A bearded figure wearing a turban emerged out of the shadows in Herat's magnificent Friday Mosque and angrily berated an Afghan youth for allowing a foreign woman to write her name on his hand. The youth did not seem particularly concerned, however, by this intrusion by a member of the ruling Taliban's religious police and continued our conversation outside the mosque.
In the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan - the country's new appellation under the rule of the religious Taliban militia - the Ministry of Vice and Virtue has been set up to enforce strict Islamic law. The reason for the outburst in the mosque was that physical contact between two strangers of opposite sexes - even the innocent writing of a name on a hand - is absolutely forbidden.
The Taliban has attained notoriety in the West for its heavy handed abuses of human rights, particularly regarding its treatment of women. The exclusion of girls from school and women from the workforce has been widely condemned by nonIslamic countries. The Taliban also has a reputation for keeping ruthless control on law breakers.
According to foreign aid workers in Herat, a man charged with murder was publicly executed two weeks ago in the city. Evidence of the ban on non-religious forms of entertainment can be seen at Taliban check-points, where tangled masses of black audio tape confiscated from drivers caught playing Western music in their cars are displayed from light posts. All television is banned.
Yet life seemed surprisingly normal in the bazaars of Herat. On a Sunday morning, business was booming in the section of the market which sells used clothes and textiles. The city, situated close to both the Iranian and Turkmenian borders, has been a centre of commerce for centuries.
Bolts of brightly coloured fabrics were piled in the sun, as well as selections of Iranian lace. Stalls selling pale blue chadors - the all-enveloping garments traditionally worn by Afghan women - were not attracting much custom.
The young men I had met in the mosque escorted me without hesitation through the bazaar. They are studying English, in boys-only classes run a charity, and were keen to practice. They all had beards in keeping with Taliban law which prohibits men from even trimming their beards but did not appear nervous about being seen with a foreigner.
Farid Ahmad, who tells me to call him Fred, does not seem too intimidated by the Taliban. He is 22 years old and works in his father's grocery shop. Discussing life under Taliban rule, he and his friends say it could be worse, but they agree there are definite frustrations.
"No television, that's a big problem - I like watching television very much," says Farid. It is hard to gauge the amount of surreptitious television watching that goes on. One Afghan suggested a large number of people have acquired tiny home-made satellite dishes, invisible to the religious police, enabling them to quietly indulge in watching Iranian, Russian or Indian programmes.
"Women are not permitted to go where they want," complained 21-year old Wakil Ahmad. "Our sisters are just sitting at home. They can only go to the bazaar, but not often."
It is true, the bazaar is about the only place women are to be seen - usually in groups of two or three, and always shrouded from head to ankle in the ubiquitous pale blue chadors. If you are close to one of them, it is just possible to make out the eyes looking out through a fabric grille.
Inside one shop, another young man was sitting on the floor engraving pieces of silver jewellery with crude tools. He said he had to leave school at the age of 11 to start working because his family needed the money.
"I would like it if Afghanistan was free and if schools would be open to girls," said the 21-year old jewellery-maker named Nematulla. "We are free - we go to sleep, we go to the mosque and in the morning we start our work!" However, a Pakistani newspaper has reported the Taliban may allow female education but only once it has secured control of the entire country. As if to illustrate the hold of the Taliban on education, a group of three nine or 10-year-old boys were crouched outside one shop at the carpet bazaar in a patch of sunshine bent intently as they copied verses of the Koran into note books.
Herat is reputed to be one of the most prosperous cities at present in war-ravaged Afghanistan. The capital, Kabul, lies in ruins, devastated by fighting between Afghan factions after the nine-year Soviet occupation ended in 1989. The Taliban imposed its rule on Herat in 1995, Kabul in 1996 and currently control 95 per cent of the country.
Compared with other Afghan cities, Herat is relatively relaxed under Taliban rule. "In Herat, for the moment, the Taliban are allowing people to enjoy themselves. In the past they threw them in jail," observed one Afghan. The new government has barely begun the daunting task of reconstruction; most of its funds are used for military purposes. While heavy fighting against the opposition forces is continuing in the north-east and central parts of the country, the Taliban has restored electricity supplies to some cities, such as Kabul.
Mains electricity has yet to be restored in Herat, and the scant lighting in the city after night descends is provided by generators. Gaudy pink and green neon tube lighting is erected outside some shops; others boast a solitary light bulb.
The Mowafaq hotel where visiting journalists are directed was described as "brand new", but this seemed doubtful as we entered a pitch-dark lobby and ventured up three flights of stairs before reaching a light. The rooms had new carpets, lights that kept going ominously off, no hot water, and ineffective oil-burning heaters that only reluctantly provided feeble heat.
Half an hour after the 10 p.m. curfew in the city, electricity in the hotel went off for good. The staff seemed unconcerned and only possessed one oil lamp, which the guests agreed to share. Next morning, the manager Ahmad Daoud apologised for the lack of complete facilities and invited me to the official opening of the hotel the next day. Green tea was offered, brewed up by a member of staff under the reception desk. A radio tuned to Iranian music - banned by the Taliban which broadcasts Koranic verses - blared away.
Although originally a hotel when built 27 years ago, the authorities had taken over its 70 rooms and used them to house displaced people, said Daoud. He had rented it from its present owner, and was confident he would receive lots of guests.
"I expect visitors because this it the only hotel with facilities," said Daoud. "Tomorrow, this floor will be ready with hot water for foreigners." He explained these would mostly be visitors from Iran and Turkmenistan. But in the future he hopes to have clients from the West.
The view from the hotel's fourth floor terrace takes in many of Herat's historic monuments. The city has long been one of the great centres of civilization in Central Asia and was the capital of Tamerlane's empire. Dominating the centre of the city is the citadel - Qala Ikhtiyaruddin - whose foundations were laid by Alexander the Great in the fourth century BC, though now it is used by the Taliban as an ammunition store and closed to the public.
The city's buildings are mostly made of mud, with many small domes sculpted into the roofs. The low skyline is pierced by two groups of minarets of the main mosque complexes.
OF THE nine minarets that used to grace the Musalla complex to the north of the Old City, two were destroyed by artillery fire during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. A century earlier, the British ordered the needless destruction of much of the complex in preparation for a feared Russian attack that never materialised. Only five minarets remain.
The Musalla complex includes a domed mausoleum housing the tomb of Queen Gawhar Shad, daughter-in-law of Tamerlane and one of the few women rulers in Islamic history. The turquoise tiles on the tomb as well as the Koranic inscriptions on a royal-blue background - now peeling off - were said to be one of the most exquisite examples of Islamic design.
A restoration project is under way to restore the wall around the mausoleum complex and replant the garden, which used to be called the "Women's Garden", as it was intended for the exclusive use of the city's women.
"We will name it the Gawhar Shad Garden," said Jawad Sayed, an expert in restoration who is supervising the re-building. While speaking, he glanced over his shoulder at a turbaned, unmistakable Taliban member. "These people here . . . we cannot call it the "Women's Garden", but we hope we will make something for women".
Sayed said the Taliban had helped him stop the passage of heavy trucks near the remaining fragile minarets once he had explained to the Governor why he was doing it. However, he has had to do battle with the mullahs who run a religious school which borders one corner of the garden and to whom the idea of a women's garden is anathema.
Sayed won that contest, but knows more are to come. He is rather pragmatic in his approach to the Taliban and believes they are here to stay. "I don't think they are temporary- I think it's better to work with them and train them. If we have no war or other problems, then people will force them to make changes."