Not far from Lake Ritsa lived two brothers. The eldest was called Sharny-yatsva - morning star: he was born at dawn. The younger brother was born in the evening, and therefore his name was Khulpy-yatsva - the evening star. Both brothers became famous hunters.
One day the brothers went down to the gorge to rest by the stream in the midday heat. Suddenly a deer crossed their path. Shar-py-yatsva followed the tracks of the deer and chased it for so long that the sun had already begun to set. Only then did he notice that he was climbing the highest mountain.
Night quickly fell and covered the tracks of the deer in darkness. Caught on a steep slope at night, Sharpy-yatsva firmly grasped the stone, not daring to either rise higher or descend in the darkness. And he sang about his misfortune, hoping that somewhere below his brother would hear him, and maybe even help him somehow.
Khulpy-yatsva heard his brother’s song, no matter how much he thought, he could not think of anything to help him. However, he realized that if sleep overcame his brother, he would not be able to stay on the ledge, would fall and die.
“I won’t let him sleep until the morning!” - he decided and sang:
- You, Sharpy-yatsva, are sitting alone on a rock. The deer has outsmarted you, the deer has disappeared. And I will overtake him and shoot him. By morning you will fall down and will not see the morning dawn, and the stars will not light up for you.
Hearing this song, the elder brother began to rush about in anguish.
“Khulpy-yatsva,” he shouted in anger, “I’m still alive!” The morning will come, the mountains will turn red, I will go down and pay you back for your mockery!
And Khulpy-yatsva sang even louder:
“You won’t see either the sun or the mountains; you’ll fall asleep and fall off a cliff like a stone.” Having learned about your death, your wife will not shed even a tear. She is a chamois, she needs a gazelle who is not afraid of the dark night on a high mountain. This gazelle is me!
Sharpy-yatsva grabbed the rock ledge tighter. Grinding his teeth, he shouted to his brother:
- Khulpy-yatsva, shut up! If it weren't so dark, I would have shot you. You forgot that I have a son, he will avenge me.
Khulpy-yatsva laughed:
- Your son, Sharpy-yatsva! I will make him a swineherd. Sharpy-yatsv-a groaned with rage. The mountains seemed to tremble in response to him. He seemed rooted to the rock, angry and hateful. And Khulpy-yatsva kept playing the flute and tormented his brother with songs, one more sarcastic than the other, until dawn. So Sharpy-yatsva did not doze off, but at dawn he safely descended from the cliff.
He decided to contain his anger for now and silently followed his brother. Khulpy-yatsva was glad that he saved his brother. Sharpy-yatsva was gloomy, evil thoughts tormented his heart: “If I had fallen from a cliff, I would have died. Then Khulpy-yatsva would have fulfilled everything he sang to me about at night. Even now he is happy and proud.” When they approached the river through which the log was thrown, Sharpy-yatsva could no longer restrain himself - he let Khulpy-yatsva pass ahead and shot him in the head. Khulpy-yatsva collapsed into the seething stream, staining its foam with his blood. The fast current picked up the corpse and carried it far, far away into the arms of the sea. Before Sharpy-yatsva’s eyes, only a vague glimpse of his face, on which a smile froze, flashed.
Sharpy-yatsva came home, did not look at his wife, did not bow to his mother.
-Where is Khulpy-yatsva? - asked the mother. Sharpy-Yatsva grinned:
– He sits there, under the mountain, and sings his funny songs.
The mother did not believe it:
- Tell me, Sharpy-yatsva, where did you leave it?
“He’s there, under the mountain... playing the pipe.”
Malice sparkled in the son's eyes, and the mother's heart sensed trouble.
-Where is your brother? Tell me, what happened to him? – she asked again.
Then Sharpy-yatsva shouted:
- He is not my brother, but a traitor! I shot him...
And he told his mother about everything: how night overtook him on the rock, how he called his brother for help and how Khulpy-yatsva mocked him.
– And you didn’t understand why your brother sang such songs to you? - said the mother, lowering her head.
- No, I understood everything and did what my heart told me.
-Your heart is bad. And your mind is no better,” she responded. “You have forgotten what the people say—the tongue is the interpreter of the heart.” You didn’t think about what your brother sang to you, you didn’t ask him...
Sharpy-yatsva did not sleep all night, and in the morning, taking a flint, he went to the river where he shot his brother. He stood on a log for a long time and looked at the seething stream. It seemed to him that he again saw his dead brother with a frozen smile on his face, and the current carried the corpse further and further into the arms of the sea. Then Sharpy-yatsva put the barrel of the flintlock to his forehead and fired - the stormy stream indifferently accepted his dead body.
The mother took a deep breath when she learned of the death of her second son and said:
“Everything that people take out of their homes when the morning star goes out, let it be your share, Sharpy-yatsva!” And all the good things that people bring into the house when the evening star rises, let it be your share, Khulpy-yatsva!
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru