Istanbul

Bamiyan, Afghanistan.

Burak sat comfortably on a bench in the Central Park at the Republic Arcade. He liked being here on the weekend mornings. The place was full of life with young people, families, and loners like him spending their free time; either with themselves or with each other.

The guy in front of him lay with his face in the shade of a tree, his arms hoisted in air, uncomfortably; trying to position the book he read, close to his eyes. Burak tried to figure out what the guy was reading, however, despite his proximity to the guy, all his attempts at understanding about the contents of the book were futile.

He had faced this problem since the day he stepped into Bamiyan. People here spoke Persian or Pashto, languages that he knew nothing about. The little amount of English that he had learnt at Jerusalem came to his rescue at the times of dire need. But despite this cripple, he enjoyed the east thoroughly. His host introduced him to the who’s who of Bamiyan, some of whom, he enjoyed interacting with. Of those who had come in his close circle were the present convener, Hakim Baksh; Yasar Yazdi, the chief librarian of the central library of the Farsi University; and Mr.Vinay Kumar, a senior secretary at the India office.

However, his best time was still with himself. He would usually stroll on the bylanes by Khanzada street, where Wazir Khan lived, or move out to the neighboring Republic Arcade, the central and most popular commercial area of the city. He would sit on a bench in the central park and look at the lovely and peaceful life of the city dwellers. He would often thank the almighty for such a delightful place.

As he sat today, looking at the Sultanate Towers from his bench in the central park, this young guy came in his line of vision. He had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. As he lay down, reading an unknown book, it interested Burak to know what he was reading about. As Burak uncomfortably maneuvered to get a glimpse of the book’s title, the boy noticed his impatience. He understood that Burak was interested in knowing what he read.

“Istanbul.” The boy said with a smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I wanna be able to travel there one day! A great city in the west!”

“Like travel?” Burak asked in broken English.

“Say: "travel through the earth and see how Allah did originate creation.”” The boy repeated the verse of Koran and smiled. It felt that the whole life had flashed in front of Burak in moment. These were the very verses that had set him out!

Before he could say any further, Burak’s eyes caught the commotion at the Sultanate Towers at the horizon in front of him. There was a cloud of smoke emerging from one of the buildings. Suddenly, he heard a thud. The arcade on the other side of the road across the park had collapsed among another cloud of smoke. There were shrieks, people ran toward the park. In the meanwhile, there was another blast behind Burak. He turned back and saw the gates of the Samarkand House crumble to ground. People poured in to the park from all directions. Burak soon removed himself to a nearby shed in the park, looking for safety. The guy he was talking to was nowhere in sight. As people poured in, there was another blast. It was in the park this time. There were splatters of blood around him. A dismembered arm came flying and landed right in front of Burak. It held a book in its hand. As the cover flew open, Burak could read the title written in Arabic: ISTANBUL.