From the Fire of Kabul to the Stones of Ghor; In My Homeland, Love and Faith Are Crimes

Photo: DW/H.Sirat

Author: Mursal Qaisari

Years have passed since that dark day; the day when Kabul witnessed one of the most painful moments in its history. The day when Farkhunda Malikzada, a young, educated, and faithful woman, was brutally murdered before the eyes of the people on the false accusation of burning the Quran. Later, everyone realized she was innocent, but by then it was too late. Farkhunda, along with all her dreams, was turned to ashes in the fire.

They killed her in the heart of Kabul, over a lie that had no proof. They beat Farkhunda, burned her, and threw her into the river; only for defending the truth. Farkhunda was killed unjustly, yet justice was never served. Her killers were either freed or spent only a few years in prison. No one understood her mother’s pain, and no one heard her father’s voice. Farkhunda was forgotten, and everyone remained silent.

Exactly one year after her murder, another girl was stoned to death. That year, Ghor fell into mourning and lost its beautiful daughter, Rukhshana. She was stoned for running away from home; for falling in love and for wanting to make her own decisions. But because she was a girl from Afghanistan, this desire was considered an unforgivable sin. Stones struck her body, and with every blow, Rukhshana’s cries carried the silent screams of all women.

Rukhshana was killed by stones; only for the crime of loving. She was stoned to death while everyone watched. No one was held accountable; not a court, not a law, not even a conscience. As if no crime had been committed, and stoning was her rightful punishment.

I was still just a little girl in those years. When we heard the news about Farkhunda, my mother cried, my sister had nightmares at night, and I?

Something broke inside my young heart. From that age, I understood that in my land, to know, to speak, or even to love is a crime.

When the videos of Rukhshana’s stoning were broadcast on television, that same terrible feeling came over me again.

At night I used to feel afraid, and I had come to hate life. I constantly asked myself: Is simply being a girl truly a crime? I wondered why none of these things ever happen to men. Even today, my mind is full of questions. Sometimes I ask myself: Who still remembers Rukhshana and Farkhunda?

The street where Farkhunda was killed is still full of passersby, and the field where Rukhshana was stoned remains silent. But in our hearts, in our collective memory, is there still a place for them? They have been forgotten, and this forgetting itself is terrifying. Forgetting means accepting oppression, erasing the voices of women who were killed simply for speaking and seeking freedom. Farkhunda burned in the fire of ignorance, and Rukhshana lost her life beneath merciless stones.

Even now, my heart trembles when I say their names. Writing about those dark days is not easy for me. With every word I write, tears fill my eyes and a lump tightens in my throat. Farkhunda and Rukhshana were not just two women; they represent hundreds of Afghan women who are being buried alive in different corners of Afghanistan.

I still hear Farkhunda’s voice in my ears, especially when I pass by a mosque. Every time I look at a mountain, I remember Rukhshana; the beautiful girl who fell in love, but was struck by stones.

These events always make me ask myself: Why, in my homeland, are both faith and love considered crimes?

For me, Farkhunda and Rukhshana are still the most vivid truths of my homeland today.

And I, as a daughter of this land, vow never to let their memory fade, so that one day, if history asks us, “When they were killing your daughters, what did you do?”

I can say that we did not remain silent. I wrote, I cried out, and I reminded people of their courage.

We will keep the names of Farkhunda and Rukhshana alive in our soil. Every girl who, like me, picks up a pen today should know that she carries on the voices of those two; voices that were silenced, yet became a light for the girls who still fight in the depths of darkness.

Though Farkhunda and Rukhshana are no longer among us, they are still alive, in our hearts, in our tears, and in our words.

I remember them every day, and as long as I live and hold a pen in my hand, I will never let their names disappear into silence.