Text by Salma Haidari, translation from Dari and visuals by Shahzad Mudasir
The Mother’s Voice
We walked through green fields where morning dew clung to every leaf, and the earth still breathed with night’s cool silence. Ahead stood a clay-walled cottage, its mulberry doors like a beehive sheltering hidden sorrow. Inside, smoke curled from the oven, carrying the scent of fresh wheat bread — a fragrance once tied to joy, now steeped in grief.
In the corner, a woman sat. Her eyes, hollow as winter wells, began to release the story buried in her chest: the life and loss of her daughter, Zar Begum.
Youth and Dreams
Zar Begum was fifteen, a moon among her siblings, her emerald eyes lit with wonder, her frame tall and graceful as a cypress. Across the villages, people spoke of her beauty, but she herself was chasing stars.
Nights found her on the rooftop with friends, sipping tea, naming constellations, weaving fragile dreams—one longed to be a teacher, another a doctor. Zar Begum wished only to remain in her mother’s home, the est place in the world, where morning meant kneading bread and laughter by the hearth. Marriage was no guest in her thoughts; her hands were full of sky.
The Engagement—Dreams Betrayed
Then, one morning, her mother, strangely dressed, pulled her close and whispered:
“My daughter, prepare yourself. Guests are coming from afar.”
A horn shattered the stillness. The gate creaked open, and Zar Begum wished it would stay shut forever. Her aunt’s family filled the courtyard; whispers rose like dust: today was the engagement of the village’s most beautiful girl.
Men gathered, decisions carved without her. With her father far away, her brother’s word became law. He demanded the “sweet-eating” dowry in cash, for his own wedding depended on it.
Her cousins entered, showering sweets, mocking: “Does it take any talent to become a city bride?”
Zar Begum trembled, silent, her innocent eyes drowning in unshed tears. Her mother stroked her hair, murmuring: “My sister’s family will give you a better life. Perhaps you can still follow your dreams there.”
But already the threads of her dreams were knotted tight, beyond untangling.
Marriage – From Hope to Cruelty
Seasons passed, each visit from her in-laws a reminder of fate closing in. When her father returned, greed spoke louder than love; he raised the dowry higher, tethering her life to wealth.
On her wedding day, Zar Begum—a gazelle in a hunter’s snare—was sent off with blessings. She left Kunduz, not toward joy, but toward exile.
In her husband’s house, torment waited. Her in-laws hissed: “Your father sold you to us. You will never return.”
Her husband, lost to addiction, beat her and turned away. When her family came, the cruelty deepened: accused of dishonour, she became a bargaining chip, a sum of 200,000 Afghanis. Her pain grew heavy, yet no one lifted it.
The Tragedy—Irreversible Loss
Her mother’s hair turned white with worry, her eyes dimmed with sleepless prayers. Each night, she begged the heavens to guard her daughter.
Then one winter morning, news came like a dagger. Her father and brothers rushed to Baghlan, only to find cries rising from the hospital walls. Zar Begum lay lifeless.
The doctor did not hand them a diploma, but a forensic report: burns and wounds marked her shoulders, her body scarred with silence. Her in-laws and husband had vanished into the shadows of corruption and terror.
They carried her coffin back to Kunduz, where once she had sung by the streams and recited verses beneath blossoming orchards. Her mother waited at the door, certain her daughter was alive. When the flower-covered coffin appeared, she collapsed.
Awakening, she wailed for one last embrace—but the earth was already calling Zar Begum home.
The Mother’s Grief
Her mother’s tale poured over us like poison. Even the sweet tea turned bitter on our tongues. Voices trembled, eyes held back tears, but the grief in her chest was a fire too fierce for words.
Beyond One Life
Zar Begum’s destiny is not hers alone. She is every Afghan girl sold in exchange for wealth, every dream broken by custom, every life extinguished before its bloom.
A society that trades its daughters like coins breeds only coffins—suicides, runaways, silent burials.
Her story is a warning: silence in the face of injustice gives birth to more graves.
It is time for awareness, for resistance, for courage—to tear apart these binding knots of greed and cruelty. Only then will no more Zar Begums be laid to rest before their time.
