Kok Sulton
It wasn’t long since my father passed away, if it had passed, a week had passed, and those were the times when we were waiting with our eyes closed, hoping that my father would come through the door with a pounding heart. We had lost the head of our family, the mountain we trusted. Well, remembering it makes my heart sick, and I can’t get it out of my sight. I didn’t know what was going on. For me, father was an eternal person who never bends or dies. It seemed that way, anyway. That day, my sister and brothers were so broken, so bent, that they withered before my eyes, my father withered the whole family and forcibly cut our hearts. My brothers cried blood. My sister cried as loud as she could. Only I was crying inside… When I screamed, my voice wouldn’t come out, only tears would come, dad, don’t leave me, that’s all. Some strange women next to me said, cry, my daughter, cry, scream, cry, cry. What else is called father, father, the name of this great father is different in many languages, but his love is the same… Yes, yes, I remember clearly: at that time, my father passed away not long ago, it was only a week. My uncle’s daughter came to me:
-Nazeya, Ayam told me that you are giving a kiss. And I said no, I dug the pumpkin and I won’t give it to him, it’s not ripe yet, if it’s ripe, take it away.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m getting ready to eat, you’re giving it to me.”
– Did I say no, no. What do you not understand???
-Yes…
Distracted by something else, we both went to play. I was in the 7th grade, my uncle’s daughter Nadira is in the 6th grade. At our place, he played until the evening and went home in the evening. Chicken:
– Why did Nadira come, my daughter?
“I will give it to Koksultan,” I said, biting my lip.
– Didn’t you give it?
– No, why should I give the fruit of the tree planted by my father, it is only ours, the fruit, me, no one can touch even my branch…
– Why do you say that? Won’t you give it to me? If he doesn’t go to the family, will his mother come and bite me on the head? Huh? I’m telling you…
– Oh, dear, please, let’s not touch this tree! My father planted it, I whispered, my eyes filled with tears.
“You’re bleeding, girl, what am I doing?” He doesn’t come and talk to you, he yells at me. No matter what you do, you will become part of our family, you didn’t. Naziya is taught by you, but you are different. How can I stand it, girl? How do I raise them? Don’t you know them? Don’t you know? Haven’t you seen it?!
– Oh, don’t cry! Ayajon, aya, don’t cry. Okay, I’ll pick it up from school tomorrow. I couldn’t stand my mother’s tears.
When I came home from school the next day: Aya, why are your eyes red, why did you cry, who made you cry? Aya, how about you talk aya?
– My daughter, Ayam would say, although you didn’t send that koksultan yesterday…
– My heart froze. Yes, it’s understandable.
If you put a pumpkin on a half-hearted person, I can only imagine what kind of poisonous words Nadira’s mother would have said…
People wonder why the sound of mourning has not left our house yet, and for one simple reason, it hurts the tongue of the mother again. Sometimes I doubt that there is such a thing as conscience. Ayam cried a lot that day, she held me in her arms and cried a lot. Oh, if only your father was alive, girl, we wouldn’t be so insulted for not giving what is ours. This is how I understood Ayam’s words: every family should have a head, a pillar, a protector… Otherwise, we will continue to eat dakki even for an ordinary koksultan like us…
✍️ Shahnoza Kahramonova
Shahrisabz State Pedagogical Institute, student of Uzbek language and literature
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