Odamboyeva Mohichehra
Act II
They enter the museum.
Granddaughter:
Look around, Grandma, I see
Only five women here with me.
Grandmother:
Yet those five are more than art,
They’re the people of my heart.
One’s my mother, kind and dear,
One’s my grandma standing here.
One’s my lovely granny’s face,
One my aunt with gentle grace.
When I think of those who’ve gone,
My heart aches and carries on.
Granddaughter:
Look! There’s even a button there.
I’ll press it now—if I dare!
(The first figure comes to life.)
Mother:
Oh my child, what do you wear?
Such a style is rather rare!
Nothing beats our native dress,
It brings beauty, not less.
Silk and atlas fit you best,
Why wear jeans like all the rest?
Wait a bit and you shall see,
I will sew a dress for thee.
Granddaughter:
Grandma, did the mothers sew
All these dresses long ago?
Grandmother:
Yes, my dear, in days gone by,
Love was shown in every try.
Granddaughter:
And this woman holding there,
What’s that object in her care?
Grandmother:
For her children she would bake
Fresh warm bread at daybreak.
Second Mother:
Sweetest daughter, come and taste,
Here’s a flatbread made in haste.
Dipped in milk and baked with care,
Nothing finer anywhere.
Granddaughter:
Wow, it smells and tastes so fine!
Did she make it all the time?
Tell me, Grandma, did women then
Bake their bread again and again?
Grandmother:
See the wrinkles on her face?
Life had put her through its race.
Granddaughter:
Look, she’s holding metal too!
What’s she going to do?
Grandmother:
That’s a ladle, child of mine,
Used for cooking meals divine.
Granddaughter:
But doesn’t “Yandex Food” arrive
Every morning right at five?
Grandmother:
Back then kitchens large would stand,
Built by skillful human hands.
Grandma lit the fire bright
Before dawn had brought its light.
Third Mother:
Let me chop the carrots small,
Father’s craving pilaf after all.
The matches too are running low,
Forgot to buy them, don’t you know.
I’ve soaked chickpeas through the night,
Cleaned the raisins nice and bright.
After dinner we shall share
Melons sweet beyond compare.
Something tells me guests will come,
Let’s prepare and welcome some.
Husband dear, come lend a hand,
Let’s cook pilaf, rich and grand.
Fourth Mother:
Come, my darling, come to me,
I will sing your lullaby.
Granddaughter:
Lullaby? What’s that, Grandma?
Is it music, song, or drama?
Fourth Mother:
Ask of me and you will hear
Words that mothers hold most dear.
Not just song and not mere rhyme,
It’s a treasure beyond time.
In it live a mother’s dreams,
Hope and love in gentle streams.
Passed from Eve through ages long,
Blessed by God in cradle song.
May the lullaby remain,
May love never leave our land.
Holding close her precious child,
Every mother sings so mild.
(Lullaby is sung.)
Granddaughter:
Now I’m curious, tell me please,
What’s that thing beside the trees?
Grandmother:
You’ve not seen one, so you ask,
That was once a common task.
It’s a bucket, plain and true,
Used for carrying water too.
In those days we’d hurry fast,
Crossing hills and valleys vast.
Meeting friends along the way,
Laughing, singing every day.
Girl:
Come, my friends, don’t stay behind,
Bring your buckets, one and all!
Laylo, Lola, hurry too,
Let us answer nature’s call.
Run along and don’t be late,
Others reached the river gate.
Look how lovely is the night,
How the moon shines full and bright!
Gathered by the water’s side,
Let us sing with joy and pride.
Through the night our songs shall flow,
Friendship’s warmth will brightly glow.
May these buckets never fade,
For the memories they made!
Granddaughter:
Ha! I know that thing at last!
A witch’s broom from cartoons past!
Grandmother:
Child, that’s hardly right to say,
People swept their homes that way.
Cleanliness was prized indeed,
A precious wealth for every need.
Granddaughter:
Sweeping with a thing like that?
Sounds impossible, imagine that!
Odamboyeva Mohichehra
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