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Simana’s Diaries – 12 – Kambaksı Toy
night and day touch, just as the stars begin to emerge from the embrace of the sky…
mountains. The fire’s tongue carried a call; it seemed to burn to pry open an invisible door.
camp had gathered in a circle around the fire. There were neither breaths nor whispers in the air.
The earth was silent, like the scab of an old wound. Even the wind had retreated, carrying only the scent of incense.
moon hung in the sky like the quiet smile of a Turkmen girl, watching what was to come.
Nine men and nine women were lined up on the north and south sides of the circle. Their heads were bowed; for to raise one’s eyes now would be to attempt to pierce a secret.
And right in the center of the circle… Simana.
neither fear nor self-importance. For she had long since walked past both fear and praise.
Her nineteen-year-old body stood as dignified as if it were carrying a spirit hundreds of years old.
fire’s glow struck her face, the marks on her dark skin shifted, transforming into small shadows and black specks; her hair moved slowly in the wind. Her eyes were both calm and trembling with a shiver she could not hide.
That night, the Kambaksi Toy had begun.
Kam candidate’s first oath, the first drumbeat, the first trance…
Everything would be completed at the end of nine days—right here, tonight.
Chief Tüleç stood behind Simana. He wore a sable shoulder cape and a conical hat adorned with silver rings symbolizing the sky…
slender fingers, he set the drum—made of deer hide—on the ground.
that drum had opened the door to the spirits, sent off the dead, and awakened the living.
But tonight it would bear witness to a very different birth: the birth of a shaman.
Simana hadn’t eaten for days; she had only drunk water and bitter tea brewed from birch bark, waited, and delved deeper into herself.
past three nights, she had been having the same dream:
A being would reveal only its eyes to her, then walk away without saying a word.
And when Simana awoke, she found an indescribable ache right in the center of her chest.
This morning, her body felt light, but her head was heavy. Her tongue was dry, and her heart felt as if it were soaked in blood. The Chief had spoken only one sentence to her:
“Today, we will lay the old you to rest in the earth.
And a new voice will rise from your body.”
ninth day came, three lines were drawn on Simana’s forehead with black soot from incense:
One for birth, one for death, and one for the cycle between the sky and the spirit.
And when the drum began to sound, there was not a single person left who did not feel the sky shifting.
Simana closed her eyes.
mountain was silent. The fire was silent. The world was silent.
Only the drum was beating—like a wave rising from the heart.
to tremble. Her vision darkened. Her thighs tensed, and her hands curled uncontrollably. A sound—meaningless, yet touching the very essence of the world—poured from her chest.
A moan…
A song…
A scream…
A labor pang…
Then, suddenly, he leaped to his feet. A hoarse roar like that of a wild animal burst from his chest. He jumped. As his feet pounded the ground, the air inside the tent trembled.
arms shot up toward the sky, his body arched. Foam dripped from his mouth. And finally, he collapsed to the ground.
Oba held his breath.
Başkam approached with heavy steps.
Simana’s forehead.
And he spoke just once:
gone.”
spirits now…”
No one cried.
Because this was not a death.
It was the moment when the body was left behind—the moment a spirit broke free from its shell, slipped into the heavens, and opened the door to the first trance.
