Olonkho. P. A. Oyunsky

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      The frenetic battle began:

      They struck and spiked each other,

      Shrieking and yelling,

      They broke their legs,

      Smashed each other’s weapons to pieces,

      Grasping each other’s breasts,

      Seizing each other by the throat,

      Poking each other in the eyes,

      Twining like bending trees.

      They were the reason for the grief

      That lasted for centuries,

      They were the source of the noise

      That never ceased.

      There was great hubbub and upheaval

      And great roaring for thirty days and nights;

      They struck blows to each other’s heads,

      They punched each other’s temples.

      A disaster which was never forgotten

      Took place there…

      The blows of axes and batases⁴⁴

      Rumbled like thunder,

      Bows and arrows

      Struck like lightning bolts,

      The strong western wind

      Burst out howling,

      Nine wild storms swirled.

      Out of the western sky,

      Rain and snow came down in sheets.

      The sun did not rise,

      There was a thick fog everywhere.

      The moon did not appear,

      It became as dark as pitch

      So they moved around by touch,

      Trying to grasp each other in the night.

      They wallowed in the shadows,

      They flopped around like frogs,

      They waggled around like bugs…⁴⁵

      The resounding dome of the sky

      Swayed unsteadily;

      The inhabited Middle World

      Was plunged into turmoil,

      Turned around and capsized,

      Engulfed in flames;

      It began to wobble up and down like a quagmire,

      The disastrous Under World was disturbed

      Like water in a birch-bark bucket,

      Blue, merciless flames

      Came out of its four sides.

      Between its four layers at the bottom

      A spider would stay stuck.

      The ninth stormy sky was shaken

      Like water in a birch-bark bucket,

      Burning furiously with blue flames,

      Freezing with friable ice.

      It had a single, whirlwind top

      Where interminable sorrow settled

      In the southern calamitous sky…

      Under a spell, the three tribes

      Pierced each other with spears…

      Their tendons were too hard to bend,

      Their body was too tough to be cut,

      Their bones were too thick to be broken,

      Their blood was impossible to shed.

      They could not be killed,

      They were immortal;

      Three tribes sacrificed themselves

      And fought to the death,

      Piercing each other with stakes and spears:

      Their eyes bloodshot,

      Their bodies dripping with sweat

      They dived into the ocean to cool their fury.

      Unable to utter anything,

      They only stammered,

      They could hardly breathe

      Sitting in a thick fog like shadows,

      Swelling like a huge bellow,

      They exhaled again and again.

      Then they began to think it over:

      ‘The resounding vast sky has swayed, has it not?!

      The life of the inhabited Middle World

      Has changed greatly,

      Has it not it, people?!

      The disastrous Under World

      Has been deeply alarmed,

      Has it not, people?!

      While the disaster is enough,

      While misfortune is not too unbearable,

      While we are still alive,

      Let us begin talking of a peaceful way,

      Let us put our heads together

      To take counsel together…

      What are we fighting for?!

      Let us settle our dispute amicably’,

      They muttered.

      Looking here and there,

      Throwing back their heads,

      They started peace talks…

      Tribes of the great СКАЧАТЬ