Agar kecha Kenjaga shifoxonadagi tanishlari "Ertaga shu paytda uzoq yo'lda bo'lasan", desa u: "Karomat qilmayapsanmi?" deb kulishi mumkin edi. Nachora, odam bolasi bir kun emas, bir lahzadan so'ng ham nima bo'lishini oldindan bilavermaydi. O'zingizcha "undoq qilaman", deya reja tuzasiz, "bundoq qilaman" deb karillaysiz. Biroq yeti uxlab tushingizga kirmagan tasodiflar qo'qqisdan oldingizdan ko'ndalang bo'lib chiqadi-da, hamma rejalaringizni chipakka chiqarib yuboradi. Yo'qsa, kuni kecha kasalxonada boshini changallab, to'xtovsiz lo'qillab og'rigan kallasini qay devorga urishni bilmay, dard chekib yotgan odam, mana, bugun umumiy vagon bo'lmalaridan birida zimiston derazaga ko'z tikib, titrab-qaqshab o'tirarmidi! Ha-a, buni hayot deydilar, chidasang shu, chidamasang, ana, tappa-tayyor poyezd, o'ynashiga ishonib eridan ajragan allaqaysi oyimtillaga o'xshab o'zingni g'ildirakning tagiga tashla-da, dorilbaqoga jo'nab ketaber!
Inson hayotida shunday lahzalar bo'ladiki, u do'ppisini boshidan olib (agar o'sha do'ppi bo'lsa!), o'zining o'tayotgan umri haqida jiddiyroq o'ylab ko'rishni istab qoladi. Dunyoga o't ketganu siz uni o'chirish umidida halakaning itidek halloslab chopayotgan bo'lsangiz ham, bir zum to'xtab, orqa-oldingizga qarab olishingiz kerak bo'ladi. Qirqni qoralab turgan odam uchun esa, bu shunchaki istak emas, zarurat. Ichki bir ehtiyoj! Axir, ota-bobolarimiz "Inson umri bamisoli bir tog'; qirq dovoni - chiqish, qirq dovoni - tushish", deya bejiz aytmaganlar. Aqalli cho'qqida turganingizda orqa-oldingizga bir zehn solib qaramasangiz, qachon qaraysiz? "O'ningda emas, o'ttizingda o'rganib, qirqingda qilsang, o'lganingda o'ylaysanmi?" degan gap ham bor. Ha, hisobli dunyo bu! Bu dunyoda har bir narsaning, ayniqsa, umrning sarhisobi bo'lmog'I kerak!
Bir hafta oldin Kenjani shifoxonaga yotishga majbur qilgan narsa faqatgina asabiylik kasali emas edi. Shifokorlarning: "Asabingini egovlayverib adoyi tamom qilibsiz-ku! Shu ketishda aqldan ozasiz!" qabilidagi pisandayu vahimalari ham emas! Uni "Bo'ldi-e! Yotganim bo'lsin!" degan qat'iy qarorga olib kelgan boshqa sabablar bor edi. Avvaliga hech nimani o'ylamay biryo'la chiqaradi. Keyin o'sha qirq yillik umrini sarhisob qiladi. Ana undan keyin… ko'p yillardan buyon tuya go'shti yeb yotgan ilmiy ishini qo'lga olib, unga so'nggi nuqta qo'yadi! "Dalshe - nekuda!.."
Yaqinda o'zi doktorlik ishida foydalanish uchun imlo masalalari xususida yozma nutq tayyorlay turib, uch asarni ketma-ket mutolaa qildi. "Abadiyat qonuni", "Javob", "Lolazor". Buni qarangki, shu asarlarning uchalasida ham qahramon shifoxonada uzala tushib yotib, umrini sarhisob qiladi. Shundayoq Kenja: "Iye, darvoqe…" deb o'ylab qoldi. To'g'ri, uning sarhisobi uchun oylar kerak emas! Bir-ikki kun, boringki, uch kun kifoyadir. O'zingni o'zing ezib-ezilib o'ylayverishdan nima chiqadi? Asabni "Qoratog'ni qayiraman!" deb, "Ming yilgi" cho'qqisining tepasida yeng shimarib turibdi!
Ko'ngilning ko'chalari edi bu! Endi esa, bari o'lda-jo'lda qoldi.
He-e, yeldirim dunyoning ishlariga ham, anovi "olamshumul" doktorligiga ham ming la'nat! Qachon omadsizning ovi yuribdi, ovi yursa - dovi yuribdi?
U zimiston derazadan ko'z uzib, qo'lida obdan g'ijimlangan haftalikni yozdi. So'nggi sahifaga tikildi: "E'lonlar"… "Salqin ichimliklarga marhamat!" Achchiq kuldi. "Salqin ichinliklar" emish! Ichimlik degani soy sohilimidiki, salqin bo'lsa! "Sovuq"dir, "muzdek"dir "yaxnadek"dir, balodir-battardir, lekin… O'zbekiy emas, turkiy emas, chulchutcha bo'libdi. Nigohini sahifaning boshqa nuqtasiga ko'chirdi: "Dam olish bekati". Ol-a! "Kutish bekati", de, "Hordiq bekati" de…
Bundan ham ko'ngli qolib, yuragi battar siqildi. Mast odamdek gandiraklab tambur tomonga yo'naldi. Tambur! Anovi tamburga manovi tamburning mos kelganini qarang! ("Qulog'ingizga tambur chertyapmanmi?") Xudo haqqi, shu tobda har ikki tamburdan asabi sozroq!.. Tamburning isqirt devorlariga bexos suykalib ketmaslik uchun bazo'r cho'ntagidan tamaki qutisini oldi. Barmoqlariga bir parcha qog'oz ilashib chiqdi. O'sha mash'um xabar! Keyingi uch soat badalida o'ziga yod bo'lib ketgan uzuq-yuluq to'rt jumla xayoliga qora quyundek bostirib kirdi. "Botir, oyingning ahvoli yomon, tez yetib kel, akang". Qiziq! Qaysi akasi ekan? Sobirmi, Qodirmi? Katta akasining yozuv-chizuvga uqubi yo'qroq edi. Demak, kichigi! Lekin… Miryoqub epaqani bir cho'qishda qochiradigan ucharlarning uchari, shoxi qayrilib ketgan akasi… telegramma jo'natibdiyu o'z nomini yozishni unutibdi. Onasi yotib qolganidan shunchalik o'zini yo'qotib qo'yibdimi? Unda chindanam bir kor-hol ro'y bergan, desangchi! Qay ahvolda ekan onajonisi?..
"Yo'q, bunday emas, aslo bunday bo'lishi mumkin emas!" - o'ziga tasalli-taskin qidirdi Kenja. Axir, ikki oygina avval borganida bardam-baquvvatgina yurgan edilar-ku! To'g'ri, akalari "bir yoqadan bosh chiqarib", baqamti boshlagan yangi ishdan andak bezovta-tashvishli, biroq tetik ko'ringan edi. Buyog'ini so'rasangiz, bir-birlariga nechog'li ola qarashmasin, ikkala akasi ham lapashang-landovurlardan emas. Ayniqsa, dasti dunyoning narigi chekkasiga ham yetadigan Qodir akasi!.. O'lar ahvolda yotgan odamni uyda ushlab, o'zi unga xabar jo'natadimi? Mashinasiga o'tqazib, "mana men" degan shifokorlari bor anovi ulkan shaharga allaqachon yetkazgan bo'lar edi-ku. Aqalli sim qoqsa nima qipti?
Qolaversa, anovi landovur xotinning shoshilinch xabarni uch kundan buyon yashirib o'tirganiga nima desa bo'ladi, a? "Endi yotganingizda… sizni bezovta qilgim kelmadi" emish! U yoqda ONAning ahvoli bunday bo'lsa-yu, bu yoqda u bunday mehribonchilik qilib o'tirsa.
Sirasini aytganda, avval-boshda ayb o'zidan o'tdi. Jazirama chillada shaharning qoq o'rtasidagi shifoxonada unga pishirib qo'yganmidi? Bola-chaqasini olib qishloqqa jo'nayversa ham bo'lar edi-ku. Yo'q! Uch-to'rt kun hordiqmisan hordiq bo'lsin, keyin anovi ishga nuqta qo'yib, yozuvga topshiray devdi… Qoyillatib topshirdi. Hamisha shunday: mo'ljal boshqa - natija boshqa chiqaveradi. Nima balo, duo ketganmi uning ishlariga, omadiga?!
To'g'ri, ustma-ustiga ichilgan hapdorilar o'z kuchini ko'rsatdimi, avvaliga ikki kecha-kunduz uyqudan bosh ko'tarmadi. Asabi obdan tiniqqach, uchinchi kun haftalik dasturga qarab, boshi ko'kka yetdi. Tag'in uch kundan keyin butun jumhuriyat ahliga "Hozirgi zamon nutq madaniyati muammolari" haqida jiddiy gap aytadi-yu, boshi ko'kka yetmasinmi! Dasturni hamxonalariga ko'z-ko'zlab, uch kunni zo'rg'a o'tkazdi. Keyin yagona ermagi - radioni eshitib yotib, quloqlariga ishonmay qoldi. Haftalik dasturda aytilgan "olamshumul" nutqi… nimagadir e'lon qilinmadi! Yo tavba, uch kun ichida ishkal chiqib, eshittirishlar tartibi buzilib ketibdimikan? Qay bir g'alamisning ishi bo'ldi bu?" Nonushtadan keyioq bino biqinidagi qutichadan nutqini tayyorlagan adabiy xodimga sim qoqdi. "Tinshlikmi, uka, nimagadir ertalabki e'londa men yo'qman?" Xodim gapni qisqa qildi; "Xotirjam bo'lavering, aka, hech gap yo'q". Javobdan ko'gli to'lmadi. "Buni qanday tushunish kerak, uka?" Simning narigi tarafidagi odam undan ham qiziqqonroq ekan, jahli chiqib o'shqirdi: "Qiziq odam ekansiz, aka! Hech gap yo'q dedim-ku, bo'di-da! O'zbekchaga tushunasizmi-yo'qmi?" Xodimning g'ashiga tegmaslik uchun xayr-ma'zurni nasiya qilib, go'shakni ilgakka ila qoldi. Chorburchak qutidan tashqariga chiqar ekan, alamini ichiga yutdi. "Yo'q, men o'zbekchani tushunmayman, uka! Mana, o'ttiz sakkiz yildan buyon bu tilni tushunolmay xunobman-ku, axir! Til emas, naq tilsim!"
U asabini tinchlantirishga urina-urina, to peshinga qadar chidadi. Nihoyat, tushlikdan so'ng har ehtimolga qarshi xonada asrab turgan kiyimida shaharga "juftak"ni rostladi. Adabiy xodim nimanidir aytishni istamayapti, shekilli-da! Hoynahoy bu yerda bir gap bor! O'sha gap nimaligini tezroq bilishi kerak! Balki hali kech emasdir? Ahvolni o'nglash mumkindir? Axir, sohkoralik zamonida bir fan nomzodi dilidagi gaplarini ro'y-rost aytmoqchi bo'lsa, nimasi yomon? Nega uning gaplarini bir zarb bilan yo'qqa chiqarishadi?
Bekatda avtobus kutayotib o'zicha o'yladi: "Radioga borish qochmas, har ehtimolga qarshi qo'lyozmaning ikkinchi nusxasini olvolishi kerakmidi?" Uyga sim qoqqan edi, xotinidan ko'rsatma tegdi: "Baribir kelarkansiz, yo'l usti bozor qilib keling, adasi? Men ungacha manovi kichkinaga qarab, osh damlab turaman? Xo'pmi?" Miyasiga yana qon tepdi.
Xotinining ko'rsatmasini bekami-ko'st ado etib, uyga kelganida ish kuni oxirlab qolayozgan edi. Harqalay, biror saot bor… To'rxaltani qo'yib, telefonga yopishdi. O'sha xodimgayu undan kattaroqlarga birin-ketin sim qoqib chiqdi. Qani kimdir dastakni ko'tara qolsa! Yo'q! "Tamom, bugungi kun ham qulog'ini ushlab ketdi!" - o'yladi jig'ibiyroni chiqib. Shu payt shifokorlarning qattiq tanbehlari esiga tushdi: Shunday yashangki, dunyoni suv bossa to'pig'ingizga chiqmasin! Boqibeg'amroq bo'ling-da, uka! Asabni to'xtovsiz egovlayverganingiz bilan, biron-bir foydasi bormi?.." Beparvo qo'l siltadi; bugunga bo'lar-e! Ertalab to'g'ri radioqo'mitaga boradi-da, ishini bitirib, naryog'I shifoxonaga o'tib ketaberadi. Osmon uzilib yerga tushmas! Shunday o'ylar bilan qizalog'ini suyib-erkalab, deraza osha hovlida o'ynab yurgan bolalariga birrov ko'z tashlab, bamaylixotir vannaxonaga kirdi. Iliqqina suvda huzurlanib cho'mildi. Xonaki kiyimlarini kiyib, ayvonchaga chiqdi. Televizorni qo'ydi. Yostiqqa yonboshlab, xontaxta yonida atak-chechak turgan qizalog'ini bag'riga tortdi. Asavida allanechuk orom tuydi. Oynai jahonda boqibeg'amligi yuz-ko'zlarida "mana men" deb barq urib turgan bir xo'ppasemizning tuz-totig'siz javrashlaru-yu, xotinining shikasta tovushda zorlanishlariga baravar quloq tutib, jimgina osh yedi. Taomga fotihadan so'ng issiqqina choy ho'[lab, yostiqqa yonboshlar ekan, xotini bo'sh laganni qo'lida tutganicha derazaga tikilib qoldi. Hoynahoy bolalarini ovqatga chaqirmoqchi deb parvo qilmadi. Lekin xotinining allanechuk orziqib aytgan gaplari… bir muddat halovat topgan asabini tag'in zo'riqtirdi. "Bu dunyoda qanday qandini urib yashayotganlar bor-a, Kenjaka! Ikki qo'limizda ikki to'rvani xurjundek osiltirib biz yuribmiz. Ana, To'xtaboy aka yap-yangi mashinasini eshik oldiga qo'yib, o'zi yonida savlat to'kib turibdi, bolalari chillaning kunida bir kajava qovun-tarvuzni tashiyapti! Shularning ham armoni bormikan?.."
Gapning davomini eshitishga toqati qolmadi. Naaq yuragida nimadir paydo bo'lib, atrofini kuydira boshladi. Beixtiyor o'shqirdi: "Senga necha marta aytganman, Malika?! To'xtavoydek qing'ir yo'l bilan hech qachon mashina minmayman men! Chidamasang, ana, katta ko'cha!" Xotini yig'amsiradi: "Men ko'nglimdan kechgan gapni ayta qoluvdim-da. Biroq siz shuday deyishdan uyalsangiz bo'lardi…" Endi Kenjada choy ichishga ham, tomoshaga ham, hattoki bolalarini ko'rishga ham - hech nimaga toqat qolmagan edi. Ko'nglida bosh ko'targan yangi bir isyonni bazo'r jilovlab, jimgina yurib o'z xonasiga kirdi. Eshik ichkarisidagi dumaloq murvatni buradi. Tamom! Tasavvur qiladiki, dunyoda o'zidan boshqa hech kim yo'q! Na anovi tili mujmal adabiy xodim, na monovi asabbuzar xotini, na uy oldidagi antia qo'shnisi, sobiq hamxonasi, so'xtasi sovuq To'xtaboy!.. Ipak arqondek eshilib-chiyralgan asabini yozish umidida xonasida u yoqdan-bu yoqqa yura boshladi. O'zini alahsitish uchun atigi bir kecha-kunduzdan so'ng tinglashni orziqib kutgan nutqining ikkinchi nusxasini qo'liga olib varaqladi. Yozganlari ko'nglidagidan qiyoslab bo'lmas darajada xira, rangsiz-tuzsiz, sovuqdan-sovuq ko'rindi. Xotirini jamlashga harchand urinmasin, xotinining hozirgi aytgan gaplari xayoliga kelib urilaverdi. Tag'in xunovi oshdi. Nega kundan kunga noshukrroq bo'lib ketyapti-ya bu xotin? Vaqtida ne-ne ijara uylarda, hozir eslasa aql bovar qilmas ko'rgiliklarni boshidan kechirganida ham zorlanib-nolimaga odam… to'rt yildan buyon shu shohona uyda yashaydiki, xudoga shukr qilishning o'rniga hasratidan chang chiqadi. Qachon qarasang "uyda hech vaqo yo'q" deb noligani noligan. "Qurib ketsin bunday turmush!" emish. "Kasbingizga kuydirgi chiqsin!" emish.
To'g'ri, kasbi og'ir, chidaganga chiqargan! Kimsan Gyotedek donishmand yozgan, axir: "Kitob jinnisi - bu beboshvoq otki, yulqinib chopishdan o'zgani bilmas". Sovuqqon yevro'palik emas, qiziqqon osiyolikning yulqinib chopish darajasini tasavvur etsang-chi bunday.
Kenja boshini changallagan ko'yi oldidagi bir dasta qog'ozga termulib, go'yo o'qigandek bo'lib o'tirar ekan, xona eshigi ohista chertildi. Unga Malikaning yalinchoq tovushi ulandi:
- Eshikni oching, Kenjaka!
O'rnidan turib eshik tomon yurdi. "Ochsammi, ochmasammi?" deya ikkilanib to'xtadi. Achchig'i hali tarqab ulgurmagan. Demak, gapdan gap chiqarishi aniq! Ohista, lekin qat'iy dedi:
- Meni tinch qo'y, Malika! Bir haftalik toat-ibodatimni bir pul qilganing yetar. Endi o'zimga kelib olay. Sen ungacha kichkinani pastga olib tushib o'ynat!
- Kichkinani Ilhomingiz olib tushdi…
- U holda… o'zing ham tusha qol! Mening biror soatlik ishim bor edi.
- Mening esa… sizda gapim bor edi, Kenjaka, juda muhim…
- Nima gap?
- Qulog'ingizga aytadigan…
Beixtiyor yuragi orziqdi. Ko'z oldida o'n besh yil oldingi ma'sumadan ma'suma, dilbardan-dilbar Malikasi gavdalandi.Murvatni ohista buradi-da, nimadandir umidvor bo'lib, ayni chog'da, nimadandir xavotirlanib, o'rniga borib o'tirdi. Ko'p o'tmay yelkalari mayin bilaklar taftini tuydi.
- Iltimos, asabingiz buzilmasin, Kenjaka! Men sizni xotirjam davolanib chiqsin deb… bir ish qilib qo'ydim…
- Nima ish? Yurakni qon qilmay tezroq ayta qolsang-chi!
- Gap shundaki… uch kun avval… bir telegramma keluvdi.
Xotinining qo'lidagi bir parcha qog;ozga shoshilinch ko'z yugurtirdiyu, gandiraklab o'rnidan turdi. To'qqizdagi poyezdga ulgurishi kerak ekan. Nima desa bo'ladi bu xotinga? Shu tobda aytilishi mumkin bo'lgan so'zni aytmay apil-tapil kiyinib, tashqariga otilar ekan, qichqirdi:
- Men ketdim! Bolalaringga ehtiyot bo'l!
O'zini bazo'r bosib eshik oldida bir muddat to'xtadi:
Bekatga qanday yetib keldi. Chipta olish umidida qay bir eshigu tuynukka bosh urdi. QO'lidagi bir parcha qog'ozni ko'z-ko'zlab, qay bir tepsa-tebranmaslarga behuda yalinib-yolbordi… Shu topda tasavvurda qayta tiklash ham amrimahol. Harqalay, anovi yigitchaning gaplari hali-hanuz quloqlari ostida aks-sado betib turibdi: "Sizni-ku, tushunaman, lekin meni ham tushuning, akajon! Zamon nozik. Hammayoq tekshir-tekshir. Chiptasiz olib ketolmayman!.." Ularga javoban yig'lagudek alfozda yolbordi: "Taftishchi bilan o'zim gaplashaman! Mayli, uxlamay ketay! Mayli, tik turib ketay! Atigi yetti soatlik yo'l! Armonda qolmay, jon uka!.." Yolbora turib qarasa, poyezd o'rnidan qo'zg'alib, eshikog'asi zinani yopyapti. Jon halpida tutqichga yo[ishib, yuqoriga intildi. Harqalay, shuni aniq biladiki, o'sha topda joni naq halqumida edi.
Oyisi, marhum otasi, qarindosh-urug'larining qayta-qayta naql qilishlaricha, Kenja chayon yilida tug'ilgan ekan. Chayon yilining ilik uzildi ko'klamida uylarida birvarakayiga ikki odam darddan to'lg'onib yotgan ekan: bu õonada - Kenjani tug'olmay, Turdi bibining õunobini oshirayotgan onasi. U õonada - hayot bilan vidolasholmay, arosatda yotgan Botir bobosi. To'qson yashar bobosi, tildan qolgan bo'lsa-da, to joni uzilgunga qadar pashshaning uchganini ham aniq-tiniq eshitib yotgan ekan. Narigi õonada chaqaloq Kenjaning chirillab yig'lashini eshitibdi-yu, jon taslim qilibdi.
Aytishlaricha, Botir bobosi butun Turkistonda tenggi yo'q polvon, tenggi yo'q mulla bo'lgan ekan. Naqd qirq yil polvon bo'lib yashabdi - yigirma yoshidan oltmish yoshigacha maydonda ko'krak kerib yuribdi. To'qson yillik umrining to'qson foizini mutolaa bilan o'tkazibdi. To o'lgunicha Yassaviy "Hikmatlar"i qo'lidan-u yostig'ining ostidan nariroqqa jilmagan ekan. To'g'ri, o'sha alg'ov-dalg'ov zamonlarda boshqa kitoblariga qo'shilib bu kitob ham manovi yassi dashtning allaqaysi burjidagi tashlandiq quduqda "jon saqlagan"mish. Lekin o'shanda ham bobosi suruvini o'sha taraflarga haydab borib, kuniga bir karra kitobni ko'ziga surtib qaytarkan. Afsuski, Kenja Botir bobosining maydonda kurash tushishlarini ham, nodir kitoblarini ham, tabiiyki, o'zini ham ko'rmagan - ko'rib ulgurmagan. Aslida ham yo'qmidi, yo saqlanib qolmaganmi, har qalay, u ulg'ayganida uylarida bobosining na bir suvrati, na sovrini qolgan edi. Lekin chorõari uylaridagi har bir ashyoda, bu uyga kelgan har bir qarindoshida uning ruhi tirikdek edi. Kenja es-hushini taniy boshlaganidan beri bu uyda bo'lib o'tgan jamiki gurung Botir bobosidan boshlanadi yo dunyo kezib, aylanib-aylanib, Botir bobosining nomiga kelib bog'lanadi. Ayniqsa bunday gurunglar chog'ida qarindoshlari, hamqishloqlari - hamma-hamma Kenjaga ayricha ehtirom bilan qarar edi. "Bobosining suyukli kenja nevarasi-da, bu azamat!" deb alqar edi. "Sen bobongning tabarruk otini elkangda ko'tarib yuribsan, Kenjatoy, bolam, - deya tez-tez uqtiradi onasi. - Ishqilib, bobongga munosib nevara bo'l! Õudodan yagona tilagim shu mening!.." "Botir bobong, - derdi rahmatlik katta amakisi, - o'limidan avval "Ismimni shu nevaramga beringlar" deb vasiyat qilgan. O'shanda rahmatlik bobong tildan qoluvdi. Biroq bemalol yoza olardi. Mana, vasiyatini Hazrati Sultonning "Hikmatlar"iga yozib qoldirgan. YAõshilab ko'rib qo'y! Bu ismga dog' tushira ko'rma, bolam!.." Lekin, urf-odatga ko'ra, Kenjani hech kim ismini aytib chaqirmasdi. U hamma uchun "Kenja" yoki "Kenjatoy" edi, "Kenja" va "Kenjatoy", tamom-vassalom.
Ha, endi o'ylab qarasa, darhaqiqat, Kenjaning bola tasavvuri Botir bobosining ismi bilan chambarchas bog'lanib ketgan ekan: "Botir bobong unday qilgan". "Botir bobong bunday degan". "Bu ertakni dastlab Botir bobongdan eshitgan edim!..". "Aytishlaricha, Botir bobong bola chog'larida …". "Attang, sening shu yurishingni Botir bobong ko'rmay ketdi-da!.."
Bunday pand-nasihatomuz uqtirish-u muqaddimalar o'z yo'liga. Ular Kenjaga birda yoqqan, birda yoqmagan. Lekin Botir bobosining ismi bilan bog'langan, bola õotirasiga o'chmas bo'lib muhrlangan shunday naqllar, rivoyatlar, ertaklar borki, ularni Kenja hali-õanuz ko'nglida jon qushidek asrab-avaylaydi. Goho qog'ozga tushirishga ham unnab ko'radi. Lekin yozganlaridan ko'ngli to'lmaydi. Go'yo bu yozganlari bilan o'zi istamagan holda bobosining aziz nomiga dog' tushirib qo'yayotgandek. Go'yo o'sha eshitganlarini oq qog'ozga ko'ngildagidek tushirmoq uchun qalami ham, ona tili ham ojizlik qiladigandek!.. Har qalay, Kenja ularning hech bo'lmaganda ayrimlarini loaqal õayolida qayta tiklashga zo'r berib urinadi. Bu ish (ha, nihoyati o'y o'ylash emas, kiroyi ish!) o'ziga ham juda-juda õush yoqadi. Shu ish bilan mashg'ul chog'lari eng ulkan, eng beqiyos hordiqdek tuyuladi. Lekin, nachora, Kenjada hordiq uchun imkon hamisha ham bo'lavermaydi. Joni halqumiga qadalib turgan ayni lahzalarda esa, haminqadar! Bas shunday ekan, qahramonimiz zimmasidagi yukni andak engillatish umidida bu ishni goho o'z zimmamizga olsak, o'ylaymizki, erish tuyulmas...
… Bir kuni Botir polvon soy yoqalab ketayotgan ekan. Qarasa, o'tkalda bir ot-arava botqoqqa botib turganmish. O'shanda Botir polvon aravakashga "Ie, otga jabr qilibsiz-ku, inim? Qani, nariroq turing-chi!" debdi-da, otni bo'shatib, jilovini qo'liga tutqazibdi. So'ngra aravani dast ko'tarib qirg'oqqa qo'yibdi. "O'z aravangizga egalik qilolmaydigan qanaqa aravakashsiz siz-a?!" deb, yangi tanishini tag'in koyigan bo'libdi-yu, yo'lida ketaveribdi.
Eh-h, Botir bobong bugun ham tirik bo'lganida bormi!..
… - Sen Kenjatoyimsan, bolam, Botir polvonning kenja nevarasi? Shunday bo'lgach, eshit: anovi buloq boshida bir paytlar aka-uka polvonlar yashagan ekan. Kattasini Parpi polvon, kichigini Sayfi polvon deyisharkan. Ikkalalari ham piridan bezgan, o'lguday õasis bir nokas bo'lgan ekan. Buloq suvining oldini mahkam tambalab olisharkan-da, hadeb o'z ekinlarini sug'oraverisharkan. Ortgan suvni dashtga oqizisharkan, biroq pastroqda qurib-qovjirab borayotgan ekinlarga bir tomchiyam o'tkazmas ekan. Qishloqda hech kim bu ikki bezbetga yurak yutib bir gap aytolmas ekan. Kunlardan bir kuni, desang, aka-uka polvonlar bir so'qa izilik erni talashib qolishibdi. Ikki o'rtada katta janjal chiqibdi. Ikkalasi ham elkasi er ko'rmagan polvonmasmi, obdan yoqa olishibdi. SHu janjalning ustiga Botir polvon kelib qolibdi-yu, ikki polvonni ikki qo'lida elkalaridan shundo-oq tutamlab, bir-birlariga qarsillatib uribdi: "He-e, sadqai polvon ketinglar! Senlarning bu fe'llaring polvon degan nomga isnodku, nokaslar!" deb hayqiribdi.... O'sha-o'sha, aka-uka polvonlar insofga kelib, qishloq ahli ularning zug'umidan qutulib, Botir polvonni alqab yashabdi.
Botir polvonlar bugun ham kerak, bolam, juda-juda kerak!..
…Nonni õor qilma, o'g'lim, nonni õor qilma! Non ko'r qilib yurmasin tag'in. Botir polvonga yarashug'li ish qilsang-chi, bolam. Bilsang, nonni õor qilganing - yurtni õor qilganing bo'ladi. Kel, men senga bir bo'lgan voqeani aytib beray.
Burda non Yaratgandan azizroq bo'lgan ocharchilik yillari ekan. Ochlikdan shishib o'lgan - kim, eng so'nggi tirraqi echkisini o'g'riga oldirgan - kim. Kunlardan bir kuni yarim kechada ikki o'g'ri qishlog'imizga kirib, odamlarning butun mol-holini haydab olib ketayotgan ekan. Oydin tunda uzoqda mulla Botir ko'rinibdi. Turkistondan tun salqinida ot yo'rttirib uyiga qaytayotgan ekan, qarasa, bunday ahvol!.. Haligi ikki o'g'rini oldidagi podaga qo'shib haydab, tongotarda qishloqqa kirib kelibdi. Mulla Botir qarab turibdi, haligi o'g'rilar har bir molni ega-egalariga tarqatib chiqibdi. Ana shundan keyin Botir polvon o'g'rilarga: "Ikkinchi shunaqa noma'qulchilik qilsanglar, ayab o'tirmayman", deb qattiq tayinlab, javobini beribdi. Botir polvonning vajohatini ko'rib, "bir ursa hoynahoy o'lamiz" deb yurak hovuchlab turgan haligi o'g'rilar jonlarining omon qolganiga shukur qilib, qishloqdan uzoqlashibdi. Oyoqlarini qo'llariga olib yugurarmish-u, biri ikkinchisini zo'r berib koyirmish: "Men senga nima deb edim? Bu qishloqning ham egasi bordir, bu qishloq ham egasiz emasdir, demabmidim?!" dermish… Oradan sal o'tib, yurtda tag'in to'qchilik boshlanibdi.
Bugungi kunda bu yurt egasiz qolmadimi, bolam? Yurtimizdagi har bir qishloqning o'z Botir polvoni bormikin, sen nima deysan? Shoyad bor bo'lsa!..
… O'tgan asrning oõirlaridami-ey, shu asrning boshlaridami-ey, ishqilib, otam zamonida Hazrati Sultonda tumonat bir yig'in bo'libdi. Unga yurtning to'rt tarafidan "mana men" degan ulamo-yu fuzalolar, mulla-yu domullalar to'planibdi. Bizdan mulla Botir ham boribdi. Buõoroi sharifdan kelgan mashhur bir qori jamoa oldida va'z aytibdi. O'shanda qori va'zõonlikni tugatgan zahoti mulla Botir shahd bilan minbarga chiqibdi-da: " - Kechirasiz, taqsir, - debdi, - siz bu erda shariatdan va'z aytdingiz. Lekin Hazrati Sultondek allomaning oldida nainki shariatdan, hatto tariqat-u ma'rifatdan ham emas, ayni haqiqatdan gap ochmoq joiz. Ahmad Yassaviy siz aytgandek "shariat peshvosi" emas! U dinni haqiqatga bir qadam yaqinlashtirgan, zulm va qirg'inga qarshi isyon ko'targan buyuk bir siymodur. "Madinada - Muhammad, Turkistonda - Õo'ja Ahmad" degan gap ham bejiz aytilmagan. Siz esa, Yassaviydek haqiqatning tayanch ustunlaridan birini nihoyati "shariat peshvosi" deysiz. Bu gapingiz o'taketgan gumrohlik-ku, taqsir?! Shariatingizda sharm bormi o'zi?!." Õullas, mulla Botir shunday va'z aytibdiki, Buõoroyi sharifdan kelgan boobro' qori miq etolmay qolibdi.
Bugun ham bu yurtning Botir polvondek mullalari bormikin-a, bolam? YO hammalari qirchinidan qiyilib ketdimi anovi olatasir zamonlarda? el-yurtning kuni chalamulla gumrohlar-u piridan bezgan peshvolarga qolmadimi mabodo?..
Bunday naqllarni har eslaganida, ochig'i, Kenja Botir bobosini qattiq sog'inadi. Bobosini aqalli bir marta ko'rishni juda-juda istaydi. YUragini so'ngsiz bir armon chulg'ab oladi. Qani endi iloji bo'lsa-yu o'sha o'zi tug'ilgan qora kundan naryog'idagi to'qson yil, to'qqiz yuz yil, boringki, to'qqiz ming yilni qadam-baqadam kezib, qarichlab o'lchay olsa! Bu yillar armonini baayni tog' qo'porgan Farhoddek bir chekkadan cho'kichlab ushatsa! Nachora, bunday armonlar yuki yolg'iz odam ko'tarolmaydigan yuk! Bir paytlar bobosi ko'targan aravadan og'irroq yuk! O'zining nihoyati qirq yillik umrini bazo'r ko'tarib turgan odam, shu atigi qirq yilni õayol elagidan tuzukroq o'tkazishni eplayolmay, hattoki bunga fursat topolmay õunobi oshib turgan odam, asrlar yukini qandoq ko'tarsin?!.
Eskilarning "chayon yili" õususidagi biri ikkinchisidan dahshatliroq naqllarida jon bor, shekilli. Qishi qattiq kelgan, ne-ne oqsoqollarning yostig'ini quritgan, tut pishig'iga etmay turib Botir bobosining ham jonini olgan o'sha mash'um chayon yili, aytishlaricha, Kenjaga ham oson bo'lmagan ekan. Kindik momosi Turdi kampir-u oyisining keyinchalik ko'p bora uqtirishlaricha, tug'ilishga tug'ilibdi-yu, qattiq kasalga chalinibdi. Qirq kungacha o'nglanmabdi. Kundan kunga to'lishib, kuchga kirish o'rniga, aksincha, cho'pdek ozib, nimjonlashib boraveribdi. Har õil emlar-u duolar, un ko'tarish-u isiriq tutatishlar kor qilmabdi. "Bola bechoraga bobosining Botir ismini ko'tarib yurish og'irlik qildi", deyishibdi qishloqdagi kayvoni kampirlar-u, ko'pni ko'rgan chollar. Qirqinchi kuni quruq terisi-yu ustiõoni qolibdi. Yig'lash buyoqda tursin, ko'zini ochishga ham majoli yo'qmish. "Yaratgan egam guvoh, rostini aytsam, o'shanda sendan umidimizni butkul uzib qo'ygandik, Kenjatoy, bolam, - deya keyinchalik necha marotaba gap bergan onasi - "Joni sabil ekan, bolam, bechoraning! Qirq kundan beri emgani taniga yuqmayapti-yu, joni tanidan uzilib ketolmayapti-ya! Buyam bo'lsa õudoning qudrati!" deb hayron bo'lib o'tirgan edim. Bir vaqt qarasam, baõtingga eshikdan… Irisbika bibing bor-ku, vaqtida "vrag narod" bo'lishdan qochib, Samarqandga bosh olib ketgan Usmon tog'angning õotini, shu bibing kirib kelyapti. Seni ko'rdi-da: "Voy, bechora bolamning butun tanasiga zahar yoylab ketibdi-ku! Qanaqa berahmsanlar?!" deya bizni urishib-koyiy ketdi. Tezda bir qora qo'chqorni toptirdi. So'ydirib, hovuri chiqib turgan issiq teriga seni mahkam o'radi. "Shuncha ko'rgiliklari ozdek, bolam bechora nafas ololmayam qoldi-ku", deb men bu yoqda qo'rqib turibman. Bir payt terini yozib qarasak, sening ko'zlaring moshdek ochilgan, rangingga qon yugurgan! Shu-shu, otdek bo'lib ketding. O'shanda seni beshikka yo'rgaklarkan, Irisbika bibing: "Ana endi bu bola o'lmaydi. Boshi toshdan bo'ladi. Tanidagi butun zaharni teri so'rib oldi. endi bu kenjatoyingning tug'ilgan yili chayon emas, qo'y bo'ldi, Shahodat!" dedi. Bibing o'shanda bilib aytgan ekan - qo'ydek yuvvosh bo'lib o'sding…"
To'g'ri, Kenja qo'ydek yuvvosh bo'lib ulg'aydi. Lekin qonida chayon yilining asoratlari saqlanib qolganmi, qaydam, qirq yillik qismati ajabtovur achchiq bo'ldi. Agar hayot deganlari, oyisi aytganidek, "bamisoli bir achchiq-chuchuk" bo'lsa, chuchugi qani buning, chuchugi?! Qirq kun emas, qirq yildan beri faqat achchig'ini ko'raverib, ko'rgan kunidan ham zada bo'lay dedi-ku?! Salga achchig'i chiqadi-turadi.
Yo'q! O'ylab qaralsa, uning hayotida chuchuk-totli lahzalar ham, bayram-u shodiyonalar ham bo'lmagan emas, bo'lgan! Aytaylik, qirq yillik hayotidagi dastlabki bayramni Kenja yaõshi eslaydi. O'shanda roppa-rosa etti yoshga to'lgan - "yaqinda birinchi sinfga boraman" deb orziqib yurgan paytlari edi. Keyinchalik nimagadir bu udum yo'qolib ketdi. Lekin o'sha paytlarda butun qishloq ahli bayramlarni nishonlash uchun yuk mashinasida shaharga tushishardi. Otasi bir gal allaqanday bayramga Kenjani ham olib tushgan. Ilk bor ko'rgan g'aroyib tomoshalari hali-hanuz shundoqqina ko'z oldida turibdi. SHaharga kiraverishda nimagadir mashina to'õtab qolgan-da, kattalar o'zlarini erga tappa-tappa tashlab, markaziy maydon tarafga oqayotgan shod-õurram olomonga qo'shilib ketgan. Buni ko'rib Kenjaning kattalarga biram havasi kelgan - biram havasi kelgan, asti qo'yaverasiz! Bir payt otasi: "Mening kenjatoyim botir yigit. Mashinadagi ashqol-dashqollarimizga bitta o'zi qo'rqmasdan poyloqchilik qilib o'tira oladi", deya maqtay-maqtay, uni kuzovda yolg'iz qoldirib, o'zi ham shaharga kirib ketgan. To'g'ri, oradan andak o'tib, unga shirindan shirin egulik-ichguliklar olib chiqqan. "Ana, mazza qilib o'tiraver!" deya qattiq tayinlab ortiga qaytgan. Ha, Kenja o'shanda rostdan ham mazza qilgan. Shunday mazza qilganki, egan shirin kulchalari-yu, ichgan totli sharbatlarining õush ta'mi haligacha og'zida turgandek. "O'shanda bitta o'zi qo'rqmasdan mashinaga poyloqchilik qilib o'tirgani"ni keyinchalik otasiga qo'shilib aytib, o'z-o'zidan faõrlanib yurgan ham! Lekin… vaqti kelib, es-hushini yaõshiroq tanigach, eslagani sayin o'sha shodiyonaning allanechuk taõiri chiqa boshlagan. U ko'nglida õushnudlik emas, g'ussa uyg'otadigan bo'lib qolgan. Yetti yoshida chorburchak qutiga tutqun bo'lmay, ulkan shaharlardagi ulkan namoyishlarda otasining elkasida harir bayroqchasini hilpiratgan ko'yi o'tgan bolakaylarni ko'rganida bu g'ussa yanada kuchaygan. Etti yoshida hazrat Navoiy Farididdin Attorning "Mantiq-ut-tayr"ini yod olganini bilganida uning yonida allanechuk afsus-nadomat, o'ksinish, nimanidir qo'msash, kimnidir sog'inishga o'õshash bir tuyg'u ham uyg'ongan. Ayniqsa, Botir bobosini qattiq sog'ingan. Hali-hanuz u Botir bobosini qattiq qo'msab-sog'inib yashaydi. Bu qo'msashlarga sabab - bobosining tenggi yo'q polvonligi-yu madrasa ko'rgan mullaligidagina emas. Bobosini ko'rib ulgurgan Sobir akasining faõrlanib aytishicha, u halimdek muloyim, ko'ngilchan, keng-fe'l, bolajon odam bo'lgan ekan...
Kenja o'zi ko'rib ulgurmagan Botir bobosini qattiq sog'inib-qo'msab yashaydi-yu, lekin, nimagadir otasini qariyb sog'inmaydi. Nega? O'z otasini-ya? O'ylay-o'ylay, goho shunday õayollarga boradiki, sababi - otasi Zokir muallimning behad qattiqqo'lligi, cho'rtkesarligi, tili zaharligida bo'lsa kerak. Balki bobosini qo'msashi ham ayni shu boisdandir? endi o'ylab qarasa, Kenja otasining oldida hamisha qo'rqib-qaltirab, titrab-qaqshab yashabdi. Hamqishloqlarining aytishicha, otasi o'qitgan sinfdagi hamma bolalar ipakdek muloyim, mo'min-qobil, mehnatsevar, kattalarga hurmati joyida, o'ta odobli bo'lib chiqarkan. Oralarida bironta ham o'jar, to'polonchi yo bezori bola bo'lmas ekan. Otasi bunday pedagogik mahoratga qanday erishgan ekan-a? Aõir, Kenja biri ikkinchisidan o'jarroq, biri ikkinchisidan to'polonchiroq bolalariga, hattoki nisbatan yuvoshroq qizaloqlariga ham bir gapni uqtirolmay ozmuncha õunob bo'ladimi! Bola tarbiyasida otasiga õos qattiqqo'llik ham kerak, shekilli-da! Lekin, nachora, fe'l-atvor hamisha ham otameros bo'lavermas ekan. Kenja behad ko'ngilchan, kimsan Zokir muallimning uch o'g'lidan biri, deyishdan uyaladigan darajada ko'ngilchan: to'polonchi bolalarini urishib-tergash tugul mundoq bir tartibga chaqirib koyiy olmaydi.
To'g'ri, otasi na akalarini, na Kenjaning o'zini biron marta urishib so'kkan emas. Lekin biron marta erkalamagan ham. O'g'illari qandaydir nojo'yaroq ish va yo sho'õlik qilsa, otasi shunday o'qrayib, eb qo'ygudek olayib qarardiki, hammalariga sichqonning ini ming tanga bo'lib ketardi. Sho'õliklaridan asar ham qolmasdi. Otasining ko'nglini topmoq uchun uchchovlon zir yugurishga tushardi.
Sirasini aytganda, otasi uchala o'g'lini ozmuncha zir yugurtirmagan. "Sobir, sen yo'ng'ichqa o'r!", "Qodir, sen mol-holga qara!", "Kenja, sen bunday… bosib yuraverguncha dalaga chiqib, chirmoviq yulib kel!" … Odatda har kim o'zining "chekiga tushgan" ishni, hech bir buyrug'-u ko'rsatmasiz ham o'zi bilib qilaveradi. Baribir, buyruqning keti uzilmaydi: "Bobong mulla Botir bekor turguncha bekor ishla degan, Kenjatoy, o'g'lim! Qani, sen shu shudgorni bel bilan yana bir marta ag'darib chiqqin-chi!", "To'p tepishdan foyda yo'q. YAõshisi, dalaga chiqib, oyingga paõta terish! Õudoga shukur, chanoqdan paõtani tortib olishga kuching etadi!", "Sening yoshingda tuyaning o'rnida juvoz aylantirganman, Kenjatoy bolam! Mayli, seni juvozga qo'shmay. Biroq manovi quduqdan chelakda suv tortib, ekinlarni sug'or, õo'pmi?..", "Mening saratonda to'n kiyib, changal orqalashlarim oldida bir qop ellamishing yuk bo'libdimi! Tashiyver, o'g'lim, tashiyver! ertaroq pishasan. Tekintomoqlikka o'rganib qolmaysan. "Mehnatning tagi - rohat" deganlar otam!..", "Shu tamakining yaproqlarini terib, ipga tizib, devorga osasanlar! Uch azamatga nari borsa ikki kunlik ish bu!"…
Qizig'i shundaki, otasi kaftdekkina tomorqalarining asosiy qismiga har yili tamaki ekadi. Oyisi zorlanadi: "Yurt qilgan ishni qilsangiz-chi, otasi! Shu Qorachiqning erida tamakiga balo bormi, bolalarning o'pkasini chiritib! Ha, ana, yurtga o'õshab bir parcha eringizga qovun eking, handalak eking, bodring eking!.." "Nima ekishni o'zim bilaman, - o'jarlik bilan gapni qisqa qiladi otasi. - Zamonning bozori shirin qovunni emas, achchiq tamakini ko'tarib turibdi, aõir! Zora achchiqni achchiq kessa!" Paõta terimi mavsumida, ayniqsa, 7-8 noyabr kunlarida hali tong bo'zarmay turib uch o'g'lini dalaga boshlaydi. Paykal tepasida turib, jahl otiga minadi: "Baribir, otim - Zokir ekan, bugun senlarga zikr tushishni bir o'rgatay! SHu dalada kuni bilan tinim topmay zikr tushasanlar! Bayramda paõta terganga ikki baravar haq tegadi, aõir! Qani, dalada bayram qilib, zikr tushinglar-chi!.."
Ha, Zokir muallim bolalarini ayamas edi. Goho oyisi tanbeh berishga jur'at qilardi: "Qo'ying, otasi, otaboshga o'õshab, chillakdek bolalaringizni hadeb zuvillataverasizmi! Bular ham bola bo'lib bir muddat o'ynab-kulsin-da! Ishlashga ulgurar hali!.." Otasi gapni cho'rt kesadi "Aqling etmagan ishga aralashma, õotin! Burnini erga ishqab ishlatganim bo'lsin bu takasaltanglarni! "Ishlagan - tishlaydi" deganlar otam! Uyda tishga bosguligi yo'qmi, demak, yaõshi ishlamayapti bularing!"…
Sirasini aytganda, otasi avvalo o'z jonini ayashni bilmas edi. Maktabda darsini o'tib kelardi-da, yo o'z uyida, yo dalada, yo akalarimi biron hamqishloqlarinikida jon-jahdi bilan ishlayverardi-ishlayverardi. Ayni chog'da, uch o'g'lini ham tinim toptirmay ishlataverardi-ishlataverardi. Lekin u tabiatan urishqoq emas edi. Urishqoqlikni behad yomon ko'rar edi. Shu boisdanmi, yo shahodatnomasida ismi "Botir" yozilgani uchunmi, otasi Kenjani biron marta urgan emas!
Yo'q, o'ylab qaralsa, bir marta urgan, boringki, urishtirgan!..
O'shanda erta bahor edi. Hammalari baravar maktabdan kelib, tushlikdan so'ng tamaki ekiladigan tomorqalarini yana bir karra shudgorlab boshlagan edilar. Yonma-yon er ag'darayotgan Qodir akasi bilan uzunligi naq bir qarich, yo'g'onligi o'rta barmoqcha keladigan bir chuvalchangni talashib qolishdi! (O'sha paytlarda yangi shudgorlangan erda qanaqangi chuvalchanglar bo'lardi-ya!) Bola bola ekan, chuvalchangni Kenja buyoqqa tortdi, Qodir akasi uyoqqa. Jonivor qoq ikkiga bo'linib, qo'llarda shilimshiq bir lattaga aylandi. Buni ko'rib, bir-birlariga tashlanishdi. endi yoqa olishib, kim kimni chalib yiqitar ekan deb turganlarida… zabardast qo'llar elkalardan tutib ularni kuch bilan ajratdi-da, õuddi shunday kuch bilan bir-birlariga urdi. Ko'zlarda o't chaqnadi. G'azabnok so'zlar quloqlarni teshib yuborgudek bo'ldi: "Nima, moylaring qaynab ketyaptimi, bo'limsiz bo'z tuproqlar! Na chuvalchangga rahmlaring keladi, na o'zlaringga! Uch og'a-ini botirlarning ahvoli mushtdekligidan bunaqa, ertaga ko'rarkanmiz-da ko'rgilikni?!"
O'sha kuni kechqurun "Uch og'a-ini botirlar" o'rtasida bolalarcha emas, ilk bor kattalarcha jiddiy bahs bo'lib o'tdi. Kim - To'ng'ich botir, kim - O'rtancha botir, kim - Kenja botirligi ma'lum, albatta. Lekin ular qanday bo'lishlari kerak? Arslon - kimning, ajdaho - kimning, qirq qaroqchi - kimning raqibi? Bu darranda-yu gazandalarni engish uchun kim nima qilishi kerak?.. Mayli, bolalarcha ma'sum-beg'araz, sodda-jo'n, lekin to'g'riroq javob topmoq umidida "ko'zida o't chaqnagan" ikkovlon "hech qachon otasidan kaltak emagan" To'ng'ich botirga, ya'ni, Sobir akasiga havaslanib qarashdi.
Lekin bu havas ko'pga cho'zilmadi. Chunki oradan bor-yo'g'i uch oycha o'tib, o'sha yilning saratonida "To'ng'ich botir"ga yarimta kaltak emas, yaõlit bir butun lo'mboz tegdi.
O'shanda otasi ettinchi sinfni bitirib, "tuppa-tuzuk yigit bo'lib qolgan" o'n besh yashar Sobir akasiga atab uy qura boshladi. Otasi qorgan "bitmas-tuganmas" loyni uch og'a-ini botirlardan biri zambilg'altakka soladi, ikkinchisi tashiydi, uchinchisi lo'mbozlab ustaga uzatadi. Yetti yashar Kenjaning chekiga õandaqdagi loyni qo'lda zambilg'altakka solish, o'n besh yashar Sobir akasiga "aravani g'ildiratish", o'n bir yashar Qodir akasiga esa, dam guvala, dam lo'mbozni otasiga peshma-pesh uzatib turish tushgan. Bir qarashda ishlar joyida - taqsimotda nuqson yo'qdek. Hamma o'z holiga yarasha ish bilan mashg'uldek. Lekin "o'zbekning kichigi bo'lguncha qozoqning kuchugi bo'l" degan maqol bekorga aytilmagan. Kenjaga qo'shimcha ish buyuruvchilar birvarakayiga uchta! Otasi "Kenja, gazcho'pni yuv!" deydi. Qodir akasi "Kenja, qumg'onda suv olib kel!" deb buyuradi. Sobir akasi "G'altakning tagiga soladigan somon qani?!" deya dag'dag'a qiladi. Kenja isyon ko'taradi: "Nima, men hammalaringga uri-churi malaymanmi?!" Aytgan gapining ma'nosini ko'pam o'ylayvermaydigan soddadil Sobir akasi Kenjaga o'shqiradi: "Tayyor loyni zambilga solish ham ishmi! Ishlasang men uchun emas, otang uchun ishlaysan-ku!" SHu gapni aytib bo'ladi-yu… Sobir akasi bir lo'mboz loy zarbidan handaqqa - Kenjaning oyoqlariga yiqiladi. Lo'mboz ortidan darg'azab otasining yozg'irishlari paydar-pay uchadi: "Ha, hammang men uchun ishlaysan! Bu dunyodagi hamma Zokir muallimning mushtdekkina qornini to'yg'azish uchun ishlaydi! Bitta Zokir tekintomoq takasaltang, boshqa hamma mehnatkash-da, aõir!.."
Keyinchalik, oradan yigirma yilcha o'tib, Kenja tibbiyot institutini "quloq-tomoq-burun" iõtisosligi bo'yicha bitirgach, talay sarguzashtlardan so'ng, Til-adabiyot institutining Nutq madaniyati bo'limida ishlar ekan, "O'zbek tilidagi arabcha, forscha va ruscha so'zlarning ma'no õususiyatlari va talaffuziga doir" nomzodlik ishini nihoyasiga etkaza turib, "Muallim" so'zining lug'aviy ma'nosi haqida ancha bosh qotirdi. Bo'limda oldinma-ketin ish boshlagan do'sti Nig'mat, ya'ni, Ne'mat bilan bu so'z atrofida uzoq-uzoq baõslashdi. Lekin uning o'zagi - "ilm"mi, "a'lam"mi, "alam"mi, aniqlayolmadi. Har qalay, shu to'rt so'z - "ilm", "a'lam", "alam", "muallim" - o'zakdosh bo'lsa kerak, degan õayolga bordi.
Ha, nima bo'lsa ham keyin bo'ldi. O'shanda - o'ttiz uch yil muqaddam esa, Kenja butun yoz bo'yi uzoq-uzoq o'ylanib yurdi: "Otam nega muncha badjahl? Otam nimadan alamzada? Nega hamma otamning mushtdekkina qornini to'yg'azish uchun ishlaydi?.." Har qalay, o'sha yilning kuzida Sobir akasi o'zicha ertakdagi To'ng'ich botir bo'lib sakkizinchi sinfga, Qodir akasi O'rtancha botir bo'lib to'rtinchi sinfga, o'zi esa, ham Kenja, ham Botir bo'lib, to'g'rirog'i, qog'ozda - "Botir", og'izda - Kenja bo'lib maktab ostonasiga qadam qo'ydi.
Qahramonimiz subhi kozibda manovi kimsasiz dashtdagi katta yo'l bo'ylab baayni efiopiyalik krosschidek bir maromda yugurib ketaversin, biz tag'in uning o'n olti yil avval ko'rgan-kechirganlariga qaytaylik!
O'sha oqshomda qushdek uchib uyga qaytgan Kenja ertasiga õuddi hozirgidek ta'bi õira, ko'ngli õufton, yuragi õun bo'lib shu yo'ldan o'tgan!..
Hammasi o'sha unutilmas oqshomda Malika tilga olgan "Yassaviy - Yig'lagan ota" maqolasidan boshlandi. Navbatchi muharrir sifatida songa qo'l qo'yar ekan, maqola shov-shuv qo'zg'ashini kutgan edi, albatta. Maqbara qurilishi bilan undagi õosiyatli quduqqa bog'liq rivoyatlar jamlanib, ayrim ilmiy manbalar tilga olingan bu maqolani bosh muharrir o'rinbosari - o'zbek tilidagi gazeta "egasi"ni bazo'r ko'ndirib songa qo'ydirguncha naq ona suti og'zidan keluvdi. Lekin maqola bosilib chiqqandan keyingi g'alvalar!..
O'sha kuni ertalab maqolasiga mahliyo boqib shirin orzular og'ushida o'tirgan edi, kutilmaganda bosh muharrir chaqirtirdi. Kirsa, pakanagina muharrir keng-darhon õona to'rida bo'g'irsoq polvondek pildirab yuribdi. Kenjaning salomiga alik olish o'rniga dag'dag'a bilan qarshi oldi:
- Au, sen sarttûng balasi nemeneg'ip jurgeningdi bilesinbe?!
- Minada neni o'ttap tursin?! Qo'ja Aõmet Qazaqstan jerinde jatir, znashit, ol qazaq aqini! Al sen... oni "turk" deysinbe, Turkiege "ma, al, sag'an!" demekshi bolasinba! Bul ne sumdiq?!.
Kenja muharrirni hovuridan tushirib insofga chaqirishga o'zicha urindi. Beiõtiyor adabiy tilga o'tdi:
- Ie, bu nima deganingiz, Amat Mirzashevich? Nima, sizningcha, Forobiy - arab, Navoiy - afg'on, Bobur - hind, Furqat - õitoy ekan-da, bundan chiqdi?.. Turkistonda yashab, Yassaviyga adash bo'la turib...Turkiston jahondagi jamiki turkiy õalqlarning bosh urib kelar muqaddas manzili-ku!..
Bosh muharrirning battar jazavasi tutdi:
- Ay sart, sen nemene, meni o'qitpaqshisinba? Anav qazaqqa nag'ashi Pakengding bir so'zimen seni isge ala qo'yg'animdi qarashi! Pakengdi shaqir mag'an!..
Kenja o'zbek tilidagi gazetaning "õo'jayini" - muharrir o'rinbosariga boshliq chaqirayotganini aytdi-da, o'zi ko'chaga chiqdi. Yutoqib chekdi. "Qaytar dunyo ekan! - o'yladi o'zicha. - Maqolada keltirilgan rivoyatlardan biri boshqacharoq shamoyilda tag'in takrorlanayotgani yo'qmi mabodo?!."
Rivoyat qilishlaricha, chillaõonadagi Ahmad Yassaviyga "YAssini chigillar bosib olib, uni "Chigiliston" deb e'lon qilishdi", deya õabar qilibdilar. Bir yuz yigirma olti yoshdagi nuroniy avvaliga "Men chillaõonaga dunyoning ishlaridan etak silkib tushganman" deya javob qilibdi. Keyin mash'um õabarning mag'zini chaqib, er yuziga chiqib kelibdi. "Hoy, Turk Otaning noahil bolalari! - deb õitob qilibdi. - Bu olamda Chin-Mochin, Hindiston, Arabiston, Yunoniston bor, ana, Mo'g'uliston ham bor! Biroq Chigiliston yo'q, Qorlug'iston yo'q, O'g'iziston yo'q, Qipchog'iston yo'q, sizlar uchun yagona yurt - Ota Turkiston bor! Bunday urishqoqlik qilib, bir turkiy urug' ikkinchi turkiy urug'ning qonini to'kaversa, yaqin yillarda yunon bilan arabdan ham yovuzroq bosqinchi bosh ustimizga qilich o'ynatib kelishi aniq, aõir!.." Qal'ani egallab, g'alaba nashidasidan kibr-havo hosil qilgan chigillar haddilaridan oshibdilar: "Õilvatingga tushib, toat-ibodatingdan qolma, hoy qarib miyasi aynigan chol! - debdi chigil beklari. - Dunyoning ishlariga aralashmayman dedingmi, endi so'zingda turib aralashma!" Ana o'shanda bir yuz yigirma olti yashar nuroniy yig'lagan ko'yi uzlatga qayta chekinar ekan, o'zicha duo qilibdi: "Iloyo bu dunyoda chigilning urug'i qurib, oti-zoti qolmasin, lekin Turkiston dunyo turguncha tursin!" Chillaõonada ertasiga Yugnak qal'asidan o'n olti yoshida "tug'ma ko'r shoir", "Adib Ahmad" sifatida nom qozonib kelayotgan bir adashini huzuriga chorlabdi-da, yig'lab o'tirib hasrat qilibdi: "Men bu õalqning ne bir ko'zi ochiq farzandlarini ko'zlariga ayon ko'rinib turgan haqiqatni qayta nuqib ko'rsatib, naq bir asrdan buyon muttasil insofga chaqirdim - kelmadi. Noinsof nodonlar, aksincha, o'zimni yomonotliq qilishdi! Bu ahvolda erta bir kun bu yurtga shunaqangi yovuz bosqinchilar keladiki, ularga qiyoslaganda yunon bilan arabdan suv o'girib ichsa arziydi!.. Ana o'shanda seningdek ko'ngil ko'zi ochiq ruhoniy zotlar õalqning ruhini cho'ktirmay, urishqoqlarni ahillikka undab, nodonlarni insofga chaqirib, haqiqatni ularning ko'zlariga ayon ko'rsatib turishlari kerak bo'ladi. Men-ku, oshimni oshab, yoshimni yashab bo'ldim, endi õudo senlarga to'zim bersin, bo'tam!.."
Bugun o'sha dunyoning ishlarini chigallashtirib, YAssi shahri bilan uning atrofidagi Yugnak, Sig'noq, Cho'rnoq, Qorachiq, Qarnoq, Iqon qishloqlarini o'zlaricha chigillashtirgan, bu qilmishi uchun avliyoning qarg'ishini olgan chigillardan-ku, nom-nishon qolmadi-ya! Lekin bu õalq o'z haddidan oshishlarni bas qilib, insofga keldimi?! Uch juz qozoq bilan to'qson ikki urug' o'zbek bu jahon ayvonidagi jamiki turkiy õalqlarni shu muqaddas zaminda uyushtirishning o'rniga... erta bir kun allakimlar bu shaharni "Bo'jbaniston" deb e'lon qilmaydilarmi mabodo?..
Õonasida yolg'iz o'zi og'ir o'ylarga cho'mib o'tirgan edi, o'rinbosar quyundek elib oldiga kirdi:
- Men sizga niy debidim, inim! "Qo'ying shu maqolani, bir g'alvani boshlamang!" demabmidim?! "Namuncha qo'rqasiz! Nihoyati afsona-rivoyatlar bo'lsa!.. Mana, men o'zim javob beraman!" deb meni aldab chuv tushirdingiz. Ana, o'zingiz javob bering endi, bildingizmi!
Ismi asli arabcha "fotih" so'zidan olingan, lekin bir chalasavod pasportiga "Patiõ" deb yozgan o'rinbosarni o'zbeklar "Patak" laqabi bilan, qozoqlar "Paka", ayrim hazilkashroqlari esa, "Pakana" deya "ulug'lardilar". O'rinbosarning ahvoliga qarab Kenjaning kulgisi qistadi:
- Gap shuki, yaõshilikcha ariza yozing-da, Amat Sultonovdan kechirim so'rab ishdan keting, bildingizmi! "Hazrati Sulton" janobi oliylari "Bilimdonligini O'zbekistoniga borib qilaversin" dedilar, bildingizmi! Qani, tezroq ariza yozing, yo'qsa!..
- Ie, nega endi he yo'q be yo'q ariza yozib ishdan ketar ekanman? Nima, manovi o'zbekcha gazeta bilan Turkiston Amat Sultonovning onasining mahriga tushganmi?! .
- Shuni bilib qo'yingki, inim, balki yovdek yoqalashib ishlasangiz ishlarsiz, biroq endi tarjimonlikdan nariga o'tmaysiz. Sizning "sharofatingiz" bilan "Adabiyot sahifasi"ni ham tugatdik, bildingizmi? endi afsona emas, she'rniyam qozoqchadan tarjima qilib beramiz, Sultonovning ko'rsatmasi shunday, bildingizmi?..
Bunisi endi hammasidan oshib tushadigan gap edi. Aqli bovar qilmadi. Hazilmi, jiddiy gapmi bu?!
- Nima, o'zbek havaskorlari ham she'rlarini qozoqcha yozar ekanmi? Bunaqada o'zbek tilidagi gazetaniyam, maktablarniyam yopib qo'ya qolishsin! Ko'chaga chiqib dod solsang arziydigan gap-ku bu!
- Dodingizni menga aytmang, inim! Arizangizni yozing-da, ana undan keyin bilganingizni qilavering, bildingizmi!
- Yaõshi, ariza yozaman! - Kenja shahd bilan o'rnidan turdi. - Lekin Sultonovga emas, boshqa odamga yozaman arizani!
- Mayli, kimga yozsangiz iõtiyoringiz, faqat meni shu g'alvadan qutqaring, bildingizmi!
Kenja o'rinbosarga ensasi qotib qaradi: quyonyurak! Hali shu yurak bilan necha yillardan buyon o'zbekcha gazetaga muharrirlik qilib o'tiribdimi bu! Qanaqa muharrirlik, nihoyati qullik-da! Senga qolsa, tiling chuchvaradek tugilsa ham qo'l qovushtirib turaverasan! Qo'rqa-pisa bir tavakkal qiluvding, dastlabki tahdiddan hurkib darrov shaqildoq chalishga tushdingmi?!.
Qog'oz-qalamini yig'ishtirib tashqariga chiqdi. To'ppa-to'g'ri birinchi kotib qabuliga boradi. Aytishlaricha, bu odam asli Sayramda tug'ilib o'sgan o'zbek ekan, undan dangal "Yassaviy qozoq oqinimi?!" deb so'raydi. "Manovi Turkistonni kim qachon nega Turkiston deb atay boshlagan, endi kim qachon otini yana boshqa qo'yadi?" deydi...
Birinchi kotib "SHu odam qachon kelar ekan" deb kutib o'tirgan ekanmi, nima balo, bir lahza ham kuttirmay qabul qildi. O'zi orqavarotdan ko'p eshitgan ta'riflarda jon bor ekan, toshni ham eritib yuboradigan darajadagi quyuq iltifotu muloyimlik bilan kutib oldi. Ahvol-ruhiyasini so'radi. Arz-dodini jimgina eshitdi. Maqolasiga ko'z yugurtirdi. Har bir gapini astoydil iõlos bilan bosh tebratgan ko'yi ma'qullab turdi. Ayniqsa, Yassaviyning qay millatga mansubligi õususida gap ketar ekan, allanechuk hayajonlanib Kenjaning gapini og'zidan ilibmi-yulib oldi:
- Judayam to'g'ri aytasiz, Botir Zokirovich! Yassaviy ijodi barcha turkiy õalqlarning mushtarak merosi, albatta. Binobarin, uni "qozoq oqini" deyish mutlaqo noto'g'ri. Biz Yassaviyga tor milliy manfaatlar, ayniqsa, urug'chilik kayfiyatlari nuqtai nazaridan qarashga mutlaqo yo'l qo'yolmaymiz. Ayni chog'da bu odamning o'taketgan õudojo'y zohidligi, tarkidunyochilik kayfiyati, ta'limotining o'ta reaköion mohiyatini õaspo'shlab ko'rsatishga urinishlarga ham mutlaqo qarshimiz! - So'ngra kamida Dilbar Abdurahmonovadek ulkan musiqiy ansamblni boshqarishning rosa hadisini olgan mohir dirijer singari kutilmaganda gap ohangini keskin o'zgartirib, unga sinovchan tikildi: - Qayerni bitirgansiz, ukajon?
Kenja hamsuhbati gapni qaerga nima maqsadda burib o'zini qayoqlarga boshlamoqchiligini tushunolmay imkon qadar qisqa javob qildi:
Sarkotib bir muddat jim qoldi. So'ng o'ta mehribonlik va astoydil õayriõohlik bilan so'radi:
- Turkistonda sizdek kamyob mutaõassisni ko'zlarimizga to'tiyo qilsak arziydi! Buning ustiga, aytishlaricha, diplomingiz qizil ekan, o'zingiz ham... ro'znomada nima qilib o'tiribsiz, ukajon?..
Nima desin? "Dam she'r, dam hikoya, dam maqola yozib o'tiribman" desinmi? "Qozoqchadan o'zbekchaga tarjima qilib" desinmi? Yo'q, gapni chuvalatmagani ma'qul! Ochig'ini aytib, ahvolini imkon qadar to'g'ri tushuntirishga urindi:
- Bilasizmi, To'raõon Jo'rashevich, o'qishni bitirgach bir muddat Toshkentdagi qiltomoqlar shifoõonasida ishladim. Bu erga kelib qarasam, ko'z tegmasin, bittayam qiltomoq yo'q, demakki, uni davolaydigan shifokorga zarurat ham!.. Bolaligimdan adabiyotga, ijodga ishtiyoqim baland edi, shuning uchun...
- Ishtiyoqingiz balandligi ko'rinib turibdi! - "Mohir dirijer" tag'in gapni ilib ketdi: - Lekin õalqimiz "CHumchuq so'ysayam qassob so'ysin" deb bekorga aytmagan. Bizga har bir sohada, jumladan, tibbiyotda ham, adabiyotda ham, matbuotda ham yuksak malakali mutaõassislar kerak. O'z o'rnida kerak! O'z iõtisosligingiz bo'yicha ishlang, yordam beray, tomog'i bo'lmasa, qulog'i bilan burni kasallar ko'p bizda! SHunaqangi dimoq-firoqlar borki!..
Kenja birdan bo'shashdi. "Yo'q, bu odamni gap bilan engib bo'lmaydi!" degan Qodir akasi ming karra haq ekan!" - iqror bo'ldi o'zicha. Lekin Qodir akasi nihoyati bir usta "temirchi", o'zi havaskor bo'lsayam, har qalay, ijodkor-ku! Tag'in bir urinib ko'rdi:
- Yosh mutaõassisga yordam qo'lini cho'zmoqchi bo'layotganingiz uchun rahmat, To'raõon Jo'rashevich, lekin mening ko'nglim...
Jo'rashev samimiy(mi ekan?) kuldi. e'tirozga o'rin qoldirmaydigan bir qat'iyat bilan o'sha-o'sha halimlik bilan uqtirdi:
- Ko'ngilning ko'chalarini qo'ying, Botir Zokirovich! Yuksak malakali tibbiyot õodimi sifatida o'zingiz ham bilsangiz kerak, "ko'ngil" deganlari aslida yo'q narsa! SHoirlarning havoyi so'zi bu! Odamda jigar bor, o'pka bor, hay, ana, yurak ham borda bor, biroq ko'ngil?.. Biz materialistmiz, binobarin, yo'q narsalar bilan emas, qo'lga ilinadigan, ko'zga ko'rinadigan narsalar bilan ish ko'ramiz! Õo'sh, nima deysiz, sog'liqni saqlash bo'limiga aytaymi?..
Ochig'i, Kenja ishning bunday tus olishini mutlaqo kutmagan edi. Qani endi e'tiroz bildirib ko'ring-chi! "Aõir, men sizdan ish so'rab emas, madad so'rab, adolat istab huzuringizga kelgan edim-ku!" deng-chi! Ish battar chappasiga ketmasligiga kim kafolat bera oladi? YO ochiq-oshkor bahsga kirishsinmi: "Nega ko'ngil yo'q narsa bo'lar ekan?! SHu topda sizdan ko'nglim qolmay nimam qoldi? Bir pul bo'lgan kayfiyatim, puchga chiqqan umidlarim, iõlosim, ishonchim, tuyg'ularim... bular ham yo'q narsalarmi?" deb dangal so'rasinmi? Ko'ngil, dil, qalb, ruh!.. Asrlar mobaynida ne bir ulug' zotlar qo'llagan bu so'zlar nahotki hech bir asosga ega bo'lmasa?! Aõir, hamma balo ko'ngilsizlik-ruhsizlikda emasmi? "Kommunistik ruh"da ham ruh bor emasmi?!. Yo'q, u quloq-dimoq-tomoq, ayniqsa, halqum, õususan, nutq a'zolari qurilishi haqida istagancha bahslasha oladi, lekin ko'ngilni!.. Asli nimaligini rostdan ham bilmaydi, shekilli?.. O'rnidan og'ir qo'zg'olar ekan, nutq a'zolari o'ziga bo'ysinmadi:
- Men bir o'ylab ko'ray...
Jo'rashev õayrlashish uchun qo'lini cho'zdi:
- Mana, gaplashib ham kelishib oldik! Jiddiyroq o'ylab ko'ring, ukajon! Basharti yordamim kerak bo'lsa, tortinmay huzurimga keling, õo'pmi?..
U birinchi kotib huzuridan bo'shashib chiqdi. Shoshqaloqlik qilganidan afsuslandi. Bekorga ovora bo'lgani qoldi! Ikki o'rtada qovun tushirdi. Qosh qo'yaman deb ko'z chiqardi. Ortiq qilaman deb tirtiq qildi. Battar ko'ngli õira, ta'bi tirriq bo'ldi...
Raykomdan chiqib, tahririyatgami, bosmaõonagami, uygami - qayoqqa borishini bilmay bir muddat esankirab turdi. Boshi oqqan tomonga ohista odimlar ekan, battar õunobi oshdi. Qachon qaerda qanday õato qildi o'zi?! "Yassaviy - Yig'lagan ota" maqolasini chiqaribmi? Sultonov bilan haq-huquq talashibmi? O'rinbosar Fotih akaning oldida chiranibmi? Birinchi kotibning qabuliga kiribmi? Yo... etti yil ToshMIda o'qibmi? Qachon yo'l qo'ydi o'sha mash'um õatoga?!
"O'tgan o'tdi, ketgan ketdi, so'lgan so'ldi, qolgan qoldi". Bo'ladigan ishni o'ylasa, endi õatoni qanday tuzatish mumkin? Sultonovning oldiga borib tavba-tazarru qilsinmi? SHe'r zavqi, hikoya shavqi, maqolaning totli azobidan butkul voz kechib, tarjima bilan umr o'tkazib, Sultonovdan muruvvat kutib yashasinmi? YO Jo'rashevning taklifiga binoan o'z iõtisosligi bo'yicha ishlasinmi? Tuman shifoõonasining bir õonasini o'ziga moslab, "Bu erda kim birinchi qiltomoq bo'lar ekan?" deya kutib o'tirsinmi?..
"Shu kalla o'zimniki!" deya azot bosh ko'tarib yurgan odam o'z yo'lini o'zi topmog'i kerak! Ayniqsa, yigirma besh yashar Botir!.. "Qo'ying, o'z yo'lini o'zi topsin u, Zavqlanolsin u ham kurash yo'lida!" Burnidan ip o'tkazilgan tuyadek etaklamasa yurolmaydigan nochor-noshud soyaparvardan farqli ravishda, chinakam Botirning eng birlamchi ishi, nomai a'moli bu! Lekin har qanday Botir hayotida ham shunday lahzalar bo'ladiki, u oqil rahnamoning yo'l-yo'rig'iga, ko'pni ko'rgan donishmandning ko'rsatmasiga juda-juda muhtoj sezadi o'zini! Afsuski, Kenjada na rahnamo bor, na donishmand maslahatgo'y!
Har qalay, u yolg'iz emas - akalari bor-ku! To'g'ri, Sobir akasining ko'rgan-boqqani asosan anovi yassi-yaydoq dalalari bilan bir botmonlik ketmoni. Binobarin, kundalik tirikchilik tashvishlari bobida istagan maslahatingiz chiqishi mumkin. Lekin u bosh qotirayotgan masalalar bobida... arbob kerak, arbob! Shunday arbobki, hamisha zo'rdan zo'r chiqib, ne bir arbobni ham har bob bilan uradigan bo'lsin!.. Demak, bu galgi maslahatgo'yi ham Qodir akasi! To'g'ri, Qodir akasi hali ulkan arbob emas, nihoyati arboblikka nomzodgina! Nomzod bo'lganda ham... yigirma to'qqiz yoshida jahonning qoq yarmini tomosha qilib, kuni kecha Moskvadan Turkistonga qaytib kelgan, Hazrati Sultonning yonidan dang'illama uy sotib olgan, Turkiston Industrial Teõnikumi (TIT)da o'qituvchi, ayni chog'da, ta'mir-meõanika zavodida bosh injener bo'lib ishlab turgan uddaburrolikda tengsiz, naq yulduzni benarvon ura oladigan Qodir akasi bor-ku! Bu atrofda Qodir akasidan zo'rroq arbobni qayoqdan topasiz?!.
U akasiga ko'nglini yordi. Uyda ro'znomani, ro'znomadagi Kenjaning maqolasini o'zicha hijjalab yotgan Qodir akasi ukasining ahvol-ruhiyasini ko'rib, qo'shimcha tafsilotlarni o'z og'zidan eshitib, jahli chiqdi. Qizishib uqtirdi: "Namuncha ammamning buzog'idek bo'shashasan, ukaginam? Kim aytadi seni Kenja Botir deb! Avval-boshda Toshkentdek shahri azimdan bekor kelding - gapning qisqasi shu! Nima, bu erda senga birov pishirib qo'yganmidi?.. - Ukasining battar bo'shashganini ko'rib shashtidan tushdi. Gapni qisqa qildi: - Haliyam kech emas! endi Qorachiqni - Sobir akangga, Turkistonni - menga ishon-da, o'zing Toshkentga qayt, inim! Sening joying Toshkentda! Katta Turkiston - Buyuk Turonning bugungi Qorachig'ida!.."
Qodir akasi bilan vaqtincha õayrlashib Qorachiqqa chiqar ekan, o'zicha õulosaga keldi: ha, rostdan ham tag'in Toshkentga qaytib borishi kerak - eng to'g'ri yo'l shu! "Bilimdonligini O'zbekistoniga borib qilsin!" degan Sultonovning ham ko'ngli to'lsin-da! Jon-tanni halqumga qadar ko'rdi-bildi, yaõshigina o'rgandi, endi Toshkentga qaytib borib, aynan ruhshunoslikka o'qiydi. Fiziologiyadan psiõologiyaga o'tadi! Mayli, naq bo'g'ziga qadar fahshga botgan haromtomoqlar bilan shug'ullanib jarrohlik qilishni istamasa, sog'likni saqlash vazirligimi boshqa biron joydan ish qidiradi. Ishqilib, bu ruhsiz tuzumga ruh bag'ishlash harakatida bo'ladi endi. Turkistonga qaytib kelib, bir topgani - Malikasi, yana bir topgani - "Yassaviy kim? Turkmi, qozoqmi, bo'jbanmi?" qabilidagi savollar bo'ldi. endi Malikani Toshkentga olib boradi-da, bunday savollarga ikkovlashib, agar õudo bersa, o'zlaridan ko'payib-ko'payishib, bola-chaqalari bilan birga javob qidiradi!
Uyga kelib oyisiga o'z ahdini ma'lum qildi:
- Men Toshkentga qaytib ketmoqchiman, oya!
Uch o'g'lining, ayniqsa, Kenjatoyining ra'yini qaytarib-shashtidan tushirib o'rganmagan, aksincha, o'z erki-iõtiyorini har bob bilan rag'batlantirishga odatlangan ona, baribir, andak taraddudlandi:
- Maylin-ku, bolam... biroq o'zing kuni kechagina "Endi hamisha yoningizda bo'laman" degan eding... Ko'ngling tag'in Toshkentga chopar ekan, bu erga kelishdan maqsading nima edi, o'g'lim?..
Kenja ma'noli kuldi:
- Maqsadim ko'ngilga yo'l topish edi-da, oya!..
"Imga tushunmagan dimga tushunmaydi" deydilar. Shu bir hikmatli gapni yaratgan turkistonliklar imni ham, dimni ham juda yaõshi tushunadilar. Ular odam bolasi tilga olayotgan har bir gap-so'zning avrasigagina emas, astariga ham qaraydilar, zero gap tagida gap borligini juda yaõshi biladilar. Shu boisdan har bir turkistonlik muqotish-kekatish, piching-kinoya, tagdor imo-ishora, uchuruq-qochirimga usta bo'ladi. Shu qadar usta bo'ladiki, farg'onalik eng hozirjavob askiyachini ham so'z o'yinida bir cho'qishda qochiradi desak lof qilmagan bo'lamiz. Gap Kenja Botirning onasi õususida ketar ekan ayta olamizki, u erning tagida ilon qimirlasa bila oladi. Har bir odamni, uning qanday odamligini, ichidagi olasini yuzidan yo so'zidan emas, ko'zidanoq taniydi. Turkistonliklarning onaga bag'ishlangan eng dilrabo qo'shig'ida aytiladiki, "Ko'kimtir ko'klamda ko'zingdan taniyman". O'g'il onani qirq yillik ayriliqdan keyin ham ko'zidan tanir ekan, ona bolani ko'zidan tanimaydimi? Ko'zidan taniydigan odam so'zidan tanib, gap tagidagi gapini tushunmaydimi? Garchi o'g'li nima demoqchiligini nainki tushunib, dil-dildan his qilib, hayotidagi eng baõtiyor lahzalarni boshidan kechirayotgan bo'lsa-da, yolg'ondakam qovoq uyib so'raydi:
Ona ma'noli kulib o'g'liga tikiladi. O'g'il ham ma'noli kulib erga qaraydi-da, savolga javoban sukut saqlaydi. Tushungan odam huda-behuda gapiravermaydi - kerakli paytda sukut saqlashniyam biladi. Tushungan odam huda-behuda o'smoqchilayvermaydi ham - garchi savollari javobsiz qolgan bo'lsa-da, etarli javob olgandek qanoat hosil qiladi. Dil dilni tuyganda tillashish shunaqangi osonlashadiki!..
Buyog'i endi to'y - Turkistonning to'yi, turkistonlik o'zbek Kenja - Botir bilan Malikaning to'yi!
Turkistonlik o'zbekning, umuman, o'zbekning to'yi ta'rifga sig'adimi? Qiyin ish bu! Aõir, kamalakni qanday ta'riflash mumkin? Yo'q, astoydil intilgan odam ta'rifga sig'dira olar ekan! Mana, Hayot Ismoilov... "O'zbek to'ylari" degan katta bir kitob yozibdi! Iloyo qo'li dard ko'rmasin, umridan baraka topsin shu odam! Nihoyatda õayrli, savob ish qilibdi! Mumkin ekan-ku! Etti yoshdan etmish yoshga qadar har bir qorako'z o'zbekning butun umr orzu qiladigan eng oliy murod-maqsadi - to'yini ta'rifga sig'dirsa, õalqning udumi bilan ko'nglini to'g'ri tushunsa bo'lar ekan-ku! YAna bir marta tilak bildiramiz: har bir o'zbekning ko'nglidagi murod-maqsad manzili - to'y haqida yozgan odamning qo'li dard ko'rmasin, topgan-tutgani to'yga buyursin!
Kamalakni ta'riflash qiyinmi, tasvirlab ko'rsatish? Ikki qorako'z o'zbekning kutilmagan baõti - Otabek bilan Kumushbibining to'yidan bir nechtagina lavhani qoyilmaqom tasvirlagan Julqunboy... ayni shu to'y tasviri sabab o'z vaqtida har bir qorako'z o'zbek nazdida osmon qadar yuksalgan, yot ko'zlarga esa, o'tdek bosilgan emasmi edi? Agar bu to'y batafsil tasvirlanib, "O'tkan kunlar" emas, "To'y" degan roman yozilganida... õudo biladi, nima bo'lar edi!.. Kenja botir bilan Malikaning to'yini qay bir ilohiy qalam ko'ngildagidek tasvirlab bera oladi? Yolg'iz o'zi ikki o'g'lini uylantirib, uchinchi o'g'lining to'yini intiqlik bilan kutayotgan onaizorning Malika yashaydigan õonadon eshigini supurar ekan, ko'nglidan kechirganlari. Bir yonida - Sobiri, bir yonida - Qodiri, o'rtada - o'zi sovchilikka kirib borar ekanlar, har uchchovining ahvol-ruhiyasi, dilidagi shukronasi, faõri-g'ururi, sha'ni-shavkati... Qariyb yigirma yil intiqlik bilan kutilgan lahzalardagi qudalar bilan bo'lajak kelin-kuyovlarning kayfiyati. "Qudachilik - ming yilchilik", "Qizi borning nozi bor", "Bor tovog'im, kel tovog'im, bormasang-kelmasang, ikki o'rtada sin, tovog'im" singari Yassaviy hikmatlaridan ham hikmatliroq gaplari. Bunday gaplarning qay birini aytaverasiz, aqalli to'y bilan bog'liq so'zlarni bir sidra tilga olaylik! "To'qqiz-to'qqiz", "Qiz oqshomi", "Ish ko'rdi", "Kelin tushdi", "Yor-yor", ko'pkar, kurash, karnay-surnay... Bularni sanab tugatish qiyin-ku, hammasini tasvirlab ko'rsatish... osonmi?! O'zbek õalqining jami yuzga yaqin dostoni qahramonning murod-maqsadiga - to'yga etish yo'lini ko'rsatishga bag'ishlangan-da, aõir! Ularni bir dostonga jamlash... amalda mumkinmi?!. Bizning ishimiz o'ta cheklangan - holimizga yarasha: uch og'a-ini, õususan, Kenja - Botirning ko'ngliga imkon qadar to'g'ri va qisqa yo'l topish!
Bas shunday ekan, "chekinish"ni qisqaroq qilib asosiy muddaoga o'tsak, Kenja to'y arafasida kuyovto'ra sifatida bashang kiyinib, qay bir ko'zlarni o'ynatib, qay bir ko'zlarni kuydirib Qodir akasining mashinasida Qorachiqdan Turkistonga tushdi. O'z arizasiga binoan ishdan bo'shar ekan, bosh muharrir bilan o'rinbosarni, Sarsenboy bilan Dugonani, tahririyat bilan bosmaõonadagi boshqa hamma-hammani to'yga taklif qildi. Birinchi kotibni taklif qilib ovora bo'lmadi: birinchidan, endi qabul qilmaydi. Ikkinchidan, qabul qilib taklifnomani olganida ham, baribir, to'yga kelmaydi. Taklifnomani qabulõonada qoldirish... yo'q, bu nafsoniyatdan, hamiyatdan, oriyatdan emas! "Suymaganga suykalma" deganlar! Sevgi esa, ko'ngilda bo'ladi! Ko'ngilni yo'q deb bilgan odam... sevgini, ishq-muhabbatni biladimi!..
"To'y" degan romanni yozolmagan o'zbek yozuvchisi "Asal oyi" degan romanni qayog'dan yozsin!
Afsuski, inson umri to'y bilan asal oyidangina iborat emas!..
Asal oyini Turkistonning Qorachig'ida o'tkazganidan keyin Kenja bilan Malika ikkovlon "Qaydasan, Toshkent - ulkan Turkistonning hozirgi ulkan Qorachig'i!" deya yo'lga tushadilar. Ularni Qodir akasi o'z mashinasida Qorachiqdan Turkistonga olib tushib, Turkistondan Toshkentga kuzatib qoladi. O'shanda Qodir akasi anovi Qorachiqsoy ustidagi yangi ko'prik qoshida bir muddat to'õtab, surunkali zo'riqishdan qizib ketgan mashinasiga suv quyadi...
"Suv deya, suv deya kechmishdir". O'ylab qarasangiz, bugungi kunda bu ko'hna er sathini o'rgimchak to'ri yanglig' o'rab-chirmab olgan katta-kichik, tosh-temir, shag'al-tuproq, havo-suv yo'llari bo'ylab bir-birlariga basma-bas kezib yurgan sonsiz-sanoqsiz qurilmalarning jamiki g'ildiraklariyu parraklari suv deya suv deya chirpirak bo'lib aylanayotgandek! Faqatgina yo'lovchi qurilmalarmi?! Ne bir zavod-fabrikalar, konöernlar, birlashmalar, butun boshli sanoat shaharlari!.. Baayni ajdahodek bahaybat og'izlarini ochib, atrof muhitga o't-olov purkab, suv deya suv deya yutoqib na'ra tortmayaptilarmi?! Nihoyati kichik bir soy emas, Jayhundek jahondagi eng asov daryolaru Oroldek jahondagi eng sersuv dengizlarning ham sho'rini quritmayaptilarmi ular - o'sha yutoqqan yuholar?..
…Mana, qahramonimiz o'sha yutoqqan yuholar bilan bahs bog'lagandek, kimsasiz ko'cha bo'ylab suv deya suv deya chopmoqda! YUragi o'tdek yonib, o'pkasi og'ziga tiqilib, g'arqob bo'lib, Qorachiqsoyga ko'z tikib bormoqda. "Taqa tuyoqni asraydi, tuyoq tulporni asraydi, tulpor botirni asraydi, botir elni asraydi" degan ota-bobolarimiz. Bugungi kunda nima ko'p - yo'l ko'p, yo'l uzra g'izillagan qurilma ko'p, qurilmani abjirlik bilan boshqarayotgan ustasi farang uchar ko'p, biroq Botir qani? Botir bo'lsa, uning Tulpori qani? Tulpor ham topilsa, tuyog'iga taqa qani? Kenjaning qirq yil o'ngga-chapga og'ib ketmay to'g'ri yo'ldan to'g'ri yurib, hattoki yugurib-elib, izlanib-izillab topgan-tutgani temir taqagayam etmadi, o'zi choynakning qopqog'igayam ega bo'lolmadi!.. Shu topda birdan-bir umidi õuddi bolalik chog'laridagidek qadrdon Qorachiqsoy ko'prigiga etib borsa-da, ko'prikda turib o'zini zilol suv bag'riga otsa! Kuyib borayotgan yuragini muzdek suvga cho'mdirib bir muddat halovat topsa! Lekin...
Qani o'sha bolalik qadrdoni Qorachiqsoy? Bir paytlar yoz chillasida ham to'lib-toshib oqib, ne bir mustahkam ko'priklarni oqizib ketgan asov Qorachiqsoy. Mustahkam ko'prik-ku, mana, egasiz qolgan uydek hunuk qo'nqayib turibdi. Ana, soyning o'zani ham ulkan ajdahoning tashlangan po'stidek qaqrab-qovjirab yotibdi! Lekin soyning o'zi… yo'q-ku? Yo'q, ana, "ajdaho"ning naq halqumi-giriboni-jig'ildonida bir hovuchgina ko'lmi-ko'lmak gavhardekkina bo'lib ko'rinib turibdi! YAna bir achchiq terga botib shu ko'lga borgani bo'lsin! Baribir, jismi tozalanmay turib ko'ngli ravshan tortmaydi. Ona qishloqqa õira ko'ngil bilan kirib borishning esa, õosiyati yo'q! Binobarin, umidi ana o'sha ajdahoning og'zidagi gavhardan!..
I qism. (I-X boblar) Kenja Botir qissasi...................................................8
II qism. (XI-XV boblar) Sobir qovunchi qissasi....................................89
III qism. (XVI-XX boblar) Qodir uchar qissasi....................................133
IV qism. (XXI-XXIV boblar) Kenja Botir qissasidan hissa................193
Asar 1994 yilda Alp Jamol mukofotiga sazovor bo'lgan. Asar kitob shaklida 2009 yilda nashr etilgan. Asarni to'liq holda 2009 yil chop etilgan "Tilsim (Turkiston dostoni)" deb nomlangan kitobdan o'qishingiz mumkin. Bu kitob Toshkent shahridagi "Sharq ziyokori" do'konida sotilmoqda. Kitob narxi: 6900 so'm. Mazkur do'kon telefon raqami: 233-35-90.
Author: Otauli (Rakhimjon Otaev)
Translator from Uzbek into English: Farrukh Ataev
Doston of Turkiston
If you not believe in God in soul,
If you not shake your 360 blood vessels,
If you not enslave your 444 bones,
You are a liar; you aren't in love with God.
If acquaintances of Kenja in the hospital had told him yesterday "Tomorrow you will be a long distance away at this time" he would have laughed telling "Are you prophesizing?" Helplessly, a human being can not know what will happen not only after a day but even after a moment. You plan "I'll do this" or brag "I'll do that". But totally unexpected occasions suddenly arise before you and frustrate all your plans. Otherwise, would a man, who just yesterday laid suffering in a bed in hospital, clutching his head and not knowing where to put his strongly, incessantly aching head, be sitting trembling painfully and looking at the dark window in a compartment of a coach! Yes, they call it life, which is fine if you can bear, but if you can't, there, ready train, like the woman, who lost her husband relying on her lover, throw yourself under the wheels and could go to heavens!
There are moments in one's life, when he takes his duppi off (if there is one!) and wants to ponder seriously over his flowing life. Even when the whole world is on fire and you are running back and forth in hope of extinguishing the fire, you need to stop for a while and look around. For a person greeting 40th year of age, it is not simply a wish, but a necessity. Inner necessity! You see, out fathers-grandfathers have not vainly told "Man's life is like a mountain; forty hills - ascent, forty hills - descent". If you don't look attentively ahead and behind at least when you are on an acme, when are you going to look? There is also a saying "If you learn something at your thirty instead of ten, do at your forty, and then are you going to think where dead?" Yes, it is an accountable world, especially; the life has to have its counting!
A week ago it wasn't only a neurotic sickness, which made Kenja come to be in the hospital. It was not the assertions and alarms of doctors like "You sawed and ended your nerves! This way you would go crazy!" He had other reasons to make strong decision "That's it! I'll get in!" In the beginning he would not think of anything, but take a rest for the forty years right away. Then he would analyze his forty-year life. And then… he would take up his scientific work, which had been eating camel's meat for many years, and put an end to it! "Further - nowhere! Behind us - Moscow!" said Russians.
He has recently read three works one after another while preparing a written speech on orthographical matters to use in his doctoral work. "A law of eternity", "An answer", "A tulip field". Look, in all these three works, a protagonist lies in hospital and estimates his past life. At that time Kenja thought "Oh, by the way…". Clearly, his estimation will not take months! One or two, at most, three days will do. What is the use of tormenting yourself in thought? It is enough to rest his nerves and collect his thoughts. Then you'll see him standing on a peak "Ming yilqi" and ready to say "I'll wring a mountain!"
These were streets of his desire! And now, all has left unattained.
Damn both all the lightening world's affairs and that "sensational" doctoral work! When does unlucky man's hunt go well, if it does - his claim goes well?
He took his eyes off the pitch-black window and unfolded a crumpled weekly newspaper in his hand. Stared at the last page: "Advertisements"… "Welcome to cool beverages!" He laughed bitterly. "Cool beverages! A beverage is not a seacoast to call it cool! It could be "cold", "icy", "freezing", whatever, but … not Uzbek, not Turkish, but it is dull. Shifted his glance to another point of the page: "Relax station". Yeah right! Name it "Waiting room"; call it "Resting station" …
He got disappointed at it too and his heart contracted. He headed dizzily to the tambour like a drunkard. Tambour! Look at the coincidence of that tambour with this one. ("Am I playing tambour to your ear?" means "Am I speaking to a wall in vain?"). God's truth, at the moment his nerve is strained more than both tambours!... Trying to avoid touching the dirty tambour's walls he hardly took a tobacco-case out of his pocket. A piece of paper came out together with his fingers. That bad news! The four torn sentences, which have been memorized during the last three hours, intruded his thought like a black whirlwind: "Botir, your mom feels bad, come quickly, brother" Interesting! Which brother is it? Sobir or Qodir? Elder brother has not much skill at writing. Then, younger! But… his brother with curved horn, the most skillful of all skillful, who are able to teach a devil … has sent a telegram, but forgotten to write his name. Did he get lost at mom's being ill in bed? Then, tell that something has really happened! How is his dear mother?...
"No, it is not so, it can't be so!" - Kenja looked for consolation to himself. Two months ago when he went she was quite well! True, she looked a bit worried at the new business his brothers had started jointly, but lively. Furthermore, no matter how much hostile they look at each other both his brothers are not inept. Especially, his brother Qodir, whose hand can reach the other side of the world!.. Would he keep a dying person at home and send a message? Seating her in his car, he could have taken her to that big city with those well-known doctors. What if he makes a call at least?
Moreover, what can you do to the clumsy woman, who had been hiding such an urgent message for three days, huh! "When you have just lied down… I didn't want to bother you!" she says! MOTHER is in that state over there and here she takes such care.
To tell the truth, he made a mistake himself at the beginning. What was he doing in the hospital in the middle of the city in such hot time? He could have gone to the village taking his children. No! He thought to take three-four days of rest, then to put an end on that work and submit it for typing… He submitted very well. It is always so: aim at one - the result is another. What the heck, are his works and luck cursed?!
True, whether the sleeping-pills taken one after another have shown their power, in the beginning he didn't lift his head from sleep for two days and nights. Having his nerves fully relaxed and taking a look at the weekly schedule on the third day he was happy. How could he not be happy if after another three days he would give a serious speech to all people of the republic on "The problems of standard of speech at present time"! He hardly spent the three days showing off the schedule to his roommates. Then listening to radio - his only entertainment, he couldn't believe his ears. His "sensational" speech announced in the weekly schedule… for some reason was not broadcasted? Oh God, had it occurred a problem within the three days and the order of the programs totally changed? What mean person's work is this?" Right after lunch he made a call from the booth at the side of the building to the literary worker, who had prepared his speech. "Is everything all right, uka , for some reason I was not in the morning program?" The worker answered shortly: "Calm down, aka , there is nothing". He wasn't satisfied with the answer. "How should I understand it, uka?" The man on the other end of the line was more hot-tempered than him and he shouted angrily: "You are strange, brother! I said there was nothing. That is it! Do you understand Uzbek or not?" In order to avoid irritating the worker he didn't say good-bye and hanged the handle. Coming out of the four-cornered booth he swallowed his grievance inside. "No, I don't understand Uzbek, uka! Here, I've been mad for thirty years not to be able to understand the language! It is not a language, but a mystery!"
He could endure until noon trying to chill out his nerves. At last, in the afternoon he went to the city in the dress, which he had been keeping in the room just in case. It seems the literary worker does not want to tell something! There is likely something here! He needs to know what it is! Maybe, it is not late yet? Maybe, the situation can be corrected? Is it bad for a candidate of science to tell the truth from his heart in the democracy? Why do they cross out his words with one strike?
While he waited for a bus at the stop he thought: "I can go to radio anytime, should I better take the second copy of the manuscript?" When he phoned home, he was given an instruction by his wife: "Since you are coming home, can you do shopping on your way, daddy? Till then I will look after the baby and cook palov ? Okay?" It made his blood boil again.
The working day drew close to end, when he came home having carried out the directives of his wife. Anyway, there is about an hour… Putting aside his string-bag he grabbed the phone. He called the worker and even those taking higher posts than him one after another. If one would pick up the phone! No! "That is it, today is lost as well!" - thought with anger. At this moment condemns of the doctors came to his mind: Lead such a life that if the world floods the water will not rise to your feet! Be more careless, brother! Is there any benefit from sawing your nerves incessantly?" He waved his hand negligently; enough for today! He will go straight to the radio committee, finish his work and then pass to the hospital. It is not that bad! With the thoughts he caressed his little daughter, then glanced out of the window at his children, who were playing in the yard, and entered the bathroom calmly. He enjoyed the warm bath. He put on his housecoat and went out to veranda. Switched on TV. He lay on his side on a pillow and pulled his little daughter to his embrace, who had recently learned how to walk and was standing near the table. He felt his nerve relaxed. He ate palov quietly listening to the meaningless talk of a fat man on TV with careless facial expression and to his wife's complaints in a sick voice at the same time. After the prayer for the meal as he sipped hot tea and lay sideward on a pillow, his wife stared at the window holding the empty dish. He didn't pay attention in thought she probably wanted to call children for dinner. But his wife's dreamy words… strained his rested for a while nerves again. "In the world there are people who live in pleasure, Kenjaka! We are walking by hanging two bags in our two hands like a saddle-bad. There, Tukhtaboy aka put his brand new car at the door and stands significantly by its side; his children are carrying trailer full of melons and water-melons in the peak of summer! Do they also have unrealized wishes?"
His patience didn't remain to listen to the rest of the words. Something appeared right in his heart and started to burn around it. He yelled automatically: "How many times have I told you, Malika?! I will never get a car unfairly as Tukhtaboy! If you can't bear it, there, highway!" The wife wept: "I just let out what I thought. But you should have been ashamed to speak so…" Now Kenja didn't have any tolerance - neither to drink tea nor to watch TV nor even to see children. Having hardly bridled the newly risen riot in his heart he went quietly in his room. He rotated the round doorknob from inside. That is it! He will imagine there is no one in the world but him! Neither that ambiguous literary worker nor the nerve-racking wife nor the extraordinary neighbor in front of the building, his former roommate, unpleasant Tukhtaboy!.. In hope to soothe his twisted like a silk rope nerves he started to walk side to side in the room. To make himself busy he took the second copy of his speech, which he was looking forward to listening in only a day and a night, and started to look through it. His writings seemed to be incomparably blurry, colorless, colder than those at his heart. No matter how hard he tried to collect his thoughts, the wife's recently told words hit his mind over and over again. He grew angry again. Why is the woman getting more dissatisfied day by day? The person, who had not complained even when she lived on a lease and endured if now recall incredible difficulties… has been residing at the royal apartment for four years and instead of being content her whines raise a dust. Whenever you look at her she keeps complaining "there is nothing at home". "Damn such a life!" she says. "Damn your profession!" she curses.
Right, his profession is difficult, it is for a strong man, who can handle it! A wise man like Goethe has written: "Book addict is a horse without a bridle that only knows how to run eagerly". Can you imagine not a cool-headed European, but a hot-blooded Asian's running zealously!
While Kenja gazed at the stack of papers before him clutching his head in his arms and seemed to be reading, the door was slowly flicked. It followed the begging voice of Malika:
- Open the door, Kenja aka!
He stood up and walked to the door. He stopped in hesitation "Open or not to open?". Frankly, her anger did not end yet. It means she'll tend to argue! Slowly, but told firmly:
- Leave me alone, Malika! It is enough that you spoiled my weekly effort. Let me recover. Meanwhile, you go take the little downstairs to play!
- Your Ilkhom has taken the little downstairs…
- Then… you go too! I've got a work for about an hour.
- And I … have a word to you, Kenja aka, very important …
- What is the matter?
- It is to tell to your ear…
Suddenly his heart anticipated. Before his eyes it embodied very innocent and beautiful Malika of fifteen years ago. He turned the knob slowly, felt hopeful of as well as worried at something and went to take his seat. In short his shoulders sensed the heat of mild forearms.
- Please, don't be nervous, Kenjaka! In order you could recover quietly … I've done something…
"What thing? Yet even for "the quiet recovery"! The person, who wished his quiet recovery…" He was tired of waiting:
- What thing? Stop tormenting me and tell it quicker!
- The thing is… three days ago… arrived a telegram.
- What telegram?
- From your brother…
He looked hastily through the piece of paper in wife's hand and stood up dizzily. It turned out he had to catch the nine o'clock train. What can you tell to the woman? Without telling the possible word he quickly got dressed and cried going out:
- I've to go! Take care of children!
He barely calmed himself down and stopped awhile at the door:
- To the village, dear, village! As soon as I get there, I will phone… - said hardly.
How he got to the station. How many doors and windows he looked in hoping to get a ticket. He requested what apathetic people in vain showing the slip of paper. It is impossible to restore it in mind right now. Anyway, the words of the guy are still sounding under his ears: "I understand you, but understand me, brother! The time is delicate. There is a revision everywhere. I can't take without a ticket!.. He begged almost weeping: "I will talk to the reviser myself! Fine, I will go without a sleep! OK, I will stand by! It is only a seven-hour way! Don't let it be a chimera, dear brother!.. While he was begging the train started to move and the doorman began closing the door. He grabbed the handle desperately and pulled himself up. Anyway, he knows it for sure that his soul was at his throat at that time.
As his mother, his rahmatli father and relatives have said time and again that Kenja was born in the year of scorpion. In spring of the year of scorpion, two people were suffering in bed at their home simultaneously: in this room - his mother, who was having a difficulty with bearing Kenja and disappointing by it the aunt Turdi. In another room - his grandfather Botir was in death agony. In spite of a loss of his speech, the ninety years old grandfather was able to hear the fly clearly until the last breath. He died as soon as he had heard Kenja cry in another room.
It is said, his grandfather Botir was matchless polvon and incomparable mullah . He has lived as polvon for forty years - from twenty to sixty years of age he has walked with a wide chest in the field. He spent ninety percent of his ninety-year life by reading. Until his death, he had always kept Yassaviy's "Khikmat" in his hands and under his pillow. Right, in those chaotic times, the book along with other books "survived" in some abandoned well in a corner of the plane steppe. But even then, his grandfather drove his herd to that side everyday and stroked the book against his eyes. It is a pity; Kenja Botir has seen neither how grandfather Botir wrestled nor the rare books, naturally, nor him. Maybe it is true that there had not been any or had not been preserved, anyway, when he grew up, there was neither grandfather's photo nor his trophy. But every item in the four-pole house, every relative, who comes to this house, makes his soul still alive. Ever since Kenja matured, all discussions taken place in this house have started from grandfather Botir or travel the world, go around and arrive at grandfather Botir's name. Especially, during these conversations his relatives, countrymen - all people have looked at Kenja with a special respect. They used to say "This brave boy is a beloved grandson of his grandfather!" "You are carrying the holy name of your grandfather on your shoulders, Kenjatoy , sonny, - frequently told mother. - I wish you will be a worthy grandchild of your grandfather! It is the only dream I ask from God..!". "Your grandfather Botir - said his elder rahmatli uncle - had willed "Give my name to this my grandson" before his death. At that time your grandfather lost his speech. But he could easily write. Here, he has written his will in the book "Khikmats" of Khazrat Sulton . See it attentively! Don't dishonor the name, son!.." But, traditionally, nobody has called Kenja by his name. He has been "Kenja" or "Kenjatoy" that is it.
Yes, he realizes now that his child comprehension was strongly connected to his grandfather Botir's name: "Your grandfather Botir has done this". "Your grandfather Botir has said this". "I have heard this tale first from your grandfather Botir!.." "It is said that in childhood your grandfather Botir…". "It is a pity that your grandfather Botir has not seen your current state!.."
These kinds of advisory teachings are one. They suited Kenja sometimes, sometimes not. But there are such stories, proverbs and tales associated with the name of his grandfather and imprinted on the child memory that Kenja has been carefully preserving them in his heart like a soul bird. Sometimes he tries to jot them down on a paper. But he gets dissatisfied with his writings. It seems these writings are simplistic compared with what he has heard. As if he will involuntarily spoil the dear name of his grandfather with the writings. As if his pencil and native language are weak to write what he has heard!.. Anyway, Kenja makes an effort to restore some of them in his mind at least. The work (yes, it is not a mere thinking, but a real work!) appeals to him very much. The moments, when he is busy with the work, seem the greatest and the most incomparable rest. But, what can he do, Kenja does not have a chance to rest. At the moment of life and death, it is sparse! Therefore, in hope to ease our hero's load on his shoulder, I think, it will not seem strange if we take the load sometimes upon ourselves…
…One day Botir polvon was going along a stream. He saw a horse-carriage stuck in a swamp. Then Botir polvon said "Look, you tortured the horse, uka? Come on, step aside!", freed the horse and handed its bridle to the man. Afterwards he lifted the carriage fully and placed it on the bank. He criticized the new acquaintance "What kind of carriage driver are you if unable to own your carriage?!" and continued on his way.
Eh, if your grandfather Botir were alive now!..
… - Are you Kenjatoy, son, the youngest grandson of Botir polvon? Then listen: there have lived two brothers over there at the well. The elder was called Parpi polvon, the younger Sayfi polvon. Both of them were very greedy mean people. They blocked the well water and irrigated their plants again and again. The excess water they sent to the steppe, but did not pass a drop to the drying plants down the way. In the village nobody could dare to speak to the shameless men. One day the two brothers argued for a small land. It started a big scandal. Both of them were polvons, whose spades had never touched the ground, therefore they fought long. At this moment Botir polvon came by. He grabbed the shoulders of the two polvons with his two hands and hit them against each other shouting: "Look at you, poor polvons! Your attitudes are a disgrace for the title polvon, fools!"… Since then, the two brother polvons have gained conscience; the people of the village have gotten rid of their violence and praised Botir polvon.
Botir polvons are needed these days as well, very needed!..
…Don't abuse bread, son, don't abuse bread! It could make one turn blind. Do something right for Botir polvon, son. You know, an abuse of bread is an abuse of a country. Come on, I will tell you a real story.
It was a starvation time, when a slice of bread was more dear than God. Some died by swelling from a hunger; some had their last thin goat stolen by a thief. One day two thieves entered our village at midnight and they were carrying out people's cattle. At the bright night Botir domla appeared in a distance. He was going back from Turkiston on a horse at the cool night, and came across this situation!.. He drove the thieves with the cattle out and entered the village in the dawn. Botir mullah watched how the thieves returned the cattle one by one to their owners. After that Botir polvon told to the thieves: "If you do so again, I will not have mercy" and let them go. The thieves, who saw the dreadful look of Botir polvon and were afraid "we will probably die from his single strike", thanked God to stay alive and fled the village. They ran at top speed and cursed each other: "What have I told you? Have not I told you the village had an owner?!"… In a short while the land prospered again.
Did the country remain without owner nowadays, son? Does every village of our country have its own Botir polvon, what do you think? Hopefully, each has!..
…Either in the end of last century or in the beginning of present century, anyway, in my father's period, a big crowd of people has gathered at Khazrat Sulton. At the place there were well-known scientists and mullahs from all four sides of the country. Botir mullah went there from us as well. A famous qori from Bukhara told preaching before an audience. As soon as the qori finished his preaching Botir mullah headed energetically to the lectern: "- Excuse me, mister, - said he, - you told us preaching on sharia here. But in front of the scholar as Khazrat Sulton, it is necessary to speak not about sharia, even not about tariqat or ma'rifat , but about haqiqat . Ahmad Yassaviy is not "a sharia leader" as you said! He is a holy man, who brought the religion one step closer to the truth and rebelled against violence and massacre. He is one of the bases of the Eastern philosophy like Jaloliddin Rumi, Farididdin Attar, Pakhlavon Makhmud, Abdurakhmon Jomiy, Alisher Navoiy and Boborakhim Mashrab. That is why, for several centuries Ahmad Yassaviy's "Wisdom" has been honored as Turkish Qur'an as Jaloliddin Rumi's "Masnaviy manaviy" Persian Qur'an. It is not said accidentally "In Mecca - Muhammad, in Turkiston - Hoja Ahmad". And you are calling one of the bases of the truth as Yassaviy as nothing but "a sharia leader". Your words are a total ignorance, mister?! Does your sharia have a shame?!." In short, Botir mullah has told such a preaching that the famous qori from Bukhara could not say a word.
Nowadays, are there mullahs of this country like Botir mullah, son? Or have all of them perished in those uneasy times? Has the day of the country left dependent on the half-educated people and leaders tired of their pirs ?..
Every time when he recalls these stories, frankly, Kenja misses much his grandfather Botir. He wishes to see his granddad at least once very, very much. Unbearable anguish oppresses his heart. If it were possible to walk step by step and measure ninety years, nine hundred years, even nine thousand years prior to his black birthday! If he could destroy the anguish of many years like Farkhod , who eradicated the mountain! What can be done, a single man can not lift the burden of the anguish! The weight is heavier than the carriage his grandfather has lifted once! How can the man lift the load of centuries, who hardly lifts his forty-year life, is incapable of analyzing in detail the forty years and is even angry not being able to find a spare time for it?!.
It seems the old people's one more dangerous than another words about "the year of scorpion" are right. It is said in that notorious year of scorpion, in which winter was fierce, many oqsoqols passed away and it took away the life of his grandfather Botir before the riping season of mulberry, it was not easy for Kenja either. According to the words of his navel Momo Turdi and his mother, he was born, but struck by illness. He could not recover for forty days. Instead of gaining weight and strength day by day, oppositely, he got thinner and weaker. Various treatments such as vaccinations, prayers, flour application and smoking of medical herbs did not help. The old and experienced men and women of the village have said: "It was hard for the poor boy to carry his grandfather Botir's name". On fortieth day the boy had a skin and bones. He did not have strength for not only crying, but even for opening his eyes. Later his mother has told many times: "God is witness, to be honest, I lost my hope for your survival, Kenjatoy, son. I did not know what to do thinking "My poor son's soul is neglected! For forty days the sucked nutrition has not been absorbed or his soul has not been able to leave the body! It is God's power!". Suddenly, from the door for your luck … your Irisbeka bibi came in, the wife of uncle Usmon, who had fled to Samarqand trying to avoid the blame "enemy of the state". She saw you and scolded us: "Oh, the whole body of my poor son is covered with poison! What cruel people are you?!". She quickly made us find a black lamb. The lamb was slaughtered and you were wrapped with the warm skin of the lamb. I was afraid "My son has suffered so much and now he can not even breathe". When we uncovered the skin and looked at you, your eyes opened widely and your skin turned healthy red! Since then you became healthy as a horse. At that time while placing you into the cradle Irisbeka bibi: "Now the boy will not die. His head will be as tough as a stone. The skin absorbed all poison from his body. Now the birth year of your son is not a scorpion, but the Aries, Shakhodat!". Your bibi has said it right - you have grown up timid and mild like a lamb…".
Right, Kenja has grown up as a mild person. But who knows, probably the complications of the scorpion's year remained in his blood, his forty years life has been surprisingly bitter. If the life is "like achchiq-chuchuk " as mother has said, where is the chuchuk of it?! Having seen only the bitter side of life for not forty days, but for forty years, he is almost fed up?! For a little thing, he gets angry.
No! To think thoroughly, there have been chuchuk-happy moments, holidays and festivities in his life! For example, Kenja remembers well the first holiday in his forty years life. At that time he had just turned seven and was dreaming "soon I will go to the first grade". Later the tradition has disappeared for some reason. But at those times, all people of the village used to make a trip to the city on a truck to celebrate the holiday. His father has taken Kenja once to some holiday too. He can still imagine clearly the shows he has seen for the first time. In the entrance to the city the car stopped, the elders jumped down on the ground and joined the crowds of people flowing to the central stadium. Seeing this Kenja envied the elders very, very much! At one moment his father: "My kenjatoy is a brave boy. He can guard all belongings in the car by himself without fear", praised him, left him alone on the bed of the truck and went to the city too. True, in a short period, he brought out some sweet food and beverages for him. "Here you go, sit and enjoy!" he said and went back. Yeah, Kenja had fun at that time for real. He had so great fun that the tastes of the yummy roll and sweet juices still remain in his mouth. He has been proud of himself by telling along with his dad "how he has watched after the car by himself without fear"! But… after some time, as he matured he recalled the festivity and realized its consequence. It has become a memory, which caused sadness rather than pleasure. When he saw boys, who were not held captive inside a quadrilateral box and passed on their dad's shoulders waving silk flags at the big parades of big cities, the sadness grew bigger. When he heard that Alisher Navoiy has learned Farididdin Attar's "Mantiq-ut-tayr" by heart at his seven, it appeared a sense beside it like regret, craving or missing someone. Especially, he missed much his grandfather Botir. He has been living and missing his grandfather Botir. The reason for the longings for him is not because his grandfather has been a matchless polvon or a mullah, who had studied at madrasah. As his elder brother Sobir, who has seen grandfather, tells with pride, he was very kind, mild, big-hearted, child caring man…
Kenja has been missing his grandfather Botir, whom he has never seen, but for some reason he almost does not miss his father. Why? His own father? After much pondering, sometimes he arrives at such ideas that the reason is the very strictness, curtness and bitter tongue of his father Zokir muallim . Perhaps, it is the reason why he misses his grandfather? Kenja realizes now that he has lived frightened of his dad. His countrymen say that his father has finished the newly founded in Turkiston after the war pedagogical Institute without even studying: he has received the diploma about his graduation somehow and worked as a teacher with the "artificial" document at the elementary school all his life. To be frank, his knowledge has been weak, but he has been very good at education. All graduates in the classes he has taught have become as gentle as a silk, easy-tempered, industrious, having respect for elders and well-mannered. Among them there has been no capricious, hooligan or rascal. How could his father gain such pedagogical expertise? After all, Kenja gets tired of trying to explain something to his three one more capricious and prankish than another boys and even to his relatively milder daughter! It looks for the child upbringing the strictness characteristical to his father is needed! But, what can one do, a character is not always inherited. Kenja is very mild, he is so mild that it is shameful to call him one of the three sons of Zokir muallim: not only criticizing or punishing his prankish children, but he can not even call them to order. Most importantly he should not hear any criticism - it is his only hope!
Right, his father has never cursed either his brothers or Kenja. But he has never fondled either. If his sons did something wrong, father stared at them so aggressively that the "mouse's hole was worth of thousand golden coins". It left no sign from their pranks after that. The three boys started to run hastily to suit their father.
Essentially, his father has made his three sons run a lot. "Sobir, you cut the grass!", "Qodir, you look after the cattle!", "Kenja, you go to the field and fetch some grass for the cattle instead of walking on … like this!"… Usually, everyone did the work assigned to him without any order or direction. Nevertheless, the orders go on: "Your grandfather Botir mullah has told to work rather to idle, Kenjatoy, son! Come on, dig out the land once again!", "There is no benefit from kicking a ball. Better, go to the field to help your mother to pick cotton! Thank God, you have a strength to pull out the cotton from the cup!", "At your age, I have dragged a carriage in place of a camel, Kenjatoy, son! All right, I will not put you at the carriage. But you extract water by pail from the well and water the plants, OK?..", "Your sack of grass is not a burden compared with my loading a bag of thorn on my back wearing chopon in hot summer! Carry on, son, keep carrying! You will mature earlier. You will not get used to sponger. "Work brings pleasure" said my father!..", "You gather the tobacco leaves, put through a thread and hang on a wall! For three big boys it is work for two days at most!"…
What is interesting is that his father grows tobacco in the main part of their small private plot every year. Mother complains: "Do what others are doing, father! What good is there from the tobacco on the land of Qorachiq causing the children's lungs to rotten! There, like other people plant melon, cucumber or watermelon on your small land!.." "I know what to grow myself, - answered shortly his father. - The time demands not a sweet melon, but a tobacco, you know! Hopefully, like cures like!" During the cotton season, especially, on November 7-8, he takes his three sons to the cotton field before the dawn. At the field he shows his anger: "My name is Zokir , therefore, I will teach you how to worship God! You will think of God the whole day without rest! You know, those, who pick cotton on holiday, will earn twice more. Come on, celebrate the holiday in the field and worship God!.."
Yes, Zokir muallim did not mercy his sons. Sometimes, mother dared to object: "Leave, father, like an otabosh , should you make your sons run like in the game of chillak ! Let them play and laugh like normal children for a while! There will be time for working!.." Father interrupts: "Don't interfere in the business you don't understand, wife! I will make these lazy boys work rubbing their noses against the ground! "Who does not work will not eat" said my father! There is nothing at home to place between teeth, it means, they are not working well enough!"…
To tell the truth, his father did not know how to save his own soul. He used to finish lecturing at school and to work and work very hard at his own house or in the field or at his brothers' or countrymen's places. At the same time, he made his three sons work without rest. But he was not scandalist by nature. He disliked quarrelsomeness very much. That was why or because it was written "Botir" in his identity card, his father has never hit Kenja!
No, to think for a moment, he has hit once or made him fight!..
It was early spring then. All came back from school, had lunch and started to till the land assigned for tobacco cultivation once again. He argued with his brother Qodir, who was working beside him, over a qarich long and the middle finger thick earthworm! (At those times, there used to be such worms in the newly worked soil!) A child is a child, Kenja pulled it to one side, his brother Qodir to other side. The animal got torn apart and turned to a sticky fabric. As a result they attacked each other. When they were fighting and trying to knock down each other… strong hands grabbed their shoulders, parted them forcibly and hit them against each other with the same force. A fire sparkled in the eyes. Angry words almost made ears go deaf: "What, is your grease boiling out, lousy boys! You pity neither the worm nor yourselves! The state of the three brothers is such in youth, we will see worse in the future?!"
At that night it took place not a childish, but a seious adult discussion among "Three brave brothers". It was certainly known who was the eldest brother, who the middle and who Kenja Botir. But how should they be? Whose enemy is the lion, whose is the dragon and whose are the forty robbers? Who should do what in order to win these beasts and snakes?.. Maybe with naivety and innocence peculiar to children, but two brothers looked at the eldest brother, "who has never been hit by father", that is, at brother Sobir with admiration in hope to find more appropriate answer.
But the delight did not last long. Because, in only three months, in summer of that year, not a half stick, but a whole lomboz hit "Eldest botir".
At that time his father started to build a house for fifteen years old brother Sobir, who had just finished seventh grade and "become a good guy". One of the three brave brothers throws the never-ending clay that father prepared into the wheelbarrow, another delivers, the third makes a lomboz and transmits to the master. The jobs were divided as follows: seven years old Kenja fills the wheelbarrow with clay with his hands, fifteen years old brother Sobir carries the wheelbarrow and eleven years old brother Qodir hands the lomboz to his father one by one. At the first sight, it looks everything is fine - there is no flaw in the distribution. Everyone is busy with a suitable work. But the proverb is not said accidentally: "Better be Kazakh's dog rather than Uzbek's youngest". There are three people in a row, who order Kenja additionally! Father says: "Kenja, wash gazchop !". Brother Qodir orders: "Kenja, bring water in the jug!". Brother Sobir threatens: "Where is the straw to put under into the wheelbarrow?!". Kenja riots: "What, am I a common errand-boy to all of you?!" His plain hearted brother Sobir, who does not think much about the said word, shouted at Kenja: "Is it a work to put the ready clay into the wheelbarrow! If you work, you work for your father, not for me!" As soon as he said it out… brother Sobir fell down to the legs of Kenja from the strike of a clay lomboz. After the lomboz his father's angry words flew one by one: "Yes, all of you work for me! All people in this world work to feed a fist-sized stomach of Zokir muallim! Only Zokir is a lazy sponger, but everyone else is industrious!.."
Later, after twenty years, Kenja finished the medical Institute with a specialty of "ear-throat-nose". After a lot of adventures and during his work at the department of standard of speech of the Institute of Language and Literature, he was finishing his PhD "On the characteristics of meaning and pronunciation of the Arab, Persian and Russian words in Uzbek language" he thought much about the etymological meaning of the word "Muallim". He argued long with his friend Nigmat that is Nemat about this word, who had recently started to work in the department. But he could not determine whether its meaning was "ilm ", or "a'lam ", or "alam ". Anyway, he came to a conclusion that the four words "ilm", "aalam", "alam" and "muallim" - the words with a single root.
Yes, it has happened later. At that time - thirty three years ago, Kenja kept thinking a lot whole summer: "Why my father was so angry? What did make my father so dissatisfied? Why should all work to feed father's fist-sized stomach?.." Anyway, in fall of that year brother Sobir went to the eighth grade, brother Qodir to the fourth grade and Kenja to the threshold of the school.
Let our hero run on the road of the humanless steppe alone at the daybreak like an Ethiopian runner, let's go back again to the events seen by him fifteen years ago!
Kenja, who returned home flying like a bird at that night, has passed the road in a sour and gloomy mood next day!..
All have started from the article "Yassaviy - crying father" Malika had mentioned at the unforgettable night. As he signed the issue as an editor on duty, of course, he anticipated the noise. His "mother milk flew to his mouth" to convince and make the deputy editor - the "owner" of the newspaper in Uzbek language include the article, which contained the legends about the construction of the mausoleum and the virtuous well and stated some scientific sources. But the troubles, after the article had been published!..
In the morning on that day he was reading his article delightedly and sweet-dreaming, suddenly the chief editor called him. When he entered, the short editor was spinning like a doughnut wrestler in the spacious room. Instead of welcoming back Kenja's greeting he started to threat:
- Ay, sen sartting balasi nemenegip jurgeningdi bilesinbe?!
Kenja wondered and pretended naive in turkistonian - in a "half kazakh" dialect:
- Nyahippan , Amat Mirzaevich?..
- Minada neni outtap tursin?! Hoja Ahmet Qazaqstan jerinde jatir, znashit, ol qazaq aqini! Al sen… oni "turk" deysinbe, Turkiyege "ma, al, sagan!" demekshi bolasinbe! Bul ne sumdiq?!.
Kenja tried to pacify the editor and to call him to justice. He turned to literary speech automatically:
- What, have they come from Turkey and named the city "Turkiston" too, Amat Mirzaevich? What, you think, Forobiy - Arab, Navoiy - Afghan, Bobur - Hindu, Furqat - Chinese?.. Living in Turkiston and being namesake to Yassaviy… Turkiston is neither Kazakh's nor Uzbek's nor Usmon Turks nor Tartar's, but it is a sacred destination of all Turkic nations in the world! Yassaviy too!..
The chief editor grew angrier:
- Ay sart, sen nemene, meni oqitpaqshisinba? Anav qazaqqa nagashi Pakengding bir sozimen seni isge ala qoyganimdi qarashi! Pakengdi shaqir magan!..
Kenja told the "owner" of the newspaper in Uzbek language - the deputy chief editor that the head was calling him and went out himself. He smoked eagerly. "It is a returning world! - he thought to himself. - Is not one of the legends of the article repeating in a different manner, anyhow?!"
It is said Ahmad Yassaviy has been informed in chillakhona that "Yassi has been conquered by Chigils and they renamed it as "Chigiliston". The hundred and twenty six years old noble man first answered "I have come down to chillakhona giving up the world matters". Then he understood the meaning of the bad news and came out of the underground. "Hey, unfriendly children of Turk Ota! - he said. - There are China, India, Arabia, Greece, there, Mongolia too! But there are no Chigiliston, no Qorlugiston, no Oghiziston and no Qipchogiston, there is a single country for you - Ota Turkiston! If you are quarrelsome and one Turkic tribe sheds other Turkic tribe's blood, in close future it is certain that an invader more evil than Greek and Arab will come to our land brandishing his sword!.." The Chigils, who have invaded the fortress and were boasting for the victory, dared too much: "Go to your seclusion and keep on your praying, you crazy old man! - said Chigil leaders. - You have said you would not interfere into the world matters, keep your promise and don't mind our business!" As the hundred and twenty six years old noble man was going back to his seclusion by crying, he made a wish: "Oh God may Chigils extinct from the world and their names get lost, but may Turkiston stand as the world exists!" Next day he invited his namesake, who had been gaining fame as "born blind poet", "Poet Ahmad" at the sixteen years old, to his chillakhona from the Yugnak fortress and spilled out his grief: "I have continuously called many open-eyed children of the nation to justice by finger-pointing to the obvious truth again and again for a century - but they haven't come. Unfair ignorant men, on the contrary, blackened me! In this case such evil invaders will come to the country tomorrow that compared with them Greek and Arab invaders will be a piece of cake!.. At that time the spiritual people with open soul-eyes like you should not let the nation down, should make aggressive be friendly, should call ignorant to justice and show the truth clearly to their eyes. I have lived my life, now may God give you patience, son!.."
Today there have left nothing from the Chigils, who have complicated the world matters, converted the villages Yugnak, Signoq, Chornoq, Qorachiq, Qarnoq, Iqon around the city Yassi to Chigil and been cursed by the saint for their deeds! But has the nation stopped exceeding the bounds and come to justice?! Three hundred Kazakh and ninety two Uzbek tribes should unite all Turkic nations in the world on the holy land, but… will not someone call this city as "Bojbaniston" in the close future?
He was engaged in his own thoughts alone in his room, the deputy editor came into the room like a storm:
- What have I told you, brother! Have not I told you "Give up the article, don't put yourself into a trouble!"?! You have deceived me saying "Why are you so afraid! These are only legends!.. Here, I will take the responsibility!" There, go ahead and answer yourself, OK!
The deputy editor's original name was taken from Arabic "fotih", but an illiterate man has written "Patih" in his passport. Uzbeks used to call him by a nickname "Patak", Kazakhs by "Paka", some jokers by "Pakana". Kenja wanted to laugh looking at his state:
- Why are you worried so much, brother! Is everything all right? Could you speak clearer?..
- The thing is, you better write a request, apologize before Amat Sultonov and quit the job, OK! His highness "Khazrat Sulton" said "He could show his wisdom in his Uzbekistan", you know! Come on, write you request quickly, otherwise!..
- What, why should I write a request and leave the job just like that? What, have this Uzbek newspaper and Turkiston been given in dowry to Amat Sultonov's mother?!.
- Bear this in your mind, brother, you could work fighting like an enemy, but now you can not go beyond translating. You know, "thanks to you" we have finished the "Literature page"? Now we will publish not only legend, but also a poem translating from Kazakh, it was Sultonov's order, you know?..
It was too much. He could not believe it. Is it a joke or for real?!
- What, will Uzbek amateurs write their poems in Kazakh? In that case, let them close down Uzbek newspaper and schools! It is worth of crying out for help in the street!
- Don't tell your complaint to me, brother! Write your request and do whatever you want afterwards, OK!
- OK, I will write the request! - Kenja stood up abruptly. - But not to Sultonov, but to someone else!
- OK, write to anyone you wish, but save me from the trouble, OK!
Kenja grew angry with the deputy editor: coward! Has he been an editor for the Uzbek newspaper with this heart for several years! It is not an editing, but only slavery, at most a translating! For you, even if your tongue is folded like ravioli, you stand still! You took a risk once with great fear, but from the first threat you got afraid and started to whistle the rattle?!.
He collected his papers and pencils and went out. He went straight to the office of the first secretary. It is said he was from Sayram originally, therefore he will ask directly "Is Yassaviy Kazakh poet?!". He will say "Who, when, why has named this city Turkiston and who, when will rename it?"…
The first secretary was evidently waiting for him, that was why he accepted him without delay. The rumors about the man had a ground, he received him with so much kindness that was able to melt a stone. He asked his health and listened to his complaint quietly. He looked through his article. He approved all his words by nodding his head earnestly. Especially, as the talk was about which nation Yassaviy belonged to, he caught or pulled Kenja's words somewhat nervously:
- You are very right, Botir Zokirovich! Yassaviy's works are common heritage of all Turkic nations, of course. Consequently, it is totally wrong to call him "Kazakh poet". We can't allow treating Yassaviy in narrow national interests, especially, by the tribal mood. At the same time we are against this person's keen religiousness, reclusive mood and the attempt to present the reactionary essence of his theory! - Then at least as skillfully as Dilbar Abdurakhmonova, who had a great experience in conducting a large orchestral ensemble, he changed his tone all of a sudden and stared at him with a testing look: - Where have you finished, brother?
Kenja did not understand where and why his companion was turning the conversation and replied as short as possible:
- ToshMI. In speciality of "Ear-throat-nose"?..
The secretary kept a silent a while. Then he asked with great care and sincere sympathy:
- In Turkiston it is worth of revering such a deficit specialist as you! Moreover, it is said your diploma is red and why are you… working at the newspaper, brother?..
What should he say? Should he tell "I have been writing poems, stories, articles"? Should he tell "I have been translating from Kazakh to Uzbek"? No, he should not complicate it! He told the truth and tried to explain his situation as it was:
- You know, Torakhon Jorashevich, I have worked for a while at the goiter hospital in Toshkent after my graduation of the Institute. When I came here, keep an evil eye off, there was no one suffered with goiter, it meant, there was no need for a doctor too!.. I have had a great interest in literature and creative work, therefore…
- Your high interest is noticeable! - "Master conductor" caught his words again: - But our nation has told very wisely "A butcher should cut it even if it is a sparrow". We need highly experienced professionals in all spheres, in particular, in medicine, in literature, in media. Needed at its place! You should work in your own field, let me help. If not throat sick, there are many ear and nose sick people in our district! There are so haughties and disdains!..
Kenja loosened suddenly. He admitted inside that his brother Qodir had been a thousand times right when said "No, it is impossible to win the man!". But brother Qodir is only a "blacksmith", but he, may him be an amateur, anyway, is a creator! He made one more trial:
- Thank you for you support hand to the young specialist, Torakhon Jorashevich, but my soul…
Jorashevich laughed sincerely (for real?). He stated outright not leaving a room for objection with the previous kindness:
- Put aside the streets of your desire, Botir Zokirovich! As an experienced medical worker you probably know the "soul" does not exist in reality! It is an airy word of poets! A human has a liver, the lungs, well, there, some have a heart some not, but the soul?.. We are materialists, consequently, we don't deal with non-existent items, but with items we can hold and see! Well, what you say, should I tell the health department?..
Honestly, Kenja did not expect it to turn out this way. Try to object! To say "You know, I came to you to ask help and justice, not a job!" Who can guarantee that things will not go backwards? Or should he start arguing openly: "Why does not the soul exist?! Who got disappointed in you other than my soul? My spoiled mood, unattained hopes, respect, trust, feelings… do they not exist either?" should he ask? Soul, spirit, heart!.. How could the words, which had been used for centuries by great people, not have a basis?! That is, is not all the problem in absence of the heart and the soul? Is not there a spirit in "Communistic spirit"?!. No, he can argue as much as needed about ear-nose-throat, in particular, about the structure of speech organs, but the soul!.. It seems, he does not know its true meaning?.. As he moved heavily, his speech organs did not obey him:
- Let me think about it…
Jorashevich stretched his hand to goodbye:
- Here, we both talked and agreed! Think seriously, brother! If you need my help, don't be shy to come to see me, OK?..
He came out of the first secretary's office weakly. He regretted to be hasty. His visit was in vain! In the end he failed. He made the mess. His mood got gloomier and sourer…
Having come out of the distcom , he was confused for a while whether to go to the editorial or publishing house or home. As he started to walk slowly and aimlessly, he grew angrier. When where what mistake did he make?! Is it by publishing the article "Yassaviy - crying father"? Is it by arguing with Sultonov? Is it by struggling in the office of deputy brother Fotikh? Is it by meeting the first secretary? Or… is it by studying at the ToshMI for seven years? When did he make that bad mistake?!
"What has happened has happened". How can he correct the mistake? Should he go to Sultonov and beg for excuse? Should he give up the pleasant difficulty of a poem, a story and an article and spend the rest of his life by translating and waiting a mercy from Sultonov? Or should he work by his own profession following Jorashevich's advice? Should he arrange one room of the district hospital and wait "Who will first become goiter here?"?..
One, who carries his head freely saying "This is my head!" should find own way himself! Especially, twenty five years old Botir!.. "Let him alone, let him find his own way, let him be glad on the way of struggle!" Unlike poor-ignorant-shade-loving, who goes like a camel led about by the nose, it is genuine Botir's first priority work, his fate! But in any Botir's life there will be times when he needs a guide of a leader and an advice of an experienced wise man! Unfortunately, Kenja has neither a guide man nor a wise advisor!
Anyway, he is not alone - he has got brothers! Right, all his brother Sobir has are those plain fields and a botmon-heavy mattock. Consequently, he can give any advice related to the daily living hassles. But at the issues he has been racking his head… an official is needed, an official! Such an official that he should be able to fight any other official!.. It means, an advisor this time will be his brother Qodir again! True, his brother Qodir is not great official, but only a candidate for it! He has brother Qodir, who was such a candidate… at the age of twenty nine he has been able to see half of the world, returned recently from Moscow to Turkiston, bought a magnificent house near Khazrat Sulton, is teaching at the Turkiston Industrial Technical College (TITC), at the same time, is working as a chief engineer at the repair-mechanics plant, is an incomparable businessman, who is capable of hitting a star without a ladder! Where can you find around an official man better than his brother Qodir?!.
He opened his heart to his brother. Brother Qodir, who read a newspaper and Kenja's article in it syllable by syllable, saw brother's state of mind and heard other details from his own mouth, grew angry. He explained with anger: "Why are you so sluggish, brother? Who can tell you are Kenja Botir! You should not have returned from Toshkent at the beginning - that is it! What, had someone cooked and prepared for you here?.. - He noticed more inertness of his brother and stopped his rage. He made it short: - It is still no late! Now trust Qorachiq to brother Sobir, Turkiston to me and go back to Toshkent, brother! Your place is in Toshkent! Large Turkiston - Great Turon's present-day Qorachiq!.."
Qodir bid farewell for short with his brother, went to Qorachiq and came to a conclusion: yes, indeed, he should go back to Toshkent once again - it is the most appropriate way! Sultonov should also be satisfied, who told "Let him go and show his knowledge in his Uzbekistan!". He has seen and learned well the body and soul until throat and now he should return to Toshkent to study for psychology. He will switch from physiology to psychology! OK, if he does not like to work as a surgeon with ill-throats, who are in lust up to their neck, he will look for a job at the health care ministry or at some other place. In any case, he will try to donate a soul to the soulless system. One of the findings at his return to Turkiston has been Malika, another one has been questions like "Who is Yassaviy? Turk, Kazakh, Bojban?". Now he will take Malika to Toshkent and start to search an answer to these questions two of them, if God gives, they will get more from themselves and quest along with their with children!
At home he announced his decision to his mother:
- Aya , I want to go back to Toshkent!
The mother, who was not used to object her three sons' intentions, especially her youngest son, on the contrary, used to encourage his freedom-choice, anyway, hesitated a little:
- All right, son… you told me just yesterday "Now I will always be beside you"… If your soul longs for Toshkent so soon, what was your purpose in coming here, son?..
Kenja laughed meaningfully:
- My goal was to find the way to my soul, aya!..
It is said "One who does not understand a gesture, does not understand at all". Turkistonians, who have created the wise saying, can understand everything. They pay attention to both external and internal side of every word, because they know well there is an underlying meaning to every word. Therefore, every Turkistonian is good at allegory, hint, sarcasm, gibe and joke. They are such masters that it would not be an exaggeration to say they can easily win the most quick-minded askiyachi from Fergana. Speaking of Kenja Botir's mother, we can tell she "knows when a snake moves underground". She recognizes a man, how good the man is, his inner bad thoughts not from his face or words, but only from his eyes. In the song of Turkistonians devoted to a mother it is said "In the green spring I will recognize you from your eyes". If son recognizes his mother from her eyes after the forty year separation, could not mother recognize from his eyes? The person, who recognized from eyes, can not she understand the underlying meaning of his words? Even though she understood and felt deep at the bottom of her heart what her son was trying to say and she was experiencing the happy moments of her life, she feigned to frown and asked:
- Did you find your way?..
- I found, aya, I found!
- You found… a princess?..
- How did you know?..
- I know!.. Come on, are you gonna tell the way to your beloved girl's house? Can I ask a present for the good news from your brothers?..
Mother looked at her son and smiled meaningfully. The son also smiled and looked down and kept silent. Understanding man does not speak all the time - he knows when to keep silent. Understanding man does not question a lot - even if his questions remain unanswered, he is satisfied as a man who received full answer. Conversation gets so easy when heart feels heart and soul drinks water from the soul!..
Now it is a wedding - a wedding in Turkiston, Turkistonian Uzbek Kenja-Botir and Malika's wedding!
Is it possible to describe Turkistonian Uzbek's, in general, Uzbek's wedding? It is a difficult work! That is, how can you describe a rainbow? No, if one tries hard, he can do it! Here, Khayot Ismoilov… has written a large book "Uzbek weddings"! May God bless him! He has done very good job! It is possible! It is possible to describe the life-long dream of every black-eyed Uzbek from seven to seventy - his wedding. It is possible to avoid blackening, to value suitably and to understand the nation's tradition and soul properly! We will make the wish once again: OK, let the hands of the writers, who write useless works in the holy language on our sacred land, be covered with boilers, but may the hands of the writer, who writes about every Uzbek's cherished dream - wedding, be healthy and his earnings serve for the wedding!
Is it difficult to describe the rainbow or to represent? Julqunboy , who has wonderfully described several fragments of two black-eyed Uzbeks' unexpected happiness - Otabek and Kumushbibi's wedding… for these descriptions of the wedding has been sky-highly honored by every black-eyed Uzbek and has been pressed on the eyes of enemies like a fire? God knows what would have happened if… the wedding were described in detail and called "Wedding" instead of "Past days"!.. Or, the wedding of Zebi and Akbarali commander in the novel "Night and day"… what is it? Wedding or funeral?.. The description of Uzbek's unexpected happiness at the wedding and the funeral at the wedding is so amazing!.. How will be the beautiful description of the wedding of two young people, which was not unexpected, but has been waited for at least twenty years, who found own equal and are suitable like a brilliant set in a ring? For instance, which divine pencil can describe the wedding of Kenja and Malika as good as soul wants? The heart feelings of the mother, who was sweeping the entrance of Malika's house and waiting anxiously for the wedding of her third son after having played weddings of her two sons by herself. As on one side - her Sobir, on another - her Qodir, in the middle - herself entered the house to ask the girl's hands, the feelings, the mood, thank God, the pride, the prestige of all three… The moods of the parents and the future bride-groom at the moments have been awaited for about twenty years with a longing. The sayings "Bride-groom relationship - for thousand years", "One who has a girl has a caprice", "Go my pan, come my pan, if not go and come, in between break up my pan" wiser than poems of Yassaviy. They are so many, that is why, let's count those related to the wedding! "Nine-nine", "Girl's party", "Job seeing", "Bride came", "Yor-yor" , kopkar , kurash , karnay-surnay … It is difficult to count all of them, is it easy to describe?! That is, overall about hundred dostons of Uzbek nation are devoted to showing the way for the hero's attaining his goal - the wedding! Is it possible in practice to combine all of them into one doston?!. Our job is very limited - according to our strength: three brave brothers, in particular, to find the most accurate and shortest way to Kenja Botir's soul!
Therefore, we better shorten the "lyrical digression" and get to the main work. On the eve of the wedding, Kenja dressed up as a groom and went from Qorachiq to Turkiston in brother Qodir's car by making some eyes play and some eyes flame. He quit his job with his own request and invited all workers at the editorial and publishing house, in particular, the chief editor and his deputy, Boltaboy and the Girlfriend. He did not worry about inviting the first secretary: firstly, he will not accept him. Secondly, even if he accepts and takes the invitation, anyway, he will not come to the wedding. To leave the invitation letter at the receptionist… no, his pride, self-esteem, honor don't permit him! It is said "Don't come close to the one who does not like you"! And the love is in the soul! The person, who believes the soul does not exist… does he know the love!..
The Uzbek writer, who could not write a novel "Wedding", can he write the novel "Honey moon"!
Unfortunately, the human life does not consist of only the wedding and the honey moon!..
Having spent the honey moon in Turkiston's Qorachiq, Kenja and Malika got on the way with the goal "Where are you, Toshkent - large Turkiston's present-day large Qorachiq". Brother Qodir took them from Qorachiq to Turkiston in his car and saw them off from Turkiston to Toshkent. At that time brother Qodir made a short stop near the new bridge over Qorachiq stream and poured water to his car, which had been overheated after the long running…
If you think a while, all wheels and propellers of countless machines traveling back to back nowadays by large and small, stone and metal, gravel and ground, air and water ways, which covered the ancient world surface like a spider web, seem to spin by asking water and demanding water! Are the only passenger machines?! Large plants-factories, concerns, unions, whole industrial cities!.. Are not they opening their massive mouths like a dragon, spraying fire to the environment and roaring thirstily for water and water?! Are not those gluttons ruining not only small streams, but also the wildest rivers such as Amudaryo and the most watery sea such as Aral?..
Here, our hero like arguing with those thirsty gluttons is running through the empty road by striving for water, for water! His heart is burning like a fire, his lungs are stuck in his throat and he is sweating and aiming at Qorachiq stream. Our ancestors have told "A horseshoe saves the hoof, the hoof saves the horse, the horse saves the hero, the hero saves the nation". Nowadays there are many roads, there are many fast machines running on it, there are many dexterous men, who drive the machines skillfully, but where is Botir? If there is Botir, where is his Horse? If the Horse is found, where is the horseshoe to its hoof? Kenja's findings on the right way by walking straight and not deviating to the left or right, even running, searching were not enough for even a metal horseshoe, he himself could not even get a teapot cap!.. At the moment his only wish is to reach the Qorachiq stream as dear as in his childhood and jump into the crystal-clear water from the bridge! He wishes to find peace by washing his burning heart with the ice-cold water! But…
Where is the childhood dear Qorachiq stream? In the past the wild Qorachiq stream used to overflow in the midsummer and float away strong bridges. The strong bridge, here, stands unattractively and uninhabitable. There, the stream's bed dries out like a thrown skin of a dragon! But the stream… is not there? No, there, it is seen a handful lake or pond in the throat of a "dragon" like a jewel! He decided to go to the lake by sweating once again bitterly! Anyway, without cleaning his body, his soul can not get clear. There is no virtue in entering mother village with the gloomy soul! Consequently, his hope is from the jewel in the throat of that dragon!..
to be continued...
PART I. The story of Kenja Botir………... 9
PART II. The story of Sobir the melonman…………………..……..…112
PART III. The story of Qodir the dexterous……………….…..…..…..169
PART IV. Moral of the story of Kenja Botir……………………..….…246-288