The Land of the Dead
November 9, 2020
There is a small piece of land surrounded by tall mountains, blessed with fertile soil, abundant treasures, sweet waters, and a beautiful climate. Despite these gifts, it is, in truth, the land of the dead. Traveling through its corners, one notices the vibrant flags planted atop graves along the roadsides and throughout the villages. These graves belong to those who have rarely died of natural causes.
In its shadows, one encounters living beings who merely walk, eat, and drink—yet even this sustenance is provided by others. In this land, nothing belongs to its people: neither education, knowledge, buildings, food, clothing, nor vehicles. Not even their ideas, actions, or way of life. Others have come and built it all.
Throughout history, peculiar individuals have been born and slain in this land. Brothers murder one another to gain power that is not their own. For a paltry sum, they are willing to kill. Some wear expensive, elegant garments, but beneath them, they are cruel, ugly, and tyrannical.
This is a land where the more people you kill, the more respect you earn. The more injustice you commit, the higher your status becomes. The more rights you steal, the more lavish your lifestyle grows—with better food, clothing, and palaces. The more lies you tell, the larger your audience becomes. And the more crimes you commit, the less likely anyone is to stand against you.
Yes, in this land, people from distant countries come to do what they cannot or will not do in their own lands. If you kill someone here, you can roam freely. But if someone kills your brother or friend, you cannot bring the murderer to justice.
The people of this land possess an imaginary book they call the law and a sacred book named the Quran. Historically, the Quran was a holy text and a reference for laws for much of humanity, especially a group known as Muslims. Yet in this land, the Quran rests untouched in the corners of homes. People here believe that reading it earns divine rewards, but they do not act upon its teachings.
The minds of this land’s people are dead. Neither do they achieve anything themselves, nor do they let others achieve. They neither demand their rights nor allow others to claim theirs. Here, no action faces opposition. They say the happiest person in this land is the one who can no longer live.
They say, in this land, people kill one another to reach the eternal world. They execute each other, blind each other, and plunder one another’s lands. In truth, no one here is alive—they merely eat, drink, and watch the passing of days and nights. This is a land whose people have never desired peace. They sit in their homes, awaiting a future day when all this misery will end.
They dream of a hero who will come, end the wars and injustices, and rescue their land from darkness. Their history is filled with such legends. But in reality, no one will come to save them.
In this land, the true hero is the one who dies quickly and earns paradise. Yet, ironically, some believe that the real hero is the one who survives.
The people of this land are unaware—they are already dead. They do not realize that their land is known as the Graveyard on Earth, a place no one dares to approach. When someone from this land travels abroad, others look at them with astonishment, for they continue to act as they did in their homeland.
Yes, this is the land of the dead. No one here is alive, nor will anyone ever be. The name of this land is Afghanistan.
Written in sorrow, Toryaly Ashraf