The sun has risen.
The tops of mountains,
Dales and rivers -
Everything is light.
The bright summer day
Generously caresses Khushalka.
Everything alive in the world
Is dancing, jumping and glad.
Everything alive is dancing, riding
In the dense forests
The birds have started their song,
Girls, as if they were swans
Came down to the stream.
Only in one spacious house
There is not a sound. Complete calmness.
There is a young wife
With her head down, sitting pale.
Takhtaman after his early meal
Left for his field at dawn.
His wife has been left alone to pine
And her melancholy is endless.

* * *

Married against her will,
Through her parents’ decision…
The fiancé chosen by you
Is not for her happiness.
Without taking pity upon your daughter
A long way from yourselves,
You have passed her to the hands
Of a strict unknown person.
And now she is suffering
And feels no joy.
The old husband jeers at her
As if she were a dog.
Oh! Why have you parted me
So cruelly with my sweetheart?
Oh! Why hadn’t I ruined my head
Before I came here?
Oh! Why should I live under one roof
With an enemy so cruel?
Shouldn’t I commit suicide?
How should I endure all this?

* * *

Married against my will, -
I won’t find any happiness here.
Yes, the parents’ will causes
Only misfortune and trouble.
Married against my will, -
And the world around me is gloomy.
It is through you, my dear parents,
That my sweetheart is so lonely.
Married against my will, -
And my pride is trampled.
Regarding the parents’ will,
I have worn myself out with sufferings.
Married against my will, -
My life is full of pain and torment.
Because of my parents’ short-sightedness
What will I get? What shall I do?
Married against my will, -
I won’t find any happiness here.
Yes, the parents’ will causes
Only misfortune and trouble.

* * *

“But my sweetheart lives in Silbi,
Might I find defence in him?
Might he with his powerful hands
Punish this enemy of mine?
No, I’d better ruin the villain
Rather than commit suicide.
Rather than endure all the tortures
I will kill Takhtaman.
But, is there enough strength?
How will I escape from here?
Oh! My pulekh, please, do help me!
What should I do? I’m all burning through…
Vanish, villain, otherwise I will die!
Hell torments make the life unbearable.
Please, fulfil your task to me,
Please, serve your duty, poison!”
This is how Narspi is suffering,
All her inner is aching.
Her angry decision gave birth
To a horrible intention.

* * *

The hot sun is playing,
Raising to zenith
And quietly tending to noon.
It’s glittering as a flame.
The world is shining, rejoicing;
Everything is singing and buzzing.
Narspi is sitting in the house, sobbing,
Her heart is being torn.
Here is little Sentti
Riding the yoke
Gaily and noisy
To visit his aunt.
He is driving on his brave horse
With a fresh writhe;
And he touches his aunt
As if by accident with a little kick.
But even he stopped playing
With her, puzzled.
And rode quickly away
His horse along the street.

* * *

The young woman is blowing and spitting
Stirring her soup;
The fire is burning under the pot
And coiling like a snake.
“Across seven seas
An old woman Shabadan is coming.
Do blow, do spit in the soup, -
Let Takhtaman die!
Across approximately sixty islands
Copper chair is jumping.
Come quicker, chair,
Let Takhtaman die!
On thirty-one hills
Let the soup boil
In a copper pot.
Let the snake boil in it;
Let the angry husband boil in it!”
The young woman is blowing and spitting
Stirring her soup.
The deadly soup is boiling
And hissing as a snake.

* * *

In the dark late dusk
The husband returned from the field.
On the table
The soup is steaming.
Takhtaman took a spoon,
Sat down at the table.
“The soup is very tasty today!”
He said to his wife.
And then, having flashed his eyes,
He showed his wife a big fist:
“The soup is tasty, sit at the table
And eat it. Come on!” shouted he.
- It’s all right, I’ll eat later
I am not too hungry. –
And Narspi could not bear it any more
And off she went.
She is sitting at the passage,
Tears are dropping on the ground
Takhtaman goes on eating
And becomes unsteady as if drunken.

* * *

Eat, eat, Takhtaman,
Your poisoned soup.
From now on you are not
The husband to your wife.
You have perished forever,
You are not the master of the world.
“Hey, Narspi, come in quickly!
I feel like sleeping, make my bed.
I have ploughed and got tired,
All my inside’s burning in fire.
I have washed down the soup with water
And it tasted like wine”.
Now, Narspi has come obediently.
The husband is sitting on the floor.
He is squirming from pain
Choking and shivering.
The wife has made him the bed,
Helped him into it.
He trembled all over
And his soul left him.

* * *

One more life vanished
For all the evils done.
The man has calmed down forever,
His heart ceased beating.
The woman is afraid
Of the table and chairs.
They are looking with pity
At their master’s cold body.
Night has come.
Covered the house with haze.
Its long hands
Frighten Narspi so much.
The Chuvash is gone
He can’t get up from his bed.
He can’t feed any more
His hungry cattle.
The horses are neighing hungry
After the day’s plough; alas!
You, my poor orphans,
Will never see your master again.

* * *

Beyond the outskirts there’s a dense forest
Rustling its leafs,
Above it there’s wind
Playing with a midnight star.
Khushalkian Chuvashes
Have been sleeping for a long time.
Only the owl is calling
Flying across the threshing-floor.
The moon appeared behind the forest
And it is protruding like a white horn.
Very quietly and slowly
Narspi has stepped over the threshold.
As a shade she crept over the fence
To the threshing-floor.
She left the village
And rushed into the forest.
The moon wishing to watch her
Was following her long.
And the forest whispered something
After Narspi went away.

* * *

Narspi is running, rushing
Quicker and quicker along the dark forest.
The forest has been paralysed.
It’s so terrifying, so weird in the thicket.
Awkward trees are waving
With their twigs and leaves.
They continually block Narspi’s way
In the thick darkness.
Arziouris are playing and jumping
And are trying to catch her,
And now and then they
Protrude their long hands to Narspi.
A sudden wind has come.
The forest is raging:
“Takhtaman, hold your wife!”-
Cries out the wind.
“Here she is coming, the villain!
The husband, get hold of your wife!”
And as if there were thirty-three shaitans
The forest is howling: Uh-Uh-Uh!

* * *

Sentti got up, put on his clothes
And ran out to play.
Having straddled the yoke,
Rushed to his aunt.
On arriving he discovers she is out.
The uncle is sleeping still
He can’t wake him up.
The boy is standing puzzled.
Now enters some adult
And stops paralysed
For a minute he keeps silent,
Then quickly goes away.
In a little while the house
Becomes crowded with people:
“How did our Takhtaman die?
Where did Narspi disappear?”
You may ask many times,
But the dead body will say nothing.
Narspi is in the forest,
You will not find her.