Chapter IX

In the morning when
The bright sun of the day was rising,
When the half of it had risen
And the other had not yet,
[Geser] quickly sprang up to his feet.

He washed
His face and hands.
On the silver patterned table
The best meals were put,
On the shining silver table

Of seventy delicious meals
The most delicious were put,
Of ninety tasty dishes
The tastiest were put.
They ate this and that,

They spoke of this and that,
On the surface of pure water
Foam came out - so long they were talking,
On the surface of flat stone
Grass grew up - so long they were talking.

They talked recollecting
What was in the earlier days,
They talked recollecting
What was in the past days.
“For already eight months

We haven’t counted the herds.
Maybe, our wonderful horses
Have become the food for wolves?
Maybe, they have become the bag of a thief
Who creeps like a shadow?”

Having said this [Geser] asked to call
The eldest [two]
Of the thirty two bators.
The eldest [two]
Of the thirty two bators

Came and asked:
“Abai Geser the Mighty,
What did you call us for?”
“For already eight months
We haven’t been counting

Our ten thousand horses
Grazing on the northern slopes.
Two mighty heroes of mine,
Take two of your horses,
And go,

I have lost count somehow!”
Those two
Mighty heroes went out.
They led out
From the black iron enclosure

Light-grey white-muzzled horses
On whom
They used to go round herds.
They put on horses
Blankets with silver lining,

They put on them
The saddles with silver decorations,
They fastened cruppers
Decorated with silver.
They tightened girths made up of twenty belts

So that the horses drew themselves up,
They tightened girths made up of ten belts
So that they braced themselves up.
Having fit them out
Both put on coats-degels

Made of  sheepskin.
Brought out from the barn
Covered with silver
Two good ropes and keeping them
By their right hands drew them along.

From home northward
Along the heroes’ good road
They decided to gallop
And along the smooth and beaten road
They decided to go at a trot.

They sprang up with a jump
On their two light-grey horses
And turning them from home northward
Galloped
Along the bator’s good road.

They reached the northern slopes
Of the Altai - the great land,
Reached the spurs
Of the Khukhei - the great land.
With loud cries

They drove together
The herds of  horses.
They drove them together counting,
Clapping the nice ends of their coats.
They got them together in a cape

Of the rough yellow sea,
They got them together in a gorge on the shore
Of  the rough black sea.
They drove them to the foot
Of  the high Khatan mountain.

Three days and nights running
They counted without writing and failed,
After that taking notes
On spotted and dotted paper
They began to count again.

They counted without missing
A single foal from an old mare,
They counted without missing
A single foal from a young mare,
They took into account all,