Холдор Вулқоннинг ижодий саҳифаси.

2. Chapter of the powest "Lights far away"

            DISSIDENT

I’ve been a dissident ever since my early years, when the pain, suffering and unjust tyranny I experienced made me so. Although my younger brother and I were brought into the world by the same mother and father, we were total opposites in terms of character. My brother was hot-headed and industrious, whereas I was a romantic. In December I would gaze into the pitch-black sky for hours as the snow fell and the cold wind blew. I could never sleep on the nights when the snow was falling. Watching through the window as the snow fell heavily was for me the most pleasurable experience, particularly when morning would come and the trees, the roofs of houses, and the fields and gardens would be covered in pure white snow! On these snowy dawns when the limbs of the trees were bent under the burden of snow, I would go onto the street and yell out "Heeeey!” in delight and surprise.  I planned on tasting the snow that lay in a canal under the concrete bridge with an iron barrier. In doing so, however, my tongue became stuck to the iron. A person whose tongue is stuck to iron is not able to speak.

"Aaaaa!” I’d always yell. It was lucky for me that my stepmother would see me from outside. "Voy, if I don’t die,” she’d say, dismayed at what I was doing. Once submerged in the hot water of the tea kettle my iron tongue would thaw out, and I was freed of the "trap”.A long time has passed since these events. I remember that I especially loved spring. On the roof of the mud-walled warehouse I would watch the kites flying in the clear blue sky, the apricots in bloom in the garden, the friendly children yelling and the birds somersaulting in the air. One summer day I was sitting on the roof when the voice of the womenfolk came from our neighbor’s yard. I saw that the 16-year-old daughter of my neighbor’s wife was swimming completely naked in an area blocked off on the ground on four sides. It was the first time in my life I had seen such an erotic sight. An unfamiliar sensation entered my body, a strange feeling, and I felt an uncomfortable lump in my throat. I gulped audibly. As I was going to again take a look at this, my brother called out to me impatiently. Startled by his voice, I fell from the roof with an unpleasant "obbo!” --We’re going to herd the cattle,” said my brother, pulling up on a bicycle with a sickle in one hand. "They are out to pasture. Are we going again? What about the heat? The sun will be on us!” I said. My brother, anger in his eyes, clenched his jaw and stared at me: "We can’t buy hay in winter,” he said. I said that I wasn’t going. My brother replied: "I’m telling you what’s going to happen. I’m going to count to three. Oonnne, twoooo.” At this point my father called to us from the house. "What’s going on?” he asked my brother.

"I told him that we’re going but he won’t budge,” said my brother.

My father stared at me like a pumpkin growing and said to my brother, "If words don’t work, kick him in the stomach.” I had no choice but to join my brother. We trod through the heat to the Qoradaryo and arrived at its shores at a watering hole near the edge of the cliffs. It is not difficult to fall down in this area. Coming back hurts like a dog. We entered the grassy area where the grains grew. My brother began gathering, I harvested and carried the grasses. We began to bundle it. As we prepared the bundles, intending to take them on our shoulders, my brother let out a cry: "What are you looking at, help me!”

I helped my brother with his bundle of hay. My brother managed to lift it but still lost his balance and fell over into the mud. I saw his stooped appearance in the mud and began to laugh. My brother spoke to me angrily: "What are you laughing at? You are laughing at your grandmother’s falondaqasi [???], eh?” he said and threw a rock weighing about half a kilo. The situation had become serious. I began to flee. My brother yelled out again: "Stop! Stop! I’m telling you to stop! If you know what’s good for you you'd get back here, kid!”

I stopped: "If I come, you will hit me!” I began to cry. My brother replied: "Hit, Hamzani!” and threw the rock at me with the strength of one hand. The rock smacked me with a "gup” and hit me in the waist. "Ahhh!” I cried and moaned to the sky, the pain spreading throughout my body. It had knocked the wind out of me. My brother said, "Don’t make excuses, you vile person, now I’m going to get my sickle. Get back here now!” As I caught my breath I quickly became afraid and groped at my midsection, crying, and approached my brother. We loaded the bicycle with the bundles of hay. Until we arrived at the slopes near the watering hole we were on the same side.From my own close relative, a hatred for injustice, oppression and violence arose in my heart that day.

Although at the time my brother was a young man, given the way our father raised us, this stayed with me for a long time, and as I grew up and I fought with tyrants, defending the oppressed became a routine way of life.