Upon my arrival there, I decided to go straight to the shrine of Tamim-e-Ansar. The shrine lies at the peak of the cemetery and is perhaps the end point of the current endless memorial park. The shrine has not been immune to life's struggle in Afghanistan. Women and men have been separated from each other even while in prayer. Nonetheless, I was asked to stop at the doorsteps of the century-old monument until some ladies inside finished their prayer. Finally, my turn came and I was allowed to enter to complete my salutations.

To make the most of that interval, I began to converse with the beggar ladies and their children surrounding the vicinity of the shrine. Most of these women stated that they were not professional beggars, but were rather one-time teachers and office workers. However, they were forced by the undesired economic circumstances of the nation to come out of their homes. For them, this work was once deemed a nightmare ten year ago.

"It is your turn," shouted an old keeper. So, I performed the common prayers and soon left the sanctuary.

It flashed in my memory that once there was a skillfully designed, white-domed tomb of the legendary singer Ahmad Zahir at Shahada-e-Saliheen. It dawned on me that Ahmad Zahir's grave must have been on the left side on my way towards the shrine. If this were so, why haven't I noticed it yet?

Curiosity replaced the wish to see more gravesites. I asked a little, otherwise, school going but now a beggar kid, "Would you show me Ahmad Zahir's grave."

No answer came forth, he just took my finger in his little, dusty hand and started tugging me down towards the gravesite that I vaguely remembered.

Although it was a short walk, it seemed like an eternity as anxiety replaced my curiosity. We were going fast in a zigzag fashion and finally arrived. I only heard Ahmad Zahir sing to me, "Deldaar Raseeda" (My Love Has Come).

According to Sadat (2000), "From the time of his death in 1979, it had become an annual event to gather at Ahmad Zahir's gravesite and pay homage to the people's fallen friend and favorite musician. This event lasted until 1992 when Kabul finally fell and was engulfed in warfare."

All that was visible were loads of rubble, pieces of broken black marble, plaster and strained iron bars, but no emblem of a legendary singer. Nevertheless, I was made to accept that it was resting place to the musician of many generations.

Despite a lengthy and detailed search, I could not find any sign of shrapnel or bullets around, which could show destruction of the site by using explosive ordinance. It was apparent from the degree of destruction that the striking of some heavy hammers over the gravel pillars and dome caused its collapse.

The surface concrete of the grave was still in place, though marbles had all been broken and loaded over different sides of the eight-corner, star-shaped monument.

I enquired, "What happened to it?" Silence was the little child's response. Like many other people, the boy was also unwilling to even talk of that disgraceful and cowardly act of bigotry against our nation's fallen nightingale.

I also saw some green ribbons tied around some iron bars of the pillars over the grave. On my query from my companion, the little boy, I learned that many people believe in the spiritual sanctity of Ahmad Zahir as a martyr, eradicated on behest of the rulers of his time. The boy said that every Friday evening people come and lit candles on the grave and offer prayers for the departed soul of the late artist.

All that I could think about was to fetch my camera from the concealed partition in the car, in order to document this heinous treachery. Without a second thought, I placed the camera on my chest and the shutter secretly captured the diaspora of Ahmad Zahir's grave, which was representative of all sites. It seemed that the camera was also aware that photography is a sin now a days. I questioned myself, "Why is it that Afghanistan's living and dead continue to suffer?"

Ironically, the dome of the grave was still intact but plummeted to the left side. I was unable to find an inscription on the broken marbles tablet.

All writings, most likely poems, were rubbed off from the tombstone before the desecration. I saw many graves around Ahmad Zahir's tomb patterned with the broken marbles of Ahmad Zahir's grave.

I remembered that once, in one of his later songs, Ahmad Zahir had sang: "Ba'ad ha naam i mara baaraan o baad, Narm mishoyand az rukhsar i sang" (Then, the winds and rains will tenderly wash down my name from the face of the headstone).

But it happened that neither winds nor rains desired to rub out his perpetual name and fame; it was another unnamed disaster from which all his fans and fellow Afghans are suffering. For more than two decades, this disaster has been perpetuated by a war of ignorance.

I was so saddened that I could not continue to see the remaining part of the graveyard, but out of the blue, I recall what Ahmad Zahir once sang:

Shaadi kunid ai Dostan,
Man shaadam o aasoda am,
Shaadam kunoon, shadam kunoon,
Az band aazadam kunoon,
Faryad i shadi mikashad,
Qalb i khuda dadam kunoon
(Oh friends, be happy,
I am happy and rest in peace
Now I am ever content
Now I am released from manacles
Now my god-gifted heart hymns for happiness)

May his soul rest in eternal peace and his art continue to remind us what good times and country we had. I dedicate this article and photo of his destroyed, yet desecrated tomb to his mesmerizing voice and devoted fans around the world. |