Olonkho. P. A. Oyunsky

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had been beating his drum,

      Who had been performing healing rituals

      Throughout the day and night,

      Now exhausted and

      Soaring up to the sky...

      If I push open

      Another side,

      If I look at it

      With my sharp eyes,

      With my wide-open eyes –

      On the immense meadow not bound by snow,

      Slender, white birches with frills

      Grew in a row,

      Bending gracefully

      Like swans,

      Tossing their heads

      Like white cranes.

      Reminders of khotun-women

      Coming in a line

      Pausing and stepping to the music

      Of a Sakha man,

      Shaking in a circle dance

      Merrily,

      Treading all at once

      In long, beautiful fur coats,

      With their silver necklaces

      Clinking loudly,

      With their hat fineries trembling,

      With silver plates on their hats shining...

      If you look down

      The mown, furthest side of it –

      Huge, concave rocky mountains,

      Shot up

      As chestnut stallions

      Stood gnawing

      With their rusty teeth.

      Their ragged cliffs rose up

      Pushing – rubbing against each other

      As fluffed-up nape fur

      Of a six-year-old male elk

      Combed backwards and forwards...

      A famous pass from which

      The kin of Khoromnu-Khan

      With large, grabbing paws,

      Which seized quietly,

      Which pulled quickly,

      Ran out unseen

      Under the sorcerous bottom

      Of the northern, tumultuous sky

      To destroy

      The tribe of Kun-Erken

      Turning them into ashes:

      The dry Great Kuktui khotun pass

      With fine shapes,

      With magical power,

      With an offering of a gull

      The size of a six-year-old ox head

      Stuck on a sacred bagakh post,7

      Stretched sonorously along...

      Endowed with a soul

      By the descendant of Sugeh-Khan8

      Ascending from the Sung Jahyn tribe,

      Terrible and enormous,

      With sorcerous power blazing

      On its feathers

      The size of a log house,

      Biting deadly

      From its front side,

      Kicking mightily

      From its back side,

      Hitting powerfully

      From its left and right sides,

      With a squawking, stony palate,

      With a clinking, white beak,

      A flight-feathered bearer of death,

      Khotoi-Khomporun oburgu.9

      Horrible demons

      Dwelling underneath,

      Who were famous for being the forefathers

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