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Authors: Chingiz Aitmatov
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It happened long ago. In ancient, ancient times, when there were more forests on earth than grass, and more water in our country than dry land, a Kirghiz tribe lived by the banks of a wide, cold river. The river's name was Enesai. It flows far from here, in Siberia. To go there on horseback, you must ride three years and three months. Today this river is called Yenisei, but then its name was Enesai. And that is why there is a song that goes like this:
Is there a river wider than you, Enesai,
Is there a land more beloved than you, Enesai,
Is there a sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
Is there a freedom freer than you, Enesai?
There is no river wider than you, Enesai,
There is no land more beloved than you, Enesai,
There is no sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
There is no freedom freer than you, Enesai.
Many peoples lived along the Enesai in those days. Their lives were hard because they were always at war with each other. Many enemies surrounded the Kirghiz tribe. It was attacked by one enemy, then by another. Often the Kirghiz themselves made raids on others, took away their cattle, burned their dwellings, killed the people. They killed everyone they could—such was the time. Man had no pity on man. Man destroyed man. It became so bad that there was no one left to sow grain, breed cattle, go out hunting. It became easier to live by looting: you went out, you killed, you plundered. But blood had to be paid for by more blood; revenge by more revenge. And so blood flowed in rivers. Men lost all reason. There was nobody to make peace among enemies. The greatest glory went to those who knew how to catch the enemy unaware, destroy the alien tribe to the last soul, and seize its cattle and its wealth.
A strange, sad bird appeared in the taiga. It sang and wept all night in a grieving, human voice. It cried, flying from branch to branch: "Great trouble is coming! Great trouble is coming!" And it came to pass. The dreadful day arrived.
That clay the Kirghiz tribe on Enesai was burying its old chief. The great hero Kulche had led the tribe in peace and war for many years. He had led his warriors in numerous campaigns and fought in many battles. He had survived the battles, but at last his dying hour had come. His tribesmen sorrowed greatly for two days, and on the third day they prepared to lay the hero's body in the earth. According to ancient custom, a chief's body had to be carried on its final journey along the bank of the Enesai, over its cliffs and crags, so that the soul might bid farewell to the mother river from the heights. For "ene" means "mother," and “sai" means "river." And now, for the last time, the soul would sing the old song:
Is there a river wider than you, Enesai,
Is there a land more beloved than you, Enesai,
Is there a sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
Is there a freedom freer than you, Enesai?
There is no river wider than you, Enesai,
There is no land more beloved than you, Enesai,
There is no sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
There is no freedom freer than you, Enesai.
On the burial mound, beside the open grave, the hero's body was lifted over the heads of his people and shown the four corners of the world. The people chanted: "Here is your river. Here is your sky. Here is your earth. Here are we, born of the same root as you. We have come to see you off. Sleep in peace." And, to keep his memory alive for future generations, a rock was set upon his grave.
During the days of the funeral, the yurts of the whole tribe were put up in a row along the riverbank, so that every family could bid the hero good-bye from its doorway as his body was carried past. Every family lowered the white flag of mourning to the ground, wailing and weeping. Then it joined the procession as it went on to the next yurt, where the people would once more bow the white flag of mourning and weep and wail, and so on to the end, until they came to the burial mound.
In the morning of that day, when the sun
4
It happened long ago. In ancient, ancient times, when there were more forests on earth than grass, and more water in our country than dry land, a Kirghiz tribe lived by the banks of a wide, cold river. The river's name was Enesai. It flows far from here, in Siberia. To go there on horseback, you must ride three years and three months. Today this river is called Yenisei, but then its name was Enesai. And that is why there is a song that goes like this:
Is there a river wider than you, Enesai,
Is there a land more beloved than you, Enesai,
Is there a sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
Is there a freedom freer than you, Enesai?
There is no river wider than you, Enesai,
There is no land more beloved than you, Enesai,
There is no sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
There is no freedom freer than you, Enesai.
Many peoples lived along the Enesai in those days. Their lives were hard because they were always at war with each other. Many enemies surrounded the Kirghiz tribe. It was attacked by one enemy, then by another. Often the Kirghiz themselves made raids on others, took away their cattle, burned their dwellings, killed the people. They killed everyone they could—such was the time. Man had no pity on man. Man destroyed man. It became so bad that there was no one left to sow grain, breed cattle, go out hunting. It became easier to live by looting: you went out, you killed, you plundered. But blood had to be paid for by more blood; revenge by more revenge. And so blood flowed in rivers. Men lost all reason. There was nobody to make peace among enemies. The greatest glory went to those who knew how to catch the enemy unaware, destroy the alien tribe to the last soul, and seize its cattle and its wealth.
A strange, sad bird appeared in the taiga. It sang and wept all night in a grieving, human voice. It cried, flying from branch to branch: "Great trouble is coming! Great trouble is coming!" And it came to pass. The dreadful day arrived.
That clay the Kirghiz tribe on Enesai was burying its old chief. The great hero Kulche had led the tribe in peace and war for many years. He had led his warriors in numerous campaigns and fought in many battles. He had survived the battles, but at last his dying hour had come. His tribesmen sorrowed greatly for two days, and on the third day they prepared to lay the hero's body in the earth. According to ancient custom, a chief's body had to be carried on its final journey along the bank of the Enesai, over its cliffs and crags, so that the soul might bid farewell to the mother river from the heights. For "ene" means "mother," and “sai" means "river." And now, for the last time, the soul would sing the old song:
Is there a river wider than you, Enesai,
Is there a land more beloved than you, Enesai,
Is there a sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
Is there a freedom freer than you, Enesai?
There is no river wider than you, Enesai,
There is no land more beloved than you, Enesai,
There is no sorrow deeper than you, Enesai,
There is no freedom freer than you, Enesai.
On the burial mound, beside the open grave, the hero's body was lifted over the heads of his people and shown the four corners of the world. The people chanted: "Here is your river. Here is your sky. Here is your earth. Here are we, born of the same root as you. We have come to see you off. Sleep in peace." And, to keep his memory alive for future generations, a rock was set upon his grave.
During the days of the funeral, the yurts of the whole tribe were put up in a row along the riverbank, so that every family could bid the hero good-bye from its doorway as his body was carried past. Every family lowered the white flag of mourning to the ground, wailing and weeping. Then it joined the procession as it went on to the next yurt, where the people would once more bow the white flag of mourning and weep and wail, and so on to the end, until they came to the burial mound.
In the morning of that day, when the sun
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