Evril Turon (Mamadali Mahmud): White Flower (A true story) 1-7
Evril Turon
(Mamadali Mahmud)
White Flower
(A true story)
Oynur
A novel by Evril Turon
I dedicate this book to Ugur Akin,
to gracious and polite person with the good manners and to person who is always with friends in their in their both good and bad days .
“Who would a good thinking person address to for help?
Who possesses the law? In the hands of evil priests…
He captured wealth unfairly.
Who would throw him away from ruling and life?”
Zoroaster
“Laws are created to not frighten people, but to help them.”
Walter
Every false government is afraid of freedom of speech.”
N.Berdyayev (Russian philosopher)
1
Pravda, Izvestiya, and Komsomolskaya Pravda carry the following quote from Stalin every day:
“USSR is a freedom-loving country. No state or power can be equal to it in the entire world. Firsе of all, we have reached this through our Communistic Party’s wise policy and under the leadership of the Great Russian people.
In the USSR, all nations and peoples are equal and they are living in peace, harmony, and prosperity. There is no one and no power that can be able to destroy this friendship.
Our friendship will last forever!”
Soviet radios air similar statements all day long. In response to this, ironical words come from west and overseas:
“It’s like foam…”
“An empty cart will rustle.”
2
I was still a young boy. I believed Lenin, Stalin, radio and papers. I thought both Europe and America hated us.
We lived in a half-ruined house at the end of mountains, on the hill, where everywhere covered with green and different flowers in spring, and where everywhere turned brown in summer; it was a place through where a powerful rivulet flowed. We had not had “Il’ich lights” (electricity) yet that time. There were rumors that many Russians and other newcomers lived in Uzbek towns and places where electricity (we called it Il’ich lights) was available. Nevertheless, I had not seen a Russian man or woman yet.
In our place called Boghdon, where there were no Russians at all, Communistic Party, Lenin, Stalin, and “the great brother” – all were warmly honored and glorified.
Even at our school was the same.
Before we started a lesson, we sang the anthem of the Uzbek Soviet Socialistic Republic:
“Salaam to the Russian people – our elder brother,
Salaam to revered Lenin – our famous leader…”
After the anthem, we praised, saying:
“Lenin is our grandfather,
Stalin is our father…”
And then we praised our own bright life.
We criticized Europe and America, saying:
“That is a rotten world…”
“Capitalism is the enemy of mankind…”
When my mother heard me saying such eulogies and criticism, she had frowned, but had said nothing. I also had been shy to ask her the reason of her being frown. One day my mom could not keep mum and yelled:
“That’s a lie!”
“Why, mom?” I asked her surprisingly.
“Eulogies.
They praise because they are afraid.
They are frightened.
“Afarid of whom?”
“Of Stalin,
GPU.
Since the twentieth, our motherland has messed up like a wasp’s nest:
Quloq…
Exile…
Imprisonment…
Torture…
Execution…
Houses remain empty without men,
Women turned to widows,
Children became orphans,
Hungry and undressed,
Without a shelter.
Don’t you see this in our own example, sonny? I wish you were attentive and observant, and differ good from bad.”
I don’t remember if my mother spoke lies ever. Nevertheless, I had hesitated listening to her words; only she called it a lie that other people praised. So I really had started thinking about what she was talking. Mom had proceeded:
“Those who stood with the people were forced to flee the country.”
“Is that true, Mom?”
“They ran away unwillingly. Otherwise, they could be killed as “the people’s enemy.”
“I can’t believe.”
“The regime is afraid of their ideas called “Freedom,”
The regime is afraid of their wisdom,
It is afraid that they might call people to rise up against the regime.
It’s afraid that its lies and slander would be exposed.
Cowardly will rise his fist first, a proverb says.
The regime slanders Europe.
The regime slanders America.
It slanders freedom-loving people.
You will understand this when you grow up, my sonny.
Now, don’t speak much. A man is after the other man now. There is another one after the other. It’s a circle. People are forcibly kept dumb. Don’t forget that your father Ahmad Oqsaqol was also hanged by GPU. Because he also was one of the persons standing for his own nation.”
Such times deep thoughts overwhelmed my mind. I couldn’t even feel how hesitation started growing in my heart.
A seed of hesitation…
My mom read books in her leisure times. She could read by heart epic poems such as Alpomysh, Go’roghli, and Kuntughmish. She loved history…
My dear mom!..
She was the one living through her own fate, my poor Mom!
My loving Mom!
She was born in Katta Turk[1] village at the Ghoddim mountains in the family of Iskandar Turk, who considered himself to be from a pure Turkic family. Like people of Boghdon, my grandfather had been from the Qoramon clan. Saljuqids used to say the following:
“The sheep of Qoramon
Will soon conquer someone…”
This mean that in 1443, when capturing Constantinople[2], Qoramons tricked Byzantines: they covered sheepskin (in the form of sheep) and suddenly attacked the enemy and conquered. After that Fotih Sulton (Mahmat Sulton) said the following:
“The sheep of Qoramon
Will soon conquer someone…”
My grandpa Iskandar had studied in Turkey and got married a Turkish girl. My mom had told me that my grandmother (Oghuza) was a very beautiful and wise woman. She had such a long hair that when she washed her hair she used to step on the sandal (a low table over a heating grill). My late beautiful sister Rohat looked like my Oghuza grandma. Her eyes also were blue.
I don’t remember my father, Mahmud Ahmat Oqsaqol. People in Boghdon used to call him “Mahmud uzun” (Mahmud the tall). He was nicknamed as such because not only he was a tall man, but also he was a wise man. Although his father was banished for being quloq (wealthy), my father worked as one of the heads of the mountain village (togh-begi). In 1943, when left for war, he had said to my mom:
“I don’t think Germans are thugs. Germany entered into war to free the people oppressed by the Godless regime. Perhaps, that was God’s will, because the USSR is a choke of nations. I will send letters from Germany… Take care of our son, Saodat. And always remember that “a foal replaces the horse.”
My dad had not returned from war. Is it possible that he had stayed in Germany?
“The USSR is the choke of nations.”
Yet I had not understood that phrase. My mom had said to me with anxiety:
“Many places are choked like Turkestan. They all had been tightened up. They obey Moscow. If any of them tries to contradict, they would just crush it. Hungary is an example. Budapest was left in blood under the wheels of tanks. I still remember these words of your father:
“Stalin is the Law.
The law is Stalin’s armor.”
Today, law enforcement bodies and mass media are Stalin’s weapon.
Stalin is alive because of their existence.
However…
Those who support Stalin and those who glorify him saying that he “is the father of the nations” are all upset with him.
All the dependant nations are upset.
The entire world is upset.”
Thinking of my grandpa, my mom had shod bitter tears. She had wiped out her tears with her old, but clean handkerchief and said:
“People are strangled in oppression, hunger and epidemic diseases. Desperate need, humiliation, and aggressiveness rule everywhere, including our home…
Remember how we lived before! We had our own garden, sheep, goats, cattle… NKVD had taken them all away. And now? We have times now when we cannot have a piece of bread.”
My mother was right:
We could hardly cook something at home.
We did not have enough clothes.
“Mom, I want to eat!” I had cried.
My mom had been burdened down those times.
Now I think about that with pain in my heart.
My mom appears before my eyes, needy and hopeless.
“Please forgive me, mom,” I say grieving again and again.
Tears come to my eyes.
But…
It’s too late.
Time will never come back.
The dead will never return.
3
Because of hunger, days pass very slowly like the steps of a centipede.
They pass too hard.
One would not feel the beauty of mountains, hills, forests, springs and rivulets; even things that are more beautiful do not seem lovely.
Wisdom, mind, and thinking just will become moldy. Faces, speeches, and motions will get older. The entire world will look vague and foggy.
It’s possible that Moscow artificially keep people in hunger to strangle them, isn’t it?
This idea that came to me as a result of my mom’s influence, was later proved. Central newspapers (Pravda, Izvestiya, Komsomolskaya Pravda) wrote about that. Because of terrible hunger, people even ate a human being’s meat:
“People opened new graves, leaving them without a corpse,” papers wrote.
An anecdote about Stalin was widely known throughout the world:
By Stalin’s order, two giant dogs are enchained at both sides of the Kremlin gate:
One of the dogs is full.
The other one is hungry.
Stalin (together with members of Political bureau) comes in through the gate. Trying to break off the chain, the full dog hurled at them. Stalin, putting his forefinger on the dog, asks the members of the bureau:
“Have you seen how this dog is dangerous?”
The members reply unanimously:
“Yes we have.”
“Do you know why it is so?” – the Great Leader asks.
“Cause the dog is full,” the members say.
“We should be afraid of this!” the Father of nations notes.
The hungry dog does not even moves from its place, staring at Stalin and as if asking him for a piece of bread. Stalin, putting his forefinger on the dog, asks the bureau members:
“Have you seen how this dog is gentle?”
The members again reply unanimously:
“Cause the dog is hungry.”
“So it is good to keep the people like this!” Generalissimos Stalin notes.
I think that every anecdote has a certain truth in it. From this anecdote, we can learn that “the father of nations” was afraid of his own people. The fact also proves that he had hundreds of bodyguards and “twins.” Central papers openly wrote about it after his death. It is also true that some eulogists who benefited from Stalin’s slaughter[3] say that he was right. They say that he would not save the country otherwise. I would reply to such insensitive persons with these words of Prophet Muhammad”
“It is necessary to build an honest and true society before requiring honesty and integrity from people.” [4]
I also felt that a human being’s hope would increase in the times of hunger or depressions, in short, in difficult times, because of a little support of someone or something. He would become younger. The universe would look like a lightsome place to him. I saw this in the example of my mother.
One of those miserable days, my mother went to Uchquloch goldmine by walk. His black eyes shined from joy. Her slightly thick lips, which looked like persimmon, did not close, showing her coral-like teeth. She looked like a flower. I thought there was no other woman in the world who was more beautiful than my mother that time. She warmly embraced me, kissed me on my forehead, and said in a voice full with joy:
“I have a job, sonny! We’ll not be hungry any more. Your father will also be glad.
My mom still lived with the hope that my dad would return one day.
She braided her two-plaited hair, put on her scarf that had a picture of apple-blooms, and gently stroked my hair, saying:
“We’ll move to Oltinkon tomorrow!”
4
Oltinkon…
It is located a little far from Boghdon – at the end of the gravel-stoned desert – in the middle of lower mountains.
In Oltinkon, there is a well, the depth of which is around four meters (three quloch (Uch-quloch) – traditional unit of measurement equal to when your hands just reach each other around something). Its water, which is as clean and sweet as a spring, will neither decrease or increase, and is always still. Oltinkon is named after this well, “Uchquloch.”
Mountains chains are stretched in the lower part of Uchquloch. Further, you will see Kyzylkum. And then Kazakhstan.
We settled in a neglected house-basement, located in about two-hundred steps far from the well. Mom and I repaired it as much as we could – whitewashed, swept, and brought electricity (the light of Il’ich) to it. That time the slum – our house – looked like a palace to me.
“The light of Il’ich is such a wonderful thing!” rejoiced my mom.
“It’s a miracle,” I added.
My mom cooked a pilaf. I don’t remember when I ate pilaf last time. Perhaps, one year ago, or even more. We ate the pilaf together until we were full. I remember its delicious taste until now.
Last year, during summer holidays I helped a topographer in Uchquloq. That time, I saw how the life there was as fast and noisy as a storm. There were too many people around. Most of them were youth. If I’m not mistaken, 80-90 percent of them were Russians and other foreigners. The rest of the population was locals. Russians were the heads of all branches of activity, including mines and other related grinding workshops. I felt that they did not like local people, ignoring or considering them beneath themselves, and I understood that my mom was right.
An incident happened everyday…
I had been astonished that whenever “the great brother” spoke he added his “manhood” into the sentence he uttered and always swore. In addition to this, he drank for all the money he earned. This woke up in me the feelings of surprise and loathsome.
Uchquloq had better living conditions (as compared to Boghdon); there were electricity, cultural center, bathhouse, football, volleyball, basketball fields, as well as billiards and tennis halls.
Besides, there were different clubs.
Dance party was organized at the Cultural Center everyday.
With the help of a geologist girl, Oynur, I started working as a topographer assistant (Oynur was born in Tashkent, but her relatives were from Chimkent). My mother worked as a cleaning lady in the District Aministration.
5
Oynur!..
Her original name was Oynuri (Moonlight), but everyone called her “Oynur.”
Oynur!
She was the most beautiful girl!
When she came to our house, wearing her European-style and fashionable dress, our basement had shined from her visit. My mother had been so glad to see her in our place and fluttered around her. I had felt shy for living a poor life. I could see the same feeling in my mom’s face. Oynur was an open-minded girl and never hid her real appearance. On the contrary, she behaved naturally, i.e. freely felt her at home in our house. She also wanted us to be the same and jokingly said to my mom:
“Your son is younger than me, mother; otherwise I would become your bride.”
My mom really liked her say these words and shined as the sun, replying to Oynur:
“If I only had a bride like you, my lovely daughter! Everything depends on the love in your heart, my honey. Our prophet married to Khadicha, who was fifteen years elder than himself. Is it not an exemplary thing, my beautiful daughter?”
Though Oynur looked like women of wealthy upper class, in reality she was not arrogant and could openly tell her secrets to her loved ones:
“Sorry, dear mother, I live with my own mind. I am a free person. No person’s life could become a criterion for me. I love my parents. However, if I think I’m right, I will not even listen to them. Perhaps this is my deficiency. But, anyway, I cannot change myself artificially. The world would develop if a human being has his “self” in him and if he does not repeat anyone else, even the most famous person.
Repetition is the enemy of progress.
I don’t repeat anyone. I live as myself in this world. And I think this is the essence of life.”
I liked Oynur’s joke, her words and voice very much. That time, I turned red, sweat poured from my face, as if I was like a hot tandoor, oven. But I had not dared or found any strength to say a word. “I would describe this in my future poem,” I would decide. Oynur had peeped at me with a sweet smile and joked with me:
“Do you want me wait for your son to grow up, mother? What if he did not confess me later? You know that women get old quickly, mother. So, let me think deeply about it, OK?”
And then she would become serious and said to my mom showing mercy to her:
“I feel that there is something original in your son. What exactly? I don’t know. I guess that there is a shadow of insurgency in his eyes. Its root is deep in his body… God only knows, mother.”
It seems to me that every human being has his own pearl and poison in his heart. And something else. This is from God. During destructive storms of life, they can appear or will never come up…
It’s difficult to find out minerals, especially pearl. To dig them out is also not an easy task. Besides, there is an issue of separating it from stones…
If there is a pearl in your son’s whole body, then he’ll need help. Otherwise, he will not reach his goal. Only some people are exception. They are those who are not afraid of life storms, who are not tired of struggle, and who do not step back from their own way despite of anything. They are:
Strong willed people.
Wise men.
The life of such people would be:
Full of conflicts;
Dangerous,
Stormy,
Beautiful.
This is my personal view. I mentioned above, saying that “people who would never step back from their own way.” What do these words of your son mean, mother? I think it means steadfastness, stubbornness…
Goal
“Luck comes after striving”
(People’s wise-saying)
A dark night ruthlessly falls on earth like mist,
The snowstorm howls like a savage beast.
That Night, revenging from the storm, moves forward,
It stumbles and skins, but does not stop for a moment.
Three steps ahead can’t be seen, completely dark,
And the cruel storm doesn’t let the eyes to spark.
Nevertheless, it goes ahead quickly, doesn’t crawl,
Since behind the distant mountains its goal.
“A drk night,” “Snowstorm…” These are symbols. On the one hand, he hears that “the dark night” and its sword – “the snowstorm” – say that they are powerful and eternal. On the other hand, he knows that this kind of boastfulness is nothing and that there is a lightsome destination – his goal – behind the impressive mountains.
“Who is that “he?”
It’s is your son.
Its’ me.
It’s you.
It’s the free thinking people.
It’s the people that love freedom.
Oynur stopped for a while, calling to mind something. Then she started speaking in a free style:
“My father is a professor and my mom is a scientist. I will help your son. He should get education. He should finish his school first. And then… if he has something hidden in his body, it will flourish one day.
The hidden thing…
Perhaps, this one is ability or talent, isn’t it?
Ability…
“The goal” is a sparkle from that ability. This four lines of him can prove my words:
I will banish mist like a storm,
Like a typhoon, I’ll thresh obstruction.
I’ll burn hypocrisy like the fire,
I’ll light up hearts like the sun.
Or look at this one:
The time will come: the enemy dies under my invasion,
The time will come: I become the wings of my nation.
“His great father also lived for his people,” my mom said.
“Are there such feelings in his blood?”
My mother wanted to say: “My father-in-law was hung for being a qo’rboshi. And now they are not letting us to live a good life.” However, she quickly changed her mind for some reason and said in a low broken voice:
“Yes, my beautiful daughter, this one is in his blood. My son is my only supporter. May God help you, my daughter, for helping my son!
6
With Oynur’s influence and help, I was encouraged so much and my belief in myself has increased. Whenever I am free, I read books and write poems.
One day-off Oynur presented a white sportswear and shoes, smiling and saying, “It is good to beautify your body from time to time.”
“Wear this.”
I don’t like if someone orders something to do. My mom says I inherited this habit from my dad. But I obeyed Oynur and never told her ‘no’. Was that because her order was sincere? Or was that because I respected her very much? I don’t know why.
So I wore the sportswear and shoes.
“Lovely!” she said and embraced me. Her sun-colored and black almond-like eyes shone. I melted and burned in Aynur’s fiery bosom. Caressing, she pressed the birtnmark on the edge of my right lip with her left finger.
“It’s so beautiful!”
“May you have a blessed life, my beautiful daughter!” said my mom with agitation.
From that day on, I started going for football, volleyball, and basketball. I mostly liked boxing. I liked hitting with the fist, especially, with newcomers.
I also learned to play tennis and chess. Both my mom and Oynur were glad from this. And I felt very happy, too.
On a charming evening, Oynur said to me:
“Do you feel how is it useful to go for sports, Evril? You also became taller, your shoulders became wider, and your face with birthmaks became cleaner. So, you should go for sports regularly. You should continue to read and learn what life is. Every moment is special. Do not waste time. Otherwise, you would feel sorry for the lost time. The time will never return. Understood?”
“Yes, sister Oynur.”
“These are the words of my father professor.”
She looked at the sky and absorbed in thoughts, as if her father was before her eyes. In the sky, in endless spaces, millions of kilometers higher from us, millions of stars stroll.
The height, in God’s measurement, perhaps, is not a span of hand.
Millions of stars!..
The stars are million and million times bigger than the Earth!
This size, perhaps, in celestial measurement, is less than a millet seed.
They are billions of kilometers farther and higher from us!
The stars are million and million times bigger than our Earth!..
With their unprecedented weight, they swim in endless and bottomless spaces without foot and hand, eyes and ears, mind and heart. They swim with the speed of thousands of kilometers a second with an exact measurement and across their own lines, without hitting each other or without falling down. I am so astonished!
Unintentionally, I look at the Mars flowing next to the full moon. I look at them with excitement.
“The planet, as big as the Earth, looks smaller than the ‘supa’[5] we are sitting now,” I said to myself, as if they are flowing a little farther only. In fact, they swim sixty million kilometers far from us. They have been there for million and million years and without a rest. But how? With the mind and power of who? Or with the help of who? Why? How? It’s a secret. And you will never get to its bottom. They say that Egyptian pyramids are a miracle. But, no, the true miracle is – Moon, Mars, stars…
And also the Earth!
The earth, created together with the nourishment for human beings.
The Earth that carried humankind on its back and that swims with the speed of 30 kilometers a second!
Mother Earth!
It’s a miracle!
A great miracle!
And a human being, too!
The human being created from a drop of water!..
It’s a miracle that among all creatures only a human being has mind.
Do we value this?
Do we use it properly?
My sense is that ninety percent of people does not value mind, which is the miracle of all miracles. And does not use it properly. On the contrary, people think mind is a common thing.
“How about yourself?” rioted my second ‘self’ that always criticizes my first ‘self’.
That time my mom’s voice broke the silent.
“Do you know, my beautiful daughter, my son now is writing with the penname Evril Turon?
My thoughts discontinued. Oynur stopped looking at the sky either. My mother wanted that. Her wish came true. I peeped at Oynur with one eye looking at my mom: “Why did you say this?” Oynur felt it and said:
“Don’t feel embarrassed. Please explain this to us.”
“The word Evril has several meanings,” I said a little embarrassed after a while – it means “to revolve”, “to turn”, “to rotate.” “Turon” is a historic term. It is an old name of our country. Originally, it’s Turkish. Evril Turon is far from the Arabic, which we do not know!
“I see!” said Oynur, shaking my hands. “It has an implicit meaning. A good meaning. May you revolve! May God help you rotate!”
My mother was pleased with this. I was glad more than her.
“I wonder why all Uzbek names are Arabic, as if there are no Turkic names,” I said without keeping silent. “This will hurt my national pride. We had books called “Uzbek names”. Are they “Uzbek names?!” No! Ninety-nine percent of them are Arabic or Persian. I seriously think about it. And I worry that we go far from our “OWN SELF”. I think we should reform our names, in general, our language.
“Maybe one day…”
“Do you believe it?”
“Will people like you come to world?”
“Definitely will” repeated my mom with unbelievable voice.
“Let me go” – Oynur stood up.
“Stay for some more time, daughter. We like to speak with you. My son and me love whatever you speak. We consider such friendly talks are more than any pleasure in this world.”
“You overestimated me, Mother.”
“I said it from all of my heart, my moonlike daughter.”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Oynur, feeling embarrassed and turning pale. “I need to go to work tomorrow.”
She smiled beautifully with an excuse.
“Have a god night!”
My mom kissed her forehead.
“Sweet dreams, my moonlike daughter.”
That time it was relatively silent outside, the weather was cool, young people senselessly danced to “shake” under loader European music. I saw off Oynur on to her house at the football field.
“Good night, Evril!” she embraced me, kissing my face.
I have never kissed a girl, or no girl had kissed me before… Though Oynur kissed me like my sister, I have never felt such a pleasure. I felt that my face was burning. I felt dizzy.
When I returned home and went to bed, those words, which seemed to me the sweetes and purest in the world, echoed in my ears like a beautiful melody:
“Good night, Evril!..”
Evril!..
For the first time in Uzbek land, she called me Evril. It gave me unforgettable enjoyment and pleasure to hear it from Oynur’s lips.
I did not and could not forget this unrepeatable voice, although so long years have passed since then:
“Evril!..”
[1] Katta Turk village, situated in Payariq District, near Chelak town
[2] Istanbul
[3] Victims of Stalin regime reach 40 million people (Argumenty i Fakty, 1989, issue #5)
[4] From the hadithes of Prophet Muhammad.
[5] Supa – traditional platform for people to sit, eat and relax..
МАҚОЛАНИ ДЎСТЛАР БИЛАН БАҲАМЛАШИНГ