Читать книгу O’TKAN KUNLAR - Абдулла Кодирий - Страница 20

An orda used to stand near the city walls in the district of Yormazar but now acres of orchards with apple, apricot, pear, and mulberry trees have been cultivated in that area.

The defensive walls, whose battlements displayed an intricately carved floral design, reached a height of eight meters and were buttressed with mud-brick parapets, while the arch of the main gatehouse was flanked on both sides by guard posts, each containing a pair of young men wearing Galcha robes and fur caps on their heads. Swords swung on their leather belts as they lazed against their rifles. Dusk had just fallen as someone inside slammed shut the front gates that had been left ajar, binding them with a great chain that made a loud clang. Now that it is impossible for us to gain entry, let us walk around the perimeter of the structure…

If we walk two hundred paces to the left, the wall extending out from the gatehouse ends abruptly in a corner. The one tower built especially in this section of the battlements is now empty of soldiers. From here I think we will continue farther south along an empty stretch of the fortifications as we take another four hundred paces, moving along the southeast edge of the ramparts to yet another unfortified tower. If a man were to look out from this vantage point, he would see the far southwest section of the complex. Traveling around the four points of the enclosure, we will measure out a total of sixteen hundred paces, and we will find ourselves again at the familiar gate on the western side.

By now night has fallen and it is impossible for us to recognize the face of the man standing next to us. The guards we noted at the main gate remain standing, still as statues, in the dark.

Hearing the echo of horse hooves in the city streets, one of the guards questioned his mate.

“Is that the sound of hooves?”

The second guard looked toward the road. “There are three horsemen coming.”

“Who rides at this late hour?”

“No one else but the qorboshi would arrive at this time. Maybe it is he.”

Indeed, the qorboshi arrived with his two adjuncts, dismounted from his horse while handing the reins to the soldiers, and gave the guards an order: “Tell them to open the gate.”

The night sentries were informed, and the qorboshi entered as they opened the main gate. Since we have already reckoned the perimeter of the structure, we can now estimate its internal dimensions. A north- facing curtain wall divided the orda into two sections. The largest section of the yard was intended for the hakim’s family; the outside yard was bare of structures on the south, east, and western walls. On the north face, a substantial keep stood behind the inner gate, measuring forty meters by twenty meters; it was crenellated and had fifteen windows. On one side of the edifice, fifty soldiers gathered around a fire. The scullery, the stables, and the toilets were located near the detachment of soldiers.

The qorboshi stopped near the gatekeeper and asked, “Is the bek present?”

Forcing the gate shut, the gatekeeper answered, “I don’t know, Taksir.”

The lamplighter, making his nightly rounds of the castle, set fire to a large torch, which lit up the inner courtyards. Upon entering, the qorboshi moved directly to the right of the gate. The quality of the houses announced to the traveler that this was the best district in the whole quarter, as great skill had been demonstrated by the artisans who constructed the buildings. Passing the first sentry of the watch who was standing near the entrance, the qorboshi navigated through their guard niche – a small room carved out from the walls and plastered with stucco— and entered a small anteroom. Then he passed through the second door and entered the great hall.

The hall’s decorations displayed great refinement and delicate craftsmanship. Candlelight from fifty chandeliers illuminated the walls, which were gilded with a celestial array of silver filigree, blues, reds, white alabasters, pinks, yellows, and blacks, creating a whole universe within the space of the hall. A large carpet on the floor woven with a luxurious tulip design charmed the viewer into believing that he lay in a bed of flowers. At the center of the hall of honor, sitting on a silk blanket placed right across the main entrance, near small gold-filigreed doors, was a pleasant, richly dressed young man of approximately fifteen years of age in a red velvet robe. He was eating plov.

Entering through the doors, the qorboshi smiled at the young man.

“Ah, Ahmadjon, it is good that you are here.” Ahmad did not move from his place.

“I am always here. Help yourself to plov.” “Thank you. Is Qushbegi in?”

“He is in,” said Ahmad. “I am stuffed with plov. Help yourself, eat!”

“In that case, please pass it to me with your blessed hand.”

Ahmad eagerly scooped up a large handful of plov, reaching out to the qorboshi. The qorboshi leaned forward and ate directly from Ahmad’s palm, as if devouring him… a few moments passed in this manner. The central door of the hall opened and a middle- aged man appeared. He had a full face with ponderous, bushy brows standing watch over heavy-lidded cynical eyes, and a sparse beard; he stood at average height and wore a gold brocade robe with a sword hanging from his waist. Ahmad and the qorboshi immediately stood up and bowed – it was clear that this person held a high position. The man approached briskly, sat on the silk blanket, and began speaking concisely.

“How are you, Xoliqbek? Are your lands peaceful? Take a seat, please.”

“Thank God they are under the benevolent shadow of your state,” said the qorboshi, paying homage nervously by clenching his hands and kneeling at Qushbegi’s feet. Taking the empty dish wrapped in a tablecloth, Ahmad exited through the door from which Qushbegi had entered.

“Nothing about the thieves from yesterday? Did you catch them?”

“Under the shadow of your state, one of the thieves has been caught. I think soon the other shall be caught, with your help.”

“Is there other news?”

The qorboshi lent his face some gravity. “Under the auspices of your power, I think I have discovered a lair of conspirators who pose an immediate threat to our rule.”

Taking his sword, which until then had hung casually by his side, Qushbegi placed it on his knees.

“What sort of conspirators?” he asked coldly.

“A cabal of insurgents, Taksir,” said the qorboshi. “Who could pose a greater threat to our rule than the Black Robes of Tashkent?”

Qushbegi’s back straightened a little, his eyes widening. “Well?”

“As you well know, the leaders – none other than Azizbek and Yusufbek Hajji – continue to incite rebellion in Tashkent. Unsatisfied with a local rebellion, they plan to bring destruction to Margilan, as they have sent their trusted man here. For their designs, they have found a local leader.”

“Do you know him?”

“I recognize his name, Taksir,” said the qorboshi in a proud tone. “He is the son of Yusufbek Hajji and is in league with several conspirators from our beloved Margilan.”

“The son of Yusufbek Hajji?” “Your Honor, his name is Otabek.”

Qushbegi’s eyes lit up and his forehead furrowed as he tugged at his beard with his left hand and evaluated this information. This news excited him. It seemed to him above suspicion, and it made even more sense considering the fact that Yusufbek Hajji was well known as one of the leaders of the rebellion so it was logical that he would send his son to Margilan to create an uprising.

“Where is he staying?”

“In the house of a local citizen named Mirza Karim Qutidor.” “What kind of relationship does he have with Mirza Karim?” “Bless you, Your Honor,” said the qorboshi. “The closest person to Otabek whom we have found in Margilan is this Qutidor. Several days ago, he gave his daughter’s hand in marriage to Otabek, making him his son-in-law. We are told that Otabek discusses all his plans with him.”

“Who has gathered around them?”

Removing his report from his robe, the qorboshi passed it to Qushbegi. “All the conspirators we presently know of are documented here.”

As soon as he finished reading the report, Qushbegi ordered the qorboshi to immediately arrest those who were listed in it. Paying his respects again, the qorboshi left. Qushbegi read the report again and sank deep into thought.

Uttaboi Qushbegi had just returned from the orda at the very moment the qorboshi entered, paying his obeisance.

“I brought most of them, Your Honor, but I could not find two of them.”

Qushbegi asked with impatience, “What about Otabek?”

The qorboshi answered triumphantly, “Caught, My Honor!

Qutidor as well.” “Bring them in.”

Qushbegi appeared visibly relieved as the qorboshi exited, giving orders to those in the outside hallway. Upon his return, he bowed and asked Qushbegi again for permission to sit. After gaining his acquiescence, he took his place. Otabek and Qutidor, between two armed escorts, came through the door and paid obeisance to the bek, who ordered the soldiers to leave and quietly called on the accused to approach…

While Otabek seemed dazed, almost detached from the world, Qutidor shook in fear and his face was pale and feverish. Together the men crouched in front of Qushbegi. Qushbegi focused on Otabek, looking down at his submissive figure. Qushbegi began interrogating him: “Are you the one they call Otabek?”

“Yes, Taksir.”

“Are you the son of Yusufbek Hajji from Tashkent?” “Yes, Taksir.”

“Are you staying in Margilan?” “Yes, Taksir.”

“Have you been long in Margilan?” “Approximately forty days.”

“What is the purpose of your visit to Margilan?” “Business, Taksir.”

“Are you alone?”

“Another person accompanied me.”

Qushbegi glanced at the list in his hand and continued: “Who is Hasan Ali?”

Otabek’s confusion turned to suspicion, but he continued with his answers, attempting to appear casual.

“He is our servant. He accompanied me from Tashkent.” “Where is Hasan Ali at present?”

“In Margilan.”

“Is he staying with you?”

“No, he isn’t. He is taking care of our belongings at the caravansary. We have some goods stored there.”

“Who is this person with you now?” “My father-in-law.”

“For how long has he been your father-in-law?” “Today is the eighth day.”

“Were you married before?” “No.”

“Being from Tashkent, for what reason did you marry someone from Margilan?”

Uncomfortable at this line of questioning, Otabek hesitated. As if Otabek’s discomfort had revealed the truth of the matter, Qushbegi demanded, “Answer me!”

“Fate, Your Honor.”

Qushbegi thought for a while and then asked, “Who else in Margilan do you know?”

“Besides three or four persons, I don’t know anyone in Margilan.”

“Perhaps you know Akram Hajji?”

“Yes, I know him. We attended several meetings together.” “Where is your friend Akram Hajji at present?”

“I don’t know, Your Honor,” Otabek replied and looked at his father- in-law as if turning to him for an answer.

Qutidor responded, “Most likely Akram Hajji is in Andijon at present.”

“All right, Otabek, you answer this time: Where did the meetings attended by Akram Hajji take place?”

Finally sensing the purpose of these questions, Otabek gained control of the inquiry.

“Our first meeting, approximately a month ago, took place in the house of Ziyo-aka, and the second one, at my father-in-law’s,” he said, indicating Qutidor. “These meetings were attended by Akram Hajji as well.”

“During the meeting at Ziyo-aka’s house, who was there?” “Ourselves and Ziyo Shohichi,” he said and, after considering the question for a little while, he added, “Ziyo-aka’s son, Rahmat, Akram Hajji, and Hasan Ali. As well as another person named Hamid.”

On hearing the name Hamid, the qorboshi gestured in confirmation.

Qushbegi nodded in reply and continued. “Who participated in the second meeting?”

“The persons I have just mentioned were at the second meeting as well. Only Hamid was absent.”

“How many days did you say your visit to Margilan has lasted?”

“Approximately forty days.”

“Well,” said Qushbegi. “tell me, for what purpose did you remain in Margilan for a whole forty days?”

“It is well known that Tashkent is under a blockade. It would be unwise to return there at this time.”

“Since you yourself are a Black Robe,” said Qushbegi, grinning sarcastically. “Have you become afraid of your Qipchaq brothers?”

“I do not understand your joke,” Otabek scoffed. He spoke as if addressing a commoner. Not so much in his choice of words, but his response dripped with sarcasm, and as a result Qutidor slouched in fear, his stomach churning with butterflies. To speak, even if truthfully, in such an impertinent manner was tantamount to a death sentence. Although Uttaboi held the reputation of being one of the great hakims of the day, he still held the traditional values of a ruler… The Hakim blustered at Otabek’s words.

“Have you forgotten that your father, Yusufbek Hajji, is the enemy of the Qipchaqs? Have you inherited your father’s prejudices? Have the prejudices of your father also been passed onto you?”

“Who is the enemy of the Qipchaqs? Against whom does my father instigate treachery? For the love of God, speak plainly, Taksir! Otherwise, I am going to burst!”

“Do not feign ignorance of these matters,” said Qushbegi. “Who is your father’s agent? Why were you sent to Margilan? What are you scheming with Qutidor? We have documented proof of your treachery. You plan to incite your brothers in Margilan against Qipchaq rule. We are well aware of all your plans.”

Otabek and Qutidor could only manage to gasp “Oh my god!”

Otabek’s neck constricted and his face turned blue; Qutidor just sat quivering. Otabek struggled to gather his composure.

“Someone has slandered us, Your Honor,” he said. “Do you really believe my father is the enemy of the Qipchaqs? And that I traveled to Margilan in order to foment a rebellion here?”

“We do not think, we know. We also understand the motivation behind Qutidor giving his daughter’s hand in marriage to you in order to make you his son-in-law.” Qutidor remained stock still as if frozen in a picture. Otabek could barely control his emotions.

Qushbegi, along with the qorboshi, persecuted the two men as if they had already been proven guilty; they perceived every movement as an admission of guilt. After three or four minutes of silence, Otabek began, “You have judged us as insurgents, as dissidents. Whether your judgments of us are true or not, I believe further inquiry will reveal the truth. I am not flattering you out of fear of being under your sword, but because you are a representative of the government, someone who is well known as a conscientious man, I will reiterate my father’s and my own view:

“We do not support either the Qipchaqs or the Tashkent Black Robe alliance. We feel that neither faction is more suited than the other to control the government. Therefore, to offer up the future of the people of Turkistan to one of these groups would be like giving lambs to wolves.

“If we were to reveal the true motives within the hearts of those contending for power on either side of the contest, we would see one faction who seek to rob the people solely in pursuit of financial gain; whereas the other desires only beautiful wives and a luxurious life. Those participants in the conflict only see these two pursuits but not the third pursuit, the highest, that of creating peace and prosperity for the people. This sacred endeavor is absent.

“Taksir, in our view, we seek, perhaps not through actions, but through a greater vision, that third and higher purpose for the people. So far, this greater purpose lives only in our dreams. Your Honor, we support those who have dreams of the third, greater purpose. The reason for my father’s proximity to Azizbek is not because he supports either the Qipchaqs or the Black Robes, but instead to serve his higher goal, to bring his convictions to life. It is a tragedy that my father’s hopes that Azizbek will serve a greater good have come to naught: recently, for the sake of his dark wishes, Azizbek has turned his face from the khan of Qoqan and because of this has caused the blood of many innocent people to be shed. Believe me or not, it is your will, but I am deeply ashamed to be accused of such a petty slander. I say this in accordance with my conscience, Your Honor!”

After Otabek concluded his self-defense, Qushbegi became perplexed. His mind could not get around the contradiction that Otabek was the son of Yusufbek Hajji, and Yusufbek Hajji was the aide and spiritual leader of Azizbek. He decided, on the other hand, that Otabek’s passionate rebuttal was well argued and could not be discounted, though it might be a calculated defense. At last, he resolved to investigate this matter thoroughly and not come to a hasty conclusion.

“Regardless, it is apparent you are a person with many predatory designs,” Qushbegi stated. “For that reason you must stay in prison until we get to the root of the matter.”

Speechless, Otabek remained stock still, his mouth gaping wide open. Qutidor looked at his son-in-law, as if to say, “Is there no way out?” Qushbegi waved his hand, dismissing the prisoners. The soldiers stepped forward and escorted the presumed guilty parties to prison.

“Tomorrow, bring the conspirators who hosted illegal gatherings in their homes along with the other attendees who are still at large!” Given Qushbegi’s final order, the qorboshi exited with his leave.