APRIL 1992hree years passed.
In that time, Tariq's father had a series of strokes. They left him with a clumsy left
hand and a slight slur to his speech. When he was agitated, which happened frequently, the
slurring got worse.
Tariq outgrew his leg again and was issued a new leg by the Red Cross, though he had to
wait six months for it.
As Hasina had feared, her family took her to Lahore, where she was made to marry the
cousin who owned the auto shop. The morning that they took her, Laila and Giti went to
Hasina's house to say good bye. Hasina told them that the cousin, her husband to be, had
already started the process to move them to Germany, where his brothers lived. Within the
year, she thought, they would be in Frankfurt. They cried then in a three way embrace. Giti
was inconsolable. The last time Laila ever saw Hasina, she was being helped by her father
into the crowded backseat of a taxi.
The Soviet Union crumbled with astonishing swiftness. Every few weeks, it seemed to
Laila, Babi was coming home with news of the latest republic to declare independence.
Lithuania. Estonia. Ukraine. The Soviet flag was lowered over the Kremlin. The Republic
of Russia was born.
In Kabul, Najibullah changed tactics and tried to portray himself as a devout Muslim.
"Too little and far too late," said Babi. "You can't be the chief of KHAD one day and the
next day pray in a mosque with people whose relatives you tortured and killed" Feeling the
noose tightening around Kabul, Najibullah tried to reach a settlement with the Mujahideen
but the Mujahideen balked.
From her bed, Mammy said, "Good for them." She kept her vigils for the Mujahideen and
waited for her parade. Waited for her sons' enemies to fall.
And, eventually, they did. In April 1992, the year Laila turned fourteen.
Najibullah surrendered at last and was given sanctuary in the UN compound near
Darulaman Palace, south of the city.
The jihad was over. The various communist regimes that had held power since the night
Laila was born were all defeated. Mammy's heroes, Ahmad's and Noor's brothers in war,
had won. And now, after more than a decade of sacrificing everything, of leaving behind
their families to live in mountains and fight for Afghanistan's sovereignty, the Mujahideen
were coming to Kabul, in flesh, blood, and battle weary bone.
Mammy knew all of their names.
There was Dostum, the flamboyant Uzbek commander, leader of the Junbish-i-Milli