The Bloody Veil

Nurmuradov Abdurashid

* * *

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: