Translated by from the uzbek language Sarah Kendzyor. U.S.A
7: Don Quixotе
When I first read "Kashtanka", the noted literary work by the writer Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, I was overcome with melancholy as in this book reflected suffering like a faithful lapdog. For a few weeks I no longer wanted to speak but wanted to live alone with this work. It was "Don Quixote" that brought me out of this self-indulgent mood.
In this amazing work by Miguel de Cervantes, the protagonist is a man from La Mancha, the hidalgo Quixano. Quixano, who was tall with a pointed beard and a mustache like a cockroach on his face, was suffering from malnutrition, but nonetheless became a knight. Riding a donkey with his short, stout companion Sancho Panza by his side, he had many adventures, which I read about with wonder.
Don Quixote wore armor and a helmet constructed out of old chain mail. He carried a massive spear, and abused the mangy horse he rode, putting him down, charging at windmills, thinking that the horse was created by a wicked sorcerer, tripping over his spear and falling flat on his back. As I read of all this I laughed and laughed. One day a man named Jamoldin responded to my laughter:
"It looks to me like he"s lost his mind, you rascal. And if it"s not craziness, then what is a great man doing tipping at windmills with his lance? Has he a prayer? Again mercy on the Spaniards for forgiving this craziness. As for us, though, such a person should be wearing a straightjacket in a mental institution. If he does not submit, put some hash in his pocket in order to deter him from chasing windmills, as such behavior does material damage to the homeland. This man is an enemy of the people who has organized an armed attack on the community property; he should be exiled to Siberia to cut down trees in the swamp."
This statement made me laugh even harder. I ended up reading the whole book again right away. But instead of laughing like I did before, I started to cry. Poor Don"Quixote! Despite being malnourished and unhealthy, he is insulted, beaten with clubs, abused and undefended, but boldly fought against tyrants who had sold their souls.
But as for us? Although we are physically healthy and mentally sound, we are afraid to defend not only the rights of others, but even our own rights. The corrupt lawyers and judges who we call human rights defenders imprison poor victims on baseless charges, unapologetically labeling them as guilty criminals for money. These liars who violate the people"s trust, these unconscionable colonels, these generals of corroded status who sell their faith in the hopes of putting themselves back together, who support tyranny that sheds the people"s blood, who defend bloodthirsty criminals - they shame themselves in front of God, they are the executioners who face off with angels, they brag, but the salt the people give them will be salt in their wounds!
Ohhhh, Cervantes Saavedra! I know that when I read you, I will laugh as I cry! You are the first person in the world to defend human rights! You give a signal to the oppressed, you show the way! The ugly, hulking woman of Alonso -- Dulcinea Toboso - is actually a princess, a beautiful angel in the eyes of Don Quixote, who through his love for her shows something not so simple, the hole in the heart, the honor of a young woman. If those who fight for human rights on the road of Truth are beaten down, then you teach us to be resolute in our struggle!
When the road is long, one"s voice begins to resonate like a monotone, but like a great waterfall you change my consciousness, keep it quick and adept, and I laugh and cry over this work, because it gives the impression of the sentimentalism of the people"s intimate sensitivities. This work preserves the grief and agonies of those living in tyranny, and as I read, I laugh aloud - as this too is my cry!