The Swallows of Kabul

“And the women, despite wearing long veils and peering through netting, pirouetted in their perfumes like gusts of warm air. The caravan travelers of bygone days used to swear that they had nowhere and never, in all their wanderings, encountered such bewitching beauties. They were inscrutable vestals, their laughter a song, their grace a dream of delight.”

The text depicts a nostalgic time in the years before the Soviet invasion. These years are described as peaceful, fun, and happy. The text uses a simile, where something is compared to something else using “like” or “as”—in this case, the movement of women to “gusts of warm air.” The text also uses a metaphor—“their laughter a song”—to link this bygone era to a sense of uncomplicated joy.

“Mirza Shah was one of the first soldiers to desert his unit and join the mujahideen. His courage and his commitment quickly raised him to the rank of tej. Atiq met him again at the front and served for a while under his command until an artillery shell broke the momentum of Atiq’s jihad.”

Atiq emphasizes Mirza’s desire for violence and wealth, highlighting how people can capitalize on war and oppression to carve out a niche for themselves. Mirza’s success reflects how many other men flourished through unethical means.

“She is sublime, her freshness never fades. Despite the rigors of her daily life, despite her mourning for her city, which has been turned over to the obsessions and follies of men, not a single wrinkle marks Zunaira’s face. It’s true that her cheeks have lost their former translucence and the sound of her laughter is seldom heard, but her enormous eyes, as brilliant as emeralds, have kept their magic intact.”

Mohsen’s love of Zunaira is rooted in her beauty. He reflects how she works hard without sacrificing her appearance. The “magic” of Zunaira’s looks is grounded in her education, determination, and resilience, which Mohsen does not seem to appreciate.

“All my life, I’ve thought of myself as a conscientious objector. Some people made threats and other people made promises, but none of them ever persuaded me to pick up a weapon and kill another person. I agreed to have enemies, but I couldn’t bear being the enemy of anyone else, no matter who. And this morning, Zunaira, just because the crowd was shouting, I shouted with it, and just because it demanded blood, I called out for blood, too.”

Mohsen’s experience reflects the struggle of living under oppression for an extended period. Though he once opposed the violence of the Taliban, he finds himself unconsciously going along with the crowd, craving violence just as the Taliban does.

“‘Maybe your mujahideen were saints,’ says the Goliath in annoyance.

‘All mujahideen are blessed by the Lord,’ the legless man reminds him. The others nod in vigorous assent. ‘They don’t stink, and their flesh doesn’t decay.’

‘Our position stank to high heaven. Where do you suppose the smell came from?’

‘From your dead mules.’

‘We didn’t have any mules.’

‘In that case, there’s only one other possibility: You were smelling the Shuravi.’”

Tamreez and Goliath’s conversation reveals how fundamentalism warps the need for grief and anger into sacrilege, as Goliath’s story is overwritten by Tamreez’s insistence on metaphysical sainthood. By insisting that all mujahideen are saints, Tamreez is both disproportionately honoring his dead comrades and disrespecting the traumatic experiences of his living ones.

“But Zunaira hasn’t forgotten; she’d simply understood that her husband is distraught, and that he needs her. To harbor ill will against him for having performed a primitive, barbarous, revolting, insane act, an act not only absurd in itself but also symptomatic of the current state of Afghanistan, an atrocious act that he regrets and suffers from as from a wound in his conscience, would only serve to render him more fragile than he already is. Things in Kabul are going from bad to worse, sliding into ruin, sweeping along men and mores. It’s a chaos within chaos, a disaster enclosed in disaster, and woe to those who are careless. An isolated person is doomed beyond remedy.”

Zunaira is willing to set aside her qualms with Mohsen’s actions to support him in his struggle, contradicting Mohsen’s claim that he is entirely alone. Even though Zunaira thinks she is supporting Mohsen, he feels that his admission of guilt isolated him further, leaving both Mohsen and Zunaira more alone than they were before.

“Here, at least, I’m me, Zunaira, Mohsen Ramat’s wife, age thirty-two, former magistrate, dismissed by obscurantists without a hearing and without compensation, but with enough self-respect left to brush my hair every day and pay attention to my clothes. If I put that damned veil on, I’m neither a human being nor an animal, I’m just an affront, a disgrace, a blemish that has to be hidden.”

Zunaira explains how her identity is erased by the veil. However, she identifies herself as Mohsen’s wife above all other identifiers, hinting at a lingering, internalized misogyny.

“Yesterday, when he went home, he found Musarrat drowsing. Without understanding why, he purposely knocked over a stool, banged the shutters, and recited several long verses aloud before finally going to bed. When he woke up this morning, he realized what a boor he’d been. Nevertheless, he’s sure he’ll act the same way tonight if he goes home and finds his wife asleep.”

Atiq’s frustration is a manifestation of his feelings of helplessness; he cannot change his life, so he lashes out in small ways to assert a measure of control. His anger with Musarrat is rooted in his feelings of obligation to her. He identifies his obligation as a restraint, despite the true source of his discontent coming from his role under the Taliban.

“When it lost its faith, it lost its soul, and we will not help it to regain either one. It thinks that its economy is strong enough to keep it safe; it thinks it can impress us with its cutting-edge technology and intercept our prayers with its satellites; it thinks it will dissuade us with its aircraft carriers and its gimcrack armies. And it forgets that those who have chosen to die for the glory of the Lord cannot be impressed; that even though our radar may fail to detect stealth bombers, nothing escapes the eyes of the Lord!”

Mullah Bashir combines two strains of rhetoric to persuade his audience. The first is rooted in anti-imperialism, identifying the ways in which Afghanistan has been harmed by foreign intervention. The other is religious, prompting violence and promising paradise to persuade listeners to support the Taliban.

“Anger knots her stomach and obstructs her throat. A mad desire to lift the cloth in search of a hypothetical breath of fresh air intensifies her nervousness. But she does not even dare to wipe her dripping face on her burqa. Like a lunatic in a straitjacket, she stays where she is, slumped on her steps, sweating in the heat, listening to her breathing quicken and her blood beat in her temples.”

Zunaira’s anger with herself comes from her inability to change her circumstances under the Taliban. As Mohsen struggles with his own desire to protect Zunaira, Zunaira realizes that she cannot protect herself as she once did as a magistrate. This anger is then summarized in the symbolism of the burqa. The text again uses figurative language. Zunaira compares being in a burqa to being “a lunatic in a straitjacket,” emphasizing her sense of being trapped.

“Maybe she was a saint. Why not, after all? She heard no evil and spoke no evil.”

Qassim and the driver’s assertion that Qassim’s mother may have been a saint is grounded in the fundamental misogyny of their worldview. Qassim’s mother is only a saint, in their minds, because she could not speak or hear, not because she embodied any moral or ethical virtues.

“It’s as though the land has despoiled itself in order to heighten the distress of those who live there, trapped between the rocks and the blazing heat. The sparse strips of greenery that deign to show themselves here and there make no promise of blooming; the blades of the baked grass crumble at the least quiver.”

Here, the setting serves to highlight the conflict of the novel. The desert is shown as a monstrous thing, filled with dangers and hopelessness. The environment is personified as vengeful or malicious, trapping the people of Kabul between rocks and hydras to torment them.

“Unable to express her bitterness and her affliction with sufficient venom, she shut herself in a room and started howling like a madwoman.”

Zunaira, traumatized by her experience with the Taliban, sees Mohsen as another man trying to control her. Her screaming represents an attempt to take control of one’s own life in the face of hopelessness.

“Because of the big rally in the stadium next Friday. Some very high-ranking guests will be in attendance. To provide this event with some atmosphere, the authorities have decided to carry out ten or twelve public executions. Your inmate is to be included in the lot. In the beginning, the Qazi wanted to have her shot right away. Then, since there was no woman on the program for Friday, they gave her a reprieve until then.”

Zunaira’s execution is delayed to serve the whims of the higher-ranking members of the Taliban. This reveals how society under the Taliban is fundamentally absurd. At the same time, the desire of some members of the Taliban to kill prisoners as quickly as possible shows a desire for continuous and unjustified violence.

“Except for his wife’s, Atiq hasn’t seen a woman’s face for many years. He’s even learned to live without such sights. For him, women are only ghosts, voiceless, charmless ghosts that pass practically unnoticed along the streets; flocks of infirm swallows—blue, yellow, often faded, several seasons behind—that make a mournful sound when they come into the proximity of men.”

Atiq uses a metaphor, comparing women to ghosts. He also uses a simile, comparing them to “infirm swallows.” He suggests that Taliban rule has removed all sources of happiness and pleasure from the city through comparing women to supernatural and sickly creatures.

“‘She’s a mad bitch; she’s been judged and condemned. Soon she’ll be executed in the stadium. Many prestigious guests are coming to the ceremony, and she’s the only woman on the entire program. Even if she were innocent, no one could do anything for her. And since she’s guilty—’

‘She’s innocent.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘She told me so.’

‘And you believed her?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because she lied to you. She’s an incorrigible liar, Atiq. She’s taking advantage of your good nature. Don’t play defense lawyer for a criminal you hardly know. You have enough problems as it is.’”

Qassim’s misogyny comes to the forefront in his disagreement with Atiq, as he insults Zunaira and insists on her guilt. At the same time, Qassim’s worldview becomes clearer as he prioritizes his own values in supporting the rally, encouraging Atiq to be more selfish.

“He embodies the common evil, and he will die of it. They will all die of it, without exception: the qazi, crouched inside their venerable monstrousness; the howling fanatics, feverish and obscene, who are already making preparations to fill the stadium on Friday; the prestigious guests, who are coming to share the joy of public executions; the notables, who will applaud the implementation of the Sharia with the same hands that shoo flies, and wave away the lifeless remains with the same gestures that bless the grotesque zeal of the executioners. All of them.”

This passage shows Atiq’s transformation from feeling discontent and being complicit to being rebellious and active in his displeasure. He identifies how Qassim, like the other men in control of the city, is not righteous or moral, but corrupt and violent. The second sentence is long with multiple clauses. The short sentence fragment that follows—“All of them”—underscores the longer sentence.

“I have nowhere to go. Everyone in my family is either dead or reported missing. The only connection I still had disappeared through my own fault. I had a little light. I blew on it, trying to turn it into a torch, but I blew a bit too hard and put it out. Now there’s nothing holding me back anymore. I can’t wait to get out of here, but not in the way you propose.”

Zunaira insists that the women of Kabul were killed “long ago,” reflecting her background in women’s rights. She knows that the Soviet invasion set off a series of events that ensured the oppression of women and the elimination of their identities, which amounts to death.

“‘You would have watched her go away into the night without running after her? You would have let her disappear when you knew it would be forever and you’d never see her again?’

Atiq sags; his beard is heavy in his wife’s unsteady hand. Musarrat keeps stroking his cheek. ‘I don’t think so,’ she says to him.

‘Then explain it to me,’ he moans. ‘For the love of the Prophet, tell me what’s happening to me.’

‘The best thing that can happen to anyone on earth.’”

Atiq is worried that his transformation is a bad thing. Musarrat consoles him by explaining his change of heart. Though Atiq has overseen many executions, Zunaira’s has shown him the injustice of the Taliban’s criminal system.

“In a little while, before they come to get her, lock her in your office. I’ll slip into her cell. It won’t be anything but one burqa taking another’s place. Nobody will bother to check the identity of the person underneath. It’ll all go very smoothly; you’ll see.”

Musarrat’s insight into Atiq’s obsession with Zunaira inspires her martyrdom and reveals her own internalized misogyny. Atiq’s love for Zunaira is superficial, and it does not guarantee that Zunaira will willingly live with him after Musarrat is gone. Musarrat underscores how women are seen as interchangeable under Taliban rule, rather than as individuals, by using “burqa” as a synecdoche for women to emphasize how they have been dehumanized.

“Qassim is there, hands on hips, visibly pleased with his performance. The public executions have gone off smoothly, without a single hitch, and Qassim’s convinced that his contribution to this success has not escaped the notice of the holy men at the top. He can already see himself promoted to the directorship of the country’s biggest prison.”

Qassim’s satisfaction after the executions of multiple people, one of whom was Musarrat, shows how he is ignorant about the consequences of his ambition. For Qassim, the only result that matters is the one that favors him, even if it means the deaths of innocent people.

“‘I left the lamps unlit on purpose. And I see no reason to light them now. Your face will shine on me more brightly than a thousand candles. Please, lift your hood and let me dream of you.’ She takes a step backward and turns up the top of her burqa. Atiq cries out in fright and recoils. She isn’t Zunaira anymore; she’s Musarrat, and a rifle shot has blown away half of her face.”

Atiq’s vision of Musarrat is a manifestation of his regret in choosing Zunaira. In exchange for his loving wife, he is now alone and desperate. Yet even in this critical moment, he still hopes for Zunaira’s face to appear behind the veil.

“Zunaira, Zunaira, he babbles, tossing aside bystanders in his search for a burqa. As his frenzy mounts, he starts chasing women down and—O sacrilege!—lifting their veils above their heads. Zunaira, I know you’re in there. Come out of your hiding place. There’s nothing to fear. No one will hurt you. I’ve taken care of everything. I won’t let anyone bother you…

Indignant cries ring out. Atiq doesn’t hear them. His hands snatch at veils, violently tearing them away, sometimes capsizing the cornered women.”

Atiq’s melancholy and anger, assuaged for a moment by Zunaira, have pushed him beyond the realm of sanity. He grasps at any women nearby in a desperate attempt to find Zunaira. His mutterings of protection and comfort highlight the futility of his actions. Even if Zunaira were there, she would not want or need Atiq.