I HAD A SISTER...

Munavvara USMONOVA

ONE DAY

I HAD A SISTER...

My sister Fazilat is the daughter of our great uncle and we grew up in the same yard. When our family moved to a new yard, I left with my parents, but I was with my sister every day. To be honest, I couldn’t get used to living without him. I was in the second grade at that time. Hanging the school bag on my shoulder, I would go home and look after my mother for a while and play with my brothers, then I would rush to my sister. My great-grandfather (that’s how we called my great-uncle) used to watch me every day as he called me a rebellious girl. My brother Abdurauf (my uncle’s eldest son) is a student in Tashkent, and my brother Abdushahid studied at the Andijan Medical Institute. And my sister was our big cook who treated us with sweet food. My uncle, who was teaching me how to read «old» books, would memorize the Koran verses one by one, and then he would help me prepare the lesson. Sometimes they also taught chess, saying: «Don’t let your head get tired, my daughter.» Now that I think about it, they were losing the game on purpose to make me happy. There were many days when I was really excited and happy. My sister was kind to me like a mother. When he came home from school, he was happy that I was muttering about it, and he was laughing. Occasionally: «Mittikush, you must be a good girl, your father says you will become a scientist and a poet!» Great scientists are taciturn, polite and intelligent. If someone like you talks incessantly, everyone will run away from him!» he would caress and press into his bosom. My sister graduated from high school and started studying. Since the regional center was far from our village, he used to come home at the end of the week. I was looking forward to Saturday. My small messages and one or two poems were published in the district newspaper, my mind became clear and I started to distinguish between black and white. Sisters, sometimes we would talk until dawn. When I told him that he was the most beautiful after looking at the pictures taken with his friends: «No, there are many more beautiful girls than me, I’m a little fat, I need to lose some weight, then I’ll be beautiful,» he would smile.

Since the big mountain is close to the village where we lived, we went on a mountain tour every spring. The most interesting thing is that everyone passed through our street. Everyone was envious of young men and women who went to the mountain from the neighboring villages. The people who set off on a motorcycle, on foot, or in a car carrying backpacks full of food on their shoulders, laughing with joy, singing in unison, chanting laps - everything was different... The golden tulips in the arms of those returning from the mountain trek, we children saw the ink violets in their arms. we ran after him. Someone would hand a tulip, someone would give a bunch of flowers and continue on their way. I remember that my sister’s classmates gathered at our place to go to the tulip festival in April. We baked bread and made soup for the guests, and we all tried equally to make them happy that day. My mother, who called me aside from among the climbers in the morning, did not allow me to go. There was a reason. In those days, our neighbor Surayya was seriously injured after falling from the mountain and was in the hospital. My sister begged and begged, but still she could not convince my mother. I was very sad that I was not among the people who were carrying blankets to the truck, playing circles and singing. Especially the mountain tulip was my soul. Once, when my brother Abdukhalim’s classmates came, I also went with him. Even though my tooth was hurting and my soul was suffering, I breathed the mountain air while rubbing my eyes and spreading the tulips that were shining like gold among the stones. I didn’t write a letter with the day. In the evening, my sister came to me after returning from the mountain. He had a bunch of tulips in his hand. For some reason, my sister held me in her arms and burst into tears. «I didn’t seem to go, I didn’t seem to walk, nothing, nobody liked me. I spent the whole day hanging pots on the stone stove, cooking and decorating the table. You must have cried when we set off, but I could hear the sound of crying. Your voice echoed from the mountains. Now don’t cry after me, it’s okay, sister, God forbid you cry, it’s better for you to laugh... My sister Fazilat graduated and started working as a teacher in a kindergarten. It was the beginning of November. My great father passed away suddenly with the excuse of catching a cold. My sister, who grew up without a mother and relied on her father like a father and a mother, ended her life. No one could give her parental love by giving her water and rubbing her mouth. We all tried to comfort my sister, but day by day she was getting yellower and more pale. Even on snowy days, my sister, who greets the morning at the cemetery, finally fell ill. My sister was admitted to the hospital with «jaundice» and severe liver problems. I was with him after taking leave from studying. My sister’s condition worsened day by day and she fell into a coma. A miracle of God happened. My sister, who was as yellow as saffron, opened her eyes and slowly started to stand up. It didn’t take long for us to be happy when we got back home. As my eyes turned yellow to the bottom, we felt that I was also infected with the disease. I went to that room, where my sister was lying, and started treatment. When the doctors ordered me to eat diet food, my sister was happy and begged me: «Dear sister, bring me just one tandoor somsa or six kebabs, I can eat without showing anyone.» Those days are starting to happen to me too. So, we, sisters, treated each other and got strength from each other. My dying mother would be at the door of the hospital before the call to prayer, and my father would sit in front of the gate day and night. It is true that time heals wounds. Suitors came to my sister, who dressed in a black dress and went to work even in the summer. We heard that during my uncle’s lifetime, an acquaintance asked his son for my sister’s hand in marriage and was waiting for him to finish his studies. They replied to the matchmakers that they will arrange the wedding after the annual ceremony. Life had no interest for him. We were all clamoring for my sister, who had been in a coma since she was ill, to regain her strength. The wedding took place in the days when he recovered and a smile returned to his face. The groom’s name was Zakirjon. It was difficult to see my sister every day because the bride’s house was close to her office. Every week, on my way home from school, I would go to my sister’s place to say hello and then go home. One day I got a little sick and ended up in the hospital. My sister-in-law came to see me saying that my tooth hurts badly and I will go to the doctor. For the sake of this pretext, he has been putting medicine on his teeth for two days and saying «wow-wow» and staining. At first we laughed, but after my sister left, I cried. If you are a sister, it is so difficult to go to see her when you have a liver disease... Since the disease in my sister’s liver has not fully recovered, the doctors told her that pregnancy is dangerous. But the adults in the family, especially the mother-in-law, did not want to understand this. As soon as my brothers were aware of my sister’s medication during pregnancy, she began to have seizures. If we have a boy, we would like to name him Farrukh, and if we have a girl, I would like to name him Shodia. Even though her soul was hurting, my sister had a beautiful smile. In time, when he was a boy with a broken eye, his health deteriorated. My sister, who was transferred from the maternity hospital to the hospital for infectious diseases, was getting worse day by day. He couldn’t even hold his child, who was lying beside him. Whispering dry cracked lips, he asked: «My Farrukh is beautiful, right? Tell me, who does he look like?» And I said: «Sister, you have the sweetest child in the world.» He will grow up to be the fattest child, you will see. He takes you in a car and drives you around the city... Sister, you are the best sister in the world. I know that no one has the love you have if I don’t tell you. Sister, if it’s my wedding, can we play together? What do you say when you are invited to a circle to congratulate? And instead of saying Munavvarkhan next to everyone, don’t say that I am the first in a quarrel or a mittikush. Okay, I agree. No matter what you say, you should be with me that day. Whatever you say, whatever you say... After all, I don’t have a sister other than you... Did I have a confidant like you, someone as kind as you?» Kismat’s work is difficult. My sister passed away. He died while holding the baby’s arms and smiling. My heart still bleeds when I think about it. I’m still sorry, I’m still not satisfied... The pain of a person with a pen is grassy. I can’t not write, these memories do not allow me not to write. What I wrote will hurt someone’s heart and hurt someone’s heart. He looks at his past and shivers in his body... My Zumradkhan bride hugged Yodgorbek like his own child. This baby was hope for all of us, comfort for all of us. Unfortunately, the baby died before reaching his age. Even if we say wow, oh, we can’t help but bow to the end.

I had a wedding without my sister. I have no courage in my heart, and even my hair, which I swept from the ground, fell out and became a tuft. I stepped on the bride’s threshold, holding the «Bit can» perfume, which my sister loved, which I had not sprayed once, in my hand holding a bouquet. Because, in the last days of his life, he took it from under his pillow. «Take this away, I’ve been saving it for you when you become a bride.» I don’t know, I didn’t even have enough time to get to the wedding. I must not see, I must not live, I must not reach those days. Shall I tell you a secret? I threw up blood yesterday, sister. So my stomach is empty. After my father, I stopped loving life, I stopped being interested. I want to live as a child. I’m begging God to give me life, but it’s too late now... If I die, if your son gets married, you should cry, bang your head against the wall and cry. Why are you crying then? Are you saying that I lived my life with a dream... Are you saying that I was left without a mother and relied on my father? Are you saying that I collected sarpo by myself and could not wear even one? Are you saying that I didn’t hold my baby once after giving birth? Are you saying that I am not satisfied with life... You must not miss the bride who took my place...» I was a newlywed, and one day when I was walking back from work to the station, I overheard the conversation of two women who passed by me. «There’s a doctor, Tashpolatov, that sister’s husband is getting married...» My heart shuddered from the sound of trumpets and trumpets heard from afar. Even though it was a long distance, I went on foot. I couldn’t get into the crowd. I was short of air. The closer I got to my sister’s house, the louder the sound of the drum became louder, and this made my burning heart burn even more. I began to watch them in the shelter of a big tree near their house. I leaned against the tree when I saw my pooch laughing at the gate. I don’t remember how long I stayed, who took me home. When I opened my eyes, mother Amina Khan was sitting on my head. – My child, did you stand there until you fainted? Fortunately, the kindergarten guard saw and recognized us and informed us. Can a person be like that? My undead soul. Two of my sisters passed away in one year. Especially my sister Khosiyat left behind six children. The twins could not get enough of their mother’s milk. One of them did not get married because his forehead was salty. Is it possible to die after the dead? I’m not stupid, but I say that the day that took the place of my sister is my sister. If I don’t speak well, if I don’t compromise, how will I see my nephews? Are you the only one with a liver, girl? – Mom, it would be better if they didn’t blow the trumpet and reveal it to everyone, because they have no respect for my sister’s memory...

– After all, the man who marries a girl who hasn’t seen a single moth will also make a fool of her dreams. It seems that your sister’s guts are exhausted after being angry with her father. Don’t worry too much. Visit your sister’s grave early in the morning and pray. «When you see the cold soil, you will feel cold again,» he said. That day my sister came to me in a dream. She was dressed in a satin dress with a bunch of basil in her hand. The one who led Yodgorbek: «I’m sorry sister, I live in beautiful places. My child, we are together with my father. I just came to say something. I have a vase and an album that I love in my trunk, take this. Don’t leave it to strangers,» he said. I woke up in the morning and thought for a long time. I took permission from my mother-in-law and decided to go to my sister’s house. As I was sweeping the street, a bright man on a bicycle stopped by me. I was surprised to see that it was my sister’s father-in-law. He has a knot in his hand. After greeting him, he began to speak slowly: «Daughter, we married Zakirjon yesterday, it was fate, we had no other choice. As you know, your mother and brothers did not take the dowries from the house. He was not lucky, who needs these cloths, they said, give them to the widows. We also gave new unworn dresses to the new bride. Fazilatkhan said that my daughter’s spirit was a little disturbed, and last night Zakirjon entered my dream and told me not to touch these things. Repentance, we said, if we open the trunk with his mother in the morning, he has something to say. I brought it to you because your home is closer, my daughter.» I entered the house trembling with the knot in my lap. I can see with my own eyes that in the knot there is a porcelain vase with red perfume flowers, an album, a yellow satin dress and a crib charm that my sister made herself.

May the end of our loved ones be prosperous!

Translator - Madinabonu Makhammadrizoyeva