The Story of My Life

By Ehsanullah Sherdil

This book leads you through Afghani religion, politics, and culture in different times of history. This country has always been invaded by surrounding countries, as well as super powers. However, Afghans are free people, who are fond of freedom, with a free hospitable spirit and have always pushed the invaders back to their place. Afghanistan has its own tradition of food, sport and music, which are now world re known. Afghanistan is also a beautiful country with mountains, rivers, and lovely valleys, which unfortunately are over-shadowed by the politics.

This book gives you information about the problems, that Afghanistan has and why they are difficult to resolve, despite a lot of help from other countries and international organizations. The political competition from neighboring countries and super powers may cause Afghanistan to either move ahead quickly or be destroyed to the ground. Almost all of the weapons come to this country from different parts of the world. None are made in Afghanistan. Afghan people are mostly making carpets, handicrafts, furniture, clothes, shoes, coats, and jewelery, and etc. not weapons. Most of the people were and are farmers, not soldiers.

This books is a call for people to work shoulder to shoulder, in order to bring peace and prosperity to this beautiful country. It is a cry
to work together with the noble people of Afghanistan to stop killing, torturing, and suffering in this part of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 28, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462838189

Ehsanullah Sherdil

Ehsanullah Sherdil was borne in January of 1949.Raised and finished High School in Kabul Afghanistan. He graduated from Agriculture Faculty of Kabul University in 1972. Taught Dari Language at the Peace Corp Training Center in Kabul. Worked with Agriculture Extension Service for thirteen years, then he became member of Academy of Sciences. In 1990 left Afghanistan for India. In New Delhi he worked with United Nations. Also he established a private business and wrote this Historical novel. In 1995 he came to America with his wife and three sons.

Book preview

PART ONE

Prologue

Graduation Bus Trip

As soon as I finished high school, I went to Kandahar to see my uncle for two weeks. Then I took a bus trip from Kandahar to my home in Kabul. The highway ended at Ghazni, half-way to Kabul. From there on, they still had construction work being done. Our Government had America help building that road all the way from the city of Kandahar to our capital city, Kabul.

I remember how thirsty I felt during that dusty, bumpy road. A lot of dust covered my black hair, eyebrows and eyelashes.

Finally we reached a village, a truly beautiful village! Most of the people rushed to the cool and pure spring water for drinking, washing, and preparing for Namaz¹. I joined them eagerly.

We all prayed purely like water in the spring. During our pray to Allah, I felt a comfort in my heart. When we finished praying, the driver called us together. A young man, wore a black turban on his head, and had the stem of red roses in his mouth. He told us, I am sorry, but the bus needs some repair. After several hours we will resume our journey.

Several hours will give me time to explore some of those mountains, I told to myself. I will go to the skirt of the mountain to search for the beauty of the nature there. I want to see the mountains, hills, trees, and valleys. I hope I can see some cows, sheep, goats, and camels too

After a little time I reached the area of some Cochise tents. I met a shepherd wearing a sheepskin coat. He had a shepherd’s crook in one hand and a flute in the other. He looked very interesting to me, with flute and crook in his hands.

I’ve mentioned above that I felt a thrill in my heart when I was praying. My heart still throbbed with special excitement. When I got close to the shepherd, I said, hello, to him in Pashto language, for I could see by his clothes he came from a Pushtun tribe.

Where are you from? he asked.

I am from Wardak, but I was borne in Kabul, I answered.

He spoke with an accent strange to me. You are from Wardak?

I said, Yes brother.

There was a puzzling look of surprise on his face.

Where in Wardak and, which tribe?

Pathan Kiel Tribe, I told him, but I did not know which part of Wardak they lived in.

A happy look came in his face when he said, The Pathan Kiel Tribe lives just behind this hill. I am from there. If you want I can show you the village. Every day I bring my flock of sheep and herd of cattle here for grazing. Do you want to see the village?

Off course, I said.

As we climbed the hill he told me, My name is GuljanKhan.

After a lot of walking and chatting we finally reached the top of the hill, where I saw an old cemetery. Standing there on the top of the hill, I could see a beautiful, large village with many green fields and trees. It had sandy soil and big river without much water in it at that summer time, because we could not see much snow on top of the mountains.

I could recognize both ornamental and fruit trees. The field had several different crops. The breeze carried the fragrance of the village up to me, shaking my heart.

As I stared at the village, my mind went to ancestors, especially to my grand father, Guljan Khan a noble and wise man. He served as chief of Pathan Khale tribe until his death. I had heard so many stories about his great work and how people loved him for his greatness. For ten minutes I sat in a quiet and lovely twilight. The breeze shifted. It brought fragrance from the opposite side of the village. I felt it kissed my cheeks. In that moment I lived in completely a different place in the world and a different time of history. I forgot about the bus, the shepherd, and all else.

As I kissed the top of the hill, I heard the bus horn beeping continuously. I was dizzy of still thinking about my ancestors. My whole body became alive, tingling, and I snapped out of my temporary trance-like state. I hugged the shepherd and said, Goodbye to him.

When I was giving him my harmonica, which was a new instrument to shepherd, I ran toward the bus very fast—as fast as the wind. The winds blew in the same direction. I jumped on the bus and left my ancestors in quietness and peace with shepherd, his herd of cattle and flock of sheep.

My heart felt refreshed, proud and free. I closed my eyes and wished the wind, fragrance and breeze to whisper, and whisper again.

When I opened my eyes, I was in Kabul. The bus driver wanted each of us to leave the bus as quickly as possible. His loud and authoritative voice really startled me and I was forced to wake up.

I went home by taxi, feeling very tired. After having a shower; I went to my bed, wondering about all that had happened to me.

CHAPTER ONE

A Boy Must Leave Home

Picture a walled village nestled in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Central Asia, far from any city or other village. In 1870 the Pathan Kheil tribe in the province of Wardak, Afghanistan, had chosen as their ruler Guljan Khan. A highly respected man, he came from a very famous, brave, and religious Pashtun family of the ruling class.

The word of Khan, a little of respect for a highly honored man, came as authority to both his larger family and to all triibes under him. Guljan Khan ruled wisely over the tribe. To do this, he worked very closely with several other older man called white beards. When trouble arose, they would meet somewhere a little distance from their village, out on the foothills, or skirts of their mountains to talk over their problem and resolve it. Most people in the tribes respected him, putting their money and jewelry in his keeping. God blessed him. As a tall, handsome, strong person. Khan prayed regularly five times a day.

Every morning Guljan Khan mounted his fine white horse to supervise his cultivation of grains, fruits, shrubs out side the village as well as his herds of sheep, cows, and camels.

It took many men to work under him in his agricultural enterprises. As a good businessman and owner, he also rented several shops in the village to the tradesmen and shopkeepers.

He and his wife had just one child, a boy now twelve years old. Dearly beloved of both parents, the son closely resembled his father, both in appearance, and intelligence. They had named the boy Khanbaz Khan-literally (chief after chief). Under his parent’s wise training, the quiet, thoughtful son developed good manners and showed an ability to make wise decisions. He studied to assume the roll he must take one day to succeed his father, according to the custom of the tribes. He also spoke kindly, and with assurance, to those around him.

As the sun sank in the sky one beautiful crisp autumn day, Khanbaz Khan went to village gate to watch for his father’s return. The gate in the ten foot wall remain locked both day and night with a gatekeeper on duty to open only for those he recognized.

Ho, Zoya², He greeted the young boy. You must want to watch for your father. The gatekeeper always wanted to talk with the boy.

Yes, that is right, said the boy. Oh there he comes; No one has such a fine white, strong horse as my father:

At last the galloping horse slowed to a walk so that he could enter the gate of the Qala³. The father gives his son the rein as he got off the horse to enter their mud-walled, flat-roofed home.

After you rub down my horse, come my son inside for tea, so we can have our chat, he called back over his shoulder.

Later the boy sat cross-legged on the tushak⁴ beside his father, his mother brought in a tray holding a steaming pot of tea, along with some nuts and raisens. He listened intently, for he always learned important lessons from his father. Always speak the truth, his father began, as he poured a cup of the fragrant, cardamom flavored tea for his son. If you do that, God will always help you and love you, show kindness to everyone, and do all you can to help poor people. When you look to God and give thanks to him, you can depend on him to supply all you needs.

Have you ever seen this dester-khan⁵ without food on it? God has blessed us in many ways. You can trust God to give you courage in the worst situations. He will guide you in difficult times if you put your trust in Him and obey all he shows you.

Shortly after the talk, Khanbaz Khan’s father had a critical heart attack. He had heart problem since last year. His mother called him away from his father’s bedside.

She spoke quietly to her son. You know, my son, how all the people of our tribes love and respect your father for his wise leadership and honesty. That is, every one except your uncle. You may not know he has tried for years to get rid of your father so become chief.

All our relatives and the tribe want to elect you for leader of our tribe, as a mark of respect to your father and his kindly rule over us. That is our tribal custom, of course. And that is why we named you Khanbaz Khan.

"Your jealous uncle considers this his opportunity to take over us and our wealth as our leader. To do that he plans to kill you as soon as your father dies. Right now our servants and I think your father cannot live through the night.

"I have cried and prayed to God to see what to do. Now I have the answer. Today I prepared this special bread for you along with some dried fruit and krot⁶ to take on your journey.

—

"I have no power to fight against your uncle, enemy first of your father, and now your enemy. Since you are only twelve years old, you have not known hostility and feud. We know you have an enemy, much older than you, who has filled his heart with hate and jealousy.

You must go to Kabul as quickly as possible and there follow God’s way. I don’t want to see your death by such cruel schemer with their ignoble ideas. They were thirsty for your father’s blood and now want yours. I’ve lost my comfort, and my heart knows you must leave at once for Kabul.

Khanbaz Khan listened intently; trying to absorb all the shocking news. He could hardly believe what he had heard. He had many questions, but would have to wait until his mother finished.

I realize you do not know Dari, the language spoken in the city, but you can learn it. Keep your father’s light and star always high and shining. You must not leave our Qala by day for your uncle would pursue you. That is why I want you to leave tonight.

As his mother handed him the bread, fruit, and krot to fasten around his waist, she kept talking. Keep close to God, and may he be with you for ever, my dear son, my only and beloved son.

Again she said Go to Kabul and follow God’s way. Wear this sheepskin coat. Here, pass under your father’s holy Koran, as I surrender you and had you over to God’s care. Put the Koran in your pocket. In Kabul you can learn to read it for yourself. God is with you for ever, my dear and lovely son

She held him close to her heart, than added, be honest, do good, dear son, and try not to harm anybody if you can workout problem some other way. Life has a million choices. Choose one and search out the secret of success and truth.

You must leave tonight, for you can no longer live safely here. I want you to go to Kabul to send you all alone, but God will go with you

CHAPTER TWO

A Journey Begins

I have no idea where Kabul lies, nor what I will find there, Khanbaz Khan told himself. I surely have no knowledge of its customs, and its people.

So many tears came to Khanbaz Khan’s eyes he could hardly see in the dark. His path took him first through the orchards of apple, apricot, and almond trees, before he started up the mountain.

As I walked through this dark, frightening night and through deep shadows, trees, and stones, my heart shakes within me. I fear even myself;

Just then the moon came up. He discovered help in looking at the heavens instead of at the ground. The clear sky made the star seem so very close. Thinking of God who created all the heavens, he did not feel lonely as he walked towards the mountain looming ahead.

Years later he told his son, There in the sky I felt the glory of God, and I felt glade in my heart to have the holy Koran there in my pocket. My emotions calmed down then, no more shaking, fear, and dizziness. Instead: happiness, power, courage and strength. My faith gave me peace of mine, and God gave me safety. I still wonder why and from where all these came, yet I also know they had to come from God alone. He dared not to think about life without his parents, instead, I’ll think about reaching that big mountain out there, he told himself.

At last Khanbaz Khan could look down from the mountains to the valley where the road ran north and south. When some shepherds came along with their flock, he asked them for directions to Kabul, capital city of Afghanistan. There he would find the center of wisdom, religion, schools, herbal medical centers, business, and culture. They pointed him to the North.

He found the road little more than a camel trail, quite rough in places from the blowing sand in some areas, and in others from the water pouring down the mountainside every spring, carrying huge rocks as it came. Over the years, people had dug out low places in the road for those torrents coming from the mountain to flow through. There he specially found many of the big rocks.

Along the way a family going to the capital city overtook him in the desert. They appeared to have wealth for the man at the head of the group rode a fine white horse like the one Khanbaz Khan’s father had ridden.

"The man on the donkeys must be