Shurale Fairy Tale

Long ago, in a village on the banks of the Volga, there lived a carpenter named Batyr. He was the best craftsman for miles around: he made carts, carved doors and built cradles for babies. His hands were skilful, and his mind was even quicker than his hands.

One autumn, just before winter, the carpenter needed a great deal of firewood. He harnessed his horse, tucked his axe into his belt and drove into the deep forest. The old men of the village warned him, "Don't stay in the forest after dark. Shurale lives there. He tickles people until they laugh so hard they fall down with no strength left."

"I am not afraid, grandfathers. Anyone with a good head on his shoulders can get out of any trouble," laughed the carpenter, and off he went.

In the forest the trees rose up to the sky, and the sunlight barely reached the ground. The carpenter found a huge fallen oak and began to split it. His axe rang out, and the echo carried far through the trees. He hammered a wooden wedge into the log to widen the crack.

The sun went down and darkness covered the forest. Suddenly someone giggled in the bushes. The carpenter turned round and saw a strange creature. It was as tall as a man, covered in black fur, with a crooked horn on its forehead. Its fingers were long and thin, like twigs. It was Shurale.

"Hee-hee-hee! Hello, human!" said Shurale. "I am bored all alone in the forest. Let's play a tickling game. Whoever falls down laughing first is the loser." And he wiggled his long fingers and crept closer and closer.

The carpenter's heart was pounding, but he did not show it. "We can play. But I am tired, and it is only fun to play with someone really strong. First help me: this log is very tough, and I can't split it. I can see your fingers are long and strong," he said.

Now Shurale loved to show off. "Of course they are strong! What do I do?" he asked. "Put your fingers into this crack and pull the log apart, and I will pull out the wedge," said the carpenter.

Shurale pushed all ten fingers into the crack and pulled with all his might. At that very moment the carpenter struck the wedge with his axe. The wedge flew out, and the log snapped shut with a crack. Shurale's fingers were caught fast.

"Ow-ow-ow! Let me go! My fingers hurt!" howled Shurale. But the carpenter calmly loaded his firewood onto the cart. "Come back tomorrow morning, and I'll let you go," he said.

"Wait! What is your name? Tomorrow I'll call my brothers, and we will find you!" shouted Shurale. The carpenter smiled. "My name is Last Year." He flicked the reins and drove away.

All night long Shurale shrieked through the forest, "Help! Last Year has caught my fingers! Last Year caught me!" The other forest spirits heard the noise and came running from every side.

"Who did you say caught you?" they asked. "Last Year! Last Year caught me!" wailed Shurale. His brothers looked at each other and burst out laughing. "If you were caught last year, why are you shouting today? What's past is past!" And they went back to their thickets without helping him.

In the morning the sun rose, the log dried out and the crack opened a little. With great difficulty Shurale pulled his fingers free and ran away into the deepest part of the forest. Since then he has never come near people.

The carpenter went back to the village and told everyone what had happened. The old men shook their heads and laughed. "It is true: wits win, not strength." And ever since, in Tatar villages, children are told the tale of Shurale to teach them to be clever.