The Tale of Brave Chilten. Chapters 1-2

INTRODUCTION

This tale my father
Told me in full, from beginning to end,
Saying at the end, from himself,
That he learned it from his father.
It was sweet for me to listen to the song.
It sang to me, as I sing now,
This tale from my grandmother's mother,
Remembering her great-grandmother...
Like sailing ships,
Cutting through the mirrors of the seas,
Parting the spaces of the earth,
This tale has passed through time.
And in the dust of caravan paths
It walked through storms and eras,
And in the ears of curious children
It forever remained.
The rascals became elders,
They bequeathed the lore
To those who aged in their turn...
Reaching out to all corners,
This chronicle will not die!
This story has passed through the centuries
Green as the juniper,
Unaging — from afar —
It has come to us, still sounding the same.
So let us renew
The tales of the gray, departed years.
Let us give it to our grandchildren,
Retell it to those who follow!

Chapter 1

The Childhood Years of Chilten.

Here have come the lean days,
And in the flocks — just look —
Every hour, fewer sheep,
Every day, in the herds — losses,
And in the group of children — a shortage...
Every century — fierce hunger, death,
Every moment — drink this bitterness!
It clung like a bur,
And misfortune did not want to let go...
So long ago it was, when
From their native pastures the people
Left for foreign lands
To seek a better fate for themselves.
It was in ancient days...
Only the old man and the old woman alone
Walk around in the flowers of the meadows,
And they have fallen behind their own
Because, during the gathering, they
Lost their only son,
The spoiled boy got lost...
And in despair, sadly bowed,
The old man turned to God:
“As long as the boy remains alive!”
And the old man wept, grieving...
And Chilten is twelve years old.
“Where are you, my light, my son?”—
Mother calls — there is no answer.
The son disappeared, and — no news of him,
At night the old woman cries and by day.
The dwelling has become empty...
The Old Ones live like his guards.
Only their souls dream of shelter.
Around the surrounding valleys,
They search for the boy, calling: “Son!”
From exhaustion, they fall to their knees,
The bitter tears of the mother are countless.
They wait for their son for six months,
And the thread of hope is broken.
And it is already clear that here
Chilten will never return,
There is no one for them to bury...
The mother, bent over, has withered away,
The mother has melted away, wailing.
She calls her son like a falcon,
Too late, too late, born of her,
Too early, too early, gone to flight...
And the old man's eyes grow weaker,
They have lost their former fire.
He has withered like a decrepit horse,
And his face has lost its color.
Yes, there have never been worse misfortunes!
What can be done — day by day
We grow weaker in the game of changes...
But let us turn the tale
To where Chilten is.

Chapter 2

Adventures in the cave where the Tiger dwelled.

...The mischievous boy jumped from stone to stone,
From the cliff to the mossy boulder
He ran, gathering flowers.
But the raindrops struck...
Clouds darkly piled up,
Suddenly a wave of darkness rushed in.
The boy got soaked to the skin at once,
Grew sad and shivered under the downpour,
And he could no longer cross
The turbulent stream's flow,
He dove into some crevice, hiding...
But in the crevice, the cold is worse,
The frost penetrates to the bones,
A mysterious rumble resounds.
The boy seeks shelter, but here —
The wicked daughters of the Peri live,
Roaming in the dark, damp cave,
Engrossed in their common game.

And they immediately caught a whiff
Of human scent alive,
Detested by beasts since time immemorial,
And the howling of the undead spreads,
A horde of monsters rushes to the exit...
Their smile is fiercely coarse
From treachery, from flattery and lies.
Their claws — like large knives,
Sparks fly from their eyes with a crackle...
Such is their beauty without embellishment,
And — longer than the beauties themselves —
Their blue hair flows...
And in the cave, by the stone walls,
Where the fumes of despair swirl,
Chilten has gone numb, weakened,
And from the cold, his teeth chatter!
And to him already from all sides,
Noisily quarreling among themselves,
Approaches the fierce crowd
Of the wicked daughters of the evil Peri.
The boy is needed not for games...
Suddenly, from somewhere, a Tiger rushed in
Bursting into the circle, seized Chilten
And placed him on his back,
And he flies, scattering the crowd,
Through the forests and down the slopes at full speed.
Here is the home of the sorceresses far away...
Having crossed the stream,
And running out onto the sunny meadow,
And having set Chilten on the ground,
The Tiger proclaims — Oh, wonder of wonders! —
In a human voice suddenly:
“I remember, when I was little
I ran away from my parents,
I played on the cliffs,
But stumbled on the ridge of a rock,
And hung over a terrible abyss.
There was no strength, and — neither up, nor down,
My claws clung to the brittle ledge,
And eagles soar and screech...
But a human son came,
A merciful Hunter alone,
He saved the tiger cub from death,
Like a child... And disappeared from sight...
Since then, in this mountainous land
I have searched for my savior,
But met him only in dreams.
Today the birds told me
That he perished, falling from the cliffs...
By rescuing you from trouble,
I have repaid my debt to man!
You are free, and you can go,
If you wish, visit my home,
You can stay in my house...
Play with the Tiger cub together,
Live with him, grow up!” ...
Chilten did not hurry,
He loved his joyful captivity,
And in the cave with the Tiger he lives
And with the Tiger cub in the depths of the forests,
Not counting the happy hours,
They race around all day long,
Measuring strength, laughing,
Their tussles are sometimes fierce,
And when they have played enough,
And the game has become tiresome,
They doze — each in his own corner,
Falling asleep, curled up in a ball,
And the boy's sleep is deep,
And the striped friend is good...

And over time, strong and resilient
Every muscle of the boy has become.
His arms — like two trees,
A broad chest on the youth,
And now the Tiger cub
Can be overpowered by him.
To lift the house — it’s easy for him,
The boulders — like a handful of sand.
He could overcome the flood
And break the ancient fir,
This little one, who is tall —
Of the breed of heroes.
Like his human tongue,
He knows the speech of birds and beasts.
And a steed is ready for Chilten.
He has found a black horse,
That grew on the meadow grasses,
Nourished by dishes made from the petals
Of ninety kinds of flowers,
And on his forehead — a stripe of fire.
He saddled the Karager1, the horseman,
And in the abundance of surging strength
He suddenly remembered all he had forgotten,
Remembered the yurt, the pasture, the aul.
And hastened his soul back to his homeland...
And when he returned, roaring,
He brought the old Tiger and the argali,
And the Tigress came, dragging
Two goats, cut down on the cliff,
The boy went out to meet them...
He bowed
To the tigers to the very ground.
He spoke with gratitude:
“You saved me from death!
I became a friend to your son,
How we have enjoyed ourselves together!
Here I lived, at the foot of the cliffs,
Carefree, as in my own home...
And I got used to not noticing
The passage of time in your house...
But my father and old mother
Are waiting for me far away now,
It’s time for me to prepare for the journey!..
Tiger, my savior, forgive me,
I remember — you replaced my father!
Do not forget my face!
Mother-Tigress, thank you,
You were a good mother to me!
Friend-Tiger cub, rival in struggle,
We say goodbye, the memory is warm...
If we can meet again,
We will joyfully remember
Our childhood... I know my duty!” —
Thus Chilten spoke excitedly,
He bowed again, rose from his knees,
Waiting for a response, he fell silent...
And the forest stood thoughtfully still.
And the surroundings to the edge of the sky.
Here the old Tiger tore a tuft of fur
With his teeth and stretched it out in response.
And the Tigress, the stern mother,
Tore out a fluffy strand,
To give it as a gift to Chilten.

And the Tiger cub cut off a piece
From his mane for Chilten with his claws...
“You have many troubles ahead,
Keep this gift on your chest,
And there will always be in your muscles
The mighty strength of all three of us!”
...And to send off the brave one,
To say goodbye to Chilten came
The inhabitants of the mountain land,
The tribesmen of the Tiger-Father.

To be continued...