Everything took place overnight. The Islamic Republic collapsed and the Taliban came to power. Behind this scenario were those who had sold themselves and with patriotic clowns, they plunged the destiny of the people into a black cavity.
For me as a student, the games behind the scenes of the authoritarian regime did not matter much. All I cared about was reading more novels, going to university, and writing for my lover. But the catastrophic decline was coming. Provinces fell one after another surrendered and died. I could no longer remain careless. Like millions of other people in this land, I followed everything on social media. The three words narrow line, fall, and surrender conveyed great suffering to my soul. One day before the catastrophic fall of Kabul, on the night of August 14, the noise of resistance was heard from the leaders of the parties, the jihadists, and the military.
Maybe many like me, who do not know about dirty political games, were happy with all these unpleasant issues. However, at 9:30 pm, when we were talking to a friend of mine about worries and sometimes hopes, the news of the fall of Mazar-e-Sharif spread on social media. One fall and another surrender. At that time, I had only a body, my soul had moved from my body, and I was thinking that Kabul would fall tomorrow.
But the next night, I went to university again. The old-faculty worker was talking about the situation with his colleague, talking about the previous period of the Taliban government, and apparently, he was satisfied with what was happening to the regime. At the moment when the president was probably plotting his escape and thinking of handing over Kabul to the Taliban, my classmates and I were sitting on the university benches. The atmosphere of the university was not like the previous days, concern could be read from everyone’s eyes. We left the university earlier than the previous days. Outside the university, only one thing was clear: fear, fear, and fear.
When I arrived at the Pole-Sokhta, I felt fear with the loud cries of a woman.
If anyone saw that scene, they would probably say, “Surely she will mourn the death of her dearest family member.” No, she did not lose a loved one, she was only afraid of the rural militias, that’s it. Everyone was in a hurry and went home on foot. When I got home, my mother was worried. She felt fear with all her being.
She asked me, “Have the Taliban reached Kabul? I wrapped my painful feelings and worries in a white sheet and said, “Not yet.” However, the reality was that it was all over.
[box type=”info” align=”aligncenter” class=”” width=””]Amanullah Sarwary’s Story, Hasht-e Subh[/box]