In 1964, when Zahir Shah’s new constitution made political parties legal for the very first time, all his enemies took advantage. Russia backed the communist People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan (PDPA); China supported the Maoists; Shia Iran backed the Shia religious parties; Pashtuns who wanted to regain Pashtunistan formed the Afghan Social Democratic Party. But the PDPA was the most organized and had the strongest backing: the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
The New Great Game between the United States and Russia continued. The United States built an airport in Mazar-i-Sharif and a highway across Afghanistan. Russia built irrigation ditches, power projects, and a new Polytechnic Institute—for which it provided the teachers. The U.S. ambassador-at-large met with Zahir Shah and the prime minister in Kabul. Soon afterward Russian leaders met with Zahir Shah in Moscow. But Zahir Shah was ignoring the reality of what he had set in motion when he forced Daoud to resign and created his flawed constitution. The people were angry that their political desires were constantly frustrated by the king and his cabinet. The anger of the people often surfaces most strongly in the young, and Afghanistan was no different. After the Wolesi Jirga excluded the public and voted in secret, students at Kabul University rioted. Zahir Shah’s cousin and son-in-law, General Abdul Wali, military commander of the Kabul region and head of the palace guard, ordered his troops to fire on the students, killing three of them. Schools were closed. Public meetings were banned.
In October 1965 Prime Minister Yusuf resigned. The king appointed a new prime minister, but it did nothing to quell the anger of the students, whose passions were stoked by Russia, Iran, China, and the religious parties backed by Iran and Pakistan. All of Afghanistan’s neighbors were allied against it, determined to bring down the government. The new prime minister was unable to control the Communists or students and resigned in November 1967, to be replaced by Nur Ahmad Etemadi. Uncle Ali became first deputy prime minister and minister of education. It was during this time that I asked my father if I could go with Uncle Ali’s wife, Aunt Deeba, to see a mystic she often consulted. Baba did not want me to go, but I pleaded with him, and he relented. “If that is what you want,” he said, “then go, but it’s a foolish waste of time.”
With his tall, thin figure, flowing white hair, and long, wispy beard, the mystic exuded magical powers as he walked beside the Kabul River, trailed by a huge following. Suddenly the mystic stopped and extended his hand toward the riverbank. All eyes followed it. What did the mystic know that we did not? What could he see that we could not? Several people ran to the riverbank where the mystic had pointed. Hidden in the reeds lay the corpse of an old man. Everyone started shouting. How could the mystic have known this?
When the mystic arrived back at his house, he invited Aunt Deeba inside.
As I sat on the floor on a silk cushion, the Mystic’s eyes seemed to peer into me. “How is it you could see the dead body?” I asked him.
He looked at me intently. “In my mind’s eye,” he replied, and I felt his power. “You know, Baryalai, the eyes are not the only way of seeing.”
As soon as I got home, I told my father what had happened, how the mystic could see what others could not. “They say there is an invisible hand behind the universe and truths that our eyes alone are not strong enough to see,” I said, trying to impress Baba.
But Baba was not impressed. “You should not believe what you cannot see or touch,” he said. “You should not believe in anything without proof.”
“You don’t think you need to know about worlds beyond our own?” I asked.
“I know as much as I have to for my daily needs and my work. I leave to God those things I do not understand. Believing in things without proof only confuses you.”
“But doesn’t Islam say that your story is written before you walk into this life? There are those who know what lies ahead for us.”
“Bari,” he said gently, “there are those who are content to lead small, simple lives and be swept along like leaves down the Kabul River. But we make our own destinies. One day you will discover this for yourself.”
“As you say, Baba,” I said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”