«IN THE CIRCLE OF KUNDUZ» Page #7

SIDOR:

(without retreating)

But still?

MONGOL:

(after thinking about it)

Gold! I gave him gold!

SIDOR:

(having played with feeling)

What kind of gold?!

MONGOL:

(serene)

The most ordinary!

Seven gold spools with a total weight of 30 grams.

SIDOR:

(excitedly)

Yes, you, Mongol, are a “luxury fraer”! At the time, eh?! Buryat Nouveau riche is dragging gold into the Army!

RUST:

(with confidence)

And how else to appease the foreman? Just like that!

KOSTYAN:

(incredulously)

He must be joking!

MONGOL:

(sincerely)

Not at all!

I gave him the spools that I took from home and secretly stored them in different places.

STRELA:

(astonished)

Isn't 30 grams of red gold too much for the foreman, eh?!

MONGOL:

(sincerely)

When I joined the army, I foresaw that gold would certainly come in handy for me. This September, unfortunately, I missed the “tailagan” of the closing of Heavenly Gates. Therefore, it is important for me to do it now.

You understand!

(he explains to his perplexed friends)

This piece of gold is nothing compared to my spiritual need to perform a ritual. It is akin to a breath of air, the will and the desire for life.

SIDOR:

(he sang amused)

“The fires in my furnaces don't burn at all, I can't keep a couple in the boilers”.

KOSTER:

(indignantly)

What a foreman, eh?!

SIDOR:

(with the stem)

What do you want?!

Life as it is! If “taylagan” is important for our mountain Buryat guy, then we need to help him let off steam, look, and we will break off some gold plate from his luxury.

RUST:

(with a smile)

Mongol, you have shocked us! Soviet guy, Komsomol member, master of sports in wrestling! The best graduate of the Ulan-Ude medical school! And on you!

KOSTYAN:

(ironically)

The best dental technician and goldsmith of Transbaikalia in the promised future turned out to be a primitive shaman.

SIDOR:

(shouting through laughter)

Dear mother! Perish, evil spirit!

STRELA:

(smiling)

But what about the ABC of all materialism, and then Marxism?! Mongol, are you a Komsomol member at all?!

The friends are laughing.

SIDOR:

(singing)

“He is an enemy of communism, he is, in general, an ascetic! Like everyone else abroad, he goes to pray, and his party card is stored somewhere”.

RUST:

(seriously)

Mongol! Did the foreman provide you with items for shamanic utensils?

SIDOR:

(with confidence)

And who else?! Where would our friend bug all this?! Yes, for 30 grams of red gold, the foreman himself would easily have dressed in a “Boo khoyag” and, putting a mayhabsh with branched horns on his head, he would have danced around the campfire, zealously beating a tambourine!

The friends take a sit around the fire. Mongol takes out of his pocket a harp, an oriental plucked musical instrument the size of a little longer than a matchbox, put it to his teeth and, rolling his eyes, with a light touch of the tip of his middle finger — back and forth, starts a fight on the thin metal tongue of the instrument, making a magical sound.

In the process, Mongol manipulates the lips, tongue and larynx, changing the tone of the bourdon sound and causing articulatory sounds such as: hey-ya, oh-ya, ai-ya, ai-ya. By stretching and interrupting the breath, he lengthens and shortens the sound. Pressing during the fight with the fingertips on the diaphragm causes it to echo.

Mongol takes a tambourine (Uzbek doira) in his hands and, before starting the ritual, undertakes to enlighten the ignorant in shamanic knowledge.

MONGOL:

(with a serious look)

To expel hostile spirits and heal myself, first of all, I must infuse them into myself.

This is called “Ongod orood” — immersion in a state of frenzy. Therefore, I ask you not to be timid in advance.

Sidor leans back on the sack.

SIDOR:

(sarcastically)

Uh, no! It's not for me! What if you die? You won't care about anything anymore. And we have one road — to disciplinary battalion!

MONGOL:

(keeping serious)

Before I go out on a “yabdal” journey and start moving around the campfire, hitting the orb with a mallet in the “hese”, I will cover my face with a bandage. This is necessary so that the evil spirits don't suddenly recognize me and take me with them. At this time, it is necessary that you stretch out your arms to the fire and, in the rhythm of the battle, waddling from side to side, exclaim: "wa, wa, wa!

When I stop the movement, I will stand in one place, I will raise the “hese” over my head and bring the fight to a fraction.

(shows how it would be)

At this moment you shout and stamp your feet

(shows how it should look)

He's showing his friends what to do again. Friends look at each other, laugh.

MONGOL:

But before the “hese” — magic horse is in my reins, and I start hitting him, I must summon his spirit to descend to me and become my “ongon” ally. In the meantime…

Mongol holds out a “hese” and an orb with a fur tip and a curved handle to Koster.

MONGOL:

It will be good if you, Koster, knock on it ahead of time. This is not my whim.

(putting on airs)

Such is a necessity!

Friends chuckle, looking at Koster. Koster is slightly embarrassed, but he fulfills the request. Mongol stands in front of the blazing fire, turns his gaze to the sky, stands waiting for the spirit of the tambourine for a few seconds. Kostyan and the Strela throw firewood into the fire.

RUST:

Mongol, I'll stay that way! But I will not participate in your tailagan!

MONGOL:

(silently nodding)

Good!

Mongol covers his face with a protective bandage and goes on a "journey". Mongol, rolling from one foot to the other and shaking his head, slowly moves around the fire, striking a tambourine and leading a throat singing.

SIDOR:

(with chuckles)

That's it! The parikrama has begun! “He starts a sad song, sings something about his Homeland”.

The rhythm of Mongol's battle in hese, identifying the clop of the hooves of the magic horse, gradually increases, combined with the cries of "wa, wa, wa" and the rattling of bells on the “Boo khoyag”, creating a general background noise and allowing Mongol consciousness to unite with the spirits. At the climax, the spirit of the tambourine completely took possession of the Mongol's consciousness, controlling the speed of his movements and the rhythm of his strokes, smoothly plunging him into a state of “Ongod orood” — deep trance.

Having increased the fight to a fraction and loudly shouting inarticulate, Mongol falls near the fire and begins to convulse. This throws friends into confusion. Friends become numb. Rust holds Koster back by the sleeve, who jumps up from his place, wanting to bring Mongol to his senses.

Seconds later, Mongol abruptly freezes.

RUST:

(looking at Mongol)

Let's wait!

KOSTYAN:

(with relief)

Flew away!

STRELA:

(exhaling)

Yes, indeed!

SIDOR:

That's all!

(and sings)

"I saw the illuminating light for a moment, I fell, my heart was no longer beating."

Friends look intently at the sprawled motionless body of Mongol. Rust and Strela are rampaging. Kostyan, Koster and Sidor amuse themselves in a friendly way.

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