Earth and Ashes Read Online Free PDF

about himself. He says little to those he doesn’t trust. It took me a year to find out where he came from and what brought him here.”
    Shahmard falls silent again. But you want to know more about Mirza Qadir, the man to whom you’ve entrusted your grandson. Finally he continues:
    “He had a shop in Shorbazar. In the daytime he’d work as a merchant and, in the evenings, as a storyteller. Each night a crowd would gather at the shop. He was a popular man who commanded great respect. One day his young son was called up to serve in the army. A year later he returned. He’d been made an officer and trained in Russia. This didn’t please Mirza Qadir. He didn’t want his son to have a military career.But the son liked the uniform, the money, and the guns. He ran away. Mirza disowned him. The sorrow killed his wife. Mirza left Kabul. His home and shop remained behind. He came to the coal mine, where he worked for two years. With his first savings he set up that shop. From morning to evening he sits there, writing or reading. He’s beholden to no one. If he likes you, he’ll respect you, but if he doesn’t like you, best not to let even your dog pass his shop … Some nights I stay with him till dawn. The whole night he reads stories and poems. He knows the
Book of Kings
by heart …”
    Mirza Qadir’s words ring in your tired ears. He spoke about Rostam and Sohrab, and of the Sohrabs of our day … The Sohrabs of today don’t die, they kill.
    You think about Murad. Your Murad isn’t a Sohrab who would kill his own father. But you …
    You are a Rostam. You’ll go and drive the dagger of grief into your son’s heart.
    No, you don’t want to be Rostam. You’re Dastaguir, an unknown father, not a hero burdened with regret. Murad’s your son, not a martyred hero. Let Rostamrest in his bed of words; let Sohrab lie in his shroud of paper. Return to your Murad, to the moment when you will hold his black hands in your trembling hands and your wet eyes will meet his exhausted eyes. When you will have to seek strength from Ali, asking for help in saying what you must say:
    “Murad, your mother gave her life for you …”
    No, why begin with his mother?
    “Murad, your brother …”
    No, why his brother?
    But then with whom should you begin?
    “Murad, my child, the house has been destroyed …”
    “How?”
    “Bombs …”
    “Was anyone hurt?”
    Silence.
    “Where’s Yassin?”
    “He’s alive.”
    “Where’s Zaynab?”
    “Zaynab? … Zaynab’s … in the village.”
    “And mother?”
    Then you should say, “Your mother gave her life for you …”

    And Murad will start to weep.
    “My son, be strong! These things happen to all men one day or another … If she was your mother, she was also my wife. She’s gone. When Death comes, it makes no difference whether it is for a mother or a wife … My son, Death came to our village …”
    And then tell him about his wife, tell him about his brother … And then tell him that Yassin’s alive, and that you have left him with Mirza Qadir because he was tired. He was sleeping … Don’t say anything about his condition.
    The noise of a truck coming from the opposite direction disrupts your conversation with Murad. It passes at high speed, raising clouds of dust. Dust erases the lines of the valley. Shahmard brakes.
    “Will you spend the night with your son?” he asks.
    “I don’t know if there will be a place for me.”
    “He’ll find something.”
    “Anyway, I have to get back. I left my grandson with Mirza Qadir.”
    “Why didn’t you take him with you?”
    “I was afraid.”
    “Of what?”
    “Why should I upset you with all this, brother.”
    “Don’t worry about that. Tell me.”
    “All right, I’ll tell you.”
    Shahmard stays silent. As if he doesn’t want to goad you. Maybe he thinks you don’t want to talk. How could you not? When the village was destroyed, with whom could you sit and weep? With whom could you share your grief? With whom