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a hole on its top,

      As if from the Ajarai tribe of the Under World

      From its divided eight kins,

      A young mare of two years

      Was brought and slaughtered there

      As it was walking proudly

      On the white snow,

      And it fell on its side

      Its blood gushing

      Crimson red on the snow.

      The flames in the furnace of Kytai Bakhsylan

      Were dancing with red fire…

      The iron surface of his anvil

      Was as solid as the forehead

      Of a six-year-old bull

      Struck on its head as it was

      Staggering along the alaas

      And it fell on its knees…

      His gleaming anvil

      Was clanking and clinking

      From the hammer blows,

      The famous noisy and deadly bellows

      Of Ketteny blacksmith,58

      Were made of the hairy skins

      Of forty-four stallions’ backs.

      His black bloodthirsty sledgehammer

      Was like a huge post

      Of a wealthy house,

      His pincers were shrieking,

      His file was squealing,

      Like his wife

      Fire-Uot Kyndyalana59

      Of the tribe Uogan Khan,60

      With whom he shared his bed,

      So they were settled at the far side

      Of the hazardous Middle World

      To be the source of the

      Three vengeful clans…

image

       Straight to the east if you go, Where the radiant white sky becomes as soft As suede and hangs down smoothly, Where the sky borders the earth…

      The master of humans,

      The best of the Upper World,

      The one who was of the wisest,

      Who had ink made of eagle blood,

      A pen made of an eagle feather,

      The one who had records made of stone

      From that very time

      When the Motherland was created,

      The bow-legged,

      One-kharis-bearded,61

      Old man Serken Sehen62

      Was settled here to be a fortune-teller,

      To predict the future,

      To be the eyes to see

      And support the thirty-five tribes of

      The Middle World,

      Where people are born and die,

      Where generations come and go;

      The light-footed and smart girl

      Sepjigirei Magan63

      Became his maid.

      They were settled

      In the impenetrable woods,

      Deep in the belly of the earth

      Out of the hollow stump,

      Like the horn of a dry cow,

      Smoke rose, twisting.

      They were settled

      On the northern side

      Of the fiery ocean,

      Swirling and bottomless,

      Covered with icy sludge of

      The flowing red sand,

      With the infuriating wind,

      With the bellowing snow,

      With the rising sun,

      With the trees falling down.

      In the Middle World they were settled

      To glorify the people

      Of the thirty-five tribes

      Of a warm and playful disposition,

      Who are front-faced, two-legged,

      Whose heads can swivel,

      Whose joints are flexible.

      The eldest son of Ulutuyar Uluu Toyon

      The old man Aan Ukhan,

      The forefather

      Of the kin of Uogan,

      Became the spirit of fire in their hearths.

      He was named Khatan Temerieh,

      His breath was a blue flame,

      He had a steel-grey horse,

      His character was straight as an arrow,

      His beard and hair were frizzled,

      His walking stick was thick,

      His steel was as big as a haystack

      Covered with snow,

      His flint was as large as a bull calf.

      They say, Jedeh Bakhsila,

      The spirit of the dwelling,

      And Nadjy Niankha,

      The dirty and stinking

      Spirit of the cattle-shed,

      Were settled together with them.

      Since that time

      In the inhabited Middle World

      Sakha man who was striving

      For good luck and happiness

      Built his yurt,64

      Lit a fire in his hearth.

      Then, he welcomed them,

      Praising their good names,

      Treating them with kumis,

      And bowed his head to them.

      The old man Ediget Botur,

      Whose black face

      Was red-tinged,

      Whose body

      Was strong and stout,

      Whose beard

      Was like green algae,

      With a birch-bark bucket

      On his back for fish,

      With a landing net in his hand,

      Dwelt on salty soil.

      His yard was covered with ice,

      He was settled

      In the inhabited Middle World

      To increase the numerous stocks of fish,

      With yellow scales, sharp fins,

      Never running out

      Like the current

      Of

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