Aldar Kose and Shykbermes Shyghaiбай Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, in an ancient era, there was a rich man named Shykbermes Shyghaybay. He had a well-kept herd of livestock. His heart was content. Shykbermes Shyghaybay would never host anyone in his home, and if he did, he wouldn’t offer them any food. He was even more miserly than stone, never satisfied even when he was full. Whenever someone visited his home, his response was:

— "Get out, hey!" — and from then on, people began to call him Shyghaybay. There wasn’t a place where the name Shykbermes Shyghaybay was unheard of. No one could escape hearing his "Get out, hey!" Many who tried to taste even a bit of food from Shyghaybay ended up disappointed. The reputation of Aladar the Trickster spread far and wide, with the saying that there was no one Aladar couldn’t fool. People would say, “No matter how clever Aladar is, he can’t trick Shykbermes Shyghaybay.” This word reached Aladar, and he too heard of Shykbermes Shyghaybay.

— "If I don’t make Shykbermes Shyghaybay a wealthy man, may my name be forgotten!" — Aladar declared, and set off on his journey. He traveled day and night, and eventually reached the solitary home of Shyghaybay, who lived far from the village. Curious, he tied his horse far away and stealthily peeked through the window. He saw Shyghaybay cutting meat, his wife kneading dough, his concubine cooking, and his daughter plucking feathers from a crane. “If I don’t get to taste something from here, may Aladar’s name be cursed,” he thought, and cheerfully exclaimed:

 — "Good evening!" — as he entered. They were quick to react; just as Aladar was finishing his greeting, they hid everything they were holding: Shyghaybay with the meat, the wife with the dough, the daughter with the dress she was sewing, and the concubine with the ladle. Acting as if they knew nothing, they went about their business casually. "Ah, you’ve truly become cunning; you’re a steadfast trickster," thought Aladar to himself. After exchanging greetings and shaking hands, he made himself comfortable at the front.

— "You seem clever, are you the one who has deceived everyone? You’re quick on your feet! Are you a scoundrel who has become brazen? Even if you are clever or scoundrelly, you won’t be able to taste anything from me," said Shyghaybay inwardly.

— "Where have you been wandering? Where are you going? What have you learned or heard?" asked Shyghaybay. Aladar replied, raising his voice and smiling.

 — "I’ve seen much. On my way here, I saw a big yellow snake, as thick as the meat you have under you."

I didn’t add or take away,

To be honest, I won’t hide:

I struck it with a stone,

As big as the head of the slave beneath you.

The meat was kneaded,

Like the bread under the wife.

If it’s a lie, let my beard be pulled,

Like the crane under the girl.

I’ve seen all of this,

Without stealing your meal.

After saying this, Shyghaybay exclaimed:

— "May fire strike your tongue!" — and he threw away the meat he was holding.

— "May your tongue be cut!" — shouted the wife and discarded the bread.

— "May your jaw break!" — yelled the concubine, tossing the ladle aside.

— "May your belly be full!" — shouted the daughter, throwing away the crane.

 — "Take the meat, wife," said Shyghaybay with an air of resignation. The wife put food in the pot, saying,

 — "Let my pot cook for five months." —

— "Let me sit for ten months!" — said Aladar, taking off his boots.

— "Next year, I’ll wear the skin of a mare," — he settled comfortably at the front. The pot boiled all night but was never taken off the fire. Aladar stayed there. "When will this scoundrel go to bed?" he thought, watching quietly as Shyghaybay also sat there. Finally, unable to withstand the fatigue of sleep:

— "Hey, old lady, make the bed!" — he said. The wife prepared the bed. While the household slept, Aladar got up, took the meat from the pot, and replaced it with a piece of cloth. At one point, Shyghaybay woke up and whispered to his wife:

— "This dog must have fallen asleep. Quickly bring down our food. This dog didn’t let us eat at the right time." The wife brought the food down in the dark. Shyghaybay took a knife and,

— "Sleep, my boy, sleep! This is your punishment!" — he said, shoving a piece of food into his mouth, but it wouldn’t go through his teeth. He tried this way and that, but it didn’t work.

— "What happened to the meat? It’s all sinew!" — he scolded his wife. He became frustrated and asked for fat. Eventually, realizing it was Aladar’s doing, he reluctantly went to bed hungry. The next morning, Shyghaybay planned to leave, telling his wife not to give any food to guests without my permission. His wife, taking the bread off the fire, slipped it into Shyghaybay’s shirt. Seeing this, Aladar rushed out.

 — "Oh, dear rich man! Will we meet again? Let’s say goodbye to each other in the way of friends according to Kazakh tradition," — he said, embracing Shyghaybay. The hot bread burned Shyghaybay’s chest.

 — "Alright, enough of this!" — he said, squeezing harder.

— "Oh, let this dog eat what a dog eats! Here!" he threw the bread from his shirt.

— "Ah, dear rich man, rather than let a dog eat it, I’ll eat it," — Aladar said, grabbing the bread. Shyghaybay left in hunger. The next day, when he was about to set off again, he told his wife to fill a sack with buttermilk and to hide it from him. As he was getting ready to leave, Aladar said:

— "Dear rich man, I’ll probably be on my way until you arrive, let me greet you," and with that, he embraced him, pressing against the sack. The buttermilk spilled, causing a commotion for Shyghaybay. Reluctantly, he handed the sack to Aladar, who again left without food. Unable to escape from Aladar, Shyghaybay decided to slaughter his horse. Learning of this, Aladar went to the horse. Next to his horse stood Shyghaybay's horse. Except for the mark on his horse’s forehead, there was no difference between the two. "If there’s any harm to be done, let it fall upon him," he thought, and smeared the raw dung of a cow on his horse’s forehead, then lost it, while he marked Shyghaybay’s horse with chalk, turning it into a white horse. He then returned to his place and fell asleep. Knowing that it was Aladar who had eaten the first day’s meat, anger surged within him: "Get up, you scoundrel!" he said. Aladar, thinking he was asleep, stepped outside and cut Aladar's horse.

— "Here’s your punishment!" — he said, pleased with what he had done, and went back to bed, falling asleep. In the morning, Shyghaybay got up and said to Aladar:

 — "This old horse is dead. It must have been yours that burst. Poor fellow, what kind of person are you to leave your horse while tending the pot!" — he laughed loudly.

— Aladar stood up:

— "What kind of white horse? If it’s a dung-white horse, it must be mine; if it’s a chalk-white horse, it must be yours," he replied. Shyghaybay realized that it was the divine punishment and rushed out. When he ran over, he found it was indeed the dead chalk-white horse. Enraged, Shyghaybay came to Aladar and said:

— "You lost your horse, scoundrel! I will never see you again!" he exclaimed, and went outside. As soon as he stepped outside, he told his wife:

— "Hurry up and get ready!" Shyghaybay went far away, and when he reached the ground, Aladar said:

— "My boots have torn, and I’m walking in a slant. Give me your horse!" Shyghaybay refused to give it. Aladar wouldn't let go: Finally, when it became impossible:

— "Ah, take it if you will, you fool! Just lose sight of me, you scoundrel," he said. Aladar stayed there laughing. After Shyghaybay left, he ran to his wife:

— "Oh, girl, get Bizbik dressed!" he said.

— "Why's that?"

 — "I’ve made an agreement with the rich man; I’m going to take your daughter."

— "Go away, scoundrel! Would the rich man give you his daughter?" she said.

— "Otherwise, let your own ears hear!" he shouted, running outside and calling after the faraway rich man:

— "Hey, rich man! This wife won’t give us Bizbik!"

— "Hey, wife! Give us Bizbik! Get rid of that scoundrel’s eyes!" the rich man shouted.

— "Did you hear that?" — Aladar asked the woman standing beside him.

— "Has this old dog gone mad? Has he gone mad giving away the daughter to a scoundrel who has ruined the country?" the woman wondered. Did Aladar care what anyone said? Without yielding to any nonsense, he packed up the dowry, and made the girl mount the horse, declaring, "This is how Aladar plays his games," and rode off to his home.