Like a horse on all fours,
As soon as he made his first steps
On his soft, bowed legs,
He set out racing
Across the famous alaas
Of his Motherland
From its eastern to its western side,
Flew like a whirlwind
From its northern to its southern side,
Shifted like a shadow,
As soon as he grew up,
Having checked his appearance,
He proclaimed:
‘I have become a botur,
A warrior at last’.
His roar was heard
In the Upper World,
His great voice quickly reached
The realm of the Under World...
When I am settled,
When I begin my story,
When I release my tongue,
When I clear my throat,
When all of you together
Hear a shout: ‘Nhooh!’ 1
From the Upper World
Through the hole in the blue skies,
From the Under World
Beneath your two feet,
Let your mighty heart
Full of veins
Stay calm...
***
Beyond ancient times,
In the past, departed years,
In the old days,
In the far distant past
That their songs could never be heard,
That their successes could never be predicted,
On the ninth tempestuous
Eight-edged lower
Shining layers
Of a white, tumultuous sky
With three revolving keys,
With seven wandering reins,
On top of a solid etugen,2
A permanent precipice,
On top of a tertugen –
A stable, wide abyss,
Of an imagined, spacious dwelling
With strong, swirling winds,
With seven deadly welts,
With a ford as smooth as a bowstring,
With a high range so rocky
That when trodden on
There would be no trace,
With the shape so solid
That when pressed
It would not swing,
In the full-ripe centre of the earth
In the blessed Middle World.
In a yellow, tender nest,
In a sunny, rich liver,
In a bright, solemn navel,
In a golden, great belly,
In a high, heaving bosom
Of the eight-rimmed, eight-brimmed
Primordial Motherland,
Full of discord and discontent,
On its protruding neck
My white, summer, shining sun
Rises blazingly up
Like the glistening blade
Of a huge batas,
My white, glowing sun of winter
Rises radiantly
As if a small batas
Taken out of its sheath and brandished around,
With a wide, white dale
Where ninety-nine
Great fast rivers
Merged loudly,
With a famous alaas-valley
Where eighty-eight
Huge rivers
Rushed rapidly,
Where seventy-seven
Deep, grassy, green valleys
Stretched together far away,
It became a shining centre of the Middle World.
With raging blizzards
The size of a three-year-old cow,
With hurricane winds
That would pick up boulders
The size of a four-year-old ox,
With white, loam dust
Swirling up in the air,
With
