Free For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child by Jean Sasson Page A

that the
beautiful woman he had loved at first sight would be his wife. He
slowly returned to his private quarters, where he found his mother
waiting. He told her what had happened and tears formed in his
eyes. Mayana could not bear to see him so upset. She had lost all
her children but this one son. She had been unable to help her poor
daughters, but she decided she would risk her life for her
remaining child. His happiness meant more to her than her own
life.
    Without thinking through the consequences of
her actions, she rushed to confront the Khan, the man who had made
her life and the lives of her children a misery. She had no
appointment, and she knew the mere sight of her face drove Shair
Khan into a murderous frenzy, yet she bravely strode into the
private quarters that were forbidden to her. Her unexpected
appearance stunned everyone who was there.
    Without speaking, she lifted her chador, her
black cloak, from her body and placed it at the Khan’s feet. Loud
gasps were heard from every corner.
    There are certain codes of behaviour in
Afghan society. For a woman to display her chador in this way
represents total submission. In her passion to protect and bring
happiness to her son, my grandmother had evoked nang (solidarity), namuz (honor) and ghairat (protection
of honour by any means).
    By reacting thus, an Afghan woman exposes her
vulnerability. While the man is free to murder the woman if he so
chooses, only a man without honor would do so. He is also free to
ignore the woman, to turn away and refuse to accept her offer of
peace, but such a man loses face in our culture.
    No one spoke. No one moved. The Khan had
never expected his hated stepmother to turn to this ancient code
against him should he harm her or refuse to grant her son’s wish.
Shair Khan sat so still and the silence was so complete that it had
a noise of its own.
    My grandmother later told her son that she
braced her body for the blows she thought were coming, but her
stepson did nothing. Finally Shair Khan stood and leaned down to
retrieve her chador. He moved forward to drape the black cloak over
my grandmother’s shoulders and bowed head.
    ‘You are free to go,’ he said softly.
    My father and his mother waited together, and
they were jubilant when Shair Khan summoned his brother to
accompany him to visit Sheik Hassen in Kabul. They had a high-stake
marriage contract to negotiate.
    However, further hurdles awaited my father.
The differences between the two tribes, the Pashtun and the Tajik,
were causing problems. For the Pashtun, and most especially the
leading family of the Khail Pashtun tribe, the amount of dowry
offered to the bride’s family must match the worth and the status
of the head of the tribe, which in this case was Shair Khan. He was
one of the most important tribal leaders in the entire land, so the
dowry offered to my mother’s family was significant.
    The opposite was true for the Tajik tribe.
They followed Prophet Mohammed’s teachings that the wedding dowry
should be modest. A large dowry would insinuate that a father was
selling his daughter to the highest bidder. Sheik Hassen refused to
accept more than thirty Afghani, otherwise he would be insulting
himself and his daughter.
    There was a stand-off, for both men were
proud and determined to maintain their honor, and both were
accustomed to being obeyed. Neither was prepared to compromise on
the dowry.
    Just as it seemed the negotiations would fall
apart, Shair Khan impatiently stood up and excused himself,
ordering his wife and daughter to handle the matter of the
dowry.
    The women agreed for the dowry to be thirty
Afghani.
    Sheik Hassen had triumphed.
    The wedding date was set. Within a few
months, Ajab Khail, a long-time bachelor aged thirty-nine, would
finally wed. Sharifa Hassen, his bride, would be twenty-seven at
the time of her marriage, an old maid by Afghan standards.
    While my father was visibly thrilled that he
would marry the woman of his choice, my mother