Читать книгу Olonkho - P. A. Oyunsky - Страница 17

Song 2

Let me part my lips

That have been stuck together,

Let me open my mouth

That has been shut,

Let me sing you a song,

My friends,

About a glorious child,

Who was destined to protect

His kind-hearted

Tribe of Aiyy-Khan

With the reins on their backs…

As soon as he started crawling

Like a horse on all fours,

As soon as he made his first steps

On his soft, bowed legs,

He set out racing

Across the famous alaas

Of his Motherland

From its eastern to its western side,

Flew like a whirlwind

From its northern to its southern side,

Shifted like a shadow,

As soon as he grew up,

Having checked his appearance,

He proclaimed:

‘I have become a botur,

A warrior at last’.

His roar was heard

In the Upper World,

His great voice quickly reached

The realm of the Under World...

When I am settled,

When I begin my story,

When I release my tongue,

When I clear my throat,

When all of you together

Hear a shout: ‘Nhooh!’ ¹

From the Upper World

Through the hole in the blue skies,

From the Under World

Beneath your two feet,

Let your mighty heart

Full of veins

Stay calm...

***

Beyond ancient times,

In the past, departed years,

In the old days,

In the far distant past

That their songs could never be heard,

That their successes could never be predicted,

On the ninth tempestuous

Eight-edged lower

Shining layers

Of a white, tumultuous sky

With three revolving keys,

With seven wandering reins,

On top of a solid etugen,²

A permanent precipice,

On top of a tertugen –

A stable, wide abyss,

Of an imagined, spacious dwelling

With strong, swirling winds,

With seven deadly welts,

With a ford as smooth as a bowstring,

With a high range so rocky

That when trodden on

There would be no trace,

With the shape so solid

That when pressed

It would not swing,

In the full-ripe centre of the earth

In the blessed Middle World.

In a yellow, tender nest,

In a sunny, rich liver,

In a bright, solemn navel,

In a golden, great belly,

In a high, heaving bosom

Of the eight-rimmed, eight-brimmed

Primordial Motherland,

Full of discord and discontent,

On its protruding neck

My white, summer, shining sun

Rises blazingly up

Like the glistening blade

Of a huge batas,

My white, glowing sun of winter

Rises radiantly

As if a small batas

Taken out of its sheath and brandished around,

With a wide, white dale

Where ninety-nine

Great fast rivers

Merged loudly,

With a famous alaas-valley

Where eighty-eight

Huge rivers

Rushed rapidly,

Where seventy-seven

Deep, grassy, green valleys

Stretched together far away,

It became a shining centre of the Middle World.

With raging blizzards

The size of a three-year-old cow,

With hurricane winds

That would pick up boulders

The size of a four-year-old ox,

With white, loam dust

Swirling up in the air,

With firm, red sand

Boiling up with a rustle,

With scaly-barked

Huge trees

In dense, dark woods,

With high, rocky ridges

Which had snowy tops

And long, southern slopes,

With the burning red sata stone,³

With the daughter of ilbis, the spirit of war,

Screaming above,

With such an immense length,

With such unmeasured width,

That a crane for nine days and nine nights

Could not cross it,

That even a white crane crying, flew over fast,

Unable to find its end,

With remote, unsullied edges,

With long, sluggish meadows,

It became the full and ripe

Centre of the world,

The complete and flourishing centre

Of the Motherland,

My long-stretched

Great valley

Kyladyky khotun...

As three Sakha men

Had not come down so far

To this blessed Middle World,

To such a fine,

Lovely land

With a splendid surface

From the Upper Urung Aar World

By the order of Odun Khan,

Had not settled there,

Had not built a house

In the best location

On its golden, precious range,

Had not fired a sacred hearth,

Had not put life into a rich,

Beautiful home,

Had not made a pen for herds of cattle.

The offsprings of the tribe of Abaahy –

Lustful creations,

Having found it a pleasant land,

Appeared there,

The offsprings of the tribe of Ajarais –

Deceitful creations frequented there,

Without any praise for the spirit

Of the great land,

Without any homage paid

To Ekhsit Mother-Goddess...

If you gladly enter

This great, favoured land,

If you turn your eyes

To the southern part of it, you can see –

At the beginning of the single, death road

It had nine narrow and high

Bald peaks

Standing angrily

Facing each other

Like nine great stallions

Of Toburakh Baai Toyon

A young Urung Uolan Aimed high And released his bowstring…

And Togoruia Baai Khotun⁴

Ready to fight...

If you look inattentively

At the side behind them,

If you push it up –

At the greedy, white obscure range

Of the southern blind, swirling sky,

Great mountains,

White-winged by both sides,

Sharp-headed by the tops,

Rose upside down

In a thick crowd,

Soared

In a long ridge

Resembling huge, proud cranes

Which shot up at once,

Resembling horned, delicate deer

Which stood opposite each other.

If you open the lower part,

If you look at the bottom side –

Nine huge peaks,

Blood-winged by both sides,

Rushed up

Upside down

And sidelong

As nine mighty oxen,

Walked in the middle of a valley

Trampling down up to their knees

A frozen ground,

Butting each other,

Scolding,

Losing their temper...

In the remote Under World pass

Of the Ajarai tribe,

An enormous snowstorm

Which could smash

A large, black boulder

The size of a lying cow’s belly

Blew into the disastrous pass

Which served Alyp Khara, Aat Mogoidon,

A notorious hero of the Ajarai tribe

With a crooked horn

Drooping down to his beak,

With strong legs,

With a terrible, short-legged ox

Which doesn’t stumble over its tail,

To get up and destroy

The kind-hearted

Tribe of Aiyy-Khan

With the reins on their backs,

The endless

Muus Kunkui khotun pass

With plenty of misery,

The Khan Jaralyk pass

Stretched out broadly

Breathing heavily

A dense mist of blood

As if spraying from a torn,

Bloody throat...

If you turn around and look

Below the sloping rim

Of the eastern, reticulate sky

With cirrus clouds

Soaring and swirling up,

Like the spotty chested wood grouse,

Twisting around

In the dense dark forest:

It had immense woods

With unknown boundaries,

With scaly-barked

Huge trees

With crooked branches,

With trembling leaves,

As if great udagans ladies

In forgotten ancient times

Saw her coming in the flesh

And went out to greet,

Chanting and shaking, praising

Their Ekhsit Mother-Goddess

Who was walking towards them

Rubbing her two radiant

Smooth cheeks as golden

As early beams of my white sun in spring,

With her warm and blessing hands...

If you open up

And look wonderingly

As a nimble horse

At the bottom side –

It had a large lake with an island,

Where a spen dwelled,

Where a goldeneye-duck played,

Reminiscent of an eight-channelled

Khayakh butter block,⁵

Blessed and then thrown

With a tremendous splash

Into a rocky river...

It had a deep, sky-blue lake

Where a stork nested,

Where a harlequin duck thrived,

With waves beating loudly

Against the sides of its banks

Reminiscent of seven-channelled

Meat blocks

Shaken and swung

Into the bubbling water

Of a white, winding pass...

There is a huge milky lake

Which never froze,

Where a white crane

With rimmed eyes

With colourful feet sang,

Where a crane dwelled,

Where a grebe played,

Reminiscent of a three-channelled

Mould of fresh butter

Spilled out with a kick

From a birch-bark bucket

Into a riverhead...

If you look with curiosity

Of a lean, thirsty

One-year-old, grey foal

At another side –

You see

A grassy, river-bottomed sacred white passage

Hung with horsemane,

As an offering

To Ekhsit Mother-Goddess,

Blessed by Aiyyhyt,

It resembles ridges of a palate

As if the two-legged,

The front-faced people

Came up with a song

To the Upper World,

To the great name of Urung Aar Toyon,

To greet him...

If I quickly shift my gaze,

If I direct my eyes

To the setting, northern sky

With raging whirlwinds,

With plenty of sorceries,

Having heavily pressed

Its stormy bottom:

On the splendid mouth of the Great Kukhtui⁶

It had eight-edged, rocky mountains,

Resembling a shaman,

Who had been beating his drum,

Who had been performing healing rituals

Throughout the day and night,

Now exhausted and

Soaring up to the sky...

If I push open

Another side,

If I look at it

With my sharp eyes,

With my wide-open eyes –

On the immense meadow not bound by snow,

Slender, white birches with frills

Grew in a row,

Bending gracefully

Like swans,

Tossing their heads

Like white cranes.

Reminders of khotun-women

Coming in a line

Pausing and stepping to the music

Of a Sakha man,

Shaking in a circle dance

Merrily,

Treading all at once

In long, beautiful fur coats,

With their silver necklaces

Clinking loudly,

With their hat fineries trembling,

With silver plates on their hats shining...

If you look down

The mown, furthest side of it –

Huge, concave rocky mountains,

Shot up

As chestnut stallions

Stood gnawing

With their rusty teeth.

Their ragged cliffs rose up

Pushing – rubbing against each other

As fluffed-up nape fur

Of a six-year-old male elk

Combed backwards and forwards...

A famous pass from which

The kin of Khoromnu-Khan

With large, grabbing paws,

Which seized quietly,

Which pulled quickly,

Ran out unseen

Under the sorcerous bottom

Of the northern, tumultuous sky

To destroy

The tribe of Kun-Erken

Turning them into ashes:

The dry Great Kuktui khotun pass

With fine shapes,

With magical power,

With an offering of a gull

The size of a six-year-old ox head

Stuck on a sacred bagakh post,⁷

Stretched sonorously along...

Endowed with a soul

By the descendant of Sugeh-Khan⁸

Ascending from the Sung Jahyn tribe,

Terrible and enormous,

With sorcerous power blazing

On its feathers

The size of a log house,

Biting deadly

From its front side,

Kicking mightily

From its back side,

Hitting powerfully

From its left and right sides,

With a squawking, stony palate,

With a clinking, white beak,

A flight-feathered bearer of death,

Khotoi-Khomporun oburgu.⁹

Horrible demons

Dwelling underneath,

Who were famous for being the forefathers