and blown them apart, calling them objects of idolatry and sin.
There was an outcry around the world, from the U.S. to China.
Governments, historians, and archaeologists from all over the globe had written letters,
pleaded with the Taliban not to demolish the two greatest historical artifacts in Afghanistan.
But the Taliban had gone ahead and detonated their explosives inside the two thousand year old Buddhas.
They had chanted Allah u akbar with each blast, cheered each time the statues lost an arm or a leg in a crumbling cloud of dust.
Laila remembered standing atop the bigger of the two Buddhas with Babi and Tariq, back in 1987,
a breeze blowing in their sunlit faces, watching a hawk gliding in circles over the sprawling valley below.
But when she heard the news of the statues' demise, Laila was numb to it. It hardly seemed to matter.
How could she care about statues when her own life was crumbling dust?
Until Rasheed told her it was time to go, Laila sat on the floor in a corner of the living room,
not speaking and stone faced, her hair hanging around her face in straggly curls.
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