Женщины и дети: право на жизнь

Nobody will count, nobody will measure all sufferings and troubles fallen on the Chechen women during these two wars. How much they had to go through, gritting their teeth, together with us, and sometimes, without us, the men! While the men are at the war, crippling and killing, women remain the life-givers and its rescuers. That has been the custom since long time, but even now when disasters suddenly appear, it continues the same way. It can be said without exaggeration, that in these terrible years for the Chechen Republic the women have rescued many human lives, at the same time exposing themselves to unnecessary risks. Physically weak, unarmed, they usually became brave in such cases, sometimes up to madness. And what a strength of mind! In the chaos of the war when thousands people perished under the ruins of the peaceful dwellings or from the hands of the brutal scoundrels, when neither the mind nor feeling happened to cope with the surrounding nightmare, sometimes in defiance of all customs men could not help keeping tears and cried, without being squeamish about women’s presence. And the women, who had cried all eyes out, suddenly ceased to give rein to emotions in front of the inhuman tests. Unwilling to bear with injustice and an arbitrariness, they sometimes showed such heroism, that soldiers had little dreamt.

It is impossible to tell about all shocking examples, about tens thousand Chechen women, who lost father, son, brother, husband. And also about those, owing to selflessness and courage of whom, someone’s son or brother has not disappeared, sinking fall into oblivion as it happened and still happens to many people. I am paying court to all these noble, courageous women, our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. But now I will tell about one of them - about that, who had experienced that what make the blood run cold …

When the war started, Tamara along with her daughter stayed in Grozny. They had no time to leave. The daughter was pregnant, near to deliver, and in this state it was difficult for her to be active. When they understood, that the city, where they were joyfully waiting for appearance of the new life, was simply being leveled to the ground, they decided to escape. No such luck: all their attempts were doomed to failure. Wherever these two women went - the adult woman and her young daughter who was hardly carrying her first-born under her heart, - everywhere at the approaches to the city of Grozny, whether it was the south or the north, the west or the east, the way was blocked with bombardment. Again and again they had to run to the shelter together with other residents, who also hoped to get out of the fatal trap to which the native city has turned into.

Despite the winter that fatal morning was radiant, and despite of the war it seemed surprisingly silent. However, sometimes the automatic turns were heard, but this sound became habitual for the pained city. It was necessary to take the advantage of this calm – it was clear, that it would not last for a long time… Tamara had decided: they would again try to escape from the beleaguered and perishing capital.

The mother with the daughter had almost reached «Minutka», this unfortunate square, the name of which flashed in so many military reports, when the flight of planes appeared and started bombardment. The women rushed to the ruins of the houses, seeking shelter in these gloomy stone heaps – there was no other way to save themselves. They have almost reached – Tamara rushed ahead at full speed, dragging for a hand her weakening daughter. But suddenly, instantly having become heavy, she hung on her parent’s hand and slowly, wearily sat down on the ground. Heated herself by running Tamara did not understand at once what had happened: she was still tugging at her and pulling her hastily, shouting: «Get up, we are almost at the place!». But the daughter was oddly leaning to the sideward, falling silently, and even if Tamara tried to hold her, finally she fell down on the dirty snow. Choking with horror, the mother armed her daughter’s back, trying to sit her up, but suddenly her hand drop upon something sticky and hot, and the woman saw, how red-brown liquid flew through the fingers…

The burst of the incomprehensible force, that the God or the nature sometimes sends the person in the most desperate situations, allowed her to drag the daughter under the shelter: there was a concrete wall – the remainder of the destroyed «Georgian» building. Dragging the insensible body, the woman kept saying: «We need to hide, my daughter!». Although, she had already known: the one, to whom she was whispering these words, was not alive anymore.

Suddenly the roar of the death raging around ended up. The silence sprang upon her. There was something ominous in it. As if the doomsday had come, and the world had became dumb, realizing the irreparable horror of what had happened …

Tamara carefully laid her daughter down, having turned her head to direction of Kaaba, closed dead and dearest eyes, and quietly passed her shivering hand over the warm body. This farewell caress was now the only possible tribute of parent love: there would be neither a funeral ceremony, nor crying relatives and grave. One more anonymous corpse would remain among these ruins… But suddenly she felt a vibration under her palm. «She is alive!» - Tamara screamed and choked with unrealizable hope.

No. It was an active child hitting the belly of his dead mother. Death became a habit for adults, but the child was too small to reconcile with his lot. It disagreed with the fate, which their madness chose for it. The child was knocking to the world, which prepared severe reception.

Prostrated by the new nightmare, the woman drooped, seemed losing her last energy. She could not even cry, though her face was wet - pulling a scarf off the head she mechanically wiped the face. She even did not understand whether there were tears or blood of the killed daughter on it. But her stupor did not last long. The idea, which sparkled in her mind, made her to jump on her feet. Now she knew what to do. But how? There was nothing appropriate around… No, there was! Looking around, she chose the most convenient splinter of glass - long as a knife - among others lying around, then she unbuttoned the coat on her daughter and naked her belly …

No matter how great her determination was, the first movement was terrible hard. Nevertheless, Tamara, having called for the aid of the Almighty, made a cut with a firm hand. Very cautiously, trying not to hurt the child – despite her perturbation she still remembered it. But the skin appeared to be multilayered and not such thin as she thought. She had to cut more deeply.

A small, absolutely tiny hole seemed opened... And suddenly from it the heel of the kid appeared! It seemed, it wished to help her, widening its way. Tamara made one more cut, groped both legs and, clasping them, carefully pulled out the child. And then the reaction came - after going through the extreme pressure she was strangled with a scream of grief and fury. And when the baby started sniveling, the woman, as if replying to it, broke out sobbing cry. «Cry! Cry! – she was shouting, looking at ruins of the city, at the body of her daughter, who did not see her motherhood, at her own blood-stained hands, on an awful and saving glass knife. - Cry for all! Look at the world you have come to! Cry!» With the same splinter she cut off the umbilical cord, wrapped the newborn into her scarf and laid on the flap of the unbuttoned coat of the daughter…

Tamara does not remember, how long she sat at the dead body. The child had cried, but a little – it calmed down soon, as if it knew, that it would not help. Then it fell asleep.

In winter it grows dark earlier. Through the fog of grief and weariness Tamara recalled it, looking at shadows among stone heaps of ruins, which were getting darken. It was time to come back to her relatives. To those whom she had said goodbye this morning, hoping, that this time they would manage to get out of the city. It was another way back after another unsuccessful flight, but who could imagine such a returning?

The woman covered the body of her daughter with stones, chipping and earth, above she put big pieces of concrete. Then she wrapped the child into the coat of the killed mother, took her precious clumsy packet in her hands and, clasping it carefully to her breast, started wandering back to the sieged city…

Is it possible to have here something, what in usual life is called “the happy end”? I do not know, I dare to say neither yes nor no. But these two persons have survived. Timur, the grandson of Tamara, will be six soon.

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