Several times he sent matchmakers to G’ozi-xo’ja’s house, but the reply was always ‘no’. The pretext was that Oyxon was betrothed to a relative, that their marriage was imminent, after which G’ozi-xo’ja gave a detailed account of his poverty and complained that he was being unjustly punished and that Umar’s actions contradicted the laws of Islam; but, if his Lordship wished to force a marriage, then that was in his power and on his conscience. G’ozi-xo’ja added that his wife hadn’t stopped weeping since the
matchmakers started pestering their household. Then he sent the matchmakers away. And yet…

Бир эмас икки дафъа Ғози-хожанинг уйига совчи юборди, иккала сафар ҳам йўқ жавобини эшитди. Бирида: “Бу мастурамизни қариндошлардан бирига унаштириб қўйганмиз, яқин орада тўй қилишга умунганмиз” - деган эса, иккинчи кез Ғози-хожа ўз аламини очиқроқ ифода этибди. “Мен ғурбатда юрган бир айбаки ғариб бўлсам. Амирул-мўминийннинг бу саъи-корлари на адолат юзасидан, на дину-диёнат жиҳатидан ақлга тўғри келади. Агар зўрлик билан олмоқчи бўлсалар, яна ўзлари биладилар!” - деб хотинларнинг йиғи-сиғисини қўшиб, совчиларни қайтарган экан. Лекин...

The doors of the vehicle were wrenched open. The snow fell quietly, but in big flakes: a shout rang through this lacework: ‘Qodiriy, out!’ The courtyard was a shade of white tinged with blue, a pure covering still untouched by human feet and surrounded on all four sides by dark brown buildings.

Эшиклар шарақлаб очилди-да, ташқарида осуда ёғаётган лайлак қорни ҳар томонга тўзитиб, ҳайқириқ янгради: “Кадыри, выходи!”. Тўрт тарафи қоп-қора олабаргоҳ бино билан ўралган ҳовлида одам оёғи босмаган покизаю беғубор кўм-кўк қор ётарди...

In prison you can’t avoid getting a kicking. In 1926, too, Abdulla had been beaten within an inch of his life. What made his blood boil was not the physical pain so much as the treachery of his own people, black-eyed blood relatives whom he had trusted and considered to be friends. Back then he’d begged for death’s release: that would have been easier to bear than the company of his own black-eyed friends. He’d been too young then: he hadn’t thought of his children, nor of Rahbar.

Қамоқ борки қамоқда тепки емасдан қолмайсан. 26-нчи йили ҳам Абдуллани ўлардек тепкилашган. Унда ўзининг эгиз ўзбеклари. Лекин унда ҳам юрагини қон қилгани бу тепкилару муштлар эмас, ўзи ишонган, ўзи дўст деб тутинган қора кўзларнинг хиёнати бўлган эди. Ўшанда шу қора кўзларга қайта қараш ўрнига маҳкамадан тузукроғи уни отиб ташлашни сўраган эди. Ўшанда бебок ёшлик ғурурида на бола-чақасини, на Раҳбарини ўйлаган экан...

Abdulla recalled a day from his own childhood, when he had dressed up in new trousers and an Uzbek gown to go to the Christmas tree celebrations. The caretaker at his Russian-language school stopped him at the school gates. ‘Have you become a kaffir now?’ the man grumbled, raising his stick to deal Abdulla a terrific blow on the thigh. The literature teacher, seeing this, hurried over and rebuked him: ‘This is a celebration of the birth of Jesus son of Mary, and Jesus is a prophet of yours!’ Abdulla’s leg was bleeding and his new trousers were stained; he ended up visiting the hospital instead of the Christmas tree. The teacher drove him all the way home, in his own carriage: a Russian, who had defended him from an Uzbek. No, generosity or meanness had nothing to do with nationality.

Бир куни ўзининг болалигида ерли рус мактабида ўқиятган чоғи ҳавас қилиб башанг янги шим, янги чопонда арча байрамига келаётганида мактаб қоровули Холмирза-тажанг эшик тагида тутиб олиб: “Сан ҳам копир бўлдингми?” - деб балдоқи билан бола болдирига аямай тушириб қолганида, буни кўрган адабиёт ўқитувчиси Георгий Евстигнеевич, чолнинг олдига келиб, тоза сарт тилида: “Ахир Исо ибн Мариямнинг милоди бу. Исо сенинг ҳам пайғамбаринг-ку!” - деб айтганини эслади Абдулла. Ўшанда янги шимию оёғи қонга буланиб, арча байрамининг ўрнига Георгий Евстигнеевичнинг извошчигида аввал касалхона, сўнг уйига қайтган эди у. Йўқ, саҳоватинг ҳам, разолатинг ҳам миллати бўлмас экан.

Less than a week after the bozkashi game, another message came from Chief Minister Hakim in Bukhara to Nasrullo in Qarshi. ‘Your father, our benefactor, has ended his journey on earth and set off for the true world. We keep the fortress’s high gates locked, and we have not yet announced this news to anyone else. Take this opportunity: bring your troops at a gallop to holy Bukhara and occupy the place that befits you.’ Since all the preparations for this outcome had been made, Nasrullo set off for Bukhara that same day with three hundred warriors.

Ўлоқдан бирор ҳафта ўтар-ўтмас Ҳаким-қушбегидан яна чопар келди: “Падари бузрукворингизнинг жон қуши дорул фанодан дорул бақога риҳлат қилди. Аркнинг ундур дарвозасини берк тутгандек бу хабарни ҳам ҳануз сир тутяпмиз. Фурсатни ғанимат билиб, черик ила Бухорои шарифга чобук қатъи манозил айлагайсиз!” - дея. Тадорик кўрилган эмасми, уч юз навкар ила Насруллоҳ Бухоро томон юзланди.

But the cat had to be let out of the bag. The news of the grief that had overcome Emir Haydar’s harem spread like wildfire through the Bukhara markets and then the whole city. When the Emir’s eldest son Husayn heard the news, he too gathered his troops and dashed off to the fortress.

Аммо ойни этак билан ёпиб бўлармиди. Амир Хайдар ҳарамининг шўру-шайни ила хабар гузарма-гузар бутун шаҳарга тарқалди. Амирнинг тўнғич ўғли Ҳусайн-тўра андин воқиф ўлғач, ўз навкарлари ила Арк томон шошилди.

Chief Minister Hakim kept the gates shut, as he had promised Nasrullo. Nasrullo moved with his elite troops towards Bukhara, but Husayn fired on the rebel army with artillery and rifles. They got as far as the fortress walls, and Husayn fought them at the mint next to the fortress, where they had taken cover.

Ҳаким-қушбеги, Арк дарвозасини берк тутиш ваъдасини Насруллоҳ-тўрага бермаганми, ул зот аскари билан Бухоро томон силжиганини билгач, Ҳусайн-тўра унинг исёнкор тарафдорларини ўқу-милтиққа тутди. Лекин булар Арк деворлари тагига етишган, Ҳусайн-тўра эса ўз маҳрамлари ила ўзларини Арк ёнидаги пул зарбхонасининг панасига олишганди.

Then Chief Minister Hakim ordered rocks and beams to be hurled down from the fortress walls onto Husayn’s troops. One of these missiles struck Husayn’s head: he was bleeding badly, but would not retreat. Instead, his men – enraged at the sight of their injured prince – climbed over the barriers and rushed to the fortress gates, smashing them down with the same rocks that had been hurled at them.

Шу учур Ҳаким-қушбеги буларнинг бошига Арк деворларидан тошу-ғўлалар ёғдириш буйруғини қилди. Тошлардан бири келиб Ҳусайн-тўра бошини ёрди. Қонга буланса-да, тўра шаштидан қайтмади. Қайтага жароҳатланган шаҳзодани кўриб, халойиқ жунбушу уштулумга келди. Басталигу чеплар оша, энди булар ўқу тошбўронга ҳам қарамай, Арк дарвозасига ёпишдилар ва ерга сочилган тошлар ила уни уриб синдиришди.

As a drop becomes a rivulet, and a rivulet a river, and a river a torrent, so the men broke into the fortress in a matter of hours, pouring in until they had flooded it. The wounded prince Husayn rode through the open gates as the new Emir. Despite extensive searches, the rebellious vizier Hakim was nowhere to be found. Shortly afterwards he appeared before the Emir of his own accord, carrying the severed head of his chief of artillery. ‘Forgive your servant: I was in the grip of ignorance, when this ungrateful dog started firing
cannon instead of opening the gates to Your Majesty,’ he said, bowing and scraping at length. Husayn forgave him his sins, appointing Hakim as his vizier as his father had done before him.

Томчи сув кетидан фаврак, фаврак кетидан оқим, оқим кетидан сел келганидек, бир заҳоти оламон Аркка сизди, ёпирилди, босиб кетди. Яраланган шаҳзода Ҳусайн Аркка амирсимон кириб борди. Бузғунчи Ҳаким-қушбегини қидиришди, ҳеч қаердан топишолмади. Ўшанда бир пайт, тўпчи Ражабнинг олинган калласи қўлида, Ҳаким-қушбеги Амир олдига ўзи чиқиб келди. “Бир қошиқ қонимдан кечинг, ғафлат уйқусида қолибман, мана бу кўрнамак эса сиз Хумоюн ҳазратларига Арк дарвозасини очиш ўрнига ўт очибди!” – дея, кўплаб тавозеълар қилди. Ҳусайн-тўра унинг гуноҳидан кечиб, марҳум отаси йўлида ўз вазири қилиб тайинлади.

His father was right when he said that a man can be in thrall to devils, especially if he is a writer. You have only to set to work to be gripped by your plans and inventions, and everything else seems vanity, triviality, a distraction. Over the last month Abdulla had covered reams of paper, having told himself: If I can sit down on my own this winter, I will finish writing the novel. And now all those hopes had been dashed. The Tatar NKVD man had found the manuscript, stuffed it in the only suitcase in the house, and taken it
away with him. And he was hardly going to read it, was he? Could he even decipher the old Arabic script of Uzbek? Or would he hire some black-eyed locals to read it for him?

Чиндан ҳам отаси айтмиш, жин босар экан, ёзувчи одамни. Ишга киришдингми – зикру хаёлинг ана ўша тўқимада, қолгани - фақат алахсиш, фақат чалғишдек туюлар экан. Ўтган ой ичида анча-мунча қоғозларни қоралаб қўйди Абдулла, айтмовдими: “Шу қиш узлат қилиб ўтирсам, қиссани ёзиб битказаман” - деб. Афсус, ишнинг белига от тепди. Анави анди татар топган қўлёзмасини уйдаги биттаю битта жомадонга босиб, ўзи билан олиб келди. Ўқирмикан барини? Эскичага кўзи ўтармикан? Ё яна ўзининг қора кўзларидан ёллаб, уларга ўқитармикан?