A long time ago, now I can’t even remember, in a sieve or in straw, when a camel called out for news in a loud voice, when I opened my father’s cradle - creaking, creaking! - she was rocking, then mother screamed at the door. I quickly rushed to her, and the priest came out of the cradle - bang! I rock one, then the other, both cry. Then mother jumped up - yes, for the chuprin, and father - for the club, and they went to chase me into the corners! I run past the stove to grab some hot porridge, and on top of me is a pot of yogurt! She saved herself by force, and then the fairy tale began.
There lived Keloglan, and he had a father and mother.
[Keloglan is Turkish for "bald guy", a simple-minded and lucky guy, similar to the Russian Ivanushka the Fool]
My father grew old and became very bad. So before his death he says to his son:
- Listen, son, to my father’s instructions. Never deal with one person. This man is small in stature, not a hair on his face, with a slanted eye, his name is Musa. Even wheat was not ground in his mill.
He said so and left this world.
The dead leave, the living remain. Much time has passed since then, spring came, then summer. One day Keloglan's mother says to him:
- The joy of my eyes, my son Kel! We have no flour or bran left. And we ourselves have nothing to eat, and the cattle are hungry. Take some wheat, take it to the mill, let them grind it. There will be food for us and food for the cattle, and we will rejoice together.
“Okay, mother, I’ll do that,” said Keloglan.
At dawn, he took the donkey out of the barn, loaded it with sacks of wheat, and set off with the first birds. The road to the mill goes through mountains and valleys, and the mill itself stands near a waterfall. The water falls from above, the big wheel spins, and from it the millstones spin and squeak, grinding the grains.
Keloglan approaches the mill, and what does he see? A man of small stature is sitting by the door, not a hair on his face, his eye slanted...
“Ege,” thinks Keloglan. “If I also call him Musa, then it’s better for me to listen to my father’s instructions.” He came closer to the man and asked:
- What is your name, dear?
And he answers calmly:
- Musa.
Keloglan realized that this was the same man about whom his father had warned: small in stature, not a hair on his face, with a sidelong eye, called Musa. “No,” he thinks, “I will not disobey my father’s instructions, I will leave from here as soon as possible!”
He turned his donkey around and drove to the second mill. There are a lot of mills in villages, not like in cities. But that man, small in stature, not a hair on his face, became angry: “Here, I’ll show you how to run away from me!”
He jumped up and overtook Keloglan on the short road, and managed to get to the second mill before him. Again he settled down in front of the door - legs under him, cross-legged, sitting to himself, looking around.
Keloglan trudges along a little alive from fatigue after steep slopes and winding roads. I just approached the mill and immediately saw Musa.
- Oh, woe is me, woe is me! It's on my head again!
He quickly turned the donkey around, whipped him with a twig, and was just about to run when Musa called out to him:
“You’re trying in vain, Keloglan!” There are three mills in this county, all of which belong to me. There's nowhere else for you to go. You better accept it, let me grind your wheat.
“No,” said Keloglan. “I cannot disobey my father’s instructions; I will not grind your wheat.” Happy Stay!
“Wait,” Musa blocked his way. “Let’s make an agreement with you.” If I emerge victorious, I will take your wheat along with your donkey. If you win, I'll give you one of my mills.
- What will we compete in?
- Lies. Whoever lies better wins. Agree?
I wouldn't agree! Keloglan is a famous inventor!
They shook hands and the competition began. Musa was the first to tell his tales:
- Listen, Keloglan! My father was not a miller, but a plowman. He sowed in the fall, waited for the harvest in winter and spring, and threshed grain in the summer. One day a watermelon sprouted on our threshing floor. We began to look after him so that he could grow better. We groom it, we water it, and it grows and fills. He has grown so big - as big as a mountain! Our watermelon was ripe, and my father hired woodcutters to cut it. The woodcutter swung his ax and dropped it straight into the watermelon. What to do? He had to climb into the watermelon to look for an ax. He got inside, circles, gets lost, and can’t find what’s missing. Suddenly he sees another person walking nearby. The woodcutter said to him: “Countryman, I lost my ax here, did you come across it?” The man just laughed in response:
“What are you talking about, fellow countryman! I lost a caravan of camels, I’ve been searching for seven days, seven nights, but I still haven’t even found any traces of hooves!” There was nothing to do, we all had to start looking for a woodcutter with an ax and a caravan driver with camels. My father brought another whole detachment of woodcutters from the city, and they cut our watermelon in half. Then water gushed out of it, streams flowed through the mountains, over the hills, reached Istanbul itself, and the Sea of Marmara was formed from them.
The beardless Musa stopped and looked at Keloglan. He scratched his head and said:
- Now listen to me! My father kept bees. This is not an easy matter. Sometimes, as soon as it was light, he was already in the apiary, counting how many bees had flown out of the hive. In the evening he counts, piece by piece, how many of them have returned to the hive. One day, a lame bee did not fly home. The father was saddened, did not sleep all night, thinking: what could have happened to her? He loved this bee for its good honey. I thought and thought, and by morning I came up with an idea. He took a bag needle, stuck it into the ground, stood on it with his bare foot and began to look around from above. “I see,” he says, “how some peasant in the village of Fizane caught our lame leg, harnessed it to a plow along with an ox, and is now plowing with steam! Saddle the rooster for me quickly!” I grabbed the rooster, saddled him, and my father rode on horseback to Fizan. He rescued our bee, but while he was riding, the saddle rubbed the rooster’s back. We smeared the sore spot with nut oil, and suddenly a nut sprout appeared in this place. Before we even had time to gasp, it turned into a huge tree. The leaves fell from it, and they became a large field. We sowed this field, waist-deep wheat grew on it. The wheat was ripe, we came with scythes, just about to mow, a fox came towards us - hopped! The father waved his scythe and threw a lasso around the fox’s neck. The fox runs, and the scythe circles around her. So she mowed the whole field clean. We threshed the wheat, called the tax collector, and began counting the harvest. We measure and measure the grain and suddenly we see paper in one of the measures. The father unfolded it, twirled it this way and that, then handed it to the tax collector: “Look, son, what’s written here, otherwise I won’t be able to make it out.” He looks, and on the piece of paper this is what is written: “Keloglan won, the beardless one swallowed.”
When Keloglan finished his story, Musa laughed until he cried.
- Well done, Keloglan! — he says. “You only lied about the bag needle, and I already realized that I lost.” I wouldn't have to bother myself any further. But, to be honest, I have been looking for a person like you for a long time. Take all three of my mills for yourself, take good care of them and take care of me while I live.
Since then, Keloglan, his mother and the miller have lived in a new way - cheerfully and comfortably.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru