THE BRIDE OF KUNBAG
In 105 BC, another embassy from the Usuns arrived in Han. The hosts were not surprised by the event itself. What astonished them was the extremely rich gifts, including 1,000 magnificent horses. But when they learned that the ambassadors were essentially suitors, their astonishment ceased: the lavish gifts for a princess from the House of Han were to be expected!
It is known that emperors of all eras were extremely reluctant to agree to marital alliances for their princesses with barbarians. Many foreign princes were refused, and gifts were returned.
However, in this case, they had to think hard. Was there any other way out? These were not the times of the legendary Shun or Cheng Tan; the nomads were pressing. The Xiongnu had moved north—was it for long?
And the Usuns were the strongest confederation of tribes. They feared no one. The army they could muster was 200,000 strong.
Power!... And most importantly: the trade route to the West passed right through the lands of the Usuns. To refuse—everything that had been spent a lifetime on, for which so much effort and resources had been laid out—could all go to waste.
The emperor simply did not know what to decide. And then the cunning advisor Chelin suggested: why not give this barbarian not the beloved daughter or sweet granddaughter in marriage, but an eighth cousin? Or a forty-fourth great-granddaughter, born of the seventeenth grandson? Although they were of "heavenly" blood, they brought little joy to the Great Heart. Moreover, there were so many collateral princesses (as well as princes) that losing one of them would be hard to notice. Besides, does not the Great Sovereign sacrifice his precious life and health daily, hourly, minutely, and secondly for the prosperity of the country?... It is time for others to do the same...
The choice fell on the Lotus Flower, not without the involvement of the same Chelin.
It had already been two years since she became engaged and was preparing her hairstyle. However, no suitor had come to propose until now—despite her "heavenly" blood and the fact that the Lotus Flower was very beautiful. She was too willful!
...The nomads met the bride's procession twelve li from the camp—a sign of the greatest respect. A gray, beautiful, yet somewhat absurd "foreign" evening was approaching. Red-bearded dignitaries, adorned with golden badges, dismounted from wonderful swan-like horses and knelt down. Following them, an innumerable (as it seemed to the princess) army instantly dismounted and followed the example of their leaders. The princess stood in her reclining palanquin at her full small height. Her chest heaved violently, her gaze excitedly swept over the countless bowed heads, over the innumerable sea of snorting swan-like horses... Could she really be the mistress of this border empire? If only the entire imperial court, all those envious ladies, could see this picture right now...
The most stout and esteemed of the dignitaries rose on his crooked legs and spoke in a deep bass:
— O, Heavenly Camel! The Sovereign awaits you at his fire. But if you are tired, a tent has been set up for your overnight stay.
The devoted Lü Shu translated:
— O, Celestial Being! Let your weary body rest under the shade of the tent, which is already prepared for you!
— Yes! — said the Lotus Flower. Lü Shu translated the princess's response:
— I long to see the Sovereign. But the modesty of the maiden does not allow for haste.
The Usuns were thrilled: she knows the customs of the steppe! Indeed, they were surprised by the brief response and the long translation.
In the palanquin, she was carried to a high hill. But it was not a hill. A giant tent seemed to be "clad" on the outside with the skins of spotted beasts—snow leopards... The grand entrance was covered by three skins of Turanian tigers with bared, whiskered faces. On either side of the entrance stood two warriors from her personal guard, frozen like statues.
At dawn, the maidservants woke her. They did not know that the princess had not closed her eyes all night and had only fallen asleep just before morning. The morning in the mountains is always fresh, even in summer.
The princess, shivering, stepped onto the green felt of grass and immediately soaked her feet: how cold the dew is! But she was already lifted into the palanquin.
The journey did not last long. The bright sun had not yet truly begun to shine when Lü Shu approached the palanquin:
- Delicate Lotus Flower! The capital is just ahead... They had just ascended the hill, and the princess's gaze opened up to...
...In a deep, flat basin on the left bank of the river flowing into the Warm Lake lay the main camp of the Usun ruler—the city of Chigu.
From the north, powerful mountains rose behind the river, while the basin was enclosed by hills from the south. The city was protected by a high adobe wall. The second wall—the inner one—surrounded the camp itself. To the west, the calm surface of the lake sparkled under the morning sun and faded somewhere in the distance.
Beyond the wall, numerous gray cubes, vaguely resembling peasant huts, were scattered about—such as the princess had seen when the court made transitions from Chang'an to Luoyang. But most of all, round tents darkened, and between them, tiny human figures bustled about, toy riders sped by. Smoke rose from everywhere; they were cooking, frying—preparing for the celebration.
A vast strip between the walls, as well as the entire eastern part of the city, was undeveloped and resembled a huge pen for livestock. All this was quite clearly visible.
At the city gates, the bride's procession was again met by the elders. This time, there were about twenty women with them—apparently, court ladies. From the princess's perspective, their clothing was barbarically vulgar, garishly luxurious. They immediately took the high guest and her maidservants under their care.
Near Chigu, the city resembled even less a city; it was almost laughable to compare it to Chang'an. Instead of streets, there were paths worn among the thick low grass: thousands of horse hooves and pedestrian soles had worked for this. Deep ruts from carts were also visible: in some, yellow puddles stood.
Closer to the shore was something like a city quarter: about two hundred clay huts with thatched roofs surrounded by small gardens and even smaller orchards. There were also about twenty to thirty wooden cabins. And that was it. The remaining area was occupied by felt round huts, where the owners of these places lived in large families.
The supreme Usun ruler was named Leczhaomi, a name that sounded like music to Chinese ears. He bore the title of Kunbag. He was a tall, powerful old man with a reddish-gray beard from old age and blue eyes. His entire appearance radiated good-naturedness. But the princess understood: this was a deception. Terrible nomads cannot be kind. She was irresistibly drawn to look again and again at the steppe leader. And she did so stealthily.
On the day of the wedding, the city was filled with people. And when night came, in honor of the high guests, thousands of fiery birds soared into the sky. The famous Usun warriors, wrapping the tips of their arrows with burning tow, shot them into the starry darkness one after another. A magnificent spectacle!
The princess had not seen anything like it even in Chang'an. It seemed as if the starry rain had suddenly defied the laws of the universe and instead of falling, first rose up in a sparkling cascading shower from the sinful earth to the halls of the celestial beings, to announce to all the great celebration of the union of the West with the East.
It was fortunate that the arrows flew diagonally and fell into the wasteland beyond the city wall. Otherwise, that night, Chigucheng with its reed roofs and felt huts would have burned to the ground.
Let us not describe the solemnity of the wedding ceremony. Let us only say: the Kunbag himself placed a string of wonderful beads around the bride's neck according to Han custom, dressed in red, the color of joy.
But in her eyes lay sadness.
A cruel disappointment befell the princess. Her ambitious hopes were not destined to come true. She imagined her future husband as an old widower, unwashed, unkempt, like all nomads. And she had already prepared herself in advance to sacrifice herself to warm his uncomfortable old age. And at the same time, to rule the country, like Empress Gao-hou, the widow of Gaozu, the founder of the Han dynasty. For is it permissible to even think that a decrepit husband would not fulfill the whims of a young beautiful wife?
Reality turned out to be completely different.
First of all, the Gunymo (as the Chinese woman pronounced the title of Kunbag) was old, but by no means decrepit. True, the merciless plowman Time had passed his plow over his face, leaving deep furrows. But his strangely blue eyes under bushy eyebrows looked piercingly clear and showed no signs of murky old age. And when during the feast he cast off his fur coat and shirt, remaining in a sleeveless tunic, the princess involuntarily marveled at the sight of his muscles: powerful, strong, as if filled arms seemed to belong to a completely different person. She had seen such arms on wrestlers who performed in the old palace of Afan, built by Emperor Qin Shi Huang.
An amazing man: old age and youth coexisted here in one vessel.
But women easily cope with such disappointments. The trouble lay elsewhere. The Gunymo already had a wife—a hefty, well-fed woman (though young), the daughter of a powerful ruler of the Huns. And this wife was considered the senior one.
Thus, the Lotus Flower was destined for the role of a second wife, a meaningless sweet toy.
The ruler, it turns out, had many wives over his long life. From them, he had a whole brood of sons and grandsons.
Two eldest sons were considered junior Kunbags, each ruling a third of the people. In such conditions, there was no question of power or influence over the Horde.
For several months, the princess was beside herself. Everything she saw, heard, and felt irritated her. The rough speech and piercing cries of the shepherds, the eternal bleating of sheep, so senseless. These horse herds of thousands: when they galloped with flowing manes across the valley, the earth trembled.
Instead of the shady parks of Chang'an, there was a bare steppe, surrounded by a wall of mountains closing off the horizon. Instead of palaces, adobe houses of poor farmers and miserable little gardens where apricots, plums, walnuts, and other fruit trees unknown to her grew. And felt, felt, felt huts...
Having grown up in imperial chambers, among exquisite trinkets, in beautifully decorated rooms, she now lived in a huge tent set up especially for her.
She slept behind a curtain on a pile of camel blankets. Her favorite maidservants, taken from Chang'an, did their best to adorn the bed, draped the rough felt, pungently smelling of sheepskin, walls with silk fabrics woven with dragons, and filled the air with aromatic smoke...
And what did she have to digest for her delicate stomach? Exquisite palace dishes were replaced by boiled or roasted meat over a fire and mare's milk. With these miserable dishes, suitable only for clods, her good-natured (as she found out) and not very bright (as she thought) old husband persistently treated her!
True, he was kind in his own way and even gifted her a whole box of precious musk. In vain! The princess fell into the deepest depression. Everything here was not for her.
This was a different way of life. It seemed to her that she had fallen into the domain of Prince Yanlo.
And the only relief—so as not to suffocate—became poetic exercises. She poured her soul's pain onto bamboo slips. And she carefully hid them in a precious box, although no nomad, including the Gunymo, could read the hieroglyphs...
Her poems have reached us...»
Myths and Legends