked at Shireen, who nodded in agreement. Warda gently pushed the wheelchair in a direction, so that its back was to the children.

    Shireen took Warda¡¯s hint and gestured to her pupils to move further away from Shandana. She gently invited them to participate in outdoor activities with her during the designated free period of the day.

    ¡°Just behave as you usually do every day. Look at her face rather than her legs, and remember, she needs your love and support.¡± Tears were rolling as they all bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

    During the free period, Warda directed an agile classmate to fasten an old dented metal bin to the basketball pole, at a lower height, with a steel wire. She, then, asked Shandana to toss the ball into the bin. The rest of the class applauded and placed the chairs in a semicircle. The competition began to determine who could toss the ball into the bin the most times and emerge victorious.

    For those unworried moments, Shandana was unmindful of her physical deficiency and emotional anguish.

    Shireen was observing Warda from the window in her class when Zainab joined her. ¡°That is an extraordinary individual,¡± Shireen announced as though her companion had aroused her from hibernation.

    ¡°She is indeed... imagine what she has gone through.¡±

    ¡°No, Warda. Without shedding a tear, she has demonstrated boundless empathy and abundant kindness. She is born to lead.¡±

    ¡°She is young.¡± For the first time, Zainab turned her head and looked searchingly at Shireen, who continued to gaze at Warda.

    ¡°She is ready,¡± Shireen replied.

 Whispers of Resistance

    To make sure the grounds were safe, Bekobod and the school watchmen would ride their bicycles around the edges every day. Four years after the invasion, Shireen and Zainab started tutoring a small group of students for an hour or so after their classes.

    The number of pupils returning after hours started to rise gradually. School vans would transport the girls to their houses, while Shireen and Zainab began living on school grounds full-time.

    The official narrative to parents and the ministry of education about this particular arrangement stated that the girl scouts would serve as the female arm of the state propaganda machine, disseminating socialist ideals through weekly newspaper and magazine articles and speeches broadcast on state radio.

    Authorities stepped up security in the region due to fears of armed retaliation, which reassured parents that their girls were safe. As a result of the financial incentives offered by the school in the form of scholarships and stipends, an increasing number of parents felt comfortable letting their children stay after school.

    Typically, Warda would make her way back home about four in the afternoon. She would gather in a little building on school grounds after school with thirteen other pupils and three teachers. It was the literary organization that advocated for the socialist system and produced propaganda materials for the government. The propaganda campaign would commit three members on a rotational basis, while the remaining team would attend lessons taught by Shireen and Bekobod on espionage strategies, weapon handling, and the creation of improvised explosives. The group consisted of just two men, Bekobod and Salaam, who drove a school bus.

    Underneath a large, cleverly concealed trapdoor in one of the rooms lay a subterranean complex where this group of devoted young girls would descend daily to get their training. Only the chosen team members were granted access to the room and its adjacent space, which was formally designated as a Literary Club.

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    ¡°Their flame throwers and phosphorus bombs are macerating our men, women, and children. They are tossing our infants into flames to instill a profound sense of terror in us. In Kabul, we must form a partisan group and begin serving as secretaries, assistants, and private tutors to acquire crucial information for our warriors.¡± Shireen made a proclamation during the initial assembly of the outfit.

    ¡°Knowing your opponent is essential,¡± she continued, her gaze sweeping the space. ¡°We have to outwit and overcome them. We must coordinate and plan every move we make.¡±

    ¡°Learning the fundamentals of enemy infiltration, comrade protection, mission completion, and disengagement is something we can teach you. After that, a personalised strategy is required for every single mission.¡±

    Despite her fear, Warda asked with an unwavering voice, ¡°When do we start?¡±

    *******************************************************

    As time went on, Shireen, Zainab, and Bekobod continued to perform their joint responsibilities.

    As the oldest student, Zeenat, who was eighteen years old, meticulously assembled and disassembled an AK-47, the bunker resounded with the faint clank and rattling of metal parts.

    ¡°Great job, Zeenat!¡± Bekobod remarked. ¡°You have a natural talent for this.¡±

    Zeenat took in all the information, her mind teeming with potential next steps. Having seen the devastation wrought by Soviet tanks and helicopters in her village, she was cognisant of the fact that the Mujahideen¡¯s struggle was a fight for survival.

    Warda¡¯s capacity for empathy was her greatest asset. The ability to connect with others and understand their motivations and concerns came naturally to her. Both her work as a government propagandist and her potential resistance fighter personas benefitted greatly from her exceptional communication and interpersonal abilities, which she used to great effect. Her genuine care for her teammates helped her gain respect from her peers despite being the youngest member of the squad.

    From what Shireen had observed about Warda throughout the years, it was clear that she would be the most suitable leader to guide her team to victory in any situation.

    Warda had an advantage over her classmates in terms of foresight and accuracy in action due to her brilliant intellect, insatiable hunger for knowledge, and keen analytical skills.

 Fierce as Fire

    Having inherited her mother¡¯s superb looks, Warda was already stunning when she was in her early teens. Her long auburn hair, green soulful eyes, and high cheekbones exuded grace and beauty. However, it was her composure and kindness that made her presence compelling and dignified.

    She and a friend were on their way to the market one afternoon when they had to use a secluded side street because the main road was closed. An Afghan policeman stopped her at a checkpost and asked with a grimace, ¡°What is your name?¡±

    ¡°Warda.¡±

    ¡°Warda...¡± repeated the policeman as he looked sideways at a smiling female constable.

    ¡°This place is teeming with Mujahideen spies these days,¡± he said, still looking at the stout policewoman.

    ¡°Take them inside and search them,¡± he beckoned to her.

    The woman pushed the girls into the concrete bunker and switched off the lights. She then adjusted the flame of a kerosene lamp that was hanging from the ceiling.

    The room was now dimly lit, and Warda could only vaguely make out an old desk and some chairs in one corner and dirty bedding in another. The air was thick with the stench of old socks and vodka, and some rifles stacked along one of the walls.

    ¡°My father is a government official. He is a professor at the university!¡± Warda said firmly.

    ¡°Many of his former students work in the police and military. His name is Saifullah Suleimanzai.¡±

    The policeman chuckled as he followed them into the room and sat down on one of the chairs.

    He pulled a knife from its sheath at the side of his military belt and, staring at it, blurted, ¡°Your father is a wretched teacher, and you are a spy. If you refuse to cooperate, I will hurt you, scar your beautiful face for life, and imprison you.¡±

    Warda¡¯s friend was shaking uncontrollably as tears ran down her cheeks. ¡°We are no spies, sir; please let us go,¡± she begged.

    Pointing towards Warda, he muttered, ¡°Do a thorough body search while I tie this chubby one.¡±

    With all her might, Warda punched the woman on the nose and screamed loudly, snatching the lamp from its thin metal chain. With a swing of her arm, she hit the policeman¡¯s temple with the oil lamp.

    Within seconds, flames engulfed his shirt. He ran out and jumped into a pond alongside the street where the checkpost stood.

    Amidst the commotion, Warda¡¯s friend made a successful escape, running to the busy market place in the distance.

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    Screaming still, Warda began gathering stones from a nearby pile and hurled them at the figure in the pond, which was howling and cursing in excruciating pain. Warda didn¡¯t even notice her surroundings as uniformed men restrained and handcuffed her; she just saw a man who ought to be in pain.

    Swiftly, other individuals retrieved the injured man from the water and transported him to the closest hospital. Meanwhile, they covered Warda¡¯s face with a hood and whisked her away to the local sector station of the feared secret police, KhAD.

    She spent hours in isolation in a frigid chamber before she sensed a rush of activity at the station. The cowl still covered her head and face, and she was in pain from the burns on her forearm and right hand.

    Strong hands suddenly guided her up multiple flights of stairs to a location where the sound of a door closing behind her brought instant stillness. Someone pulled the hood from her rather forcefully, and she found herself in a large, elegantly decorated room, facing a big, antique table.

    A younger, attractive white man in uniform occupied the middle seat, with two older men seated around the table in civilian attire, who appeared to be Afghans.

    ¡°Are you not still too young to join the ranks of the dreadful Mujahideen espionage network?¡± One of the two Afghans asked in Dari. ¡°Your folks are good people,¡± he said softly but authoritatively. ¡°They will be shocked by your actions.¡±

    ¡°I am not a spy. I was on my way to the market when these animals stopped me, pushed me into an underground room, and attempted to hurt both me and my friend.¡± Despite her horrific experience, Warda felt strangely protected and secure in the otherwise intimidating environment.

    The Russian officer motioned for her to take a seat on a sofa and instructed the guard, in Dari, to bring her a glass of water. Warda declined the water, even though she was quite thirsty. Gazing at Warda, the Russian sat lazily in his elegant chair, his left elbow perched on its sidearm and the back of his hand beneath his chin.

    ¡°The policeman was fortunate to escape with his life, but his injuries will keep him hospitalised for a while.¡± The Afghan official maintained the same tone. ¡°Your school principal reached out to the minister of interior on your behalf, but KhAD disregards personal requests when it comes to terrorism, especially when its officials face attacks and serious injuries.¡±

    Warda felt a pang of anxiety when she heard these comments and periodically sneaked a quick look at the Russian officer, anticipating the final word from him.

    ¡°Drink your water,¡± the Russian spoke to her in Dari, then raised his chin as if to encourage her. Warda gulped down the entire glass. He then reached into a drawer, pulled out a pack of biscuits, and motioned for Warda to come have it. As Warda ripped through the pack, the two Afghans looked on with amusement.

    ¡°You have grown to become even more mischievous,¡± the foreigner continued after Warda had eaten the last biscuit. The two Afghans looked downright perplexed now.

    ¡°If you promise that you never make faces at Soviet soldiers again, I will let you go. Some of them might experience intense fear and nightmares.¡± Turning his attention towards the Afghan officers, he unfolded his account in Russian: ¡°I never forget faces. When I was newly transferred to Kabul and used to visit my men early in the morning at various checkposts, this chimpanzee would frown at me and imitate my movements.¡± Both the Afghan officers couldn¡¯t help but laugh.

    ¡°You are free to go!¡± the Afghan said. ¡°Keep in mind that comrade Dimitry¡¯s tour in Afghanistan is coming to an end, and he will be returning to his country shortly. Avoid causing trouble, as it could deplete your good luck.¡±

    With her voice quivering and tears welling up in her eyes, Warda replied, ¡°Thank you! But I will kill anyone who tries to hurt my honour.¡±

    As the guard walked her out of the room, the Afghan smiled and said, ¡°And I expect nothing less.¡±

    Her parents stood outside the building, waiting eagerly.

 "A Little Bird Told Me"

    Compared to other schools in the city, Shireen''s school was open for a longer part of the academic year, and her kids'' performance was better. This, combined with her powerful connections at the government''s highest tiers, allowed her to start an effective home tutoring service.

    Members of Shireen''s partisan group were assigned to the homes of prominent military and government officials. They would listen in on any talks at their homes and stealthily look through the studies and other places, seeking information and records that might contain information useful to the resistance struggle.

    In Kabul, the Mujahideen maintained a spy network that received updates on any critical intelligence.

    One afternoon, Shireen addressed her resistance group in the literary club: "Friends, the Information Ministry has proclaimed that a blend of the coalition, religion, reconciliation, and liberal democracy will replace socialism as the new principal of governance."

    "And it goes without saying that our propaganda campaign changes accordingly."

    "The truth is that not much will actually change. Our people will keep dying, and the invaders and their puppets will keep ruling. They have been forced to shroud their inhuman tactics under this garb of reforms by the people''s steadfast defiance. We will continue our work until the invaders leave our soil."

    The next day, Shireen called Warda to her office. "Sit down, Warda," she said serenely. "I will present the simplified version of this discussion to the rest of the group later in the literary club."

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    "The reason for having this confidential conversation is that I am giving you a very daring assignment, which, if pulled aptly, can enable us to turn the tables on our foes."

    Anxious and somewhat nervous, Warda shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

    "Our communications minister, Mr. Hadayat, has recently been given the additional responsibility of the Ministry of Defence till the government finds a replacement for the ousted minister. Minister Hadayat regularly has opulent dinner parties at his home attended by prominent figures. There is a lot of drinking, and important matters are discussed quite openly after dinner, when the servants are sent away, and only a handful of loyal attendants stay behind till the guests are seen off. Fortunately for us, Hadayat speaks loudly and loosely. One of these faithful caretakers gave this information after leaving service due to health concerns."

    "Mr. Hadayat''s youngest child, Saleha, who is twelve years old and whom he and his wife adore, struggles academically and is an obsessive introvert. Her mother came to me to set her up with a tutor at home."

    "I''ve advised her that it should be a youthful, intelligent person that she can equate to, befriend, and study with. This would help her get out of her cocoon and eventually acquire the self-confidence needed to enrol in school and pursue her education with other kids."

    "You seem like the ideal person for this position," Shireen continued after a deliberate pause. She sensed no change in Warda''s countenance, and a whiff of vanity caressed her ego as she figured herself a fairly good judge of people''s acumen, strength, and moral integrity.

    Soon after initiating the discussion, she imagined that Warda had anticipated the potential consequences of the conversation from the outset. Warda was everything she thought and wished her to be.

 Warda: The Teacher

    The cabinet minister¡¯s residence was lavish compared to any house she had ever visited. The living room featured magnificent tapestries and antique furniture that combined elegance and extravagance. A steady flow of sunlight seeped through the huge windows, and the grandeur of the mansion transported Warda to the magical realm of ¡°Alice in Wonderland.¡±

    The maidservant led Warda to a desk covered tidily with an immaculate collection of books in English. Warda could guess that her pupil was trying to impress her.

    ¡°Salaam o Alaikum,¡± Saleha greeted the new tutor.

    ¡°I am Warda. Let¡¯s settle down, shall we?¡± Warda gestured towards the chairs around the table.

    ¡°And, let¡¯s just talk about you and me,¡± she said warmly, holding Saleha¡¯s hands across the table.

    Warda noticed that her student was compassionate, had a limited attention span, and would sometimes go into a state of deep reflection. This frustrated her teachers and irked fellow students, pushing Saleha deeper into her secluded inner world. One day, she broke down in front of her mother and withdrew from school.

    Warda used to make the tuition trips on alternate days, with each session lasting about an hour and a half. She would have one hour with her group after school before the minister¡¯s official car picked her up around three in the afternoon.

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    She would always engage Saleha in non-academic conversation for some time before starting the official syllabus.

    Saleha developed a solid attachment to her teacher. Everyone who saw her, especially her parents, could perceive the favourable effects of Warda¡¯s guidance and compassion on her personality.

    Saleha¡¯s parents requested that she tutor their daughter on a regular basis following her transformation into a cheerful and communicative young girl, which significantly boosted their quality of life.

    **************************************************************************

    Warda paused her lesson whenever she heard a pertinent conversation from behind the door to the minister¡¯s study or the drawing room. She would then leave the study desk and move around the living room and hallway.

    As soon as the talk concluded, she would quickly return to her desk, making an effort to be inconspicuous.

    After a few months of tuition, Warda received the surprise of her life one day. Amidst her studies, Saleha abruptly started reading in a low tone from her notes about the launch of a major offensive against the resistance. She continued in the same tone as if she were reading from her textbook without looking up. The schedule, location, estimated troop strength, and type of ancillary support that would be deployed were all appropriately stated in the information.

    Warda stayed silent because she knew that the night before, an important function had been held at the minister¡¯s house.

    She was terrified. She was aware that throughout her coaching, only Saleha was mindful of her somewhat strange behaviour. This revelation could either be interpreted as a divine miracle or as a devious plot designed by Satan to condemn Warda and her family to terrible consequences.

    The information subsequently saved the lives of around sixty thousand Mujahideen and civilians.

 Unexpected Heroes

    The pupil and the tutor continued their daily activities as if nothing had happened. Eventually, Saleha broke the ice one day: "I have heard a lot of horrible things about the government, both at school and from the housemaids......how it maltreats the people living in the villages."

    "I heard my parents express their fear for my life due to the Mujahideen''s infiltration into the city. But they feel much more at ease now that you visit us, and they are appreciative."

    "The most distressing information, though, was something I stumbled across while browsing some files that were inadvertently left on my father''s study desk. Inside were terrible pictures that I cannot adequately explain, as well as a script that I just partially copied in my notebook."

    She opened a small notebook and handed it to Warda.

    Warda went through Saleha''s handwritten text: "Since the tradition of family honour is a fundamental component of the Afghan way of life, violence against women is to be used tactically to crush the resistance. The analysis of using this approach in selected communities which assisted the rebels has shown significantly positive results........" She could read no more as the faces of her female relatives who lived in the rural parts of the country blocked her vision and her thoughts.

    Taking the notebook back from Warda''s hand, she added stoically, "My mother gave me the details that day. She directed me to deliver them to you."

    Warda was speechless. No amount of training could prepare her to absorb the past ten minutes without showing signs of complete awe as she clutched onto the arms of her chair and stared impassively at a pencil on the desk.

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    That evening, as Warda went to bed, she couldn''t help but reflect on the day''s events. She saw Saleha and her mother as extraordinary people who risked their lives to ensure their nation''s freedom.

    A few weeks later, Shireen called Warda to her office. "Saleha''s parents have requested that you help her study for the upcoming annual exam by spending the week before the tests at the minister''s home."

    Shireen spoke faintly, "He is going overseas during that week," as though she were planting a thought in Warda''s mind.

    "Since you are done with your promotion exam, your class will have a two-week break, and this arrangement should not affect your school work. The minister''s wife is a kind woman who has offered to go to your house and seek your parents'' permission."

    Both Shireen and Warda could discern the significance of this exceptional chance. The minister''s departure for overseas duty seemed to be excellent timing, giving Warda a chance to rummage through his study and find pertinent records and information that would help the resistance.

    Warda moved into the minister''s residence as scheduled, where Saleha used to receive tuition during the day. Warda would go through the study cabinets after dinner. Though the servants were sent away after nine, and Warda would close the study door, she commenced her search with the standard and general books in the cabinets away from the main desk to avoid appearing suspicious in the event of an unforeseen intrusion.

    She had dedicated the final three days of her stay to searching through the cabinet behind the main desk and the desk itself. She had an inkling that she would uncover something important there. But to her dismay, she learnt that the minister had to shorten his visit and would be arriving two days early instead. This left her just six or seven hours after dinner until the servants came in the morning.

 Warda: The Family Ordeal

    Saifullah came home late that day from an evening class. Slumbering on the sofa in his living room, he breathed the heavy aroma of approaching rainfall. The sporadic gunshots¡ªa clear reminder of the conflict that had split their nation apart¡ªreverberated around the metropolis outside. Over the past year, the frequency and duration of explosions and weapon fire had increased, indicating the forcefulness of the Mujahideen onslaught gathering momentum with each passing month.

    Warda was at the minister¡¯s house. Around two in the morning, a loud banging on the door prompted Banou to bolt from the bedroom and Saifullah to jump out of his seat in surprise as the door flew open. A group of plainclothes KhAD operatives charged in, their faces hidden behind dark masks.

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    ¡°Saifullah Suleimanzai! You are under arrest for the murder of a police official.¡±

    Saifullah flinched back in dismay, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of such an insane charge. Rough hands grabbed him before he could object and shackled his wrists with cold irons.

    ¡°Stop! Please. You are mistaken. He is a decent, honourable professor of literature at the university. Killing someone?... That is unimaginable. You can speak with anyone about his reputation.

    The men dragged him violently towards the door. Banou, sobbing uncontrollably, got down on her knees and touched the feet of the one giving orders, ¡°For the sake of God, let him go! He is innocent.¡±

    ¡°Banou. It¡¯s okay. Stand up. I will be fine.¡± Saifullah suddenly became impassive due to the humiliation and guilt of witnessing his wife beg the strangers.

    One of the intruders put a black cloth over Saifullah¡¯s head before pushing him into the back of a car.

 Warda: Moment of Decision

    Heavy, dark wooden bookcases brimming with antique books and tasteful items lined the room¡¯s walls. Except for the occasional rustle of paper, there was creepy silence.

    At the back was an enormous mahogany desk, and behind it, Warda was crouched on the expensive Persian carpet, looking inside the bottom drawer. Her moves were urgent but deliberate, and her eyes regularly viewed the wall-mounted clock.

    Saleha was seated close to the main door to have a view of the corridor. The mood in the room was edgy and stressful, and everyone jumped when the phone rang in the living room. They dashed out of the study, and Saleha looked perturbed as she picked up the phone and listened to the caller.

    ¡°Please hold on, Auntie; I will give her the phone.¡±

    ¡°Warda!¡± Banou was frantic, ¡°The police have taken your father away. They looked like KhAD thugs. They said that he had killed a police official. Please ask the minister to get him released before they torture him to death.¡± Banou had started weeping loudly.

    Warda turned pallid as her grip on the phone became even more firm. ¡°Mother, I will tell the minister myself. You pack your things and go to Uncle Waleed¡¯s house. I will join you as soon as I get Father to safety.¡±

    Waleed was Saifullah¡¯s cousin and owned a restaurant in Kabul.

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    Warda and Saleha knew that the minister could not be contacted for the next four to five hours, at least, as he was on the plane from Moscow and was scheduled to go to the presidential palace from the airport on arrival.

    In roughly three hours, the servants would enter, and one of his staff members would deliver the official mail to the secretary. Warda had a heap of papers on the table to photograph.

    She suddenly found herself in a critical situation, faced with an unforgiving choice: either leave and search for her father, who was in grave peril, or photograph documents that might contain crucial information for the resistance.

    Divided between two overpowering obligations, she glanced at Saleha and returned to the study. Saleha silently went to her mother¡¯s chamber and found her offering prayers. It was three in the morning.

    After her mother completed her prayers, Saleha informed her that Warda¡¯s father had been taken into custody for murder. She recounted the events swiftly and emphasised how urgent they were.

    ¡°Theirs is a respectable household¡±, she responded. ¡°He can only kill someone to preserve his honour.¡±

    Rising from her prayer mat, she approached the phone on the side table.

    ¡°Hello, Zaman,¡± she said as she dialled the minister¡¯s secretary. I apologise for calling you at this hour. Please locate a university teacher who was picked up by KhAD about two hours ago. Make sure he is safe until Hadayat returns and investigates the situation.¡±

    After giving him the details, she put down the phone and hugged her daughter with a gentle smile.

    ¡°Hopefully, everything will work out well,¡± planting a kiss on her forehead.

    Saleha discovered Warda snapping pictures of the documents as she returned to the study.

    ¡°Get some sleep. In three days, you have an exam,¡± she urged Saleha.

    She called Shireen on the telephone to tell her what was happening while Saleha was dozing off on the living room sofa.

 Shireen: Taking Charge

    ¡°Miss Shireen, these are dangerous times, and the university is a breeding ground for terrorists. Anyway, I will look into the matter.¡±

    Shireen knew how desperate the situation was. She reached out to a KhAD official whose daughter was a student at her school.

    ¡°Hello. Good morning, Mr. Azam. This is Shireen, Haseena¡¯s principal.¡±

    ¡°Good morning, Miss Shireen. What can I do for you?¡± Gul Azam replied. He sounded somewhat irritated that someone had called him at home before work.

    ¡°Unless it was an emergency, I would not have called you so early. One of your teams picked up a university professor, Saifullah Suleimanzai, a few hours ago. His daughter, one of our most talented kids, gave me a call a while back. Would you kindly investigate the situation?¡±

    ¡°Miss Shireen, these are dangerous times, and the university is a breeding ground for terrorists. Regardless, I will look into the matter.¡±

    Meanwhile, the minister¡¯s secretary informed Saleha¡¯s mother that Saifullah was not being held in a detention centre or listed in official records. Rumours, however, suggested that he was picked up by a notoriously vicious and brutal KhAD agent named Khalid, and taken to a safe house in the suburbs of the city. It seemed less like a legal procedure and more like a personal grudge.

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    The KhAD had vast resources at its disposal. It had informants in the military, all government agencies, student bodies, labour organisations, and residential areas. It was more powerful than the state.

    However, only a few senior officers shared its ideology. Most staff members had joined the agency because of the job stability and benefits the organisation offered. They indulged in extortion, kidnapping for ransom, home invasion to burglarise the wealthy, and forced entries into shops and warehouses to victimise the owners and walk away with merchandise.

    Thus, it was feasible to use bribery or authority to influence several of its operatives and obtain confidential information.

    Perceiving the KhAD officer¡¯s attitude relatively insensitive, Shireen called the minister¡¯s wife, who gave her the information provided by the secretary. As soon as she scribbled down the location, she rang up Warda to remain at the minister¡¯s house for safety, reassuring her that she would bring her father back safely.

    Next, she gave a ring to Bekobod, followed by a local Mujahideen contact. Within the next half hour, Bekobod and Shireen were on the road with two AK-47s and a dozen hand grenades.

 The Evil Enclave

    Saifullah could not see because of the cloth covering his head.  He heard the sound of a mechanical gate moving as the vehicle eventually stopped.

    This was not a registered KhAD detention or interrogation centre; instead, it was one of a dozen private residences in the city¡¯s outskirts where renegade officials would hold hostages until the ransom was received. In addition, these facilities were utilised to temporarily detain and assault vulnerable women who had been taken from different parts of the city and its environs. There was no official documentation of the occurrences. The women were forced to assist the police whenever they were called because most of what happened was recorded on camera.

    Robust hands hauled him out and dragged him into a room where he was uncuffed. His hands were fastened to a ceiling-mounted rope as he was stripped naked and repeatedly struck with a whip and stick. No one responded to his screams and demands as to why he was being tormented.

    Wounded and battered, he was unable to stand and hung limply from the rope that was fastened to his hands. After that, he was dragged into a room, forced into a chair, and had his hands bound to the chair from behind.

    He narrowed his eyes to take in the view after the capture hood was removed forcefully from his head. A table lamp pointed towards his face, while a dim, blinking ceiling bulb illuminated the room. The floor was a chilly concrete slab, and the walls were empty. There was an overpowering sense of dread and menace in the room.

    Eventually, he was able to discern a startling and unsettling image.

    Khalid was a junior officer in the Operations Department of KhAD. The left side of his face was a disorganized palette covered with burn scars, featuring a mottled red and brown pigmentation. The cartilage in his left ear had melted and fused into a contorted protuberance. His neck contractures caused a noticeable slant to his head.

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    ¡°You will confess to your crime, Saifullah,¡± Khalid remarked sternly.

    ¡°Sir¡­. I am not a murderer¡­. I have no criminal record.¡± With his teeth broken and his tongue and lips lacerated and swollen, Saifullah spoke with considerable difficulty.

    ¡°We have proof that connects you to the murder. Your agony is made worse by your denial.¡± There was an oppressive air of threat and dominance about him.

    Khalid gestured to the masked men who were standing behind Saifullah. Their motions were swift and methodical as they connected wires to his private parts and started giving electric shocks. His terrifying howls and cries resonated in the room. After every electric jolt, he would slump forward in his chair.

    Using a carefully folded handkerchief, Khalid sometimes dabbed at the intermittent trough of tears that seeped out from the corner of the marred lids of his left eye; the cloth devoured the tears but could not completely conceal the wrath beneath.

    ¡°Saifullah, I have been posted to the north on short notice. This is one thing I have to do before going.¡±

    Khalid¡¯s entire body exuded a frigid, unwavering thirst for vengeance; his wounds were more than merely physical; they represented his innate need to exact revenge, to subject Saifullah and his entire family to the sort of suffering that could quell the memories of an earlier humiliation.

    ¡°I have run out of time to extract a confession and get your signature on it,¡± he said firmly, tearing up some sheets of paper. ¡°When I¡¯m in town another time, I will go after your daughter¡±. There was poison in every word he said, a reflection of some throbbing reminder from his past, which had severely damaged his self-esteem and conviction in his invincibility.

    Suddenly, there was a loud blast followed by automatic gunfire. Khalid looked stunned for a brief moment and then gestured to the two men to go out as the gunfire continued. One of them returned after a short while and nervously exclaimed, ¡°We have two intruders!¡±

    ¡°Destroy them!¡± Khalid replied grimly. The agent departed after a hesitating pause. There was another explosion and then a dead calm. With a sigh, Khalid raised an AK-47, pointed it towards the door, and pulled the trigger.

    Bekobod lay lifeless in a puddle of blood in the passageway leading to the room, his eyes flickering rapidly before they opened wide. Khalid turned off the overhead light and aimed the table lamp towards the door. Next, he knelt on one leg beside Saifullah¡¯s chair, aiming the rifle at the door again.

    Regardless of whether it was his man or the enemy, he fired a burst at the door.

    Groaning, the person lay on the ground, having been shot in the thighs. After kicking the invader¡¯s rifle away, Khalid bent over and took off the mask.

    ¡°Whoa! What a waste,¡± he cried out upon seeing Shireen¡¯s expression.

    Then he jumped up, took out his revolver from the holster and aimed at Shireen¡¯s face.

 Shireen: Sacrifice

    There was a loud shot, and Khalid had an astonished look on his face as he fell to his knees, blood spouting from his neck with each weakening pulse before his lifeless body slumped forward.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make it.¡± Shireen gasped with pain and anguish. Her contact was kneeling beside her, holding her hand. She had bled profusely from her groin wound and was cold and breathing heavily.

    He had to put his ear near her lips to hear what she was saying.

    ¡°Please take Saifullah and his family out of Kabul as quickly as possible.¡±

    She let out a deep breath and then went limp.

    The contact untied Saifullah, who was only half conscious, then picked up the phone on the table and called Warda.

    He lifted Saifullah, pulled him to his vehicle, and then hurried to the minister¡¯s residence. As he drove, he saw police cars racing down the motorway toward the safe house.

    Warda gathered her things the moment she received the call and stood by the main gate. She jumped into the back of the vehicle and helped her father get a drink of water.

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    She wanted to enquire about Shireen, but the driver remained silent. After switching vehicles on a side street, they went to pick up Banou and her son.

    Two KhAD jeeps were parked in an abandoned alley when the contact stopped.

    He pivoted in his seat and glanced at Warda in the backseat. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they are on our side. Do you have anything for me?¡± the contact spoke for the first time.

    Warda handed him her camera and several reels, which he quickly placed in the glove compartment.

    After being loaded into the cars, Warda and her family quickly left the capital and travelled forty miles to a house.

    By that time, the Soviets had described Afghanistan as ¡°a bleeding wound¡±. They had decided to withdraw their troops from Afghanistan in the ensuing year or two, leaving the affairs of the state to a Soviet-backed government in Kabul.

    However, many Afghan officials, including those in the military and the intelligence agencies, could decipher that the Mujahideen would take over Kabul following the Soviet withdrawal. Some of them formed covert agreements with the partisans to avoid the wrath and reprisals of the new rulers.

    **************************************************************************

    Shireen had declared in a concise document she wrote a month before that fateful day that she would exact retribution on the intelligence services for abusing innocent women. She brought up Warda¡¯s narrow escape from the checkpost and numerous instances where women were assaulted by the very authorities tasked with keeping them safe. She had handed it to her Mujahideen contact, and it was to be made public after her death.

    Several copies of the text were sent to the press, the country¡¯s president, the cabinet ministers, the chief of the army, and the head of KhAD. After a contentious discussion in the cabinet, Shireen¡¯s school was permitted to continue, and measures were considered to increase women¡¯s security and safety and prevent them from potentially becoming active members of the partisans.

    The circumstances of the deaths of Khalid and his team members were deliberately kept concealed.

 Warda: Migration from Hell

    Saifullah had endured immense physical and psychological pain. He would stuff a cloth inside his mouth to prevent himself from yelling while Banou cleaned his wounds or changed his clothes. He experienced terrible nightmares and suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks.

    After three weeks, they moved to a farmhouse near the Pakistani border. Saifullah felt that the endless conflict shattered their life and did not want his family to endure the mental and bodily suffering he had gone through.

    During their time together, Warda ran her fingers through her father¡¯s hair and sang poetry. Poetry and literature were the only things that allowed her to connect with and comfort him, as there were no happy endings to lift his spirits or bring him joy.

    It took four months for him to regain his strength, feel safe, and care for himself.

    Considering her father''s immense suffering, Warda vowed to obey his decisions and keep her secrets hidden. With the increasing possibility of additional reprisal and rising carnage, Saifullah decided it was time to move his family to neighbouring Pakistan. Remaining in Afghanistan was no longer an option.

    ***************************************************************************

    Leaving their homeland was an emotionally overwhelming choice, particularly for Saifullah and Warda. Walking across rough terrain to reach Pakistan, everyone in the caravan fought back tears as they bid farewell to their loved ones, homes, and belongings. A film of old memories played in everyone¡¯s mind.

    In 1988, after an exhausting and perilous hike, a group of over fifty adults, children, and elderly individuals crossed the border into the safety of Pakistan. They were transported by truck to a refugee center, where they registered as refugees with the authorities, received food, and were directed to a nearby camp.The sound of the Azaan, the call to prayer, greeted the morning instead of gunfire.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report itWhile the hot summers tortured the camp residents, the refugees were hesitant to return to Afghanistan even after the Soviet Union withdrew from the country in 1989. Help for repatriation and rebuilding dried up when the West lost interest in the area.

    Political instability and lawlessness prevailed throughout Afghanistan. Life in the capital maintained a precarious balance under a Russian-backed leader, the former chief of KhAD, until the Mujahideen took control of Kabul in 1992, purging his government.

    Since the Mujahideen could not agree on a political framework for power sharing, a bloody civil war followed, and the nation effectively fell under the control of warlords and militia commanders who demanded transit taxes from all vehicles passing through the areas under their control and imposed heavy levies on almost any means of livelihood prevalent in their territory.

    If someone refused to give in to their threats or comply with their demands, they resorted to using violence. While they were in power, kidnappings for ransom were standard procedure and the educational system completely collapsed as colleges and universities were either looted or became battlefields.

    Rival Mujahideen groups unleashed artillery and mortar fire on Kabul, killing thousands of residents.

    A multitude of casualties were a direct result of sectional conflict; competing tribes and religious and cultural subgroups executed tens of thousands of captives and civilians. In addition, hundreds of thousands perished due to hunger or disease or were slain or maimed by the countless land mines that littered the terrain.

 Warda: In Love

    Warda continued her education in a school run by an Afghan women¡¯s organisation, and a United Nations scholarship allowed her brother to enrol in a medical school in Peshawar, the capital of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province of Pakistan.

    Saifullah began instructing high school and college students in literature and poetry while residing in the refugee camp. He became friends with Mohsin Khan, a visiting faculty member who was a Pashtun from the Yousafzai clan of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. He introduced Saifullah to the literary society in Peshawar, where he would actively participate in literary events. A year later, Mohsin persuaded Saifullah to shift into a house in his neighbourhood.

    Moving from the refugee camp to a home in the middle of the city was an exciting transition for the family. Warda enrolled in a local high school, and the family could not be happier.

    As time passed, Warda completed her bachelor¡¯s in contemporary literature, and her brother, Mustafa, graduated from medical school.

    Tahir Khan, Mustafa¡¯s close friend and the son of Mohsin Khan, worked as a civil engineer for a private company. A tall, attractive young man, he was a frequent guest at Saifullah¡¯s house, and, over time, Warda took a fancy to him.

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    Even though both families had progressive and literary backgrounds, they were conservative regarding Pashtun traditions. While talking with Tahir, Warda was cautious not to look at him and chose to peer from behind the curtains.

    Even though their only interactions in the previous five years consisted of greeting each other at the door whenever Tahir visited her brother and exchanging brief hellos, Warda realised she was profoundly in love with him.

    On Eid day, celebrated by Muslims worldwide to mark the conclusion of the Islamic fasting month of Ramadan, Tahir¡¯s family gathered at supper. One of his sisters remarked, ¡°We should get Tahir married.¡± His two sisters, who were already married, made fun of him: ¡°Now that we¡¯re married and living in different places, Mommy needs someone to listen to her gripes about Daddy.¡±

    ¡°Agreed! Do you have anyone in mind, Engineer Tahir? His father asked, catching his son with a wry smile. The moment the image formed in Tahir¡¯s mind, one of his sisters said, ¡°''I once asked Warda if she liked Tahir.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± Tahir blurted, and everyone laughed out loud.

    ¡°So, we go to their house tomorrow to ask for Warda¡¯s hand before someone else proposes to her,¡± the mother remarked joyfully.

    Within 48 hours, Tahir and Warda were engaged, and a couple of months later, they tied the knot.

    Afterward, Warda moved to another town with her husband. Although they felt sad when their daughter left, Saifullah and Banou considered themselves fortunate.

    Warda began working at a college, and her life seemed blissful.

    However, she would eagerly consume any news story about Afghanistan that she came across because a part of her heart still belonged to her homeland.

 Warda: Call from Home

    Whenever Tahir returned from work, Warda would welcome him with a beaming smile.

    Tahir relished her joyful smile, like always, that evening in 1997, despite her anxiety and preoccupation.

    As they relaxed on the couch after dinner, Tahir tenderly drew Warda nearer, his arm encircling her. ¡°Hey there, my darling. How are you doing? You seem to be in another world.¡±

    ¡°The Taliban have discovered the concealed underground bunker in my school,¡± Warda murmured, resting her head on his arm.

    ¡°Shireen must have fled to help my father, as she could not dispose of the papers and explosives. Due to fear of capture, no one from our group ventured inside the bunker the following day, and the school remained closed. When classes resumed about a month later, Salaam hammered the trap door shut for good.¡±

    ¡°The Taliban have taken several innocent people into custody and want to prosecute them for acts against the state,¡± Warda was visibly worried.

    ¡°Since our group was publicly involved in creating propaganda literature for the government, the Taliban seemingly do not know the real nature of our covert operations. They also believe that the individuals they have captured are remnants of the communist regime and should be prosecuted. As far as I can tell, our Mujahideen links are currently fighting the Taliban.¡±

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    Warda said with apparent sadness, ¡°The sole person who knows the real story is me, and for that reason, I feel responsible.¡±

    ¡°What then?¡±  Tahir enquired, trying to read her mind.

    ¡°I can get a fruit trifle for you. It had slipped my mind that I had made it.¡± Warda struggled to free herself from Tahir¡¯s grip and escape the subject.

    Tahir whispered, ¡°The fruit trifle can wait,¡± as he kept his half-embrace around Warda.

    ¡°An alternative is to communicate with the Taliban in writing or in person. Still, another is making the potentially dangerous journey to Kabul,¡± he continued.

    ¡°I love you, Tahir, and we cannot afford to ruin our perfect life,¡± Warda answered modestly.

    ¡°My darling, I love you dearly, but I also know that you will always have an unhappy heart until you witness the release of all those in custody.¡±

    A week passed. Tahir had to leave town on an official visit. After receiving word from Kabul, Warda called her father to share the update. Saifullah chose to travel with his daughter to Kabul so they could provide evidence to prove the detainees¡¯ innocence.

    Warda tried to act normally upon Tahir¡¯s return and planned to confront him about the matter the following day.

    But he caught her off guard. ¡°My preparations are complete, and I have gotten the necessary visa to enter Afghanistan. The two of us will be departing for Kabul tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Father has made it clear that only he will accompany me. Being Afghan natives, we have some connections there. Father and I will easily approach the authorities to present our case.¡± Warda remarked.

    ¡°Oh my. It seems like you¡¯ve had enough of me already. What if you change your mind about returning?¡± Tahir playfully remarked.

    ¡°I feel so lucky that I married you.¡± She grabbed him tightly, her eyes full of tears.

    After making the necessary preparations they set out for Kabul the next morning.

 The Taliban

    The Taliban movement was primarily composed of students and religious teachers who had previously attended the madrassas, or religious schools, in Afghanistan and Pakistan. ¡°Taliban¡±, an Arabic term for students, fought alongside the rest of the Mujahideen against the Soviets. After the Soviet evacuation, most of them returned to their teaching roles at the madrassas. However, among the Mujahideen groups, a terrible civil war erupted, plunging the country into anarchy, turmoil, and barbarism, all of which were instigated by the nation¡¯s perceived freedom fighters.

    The Taliban founders believed that the once-holy Islamic heroes had transformed into corrupt traitors and required elimination. Mullah Muhammad Umar, the founder and supreme leader of the Taliban, and his supporters staged an armed struggle to free the people from deadly hostilities and to provide stability and safety across the land in response to the havoc of the civil war in Afghanistan. The Taliban movement quickly gained the praise and admiration of the people who were tyrranised by exploitation and abuse at the hands of the Afghan warlords. It overwhelmed the brutal and corrupt outfits involved in the injustices and oppression enforced on the people.

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    Once in power, the Taliban seemed less competent in governance than fighting.

    The Taliban shut down all schools, including those explicitly run for girls. Boys were permitted only religious study at madrassas. Nevertheless, several Afghans taught their children secretly at home using contemporary educational standards.

    The emergence of the Taliban caused great political unrest among the different communities, which prompted significant migration. Some of the most talented workforce, such as doctors, nurses, technicians and tradespeople, left the country early and settled most successfully. Moreover, the Taliban policy of separating women and eliminating them from the workforce meant that female medical professionals were unable to practice or study. That policy had a dreadful effect on the treatment of women in general and maternal healthcare in particular.

 Warda: Return to Homeland

    Warda was emotionally overcome as she and Tahir crossed the border into her native land. Women wore burqas, covering the entire body except the eyes,  and there were several armed bearded men with turbans.

    In the backseat of the jeep, Tahir held his wife¡¯s hand, sensing her likely emotional state, but he made sure no one was observing.

    At multiple checkpoints, they were detained and questioned about their journey. Tahir replied that his wife wanted to see her home and the city where she was raised. Upon their arrival in Kabul, she finally revealed to the authorities at the Interior Ministry the genuine purpose of her travel. It seemed like a high-ranking official was the one they were transported to, who directed them to take a seat as he was on the phone.

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    ¡°You have made a long journey. My people will take you to your quarters. We will provide food, and I advise you to stay indoors and rest. We will talk tomorrow.¡± He addressed Tahir throughout the conversation and seemed considerate.

    Under Taliban rule, the head of state was the ¡°Amir¡±, who held immense legislative and executive power as the leader of a tightly centralised Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. He served as the highest authority on matters of law, had the last say in major political and legal disputes, and was the ultimate decision-maker in matters of law¡¯s conformance with Sharia.

    Sharia is Islamic jurisprudence based on the teachings of the Quran and ¡°Hadith¡± (the documented words, deeds, and blessings of the Prophet Muhammad).

    While the Amir held absolute authority in the Islamic Emirate of the Taliban, other officials were responsible for day-to-day administrative operations.

 Warda: The Trial

    On their second day in Kabul, Tahir and Warda headed for the Ministry of Defence after breakfast.

    Five officials with long beards sat on chairs on an elevated platform. A curtained enclosure separated Warda and the men. One declared that the accused were to be tried by a military court as the case involved crimes against the state. There were sixteen of them, seven of whom were women.

    The court gave Warda unlimited time to present her statement, following which they conducted a cross-examination.

    ¡°Given the evidence at hand, it is quite clear that the subject location was a meeting venue of the anti-Jihad propaganda-generating elements of the communist government,¡± stated one judge.

    ¡°We decided not to proceed with the verdict after our consulate in Pakistan informed us that a key witness and conspirator would be coming to participate in the trial.¡±

    ¡°Putting yourself in harm¡¯s way to protect your accomplices is, in our opinion, an admirable act,¡± he continued in a low voice.

    Warda characterised the defendants as freedom fighters and Shireen and Bekobod as martyrs in her statements and arguments. In her account of Shireen¡¯s death, she urged the tribunal to bring to trial the individuals who possessed Shireen¡¯s documents following her passing and the owner of the residence they had sought refuge in after their escape from Kabul.

    After briefly murmuring, the court adjourned the proceedings until the next hearing two days later.

    Their guards led the couple to their sleeping quarters. There was an ominous vibe permeating Kabul, even if there was no shooting or distant explosions of bombs.

    Refugees in Pakistan had told her that women wore burqas and were only visible with male relatives who were at least 18 years old. There wasn¡¯t a flurry of movement as students went to and from school.

    ¡°I hope we can go out. If I could go back in time, I would have shown you around my school and the university.¡± Warda wept as she expressed her desire to visit Shireen¡¯s cemetery and spend time there.

    ¡°It is a blessing that you are alive and well cared for. Ultimately, you are a key conspirator.¡± Tahir imitated a judge¡¯s emulation.

    ¡°Consider the positive aspects of the circumstance. Given the tough routine of my new job, we have much catching up to do, and we have two full days without work.¡± To cheer Warda up, Tahir winked at her.

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    Two days later, their guards notified them that the court proceedings had been postponed for one week due to legal issues.

    The court reconvened after a nine-day break. After reciting verses from the Holy Quran, one judge read from the court¡¯s deductions: ¡°It appears that the previous government of the Mujahideen and subsequently the present government have summarily tried and executed the cabinet members, the president and chiefs of the armed forces, and KhAD.

    ¡°Despite being on our most wanted list, one cabinet minister has offered to come to Kabul and deliver his account. He has shown tremendous courage, much like Mrs. Tahir. The delay in this court¡¯s sessions was due to his availability, as he travelled from Europe to Islamabad and then drove to Kabul.

    ¡°Please bring Mr Hadayat into the courtroom¡±.

    Warda felt her heart sink. She felt sick to her stomach and on the verge of passing out from the fear of what lay ahead. ¡°Why would he make such an effort to reach his death?¡± Warda pondered. Recalling the events surrounding Shireen¡¯s death and her covert operations in his house, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether he had conspired with the Taliban to exact revenge on her. ¡°I will accept guilt on all counts regardless of the outcome, but in my statement of guilt, I will never once mention Saleha or her mother,¡± she swore to herself.

    ¡°Mr Hadayat, let me remind you that you will restrict yourself to providing the details of this particular case and will refrain from describing or defending your role in other crimes of the communist era.¡± Another judge stated pretty firmly. ¡°The matter at hand is distinct and will be addressed according to its merits¡±.

    ¡°Warda and her school principal, Shireen, were freedom fighters, risking more than many of you who are judging her,¡± he said in a grave, uncharacteristically glum delivery.

    His account was almost identical to Warda¡¯s but with chilling specifics about his role in the partisan fight and its aftermath. During his final year as minister, he and a small group of his colleagues employed Shireen to leak crucial intelligence to the Taliban. Warda was a courier for her. After word got out about the shootout at the safe house, KhAD agents planted in the minister¡¯s mansion reported that Warda had left unexpectedly the following morning. In response, the chief of the KhAD ordered that the minister and his family be restricted to their house until an investigation could be launched.

    In addition, he declared that he was returning to Kabul after an official overseas tour on that

    tragic night while aboard a government plane.

    During the trip, a covert agent from the Pakistani intelligence agency accompanied the minister

    and overheard the pilot informing his copilot that the control tower in Kabul had ordered him to

    taxi on an alternate runway reserved for KhAD planes instead of the usual landing strip.

    Before instructing the pilot to land in Peshawar, Pakistan, rather than Kabul, the agent quickly neutralised the two KhAD operatives on board, using a dinner fork, grabbed their weapons, and then revealed to the minister that the KhAD had possibly discovered the plot and that they would arrest him upon landing.

    Minister Hadayat was adamant about staying with his family and enduring the inevitable repercussions. The Pakistani agent then put pressure on the minister¡¯s carotid arteries till he passed out. According to the other passengers, the agent, with his weapon drawn, shouted to them to restrain Hadayat using the plane¡¯s oxygen mask tubing and their neckties. It was clear to him that the KhAD and KGB would employ any means necessary to coerce the minister into divulging information that would put the spy network at risk.

    Meanwhile, in Kabul, Saleha, her mother and several employees were tortured and then executed by KhAD.

    In Pakistan, the senior officers in the minister¡¯s entourage shared valuable intelligence with the Pakistani and Western authorities. However, the minister suffered a massive heart attack on learning the fate of his family and remained critically ill till he underwent a heart transplant in Europe after a year.

    Warda¡¯s piercing cries abruptly broke the dead silence. The judges became genuinely distressed and utterly bewildered. Images of people unfairly punished due to delayed evidence or multifactorial biases flooded every judge¡¯s mind.

    The next witness was the owner of the house that sheltered Saifullah and his family. He recorded his statement, which was briefly cross-examined.

    The court was adjourned for a week. The tribunal wanted to consult the Pakistani intelligence agencies before giving a verdict.

    Later that night, one of the guards told Tahir that he and his wife were free to roam around the city whenever they wished. They could also visit family or friends in the capital or neighbouring regions. They were provided with a car, a chauffeur, and an escort jeep

 Warda: The Verdict

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 Warda: The Proposition

    Warda and Tahir made it to the official¡¯s residence at about sunset. While the men prayed at a mosque, the women were shown to the home¡¯s living room, which, surprisingly for a high-ranking government member, was modest and plain. It made Warda think of the extravagant lives of Kabul¡¯s elite from a decade ago. A few women and the hostess received Warda in the room, where Warda removed her burqa.

    Tahir was regarded as an esteemed guest and given most of the talking time as the men gathered in a separate chamber following prayers. The minister kept a level head, but the atmosphere was warm and friendly as everyone sat on a clean carpet, with most people sitting cross-legged. He discussed various government development plans sponsored by the Gulf countries and sought Tahir¡¯s views.

    Then, a traditional Afghan mat was spread out with dishes of rice and mutton gravy on it, and green tea was served after dinner.

    The rest of the guests left after the final prayers of the day. Still, Warda asked the official¡¯s wife if discussing some issues with the minister before she left for Pakistan was possible. The lady called her seven-year-old son to convey the message, and soon, the four of them went to a room with a curtain drawn across its middle and chairs on both sides. Tahir and the minister sat on one side of the curtain, and Warda and the official¡¯s wife settled on the other.

    ¡°Yes, my sister? You have some questions on your mind, and I invited you precisely to answer them and then offer a proposition.¡±

    ¡°Respected, sir, I will come straight to the point. Shireen and her team of teenage girls did not endanger their lives, their honour, and the lives and honour of their loved ones for this Afghanistan, where women are not allowed to get an education, where they cannot move around freely, and where they are in effect imprisoned in their homes.¡± Warda looked at the minister¡¯s wife to see if she showed any disapproval. She was surprised to see her calm and smiling.

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    On the other side of the curtain, Tahir had his head down, hoping that Warda¡¯s wish list would stop there. He glanced at the minister, who was caressing his beard and appeared rather amused.

    ¡°My sister! I am an engineer, and my wife practiced law before the sky fell on our nation. All the superpowers that came here to enforce their ideologies on us¡ªto make us cultured and civilised¡ªhave their hands soaked in the blood of millions. They perpetrated genocides against nations that failed to meet their governance standards, and to make matters worse, they harbour no remorse for their actions. In fact, they have glorified these acts since they are the ones who wrote the fancy history books that are lying in the greatest universities of the world.¡±

    ¡°The Taliban brought peace and justice to the land, only because the people united with them against the atrocities of the warlords. The Islamic law and code of conduct have ended the chaos that persisted even after the Soviets withdrew. The honour of the Afghan woman is now more secure than it has been in the past decade and a half.¡±

    ¡°Education and welfare of women is the responsibility of the state,¡± he continued, ¡°but the blood of the Taliban, the vast majority being youth, is still warm with the severest of fighting one can imagine. We do not have food, jobs or shelter for our citizens. It is a matter of priority now, but I give you my word that we will start primary education for girls under twelve this year. We already have a memorandum of understanding with a powerful central European nation, which, through its NGOs, will provide teaching facilities for boys and girls. The teachers will respect our religious and cultural norms, and only lady teachers will teach the girls. The curriculum will encompass Islamic and contemporary education. As these primary school girls progress to higher classes, the NGOs collaborating with our government will have a higher program.¡±

    ¡°We request you to restart Miss Shireen¡¯s institution. You can leave in five to six months once the European and our local education teams gain confidence in this environment.¡±

    ¡°I have a project for Mr Tahir as well. Given your sacrifice, we will ensure that his salary is more than what he is getting in Pakistan.¡±

    Smiling, the minister continued, ¡°I acknowledge that we are asking too much of you. You can go to Pakistan, consider our proposal, and, if you are willing to proceed, come back.¡±

 Warda: Affectionate Companion

    Upon returning to their room, Tahir playfully mocked Warda, ¡°I know what you are thinking.¡±

    ¡°I will do whatever you decide.¡± Warda looked intently into Tahir¡¯s eyes as she responded.

    ¡°My love, I can assure you that many in the Taliban leadership do not share the minister¡¯s viewpoint. Most of them are biased against modern education because they are madrassa graduates,¡± he commented as he changed into his pyjamas.

    They were both contemplating issues as they pretended to sleep in bed. Tahir felt perplexed by his current sentiments for Warda and their eventual destiny together. ¡°Can I say now that I love her unconditionally, or is it admiration of her strength of character? Is jealousy of her virtuous beliefs eroding my affection for her? Could her devotion to a cause make her love for me seem less important?¡±

    Warda would always do as he said, he was sure of it. Even more troubling to him was that she would go to Pakistan with him without any reservations. She owed Shireen an obligation, which she might partially fulfil by continuing her mission of educating the Afghan women despite the difficulties she would face. Would he be burdened by the guilt of restraining her from discharging that commitment? Is her laughter a genuine expression of her joy or just an attempt to make him happy?

    After he took a mental break and stopped thinking for a while, one thing became very clear to him: he was never going to abandon his wife, and he was responsible for her safety and well-being.

    ¡°I am expecting¡±. The exciting announcement from Warda jolted him out of his train of thoughts.

    She had been experiencing morning sickness recently, and her dream of becoming a mother became a reality when she saw the positive result on the strip test she had packed.

    ¡°That is wonderful!¡± Tahir exclaimed as he leapt to his feet and turned to face Warda.

    ¡°Warda, we have to return for the sake of our child,¡± he said with seriousness. ¡°The country has regressed by decades, and the wars have wrecked its infrastructure. It is not safe for you to have our child here. All the qualified doctors and nurses have already left.¡±

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    The following day, they informed the authorities of their desire to return. It was a relief for Tahir to return home and resume his regular life with his loved ones. While everyone was overjoyed to hear the news of her pregnancy, she could not help but feel guilty about prioritising her interests over those of her countrywomen and being unable to sustain Shireen¡¯s noble goal of empowering and educating the women of Afghanistan.

    Meanwhile, her brother Mustafa departed for the USA for residency after passing the US Medical Licensing Examination.

    As fate would have it, Warda had a miscarriage during her second trimester and lost her son. She was devastated, but she secretly believed this was destiny¡¯s way of punishing her for betraying Shireen¡¯s cause.

    With her husband¡¯s emotional support, Warda pretended life was normal.

    Reports from her homeland indicated a state of relative calm but no signs of prosperity. The Taliban indeed reduced sexual assault and extortion practised by the warlords as weapons against the enemy. They generally improved law and order but clearly did not prioritise education. As a result, women suffered greatly in society, with limited opportunities for education, healthcare, and employment.

    No matter how much Tahir tried to cheer her up¡ªby spending more time with her, taking her out more frequently¡ªhe could tell that his wife was severely depressed. Often, he would discover her startled awakening in the middle of the night, her scream barely audible, as if she had just experienced a nightmare. The most unsettling thing was that she never spoke to Tahir about her apparent regret at abandoning Shireen¡¯s mission, which was unfulfilled.

    ¡°Warda, for God¡¯s sake, you are losing yourself to the past,¡± Tahir approached her directly.

    ¡°That¡¯s ok as long as I don¡¯t lose you,¡± sighed Warda.

    ¡°No, Warda! You know what I mean. I want the woman I married back. Please speak to me, Warda. We will have another child, and even if we don¡¯t, we will adopt an orphan in Afghanistan,¡± Tahir spoke earnestly.

    ¡°I did not marry you for a child; I married you for you¡­my Warda,¡± he continued.

    Warda looked up at Tahir and spoke in a broken tone, ¡°Don¡¯t ever talk to me about Afghanistan. That place cursed.¡±

    ¡°You are lying to yourself. Your heart is in Afghanistan. You and I will go there and stay for a couple of months. It would help if you started at Shireen¡¯s school; they also have work for me,¡± Tahir pleaded.

    The minister who offered us the assignments seemed to be a good person. As the Amir¡¯s spokesman, he is an influential person who can guarantee our safety.¡±

    Tears were now dribbling down her cheeks. Tahir was relieved to see that she was opening up.

    ¡°Your destiny is intertwined with that of Afghanistan, and I love you too much to see you in this state of sorrow and frustration. Happiness has its price; luckily, in our case, it¡¯s not too much. After all, I¡¯m a Pashtun, and my forefathers came from that country too. So let¡¯s go, girl!¡±

    Warda was weeping loudly as Tahir took her in an embrace.

 Warda: Shireenéˆ¥æªš Legacy

    ¡°Are you mad? You are not going back!¡± shouted Banou when Warda came to Peshawar to tell her parents of her plans.

    ¡°Saifullah! You put some sense into her. It¡¯s unsafe there, and we have found happiness here after going through hell. The Taliban are illiterate countryfolk, and though relatively peaceful, the country has gone back a hundred years.¡±

    ¡°Mother, people have sacrificed their lives to enable us to find this happiness. I have met the Taliban, and they have specifically asked for my help to restart Shireen¡¯s school. Shireen wanted to educate and liberate the Afghan women. Still, she abandoned her life¡¯s goal to rescue Father and save his life.¡± Warda remarked obediently.

    Banou looked to Saifullah for support.

    He cleared his throat and solemnly stated, ¡°Warda, my dearest, I still love my country despite all the concerns and yearn to return. But as parents, we are very reluctant to let you go, considering the tough life people still face due to poverty and the strict rules applied by the Taliban, especially about women¡¯s freedom.¡±

    Saifullah then looked towards his wife and continued, ¡°Banou, our daughter is someone¡¯s wife as well. We have spoken to Warda; I will ask Tahir¡¯s viewpoint and advise him against leaving his peaceful life. But in the end, their mutual decision takes precedence.¡±

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    Tahir had already communicated the decision to arrive in Afghanistan to the Taliban spokesperson. Their former Taliban guards met them at the border and led them to a restored house near Shireen¡¯s school; the house had enough helpers and maids to keep them comfortable.

    The following day, an official delivered the couple¡¯s advance salary payments.

    Upon visiting her school, Warda discovered that, despite renovation efforts, it presented a neglected picture, and the structure had deteriorated compared to its condition in Shireen¡¯s time. Carpenters, masons, electricians, and painters showed up to work the day after she contacted the Ministry of Education.

    As Tahir watched his wife commit herself to teaching girls in kindergarten through sixth grade, he saw her improving each passing day.

    Because the burqa masked their age and identity outside of school premises, older pupils who had to quit school because of the civil war and the subsequent limitation of women¡¯s education by the Taliban also started attending.

    There was enough space for these older pupils to continue their education, and Warda hired tutors who could teach them secondary school. Besides, given Warda¡¯s reputation as an ex-partisan, the Taliban administration disregarded this practice.

    The husband and wife dug in together to face the challenges of restoring a damaged nation as Tahir got busy repairing roads and bridges. Warda became pregnant the following year, and their love and respect for each other deepened.

    She got used to her burqa, and her house became the social hub of the wives and daughters of Taliban leaders who respected and idealised her for her devotion to her cause.

 Warda: The Reunion

    Medical services were poor throughout the country. In Kabul, a hospital had working obstetric and gynaecological services. Warda visited it for her antenatal checkups.

    She often spoke to her parents on the telephone, and they were thrilled to learn that she was expecting a baby. They wanted her to come to Pakistan. But her doctor advised against travel. She assured her that she could get care in Kabul.

    Her parents travelled to Kabul. They missed their daughter and wanted to surprise her with a visit. Banou wished to be present to look after her and help her care for the baby.

    The parents visited their relatives and old friends in the capital. Saifullah enjoyed Banou¡¯s grumbling about the burqa she had to wear to go out. To their dismay, the two visited their university and found not much left. During the civil war between rival Mujahideen groups, vandals damaged the institution. Its building bore the scars of bloody battles for power. Yet, the two found solace in the company of their darling Warda. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    One day, after dinner, as the family sat down in the living room to relax, Saifullah made a humorous remark: ¡°Tahir, I don¡¯t know your view. I am happy the Taliban enforced the burqa. Now, I don¡¯t have to worry about wandering eyes on my beautiful wife. Nor do I have to feel jealous if she looks back at some handsome men.¡±

    ¡°You men are all alike! Selfish and sadist. I want to meet the Amir. I want him to enforce the burqa for men. It would prevent you from seeing other women. The sweat would pour into your eyes under these hot parachutes.¡± Everybody erupted in laughter at her description of the burqa.

 Leah Goldstein

    Leah Goldstein stood at the window of her opulent house in Knightsbridge, staring at the street below. Still, her thoughts were in Boston, thousands of miles away, on the other side of the Atlantic. With the expected arrival of a granddaughter in a few months, she could not help but think of her daughter, her dearest, Deborah. Leah was concerned, but her thoughts went beyond the usual reflections of a mother.

    In fulfilment of some peculiar celestial logic, Leah¡¯s lineage followed a particular pattern: Every woman in her maternal ancestry bore only one daughter. This divine principle did not apply to the male progeny, and a mother could have several sons, but there was always only one daughter.

    There was a conspicuous purpose to this scheme of fate, as all the women who had existed in her bloodline were destined to serve as instruments of change in the realms of their times. They stood up against evil in their surroundings; not everyone succeeded, and some paid the ultimate price for their convictions.

    , feeling the weight of their legacies on her shoulders.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Mama, Mama! Look what Papa has brought for me!¡± the 6-year-old Leah shouted in Yiddish, clinging to a doll as her father lifted her.

    Symeon Poznanski was a lawyer, a noted politician from the Socialist General Labour Bund, and a member of the Polish parliament.

    ¡°Symeon, you are spoiling her. She has enough toys even though I have given away so many already.¡± Leah¡¯s mother, Ewa, came swiftly down the staircase to greet her husband, who arrived from a trip to another town.

    Taking Leah from her husband, she spoke gently to her daughter, ¡° What did Rabbi Jacobovitz tell the children in the school last week?¡±

    ¡°We must save for the rainy day!¡± Leah exclaimed rhythmically, and her mother nodded in unison as she held her, both looking at each other.

    ¡°So, tell Papa to save money for your dowry instead of wasting it on buying toys for you all the time,¡± Ewa lightly pinched Leah¡¯s nose as she sent the message to Symeon.

    Ewa was an attractive woman in her early thirties. Because of her blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked more like a Christian Pole than of Jewish descent.

    Her two brothers attended a religious school to study Torah, while she enrolled in a public school. Most Jewish religious scholars of the time held that women could not understand the actual teachings of the Torah and Talmud.

    At school, she took a fancy to Polish literature and became very articulate in the Polish language. Still, her life took a turn when she met and became friends with the legendary Sarah Schenirer.

    She then championed religious education for Jewish girls, helped establish schools that combined Jewish education with a modern curriculum and was determined to show that women could decipher Jewish sacred texts as well as men.

    Ewa was active in her social circle. She was an energetic member of Ognisko Kobiet, a Jewish women¡¯s group that looked after the families of veterans of Poland¡¯s fight for independence about twenty years ago.

    At a girls¡¯ school opening, she met Symeon. He heard her debating women¡¯s rights in Yiddish with a rabbi, then in Polish with a Catholic priest.

    They married the following year and settled in Warsaw. Her brothers ran a Yiddish theatre, some restaurants, and a printing press. They all lived in a wealthy area of Warsaw with a predominantly Jewish population.

 Leah: The Tides of Change

    Leah joined a school in the neighbourhood a month ago but needed help settling down. She refused to accompany her 11-year-old brother and insisted on attending, provided one of her parents walked her to and from school.

    That was the happiest year of her life.

    As they lay in bed that winter night in 1938, Ewa inquired about her husband¡¯s journey.

    ¡°Things in the east are worsening. The trade unions and now the government are denying jobs to our people. The economy is already faltering, and the anti-Semitic wave may spread to the west of the country as well. I will take up the matter in Parliament again. However, the cabinet seems preoccupied with the alliance between Russia and Germany.¡±

    ¡°Ah! I heard similar rumours at the Ognisko Kobiet meeting. Some women were discussing an impending invasion by the Russians or the Germans. Some dismissed the speculation as a government-sponsored hoax. They said that it was meant to distract from internal issues.¡±

    ¡°We must brace ourselves for what is coming. I fear the future holds greater challenges for our people,¡± Symeon added as an afterthought.

    And challenging times did arrive as everyone had predicted. In September 1939, the Soviet Union, Nazi Germany, and the Slovak Republic invaded Poland. Thus began an era of unparalleled tragedy and suffering.

    The constant bombing of Warsaw by German planes frightened Leah. When their home rocked from the explosions, her parents would hurry to the basement with her and her brother. They would cover her ears tightly to muffle the sound.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared, my love. It¡¯s just rain and thunder,¡± her mother would say. She had covered the windows with paper and cloth. There used to be total darkness inside their house at night. However, a bright reddish hue of flames showed through the covered windows once Leah and her family went upstairs at the end of the bombing.

    A month passed, and the explosions stopped. She and her brother were forbidden to leave the house. Leah was happy that she no longer had to wake up early for school, and her father spent more time with her at home.

    But everybody else looked afraid most of the time. There was no longer any laughter in the house. Even her favourite uncle Urjasz, who was always joyful, laughing at small things and making everyone happy around him with jokes and anecdotes, looked gloomy and lost whenever he used to visit their house to deliver food.

    Leah felt left out the following week when she saw her parents and brother wearing a white band around their arms. She wanted to identify with her family and somehow feared being separated from them because she was not considered part of the family.

    ¡°Mama, Mama, Why can¡¯t I wear such a band?¡± she complained to her mother.

    ¡°My darling, this is for those who have to work outside.¡± Then she approached Leah and whispered to her, ¡°We will not have to wear it next year once your father becomes the president of Poland. But, keep this to yourself. Don¡¯t even tell your brother,¡± she put her finger on her lips.

    Leah pretended to understand and accept her mother¡¯s explanation. Yet something told her it was a bad omen for her family. She wanted to stay united with her family, whatever the circumstances.

    That evening, she peeked through a small gap in the paper covering one of the windows upstairs when she heard loud shouting outside. She felt distressed to see a rowdy crowd clad in uniform torching their synagogue.

    By then, Leah was aware that the Germans were the evil ones. They caused the unhappiness and misery in their lives.

 Leah: The Ghetto

    Time went by, and the German authorities declared that all Jews in Poland would be confined to designated areas known as ¡°ghettos¡±. Leah and her family lived in the Warsaw ghetto, the world¡¯s largest, which was walled off from the rest of the city. Non-Jewish Poles resided in the ¡°Aryan Side¡±, and any Pole discovered helping or sheltering a Jew was executed.

    Food was scarce, and the family used to go to bed mostly hungry, despite the fact that Leah¡¯s parents used to give her brother and herself more food than what they had themselves. Her parents had grown skinny, and her father was sick and in a chair most of the time.

    The meagre rations permitted by the Nazis for the ghetto Jewish population were not enough to nourish them to remain alive.

    Uncle Urjasz used to bring small amounts of flour, groats, vegetables, bread, and sometimes margarine, meat, milk, and sugar. Later, Leah learnt that he risked his life to smuggle food from outside the ghetto.

    The winter of 1940 was long and relentless. People burned pieces of their furniture as there was hardly any wood, fuel oil or coal to keep them warm. Cold, starvation and overcrowding precipitated the onset of deadly disease, with the elderly and the very young being the primary victims.

    For Leah, the site of shrivelled children 5 to 6 years of age lying listless along the sides of the streets was no longer a very uncommon sight, as she used to go out with her mother to her uncles¡¯ homes. The older siblings of such children would beg the passers-by for food. Often, the child was frozen, stiff, and lifeless, having suffered extreme cold and starvation.

    Leah felt distressed by the apparent insensitivity of all the adults with white bands around their arms who would pass by, telling their children to look the other way. But she was proud of her mother, who would often kneel beside the very sick of the lot and put a pinch of sugar in their mouths.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Surprisingly, the child would open its eyes and look at her in a way that drove her to pick it up and hug it for a minute or so. Leah could not forget the expression on her mother¡¯s face, and she always wondered whether she was an angel.

    Leah never wanted her mother to be an angel, as angels and fairies had wings that enabled them to fly away.

    With Symeon sick most of the time, Ewa felt it was time to play a more active role in looking after her kin, as they were exhausting their savings. She wanted a steady income to support the family and offer more than a pinch of sugar to the orphans dying on the streets.

    She and her female relatives started knitting sweaters and warm socks. They assembled spare clothes, children¡¯s toys, suitcases, and d¨¦cor items to pass to Urjasz, who would sneak them to the Aryan side and trade them in the quiet for food and medicine.

    They soon ran out of goods to trade, and her family could not meet the demand.

    Ewa managed to recruit more women, and after four months, she was running three small factories in some of the bigger homes in the vicinity. She had to keep her business secret out of fear of extortion by the ghetto police and because the Germans wanted the Jews to work for them for free, not earn a living for themselves or their kin.

    The enterprise also allowed the menfolk of the female workers to band together and conduct the smuggling more skilfully, boosting their earnings and profits and helping their families.

    Although some ghetto inhabitants became relatively wealthy thanks to the underground economy, it was responsible for keeping the population alive.

    Ewa made a list of young orphans and the aged people in her locality, as they bore the brunt of malnutrition and disease. The ghetto children played a crucial role in passing food through the wall. She structured a mechanism to furnish sustenance to this disadvantaged group by engaging her neighbourhood kids to distribute the food to those on her list.

 Ewa: The Enemy Within

    One day, Ewa visited her older brother Nehemja¡¯s home and took Leah along.

    There was a loud pounding on the door as they sat for supper. Everyone looked horrified while Nehemja went to the door to answer. There was an angry argument in Yiddish, as the men who had come wanted to enlist him to clear the rubble in the city caused by the German bombing.

    Ewa went outside in support of her brother, ¡°Please spare him. I am Symeon Poznanski¡¯s wife. Since Symeon is sick, my brother Nehemja is also looking after our family.¡±

    ¡°We have instructions from the Council of Elders to take one sturdy male from each household in this sector to clean up the debris in the city,¡± one of the men replied firmly.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t the four of you come inside and have hot soup? We can talk there.¡± Ewa guided them to the table, where they greedily gulped everything. She reached for her purse and gave the leader some money she had brought with her as a donation to establish a secret school for teaching young girls in their neighbourhood.

    ¡°I am sure we can have some kind of understanding,¡± Ewa remarked politely.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Your husband is a decent man.¡± Turning then to Nehemja, he stated sharply, ¡°You and your son disappear for a week or so.¡±

    Everybody sighed with relief when they left.

    ¡°Thank you, sister.¡± Nehemja faced Ewa.

    ¡°Go to your friend Aleksander¡¯s workshop with Jozef and hide there for a week,¡± Ewa said, hugging her brother. In the meantime, Urjasz will deliver food.

    Months before the invasion, Ewa had sold her jewellery and other valuable possessions from the house. She persuaded her husband to take all the money out of the bank. Ensuing events proved her right as the Germans froze every Jewish bank account.

    The four visitors were members of the Jewish Ghetto Police, Jewish residents of the ghetto who were responsible for the internal security of the ghettos and enforced the directives of the Council of Elders, or the Judenrat. The latter was a committee comprising influential Jewish citizens representing the ghetto¡¯s inhabitants.

    Despite the Judenrat¡¯s claims to manage the ghettos for the benefit of their residents and act as a mediator between them and the Nazis, it mainly served to enforce Nazi rule in its area of responsibility. Its role in uplifting the community was minimal. Occasionally, it distributed food and set up a few schools and orphanages. However, Jewish charities and the masses organised most of these services, with the black market serving as the backbone of the ghetto economy. In reality, the Judenrat helped deport fellow Jews from the ghettos to their deaths in the extermination camps.

 Leah: The First Sorrow

    The next day, Ewa took her children to a religious school for girls she had assisted in establishing alongside a group of Rabbis. She planned to build more of these schools all across the ghetto as she was unsure when these times would end.

    Two hours later, on her way back, she heard women screaming. She hurried to find out what had happened since Nehemja¡¯s home was near the noise source. The shrieks got louder as she turned into the alley leading to his house. Suddenly, she felt faint with a lump in her throat when she saw two bodies lying outside his front door. She rushed towards them, only to be stopped midway by ghetto policemen. As Ewa started to cry loudly, the shrieking and wailing intensified when her sister-in-law and her 15-year-old daughter observed her through the window.

    ¡°You cannot go near them! The Germans have decreed that their bodies stay in this location as a warning to everyone about the consequences of disobeying the Third Reich!¡±

    ¡°What did they do?¡± Ewa spotted the man she had paid money to the previous day and walked briskly towards him, crying out, ¡°You had...¡± She collapsed to the ground, unable to finish her sentence, as another one of the four men who had visited Nehemja¡¯s house struck her in the back of the head with his baton.

    Crouching down beside their mother¡¯s motionless body, Leah and her brother screamed in anguish.

    A few minutes later, Urjasz arrived at the scene and pleaded with the policemen in Yiddish, ¡°Please allow me to take my sister and her children inside. They are innocent. She is overwhelmed with emotions. I beg of you.¡±

    ¡°Tell her to keep quiet if she wakes up alive, or we will come after her husband next.¡±

    Then he said quietly to Nehemja, ¡°I had warned him to vanish. Had I not told the Germans about his disobedience, someone else would have, and I would be lying next to him.¡±

    Urjasz lifted his sister and took her to his deceased brother¡¯s house. He felt suffocated with grief as he embraced his brother¡¯s family to comfort them. He then cleaned and bandaged the gash on the back of Ewa¡¯s head.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    After a while, Ewa opened her eyes, and without making a sound, tears came pouring down the sides of her eyes.

    Nehemja¡¯s wife narrated that the four Jewish Ghetto Police personnel who arrived the day before broke down their front door and left. Six German soldiers entered, pulled her husband and son out into the side street, where they tied their hands behind their backs, made them kneel, and then shot them from the back.

    The residents could hear an announcement in Yiddish on a loudspeaker threatening to shoot anyone who disobeyed the Third Reich¡¯s orders.

    *******************************************************************************************************************************

    The ghetto rapidly became overcrowded due to the forced eviction of Jewish families from neighbouring towns. Leah was overjoyed when Uncle Urjasz and his family shifted into their house along with Uncle Nehemja¡¯s widow and daughter.

    A week after the murder of Nehemja and his son, two members of the Council of Elders visited the Poznanskis. They were old associates of Symeon and appeared perturbed by the incident.

    ¡°We are sorry for your loss,¡± one said sorrowfully. ¡°The Judenrat had nothing to do with it. We came to know after the tragic incident had occurred.¡±

    ¡°They were your men!¡± Ewa remarked in a cold tone. ¡°How can you wash your hands of my brother¡¯s and nephew¡¯s blood when it was Jews who led the Germans to his house.¡±

    ¡°You kill your brothers; you are worse than the invaders!!¡± Ewa grew louder since she could no longer curtail her emotions.

    ¡°Some members of our Jewish police carry out such crimes to please the Nazis in an endeavour to secure the safety of their families. They are also quite active in the black market. Hence, they often ignore our directions and challenge our authority to make money. The Nazi directives often tie our hands, as noncompliance leads to summary execution.¡±

    ¡°We are all prisoners, Symeon, awaiting the ultimate penalty,¡± the other guest, a reserved man, said, placing his hand on Symeon¡¯s shoulder as he left.

    Symeon had learnt to live with his disease. Though frail, he could now stroll around his neighbourhood with a stick, no longer bound to his chair.

    He had become quiet and withdrawn, and Leah¡¯s life would have been shattered seeing her uncle¡¯s and cousin¡¯s blood-stained bodies and her father¡¯s vulnerable state if it were not for her mother and Uncle Urjasz, who managed to divert her attention from life¡¯s cruel reality to a world of imaginings and bliss invented in stories of fantasies.

    Ewa alone could discern her husband¡¯s emotional state. She could sense an indomitable spirit desperate to rip apart the cage of skin and bone and face the challenges head-on.

 Ewa: A Parentéˆ¥æªš Fears

    Everyone was asleep early one morning; Ewa unlocked the side door for Urjasz as he arrived with the food, then sank into a chair beside her husband. Holding his bony hand, she urged him to be conclusive, ¡°Symeon, we cannot sit still and just perish at the hands of the Nazis and their collaborators among us.¡±

    ¡°My primary concerns revolve around the safety of our children,¡± he answered slowly, gazing at his toes that were peeping out of his quilt.

    ¡°I agree with you that it¡¯s unlikely we will survive this captivity. The Germans are going to kill every ghetto inhabitant. Therefore, you must take the kids someplace safe,¡± he continued.

    Ewa softly squeezed her husband¡¯s hand as though trying to console him while he expressed his heartbreaking thoughts.

    "On the Aryan side, a group of Polish ladies provides shelter to Jewish children. Our partisans smuggle the children into the Aryan side, where they are delivered to the Polish team. The local leader of our partisans has contacted me lately, and I plan to organise your escape with the kids.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Symeon caressed her hand and continued, ¡°When practising law, I rescued a wealthy Polish businessman from the gallows. He left for Italy, where he amassed additional wealth and became part of the powerful social scene.¡±

    ¡°He educated his son, Matteo Rossi, in Italy, who married an Italian. The young fellow has come to Warsaw to acquire priceless Eastern European works of art plundered by the Nazis.¡±

    Symeon rubbed his chin and turned his head to face Ewa. ¡°He resides in a house in the German quarters and has reached out to me on behalf of his father if I required his assistance. From what I have heard from our partisans who delivered me his message, he is a smart, resourceful young man.¡±

    ¡°Your flawless Polish and confident demeanour will help you go around the Aryan side, unnoticed, where you will stay for a couple of weeks with the children at a safe place until Matteo Rossi manages to prepare the necessary papers to get you out of the country,¡± he added.

    ¡°Symeon, there are Polish squads all too eager to hunt Jews for booty, and the Nazis kill those who shelter them. It is becoming increasingly difficult to trust fellow Jews in the ghetto, let alone a Pole on the Aryan side or a wealthy foreigner who deals with the Nazis. I am not going anywhere without you.¡± Ewa replied firmly.

 Ewa: Touched by Grace

    ¡°Mama! Mama! Look! A woman has picked up a child from the street and is holding him just like you.¡±

    Leah was quite correct in pointing out a young woman bending over a small child, attempting to cheer him up with lots of loving nods and smiles.

    Her kindness captivated Leah and her mother, drawing them to where she knelt.

    ¡°Hello there. It seems you need to find your band.¡± Ewa smiled warmly and talked to her in Yiddish, pointing to her armband. ¡°Before someone sees this and reproaches you, let me tie this handkerchief around your arm.¡±

    ¡°No. That¡¯s alright. Thank you.¡± She responded in Yiddish, but there was a noticeable difference in her accent. With the baby still in her arms, she grinned. Moreover, his older sibling watched in wonder as the younger one managed to attract beautiful women that day.

    ¡°It¡¯s clean, I assure you.¡± Ewa spread out the handkerchief in front of the woman with a naughty expression on her face.

    The woman gently placed the child down and introduced herself: ¡°I appreciate your concern. I am Irena Sendler. I work for the Social Welfare Department and have come with my team to carry out our routine bimonthly health surveillance of the area concerning the Typhus outbreak.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I beg your pardon,¡± Ewa mumbled in Polish. She felt quite embarrassed, but Irena eased her tension. ¡°That¡¯s quite alright. You are the only gentle soul who approached me to offer your help; otherwise, I have been frowned upon since my arrival.¡±

    ¡°My name is Ewa Poznanski, and this is my daughter Leah. Please, I did not mean to interrupt.¡±

    As Ewa held her daughter¡¯s hand and turned to leave, Irena called her, ¡°Ewa, do you live nearby?¡±

    ¡°Yes. We live about three minutes¡¯ walk from here.¡±

    ¡°I need to go to the washroom. If you are not in a hurry, would you please take me to your place? I am sorry for the inconvenience.¡±

    ¡°No problem. Please come along,¡± Ewa said.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Antoni!¡± Irena called her colleague. ¡°I am visiting this lady¡¯s house.¡±

    ¡°Sure, I will come too,¡± replied Antoni.

    ¡°Antoni, I have to go to the restroom.¡± She rotated both hands to show her colleague she needed to go alone.

    Antoni responded with a grin and gestured with his hands, suggesting she go.

    ¡°I am so grateful,¡± Irena said as she left the bathroom. She added, ¡°You have such a beautiful house.¡±

    Ewa presented the guest to her spouse, ¡°This is my husband, Symeon Poznanski.¡±

    ¡°Symeon, this is Irena Sendler; she is...¡±

    ¡°She is the angel of hope!¡± Her husband¡¯s unexpected intervention startled Ewa.

    ¡°Mrs Sendler, knowing everything that went on in my constituency was my responsibility as a parliamentarian before the war. I am one-twentieth, the man I used to be now, but I am still well-informed.¡±

    ¡°It is an honour to meet you personally,¡± Symeon continued, ¡°Please eat with us. Your coworkers could also come along.¡±

    ¡°Please call me Irena, and Mr Poznanski, you are truly knowledgeable. I am with three trusted coworkers here.¡±

    They covered several social and medical concerns facing the ghetto.

    Ewa found it incredible how well-informed Irena was about the ghetto¡¯s challenges and requirements. Her character was a mix of compassion and tenacity.

    But once again, Ewa noticed Symeon upsetting the moment¡¯s grace by questioning her guest about a seemingly unrelated matter. She worried his illness might have harmed his head.

    ¡°How are the children doing?¡±

    Soon she would discover that her husband was indeed mindful of the circumstances outside while restricted to his house by his illness.

    ¡°Children, as opposed to adults, tend to recover quickly from setbacks and difficulties. Seeing them gives me and my team hope for a happier future and the strength to carry on,¡± replied Irena.

    Together with several other Poles, Irena would sneak children from the Jewish side of the ghetto to the Aryan side. This was done at a great risk to their own lives and the lives of their families.

    Many of these children found shelter in churches and convents while her group arranged for others to hide in the houses of Polish families. Some moved elsewhere more safely after receiving fictitious identification papers as Christian citizens.

    ¡°My wife is heavily involved in social support and relief work. She can team up with your contacts on our side of the wall and support you with this exacting mission. We have nothing but our prayers and our lives to offer.¡±

    ¡°You have two children. We will do our utmost to accommodate them as soon as possible.¡± Irena tried to comfort her hosts.

    ¡°Oh¡­.,¡± remarked Symeon as he was about to thank her for the offer.

    ¡°My children have their parents to look after them.¡± It was Ewa¡¯s turn to stall her husband from completing his dialogue. ¡°There are numerous orphans who are at risk of dying of hunger and disease. They should be foremost on our priority list. She looked at her husband and smiled, ¡°My husband is right. I am more than willing to join you in this crusade.¡±

    ¡°My concern for the safety of my children outweighs the pride and admiration I feel for my wife,¡± Symeon pondered.

 Ewa: A Glimpse of Defiance

    Jewish resistance groups operated in tandem with the Polish underground to make it possible for Jewish men, women, and children to flee the ghetto secretly. But many who escaped the city to the countryside and the forests were slain by Polish farmers and locals.

    The Germans ordered that the neighbours be put to death alongside the family that hid Jews. Some in the rural areas had established gangs to track down and murder Jews to gain favour with the occupation force; there was also long-standing anti-Semitic prejudice among a number of these communities.

    Ewa tracked some of Irena¡¯s Jewish contacts and managed to involve them in her workshops and schools. Since the partisans formed the only link between Irena¡¯s connections on either side of the wall, she sought to gain information about its network and leadership in the ghetto to coordinate the transit of children to the Aryan side efficiently.

    She found, however, that there were hardly any partisans on the surface, save a few who were directly involved in retrieving the children from operatives on the Jewish side.

    ¡°This business does not disclose names or true identities to protect everyone involved. Suppose one link in the chain of activities is compromised. In that case, the entire network derails.¡± Symeon explained when Ewa told him the dilemma she encountered in contacting the partisans to help more children.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    She finally had a chance to meet four underground members when they showed up to fetch eleven children from one of Irena¡¯s contacts who was working at Ewa¡¯s workshop. These women kept the kids at secret locations until the arrival of the Jewish partisans to take them to the Aryan side.

    ¡°Who is she?¡± one of the men inquired about Ewa from her.

    ¡°She is one of us,¡± the woman replied.

    ¡°She hardly looks like one of us,¡± the contact said. ¡°Still, let us start moving. They will leave if we don¡¯t make it in another thirty minutes.¡±

    Ewa discovered that the women picked the kids to ensure they were healthy enough to run and spend extended time in hiding if required and free from cold or coughing, jeopardizing their covert transit.

    She felt incredible satisfaction and joy once the kids had departed.

    ¡°Here, could you perhaps store this at your house or one of the workshops? They are going to send someone to pick it up tomorrow,¡± the woman said as she gave her a bag that the partisans handed her before they left. It was not too large but felt rather heavy.

    The woman intended to involve Ewa in the resistance effort by this gesture.

    Ewa peeked into it just before placing it in her basement¡¯s closet and counted two pistols and eight hand grenades. She wished she could jump over the wall at that instant and toss the bombs at the Nazis.

    She felt a moment of pride when she realized for the first time that her people had grown inside the ghetto the will to launch an armed struggle.

 Leah: The Declaration of Grief

    When Leah was nearly ten years old, she woke up one bright morning to a loudhailer calling all inhabitants over twelve to congregate in certain places where the Council of Elders would communicate new instructions from the rulers.

    All of Leah¡¯s household members made it to the meeting spot, where a member of the Council greeted the crowd. ¡°Fellow residents!¡± he addressed the gathering. ¡°On behalf of the Council of Elders, I welcome you all to witness this momentous event and be informed of the news every one of you, ghetto citizens, has dreamt of since its creation.¡±

    As Leah looked across the assembly, she could feel relief and curiosity. Before the news was announced, a cacophony of sighs, murmurs, sobs, and sniffles had started. Still, the mood went from wonder and solace to fear and anger as he went on.

    ¡°With the Soviets vanquished and ousted from our sacred homeland and the scourge of Typhus effectively suppressed by your remarkable efforts, our F¨¹hrer has graciously permitted the resettling of the ghetto inhabitants in the eastern provinces of our great nation.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Hearing stories of Jews transported to death camps under the pretence of resettlement, several in the audience understood that the resettlement meant transfer to extermination camps.

    The majority, however, either chose to live in denial about their own inherent social and physical status or outright refused to believe that such widespread barbarism was ever possible. Nearly 100,000 had already died from hunger or disease, and the prospect of resettlement lured many to fantasise about a better life.

    Some in the audience got angry, and insulted the council member.

    Without regard to age or gender, the ghetto police baton-charged the protesters. As the crowd dispersed, survival in the face of the impending extermination camps became the primary concern of many.

    A number of ghetto residents attempted to flee that night. Just outside the wall, Nazi guards opened fire on all of them.

 The Face of Deceit

    A day after the declaration, the SS officer serving as the Resettlement Commissioner called three prominent Jewish council members to his office.

    As the members walked into his plush office, the German, dressed impeccably, grinned.

    ¡°Take a seat, please. I gather that the general public did not receive the relocation news well.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, sir,¡± responded one of the members. ¡°Many anticipate that instead of the eastern provinces, they might end up in detention facilities. They accused us of being Jew Killers.¡±

    ¡°I see. Very well. Assemble the lot at the specified location after you¡¯ve rounded them up using your police force. From there, trains will take them to Treblinka. You have three days to organise yourselves and prepare for the task.¡±

    ¡°Could we possibly delay these relocations?¡± the oldest amongst the attendees cautiously asked, being careful not to annoy the Commissioner.

    ¡°Using the available workforce to bolster the military effort against the Soviets has been a tremendous success. From making clothing and uniforms, we can progress to more sophisticated production under your guidance, using free labour. Likewise, we can construct an efficient network of roads and railways to connect the eastern and western borders to facilitate the rapid movement of our troops to battle zones.¡±

    ¡°No, I cannot agree with your proposal. The deportation must proceed.¡± The German stated firmly.

    ¡°Pardon me, sir. I humbly want permission to go home as I feel quite unwell today. Please, I am very sorry.¡±

    Gesturing towards his fellow council members, he spoke in a weak tone. ¡°My colleagues will go over the details of the implementation. Tomorrow, I will make sure to follow up on this topic.¡±

    Without looking at him, the Commissioner jerked his hand roughly and said, ¡°Go, go!¡± as he examined some papers on his table.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°The old man does not have the stomach for it,¡± the Commissioner said after the elderly councilperson left.

    As he sank farther into his big chair, he crossed his fingers and rested his elbows on the armrests. He turned to the two visitors and said, ¡°The Reich values bold decisions and acknowledges dedication and sacrifice.¡±

    Moments ago, while he appeared to be listening solemnly to his elderly companion, Szymon, one of the attendees, was filled with joy inside as he envisaged a more prominent and lucrative role for himself soon.

    ¡°The majority of us on the Council reject the idea that the Reich intends to cause harm to the Jewish people, much less murder them!¡± he said while clenching his fist and shaking his head, appearing to support the eviction plan of the powerful man across the table with excessive enthusiasm.

    ¡°Virtually all in the Jewish community also support us,¡± he continued, ¡°The ghetto police will be sufficient to ensure everyone gets to the assembly site without any trouble. I don¡¯t see any significant backlash from the residents. Nevertheless, I humbly suggest that armed German police oversee the process to prevent any last-minute chaos caused by troublemakers.¡±

    ¡°Szymon, I am pleased. The Council would be better off with you at the helm. I shall communicate my suggestion to the District Governor and the Ghetto Commissioner. Initiate the project!¡±

    Szymon chose to galvanise the occasion further after feeling overwhelmed by the Commissioner¡¯s remarks: ¡°If you will excuse me, I was hoping to propose an idea that could help our cause.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°People in our community hold certain individuals in high esteem. Many former high-ranking officials, student leaders, radical religious figures, writers, and traders are among them. Anticipating desperate circumstances, they may try to incite the people against us.¡±

    Szymon narrowed his eyes to emphasise his viewpoint further. He ended up looking so absurd that the commissioner struggled to contain his laughter.

    ¡°You have a valid point. But you had already prepared a list of such individuals. I wonder why such agitators still exist?¡±

    ¡°The Council identified most inciters, and the Einsatzgruppen dealt with them. To influence the population to our benefit, we required their assistance. But now, as I indicated, they may argue that there are moral and intellectual justifications for a popular uprising under these peculiar circumstances.¡±

    The deportation and subsequent extermination of Jews was in consequence of the ¡°Final Solution¡± decided by the central Nazi hierarchy to implement genocide of Jews in territories under their influence. Einsatzgruppen were paramilitary detachments of the SS, notoriously known as the ¡°death squads¡±, which carried out large-scale killings in the Nazi-occupied regions.

    ¡°What a cheap rascal!¡± The Commissioner and the other Council member inwardly speculated Szymon simultaneously.

 Leah: Abandoned by Fate

    A week later, in the summer of 1942, the Ghetto Police began evicting residents from their homes. This happened while Leah and the other kids were at school and Ewa was at a workshop. By the afternoon, they had taken around five thousand men, women, and children to the assembly area.

    Ewa, on witnessing the commotion, ran to school to fetch her children and then hurried home. Her heart was pounding when she found the house empty.

    ¡°Where is Papa?¡± Leah cried out. ¡°Mama! Where is Papa?¡± she shrieked, tugging at her mother¡¯s skirt. Her heart was bursting with grief. She feared her father had met the fate of her late uncle.

    ¡°Papa is outside watching the parade, my darling,¡± Ewa reassured her and hid her children inside a concealed closet in their basement. ¡°I am going out to bring Papa. You two must promise not to leave this cupboard until you hear me or your uncle call your names.¡±

    Ewa rushed, overwhelmed by the flood of the most unfortunate among the most downcast on God¡¯s earth. She cursed herself for leaving her husband alone in the house.

    Ewa shouted his name until her voice was hoarse. She asked a couple of familiar faces about his whereabouts. They were clueless, answering her in a dull, mechanical tone. Their minds brimmed with all the horrors awaiting them at their journey¡¯s end.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Finally, she reached the railway track, where the crowd stopped. She ran alongside freight cars, crying out, ¡°Symeon! Symeon!¡± in a tone she could only hear and understand.

    Gunshots broke the uncomfortable silence. The German police shot and killed more than a dozen young men and women who tried to escape. A deathly stillness followed the dreadful scene.

    ¡°Stop running unless you want someone to kill you as well!¡± A ghetto policeman stopped her, roughly jerking her arm. This jolted her out of a trance, where she had fixed her focus on her husband. It snapped her back to reality, making her worry about her kids, who were still back home.

    ¡°Get on the train!¡± the policeman shouted in Yiddish.

    ¡°I am looking for my husband, Symeon Poznanski. I did not find him when I reached home,¡± Ewa implored.

    ¡°Push her into the carriage! If she resists, hand her to the Germans!¡± another policeman who had been watching for a while exclaimed.

    When Ewa narrated her story, the man held her by the forearm and urgently pulled her out of the crowd. ¡°Go to your children. I have brought you out of the crowd and the Germans did not notice. If you stay longer, you will be on your way to Treblinka.¡± The man left her. She walked away, hoping to find her husband at home.

    She heard the whistle and the chugging of a train as it carried its occupants to their deaths, about 50 miles away.

 Leah: The Bitter Revelation

    ¡°No! No! My Lord, I can¡¯t bear any more of your tests,¡± Ewa said, grief-stricken. Urjasz sat on their doorstep, clutching Leah and her wailing brother.

    ¡°Mama! Mama!¡± Leah and her brother saw their mother, ran to her, and embraced her.

    Ewa walked towards her house. Urjasz stopped her, holding her arms, and said in a gentle voice, ¡°They killed Symeon.¡±

    The ghetto police had come to their house to take Symeon away and send him to the extermination camp. The first wave of deportation aimed to round up the troublemakers on Szymon¡¯s list. It sought to stop them from campaigning against the Nazis.

    A heavy contingent of Nazi police accompanied the Jewish police during the first week of the process. There was a risk that the youth leaders might resist their capture.

    Seeing that Symeon might not be able to walk to the holding area, the Germans shot him dead on a nearby street. Once the crowd had left, someone informed Urjasz, who retrieved his body and laid it in his bedroom.

    The children felt devastated, and Urjasz took them outside.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The authorities continued the deportation as they hoarded thousands, neighbourhood by neighbourhood, daily. After that, the residents marched to the holding site, from where they moved by train to the extermination camp in Treblinka.

    A few days later, Leah confronted her mother. ¡°Papa did not harm anyone. He was a loving man. Why would someone do this to him? Why, Mama? Why?¡± she asked, serrated, trying to hold back her tears.

    Taking a deep breath, Ewa revealed the cruel truth to her daughter, ¡°They killed him because he was a Jew.¡±

    ¡°No! They are sending Jews to farms in the east. They are to raise livestock, dogs, vegetables, and fruit trees. For what reason did Papa die? Why couldn¡¯t he accompany us to our new home?¡±

    ¡°They send our people to other places to die, not to new places where they can live.¡± Your father died a day or two before the rest,¡± Ewa said in a cold tone.

    At that moment, the bond between mother and daughter manifested when Ewa grabbed her daughter and hugged her just as Leah let out a loud wail.

    She wondered why her people continued to endure some of the worst atrocities in humanity¡¯s history. She believed that, deep down, every Jew in the ghetto knew that the Nazis did not tolerate their existence, even after they had diminished themselves so much that they had become invisible to the rest of the world.

    Ewa decided that day that she had to send her children out of the ghetto, and then she would get her revenge on the Nazis and their collaborators.

    ¡°I am the daughter of my mother¡­¡­¡­a woman, a tigress, who stood up against odds; who supported the weak irrespective of caste or creed.¡± Clenching her fists, she said to herself

 Ewa: The Unexpected Visitor

    ¡°Did you know that Symeon was meeting members of the underground when I used to be away?¡± Ewa asked her brother two weeks after Symeon died.

    ¡°Yes, and he had instructed me to keep it from you. He wanted you to stay out of it,¡± replied Urjasz.

    ¡°Well, I am in it up to my head¡ªwith or without your help,¡± Ewa stated explicitly.

    ¡°The children¡­.,¡±

    ¡°Whether we want to admit it or not, the children are already involved,¡± Ewa said, cutting Urjasz off. They have seen the bullet-riddled bodies of their uncle and father. They watch followers of their faith herded like sheep to slaughter every single day.

    ¡°I¡¯m joining the partisans!¡± She declared.

    The Jewish resistance effort gained momentum when it dawned upon the ghetto inhabitants beyond any doubt that the Nazis murdered all those deported under the pretext of resettlement in the extermination camps.

    Ewa was in her workshop one day in mid-August when a handsome middle-aged man approached her. His good looks and confident attitude mesmerized all the female employees as he strolled across the hall to Ewa¡¯s office in a laid-back manner. He said he was Jewish entrepreneur Hozea Itzkowitz.

    ¡°Your husband was my friend, and lately, we had been planning your children¡¯s evacuation from the ghetto.¡± He chuckled, ¡°The speed with which our population is declining due to transfer to the death camps prompted me to meet you sooner than never.¡±

    Although Ewa found his sense of humor offensive, she remained quiet, looking for a chance to join the resistance. Before lighting one for himself, the man offered Ewa a cigarette; he was well-dressed for someone from the ghetto. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I want my kids to be somewhere safe. As for myself, I would like to be part of the resistance.¡±

    He bent his head and grinned, ¡°In what capacity?¡± This time, he spoke in Polish.

    ¡°In any capacity as long as I am killing Nazis and my children are protected,¡± Ewa replied in Polish as well. ¡°If you are a commander, please help me out.¡±

    ¡°Take your kids to the Holy Spirit Church at ten sharp, tomorrow morning. Make your kids wear heavy coats with hoods, and donate some of your sweaters and socks to the Christian Charity,¡± he said, holding his cigarette in front of his face and staring at the women in the hall, smiling intermittently. ¡°A ski cap will also do,¡± he added as an afterthought.

    ¡°You will leave your children at the church and come out with two children of your kids¡¯ ages, who will be donning those coats.¡±

    ¡°Your children will be staying in the Aryan part at one of Irena¡¯s places until they leave Poland with Matteo Rossi.¡±

    As Ewa opened her mouth to speak, Hozea asked her to keep silent, ¡°Shh! No details, please. The less we know, the safer it is for your kids.¡±

    ¡°Your husband trusted Matteo, and so do I,¡± he reassured her. ¡°After the swap, you will keep our little partisans in your house until someone with the name ¡®Sparrow¡¯ arrives to get them.¡± He spoke in Polish throughout the conversation.

    ¡°We will meet again.¡± He inhaled deeply, dropped the cigarette butt on the concrete floor, then extinguished it under his shoe.

    Ewa called her children to her bedside that evening and mentioned the plans for the next day. She wanted to look strong and fought back tears as she hugged them goodnight.

    The following day, they walked to the church, where the priest greeted them. He gratefully accepted the package and invited them inside.

    He thankfully received the package and asked them in. The children exchanged coats, and Ewa knelt, embraced, and kissed her children.

    ¡°Be brave. Mama will soon be with you,¡± she uttered.

    ¡°Promise?¡± asked Leah.

    ¡°Promise! Take care of your sister, young man.¡± She adjusted the woolen cap on her son¡¯s head.

    Ewa wiped her tears and then left with her little partisans.

 Ewa: Through the Eyes of the Unseen

    Three days later, Hozea returned to Ewa¡¯s workshop. The authorities had allowed her to retain most of her workforce since she was now producing outfits for the Nazis.

    ¡°Your children are looked after and safe,¡± he said calmly.

    Ewa let out a sigh of relief and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Most of the workers were staring at her stunning visitor.

    ¡°When can I join your outfit?¡± Ewa cleared her throat and asked.

    ¡°Tonight! I will come around eight.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that late?¡± Ewa felt somewhat uneasy about being seen with a stranger at night.

    ¡°Not in my line of work.¡± He grinned, gave a two-finger salute, turned, and walked away.

    As he strolled past them, smiling and nodding at each worker, they subtly adjusted their postures, feeling special under his attention.

    There was a knock at the door around eight. He was putting on another suit. Ewa did not invite him inside as he did not fit in the environment.

    ¡°Is it safe at this hour? I have to be back as well, you know.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. My men will be escorting you,¡± he reassured her.

    ¡°Are you a member of the Council?¡± asked Ewa.

    ¡°No,¡± he replied.

    ¡°A smuggler?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± he tilted his head both ways as if undecided about his answer.

    ¡°Despite the mystery surrounding the man, Ewa felt secure in his company. He was greeted by everybody on their way, including the ghetto policemen.

    After an hour¡¯s walk, they turned into a well-lit alley, and the sound of music and laughter filled the air.

    He suddenly stopped and whispered in her ear, ¡°I run a nightclub at night and kill Nazis during the daytime.

    As they entered the club, everyone shouted, ¡°Hozea!¡± lifting their glasses to greet him. Beautiful women were seated at every table, trying their best to please the customers. A lovely blonde sang a passionate Polish song with a five-man band playing the instruments behind her.

    She had never been to a nightclub, and he led her, arm in arm, to his office.

    ¡°You surprise me.¡± She said as she sat down after the long walk.

    ¡°Drink?¡± he asked, raising his brows.

    ¡°No, thank you.¡±

    ¡°I thought so. I made some apple juice for you. It¡¯s pretty good.¡±

    He poured whisky for himself and handed her the apple juice. Then, he lit a cigarette and took a deep puff as he settled in his chair.

    ¡°Your Polish is pretty good, and your confident mannerism will help you get around the social circles in the Aryan area and even in the German sections.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°Aha! You are repeating the exact words my husband once spoke to me. Is this the only matter he discussed with you?¡±

    ¡°He was involved deeper than that. He was one of the brains behind our movement; he was one of its founders.¡±

    She was at a loss for words. ¡°I will have one of those, please.¡± She pointed at the glass in Hozea¡¯s hand.

    He made her a light drink.

    ¡°When do I get to kill Nazis?¡±

    ¡°And, don¡¯t give me a desk job.¡± She added after taking a sip.

    ¡°You start one hour from now,¡± he grinned. ¡°Time is not on our side. We are being eliminated by the thousands every day.¡±

    Ewa noticed his lack of emotions once again while narrating a tragic fact. Yet she could not help but be impressed by his confidence in the outcomes of his plans and his resolve to get things done. He was a leader, and she now understood why Symeon got along with him.

    ¡°You will settle on the Aryan side as Mrs. Zofia Nowak. Your husband, Aureliusz Nowak, is a physician taking up residence there. So, the two of you are supposed to shift into a house that members of their underground already occupy. Our doctor is a seasoned member of the Polish resistance and has close links with the Polish Home Army. We will need his help to get arms and coordinate with the Home Army in our future operations. You, Mrs. Nowak, will deliver the weapons to us.¡±

    ¡°Your husband had already given me the documents related to the preparation of an alternative identity for you when required. You will get your documents, Zofia Nowak, as you cross over to the other side and will get to meet your husband soon. Not the deceased one, hopefully.¡±

    ¡°Sick man.¡± Ewa thought, but she preferred to keep silent to stay focused on the matters.

    ¡°What do I tell my family, and what should they say if anyone enquires about me?¡±

    ¡°So the drink has not gotten to your head yet,¡± he chuckled.

    ¡°That¡¯s bad because you will get out of here appearing drunk and excited about what we are supposed to have done in my private office during this time. I will kiss you goodbye as I settle a brawl inside my club.¡±

    He seemed serene and relishing his smoke and drink. His tanned face looked like that of an ancient statue of a Greek warrior in the faint light. He had his eyes locked on her but his mind was racing to answer the puzzles he was throwing at it. A sip of whiskey or a drag from the cigarette was the reward he would give his mind when it gave a good solution.

    ¡°Your escort is going to rob you and strangle you to death. Some will witness the heinous crime from their windows. Don¡¯t be very loud to wake the whole town.¡±

    ¡°You will proceed to the sewers, your escort will disappear, and two senior members of the ghetto police will call Urjasz and his wife to identify the body before the police dispose of it.¡±

    Ewa was startled, but before she could speak, Hozea said, ¡°Yes! Them too.¡±

    ¡°The body?¡± Ewa was concerned.

    ¡°There is no body.¡±

    Suddenly, there was shouting and sounds of a fight in the bar.

    ¡°Time to go.¡± Hozea stood up, and before he opened the door, he suddenly turned around, lifted Ewa with one arm, grabbed her hair, and held back her head. He kissed her roughly on the lips and neck.

    Then he opened the door, and the two came out slightly out of breath; Ewa blushed and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. At the club entrance, as she was about to step out, he kissed her, gently this time, and said goodbye.

    Ewa was dazed and felt a tinge of guilt about immersing herself in the intimate encounter with equal voracity.

    However, what followed got her out of her trance. Without warning, the escort started to strangle her with his muffler and push her behind a large waste bin, where her attacker let her go. He asked her to remove her coat and shoes while another man hiding behind the bin spoke Polish and told her to follow him.

    They waded through a complex of sewers before resurfacing on the Aryan side in the early hours. There, they walked through the shadows for about ten minutes before reaching their destination in a small street.

    The man opened the door with a key and asked Ewa to take a quick bath and change into the clothes on the bedroom couch.

    When she came out of the bedroom, another man was waiting for her in the living room.

    ¡°Hello, Mrs Nowak. I am Borys, your husband¡¯s assistant in the clinic. He is waiting for an early breakfast at The Kura Restaurant before you search for a house. The place is just around the block; you can¡¯t miss it. And oh yes, he wanted me to give you these.¡±

    He left an envelope on the fireplace as he left.

    ¡°Zofia Nowak,¡± it read. She looked at herself in the mirror: blonde hair, blue eyes; she could pass as a Pole. ¡°Hello, Zofia Nowak! Unleash hell on the Nazis and their collaborators!¡± she murmured to herself in Polish.

 Ewa: The Aryan Side

    At seven in the morning on a chilly autumn day in 1942, the small corner of a dimly lit caf¨¦ in the center of the Aryan area of the Warsaw ghetto offered a quiet refuge from the chaos of a nation torn apart by war.

    Seated at the table, Doctor Nowak was reading a newspaper. In his late thirties, he had well-groomed light brown hair with grey streaks running down his temple. His light eyes peered sporadically toward the entrance as if waiting for someone¡ªor something¡ªto appear. Large windows on either side of the door allowed the caf¨¦ to view the street.

    Outside these windows, the world seemed indifferent to his existence, save an attractive blonde named Zofia Nowak, his wife.

    Around him, the aromas of an earthy, thick, and warm Warsaw breakfast whirled in the air: the delicious odor of fried onions and eggs blended intermittently with the pleasant aroma of coffee, freshly made rye bread, and crisp kielbasa.

    All of this together produced a warm, friendly environment that provided solace amidst the brutal realities of life outside.

    Nowak watched a tall woman walking elegantly towards the caf¨¦.

    He called the waiter, ¡°You can serve the breakfast, please.¡± He waved to her when she entered and stood up as she approached his table.

    ¡°I did not want to wake you up, darling; I decided to get an early start to see the neighbourhood before rush hour.¡±

    The day was sunny, and Nowak took Ewa for a stroll. As they walked down the lively main street, the energy around them was palpable¡ªso different from the deathly silence she had just left behind.

    As she walked, she could not help but notice the stark contrast.

    On the Aryan side, life continued in a way that seemed almost obscene, given what she had witnessed. Vendors lined the streets, selling baskets of bright fruits and vegetables. She saw plump chickens hanging from hooks while baskets of gleaming apples, pears, and oranges caught the sunlight. Butcher shops displayed meat, and the streets were brimming with healthy, well-dressed people. The ease of a world untouched by the horrors of starvation or disease registered on their faces.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Her people, reduced to skeletal figures, just across the wall, had their faces hollowed out with hunger and their eyes sunken with the terror of what lay ahead.

    Ewa¡¯s stomach tightened when she breathed in the smells of freshly baked bread, grilled sausages, and roasting poultry. It all seemed like a cruel illusion, a dream she could not reach out to grasp. There, food was the most valuable commodity, smuggled at grave risk to the lives of those involved. Yet, it was never enough to prevent little orphans and solitary elderly from dying of starvation.

    Once a hub of active civic life, fear, desperation and disease now plagued her community.

    As she moved through that world, she became acutely aware that she did not belong there. She was a ghost, moving among the living. However, the tour brought back memories of her life before the invasion. The Nazis snatched every bit of happiness from her life. For that, they would pay.

    During the next two hours, she and Nowak pretended to search for a place to live, posing as a married couple newly arrived in Warsaw. They even entered a few buildings, nodding politely to the landlords and asking vague questions about the apartments.

    Finally, they reached the designated house for their lodging. This was a hideout of the Polish resistance and was part of a compound of four adjacent houses secretly connected through trapdoors in the basements.

    An elderly couple greeted them, saying, ¡°Hello, my dears.¡± You must be exhausted from spending the entire day looking for decent accommodation. I am Marcin Wojciechowski, and this is my wife, Alina.¡±

    He showed them to their chambers upstairs, where Ewa shared a room with two other female partisans. She was the only Jewish occupant in the nest. As she lay down to sleep that night, she sorely realized that while she spent the day wandering leisurely on the Aryan side, some ten to fourteen thousand Jews were blatantly hustled to their deaths.

    In the morning, when they were in the kitchen, Ewa shared her concerns regarding the urgency of the situation on the Jewish side.

    Marcin commented, ¡°Your side of the resistance does not have the required firepower nor the necessary intelligence services to enable them to put up an effective fight and stop the deportations.¡±

    ¡°That is exactly what Hozea Itzkowitz said,¡± Ewa tried to reinforce her point. ¡°He instructed me to get in touch with the Home Army to procure weapons.¡±

    The older man turned the other way to help his wife assemble breakfast. He continued, ¡°My dear, let me emphasize that in the underground, one must have a reputation to fulfil their wish list. Had Hozea been here, he would have returned with a couple of guns and grenades the very next day.¡±

 Ewa: Hello, Mrs. Nowak

    ¡°Yet, he sent you,¡± he shrugged his shoulders. ¡°To my understanding, he wants you to get trained in your new role and earn a reputation so you can liaise with people on this side of the wall.¡±

    He placed toast topped with butter and a cup of coffee on the table before Ewa, saying, ¡°Father Kowalski at the Church of Blessed Virgin Mary looks forward to meeting you.¡±

    Borys took her to the church, where the priest greeted her, ¡°Aah, my child, so you have finally arrived.¡±

    ¡°Your kids stayed with us for about a week before the Italian gentleman came after them and took them away.¡±

    Ewa needed to prepare for this. ¡°Father, are they alright? Where are they?¡± she asked tremblingly, on the verge of tears.

    ¡°Come, come, my child. They should be alright. The rich Italian seemed to be a cultured and considerate young man. From what I know, they have left the country,¡± Father Kowalski comforted her and helped her sit on a bench while he stood with his hands clasped.

    ¡°Oh, thank God. Father, you have given the only good news in what seems to be eternity.¡± She grasped the hands of the priest and kissed them.

    ¡°Come, I will introduce some friends.¡± After five minutes of walking, they arrived at a convent, where the Mother Superior greeted them and led them to the nunnery-run orphanage. A younger nun was teaching boys of three to seven years and girls three to fifteen years of age the fundamentals of Christian religion.

    ¡°Among a hundred Christians, forty-six Jewish youngsters are hiding. Their relatives sent them here for their safety through the Jewish and Polish partisans and a group of most remarkable women,¡± he said softly to Ewa.

    ¡°We impart enough Christian doctrine to enable them to get through difficult situations,¡± the Mother Superior remarked. ¡°They stand a better chance as Christians than as Jews.¡±

    Referring to two women seated behind the students, she said gently, ¡°There are Polish volunteers who teach them the language and customs and sometimes provide shelter to them at their homes.¡±

    The Father brought her forward and introduced her to the tutors, saying, ¡°May I introduce Mrs. Nowak? Her husband is a doctor, and she has come to offer, on behalf of her noble husband, free medical consultations for the students, the teachers, and their respective families.¡±

    ¡°I am delighted to meet you and feel so proud of your contribution to society. Our Christian values mandate that we help fellow human beings in times of need irrespective of their beliefs or skin color,¡± said Ewa.

    She glanced at the children, and her heart ached when she realized that the souls of each of the woeful heirs of her faith were scarred for life by the harrowing events they had witnessed. The Nazis had annihilated the families of most of them.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    As they came out of the hall, Ewa remarked, ¡°No one can thank you enough for the service you are doing, putting your own lives at stake to save these unfortunate children. Please tell me what is required of me, Father. I will help in every way I can.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Come, let us pray in the church.¡±

    Father Kowalski said, ¡°Very few people in our neighborhood know about the Jewish children. Once a week, we go on walks into the town with these children. The nuns keep a close eye on them and step in to answer on their behalf; they have been specifically cautioned not to speak to strangers.¡±

    He continued, ¡°The day before yesterday, one of the boys had an urge to pass urine and slipped away from the group. Seeing the boy circumcised, a man talked to him in Yiddish. Embarrassed and confused, the lad responded also in his mother tongue.¡±

    ¡°This man runs a pub close by and approached our gardener that he would report the matter to the Germans unless the convent paid him a specific amount of money, which, I am afraid, exceeds our means. His deadline expires three days from now.¡±

    ¡°Our gardener will brief you further; he is a member of the resistance.¡±

    ¡°Father, you need not worry. Pray for me, please.¡± Saying goodbye to the Father, Ewa headed toward the man cutting a hedge on the church wall.

    ¡°Hello, Mrs. Nowak,¡± he said, lifting his cap as he descended the ladder to meet Ewa, ¡°I am Bogdas.¡±

    He got straight to the point: ¡°Lewandowski will not remain silent even if we offer him all heaven and earth. Soon after we pay him, he will visit the Germans. We must silence him."

    ¡°You will meet him at the Mass tomorrow and persuade him to accompany you on the tram to your house, close to Zobie Park," he continued. "A street food vendor will have a poster titled ¡®Cezar Zupa Grzybowa¡¯ for selling hot soup there. As soon as you disembark the tram, you will ask Lewandowski to fetch you a bowl of soup.¡±

    ¡°The hawker will feed him deadly mushroom soup; he ought to begin to exhibit symptoms by the time the tram shows up to pick people up in the opposite direction. He will be in a hurry to get to his house, so it¡¯s best to stay back and avoid boarding the tram. The vendor¡¯s helper will take you home.¡±

    That evening at their house, Nowak handed Ewa a pistol. ¡°This is for the taking of the lives of the enemies, should you have the opportunity.¡±

    ¡°This is for taking your own life when chances and bullets run out.¡± He shook a small metal box in front of her, causing its contents to tinkle, and then handed it to her.

    After opening the box, Ewa discovered the outline of a foil-wrapped pill.

    ¡°Cyanide,¡± Nowak said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t scare the young lady, Nowak,¡± Marcin said in a lively tone. ¡°You will have many happy years to live, my dear,¡± he said to Ewa as he passed her a sandwich his wife had made.

    That night when they had all settled in their bunks Ewa asked her roommates, ¡°Have you girls ever killed someone?¡±

    ¡°I killed a bunch of Nazis in the Knyszy¨½ Forest when I used to live in Bialystok with my parents. We attacked their fuel dump at night,¡± replied Anna somberly.

    ¡°You sound sad. Could I please know why?¡± Ewa asked.

    ¡°The Germans took the young people away for forced labor and executed the elders of our village. One of the victims was my father. I left home for good when my mother and sisters started accusing me of the death of my father.¡±

    Anna was a beautiful girl in her early twenties. Despite being the youngest resistance member at the facility, Anna possessed a wealth of experience.

    The other girl was a courier and had not yet participated in active combat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t shy away from looking your target in the eye; he will become suspicious. When he looks at you, look back at him, not away,¡± Anna cautioned Ewa.

    ¡°And don¡¯t take coffee before meeting a target. It gives you tremors under tense conditions. The jitteriness and tremors can give you away,¡± she continued.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Ewa wondered how many such missions the young girl had undertaken so far.