Riders on the storm

From the relative safety of Delhi8217;s roads, I wonder how old Kutty8217;s children are? How they must have agonised while watching the news for the latest update, before the final confirmation came? He was there this week, same as I was last month. My children would call me each day to check if I was fine.

I spent the last seven months in that mountainous country with the most breathtaking views, the most amazing landscapes, the somewhat unusual but affectionate people. My childhood dream of working with the UN and my passion for studying electoral processes had taken me to Afghanistan this April. I wanted to be part of the team conducting the first parliamentary elections in the war-torn nation. Almost all my well-wishers warned me against it, but my determination was not shaken. I landed there with no pre-suppositions. And therefore I could appreciate and learn as I got along. I was the chief election officer of Kapisa, a province north of Kabul. To get to the headquarters of my province, we had to travel in Rangers for about three hours from Kabul. For at least an hour we bumped over a stretch of rock and pits that could not be called a road even euphemistically 8212; and the result still has me groaning each time I sink into a chair.

The place where I was located had almost no electricity, no water supply, no postal addresses, no banks or other infrastructure we expect as a matter of right. The health and school systems were very meagre. Shops were mostly ill-stocked. For most basic food requirements we had to go to Kabul, and there were days when we just lived off potatoes and water-melons.

The first lesson to be learned on arrival was that the safety and security and the responsibilities of the state we take so much for granted are qualitatively different in Afghanistan. We had to clear security tests and attend security briefings. The briefings did not induce confidence, but fear. Sometimes, after such sessions, we would wonder what exactly we were doing in this hostile environment. I remember the first one in which we were shown how to save a person from lung collapse. Although the lungs used were a goat8217;s, I felt faint all the same. Later, when I twisted my knee one day and looked for some balm and bandages, all I could find in the first-aid box was material to deal with bullet injuries. Nothing less than a bullet through you warranted first aid in that context.

Then we had to learn about mines and minefields. We had to learn where not to go, which was almost everywhere. No shopping, no restaurants, no walking on streets, no visiting people whose houses were not MOSS minimum operational security standards compliant. Security advisories issued from time to time warned us to be careful of all but our shadows.

One evening, on getting back from office, we heard a loud explosion in a building close by. My friend, who was the security officer, had been complaining of a 8220;bad8221; feeling all day. It was a suicide attack, which caused the death of an international colleague, among others. 8220;It could have been me,8221; was the first thought that had crossed the minds of many who attended the condolence meeting the next day.

For the entire seven months I slept with my passport, ticket, identity card and money under my pillow, ready to leave at a minute8217;s notice. Work included finalising voters8217; lists, candidates8217; lists, and determining the number of donkeys and trucks to be hired for e-day. It meant checking that the counting centre was well laid out, that the people hired were trained adequately and that plans were drawn out for each stage of the election as elaborately as possible. It also meant worrying about radio-checks, bunkers and grab-bags, muster points and evacuation details. Each day that passed seemed like a miracle. Each morning on waking I learned to thank God for a peaceful night8217;s sleep. The experience was very humbling. I learned the value of each day that I lived.

I would not like to get into Afghanistan8217;s politics, but if the Taliban allow roads to be constructed, they would really be losing control. From their point of view, it would just be logical that they make it as uncomfortable as possible for outsiders to reach areas under their control. As long as donkeys take election material and no international observer can reach remote locations, there is no threat to their domain. I had wanted very much to visit some far-flung parts of my province, but security and lack of roads ruled out any such possibility.

Roads are key to where Afghanistan wants to go, to get to schools and health care centres, to banks and factories, and to provide security to the people who have become accustomed to being afraid and helpless. As long as there are no roads, inaccessibility will keep all the dangerous elements safe. The people of the country showed courage and came out to vote on September 18. They trudged along hilly paths avoiding minefields and thorny bushes and rocks in the direction of progress and self-expression. But they need the roads.

I know Maniyappan would have been proud of the work being done by the BRO to give the people of Afghanistan the road they deserve.

The writer, an IAS officer, was on election duty in Afghanistan this year