AT THE WALLS OF KASHGAR
At sunset on a summer day, a small merchant caravan approaches the gates of Kashgar — the capital of Mongolia. The caravan leader, riding ahead, signals to stop as he sees warriors straining to slam shut the huge wrought-iron gates.
— Too late! — says the caravan leader to the approaching merchants. — No matter! Praise be to Allah, we will enter the city tomorrow.
As he says this, the caravan leader glances at the gate towers and walls: something is hanging in abundance there, but from here, three hundred steps away, it is impossible to make out what it is — it looks like strings of red pepper hung out to dry. The merchants also cast curious glances in that direction.
A man in a turban, tied in a scholarly manner, rides by on a donkey; a bag hangs at his waist, like those carried by scribes and market overseers — containing a quill, an inkwell, and a roll or two of clean paper.
The caravan leader addresses him:
— Stop, esteemed one! Satisfy our curiosity: what are those strange decorations hanging over the gates?
— Those are the rebels — the Kyrgyz.
— What? People? — the caravan leader could not believe his ears. The scribe shook his head:
— They were people. Now they are just corpses, prey for birds.
— What did they do wrong? The scribe replied importantly:
— Have you heard of a man named Muhammad-Kyrgyz? That name is well-known! The Kyrgyz call him by another name: Tagai-biy. We have heard that he is the most influential leader of the nomads. Praise be to Allah, this rebel has been subdued by Azrael. But the Kyrgyz will not calm down. And now they have raised the banner of ingratitude again and drawn their swords of disobedience against our lord Abd al-Rashid. But Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, has granted victory to the victor. Those hanging over the gates are prisoners. There were several hundred of them, and all were hanged in Kashgar and Yarkand.
Now the merchants look warily at the garlands of corpses: after all, they themselves are from Barskoon, from the land of the Kyrgyz.
— Why were they dressed in red clothes? - asks one of the merchants.
— You are mistaken, esteemed one, — replies the scribe. — On the contrary. By the order of the ruler, they were first stripped of all their clothes, and then their skin was removed — for intimidation and as a lesson. And a person with stripped skin, as you can understand, will have a red color.
The merchants shuddered. Such monstrous cruelty of the Mongol ruler shocked even them, who had seen much.
Touching the donkey's sides with his heels, the scribe says in farewell:
— Tomorrow I will be on duty at these gates, as I am the tax collector. Let it be known to you: our ruler is merciful and generous; he takes only one-fiftieth of the goods...
But when morning came, the caravan had vanished without a trace. The merchants left at night. They circled the city in a wide arc and by dawn were back on the road leading to the Land of the Kyrgyz...
And many of them whispered a prayer to God:
— Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate! Take the martyrs, who perished for their people, into the heavenly gardens...
This scene is just one of the episodes of the long struggle of the Kyrgyz against the Mongol rulers for their independence.
Myths and Legends
