The Road to Afghanistan - George Washington University

“Wait until morning. We will be back soon.” They did not come in the morning, norafternoon, nor evening. I never saw those people again.I felt very poorly. I asked for some medication. The response I got was rude: “Where arewe to get medication for you? The people have nothing, and you are demanding medication.”If any of Amin’s people appeared, I begged them to send me back to my husband, but they onlygrinned in response.Then one night we were all transferred to the Puli-Charkhi prison. There I learned aboutmy husband’s death. Only three months later, after having been freed, did I learn about thecircumstances surrounding his death. I was told that three officers of the Palace Guard—Iqbal, Ruzi, and Hodud—entered Taraki’s room late at night. He stood before them in his robeand was calm. The officers told him to accompany them to a different location. He asked forsomething to drink. “Not now,” was their response. Taraki then understood it all. He gave theofficers a small box filled with money. It contained about 4,500 Afghani, or about onethousand dollars. It was all that he had managed to save during his life. He asked them to givethat box to me. Then he took his wristwatch off and got his Communist Party membershipcard out of his pocket. “Please give these to Amin.” The officers tied up Taraki, threw him onthe floor, and smothered him with a pillow. Later, the commander of the guard, Jandad,personally certified the death. I don’t know where my husband was buried.Later I asked why the Soviet comrades didn’t help. The ambassador and the generals allhad been promising to help. Nobody could give me an answer.597