Abdurashid Nurmuradov
The Bloody Veil
Who can ask for me? I had a stick in my hands, and I pointed to her, "With it, – I say, – I came." Then he "drawed" a deuce on the examination sheet, without changing his face. I look at the exam sheet and hear a teacher at the next table taking the exam from a girl:
– Your knowledge is even worse than your brother warned me, well, I will put you three, – he said in the tone of the debtor.
– Yes, Rashid aka, he had to. At that point, I felt that money was involved. Well, and my couple through the rector turned into a three. Yes, through the rector. Those teachers have neither shame nor conscience.
When in Termez, before sending to Afghanistan, a soldier offered to leave me for a thousand rubles and then I scolded him. And that teacher, who put the pair, stood up on me and said:
–You will come in spring.
Then I calmly, without raising my voice, said:
– Give me your health, I’ll feed the sheep at the village. – He was afraid.
Classes start tomorrow. I will come to you, Rashid aka. When I see you as if I was born again, I remember the house, my father, the desire to live.
I went to the village and my heart was shaken. And now, I never go through the streets again.
I have time. Be healthy, – he said, raising his hands for prayer. I wish him health. He asked to visit me more often. He has gone. It was like bringing joy with you. The four walls of the room, among which I was left alone, pressed on me. In front of my eyes passed the faces of people with similar fate, whom I met over the years. Sabir was one of those people I was looking for to meet, whose sad confessions I listened to with pain in my heart.
I remember Ravshan from Bekabad, I remember how he told, holding his head with both hands:
– It has already been twenty months I went from one hospital to another. Unfamiliar people think I’m perfectly healthy. But day by day I get worse and worse. Recently I met an experienced doctor. "The shell that protects your brain from external influences is dried out. Therefore, a little noise gets on your nerves" – he said.
I asked him what I should do, and he replied, "Try to forget those days".
But how can we forget? As I start to become a little anxious, in my dream, people start to suffocate me in bushes. In horror, I jump out of bed and can't recover for weeks.
Where is the declared publicity, democracy? There is still a strong mechanism, the parts of which are connected with one blood, soul and money. It will take a long time to divide this bureaucratic mechanism into pieces, to throw it into a burning oven. My brothers, Abdurashid, Sabir, Ravshan and other men who were born with me, were the victims of this machine.
Unfortunately, we all often have to deal with people who do not step without benefit. Sitting in luxurious chairs, they gather from their subordinates. They filled their stomachs at the expense of sacrifices, and still shouted at every step:
– We are rebuilding! We are rebuilding!
In fact, these “reconstructors” actively “rebuilt” everything for themselves. The military from Termez, who demanded a thousand rubles, is probably also in some part engaged in rebuilding.
To prevent new misfortunes, new wars, new evils, we must separate ourselves from such Chameleons. As the saying goes, "what comes in with breast milk, comes out with the soul". Those who luxuriated in featherbed in those years, and now drink our blood. Let us be careful. Let us save our younger brothers who have not had time to walk, but who have already sat down.
* * *
It shines. The soul is filled with a feeling of satisfaction. In my ears there is an echo of my mother's echoed voice, a father's plea at the tomb asking for blessings for the children, the whisper of my brother: "I am with you with my soul, the spirit will support you."
My brother Vahid, I have fulfilled my duty to you and your comrades. Sorry not as fast as you would like, but it’s time.
Dear contemporary! I put the last point. And you turn the page and hear the voices of people with wounded hearts, worthy of the deepest respect and sincere sympathy.
WOUNDS OF THE EARTH
"SPARKS IN THE NIGHT"
Muhammad Sadikov, born in 1969. From Andijan region, Uzbekistan. Wounded during a battle in the village of Chelkar.
– I arrived in Afghanistan in the autumn of 1987. After two months of preparation, we were thrown into the defense of the village of Chelkar. The food supply was poor. We have to sit hungry for days.
On the very first day, they put me on post. I was very afraid then. There were few soldiers, and I was not relieved for fifteen days. As night falls, it seems that an enemy is waiting around every corner. Then I start shooting with a machine gun at this terrible darkness. My head is buzzing, and my ears are popping. Then I stopped hearing. I walked like a mad sheep. My friend, on the same call with me, asked the commander:
– Muhammad needs to be replaced. He's deaf; I'll take over the post in his place.
After that, I was removed from my post. After a month, I recovered a little. The service went on as usual. Different things have happened; we've seen enough of everything.
Once I stood on duty. There are four days left until the end of the service. I'm thinking about meeting in Termez with my own. I imagine how schoolgirls run out to meet us with flowers, and my heart almost bursts out of my chest. I began to count minutes, than hours. Well, what are four days? And then they seemed so long.
I had a girlfriend I loved. During these years, I wrote to her in letters while I was serving in Poland. Only my brother Nizamiddin, who studied at the institute, knew where I am actually. And even then, he found out at the military commissariat. In every letter, he asked me to take care of myself.
Three days before that night, for some reason, my eyelid began to twitch. For no reason at all, my heart suddenly squeezed, and I could not find a place for myself. It's the darkest night I've ever seen, even with my eyes closed.
That night, for some reason, I remembered everyone in turn. I talked to my mother in my mind and stroked the heads of my younger brothers and sisters. They all came out to meet me in Termez. I was looking for my favorite girl. She is not among the greeters. Then I heard her voice behind me: "Muhammad aka!" Everything happens as if in reality. Before I could turn around, I saw a burst of fiery sparks in the night. Pain burned my leg. It seemed that the voice of my beloved froze in the air. Then everything went quiet. I fell. I felt the wound with my hands; I felt a warm, viscous liquid. "Why, why shoot at me? After all, I want to go home! What am I going to do now?" I shouted without ceasing. Then someone took my hand and dragged me.
As it turned out, three bullets hit me in the thigh. An operation was performed at the hospital. Then they were brought to Tashkent by plane. The thought that the leg would be cut off was spinning in my brain. Only Nizamiddin from relatives found out about my injury. I wouldn't have told him either, but he saw it himself when they bandaged the wound.
– Don't say anything to my parents, – I asked him. When the parents first came to the hospital, they said that in those days they sensed trouble in their hearts. Yes, probably. Parents, wherever their children are, always feel the grief that has fallen on their heads.
– You asked me what I would do if I met that enemy now. Nothing. But if I had run into him at that time, I would have torn him apart. After all, life was at stake. If he hadn't shot at me, I would have put a bullet in him. This is the absurdity of war: that one person is ready to kill another, not knowing who he is or who is to blame for him. Actually, I don't understand these cases. Why did we go there? Why I came back wounded. And it is always more difficult for the locals. There are corpses of children, women, and old people everywhere. Whose bullet killed them, no one can know…
"MY FAMILY BEGGED ME…"
Timur Saidov, born in 1969. From Karshi, Uzbekistan.
He was blown up by a mine in the village of Piramakon.
– There was a tank in front of me. My friends Victor and Mamur climbed it. It was the road we traveled every day. When the tank was two hundred meters away from us, suddenly there was an explosion. I saw my friends being thrown up, and they fell to the ground. The tank was engulfed by fire. This happened there often, and every day we lost one of our comrades. But I haven't seen it up close until now. They were thrown a dozen meters above the tank. For a few moments, they hung in the air and then fell down. It was terrible. I lost consciousness for a moment. I was sure they were dead, and coffins appeared before my eyes. We held a lot of coffins.
We all ran to the burning tank. The guys were lying in the dust, one to the left and the other to the right of the tank, twenty meters away from him. I jumped over a mine crater, and I didn't have time to take two steps, heading towards Mamur, as a terrible explosion stunned me. I was floating in the void for a long, very long time.. Then I fell on the soft ground, like a feather bed. I didn't lose consciousness. I tried to get up, but… I didn't feel any pain at that moment. I lean on my hands and don't understand why I can't get up. My gaze fell on an object a few meters away from me, which looked like a piece of wood. Somehow reaching out, I pulled him towards me. Surprised that the piece of wood was soft and warm, I peered into it and saw that it was someone's foot. I felt it move in my hands, thought it was Mamur's leg and was scared. Frantically looking around, I searched for him and did not find. Another leg was sticking out of the pit opposite. Blood, mixing with something whitish, dripped from her, and I still did not understand what had happened. I felt that something terrible was happening to me, too. Gathering all my strength, I tried to get up again. But…
Now I could never get up. The leg that I held in one hand and that died in my palms was mine.
And the one sticking out of the pit was also my leg. They were torn off above the knees.
No, I can't tell you everything that I saw then. There are no words in the world that could convey all this.
I felt dizzy. I lowered it to the ground. The huge blue firmament disappeared, but a dot remained—a small black dot. "Now, now I'm going to get stuck" I thought. It was probably a miracle. Yes, yes, a miracle. When I opened my eyes, my father, mother, and all my relatives gathered together and told me:
– Son, don't do this; we beg you, don't kill yourself.
Until now, this day, like a living picture, has risen before my eyes. I dream of them at night; they are begging, begging…
"DON'T CRY, GUYS, I'll BE BACK…"
Pyotr Krysyuk, born in 1962. From Ukraine
– The three of us were driving in the car. We left the groceries at two gates and headed for the third. That's why the driver Babayev asked us not to go then. "Don't be afraid, – I told him, everything will be fine".
After the explosion, the driver lied motionless in front of me. Foreman Dolinskiy was writhing on the ground. The car was smoking. "Are they alive?" flashed through my mind. Sand grated on my teeth. I open my mouth, but I can't make a sound. As if something was stuck in his throat, a wheeze escaped. "Are you alive?" – I either shouted or croaked. I didn't know if I had injured myself because I didn't feel any pain. But, chained to the ground, I could not get up. When I somehow turned to the foreman, my gaze fell on a dark puddle under my feet. I was scared. I looked at my feet…
Have you seen meat chopped with an axe? In the same way, my legs were chopped into small pieces. The severed feet were sticking out of a bloody puddle, and it seemed to me that fingers had grown out of the ground. Chunks of meat hung on rags of skin that had not been torn from the legs yet. I looked at the driver and the foreman. The foreman lay motionless, and the driver got to his feet. "Shoot the machine gun" – I told him. "They will hear us on the IFV and take away". He took a step and felt like he had a hamstring. I heard the hum of engines. Then I lost consciousness. I woke up when they put me in the car. I felt cold. I was trembling all over. One of the soldiers who came for us took off his greatcoat and covered me with it. Then the second one did the same. When I opened my eyes, both of them were sitting next to me, undressed. Then they said that when they heard the explosion, they quickly threw their pea jackets over their shoulders and hurried to help. I saw how cold they were and told them to take their overcoats, but they refused. When I was brought to the medical battalion, all the soldiers, for some reason, averted their eyes, some tried to hide their tears. I encouraged them: "Don't cry, guys, I'll come back again to you". I was really sure I'd be back.
When they brought me into the ward, my consciousness was already clouded. My strength was draining away, and my eyes were getting dark. Finally, everything was plunged into darkness, and my eyelids closed.
When I woke up, the bright light hurt my eyes, It had been five days. The soft touch of someone's fingers on my forehead opened my eyes. This was a nurse.
– They fought for your life, but there was no way to save your legs, – she said in a trembling voice. I had no legs.
Recently, I saw my guys on a TV show, and it burned like fire. I found out that the foreman was also left without both legs. The decision to enter this country was a cruel mistake. But what to do? Fate so ordered that we guys of the sixties had to pay for this mistake.
"WE WERE NAMESAKES"
Abduvahid Ergashev, born in 1963. From Tashkent, Uzbekistan.
We cleared the roads of mines. One company was allocated from each battalion of our regiment for this purpose, and a new battalion was formed. We also had to clear the territories of the exploded warehouses of mines, shells, and other ammunition.
When we came to the village where the warehouses exploded, there were no people there. Only cows and chickens, left without owners, wandered through the deserted streets. Houses are destroyed, and trees are charred. Even the ground was scorched underfoot, like ashes.
We set up tents. The next day, we went to our destination. We got off the cars. There was nowhere for the feet to step – shells, grenades, damaged mines, and other dangerous weapons were scattered everywhere.
We were taught how to collect all this. We split into groups and started working thirty meters apart from each other.
At the sight of this terrible place, none of us hoped to survive. When I was collecting shells, I saw my relatives one by one in my mind's eye. Two days later, the first mine exploded, and the guy from the next company was left without legs. Like that, it went on. Explosions were heard here and there, soldiers were injured, died. On my return from this exhausting, hellish work, my nerves were already at their limit. I had nightmares, the guys were delirious, screaming, moaning.
In the morning, we went to work again, and the more dangerous it was, the more thoughts rushed to my relatives. At the very sight of this infernal black wasteland, the heart shrinks, skips a beat. You remember that you haven't seen anything in this world yet, you haven't even kissed a girl yet, and you feel so sorry for yourself. But you can't relax.
On October 18, I had a dream. I can't really tell now, but I remember that it was very scary. I woke up to the voice of a daycare worker shouting, "Rise!" After breakfast we went to work. As if I felt something was wrong, I didn't want to go. But, as you know, no one considered your wishes there. We were going. My comrade – Muhammad from Krasnogorsk, was walking next to me. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow overnight, and the fatal wasteland turned white. Again, at a distance of thirty meters from each other, we began to collect ammunition. I picked up two pistols, and when I picked up the detonator of the mine, there was an explosion. Everything went dark. I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. Staggering, I took a few steps and dropped. There was a new explosion. My family flashed before my eyes, everyone was looking at me with tears. Then everything was plunged into darkness.
Someone picked me up, put me in the car. I was getting worse and worse. We drove for a long time. On the way, the car stopped. Someone sitting next to me started swearing: "Do the Soviets have normal cars at all? Wheels fly off anywhere! Go fix it, rascal!" They stood for a long time. I'm freezing. The pain intensified. I started swearing, cursing everyone and everything, not sparing words, and cursing those who dragged me here. I saw wounded soldiers in the movies. It's all a lie. There are no such wounded people. The wounded man curses everything in the world.
In one movie, I remember that the Germans forced the prisoners to drag a jagged iron block through a minefield. We were treated the same way. After all, who can distinguish a damaged mine, grenade, or detonator from an undamaged one? The bosses initially knew that someone had to die…
Then we were transferred to another car. Now the wind was hitting us in the face. While we were getting to the hospital, I was remembering my school years: "Now I can't see their faces, I'm only eighteen, and what have I managed in life? What's the point of living now?" I asked myself. And so I would like to enjoy life, see relatives, friends, classmates, talk to them…
An operation was performed – fingers were cut off. I was conscious. They probably operated without anesthesia, I felt my fingers being cut with a crunch. I was losing a lot of blood, and the doctors were afraid that I would not survive anesthesia.
The analgesic injection didn't really work, and when they pressed something hard on my bone, I couldn't stand it and started swearing at the top of my voice in Uzbek. "My son, my son, calm down", – someone said. It just spurred me on. Why calm down now. Silence and complacency have already done their job, brought them to the last line!
Probably, blindness from birth is not as terrible for a person as for a sighted person who went blind in an instant. I want to tear to pieces all those who invented, created these mines, grenades, shells, everything—everything that cripples, kills. May they be cursed forever…
I do not remember much of it. I remember drinking compote through a hose, my mouth probably wouldn't open. My heart ached when I thought about my parents. Mom would have the hardest time of all… After getting a little stronger, I got out of bed and groped in the direction from which the cold air was blowing. I was told that our ward is on the third floor.
"Don't mention it with a vengeance", – I whispered to my family. I mentally hugged and kissed my mother. I groped for the window and put my foot on something. I found out that it was a bedside table. It fell. Someone grabbed my hands tightly:
– What are you doing, everything is still ahead, – he said, trying to calm me down.
– What is ahead? – I shouted desperately. Almost crying, he said, pleading in his voice: "Please, let me put you in your place".
From the tension, blood rushed to my head, and everything around me began to spin. I have lost consciousness. For the next two weeks, I was only put to sleep with injections.
Once, I asked the nurse who gave me an injection:
– Do I have eyes?
– Yes, yes, there is one, but we don't know about the second one yet, – she replied.
It says that it's not customary for doctors to say that. But she, at least to calm me down, did not even say that everything would be fine. I felt very hurt. Out of frustration, I started kicking. Together, they gave me an injection. I fell asleep…
I was having a dream. And every time I try to squeeze something tightly with my wounded hand. Then I wake up and remember that I have no fingers. I want to take a look and try to open my eyelids. I don't know if my eyes are open or not. I cry out. People come running to the cry. But no one can help me.
Two months have passed. It seemed as if it was morning, the doctor dropped medicine in my eyes. Suddenly, the total darkness turned into a white fog. Then the outlines of someone's face appeared. Afraid to frighten this vision, I was silent. Then, trying to figure out whether it was in a dream or in reality, I stretched out my surviving hand, touched it. A hand slid over the warm cheek.
After a while, my attending physician flew into the room, hugged me:
"Things will come right now, things will come right" – he kept repeating.
It was my second birthday. I wanted to live again.
My company commander came and said that he had received a letter from my father. "Why don't you make sure that your soldiers send letters home, – my father wrote. – If our son forgot about the house, remind him properly, punish him". I asked him not to write letters to my father.
Gradually, I began to see better, but with one eye. The face, because of gunpowder and shrapnel, has changed beyond recognition.
I will tell you that in these two months, it seemed I had lived for twenty years. I felt much older than my age.
Shortly, after I was admitted to the hospital, my friend Muhammad was also brought there. Neither of us knew that we were lying next to each other. But we were blown up at the same time. We were namesakes. Doctors cut off one of his hands, and he could not see well because of a fragment that got into his eye. Then Muhammad became my closest friend…
At the end of February, I was discharged from the hospital and bought a train ticket. A patrol detained me at the train station. They checked the documents, fooling their heads. It made me laugh. After all, what a state I was in, and they gave me the "charter".
On a crowded train, I got into conversation with a man returning from prison. When he found out what had happened to me, he chose a good place for me in the common car and took care of me all the way to Tashkent. He was a thousand times better than those patrolling the military from the train station… And now I remember him with warmth.
"CHEWED HIS EARS AND SPAT OUT…"
Usli Sagindinov, born in 1969. From Gulistan, Uzbekistan.
He served near Kandahar.
– For two months, we studied at Termez. We were trained to handle military equipment and weapons. Every day the commanders uttered high words about the honor of bearing the name "defender of the motherland." We became sappers. Our first assignment in Kandahar was mining the road the Afghans used to walk on. I could not understand why they are called dushmans, basmachs. After all, they are fighting on their own land. And we are… You won't understand anything. However, why should I bother with politics, there are big people for this.
The senior lieutenant, in addition to four of his experienced guys, took us, two young men who had just started service. It was after midnight when we reached the place. We dug holes, and "the old men" mined.
When we finished, the commander ordered my friend and me to carry the equipment to the car. We walked about 30–40 meters and heard an explosion behind us, rushed to help. But when they ran up, they saw that there was no one to help, only scattered arms, heads, and legs remained. We collected everything, as it was necessary to send them to their homeland.
After this "baptism of fire" we walked around as if distraught, and could not come to ourselves.
Bloody hair, heads, legs with hanging threads of meat, and fingers gathered into a fist for a long time still dreamed and did not give me peace. The commander's head was split in two, and the eye on one side was clear. He haunted me at night. Seemed alive…
Their summers are hot. Therefore, we began the pursuit of the Afghan detachment at dawn. They retreated to the mountains. The first group turned to the village at the foot of the mountain. In pursuit of the detachment, we climbed quite high into the mountains. Finally, the commander gave the order to turn back. But it was too late, it was impossible to do, because we were surrounded. I had to climb higher into the mountains. For five days we held the defense. The helicopter that was sent to our rescue was shot down. There was very little food and ammunition, four out of twenty fighters were killed, and five were seriously wounded. All attempts to save them were in vain. On the sixth day, the Afghans captured five of us. They blindfolded us and drove us somewhere.
We were lying in a corner of a large courtyard. About twenty Afghans, high on hash, got high. Occasionally, we heard the words "bacho, bacho". The healthiest one stood out from their circle, came up to us, and, playing with a knife in his hand, smiling, bent down to a soldier a little away from me. "Bacho, kofur, bacho, kofur," he repeated, and our eyes were riveted on the knife in his hand. The lower he bent, the wider the soldier's blue eyes opened. His head seemed to be pressed into the ground. Suddenly, the big man grabbed his ear with one hand, and, like a petal, cut it off with a knife. A faint groan escaped the soldier's lips, but he did not utter another sound. The big man tossed the ear into the air, caught it and put it in his mouth. I closed my eyes, but somehow I heard this guy chewing with a crunch. When I opened my eyes, I couldn't take my eyes off this terrible sight. There's bloody foam on his lips. It looks like a wolf with a bloody mouth. Red saliva flowed down his chin, and he wrinkled up, as if he had eaten a sour apple and spat it out. Pieces of chewed ear were scattered on the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and, as if enjoying human blood, stretched sweetly. Then he turned back to the soldier and, like a butcher throwing a bone to a dog, cut off both hands and threw them aside. The severed arms twitched on the ground like fish washed ashore. A stream of scarlet blood sprayed the face of the soldier lying next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, causing the folds of his eyelids to fill with blood. Blood was still gushing from the executioner's first victim, and he approached the second. For some reason, the soldier lay still. He didn't even move. And the severed ear twitched again in the hands of this vampire. Then he started kicking the soldier. Not a sound in response. Realizing that the soldier was dead, he threw his ear in my direction. Tumbling in the air, the ear hit my lips. It was cold, but I was afraid to even take a deep breath. My eyes followed his every move intently, like a cat watching a mouse.
He slowly came up and stood over me, legs wide apart. He looked like a mythological, predatory diva. It is impossible to imagine a human being so angry. But the facial features are correct, the eyes are not red. But they shone coldly. You feel powerless in front of such a creature.
He said something in Afghan. It seems that my nationality is being questioned. But then a miracle happened… Our people broke in, untied me and two other prisoners. The dushmans were captured. We picked up the remains of two comrades and returned to the unit.
I don't want to stir up a lot of things. From these memories, blood rushes to the brain. You're numb. The feeling of fear, anxiety does not leave my heart. There, on that land, what happiness it was to meet, and talk with your fellow countrymen. Now, noticing that this feeling of love and tenderness is cooling, I am surprised, and fear creeps into my soul. I think we're starting to get bored with each other. But don't write down these words of mine. It's just my feelings.
I meet a lot of people who are rude in their treatment. And every time, it's like a new wound.
One day, we went on a mission to Pansher. We are exhausted on the road. The hot wind, dust, and tension exhausted us. Here we came to a mountain stream with clear water. There are eight of us. It was hard to resist the temptation to swim in the cool water. We looked around carefully. Having made sure of their safety, my comrades bathed. But I was uneasy in my soul. Without undressing, I began to wipe my machine gun. It seemed to me that someone was watching us, and I constantly looked around. And for good reason. A shot rang out. I fired a burst from the machine in that direction. In response, they fired again. Two of my friends were killed, the rest managed to grab their weapons and take cover. We saw that several Afghans were approaching us and began to retreat along the river to the ruins of the old village. In order not to get too far from the road, we decided to take up defense in an abandoned yard near the shore. The walls here were high. Through a hole made in the wall for water, we penetrated inside. But then something unexpected happened. The foreman, a big man, is stuck. Only I was left outside. And the enemies were approaching. Not knowing what to do, I froze for a moment. Then I realized it and mercilessly kicked the foreman from behind. It helped. Startled by the pain, he slipped through the hole. Only the stone fell off the wall behind him. I quickly followed him, and we filled the hole with stones.
I apologized to the commander, and in return I received a promise that I would be presented with a reward. Yes, such stories happened during the war.
"THAT IS HOW MY FINGERS LOOK…"
Muhammad Ergashev, born in 1963. From Tashkent region, Uzbekistan.
On October 18, we, the several soldiers, were given the task of defusing the shells. We were sent to one of the warehouses that exploded from a lightning strike. The nearby villages are completely destroyed. A huge area around it was all covered in potholes. The trees had burned down, and only a few blackened trunks stuck out of the ground. Fortunately, not all the bullets exploded. Otherwise, the nearby town would also be severely damaged.
A month before this task, I began to saw dreams in which I saw myself exploding on a mine. I jumped out of bed in horror. The visions were repeated again and again. The heart is restless, and in the morning, breakfast does not lie in the throat. Every day I feel the approaching fateful event more and more clearly.