Читать книгу O’TKAN KUNLAR - Абдулла Кодирий - Страница 18

It was difficult to get Kumush to agree. The mullah repeated the question six or seven times: “Will you, Kumush Bibi, the daughter of Mirza Karim, give your authority to Muhammad Rahim, son of Yuldosh, your uncle, to offer your hand in marriage to Otabek, son of Yusufbek Hajji, a devout Muslim from Tashkent? Do you agree to this?” She finally acquiesced, though only after her yangas pressured her to accept.

At around five in the evening, all the wedding attendants were waiting impatiently in Qutidor’s house, watching for the groom to arrive. Plovs, sumptuous dishes, and other various lavish foodstuffs had been prepared for the groom. At last, at about five- thirty, Otabek appeared, accompanied by Rahmat’s friends, between twenty or thirty young men.

He was dressed beautifully. Resting on his head was a silver silk Chalma turban, and on his shoulders hung soft marten furs lined with a coarse-spun fabric. He wore garments ordered especially from Shamai, a sky-blue cloth tunic with matching trousers. His feet displayed supple leather boots and around his slim waist was a silk sash made by the masterful hands of Kumush Bibi.

His face was red and his mouth bore a pained smile. His nervous eyes searched about in different directions for someone. Though they had finished eating their plov, the people of the mahalla continued sitting, eyeing the groom, nudging and whispering to each other. “Good, good, he is a worthy groom, both bride and groom are equal to each other,” they observed appraisingly, “like an apple and a pomegranate.” From among the throngs of wives sitting on the roof waiting for the groom, Oftob Oyim’s older sister quickly descended to her, whispering: “Oftob, quickly, burn some isiriq to protect him from the evil eye.” Qutidor stood at the gate, arms crossed across his chest, receiving the guests and stealing glances at his son-in-law – secretly smiling to himself. On the veranda of the main guest room, Ziyo Shohichi sat, his white beard on display, along with a respected imam, severe in bearing, while Hasan Ali, Kumush’s representative, and several other persons also sat in the same area. The groom and his attendants approached the imam to discuss the issue of mahr. The negotiations were conducted between Ziyo Shohichi, who represented Otabek, and Muhammad Rahim, Kumush’s representative. After a long discussion, they agreed upon the following amounts for the mahr: “Three hundred gold coins, a house with a large walled yard in Margilan, which will be purchased after the wedding, with all promises witnessed, a milk cow, and household items…”

Otabek willingly agreed to these terms. The mullah enthusiastically began to read the Khutba. Making his recitation in Farsi, he delivered a prayer on behalf of Allah and his prophet through the Salawat, and, after additional finely worded Khutbas, he stopped at the critical point: “Do you, Otabek, son of Yusufbek Hajji, accept as a legitimate wife, according to the tenets of Shariyat, Kumush, the daughter of Mirza Karim?” This question was also delivered in Farsi, piercing Otabek’s heart through with euphoria. He struggled to hold back an exuberant smile. Otabek thought to himself, What sort of question is this? Do I accept? Of course, I accept!

Though he had planned to respond from the very outset by crying out, “With great pleasure, of course I accept!” he suddenly felt ashamed at the idea of appearing desperate to Kumush’s guests, who could whisper “Look how impatient he is!” so he held back an immediate response. The mullah began again. “Do you, Otabek…” Though a groom should only reply on the third attempt – according to tradition – Otabek could not restrain himself.

He became suddenly fearful that instead of a pleasant resolution at the third query, the tradition would be reversed and they would declare, “He does not want to marry Kumush.” He burst out, exclaiming, “I accept!”

Praising God with the words “Al-hamdulillahi, Al- hamdulillahi,” the mullah completed the Nikah ceremony. The wedding attendants prayed on behalf of the bride and groom. Everyone raised their hands in prayer. Even the wives on the roof helped out by joining in prayer and offering an “Amen.” The groom’s men took him to the guest room. The wedding celebrations began in earnest.

Otabek’s impatience with the interminably long, drawn-out feast grew minute by minute.

Finally, toward the evening, they recited the evening Khuftan prayers. The extravagant meals had been eaten, the tables cleared, tablecloths removed. In reality, the events only lasted an hour and a half, but for Otabek even one minute seemed like many years of suffering. Finally the yangas asked the groom if he was ready to be escorted to the next stage. After a heartfelt recitation of the Fatiha, they asked that he and his wife have a long life filled with love, and they brought Otabek into the Ich Kari.

Hasan Ali was waiting in the veranda of Bek’s guest rooms. “Congratulations on your marriage!”

“Thank you.”

Hasan Ali scrutinized Otabek’s appearance from head to toe. Then, with fatherly love and tears in his eyes, he patted him on the back, said a brief prayer, and gestured him to enter. Otabek walked toward to yangas. He felt as if he were caught in a dream: What is this? Is this a dream or reality? Is this truly happening?

Now, dear reader, we enter the Ich Kari. On the way to Kumush’s room, wives and children waited for the groom, forming a reception line. Some of the wives held candles in their hands. The room intended for the groom had been decorated with wedding gifts. Most of the household staff, who were mentioned above in the description of Qutidor’s house, assembled themselves near Kumush’s room. Not only were there different elaborate embroideries, all hand-stitched by the women, but a big chandelier hung from the ceiling, with candles lined up in rows of thirty, giving the room an unearthly glow. Kumush stood dressed in the white clothing that we saw earlier during the bridal shower…

Her beauty was an ethereal vision graced with the various shades of white, blue, and yellow of the room… Glistening tears dropped from her eyes; she ignored the advice from the yangas, as urgent whispers crept in from outside: The groom is coming! Upon hearing this news, her eyes again swelled with tears, and her expression changed into a visage resolute yet resigned to a life of sadness. Leaving Kumush in this state, the yangas hastened out of the room as the groom appeared. Otabek stood in front of the women, who crowded him from all directions. Following him, Oftob Oyim’s sister fanned smoldering wild rue to protect the proceedings from the evil eye. The wives, holding the candles, gave Otabek a final inspection and saw him off.

The groom at last reached the room. His face blushed red from shyness as if he could not hide his shame. At this point, the door opened and the yangas welcomed him into the room.

“Come in, Bek.”

Otabek’s heart beat so loudly that perhaps even the yangas could hear it. After beckoning Otabek to enter, they went out and closed the door, leaving just a crack so they could still see in. Kumush stood in the center of the room, teasing the edges of her scarf, not looking up at the newcomer. Suddenly, a strange hand softly clutched her delicate hands, busy with fraying the soft silk: “Darling.”

Startled by the intrusive hand, Kumush tried to resist with a “Don’t touch me!” then retreated, freeing her hand from Otabek’s grasp.

In a frightened and shaky voice, Bek asked her, “Why do you pull away? Why don’t you look at me?” She had not looked at him, nor did she wish to. But because of his persistence, she relented and glanced up at her groom, giving him a reproachful look… She insisted on this defiance for some time. At last, realizing his identity, she moved nearer to Otabek.

“Are you him?”

“Yes, I am him,” said Bek.

They stole furtive glances at each other.

Taking a deep breath, Kumush said, “I don’t believe my eyes.” Gazing at her wide eyed, Otabek said, “Me neither.”

At that moment, their lips met of their own free will… Small delicate hands touched his shoulders, strong hands grasped under her arms. Kumush looked at Otabek for a long time and said, “What an unexpected happiness,” and then she laughed in a mercurial, silvery voice, following the spirit of her name. This laughter was heard even in the outer yard. The cracked door quickly closed. Taking Otabek’s hand, Kumush led him to the platform prepared in the middle of the room.

“If I had known that it was you, I would have welcomed you in another way,” she said.

“You thought it was someone else?”

“Not just thought, I did not even dare dream it could be you,” she said and laughed again. But when they neared the platform and Otabek stopped to place a gold ring on Kumush’s slender finger, she became embarrassed and looked at the ground.

“I didn’t prepare anything for you.”

“You feel bad about not preparing something? Don’t feel bad. It is fine,” said Bek. “Will you refuse me if I ask you for something?”

“I will not refuse.”

Pointing to the black beauty mark above Kumush’s upper lip, he said, “If you let me kiss that spot, it would be the greatest gift you could have prepared for me.” Kumush blushed crimson.

Let us now step back in time to another moment in our story.

On the second day of his visit to Margilan, Otabek was in the boot bazaar. As the Asr prayers neared their end, he asked for water to make an ablution from one of the storekeepers. The clear stream that ran along the street was at the very bottom of an embankment, making it difficult to retrieve water from it. The storekeeper showed him a suitable place to purify himself, saying, “If you go in through the gate, in that corner you will find a shallow area used for ablutions.”

Following these directions, Otabek happened to enter into the area of Qutidor’s yard relegated to males. At that moment his eyes fell upon an angel coming out of one of their guest rooms to perform some task. Kumush too could not take her eyes off the handsome young man who had stopped at the bank of the stream already known to us. Unable to resist each other’s gaze, they could not tear themselves away for many moments. Finally succumbing to bashfulness, she relented and turned away gracefully, running into a dark corridor that led into the Ich Kari. With this movement, the forty small braids covering her back swayed from side to side. Moving quickly out of sight, Kumush once again cast a glance back at the young man, gracing him with a light smile. With upturned lips, she gave him the gift of a “Farewell.” Kumush disappeared, but Otabek stood still for several moments, as if held fast in the earth’s grip. At last he blinked, and though he continued to daydream about the mysterious angel whom he had encountered for a fleeting moment, reality finally imposed itself… He sat down near the stream to draw some water to wash with, yet his eyes still glanced toward the passage that hid the mystery. But the maiden did not reappear. He went ahead and performed his ablutions but, even as he stood and dried his hands and feet, he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the far bank. Perhaps she had bound Otabek through invisible means, some unseen snare, and she was watching her prisoner from some remote corner.

Otabek waited too long and ended up missing the prayers; finally, he summoned the willpower to leave Qutidor’s yard. A love story was born from that moment, one now quite familiar to the readers, only growing stronger day by day. This explains Kumush’s simple question, “Are you him?” Kumush’s dream had come to life, and this first innocent love brought two young hearts together.