The Restful Record: Kabul, Afghanistan

Seep into a deep relation or drift off to sleep as we take a slow, soothing journey through the rich history of Kabul, Afghanistan. From its ancient beginnings as a crossroads of civilizations to its role in the Silk Road, its invasion by Russia and subsequent U.S. intervention, this episode explores the stories and events that shaped this fascinating city.

With calm narration, soft background ambiance, and a guided breathwork session, this podcast is designed to help you relax, unwind, and ease into a peaceful sleep.

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Podcast cover art image by Eric Nopanen.

Transcript

Welcome to tonight’s episode of The Restful Record, where we take a gentle journey through time, exploring the stories of different cities around the world. Before we dive into tonight’s city, let's take a moment to relax. Close your eyes, settle into a comfortable position, and take a slow, deep breath in through your nose... hold for a moment... and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Let the weight of your day melt away as you breathe in calm and breathe out any tension. With each breath, feel yourself sinking deeper into relaxation. Now, as we drift through the history of tonight’s city, let the soothing rhythm of my voice guide you into a peaceful slumber.

Tonight, as you settle in and let the world fade away, we travel to the heart of Central Asia—to a place where myths, trade, and empire converged for millennia. Kabul. A city perched in the high valleys of the Hindu Kush, where the air is thin but history is thick. Before it became the bustling capital of Afghanistan, before empires fought over its mountain passes, Kabul was a legend, a whispered name along the trade routes. Tonight, we go back—far back—to its origins, to the time of ancient storytellers, lost kingdoms, and the first signs of civilization in this rugged land.

Imagine, if you will, a lone traveler making his way through the jagged peaks, centuries before Alexander the Great ever set eyes on these lands. The year is unknown, but the era is ancient—perhaps 1500 BCE. His name has been lost to time, but he is not the first to walk this path. The valley before him is green, the Kabul River winding through it like a silver thread. Here, small settlements have begun to form—homes made of mud brick, temples built to honor gods whose names have long since faded. The traveler stops at a fire-lit gathering, where elders tell of a city destined to rise, a place of prosperity and learning, of warriors and scholars. This is the Kabul of legend, the Kabul of beginnings.

 By the 6th century BCE, the region was part of the Achaemenid Empire under Cyrus the Great, who expanded Persian rule over much of Central and South Asia. Kabul lay along crucial trade routes connecting India, Persia, and Central Asia, making it a strategic hub for commerce and cultural exchange. By the 4th century BCE, Alexander the Great swept through the region during his campaign to conquer the Persian Empire. His forces likely passed through Kabul as they moved towards India, introducing Hellenistic influences that would shape the region’s art, architecture, and governance in the following centuries.

Following Alexander’s death, his empire fragmented, and Kabul became part of the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom in the 3rd century BCE. The city flourished under Greek influence, with rulers like Demetrius I expanding into northern India and blending Greek and Indian traditions. This fusion of cultures gave rise to Greco-Buddhism, which left a lasting imprint on Kabul’s religious and artistic heritage. By the 1st century BCE, the region fell under the control of the Indo-Scythians and later the Kushans, setting the stage for Kabul’s emergence as a center of Buddhist learning and culture in the early centuries CE. Throughout this period, Kabul remained a vibrant crossroads where ideas, goods, and people from across the ancient world converged.

 The Islamic conquest of Kabul, spanning from the 7th to the 9th century CE, was a slow and complex struggle, shaped by resistance, diplomacy, and shifting alliances. At the heart of this saga was the Hindu Shahi dynasty, led by rulers like Kabul Shah, who fiercely defended their mountainous stronghold against the advancing Arab forces. The first incursions came under the Umayyads, with generals like Abdur Rahman bin Samura attempting to subdue the city, but Kabul’s defenders repeatedly pushed them back. The city's high walls and treacherous terrain made it a fortress of defiance, and it was said that a great treasure was hidden in its depths, fueling the determination of its rulers. By the 9th century, under the Abbasids, Muslim control finally solidified, aided by shifting loyalties among local chieftains who saw advantages in aligning with the new power. With Kabul’s fall, Islam took root in the region, blending with local cultures and setting the stage for the city’s transformation into a vibrant center of trade, learning, and faith.

 In 1221 CE, the Mongol invasion  reached its most brutal crescendo with the destruction of Nishapur, a city that had once been a jewel of Persian culture. Genghis Khan’s wrath was legendary, but in this case, it was deeply personal—his son-in-law, Toquchar, had been killed in battle near the city. The response was absolute devastation. According to chroniclers, the Mongols not only massacred every living soul within Nishapur’s walls—men, women, and children alike—but they even ordered the slaughter of animals to ensure no trace of life remained. Genghis Khan’s daughter, grieving her husband’s death, allegedly commanded that the city be razed so thoroughly that no stone stood upon another. For days, the air was thick with the stench of burning buildings and the cries of the doomed, their once-thriving metropolis reduced to an unmarked grave beneath the Mongol storm.

In the winter of 1504, a young warrior named Babur, barely 21 years old, stood atop the ancient walls of Kabul, gazing out over the snow-dusted valley that would become the heart of his empire. Just months earlier, he had been a fugitive, chased from his ancestral homeland of Ferghana, but now he had seized this rugged city, a jewel of the Silk Road, and declared it his capital. The people of Kabul—traders, poets, and warriors—watched anxiously as Babur, a descendant of both Genghis Khan and Timur, set about transforming their city into a seat of power. He walked the narrow streets, speaking Persian with scholars and Turkish with his loyal soldiers, forging alliances over steaming cups of tea. Unlike the ruthless conquerors before him, Babur’s love for Kabul was personal; he planted gardens, built palaces, and recorded his adventures in his memoirs, describing the city’s intoxicating blend of pomegranates, melons, and the crisp mountain air. It was here, in Kabul’s bustling bazaars and quiet courtyards, that the dream of the Mughal Empire first took root.

The British occupation of Kabul from 1839 to 1842 was a disastrous chapter in the First Anglo-Afghan War, marked by betrayal, bloodshed, and one of the most harrowing retreats in military history. It began with the British installing the unpopular Shah Shuja on the throne, believing they could control Afghanistan through a puppet ruler. However, resentment simmered among the fiercely independent Afghan tribes, who saw the British presence as an affront to their sovereignty. As tensions escalated, a resistance movement, led by Akbar Khan, son of the deposed ruler Dost Mohammad, ignited a brutal uprising in 1841. British officials and their families, who had once hosted grand balls and garden parties in Kabul, suddenly found themselves trapped in an increasingly hostile city. The infamous killing of Sir Alexander Burnes, a high-ranking British officer, signaled the beginning of a full-scale revolt, forcing the British into desperate negotiations that ultimately sealed their doom.

In January 1842, under an ill-fated agreement, a British column of around 16,000—comprising soldiers, civilians, and camp followers—departed Kabul, attempting to retreat to Jalalabad through the snow-covered mountain passes. What followed was a massacre. Beset by freezing temperatures, starvation, and relentless ambushes from Afghan warriors, the retreat became a death march. Mothers clutched dying children, soldiers staggered forward with frostbitten limbs, and one by one, the desperate column was cut down. By the time the nightmare ended, only one survivor, Dr. William Brydon, managed to stagger into Jalalabad—his presence a haunting symbol of Britain’s catastrophic miscalculation in Afghanistan. The occupation and retreat left a lasting impact, reinforcing Afghanistan’s reputation as the "graveyard of empires" and reshaping British colonial strategy in the region. It also solidified Afghan resistance against foreign rule, a sentiment that would echo throughout the country’s turbulent history. 

King Amanullah Khan’s reign (1919–1929) was a whirlwind of ambition and reform, as he sought to drag Afghanistan into the modern era after winning full independence from British influence. Inspired by his travels to Europe and Turkey, he launched sweeping changes—introducing Western-style clothing, coeducational schools, and a new constitution that granted women more rights. His wife, Queen Soraya, became a symbol of this transformation, appearing in public without a veil and advocating for education. But while Kabul’s elites embraced the new era, rural Afghanistan bristled at the rapid shift. One old shopkeeper in the city recalled the shock of seeing government officials enforcing a ban on traditional turbans and long robes, replacing them with European-style suits. “It was as if the past had been outlawed,” he later said, reflecting the deep divide between the capital’s reforms and the countryside’s resistance.

 Amanullah’s modernization drive rippled across the region, inspiring admiration and alarm in equal measure. Neighboring Iran and Turkey, under Reza Shah and Atatürk, watched closely, seeing a fellow Muslim ruler attempt to reshape his nation in their mold. But for conservative tribal leaders in Afghanistan, Amanullah’s changes were seen as a betrayal of tradition and Islam. Discontent brewed, and by the late 1920s, uprisings erupted, culminating in his abdication and exile. An elder from a village near Jalalabad later recalled how local mullahs urged people to resist, claiming the government had strayed too far from Islam. The reforms that once dazzled Kabul crumbled, and Afghanistan retreated from modernization, setting the stage for decades of struggle between progress and tradition—a tension that continues to shape the country today.

Between 1930 and 1979, Kabul and Afghanistan underwent a remarkable transformation, balancing tradition with modernization. In the 1960s and early 1970s, Kabul was known as the "Paris of Central Asia," where women in miniskirts walked alongside men in Western suits, and students debated philosophy in cafés. Under King Zahir Shah’s long reign (1933–1973), the country experienced relative stability, with new roads, schools, and universities opening. One famous story is that of Laila Anwarzada, one of Afghanistan’s first female journalists, who wrote passionately about women’s rights in Zan-e Ruz (Women’s Daily) while teaching at Kabul University. Meanwhile, musicians like Ahmad Zahir, often called the "Elvis of Afghanistan," filled radios with soulful melodies blending Afghan folk with Western rock. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmered. By the 1970s, political movements—communist, Islamist, and royalist—began clashing, culminating in the 1973 coup that ended the monarchy. As the decade neared its end, the optimism of Kabul’s golden years faded, setting the stage for the turmoil that would soon follow.

The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 began with a dramatic and bloody night in Kabul. Soviet special forces stormed the presidential palace, assassinating President Hafizullah Amin, whom they believed was unreliable, and installing a pro-Moscow puppet government. What followed was nearly a decade of war that turned Afghanistan into a battleground of Cold War rivalries. Soviet tanks rolled through Kabul’s streets, while helicopters patrolled the skies, but resistance fighters—many just farmers turned mujahideen—fought back with whatever they had. A young Kabul resident, Laila, recalled how the city’s once-bustling markets emptied as people fled, fearing bombings and forced conscription. “One day, we had a home,” she said. “The next, we were running through the mountains, leaving everything behind.” The war didn’t just tear apart Kabul—it scarred an entire generation.

As the Soviets fought to crush the resistance, neighboring countries became deeply entangled in the conflict. Pakistan, with support from the United States and Saudi Arabia, became a training ground for the mujahideen, fueling a proxy war that drew in fighters from across the Muslim world. The war displaced millions, with Afghan refugees flooding into Iran and Pakistan, creating sprawling camps where children grew up knowing only war. Meanwhile, inside Afghanistan, entire villages were wiped out, and Soviet airstrikes turned rural landscapes into graveyards. A former Soviet soldier, Alexei, later recalled the guilt of his time in the war: “We were told we were liberators, but all I saw were burned homes and mothers crying for their sons.” When the Soviet Union finally withdrew in 1989, Kabul was left fractured, paving the way for civil war and the rise of the Taliban—a legacy of conflict that would shape Afghanistan for decades to come.

The Afghan Civil War (1992–1996) turned Kabul from a once-thriving capital into a shattered battleground, where warlords fought mercilessly for control after the fall of the communist-backed government. When President Mohammad Najibullah was ousted in April 1992, the fragile alliances of the Mujahideen quickly crumbled, leading to brutal street-by-street combat. Civilians bore the brunt of the conflict as neighborhoods became frontlines, and historic sites, like the once-glorious Darul Aman Palace, were reduced to rubble. Families huddled in basements for weeks, surviving on scraps, while snipers and rockets turned daily routines into life-or-death gambles. A Kabul doctor, Dr. Roshanak, recalled treating children maimed by shrapnel, her clinic often shaking from nearby shelling. In those years, trust was a rare commodity—one day’s ally could be the next day’s enemy—and survival meant navigating an unpredictable and violent cityscape.

By 1996, the Taliban, a militant group promising order and strict Islamic governance, seized control of Kabul, ending years of warlord rule but ushering in a new era of repression. As they entered the city, they captured former President Najibullah, dragging him from a UN compound where he had sought refuge for years. His mutilated body was hung in public, a grim warning to those who opposed the Taliban’s vision for Afghanistan. Overnight, the city’s atmosphere shifted—music stopped playing, women disappeared from public life, and once-busy markets fell into hushed submission. Latifa, a young university student, recalled burning her books in fear after Taliban fighters searched homes for “un-Islamic” materials. In the eerie silence of Kabul’s streets, the new rulers enforced their laws with whips and guns, while many who had survived years of war now faced a different kind of terror—one that silenced voices and darkened dreams.

In October 2001, the U.S. launched a military invasion of Afghanistan in response to the September 11 attacks, aiming to dismantle al-Qaeda and oust the Taliban regime that had been harboring the terror network. The bombing campaign began with heavy airstrikes across Afghanistan, targeting Taliban strongholds, while U.S. forces quickly allied with local Northern Alliance militias. In December, after weeks of intense fighting, Kabul, the capital, fell into the hands of the opposition forces. One poignant moment in the fall of Kabul was when people poured into the streets, many waving white flags, a symbol of surrender and a plea for peace. Among them was Mohammad Zahir, a former Afghan soldier who had spent years under the harsh Taliban rule. As Kabul fell, Zahir could hardly believe it—he was watching the end of a regime that had ruled with an iron fist, severely restricting women's rights and cultural freedoms. The euphoria of liberation was palpable, but for many, the uncertainty of what was to come weighed heavily.

Despite the initial optimism, the aftermath of the invasion left Afghanistan in a state of turmoil, with the region experiencing a two-decade-long cycle of instability. While Kabul, under the U.S.-backed government, saw some development, many rural areas remained in the grip of insurgents, and the Taliban never fully disappeared. By 2021, after years of gradual withdrawal by international forces, the Taliban made a stunning comeback, capturing Kabul once again. For those like Zahir, the return of the Taliban was a harsh reminder of the fragility of change in Afghanistan. The conflict had profound consequences for the entire region—displacement, economic challenges, and the rise of extremism spurred new waves of refugees across borders. The U.S. invasion and subsequent two-decade occupation reshaped the geopolitics of Central Asia, leaving a legacy of complex human stories that continue to echo across Afghanistan and beyond, influencing future generations.

In August 2021, the world watched in disbelief as the Taliban rapidly reclaimed power in Afghanistan, following the United States' chaotic withdrawal after nearly two decades of military intervention. The scenes from Kabul’s airport were haunting—thousands of desperate Afghans clinging to planes, hoping to flee the impending return of the regime that had ruled with brutal oppression before the 2001 U.S. invasion. Families who once dared to hope for a better future were now confronting a nightmare. Kabul, a city once brimming with optimism for a new era, became the epicenter of a catastrophic unraveling, as the Afghan government collapsed in days. The human toll was immense, with thousands of Afghan civilians caught in the crossfire of a conflict they had not chosen, and thousands more forced into refugee status. Among them was Zahra, a Kabul resident who once worked as a teacher, only to face the threat of losing her job, her freedom, and her life. Her story echoed the experiences of so many who watched their country revert to the oppressive rule of a group they had hoped had been defeated for good.

 The return of the Taliban also unleashed a wave of instability across the region, the effects of which still ripple today. Countries bordering Afghanistan, like Pakistan and Iran, found themselves grappling with the mass displacement of people, as millions fled Afghanistan in search of refuge. The United States, too, found itself confronting the consequences of abandoning the country—losing its foothold in Central Asia while creating a vacuum filled by Taliban influence, which in turn emboldened groups like al-Qaeda and ISIS-K. For the next two decades, Afghanistan would remain a volatile state, with the Taliban’s return complicating regional geopolitics and U.S. foreign policy. Neighboring nations became reluctant partners, wary of the Taliban’s intentions, while the country itself descended into a cycle of poverty, political instability, and human rights abuses. The story of Kabul, from the optimism of the early 2000s to the despair of its fall in 2021, serves as a reminder of how deeply political decisions can reshape the lives of ordinary people, often with lasting consequences that stretch far beyond borders.

As we conclude our journey through Kabul's complex history, we find ourselves at a critical moment in time. The impact on the region over the next two decades will undoubtedly be felt in the continued struggle for women's rights, education, and personal freedoms. For Kabul's people, from its artists to its teachers, from its young children to its elders, the past few years have been a profound test of courage and survival. What the future holds for the city remains to be seen, but the spirit of Kabul will forever echo in the hearts of those who call it home.