Whom is the time laughing at now? At a bai who owns thousand of horses, at a mirza who sings songs at a laid table, at haughty prim beauty girls. Now they are pressed by hard time, chased out like a flock, it made them to think about a slice of bread and cloth to cover their private parts.

            Could anybody come near Shailybai among forty families of Karykbola? His father was a thick-fleshed and portly man – Syrlybai. They said inalterably about him: “A sturdy bai, a camel bai”. After his death all forty yourts of Karykbola began worshiping even more the holy house of the decedent. At the end of each namaz old men and old women asked the God to load with favours “honest true Syrlieke”. Old and young who were going to take the faraway road prayed at his remains. Even under the thread of execution young people did not dare to pronounce with their sinful lips his holy name, they did not pronounce even the words that started with the syllable “syr”.

            For example, they said “boyauly-ayak” – a painted cup instead of “syrly-ayak” – an ornamented cup. In short, Syrlybai was lucky: On this side of the grave he was a bai and on that one he went to Heaven.

            Shailybai came after Syrlybai. He did not excel his father at fortune. He always peeped into his mouth. Shailybai had both respect and fame. The power and the law were also in his hands. This was an understood thing, but nobody thought that it had been understood.

            But… times are changeful, old men confirm. Everything around has changed, was destroyed and rampant, feet became head and head became feet. Shailybai was also overflowed by this cruel stream that had washed down his cattle in the barns and taken away with it sheep out from the sheds. And if you have no cattle you don’t have wealth, and you are not happy too. And what is the sense to have the power without it?

            Unwittingly Shailybai found himself on the outskirts. People who just recently rolled over for him did not want even to listen to him now.

            Poor men were chortling.

            Shailybai bewailed.

            Often and often he sighed about the past.

-         Oi-hoi, the times!

            And then he crumpled at all. The fortune turned its back on bai, and Allah had neither pity nor mercy for him. Things were all wrong. Shailybai lost everything: both his father’s fame and innumerable tabuns. Now there was left only one trouble: not to die from hunger. And for good measure here a new aul boss got claws into him – he laid such taxes on him that it was left just to bang his head against a brick wall. All the meetings are held in Shailybai’s aul. All the costs were shuffled off on him.

            Shailybai’s wife has a wide generous soul. However, how long is it possible to endure this?

-         Why don’t people think about the God? – She said desperately.

-         Don’t they see that we are poor?!

            But now poor men completely became rather forward of fate. They forgot both about the God and fear.

-         Why do you raise Cain? – They say. – We have endured and now it is your turn to endure. Have they walked up and down our spines not enough? And if we take something so it is ours. The booty that has been captured from us.

            What can you say against this?

            They said the truth in old times: your cattle is your wealth. If you have lost your cattle you have lost respect. People did not already worship the heavenly spirit of a powerful genitor. And dirty callets, shepherds’ wives, shot at the mouth without scruple the name of Syrlybai and now on the contrary instead of “boyaul-ayak” – a painted cup they say plainly “syrly-ayak” – an ornamented cup.

-         Oh, holy forbearer! Your light name is worn down by dirty poor rabble like a well-thumbed shred! Oh, these times, the times!.. – Bais’ wives sighed sorely and at that their hearts were pieced with grief and offence.

            Yes… times have changed. Nothing gladdens and attracts already. There was held a meeting again. There gathered just raggery and barefooted madcaps. Earlier portly biys and proud mirza filled with dignity were sitting decorously here and now only toerags in stinky sheepskins bawls and squalls here. There is neither courtesy nor piety; old men are not respected here. Shirttail youngsters snap heads off at sedate bearded men:

-         You are troublemakers! Your maws are insatiable!

            There sat down slim and pale Baikaska with brown pointed beard on the edge. Just recently people trembled and fawned having seen him. And now it is terrible to look at him. It is not a human but a cripple. He was just about to open his mouth when people started shushing him up:

-         We have not given you the word. Don’t keep covering for thieves.

            Or let’s look at Erkosha. He has never been a bai but he always jigged to the bai’s tune and tried to lord over commonalty. Now he has just started: “I…” – when skint bums pelted on all sides:

-         You have deal with thieves. You are a thieves’ henchman.

            What can you do here?

            Hard times have come!

            A shabby red shorty with important face has minced with some papers:

            - Where is Shailybai?

            - What for do you need him?

            - I have a paper from the court.

            - What does it mean?

            - You have finagled your brother. According to his application the court has concluded: to pay him one thousand rubbles in gold.

            - What a horrible thing! Apyrmai, have a heart! Be ashamed of Holy Spirit! Whoever heard of such a thing to pay a farmhand one thousand rubble?!

            Shailybai started crying. His wife began shouting. It passed not much time when Shailybai’s name resounded through out the whole Kazakh clan, and now they threatened to take away even the black framework of his yourt together with crumbly smoked felts under penalty of fine.

            - Oi-hoi, the times, the times!