As the revered poet Navoi said: 
Eighteen thousand worlds yet never once seen:
This girl, slim as a cypress, and barely eighteen.

Ҳазрат айтмиш: 
Ўн саккиз минг олам ошуби агар бошиндадур, 
Не ажабки сарвинозим ўн саккиз ёшиндадур.

On 31 December, they had broken into his house, ignoring the shrieks and cries of his children and wife who had gathered round the dinner-table for the New Year’s feast. The NKVD men overturned the dinner table and stormed through the house, ransacking everything, rummaging through Abdulla’s books and papers: just then, the spectacle of that game of bozkashi passed through Abdulla’s mind.

Янги йил арафаси, 31-нчи декабр куни уйига бостириб кела, Янги йил кутамиз деб турган бола-чақанинг доду-войию оби-дийдасига қарамай, ўртадаги байрам дастурхонини ағдар-тўнтар қилиб, Абдулланинг китобу-қоғозларини тинтувига киришишганида, ана ўша улоқ саҳнаси бир кечиб ўтди Абдулла хаёлидан.

Alas, a number of intrigues were put into place for the Emir to get her. A new stanza was composed:
Oh angel nymph, grief has weakened my soul:
The sword of exile has drained my blood whole.

Ҳай-ҳай не ошублар ила ани қўлга киритди. Эндигина ёзилган ғазалида битилмиш:
Ғамингдин, эй пари рухсора, жони нотавоним бор,
Қилурға ранги ҳижронинг қиличин қатра қоним бор...

As the couplet says:
The moment I see her, my eyes run with tears
As the stars only shine when the sun disappears.

Шоир айтмиш:
Оразин кўргач кўзимдин сочилур ҳар лаҳза ёш,
Ўйлаким пайдо бўлур юлдуз ниҳон бўлғач қуёш.

This wise woman described the girl so vividly that the Emir suspected it could not be true. When the other guests had left, he questioned Oftob, and the cunning princess replied, ‘My lord, I have been lucky enough to see this girl: her face is as smooth as porcelain, her eyes are like two evening stars when night falls, her waist is as small as a wasp’s, her buttocks are as heavy as rounded sacks of sand…’ Oftob resorted to the language of A Thousand and One Nights, which she and the Emir had so loved to listen to when they were children: Umar’s heart was conquered. 

Ул қилвир хотин қизнинг таърифини зиёда қилдики, Амирул-мўминийн орада таъмами ё ғараз бор деган гумонга борди, бироқ барча тарқагач, Умархон ўз сингли Офтоб-ойим билан қолганида, ул маликаи айёр негадир янгидан ўрганган Шаҳрихон шевасида: “Ҳа, тузук, бу қизди мен ҳам кўрғонман-да, бети - синмаган сопол ой, кўзлари – тун бошида ярақлаган Чўлпон, бели - болчи арининг белидек ингичка, думбаси қум уюмидек оғир”, - деб болалигида бирга тинглаган “Минг бир кеча” тавсифларидан келтирган заҳоти, Амирнинг юраклари дарз кетди. Эртак айтмиш, энди чегачига эҳтиёж унинг бутун вужудини қамради...

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...

It was dark when the car came to a sudden halt and Abdulla lost the thread of his thoughts. They must have arrived at the prison. What had he been thinking about? Oh yes, the five bright-red oranges he hadn’t been able to give his children, now left in a house where the lights were out. When he was still very young, he’d written a story called ‘Devils’ Dance’ about something terrible that had happened to his father. Could Abdulla have been taken captive by devils, as his father was?

Шу пайт ичи қоронғи машина таққа тўҳтаб, Абдулланинг хаёлини узди. Манзилига етиб келишибди-да... Нималарни ўйлаётган эди боягинда. Ҳа, қандили ўчган уйдаги болаларига улашилмаган бешта қуёшранг норинж ҳақида... Аттанг-а! Йўқ, навқирон ёшлигида ёзган бир ҳикояси бўлгич эди. Отасининг бир ваҳимали саргузашти ҳақида. “Жинлар базми” деган... Отасига ўхшаб Абдулланиям жин босдими?

Hands cuffed, elbows gripped, Abdulla was taken down a dark staircase into the building’s basement. In one of the niches, by the dim light of the caged paraffin lamp, a swarthy Russian stuck his hands under Abdulla’s gown and poked in all his pockets, pulling out everything to the last penny, and then, after feeling his trousers, removed his thick leather belt. ‘Sign this!’ he barked, holding out a piece of paper. Abdulla gestured to his handcuffed wrists. ‘Well, scribbler,’ the guard laughed, ‘you’ve had your itchy little
hands put out of action!’ He kicked Abdulla in the knee so hard that the latter curled up in agony. ‘Hold the pen with your teeth,’ the Russian demanded.

Қўлида кишани билан Абдуллани қоронғу бинонинг қоронғу зиналари бўйлаб қоронғу ертўласига судрашди. Ертўланинг бир хонасида темир катакка илинган жинчироқ остида пешанаси кетга кетган бир барзангидек ўрис Абдулланинг чопони остига қўлини тиқиб, чўнтакларини кавлаб, сариқ чақагача бор пулини йиғиб олди-да, сўнг иштонига ёпишиб, ултон қамарини ечди. “Мана бунга имзо чек!” – деб бир парча қоғозни узатар экан, Абдулла қўлидаги кишанга имо қилган эди: “Ҳа, ёзувчишка, қичиган қўлларинг қисқарибди-да!” - деб тиззасига оғир ўтиги билан тепган эди, қимтилаб Абдулла чидаб бўлмас оғриқдан икки эгилди. “Тишла энди ручкани!” - деб ўшқирди бу бандибон жаллод.

‘Hold on, Vinokurov,’ said one of the men who had searched Abdulla’s house. ‘Watch you don’t finish him straight away, we’ve only just brought him in! I’ve still got to interrogate the son of a bitch.’ This man, evidently in charge, wished Vinokurov a Happy New Year before he left, presumably to celebrate with his own family.

“Қўй, Винокуров, - деб аралашгандек бўлди уйда тинтув қилганлардан бири, - келиши биланоқ ўлдириб юборма! Ҳали бу ифлосни сўроқ қилишим керак! Пока же в одиночку!” - деб буйруқ берди-да, анави онағар Винокуровни Янги йили билан табриклаб, ўзи уйга, оиласи билан байрамни кутгани кетишини айтдию маҳбусни Винокуров қарамоғида қолдирди.

Whether out of annoyance at having to work on New Year’s eve, or because he’d started the festive drinking early, Vinokurov kicked, cursed and beat Abdulla before throwing him into the solitary cell. Abdulla wanted to strangle his tormenter, but his hands were shackled and he hadn’t the courage to use his teeth. He could only bite his lips till they bled.

Янги йил аламини олдими, ўшанда Абдулладан қияпешона Винокурови, ё Янги йил қилиб аввалдан ичиб олган эканми, роса тепкилади, сўкди, урди маҳбусни ва чалажон ҳолатда, якка камерага ташлади. Бўғзига ёпишай деса - қўллари кишанланган, тишлай деса - номардлик, лабини қон қилиб тишлаганича Оллоҳга солди бу безанглаган маҳлуқни Абдулла...

You get used to physical pain: you synchronise your breathing to its throbbing waves, you are ready for the waves to surge up and you can wait for the waves to die down. But the pains of humiliation are unbearable, and it is impossible to endure the suffering caused by your own helplessness. At first Abdulla attributed Vinokurov’s brutality to the fact that he was a Russian, but he then recalled that among the men who searched his house there had been an interrogator who spoke Uzbek like a Tatar, replacing all his ‘j’s with ‘y’s.

Лўққиллаган оғриққа ҳам кўникса бўларкан: нафасингни оғриқ тўлқинларига мослайсан-да, бу мавжнинг авжини атайин кутасан, лекин адолатсизлик аламига чидаб бўлмайди, кучсизлик азобига бардош бериш қийин. Абдулла аввалига анавининг бағритошлигинию юрагини анор қилиб эзган бу оғриқни унинг ўрислигига йўйди, бироқ уйидан чиқаверишида афтидан андироқ татар терговчининг “ий”лаганроқ талаффузидаги гаплари эсига тушди: “Сини биз билябиз. Уртақларинг барлиғини бизгя йеткургянляр...”

Had Rahbar given the children the oranges he’d meant for them? Tomorrow (but wasn’t it tomorrow already?) Abdulla had planned to take them to see the New Year fir at the Railway Workers’ Palace, where the biggest and best celebrations were supposed to take place. Last year the children’s favourites had been the trained dogs which answered questions and took turns pulling each other round on sleighs. Would Rahbar take them this time, and would they be allowed in if she did? Might they find themselves turned away at the doors, as the family of an arrested man? His heart sank at the thought.

Бердимикан Раҳбар-бону болаларига аталган норинжларни? Эртага (ё аллақачон бугунми?) Абдулла болаларини Темир йулчилар саройига арча байрамига олиб бориши керак эди. Темир йулчилар саройида арчаларнинг ҳам энг каттаси, томошанинг ҳам энг сараси бўлгич эди. Ўтган йили болаларига айниқса одам гапига жавоб берувчи қирриқ итлар ёққан эди. Кейин бу ажойиб маҳлуқлар бир-бирини чанада басма-бас тортиб кетишган эди. Олиб борармикан Раҳбар болаларини, ё олиб борса-да энди қўйишмасмикан уларни? Эшик тагидан ҳайдармикин баттоллар, қамалганнинг болалари деб? Юраги бирам эзилди болаларини эслаб.

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.

After all, now the whole country was run by a Georgian, and the result? Everyone was eating each other’s flesh.

Ана, буларни барини гуржи бошқариб ўтирибди. Бирини гўштини бири еган...