Page 131 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

NW: If he had succeeded, meaning King Amanullah, I might

have answered your question differently.

I ask her to explain.

NW: You see, he woke one morning, the king, and proclaimed his
plan to reshape the country—kicking and screaming, if need be
—into a new and more enlightened nation. By God! he said. No
more wearing of the veil, for one. Imagine, Monsieur Boustouler,
a woman in Afghanistan arrested for wearing a burqa! When his
wife, Queen Soraya, appeared barefaced in public? Oh là là. The
lungs of the mullahs inflated with enough gasps to fly a thousand
Hindenburgs. And no more polygamy, he said! This, you
understand, in a country where kings had legions of concubines
and never set eyes on most of the children they’d so frivolously

fathered. From now on, he declared, no man can force you into
marriage. And no more bride price, brave women of
Afghanistan, and no more child marriage. And here is more: You
will all attend school.

EB: He was a visionary, then.

NW: Or a fool. I have always found the line perilously thin
myself.

EB: What happened to him?

NW: The answer is as vexing as it is predictable, Monsieur
Boustouler. Jihad, of course. They declared jihad on him, the
mullahs, the tribal chiefs. Picture a thousand fists shot
heavenward! The king had made the earth move, you see, but he
was surrounded by an ocean of zealots, and you know well what
happens when the ocean floor trembles, Monsieur Boustouler. A
tsunami of bearded rebellion crashed down upon the poor king
and carried him off, flailing helplessly, and spat him out on the
shores of India, then Italy, and at last Switzerland, where he
crawled from the muck and died a disillusioned old man in exile.