Olonkho. P. A. Oyunsky
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the far and remote side
Of the dangerous ancient times
When the upper greedy tribes
Used to fly like arrows,
Before the changing, awful
Other side of the ancient times,
When the lower terrible tribes
With their mouths wide open, ran everywhere,
When the three kins of Sakha,
Front-faced and straight-nosed,
Had not yet come into being,
At that time with no end in sight,
A terrible trouble began.
Three legendary kins of that country
For several centuries attacked each other.
In blind violence and fury,
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 and proud Ulutuyar Uluu Toyon
With fiery hands and sharp fingers,
Adept at stealing and robbery,
Said the following:
‘The tribes of Kun-Erken46
With the reins on their backs
Will oppress us
When they find our fresh footprints,
They will bring misfortune to us
When they find our old footprints,
They will keep us in subservience…
Outright repudiation will not be enough
When they catch us,
Remorseless slander will be meaningless.
Let