Snippets from my Afghanistan Diary

#1

“I never imagined that I would witness this day to see everything collapse. All gains of 20 years. I am hopeless. Afghanistan I am sorry, we couldn’t save you.” This heartrending FB post from one of my dearest friends, Jawid, took me back to the time I first met him during an exposure visit to India. It was my first time with a group of Afghan delegates who had come to India on an exposure visit. Zawid was a senior staff member from the Aga Khan Foundation, accompanying them.  I was to document the learnings. A tall and handsome Pashtun, he spoke both English and Hindi with equal ease, making it easy for us to communicate without a translator. What bonded us immediately was his sense of humour and our admiration and love for these two ancient civilizations India and Afghanistan.

During our visits to the historical sites, Jawid would always manage to evade paying as a foreign tourist and stand in a queue with us posing as a Kashmiri instead. He loved it. We loved it. Each time we fooled a security guy, we broke into peals of laughter like errant kids.

An avowed Muslim, Zawid would pray five times a day and ask me mischievously,” Don’t you get confused with your gods? You have so many.”

“33 crores, to be precise…we believe in abundance.” I would joke.

Abundance brings to my mind our visit to the Somnath Temple. To most of us, it is a cruel reminder of the multiple plunderings of the marauder Mahmud of Ghazni.  However, the Afghans have a special place for him in their heart.  When Jawid recounts how the treasures from the richest cities and temple towns, such as Mathura and Somnath, had gone into building schools and hospitals, in the capital of Ghazni, I have tears in my eyes. While the Gangetic plain with its natural abundance fostered creativity in us and blessed us with opulence, the barren deserts turned its people to be marauders, fighting even over water---the bare minimum for survival. “Your treasure gave nourished generations who would have otherwise died in acute scarcity,” Zawid says gratefully. I learn how one country’s looter, is another country’s messiah. Our loss was their gain, but entirely for survival.

Several interesting discussions about life and living in these two distinctly different cultures opened a compassionate understanding of our shared humanity. I was explaining to Zawid once how there was nothing good or bad about customs like burning or burying a dead. These customs came about organically to suit the weather of a place and to safeguard its ecosystem. “Our rivers would have got polluted if we buried our dead. It is not so in Afghanistan, where it is wiser to just bury it.” Zawid nodded sweetly and then expressed his fear, “But on the day of the apocalypse, when we rise from the dead, how will we find your body?” “I will find your soul, don’t you worry.”  I would assure him.

It was through these casual discussions that I came to appreciate their traditions and even the utilitarian value of a burqa, which was essentially meant to be a useful overcoat for the womenfolk to protect them from its extreme weather and the sand and dust. Lack of water meant inner clothes had to be protected as much as the hair and the skin. However, the burqa is usually seen as an instrument of oppression, which is only a small part of that story.

In fact, I noticed the sartorial sense of an Afghan woman under their ubiquitous blue burqa.  They were gorgeous women smartly clad in natty denim or fur jackets in the winters, with pearl studded polo-necks, fancy black leather coats, dainty stockings, etc. Under their burqas, they were no different from any of us and carried handbags, sunglasses, mobiles, and digital cameras. 

My eyes grow moist as I think of the recent attacks. Will these beautiful women being forced to live a life of ignominy again? Will their life again become as stark as the mountains all around; their loss as expansive as the cradles of sand and stone that stretched into oblivion; their hardships as jagged as the path they tread every day?

 “Afghanistan I am sorry, we couldn’t save you,” Zawid’s words ring in my ear.

#2

“Believe it or not, we love Indians. Irrespective of government policies, the Afghans love Indians more than any other people in the world,” Reza said exuberantly. He went on to explain the reasons. There were so many---trade relationships, free visas, immense development assistance, Bollywood movies, Hindi music, food, football and more.

“But the strongest connection, by far, is…Guess what?” Reza said with a glint in his eyes.

“Is it cricket or kite flying,” I recognised mischief in his eyes.

“We share a dubious neighbour.” He broke into a chuckle.

Interestingly, this is even though a large chunk of the Afghan population migrates to Pakistan and finds a safe home there and also job opportunities. Afghans still marry off their children across its porous borders, just as it was in India years before we fenced our borders with Pakistan.

The misgiving between the two bordering Muslim countries has grown ever since Pakistan started harbouring terrorists. Even a common man, I realised was disenchanted with Pakistan and wanted to show their adoration for India, quite openly.

But the Taliban were a different kettle of fish, he agreed. The horrific destruction of the Bamyan Buddha has had a strong impact on Indians. The Indian government has quite naturally not shown much confidence in the repressive Taliban regime.

Our own experience with the Taliban during IC 814 hijack in Kandahar wasn’t pleasant either. The Taliban did not allow India to launch a rescue operation---apparently because they didn’t want Muslim blood on their land---but this impacted us in the most tragic ways.

However, on 23 Aug 2021, when Suhail Shaheen, the spokesperson for the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, as the political wing of the Taliban calls itself, issued a clarification that they would not join Pakistan-sponsored terrorism in Kashmir, it brought a flush of relief.

The declaration said that the Taliban was clear that it “does not interfere in internal affairs of other countries.” That gives us hope that our age-old Indo-Afghan ties, which started as being part of the British Empire with a common border, may thrive after all. I had experienced this warmth so many times over.

Aboard Kam 006, Hamid, a middle-aged Tajik businessman from Afghanistan, who had managed to escape to Washington during Taliban rule spoke in clear English. Hamid addressed me as a sister from India, Khawar az Hindu, and wanted to know what kind of work I had in Afghanistan. I explained that I was on my way to spearhead a media development program for Aga Khan Foundation---to sensitize local journalists of Badakshan, Takhar, and Bamyan on developmental issues, with a special focus on the needs and aspirations of the poor and marginalised.

We discussed how the protracted war on terror had failed to bring stability to the war-torn nation. As a businessman, Hamid shared how Indo-Afghan bilateral trade had been a constant source of support to people like him. He also expressed his deep gratitude to India for its reconstruction, rehabilitation, and capacity-building programs.  In 2011, the Strategic Partnership Agreement signed by the Karzai and Indian governments hoped to strengthen this trust, all of which may now come to a standstill. Hamid must escape again. But to a common Afghan that won’t change the way they feel about India.

 

#3

The Captain aboard Kam 006 announces our descent to Kabul, in his heavy Afghan drawl.

I sit up to look out of the window. But all I see are vast stretches of dunes in varied sizes with no habitation in sight; beyond them, I see formidable snow-capped mountain ranges.

I imagine the first nomads crossing those perilous peaks into the stark sandy desert country to find a home along some oasis or mountain stream, at first.  Wonder how it was for the subsequent traders and the travellers.

How difficult it must have been in those days. How difficult it still is for so many who live in the folds of those vast unforgiving stretches, trying to eke out a living.

Aboard Kam 006, the smart Afghan flight attendant gives me a cursory smile. “Are you from Islamabad?” she asks.  I am worried I may disappoint her. But to my surprise, as soon as she hears I am from India, her eyes soften and a sweet warm smile spread on her face.

“How wonderful. I want to travel to your county one day to meet Shah Rukh Khan in Mumbai. Have you met him? Hope you have a lovely time in Kabul. That’s my hometown.” My heart warms up and I tell her that how gorgeous the women of Afghanistan were.

 I had an impression that Muslim women never leave their heads uncovered and was surprised to find the attendants with their customary hijab. I gathered from Hamid, my co-passenger, that most of them belonged to the rich households in Kabul and the elites of Kabul had a lifestyle like any advanced European nation. This was, of course, distinctly different from the rest of the country.

I recalled the Bengali author Syed Mujtaba Ali‘s Deshe Bideshe, an anecdotal tale of his experiences in Kabul during his stint as a professor there in the 1920s. It was a period when Afghanistan, under its monarch Amanullah, was trying to shed its image as a hermit nation. Kabul shunned the headgear and took up steps to educate a girl at that time. However, those steps turned out to be counterproductive. Modernity has always posed a huge threat to its Afghan identity, wrought as it is with different tribal ethnic influences. It also creates a deep fear of eventual foreign invasion and presence in this landlocked country, rich in minerals like lithium among others.

Kabul, as it is, comprises a very tiny section of Afghanistan. Most people live far away in inhospitable regions and are totally cut off from savouring the fruits of modernism that Kabul offers. That is how Mujahedeen was born and that is how the staunch Taliban were able to come to power with the promise to oust all foreign presence from their homeland.

 “Are you from Islamabad?” asks the security officer as I enter the Hamid Karzai International Airport.”

“No, India.” I relish his broad grin.

“India is our friend,” he says---a regular refrain I continue to hear during my subsequent visits.

Once out of the airport, I go looking for the parking area to wait for my pick-up. When the pick-up doesn’t arrive, I tentatively approach a taxi driver.  To my surprise, Osman speaks in clear English. When he hears it is my first time and that I was from India, he takes me to a shade near a refreshment stall. “Don’t worry dear sister, you are my guest. I will take you to AKG guest house if your pick-up doesn’t arrive.”

Osman had fled to Iran during the Taliban regime and worked as an interpreter in a tourism company there for some years and knew five languages---Dari, Pashto, Hindi, English, and Persian. Fortunately, my pickup shows up. Osman refuses to accept money for the drink he served me. 

Athiti Devo Bhava (Guests are God), is a credo I thought only Indians follow. However, through the many visits to Afghanistan, I experienced the same respectful warmth everywhere. That convinced me of the Afghan-Indian bond that went deeper than all diplomatic ties.

 

#4

An ordinary Afghan, in a far-flung outskirt, may not be aware of the billions that have been spent by India as economic aid---and our efforts in providing electricity, building schools, and training its police, but they know one thing for certain---India is an ally.

Even those who are not aware of India’s gifts to Afghanistan---a bronze domed parliament building, the 400 miles of roads and the Chabahar port in Iran---deeply savour and stay nourished by other gifts like that of Bollywood movies and music.

The day I land in Kabul, I am pleasantly surprised to see a poster of Dhoom in one of their local halls. I am told that Hindi movies were regularly shown with Dari subtitles in the local halls. I also noticed their hair saloons and gyms sporting pictures of Shah Rukh Khan, Amitabh Bachchan, Hrithik Roshan, and taxis had pictures of Kajol, Rani Mukherjee and even Smriti Irani (of Tulsi fame).

During my several visits to some of the most far-flung corners, I would find it heart-warming to encounter this abiding love for Bollywood movies and Hindi serials and their astonishing knowledge of them.  The piracy market ensured that the Afghan population stayed updated with the latest releases in India and thrived because of the constant demand.

Out in the boondocks, in Faizabad, Bahark, Jurm, Tahor and Bamyan, I notice another interesting cultural tie. Women of all ages flock around me with questions on Ekta Kapoor’s serials the moment they hear I am from India. Five of Ekta’s serials were being dubbed and broadcasted to the Afghan public at that time and they were always curious to know what was in store for their favourite characters in the future.  I was like a woman in a time machine with news from the future. Some even had a word of advice for Tulsi, their favourite. “She should not be such a forgiving diva; it is not good for her.” Others demanded that conniving characters like Komolika be “left out” of the serials---“They break homes.”

Television has always had a far-reaching impact on its audience and for the people of Afghanistan, smuggled videos and CDs in underground basements had been the only source of succour and joy at times. Despite the lack of electricity all over Afghanistan, cheap Chinese generators ensured that the people of Afghanistan had access to TV and Bollywood as their favourite sources of entertainment. “It is our lifeline,” they claim. In their constant struggle to survive inclement weather and oppressive political regimes, it was the least they could turn to for some relief

I saw for myself how life literally stopped for them from 6.30 to 8.30 pm---even in the remotest, inaccessible, far-flung regions. The AKF guesthouse cook made it clear that no food would be served before 8.30 pm. Even weddings couldn’t take place at that time. The joke was that in the eventuality of shelling, their biggest regret, more than any threat to life and property, would be that they missed an episode of Tulsi.

It was nothing less than magic to see how through the dangerous and craggy terrain, where angels fear to tread, Ekta Kapoor had managed to penetrate and dominate every heart with her absorbing dramas and heart-wrenching family sagas.

These serials influenced their fashion sense as well. That year, the celebration of Eid saw "Anurag Kurta” as the hottest trend for men. So great had been the Indian influence on Afghan culture that the Afghan Parliament finally decided to ban Ekta Kapoor. That prompted the local Tolo TV to launch their first indigenous homemade commercial serial in Dari and Pashto. “Palwasha" aired in December 2007, was a copy of the tear-jerking actions and melodramatic theatricals of the Indian soaps.

#5

The opulence and corruption of Afghanistan’s leaders is a well-known fact. In fact, experts claim corruption to be the root of Afghanistan’s fall.

One of the biggest pieces of evidence of corruption is the deep chasm between the rich and poor, which is starkly visible as I drive through Kabul. The capital of a country is usually the most happening place, but no is it a yardstick to measure the development across the country. This is particularly true for Afghanistan, where motorable roads are yet to be built to connect the different far-flung villages to its district centres. 

Moreover, as the hub of all political activity and as the destination of hundreds of donor agencies across the globe, Kabul had to be catering to the caviar-and-champagne circuit of the who’s who of the World Bank, the UN, the NATO, et al.

I would experience some of this opulence in my later visits, but what struck me immediately was the grandiosity of the elites---their palatial buildings with glittering grand spiral stairways, carved furniture, silk curtains and Persian rugs, exquisite gardens, fortress-like walls, and towering gates. It was an unbelievable sight.

What comes up next is its sharp contrast with the ordinary people of Kabul. The elite spans only a limited area and downtown Kabul wears a different look. Apart from the arterial road, the city is otherwise full of narrow unpaved alleyways, leading to modest traditional homes, bazaars, and mosques. The steep hillsides, however, look rural and impoverished.

In the newer parts of Kabul, I spot a couple of small shopping malls.  I also find several mothers in hijabs, with small children, sitting and chatting. Kabul looks surprisingly familiar with its lines of shops selling clothes, confectionaries, naans, tandoori chicken, and meat. I also see assigned spaces for labourers waiting to be contacted for odd jobs, policemen relaxing in chairs and having chai, and vendors selling wares on pavements. There are people everywhere and the traffic is as unruly as in India. Amidst this chaos, another familiar site are the beggars sitting with their begging bowls.

Unlike in India, beggars are a rarity in Afghanistan and can only be seen in Kabul. Afghans coming on exposure visits to India often expressed great surprise to see little children begging at every street corner in the large metros of India. “At least we all have a home somewhere. The number of homeless people in India is shocking.”

I, on the other hand, found the Afghan habit of leaving food on the plate rather shocking. Like most middle-class Indians, I consider it a sacrilege to waste food and I’d notice with some pain how Afghan women especially would always leave something on their plates.

One day, when I finally ask Nadia what prompted them to do so, she gives me two surprising reasons. First, it was a sign of modesty for women to leave food on the plate--- “it shows we are not greedy.” The men didn’t seem to follow that rule. Second, since in most rural households the extra food went to the cattle, each member left a little from their share to feed the household animals. I thought the second reason could be the genesis of this strange custom.

Every day, I learnt something new and endearing bout these beautiful people. I simply loved the egalitarianism the rural folk displayed in their daily life. They make no distinction between a servant and master and often two people share food from the same plate. I had the honour of being invited for a meal once in a local home. They served me a large platter of food, which was essentially a huge omelette made of at least a dozen eggs with nuts and raisins and lots of fruits on the side. The whole family then sat around me, and we enjoyed the platter together.

#6

Recently, the Human Rights report ranked Afghanistan as amongst the worst countries for the status of women. The Human Rights Watch has also named Afghanistan as the most discriminatory and unequal country in the world for women. One of the main reasons for this is illiteracy, the reason why development work has never been easy in Afghanistan.

Even if Kabul boasts of opulence and modernism, a vast majority of Afghan women still cannot read and write. Apart from it, environmental constraints make it impossible for women to form groups and have meetings. Inhabitation in the upper regions of Afghanistan is so sparse that remoteness, travelling time, and security issues pose huge challenges for women to come together. A large number of groups would dissolve overnight when irate family members opposed womenfolk from having meetings away from home. Inaccessible terrain with no motorable roads made it impossible for NGO workers to reach them too.

Despite such challenges, during my visits to Afghanistan from 2007 to 2013, I noticed how the fledgling democracy was learning fast from India’s best practices. Several of India’s success stories were handpicked and implemented in these inhospitable quarters to great success. One of them was the Indian Self-help Group (SHG) model. The other was Social Audit.

In India, Self-help groups represent a unique approach to financial intermediation that provides low-cost financial services. They are linked to wider developmental programs meant for both economic and social benefits.  Strong SHGs can be community platforms from which women become active in village affairs, stand for local elections or take action to address social or community issues.

The common perception of SHG is of microfinance, linked to banks and that requires some amount of literacy. A vast majority of Afghans are illiterate and so the model used in Afghanistan was a little different. The Aga Khan Foundation, trailblazing these efforts in Badakhshan and Bamiyan, kept it simple. Unlike a regular microfinance institution (MFI) these SHGs were community-based savings groups---a model where locals could meet and collect a loan anytime, anywhere without being dependent on any NGO staff. Only three documents were to be maintained: a member passbook, a group cash book and meetings register for which they receive training. At least one member had to be trained as an accountant. This was usually a school-going child. In remote regions, that was also hard to come by. 

The SHG groups in Afghanistan used the saving-credit system mostly to meet basic needs. Their stories were heartrending. “When the menfolk migrate, we need money to run our home, repair our roofs, feed our children,” disclosed Razia. Inclement weather could call for some extra cash to buy more wood to build fire or even take sick children miles away to the health. “Last year around the same time, with the storm brewing relentlessly I was struggling with a difficult childbirth and needed money to rush to the town,” ruminated Gulchehera.

Apart from SHGs which were fully functional in as many as 11 districts in 2013, the other milestone story was that of the practice of Social Audit---an institutionalised form of accountability of the local government to its people. In this practice, the local officials are required to defend their use of public funds to a village committee. Even while the Kabul government was reeling under corruption, and was ranked one of the five most corrupt by Transparency International, local governance in Afghanistan was making great strides in transparency. In the northern regions, where AKDN had a strong presence, every government scheme was being closely audited by local people, especially by the womenfolk.

With the Taliban marching in and taking control of Afghanistan, two decades of efforts to put such support systems and safety nets in place will be completely washed away. What is more worrisome is how Razias and Gulcheheras will manage to look after themselves, their homes and their children?

 (Word count: 579)

 

#7

I read how the surviving Sikh and Hindus in Afghanistan have taken refuge in the Karte Parwa Gurdwara and I feel a twinge in my heart.  When the Taliban took over Afghanistan last time, this community dwindled severely, with a large number never returning again.  This fresh onslaught could mark the end of these communities in Afghanistan, which will be it rue about.

In Baburnama, Mughal emperor Babur mentions 'Hindustan's own market in Kabul’, which he captured in 1504. The Sikh community, too, is as old as the religion itself. Anthropologist and South Asian Studies scholar Robert Ballard, in his 2011 work, The History and Current Position of Afghanistan's Hindu and Sikh Population, suggests some of them are from the indigenous Khatri population who had resisted conversion to Islam in the 9th century and later chosen to follow the Sikh Guru from the 15th century.

Several gurdwaras were established in Afghanistan during this period but the most prominent is the Karte Parwan Gurudwara, supposedly built to commemorate Guru Nanak’s visit, when he stopped at Kabul on his way back from Mecca, in the early 16th century.

A large number of Sikhs settled in Afghanistan from the golden era of Khalsa when Ranjit Singh captured Kabul in the 19^th century. Later, traders from west Punjab also settled in Kabul. 

I recall visiting Karte Parwan, a centre for the Afghan Hindus and Afghan Sikhs in north-western Kabul in 2011. A lot of high-profile bungalows, hotel and the Pakistan Embassy is situated in this area. Until then I had no idea of the Afghan-Sikh community.

My earliest association with this beautiful landlocked country was through Tagore’s Kabuliwala, which had left an indelible impression in my heart and a strange nostalgia for Afghanistan and its mountainous terrain. I imagined all Afghans to be tall Pathan traders who went far and wide to sell dry fruits.

As an army wife, during my stay in different parts of India, I discovered a large number of Pashto-speaking Afghans with successful businesses settled in certain areas of India. One is the Lajpat Nagar in Delhi. Up in the north too, I came across other nomadic Pakhtuns, living in Kashmir.

These Afghan-Indians, who enriched our culture through food and music, were essentially descendants of the soldiers, who came with the Afghan kings and princelings. The advent of Islam in Bengal is in fact, largely attributable to the Afghan nawabs who ruled in Bengal. Similarly, there was brief Afghan rule in Kashmir. These Afghan-Indians were granted Indian citizenship in the 1950s.

The presence of the Afghan Sikhs formed a great new connection for me. My interactions with them had been most heart-warming.  I recognised a part of me in them which seemed to strengthen my connection with Afghanistan, more than ever.

I learnt from them how even in 2009, an estimated number of 700 people worshipped at two large Gurdwaras in Kabul. This number had reduced drastically by 2011 because of attacks from extremists. 2021 will prove to be a new chapter in the lives of these Afghan Sikhs and probably mark their complete exit.

My heart feels heavy to see another beautiful chapter in Afghan-India ties, close so tragically.

#8

My Afghan friend Farid from Faizabad introduces me to the politics of Afghanistan and what makes it impossible for this country to achieve any semblance of peace and order. While its strategic location and its immense natural wealth make it the bone of contention between power centres, its tragic flaw lies in the patchwork fiefdoms controlled by the warlords, drug traffickers, and Pashtuns, who do not wish to see any other Afghan ethnic groups in their land. They can neither live nor let live and so they broil in civil strife and fuel global contentions in a vicious cycle, which is of course taken advantage of by other countries.

Even though I was aware of the politics I had no idea of how volatile Afghanistan really was, under its apparent peace, until a near-death incident shook me up to face the reality.

AKF’s rule book for ex-pats was clear. We were expected to return to the guest house before 5 pm. Additionally, we were told to have the curtains drawn in the evening and take responsibility for our own safety.

This was 2011. The Taliban had been ousted but the Hamid Karzai government wasn’t strong enough to assert itself over provincial warlords. The arms and weapons in the hands of extremists were not safe anyway. On top of it, the ongoing skirmishes within the various tribes of the multi-ethnic community posed a perpetual threat. I read about all of this before travelling to Afghanistan in 2009, but I hadn't understood its full import until an incident shook me up to the reality...

This was on the last day of our field visit. We got a tad late returning from Baharak. A maximum of two hours' journey to Faizabad, the bad roads and bad light had stretched the journey a little longer than expected.

I had not had the opportunity to see Afghanistan by evening ever. I had no idea how Faizabad looked after dark. A little sluggish, I looked out sleepily and found the little town wearing a quiet, abandoned look. I discovered like any remote mountainous region, by 6.30 pm the whole city had plunged into darkness. With a few timid gas lights here and there, in one or two shops along its main road, the place looked rather ominous---more like a haunted ghost town.

Just then, at a road corner of the main entrance to Faizabad, two dozen young men in white salwar kameez appeared from nowhere.  Like apparitions, they walked right ahead into the car path. Naturally, we came to a screeching halt to save a crisis.

Not for a moment did I harbour any fear, at first. I was in my "India-mode", ready to roll down the window and ask “What’s the matter? Aren’t you crazy to be walking right into a speeding car?” I shudder to think now what a disaster that could have been.

In the next split second, I was completely awake to the reality of the time and place in history. These were no dumb ghosts. Armed with sticks and shovels this was a mob about to splutter and ignite. They spoke angrily in Dari ordering that the window is lowered. My interpreter Dr Hafizi asked me to duck behind the seat, while he continued talking to them calmly. In the north, the peace-loving Tajiks and Uzbeks were far less volatile than the Pashtuns in the south. Yet, the exchanges sounded harsh.

I was apprehensive by now busy processing large chunks of unrelated, inadequate information. I had no idea what they were arguing about but when I saw one of them break the antennae off the car and heard Hafizi mutter something to the driver, which was probably “Can we turn back? Do it as quickly as you can,” I knew we could be in serious trouble.

They were still all around us when, fortunately, another car pulled in. The driver took that moment to quickly pull back and make a swift turn. No one came after us; no one hurled a grenade or a bomb; No one followed us in Landcruisers. Those could have easily happened. I was told later that the last time people came on the road due to an ethnic conflict, four women were burnt alive in their car.

At the root of Afghanistan’s problem is this insecurity that allows no development to take place. The common man on the road may be looking forward to some order in their life, but the presence of warlords and mullahs, ethnic conflict and extremist Islamic approach to life continue to haunt and pull the country back into the dark ages.

I have seen a lot of developmental work in the North, all of which will be razed to the ground now. “Security,” which forms the fulcrum of all development, will not be easy to restore as long as it remains in the dubious domain of power-hungry, uneducated, rigid extremists.

#9

Among the many wonderful things that India and Afghanistan share is the pre-eminence of being the birthplace of two of the oldest religions in the world---a fact which could have been our crowning glory. Unfortunately, we also share the irony of having seen them desecrated and destroyed and eventually banished from their homelands---their greatness and importance reduced and nearly forgotten in the land of their origin today.

Zoroaster, the great Iranian thinker, preacher and miracle maker was born some 2000 years before Christ, in the ancient city of Balkh or Bacteria. Modern-day researchers claim this general area to be none other than the “holy city” of Mazar-e-Sharif in northwest Afghanistan.  In fact, Avesta the sacred text of the Zoroastrians is believed to have been composed as early as 1800 BCE and written in ancient Ariana (Aryana), which is also the earliest name of Afghanistan.

Zoroastrianism, like Buddhism, holds a place of unique importance in the history of religion. With its genesis in the Vedic principles, it is hard to find a parallel to the immense popularity it enjoyed at that time. So huge was its followership and so overpowering its influence that it remained the official religion of Persia for more than a thousand years, through a period of reasonable stability and growth. In the same way, Buddhism harbingered prosperity and peace under Ashoka and Kanishka.

Not in favour of conversion or propagation through persuasion, these two religions based on the principles of compassion never waged any war or had any history of retaliation. instead, their descendants and disciples suffered persecution fled and survived far away from their places of origin. Again surprisingly, they contribute richly to wherever they went.

Today with no more than 200,000 surviving descendants in India and Iran, the Zoroastrian Parsis are still among the most educated and philanthropic lot. They played an instrumental role in the economic development of the subcontinent over many decades and continue to do so. Tata, Godrej, and Wadia are among the names that have gone down the annals of Indian history for their distinguishing contribution to the prosperity of India, while ironically Afghanistan still struggles amidst poverty and anarchy. The Buddhists too settled in China, Japan and the Far East contribute to the well-being of some of the most advanced nations of the modern era.

Tying up these surprising, hair-razing similarities is an interesting link, namely the Silk Road. It played a huge role in spreading the word of wisdom of these great men at one time and also in the process of its survival, later.

Apparently, three important caravan routes from China, India and Central Asia met at Kapisa, somewhere near Kabul in Afghanistan, carrying more than just merchandise of silk, ivory, gold precious gems and fruits. This 4500 km web of tracks connecting China in the East and Italy in the West thrived as a conduit of trade and commerce and cultural exchange, even as far back as the 2nd century BC. Gradually it filtered into agricultural and metallurgical technologies and information but remained, above all, the chief channel for the exchange of religious ideas and philosophies, through traders, travellers and visiting monks.

Mazar-e-Sharif and the Himalayan kingdom of India are both vital nodal points on the Silk route. But when Zoroastrianism faced persecution at the hands of Arabs, in its own home turf, the silk route in its fledgling state, may not have been an accessible means for mass migration. Probably the reason why only a handful of Zoroastrians survived at that time after fleeing to Iran and entering Gujarat along the sea route to Gujarat.

Buddhism was luckier. It spread steadily along the silk route that had by then become a busy thoroughfare. Hence even after facing desecration from Hindu kings first and later from the Islamic rulers, it managed to survive and flourish in the East.

Losing out on the rich heritage of our respective religions may not be solely dependent on a highway but the birth of two major religions of the world along a silk route is an uncanny coincidence. It forces one to speculate whether Zoroastrianism had a better chance of survival a few hundred years later when the silk route became an important link to the countries in the East. More than anything however it makes one wonder how the future of India and Afghanistan may have shaped up had we held on to our ancient faiths in our respective countries.