Olonkho. P. A. Oyunsky

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       …a rich beaver hat, the silver trimming of which Shone in the white sun; Red decoration on top of it gleamed as a pretty pattern. She used to wear it proudly when she was a girl…

      The poor woman started to shout out

      Because of the intolerable,

      Acute pain in her loins.

      Pangs of childbirth

      Made her call upon Aiyyhyt,

      Interminable pain

      Made her appeal to Ejen Ekhsit,

      She stared at her husband

      With his thick black moustache…

      Unable to endure the pain

      She shed a few tears,

      Her white sun became dim,

      She took a deep breath,

      Thinking the day of her death

      Had come.

      She began to reflect on her life,

      Thinking the day of her passing

      Had come.

      She made her last will…

      THE SONG OF SABYIA BAAI KHOTUN

      ‘Ai-aibyn! Yi-yibyn!

      Abytaibyn-tatappyn!

      What a terrible pain lower down in my belly…

      What acute pain in my loins there is…

      My toyon, my friend

      With a black moustache!

      I was glad to have my home,

      My own hearth,

      I was glad to give birth to a child,

      I was glad to breed cattle

      In my primordial land

      Full of copper-yellow ilgeh.⁸³

      But now my white sun

      Is dimmed, my heart is broken,

      You are staying but I am leaving you…

      Oh, my poor belly…

      Oh, my loins…

      My two lower ribs hurt so badly…

      Nevertheless, we are destined

      To live in the Middle World,

      To be happy,

      Not to die and vanish,

      That is why

      I am asking you to leave quickly,

      And go straight to the east.

      There will be three milky-white barrows,

      On top of them

      You will see a white, flexible birch tree

      With two branches,

      With green quivering leaves…

      Pull it out by breaking its roots and branches,

      Bring it here, make a crossbeam,

      Place it in front of me…

      I had a dream in which I cast lots…

      Make a cradle at once!

      We will be a happy people.

      Make a hollow in the cradle at once!

       Ai-aibyn! Yi-yibyn!

      Abytaibyn-tatappyn!’

      Saying so, she sat panting and weeping…

      The poor woman cried out:

      ‘Have you heard me or not?’

      The man turning to her said:

      ‘Have you spoken or not?’

      It did not take much time,

      Was he away for a long time?

      Did he spend much time away?

      Soon returning,

      He started to work furiously.

      Straining and sweating,

      Making great efforts,

      He stuck the crossbeam

      Higher than his knees,

      He made a cradle,

      Puffing, and panting

      And he toiled at making its grooves…

      He dashed out of the door,

      Grasped an armful of hay,

      Spread it here and there under his wife…

      Thinking it would be the right thing to do

      For the propagation of three Sakha,

      Throwing open her white and black blanket.

      He sat down the foremother of Sakha,

      Sabyia Baai Khotun,

      He took eight bowls

      Decorated with carvings,

      Used for greetings,

      He filled them with yellow butter,

      Placed them at the head of the bed

      Blessing their long, happy future…

      He brought a long lynx coat,

      Spread it on the floor

      To greet Nelben Aiyyhyt, Nelegeldjin Ekhsit,

      To engage the former,

      To make the steps of the latter easy,

      To look at them warmly;

      Sparkling СКАЧАТЬ