A crowd of Taliban men, one hundred and fifty strong, gathered in the middle of a street the other day near Kabul, Afghanistan. Turbans, cloths and beards protected their faces from the scorching sun. Dry gritty wind whipped about them and the stench of human sweat saturated the air. Cursing and shouts of anger pierced an otherwise tranquil morning and the noise from the crowd, more mob than gathering, swelled to a feverish pitch.
The hoard formed a rough circle, several row of bodies deep, and on the ground in the center knelt the small frame of a woman wrapped in shawl cloth. She quivered in fear, painfully aware of the fate that awaited her, and prayed tearfully to her God, Allah for protection that would sad to say never materialize. The military were camped in their barracks. The police were nowhere to be found. The locals would not interfere.
While the mob screamed epithets and accusations of adultery at the trembling woman, a turban-clad man brandishing an automatic rifle walked up to her and fired five shots in rapid succession into her head. The woman's sobs were instantly silenced. Her bullet-ridden body slumped over sideways into a heap of dirt and a cloud of dust puffed from under her. The mob chanted and cheered in jubilation! Men clapped and raised their fists. Cries of, "Long live the Afghan Mujahedeen!" erupted from the crowd.
Inside thousands of homes in Afghanistan women wept at the news.
The Taliban live. They kill and they cheer in celebration. They rejoice in their evil…and there are seemingly none to stop them.
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