to the Ob. I spent spring a little higher than Palvoshkurt. There was a lot of water. I didn't cross the channels and rivers in spring water. I walked slowly, in no hurry. This spring was good: a lot of ducks and eggs. I was waiting for summer. As it became warm, after the ice drift, the moon was born again, and I moved home. In one moon growth I have overcome the path to you. It's up there in the sky, transparent, rounded, full, going to decline tomorrow. The water was high, so I had to circle and cross small rivers. It was difficult with the fowl, but the knife helped a lot, thanks to the good people…
Now I am on my land. Tomorrow night, I'll start my way home!» «My dear father-in-law, I'll take you home on my boat. You can't move on a long journey when the moon declines.»
«Don't worry, son! I know the road well, and I won't rush. Otherwise they will find me and take me again. I will leave some time traveling. We must not show up in public, it's dangerous for your family».
A baby cried in the canopy. Khashkurne rushed inside to calm her son.
«A son? Daughter, give my grandson to me!»
Khashkurne came out from behind the canopy with a night cradle, happy with her first motherhood, and gave her baby to her father. Lylan Luhpi shepan iki put the cradle on his knees, and kissed his grandson soundly. He looked at his grandson, and his face again became gloomy, as if he had seen something terrible. He gave back the cradle with his daughter's child:
«Rejoice that you have a baby. Let him know that for him you are the sun, the moon, and the stars. May joy and happiness not leave his heart. Let him be happy with your love. Thank Kaltashch Anki for the child, who bestows the children with one hand and takes the souls of children with the other. Maybe she'll feel sorry for you, and give you more children.»
The next day, when everyone in the village was already asleep, the great shaman fluttered out of his daughter's house, like the shadow of a polar night owl, and slowly headed along the canal, lurking in the bushes towards his native village. There were fifty kilometers left, and he was in no hurry. He was carrying a large bag of groceries. There was enough food for a long journey, and the shaman was good at distributing food throughout the way. A summer trail was winding and dangerous. There were several rivers along the way, swamps, and a trip across a large litter of a river called Pilyokhlor. This path was not difficult for him. His soul bubbled like a big lake full of fish, and boundless joy burst out.
These were his native waters and his native lands. This was the land where he was born, breathed air for the first time. He was at home.
Secretly, like a driven animal, and yet without losing his inner dignity, he walked through forests and swamps. Not a single person on this land could give him to the authorities: hearing the name of Lylan Luhpi shepan iki, people bowed or lowered their eyes as a sign of respect. The shaman, however, made his way through the forests, hiding from people. It was important for him that no one was hurt through his fault. He walked along the mossy forest paths, leaving no traces. He overcame talnik windbreaks like a white sacred ermine, passed unfamiliar paths like a light, quiet arctic fox. He didn't look around from fear, like a hare. His soul did not howl like a wolf, but sang, murmuring, like a hasty forest brook – a soim shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, the one that hurries to the great river As.
He didn't look for an easy way; his natural instinct of a hunter told him where to move, where to turn. He walked without fear, like a brown bear in the forest. He was in a hurry to his native nest, to his small warm house standing under the centuries-old evergreen cedars, which had remained from his grandfather. This is where he took in the taste of the motherland with his mother's milk. He was a free man, and there was no sin on him. Otherwise why would the Almighty Turam help him? The sacred shaman's gift was also sent from heaven. How could a little man resist the will of the gods?
Winter
The settlers who lived in the dugouts, were sent to fishing in the summer, and in the winter they were sent out to the village to work on a timber work area. Although the trees were rare and not large, in some places in the forest tundra, on good soil, larch trees grew quite high, and were suitable for building houses. Fine wood was laid for firewood. They didn't complain, they tried to do any job accurately and quickly, with the hope that they would someday be released home. Now they were settled seven kilometers higher along the Ob from the village of Pitlourkurt.
In the dense woodlands, among the swamps, new houses were being built. Axes were pounding, saws rang from morning till night. The village was still small, but was quickly built.
The wood work area was near the forest road, and the exiles were often surprised:
«How could a well-trodden road appear in this wilderness, and why would the Khanty people need it, if they only ride deer, or boats in summer? Even hunters do not step on a wide path.»
And then a hunter came out of the woods past the exiles and stepped onto the wide path. He nodded to the women as a sign of greeting, crossed the road, and went hunting, skiing along his own track towards the village. His hunting belt was all hung with squirrel carcasses, and a fox tail flashed red.
There was a considerable state plan for collective households, that's why hunters stayed in the forests until late. The moon slowly sailed after a man in a light malica with a hunting belt and bear amulets.
While the hunters were fulfilling the daily plan, bypassing their lands, the day tended to night, so the caring moon zealously illuminated the dark paths of accurate Khanty hunters. Countless stars scattered across the sky flickered joyfully, showing travelers the way.
In some places where special settlers worked, the road expanded. The horses harnessed to the sled, loaded with small logs, calmly dispersed and continued their way. Women often looked at that crawling curved road. What was there, behind these lands and swamps? Was it possible to get home through it? And again they lowered their eyes to the screeching saw in their hands.
«The Khanty say that the road is in these forests for many centuries, maybe five centuries, maybe even more. They say that Ermak, the Don Cossack, came here to conquer these roads in ancient times. And then Russian peasants came here along the beaten track in search of a better life, as well as convicts in shackles escaping from authorities.»
«I heard,» answered Pukan anki, «I read at school that before Ermak Russian merchants took silver sable, white fox, snow ermine, squirrels and other furs and brought it to the royal chambers. They took soft gold, paying with firewater only. God knows how they survived to this day. Local residents regularly paid yasak, so the tsar issued a decree not to exterminate foreigners. He banned the import of alcohol into Siberia, so as not to accustom the people to hard drinking. But even under the risk of death, merchants who were accustomed to free furs from illiterate foreigners, brought the terrible potion into swampy impassable lands.»
«You don't know what was going on here after the revolution! Everything was taken from the local population: furs, fish, meat, they didn't even leave firewater in exchange. And then, when they divided power in Russia, the white fled through the taiga to reach the Ural Mountains, and the red, catching up with them, established their order in the taiga mountains. They say that people were trampled down like grass, chopped down like firewood, and there were so many indigen people killed that the villages were almost depopulated.»
«Yes, there are few of them now. In some villages, there are up to five or six families. Apparently, there are so few Khanty people because they were exterminated in dense forests.»
The women looked again at the well-compacted road.
«They say that the road stretches to Tobolsk itself, past which we were taken. How much does it take to get to the Siberian capital?»
«Don't say that!
