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Found end: 1516 words & 2 translates

English Ўзбек
The time has come to put an end to such incorrect distribution of labor. Each state employee must clearly know his duties and obligations, simply speaking, to be able to cope with his responsibilities. Бундай нотўғри иш тақсимотига мутлақо чек қўйишнинг вақти етди. Ҳар бир давлат хизматчиси ўзининг бурчи ва мажбуриятини аниқ-равшан билиши, содда қилиб айтганда, ўз аравасини ўзи тортиши лозим.
Dear friends! Ҳурматли дўстлар!
One of the key barriers to truly independent presidential candidates in Kazakhstan is legislative -- according to election law, presidential candidates must be able to demonstrate a minimum of five years of service to the state. Қозоғистонда ҳақиқатан мустақил номзодлар бўлишига йўл қўймайдиган тўсиқлардан бири – мамлакат қонунчилиги. Сайлов қонунчилигига кўра, президентликка номзодлар давлатга камида беш йил хизмат қилганликларини кўрсатишлари керак.
This time around, more than a dozen independent monitors were ejected from polling stations, with police doing the heavy lifting in some cases. Бу сафар ўндан ортиқ мустақил кузатувчи сайлов участкаларидан ҳайдаб чиқарилди. Айрим ҳолларда полиция бунга жалб қилинди.
A group called Independent Monitors told RFE/RL that its plans to hold a training session on the eve of the ballot were scuppered at the last minute when the management of the hotel where they were going to hold the training informed them that the venue had been flooded. «Мустақил кузатувчилар» деб номланувчи гуруҳ аъзолари Озодлик билан суҳбатда кузатиш тўғрисида тренинг ўтказишларига халал берилганини айтишди. Уларнинг сўзларига кўра, машғулот ўтказилиши керак бўлган меҳмонхона раҳбарияти сўнгги дақиқада бинони сув босганини айтиб, тадбирни бекор қилган.
Earlier in the week, the organization’s Almaty office suffered an extended power cut that other offices in the same building somehow managed to avoid. Ҳафта бошида ташкилотнинг Олмаотадаги офисида электр таъминоти узоқ муддатга узилиб қолган эди. Қизиғи, айни бинодаги бошқа идоралар бу муаммога йўлиқмаган.
At the end of fifteen minutes he had the pipe part filled. He lighted it from the camp fire, and sat forward on the blankets, toasting his moccasined feet and smoking parsimoniously. When the pipe was finished he sat on, brooding into the dying flame of the fire. Slowly the worry went out of his eyes and resolve came in. Out of the chaos of his fortunes he had finally achieved a way. But it was not a pretty way. His face had become stern and wolfish, and the thin lips were drawn very tightly. Ниҳоят, орадан ўн беш дақиқа ўтгач, Моргансон мундштукни ярмигача тўлдира олди, холос. Уни гулхандан тутатиб олиб, адёл устига ўтирди. Мокасин кийган оёқларини оловда тоблаб, ҳар бир ютум тутундан лаззатланганча тамаки бурқсита бошлади. Чекиб битиргач, заифлашиб ёнаётган гулхан алангасига ўйчан тикилиб қолди. Аста-секин кўзларидаги хавотир қатъият билан алмашди. Бошига тушган мусибатдан қутулиш йўлини ахийри топди. Лек бу осон йўллардан эмасди. Моргансоннинг башараси шафқатсиз ва ваҳший тус олди. Юпқа лаблари янада жипслашиб, қисилди.
The trail led along the frozen breast of the Yukon. At the end of four hours he came around a bend and entered the town of Minto. It was perched on top of a high earth bank in the midst of a clearing, and consisted of a road house, a saloon, and several cabins. He left his sled at the door and entered the saloon. Йўл Юконнинг муз ўзанидан ўтарди. Тўрт соатдан сўнг дарёнинг бурилишигача етиб олди, айланиб ўтиб, Минтога кириб келди. Моргансон чанани ташқарида қолдириб, қовоқхонага кирди.
At the end of half-an-hour, Morganson said good-bye and left the saloon. He put his galled shoulder to the haul-rope and took the river-trail south. An hour later he halted. An inviting swale left the river and led off to the right at an acute angle. He left his sled and limped up the swale for half a mile. Between him and the river was three hundred yards of flat ground covered with cottonwoods. He crossed the cottonwoods to the bank of the Yukon. The trail went by just beneath, but he did not descend to it. South toward Selkirk he could see the trail widen its sunken length through the snow for over a mile. But to the north, in the direction of Minto, a tree-covered out-jut in the bank a quarter of a mile away screened the trail from him. Ярим соат ўтгач, Моргансон қовоқхона соҳиби билан хайр-хўшлашиб,йўлга чиқди. Қийилиб кетган елкасига арқонни ташлаб, дарё ўзани бўйлаб югургилаб чўзилган чана изидан жануб томон юрди. Бир соат ўтар-ўтмас тўхтади. Ўнгдан дарёга кичкина дара туташганди. Моргансон чаналарни тўхтатиб, оқсоқлана-оқсоқлана дара бўйлаб ярим милча юрди. Бу ердан дарёгача уч юз ярд бор экан. Олдинда тераклар қоплаган тубанлик. Моргансон теракзор оралаб Юкон дарёси томон юрди. Йўл қарийб дарё ёқасигача чўзилган экан. Моргансон у ёққа тушиб ўтирмади. Селкеркка кетаверишдаги қор босган жанубий йўл чаналар изига тўлиб кетган, олдинда яна бир чақиримча масофа кўзга ташланарди. Шимолий, Минто йўналишидаги йўлни эса тахминан чорак милгача ўрмон қоплаб олганди.
In the morning, as soon as he got up, he drew on his mittens, pulled the flaps of his cap down over his ears, and crossed through the cottonwoods to the Yukon. He took his rifle with him. As before, he did not descend the bank. He watched the empty trail for an hour, beating his hands and stamping his feet to keep up the circulation, then returned to the tent for breakfast. There was little tea left in the canister--half a dozen drawings at most; but so meagre a pinch did he put in the teapot that he bade fair to extend the lifetime of the tea indefinitely. His entire food supply consisted of half-a-sack of flour and a part-full can of baking powder. He made biscuits, and ate them slowly, chewing each mouthful with infinite relish. When he had had three he called a halt. He debated a while, reached for another biscuit, then hesitated. He turned to the part sack of flour, lifted it, and judged its weight. "I'm good for a couple of weeks," he spoke aloud. "Maybe three," he added, as he put the biscuits away. Субҳи содиқда Моргансон қўлқопини кийиб, қулоқчинини бостириб, Юкон томон йўл солди. Елкасида милтиқ. Бугун ҳам пастга тушмади. Нақ бир соат кимсасиз йўлни кузатди, қизиш мақсадида депсиниб, кафтини кафтига уриб турди. Кейин нонушта қилгани чодирга қайтиб келди. Тунука қутидаги қуруқ чой ҳам оз қолибди, беш дамламга етади. Декчасига бир чимдимгина чой ташлади. Бор-йўқ озиқ-овқат захираси ярим қопчиқ ун-у оғзи очилган қутидаги хамиртурушдан иборат эди. Моргансон печ устида нон пишириб, шошмасдан нонуштага ўтирди. Ҳар бир луқмадан лаззатланиб тановул қилди. Учта нонни паққос тушириб, тўртинчисига қўл чўзди-ю иккиланиб қолди; қопчиқни кўтариб салмоқлаб кўрди. “Икки ҳафтага етади”, – деди овоз чиқариб ўзига ўзи. Кулчаларни нарироқ суриб: “Балки, уч ҳафтага ҳам етар”, деб қўшиб қўйди.
He never descended to the trail. A man travelling the trail could have no knowledge of his lurking presence on the bank above. The snow surface was unbroken. There was no place where his tracks left the main trail. Моргансон сира пастга тушмасди. Йўлда кетаётган кишининг қирғоқ юқорисида аллаким беркиниб олиб, уни кузатаётгани хаёлига ҳам келмасди. Оппоқ қор кўрпаси ҳали юмшоққина эди. Чана излари ҳеч ерда йўлдан четга чиқмаганди.
The cold snap broke, and he was able to remain by the bank once more, and the trail died again. For a week he crouched and watched, and never life stirred along it, not a soul passed in or out. He had cut down to one biscuit night and morning, and somehow he did not seem to notice it. Sometimes he marvelled at the way life remained in him. He never would have thought it possible to endure so much. Шундан кейин аёзнинг попуги хийла пасайди. Лекин аҳвол ўша- ўша. Нақ бир ҳафта қўриқчилик қилган Моргансоннинг кўзи бирон мавжудотга тушмади. Моргансон кунлик тановулини тағин иккита кулчага камайтирди. Гоҳида бу сезилмасди ҳам. Туриб-туриб ҳалигача нафас олаётганидан ажибланарди. Бани башарнинг шунчалар заҳмату азобларга дош бериши мумкинлигини тасаввурига сиғдиролмасди.
In the middle of the day he thought of the wild animals that might eat his meat, and he climbed the hill, carrying along his axe, the haul rope, and a sled lashing. In his weak state the making of the cache and storing of the meat was an all-afternoon task. He cut young saplings, trimmed them, and tied them together into a tall scaffold. It was not so strong a cache as he would have desired to make, but he had done his best. To hoist the meat to the top was heart-breaking. The larger pieces defied him until he passed the rope over a limb above, and, with one end fast to a piece of meat, put all his weight on the other end. Кундузи унинг миясига йиртқич ҳайвонлар озуқа захирасини ғажиб ташлайдилар, деган ўй келиб қолди-ю болта ва арқонни олиб, тепалик томон одимлади. Гўштни яшириш учун ўра кавлашга мадори етмасди; бунга нақд бир кун кетади. Бир қанча дарахт ғўлаларини жипс боғлаб, баландгина тахтасупа ясади. Кўзлагани кўнглидагидек чиқмаган эса- да, бундан ортиғи қўлидан келмасди. Гўштни юқорига кўтариш учун ўлардек зўриқиш зарур эди. Шу ерда Моргансон ҳийла ишлатди: арқонни дарахтнинг баланд шохидан ошириб ирғитди-да, бир томонига залворли гўшт бўлагини боғлаб, нариги учига бор вазнини ташлаб, юқорига тортди.
Once in the tent, he proceeded to indulge in a prolonged and solitary orgy. He did not need friends. His stomach and he were company. Slice after slice and many slices of meat he fried and ate. He ate pounds of the meat. He brewed real tea, and brewed it strong. He brewed the last he had. It did not matter. On the morrow he would be buying tea in Minto. When it seemed he could eat no more, he smoked. He smoked all his stock of dried tea leaves. What of it? On the morrow he would be smoking tobacco. He knocked out his pipe, fried a final slice, and went to bed. He had eaten so much he seemed bursting, yet he got out of his blankets and had just one more mouthful of meat. Чодирга қайтиб, ўзининг ёлғизликдаги базми жамшидини давом эттирди. Ҳамтовоқларга муҳтожлик сезмасди: ўзи-ю ошқозони – бор- йўқ улфатлар шугина. У гўштни бўлаклаб, қадоқлаб еб битирарди. Аччиққина қилиб чой дамлади. Бу сўнгги қуруқ чой эди. Ҳечқиси йўқ, эртага Минтодан сотиб олаверади. Сўнгги шамани ҳам чекиб тугатди. Нима бўпти! Эртага қўлида асл тамаки бўлади. Охирида бир парча гўштни тановул қилиб, ухлашга ётди. У шунчалар кам гўшт едики, гўё кўп еса, қорни ёрилиб кетадигандай эди. Аммо барибир устидаги адёлни ирғитиб ташлаб, яна кавшанишга тушди.
Thanks to the meat he felt stronger, though his scurvy was worse and more painful. He now lived upon soup, drinking endless gallons of the thin product of the boiling of the moose bones. The soup grew thinner and thinner as he cracked the bones and boiled them over and over; but the hot water with the essence of the meat in it was good for him, and he was more vigorous than he had been previous to the shooting of the moose. Гўшт уни оёққа турғизган бўлса-да, касаллик бутун вужудини сиқувга ола бошлаганди. Бундан кейин қуруқ суякнинг ўзидан қайнатма шўрва тайёрлаб, тирикчилик қилишни ўрганиб олди. Суякларни янчиб, яна ва яна қайнатаверди. Айниқса, гўштли қайнатма жонига оро кирди. Ўша, буғуни отган кундан буён анча-мунча эт олди.
"But what did you do for grub?" the latter asked. "You don't look as if you could chop wood to keep yourself warm. You look terribly bad, friend." – Нима еб тирикчилик қилдинг? Назаримда, ҳатто новда кесадиган аҳволда эмассан. Кўринишинг ҳам ҳавас қилгудек эмас, оғайни.
Now that he was down, Morganson was no longer afraid. He had a vision of himself being found dead in the snow, and for a while he wept in self-pity. But he was not afraid. The struggle had gone out of him. When he tried to open his eyes he found that the wet tears had frozen them shut. He did not try to brush the ice away. It did not matter. He had not dreamed death was so easy. He was even angry that he had struggled and suffered through so many weary weeks. He had been bullied and cheated by the fear of death. Death did not hurt. Every torment he had endured had been a torment of life. Life had defamed death. It was a cruel thing. Қорда узала тушиб ётган Моргансон ортиқ ҳеч нарсадан қўрқмасди. У ўзининг ўлик танасини қай йўсинда топиб олишларини тасаввур қилди. Хўрлиги келиб кўзидан ёш оқди. Лекин ваҳима уни тарк этганди. Жанг тугади. Кўзини очмоқчи бўлди. Аммо музлаб қолган киприкларини бир-биридан ажратолмади. Қайтиб кўзини очишга уринмади. Энди барибир эмасми?! Жон таслим қилиш бунчалик енгил кечади, деб ўйламаган экан. Азоб-уқубатларга тўла шунча умрини кураш ва қийноқда ўтказганига ўзидан аччиқланди. Ўлимни рўкач қилиб, уни лақиллатишибди. Ўлим ҳеч нарса эмас экан. Барча тортган азоблари ўлим деб аталмиш неъматни бошлаб келди. Ҳаёт ўлимга туҳмат қилди. Қандай бедодлик!
At one end of the big barn, on a sort of raised platform, Major was already ensconced on his bed of straw, under a lantern which hung from a beam. He was twelve years old and had lately grown rather stout, but he was still a majestic-looking pig, with a wise and benevolent appearance in spite of the fact that his tushes had never been cut. Before long the other animals began to arrive and make themselves comfortable after their different fashions. First came the three dogs, Bluebell, Jessie, and Pincher, and then the pigs, who settled down in the straw immediately in front of the platform. The hens perched themselves on the window-sills, the pigeons fluttered up to the rafters, the sheep and cows lay down behind the pigs and began to chew the cud. Майор аллақачон омбор охиридаги ўзининг пичан ғарамидан қилинган юксак тахтида, тўсинга осилган чироқ остида оломонни кутиб турарди. У ўн икки ёшда бўлиб, охирги пайтларда бўйига эмас, энига кўпроқ кенгайган эди, барибир, қўрқинч соладиган сўйлоқ тишларига қарамасдан, аввалгидай олийжаноб чўчқалигича қолган, кўзларидан донишмандлик ва меҳр нури таралиб турарди. Ҳамма ҳайвонлар тўплангунча, ҳар бири ўз таъбига монанд жой топиб ўтиргунча, анча кўп вақт ўтди. Биринчи бўлиб учта кўппак — Блюбелл, Жесси ва Пинчер келди, унинг ортидан чўчқалар киришди ва тепалик ёнидаги пичан устидан жой олишди. Товуқлар дераза пештахталарига жойлашдилар, кабутарлар потирлашиб, том остидаги тўсинларга тизилишди, қўйлар ва сигирлар эса дарҳол чўчқаларнинг ёнига ўзларини ташладилар ва пичан чайнашга тушдилар.
The two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover, came in together, walking very slowly and setting down their vast hairy hoofs with great care lest there should be some small animal concealed in the straw. Clover was a stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got her figure back after her fourth foal. Boxer was an enormous beast, nearly eighteen hands high, and as strong as any two ordinary horses put together. A white stripe down his nose gave him a somewhat stupid appearance, and in fact he was not of first-rate intelligence, but he was universally respected for his steadiness of character and tremendous powers of work. Боксёр ва Кловер исмли тулпорлар биргаликда келишди. Улар, кенг ва юнгли туёқлари имкон қадар оз жойни эгаллаши учун, эҳтиёткорлик билан, секин ҳаракатланишарди. Кловер ўрта ёшлардаги баланд байтал бўлиб, тўртинчи тойчоғини туққанидан кейин сўлқиллаб қолганди. Боксёрнинг ташқи кўриниши ғайриихтиёрий ҳурматни уйғотарди — яғрини баландлигидан бўйи 6 фут бўлиб, у шу қадар кучли эдики, оддий отларнинг иккитасичалик қувватга эга эди. Унинг башарасини кесиб ўтган оқ чизиқ тулпорга ахмоқона кўриниш берар, ростини айтганда, ўзи ҳам у қадар ақлли эмас эди, бироқ ўзининг сокин хулқ-атвори ва ғаройиб меҳнатсеварлиги билан ҳаммага ёқар эди.
"Now, comrades, what is the nature of this life of ours? Let us face it: our lives are miserable, laborious, and short. We are born, we are given just so much food as will keep the breath in our bodies, and those of us who are capable of it are forced to work to the last atom of our strength; and the very instant that our usefulness has come to an end we are slaughtered with hideous cruelty. No animal in England knows the meaning of happiness or leisure after he is a year old. No animal in England is free. The life of an animal is misery and slavery: that is the plain truth. Шундай қилиб, дўстлар, биз ва сизнинг тириклимиздан нима маъно бор? Келинглар, ҳақиқатнинг юзига тик қарайлик: қисқа ҳаётимизнинг ҳар бир куни хўрликда ва заҳматли меҳнатда ўтади. Туғилган, дунёга келган дақиқамиздан бошлаб, бизга ҳаётимиз тугаб қолмайдиган даражадагина овқат беришади, етарли кучи бор ҳайвонлар энг сўнгги нафасигача ишлаши керак; одатда, биз ҳеч нарсага ярамай, ҳеч кимга керак бўлмай қолганимизда, бизни шафқатсизларча кушхонага равона қилишади. Бир йилни ўтказган бирорта ҳайвон бу Англияда бахт нималигини ёки меҳнатдан кейин дам олиш қандай бўлишини билмайди. Англияда бирор-бир ҳайвон эрк нима эканини англамайди. Ҳаётимиз — қашшоқлик ва қулликдир. Ҳақиқат шудир.