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Aneesa trekked through the snow, mindlessly putting one numbed foot in front of the other. Her path was now lit by a dimming twilight at her back as the sun dipped behind the western peaks of the Hindu Kush. A scene of blinding white had now faded to shades of gray. God’s small blessing upon her weary eyes. They had been squinting for hours. Despite having shed her outer garment and head cover earlier her body glowed hot like a burning ember. Had fever gripped her? Was she getting sick? How would she ever make it to Godri?
O Allah, I seek refuge in You from the trials of life and death. O Allah, I seek refuge in You from the punishment of the grave, not for myself, but for my beloved children; both born and unborn.
As she stumbled on, it became more and more difficult for her mind to hold onto thoughts, thoughts that were now like snow flurries swirling inside her mind. And a wave of thirst suddenly savaged her. She dropped to her knees and gently laid her son, Hamayoon, next to her.
He sleeps. Rest, my beloved son, we will be home soon.
She scooped a handful of snow and greedily stuffed it into her mouth. She felt it slide refreshingly down her parched throat; although her body gratefully accepted the water, her belly still growled, demanding to be fed. The child she carried inside, she could still feel her daughter move and kick. What a strong-willed woman her girl would grow up to be. This tiny new being was every bit as tough as the woman who would soon bring her into the world.
As she continued to feast on the snow with her son by her side — “I know it’s cold, Hamayoon. Stop whining! Mama needs to drink!” — a voice came to her. God Himself gently spoke to her:
Beloved daughter, you will call the little one you carry Fawzia.
Fawzia: the triumphant, the victorious one in Arabic. Fawzia would conquer death. She would be born in Godri, the village of her father, Hamdast; may he, Hamza, and all the Uncles rest in peace.
Suddenly, as she bent down to pick up Hamayoon, her mind spun violently and separated from consciousness. Aneesa collapsed onto her side. Instinctively, she placed a hand over her belly and felt for Fawzia. When her daughter kicked, she smiled.
“God’s blessings are upon you, little one.” In a tender voice she promised, “Momma will bring you home.”
When the dizziness finally passed, Aneesa slowly pushed herself onto her feet. She marched on. She felt as if relieved of a great weight. In front of her, shadows crawled across the barren snow. They reached out for her like icy fingers. Moonlight now lit the way. Aneesa had shed the last of her garments, down to her tunic, yet her body still radiated heat. As she struggled eastwards towards Godri, the will to save her children drove her but hate provided its own fuel.
Damn-them-all-to-Hell! Those Russians will not defeat me!
Evil, Godless bastards all! Given the opportunity, she would gladly rip out the throats of their women and children with her claws and teeth! Drink their blood! Wipe all traces of these animals off the face of the earth! She, Hamayoon and little Fawzia would reach Godri together. One day, her son would grow into a strong man like his father. He would take revenge on all Russians, both in Afghanistan and in the Soviet Union.
Aneesa staggered and stumbled through the snow until she faced the last hill. It led onto the plateau where Godri lay. Flat ground! Praise be to God!
This hill was steeper and higher than anything that had preceded it. But once she climbed it, she and the children would soon be back in Godri. But the temperature had dropped so fast by now that she felt the numbness in her feet crawling upwards into her thighs. She had lived all her sixteen years in the Hindu Kush. Aneesa knew the final stages of frostbite.
“O Allah!” she cried, fearing she might soon be dead, “The merciful and just, the all knowing, the all powerful! I am a woman, a weak woman, not Job! Why do You test me?”
Aneesa knew the story of Job from the Hebrew Bible; even as a child she thought Job a fool. Yet this was as close as she dared to heap curses at the Almighty. Her fate still rested in the hands of a male, the Male Godhead. Exhausted to the point where will alone could no longer propel her body forward, she collapsed once again onto her knees. Her arms were so weak she could barely lift them, and cold air burned in her lungs. She dared not take her boots or gloves off; her fingers and toes must have turned black by now. They would have to be amputated.
A child’s voice cried out: Mama! Mama! Don’t leave me!
“Stop, Hamayoon, stop crying!” she screamed. She covered her ears with both hands — with both hands! Arms empty!
She frantically looked around. Where was Hamayoon? Behind, her trail of footprints disappeared into the darkness. No Hamayoon! Had she accidently dropped him along the way?
Allah, the merciful, the just, no, please no!
She must have forgotten to pick him up when she had named Fawzia. And still his cries bled into her heart: Mama! Mama! Don’t leave me!
She had to go back to find him, to comfort him, to make him stop crying. Then she felt her heartbeat begin to slow as it struggled to pump the slush that now filled her veins. And her legs had finally given out; they could not raise her to a standing position. She bowed her forehead into the snow and wept. In her love for the child she carried inside her, she’d forgotten the other one. She fell onto her left side and waited. The child she carried was still alive; she could feel how tenaciously Fawzia gripped life.
I’m so sorry, my Fawzia. I have failed you and Hamayoon. But my love for both of you is eternal.
Soon her womb would become like an ice chest. Little Fawzia would slowly die the same cruel death as the mother who carried her. How long after Aneesa died would she have to wait for little Fawzia to join her and Hamayoon in Paradise?
Her mind sang its final praise unto God: Allahu Akbar!
She let consciousness drift away knowing that He would lift her spirit unto Him.