The New Dominion

The following is a serial translation of Abdurehim Ötkür’s 1985 historical novel Oyghanghan Zemin, Chapter Two, pp. 44-51. New readers are encouraged to start from the beginning, Chapter One, Part One. This translation is presented for information and entertainment purposes only. New sections will be posted every Sunday, pending their completion and the satisfaction of the translator. It is also a work in progress - comments are welcome, especially on the (questionable) quality of the translation.

In Chapter Two, Part Four, Mäxsut Muhiti located a doctor for the injured Häsän Dolan, and Burhan Shähidi petitioned for the release of Yunus Bäg from jail…

Three days later, Yunus Bäg was released from jail. However, as though his having studied at a xuetang was not recognized, no work was given to him. Afterwards, with Mäxsut Muhiti’s invitation, he ended up teaching Chinese to an upper-level class at the Noghay Mosque’s school.

In the meantime, Ürümchi’s short-lived, precious summer ended, and autumn came in. Almost every day, the weather was overcast and depressing. Oh, indeed, the rain would fall and the chilly autumn winds would howl down the streets. Often, the wind would blow and strip the trees. Clusters of withered leaves wandered about in vagabondage like orphans and refugees, left without a homeland, unable to find anywhere to go.

On a day such as this, Häsän Dolan, too, said goodbye to the world. Sarixan and Tursun were as though drowning in the waves of their hot tears, about to lose consciousness.

“I tried every method I was able. There was nothing I could do,” said Doctor Pitrof in an extremely pained voice.

“Everyone is satisfied with you. A blood relative would do as much,” said Mäxsut Muhiti, pressing the doctor’s hand firmly.

The next day, after morning prayer, the funeral prayer was read, and some people carried Häsän Dolan’s coffin to the Hangching Cemetery. Mr. Häydär, Tahirbäg, Mäxsut Muhiti, and Yunus Bäg were among them.

When they had arrived at the cemetery, Mr. Häydär came to kneel before a pair of graves a little ways away and watched the people loudly chanting the Qur’an. These were the graves of Tömür Xälpä and Amanqul. Mr. Häydär’s thoughts were like birds flapping their wings far away, and they began to soar to who knows where. His dear friend in those times, Tömür Xälpä, Amanqul, and their lamentable end; bringing their coffins to this cemetery together with Gamaza the Tunggan; how the grave, dark and cruel as a tyrant king’s soul, had swallowed up in just a moment swallowed up courageous heroes like a tiger – sad memories like these passed in rows before his eyes, and he became morose, and they were urging tears from his eyes. Though he would come to this cemetery on every day of rest and at the time of every holiday and feast and dedicate his reading of the Qur’an to Tömür Xälpä and Amanqul, today, seeing a stranger come before Tömür Xälpä’s grave, for some reason, he could not restrain himself, and the urge came to cry out and weep.

After Häsän Dolan was buried, when the mosque’s imam began the chanting of the Qur’an among a semicircle of people, that stranger joined the crowd. Mr. Häydär did not take his eyes off of this stranger and, as he looked at him, he seemed to feel that the stranger had something his appearance that was pleasing to the eye.

This man was a, broad-shouldered, red-cheeked man of medium height, about forty years old, with a luminous face, with black eyes, sharp like those of an eagle, under thick eyebrows, and his chin covered with a thick black beard. The whip that hung on the wide belt he wore over his long, black corduroy cotton shirt and the brimmed white felt hat on his head showed that he was from a far-away place, newly come to Ürümchi. After the prayers, everyone rose from their seats. Mr. Häydär noticed that this man’s hands were a little longer than those of others.

“Who could this be?” thought Mr. Häydär. “He may be one of Tömür Xälpä’s relatives! Looking at his face and body and his clothes, he seems like someone from over in Qumul. There had also been some men of this countenance among Tömür Xälpä’s boys. If by some chance he turned out to be one of Tömür Xälpä’s relatives or boys, what a wonderful thing it would be.”

Thinking thus, he drew nearer to the stranger. As for the man, he went before to Tömür Xälpä’s grave with easy steps and stood silently, folding his hands. Signs of anguish were apparent on his dignified face. Mr. Häydär came over from off to the side and greeted him. The man immediately returned his greeting, shook Mr. Häydär’s hand with two of his own, and began to regard him as though surprised. This tall man, with his blond bangs showing below his truly black hat and his short moustache shot through with white, with his brown eyes kindly smiling, wearing a black serge coat and a grey scarf wrapped around his neck, seemed to remind him of a Tatar Muslim he had met sometime when he was on Russian soil.

“Don’t tire yourself, brother, and forgive me for drawing you into conversation without knowing you,” said Mr. Häydär without releasing his hands.

“What does sir mean? They say to answer respect with respect. I am very happy that sir has come before me with respect,” said the stranger humbly.

Mr. Häydär noticed his pronunciation and simplicity and, trusting his suspicions, threw a hand up to his broad shoulders and said, “If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you came from Qumul. Are you one of Tömür Xälpä’s relatives?” The stranger, as though acting rather cautiously, did not reply. Mr. Häydär continued:

“Don’t worry. I put the late Tömür Xälpä into the ground with my own hands, and this grave was made under my own guidance. My name is Häydär. I’m a teacher.”

The stranger’s round eyes started dancing around. This was because, some months ago, when he had asked a trader out of Ürümchi where Tömür Xälpä’s grave might be, the man told him not only where the grave was, but even related in detail with whose hands the grave had been made. Ever since then, he had firmly fixed the name Mr. Häydär in his heart and, having come to journey fatefully this time to Ürümchi, had kept in mind having a meeting with this teacher. Finally, just this wish had suddenly ended up coming true. Thus, unable to contain his own excitement, stretching his arms out wide, he embraced Mr. Häydär and, his tears flowing, said his own name only with difficulty.

This man had been one of Tömür Xälpä’s important comrades-in-arms, Xojiniyaz Palwan, also known as Xojiniyaz Hajim, who would become famous throughout Xinjiang.

“You’re Xojiniyaz Palwan?” cried out Mr. Häydär, holding him to his breast in turn.

As Mäxsut Muhiti and the others were waiting for him yet at the side of Häsän Dolan’s place, observing this situation and being surprised by it, Mr. Häydär gestured for them to come over and introduced this stranger to them. He said, “The one who stands before us, it seems, is he who was mentioned in announcements posted up in many lands by the General’s Yamen of King Sha Mäxsut and for whose capture twelve ingots were promised, Xojiniyaz Palwan.” Unable to contain their excitement, they all embraced him. A little after, Mr. Häydär invited them all for breakfast together at his home.

“So, you’ve finally gotten those twelve ingots, huh, sir?” joked Mäxsut Muhiti, getting on the road.

“Unfortunately, lucky for me, the shadow of the Angel Azrael seems to have fallen over the head of King Sha Mäxsut, who was to offer the reward, and his supporter General Yang has ended up going to Hell, as well,” said Mr. Häydär.

Everyone laughed.

So, they came to sit in the spacious room, growing dim with the late autumn sun, drinking tea and falling into animated conversation. Over the course of the conversation, Xojiniyaz Haji’s reason for coming to Ürümchi was cleared up. It became evident that, since King Sha Mäxsut had fallen ill with paralysis of the mouth, he had come to the intention to place his son, Näzär, on the throne and, with the goal of having his confirmed in the General’s yamen, sent many gifts and several emissaries before Yang Zengxin. As Yang Zengxin delayed with various trivialities, the Fan Yaonan incident occurred. Thus, Sha Mäxsut, with the excuse of making known his grief for Yang Zengxin, sent many gifts before Jin Shuren, along with his own taiji, Yüsüp Bäg. Xojiniyaz had come to Ürümchi as the chief of this very Yünüs Bäg’s guards and, over the past few days, being in Yüsüp Bäg’s service, had found the opportunity today to come to the grave.

Their conversation was so animated that, when lunch time came, no one but their host noticed. Extreme feudal hardship and the tyrant’s mad aggressions, the tricks and traps of sweet and evil gossip, cloaked in saintliness, and the detestable traditions of ignorance made legacy by the ignorance of the Middle Ages – Tömür Xälpä, the innocent sacrifice to these; Sha Mäxsut, who had sucked the hot blood of the people of Qumul for more than fifty years and who was cursed to lay paralyzed; Yang Zengxin, the defender of darkness and ignorance and parasitic ruler, and his fortuitous life; the fruitless result of Fan Yaonan’s political change; the lamentable end of the yellow-bearded carriage driver Häsän Dolan – these were the themes of the conversation. The common hopes that permeated the conversation, which is to say hopes of extraction, somehow, from oppression and tyranny, slowly brought them closer yet to Xojiniyaz Hajim, who had been a stranger just a little before, and, as the string of raw silk that strings together the beads of a rosary, it was tying the thread of friendship from soul to soul.

After lunch, before the guests dispersed, Tahirbäg invited all of those under Xojiniyaz Haji’s leadership to lunch the next day.

The next day, the conversation at Tahirbäg’s house became even more animated. Burhan Shähidi was there, as well. They finally heard of the Haji’s remarkable adventures after Tömür Xälpä’s uprising.

These adventures will be recounted to the reader below.

Read Xojiniyaz’s story in Chapter Three, Part One!