by Phil Halton
Lying down under the feet of the remaining livestock, clutching their rifles, were the Mullah and the others.
After many hours of driving, the Kamaz rolled to a stop just behind the summit of a low hill. Somewhere along the side of the mountain beyond the hill was the border, an imaginary line on the map that had been long ignored by the Kochi. A small building sat perched partway up the slope, surrounded by thick mud walls.
The driver turned in his seat and lifted the canvas. “We are here.”
The two Kochi climbed down out of the cab and went around to the rear of the cargo bed. Rashid and Isa had already climbed down, and they were helping all the boys down while jostling the remaining sheep and goats to keep them from falling out. In a few minutes, everyone stood at the back of the truck. Their clothing was soiled and their weapons were caked with dust and worse.
The Mullah walked a short distance to peer over the top of the hill that concealed the truck, and the other men followed him. Light streamed out from a crack along the bottom of the building’s doorway, illuminating one half of the compound.
Rashid cupped his hands around his face to shade his eyes. “Is that it?”
Faizal strained to look, as well, and sounded hesitant. “Maybe. I’ve never actually been here before. The cache is at the foot of the mountain, where the trail north of Spin Boldak descends into the valley.”
Rashid kept peering out at the house. “I don’t know this area at all, but I think that is it. I can see a trail, and the Kochi say that we are near Spin Boldak.”
“Is there nothing else around here?” asked Umar.
“There must be a reason for someone to be living there,” said the Mullah. When he spoke, everyone else fell silent. He turned to the Kochi and spoke to them respectfully. “Will you stay while we make sure that this is the place?”
The driver didn’t look at the Mullah when he replied. “Gol Kochi told us not to wait. To keep moving, and not be seen with you.”
The Mullah expected as much. “Thank you for taking us this far. You are free to go.”
The two Kochi placed their hands on their hearts as they bid farewell. They were soon back in the truck, which lurched forward and continued down toward the border crossing into Chaman. A cloud of dust rolled along the road behind the truck, briefly enveloping the Mullah and the others.
Without speaking a word, the Mullah began to walk into the hills, careful to keep below the crest so that he was concealed as he walked. The boys, exhausted and filthy, followed him in a ragged pack, with the men trailing behind.
Rashid, looking at the group, muttered to himself, “This is madness.”
The house on the hillside was in poor repair and surrounded by junk. A motorcycle caked with dust and mud leaned against one wall beside an old bicycle whose handlebars were made of wood. An equally dirty man worked the handle on an old pump. The handle was broken, but had been spliced back together with a thick binding of string. A thin stream of brown water came out of the spout as he worked the handle, filling his bucket very slowly. The man shouted back at the house in frustration. “You said you fixed this pump! Unless we want to drink sludge, I will have to go down to the stream again!”
The man took the bucket from the ground and emptied out the muck. He picked up a rifle leaning against the wall and slung it over his back. Then he unlatched the metal door set in the thick wall, and left it open as he began the long walk down to the stream below.
As he walked along a thin path that cut through the underbrush, he saw two figures walking toward the house. He quickly realized that they were just young boys. He shouted at them but did not unsling his rifle. “Stop! What are you two doing out here?”
Asadullah Amin and Jan Nasrollah froze when they heard his voice. The man dropped the bucket but still left his rifle on his back as he moved quickly across the hill toward them. He was about to shout again when he was thrown to the ground by a hard tackle. His rifle was pinned under him, and before he could roll over, a scarf tied into a garrotte was slipped over his head and around his neck. It tightened until he stopped making noises.
Rashid kept one knee on his back, pulling the garrotte tight. He leaned down and spoke into the man’s ear. “How many are you in the house?”
The man’s eyes rolled wildly in his head, but he held up two fingers in response. Rashid kept pulling and tightening the garrotte until the man was still. He released the garrotte, and the man’s lifeless body slumped heavily to the ground. He stood and signalled to the others, who quickly moved up the hill to the farmhouse.
Without wasting any time, the Mullah and his followers burst through the open door of the compound, weapons at the ready, just as Noor, the tall bandit, stepped out of the house, scratching himself. He froze when he saw the Mullah.
“You again!” shouted the Mullah.
The man tried to turn and run back into the house, but was quickly tackled by Rashid and Umar. Umar pinned him to the ground, shaking his head in disbelief. “You thought you’d never see us again.”
Rashid leaned down close to his face. “It has been a long time since your trial, Noor. The Mullah will want to speak to you at length, I am sure.” The boys crowded all around him in wide-eyed recognition.
Noor quivered as Umar held him to the ground. The Mullah stood over him, ignoring the bandit for the moment. He waved Isa and Rashid into the house, and waited as he listened to the noise they made violently searching the small building. Rashid appeared at the doorway, his eyes flashing as he looked straight at Faizal. “There’s nothing but junk in here.”
Faizal’s hands twisted the ends of his kamiz. “I’m sure this is the right place.”
Umar shook the bandit to get his attention. “Where is the cache?”
The bandit kept looking plaintively at the Mullah. His voice quavered as he spoke. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Umar let go of the bandit and picked up his kalash. The bandit tried to scramble backwards to get away from him, but Umar stepped in and butt-stroked him in the mouth as hard as he could, sending both blood and teeth flying across the yard. “Same question.”
Noor spat blood and coughed. “You know me, Mullah. I will tell you the truth.”
The Mullah did not look at him. “Speak and be quick about it.”
The words came tumbling out of Noor. “This house belongs to Engineer Hekmatyar. We are paid to live here and guard it. But there is nothing here of value that I have ever seen.”
Rashid looked down at him as he squirmed on the ground. “Then why guard it?”
Noor rolled over onto his hands and knees, letting out another stream of blood from his mouth. “It is not my place to question men like the Engineer.” He spat. “He pays me, and I do as I am told.”
Umar hit him with the butt of the kalash again, this time square in the back. Noor collapsed onto his chest, arms and legs giving out from under him.
“They say that the lands here belong to his uncle. We are guarding it because of that.”
Rashid laughed. “He pays you to be here for his love of his uncle’s land?”
Noor did not try to get up or to look at his attackers. “There is nothing here to steal, but take what you want and then go.”
The Mullah walked around to look at Noor’s face. “After our earlier experiences together, you think that we are here to rob you?”
Noor’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant, Haji …”
The Mullah turned away in disgust, his fists clenched tightly. His voice was cold when he gave the next instruction. “Hang him by his feet.”
The others hesitated for a short moment before carrying out the Mullah’s wishes. Jan Nasrollah dug through the junk in the yard and found a long electrical cord. Umar and Rashid held Noor down as Jan Nasrollah tied the cord around his ankles and knotted it tightly. The loose end was thrown over a beam sticking out of the wall of the house, and all of them hoisted him up.
Umar looked down at Noor’s face as he steadied him.
“Where are the weapons?”
“There are no weapons but our own!” said Noor. “There is nothing! We do nothing wrong by being here! Mercy, Mullah, in the name of God have mercy!”
The Mullah ignored his pleas, and looked around the yard for a suitable tool. He put his rifle down and pulled the broken handle off the pump. Without warning, he swung the handle in a long arc that cracked against the bandit’s leg. Noor screamed in pain. The Mullah swung again, hitting him lower on the leg. Swing after swing, the Mullah kept striking, never hitting the same spot twice. His voice was tight when he finally spoke.
“You would blaspheme while asking for mercy?” He hit him again just above the hip. “You were given mercy. You were given a second chance, bandit, which you squandered coming here.”
The others formed a ring around the Mullah and his victim. They looked on in silence. Noor screamed and moaned as he was struck.
The Mullah gritted his teeth as he swung the handle. “Do you now feel what it is to be helpless? Frightened? In pain? What I do, I do in the name of your victims.” Before long the Mullah’s face was covered in a sheet of blood. Even still, he continued to swing at the bandit, again and again, as the others watched in silence.
The rising sun was a red smear in the haze across the horizon. The Mullah and his men performed their prayers, with the boys lined up behind them doing the same. As they bowed down, heads touching the ground, long shadows stretched out in front of them into the world. Noor’s broken body had been cast out of the compound and lay in a heap under some brush nearby.
When the prayers were finished, Umar spoke quietly to the Mullah. “Do you wish for me to prepare him and the other for burial?”
The Mullah glanced at the corpse. “He was no Muslim. Leave him for the dogs.”
Faizal had been listening. “Mullah, forgive me, but haven’t you said yourself that all men are brothers? And that it is for God alone to judge?”
Umar pointed at the dead bandit. “Maybe so, but that man is an apostate. He deserves no help or mercy from us.”
“I am not a scholar, as are you, Umar,” said Faizal. “But Mullah, I thought that we are building a house of peace?”
The Mullah stared at Faizal, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Killing this man is not violence if it is the will of God. Then it is justice.” He fixed his gaze directly on Faizal. “He was shown mercy and chose to reject Islam. He rejected the will of God. He is no better than a dog, and will be treated as a dog.”
The Mullah turned and walked back into the compound, followed by all the others except Faizal, who remained by himself, looking out over the vast countryside around him. No matter where he looked, the body of Noor tugged at the corner of his field of view. Finally, after a long moment, Faizal followed the others inside, his lips pressed tightly together.
The men and boys spent the day washing their clothes and busying themselves with small tasks while they awaited direction from the Mullah. Soon, there were shalwar kamiz spread out to dry over almost all the brush that surrounded the house. The Mullah, however, withdrew from their company and spent the day in silent meditation in one corner of the farmhouse.
After the laundry was left to dry, the boys rushed out of the compound and into the surrounding fields, intent on using their freedom from the routine of the madrassa to play a game of cricket. They had made a ball from plastic bags retrieved from the garbage in the compound, and had a piece of firewood for their bat. Umar shooed them all back inside when he found that, instead of playing, they were gathered in a circle around Noor’s body. He forced them to sit in rows in the shade of a wall and led them through recitation practice instead.
No one spoke of the missing cache as they waited for the Mullah to decide what must be done. When the men and boys prepared to sleep that evening, there was none of the usual banter. Everyone lay in silence, locked inside their thoughts.
Faizal and Rashid, each carrying a kalash, stood watch over the countryside from a small rise just outside the compound door. All around them was still.
Rashid yawned loudly, breaking the silence. Faizal stood close to him and spoke quietly. “What do you think we will do now?”
“You mean now that your arms cache has proven to be false?” asked Rashid.
Faizal’s expression crumpled. “My story is not false.”
“Oh, no?” Rashid mimed looking all around them. “Did I miss the piles of weapons and ammunition?”
“I only told the Mullah what my uncle told me,” said Faizal.
“Umar thinks it convenient that your uncle is not here to explain himself.”
“He is long dead.”
“That’s also convenient.”
Faizal glared at him. “For whom?”
Rashid gave a shrug and said nothing more.
“You believe me, don’t you?” asked Faizal.
Rashid looked him in the eye. “It is not what I do believe or don’t believe that should concern you, Faizal.”
“You mean the Mullah?”
“I mean that only God knows the truth in your heart.”
Faizal turned away, hurt by the accusation. “I did not lie.”
Rashid’s voice softened a little. “As you say.”
“I know that without the guns that we thought were here, we are lost.”
Rashid shook his head. “Have you not been listening?”
“Do you mean that we will find victory if only we enact the will of God?” Faizal scoffed, “As if that were simple.”
Rashid looked a bit less sure of himself, but no less serious. “Faizal, you know me well. I am a practical man. But this is not a topic to raise with the others.”
Faizal continued in a mocking tone. “And why not? Are we no longer free to speak? Is that not our way?”
Rashid’s voice was tight, and he spoke in a low voice. “We follow the Mullah. That is all we need to know for now.”
Faizal shook his head. “This isn’t what I had expected.” He let the silence hang between them until, after a moment, he spoke again. “Rashid, you are a worldly man. You have seen much more of this earth than any of the rest of us. Do you think that we are on the righteous path?”
Rashid hesitated, but when he spoke his voice was firm. “All I know is that I have faith.”
Faizal’s smile was strained. “My faith is telling me something different than yours, perhaps.”
Rashid said nothing.
The two men stood next to each other, scanning the ground in front of them, but seeing nothing. Rashid yawned again, and Faizal clapped him on the shoulder. “You are tired, brother,” said Faizal. “Why not sleep for the first half of our shift while I stand guard. Then I will wake you, and you can cover the second half. We all need sleep, and there is no threat that requires us both to be awake.”
Rashid considered this for a moment. “I suppose.”
“I’m sure that our path will be more clear in the morning,” said Faizal.
“We must trust the Mullah,” said Rashid. “We have come too far to not finish the journey.”
“Don’t worry, my friend,” smiled Faizal. “We will find our way.”
Rashid looked at him intently. “Wake me at the first sign of anything.”
“Of course.”
Rashid went back into the compound, picking a spot close to the entrance on which to lie. The others were spread all around, preferring to sleep outside in the cool air. He wrapped his patu tightly around his head and shoulders, curling up on his side.
Within minutes, he was snoring gently.
CHAPTER 24
The sun was blazing hotly though still very low in the morning sky, when Rashid awoke with a start. He tore off the patu covering his head and looked around, blinking in the bright light. He was alone. He scooped his kalash up off of the ground and quickly searched throughout the compound to find Faizal.
He saw that the front gate was open and swung lazily in the morning breeze. Tire tracks led from where the old motorc
ycle had been leaning against the wall, out through the gate and beyond. Rashid stood at the doorway and looked out over the countryside. Not a single living thing was in sight. He stepped back inside, locked the gate, and just stood there for what felt to him like a very long time. As he turned around, he saw the Mullah standing in the courtyard, watching him.
“Is he gone?” asked the Mullah.
“I think so.” Rashid hesitated before speaking again, “I have failed you. I let him go.”
“It is for the best, Rashid. Letting nature take its course is not failure. Our journey is not for those who lack faith.”
Rashid’s face flushed hotly. “Mullah, he questioned the will of God … whether we follow the will of God. I … listened to him, and should have known what it meant, but I told no one.”
The Mullah smiled and clapped Rashid on the shoulder. “And yet you are still here, and not with him. Wake the others. We have much to discuss.”
Rashid only nodded, his throat still tight and dry, and did as he was asked. The Mullah sat in the shade of the compound wall and waited as each of the others was woken and joined him. Soon, they all sat in a circle around him, with the boys surrounding the men. They passed around pieces of stale bread that they had found in the farm building, dipping it in a can of condensed milk that was their only other food.
When the Mullah broke the news of Faizal’s disappearance, the mood turned sour.
“Justice will find him, as sure as it will all of us,” offered Umar.
Rashid stabbed his bread into the milk can. “Best that justice find him before I do.”
Everyone but the Mullah laughed at this. He raised a hand for silence before speaking calmly. “God has set for us a straight path. We need not do anything except that which is His will to bring justice to all.”
The others were silent. The Mullah looked around, but no one met his gaze directly. Finally, Umar spoke. “Mullah, we are all wondering the same thing. What will we do now?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my friend?” said the Mullah. “We will do what is right — the will of God. He has set us on a path that we must accept, no matter how difficult.”