Selected Poetry / Избранное (англ.)

Uncle Badri had a big blue-eyed wife with a friendly face, named Gaisha, a 14 or 15-year-old son, Kamaletdin, a daughter, Kashifa, aged 12 and a newly born baby girl, Nagima. After tea, we went into the house across the way from this one.

This house looked nothing like the black hut I spent the night in: the walls were built of fresh yellow pine, there was nice furniture and decor, even a desk – for a villager like me the interior was more than satisfactory.

When I saw uncle Badri’s barns full of meat, various grains, wheat and rye, I decided that he must be one of the richest people in the village.

Kamaletdin also showed me there large orchard, not particularly beautiful in the autumn but with a lot of bee hives.

After I walked into this white chimney house, I didn’t leave it the entire day and went to bed there.

In the evening, going through the books in the house, I stumbled upon Fruits of Conversation[11 - The Fruits of Conversation is a collection of works of literature and folklore, compiled by Kayum Nasyri in 1884.

] and began to read it. I liked the last few poems very much and tried my best to understand them. However, since in Kyrlai I read only Hafiza and the religious-mystical book Sabatel-Gadzhizin, I was perplexed by the presence of indecent words in this book, and I began wondering: how could there be such words in a book?

Sometimes, under the influence of this book Fruits of Conversation I loudly argued with Gaisha abystai in the black hut, where she washed her laundry.

My aunt put men to shame, while I ridiculed women.

Wherever I went, I was always singled out among other boys as the son of a mullah. Even in places where lots of children got together I wasn’t allowed to play tag with the girls. I also tried to behave as appropriate to a mullah’s son and use my own erudition.

Here’s an example. Once when I was at uncle Badri’s place, a man by the name of Sitdik, well known in the village, came to see me.

He was drunk. He came up to me and said the words of greeting but I didn’t answer him; he gave me his hand but I didn’t shake it.

They asked me why I acted that way. I immediately answered with a line from Badavam:

«Don’t send greetings to a drunk,

And never shake his hand.В»

In addition to the fact that uncle Badri’s whole family was amazed, my religious zeal became known to everyone in the village.