Salsal & Shamama

It was the March of 2001, a teenage boy, Zulfi, and his little sister, Rabya, were lying on their bed with thick quilts over them. Sleep eluded the children as they saw the elders sitting around a fire and talking in soft voices, looking worried with hands at time clasping their heads or pointing heavenwards in prayers. This was no ordinary night. Loud explosions outside were common for all and they never bothered the family. Zulfi and Rabya were so used to the sound of bombs of varying intensity all through the days and nights since they were born. Afghanistan had not seen a night of peace for decades. The country had been ravaged in one war after another but things had gone from bad to worse in the 90s since the Taliban had occupied the land.

Zulfi’s family had lived for generations in the Bamiyan Valley which fell on the Silk Route which linked the markets in China to the rest of the western word. All around were the mountainous Hindu Kush region and most of the valley remained rocky, dry and barren but this small patch of land belonging to farmers who, surprisingly, always had bountiful rains and grew two crops a year.

There were a few houses in the hamlet and there lived a handful of children. Their favourite games were running around in the hills which had caves and playing hide and seek. There were many small and large caves and some of them were brightly decorated with frescos. No one told them much about the pictures, what was depicted other than these being more than a thousand years old.

On the face of the mountains two enormous statues stood prominently. They were of Salsal , who appeared a male and larger of the two, and the second was of a female known locally as Shamama. The children often wondered who could have made such huge statues. Once every month there would be a ritual around the statues when the elders would come together and for nearly two full days they would clean these stone works. They had created a strange contraption which worked like a pulley. One person would be seated on a small base of wooden plank which would be hung from atop the hill and slowly lowered till the person would touch the statue with his hands. Then, with a duster made of soft camel’s hair, he would wipe the statue. Great effort was taken to ensure every speck of dust was removed after which water would be sprayed all over. The statues in these two days almost came to life.

Rabya loved listening to stories from her mother, Hamida Bibi. One night Hamida had told her the tale about the statues. She said, “These were built about 1500 years ago by men who inhabited this area. They were not the shalwar-kameez wearing Pathans like us but little people who wore a funny dress. These people were a peaceful lot and spent most of their time in praying to their God and in the rest would work with their simple instruments to make statutes and paintings. Then came hordes of barbarians under a famous chieftain called Genghis Khan who drove away these people from this land. The chief tried to destroy the statues but failed. Many others who tried to destroy them including the Great Mughal, Aurangzeb, also failed. These statutes are the protectors of our lives and as long as they are there we will always get food, water and shelter.” Rabya listened to everything and then smiled knowing fully well that her mother was a master story teller and this was one of her favourite fairy tales, not one to be believed yet was fun to be heard about over and over again.

While the elders went on talking, Rabya and Zulfi dozed off after some time only to be woken up very early with the commotion in the house. The sun hadn’t come out and cold winds were blowing outside yet their parents were rushing out of their house leaving the door ajar. The kids too got out of the bed and draped woollens and jackets before walking out themselves to see what was going on. Outside they saw the largest contingent of Taliban soldiers but more than that was the vast array of armaments they had assembled- tanks, anti-aircraft guns, explosives and mines.

Abdul Waheed was the Taliban commander of the area and he himself was seen taking lead in the operations. The big guns were being put in position and shells were kept close to them, easy to re-load at quick intervals. Waheed was heard giving instructions to his men to aim at the statues and fire rapidly till the statues were obliterated from the face of the earth. Zulfi’s father, Amanullah, was the village headman and he walked up to Waheed with folded hands pleading, “Spare the statutes for they bring us luck. We do not pray to these idols, for us Allah is the Greatest. We do our namaaz five times a day without fail, keep roza as given by the sharia, don’t shave our beards, our children don’t go to schools, our women stay behind their hijaabs….we are proud to be Musalmaans. Just being in the shadow of these stones for centuries, our village has lived in peace and our children stay happy growing up playing in the hills.”

Waheed replied, “Although 400 clerics across Afghanistan had declared these statutes to be un-Islamic, I did not want to destroy the same for long and that is why they have survived for so long. But some time ago some foreigners came to me to say that they would provide us money to repair these statues which had got slightly damaged due to rains. This shocked me. These callous people have no regard for us Afghans who are dying of hunger but they are concerned about non-living objects like these statues. This is deplorable and that is why I have now ordered its destruction. Had they come for humanitarian work, I would not have ordered the destruction of the statues.”

Zulfi’s father and many other elderly men of the village went down on their knees and were pleading with tears in their eyes. Zulfi and Rabya found this hard to understand but stood some distance away and kept seeing the drama unfolding. Waheed heard them for some time and then walked away and ordered for the guns to fire. Simultaneously tens of anti-aircraft guns started firing, all aimed at the two statues holed up in the hill. They kept pounding for hours together till the shells got over and there was smoke all around. When the firing stopped and the smoky haze cleared, the statues stood almost as they were before the firing began, just some holes had been made on the face and the bodies of the statues that stood tall with faces that were calm as ever.  The Taliban looked dejected, the villagers looked in awe and tried hard to keep their joy in check. They went back to their homes.

Zulfi and Rabya too followed their parents. That night all in the family slept well. They were woken up with loud knocks on the door that terrified old and young. These were knocks the villagers feared more than anything for it usually meant that the Taliban had got some news about some un-Islamic act by someone. Judgement in such cases was swift and nothing in defence was ever heard, just the clatter of the Kalashnikovs and the bodies were left to rot in the open. Amanullah slowly walked to the door, signalling others to remain in bed. As he opened the door, four soldiers rushed in, two held Amanullah’s arms and two stood by his side and walked him out with all four shouting expletives.  Seeing this, everyone including Zulfi and Rabya rushed out of the house to see where their father was being taken away.

Outside, they saw all the males over a certain age had been rounded off and Commander Waheed was seen talking to them which no woman nor children could overhear from the distance they were standing. Once more Amanullah and a few others were seen pleading with folded hands but Waheed was in no mood to listen. Suddenly the commander took out his pistol from his belt and …bang…bang…two village men standing with Amanullah were shot at point blank range. The other men stood frozen while women started wailing from behind the burkas. The commander had made his point and his diktat had to be followed unquestioningly.

Amanullah and the men folk started a slow march towards the hills. Under the complete supervision of the soldiers, they were seen to be using their manual contraption. On the wooden plank stood a villager and a couple of soldiers. Every hole in the statues were filled with dynamite sticks and the bases were laid with anti-tank mines of highest intensity. For once the villagers were not cleaning the statues but helping in its total cleansing. The operation took quite some time as the Taliban did not want to bear the brunt of Waheed’s anger at another failed operation. Explosives and mines were placed in abundance, quite enough to blow up an entire city. Finally on the orders of the commander, the bombs were detonated. The earth shook, the mountains exploded, rocks flew in all directions….when the dust settled after sometime, and just holes remained in the hills where the magnificent Salsal and Shamama stood for centuries.

The Taliban soldiers raised their hands in unison and shouted Allah O Akbar and then took the guns slung on their shoulders in their hands and fired in the air non-stop till the magazines lasted. The idols had been smashed and the soldiers of God were victorious. The villagers stood still, not knowing how to react. Sadness was in their eyes but held back their emotions. Slowly the victorious army left the village. The dead villagers were buried and then all walked towards the hill and kept staring at the holes left behind for hours. It rained that night but the villagers stood the ground in the cold till the headman convinced them to return to their homes. Soon the village was abandoned. They took with them their bare necessities and a handful of ruins of the statues they had collected a day after the destruction.

March 2016: A handful of young men and women gathered at the foothills of Bamiyan. Some came from different parts of Afghanistan while some came from abroad. Among them was an archaeologist, Rabya, who was now studying in the USA and her brother, Zulfi ,who had turned a doctor having done his education in India and was working at a government hospital in Kabul. These were the children of Bamiyan who would come every year in March for two days. Very little was spoken but a walk in the hills with brooms in their hands they would clean the site where the statues once stood.

And for two days the mountains echoed once again.

SS