Степи Казахстана
How to sing of the immense
expanses what words to find in order to tell about the pale steppe beauty about
the sincere generosity of my people about its age-old wisdom and
kindness?
…According to an ancient
legend in immemorial times the great Kazakh steppe was stroken by an
unprecedented drought people hunger and death. There remained nothing living in
the steppe everything around was dead. A lonely traveler who lost his way could
neither slake his thirst satisfy his hunger. Only in one hearth fire hardly
gleamed a sure sign of life. An emaciated old man welcomed the guest with kind
words and offered him the rests of a thin
soup.
The stranger was astonished
by his action because the old man welcomed him as the dearest guest giving him
his last food thereby dooming himself to sure death. But being a stranger in
this steppe he couldn t know that the old man couldn t act otherwise couldn t
break the sacred law of hospitality.
Yes it s legend but what a
deep meaning is concealed in it what a selfless goodness and unselfishness it
goes about…
The steppe is the keeper
of age-old folk customs the treasury of wisdom of all generations which
lived here. The steppe does never disclose its secrets to the weak unimaginated
ungifted it always tries its sons with severe snouw-storms biting merciless
winds heavy showering heat thirst endless distances.
In the boundless steppes one
often comes across dzhantak a leguminous plant (Alhagi) which endures intense
heat of about 60 C and sand-storms because the length of its roots reaches 40
m.In order to live in the steppe and not be a stranger in it the man must also
take here deep roots which will give him strength and faith.
…The Kazakh people will never
forget how the ancient town Otrar which long months resisted the iron hordes of
the bloody Genghiz-Khan was seized. A traitor the son of a man respected by
everyone opened the town s gates. But how could a viper be born from a falcon?
As it turned out he has been taken far away from his native town as a boy and
returned as a grown man not remembering his kinship not knowing its customs.
The steppe is our great
teacher. Since olden days our fate is shaped in our native land. If Your land
where You have barefoot run all over every nook isn t dear toYou if You don t
honour the laws of Your people and don t love Your home then You live for
nothing on earth: Your heart will shrivel You soul will become callous and Your
land will never reward You with its bounties beauty and abundance.
Dear reader open this
album and You will see boundless blue distances floods of rivers and lakes
snow-white mountain peaks blooming gardens and tilled fileds You will hear the
dombra s low melodies about the beauty of the Kazakhstan steppe about the
kindness and generosity of my people.
Ученика 10 А
Класса Торопчанина Андрея