Mamadali Mahmudov (Evril Turon)

mamadaliDear friends! Please meet Mamadali Mahmudov (Evril Turon). Born on December 12, 1940, in Jizzakh region of Uzbekistan, Evril Turon is a renowned Uzbek writer and editor. His first major work entitled ‘Immortal Cliffs’, published in 1981, won Uzbekistan’s Cho’lpon Prize. He also is a recipient of the 2001 PEN/Barbara Goldsmith Freedom to Write Award. Mahmudov lives in the capital city Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

“Tomorrow will be better”

Tamara is standing in front of the mirror.
She is seventeen.
She enjoys very much looking at herself. She looks at her neat figure and beautiful face again and again. And her lips whisper repeatedly:
“It will be better tomorrow.”
Tamara is standing in front of the mirror.
She is thirty-seven.
She is applying powder to her face and kohl to her eyebrow. She spends hours and hours to do this. And her lips whisper repeatedly:
“It will be better tomorrow.”
Tamara is again standing in front of the mirror.
She is fifty-seven.
She is busy with applying makeup to her face and eyes. She does not move away from the mirror all day long. She deals with self-beautification. And her lips still whisper repeatedly:
“It will be better tomorrow.”


Shaking the bridle and whipping the horse the rider is moving forward. Qorabayir, as lean as a rake, is flying here and there, right and left, up and down.
The horse is all in black sweat and is hardly breathing.
The owner is not regretting the horse at all. He is hitting on the horse head with the bridle and kicking on its belly.
Tears are pouring down the horse’ eyes; its mouth is foamy.
The poor horse, he might fall soon.
But the horse is not thinking to hurt the owner…


I am in Ochil the hunter’s house in Boghdon.
A partridge was singing on the trestle-bed, in the cage knitted from willow-tree rods.
Maybe it’s asking for feed-stuff.
Maybe water?
Perhaps it’s asking for freedom?
Perhaps it’s praising its own cage?
Or praising its owner?
Or the trestle-bed?
I am not aware of what, since a bird knows another bird’s language.
I inserted my forefinger into the cage. Instead of attacking me, the partridge fled away. I became furious seeing that. I could not resist and started abusing the partridge:
“Where are you fleeing, dunderhead!”

Mountain river

The river is flowing through humpbacked mountains.
“Goodbye!” – say the mountains.
“Goodbye!” – the river flows.
One day, the avalanche blocked the river.
The river shouted and smashed against the barrier.
The barrier did not move a bit.
The river did not give up.
The river tried to break the barrier.
There was no other way though…

(Translated by Azam Abidov)