Ochildiyeva Shahnoza

[In Uzbek literature, many accomplished artists are recognized not only in Uzbekistan, but all over the world, and their works are studied as an important part of the scientific and literary world. Ozod Sharafiddinov is a scientist who made a great contribution to the development of Uzbek literature and the art of translation. His scientific and practical work in the fields of literary criticism, translation theory and artistic translation introduced a new approach to some important directions. This article analyzes the life and scientific activity of Ozod Sharafiddinov and his contribution to the fields of translation and literary criticism.]

In modern literary studies, the development of literary text analysis methods, theory of translation and literary criticism is closely related to the scientific heritage of mature scientists. The scientific researches of Ozod Sharafiddinov, who formed a unique theoretical approach in Uzbek literary criticism, are of great importance not only in the national but also in the context of world literary studies. He was born on March 1, 1929 in the village of Okhunkainar near Kokan. After graduating from school in Tashkent, he graduated from the Faculty of Philology of the Central Asian State University, completed post-graduate studies in Moscow and received the degree of candidate of science. One of the most famous works of Ozod Sharafiddinov is “Time. Heart. Poetry” included the literary critical researches of the writer related to the problems of poetry in those times. The work also contains literary and critical articles written by the writer about Uzbek poetry and its situation, literary works are studied from the point of view of the laws of art. His research is based on the analysis of national ideals and literary laws. Ozod Sharafiddinov’s ideas about the creative personality and his place in artistic works are interpreted in the work “Literary Etudes”. His works such as “First Miracle”, “Talent-People’s Property”, “Literature-People’s Property” and “In Search of Beauty” covered the important issues of Uzbek poetry, prose and criticism one by one.

The first period is the years of Soviet, and the second is the years after independence. In his books “Independence Devotees”, “Sardaftar satrlar”, “On the Paths of Spiritual Perfection”, the writer analyzed with a new look and a new approach the work of his great ancestors, such as Abdurauf Fitrat, Abdulkhamid Chulpan, Osman Nasir, Oybek, Abdulla Kahhar, Gafur Ghulam. Especially, the writer’s research on the works of Chulpan deserve special recognition. For example, in the work “Understanding Chulpan”, the writer analyzes the complex path of the new Uzbek criticism in the 20th century, and sheds light on the work of many critics from the point of view of Chulpan’s work. The place of Uzbek literature in the world and its scientific and spiritual roots are studied and the book “The Happiness of Realizing Creativity” is considered as the peak of creativity of Ozod Sharafiddinov. At this point, it is necessary to pay special attention to the legacy of the writer in the field of translation. Because the writer introduced the concept of criticism to the art of translation. “Confession” by Leo Tolstoy, “The Chemist” by P. Coelho, “Stop the plane, I’m falling!” by A. Sevela, which are loved by world readers as masterpieces of world literature His works were translated into Uzbek by Ozod Sharafiddinov and reached the hands of Uzbek book lovers. Of course, all the writer’s creative works, artistic and scientific works, as well as translations, played a special role in raising the thinking of our people and enriching our national literature.

Literary criticism

An in-depth analysis of a literary text. Ozod Sharafiddinov saw literary criticism not only as a means of evaluating the work, but also as a method of studying the internal system of the text and interpreting it in a socio-philosophical context. His research covers a number of areas. For example, in the structuralism of the artistic text, the system of literary images and their dynamics, the compositional structure of the work and its aesthetic impact are analyzed. The direction of ideological-aesthetic harmony is very important and includes the analysis of the national and universal significance of the work, the evaluation of the personality of the writer and his creative principles. Each work has its own language, style, nature, and the study of the influence of language and style on the content of the text is a special direction in the analysis of the work.  According to Ozod Sharafiddinov’s theory, literary criticism is not only a means of looking for the shortcomings of a work, but also a means of revealing its artistic-aesthetic, philosophical and social essence.

He discovered literary criticism as not just a tool for evaluating a work, but a scientific approach that reveals its inner essence

Scientist emphasized how important it is to maintain the balance between the originality and the translation. O. Sharafiddinov developed fundamental scientific approaches in the development of the Uzbek translation school. He analyzed the problems encountered in the translation process and their solutions. According to his theory, translation theory should rely on several important factors. Faithfulness to the original and maintaining the harmony of national thinking, realizing the importance of the translator’s role in re-creating the text are among these. In fact, the work of translators is very important not only in literature, but also in the world community and international friendship. Because cultural codes are transformed in the process of translation. International communication is ensured through artistic translation. Based on the scientific views of the writer, in today’s translation practice, the combination of faithfulness to the original and national thinking is seen as an important methodological principle. Today’s scientific researches show that Sharafiddinov’s approaches play an extremely important role in the development of modern literary criticism and translation theory. Based on his scientific concepts, new trends such as deep research of semiotic and linguistic foundations of translation and enrichment of literary criticism with philosophical thinking entered the literature.

Conclusion

The scientific legacy of Ozod Sharafiddinov left an indelible mark on the development of Uzbek literary studies and translation theory. He discovered literary criticism as not just a tool for evaluating a work, but a scientific approach that reveals its inner essence. Despite the fact that the artistic works he analyzed reflected the socio-cultural environment of his time, he also gave a guide to modern literary processes by studying their internal structures. According to the writer, every created artistic work should be considered as a part of the spiritual heritage of humanity, different peoples and different destinies, along with being a product of the thinking of its time. The writer’s creativity and love for translation praised the fact that the translator is not only a technical creator who translates the text into another language, but also a creative person who creates a bridge between two cultures.  After all, the process of translation is not a simple change of language, but an art of keeping the balance of meaning and aesthetic harmony.  By further developing the fields of literary criticism and translation theory, researchers following in the footsteps of Ozod Sharafiddinov not only contribute to the recognition of Uzbek literature on a global scale, but also serve to expand the boundaries of scientific thinking. His scientific legacy does not lose its relevance no matter how fast time passes, but on the contrary, it creates a solid ground for new research.

___________________

Ochildiyeva Shahnoza is 1st-year student at Journalism and Mass Communications, Faculty of English Philology and Language Teaching, University of Uzbekistan

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Mukhlisa Eshpulatova

Mukhlisa Eshpulatova was born on November 30, 1996 in Samarkand. She graduated from the Faculty of Philology of Samarkand State University. She is a teacher.

Pain

Friend,

This world is not worth love

I loved without knowing it.

There are many ways, but

I haven’t found my way yet.

I hoped for lovely spring,

Happiness laughs like a bud,

Betrayal broke me hardly

The tallest tree in my heart,

I dreamed in the summer

That the sun listens to me

But my left heart is burning

With the cries of patience.

I gave my hand to autumn,

To be a salve for pain, dear.

They did not leave my soul,

Like I haven’t forgotten you either.

This world is not worth love.

***

Blessing

How am I living in this world, mother?

I realized that I was walking between blades.

I was confused by the fire, not the candle

It is difficult for me to save my life.

Understand, I did not rest in this world

I didn’t look at the candle like they did.

I looked at the sun looking for light

And burned from my soul to my wings.

I dived into the sea and couldn’t reach the shore

My pains flowed like a flood on paper.

I want to forget my sorrows for a day

My feelings burned like fire in my chest.

I was the one who couldn’t find definition

I expressed my weakness in words.

A moment that survives every test

I laughed at the worries of the world.

One day when I counted my life

So many sales did not overcome me.

Then I know the great God will say

Your mother’s blessing protected you.

Then I sit silently crying…

***

One Day… 

One day the road will end

I will go your way, my love

After all, on the roads without you

I struggled and did not find love.

Loneliness will end one day

I will hold the hand of happiness.

But that hearty dear friend

Will you quietly forget me?

Being without you will end one day

Pain doesn’t bother me anymore.

Then I will give you my

Longing heart, do you get it?

_____________________

The post Pain – Poetry from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Dilnura Rahmonova  

Born on March 20, 2003 in the village of Madir, Khanka district, Khorezm region, she is a 3rd year student of the Faculty of Philology of Urganch State University. Her poems are published in the anthology “The song of Uzbek homeland” in the American publishing house “Amazon”, “Ezgu so’z” newspaper, “Inja San’at” international electronic magazine, “Teacher” scientific and methodological magazine, Azerbaijan’s “Turkestan” newspaper, on the website kafkazh.com, and her stories were published in the anthology “The voice of Turkce in the world of Uzbek” by “Artshop” publishing house in Turkey. Her poems and stories have been translated into English, Turkish, and Azerbaijani languages. She is the winner of the Glotur life excellence medal of the international scientific magazine Glotur life. She is the author of the poetry collection Bakhtmunchaq. She is member of the international organization “Juntos por las Letras” of Argentina, “Iqra” of Pakistan and “Asih Sasami” of Indonesia, and a member of international organization’s “Creativity Forum For Culture, Arts and Peace” of Egypt.

Our song

I wish I had a song and you were my listener

I wish my days were filled with you day by day.

I wish the melody which was from the sea,

Letting every line be the text of our love.

I wish you could play the tune

You could take a picture of me making love.

If I listened, if you listened, if we cried,

I would like to be happy if you wanted.

When you left, I’d sing you a song

You’d love me twist my lips again.

You’d hug me, missing, remembering,

You’d love me, love me, love me

Yes, it’s true! I am your annoying song,

You love me, I love you.

Remember! Our song is only US

My heart asks for only you.

***

 Tulip…

To hold the arms of my destiny

Firmly,

Find me

Looking at the mountains, even on a rainy way,

Bring a bouquet of tulips.

You are the person the artist drew on my forehead!

Love me with your soul over and over again

My lips are red, the first time you see them,

Bring a hearty white tulip.

Perhaps,

We know each other

Maybe a stranger

But fate crossed our paths.

Having smiled from happiness in your hug,

Bring the happiest tulip.

Write one poem

From your heart

Let your words touch my heart.

So much…

Standing proudly in front of the flower holder,

Bring me your life!

_________________

The post OUR SONG – POETRY FROM UZBEKISTAN first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Guzaloy Salih

Guzaloy was born in 1984 in Khorezm region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She graduated in “Higher Literature” from the National University of Uzbekistan and also earned bachelors at the State Institute of Arts and Culture of Uzbekistan, and masters from University of Journalism and Mass Communications of Uzbekistan. Her published books include a poetry collection “Xayol so’qmog’i” (Imagination Trail – 2009), collection of short stories “Mehr rishtasi” (Bond of Love – 2010), and the collection of short stories “G’oliba” (The Winner – 2019). Her poems were included in the anthology “Sevgi fesli” (Season of Love) published in Azerbaijan. She is the author of the documentaries “Ogahiy”, “Asilaning jasorati” (Courage of Asila) and the short film “Hali urush tugamadi” (The war is not over yet) about the lives of children in Syria. She is Member of the Union of Writers of Uzbekistan.

A Girl from Town

Guzaloy SALIH

Afternoon.

We can already feel the flaming-hot breath of summer on our skin, even though the last days of spring are still with us. On the suri, under an elm, mum is quilting a duvet. Snowy is dozing in the shade of the house, tongue hanging out. Dad called him Snowy, though I don’t know why; but now we’re so used to calling him that. Once my friend Dilfouz said – almost with an expert air – that the dog should be named Shadow, or Dusty, or something like that, but not Snowy. I accepted what she said as entirely sensible and began calling the dog Shadow, for which dad, quietly and nicely, told me off.

To tell the truth, it’s always Dilfouz who discovers something new, while I’m always the one who has to hear about it secondhand. For example, not long ago, she picked up a weird game called Five Stones after visiting her aunt, and we’ve been playing it ever since, holding five polished pebbles the size of an apricot stone in our hands.

Usually, Dilfouz comes to our house early in the morning and stays till evening. Right now she’s waiting for me beside the suri, as usual, and every now and then I can hear the stones clicking in her hands. I’d already be playing with her if it was up to me, but I can’t: instead, I’m trying to thread a needle.

I’d just licked the thread’s tip to make the job easier when our neighbor, Aunt Bikajan came in. Normally, I don’t like this woman and her prattling, but right now she seems like the loveliest woman in the world.

“Godspeed you, dear”, she said, plodding heavily across the yard, panting because of her obesity.

“Oh welcome, dear!” said mum as she got up to greet her.

“I thought it would be nice to come round and have a chat with you, dear.”

“You did right” said mum.

Seizing the opportunity, I get up, silently signing to Dilfouz to go, and without anyone noticing, we slip away, into the far depths of the garden at the end of the yard, to our special playground under the canopy of a giant mulberry tree. Half of the mulberry branches, with fruits as big as your finger, are in our yard, while the other half hang over Mother Hadicha’s yard.

As soon as we get to our tree, Dilfouz takes a deep breath and throws herself onto the ground. I sit down next to her, sweeping my hand back and forth across the swollen earth. Clouds of thick dust waft up, into the warm air, and I wave them away with my other hand. Then I place the stones.

“Have you seen the town girl visiting Mother Hadicha?” says Dilfouz, goggling like she’s seeing something she’s never seen before. “My mum’s always saying how great she is and how she’s got lovely long shiny hair.”

She casts an inquiring look at me, and I’m picturing a fair-faced girl in a pink dress.

“Of course I have,” I say, half-boasting. “I see her every day.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it true that she’s got really long hair?”

“Yeah. Really long. Nearly as long as her dress, and her dress is down to here,” I get up and point below my knees. “She wears an apron over her dress while she’s doing housework.”

Dilfouz’s eyes widen. “Did you talk to her?”

“I didn’t, but…”

“What did you do? Did you play?” Clearly Dilfouz is getting impatient.

“We didn’t, but…” I pause, not sure if I should say, but I say it anyway “I see her every day.”

“How come?” says Dilfouz.

“Do you want to see her? I’ll show you.” I say.

I get up and start climbing the mulberry.

“What are you doing?” Dilfouz asks in astonishment.

Not looking back, I signal her to follow me. She doesn’t get why I’m climbing, but comes up after me anyway, clambering quickly up into the branches. I stop near the top of the tree, sitting comfortably in a shaded spot where the bigger branches meet. From here there’s a clear view of Mother Hadicha’s yard and I can see Mother Hadicha fanning herself. The town girl is sweeping.

“Is that her?” Dilfouz asks, squeezing in beside me.

“It is,” I whisper, as if the town girl can hear us, but she is too busy and too far away to hear what we’re saying.

Like a newly-married bride, she’s wearing a headscarf over her dark, thick, hair and we watch her till she’s finished sweeping. Then, she picks up a bucket, dips it into the trough and runs to the bottom of the yard, sprinkling water all over. Her hands are very agile, and every splash of water is evenly spread across the ground, leaving it gleaming in the sunlight.

The girl is half-way across the yard when out of nowhere a kitten appears and rubs itself up against her legs. She puts down the bucket and picks up the kitten, carefully and gently stroking its head. When she’s done, she puts it back down on the suri and carries on with her work. Once everything’s done, she wipes her hands on her apron, goes over to the washing hanging on the clothesline and with great care, takes down the clothes, piling them on top of each other. No doubt she did the washing too.

I’m still watching her deft movements intently when Dilfouz tugs my sleeve.

“I’m bored. Let’s get down and play.”

In no time, we’re back in our special place, playing our game. I don’t know exactly how long we’ve been playing, when suddenly I seem to hear my mum calling me.

“Was that my mum?” I say, looking at my friend.

She listens for a bit before shrugging her shoulders.

We get back to the game. Then, a little while later, I hear that voice again.

“It is my mum!” I say, jumping up and quickly running to the suri.

“Where have you been? Under that mulberry again?” mum says angrily.

I lower my head, frowning. I don’t like her telling me off in front of Aunt Bikajan. Of course, mum notices, and it just makes her more irritated with me.

“Go and fetch us some water to drink, instead of standing there frowning” she says.

I do as I’m told without a word. But when I come out of the kitchen, Mother Hadicha is coming through the gate.

“Ah, here you are. I’ve been looking for you.” she says to Aunt Bikajan.

“Yeah, here I am. I just came round to help out.” Aunt Bikajan smiles.

“And you do help, dear, but we don’t see you often enough.” mum says in a reproachful voice.

“The duvet is coming out so lovely.” Mother Hadicha says, sitting down next to mum on the suri. Then from under her arm, she produces a newly-made atlas dress. The dress glows in the sun.

“Oh, how gorgeous!” says aunt Bikajon, unable to hide her surprise. “To tell the truth, I didn’t think she would sew so well. She’s done it perfectly!”

“You’re right, it’s dazzling. Can she make one for me too?” mum says to Mother Hadicha, turning the dress a few times.

“Of course she can, dear neighbor. Rano never refuses such requests.

I immediately guess they’re talking about the town girl.

“See, she’s made one for Bikajan,” continues Mother Hadicha. “And from the next district, two young women came. Rano made a dress for them as well. And one for me, too. It’s so lovely; I’ll show you when you come to visit. In fact, she just finished Bikajan’s dress this morning, and now she’s cooking something for dessert. So I came to borrow your sieve. I’ve no idea where I put mine.”

“What’s she making? A cake?” said Aunt Bikajan.

“I don’t know. I think she said it’s a Turkish sweet, but I forget its name.” Mother Hadicha wrinkles her brows, then turns to me. “Do you know what it’s called?”

I shrug my shoulders in response, my eyes still glued to the dress.

Mum answers for me “Are you asking her? How can she know such things? She’s always playing.” she says, then turns her face to me. “Can you see what girls your age are doing? Go and bring the sieve!” she snaps.

I get the sieve from the kitchen and hand it to Mother Hadicha, running back to the mulberry while mum’s still busy with the visitors.

Next morning, Mother Hadicha brings our sieve back, along with a package of that Turkish sweet. I get my portion and fly to our mulberry tree to share the sweet with Dilfouz. The Turkish sweet with walnuts on top melts in my mouth.

In the evening, Aunt Bikajan’s house is filled with guests. The yard is swarming with children; everyone playing with kids the same age. The boys are either playing fighting games or hide-and-seek, while we girls are sitting ’round in a circle, beginning our favorite game: Five Stones. Suddenly Iqbol, one of Madrim the Teacher’s daughters, jabs her elbow into my side.

“Look! I saw that girl on TV, she won first place in Biology.” She points at the town girl, who is leaning against the gate, watching the children play.

“Really?” I said doubtfully. “Did they really show her on TV?”

“Yes, they did. My dad told me. He said she can also speak three languages, besides Uzbek.”

I’m looking back and forth at the town girl as I’m listening to my friend, feeling envious of the town girl’s success, and she seems to catch us talking about her. Her face flushes and she quickly looks away. But a few moments later, she’s looking over again. In her eyes there is something like misery mixed with hope. I suppose she wants to play with us, so I wave, inviting her over. Seeing me waving, the other girls start calling her, too. At first the town girl doesn’t know what to do, then she approaches us hesitantly.

“Would you like to join us?” Dilfouz asks her. The town girl gives a nod.

“Come and sit down next to me. Do you know how to play?”

“I don’t…” She says, blinking her eyes, as she sits down next to Dilfouz.

“Look at these.” Dilfouz shows her the stones in her hand. “There are five stones, that’s why the game is called Five Stones. At the moment I have six points and it’s my turn again. You’ll learn if you watch me. When your turn comes, you’ll be playing with one, ’cause you’re just beginning.”

Then Dilfouz goes on playing. Soon it’s the town girl’s turn. She picks up the stones, but stops, unsure of what to do. Dilfouz takes the stones from her and once more shows her how to play. The town girl gets the stones, but again stops.

“Let’s play that card game, instead.” Dilfouz suggests, seeing the girl’s state. Then she turns to her. “Do you know it?”

The town girl shakes her head.

“What about White Poplar?”

“No.”

“Run-between-us?”

“No.”

“Do you know Geese and Wolves at least?”

“I don’t…”

“Is there any game you do know?” Dilfouz says shortly, clearly getting annoyed.

The town girl is silent, looking at the stones in her hands. I feel very sorry for her.

“Let’s play Five Stones. It’s easier, and she can learn it gradually.” I say, looking at Dilfouz.

“Look!” I say to the town girl. “At first you play with one, then with two, then with three. After that with four. Then you play a final game. After that a super final. In the final game you throw the stones up in the air and then catch them on the back of your hand. The more you catch, the more points you get.  Understand?”

She’s looking at me like my classmate Sharif does, whenever I try to teach him Maths: he nods his head as if he understands, but he forgets everything as soon as we begin solving problems. Now this town girl is nodding her head like Sharif does.

We start playing. When it’s the town girl’s turn, she takes the stones, but again keeps still. I urge her to start, and after my rushing her, she separates the stones as if she’s going to play. Then she puts them together again, then separates them. Finally, she squeezes the stones so tightly that every vein in her hand stands out and the stones are screeching against each other.

The town girl thinks a while, shooting a questioning look at me and I’ve hardly opened my mouth when all the girls in our group begin to squeal at her. “How can’t you do it?..” “You must do it like that…” “Look! Like that!..” “You throw them up in the air…” “How can’t you learn it?..” “Have you ever played anything?..”

In the midst of the hubbub, the town girl looks first at this girl and then at that one, then she covers her face with her hands and cries out. Suddenly, she jumps up and rushes into the house, leaving us to watch, open-mouthed.

“Why’s she crying?” we say.

We look at each other and shrug our shoulders, understanding nothing.

____________________

Translated from Uzbek by Munira Norova     

The post A Girl from Town – A Short Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Alisher Fayzullaev

He was born in 1988 in Navoi, Uzbekistan; graduated from the Faculty of Journalism of UzMU, and writes and translates short stories.

Game

Like a wild child

Whistling

And lighting it on fire

An ant’s nest

I have played

I set my soul on fire

Very vile

Very powerless

Very insolent

Was my face

That I’ve known for a long time

Who do I look like?

There’s no one like me in the family!

It’s very nice

When your soul is

Like a soft toy

You squeeze it

You can crush your soul

Until you get bored

Of the new game

To the point of unconsciousness

Until you lose your sanity

Till your sanity comes back to life

You keep minting without a thought!

Then 

If all the truth and all the lies

That you have felt,

Consistently

In detail

Or manage to put it

On paper

And that vague mood

Put on yourself

Like an old jacket

In the heat of summer!

In any case

Trying to drown in a bathtub

Filled to the brim with water

Into which you can barely fit your feet

Pleasure

If it’s a game.

***

Empty

Empty

Room

Empty

Home

Empty

Dishes

Empty

Bowl

Cup

Teapot

Sink

Empty

Street

Cars

Shops

Trees

Air

People

Empty

Also

Imagination

Dreams

Wishes

Memory

Heart

Empty

Empty

Mind

Empty

Breast

Empty

Nerves

My world

Is going to be empty

Space is

Swallowing

Pulling

My legs

To the hell

My stars

All my hopes

Which look like light

Empty

Empty

Empty

***

Cold

Cold!

Cold…

January planted flower

At houses roof, where

Sun is trying to thaw

People`s coldness heart

But you

Pouring into coffee cigar`s smoke

Or have a smoke which smells coffee

You smile

You wait

Message

Message

***

Fear

I have always fear

It is a fear of loosing

Yesterday I lost

One of my key

Actually another

Was in my pocket

I could make it

But I try to find it

I called

I searched my pockets

It was no

Blackness

Then I found it on another clothes

Today I knowingly

Lost

Then I run

Searched all rooms

What was it?

How was it

Always I saved

Why I couldn’t find

I overthrow inside myself

There was nothing

Except the fear

Then I went to ditch

Ever I lost here my phone

I hurled

I chucked fear

Far away

For not to be afraid of losing!

________________

 Translated from Uzbek to English by Nodirabegim Ibrokhimova

The post GAME – Poetry from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Peach-free dessert

By Mokhira Eshpulatova

Mohina was slowly going towards her favorite café being so busy with her own thoughts. The café was not far from the city center, it was quiet and cozy, and most importantly, it was the only place where you could be alone with yourself and your dreams. She often stayed here for a long time, running away from work and people. But this time the purpose of her visit was quite different. She was meeting her fiancé, who has been the subject of many conversations in her family for the past few months. She wasn’t so happy to come here although she chose this “dating” place herself.  By the stone-paved hallway of the cafe, she came across with Diyorbek who was holding his mother’s hand and walking and jumping around the puddles. Diyorbek and Mohina were good friends although there was a big difference between their ages.

“Sister Mohi!” Cried Diyorbek with joy, “Sister Mohi, so glad to see you!”

Mohina greeted Diyorbek’s mother with a sincere, smile.

“I’m glad to see you, my little hero,” she said, pinching the boy’s face lightly.

“I’ve read the fairy tales you gave me,” said Diyorbek with a special pride.

“Oh, Diyorbek, how did you finish reading so fast?”  Did you really read it by yourself, or are you cheating to get the binoculars I promised sooner? – She said, winking at the boy’s mother.

“I’m not, it’s true!”  – Confidence shone in his eyes.

“Well, tell me, how many fairy tales are in that book?”

Diyorbek tried to count with his tiny fingers several times, his lips were whispering and remembering the names of the fairy tales.

“Sister Mohi, there were many.”  I can’t tell for sure, because I didn’t count.

“I trust you, my little friend, their number doesn’t matter, actually.”  So, do you like the fairy tales?

“Yes!”

“Which one?”

“Aaaall”

“You like them all?”  But they all are so different.

“No, sister, all fairy tales end with saying ‘Happily ever after. So they are similar if we consider that they all have a happy end.

“Yes, you smart boy, yes,” she said, gently stroking the boy’s head. But that time she was thinking about something else.

Mohina said goodbye to Diyorbek and told him that she would bring the gift with her next time.  “What a wonderful boy, I wish I had a son like him,” she thought and unintentionally smiled.

After walking for a while, Diyorbek turned at her and spoke.

“Sister Mohi, by the way, our cafe is closed today. Don’t lose your time”.

“Why?”  Mohina was surprised, and at the same time she felt relieved

“Someone has booked the whole café for today,” added Diyorbek’s mother.

Mohina glanced at the cafe, thanked them, and continued on her way.

She arrived exactly 40 minutes late for the scheduled date. Jasur, stood in front of her as a symbol of respect. It was too difficult to guess his mood from his appearance

“Hello, good afternoon.  I’m sorry I’m late …”

“I know,” he said coldly, “don’t try to explain, Mohina.”  When a woman sits in front of a mirror, she doesn’t notice how much time has passed. Probably it’s because they don’t value their time and that’s why they don’t see the importance of the time for others too. What can I say, please sit down.

“How good, then, this foolish date will not last long. Appreciating this gentleman’s time, and admitting his guilt for this rudeness, I will say good bye and leave,” thought Mohina, sitting at a tastefully decorated table.

“You look very sensible and polite,” she said with a smile, “but you’re not right.  I’m coming from work, and if even I was coming from home, I would not spend my time sitting in front of the mirror for the one who does not deserve.”

They looked at each other.  Both of these looks had the same meaning: the score is 1 = 1. Jasur felt angry and called the waiter. A young man, who had been waiting for him, arrived quickly.

“Anyway, you women, are all same,” said Jasur, trying to be serious.

“If you think so, then why are you dating girls to choose one?”

“Because, sometimes I don’t like them, sometimes they don’t like me.”

This answer satisfied Mohina. She smiled thinking that today’s lunch would not be so boring.

“So, why “sometimes” girls don’t like you. You look like a good guy – she asked with a smile as she was looking through the menu which the waiter just brought.

“You don’t know me, don’t jump to conclusions,” he replied firmly.

Mohina was surprised seeing so many different meals in the menu. She never thought that she could find here so many kinds of servings. “What will we order?” she said.

“Anything you want,” he said, opening his arms wide

“There is nothing I want here” said Mohina, keeping her eyes on the menu

“Didn’t you want a prince on a white horse?”  Jasur gave the girl a testy look

“I don’t eat cake.”  I don’t like creamy things at all,” Mohina said, closing the menu.

Jasur suddenly burst out laughing. Mohina, realizing that the joke was deliberately aimed to bother her, she decided not to react.

“It’s becoming more and more pleasant to talk to you,” said Jasur

“For me too!” She replied as she looked around the café, which had changed completely.

“So men are just like sweets?”

“They are similar, they both cause addiction and harm for health. You better order something to eat for yourself because you will pay for it anyway. What am I saying, am I not exaggerating?” She thought.  For some reason, Mohina felt very uncomfortable, and she was encouraged by only one thing – the carelessness and arrogance of the young man.

“Well, if you didn’t like anything here, I’ll take care of it myself.  Well, we don’t want something too pricy, don’t we?

“Yes, but it should also be suitable to your reputation.”

“You are right,” Jasur approved her for the first time.

Waiter, who was waiting for the order, caught the girl’s attention.

“I’ve never seen you here before.”  Have you recently started work?

“Yes,” he said, and quickly looked at Jasur as if he wanted to say, “What can I say to her?”  The shrewd girl understood this.

“I want to recommend you something new,” said Jasur, trying to distract her. Mohina wanted to ask something else, but she stopped.  Everything was as strange as the young man sitting in front of her.

“I am like a stranger who has never seen the food of the West which is proud of the high level of science and culture in the society nor the delicate food and sweets of the East. So I think the dessert will surprise you in particular. I discovered it for myself on one of my long trips. It looks and tastes like a peach, and it is named after the fruit. But the most interesting thing is that it is actually a peach-free dessert. So it can be eaten by people like you who are allergic to peaches.

A thought flashed through Mohina’s mind: “How did he know that?” The young waiter accepted the orders.

– I guess you have a problem with your nerves, – said Mohina, thinking of something else and trying to hide her feelings.

– I forgot that you had lectures on psychology at the University. Thank you for reminding me.  Yes, I’m a little nervous, and it’s because of you, of course.  But at least I can imagine how Kant * felt before he canceled his wedding.

– Why didn’t you do what he did? –  She wanted to know the real purpose of the young man.

– I still want to do that. I think, I don’t need to remind you that this genius, who valued his time very much, left after waiting for the bride to come and told that precious words. He stopped and began tapping on the table with his fingers.

– Then why are we wasting our time? Tell what you want to tell.

– Why should we hurry? Anyway, I have no any chance to be a follower of the moral teachings that Kant created – he said, and thought as if he remembered something.  Then quickly “woke up”

– What were we talking about?  He said.

– About the peach – said Mohina, looking at him intently.

– Before that.

– I don’t remember.

– That’s the first point we have in common. I also don’t remember unnecessary things.

– This is a very useful habit.

– I don’t think you’ll remember me tomorrow.

– Probably.

– Let’s drink on the honor of our pleasant and useful habit of forgetting!

– I have no objection.

They quietly poured their glasses and drank the precious red wine. That “drink” was too much for Mohina.  Her lips just slightly touched the glass.

– If I were a writer or a poet, –  said Jasur, as he looked at the shine which was falling out the window into the wine in the glass, –  I would say that I wish I were in the place of that wine and be drunk by the warmth of your lips. Even if you don’t like it.

– If I’m not mistaken, you are an economist. So, it would be better for you to talk about the price of this wine.

– God, what do you mean by saying, “If I’m not mistaken’?”  After all, you know a lot about my profession, my job, my home.  Isn’t that so? Don’t be so humble pretending you don’t have any knowledge of that!

– Yes, I’m partly aware of this, but not as completely as you say. But I can assure you that it doesn’t matter to me.  What matters to me is the personal qualities and outlook of my future spouse.  And, of course, his attitude towards me.

“How would you feel if I openly expressed my feelings for you?  “I know so much about you that you can’t even imagine,” Jasur thought as he stared into the girl’s blue eyes for the first time.  “But… I don’t know how you would react to my childish cowardly, insanely stubborn and fiery love.  I do not know!  Mohina, if only you know that I fell in love with you at first sight… No! It’s good that you don’t know.  After all, if women find out that you love them, they will start to look at you with the same arrogance that a commander looks at the castle he has conquered.  On rare occasions, a lover’s sincere, pure, sincere expression is paid off.  And I’m a risk taker, and my whole life, my whole business, is a risk, but I’m afraid to take the risk, to be honest.  For a man, getting married can be the biggest mistake of his life or the right thing to do.  Because after the wedding, women want to rule their husbands like their eldest son.  Even if you are not yet married to her, you will have to run after her and endure her stupid desires and whims.  Even if they are not good at other things, they are very smart at guessing such tricks. It all starts with the day you opened up your feelings in front of a woman.  Yes, I know it, but…  Oh God, how beautiful eyes…so deep and blue just like the ocean. I wanted to sink into this ocean as I saw her for the first time.

– You think, it doesn’t matter how rich I am? Nonsense! –  He said, trying to gather his thoughts.

– Yes, – said Mohina calmly

– That’s good though

– It’s not up to you.

– Of course, but I’m rich and I’m meeting with you.

– You’ve mentioned your wealth a lot, and you’re obviously very proud of that.

– I’m not rich enough to be proud, but I have the wealth that I have never counted

– I thought that the job of economists is to count money and make everything into money.  Don’t you calculate?

– You are right, but not fully. The reason I don’t calculate my money or wealth is that the day I find out their exact value, they start to lessen … You know, ma’am, love is just like that.

–  How?  She wondered.

– When we know the price of the abstract feeling of love, it loses its value.  Something that is obvious isn’t interesting, and something that isn’t interesting is boring. The things which are surrounded by a mystery in the distance, are considered as valuable. That is why so many people deify love.

Mohina knows how important love is in a person’s physiological and psychological life. She is aware of many different conceptions, even some of them are contradictory to each other. But this is the first time she has come across with such a peculiar concept. Some of the guy’s words clarified the misunderstandings that Mohina had just been interested in.

“I’m amazed at your thoughts, just like the food you ordered.”

The girl just gestured to the antique dish that had just been delicately brought to the table and asked:

– What’s that?

– Roasted meat, he said, as if to say, “Don’t you know that?”

– I see that, what animal’s meat is it?

– No one but the cook can tell you exactly about it.  But I ordered a pheasant’s meat.  Aren’t you a vegetarian, by any chance?

–  Of course not.

– Then help yourself. Pheasant meat is very tasty if you cook it with the right recipe.  I usually go for hunting a pheasant and cook it myself.  As someone who is aware of this skill, I can assess the mastery of the cook.

– You said you knew about hunting and cooking, didn’t you?

– Of course!  My friends admit that I am a real marksman, but my cooking was a complete lie. I just cooked pheasant meat once in the woods.  Just like primitive people.

– I don’t know how that peacock tasted, but this one is delicious. The taste is much better than it seems.

– Yes, exactly! You can’t say anything about food until you’ve eaten it.

– And, about people until you’ve lived together!

– Mohina, you know, people who have lived together for a lifetime still cannot understand each other.

– I don’t think so.

– What do you think?

– It is possible to get to know a person by his behavior, daily habits and words for a certain period of time. Science has already proven this.

– How long do you think it will take you to get to know me?”

Mohina looked him in the eye with a smile.

– One hour is enough, – she said laughing.

– Well, I was afraid that it would take more time.

– Why waste time researching and waiting when everything is so obvious?”

– What do you mean by that?

– I agree to marry you! – She said simply and clearly. Jasur was shocked as if he was right under the flash.  And he lost his temper.

– Why are you answering so quickly?  Maybe take a moment to think?

– I’ve thought for years, and now I can go into practice, she said with a smile.

– Then give me some time.

– Why, to suppress your excitement? –  Mohina joked.  However, Jasur was not able to understand this.

– To think.

“What?! Time to think?? What am I doing! After all, this is one of the happiest moments of my life.  After all, this is the day I longed for, and I have been living in fear of rejection.  If I break something right now or put things off, I will never be able to forgive myself. ”

“I think the 40 minutes you waited for me and those minutes were enough to think.  But, I cannot do anything to make you rethink if you have changed your mind. So I’m ready to leave without waiting for the dessert you praised.”

Mohina stood up to get ready to leave, and Jasur got frightened seeing that.

– No, what do you say? I want you to marry me.  I even want it very, very much.  Words cannot describe how happy I am.  It’s just that you rushed me out of this unexpected happiness.

– After all, all of your plans were made to hear my answer of “yes”, weren’t they? She said with a mysterious and seductive look.

– Did you know everything? (Did I make a mistake and let her know about my feelings?)

– Yes, from the very beginning. Peach-free desert has exposed you.

Jasur bowed his head a little, laughed, and leaned back in his chair.

– What can I do now?  As you said, my plans are over, – he said, feeling relieved as if a mountain had fallen from his shoulders.

– Let’s start from the beginning.

– From where?

– From there, where I was going to tell you why I was late.

– I agree.

_______________

 Mokhira Eshpulatova is an Uzbek writer. She was born in Khatirchi district of Navoiy region, Republic of Uzbekistan on October 25, 1995. She graduated from Navoiy Pedagogical University. By profession she is a teacher of Uzbek language and literature.

* Immanuel Kant (1724- 1804) was a German philosopher, one of the founders of German classical philosophy. He refused to marry his fiancée, who was late for his wedding.

The post Peach-free dessert – A Short Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

PETRICHOR

By Jumanazar Yuldash

‘I beg you, please never leave me alone…’

He unintentionally whispered as he held his wife’s hands both firmly and in a kindly way, and rubbed them on his eyes. Having heard this crying-like exclamation the patient who used to be groaning a minute before regained consciousness. She caressed hair of her husband who was kissing and rubbing her hand on his forehead.

‘Oh how can I quit you, my madman?’

The man who went into ecstasy of seeing his wife’s consciousness kissed her forehead.

‘Just recently doctor was here. He said that you would not wake up in a short time. However, thank God, my prayers seem to be reached to him’.

A weak smile appeared on the pale face of woman. Afterwards for some reason she sighed and volley of thoughts conquered her mind.

‘You… never ask for my recovery’ she said using all strength she possessed.

‘Why you are uttering these words?’ the man shocked.

‘Because… I do not know why but for some reason God does not gave us what we asked for but the very opposite one. For instance, now you absolutely want me to live but maybe until tomorrow I will have been perished and fairies will be dancing around my spirit in the heavens’.

‘What should I do then? See, you are in a bad situation and I simply cannot keep calm without paying attention. At least I must pray for your sake’.

‘You would better… ask for my death’.

The situation was really uncomfortable for the husband and even it cannot be described with the help of words unless the reader have been in such a situation. Inclining his head, he was completely dumbfounded by the last utterance. From his condition it was possible to know that he was imagining his life alone. Finally, he managed to say a word:

‘Do not repeat this anymore…’

Apparently, woman suddenly realized that she started talking about unhappiness, therefore she did all her best to explain what was the real meaning of her words.

‘I assume that you misunderstood me. I do not choose passing away, contrarily, I want to live, only to live happily with you, my lover, and I can imagine my future in the dim: you and I shall hand-in-hand go to forest after the rain to collect mushrooms, with a wide smile in our faces. Yes, I can see the very scene! Yes!

A light, tired but happy smile appeared on her pale white face which had been revived a bit but still showing traces of illness. With the most sudden and hopeful gaze she stared outside the window. Due to the fact that her place was inconvenient to look outside, she intended to see the view standing up on her feet. Unfortunately, hands of her husband did not let her move.

‘Please, look at the window. Haven’t it rained recently?’

‘It haven’t rained since you are in bed. Why are you asking?’

‘Honestly, I wish it was raining right now and we could go to collect mushrooms together. But I don’t know the reason. Give me a word, please, shall we go to the forest when I recover from illness?’

‘I promise you, darling. We will go as soon as you are well, but please, get over your illness as soon as possible. Your contemporary condition is the most unbelievable pain for me, darling’.

‘Why you are always being pessimistic, as I said you, I will never let you stay in this world alone. It is not my fate. Let us change the theme, I don’t know why but I am really eager to converse with you’.

Now for the first time a couple of loving hearts felt the initial sweetness of ecstatic moments after surviving prolonged days of misfortune and these moments seemed not to come to an end forever. While dreaming about endless delight a man always lets his painful breath out unintentionally; the whole world, especially, his lovely friends look very gorgeous to his eyes and at that time he will be ready to do anything for his friends.

Now the husband was staring at his wife with the same happy and positive gaze that he suddenly realized it was impossible to stop himself from expressing his feelings.

‘A conversation?’ he questioned holding her hands firmly. ‘Darling, if only you had known that not only conversing with you, but deserving your attention also is the biggest joy for me. Oh, if only you had known that, dear!’

He put palm of his woman on his chest as if he was intending to let her listen his heart beats. But woman pulled his hand back with a quick act as if she touched the fireplace and stared at him smiling mildly.

Eyes could not help looking at each other’s deepest sides and lovers smiled at the same time.

‘I know, even I know very well and every morning I thank God that I am not a blind one. Do you know why I do so? Because God had not deprived me to see you’.

‘Oh darling… We are extremely happy! Have you ever thought whether there are others who are as much contented as we are? If yes, how many of them exists? Very few or so many in quantity?’

‘To my mind, probably there are not any blissful couple except us’.

They both laughed with joy. Husband stared at somewhere so long. Those who had tasted the real happiness and those who had realized what a magic it is usually dwell in the same way: with a smile in their lips, staring at one particular point as if they are obliged to look at that side forever or like a thinker who aimed to reveal all the secrets hidden in that tiny area of room they gaze. In this period of staring, for sure, others’ opinions on happiness seem very interesting to them.

‘For you what is the happiness itself?’ he asked keeping on staring at the same point.

After a while he accidentally recognized what he had said, so he felt somehow embarrassed from his question.

‘You may consider that question as a ridiculous and childish one. But please, do not be shocked, do not be disappointed from me for giving you this kind of weary question. Simply this question came to my mind and I transformed it to my speech. You do not need to answer it’.

‘No, I answer with all my heart. The only thing surprised me is your embarrassment. Because this question should be asked from everyone. It is the greatest question in this world. I commended it a lot, sorry, now I have to answer to this properly. For me every breathe I take is happiness, my ability to cry, to laugh and to see is the great joy, and in general, my existence is happiness. Everything related to me in this world is delight. Breathing in the fresh air, listening to the song of birds, lying underneath the initial beams of sunlight, watching the flight of beautiful butterflies, smelling lovely perfume of flowers – all things I have mentioned is happiness, I even consider pain and sorrow as a type of joy’. Having finished her speech, woman looked at her partner who was analyzing his thought. At that moment she found herself eligible to repeat this question. ‘So, how would you answer it yourself?’

‘I can only state my answer in short. Your existence and your belonging to me is happiness. Right, I am madly devoted to you, darling. I adore you even though you hate me as you hated the most awful man in the world. Maybe my words seem very simple to you. But I want you to know this: you are second half of me. I cannot be perfect without you’.

Woman broke into laughter unintentionally.

‘You spoke like…’ she said and paused for a while. She understood that continuation of her words would harm her husband’s soul.

‘Like what?’ he asked seriously. His facial expression revealed that he was eager to hear the rest of her speech.

‘You spoke like a fake lover!’

Woman smiled sweetly. Her husband once looked at her and then he aimed his glaze at the window.

‘It is still cloudy…’ he said with a sick voice.

His spouse was still staring at him regretfully. Husband had already realized this, however he went on looking at the window intentionally.

‘Look at me’ said she. And he obeyed. ‘I let you down, I know…’ she held his hands and kissed them. ‘Sorry… Please, forgive me…’

He, as well, replied to his wife by holding her hands.

‘No, I am not upset with you. I never be sad because I am not allowed to be sad’ he smiled to prove his words. ‘Do you know, it was not your words, but my own behavior offended me – My attitude and ridiculous sample-like words seemed to you like an artificial one, so it is my own fault, not yourself. I cannot hide waves of feelings I have. I really want to express all the words I possess in my heart. I want to share all the joy and all the sorrow I have with you. Therefore, I reveal you my secrets’.

‘Forgive me for offending your soul, I am so sorry…’

‘No! Please do not say that feel sorry. I am not allowed to be angry with you. It is sin’. He kept a bit silence. ‘Do you know, God lavished us with a great joy? All we have to do is to deserve this joy and enjoy it. Now imagine, if you carry on quarreling and offending each other without any reason, if we do not stop asking for forgiveness, how God will again bless us?  He would be upset from our ungrateful attitude. I am afraid of this… I am afraid of living these happy days no more. I am worried that God might possibly retake what he gave us. If I tell you, I have read a book yesterday. The author of that book was a person who denied the God. A minute, please…’ he quickly stood up and took a book with red cover from the shelf. ‘It consisted of such frustrating things that I shocked while reading. Surely it is written by a murderer of happiness’ he started reading the lines which he highlighted before:

“I cannot spend all my life fearing of Great Creator who supposed to be able to deprive me from happiness I have. I would rather live unhappily or die. God wants us to live in fear. He is an egoist. The best way is to disobey his rules and to pass away” – ‘I cannot read more. These are words of a wicked person who teaches to quit bright side and leads people to the darkness. Can it be really true that people follow him and accept his thoughts?  Isn’t it a whole of malice, it is? How this person, whose words stink the smell of secularism and materialism, can be able to someone’s attitude towards the life. God will never punish those who are not grateful of their happiness. God is the most generous one. He only wants to give people all the best things because whoever in this world want to harm his or her own children? He will forgive all of our sins if we understand and feel sorry for what we have done. He will even forgive this atheist author, if he feels really sorry. The greatest sin is to criticize openhanded God. But why he does not understand this?!’

‘Can you give me that book, please?’ suddenly she said.

She took the book, and looked for a while. Flipping through the pages she started to read some pieces of it. The more she read, the more sadness and horror appeared on her face… Having read the last page, she closed the book and whispered something. She passed the book to her husband and turning her head back, said: ‘Let it burn…’

Man gazed at her astonishing, but he did what she ordered: he threw the book away to the fire. It started to burn. Then he looked back at her. The woman accidentally became apathetic to everything, it was difficult to know exactly where she was looking at or what she was thinking about.

‘What you asked for while whispering?’ he asked. ‘I hope you haven’t asked for the death of author’ he laughed.

Now, hearing this sudden question she gained her consciousness and glared at him seriously. Man felt embarrassed at his weird and unlucky joke.

‘How can you assume that? How do I dare to ask for someone’s death?’

‘No, I was only joking, sorry’.

‘You said that you were not allowed to be upset from me. This rule not only works for you, but also for me. Therefore, no need to say sorry. I asked… I asked the God to forgive this sinner. I think, we don’t have to hate these kind of people. Contrarily, we must feel sorry for them. How cannot you feel sorry for those who failed to find the right path? They resemble to the yellow autumn leaves. If an evening breeze blows a bit, they abandon their branches. The reason why they sink in the ocean of sins is that they have lack of patience and ambition’.

Painful silence filled the room. They both were sadly thinking about something. At first husband recognized that there was inconvenience and found it very annoying.

‘Why we are keeping silent. See, we are happy people. Sadness does not fit us. Why not we cheer up or remember something. Because we are not this kind of individuals. What is the difference between us and unhappy people if we carry on keeping silence?’

‘You are right. We got even much sadder. But these kind of people…’

‘Okay, please, let’s stop discussing them. Because they are not related to our life in any way. Why not we look back on any of our more delightful times which are worth to remember. There is no need to think about this kind of issues while we have lots of sweet memories, I think. On the other hand, the world is getting much darker and darker day by day. All we have to do is to burn and tear up this darkness conquering the world.

‘Yes’ she said smiling.

Her husband did all his best to find any worth-to-remember story they had. It did not take a long time. He found what he wanted but it was not a story they both took part in but he was very impatient to tell her something he had had in her mind for long time. Unfortunately, he had no suitable situation to retell it. Now it was the very right time he wanted so he took his wife’s hands in order to let his words out.

‘Actually, I was going to speak about the funniest moments we had. But now I want to tell you something I was dwelling on for a long period. Do you still remember once we made a trip to mountain? At that time something unknown happened and weather turned bad. So as to find a dry shelter we had climbed up to the shanty on the peak of mountain. A wrinkled old man with grey hair had welcomed us. Even though he was not extremely glad to have guests, he did not seem so sad as well from our visit. He invited us to drop in. He even gave us a cup of tea and to towel to dry ourselves and took his sit in front of fireplace and went on reading a book. While we were sipping tea and conversing with each other he had glanced at us so many times both secretly and openly. When we talked about something interesting, he also had smiled and I think, our conversation was more intriguing than book for him. In order to behave as a polite man, he was pretending himself as if he was not listening to our discussion, however my eyes had recognized it already. For some reason the old man sighed while listening to our nostalgic memories. He put the book and gazed at hearth for a long time. He light of the fire revealed that he was hiding his tear drops on his face. He was whimpering with no sound. (You hadn’t recognized it.) At that time, to be honest, I felt very unusually embarrassed. I felt so sorry for an old man that… I contemplated that my future will duplicate this old man’s fate. Do you believe in seeing one’s future or past on another one’s life? I had seen… Then it ceased to rain. We abandoned his old house expressing our gratitude. I overthought about him. But I had not searched for him until I knew that I had to see him again. I had revisited that are to find him and investigated everywhere we stepped on. Unfortunately, I could find neither him nor his shanty. I don’t know why, but I wanted to tell you this…’ – he stared at somewhere for a while – ‘I… I love you to death!’ As he was going to cry, put his face into the embrace of his wife, – ‘I… I…’ – he could not help himself stop crying, – ‘Why? Why?’

Early drops of the tear appeared inside the woman’s eyes.

‘It will never happen… Trust me, dear. Because I have told you…’

Suddenly thunderstorm broke out. Thick black clouds veiled the whole sky.

Woman hopefully looked at the window.

‘Look, my dear, it is raining…’

‘Yeah, it is raining’ he also stared hopefully.

They both glared at window for long, until it stopped raining. Despite they both were in tears they were trying to hide it from each other.

It was raining no more.

‘Can you help me stand up?’ she could not do it by herself so she asked for a help.

She went to the door counting on the shoulders of her helper. While walking she looked at her partner. He was trying to hide his eyes for some reason. His eyes were weeping. She paused for a while, wiped his eyes and smiled with sorrow. Then she took her basket.

‘Shall we go?’ she said happily.

‘Let’s go!’ her husband as well said in the same way, forgetting all the pains and tortures of his soul.

Laughing happily, they stepped into the wood spreading dewy petrichor.

__________________

(Translated from Uzbek into English by Shokhrukh Usmonov)

About the author

Jumanazar Yuldash was born in 1997 in the Khiva district, Kharezm, Uzbekistan. He is an undergraduate student of Philology and Uzbek Language faculty at Urgench State University. His stories were published on the pages of national press. His works were included in several collections such as “Song of the Rivers” (Jilgʻalar qoʻshigʻi), “Common hearts” (Mushtarak dillar), “Garden of Creativity” (Ijod gulshani). He is the prize winner of the creative festival “Spring of Uzbekistan II” in Khiva in 2019 and author of the collection of short stories named “Petrichor” (Yomgʻirdan soʻng).

The post PETRICHOR – A Short Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

ROBOT LOVE

By Ozod Moumin Hoja

I was walking in the park with my girlfriend and thought: “Who are biorobots or androids, how did they get their name from the suggestion of one science fiction writer? They are practically indistinguishable from people…”

– Why are you silent? – Hilola asked, – can you hear me?

I noticed a bench nearby and answered:

– Of course, I can hear you. Let’s sit there! – I offered.

She agreed and we sat down.

This was our next date. I wasn’t in a very good mood.

– You don’t want to talk to me? – Hilola’s voice trembled. – Maybe you don’t like me anymore?

– No, it’s not, honey! How can I stop loving those agate-black eyes, those ruby lips, all your beauty? – I smiled widely.

– Are you exaggerating again? Be serious. I love you very much.

I froze. For the first time, Hilola told me the words that I was waiting for and that I was so afraid of. I have loved her for a long time, ever since I saw her in the reading room. I had no right to approach her, because I did not belong to myself, but to the cause. Yet I struggled to hear those fatal words. What’s next?

– I love you! – She repeated and fixed her eyes on me.

I don’t know how it happened, but my arms wrapped around the thin figure, and my lips formed for a kiss. However, Hilola behaved unexpectedly. She slipped out of the embrace and shyly straightened her light dress.

I kept accepting emptiness.

– Come on, I need to go home! – She said and smiled mischievously.

– Let’s go! – I sighed.

We wandered along the river. The bright rays of the sun made their way through the dense crowns of poplars and fell in blinding spots on the lawns. Drops of water on the freshly watered grass flared with multi-colored sparks. The fiery red rubies in Hilola’s earrings swayed, and the sun’s rays sparkled there too. Her delicate body shone through the silk fabric of her dress. I didn’t know what lay ahead of me. The thought that I could lose this extraordinary girl drove me crazy.

– You have a divine beauty, and in addition you are smart! I can’t imagine my life without you! – I said.

She smiled and looked at me admiringly.

– I can kill myself if I can’t be with you. Believe me! – I said again.

She lowered her eyes, looked around and suddenly said:

– Look! Ice cream!

An ice cream machine was installed nearby. “Here it is, female logic,” – I thought, – “what is the connection between words of love and ice cream?” However, I had to press the buttons to remove two filled waffle tubes from the ice cream machine.

We ate ice cream and looked at each other. I knew for sure that I was experiencing the same sensations that Hilola is experiencing. Sweet ice cream melted in the mouth, cooling the palate and teeth. The sun blinded my eyes, burned his face and hands. A sultry haze swayed over the square; a barely noticeable breeze stirred the leaves of the trees.

All this made me feel like a real person. My perception of the world was identical to that of a human. Because I was an android. Hilola was human.

…That’s why I knew our love had an unhappy ending.

***

I had a date with Hilola again. I was waiting for her by the river. Willows grew along the shore, their branches touching the water. Fast jets strove to carry them away, but again and again elastically returned. Round poplar leaves along the avenue fluttered and jingled like silver coins.

Dark thoughts swirled in my head. After that meeting with Hilola, I hesitated for a long time, but nevertheless informed the Androidology Center about the hopeless situation in which I found myself. My mentor Jalol-aka was surprised at first. It turns out that so far none of the many androids living on earth and in space have had such difficulties. The maximum that they experienced for people was a feeling of friendship and brotherly love. Jalol-aka promised to deal with my initial data and inform me in a timely manner. To be honest, his calmness annoyed me a little.

– What should I do? – I asked.

– Work as before.

– But I love her!

– Does it affect your work?

– Naturally.

– With what sign?

– Efficiency increased by thirty-six percent.

– Okay, keep working.

– But she’s human and I’m an android.

– I don’t see a big problem. You must give up the girl.

Of course, he was right. However, I was torn apart by conflicting feelings. According to the calculations, there should be no difference between me and people. Everything was algorithmic. But androids weren’t supposed to fall in love…

Suddenly, narrow, warm palms covered my eyes.

– Hilola?

– It’s amazing, – she laughed with a happy laugh, – how did you recognize me?

– Because you are the only one in the world.

– I’m a little late, sorry. Met up with a school friend and chatted.

– I wish you hadn’t come at all, – I said grimly.

– What jokes are you having today, – Hilola remarked casually. – Oh, look! Do you see a man coming? I think it is android.

– How do you know them?

– He has a very perfect figure. Yes, and his gait is also too correct.

I was very surprised. Not many people knew about this.

– How do you know?

– Did I not say that my father works at the Androidology Center? He is a great scientist.

– His name is Jalol-aka? – I suggested jokingly.

– You’re like Sherlock Holmes! Hilola laughed. – My father was identified immediately.

The river was still churning. The branches of narrow-leaved willows were elastically bent. Evening was approaching. I hesitated: should I tell her or not talk about myself? But I made up my mind:

– Hilola, I have something to tell you…- I said sullenly.

– Oh, how scary! – She didn’t change her tone.

– Don’t laugh, this is serious… Hilola, I’m not a human, I’m an android.

– Is this another joke? You recently said that you arrived in a time machine from the thirtieth century!

– I’m very serious.

– You’re kind of weird today…

– Once I should have said this: I am an android and your father created me.

Hilola looked into my eyes carefully. She still didn’t feel this unexpected information. Suddenly she smiled.

– This is good!

– Why are you so happy?

– We have a common father! – She answered and immediately became confused. – But doesn’t that mean we’re brother and sister?

– So what?

– A brother cannot marry a sister, – Hilola said thoughtfully.

– What kind of marriage? – I exploded. – Hilola, understand, I’m not a man! An artificial heart beats in me, artificial blood flows in my veins!

Hilola didn’t understand. Or her soul did not want to understand. She looked at me with huge black eyes, her black hair falling over her shoulders like willow branches. The fiery rubies glittered in the earrings like drops of real blood. Her beauty drove me crazy.

– I love you, – Hilola said softly.

– And I love you too… You can’t even imagine how! – I whispered. – But you must understand that I am a robot. You loved me as a human, but I’m an android, you know?

– Never! I love you and don’t want to hear about anything else! I don’t care if you’re human or android. Most importantly, my soul wants only you! You are no different from a human. So, you are human!

I wondered why she didn’t understand all this. Does she really love me that much? Does this mean I can still be with her?

– Hilola! You are beautiful not only on the outside, but also on the inside. I also want to be with you for the rest of my life.

I believed in these words of mine, as well as in the fact that the Center for Androidology, in the end, would forbid me to contact a human girl.

– You must do everything so that we can be together and live happily! – She answered.

– Okay, I’ll talk to the Androidology Center, – I replied hopelessly and looked at her.

She smiled happily. Her prostate and naiveté pierced my artificial heart like an arrow. And in response, out of hopelessness, I jumped off the bench and, being in clothes, rushed into the water. I surfaced after thirty meters and, without looking back, quickly swam obliquely across the river.

***

I don’t know whether to cry or laugh. Such metamorphoses occurred only in skillfully written ancient dramas. I would never have believed what happened, but Jalol-aka showed the work logs and laboratory data. In short, it went like this.

Having understood my initial data, Jalol-aka requested old files from the archive. An impartial computer showed on the screen the program and method by which I was created. At first glance, everything looked plausible. However, a deeper analysis showed that even a frog cannot be grown according to the above program. After a long search found his “creator”. It turned out to be a rather ancient old man, now living somewhere in New Zealand. The old man admitted that he tried to develop a new direction in androidology, but his capabilities were lower. And then went on falsification. Just at this time, his wife, that is, my mother, died in childbirth. He presented his son as the result of his own scientific research.

Do you represent my condition? On the one hand, I was shocked, in the blink of an eye, I turned from an android into a human. On the other hand, it turned out that my creator was not Jalol-aka, but a falsifier of science. I was ashamed that my father was a scoundrel. Jalol-aka reassured me as best he could. He said that my father was not so much a criminal as an unfortunate man. That he has already been punished, and the son is not the defendant for the father. In the end, there is one dazzling side of what happened, next to which everything fades. I am the same person as Hilola! Now nothing stands between us!

I was perfectly happy. I almost asked Jalol-aka for permission to marry his daughter. But over time, I thought that we should do it together with Hilola. And ran to the meeting place.

Hilola was already waiting. For the first time since we met, she came first on a date. We rushed to each other and hugged. This also happened for the first time! Her cheeks were burning, her eyes were full of tears.

– What can I say!

– What can I say!

We shouted those words at the same time.

– Everything you want to say is nonsense compared to my amazing news! – I said.

– Darling, now we can be together! – She added.

I was surprised: she knew everything.

– Jalol-aka told you everything!

– How do you know? Yes, my dad confirmed. But first, my mother revealed the secret.

– What does she have to do with this?

– I’ll tell you in order. When you swam away from me…

I interrupted her.

– Please forgive me. I acted like a fool.

– I cried for a long time. Then she came home and cried too. Can you imagine? I sit by the window and cry like a little girl. This is how my mother saw me. She started asking questions. I told everything.

– About me?

– Yes. And about you, and about how we love…

I could not stand it and hugged Hilola again. She didn’t push me away.

– Speak! I whispered, kissing her on the cheek.

– In general, my mother found out everything and revealed one secret.

– What secret?

– I’m like you. I’m an android too.

I moved away from her.

– Are you kidding?

– No, this is not a joke. I’m very happy! Nothing separates us … It turns out that dad and mom could not have children. And they really wanted and, of course, a daughter. That’s when my father decided to make me. He developed a unique program and methodology by which I appeared. Can you imagine? Each of my cells, nerves, vessels are no different from human ones. Even genetically I am the daughter of my parents. Any research will only confirm our relationship. Very cool? Are you happy?

Hilola came up to me again, but I barely managed to pull away.

The stun had already passed, I could control my words and actions.

In front of me is a mannequin covered in leatherette. Artificial blood, dyed red, flowed in his veins. The pump beat rhythmically, driving plasma through the intricacies of the quasi-aorta and quasi-veins. The pseudo-lungs steadily inflated, taking oxygen from the air, so necessary for the normal functioning of the android. The visual analyzers were pointed in my direction. I saw how they began to slowly fill with lubricating fluid. Apparently, something went wrong in the android, because the liquid overflowed the analyzers and flowed along the front surface. I grimaced in disgust. Apparently, the android was crying silently.

– Sorry, I don’t want to love a robot… – I said and stood up from the bench.

And slowly walked along the edge of the river. The day was great. The sun was very bright. The poplars gleamed with silvery foliage. The willows bathed their flexible branches in the river. The air was filled with the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds…

It’s good to live in this wonderful world!

________________

Ozod Moumin Hoja, an Uzbek writer, was born in 1952 in Tashkent. He is the member of Writer’s Union in Uzbekistan.

The post Robot Love – A Science Fiction Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

EID TREAT

Muhabbat Yuldasheva 

Dressed like he was going to a wedding, his father held a small white lamb in Sanobar’s hand as she stood in front of the gate.

“Honey, it’s a treat for you! Be a good girl and look after your brothers when the mom goes to work, right!”

“Daddy, take me with you!”  – said the girl, who missed her father. She could not hold back her tears.

“I’m going away, girl, I’ll take you with me later …”

At that moment something hot burned Sanobar’s face.  She was frightened and realized that she was lying in her bed, her mother was standing over her head.  Sabohat, whose tears were washing her face, hugged her daughter tightly and repeated these words: “Daughter, open your eyes!  Don’t scare me, dear! ”

“Dad…” she whispered, still unconscious from the dream, and headed for the door.  “My father is leaving!”

Sabohat’s eyes were also filled with warm tears. It has been a year since her husband Nizamjon died prematurely due to a serious illness, and her daughter could still not get used to losing her father. She would wake up crying very often when she dreamed of her father, then she felt lifeless, looked faded for a day or two.

“Oh, my God, why we come across with misfortune so much!” She thought sadly, and at the same time the alarm went off.  She woke up: it was four o’clock in the morning, she had to go to work.

Sabohat got up, brought a cup of cold tea from the kitchen, and forced her daughter, who was in tears and drowsy again, to drink.

“Sanobar, my honey girl, you’re a smart girl. Please don’t frighten me!”  She said, stroking her daughter’s face and hair. “I have to go to work!”

“All right, go,” said the girl, hugging her mother’s neck.  “Mom, I’m your smart girl!”

“My good girl!”  Sabohat hugged her. “That’s enough, I should not be late for work, my daughter.  It’s still early, sleep until your brothers get up, okay?”  When she reached the door, Sabohat remembered something and came back to her daughter. “Baby, when you get up in the morning, take a look at our white sheep, will you?”  I waited all night thinking that it may give birth to a lamb today…

Sanobar, whose eyes were already falling asleep, nodded in response to her mother, Sabohat felt satisfied, and she went to work. She was used to work at a farm, so she left her three children alone at home and went to milk the cows early in the morning. Luckily, nine-year-old Sanobar showed herself as a devoted, kind and smart girl, waking up her siblings on time without telling them that mother wasn’t there, sending her older brother to school, taking the younger one to kindergarten, and also could catch up her classes at school on time. In the evening, when her mother came home from work in the dark, she would sat down without crying or expressing her fears to his brothers. Just, it felt a bit bad when she was dreaming her father so often…

Sabohat, as usual, devoted herself to milking more than twenty cows, forgot everything, and at that time she was unaware of what was going on in her house.

Sanobar, who had fallen asleep while her mother was leaving, was suddenly awakened by a knock on the window. The girl, at first, fell asleep for a moment and did not get up, then came to consciousness and jumped up.

“Now, mommy, I’m getting up!” She shouted, and barefoot ran out into the yard.

Because of being asleep, she didn’t realize that her mother had gone to work, so she thought that she was asking her to lock the gate. Sanobar saw that her mother was gone: she had locked the gate from the outside and had already gone to work. It was snowing all the night, it had already reached the height of knees, and it was very cold. The girl shivered as she ran out of the warm house, the snow fell on her, her legs trembled, and her sleep was instantly extinguished.

Sanobar ran into the house and went to her bad which was still warm enough. She lay down for a while until she regained consciousness, her eyes slowly closed and she began to fall asleep. At that moment the window slammed again, and a crackling sound was heard from the garden side. It was dark in the house, so the girl was frightened, she was afraid to get up and turn on the light. Suddenly, she remembered the giants and demons in fairy tales. She felt her feet freeze in fear. She pulled her legs under the bed, snuggled up, and stared out the window in fear. There was no one. The window was dimly lit, and the night sky seemed to be slowly fading, but the house was too dark.

As Sanobar listened to his brothers breathing, she suddenly heard her father’s voice calling her by her name: “Sanobar!” She jumped out of bed … and then suddenly remembered that her father had died a year ago, and so he would never call her again. Involuntary tears began to flow, and the girl burst into tears. She felt humiliated, and tears of longing flowed from her eyes, and now her father’s voice was clearly heard from the courtyard:

“Sanobar!”

The girl forgot everything and ran to the porch. Standing on the porch, she glanced at the level of the courtyard in the dim darkness. It was as if her father was standing by the door of the cattle barn on the other side of the kitchen. The girl opened her eyes wide and stared: yes, her father was opening the door of the barn…

At that moment, Sanobar forgot everything in the world, and the heart of the girl, who missed her father so much, began to beat strongly. She hurried down the porch and ran towards the barn. In fact, the barn door was wide open, and even the lights were on. The girl followed her father with longing eyes as she stood at the door, but when she saw that no one was here, her heart grew more and more empty.

Suddenly Sanobar heard a sad moan from the corner where a white sheep was lying in wait for a lamb.  She looked in that direction … her eyes lit up with joy.  In the corner was laying a cotton-white, curly-haired lamb, and his bead-black eyes were fixed on her, and he gave a moan in a thin voice. The white sheep, on the other hand, for some reason was stuck in a dark corner, stomping on the ground with its sad moans and relentless feet.

For some reason the sheep’s behavior seemed interesting to the girl, and she looked up at the corner where the sheep was staring.  As you can see, something white was lying in the pit where the cow’s dung had been dumped, and now it had been swept away. The mother sheep, on the other hand, kept her head down on the top of the pit. Sanobar walked in that direction to see what was inside the pit, and saw that what was typing below was a white lamb. The weak, feeble, white hair of the wet lamb trembled incessantly, whether from the cold or for some other reason.

Before Sanobar realized what she was seeing, she seemed to be encouraged by something, and involuntarily fell into the pit, took the lamb in her hand, then lifted it and walked upwards – towards where another white lamb was lying.  As soon as the girl put the lamb on the ground, the mother sheep, who was following her, hurriedly licked the baby.  A minute or two later, the lamb’s trembling subsided, and he slowly closed his eyes and put his head to the ground, the lamb had a coin-black spot on his forehead.

Sanobar watched them for a while as the mother sheep was lying next to the twin lambs, then left the barn. As she closed the door tightly, she felt now that she had been walking in slender clothing since the beginning, and so she was trembling incessantly from the bitter cold.  She was on her way home, and there a warm breeze flew behind her and stroked her face.  As the girl hurriedly turned towards that breeze, she saw large footprints that had fallen on the thick snow that had been falling all night.  But the girl did not pay much attention to it, and ran into the house, and went into her bad, wrapped herself in a blanket, and fell asleep again.

When Sabohat returned from work late in the morning, her daughter and sons were fast asleep.

“Wow, my girl, get up!” She urged Sanobar.  “Are you still asleep?”  After all, today is Eid, you wanted to go to see the bride with your friends, after all!

Sanobar jumped up and immediately started helping her mother make breakfast. Then she went in to wake her brothers, and returned halfway, and hurriedly told her mother about what had happened early in the morning. Then Sabohat remembered that the white sheep she had bought a month before her husband’s death, was supposed to give birth to a lamb sooner or later. She immediately gave up what she was doing and ran to the barn, saying, “Oh my God, the door to the barn remained open at night! It was very cold yesterday, didn’t the lambs freeze…”

But it all turned out as Sanobar had said: the lambs were still lying on the top with the mother sheep, in a warm place near the cow barn, and the traces of the man’s shoes from the barn had stopped near the gate.

Sabohat didn’t think about it for a long time. She looked at her sons, who were very happy to see the white lambs, and involuntarily said, “Look, your father has left you an Eid’s treat!” She said, and saw how her children’s eyes lit up with joy, and realized that she was right.  Even Sanobar, who had been smiling since she woke up, smiled involuntarily:

“Mommy, in my dream my father gave me a white lamb!”

Sanobar tried to hide the tears behind her children’s eyes in order not to spoil their joy, and decided to pretend to be busy preparing breakfast…

After this Eid, Sanobar didn’t dream of her father anymore. But every year, when a white sheep gave birth to identical white twin lambs, they remembered the incident.  Although Shodmon and Javlon were much older at that time, they still called the lambs of the white sheep “my father’s treat…”

______________________

Muhabbat Yuldasheva is an Uzbek writer, journalist, scriptwriter, movie translator. Born in 1964, she studied at Tashkent Polytechnic Institute. She is a member of Uzbekistan Writers Union. She was awarded ‘White Tablet’ short fiction prize for her fairy tale “Great Dairy River” in 2010, in Moscow, Russia. She gained the 1st place of the International Central Asian myths, fairy tales, legends prize for her screenplay “The Koh-e-Kaf prince” in South Korea in 2013. Muhabbat Yuldasheva is the author of 35 books. Her stories and fairy tales have been translated into Russian, English, Kazakh, Ukrainian, Korean, Belarusian, Indian, Bengali, and Chinese and Vietnamese languages. She translated more than 23 serials, 400 movies into the Uzbek language.

The post The Eid Treat – A Short Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

One of the great benefits that the internet has brought me is being able to “meet” people (in virtual space) with whom, otherwise, I would never have crossed paths with. Of these people, the most valuable are the writers, because by reading their work, I was able to better understand the essence of their being (How else can you get to know a person better than through his feelings and thoughts?). And among the foreign writers, the closest to me is the young Uzbek prose writer Sherzod Artikov, for the fact that, translating his texts into Romanian, I was able to understand them much better. It all started like a play, at his initiative, and, finally, we hope that it will materialize in a book published in Romania. Probably the same book we’re talking about here that will appear in the fabulous India.

Being, in my turn, a prose writer, as a translator, I had to give up the natural tendency to put my stylistic imprint on his texts, which was not very difficult, precisely because Sherzod Artikov’s literary style is somewhat in line with that approached by me: quite laconic, but which conveys a huge feeling in a few words. In addition, being written in the first person, all this experience has a much greater impact on the reader and an advanced note of veracity.

His characters are alive, you feel like you can touch them. The relationship between them and the narrator is a friendly one, whether it’s the ones we like or the ones we like the least. The construction of the text is an interesting one, almost cinematic. The narration begins with a trivial fact (a family meal, a car trip, waking up in the morning, describing a landscape, a subway trip to work, etc.) and then takes you from close to close to the unsuspected depths of the human soul, sometimes even to serious things that have happened in the past, in history, such as the prose “The spring day”, one of my favorites. The construction is round, everything seems to close in a circle, and the end leaves you thinking and predisposes you to philosophy or meditation on the human condition.

Reading Sherzod Artikov’s prose, it’s hard to have a favorite character, because each of them has something to say in their own way: the father who was in the concentration camp and was obsessed with not scattering any crumbs of bread, the failed actor who lives in an illusion even in his old age, the naive young woman who borrows books or the man who, without realizing it and without understanding why, misses her when she happens to be late with the return of Marquez’s book, the student he met by chance in Berlin, about whom the narrator finds out that she came from his grandparents’ country, the sick father who misses his pigeons, the piano student who loves her teacher so much that she prefers to risk a smaller prize in a competition, relying on a composition by the teacher, instead of the much more famous Beethoven, whom she performed so well, the cousin became estranged from her country, who, although she is doing well in the country of adoption, was left with the nostalgia of her native places.

All these characters are drawn in a few but firm strokes, and in this I think lies the great art of the writer. In addition, the characters have a common denominator, no matter how they are called and what conditions they evolve in: the narrator-character and his empathy with each of them. But what essentially makes the difference between good and mediocre prose, between literature and an ordinary story, is the emotion that runs through the text and what it changes in the reader during or after reading. And Sherzod Artikov’s prose is full of emotion, although the literary means he uses are rather laconic discourse and “stingy” description. But I think that’s where the charm of his prose lies: the characters speak more by silence than in words. The emotion is transmitted to the maximum, and the life lesson that emerges creates the feeling that you find out about it for the first time.

I warmly recommend this book that takes you, geographically, through other worlds, but that always brings you to a place: home. At home means both the homeland and the “home of the soul”, namely where there are no differences between people, but only similarities: In any language and anywhere in the world, with or without words, people cry the same, smile the same, hurt the same, hate and love the same. Just to remind you this more often, read my friend Sherzod Artikov’s book!

________________

Florentina Loredana Dalian, born on March 29, 1968 in Bucharest, is a Romanian writer whose main profession is chemical engineer. She is also a member of the Professional Journalists Union from Romania and other Cultural Associations. She writes prose, poetry and plays and is published in different literary magazines. She has published eleven books: seven of short prose, two novels and two of poetry – ‘Miss Nobody’ and ‘Isle’.

The post When the characters come to life first appeared on Sindh Courier.