Throughout his long life, Meel-baatar competed in wrestling with many daring and strong bators, but his back never touched the ground - no one could overcome him. Bator's native people were proud of his strength, intelligence and ingenuity. Next door lived another young, but boastful and envious bator, Eelen. Attacking other people's lands and killing off other people's livestock was the first occupation of this bator.
Having heard about the power and glory of Meel, the boastful bator decided to fight with his neighbor. To do this, he gathered three hundred warriors and moved with them to the homeland of Bator Mael. Arriving with the army at the border, Eelen-baatar informed the old bator through a messenger:
“They say you once beat my father. That's why I came to you with war. A young puppy is always toothy - a young bator is always strong. Try to resist me. I wait for an answer until the next sun, after which I immediately attack.”...
Meelbaatar calmly, as befits his years and experience, accepted the daring challenge and, in turn, sent an answer via messenger:
“If you want to measure your strength, let’s try.”
Having received the answer, Eelenbaatar muttered angrily:
“Yeah, that means you don’t feel sorry for your rotten yellow bones,” and set up many felt yurts in the wide Shamsha steppe and began to wait for dawn.
That same night Meelbaatar set out on a campaign against the enemy. The most amazing thing was that the old bator went to battle without an army. He took with him only one favorite bone bow and one well-feathered arrow with an iron tip. He also invited with him one of the best observant hunter-pathfinders. This is the entire army of the experienced Meel-bator.
The old bator and his scout walked for a long time along the wide Shamsha steppe, listening to the night rustling of the grass. Finally, they saw many lights. It is difficult to count how many there were, just as it is impossible to count a large herd of horses huddled together in the middle of the steppe. These were burning fires lit by the soldiers of Eelenbaatar.
“The bator of a foreign land brought a lot of troops. Can we cope? - asked the hunter-tracker, looking with alarm at the yellow lights of the fires, which the most experienced herdsman or shepherd could not count.
“Let’s try,” the glorious batar smiled mysteriously, “good shepherd dogs don’t count how many wolves attacked a flock of sheep, but grab the leader of the wolf pack by the throat, which then scatters... Listen to the old batar - go to the wide steppe of Shamsha, where the fires of warriors of a foreign land burn.” There, among many yurts, find the largest, most richly decorated yurt. In it, I think, Eelenbaatar himself rests. Tell him that I am asking him for tobacco for my pipe, because, in a hurry to go on a hike, I forgot my pouch at home. And at this time, take note of what someone else’s bator is like, how many inches his body is in length and width, in what place in his yurt he constantly sits, eating fatty lamb. Then you will find me on that northern mountain and tell me what you saw. Go, my friend, boldly...
Soon the scout was among many felt yurts. And I saw the largest and most richly decorated yurt, pointed, made of white felt. When he approached the yurt, he heard a powerful voice coming from behind the white felt. The scout measured the size of the yurt with his eyes. Its height was more than eight steps, its width more than sixteen. The guards allowed the scout into the yurt, since he was unarmed and well explained why he came to someone else's bator.
Eelen-baatar sat on white felt directly under the chimney, resting his shoulders on the slopes of the yurt. On both sides of the giant, yellow tea was boiling in two large cauldrons. Each boiler was manned by four servants. They served the bator cup after cup of tea, which he drained to the bottom in one mighty gulp.
The scout greeted and said:
– Our bator asked you for tobacco for acquaintance. While in a hurry to go on a hike, he forgot his pouch at home.
“So the old camel has decided to fight,” Eelenbaatar grinned, “well, give him my tobacco: let him smoke one more time before he dies, before his belly turns black.”
And the giant poured out strong red tobacco from his pouch.
The scout returned to his bator, who was waiting for him on the northern mountain, and reported in detail about everything he had seen. I did not forget to convey the boastful words of the bator of a foreign land.
“That’s what he is,” Meel-bator smiled calmly, “Well, let’s see whose belly turns black first...
And he turned to the scout-pathfinder:
“And now, my friend, go back, but crawl so that the guards of Eelenbaatar do not notice.” I think he ate a lot of mutton and is still drinking his yellow tea. I think he’ll drink ten more buckets before he falls asleep. We must hurry while he sits, leaning his shoulders on the ceiling of his yurt. Crawl to the yurt of Eelebaatar from the north side and strike a spark with a flint just opposite the backbone of the alien giant. After that, quickly run to the side, then listen to what will happen in the yurt...
The night became even darker when the ranger returned to the felt yurts of the enemies. The guards stood every ten steps, calling to each other in loud voices. But the dexterous tracker-hunter crawled on his stomach between the guards so that he did not break even one dry stalk in the grass. He approached the high yurt on the north side, took out a flint and struck a spark just opposite the spine of the giant, who was still sitting in his yurt, sipping tea and talking in a thunderous voice. As soon as the spark struck by the flint flashed, the scout jumped to the side and at the same moment heard the mighty whistle of an arrow. She flew in from the direction of the northern mountain, where Meel-baatar sat. The arrow pierced the white felt of the high yurt and at the same moment the scout heard the terrible voice of a giant inside the yurt:
- Enough! This is not the time to drink tea. I feel sharp and cold iron in my back. Where is it from? Sound the alarm!
There was a trumpet roar. Immediately there was a noise in the alien camp, screams of frightened people, neighing horses. The fires went out, and in complete darkness the warriors knocked each other down, sat on cows instead of war horses, grabbed logs of firewood instead of spears and arrows, put cauldrons on their heads instead of hats, in which they cooked the meat of looted cows and sheep all night...
Taking advantage of the turmoil, the brave scout-pathfinder left the encampment of the foreign army and came to the northern mountain to Meel-bator. He listened to his story and asked:
– Do your eyes and hands know no mistakes? Did you strike a spark with your flint right against the backbone of the braggart?
“Yes, my eye and hand do not know mistakes, venerable bator,” the famous hunter-pathfinder modestly answered.
- Enough! I believe you. My arrow flew with great force and accuracy. She did her job. The enemy will not come again.
And two glorious bators, filled with joy, descended from the northern mountain into a warm hollow. Here they untied their traveling bags. We cooked the best meat. We drank the strongest and most fragrant archi. Then we went to bed. Morning has come. A fresh north wind drove the remnants of black clouds in the direction from which the boastful Eelen-baatar, a lover of wars and other people’s goods, had come with his army.
“Climb that hill and see what our enemies are doing,” Meel-bator said to the faithful scout.
He climbed up the hill.
“I see that the yurts have been dismantled, and the warriors of a foreign land are leaving where they came from. At the site of the parking lot, only ash circles from the fires and a large red camel remained. It lies near the place where there was a high yurt of someone else’s bator.
“Let’s see what kind of camel they left there,” Meel-bator grinned and, together with the scout, headed towards the enemy’s camp. And then it turned out that it was not the big red camel lying in the steppe, but the dying Eelen-baatar himself. He was too heavy, and therefore the warriors, hurrying south in panic, threw their leader to be devoured by the wolves.
The enemy Bators, who had never seen each other before, met their eyes. Eelenbaatar rose on his elbows from the ground and said dully:
– Sedy Bator, I’ve heard a lot about you. They say that when you fight against the strongest, your back never touches the ground. Was it your arrow, shot from the top of the northern mountain, that pierced my back? You are old for years, and I thought that your hands and eyes have aged too. And in this I miscalculated. Why did you decide to kill me from a long distance?
- Why did you come here from far away? “You were looking for my death, but you found yours,” replied Meel-baatar.
“I’m a young man, I still need to live on a golden land.”
- If you wanted to live on a golden land, then why didn’t you live on your own land, but wanted to take away my land? Or did you feel cramped on the golden land?
- Let's say you're right, gray bator. But you were wrong when you shot your arrow at night, from afar, through the felt of my yurt. This is not according to the rules of battle...
Maelbaatar laughed.
- When you attacked our land, did you really ask us whether to attack or not? And after that, will we really consult with you on how to kill you?
Eelenbaatar, not finding anything to answer, closed his eyes.
“Take out your arrow...” he asked Mael-bator.
The gray-haired bator took the arrow out of the stranger’s back, after which he gave up the ghost.
So the glorious Meel-bator, with one mighty and well-aimed blow of an arrow, aimed in the darkness of the night at a spark carved by a flint, freed the earth from the invasion of a fierce enemy.
This is how old people talk about it.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru