It was a long time ago. Neither me, the narrator, nor you, readers, nor our fathers were in the world then.
There lived a poor Kalmyk in one khoton. He was frail and sickly, did not live long and died. He left behind a wife and a little boy.
[Khoton is a village of several tents that roamed together.]
A Kalmyk died, and his wife and child went to live with a kind old man - her husband’s uncle. When she arrived, the blind old man took the newborn boy in his arms, stroked him, felt him, looked at him for a long time, carefully.
“What’s the boy’s name?” he asks.
- Mazan.
“Look, daughter-in-law,” says the old man, “you have given birth to no ordinary boy.” He will grow up to be a wonderful person. Take care of him, be careful.
Mazan began to grow.
The mother often recalled the old man’s words about her son. Those words did not come true. Mazan grew up as an ugly, awkward boy. His head was big, like a cauldron. The stomach looked like a ball, and the legs were like thin sticks. One consolation: Mazan was a kind, affectionate boy.
Everyone considered Mazan a failure and pitied his mother for having such a bad son.
Mazan’s mother cried more than once at night: she stroked the sleeping loser boy, secretly shedding bitter tears.
Only the old man stands his ground. He became decrepit, completely blind. And as he caresses Mazan, stroking the boy’s hair with a dry hand, he repeats:
“I couldn’t have been mistaken.” This is not what your boy will be like. His time has not yet come. Love your son more than life itself, grow him, take care of him.
And so it went year after year. Mazan grew up and became a young man.
One day Mazan went with the horse herders to water the wells.
They came to the wells and saw that a caravan had settled down near them to rest. A caravan has arrived from distant places. Everywhere you look there are camels, horses, tents, carts.
Mazan looked - there were bows and arrows on one cart. The boy's eyes sparkled, he approached the cart, examined the bows, touched them with his finger, but did not dare take them.
One of the travelers noticed this. He sees that the boy looks weak and clumsy, and he decides to laugh at him.
“Well,” he says, “you look at the bows, but you don’t dare take them?” Choose a bow and shoot.
“Can I?” asked Mazan.
- Of course, you can. I allow you to shoot an arrow from any bow.
People gathered around the cart to watch Mazan shoot with a bow. And Mazan chose the largest onion. It’s not like the young man is an adult, a strong man, and he couldn’t pull such a string.
Mazan took the bow, inserted an arrow, instantly pulled the string so that the ends of the bow met, and shot a long arrow.
Everyone around gasped. The strongest people came out, tried that bow, but were unable to pull back the string even an inch.
Mazan asked to sell him the bow he used to shoot. The traveler asked for this school of horses for the bow.
“Are you taking it?” asks the traveler.
“I’ll take it,” says Mazan and orders the herd keepers to give them a school of horses.
The herders ran to Mazan's father's uncle, a decrepit old man, complain about the young man, tell how he shot with a bow and how the travelers are now demanding that the last school of horses be given for the bow.
The old man smiled and was happy.
“Don’t contradict me,” he says. “Give my horses to the traveler, let Mazan buy himself a strong onion.” I wasn't mistaken, that means. For a long time I waited for Mazan to become stronger than others and to defend his people. So I waited.
Soon rumors about Mazan spread throughout all the hotons. Mazan shot from morning to night. His arrows flew hundreds of miles, and not a single one missed the target. Not a single shooter could compare with Mazan. He was not afraid of any danger. He became smart, dexterous, and brave. No one would now recognize in the stately and strong young man Mazan a frail and awkward boy.
Mazan deeply loved his people. He was fair. He defended poor, honest people and never gave offense to anyone. The people also loved Mazan and saw him as a new batar.
One morning Mazan woke up from a loud noise. He hears men screaming, women and children crying. Mazan jumped up, dressed quickly, and left the wagon. He looked and saw that the Baykhtan-Eretyn battalion was approaching. Where that invincible batar appears, there he will steal all the cattle. There was no one stronger than Baykhtan-Eretyn in the world.
He could not resist Baykhtan-Eretyn and Mazan; no one could take Baykhtan-Eretyn by force. Mazan knew that he needed to act not by force, but by intelligence and courage, so he stood up calmly and waited.
Baykhtan-Eretyn arrived, dispersed the people, drove past Mazan, and laughed at him. All the livestock, down to the last goat and horse, were taken with him by Baykhtan-Eretyn.
People asked Mazan to help them, cried, begged him. Mazan stands silently, not moving.
Baykhtan-Eretyn left.
Then Mazan went into the tent and took his bow and arrows. Among the arrows, his favorite was the arrow aminsomun (soul arrow). The tip of this arrow was smeared with poison. When the arrow flew, it sang a wonderful song.
Mazan set off in the footsteps of Baykhtan-Eretyn.
Mazan knew that the invulnerable batar could not be killed with either a sword or an arrow. Baykhtan-Eretyn had only one vulnerable place. To kill him, you had to pierce his throat. But no one managed to do this. Baykhtan-Eretyn wore a high steel collar and always lowered his head.
The young hero wandered for a long time until he found Baykhtan-Eretyn.
The heroes met.
When Baykhtan-Eretyn saw Mazan, he took out a sharp sword, lashed the black horse, and galloped towards Mazan. The black horse rushes faster than the wind, Baykhtan-Eretyn’s helmet and chain mail glisten in the sun. He's about to blow off Mazan's head.
Mazan did not flinch, did not move from his place. He calmly took his favorite arrow, raised the bow above his head, and pulled the string, as if he wanted to shoot the arrow up. He himself doesn’t take his eyes off Baykhtan-Eretyn.
Baykhtan-Eretyn was surprised. He had never seen heroes behave like this. “What a curiosity,” he thinks, “after all, I’m ready to kill him, and he’s going to shoot an arrow into the sky. What a stupid Kalmyk hero! I wonder where he decided to aim?”
Baykhtan-Eretyn could not contain his curiosity. He raised his head up, and Mazan immediately shot an arrow into his neck.
Mazan shot quickly and accurately. Before Baykhtan-Eretyn had time to bow his head, the arrow hit the top of the collar, where the iron buttons came undone.
The arrow was wide and sharp. Baykhtan-Eretyn’s head rolled off his shoulders.
Baykhtan-Eretyn was strong and mighty. And without a head he continued to ride his horse. When he caught up with Mazan, at full gallop he slashed with his sword, almost cutting Mazan in half.
Baykhtan-Eretyn rode up a low hill, got off his horse, hobbled it, took off the saddle, laid out his cloak, stuck his sword deep into the ground, without letting go of the hilt, lay down on the cloak, stretched out his legs, and became motionless.
When Mazan approached, Baykhtan-Eretyn was already dead.
Mazan took the cattle and returned them to the people.
This is what the brave hero Mazan was like.
But he didn't have to live long.
Baykhtan-Eretyn had two sons. When they learned about their father's death, they vowed to take revenge on Mazan.
One day, the two of them attacked Mazan while he was riding across the steppe. Sneaking up from behind, they stabbed him with sharp daggers and threw him dead into a deep well.
When we drove past the hoton where Mazan lived, they began to boast about how Mazan had been killed.
We laughed at them.
“In vain,” they say, “we wasted our time, our daggers were dull.” For the hero Mazan, at night, when the stars appear in the sky, all the wounds shrink and heal on their own. That’s why he is called: “Mazan, son of Ochir, who comes to life when the stars appear completely in the sky.” Soon he will crawl out of the well. At first he will be very weak, like a newborn camel. In an hour it will be filled with heroic strength again. Then you won't fare well in a fair fight. Better get away quickly.
The brothers drove off, conferred, and headed back on their way.
The night has come. The stars are shining brightly in the sky. The brothers drove up to the well and saw that Mazan had come to life, was climbing out of the well, not yet strong enough.
The brothers rushed to Mazan, grabbed him, killed him again, cut him into pieces, and scattered his body in different places.
This is how the brave batar Mazan died.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru