dear children sucked avidly
Until they were full.
The boy, the obstinate one, sucked so heartily
That the blood drained from his mother’s face,
That her finger tips became blue.
She forcefully took her son’s lips
Away from her breast
And handed him to his father.
She quickly wrapped up
Her hot-tempered daughter
In a sable skin
So that she would not look up
To the God of Sky,
So that she would not be seen
By the God of Sun,
So that she did not darken
When she looked at the rays
Of the white radiant sun,
So that she did not change colour
When she gazed at the brilliance
Of the evening setting sun.…
Sakha Saaryn Toyon,
The forefather of the Sakha,
Having taken his awesome son
In his hands,
And in order for his son to become
A fearless warrior,
Who would make a spear
And go up to the Upper World,
He wrapped him up
In the best wolf hide.
And in order for his son to make a chisel,
And create an uproar in the Under World,
He swaddled his son,
Face down in the she-bear fur
With the paws
And sang him to sleep…
Three days later,
When the white shining sun
With three blazing rays
Like the glittering blade of the batas,
Rose in the white eternal sky,
Sabyia Baai Khotun,
The foremother of the Sakha
Gripped her grass bedding
Where she had given birth
To her children.
‘If I throw it about on the ground or soil,
Into the wet air and fog,
Into the mud and slush,
My descendants will languish
And disappear.
If I fall face down,
My son will not lift me
Back onto my feet,
Supporting my forehead.
If I fall backwards
My daughter will not come
To my assistance
And hold up the back of my head
With her virtuous hands,
And help me
To catch my breath.’
While thinking this
She went to the southern forest,
Keeping her back straight,
And put the grass bedding
Into a tree full of branches.
Then having put the afterbirth,
Which had been a cosy nest for her children,
Into a decorated clay pot,
She buried it
So as not to be seen
By anybody…
Walking lightly
Like a mare in the meadow,
Throwing her head back proudly
Like a mare in the field,
She approached a clear lake,
That had never frozen over,
And dived into it,
Splashing like a duck.
She washed off her heavy sweat,
She scrubbed off her dark filth…
After that she jumped out of the lake
And, standing on the northern side
Of the high, narrow, open cape,
She gave herself up
To the refreshing summer air,
Throwing over her shoulders
Her lynx coat hanging loose,
Her hat made with three sable furs on her head.
She entered her native house,
And going up to her hearth,
She began to greet it…
‘If I forget my Ejen Ekhsit,
Who has come to greet me,
If I ignore my Akhtar Aiyyhyt,
Who has come to bless me,
If I fail to see her off gladly
On the third day of my delivery
She will be grieved and
