At twilight

 
“Khakkuldjan, get up, my grandson, why don’t we visit our relatives”, - said aksakal in blue banaras  chapan, stroking his grandson’s head who was heartily stodging nishalda .
The lad, carried away with sweets, not tearing himself from the dasturkhan, with his mouth wholly stuffed, barely uttered: “Straight away, granny!”
 The old man walked out to verandah and called his lady: “Find Khakkuldjan’s  galoshes, will you!”
Wiping away her tears with wide cardigan-sleeves the old woman brought the galoshes.
“Have you packed into the sack a new chapan for Tirkashdjan?” – the old man précised.
“Yes, I did.” – the woman answered chilly.
“Granny, will you let me play your dombira when we get back home?” – Khakkuldjan pestered his grandfather.
“Of course, I shall, the light of my soul, now you are my heir, the successor of my kin. And now we act this way: we shall go on a donkey back and start our way on. You will call up each relative which we shall come to see. I’ll entrust them with a task. We’ll see God willing, for the supper we’ll reach the neighboring village, my friend Sadik’s house. Did you understand me, son? Now everything depends on your quickness, my child”.
… and trod a dusty path the man with his great-grandson, the path rolled right by the middle of the village.

First they arrived at the old man’s elder son – Khakkuldjan’s grandfather. A father and a son were talking at the cattle-shed. The elder grandfather, not getting off the donkey, would point at the ewes with the tip of his twig. And the younger one confirmed the elder father’s words.
“This one is for Iftar”
“Sure” – the younger grandfather of Khakkuldjan agreed.
“This is for Urazah holiday”
“All right”
“And this is for Qurban Hayit”
“I see”
“And don’t forget to come very early in the morning”
“OK, I shall come by nine” – the younger grandfather responded.
“No, come immediately the morning fast begins” – corrected the elder one.
“OK, all right” – the son agreed with complete readiness.   
… and the great-grandfather with the great-grandson continued their way.

“Tomorrow come to us” – the old man said, sitting on the donkey back, either to the host or the hostess summoned by the great-grandson.
“Granny, will there be a wedding tomorrow?” – Khakkuldjan couldn’t hold in his curiosity, when they have reached the next house.
“Yes, there will, the child of mine, something like this, tomorrow, hope to God, will perpetrate, an important event is contemplated at our relatives and acquaintances, and for this reason we need to consult” – the old man would respond – “but I don’t know, whether it is late or not now” – he added, having looked at the sunset, right at the approach to the next house.
“And should I now call up Uncle Siroj?” – the boy answered, quite plumed of the occasion to visit his uncle. The latter had recently got married, the wedding was celebrated on Ramadan Eve. Both gaily and interesting it was for little Khakkuldjan once more to see his uncle and especially his young spouse.
“Yes, will you call up your Uncle Siroj, whilst the newly married of ours does not retire with his beloved” – the old man grinned.
Adroitly jumping off the donkey, in a split second Khakkuldjan disappeared beyond the threshold of Uncle Siroj’s house. The latter, leaning on the pillow, was attuning his dombira, and newly-fledged bride Saodat, sitting alongside and having covered with a big shawl, was churning butter, nicely and cozily knocking the dry pumpkin made vessel  with the spoon.
“Uncle Siroj, Granny is calling you” –Khakkuldjan blurted out breathlessly.
“You, a madcap, have got so many grannies that I don’t understand which one you are talking about” – uncle Siroj said, putting away his dombira.
“What do you mean which one? The very who is Bakhshie ” – even bit offended over his uncle’s dullness Khakkuldjan verified.      
“Eeh! You’d say straight off!” – uncle Siroj hurried up, jumping off his place.
“What’s this, Sirojbek, it’s not dark yet, but you are already home, aren’t you ashamed” – the old man reproached his grandson, as soon the latter appeared in the yard.
“I wasn’t sleeping, I was just attuning my dombira”, - Sirojbek vindicated himself, hanging his head.
“It’s not easy to attune a dombira, attuning should be done with pure soul. If the soul is not, even you attune thousand times, the dombira would not sound. And then, do not forget about the ablution, it’s not allowed before the sunset, now it’s Holy Ramadan, do you remember that?”
“I’m but keeping fast” – Sirojbek responded not without a pride.
“What a brick, my son. All the beads, read by God’s slave, are done for the sake of his boon, and the only fast is for the Most High. And then, tomorrow morning, as soon as you “adjourn ”, come to us. There is a matter for you. From this moment you will teach Khakkuldjan play dombira”.
Not saying a word Sirojbek consently nodded his head. 
“This uncle of yours is very smart and penetrating” – grandfather said to his great-grandson as soon as they had drove off uncle Siroj’s house, finally, winding their way towards the neighboring village.
Having thought about the newly married, he thanked God for that He had brought two enamored Siroj and Saodat together, though she was from city and agreed to live in the village in spite of the protest of her parents. Perhaps, it behooved to be love. But, in his adolescence, he also used to be in love with Aygul. Right here, right on this plain their yurt  would lodge. The grandfather lapsed into his memories…
Young Tangrikul inspirationally is playing a lyric melody on his dombira, and in the neighboring yurt, having heard the melody, Aygul rouses herself (that is the melody of her beloved), covers her face and hair with shawl, takes the jug and goes out of yurt with her 5-6 year olds little brother, wending her way down to the spring.
Having seen Aygul, coming towards the spring with her little brother, Tangrikul, seizing up his dombira, rises and, furtively pouring the water out of the big jug on the ground, glancing around, runs out for his beloved.
No doubt, Tangrikul’s mother realizes everything. Following her son with her eyes she nods her head with pity. Aygul and Tangrikul are staying by the spring. Aygul’s little brother admires Tangrikul’s dombira. First, Tangrikul fills Aygul’s jug and afterwards his, sings “Oshiq Garib and Shohsanam”, “Alpamish and Barchin” dastans, Aygul dances and her little brother is gaily gazing at the sister.
The melody does not cease. Now the sweethearts, grabbing their jugs, slowly start to ascend. Aygul’s brother is running ahead. Leaning on the pillow, Aygul’s father is drinking tea. Aygul’s little brother runs into the yurt and gaily recounts his sister having danced and shows her dance. Aygul’s father is meekly listening to the son. At the very time Aygul enters the yurt and puts the jug down beside the yurt walls. The brother had finished his story before Aygul’s arrival. Father’s eyes get bloodshot, having his tea drunk, he caned the jug which Aygul had brought water in. The jug breaks out over the rough strike. With her eyes full with tears, Aygul runs out of the home. As it were he had ruined their reveries. Thus, the lot had severed one from the other.       
By the evening they had reached grandfather Sadik, an old friend of Khakkuldjan’s great-grandfather, an equestrian famous all over the neighborhood in his time, a winner of many wedding hippodrome – steeplechase-goat whips on every kind of festive arrangement.
The great-grandfather and Khakkuldjan were warmly met, lead into the house and seat at dasturkhan.
After the sunset the old men broke their fast and started praying. At this time Khakkuldjan with Tirkashjan, a great-grandson of grandfather Sadik, indulged with festal dasturkhan: first they tasted halvaytar, then halvah from sesame, then some parvardah with nuts, afterwards some raising and finished all this pleasure eating salty pits and fried peas.
The aged that time had finished praying and little Khakkuldjan first pronounced: “Assalomu-alaykum va rahmatullohu va barakatuhu ”. But Tirkashjan could only say “Asalom”.
“Voalaykum assalom va rahmatullohu va barakatuhu ” –contented the old gaily answered.
“Zubaida” – Sadikbobo addressed to his wife, turning towards the window – “bring me chapan, the very that I had prepared for Khakkuldjan” – then coming back to dasturkhan and to his friend, added, “this grandson of yours had got a lush tongue, will be more glaring than yours”.
“Even my father, handing me his skills over, glorifying the gladness and welfare of the land and people, not always could glean such beautiful words” – great-grandfather willingly agreed and immediately, not without a humor, added – “his father, a medico, would say that a child, conceived on honey, will always turn out to be brisk and pointed”.
Being little silent and suddenly, having something recalled, tapping his forehead he said: “Eeh, it has slipped out of my memory, I also stored up a chapan for Tirkashjan, it is in my sack!”            
“Don’t get up, respected, the kids will bring” – grandfather Sadik resolutely stopped the guest who had done a stir to get up, and turning towards the window authoritatively yelled out: “will you bring the chapan that is in the sack of Bakhshi grandfather”.
The prides of grandfather Sadik immediately complied the will of the house master.
“Now, Khakkuldjan, put the chapan on your friend” – the old man said, passing the gift to his grandson.
“No way, let Tirkashbay first put the chapan on your grandson” – rejoined grandfather Sadik.
The great-grandchildren, not knowing whose will to fulfill first, began to bustle about and tarry with the ceremony of wearing the chapan.
At once the old assumed a short genial squabble.
“Your great-grandson, is the exact copy of yours. In childhood you put the chapan       on me inside out”.
“When did it happen? The memory of yours had died out. At that time you used to be blockheaded and a great-grandson of yours is the same”.
Right then the grandfathers rose to their feet and helped their grandsons. Khakkuldjan and Tirkashjan all tempted hugged one another.
“Now, kids, you are friends till the end of your lives” – the old said and, embracing then blessing their great-grandsons, betook themselves for the village mosque to say supposed “tarovekh namaz”…
And Tirkashbay lead his friend to the stable in order to boast with his new stallion.
“When I grow up, I shall be as high as the sky, shall ride a horseback and, just like my grandfather, shall become an equestrian” – Tirkashjan grandly said.
“And I also shall be as high as the sky, shall have a huge dombira. I shall become Bakhshi as my grandfather” – Khakkuldjan didn’t blunder with the answer.
Bidding farewell, even at the gate, grandfather Sadik asked grandfather Bakhshi:
”So, you mean, things turned that way?”
“Yes, there was a sign, my friend. According to God’s will, it might happen any day… I have told you and your wife all the truth. You see, I’ve eaten nothing. This morning I got my hair cut. This evening shall have my beard shaved, shall bathe and lie down, so as to not become a burden to anyone… Keep an eye yourself. Let the washers be ours lot and enter washed and neat. I have chosen a place right in front of my brother’s house, driven a wedge in there, show it them. Let them do the way I want”.
“Why not give a notice to any of the sons?” – grandfather Sadik asked.
“Eeeh, what are you saying, even though they are over sixty, kids remain being kids, they are feeble hearted, can burst into tears” – grandfather Bakhshi responded.
“Come on, if you rush to meet the Creator, so let it be” – grandfather Sadik agreed.
“All right, and now soothe me down, confirm me that you will do everything as it should be” – grandfather Bakhshi asked.
“Okay, my friend, okay, I shall not put you in a spot” – grandfather Sadik hugged his friend and sobbed.
“Look at this man! Stop crying anymore! If only the angels didn’t stay malcontent with my agony. Otherwise, this year also can be late to meet Almighty and Holy Month may pass in vain. Aren’t you ashamed in front of the great-grandson?”- grandfather Bakhshi reproached his friend.
“One more thing, convey grandmother Oygul, that I have forgave her, even though she had got married another that time. It would be nice, if she also could come tomorrow” – grandfather Bakhshi laughed in his moustache, poking grandfather Sadik’s shoulder.
“Look at him, he is yet kidding” – grandfather Sadik smiled through his tears, embracing his friend.

Khakkuldjan and his grandfather started on their way back. Now the road went uphill and seemed to be long. All the way long Khakkuldjan plied his grandfather with questions.
“Granny, why did grandfather Sadik cry, having heard about the upcoming event? Shouldn’t the prides cry on the festivies, but the old?”
“Inshaallah, it is such a esteeming occurrence, my dear, I wish God will every his faithful slave to encounter, there do cry an old and a young. And you, grandson, join them also”.
“And after all will you give me dombira?”
“I have already given it to you”
“No, granny, grandmother always does put away it into the cover and hangs it high onto the wall”
“I shall tell grandmother, she’ll give it to you”
“Granny, why did you call me a slave?”
        “Such name as yours doesn’t exist in the world. You are not just a slave, but a slave of truth, I mean the very that fights for the truth to be established. If your efforts are righteous you will be yonder than a Ruler mundane when you face the Most high, sparkle of my eyes”
“And who is the Ruler?”
“The Ruler? He is the one who hears out with big patience, carries over and guards the truth”
“And what is the truth?”
“The truth is? You know, my son, there is a lock on the bottom of every men’s heart, and righteous creature all his life does fit a key to this lock. And the very lock is called the truth”
“And did you, granny, find that key?”
“Yes, the sparkle of my eyes, I, thank God, did find”
“Then, give it to me”
“No, my son, every has his own key. That, who does not harm not with a hand neither with tongue, does not lie his near-by, does not hanker after someone else's belongings, makes hog and hominy by fair labor, will find it a hack”
“And what is the labor?” – Khakkuldjan didn’t abate.
And long time still, all the way long towards home, in thickening obscurity one could hear the old man talking with his great-grandson…

At dawn Khakkuldjan spilled up over people weeping. Great-grandfather had passed away in peace.   
   

   Note
            
  1.Handmade silk drapery
  2.A sweet course made out of beaten egg-whites adding sugar and “soapy root”
  3.Khakkul – in translation from uzbek “a slave of truth”
  4. People’s poet-narrator who performs his compositions to the melody of the drum.
  5. The Muslims, during the Holy Month Ramadan, keep the fast, i.e. ban of food eating from the sunrise till the sunset 
  6. Nomad's tent in Central Asia
  7. Wish of health and welfare
  8. Polite respond to kind wishes