Screaming above,
With such an immense length,
With such unmeasured width,
That a crane for nine days and nine nights
Could not cross it,
That even a white crane crying, flew over fast,
Unable to find its end,
With remote, unsullied edges,
With long, sluggish meadows,
It became the full and ripe
Centre of the world,
The complete and flourishing centre
Of the Motherland,
My long-stretched
Great valley
Kyladyky khotun...
As three Sakha men
Had not come down so far
To this blessed Middle World,
To such a fine,
Lovely land
With a splendid surface
From the Upper Urung Aar World
By the order of Odun Khan,
Had not settled there,
Had not built a house
In the best location
On its golden, precious range,
Had not fired a sacred hearth,
Had not put life into a rich,
Beautiful home,
Had not made a pen for herds of cattle.
The offsprings of the tribe of Abaahy –
Lustful creations,
Having found it a pleasant land,
Appeared there,
The offsprings of the tribe of Ajarais –
Deceitful creations frequented there,
Without any praise for the spirit
Of the great land,
Without any homage paid
To Ekhsit Mother-Goddess...
If you gladly enter
This great, favoured land,
If you turn your eyes
To the southern part of it, you can see –
At the beginning of the single, death road
It had nine narrow and high
Bald peaks
Standing angrily
Facing each other
Like nine great stallions
Of Toburakh Baai Toyon
A young Urung Uolan Aimed high And released his bowstring…
And Togoruia Baai Khotun4
Ready to fight...
If you look inattentively
At the side behind them,
If you push it up –
At the greedy, white obscure range
Of the southern blind, swirling sky,
Great mountains,
White-winged by both sides,
Sharp-headed by the tops,
Rose upside down
In a thick crowd,
Soared
In a long ridge
Resembling huge, proud cranes
Which shot up at once,
Resembling horned, delicate deer
Which stood opposite each other.
If you open the lower part,
If you look at the bottom side –
Nine huge peaks,
Blood-winged by both sides,
Rushed up
Upside down
And sidelong
As nine mighty oxen,
Walked in the middle of a valley
Trampling down up to their knees
A frozen ground,
Butting each other,
Scolding,
Losing their temper...
In the remote Under World pass
Of the Ajarai tribe,
An enormous snowstorm
Which could smash
A large, black boulder
The size of a lying cow’s belly
Blew into the disastrous pass
Which served Alyp Khara, Aat Mogoidon,
A notorious hero of the Ajarai tribe
With a crooked horn
Drooping down to his beak,
With strong legs,
With a terrible, short-legged ox
Which doesn’t stumble over its tail,
To get up and destroy
The kind-hearted
Tribe of Aiyy-Khan
With the reins on their backs,
The endless
Muus Kunkui khotun pass
With plenty of misery,
The Khan Jaralyk pass
Stretched out broadly
Breathing heavily
A dense mist of blood
As if spraying from a torn,
Bloody throat...
If you turn around and look
Below the sloping rim
Of the eastern, reticulate sky
With cirrus clouds
Soaring and swirling up,
Like the spotty chested wood grouse,
Twisting around
In the dense dark forest:
It had immense woods
With unknown boundaries,
With scaly-barked
Huge trees
With crooked branches,
With trembling leaves,
As if great udagans ladies
In forgotten ancient times
Saw her coming in the flesh
And went out to greet,
Chanting and shaking, praising
Their Ekhsit Mother-Goddess
Who was walking towards them
Rubbing her two radiant
Smooth