“Recently, I have read that information about ancestors provides a powerful energy platform. I read and understood how little I know about my own ancestors. As it turned out, it is not only me. The obligation to know the seven generations and to pass them from mouth to mouth, from father to son was impossible in the historical conditions that our country experienced”, – columnist CABAR.asia Ak-Maral Azimova tells the story of the women of her family, who created and create their picture of being, organically fitting into it the religion and conscious attitude to their personality
Time is running out – it is hard to keep track of it. I am 26, and I remember my childhood well, from about three years old. I remember our old grandmother. Yes, that is exactly what we, her daughter’s grandchildren, called her. She came when the day was just beginning. In the small pockets of her velvet camisole (jacket), there were always dried apricots, kurut or candies. She stroked my head, said something and left. What she said, I do not remember. Most likely I did not understand. That is how I remember her.
Her daughter, my grandmother, “left” quite recently. She left quickly, as promised. I am still not getting used to the idea that she is not with us anymore.
About what I managed to learn
In the distant 20s of the last century, my great-great-grandfather Karabay, the owner of immense gardens, was killed by representatives of the local liberation movement – Basmachis. He was killed because of giving his lands to the Soviets. However, he would be shot or exiled to Siberia for refusing the Soviets. The hammer and anvil – that is how the establishment of the Soviet power can be called.
Read also: “On the waves of spiritual memory.” Part 2
My great-grandmother was left an orphan at the age of 11 — her father was executed in front of her eyes. A former agricultural laborer, a 16-year-old Rahmatulla first saved and her and later they got married. The first child appeared when she was only 12. She could only read and write in Arabic, but those who did not know the Cyrillic alphabet were considered as illiterate.
Despite this, young Busara was among the women activists who were the first to throw a burqa into a fire in Central Square. This tendency came to Jalal-Abad from Samarkand and became one of the first prerequisites for establishing equality in the archaic society of those times, giving women the right to choose.
I have learned about the consequences of this act from modern sources. It turned out that, together with the right of choice, young activists received a legacy, including oppression and harassment by conservative representatives of the patriarchal society.
My great-grandmother did not wear the burqa for many years, but for some reason returned to it after the death of her husband.
The burqa was real – with a thick black horsehair net, completely covering not only the face, but also the entire upper part of the body. It turns out that in the most Soviet times – these were the 60s of the last century – she was not forbidden to walk along the streets of Jalal-Abad with her face completely closed.
She has worn burqa for 20 years and took off, as they say, after the humorous questions of her cheerful granddaughters about “what kind of beauty is hidden under a burqa and from whom”.
She has lived for 93 years. She has never worked anywhere before. She has never received any pensions or benefits. Her firstborn was lost in the war, in the battles of Stalingrad. All seven of the remaining children studied, worked and supported their mother.
No one could remember other religious traditions that she was practicing except the burqa. No one has ever seen her praying (namaz), even in her last years. She lived and enjoyed life, stayed with her children, was happy for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was not a burden for anyone. She was gone in full mind and memory. She went to bed and did not wake up.
(To be continued)