Powdery sand in a desert can easily be blown away with a single breath, but it is even easier for man to destroy historic treasures. -Turkmenistan Proverb "Heading southeast, they entered into the Big Snow Mountain with its treacherous and deep valleys. They traveled for more than 600 miles and finally departed from the border of Tukhara and entered into Bamiyan." (from Journey to the West, Chapter 1: Gachi)

In the northeast side of the mountain, there is a stone Buddha statue standing 450 Chinese-foot tall. It glitters with all the gold and jewelry that covers it. (from Journey to the West, Chapter 1: Bamiyan)

An old man with a face full of stubble muttered to himself, "In March of 2001, the Taliban took 10 days to bury dynamite around these two big Buddha statues. Yet, it took less than 3 hours for the statues to be blown up and destroyed!" The old man introduced himself as Mohamed when he stepped forward to talk to us. He had been in the middle of moving stones to rebuild a mosque when he heard we were inquiring around the village for eyewitnesses to the destruction of the Buddha statues.

The village is located on the south side of the Bamiyan valley; it had the best view for seeing the world-famous Bamiyan Buddha statues.

The Valley of Gods: Faded Beauty

In May of 1998, I visited this place and stood on exactly the same spot. Back then I jotted down in my notes: "Compared to the size and beauty of the famous Caves of the Thousand Buddhas in Dunhuang, this place must have been at least 10 times greater at the peak of its glory. In addition to these two large Buddha statues and the thousands of caves hewn out of the cliffs that house smaller stone Buddha statues, there is also the mysterious natural beauty and the grand view of the Hindu Kush mountain range. It is no wonder that they have name this place 'The Valley of Gods'." (See the premiere issue of the Rhythms Magazine in 1998 for details.)

Now, as we stand here, away from the Bamiyan valley, and look at "The Valley of Gods", the view is still magnificent and beautiful. The only difference is that this time the main characters are no longer present. Mr. Abu Hassan is the vice chairman of the culture and news center of Bamiya province.

His new office, built with the aid of UNESCO, is located right in front of the shattered statues of the Buddha. He said resignedly, "We certainly hope to repair it, but right now we can only hope for outside help to provide the necessary funding. All we can do with our current resources is buy plastic sheeting and cover up the remains of the statue after the blast."

All that remains of the original 53 meter stone statue is a pile of rubble. Hassan spent most of the available funding on white plastic sheeting that barely covers the 1,500 year old rocks. Signs on a simple wire netting in the front proclaim "No Entry" and "Beware of falling rocks! This Buddha statue is a national treasure, and will be repaired in the future with aid from UNESCO and the Japanese government..."

The statue of the Buddha is completely demolished. In the past, remnants of colorful paints could be seen at the top of a 55 meter altar. Now they no longer exist. Some familiar people still occupy the nearby caves, though others are new. Currently 89 households live there. We slowly walk 400 meters away to where there had been a smaller Buddha statue. It was the Shakyamuni Buddha statue described by Dharma Master Hsuan Tsang in his "Journey to the West". There is nothing left. We ascend the steps surrounding the statue, a difficult task because of the narrow, 60 centimeter path. The blast created a gaping hole, disconnecting the steps from the altar, and increased the possibility that they would collapse as we climbed on them.

Originally, people could walk up to the head of the Buddha statue. Now, one can only reach shoulder-height. The shape of the statue can be imagined from the remains one sees looking out from a little platform. Above, the observation decks that flanked the head of the statue no longer exist. Even five years ago I was still able to take pictures at the top of the altar and see the colorful paintings of a sun god riding on a horse.

It was here, five years ago, that I experienced a jolting appreciation of the great historical significance. I remembered how thrilled I was imagining Dharma Master Hsuan Tsang climbing these very same steps 1,400 years ago. However, now I only have a sense of uncertainty. The snow-capped Kohi BaBa Mountain, also called the "Grandpa Mountain" by the locals, still stands in the distance, but things have changed tremendously and the scenery is no longer the same as before.

The Karmic Connections of a Dictionary

One of my motives for returning to Bamiyan was to search for old acquaintances. I wanted to look for a child called (Hasar Hassinia), who I had met five years ago.

I remember the small commotion I created in this tiny, isolated village one afternoon, while I was strolling around taking pictures. The kids were so curious that at one point, I had a hard time taking any pictures. They followed me everywhere, and as soon as I picked up my camera, the children gathered right in front of me.

Just then, a young voice speaking in English drifted to my ears: "Sir, How are you? I'm Hasar. How may I help you?" His laughter was like the sound of an angel. The following hours of photography went very smoothly. Hasar translated for me and told me which people were willing to be photographed, and which were not.

After finishing my work, I used a walkie-talkie to call the army jeep. I remember that I had hastily given Hasar a business card printed with my English address. "Write me a letter if you need anything!" I said, and waved goodbye.

Two days later, while I was taking pictures in front of a large statue of the Buddha, Hasar came running to me, gasping for air, and handed me his letter in person. I was surprised and wondered why he was so frantic. Bystanders reminded me, "Sir, you should know that this country has been in war for nineteen years and there is no longer a postal system!"

Hasar asked me to give him a dictionary as a gift. He told me that if I wanted to write him a letter, I would have to write to the director of the UN Refugee Association, Afghanistan Department, Bamiyan Branch, and ask the director to pass the letter on to Hasar of the Bamiyan Elementary School, Sixth Grade.

This clever little guy must have seen our vehicles parked in front of the statue of the Buddha by the canyon, and ran over immediately. Even though he had come right away, the trip must have taken at least an hour.

The situation at that time was very desperate; the Northern Alliance and the Taliban army were fighting fiercely. Our trip was very dangerous and full of uncertainties.

Upon my return to Taiwan from this intense trip, I reread Hasar's letter. I realized that the dictionary he was asking for was not an English-Chinese or English-English dictionary, of which I have many piled on my bookshelf at home, but rather what the local people called a Persian-English dictionary.

People always make up all kinds of excuses for procrastinating. At the time, I was busy with the publication of the premier edition of Rhythms Monthly. Eventually, I was able to get in touch with an Afghani-American friend who offered to give me a hand and send Hasar the dictionary, and I finally felt relieved. But who would have guessed that shortly thereafter Bamiyan would go to war with the Taliban. Not only had the UN retreated already, but the mail parcel with the dictionary had also disappeared, just as if it had been a stone cast into the sea.

Afterwards, I received intermittent reports from foreign news agencies. Bamiyan lost the battle to the Taliban the following spring. Woman and children were taken away and disappeared. I always felt depressed whenever I looked at the pictures that I had taken of Hasar and his friends while on the trip, Although it is rare, this is one of the few instances in my life which evoke feelings of dislike towards my chosen profession as a photojournalist.