Khorezm branch of uzbekistan writers union

 
 
 
 

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11 
THE CONSOLATION 
Translated by Nodira Azatova 
 
The graveyard was in default. Only poplars lined in two rows over the 
sidewalk sing a lullaby to mother‘s tomb like her moaning children. Their 
gloomy whispers merge in the sound of prays and create an elegiac tone… The 
gravedigger who was wearing white linen robe with khaki beard prayed and 
stood up: 
- That is enough, my son! So look, you may get sick. These are the deeds of 
world, what can we do?-, He didn‟t say anything for a while and added: 
- Your mother was a well-blessed woman. She didn‟t stay long sick and hadn‟t 
been in need of anyone…S
uch a innocent death is not for all. 
I think over and over looking at unwither soil on my mother‘s tomb. 
Perhaps it is like this. My mother lived a modest life. She didn‘t cause any pain 
to anyone. She didn‘t dispute with anybody for anything. Perhaps, she didn‘t 
want to wrangle with ruthless death shadow creature. Perhaps …..
- You see,- said the gravedigger in pensive tone. – That whole night it had 
rained heavily. It didn‘t stop till we buried her. After that sun shone brightly in 
the sky. 
It is hard to find this kind of person with pure soul, my son, I know better. 
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps, this aged man who got accustomed to people‘s 
pain might tell this kind of consolation to relief the pain of all. Thank you, my 
dear granny. Thanks to your hands that help all earlier or later. Thank you for 
your empathetic soul seeping water of comfort to the burning heart. Exclusively 
… . If it depends on rain, if my mother could live in three days more, I would 
agree and be ready for the endless stone rain.
My friends, acquaintances, have been coming and going sadly for a week. They 
came calmly, left calmly too. Others asked in whisper: 
- How old was she?
I answer… Then I think: does age play any role when it comes to talk about the 
mother, love, sympathy or loyalty?
Before I knew the truth the age of the child makes no difference to the mother. 
Now I‘ve realized the other:
There is no young or old mother for a child. The age of mother makes no 
difference to the child also. Mother is Mum. It doesn‘t need further gradations.

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12 
TUSH 
Tush ko‗rsam, onam chiroq ko‗tarib yurganmish. Yuzini aniq 
ko‗rmasmishman-u, ammo qo‗lidagi chiroq xira nur sochib turganmish. 
―Ko‗zingga qara, bolam, chuqur bor‖, dermish nuqul. Qarasam, chuqur yo‗q. 
Uyg‗onsam, onam ham yo‗q...
Ba‘zan ish bilan, ba‘zan majlislar bilan, gohida ulfatchilik bilan uyga 
kech qaytardim. Bir kuni Namangandan mehmonlar kelib qolishdi. Uyga 
borishga ko‗nmay, o‗zimni restoranga sudrashdi. Yarim kechagacha qolib 
ketdim. Uyga qaytganimda kayfim bor edi. Darvozani onam ochdi. Sovuqda 
mushtdekkina bo‗lib dildirab turibdi.
- Shu vaqtgacha uxlamadingizmi! - dedim zarda qilib. - Eshik ochishga 
sizdan boshqa odam yo‗qmi? 
Onam ma‘yus jilmaydi:
- Uyqu qatta, bolam? O‗-o‗tiribman. 
Ertasiga tahririyatda navbatchilik cho‗zilib ketdi. Qarasam, yana 
onamning chirog
‗
i yoniq.
- Nega uxlamadingiz? 
Onam yana ma‘yus jilmaydi:
- Bilasan-ku, jon bolam, kamuyqu bo‗lib qolganman. 
Men nodon, onamning kamuyqu bo
‗
lib qolganiga, yarim kechagacha 
yuramanmi, tongotar qaytamanmi, onamning chirog‗i muttasil lipillab turishiga 
xo‗p ko‗nikkan ekanman. 
Qaysi kuni ishdan keyin moskvalik mehmonlarni aeroportga kuzatib 
qo
‗
yadigan bo‗ldim. Samolyot kechikib qoldi. Yarim kechada uyga qaytsam...
hamma yoq jimjit. Hamma o‗z oromi bilan... 
Tushimda onam chiroq ko
‗
tarib yurganmish.