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Simana’s Diaries -10 – Spring Festival
Oba felt as if it had been reborn.
winter rose from inside the tents; the scent of smoky herbs smoldering in the hearths mingled with the sky and found refuge in the mountains.
dawn, the women stepped out in front of the tents. They placed their milk pots on the hearths, buried the red meat in cool stone pits, and sorted the herbs while combing the children’s hair.
men had long since set out—some to hunt, others to keep watch. The clatter of horses’ hooves traced circles around the encampment, awakening the heart of the earth.
children, meanwhile, lived between play and prayer. For every stone, every bird, every stinging nettle was a symbol.
That is why no breath in the camp was ordinary; every breath was as conscious as a song, as simple as a prayer.
That day, the spring festival was to be held. The Altai people would celebrate the bounty of Mother Umay. Kımız would be drunk, meat would be roasted, and fires would be lit. The women would wear red, and the men would wear green.
But that morning, a quiet sob rose from a tent at the northern edge of the camp.
young couple’s child had been burning with fever for three days. The child wouldn’t drink water or open its eyes. The women whispered among themselves, and the men bowed their heads. Then one of them knocked on the door of the Başkam’s tent.
Tüleç stepped outside, even the wind fell silent. No one said a word to him; there was no need. For the chief was a man who understood without being told.
He put on his pale blue, fur-trimmed caftan and slung his drum over his shoulder. He tied the small amulet, made from a grizzly bear’s tooth, around his waist. And he walked silently to the child’s tent.
Simana was sitting on the rocks that morning. Başkam’s gait seemed different to her. With every step, the ground seemed to grow lighter.
She got up too; she followed him, silently, like a shadow. Behind the tent, she slipped among the kneeling women. She didn’t bow her head, but there was respect in her eyes.
Başkam sat down at the child’s bedside. The mother was holding the child’s hand but wasn’t crying; because at that moment, to cry would mean closing a door.
Tüleç closed his eyes and began to play his drum softly. With each beat, the atmosphere in the tent shifted, and time seemed to stand still. He held a birch branch over the fire, then gently tapped the child’s skin with it.
Simana, but this time not just with his eyes. It was as if he were hearing not with his ears, but with his soul.
Başkam’s lips didn’t move, but his words fell into her heart like drops of water:
“O spirit, do not return to where you came from.
yet.
This body does not want to let you go.
Erlik Khan, give us back this spirit.”
of the drum touched the child’s forehead. Simana realized for the first time: The prayer had no sound, but it had weight.
ritual ended, Tüleç quietly walked out. He didn’t say a word. But as Simana followed him, she thought:
“He isn’t summoning a spirit…
He’s persuading the heavens.
And one day, I will do this with that understanding.”
evening, the child’s fever had subsided. That night, the people of the camp celebrated not just spring, but life itself.
