This book contains ten Uzbek short stories which have been translated into English. Each story is unique in its own way in that it portrays the cultural life of the Uzbek nation as well as the social and political events of Uzbekistan. These stories are translated to provide the English reader with information about Uzbekistan and its society. Some of the included stories were written by such famous writers as Abdulla Qahhar, Ghafur Ghulom, Sayed Ahmad, and Khayriddin Sultonov.
A Collection of Uzbek Short Stories
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2013 Mahmuda Saydumarova
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-9722-3Contents
Preface.................................................viiHow Sweet You are, You Bitter Life!.....................1My Thief Boy............................................18The Literature Teacher..................................25The Brides' Revolution..................................30The Bride from the City.................................42The Grandfather and his Grandson........................56The Rainbow.............................................62Ramazon.................................................73The Sensitive Case......................................76How I was a "Mister" for a Month!.......................81Biographical Information................................91
Chapter One
How Sweet You are, You Bitter Life!by Khayriddin Sultonov
From 1865 to 1880, Qurbonjon dodkhoh, the Queen ofOloy, gathered the nation around her, and with a single swordin her hand, fought against General Fon Kaufman. She wasso courageous that when her son, Qamchibek, was held asa captive by Kaufman and was about to be hanged by hisorders, she came to the gallows and told her son, "Farewell,my son. Your father and grandfather have also martyred atthe hands of their enemies; we have inherited martyrdom.I am satisfied with what I have fed you." Saying this, sheturned around, climbed her horse, and without watching herson die in torture and pain, left.
Ghafur Ghulom
* * *
Eighteen seventy-six, the twenty-sixth of February. Marghilan.
This chilly, gloomy winter day that resembled any other wintryday was almost over. As usual, the voices of the callers to prayerwoke up the city at the crack of dawn. And as usual, after hurriedlyperforming ablution while shivering in the cold, the Muslims headedto the mosque. As they walked on the pavement, the sound of theirboots walking on the freshly-fallen snow could be heard. Also, asusual, there was a thin, bluish fog hanging on top of the high andlow roofs. Today also, even the sun that looked like a worn-outcoin shone its rays for just a little while and, as if feeling cold, hiditself under thick, gray clouds. And as usual, the people of the cityscattered in the empty streets, with the hope of trying to make aliving, and somehow livened the bleak and gloomy city.
In short, in this quiet, depressing day that seemed to be drowningin poverty just like the thousands of days that the city had witnessed,all of a sudden, a distinctive hubbub arose. Coming from all fourdirections, a huge crowd of people soon filled the yard of themarketplace. Ever since it was built, the city had not witnessed sucha crowd before. The unmerciful cold slapped people's faces and eyesand pierced into their very bones like a pricking needle; it smackedthe icicles hanging from the rainspouts with its whip and chasedaway all living beings into their nests. It roared the crowd that hadassembled at the wide yard, next to the horse market. Among thecrowd were shop-keepers who had closed their shops hurriedlyin fear of the Russian mustached-soldiers with unmerciful eyes,women who had left their warm homes and did not understand whythey had come here, old women who ceaselessly muttered `There isno might nor power except with God,' scowling old men with openchests, and children who were about to start crying and whose snotswere flowing down their noses.
"Qamchibek will be hanged!" These were the only words thatwere uttered over and over from everybody's lips. There was terrorhanging in everybody's hearts.
Cossacks besieged the yard in a circular shape. General FonKaufman—the governor of Turkistan, Major General Trotsky—thehead of the penalty delegation who had white hair and black eyesand eyebrows, the good-looking, well-behaved Prince Boyarskiy, thecrippled Colonel Lusarov, other important people from the militaryadministration in Fergana region, as well as civil servants who wereshivering either from the cold or from fear took their places oneafter another on a wooden platform that was temporarily put up.
The wind started blowing even stronger. More Russian soldiersmarched into the yard and formed a square shape, according to theorders of an officer who was standing at the head of the line. Theofficer, who was called Major Lyahov, neared the platform and gavea military greeting to Kaufman and said, "Everything is ready, yourhighness. Permission to start?"
Kaufman looked at his watch and said, "One minute, major. Mywife also wanted to attend; let us wait for awhile. Oh, there she is."
A blue carriage drawn by two horses entered the yard. One ofthe assistants who were standing near the platform hurried over tothe carriage and opened the door. Two women wearing expensiveleather coats with fur collars and carefully lifting their blue dressesunder their coats got out. One of them was somewhat old, yet hergood-looking appearance hid this. Saying something to her friend,she headed to the platform and as she did so, Fon Kaufman also tooksome steps towards her. His assistants followed him, with a smile ontheir faces.
"Oh, forgive me, my dear, for we are a bit late. Don't get angry.You know how we women are; the mirror is such a magnet," thewoman walking in front said. As she smiled to the officers, shegently said to them, "Hello, young men."
Trotsky, Lusarov, Lyahov, and Prince Boyraskiy approached herone by one and kissed her thin fingers as white as snow.
"Oh Prince!" Kaufman's wife addressed Prince Boyarskiy,shaking her head. "You completely forgot us, prince; this isn'tsomething good, for God's sake, it's not good. Our stay has almostcome to an end, soon . . . Oh, get introduced, this lady is CountessAnna Ippolitovna, Colonel Sherbakov's wife. Do you say, `We knoweach other'? Oh prince, prince!"
The general's assistant stood smiling.
The governor's wife looked at Lusarov and said, "I do not longat all for frightening scenes as this. Yesterday I asked my husband,`Who are the ones who caused the rebellion?' and he told me, `Ifyou attend tomorrow, you'll see.' Tell me please, colonel, are theyterrifying to this extent?" Lusarov smiled without opening his mouth;he started talking about something in a serious tone. It was obviousthat although the governor's wife seemed to be listening to Lusarov,she was actually thinking about something else.
"Begin!" Kaufman ordered to Lyahov. "Bring him out!"
A thick-bearded old soldier, wearing red boots took off hismilitary coat, adjusted the chair under the gallows, checked the ropemeticulously, wiped the snow off his boots, and headed towardsthe other side of the yard. An uproar arose among the crowd; fourmuscular Cossacks brought in a young man wearing a torn coat. Hishands were tied and marks of torture and blood were visible on hisface.
"Is this him?" asked Countess Sherbakova, opening her beautifulblue eyes very wide. "Yes, countess," answered Boyarskiy. "Poorthing!" pitied Countess Sherbakova.
"Oh, monsieur, I don't think I can handle this," the governor'swife said, with a sigh. "It has become cold, hasn't it?"
"It would be better if you went home, dear," Kaufman said. "Youmight catch a cold. Yesterday, you said that you had a headache.And anyway, this isn't Saint Petersburg."
"It's alright; I want to stay for a little longer," the governor'swife whispered.
Colonel Lusarov gave the paper in his hand to Lyahov who hadjust got on the stage. The major stepped forward and started readingthe verdict in a loud and clear voice:
"The military court at the military department in Fergana regionhas looked at the case of the suspect, Qamchibek bin Olimbek, alocal of the Uzbek nation and it consists of his criminal act againstthe sultanate of the royal emperor. And on the basis of overwhelmingevidence and many witnesses of which Abdulrahman is one, ithas been justified that he is a very harmful person. He has causedphysical harms to the royal emperor, his sultanate, and the militarysystem. The suspect Qamchibek bin Olimbek along with his brothers,Abdullahbek, Mahmudbek, and Hasanbek, who are the leaders ofthe armed groups, have caused several disturbances in Oloy Valleyand have lead the local residents to go against the system whichhad been set up by the military administration's Governor General.During the past three years, his murderous gangsters, who are thecountry's criminals have caused physical harm to the army, thehuman force, and the nutrition sources. Several warnings have beendirected to Qamchibek bin Olimbek but he has ignored them. Theresult of active violence and aggression of these savage groups thatwent on for eight years ..."
A short officer approached the platform from the back andwhispered something in Colonel Lusarov's ear. Lusarov's facewhitened. "Your highness," he whispered to Kaufman hurriedly,"your highness, Qurbonjon dodkhoh is coming!"
Kaufman immediately looked at him, "How is that? Aren't thereany guards assigned on the way?"
"There are, your highness. Prince Boyarskiy and his soldiers areguarding the gates and main entrances; however, dodkhoh is comingall alone!"
"What?"
"It's true, your highness."
"Then, she is in the city. I cannot understand this. Has this womanlost her senses? Doesn't she know that fifteen thousand soms havebeen announced as a reward for her head?"
"Alright, colonel," Kaufman continued, after calming down."Go on, let us see how things play out."
"So, should I give an order to imprison her?"
"Why? An old, helpless, disarmed woman, in the daylight infront of everyone at the city's yard. No, colonel, only make sure thatshe is observed. Perhaps she wants to bid farewell to her son. Whyshould we deprive her from her rights? Be a bit humane, colonel."
"As you wish, your highness."
"... The military court at the military department in Ferganaregion has looked at the case of the suspect, Qamchibek binOlimbek, a local of the Uzbek nation and his criminal act againstthe emperor's sultanate. The court has released a verdict to hanghim; the verdict is final and no complaints will be accepted. TheGeneral Governor Fon Kaufman—the head of the military court,New Marghilan. 1876, 26th February."
Major Lyahov completed reading the verdict and looking inthe direction of Kaufman, nodded his head. The Cossacks broughtQamchibek under the gallows. Kaufman called for Sibgatullin, theinterpreter wearing the clothes of a sergeant.
"Ask the suspect if he has any final words." Kaufman askedhim.
The translator did not have a chance to ask; his voice drownedin an uproar that suddenly arose. Qurbonjon dodkhoh was ridingher horse and approaching quickly; she was wearing a blue, velvettraditional suit and on her head was a cotton shawl. Between thecrowd and Qurbonjon dodkhoh was a distance of thirty feet. Oneveryone's faces were confusion, wonder, hesitation, and fear.
"Colonel!" Kaufman gave a signal to Colonel Lusarov with awhite-gloved hand. "There, look now, dodkhoh is coming fearlessly.It wouldn't be bad if your soldiers would take this woman's braveryas a role model. A displaced bullet from any corner might kill her,am I right?" Lusarov stared at him.
"Just look at her, she doesn't look the least bit scared!" Kaufmansaid, smiling. "But a displaced bullet is a displaced bullet. What doyou think, Lusarov?"
"I understand, your highness," Lusarov whispered. "There is ahunter in my squad. Yepifanov, a soldier."
"Very well, colonel. Make sure that dodkhoh leaves the yardsafe and sound. The displaced bullet might hit her from any corner;did you understand?"
"I understand, your highness."
The translator muttered his question for the third time, butQamchibek did not respond. He looked towards his mother; his eyeswere filled with grief, pain, and longing. "Mother! My dear mother!"he screamed in a loud voice.
The rider approached with beautiful strength; her horse stridedwith steady steps. Dodkhoh's face reflected silence and sublimetranquility, as if she was completely blind to her son being about tobe killed and as if she could not hear his painful murmurings. Sheproudly approached with her white-haired head held high.
The audience stirred like the waves of the ocean and angrilyroared. Even the soldiers and officers froze in amazement, not onesoul knew what to say or what to do. Even General Kaufman frozein his place, like a statue. Dodkhoh neared the Russian soldiers' ringand pulled up her horse about five feet away from them. There wasa heavy silence, as heavy and as rigid as a stone.
"My son!" dodkhoh said. Her voice trembled for a while;however, she then spoke in a coercing, heroic tone. "My son, wehave inherited martyrdom, for your father and grandfather haveboth martyred at the hands of their enemies. Farewell, my son. I'mcontented with what I have fed you," Qurbonjon dodkhoh said thesewords, got on her steed, and hit it with her whip. The horse jumped,lifted up its rider, and hurried away.
"Be satisfied with me, mother!" Qamchibek said. "Be satisfiedwith me!"
"I'm satisfied a thousand times," Dodkhoh said and opened herhands for prayer. "We will meet at the Day of Judgment." Then sheturned and hurried away with her horse to the east. Two hot tearsdropped on the horse's hair, and these two drops burned the horse'swhole existence.
Chaos increased among the audience. Kaufman fell into deepthinking and said to himself, "Yes, astonishing!"
"So, is she the one they call the `Queen of Oloy'?" asked hiswife. "But they used to say that she is a very old woman!? However,this lady rides a horse with such ease. Tell me, dear, why didn't theycatch her?"
"There is no need to," Kaufman said, smiling. "She ... will giveup herself. I will force her to do that!"
"Listen to me, monsieur, I know you do not like those who mindyour business, but could you just not kill this young man?" Kaufman'swife said, fixing the collar of her coat. "He is very young, it's sucha pity. Of course, I'm not saying that he should be left without anypunishment. But isn't there any other way? For example, sendinghim to Siberia for hard labor?"
"No!" said Kaufman and again repeated in a stern voice, "No!You heard the verdict. No mercy is shown towards an enemy, never!Lusarov!"
"Yes, your highness?"
"Speed it up!"
"Very well."
"Who is that soldier? Is it Yepifanov?"
"Yes, your highness, it's Yepifanov!"
"Alright."
Lusarov looked at Lyahov and gave him a sign; Lyahov wavedthe handkerchief in his hand and moved backwards. Drums wereplayed. Two strong, tall Cossacks placed a rope round Qamchibek'sneck. A coatless, old soldier, wearing a black mask that covered hisface and eyes got on his knees and prayed; then he stretched hishand toward the rope.
"Oh God!" Countess Sherbakova's face whitened and she tookhold of Prince Boyarskiy's hand with her cold fingers. "Oh God!How terrifying this scene is!"
"Don't be scared, countess, don't be scared. This takes only onemoment," Prince Boyarskiy said, holding her from her arm.
"Ach, mein Gott, das is schlecht!Ach, mein Gott!" the governor'swife said and immediately closed her eyes.
As Qamchibek's feet moved away from the ground, he keptrepeating, "There is no God but Allah." The audience suddenly stirredand someone screamed. The black-masked soldier kicked away thechair under Qamchibek's feet with force. The young, strong bodyswung for awhile, hanging from the rope and suddenly fell on theground. Lyahov was puzzled; he drew out his sword, hurried over tothe gallows, and froze over the suspect. Kaufman looked at Lusarovwith fuming eyes.
Continues...
Excerpted from A Collection of Uzbek Short Stories Copyright © 2013 by Mahmuda Saydumarova. Excerpted by permission.
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