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SAIDA ZUNNUNOVA TRANSLATED FROM UZBEK BY DONOHON ABDUGAFUROVA

Art by Hanna Priemetzhofer

Art by Hanna Priemetzhofer

  • Дневник

    09.09.1951й.

    Афсуски бу дафтарни тутиш фикри хаёлимга жуда кеч келди. Афтидан умидсизланиб кетган эканман. Кеча университетга кетаётиб Сайдий домлани кўрдим. Унинг қаламга олинган нарса йўқолмайди, яхши ният юзага чиқади, деган сўзлари менинг қалбимда умид учқунларини ёқди. Чиндан ҳам фақат яхшиликни ўйлаган тоза қалб туҳмат гирдобида ҳеч қачон йўқолмайди. Агар яна қайтиб минбарга чиқиш менга насиб қилса, ана шу ҳақ ният тантана қилган бўлади. Ана шу пайтда мен “уларнинг” кўзларини бир лаҳзагина учратгим келади, йўқ, “улар” менинг кўзимга қарайолмайдилар. Ҳа, худди ўшанисини кўргим келади. 

    Бугун дам олиш куни. Уй йиғиштиргач, студентлар зора сотиб олар деган ниятда диаматдан конспект печать қилдим. Нима қилай, ҳалол меҳнат - айб эмас. Бир йилдан бери шундай қилиб тирикчилик қиламан. Стипендия нима бўлади. Оила, рўзғор ташвиши кўп бўлар экан. Роҳатини кўрмаганим учун турган-битгани ташвиш десам ҳам бўлади. Асли шундай бўлмаса ҳам, мен учун шундай. Саид Аҳмаддан бир ярим ойдан бери хат йўқ. Кўнглим жуда ғаш. 

    10.09.1951й.

    Бугун дарс йўқ. Бироз конспект ёздим. Газетада чиқаролмаган баъзи мақолаларимни қараб чиқдим. Орадан шунча вақт ўтган бўлса ҳам уларни ўзгартиришни лозим топмадим. Демак ҳамон фикримда қатъийман. Нуқсонини тополмадим. Афсуски хизматини ўтамадилар, қоғозлар орасида қолиб кетдилар. Майли, қаламга олинган нарса йўқолмайди. 

    Турмушдаги сўнгги халоватим йўқолди. Ҳар куни жанжал, пичинг. Саводсиз одамнинг ақллилиги қаерга борар эди. Д. келиб мени ғашимга тегиш учун М.ни мақтади. Кошкийди, эримга ўша текканда, мен бу азобларни кўрмаган бўлар эдим. Менинг келажагим жуда порлоқ эди. Мени ҳам чиройли йигитлар яхши кўрган. Лекин мухаббат чиройга қарамас экан. Йўқ, менинг эрим бор, мен унга ҳеч қачон вафосизлик қилмайман, алдамайман. Ўтганларни яшириб бўлмайди, бироқ, эслашни ўзи ҳам мени эрим олдида гуноҳкордай азоблайди, кўзимга тикилиб тургандай бўлади-да, сесканиб кетаман. 

    Андижондан хат олдим. Хулласи бу кун ҳам кўпдан бери ўтаётган кунлардай азоб билан ўтди, эслагундай бирор лаззати йўқ. Фақат соғ - саломатман, яшаяпман. Соғликни ўзи катта бахт. Буни яқинда, касал бўлган кунимда сезган эдим. Ўша куни шундай деб ўйлаган эдим, энди эса унутаёзибман. Ҳа, айтмоқчи бугун эскичасига арафа экан. Ош қилишга қурбимиз етмади. Бу умримда биринчи марта пулга мухтож (бўлганман-у, лекин шунчалик эмас) бўлишим. Кечгача Саид Аҳмаддан хат кутдим, келмади. Нима бўлди экан? Балки ёзишга рухсат бермаётгандир. 

    11.09.1951й.

    Зот, насл ҳақидаги бачкана гапни эшитиб, одамлар, чинакам одамлар назаридан четда қолган, ҳаёт оқимига тушинмаган саводсиз бечорага раҳмим келди, кулдим да, Меҳрихонникига чиқиб кетдим. Куни бўйи уларникида чоқ-чоқлашиб ўтирдик. Менинг турмушга чиқмасимдан олдин ёзган баъзи шеърларим Меҳрихонда экан. Тўйдан уч кун олдин, баъзи гапларни ёзиб Меҳрихонга ўзим эсдалик қилиб қолдирган эканман. 

    Тавба, яхши гаплар ёзган эканман, ҳа, тўғри гаплар ёзган эканман. Майли, мен уларни ёзмайман. Улар ушбуни ўқиган киши учун сир бўлиб қолаберсин. Чунки ҳар вақт тортиб келаётган азобим, яъни тўғрилигим туфайли тортаётган азобимни у “сир” яна тахқирлаши мумкин. Оқил чиндан ўзгани демас, аммо барча чин сўзни демак оқил иши эмас, деган мақолга шу минутда, иқрор бўлай, 1чи марта амал қилдим. Мухаббат! Менинг кўзимга бундан икки йил олдин ажойиб олам бўлиб кўринган мухаббат энди тамомила ўз қадрини йўқотди, одамлар уни ўзларидек қадрсиз, тубан, ифлос қилиб қўйибдилар. Бу гапим учун баъзилар мени айбларлар. Лекин улар менинг ўрнимда бўлганларида, мухаббат пардаси орқасидаги ярамасликларни кўрганларида эди, худди мендек жирканган бўлар эдилар. Эркаклар... Эҳ, улардан шунча нафратландимки, хатто ёмон сўзимни ҳам уларга муносиб кўрмайман. Қаранг, бутун бошқа гапларни ёзабошлапман. Ҳа, кечқурун Меҳрихон билан “Горький” паркига чиқдик. Яна айтмай иложим йўқ: “жазманлар” искович итдек кетингдан юради, яна уларнинг шунчалик ишонч билан ёндашишлари мени ҳайрон қилди. Ёки хотинларнинг ичида ифлоси кўп, ёки ҳамма ифлос. Ёнингизда бирон эркак киши бўлмадими, сиз худди эгаси йўқ молдексиз. Меҳрихонникида тунаб қолдим. Уйдан безабошладим. Яқиндагина эримга бўлган садоқатимни ҳам, ҳурматимни ҳам шу уйимга бўлган меҳрим билан босар эдим. Энди-чи? Энди келишга юрагим безиллайди. Кошки эди, у менга уйланмаган бўлса! 

    12.09.1951й.

    Эрталаб Меҳрихонникидан дарсга кетдик. Бир нусха конспектимга студентларнинг бири пул берди. Уни томсувоққа асраб қўйдим. Кўпдан бери Саид Аҳмадга ҳеч нарса юборолмаяпман. Ҳеч ким, кўнглим учун ҳеч ким уни эсламайди. Мен ҳечкимдан умид ҳам қилмайман, хафа ҳам бўлмайман. Лекин эримнинг қадрига ҳафа бўламан. Саккиз ой передача ташидим, пул тополмай қон - қон йиғлаган кунларим бўлди. Бегоналар менга қарз берди, аммо ўзникилар ейаётган гўштларини бир тўғрам камайтиришга кўзлари қиймадилар. Майли, қариндошга ҳам бор бўлсанг қариндошсан, деган гапни мен айтмаганман-ку! Меҳнатга киши ўлмайди. Қўлимдан келганини аямайман, бироқ киши кўзига қарамайман, қаратмайман ҳам. Ўз кучим билан топиб, жони таним билан юборган беш сўмим, бировдан юлиб олган 100 сўмдан кўра кўпроқ уни тўйдиради. Чунки мен бутун бахт-саодатимни унинг оёғи остига ташладим, ундан ҳеч нарсани аямадим, унга нисбатан энг самимий одам бўлдим ва шундай бўлиб қоламан. Ҳоҳ у буни билсин, ҳоҳ билмасин, бу унинг иши! Мен ундан мени тўғри тушунишдан бошқа ҳеч нарсани талаб қилмайман. Хат келмаётир. Нима бўлди экан? Бунга ҳеч ким жавоб бермайди. 

    13.09.1951й.

    Дарсга эрталаб кетганимча соат 3дан кейин келдим. Ойим Камолхон аканикидан келиб турган экан. Чой ичгач, бироз конспект кўчирдим. Магазинга ёққа борган эдим, магазинчи қўлидан идиши тушиб кетиб ёғ тўкилди, идиш синиб кетди. Ўша ерда бировдан идиш топиб ёғ олиб келдим.Ойим билан иккимиз уни қишга тайёргарликнинг бошланиши деб олиб қўйдик, чунки экзамен кезларида мен иш қилолмай қолсам қийналиб қолишимиз мумкин. Ҳар қалай ёғ бўлса, картошка топсак овқат бўлади. Қиш десам махси галош, ўтин эсимга келади. Бир ёқдан 500 сўм қарзман. Шу атлас кўйлакни чакки олдим. Кечқурун свет ёмон бўлгани учун ҳеч нарса қилиб бўлмади. Ҳаёл суриб ўтирдим ва ухлаш олдидан ушбуни ёздим. 

    14.09.1951й.

    Хаёт мен учун одатдагидай, бир текис, кўнгилсиз. Икки соат дарсдан қолганим учун Восиқ деканатга ёзиб берибди. Спискани текширсам, ўзининг хотинини кўплаб дарсдан қолганларини отметка қилмаган экан. Деканатда мен староста (Восиқ) дан тўғри ишлашни талаб қилдим. Тўғри гапни тўқмоғи бор дейдилар-ку! Бу гап унга қаттиқ тегди, бироқ индаёлмади. Дарсдан келсам, Рахбархон айтиб кетган экан. Бордим. У менга қарз берган пулини қистади, тўй қилаётган эди, керак бўлиб қолган экан. Мен стипендиягача сабр қилишни сўрадим. Кечаси Мунирахон билан хаммомга бориб келдим-да, ухладим. 

    15.09.1951й.

    Студентлар кўчиришга конспект бердилар. Рус тилида экан, менинг машинкамда харф етмас эди. Нима қилай, бошқа иш йўқ, бир иложини қилиб ёзаман-да. Уйга келгач, фақат уч листгина ёздим. Диплом ёзиш учун Ойбекнинг “Олтин водийдан шабадалар” романини яна қайта ўқишга тўғри келди. Қайта ўқишга бошладим. Кечқурун свет хира бўлди, ўқишни ҳам, ишлашни ҳам иложи бўлмади. Хат кутаман, хат келмаётир. 

    16.09.1951й.

    Рахбархон синглисини эрга берди. Қариндош бўлгани учун бормасликка илож тополмадим. Бордим, кўнглим сира ҳам ёримади, Саид Аҳмад эсимга келди: у куёв бўлиб, хали бизникига боргани йўқ эди. 

    Ҳа, пулим йўқ бўлгани учун келинга ҳеч нарса подарка қилолмадим, кун бўйи ўнғайсизланиб юрдим. 

    17.09.1951й.

    Эрталабдан кечгача конспект кўчирдим. Меҳрихон келиб кетди. Кўзим оғриб қолди. Ўзи яқинда оғриб тузалган эди, нима бало бўлди, кўз оғриқни унча билмас эдим. Кечқурун очолмай қолдим. Конспектни тугатиш керак эди, томсувоқ кечикиб кетяпти. 

    18.09.1951й.

    Эрталаб кўзим анча дуруст бўлиб қолган экан, кун бўйи конспект ёздим, кечга бориб яна очиб бўлмай қолди. Ухлашга мажбур бўлдим. 

    19.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан сўнг, тинчлик комитетининг мурожаатига бағишланган йиғилиш бўлди. Қайтишда келинойимникига кирдим. У ердан қайтгач, Машхурахон опамни олиб “Мексикали қиз” фильмини кўргани бордим. Жуда таъсирли деб тарифлаган эдилар. Менга унчалик кўринмади. Ҳарқалай ўз бошимдаги фожиадан кўра ортиқ бўлмаса керак. Ҳозир юрагим шу қадар тош бўлиб кетганки, ҳар қандай оғир ходиса: ўлим ҳам, айрилиқ ҳам, очлик яланғочлик ҳам, азобнинг турли-турли хилларининг ҳаммаси мен учун жуда оддий, гўё шундай бўлиши керакдек туюлади. Кулки, ашула, музика эса қиттай лаззат бермайди. О, уларни яқиндагина мен қандай севар эдим. Энди эса кўролмайман. 

    20.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан келсам, райсобесдан одам келиб ойимнинг урушда ўлган ўғли учун пособие олса бўладими-йўқми текшираётган экан.Унга мени бегона деб таништирдилар, мен ҳам шундай дедим. Бу умримда кишини алдашга биринчи марта ботинишим эди. Бунинг учун мени гунохкор қилмоқчи бўлсалар, даставвал шу ёлғонни гапиришга мени мажбур қилган шароитни даволасинлар. Бўлмаса, мен барибир гуноҳ деб билмайман ёлғон гапимни. Ойимга қийин, бола боққани учун айбдор эмас албатта. Менинг ҳам ягона бахтим, хозирги оғир кунларимда ҳам юз ўгирмаган фақат онам. Мен эса унга нима қилдим ва нима қилганман? Ҳеч нарса, азобдан бошқа ҳеч нарса бермадим. Онажон! Мен хизматларингизни қайтаролмасам, укаларимдан қайтсин, узоқ умр кўринг, соғ бўлинг. Ахир бу бахти қаро қизингиз шунча бадбахтликни ўйлабмиди? Нима қилай, сизга азоб беришга ва ўзим азоб чекишга туғилган эканман. 

    Кечқурун китоб ўқидим. Маузия опа, Ойша опа, мен ўтириб Поля деган хотинга эримизни иши нима бўлади деб карта очирдик. Ҳа, юпаниш учун шундай ишлар билан ҳам шуғулланадиган бўлдим. Тўппа-тўғри, самимий пок одамни қандай қилиб расво қиляптилар! Саид Аҳмадакамни касал бўлса керак деб айтди. Уйқим бутунлай қочиб кетди, кўзимга ҳар хил қиёфада кўринди, йиғладим. Тўйиб-тўйиб йиғладим. Кўз ёшларим сиёҳ бўлганда эди, ушбуни ҳам кўз ёшим билан бемалол ёзиб тугатган бўлар эдим. Афсус, бу кўз ёшлар жуда қадрсиз, уни ҳеч ким билмайди, унинг сабабини ҳеч ким сўрмайди. Қизиқ гапираман, сабаби ҳаммага аён-ку! Нимасини ҳам сўрасин?! 

    Бошимдан не-не кунлар ўтганда ҳам мен унга ёзмаган эдим, уни жуда қизғонар эдим. Жони жонимдан ўтгач, ўша хатни ёздим-у, лекин ўзим ундан баттар азобдаман. Қўлидан нима келади? Гоҳ ундан, гоҳ мендан хафа бўлади холос. Балки у ҳам мени қоралар, ўз кўзи, ўз қулоғи билан эшитмагач, билмайди. Одамлар жуда уста бўлар экан. Тангрим! Бошимда шунча кунлар бор экан, нега мени ҳам ўшандай уста, айёр қилиб яратмадинг. Тўғри бўлганим учун ҳам сендан яшириниб шайтондан сабоқ ололмадим шекилли! Энди ўзгариш қийин бўляпти ку! Йўқ, ҳеч бўлмаяпти! 

    21.09. 1951й.

    Дарсдан келаётиб Мухаррам опа билан магазинга кирдик. Мухаррам опа ўзига кўрпа астарлик олди. Мен ундан менга бир метр сочиқ олиб беришини сўрадим. Пиёла сочиғимиз жуда йиртилиб кетган эди. Унга кўп вақт конспект кўчириб бераман. Ҳисоб китобини ўшанда қилармиз. Энди яна бирор фандан конспект кўчириб берсам, Мухаррам опа менга кирогаз олиб берадиган бўлди. Қишда ўтин жуда қийнайди. Кирогаз бўлса, ҳарқалай, керосин ўтиндан арзонроқ тушади. Ҳа, Хосиятхон опа менга уйингиздан кетинг, ўзингизни қийнаб нима қиласиз, айниқса ана бу онахотин билан яшаш жуда қийин, деди. Эҳ, биламан, жуда қийин, қийналяпман ҳам, бироқ уйни ташлаб кетиш ундан ҳам қийинроқ. Эримга ичим оғрийди, ундан юз ўгирмаган хозир фақат менман. Агар мен ҳам кетсам унга жуда оғир бўлса керак. Яна билмайман, эркак кишиларни билиб бўлмайди. Уйга келсам Машхурахон опам билан Далила уруш қилибди. Кеча ҳам урушган эди. Хайронман, нега ўзиникилар билан ҳам чиқишаолмайди. 

    Кечқурун угра қилдик. Чўмичимиз синиб қолган эди, пиёла билан қуяман деб қўлимни ҳам куйдирдим. 

    22.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан жуда чарчаб келдим. Бироз дам олгач, овқатга уриндим. Кечқурун свет бўлмади, ухладим. 

    23.09.1951й.

    Дам олиш куни эди. Эрталаб кир дазмол қилдим. Мунирахон билан хаммомга бордим. Диаматдан конспект кўчирдим. Китоб ўқидим. Газетани кам ўқийман - бу менинг ўзимга кечириб бўлмаслик гуноҳ. Янги йилдан обуна бўлишим керак албатта. 

    24.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан сўнг Фароғат опамникига бориб, бироз ўтириб қайтдим. Ҳайрият, ўзи ҳам жиянининг феълини билар экан. Уйга қайтгач, ойим иккимиз тупроқ қазидик, том сувоққа. Кечқурун китоб ўқидим. 

    25.09.1951й.

    Бугун дарс йўқ. Мустақил ишлаш куни. Мен эса эрталаб тупроқ қазидим. Нина тўқнайдиган тўқидим, китоб ўқидим. Саид Аҳмадакамга хат ёздим. Тохирий домлани ишдан бўшатибдилар, приказга “ўрин бўлмагани учун” деб ёзилган эмиш. Ваҳоланки, университетда психологиядан ҳеч қандай одам бўлмагани учун студентлар дипломни психологиядан эмас, тилдан ёзишга мажбур бўлмоқдалар. Сабабини билмайман, лекин жуда ачиндим, яхши кўрган домлаларимдан эди. У, машинасини сотиб Москвага бормоқчи эмиш. Жуда яхши қилади. Москва ҳақни юзага чиқармай қўймайди. 

    26.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан келиб, тупроқ қазидим. Конспект кўчирдим, китоб ўқидим. Кечқурун Маузия опа билан бир жинни бўлгандек картада фол очдик. У ҳам овутолмади. Ётдим-да, кўзимни чирт юмиб олдим. Хат келмаётир. 

    27.09.1951й.

    Соат 4ларда дарсдан қайтдим. Бутун куни бўйи табиатим хира бўлиб юрди. Одамларнинг ичида ярамаслари шу қадар кўпки, эй тангрим, нега ўшалар қаторида яратмадинг ёки яратмай қўяқолмадинг! Мен сенинг олдингга “дод!” деб бораман. Агар сен чиндан бор бўлсанг, одамларни мендай бахтсиз яратадиган бўлсанг, яратмай қўяқол. Ахир ижодкорлигинг учун рахмат эмас, лаънат эшитасан холос. Мана, энг мўмин бандаларингдан бири сенга исъён қиляпти. Модомики менинг тақдирим сенинг буйруғинг билан экан, бу исъёним ҳам сенинг буйруғингдандир.

    Тавба қилдим, бахтимга онам эсон бўлсин, унинг умрини узун қил. Ҳақ бўлсанг, ҳақиқатни тезроқ юзага чиқар, юзимни ёруғ қил. 

    28.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан сўнг стипендия кутдим. Кассир келмади. Эртага берадиган бўлди. Уйга келдим. Ўзимни жуда ёмон сездим. Кўзим энди очиляпти. Ўз аҳволим ўзимга кундан-кун кучлироқ таъсир этмоқда. Ҳеч нарса қилгим келмади. Турсунойларникига чиқдим, дутор чалиб ўтирдик. 

    29.09.1951й.

    Дарсдан сўнг стипендия олдим. Буфетдан нон оламан (очередь эди) деб партмажлисга кеч қолдим. Мен кирганда Симкин хисобот докладини тугатган экан. Мени ҳам ишламайди, деб танқид қилибди. Рост айтади. Нима дер эдим, бу тўғри гап. Шунақа бўлиб қолдим. Мажлис 7дан ўтганда тугади. 8ларда уйга келдим. 

    30.09.1951й.

    Эрталаб бозорга тушдим. Саид Аҳмадакам учун посылкага ҳаражат қилиб чиқдим. Рахбархонга 180 сўм бердим, яна 120 сўм қарзим қолди, 100 сўм томсувоққа атаб қўйдим. Ёғ идишини Машҳураопам тополмай чиққан экан, ўзим яна бозорга бордим, топиб келдим. Андижондан бувим (онам- ред.) пул билан ёғ бериб юборган экан, олиб келиш учун Саломатхон аяникига бордим. Келгач, халта тикиш ва посылкани жойлаш билан овора бўлдим. Иш ҳам қилмадим, китоб ҳам ўқимадим. Дам олиш куни экан, бошимни ҳам ювиб олмабман. 

  • by Donohon Abdugafurova

    The persecution and terror of the Stalinist era in the 1920s and 1930s, and later in the 1950s concentrated on cleansing the population ideologically, starting with the wealthy peasants and the rich, and later moving to the intellectual strata of society. Until Stalin’s death in 1953, the Soviet regime was dedicated to clearing the state of its enemies within. The earlier gulagization, prosecution, and exile changed its focus to the wider population, including intellectuals and party leaders, who were active participants in building socialism. To the Stalinist state, they all became the feared other. Among the millions of people repressed in Stalin’s purges, Said Ahmad (1920- 2007), a well-known Uzbek writer who was sentenced to hard labor as “an enemy of people,” was never sure why he was judged to be an enemy of Soviet ideology. Active women writers such as Saida Zunnunova, with “desirable” autobiographies, became disposable as socially alien because of their associations with husbands who were branded as enemies of the people.

    Saida Zunnunova kept a diary while her husband was in prison, and her entries reveal the struggles she faced during his imprisonment and how these circumstances impacted her life. The diary reflects her steadfast adherence to her moral values and ethical choices as she tries to make sense of her situation. Zunnunova began writing in her diary on September 9, 1951, and continued until August 21, 1952. It serves as a repository for her thoughts, reflections, pains, and hopes. Nearly seventy years after its composition in the early 1950s, the diary became available to readers when it was published in the journal Tafakkur in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, in 2017. Muhiddin Rahim, who prepared the diary for publication, likens it to a mountain rising in the midst of a prairie. This metaphor evokes imagery of inner struggle and turmoil, forming a visible hill on an otherwise flat and predictable surface. In other words, the diary reveals an unexpected and varied emotional landscape. While Zunnunova’s diary is a rare example of the bravery required to document private thoughts during a risky time, she had already incorporated her ideas into her poetry and prose before writing the diary. Her reflections on moral obligations, ethical responsibilities toward others and the state, and proper citizenship in Soviet society held significant importance in her works.

    Saida Zunnunova was born in 1926 in Andijan, Uzbekistan. She studied at the Andijan Pedagogical Institute from 1941–43 and subsequently worked as a teacher in regional schools and as a literary worker in newspaper editorial offices. She graduated from the philology department of the Central Asian State University in 1952. Zunnunova’s diary is a window to her student years. Although the diary ends in August 1952, it reveals the emotional stress, anxiety, and exhaustion that contributed to the deterioration of her health. This constant tension took a toll on her well-being, and she died at the relatively early age of 51 in 1977.

    Donohon Abdugafurova is a scholar whose research interests lie at the intersections of religion, gender, and literature within Uzbek society. Holding a Ph.D. in Islamic Studies, an M.A. in Curriculum and Instruction, and a B.A. in Uzbek Philology, Dr. Abdugafurova has established a solid foundation for interdisciplinary research in cultural, literary, and pedagogical studies to analyze societal norms and values, particularly regarding gender roles and religious beliefs. Throughout her career, Dr. Abdugafurova has contributed to the scholarly discourse on these topics through her publications. She has authored numerous articles in several journals, including Central Asian Affairs, Journal of Georgetown Gender and Law, and Journal of Islamic and Muslim Studies. Her work in these journals reflects her deep commitment to examining how religious and gender identities are constructed, negotiated, and contested within Uzbek society.

The following entries are excerpted from the diary of Uzbek-Soviet writer Saida Zunnunova (1926-1977). In May of 1950 her husband, the well-known writer Said Ahmad, was labeled an “enemy of the people” and imprisoned; he was not released until 1955. With her husband’s fate uncertain, Zunnunova continued her studies in Tashkent, struggling to support and realize herself, and to stand firm against the suspicions of neighbors and her husband’s family. She was inspired to keep a diary by a teacher who transmitted the importance of the written word.

September 9, 1951 

Unfortunately, the idea of keeping this diary came to me very late. It seems I’d lost hope. But yesterday I met Sadiy domla on my way to the university. What he told me, that “written words never perish” and “good intentions prevail,” reignited my hope. It is true that a pure, well-intentioned heart will never perish, even in a whirlwind of slander. If I am lucky enough to return to the minbar, it would be the triumph of my good intentions. Then I would like to meet “their” eyes for a moment. But no, they wouldn’t dare meet mine. This is exactly what I would like.

Today is Sunday. After I cleaned the house, I typed up class notes for Diamat [Dialectic Materialism] with the hope that some students might buy them. So what? There’s no shame in honest labor. I’ve been earning my living this way for a year. A stipend only goes so far! There are so many worries over family and the household. Because I take no pleasure in them, that is all they are to me. Even if that’s not the reality, it is for me. No letter from Said Ahmad for a month and a half. I’m so uneasy. 

September 10, 1951  

Today I don’t have class. I wrote some notes. I went through some articles that I haven’t been able to publish in newspapers. Although it has been some time, I didn’t find it necessary to change them. That means I’m still firm in my opinions. I find no fault with them. Unfortunately, the articles couldn’t complete their service and have gotten stuck among my papers. That’s okay. Written words never perish.

All happiness is gone from my married life. Every day, quarrels and gibes. Ignorant people’s intellect can only go so far. In order to annoy me, D. [Said Ahmad’s niece Dalilahon] came by and praised M. If only M. had married my husband, I wouldn’t have endured these hardships. I had a bright future. And good-looking boys loved me, too. But good looks don’t entice love. No, I have a husband. I would never be unfaithful to him. You can’t hide the past, but thinking back on it makes me feel like a sinner before my husband. It seems to be staring at me, and I shudder.

I received a letter from Andijon. In sum, today has passed painfully, like so many other recent days. There’s nothing sweet to remember. Only that I am healthy, and I am alive. Health itself is a great happiness. I sensed this recently on a day I fell ill. I had the thought then, but now I’ve almost forgotten it. By the way, today is the traditional holiday of Arafa. We couldn’t afford to make osh. This is the first time in my life I have so needed money (I’ve been in need before, but not to this level). I waited for a letter from Said Ahmad until late afternoon. What could have happened? Maybe they didn’t allow him to write. 

September 11, 1951  

After listening to D.’s nonsense about genealogy and lineage, I pitied that poor, ignorant person who doesn’t understand the flow of life, and is beyond consideration by decent people. I smiled and left for Mehrikhon’s house. We spent the whole day chatting. My poems written before I married were there with Mehrikhon. Three days before my wedding I wrote down some words and gave them to her as a memento. 

And did I ever write good things, yes, I wrote the truth. Still, I won’t write them here. Let them remain a secret to anyone who reads this, since that “secret” may denigrate the torments I am now enduring because of my honesty. The proverb states that an intelligent person speaks only the truth, but not the whole truth. At this moment, I must admit I am following that principle for the first time in my life.

Love! Love, which seemed so amazing to me two years ago, has lost its worth completely. People have made it worthless, low and filthy just like themselves. Maybe some would reproach me for these words. But if they were in my shoes and had seen all the filth behind the curtain of love, they would hate it as much as I do. Men. Oh, I so despise them that I don’t even think they deserve my harshest words. But I digress. 

So last night Mehrikhon and I went to Gorky Park. I have no choice but to mention the “suitors” walking around like sniffer dogs—their confidence in approaching women amazes me. Either all women are wicked or everyone else must be. If you don't have a man by your side, you’re viewed as unclaimed property.

I stayed over at Mehrikhon’s house. I'm starting to feel annoyed in my own home. Until recently, I channeled my devotion and respect for my husband into love for our home. But now? My heart aches coming back to this house. If only he hadn’t married me.

September 12, 1951 

In the morning, I went to class from Mehrikhon’s house. A student bought a copy of my class notes. I’ll put that money toward repairing the roof. It has been a long time since I’ve been able to send anything to Said Ahmad. No one, not a single person, mentions him, even for my sake. I don’t expect this from anyone and am not upset by it. But I am upset about my husband’s lost worth. For eight months, I sent him packages, and there were days I cried bitterly because I couldn’t find the money. Strangers would lend me money, but his own people wouldn’t spare even a small portion of their meat. That’s okay. I didn’t come up with the saying, “You’re only a relative if you’re rich!” Hard work won’t kill a person. I do all I can, and I don't look to others for help, wouldn’t put Said Ahmad in that position. The five soms I earn through my own honest work and send to him wholeheartedly will sustain him more than a hundred soms from someone else. Because I’ve poured all of my happiness at his feet, spared him nothing. I've been the most loyal and honest person to him, and will continue to be. Whether he knows or understands it is his own business! I only ask that he try to understand me properly.

Still no letter? What has happened? No one will answer me.

September 13, 1951 

I went to class in the morning and returned after 3 p.m. My mother-in-law had just come back from visiting her brother Kamoliddin. After tea, I copied some class notes. I went to a store to buy oil, but the container slipped from the seller’s hand, the oil spilled, and the container broke. Someone gave me another container and I got the oil. My mother-in-law and I put it away for the winter. Because if I can’t work during exams, we might struggle. But as long as we have oil and we can find some potatoes, we’ll be able to eat. The word “winter” makes me think of galoshes and firewood.

I owe five hundred soms. Shouldn’t have bought that atlas dress. In the evening, I couldn’t do anything because the light was so dim. I sat and daydreamed and wrote this before falling asleep.

September 14, 1951

Life for me is flat and monotonous. Because I was two hours late, Vosiq reported me to the department. When I checked the list, I noticed he hadn’t marked down his wife’s absences. I went to the department and demanded he, the class leader, be fair. They say “the truth strikes like a hammer!” He took it hard, but he couldn’t say a word.

After class, Rahbarkhon asked me to visit her. I went. She wanted the money she’d lent me, because she was planning a wedding and needed it. I asked if she could wait until I received my stipend. In the evening, I went to the hammam with Munirakhon and then slept.

September 15, 1951 

Some students gave me notes to copy. But since they’re in Russian, I can't do it on my typewriter. It doesn't have all the necessary letters for that language. There’s no other work, what can I do? I’ll copy as much as I can by hand. When I got home, I was only able to copy three pages. In order to get my degree, I need to re-read Aibek’s Breezes from the Golden Valley. So I started re-reading that. But the lighting was too dim, making it impossible to read or get any work done.

I keep waiting for a letter that doesn’t come.

September 16, 1951 

Rahbarkhon was marrying off her sister. Since she is a relative, I had no choice but to attend the wedding. So I went, but my heart nearly broke. I kept thinking about Said Ahmad—ever since we got married, he hasn’t laid foot in our home.

And because I don't have any money, I couldn't give a gift to the bride. I felt uncomfortable the entire day.

September 17, 1951 

I copied class notes from morning to night. Mehrikhon came and went. I have an eye infection. I recently recovered from it and now I don’t know what’s happened—my eyes have never bothered me before. By the evening, I couldn't even open them. I have to finish making the copies. The roof repair is being delayed.

September 18, 1951 

In the morning my eyes were better, so I wrote notes all day. But by evening, they again would not stay open. I had to sleep.

September 19, 1951 

After class there was a meeting regarding the Peace Committee’s address. On my way home I visited my sister-in-law. Then I went with Mashkhurakhon opa to see the movie Mexican Girl. People described it as very moving, but it wasn’t to me. In any case, it was no more tragic than what I’ve endured. Now my heart is so hardened that any kind of difficulty—be it death, separation, famine, or some other torment—seems ordinary, just the way of things. Laughter, songs, and music give me no pleasure. How I loved them until recently, but now I can’t stand them.

September 20, 1951 

When I came back from class, a man from the Raysabez [Social Protection Office] was checking whether my mother in-law was eligible to receive a pension for her son who’d died at war. I was introduced to him as an acquaintance, rather than a family member, and I went along with this. It was the first time I’d ever dared to deceive someone. If anyone blames me for this, they should first fix the system that forced me to lie. As things are, I don’t consider my lie a sin. The situation is difficult for my mother-in-law and it’s not her fault she had a child, of course. 

My only happiness is my mother, the only one who’s stood by me in difficult times. But what have I done for her? Nothing, I’ve given her nothing but pain. My dear mother! If I can’t repay all you’ve done for me, may my siblings be able to. Live long and be healthy. Did your unfortunate daughter foresee all this unhappiness? What can I do? I was born to bring you pain and to feel pain myself. 

In the evening, I read a book. Mauzia opa, Oisha opa, and I got a card reading from a woman named Polya, about the fate of our husbands. Yes, I console myself with such things. How they disgrace a truthful, decent, and pure person! The cards said Said Ahmad aka might be sick. I couldn’t sleep, seeing visions of him in different guises and crying. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. If my tears were ink, I could have written this whole entry with them. Alas, these tears are worthless, no one knows about them, and nobody asks the reason for them. But I’m talking nonsense—everyone knows the reason! What is there to ask about?

No matter what I endured, I didn’t write to him about it, I protected him. Only when it was intolerable, did I write that letter, though my pain is worse than his. What can he do? Only feel upset with himself or with me. Maybe, until he sees me with his own eyes and hears me with his own ears, he won’t know. People are so crafty. God, if I have to endure so many hardships, why didn't you make me as crafty and cunning as they are? I was always too honest, unable to hide from you and get lessons from the devil instead. Now it’s too difficult to change! It’s impossible!

September 21, 1951 

On the way home from class, Muharram opa and I stopped at a store. Muharram opa bought some bedding for herself. I asked her to buy me a meter of toweling, since our kitchen towel is worn out. I often copy notes for Muharram opa, so we’ll settle up later. If I make her a set of notes for another subject, she’ll buy me a kerogaz [diesel-powered stove]. It’s hard to get firewood in the winter, and buying diesel for a kerogaz would be cheaper.

Hosiyat opa said I should move out of my house, that I was tormenting myself, especially living with my mother-in-law. I know it's very difficult, and I'm struggling, but leaving the house would be even worse. I feel bad for my husband—I'm the only one who’s stood by him. I guess it would be hard on him if I left, too. I don't know. You can never really know how a man will react.

When I got home, Mashhura opa and Dalila were arguing. They had an argument yesterday as well. It’s strange she can't get along with her own relatives.

In the evening, we made noodles. Our ladle was broken so I tried to pour the noodles with a cup, and burned my hand.

September 22, 1951 

I returned from class feeling very tired. After resting a bit, I cooked a meal. In the evening, there was no electricity, so I just went to sleep.

September 23, 1951

It was a day off. In the morning, I ironed some clothes and then went to the hammam with Munirakhon. I copied my Diamat notes and read some books. I rarely read newspapers, which to me is an unforgivable sin. I absolutely must subscribe to one in the new year.

September 24, 1951

After class, I visited with Farog'at opa for a while. I'm glad she understands her niece's character. Back at home, my mother-in-law and I dug soil to plaster the roof. In the evening, I read a book.

September 25, 1951 

Today there was no class. It was an independent study day. In the morning, I dug some soil. I made a pincushion and read a book. I also wrote a letter to Said Ahmad.

They fired Tohiriy domla, a psychology professor at the university. “Because there was no longer a position,” according to the order. Now, because there is no psychology professor at the university, students will be forced to write their theses on linguistics. I don't know why, but I pity him—he was one of my favorite teachers. They say he's going to sell his car and go to Moscow. Hopefully he does. In Moscow he might find more justice.

September 26, 1951

After class, I dug soil. Copied class notes and read a book. In the evening Mauzia opa and I read each other’s fortunes with cards just like crazy people. Even that did not console us. I lay down and closed my eyes tightly. Still no letter. 

September 27, 1951 

Around 4 p.m. I returned from class. All day my mood was low. There are so many evil people in the world. Oh God, I wish you’d made me like them or not at all. I’ll go before you and plead! If you are real, and if you create people as unhappy as I am—don’t do it! After all, you’ll hear only damnation and no praise for your creations. Behold, one of your most faithful servants rebelling against you. But so long as my fate is under your command, my rebellion is also under your command.

I repent, may my mother be healthy, may her life be long. If you are righteous, reveal the truth as soon as possible, and shed light on the injustice done to me!

September 28, 1951 

After class I waited for my stipend. The teller never came. I’ll get it tomorrow.  Back at home I felt really bad. My eyes are opening now. My condition is worsening every day. I didn’t want to do anything. I went to Tursunoy's house and we sat around playing dutor. 

September 29, 1951 

After class I received my stipend. I was late for the party meeting because I went to buy bread from the cafeteria (there was a line). By the time I arrived, Simkin had finished his lecture. He criticized me for not working. He was right. What could I say? It was true. I’ve become like that… 

September 30, 1951 

In the morning, I went to the market and bought some things for a package I wanted to send Said Ahmad. I also paid 180 soms to Rahbarkhon (I still owe her 120). I will put the other 100 soms toward fixing the roof. Mashkhura opa couldn't find a container for oil, so I went back to the market and got one. I went to Salomatkhon aya's to get some oil and money my mother had sent from Andijon.

Back at home, I got busy sewing a sack and preparing the package. I didn’t copy any notes today or read any books. It was a day off. I even forgot to wash my hair.