Simana’s Diaries

Simana’s Diaries – 13 – Kambaksı Toy 2

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Minutes passed… Perhaps hours… Or maybe just as much time as a dream measures; no one could know.

Finally, Simana opened her eyes. She took a deep breath; but this breath was less the breath of a weary body and more the first breath of a spirit newly arrived in the world.

She

slowly sat up.

Her

eyes seemed to be searching for someone, but she didn’t look at anyone’s face.

It was

as if, were she to look, everything she saw would remain bound to the earth, yet her gaze now rested on a very different realm of the heavens.

Başkam Tüleç placed a drum in front of him. That drum…

Carved from

untouched cedar wood, stretched with a hide torn from a deer’s body, and engraved with the exact same eye motif that Simana had drawn as a child.

It was

as if that eye had known this day years in advance.

Tüleç bowed three times. His voice was directed neither toward the camp nor toward Tengri.

It was directed

solely at Simana, in a tone soft enough for the spirit to hear:

“Your voice will resound like a drum.

The

spirits will recognize you.

But call out only to Tengri.

If

Tengri hears you,

Acun will not remain silent toward you.”

Simana knelt. This was less an act of surrender than an ancient, unseen pact with her destiny.

Başkam held out the mallet. At its tip was juniper bark, and around it, horsehair… The fabric of earth and sky had merged in the same handle.

Simana took the mallet. And with a trembling yet resonant voice, she spoke as if a door were opening on the mountain’s ridge:

“I, Simana, born of the earth’s silence, now swear this oath:

Shadow

of the wretched,

Mother

of the orphans,

To be the companion of

the fatherless…

To walk into dreams in the silence of the

night,

To seek the source of the voice echoing

in the sky…

To

whisper my secrets to the wind

of the steppe,

I vow before

Tengri.

To the deer-spirited mountains,

To the

eagle-eyed skies,

To the

silver-hued waters, I swear:

I will search for those lost

in the darkness.

I will be a voice for

forgotten names.

I will not leave their

spirits alone.

I will confront the shadow that swallows

fire.

I will look beyond the

silent gods.

Not

with lies, but with silence,

not

with fear but with compassion.

I am a shaman.

I

neither rule nor take.

I

merely carry:

The

spirit, the voice,

The prayer of

blood,

The hymn

of tears.”

And at that moment, the tribe whispered as one:

“Be blessed…

May you remain blessed…”

The

sky heard it too. For Simana was now the new voice, the new path, the new bridge between heaven and earth.

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