Part One
Life amid green nature and fruit-laden garden lanes had a peace of its own, but the life and civilization of Kabul city had long been
one of our dreams.
When my uncle Shafiq finished primary school in our distant village, Chahar Asiab, one of the districts around Kabul, my grandfather bought him a house in Shor Bazaar, in the heart of Kabul, so that he could continue his education.
Later, when my brother and I also completed primary school, there was still no higher school in Chahar Asiab. We too had to continue our education in the city. So our parents began living in Shor Bazaar with Shafiq.
When we woke in the village, the fresh air of nature, the songs of birds, the life-giving breeze passing through the gardens and orchards, and the fragrance of blossoms were our greatest comfort.
But now, waking in the city, everything had a different color, a different liveliness, and a different smell.
The voices of shopkeepers calling out their goods, the bustle of the tabang sellers, the hammers of blacksmiths striking against iron, and the fragrance of musk and amber drifting from the herbal and spice shops created an entirely different atmosphere.
There was also a remarkable sense of intimacy and solidarity among the people living in those narrow, crowded lanes. From Lahori Gate to Shor Bazaar, and from Hindu Guzar to Se Dukan-e Chandawal, the people had an unbreakable bond with one another, almost as though they shared the same blood.
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