The New Dominion

The following is a serial translation of Abdurehim Ötkür’s 1985 historical novel Oyghanghan Zemin, Chapter Two, pp. 54-60. New readers are encouraged to start from the beginning, Chapter One, Part One. This translation is presented for information and entertainment purposes only. New sections will be posted every Sunday, pending their completion and the satisfaction of the translator. It is also a work in progress - comments are welcome, especially on the (questionable) quality of the translation.

When we last left Xojiniyaz Palwan, he was about to explain how he ended up at the home of Alipbay…

2

This is what happened up until then in a place in Altay called Chinggil seven months after Tömür Xälpä was killed. As the reader may remember, when Tömür Xälpä went to Ürümchi in anticipation of Li Shufu’s deception, Xojiniyaz, sensing the tragedy of his end, has hurried off into the mountains [near Qumul] and lived in refuge in the dark valleys. Only one person, his brother-in-law Qurban, communicated with him. His mother and father, too, kept aware of his situation through this young man. However, King Shamäxsut’s notice concerning Xojiniyaz’s capture was spread all over the land of Qumul, so greedy people were on his heels, and, in the end, even the mountains of Qumul began to feel crowded. In the meantime, King Shamäxsut, saying “You have not found your son for me,” threw his father, Iminniyaz, in the palace’s dungeon. Iminniyaz was originally one of the simple shepherds in the palace’s service who took care of the “iron livestock” [breeding stock]. Because he was, himself, a clever, strong, and reputable man in that country, Shamäxsut took him in as his own hired hand, intending to take advantage of him. Not only had he been separated from his son while still alive, finally, Iminniyaz’s imprisonment caused pain like that of kicking the dead to Aysä Appaq, who came to be bedridden. Hearing this grave news, Xojiniyaz, his patience spent, said, “I am what I am” and came to desire to go before Shamäxsut himself. As his [Xojiniyaz's] son came to hear of these intentions through Qurban, Aysä Appaq said, “He should never think this way. What if he is discovered, then, fine, he will never stay alive. We’ve eaten what we had to eat, we’ve worn what we had to wear, now we’ll see the completion of our fates. Xojiniyaz is still young; wherever he goes, he should protect himself. We are content with him.”

After this, Qurban went into the mountains and invited Xojiniyaz to leave for Altay or Inner Mongolia. Xojiniyaz went to the country of Altay and found a place to be among the Kazakh people. He wanted to exchange his horse and head to Altay be way of Bariköl. Qurban had been his companion all the way up to the mountain slopes layered with ice all year around.

“Goodbye, younger brother, and peace until we meet again,” said Qurban at the base of a slope, wiping a tear from his eye. “My advice to you is, once again, once you have reached the interior of this country, leave that sticker [Qumul dialect slang, "rifle"] behind, that it won’t cause you trouble again.”

“Goodbye, older brother, don’t worry about me,” said Xojiniyaz, mounting his horse. “The say God loves the lonely.” Then, saying, “Place one kiss on the forehead of my son, Sädänsha,” he spurred his horse. A slender-footed, long-necked red-black wolf followed in his tracks. Finally, Xojiniyaz came to be traveling straight west on the footpath on the northern side of Bariköl. Although he had just told Qurban not to worry about him, that God loved the lonely, but, it must be because he had left his mother and father, his blood relations and homeland, part of his heart wanted to cry. Thinking of his own fate to come, tied up in thoughts from which he could not untangle himself, he did not sense how long a road he traveled. Even the soul-cutting early spring wind was unknown to him. Riding on like this, just as he was climbing a small hill, he saw a lone rider up ahead, came to his senses as if suddenly waking up, and began to observe the rider carefully. That lone rider was wearing a Kazakh tumaq pushed low on his head and a knotted leather cord tied around his waist. His emaciated brown horse seemed to be limping. He was, in any case, an observant man, as he turned around, sensing Xojiniyaz riding two hundred paces behind, became alarmed and stopped his horse.

“What kind of person could this be, traveling alone in the wilderness?” thought Xojiniyaz. “So, what should I do? Should I go to his side? Or…”

As though Xojiniyaz’s red-black horse was glad to have found such a companion at last, she neighed and quickened her steps. The rider greeted Xojiniyaz from a distance. He was a strong young man, about twenty-three or twenty-four, light-haired, with deep-set eyes, and he must have been afraid of the rifle on Xojiniyaz’s shoulder, as he tried to make himself appear extremely helpless. After Xojiniyaz saw this, without falling to excess suspicion, he began to converse with him in a friendly manner. The close relationship between the Uyghur and Kazakh languages was of great assistance to them. According to this young man, his name was Qamza, and he has come, it seems, from Altay to Bariköl to visit relatives. His work complete, he has returned to his native land. Xojiniyaz introduced himself with the name Ishaq and said that he had an older brother in a place called Chinggil and that, though he had never been there before, he was trying his luck at visiting him. In his own heart, he was glad that, having come to this Kazakh land that he had never before seen, he had ended up being a companion with a man of that very land. This happiness was reflected in his smiling face and gentle voice. Qamza, too, seeing this situation, felt at ease. Even when Xojiniyaz confessed that he had feared him to be a road-blocking highwayman, he laughed and said:

“I’m glad, too, to be a companion to a good man such as you. I’ll take you where you’re going myself. Come, let’s get out your näshwal [a form of narcotic].”

Xojiniyaz said he did not smoke näshwal.

“Do you have toqach [a small, round, hard loaf of bread]?” asked Qamza.

“Yes, but, if you eat it hard, it’ll get caught in your throad. If there was somewhere to bed down ahead of us, we could boil some tea and then eat it. I’m hungry, too,” said Xojiniyaz light-heartedly.

“Alright,” said Qamza, agreeing. “Behind that ridge, there’s a spring. Let’s boil some tea there and drink.”

Qamza’s brown mare was truly lame. So, Xojiniyaz was forced to reign in his red-brown horse as they rode. Qamza, riding one or two paces behind, ruminated as he looked at the dark red-brown horse. One of his eyes was on the horse, and the other was on the rifle. This rifle was a short five-barrel taken from the soldiers of Jian Daren in the war in the Aqchuq Valley [?], and it was the first time Qamza had seen such a rifle.

“Hey, Ishaq, you’ve got a nice rifle there. We won’t go hungry on the road, now,” said Qamza without taking his eyes from the rifle.

Xojiniyaz lied and said that he had borrowed the rifle from a relative to take it on the road and asked:

“Is there anything to shoot and eat on the way?”

Qamza said that there were game animals, such as deer, mountain sheep, and goats along the way and that even ferocious beasts like wolves, foxes, bears, and leopards were very many, and he fell into a long discussion of the Altay Mountains. The discussion became more lively as they came to the spring Qamza had mentioned and as they sat drinking the thick tea boiled in the kettle and eating the buttery toqach. The important this was, Qamza, as it turned out, was very familiar not only with Altay, but with Chöchäk. This was exactly what Xojiniyaz had been waiting for. In his turn, he persistently put forth questions, asking about that land’s climate, terrain, towns, and routes of travel in detail, and learned many things about the habits and traditions of the Kazakh people.

They traveled a few days along the road in this manner, with warm conversation and entertainments, and came to not even notice their tiredness. However, the way Qamza would steer away from places where people collected was suspicious. This tendency of Qamza’s seemed a bit strange to Xojiniyaz. On the other hand, he was happy that it was helpful to him, as well.

“Another half-day and we’ll reach the territory of Chinggil,” said Qamza when they had come to a thick woods. He then suggested that they sleep there that night and, the next day, travel on. Xojiniyaz acceded to this suggestion. Then, after they had lit a large campfire and fed themselves excellently on kebabs of roasted meat and strongly-infused tea, they staked their horses well and fell asleep, contented, by the fire. Only the calls of near and distant birds and Qamza’s snores broke the nighttime silence.

In the middle of the night, Xojiniyaz was suddenly awakened. Qamza, who had lain snoring at his side, was no longer in his place. “Qamza, Qamza,” called Xojiniyaz, but there was not a sound from anywhere. He stepped out of his bed and looked around. The dark red-black horse that had been tied to Qamza’s lame mare seemed to have disappeared. He also found that the rifle he had placed under the saddle upon which he had rested his head was gone.

“Hey, bastard, you ran off with my horse and rifle! They say, if you travel with evil, you’ll get stuck halfway down the road, and, oh my goodness, now what do I do?”