By: Mukhammadiyeva Sevinch Zaripovna, Uzbekistan
Nigora was a slightly plump woman with long eyelashes and fair skin. She had married Fozil, the love of her life. Fozil was a sturdy man with dark eyebrows and eyes, a handsome figure who adored Nigora deeply, treating her like a queen. A year ago, after their wedding, they moved to the city. Fozil, who had grown up in the dusty streets of a village, was a military man. Last month, after the birth of their daughter, he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant, and the stars on his shoulders became a pair.
Their daughter, a beautiful girl with eyelashes like her mother’s and a complexion as fair as the moon, was named Oyqiz (Moon Girl). Both her parents were robust, and she appeared larger than a typical baby. Neighbors and relatives, upon seeing her, would marvel, “Indeed, she is as beautiful as the moon,” “May no evil eye befall her, Masha Allah,” and “Do not show her to everyone, protect her from the evil eye.” Nigora, however, paid no heed to these words, delighting in the sight of her daughter.
It was one of the last days of spring. The weather was hot, and the chirping of crickets could be heard amidst the grass outside. Despite the late hour, Fozil had not yet returned from work. Nigora lay down on the double bed near the window, her head aching and feeling uneasy since morning. Oyqiz was sleeping in the cradle for a long time. The room was silent until the phone rang, breaking the stillness. Fozil said he was caught up at work and told her to sleep without waiting for him.
Awoken by the call, the baby began to whimper. Nigora gently touched Oyqiz’s shoulder, singing a lullaby. It didn’t help; the baby continued to cry. Thinking she might be hungry, Nigora picked her up, laid her down on the bed, and began to nurse her. The baby immediately stopped crying and started to feed. Smiling, Nigora gazed lovingly at her daughter. Resting her head on her arm, she drifted into a reverie. Outside the window, stars sparkled in the clear sky, and the full moon shone brightly, proclaiming, “I am the only one in the sky.” Slowly, Nigora fell asleep.
In her dream, she was playing with her grown-up daughter in a garden filled with blooming tulips. Her daughter ran far ahead, saying, “Catch me, Mommy,” until she disappeared from sight. Nigora stood confused, thinking, “Has so much time really passed? When? She was just a baby, nursing at my breast, and I carried her in my arms!” Suddenly, she woke up with a start. The moonlight was filtering into the room, casting a dim glow. She glanced at her exposed breasts and felt her heart race. She checked the baby, who lay still, not breathing. Poor Oyqiz had suffocated under Nigora’s large breasts, which had smothered her tiny nose and mouth with milk. Nigora was paralyzed, feeling nothing, staring blankly, thinking she was still dreaming.
The next day, people gathered for the funeral. Nigora was completely broken. For a long time, her sister Aziza took care of the household chores. Nigora spoke incessantly to herself, cradling Oyqiz’s blanket as if swaddling her baby, singing lullabies, sometimes pressing the blanket to her chest, saying, “No, no, she’ll die,” and then stopping. Occasionally, she seemed perfectly sane, talking normally, but sometimes she spoke to the moon as if conversing with her child.
One night, Fozil had to stay at work. Nigora slept in the same room as her sister. Aziza, who had woken up, heard her sister’s murmuring from the next room. Peeking through the door, she saw Nigora cradling the blanket, trying to soothe it. Nigora stopped, looked around, and said, “Someone’s coming, someone’s coming,” as she stacked the quilts on top of each other. She placed the blanket at the bottom, saying, “You must hide, no one should see you,” and covered it with quilts. Soon, she exclaimed, “Oh, she’ll die,” and removed the quilts, picking up the blanket and trying to soothe it again. Aziza stood leaning against the door. Her sister, seeing her, said, “Aziza, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
Months and years passed. They took Nigora to doctors and healers. Her condition gradually improved. She slowly returned to reality. However, they didn’t have any more children. They visited numerous doctors and healers without success. Four years passed. Fozil’s parents pressured him to divorce her, but he refused, as he loved Nigora deeply. “If needed, we can adopt a child, but I won’t divorce her,” he insisted, although he longed for his own child. Despite their efforts, six years after their daughter’s death, they still had no children.
One day, after returning home, Fozil saw Nigora looking sad and asked what was wrong. She told him that his mother had called, demanding a divorce, saying, “You couldn’t even handle one child.” Bursting into tears, she ran to the bathroom. Fozil heard her sobbing and entered, thinking she was crying. “Fozil aka, but I…” she began, unable to finish her sentence. “What is it?” he asked, puzzled. Nigora pointed to her stomach. “What? Really? Is it true?” Fozil stood in disbelief. Nigora washed her face, smiled gently, and said, “Yes”…
Uzbekistan
Mukhammadiyeva Sevinch Zaripovna was born on October 10, 2005, in Tashkent. Currently, she is a second-year student at the Uzbek State University of World Languages, majoring in philology and teaching Spanish. She holds an IELTS score of 6.0 and is interested in learning languages and reading literary works.
