1995

By 1995, the Soviet forces had been defeated and withdrawn from Afghanistan, but the country had not found peace. Instead, Kabul had fallen under the control of Ahmad Shah Massoud, Burhanuddin Rabbani, and the Mujahedin factions. The infighting between these groups was fierce and unrelenting. The daily life of the city's inhabitants was defined by the whistle of falling shells, the rumble of gunfire, and the grim sight of men digging bodies out of piles of rubble. For those living through it, Kabul in those days was as close to a proverbial hell on earth as one could get. The Wazir Akbar Khan area, where Baba's house stood, was attacked less frequently than some other neighborhoods, offering a relative—though deeply precarious—sanctuary for those within its walls.

Life Within the Walled Garden

Inside the house, a small, resilient family unit had formed. Rahim Khan, Hassan, his wife Farzana, and their young son Sohrab lived together, creating a haven from the war raging outside. Hassan, who had returned to the house with his family in 1986 at Rahim Khan's request, continued to tend to the property with unwavering devotion. He rebuilt a section of the wall that had been destroyed by a rocket, brick by brick, and maintained the garden. Sohrab, a beautiful and sweet-tempered boy, had become the center of this world. He was named after the hero from the Shahnamah, Hassan's favorite story. By 1995, Sohrab was around four or five years old, and his grandmother, Sanaubar, who had returned to the family in 1990, was his constant companion. She sewed clothes for him, built him toys from scraps, and stayed up all night when he was sick. The two were inseparable, and Sohrab called her "Sasa."

Sanaubar's Death and Its Aftermath

Sanaubar lived to see Sohrab turn four, but then, one morning, she simply did not wake up. Her death was calm and peaceful, as if she did not mind dying. She was buried in the cemetery on the hill, near the old pomegranate tree where Amir and Hassan used to play as children. Rahim Khan said a prayer for her. The loss was devastating for Hassan, who had only recently been reunited with his mother after decades of abandonment. It was even harder on little Sohrab, who walked around the house looking for his Sasa. The grief of a child, however, is often fleeting, and he began to forget quickly. This loss marked a significant turning point, removing a pillar of warmth and stability from Sohrab's young life.

The Shadow of the Coming Storm

Despite the personal tragedies, Hassan worked to give his son a semblance of a normal childhood. On days when the rocket fire eased, he would take Sohrab to the zoo to see Marjan the lion or to the cinema. He taught Sohrab how to use a slingshot, and by the time he was eight, Sohrab had become deadly with it, able to hit a pinecone from halfway across the yard. Crucially, Hassan taught his son to read and write, determined that Sohrab would not grow up illiterate as he had. Rahim Khan, whose eyesight was failing, grew deeply attached to the boy, buying him children's books and teaching him card tricks. In the winter, Hassan would take Sohrab kite running, propping him on his shoulders as they trotted through the streets. They would hang the kites they had run on the walls of the main hallway like paintings. This fragile peace, however, was built on a foundation of sand. When the Taliban rolled into Kabul in 1996, putting an end to the daily fighting, Hassan did not celebrate. Instead, he looked at Rahim Khan with sober eyes and said, "God help the Hazaras now, Rahim Khan sahib." The year 1995, then, was the last full year of a life that, while scarred by war, still held the possibility of family, love, and the simple joy of flying a kite.