Historical and autobiographical novel and a short story
Russian translation by S. Talzhanov
I. Schegolikhin
In May, 1916, I graduated from Omsk normal school and came to Akmolinsk. Here I was given an appointment to Buglinsk Volost[1] of Akmolinsk District to be a teacher of the aul school on the bank of the Nura. The school was to open in autumn. As there were still three months left before the classes, I decided to take part in the agricultural census, being taken all over Russia that summer.
For convenience, the population of Akmolinsk District was divided into two parts – the North one and the South one, and two commissions for census were formed according to this division. The South commission was headed by Asylbek Seitov who had just graduated from Tomsk University, while I was appointed the head of the North one. My three assistants and I were to take a census in twelve volosts.
It was the beginning of summer. We went to the steppe. We made the first stop in about thirty-five versts[2] from Akmolinsk, in the aul which spread its yourts in the valley of the Ishim River. We invited the volost administrator and foremen and explained our purpose to them, then asked to call the countrymen and began to act according to the instruction, writingof down their names, counting cattle head, writing down the size of the lands under the plow, making a list of everyone’s agricultural tools. After collecting the necessary information, we moved down the Ishim
to another volost. Thus, moving from aul to aul, from volost to volost, we finally came to Aksirakkul Volost (named after the Aksirakkul Lake – the White Shin Lake), bordering on Atbasar District. Almost all auls were on summer pastures near Shubyra Urochishche, so we went there, too, together with the volost administrator, foremen, clerks and postmen.
AT SHUBYRA
Shubyra is a swampland with a lush vegetation. Low hills huddle here and at their foot, down in the valley, swamp meadows show verdurous green. There is no forest at Shubyra, no mountain chains and high nipples. A little river runs here and auls cluster around it. The sides of hills, swamps and meadows – all is covered with wild grasses as if large carpets with fancy patterns were spread.
The beginning of summer is the time when all comes into flower, filling the meadows with its fragrance. We were given a yourt some distance away from the little river, where the land was drier. The volost administrator, foreman and clerk stayed near us in a separate yourt. The yourts were standing on a lush and thick grass, still, to show a special respect to the newcomers, the carpets were spread and a little table, round and low, was put in the centre.
We gladly accommodated in the yourt, decorated with taste and diligence, laid out our papers and proceeded with our direct task.
Twelve volosts stretch from end to end for a thousand of versts. One can see that the local people are fairly well off, and he who is rich is not needled by worries and will eagerly drink kumiss in excess and have a good sleep to his heart’s content. From morning till late at night tipsy, carelessly dressed men wander around, hunting in auls for kumiss and girls.
Some nonchalant idlers crowd near our yourt, watching the course of census. Others look for a chance to woo a girl, frolic
like well-fed calves, start merrymaking, exercise in jokes, ridicules and grandiloquence. Quite a few of them are excellent singers and dombrists. They yell at the top of the voice for no purpose, laugh loudly for all neighbourhood to hear, in brief, they kill the time in any possible way.
Volost administrators, foremen, arbitrators – all as if cast in the same mold – are carefree, voluptuous bais. Look at them when they gather together, observe them when you keep aside, and it will seem to you that these beefy bulls are too well off for their own good.
And only servants and sherperds, jet-black from the scorching sun, with drops of sweat on the forehead, toil without a moment’s rest. They are exausted by the heat and gasping for a drink in the full blaze of the sun, watching over the bais’ herds on the pastures. Trying in vain to save themselves from the gadflies, they have to subdue and milk violent, semi-wild mares. Unfortunate labourers with weather-beaten faces and lips, chapped by the heat, collect dung cakes all day long to make a fire and cook a meal for their master in time. They are deprived of their rights, they don’t reap the fruits of their hard work…
It should be said that the census didn’t run smoothly, there were certain difficulties as the Kazakhs tended to hide the number of cattle, and the simpletons to give accurate information were few.
Soon we finished the census at Shubyra. We should go to the next place. A long journey lay ahead of us, and frankly speaking, we didn’t want to leave hospitable Shubyra. And it was very much to the point that the volost administrator, clerk and foreman began to persuade us to stay at Shubyra for other two or three days. We willingly agreed. We were attracted by the pleasant tart smell, coming from the black saba[3] with kumiss, tasty meat of a young lamb, clean air of the green meadows and, finally, the warmth and hospitality of the local people.
The afternoon was well along. The heat grew milder, subsided, the silky breeze caressed the face, filling with pleasure. The earth and the sky seemed all rolled into one, everything around was smothered in greenery. A tranquil twilight hour was coming. The noisy aul quietened down as if in torpor.
I rode to the nearest hill and looked around. I saw a pieceful picture: fat cattle and, at some distance, auls with yourts in a traditional semicircle…
Toward the evening the three of us left the aul on horsebacks to have a rest, to wade the day’s cares away. Our horses are fast, so we are in the elated mood. We ride round the deep-green swamps, climb the hills. Putting our horses to gallop towards the setting sun, we reach the border between Akmolinsk and Atbasar Districts and rode up one of the hills. The horses are champing their bits, pawing, striving to gallop straight on. As far as the eye can see, the lowlands and the sides of the hills are covered with a thick greenery. It’s not the ground any more, but a green sea. The sun is setting, resembling a bullion of gold. The shadowy distance is heaving, shimmering with different tints. The breath of the evening wind is slightly rippling the steppe grass. The horizon has merged with the sky as in a hug. And far in the west towards Atbasar two adjacent lakes can be barely seen. The riverside reeds are dark in the approaching evening mist.
- What are those lakes, how are they called? – I asked my companion, the local native.
- They are Aupildek and Alakol, - he answered.
- Can it be the lake about which the famous song “Aupildek” was composed?
- Just the one. And the song about an unhappy girl was composed here, in the aul on the far bank, which is not seen from here.
I have heard many times the song about Lake Aupildek and a young girl, the sister of a Syzdyk. The girl is said to have died.
- Yes, a poor girl, she couln’t stand it and died of intolerable grief.
For a long time we kept gazing at the distant lakes.
“Separated from the beloved, sold as a wife to the undesired for a bride price…” – I was sadly thinking.
I see her eyes, full of tears. It seems to me that she is running away from the hated aul, where she was sold to, the same as an animal. I see her light shadow wandering in the darkness near Lake Aupildek…
The starry sky is silent. The land keeps the disturbed silence. No people around. Only the silver lake is slightly heaving. A lonely girl is crying on its bank. But neither earth nor heaven hears her, no grass give heed to her bitter tears. Only the tender lake reeds are quietly rustling, whispering, as if trying to comfort, as if sharing her grief. And the lake birds are echoing her with their sad voices. The birds are crying. The girl is crying…
Lake Aupildek, your reeds
Are suddenly pushed apart
By the wind.
I sit and grieve.
I am common, oh lake
My soul is above,
High above in the mountains.
Let me have the wings…
In the clouds,
High above in the clouds
Let me timidly touch you.
Is harsh and severe.
Look!
I have flied to you!
Snow is everywhere.
Silent Aupildek reeds.
Was it long ago,
My school?
My proud soul’s call
This captivity away.
And Lake Aupildek
Under the snow.
The fate gave you to me,
My beloved, forever.
I can’t live without you,
Never.
Under the water.
It feels grief as well,
The reason you know.
By the swans’ fate,
For many a day.
And here it comes,
The bird’s sad cry.
And the cliffs catch it,
The far cliffs.
Raise the waters
Remove.
But oh, it’s cruel,
Lake Aupildek.
It will never help.
One by one the pictures of her unhappy life in a strange aul passed before my eyes. We stood silentlyfor several minutes, looking at the lake, and then turned the horses back…
While we were absent, the horsemen of the neighbouring aul made plans to have a party. The ringleaders were the foreman himself, Baiseit[4], a clerk of the volost administration and several other prompt fellows.
The four of us were also invited to the party. “We” comes for two Tatars, a Russian and me. Galimzhan was a young teacher of Akmolinsk Tatar school, Nurgain was a teacher, too. That evening Nurgain had a toothache and it wasn’t a merrymaking matter for him, the same as for an elderly Russian from our company, Michail. So Galimzhan and I went to the party together.
The snow white holiday yourt could be seen from afar. It was carpeted inside, nicely decorated. There were lots of young people in the yourt. Baiseit, Galimzhan, five zhigits[5], accompanying us, and I had hardly entered the yourt, when we were kindly seated at the honorable place. The sitting people formed a semicircle. The places on the opposite were taken by a foreman, also an akyn[6], and several zhigits, the organizers of the party. Some time later the volost administrator came, followed by five or six elders, who were seated with a great ceremony and honour. They kept aloof, while the young people sat right and left, the guys, surely, trying to keep closer to the girls. Traditionally, there were girls between Galimzhan and Baiseit, between Baiseit and me. The kumiss was served. Some had hardly begun to enjoy kumiss, when the others, the most eager ones, started a noisy game. The girls and young women are nicely dressed, some even with luxury. The coins in braids ring with every movement, there are silver bracelets on the wrists. The silk dresses rustle softly, as if we hear the rustle of new reeds. The girls respond to the zhigits’ jokes but stand on dignity. The candles are dimly burning in two or three places in the yourt. Some scamps have stolen into the yourt and begun to frolic the same as the older ones but they are quickly shown the door. It can be seen that some gusts have already become tipsy with kumiss. The akyn elder takes a dombra and begins to play a swift galloping melody, snapping his fingers over the strings. It is so plesant at this moment to quench your thirst with a healthy and tasty, slightly yellowish kumiss.
Imagine the beginning of summer, a warm, creamy soft evening, a nice yourt, decorated with carpets, patterned felts and light curtains. The young beauties of Sara-Arka, excited by the attention of the zhigits, are in front of you. How not to feel tipsy, how not to let the heart melt, seeing this charming picture! One game is followed by another, a more interesting one, and each finishes on the one and same condition: to sing a song. The dombra passes from hands to hands.
The zhigits sing one better than the other, the girls sing. One can hear provocative hints in the modulations of music, a thrilling hidden meaning in the words of the song.
Now it’s the turn of a girl, sitting in reverie between Baiseit and me, to fulfill the condition. She is very young, about sixteen, no more, with black eyes and black hair. Inintentionally, I noticed that as soon as her turn came, it became quiet in the yourt. One of the organizers of the party asked her emphatically:
- Let Habiba sing to a dombra.
- The other girls sang without accompaniment,-I remarked..
- Habiba always sings to a dombra!
And here, the dombra is in the girl’s hands. I courteously moved aside not to disturb the singer.
- Please, feel at home,- Habiba told me with a smile.
- Habiba, do begin!- could be heard from every side.-The guests are waiting.
Habiba tuned the dombra in her own way and her thin fingers, flexible like a reed, flashed, ran about the frets, while the fingers of her right hand began to lightly and sonorously pluck the strings, as if golden peas were falling on the silver saucer.
Habiba began to sing. Those present in the yourt were following with admiration her every movement with their eyes.
- Oh dear! – one could hear the excited exclamations of the elders, sitting near the volost administrator.
The girl resembled a lark, fluttering its invisible wings again and again and flying toward the depth of the heavens with a ringing song, with a fanciful melody, caressing the soul. Here it stops for a moment and then dashes down as a lightning, whirls and falls down to the very ground with a modulating song. But it looks cramped for it, with too little space, and again its voice flies high into the blue of the sky, incredibly high, and it seems that it sings now, echoed by the singing of other birds, sings mournfully and then joyfully, sings slowly, charmingly.
A melody comes after a melody, broad, endless, as if a pearl comes after a pearl, decorating a bright silk… A lark with a thousand of voices is singing. You listen to it and think that the song brings pleasure not only to you but to the whole universe, it caresses, lulls all the living creatures of the earth and the heaven…
Habiba’s voice came down as a lark and fell silent. The listeners kept silent for some time, not taking their eyes off her. The girl slowly passed the dombra to the zhigit in front of her, but there was a noise when all began to ask her: “Go on singing, Habiba, please!” The girl didn’t object, she sang a few tunes more.
After Habiba’s singing, no one wanted to listen to the others. The games started again. It tuned out that Tatar Galimzhan hadn’t yet seen such funny Kazakh games and had barely heard our songs. And they played “Oramal tastamak”, “Buguibai”, “Myrshim”[7].
It was early in the morning when the guests calmed down and began to leave. Before parting, I asked Habiba to sing “Aupildek” once more and she did what I asked.
We went to our yourt on foot. On the way Galimzhan kept admiring:
- Well, Saken, I saw real Kazakhs only today! I first understood the charm of your songs! Honestly, I began to regret that I wasn’t born a Kazakh or at least didn’t grow up amidst of you. I swear by Allah, if I weren’t married, I would run away from town to a Kazakh aul!..
Galimzhan kept pouring his grand admiration until he went to bed. And me too, I couldn’t forget the impression from Habiba’s singing for a long time. Her charming voice seemed to enchant me. I saw a rustling thicket at the riverbank, the silver surface of a magic lake and a swan nest in thick reeds in its middle. The reeds are rustling insinuatingly, a sad swan song can be heard, resembling the sound of the flute. From time to time light ripples touch the water mirror, as if someone unknown scatters snow white beads all over the lake. The geese are cackling, the ducks are dissonantly quacking, and apart of the bird chattering, the human ear can hear some strange muffled sighs of water, broken and full of pain. It is an aupildek bird, moaning and groaning in the dismal depth of the lake. It seems the bird is being suffocated by the water and the bird utters muffled groans, pressed by its cold weight: “Aul! A-u-u-p-p! A-a-u-u-u!..”
Pressed down by the excessive weight, the bird is hopelessly trying to rise, to spread its wings. Its voice is muffled and sinister, it tugs at heartstrings, evokes despair. You listen – and it seems to you, you feel that a lonely abandoned woman is groaning somewhere near you, swallowing her tears. Her mournful sighs merge with the swan song, echo the invisible bird.
Wicked lake,
Tell me your secret.
Cruel for all -
This is your fate.
The reeds above you
Sadly rustle.
A proud swan
Cries in its nest.
The pictures of this bitter song slowly passed before my eyes, its melody filled my heart, new words came to my mind and I longed to share them with everyone:
As people do cry? Who made it cry,
From grief cry?
Maybe it’s crying,
Giving food to its chicks,
(Only people know
What grievance means),
Maybe it’s calling,
His faithful mate,
And she’s not here
And won’t be again.
We left Shubyra. A long journey lay ahead of us. Trotting and galloping, changing to spare horses from time to time, we rode from morning till night and came to the appointed place only the next day.
Now we were to take a census in three volosts: Monshakty, Karabulak and Kzyltopyrak.
We approached the aul of Nurmagambet Sagnaev, well-known in these places and called Master by people for his haughtiness and arrogance.
On our way I asked the attendant what the Tsar awarded Master for. And the reply was the following. Once the Tsar’s heir travelled and arrived at Omsk. On this occasion a hitherto unseen feast was arranged, and the steppe nobility from all the neighbourhood came – grand bais, Mirzas[8] of high rank, volost administrators. Wanting to see the heir with their own eyes, the nobility came from Akmolinsk, Atbasar, Kokchetav, Petropavlovsk, Karkaralinsk, Pavlodar, Bayan-Aul and other places. To distinguish themselves, everyone took his yourts, luxurious decorations, everyone tried to outshine the others with his magnificence. Master Nurmagambet outshined all of them. He managed to attract the heir’s special attention by his yourt, differing from the luxurous yourts of his opponents by its golden patterns. The heir honored the golden yourt with his visit and drank kumiss from the black saba there, stirring it with a silver stirring rod, decorated by jewels. Besides, Nurmagambet drove to the celebration three herds of young mares of different colour. The heir was very much fond of horses and the obsequious Nurmagambet gave him all three herds as a present with a golden yourt in addition. As people say, one good turn deserves another. The heir rewarded Master with a silver medal.
...When we came to Nurmagambet’s aul, the sun was unbearably hot. First of all we wanted to quench our thirst and after it to see Master.
The yourts of herdsmen were at a respectful distance from Nurmagambet’s yourt. We saw four snow white yourts, spread two by two behind the hill, in the valley, on a green meadow. There were no less than a hundred steps between them, and judging from the fact that the grass wasn’t stamped flat, some strangers might be living there.
We had hardly stopped our cart at the nearest yourt, when a quick swarthy zhigit came to meet us just in one beshmet[9]. He greeted us and asked who we were and where from. Then he disappeared in the yourt and some time later he came out and invited us: “Welcome”.
The empty front part of the yourt was carpeted and decorated with patterned felts. The zhigit silently waved us to go on. We entered the second yourt and saw a marvelous luxury. You wouldn’t find a space the size of a palm, not covered by a parti-coloured silk carpet. There were velvet carpets on the walls, satin was gleaming and silver was glittering. Near the wall there was a kind of a bench in the form of a semicircle about an arshin[10] in height, laid over with expensive carpets, trimmed with a fringe with brushes at the bottom.
Uykis[11] and a shanyrak[12] were painted light blue and entwined with a fringed tape. There were silk blankets on the top of the carpets at the honorable place. Depending on the guest’s desire, he could either sit on these blankets or on the carpeted bench. To the right of the honorable place, under blue silk canopy, we saw a bed of gleaming metal and Nurmagambet, sitting on it. There was no one in the yourt except him. Master sat motionless and silent like an idol. There was a beaver hat on his head, the gold-rimmed glasses gleamed on his nose, his shoulders were draped around with an oriental robe of grey cloth with a dark red velvet collar, and a beshmet of the same expensive grey cloth could be seen under the robe. There were glossy ichigs[13] in rubbers on his feet. Master was playing a little silver cane with his hand in a snow white glove. He had a raven black beard and moustache, and looked over fifty. When we entered, looking around at the luxurous decoration, and greeted him, Nurmagambet gravely stand up and answered our greeting with indistinct words, as if not wanting to overload himself with a loud speech. We sat down on the carpeted seat. Master kept silent, we didn’t utter a word, looking at the walls with curiosity.
As for me, he produced an impression of an obtuse person, somewhat sluggish but tough. At the first glance he seemed to be a nicely dressed scarecrow. Nurmagambet made a barely perceptible sign, nodding his beard to the zhigit, squatting near the entrance. The zhigit, watching every movement of his master closely like a dog, jumped up and went out. A minute later another servant and he carried in a heavy tegen, inlaid with silver, - a big wooden vessel with kumiss. After stirring the kumiss with a big horn ladle, they began to pour it into the clanking drinking bowls of pure porcelain. We enjoyed quenching our thirst with a cold, fragrant, spritzy drink. The servants barely had time to fill and hand us purple drinking bowls. Nurmagambet himself drank as well, keeping up with the guests. There was silence in the yourt.
After leaving Nurmagambet’s yourt we asked who lived in two other snow white yourts. It turned out that there was a place of living of Master’s wife, in a hundred steps from him. The ceremony of invitation repeated: the zhigit entered the yourt, some time later he went out and said with dignity:
- Welcome to her dwelling place.
We entered and saw the same red and parti-colored decoration, patterned felts and carpets, fringe, uykis and a shanyrak, painted blue and entwined with a fringed tape. Master’s wife was lying on the bright red silk blanket, folded in four. There rose six downy pillows near her, and the folds of a red silk canopy were above her head. She was dressed in a white silk oriental robe and she had a silk kimeshek[14] of the same colour, following to the blankets, on her head. The kimeshek clang to the face and was decorated with pearls. A thin pale woman responded hardly audible to our greeting, like she gave a groan, and slightly waved to bring the kumiss. We saw a tegen more original in form than Nurmagambet’s one, also ornamented with silver. The little silver rings of the ladle were melodiously clanking. The kumiss, also cold, yellowish, fragrant, was served in drinking bowls of light blue porcelain. We were drinking kumiss and the woman was sitting as a mummy, not paying attention to anyone.
The two-dome yourts, showing up white on the green meadow, remained behind. Lonely Nurmagambet is sitting as a stone idol in one of them and in the other, at the distance of a hundred steps, a fragile, mollycoddled Master’s wife, resembling a dying swan, is yawning life away…
“Aristocrats, officials, mirzas – all of them are the same parasites! They drink the blood of people like badgers!” – comrade Sorokin kept telling me in Omsk in winter. Now I remembered his words and repeated them aloud.
- Look, how right he was! – my Tatar companion remarked with surprise.
- Can it be that these dogs are not bored with life?- his friend put in.
By the end of June we reached Korzhunkul Volost, bordering on Pavlodar District of Semipalatinsk Province. Here, in the family of Kanzhygaly a struggle was persisting between two parties for the rank of volost administrator. One party was headed by the volost administrator himself, and the other was stirred up against him by a stout mirza, glossing with fat. The volost administrator cruelly oppressed people, that’s why too many of them were dissatisfied with his rule. Out of a thousand and a half of households no more than a hundred of them still supported him. But having power, the volost administrator had not put up with it yet and pounced at the terrified population like an infuriated wolf on the helpless pray, demanding the fulfillment of his whims.
We sent a messenger ahead of us to inform beforehand about our arrival the inhabitants of auls, located on the bank of two picturesque lakes: the Aschykol (the Salt Lake) and the Kaskaat (the Bald Horse Lake). The sun was setting, when we came to the west bank of the Aschykol.
A few white yourts could be seen nearby. On the other bank of the lake there were two or three small auls. The sheperds on horses were driving a herd of horses to the lake water. Having noticed us, one of the riders turned his horse and galloped towards us. A black swift handsome stallion seemed to be ready to jump through a ring. The silvered saddle gleamed. The stallion couldn’t stand still, it wildly looked asquint, hovered around as if to show once more the silver of the saddle of his rider, a tall zhigit, dressed as a townsman – in boots, with a hat, but in a Kazakh coat. I recognized Tolebai, together with whom I studied since childhood in the town of Akmolinsk. It turned out that he was a clerk in Korzhunkul volost administration. And the volost administrator was his uncle Olzhabai.
- Assalaumagalikum!
- Uagalikumassalyam![15]
- What a meeting!
- Here we have met at last!
So joyfully and enthusiastically we met with a school friend. Tolebai led us to visit the volost administrator’s cousin and after a detailed discussion of this and that suddenly asked me:
- Have you heard that the Kazakhs will be taken for logistical works? An instruction to make a list of all zhigits aged from nineteen to thirty-one was received from the town.
- No, I haven’t, - I answered and in my turn I poured counterquestions on him: - Where are they taken? Who is taken?
- People don’t know whether to believe these rumours or not, - Tolebai continued. – Everyone is in a deep confusion, frightened and on the alert. My father went to town to check these disturbing rumours and was to return yesterday but he’s still delaying for some reason.
Our talk was longer than we expected. We were sitting in a cozy clean six-fold yourta. There was no excessive luxury there, but the wall gratings and uykis were nicely painted and the decoration in general was good. The hostess was bustling about, she set the samovar[16] and began to cook a sweet snack for tea. The heat was subsiding, a comforting damp breeze came from the lake, a crimson sunset tinctured the horizon. Tired of a long bumpy ride in the cart along impassable roads, we lay down on the quilts and white pillows, which weren’t too clean. The volost administrator’s assistant was sitting near us, with his legs crossed, and was talking peacefully with us.
A low round table, covered with a flower-dotted green cloth with a fringe, appeared before us. The red porcelain was ringing, the freshly fried baursaks[17], kneaded on kumiss, fell down on the cloth. Two plates with butter appeared on the dastarkhan[18], the samovar began to boil, and after all these preparations we were invited to the table. Sitting in a circle, we were drinking tea, while the clerk sent a messenger to gather people from the nearby auls.
By the noon of the next day the clerk’s father, Barlybai, the volost administrator’s elder brother, came from town. By this time a lot of people arrived from the nearest auls. The zhigits went to meet Barlybai. Holding the horse by the bridles, they helped him to dismount from his horse, obsequiously opened the door for him and tried by all means to emphasize their respect for him. The people, present in the yourt, stood up at his arrival, began to shake hands with him. We followed their example. One could feel that everyone was concerned with the news. Just after the greeting one could hear:
- What’s the news in town?
- Phew,- responded Barlybai, panting. – What can be the news?.. They recruit the Kazakhs. Here is an order, - muttered Barlybai. Taking his seat, he took out from his pocket a folded paper with large Russian letters and gave it to his son.
His son began to read.
There was confusion on the faces of the present ones, everyone waited silently for the clerk to make out the Russian text and to explain it in Kazakh. After reading the paper, the clerk passed it to me.
It was Akmolinsk governer’s explanation of the Imperial edict of June 25 about the mobilization of the Kazakh population aged from nineteen to thirty-one for logistical works. While I was reading the explanation, excited voices came now and then, asking to sooner convey the meaning of the document.
- Yes, the situation is difficult, I said. – The government needs hands, that’s why they mobilize the Kazakhs as well.
None of those present there believed that the edict dealt only with the logistical works, and not with taking off to the front.
- It’s all lies! They will make us go to war and become real soldiers. Oh, Allah, why were we sent this disaster?! Why are we damned?!.. – the shouts in the yourt became louder and more restless.
Hastily finishing the census, we left the aul in the evening and stopped for the night on the bank of the Kaskaat Lake, after riding no more than three versts. The next day we split up into two groups: Galimzhan and Michail made their way to Spassk and Karaganda to take a cesus, and Nurgain and I went down the valley of the Slet’ River.
The next day we sent a messenger to the volost administrator’s aul, over fifty versts away. That day the volost administrator wasn’t able to come at our call. Waiting for him, we had a rest in a little hut on the bank of a rivulet with almost no water left. Having heard about the census, the local population began to gather, but we couldn’t begin our work before the arrival of the volost administrator and a clerk.
It was easy to see that the people here lived much poorer than at Shubyra. A foreman came to visit us, having taken along with him a waterskin of a good kumiss. A yearling was slaughtered and put on the zher-oshak – a pot for cooking meat on the elongated hearth. A copper samovar near the zher-oshak began to smoke heavily. Little by little the idlers began to gather, quietly talk to each other, tittle-tattle about this and that.
It was hot, and the heady kumiss added to it even more. We sweated, as if from a fight beyond our strength, so we had to unbutton our shirts to refresh the chest.
By the evening the volost administrator and the clerk came, both tired of a long run, tired of the heat. Seeing them, the people crowded around our hut. Until late at night we prepared for the coming census together with the volost administrator and the clerk. We went to bed late. The summer nights are short. At the sunrise we were awakened by a woman’s loud crying, full of sorrow. I had barely woken up, it seemed to me that I had heard these sounds in the sleep. But now I distinctly heard the laments of women and somewhat rude, sedate and calming voices of men. Entering our hut, one of them woke up the zhigit, who accompanied us, and said with a laugh in a low voice:
- Silly women, howling like cows. They have gathered early in the morning and are making noise, clamouring, crying; it’s impossible to understand what they want.
The zhigit, half-awake, smacking his lips, answered:
- Aye-aye, these skirts! They don’t know what they are talking about. They always show their stupidity, in the right place and in the wrong place.
I quite woke up. It was already getting warm in the hut from the rising sun. I saw that somewhat like a copper medal the size of a yearling’s hoof was gleaming on the incomer’s chest, holding on a rawhide strap. He was dressed in a black beshmet with red woven epaulets, there was a sabre on his side in a flat black scabbard with copper rings. It was easy to guess from his clothes that he was one of the messangers, who came from town with emergency announcements. The women’s crying outside didn’t quiet down. I briefly asked the messenger about the purpose of his arrival.
- This morning somebody came here from Omsk and put out a silly rumour that young people were taken to the army. And in addition I showed up. So the silly skirts were agitated, - explained the messenger.
I quickly got dressed, Nurgain followed my example.
A few minutes later we found out the following. The aul, where we stayed, was on the border with Omsk District. Having heard the edict, according to which the Kazakh young people were taken for logistical works, several zhigits were frightened and fled from Omsk District, spreading the rumours that the Kazakhs, all to a man, would be taken to the army, that the mobilization had already begun in Omsk District, that the Kazakhz were taken not for logistical works, but directly to the front. The death was imminent for all the mobilized ones…
This rumour, exaggerated, embellished, coming to absurdity, instantly spread in auls. And in addition the messenger showed up. And when the people began to ask him questions, vying with each other, the messenger excited them even more, took them aback by an untimely gag:
- And what’s so special, if you are taken to the army? Would you refuse or what? It’s the edict of the Tsar himself, just try not to fulfill it! You’d better begin packing with God’s help.
How could women in auls not be excited, how could they not be frightened!
“Oh Allah, why did we deserve your punishment!.. How did we enrage you! We’ll sacrifice you an aksarybas and a bozkaska[19], we’ll give you the most expensive sacrifice, only remain the support of the unhappy ones!..”
The women began to call out the names of their sons and brothers with loud cries and lamentations, as if they had already parted with them forever. We were surrounded. Without listening, interrupting each other, the women clamoured:
- It turns out your census is a lie! You came to make a list of soldiers!
- Although you’re Kazakhs, but you’re Russian spies, you want to sell them our sons and brothers!
- You’re bribed! Are you not Muslims?
- We’ll not tell you anything for the census, we’ll not give you any details!
- Go back the road you came!
Without listening to our explanations and reasons, the women surround us more and more tightly, shouting out unkind wishes to us. Some of them have whips, spade handles, ketmens[20] in their hands. The men keep silent, hiding their true attitude and pretending to hold the women back just for appearance’s sake. And in fact they egg them on, on the quiet.
Together with the volost administrator and the clerk we somehow managed to calm the crowd down, to explain that the task of census was totally different and that we had nothing to do with mobilization.
The women gradually calmed down, began to go away. We hardly gathered the men and started the census. We could see now that the people didn’t trust us and believed that we were hiding our true intentions and were secretly making a list of those who should be taken to the army.
When we were going to ride further, it turned out that there wasn’t a cart in the aul, they were all hidden from us. With a great difficulty the foreman managed to find a cart. The volost administrator and the clerk were coming with us, intending to promptly part with the messenger, who really brought an order for all volost administrators to make a list of all men aged from nineteen to thirty-one as soon as possible.
We decided to quickly get to the aul, where a veterinarian lived. There were about two hundred versts to this aul, located in the valley of the Olenta River. We kept waiting for the cart for a long time, that’s why the zhigit who accompanied us went to look for a casual cart. Meanwhile we were sitting in the yourt of a local bai. Out zhigit returned very quickly, he ran into the yourt out of breath with the words:
- No one gives a cart! One scoundrel sent me away, even struck me with a whip. They won’t give us horses here, we may go on foot if you like!
I got angry and decided to apply all my authority; to frighten the bai I took a pencil out from my pocket and demanded to give me the name of the bai himself and of the man, brawling at the zheli[21]. My angry look produced an effect – in a few minutes we were given a cart by the bai’s order.
We rode on. At the zheli we put the bridle on the grey stallion with a thick mane from the bai’s herd and mounted the zhigit, accompanying us, on it. Now, seeing as the matters stood, we decided to wind up what we do for the census, find the veterinarian, take the general information about the number of the cattle head from him and return to town as soon as possible.
On our way we noticed that people met and followed us with a guarded and estranged look. By the sunset we came to a lonely poor aul. Suspecting us of evil intentions, the inhabitants hid riding horses and we had to return the carts, given us by the bai. And we did return, leaving only the bai’s grey stallion with us. As we got evidence that they wouldn’t give horses to us here, we harnessed with a great difficulty the trophy stallion to the cart. It turned to be unbroken, violent and from the very first steps it dashed off with us along the impassable roads. The cart creaked, the wheels rattled, barely touching the ground. The zhigit tried in vain to tighten up the reins, I took to help him but without success. We climbed over a hill and here the tug broke. In an instant the cart turned upside down, something crackled and we found ourselves on the ground. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt and we jumped to our feet at once. The stallion was dragging the two-wheel front of the cart with one shaft, it couldn’t get rid of it and was furiously kicking and galloping in circles around us. We managed to catch it. We somehow repaired the broken cart, pinioned the stallion’s lip with a whip handle, blindfolded it with a shawl, harnessed it again and slowly moved on.
The night was falling. The dusk began. There was no one around, not a sound, the steppe seemed deserted. The sky was black with clouds. The narrow poorly-beaten road turned into a path. The stallion was exhausted and we had to go on foot. The poor stallion could hardly drag the damaged cart. We stopped occasionally, listening to the night steppe in the hope to sense the sign of human dwelling, and then trudged on. The path disappeared at last and we were hold back by the bank of a dried-up lake, overgrown with reeds, bulrush and salt marsh grass. We dragged along it for a long time, stumbling over the tussocks and sinking into swampy pits. It seemed the foot of man had never stepped here. The smell of the dried-up lake and rotting grass struck our nostrils. We got out of the swamp with difficulty and continued walking southwards without any roads. The thick clouds began to gradually get thinner, the sky cleared soon and we found the path. The man, accompanying us, got on the stallion’s back again and we plodded on behind the cart.
We were ready to drop with fatigue. We halted before the sunrise, unharnessed the stallion, tethered it to the cart by a back rope and fell asleep nearby.
With the first sun rays we climbed the nearest hill to see the surroundings and determine where we were. The path found at night led to the west. Numerous herds of horses could be seen at a distance. We blindfolded again the stallion, which had had a night rest, the zhigit mounted it and Nurgain and I took the place in the cart. Having climbed a low hill not far from the herd, we saw a few auls and started moving to them. Two herdsmen galloped from the herd to meet us. We eagerly turned to them our long-suffering stallion. One of the herdsman helpfully harnessed his own horse to our cart and accompanied us to the nearest aul.
It turned out that we reached the lands of Pavlodar District during the night. The aul was waking up. Soon women and children surrounded us from all sides, looking at us with curiosity and asking who we were and where we were going. In view of the sad experience of our last meeting with people, we concealed that we were taking a census and presented ourselves as land surveyors, supposedly entitled to see the border lands of Akmolinsk, Omsk and Pavlodar Districts. I was dressed in a teacher’s uniform with yellow buttons, so it was easier for me to pass for a land surveyor. Besides, to sound convincing, I decided to pretend that I didn’t know the Kazakh language and spoke in Russian. Nurgain, who understood my plan, began to translate my words.
- Yaparymay!- the women were surprised.- My God, he looks so much like a Kazakh!
- This official is the living image of a Kazakh! But why doesn’t he speak Kazakh?
- His father was a baptized Kazakh, - confidently explained Nurgain. This man doesn’t know the Kazakh language. He’s now travelling all over our auls to learn about the life of the Kazakh people. He’s interested in everything, it seems some invisible force attracts him here.
- Oh the poor thing!- one of the women sighed.- That’s why he looks like a Kazakh, just look at his eyes...
We were invited into the yourt. I was so tired that I fell down on the pillows. Nurgain kept awake. The man, accompanying us, was tinkering at the cart. Not to fuel curiosity, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. In the meanwhile Nurgain inquired about the latest news and showed the door to those who were too curious and talkative.
- The master is very tired after the journey, - Nurgain persuaded the idlers, entering the yourt, – so I ask you not to disturb him and to leave.
As for other, more impressive guests, he told them:
- Please, get the horses ready by the time the master wakes up and drinks tea.
Occasionally Nurgain cautiously exchanged a few words in Russian with me, asking for advice.
We drank some tea. The owner of the grey stallion, with which we suffered the previous night, came and took it away.
Taking the cart, we moved away. The time of az-zuhr[22] had already passed when we arrived at Olenti, where the veterinarian lived. My distant relative, Husain Kozhamberlin worked there as an assistant veterinary. He lived with his family. We had an excellent rest there, spent the night and the next day we headed for Akmolinsk.
In one of auls of Ereimen Volost, where the Kazakhs from the family of Kanzhygaly lived, we noticed an unusual excitement, resembling preparations for the uprising. A man galloped somewhere away, apparently to some secret meeting.
The bai’s wives and servants gave us a separate yourt for the night with no one inside. We went to bed without candles, in complete darkness.
In the morning they harnessed a good-for-nothing camel to the droshky[23] for us and hardly brought us to the neighbouring aul.
Thus, getting the carts with a great difficulty, we reached Lake Aschykol, about which I’ve already spoken. The rumours about mobilization excited everyone here. The aul was in a great toss. The men on horsebacks kept crowding, speaking about one and the same thing: the Kazakhs were not supposed to become soldiers. And if somebody tried to state an opposite thing, he was proclaimed an enemy. One could see the people really rose here and were going to resist. Again we met Tolebai, his father Barlybai, his uncle Olzhabai and asked them about everything in details to have a clear view of the situation.
We headed straight to town from here. Now and then we met groups and detachments of mounted Kazakhs on our way. When they heard about the Russians, they all spit on their hands showing that they were ready to begin a tug of war even now. By the evening we stopped in one of auls. The young people were openly unfriendly to us. We had hardly sat in the yourt of Zhahud, whose son knew us, when a noisy crowd of some zhigits stormed into the yourt and grilled us without any respect: who were we and what did we come for? We began talking in length about the injustice of the Russian Tsar, about the ills of life of the Kazakhs. It was just because aqsaqal[24] Zhahuda stood up for us and we swore the Tsar that the excited zhigits peacefully left with the words “There you are!”.
Akmolinsk was agitated. Panicky rumours one worse than another were spreading like wildfire among the townsmen:
- The Kazakhs are heading for the town, going to destroy everything and everyone.
- Superintendent of police Ivanushkin was killed in Tinalin Volost. The regular troops are coming from Omsk.
- Governer Kochura-Masalskiy himself is coming.
- The Kazakhs are forming an army, they chose chans without permission, they are making guns, pikes, pole axes, moulding bullets.
- They are preparing chain armours for themselves and teaching the young the trade of war…
I spent about a week in town. There was no a sound of the old songs, no same merrymaking. The frightened town was all ears.
Soon the commission for census, headed by doctor Asylbek Seitov came from the south volosts. It turned out that Tinalin Kazakhs and the Temeshes beat them severely, tied them up, shaved their heads, forced to say Muslim prayers and kept them imprisoned for several days until the commission was released by Akmolinsk trader, fighter Zhuman.
The governer came. He gathered aqsaqals, beys[25], foremen, bais from the steppe and from town. A lot of common people came there, too. The governer, looking like an excited male camel, addressed them. The people stood bareheaded, crowding together shoulder to shoulder. The metaphrast[26] interpreted the governor’s threatening words to the people, who listened obediently with bare heads:
- I came here after I heard the shameful news that Akmolinsk Kazakhs hadn’t submitted to the Tsar’s Edict, refused to go to the logistical works and decided to rebel. It’s madness, folly, it’s a bottomless stupidity! Can unarmed Kazakhs resist the force of Russian arms? While it’s not too late, let them give up this madness!.. Aqsaqals, you are respected in the Kazakh steppe. I beg you to leave in a hurry for our auls and to persuade men to come to logistical works within a week, according to the Imperial Edict. If you don’t get your way, don’t wait for my favour. I’ll send my troops to the steppe, to auls with the order to slaughter the Kazakhs like sheep. You know what the machinegun is. It’s a weapon that drives bullets as thick as a rain. My troops are armed with these machineguns and will mow down the Kazakhs like green grass. If you fail to calm down the people in a week, the troops will go out into the steppe and shoot anyone they will meet on their way. The machineguns will be put on the machines that no bullet can break through. If you fail to calm down the people in a week, first of all I’ll imprison yourselves! I give you fifteen minutes to take counsel with each other and then you must give me a final reply.
The people gathered there stood with long faces. The confused aqsaqals sat in a circle in the yard, with their legs tucked. They were sitting, gloomily hunched and quietly holding council.
- Let’s ask the governer for a delay, - the most resolute said, – a lot of auls are far from town, we won’t be able to go there and come back in a week.
Fifteen minutes later the bareheaded aqsaqals, resembling sheep frightened by the roaring flood, came to the governer, pushing each other, to set forth their petition.
The governer didn’t agree to the delay. And who would dare to contradict him?..
The aqsaqals unanimously expressed their willingness to calm down the boiling auls within a week, though they but well knew that the excited people wouldn’t calm down all at once. They knew and still they didn’t resist the anger of the formidable governer and agreed to go to the steppe.
The Kazakh nobility found themselves with their backs against the wall. There was a deep slough ahead of them and sharpened pikes behind them. Looking downcast and crushed, the aqsaqals went home, sighing and exclaiming: “Oh, Allah, what to do?”
The aqsaqals and bais rode to the steppe. I followed them to know the situation in auls, to be in the thick of the crowd.
(1916)
On my way from Akmolinsk to the steppe I was interested not only in the people’s attitude in Kazakh auls, but I also dropped into some Russian villages. Near the town, the Kazakhs controlled their excitement. Some of the young zhigits kept saddled horses ready and seemed to wait what turn the things would take. In case of a trouble all of them were ready to rush off to the place of armed resistance. But all these intentions were thoroughly hidden, no preparations for the uprising could be seen. It was difficult to say whether the auls around the town were going to openly oppose the government.
But in auls a bit further from Akmolinsk they had already begun talking about quietly pulling up the roots and moving further to the steppe. There was confusion and fear on the faces.
The relations between the Russians and the Kazakhs were very strained.
The Russian rich men from town and wealthy peasants bitterly wondered in their conversations with the Kazakhs: “You own such a vast land, live quietly, you are well-to-do and still at war with the Russians, you even reject the royal service!”
In their turn the Kazakhs boldly claimed: “The Tsar took away our land and water, now he wants to take away our people to send them under the German bullets, to mow the Kazakhs down like grass. We’d better die in our native land than in faraway Germany!”
The enmity between the Russian villages and Kazakh auls was especially evident in the remote, outlying parts of the district.
To the south of Akmolinsk, about a hundred and a half kilometers in the direction of our aul there was a village of Zaharovskoye on the bank of the Nura River. There lived a superintendent of police, responsible for the order in the south volosts of Akmolinsk District. When I came to Zaharovskoye, I went to see the superintendent. During our conversation he wasn’t sincere, was evidently showing off, trying in every way to prove that he was taking to heart the Kazakhs’ troubles.
Suppressing a smile, I asked the superintendent:
- If you are so concerned with the fate of the Kazakhs, why don’t you go to auls to share a wise advice?
- And if the Kazakhs kill me?- the superintendent answered. “That’s true, - I thought, – they can easily finish off this dog”.
From the very last village a Russian teamster reluctantly brought me to the nearest aul and, quickly putting me off, turned the horses back in a moment.
I arrived at Zholboldy aul where the Kazakhs of a large Tok family lived. I was surrounded at once; I had hardly had time to greet them when they instantly bombarded me with questions. I entered the yourt of aqsaqal Kopbai, my close relative. As I came from Akmolinsk itself, Kopbai received me very well. First, with no hurry or worries, he asked me about the situation in town, other not so important news, and then he spoke with anxiety about the main point:
- What is the Russian government going to do? Is it true that the troops are being fitted out against us? What will be the upshot of it all?
In these lands the agitated Kazakhs didn’t conceal their resentment no more. They showed to be ready to oppose the Russian authorities. The zhigits didn’t unsaddle their horses, prepared pikes, pole axes and bludgeons. Every now and then groups of riders galloped back and forth between auls. They clunched bludgeons, held long sticks with an axe at the top and pole axes near their knees. The points of the raised pikes were sparkling in the sun. Some unknown power raised both young and old, everyone got ready for a fight.
The auls on the Nura banks chose hadji[27] Alsen their khan without permission. It could be seen that the people would stop at nothing, wouldn’t retreat in front of the royal troops without trying their strength, though there were only bludgeons and pikes against guns, machineguns and cannons.
- We’ll die without fears and regret, but we should oppose the Russian Tsar, who took away our lands and water and is now taking away ourselves, - by such words the Kazakhs revived a combative mood in each other.
The conversation in Kopbai’s yourt sometimes murmured, sometimes made a noise, like the spring flood. Still there wasn’t readiness to make their own decision, to act independently. It all remained words.
After spending a night in Zholboldy aul, I started out early in the morning and I reached my aul in the evening. Here the people really rose. They talked to each other noisily, excitedly. Our aul wasn’t very hard-working in former times, it was lazy in fact, but now it completely neglected its households. There are no indifferent people, everyone is excited, everyone has risen. They are going to choose hadji Ahmet as a khan. And one or two hadjis more are expected to be his viziers[28]. The young people are forging pikes, daggers, pole axes.
The points of the pikes are sparkling in the sun, the zhigits are galloping between auls, the steppe is buzzing.
“It is better to die in the land where we were born and first got on our feet than to die in unknown, strange Germany. Whatever happens, let us be ready to sacrifice our lives, let us go to the sacred war – jehad! He who will die at the battle of jehad, will be blessed in the other world…”
Young and old women and children are crying. Especially bitter is the cry of poor mothers, having the sons of the call-up age. Mothers’ sorrow is like a black mist. The children are the light for the mother’s eyes. Whether the sons will fight against the Germans and fall there on the field of battle or oppose the royal troops and perish here – anyway, it’s only grief for the poor mother. Day and night she keeps thinking about her son, misses him, sheds bitter tears.
Next to our aul the Kazakh nobility of Kareke family chose Nurlan Kiyashov a khan of two volosts. For many years he served as a volost administrator. A rumour spread that the auls of Tinali family organized a fifteen thousand rebel force, they built fourty smithies and were making guns. Hadji Kuanysh, who became a khan, sent his messengers everywhere calling upon to unite. The Tinalins were said to be supported by other families.
In Karagash urochische the rebels gathered and proclaimed Ospan, Chon’s son, their khan. Ospan sent his messengers to us.
Mullah[29] Galautdin appeared amidst the Tinalins. He began to preach: “The giaours[30] will be defeated. I’ll go ahead of our troops and no bullet will touch you”. Following the Tinali family, the auls of Turgay rose and also chose their khan. Their example was followed by the auls of Atbasar.
The people were excited. The news about the prepared uprising spread one after another. The Kazakhs decided to refuse the royal mobilization at any price. It became evident that it was impossible to control the people’s excitement without a catastrophy, without an armed conflict.
There appeared mullahs everywhere, persistenly preaching shariah[31]. The mullahs urged everyone to take part in the sacred war against the Tsar. To take part in jehad was a duty of every Muslim. If the Tsar broke his promise not to take the Kazakhs to the army, then it wasn’t a sin to fight against him. A mullah Kumisbek appeared, appealing: “Don’t be afraid, Muslims, you will win! If the Tsarist soldiers raise their guns, their eyes will be clouded with dust. If they shoot, their bullets will fly into the sky”.
The people believed him and repeated: “Oh God, let it be!”
There were most incredible rumours. An old shepherd was said to see Anuarbek himself, the Sultan of Turkey. The sultan could fly. He flied up to the old shepherd’s herd on a plane and landed. The old man was frightened but Anuarbek quickly approached him and calmed down: “Don’t be afraid, I’m Anuarbek. I came here to see what’s going on in auls. Tell all the Kazakhs they shouldn’t be afraid of anything – I’ll come again. And now I must hurry on”. And the sultan flew on.
One could hear every now and then: “We should unite with the Tinalins. It’s time to really get prepared”.
Very soon I realized than no persuasion of the aqsaqals, sent by the order of Akmolinsk governer, would have an effect. People wouldn’t believe it.
“It would be better if young Kazakh zhigits had served as soldiers, - I thought, – they would have learnt to use arms, would have learnt the art of war and then opposed the Tsar”. But these considerations of mine would hardly be convincing in such a tense situation.
Watching what was going on, I noticed that not so many people craved for a mortal combat, they just wanted to show their military spirit at a distance or even better to simply move away to stay out of trouble. The majority didn’t want to fight but just to avoid soldiering.
A rumour began to spread that the troops started off from town to the steppe. The migration of auls near the Russian villages increased panic in the auls, which decided to remain in their place. The volost administrators were threatened: “Don’t give the lists of conscripts!” They were kept away from town. The vizier of a new khan caught the son of a former volost administrator on the road to the Spassk plant:
- Where are you going?
He replied that he was going to the plant.
- What’s there for you to do at the plant?
- Just look at you!- the son of the volost administrator exclaimed. The vizier struck him with a whip and said: “Take that, uat tibi nas[32]”. He beat him and forced to return.
The auls were excited, the panic was increasing. The rumours spread that the troops set out against the Tinalins. The zhigits continue to prance on horsebacks, rattle the sabres, but there is no particular readiness to support the Tinalins. It seems that the children, women and old people will have to experience much more grief and shed much more tears, that it’s only the beginning. The people are in such a mood that they are ready to run for their life even now. Suppose the corpses of the killed will cover the native land after a fight with the Tsar’s soldiers, but those who will stay alive will have to flee to distant lands. There’s no other way out – only to flee. Farewell, oh, native land, farewell, oh, streams and rivers.
No one can calmly watch the sufferings of the people. You can hear mournful cries of mothers, old people and brides, see the young zhigits full of strength, condemned to death in the fight against the Tsar’s troops, and the soul is covered with a black mist. It seems the heart is about to break with a quiet sad ringing, as the strings of dombra tear, when they are stretched to the breaking-point. The people are rushing about, not being aware of what they are doing.
Some, as if submitting to the eyeless destiny, have silently and patiently prepared for death, the others, more reasonable, are trying to do something about it, however they have succumbed to panic and are rushing about, not knowing what to do. The people have heaved, like the sea during the black hurricane. The surf is roaring indistinctly, reservedly, the waves are foaming, and there is no power to subdue the elements…
I’m sitting at home, not knowing what to do, where to go, what to achieve. My mother is crying. My brother is crying, grimly determined to meet death in battle in the native land.
I turned to a rich relative and asked him to give me a cart to go to Zaharovskoye. He refused me. If the poor kept thinking about saving their lives and forgot about the cattle these days, the bais worried first of all how to preserve their cattle, herds and flocks. They weren’t interested in human fates. Another relative also refused me, though both of them had about a thousand horses in their herds. They couldn’t find a single one for me. So I had to turn to those who were poorer. I took a cart from one man, a pair of horses from another and went to town together with Satay Zhankuttiev.
It was August, the time of harvest. By the sunset we came to the wells on the western bank of the Esen River and saw that a just arrived aul was hastily and in turmoil spreading its yourts. All men are on horsebacks. The cattle is bellowing near the well, the horses have mixed with the camels, the cows with the sheep. The children are running, the women are bustling around, hastily erecting huts and spreading yourts. The houseware, the packages with goods and chattels are on the ground, thrusted at random. We somehow managed to learn that these were our relatives, the same aul of Zholboldy where I stayed on my way from town.
This night we found shelter in one of the huts and asked in details about the reasons for such a hasty migration. It turned out that this day they had an armed conflict with twenty-five Russian soldiers, who came to the aul headed by the superintendent from Zaharovskoye. The soldiers demanded to return twelve horses, stolen in one of the Russian villages. The owners of the missing horses came with them. But as the inhabitants of this aul weren’t guilty, the horses were stolen by somebody from another aul, they refused to answer for the theft. The soldiers began to shoot and wounded two horses. The Kazakhs answered and the bullets rained down on both sides. The soldiers had to leave empty-handed, and the Kazakhs hastily moved to another place, capturing a Cossack captain, a Kazakh, with his horse in a rich silver harness.
From the conversation we learnt that the same twenty-five soldiers detained a caravan, belonging to Shubyrtpaly family. A large caravan – three hundred camels – was carrying the food supply and tried to resist the soldiers. The chief caravanner, Agybai-batyr’s grandson, an unarmed brave man, pulled his horse up on its haunches and galloped to the armed soldiers with the cry: “Agybai!” The caravanners were utterly defeated, of course. The superintendent killed two caravanners, and the survivors, beaten and injured, were taken to Zaharovskoye and imprisoned. A grey horse in a silver harness, captured by the Kazakhs together with the Cossack captain, turned out to be a horse of Agybai-batyr’s grandson.
When the inhabitants of aul learnt that we were going to town, they asked us to give a letter to the superintendent, in which they explained that they had nothing to do with the theft of twelve horses and asked not to persecute them for no reason. If the authorities imposed the damages on their aul, they would submit, like it or not, let them only have time to find the horse thieves, who were really responsible for it.
We made the next stop in Usabai’s aul. Three messengers who came from the aul of Zholboldy together with us, wrote a letter to the superintendent and attached Usabai’s seal to it.
In the afternoon we left Usabai’s aul, located on the Esen bank, rode along impassible roads and by the evening arrived at Koskopa, the last Russian village, from which those twelve horses were stolen by the unknown.
In the village we asked the first man we met where we could spend the night. He pointed to the coaching inn. We rode to the coaching inn and were surrounded by Russian muzhiks[33]. There was a loud swearing, we saw angry, maliciously sparkling eyes in front of us. There suddenly appeared two soldiers and began to shout at us : “You’re spies, we’ll arrest you!” We had to get off the cart. The muzhiks took our horses at once. We were led into the house, where the village headman came soon and first of all attacked me:
- Who are you?
I explained. The muzhiks surrounded us even closer.
- No, it’s all lies!- cried the headman.- We know that you are the leaders of rebels, you came here to spy on us! You want to attack our village! Have you got documents?
I showed my documents. The headman read them and calmed down a bit, but the muzhiks wouldn’t stop:
- He could fabricate the documents! They are Kazakh spies, let’s kill them!
- By axes! Kill them by axes! – furious voices were heard.
There was a great noise. Enfuriated by the theft of horses and a conflict with the aul, the muzhiks demanded our execution.
“The death, here it is! – flashed in my mind. – Unexpectedly. It is enough that somebody raises his hand and the enfuriated crowd, having lost all human shape, will smash us to pieces…”
- You’re in charge here,- I said, turning to the headman, – Whatever happens to us, it is you who will be answerable to the law for it. You have read my documents, signed by the inspector of Akmolinsk public education, with your own eyes. It’s only you who will answer for all the troubles, caused to us here. If you need me, you can just order and I won’t run away.
The headman thought for a while. The muzhiks kept crying, demanding our death.
- Keep silent!- he couldn’t bear it any longer.- I’m not going to answer for you before the court!
After the headman’s threatening shout the muzhiks calmed down appreciably. The soldier in charge searched us, took the knives away. After gigging in our chests, he took the papers and documents away. Then he appointed two soldiers to look for us and ordered the muzhiks to go away.
The soldiers vigilantly guarded us all night. From time to time the headman entered, accompanied by two or three muzhiks and a soldier. They set near us and talked with each other, evidently wanting us to hear it: “Three hundred soldiers came from Akmolinsk… And ten machineguns… They are placed in the streets… We’ll have to keep them here all the time…” Little by little, I began speaking to them. My comrade Satay attentively listened to our conversation; as he didn’t understand Russian, he was shaking with fright. I couldn’t help him as long as the muzhiks were here. But as soon as they left I tried to calm Satay down, telling him in brief that there was nothing to fear. He was silent, standing mute with fear. It was easy to guess from the muzhiks’ ferocious look that they were going to treat us in the worst possible way. The enmity between the Russians and the Kazakhs became particularly acute these days, it could be seen that it would be a life and death struggle. There were already several cases of murder of Kazakhs and Russians, caught alone.
We went to sleep on the floor. The soldiers kept sitting…
In the morning the headman with an armed soldier took us to the superintendent to the village of Zaharovskoye. In the afternoon we noticed a caravan of camels not far from the village, near the hills. The soldiers with guns were sitting on the camels. These were the camels, taken away from the caravanners, arriving from Karkaralinsk for food products. The soldiers on the camels were protecting Zaharovskoye from the attack of the Kazakhs.
We were taken to the superintendent, the same with whom I had the honour of getting acquainted on the way from Akmolinsk to my aul.
The superintendent almost ran out to meet us and when he learnt how the matters stood, he gave a laugh. Seeing that the superintendent released us and wasn’t going to take any rigorous measures, our escort, headed by the headman, left dissatisfied and confused.
We entered the superintendent’s house and I gave him the letter of the inhabitants of Zholboldy, concerning the theft of twelve horses. I also asked about the circumstances of the caravan with three hundred camels, wondering if the superintendent would let them continue their way. He answered that he had sent a corresponding message to town and was expecting an answer that day or the next day.
The superintendent acceded to my request to see someone from the caravan. They brought in two of them. One was badly beaten. I talked to him, trying to comfort him as I could.
Receiving news from Akmolinsk, I obtained a release paper for my relatives, and handing it to Satay, I asked him to return to the aul himself…
In Zaharovskoye I didn’t see a single Kazakh at large, all were driven together, guarded by the sentries. No one was let to approach them. Many of them had already been shot, the caravanners were expecting for their destiny to be settled.
I didn’t show up in the street the whole day. I could’t understand anything in the present situation. There was no one to share my doubts and worries about the fate of common Kazakhs with. What did the future hold for them?
It was difficult to stay alone. As if I had got lost and was alone on the edge of the precipice.
I went to the shop, the owner of which turned out to be a Tatar, Karim Muksinov. The master’s wife, a prematurely aged woman of fifty or so, went out to meet me and invited me to her. I went in for a while. The master wasn’t at home, he went to town on business. A daughter-in-law and a son of twelve or thirteen years old lived with her. Two elder sons were taken to the army. Remembering them, the woman got sad. We had a long talk with her about our difficult times and drank tea without haste. I noticed an accordion with two rows of keys and asked who played it.
- My elder son played,- the woman said.-And now the accordeon is orphaned. My younger son is gradually learning to play it. If you want to listen to, he’ll play…
I wanted to listen to some kui.
The boy took the accordion in hands and began to play a plaintive and a sad melody. The sounds are flowing, sometimes trembling and gentle, sometimes loudly crying, abruptly sobbing. We sit silently with the hostess, immersed in the music. The soul seems to have melt, softened. I see that the hostess begins to wipe her tears with a sleeve. The sadness has captured my heart, too, but I’m trying to control myself, to resist it. The mournful crying kui is taking away with it, it doesn’t let me from the captivity of sadness. I couldn’t stand it any more, cried and went out to my place.
When did our land get into such trouble? Why didn’t we manage to be close to the people and to better their fate? My heart was weeping from the awareness of my impotence.
The next day a messenger came to the superintendent from Akmolinsk with the order to take the detained caravanners to Akmolinsk.
I decided to follow the caravanners, find out what was waiting for them in town and help, if possible.
I arrive at Akmolinsk. The time has come to go to Buglinsk school, where I was appointed, but I don’t dare, I wonder around the town, foreboding new important events.
The caravanners were confined in a cold cellar. I bought a sheep, slaughtered it and brought parcels to the caravanners – meat and bread.
And the Tsar’s troops keep coming to the steppe. The town prisons are overcrowded with the Kazakhs, captured during raids on auls. A lot of innocent people are shot without trial and record. The auls are ravaged, the cattle is driven away, the zhigits are killed, the girls are raped. Several newly chosen khans are imprisoned. Hadji Alsen and two Chon’s sons are arrested. And they keep bringing new prisoners and “criminals“ from the steppe. They are driven into the cellars of stone houses. The rumours spread that the jailers beat the “instigators of the uprising” every day. They incessantly question the “khans” and also beat them, regardless of their high rank. Hadji Alsen is beaten to death in prison.
The auls near the town, which failed to migrate in time, agreed to give their zhigits to the army. The elders from these auls were summoned to town by the authorities.
A lot of valuable jewelry and expensive utensils, plundered in Kazakh auls, appeared in Russian villages. In Akmolinsk itself there appeared plenty of carpets, felts, samovars, basins, fur coats, silver saddles, harness, silver bracelets, rings and other jewelry these days.
The soldiers moved by cars to the auls of Tinali family, where, from heresay, a fifteen-thousand army of rebels had gathered.
Behind Chon’s aul, in Karagash urochische, there was Konek aul, where the Kazakhs of Tok family, close to us, lived. The volost administrator was Omar, called Takyr (poor), because he had few cattle in comparison with the local bais. Once there appeared seven soldiers, headed by a non-commissioned officer, in Takyr-Omar’s aul. Omar enticed them into his house by guile and here finished off all the seven together with the non-commissioned officer…
In Kanzhygaly family volost administrator Olzhabai led the army himself against the auls, which didn’t support Olzhabai during the election of volost administrator. The soldiers burnt winter camps and shot innocent people. There began a general escape to the out-of-way and little investigated corners. Poor people fled, having no time to take the sick and old with them, sometimes they left babies in cradles. Some auls, when leaving the native land, hid all valuable things in the places of burial. The soldiers nosed out about this trick and began to devastate new graves, taking the things out, and sometimes defiled true graves.
Human eyes hadn’t seen yet what was there in the auls , through which the Tsar’s troops passed. Plenty of shot people, raped and beaten women and girls, orphaned children. The yourts were turned upside down, all the valuables were taken away, and what it was impossible to take was broken and destroyed. As if the steppe was attacked by a black plague…
Once I met in the street my acquaintance from the general school, Cossack ensign Zyryanov. He had just come from the steppe. It turned out that he was sent from Omsk to master the “Kazakh uprising”. During our conversation I asked him: did he also have to kill? Zyryanov answered with a laugh:
- I killed with a sabre, with my own hands only five people.
That was how the matters stood in the steppe and what people were sent there!
I went to newly opened Buglinsk aul school. It was quiet in the aul, it was sixty versts from Akmolinsk. I settled here, gathered the children and began the studies.
Several days passed. Gradually a relative calm returned and soldier detachments began to return to town. The auls of Tinali family and some other, placed in the most remote corners of the district, didn’t calm down.
The province and district authorities continued to have it their own way. The recruitment of zhigits aged from nineteen to thirty-one for logistical works continued. The recruitment centers were created in three places of Akmolinsk District and they directly submitted just to Akmolinsk. The volost administrators began to give the lists of recruits. Panic spread in auls again. Both rich and poor had the same concern – to avoid recruitment, pay off, give a bribe to an officer for a son or a brother. There appeared mediators, helpful brokers for the bribetakers. The volost administrators, beys, foremen, all the officials felt even more confident than earlier and began to obtain gratuitous loot without any efforts.
There was no one to stand up for a poor one, he had nothing to pay the ransom, nothing to put in the rapacious paw of a mediator, a foreman or a bey. At the same time there appeared more and more bais’ sons, “unfit” for military service because the bais didn’t begrudge the cattle to rescue their sons and relatives.
The crowds of petitioners and suppliants went from auls to town. Even greater grief came to the peaceful, just quietened auls. Only now, seeing that it was impossible to achieve justice neither by rebellion, nor by humble requests, the people felt their unhappiness to the depth.
The remote auls continued to resist and didn’t give their zhigits. In our volost only forty or fifty men were found fit out of two thousand fmilies. The others, who gave a bigger bribe, were given a deferment.
The officials have no shame at all, skin the people alive. A rich bai can easily give a part of his cattle to the greedy hands of a foreman or a bey. And the poor ones have been brought to a complete ruin.
Our zhigits were recruited for logistical works at the Spassk plant. The volost administrator, conspired with bai Seytkemelev, living in Spassk, gave a big bribe to the authorities, and now they did what they wanted with the zhigits of the volost. No one but the poor were taken to the army. The bribetakers weren’t ashamed of anybody, openly overstepped the limits, everything was allowed to them, honour, conscience, mercy to a human being were out of the question.
I wrote a letter to the Head of Akmolinsk District, signing it with an assumed name. in the letter I told him about lawlessness and excesses, the officials’ wild greed, that the impudent traders, seizing the opportunity, bought up the cheap cattle, tucked a poor Kazakh the money, which he needed to give a bribe, to pay off. In the end of the letter I added for cogency that justice might be observed sooner or later and that the brutal officials would answer one day for this humiliation.
Leaving school, I went to Akmolinsk again. Here the situation is also bad, the inhabitants are agitated. The traders are darting about, hurrying to line their pockets on the people’s trouble.
Several Kazakhs gathered together in Musapir’s house. I tried to calm them down: “Don’t give way to panic, try to stay calm or all of you will perish senselessly”.
The recruited zhigits are loitering about Akmolinsk, looking for the kumiss, drinking heavily, singing songs, making noise, crying, exactly the same as Russian recruits before the military service. The last ones carouse with an accordion, these have also added the dombra to the accordion.
Once young zhigits, having a drop too much, took me with them. With the accordion, with songs we went from one kumiss seller to another and drank kumiss. The zhigits were mainly singing sad and mournful Tatar songs. They kept crying and singing native Kazakh songs to the tune of the Tatar ones:
...The Tsar needed me
When I was twenty,
The Tsar needed me.
I don’t know the songs more mournful and sad than the Tatar songs.
We went into the house where several young zhigits were sitting and drinking beer. One of them was playing the accordion, the others were singing without concord. Zhigit Kilybai, a well-known lady-killer, having toys in the attic, as it soon turned out, barged into the room. He was seated at once, treated to the wine and then asked to sing. He didn’t keep us asking too long, sang, then had a drink and gave a loud hoot. Already drunk, he sat near me, embraced me and started crying: “My turn has come to go to the army…”
I was surprised why he should go to the army. By appearance Kilybai was noticeably older than the service age.
- Aren’t you less than thirty-one? I asked.
- No, I’m not, damned be this age, still I go to the army.
And Kilybai told us what had happened to him. That evening, when the clerks were going from house to house and making a list of zhigits aged from nineteen to thirty-one, Kilybai was just paying compliments to the girls. The clerks entered and began to write down the names of the zhigits and their age. Kilybai was widely known by name and he was asked about his age. He was ashamed of telling it in the presence of the girls and said he was twenty-five. So he entered the list of recruits for logistical works.
- They don’t understand jokes,- Kilybai was distressed.
- Why don’t you correct the mistake later?-I wondered.
Absolutely drunk, confusing Russian and Kazakh words, Kilybai could hardly explain:
- I checked myself, but too late. We can’t do anything, they say, we can’t.
Thus, funny cases occurred in the line of sad events.
Once I went to see off another group of the mobilized for logistical works. They gathered near a big brick house, where a shop used to be. The street in front of the house was crowded with the seers-off. There was an unceasing noise, uproar, crying, the people were constantly entering the house and leaving it, looking for God knows what, excited before the departure. But then a procession of carts appeared, accompanied by the soldiers. The carts stopped near the red house. The people fell silent, watching closely what was going on. The soldiers entered the house and a few minutes later began to make the mobilized zhigits go out in turn and put them in the carts. And then they started off, taking the zhigits away from their near and dear ones without even saying goodbye.
There was crying and shouts again, there wasn’t a single person who would not cry. The poor women seemed to go crazy, they were shouting, running after the carts.
The next day I returned to Buglinsk school.
The days passed… The winter came. From time to time I get Russian newspapers, follow the events, taking place in Moscow in connection with Petrograd Duma… The ministers begin to change… The heart is full of premonitions, it is waiting intently, it is excited by the anticipation of great changes…
And suddenly, like a thunder-stone from a clear sky: the Tsarist rule has fallen!
FIRST YEARS OF REVOLUTION
There were few Kazakhs who would not rejoice at hearing about the dethronement of the Tsar. The Kazakh youth, especially educated, took this news enthusiastically. Of course, the news of revolution was not to the liking of the Tsar’s minions, such as Nurmagambet.
With the exception of a handful of “honorary citizens”, all the Kazakhs hated the Tsar. The Tsar took the land away, took the youth to the army, insulted the religious feelings of the Kazakhs. That’s why the oppressed people wished all the best and all the luck in the world to those, fighting against the Russian autocracy. When Russia lost the war with Japan, they spoke with satisfaction in the Kazakh steppe: “It serves you right!..” and the events of 1916 inflicted an unforgettable, incurable wound to the people, their hearts were weeping.
These days, I began to receive letters from Omsk and Akmolinsk from my former comrades, holding the same views as I did. In their letters they sounded immensely happy about the deposition of the Tsarist government, informed me of their active participation in the large tumultuous congregations and meetings. Taking to the social and political struggle, they rushed to protect all the Kazakhs in general, without choosing, without dividing them into classes. Of course, in the early days of revolution many of them did not understand the essence of the Bolshevist struggle…
I came to Akmolinsk at once. The characteristic feature of this period was the abundance of different gatherings and meetings. There were logomachies every day, some new committees and bureaus were reelected almost in a day.
There appeared park-bench speakers, phrase-mongers, who would mount the platform for any occasion. The people, who used to be ordinary and unnoticeable, now fervently took part in the battles between the orators, tried to put in their word in season and out of season.
Former shop assistants, grocers, speculators, teachers, technicians, clerks, interpreters, petty officials, veterinary assistants, doctors and others – all of them joined the struggle, all wanted to act as leaders on behalf of the people.
The citizens of Akmolinsk divided into groups. The Russian Cossacks, petty bourgeoisie, Muslims (the Tatars and the Kazakhs), teachers, soldiers of the garrison and working people – each group gathered separately. Instead of former police officers a coalition committee was elected to control the inhabitants of the town and the steppe. The head of the district was removed and a commissar appointed to his place, the peasant chiefs were removed.
I arrived at the town just in time for the election of the district and town coalition committee.
For the elections the Kazakh town “leaders” gathered in the madrasah[34].
I was present at this gathering. In the large overcrowded hall of madrasah the speakers, mainly young educated Kazakhs, talked about one and the same thing: what to do? The Tsarism fell, the people gained political power and the downtrodden masses didn’t know now how to live and what to do.
Who will govern the people in the steppe? What to do with former volost administrators? Will there be aul representatives in the district and town coalition committee? If yes, how many of them and in which capacity?
The speakers talked a lot, obliquely, stumbling, beating about
the bush. They had no political experience, each one interpreted
the things in his own manner, so they went arguing on and on… And they left away with nothing done, having decided to meet once more the next day.
The next day the Tatars and the Kazakhs gathered together in the madrasah. Two Tatars – Seit Latypov and Sharip Yalymov – spoke most fervently and passionately. Small merchants with a ready tongue, they found themselves in the role of leaders among us and presented their suggestions and demands on behalf of all Muslims. Big capital owners took a separate counsel.
The same question was discussed this time: elections to the district and town coalition committee. The representatives of different nationalities, different class groupings, different social layers were to enter it. There was an instruction from above: nominate equal number of deputies to the committee, regardless of the number of voters, that is the equal number from the Muslims, Russian Cossacks, bourgeoisie, the inhabitants of the suburb, soldiers, teachers. With the exception of the Russian Cossacks, the majority was against such approach. It is this question that was discussed at the meeting in the madrasah.
- I urge all Kazakhs and Tatars, all Muslims to protest against this provision, - Seit Latypov said. – We are in the vast majority, so we can’t have equal representation in the committee with small groups and Russian population. Let the general elections without any restrictions be organized. Those, who will receive the majority of voices at the secret vote, will be the members of the committee.
The members of the meeting shouted approvingly.
- Tomorrow,- Latypov continued,- the commissar, who came from Omsk to conduct elections, must summon the voters to the building of the former town council. We’ll ask for the floor and declare on behalf of the Muslims that we don’t agree to form a committee on that basis. I offer to choose two representatives now, authorized to go to the general school and tell Gorbachev and Koltunov, representatives of the town teachers, about our demands.
The meeting unanimously approved Latypov’s proposal and entrusted him and me with speaking on behalf of the Muslims in the town council tomorrow, and today - with going to the general school at once and speaking with the representatives of the teachers, who supported the former principle of the elections of the committee.
We found Gorbachev and Koltunov at the general school. I saw them for the first time. Both teachers turned to be experienced in the revolutionary movement. We recounted the opinion of the Muslim meeting about the creation of the coalition committee. The teachers met our decision with approval and additionally informed us about the following:
- The small layer of teachers won’t infringe upon the interests of larger social groups. The principle of creation of coalition committee was suggested by the people of disgraceful behaviour, the “have-beens”. The teachers are going to decisively repulse this principle. The elections must be universal and equal for all.
Having discussed other important matters, we parted.
The next day the commissar from Omsk convened a meeting of representatives in the building of the former town council.
We did come, too. The large hall was overcrowded. The people stood shoulder to shoulder. The commissar from Omsk, a stout officer, was sitting at the table, covered with green cloth, and there were five persons more near him, unfamiliar to me. The first speakers began to object at once the organization of coalition committee.
Latypov, a resolute man who was not born yesterday, spoke on behalf of the Muslims. He knew how to speak.
According to the opinion of the majority, the question of creation of the coalition committee stood no longer. A temporary commission was elected and a decision was taken to elect the district and town committee by the universal secret ballot in the near future.
First the Russians, Kazakhs and Tatars made a common list of candidates. Then there appeared a separate list, offered by the group, representing the Russian population. Then there increased the number of groups, and five or six different lists were made.
The elections took place. Only two Kazakhs entered the committee. The little number of our representatives was due to the fact that not all the Kazakhs understood the importance of the elections.
The elected committee decided to send its representatives to auls to conduct explanatory work and organize relevant propaganda.
The next meeting at the madrasah was opened by Yalymov, already mentioned by me. Aqsaqal Balapan, an experienced man, one of the activists of the urban poor, came to the crowded meeting. Yalymov sounded hauty and self-conceited, though he had but little reason to give commands to the people. Yalymov worked in the transport office, had a small grocery store. As many people from the layer of petty tradesmen, he was a sharp-witted rogue. Quickly and prudently he rose to become an organizer, began to proudly speak on behalf of almost all Muslims. He had an unbalanced character and extravagant behaviour, managed to worm himself into the confidence of the Tatars and Kazakhs and entered the committee.
While discussing the question of who should be sent to the steppe, Balapan suddenly grappled with Yalymov.
- We should send the Kazakhs to the steppe,- Balapan said firmly.
But Yalymov was going to send more Tatars to auls, mostly small tradesmen and speculating grocers. Balapan stood his ground. Then Yalymov jumped up, slammed his fist on the table and began to shout at him, angrily rolling his eyes. Always ready-witted, usually sharp-tongued, this time Balapan was taken aback, failed to respond the new authority. His downtroddenness in the past, his humility of a poor man evidently played its role. But still he was not frightened.
In the end they decided to send a mixed group of Kazakhs and Tatars to the steppe. Going out into the street, some began to play a trick on Balapan:
- Well, Yalymov has greatly intimidated you, hasn’t he?.. The next day Balapan came to me indignated:
- This Yalymov is a dog... Why did we choose this dog?
- The trouble is you were afraid of him yesterday,-I decided to joke a bit.
- No, I wasn’t frightened, just… let the chance slip. He shouted at me in Russian: “It turned out he have no right to it!” I didn’t understand first, I guessed it later,” – Balapan was sincere about it.
This Balapan’s expression: “It turned out he have no right to it” – still exists as a joke among the inhabitants of Akmolinsk.
Soon after it the committee was reelected. There were so many meetings, elections and reelections of the committee in Akmolinsk during this short period of time, that one wouldn’t be able to remember all of them…
There were lots of meetings but no authority. The district wasn’t governed by the endlessly reelected committee but by the commissar of Kerensky’s government. But his power didn’t last long. Everyone viewed himself as a master of the situation, no one submitted to anybody. The court hag nothing to rely on, not numerous police appeared powerless.
The whole pack of the royal officials: the volost administrators, superintendents, the heads of peasants – continued to live in clover. Removed somewhere from their office, they lived at the same places without any difficulties. No idea came to the new government to punish these bloodsuckers for their excesses in the past. And just recently, about a year ago, when the mobilization for logistical works was declared, when the people rose up against injustice, these mean fleecers skinned unfortunate Kazakhs alive.
Their present impunity dashed our spirits to the bottom of our heart. We kept petitioning, demanding deserved punishment and that was all in vain, we just waisted our breath with our complaints.
In 1916 the officials of the Spassk plant in the village of Alekseevka, Goyakovich and Orlov, took great bribes, promising to save the youth from the mobilization. They shared their loot with bai Seytkemelev. Now these grabbers lived in Akmolinsk, and whatever I did, striving to get them imprisoned and judged, it was all in vain. It was very difficult to find a just judge, having power and able to punish the criminals according to their deserts. Everyone lived as he wanted. Everyone understood the achieved freedom in his own way and tried to use it at his discretion. If you were interested in the reasons of this or that unbecoming action, you would hear a scornful answer: - Why, it’s freedom now!..
District and regional congresses were held everywhere in Kazakhstan. In April the district Kazakh congress took place in the town of Omsk. We sent veterinary assistants, Husain and Baiseit, as representatives of Akmolinsk. Two lions of the steppe, potbellied bais: Zhantore of Tam family and Olzhabai, a volost administrator of Korzhynkul – went unauthorized to this congress at their own expense.
The Kazakh reginal committee was elected at that congress.
Myrzhakip came to the congress from Orenburg, from the newspaper “Kazakh”.
Soon after the congress two commissars came to Akmolinsk: Adilev and Kemengerov, who created the district Kazakh committee. Still the total local authority was concentrated in the hands of the commissar of Kerensky’s government.
Different meetings and congresses were conducted here and there. Our representatives should take part in them on behalf of the Kazakhs and the Kazakh committee.
Lawyer Duisembaev was appointed the chairman of the Kazakh committee, and I became the vice-chairman. Adilev, Kemengerov, Shegin, later Aibasov and others entered the committee. It was decided to organize a printing establishment and issue a newspaper. We collected money to buy fonts and sent Duisembaev on this mission to Kazan.
Now it was me who was elected the chairman of the committee. We continued to send commissars to all volosts of Akmolinsk District to organize volost committeees. We wrote a detailed instruction, indicating how to organize these committees, that no former oppresors and offenders of the population should be elected, that they should agitate for the subscription to our newspaper and collect money. We sent a special notebook with the commissars, where the conditions of subscription to the newspaper were stated.
The relations between Akmolinsk District commissar and the Kazakh committee began to worsen now. I had to go to the aul to settle a flagrant case. It turned out that during my absence Rahimzhan Duisembaev, who came back from Kazan, insulted district commissar Petrov, calling him an agent provocateur at the meeting. Insulted to death, the commissar took him to court. Hastily returning to town, we gave a secret telegram to three addresses: to Omsk regional commissar, to the regional Kazakh committee and to the regional Council of Deputies, accusing Petrov of wrong-doing.
In those days the four of us lived in one of the rooms, where the committee was located: Dinmuhammet Adiliev, Birmuhammet Aibasov, Kemengerov and me.
We were peacefully sleeping. We woke up from a knock in the dead of the night. We opened the door and saw a postman.
- What’s the matter?
- Have a summons.
- What summons can be there at night?
The postman handed it to us, we looked – it was really a summons. The Russian district committee urgently summoned us to the extraordinary meeting… Puzzled, we looked at each other, then asked the postman what this urgent meeting was and who was present there. The postman said he didn’t know details, he was ordered to hand the summons. The only thing he could say was that the members of the committee had already gathered and were expecting for us.
We dressed quickly and went out together. The postman told us that all members of the committee were summoned. So we had to go from flat to flat, waking people up. On the way we called on Baimagambet Ogiztazov, also a member of our committee, who used to be an interpreter of the volost administrator.
He knew Russian quite well and we decided to invite him with us. When he learnt where we were going, he got frightened and repeated again and again, while getting prepared: “What’s the matter? What could happen?” We almost forced him to go with us.
The night was moonless and dark, the town was in a deep sleep, and only a handful of members of the Kazakh committee walked along the night streets. There were light fleecy clouds on the sky, a star twinkled here and there, as if with a light smile. The dark windows of sleeping houses were gleaming like the shaitans’ eyes.
- Oh, my God, why do they need us, what has happened? – Baimagambet continued to worry. – Something is sure to be wrong, otherwise they won’t call us. Ah-ah, my children, how many times I have warned you, but you would not listen to me. And now it has happened. Perhaps the Russian Tsar sat on the throne again!
We came to the meeting. All members of the committee were present. There was calm and cool, no fuss, no rush. The district commissar and the secretary of the Social Revolutionary Party, Martlogo, also a member of the committee, was present.
The meeting began and we understood from the first speech why we were called here. Commissar Petrov learned what our telegrams, sent to three addresses, were about and convened the Russian committee, conducted the relevant work among its members and summoned us to give us a good tongue-lashing, to insist on his rights.
The conversation was sharp, tough. The majotity of the Russians were excellent talkers. Petrov himself and Koltunov, the teacher of general school, were especially noticeable.
- It’s a calumny! – they exclaimed hotheadedly. – It’s an insult of the representatives of the people’s power! You must prove the commissar’s guilt by facts and documents, or will have to answer to the court! – And they banged the table with their fists.
We didn’t have any compromising documents, besides, we didn’t expect that this issue would be raised and were taken aback at first. But little by little we began to take part in the dispute, to prove our case. It finally put Petrov out of temper:
- You called me an agent provocateur in your telegram to Omsk! Agents provocateur are shot. Give me immediately your evidence, otherwise you’ll come before the court! – his voice was furious, the commissar was menacingly beating his sabre against the floor.
- I have rendered a lot of services to the revolution!- he continued. – I was the first to oppose the Tsar with my soldiers. My father is an old revolutionary. Writer Potapenko wrote about me in his book. Sasha, a boy, - it’s me. So what have I done to be badmouthed by you? – the commissar finished, almost crying.
It was not a pleasant situation for the Kazakh committee. Baimagambet disappeared under the pretext of “checking out the plumbing”. Sultan, Useke (Usen Kosaev), Husain and other comrades left the meeting under different pretexts. There remained only four of us to participate in the debate; Birmuhammet Aibasov, Dinmuhammet Adilev, Kemengerov and I.
We were in the minority at this meeting and couldn’t prove our case.
Nevertheless, due to the telegram two commissars came to see us from Omsk, one was a Russian, Homutov, and the other a Kazakh, A. Seitov. They convened a meeting of the Kazakh committee. As we declared at the meeting that we had settled the conflict by our own efforts, both commissars peacefully went back.
It is easy to judge from this example about the activity of our committee. We only seemed to have power but in fact were not vested with any authority. The old laws weren’t valid and there were no the new ones. The task number one for our committee was the elimination of the bride price and the emancipation of women in the family.
You can judge about the total confusion in the work of our committee as the body of people’s power at least from the following fact. Nearly a hundred and twenty complaints were received from the population about two former volost administrators. It is impossible to enumerate all humiliation on the part of the volost administrators, which was mentioned in the letters. After familiarizing ourselves with the complaints, we decided to make every effort to bring these volost administrators before the court, let them be punished according to their deserts for humiliating people. But Petrov stated that we weren’t authorized to judge criminals. Then we turned to the Russian judges for help and received an evasive answer, saying “We don’t interefere in the Kazakh affairs, make any decision you want”.
Then we sent all 120 complaints to Omsk regional committee, asking to investigate the matter and to punish the guilty. Sending these complaints, we also intended to receive evidence of the authority of the regional committee, we hoped that some measures would be taken there at least and then it would be easier for us to work. But a few days later these complaints returned to us without any accompanying instructions and explanations, say nothing of an attempt to take measures regarding the criminals.
The members of the district committee knew both volost administrators very well, especially Olzhabai, Korzhynkul volost administrator, about whom eighty complaints were brought. The tears and groans of the people, whom these brutes humiliated in 1916, were impossible to forget. Still nothing was done to punish them either by the district or by the regional committee. Besides, Olzhabai’s nephew Tolebai turned to be a member of the regional committee.
After the overthrow of the Tsarist regime Olzhabai came to Akmolinsk and, being a clever man with a ready tongue, having authority with officials, began to speak at the meetings and even wormed his way into the “leaders”. Unauthorized, he went to the congress in Omsk and managed to push the candidature of his nephew into the members of the committee. Having learnt that the relatives of the innocent victims, who perished during the uprising of the previous year, brought nearly eighty complaints about him, Olzhabai immediately fled from Akmolinsk. We told all this in our report to the regional committee, sent several telegrams, asking to remove Tolebai from the regional committee, but our letters and telegrams remained without an answer, the committee didn’t heed to us, and we gradually understood that there couldn’t be any normal relations between our committee and the regional one.
Meanwhile we continued to handle our district matters ourselves. We established a youth organization “Zhas Kazakh” – “Young Kazakh” with its own board and regulations. It said, in particular: “…The organization “Young Kazakh” considers the Revolutionary Party the most reliable party in Russia and works hand in hand with them. The organization strongly supports the creation of the Federal Republic …”
The main task of our organization was to explain a new policy to the local population and adhere to the revolutionary justice; Saken Seifullin was elected the chairman of “Zhas Kazakh”, Adilev, Aibasov, Asylbekov, Serikbaev and Nurkin were elected the members of the bureau. First about fifty people joined our organization, but then this number started gradually increasing. Soon we had our own secretary, our own treasurer, our own seal. By autumn we released the first issue of the magazine “Aina“ – “Mirror”, published in the printing establishment, using our own resources.
It is difficult to say now if it was for better or worse, but the work was in full swing both in the committee and in the “Young Kazakh”.
We organized volost committees in auls. In many places we managed to remove from the leadership and influence some former officials, oppressors of the population. We strongly defended the freedom of women, declared that each woman had equal voting rights with a man. As far as possible we fought against the bride price. The girl, married to the man whom she didn’t love just because he payed a great bride price, was released from the captivity by force and ensured her right to get married to the man she chose. That’s why our committee very soon became the court, and the police , and the supreme power for the Kazakhs of all Akmolinsk District. In front of the building, where the committee worked there were always saddled horses of messanges, coming from auls. A long train of Kazakh girls went to the committee, asking to defend them from being married for the bride price, and we satisfied their requests and handed out the documents to them, giving them the right of free choice of the bridegroom. One day eighteen girls from aul received this emancipation document.
From the private letters and newspapers, which were published one by one in different places of Kazakhstan, we learnt about the organization of committees, occurring everywhere, and about the work of these committees. They worked in different ways, efficiently in some districts and without spirit and initiative in the others.
The newspapers were issued everywhere. There appeared a newspaper “Sary-Arka” in Semipalatinsk, Halel Gabasov was its editor and Ermekov, Bukeihanov, Turganbaev were its active contributors. The “Alash” was published in Tashkent, Kolbai Togusov was its editor. Later this newspaper was renamed the “Birlik Tuyi” – the “Banner of Unity”, and Mustafa Chokaev became its editor and Bolgambaev, Turyakulov, Hodzhanov and others became its contributors. The followers of Bukeev published the “Uran” – the “Appeal” , edited by A. Musin, in Astrakhan, the “Tirshilik” – the “Life” was published in Akmolinsk with Rahimzhan Duisembaev as an editor and Sadvokas Seifullin (it’s me), Asylbekov, Omirbai Donentaev and others as contributors. In Orenburg they continued to publish a well-known newspaper “Kazakh”, edited by A. Baitursunov and M. Dulatov. Bukeihanov was its active contributor. The newspaper Kazakh” was a bourgeois-nationalist newspaper and influenced the character and contents of all other Kazakh newspapers with the exception of the “Tirshilik” from Akmolinsk. The contributors of the “Kazakh” sent their letters and instructions throughout the vast Kazakh steppe, explaining their nationalist policy and demanding the support of this policy in all organs of the press, in all correspondence sent to the editors.
We learnt from the newspapers about the work of the committees in all regions of Kazakhstan, about the policy of the committees, their practical activities, their guidance. At that time mostly former bourgeois intelligentsia: lawyers, judges, doctors, officials, interpreters, all of them mainly the bais’ sons, ran affairs in the committees. They were often inspired by the same mullahs, ishans[35], former volost administrators.
I’ll tell you about one of the events, which took place in Uralsk Region. It was during the period when the regional congresses were held everywhere. The congress opened at Uralsk itself, in the building of the town circus. The panel was chosen, which occupied the places at the table in the middle of the circus arena. There weren’t enough places for the delegates and many of them stood in the passage ways. Former bais, former officials, the representatives of intelligentsia, educated women, the cream of society of all Uralsk Province in short, gathered in the circus. There were known to all Kazakhstan highly educated, distinguished people on the panel, such as Halel Dosmuhammetov, Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, Gubaidulla Alibekov and others. It was pleasant just to look at them, not to mention their wise words. They are sitting at the table, on the chairs, the way it should be, and only one man is sitting by himself, in his own way, just on the arena, on a soft carpet. He is sitting like a ball dipped in the butter, stout, broad-shouldered, with a silver patterned engirdlement and a fir hat of marten. The fat at the back of the head is as thick as a log, the cheeks are flabby like wineskins. Knowing his own worth, he gives a rare look at the surrounding people. But the presidium keeps staring at this god, “the hub of the universe”, like a retriever at his master.
Everything seems quiet. And then the hauty look of “the hub of the universe“ falls at two Kazakh women, dressed in the European style. “The hub” frowns and utters threateningly in a deep voice:
- Who are these dolls there?
The delegates turned motionless. The presidium started to explain, trembling:
- One of the women is Isa’s wife, the other is Aitzhan’s wife. They are both your daughters-in-law.
- Throw them out! It isn’t the place for the skirts’ meeting! – the fat man ordered.
The women were instantly sent out.
Thus putting an end to the first question, they took a break. The delegates of the congress are speaking peacefully to each other. The fat legate of God on earth is graciously giving a word to one or another mortal. The people present there are eagerly listening to his precious speech, hanging on his lips, like a hungry dog catching a thrown bone.
- Hey, Gubaidulla! – the fat man called the member of the presidium, Gubaidulla Alibekov. – You keep saying that you often go to Petersburgh. You can go there as often as you want, but here, in my land, stop jabbering away.
Then the fat man turned to the mullahs:
- Hey, mullahs, smoke tobacco and you won’t trouble your head!
No one dares either to resent the fat man’s words or to object him. Who is he?
He is a descendand of famous Syrym-batyr, a widely known volost administrator Salyk.
When the congress finished its work, Salyk addressed the presidium:
- Hey, you there! Everyone without any exceptions must go to the cemetery now. We’ll read the Koran at the grave of those, perished in 1916.
The delegates obeyed without demur and, coming out of the circus, thronged to the cemetery. Near the graves everyone sat down with his legs crossed.
The members of the presidium and the activists in general – Halel, Zhahansha, Gubaidulla and others - found themselves in the first row. They patiently listened to a very long surah[36] from the Koran, “Tabarak”, to the very end.
This was the nature of new authorities at the local level. You could meet the competent legates of God on earth, like Salyk, with the same habits and attitude to the innovations in the other places as well.
I have a lot of times told you about volost administrator Olzhabai, about whom numerous complaints were brought and who pushed through his nephew Tolebai into the regional committee. Olzhabai remained unpunished, had the inside track amidst new authorities. When Kolchak’s soldiers came later, Olzhabai became one of the active leaders of the district Alash-Orda, and the above mentioned Salyk – a member of the government of the Alash-Orda in the Western Kazakhstan.
The bais of authority, like Salyk, attacked us in every possible way in Akmolinsk, too. It was their everyday concern to annihilate the Kazakh committee. Whichever they called us, whatever they slanderously said about us. They called us atheists, leading astray, trouble-makers.
We didn’t give up, the struggle strengthened us.
One dat at noon we convened a private meeting of the committee together with the members of the “Zhas Kazakh”. Some secret questions were discussed, so we put a man on duty near the door not to let the strangers in.
It was noon and the people surrounded the building of the committee as usual. Once we began the meeting, we heard a knock and angry shouts behind the door. We could hear that our man on duty was trying to calm down those forcing their way into the room, but in vain. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any more and entered the convention room, red and looking offended.
- The whole crowd pressed me hard, trying to burst into the room, - he explained.
- Who is the instigator?
- Volost administrator Sypan.
We knew Sypan as an almighty volost administrator. He served as a volost administrator for about twenty-five years running, was as cunning as a fox, shrewd and well-mannered, no match to Salyk from Uralsk who once plucked out the eye of one of the members of committee in Zhympity in broad daylight.
- Let no one in, declare that the meeting is private, - we took a strong stand.
The man on duty left, but in a minute the voices became even louder, the door swung open, nearly falling off the hinges, and a group of zhigits burst in, headed by Sypan.
- What do you want from the committee?
- Nothing,- the troublemakers said defiantly. – We want to be present during your discussion.
- The meeting of the committee is private, you have no right to be present here.
- Why private? What secrets can you keep from us? We’ll be present – and all!
We got excited, nervous, then began to calm down. Sypan told a member of our committee, treasurer Nurzhan Shagin, the following:
- Look, Nurzhan, keep your mouth shut or I’ll quickly find a suitable place for you.
Sypan left with his suite, but the meeting of the committee was disrupted.
Some time later the following event happened during the meeting of the “Zhas Kazakh”. I presided over the meeting. We were sitting in a semicircle. Next to the chairman there were secretaries and the members of the Board: Adilev, Aibasov, Nurkin and Asylbekov, while Serikpaev, Donentaev and others were on the opposite side. The room was overcrowded, it would be impossible to push the way through it. There were a lot of those who wanted to listen to.
The meeting continued till the evening. Before the sunset there suddenly began a confusion near the door, the shouts of discontent were heard:
- Where are you trying to get? Why are you pushing, it is crowded here without you!
- What’s happened?..
We saw that five or six ministers of religion with angry faces were elbowing their way towards us. These were the well-known “saints” of Akmolinsk District – halfe[37] Galautdin, venerable mullah Omar and other mullahs. We had to interrupt our meeting and ask what they needed.
- Nothing for the time being,- the mullahs vaguely answered and sitting in the front corner, they began to discuss something. Then Galautdin suddenly approached me and suggested:
- Saken, you must stop the meeting for a few minutes.
- What for?
The speaker paused and then there was silence in the hall.
- It is the time of namazdiger[38]. Interrupt the meeting and let everyone go for the evening prayer, - suggested halfe.
- We have no time now, halfe, - I objected.
- What do you mean “no time”? You find the time to chat and you have no time for namaz[39]? Let’s go for the prayer at once, - Galautdin ordered.
- But we haven’t performed ablution[40], - I was unyielding, - We are not ready for namaz.
- You’ll have time to perform ablution. Now interrupt your meeting and let’s go for the prayer or the time of namaz will run out, - halfe coldly continued with a note of threat in his voice.
What to do? Galautdin’s aggressive impudence struck me home. I looked at the faces of my comrades, saw Baken Serikpaev, tense, ready for a fight, and slightly nodded him. He understood me and said firmly and loudly:
- Don’t talk nonsense, mullah!
After Baken Omirbai jumped up from his place:
- Saken, give me the floor!
I gave him the floor. The mullahs quietened in confusion. All present in the hall expected with bated breath what will be the end of this incredible fight of the youth with the ministers of religion.
Omirbai boldly started:
- You, mullahs, deceive people, pull the wool over our eyes, you are parasites, living at the people’s expense! You are double-faced, say one thing and do another, you are eloquent and cunning liars! Would you ever repent your mean tricks? Why have you come here, what do you care about us? When we are roasted in the hell, will you give us a helping hand?..
The mullahs went away with nothing done...
I want to show by these examples that both volost administrators and mullahs acted together against our innovations and tried to put all possible pressure on our committee.
It should be noted that it wasn’t only in Akmolinsk but everywhere in Kazakhstan that the clericals of high ranks and former Tsarist officials acted in a cohesive way, more or less successfully against the committeees, tried to make their decisions come true, impose their views on the population and hold power as before.
I’ll give one more example of the later period.
It was during Kolchak’s rule.
The Alash-Orda was concentrated in two places: in Semipalatinsk, where it was headed by Alihan Bukeihanov, and in the west of Kazakhstan, in Uralsk Region, in Zhympity, where Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov was a leader. The active figures of the Alash-Orda were Halel in the west, the above mentioned volost administrator Salyk and others.
Once all the leaders of the Western Alash-Orda gathered at Halel’s flat on the occasion of arrival of a well-known hazret[41] Kuanai, a distinguished honorary guest. The Tatar and Bashkir muftis[42] from Kazan and Ufa personally knew Kuanai and respected him. Naturally, he was looked at with servility and was called “hazret”.
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“Hazret” Kuanai was sitting with a majestic and angrily important look. Looking from the outside, one could think he was Budda himself, so motionless and important-looking Kuanai was. He’s silent, would not utter a word in vain, and if he does, his every utterance is taken as God’s gift. Hazret is looking at his flock with an Olympian serenity, and the members of government are sitting humble and quiet, like pupils in front of the teacher. Sometimes the expression of a doglike devotion can be read in their obsequious look at Kuanai, it seems they are just about to wag the tail, like a faithful dog before his master.The head of the government, Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, is also here. He is in a sparkling-new elegant uniform, resembling Persian commander Rizashah. Zhahansha is enchanting, you are tempted to look at him once again, like it or not. Zhahansha is the head of Alash-Orda, Zhahansha is a Kazakh khan…
But Zhahansha is sitting bareheaded. And his head is not shaved as usual, there is a fine crop of hair on Zhahansha’s head. He should be sitting in a blue skullcap and khan’s fir hat, decorated by jewelry and patterns. But there isn’t even a tymak on his head.
As if suddenly realizing his drawback, Zhahansha gave his hair a smooth, flattened his hair down. The hazret closely followed Zhahansha’s movement. A muscle slightly moved under Kuanai’s left eye and the hazret suddenly raised up his head, like a golden eagle, released from a leather cap. He eyed Zhahansha’s face keenly. The present anxiously held their breath – what would happen?
- Oh, thoughtless!- the hazret exclaimed.- Why are you sitting here without a headdress? We consider you a ruler, a caliph[43]. We pray for you, for your success and your health during each namaz. And you, what are you doing? Put on your hat immediately!
Everybody was frightened and alarmed, trying to somehow smooth over and hush up the unpleasant incident.
- It is said you are not punctual in performing the namaz! – the hazret continued angrily.
Those present there calmed down the hazret with difficulty by endlessly repeating “yes, we are guilty, yes, we are guilty”. When there was silence at last, the master of the house, Halel, entered the conversation:
- Your Holiness, we are very busy now, we have no free time at all, we don’t even have time to catch our breath. Let us perform the namaz at home on working days and go for a prayer to the mosque only on Friday.
Displeased, Kuanai was silent for a while but finally he allowed the members of government of the Alash-Orda to perform the namaz at home due to their being extremely busy.
- But the namaz on Friday should be performed in the mosque! – the hazret firmly ordered, adhering to his principles.
- Let it be so, Your Holiness, - the members of the government humbly submitted…
The similar things happened not only in the west, but also in the other places of Kazakhstan. In its activity, the Alash-Orda didn’t rely on people, but on former volost administrators, honorable mullahs and hazrets. They were sure to be invited to all the meetings and gatherings, their directions and advice were listened to and taken as a guide for action. So the Alash-Orda was actually governed by the same Tsarist officials in the person of volost administrators and by former spiritual leaders in the person of mullahs and their henchmen.
Now let’s continue the story about the activities of our Akmolinsk committee.
As I have already said, the population of the district considered our committee a full-fledged new authority, the court and the police. We were not idle, messengers and petitioners endlessly came to see us from auls of every volost. The work was in full swing. But all our activity lay in going mostly in blind, without receiving any instructions, advice or guidance. There, where a great power was needed, we had no one to rely on, we didn’t have any regulations or law. The Russian committee didn’t perform any work at all.
All administrative power in Akmolinsk was concentrated in the hands of Ensign Petrov, sent by Kerensky’s government. But what could he do, what laws could he rely on in his activities? And the situation was very difficult, and not only in Akmolinsk but in all the district.
A thick layer of ice covered the quiet sea, saving its strength, for centuries. Suddenly the ice began to break, the elements were let free and started to storm. What power would be able to come them down, except for the people’s power? Who and when would create this power, would direct the storming elements to the right way?..
Orenburg newspaper “Kazakh” was trying to become such an organizing centre for all Kazakhstan. Despite being published on the edge of the vast land of Kazakhstan, the newspaper had all chances to become an organizing centre. First of all, the newspaper “Kazakh” was first published quite early in comparison with other newspapers – in 1912. It had already gained popularity, acquired the relevant experience of the political struggle and its own reader.
The newspaper was first published during the period when the colonial regime of the Tsarist government intensified, when the local population was forced away from the fertile lands along the rivers, from their old property, where their forefathers lived. The Kazakhs mourned over their fate, felt keenly the oppression. Many of them became aware of their slavery now. Gradually, a thirst for enlightment and knowledge began to develop among the Kazakh youth. Knowledge is power, - the proverb says. It was the time when the newspaper “Kazakh” appeared. Orenburg newspaper gradually became the organ of the press of the Kazakh Nationalists. That’s why the newspaper “Kazakh” immediately became the standard-bearer of the Alash-Orda after the Tsar’s dethronement.
The newspaper announced the convocation of the All-Kazakhstan congress. But before it Turgay regional congress was convened and it worked from 2 to 8 of April, 1917. The delegates from Uralsk, Akmolinsk, Semipalatinsk, Syr-Darya and Bukeevsk Regions came to the congress. At this congress it was decided to convene the All-Kazakhstan congress and the Bureau of preparation was elected, headed by the editorial board of the newspaper “Kazakh”: Bukeihanov, Baitursunov, Dulatov and Kadirbaev.
Soon the bureau, elected by Turgaisk congress, announced that the first All-Kazakhstan congress would be convened in Orenburgh on July 20, 1917. The newspaper announced the number of representatives of each region of Kazakhstan, taken separately. Then the telegrams with the list of questions for discussion at the congress were sent to all committees:
All-Russian government system..
The autonomy of Kazakh regions.
The land issue.
The formation of militia.
Zemstvo[44].
Enlightment.
Legal proceedings.
Religion issues.
Women’s issues.
Preparation for the Constituent Assembly.
All-Russian Muslim Council.
Formation of a political party in Kazakhstan.
Discussion of Semirechye events.
Election of representatives for the Kiev Congress of All-Russian Federalists and Petersburgh Commission for Education.
The number of delegates was very little. They were elected by the district or directly by the regional committees. It became known soon that besides the official candidates certain individuals from different places, like volost administrator Salyk, the “hub of the universe”, hazret Kuanai and Master Nurmagambet, already known to the reader, were invited to the congress by special telegrams. Each member of the committee wondered: who invited them and what for? It turned out that it was Bukeihanov himself. How could these people gain the people’s confidence after the dethronement of the Tsar?
Doctor Asylbek Seitov and teacher Magzhan Zhumabaev were nominated delegates of the congress from Akmolinsk Region.
It happened so that, working by the sweat of our brow, we became detached observers through no fault of ours. We were not involved in preparation of the congress and we learnt about the events only by means of telegrams, letters and newspapers.
Before the congress I received a letter from Omsk from medical assistant Shaimerden Alzhanov. I got acquainted with him when I came to Omsk to study. Then we got closer and became friends.
When the Kazakh youth organization “Birlik” – “Unity” – was first formed in Omsk in 1913, we unanimously elected Shaimerden Alzhanov its chairman. He had already proved to be a staunch revolutionary. At one of the secret meetings of the “Birlik”, which took place in the grove, Shaimerden suggested the following: to create a little publishing establishment at our expense, to print revolutionary leaflets and distribute them among the Kazakh population. Even then the question rose: what should our organization do in case of revolution? Shaimerden firmly said: “In case of the overthrow of the Tsar’s power, we should bear arms to support the revolutionary powers”. Many people disapproved his resolute statements, reproached Shaimerden for his imprudence. I supported him. And now, before the All-Kazakhstan Congress, Shaimerden sent me a letter:
“Sake, I’m going to the congress of the upper class to Orenburgh. I openly oppose Bukeihanov and I’m going to prove that his position is wrong.
You must also open the people’s eyes, relentlessly throwing the mask off these people. Good-bye! Wait for my messages”.
We began to prepare for the Congress, to explain to the people that the Congress would not give us manna from heaven.
We discussed the agenda of Orenburgh Congress at the generl meeting of our district committee. We considered the nature of the new Russian government the most impotant issue. We were worried about it because pot-bellied bais, mullahs and hazrets, former volost administrators were meeting at Orenburgh Congress. It wasn’t difficult to guess what form of government they could offer: the one profitable for themselves but not for the people.
After the report and exchanging our views we accepted the committee’s decision and on its behalf Birmuhammet Aibasov sent the following telegram to Orenburg Congress: “We vote for the Federative Republic and are against any other forms of government”.
Our telegram was received in Orenburgh before the Congress. Some of the speakers also supported the Federative Republic. Chairman Bukeihanov bent over backwards, trying to impose the program of the Constitutional Democrate Party[45] on the Congress. He proved it legitimate to form the Russian government headed by a king and a parliament, like in England…
The time passed. Hadjis, mullahs and former volost administrators continued to consider us their worst enemies, called us atheists, breakers of the people’s principles.
Receiving the printing font, we began to publish the newspaper “Tirshilik” – the “Life”.
In August we held Akmolinsk District congress, attended by Asylbek Seitov, a participant of Orenburg Congress from Omsk, from the regional committee. He brought the printed resolution of the Congress with him and told us in details about the Congress. Whatever Bukeihanov do to insist on accepting the program of the Constitutional Democrates, on establishing the constitutional democracy in Russia, finally he had to agree with the proposal to form a Federative Republic. The decision about organizing the party “Alash” was also accepted at the Congress and the candidates from all the regions of Kazakhstan were nominated to take part in the upcoming Constituent Assembly.
- You’re also included in the list of candidates, - Seitov announced to me. – Besides, Rahimzhan Duisembaev will also go from Akmolinsk Region.
I wondered why the candidates for such an important meeting were elected in their absence. They don’t know our attitude in the upper circles, whose adherents we are is also unknown to them.
- What will you do if the representatives, appointed by you, blindly follow any Russian party? – I asked Seitov.
- It won’t happen. Our own Kazakh party is being formed, - Seitov said firmly.
- We are sure not to be in the party requiring Olzhabai’s or Nurmagambet’s gracious blessing, - I continued.
Seitov answered me something with disapproval, a dispute began and I finally asked to exclude me from the list of candidates to the Constituent Assembly.
Akmolinsk congress was held in the circumstances, extremely difficult for our committee. Most of delegates turned out to be henchmen of former volost administrators, their kith and kin. The former volost administrators, important bais and mullahs, bearing a grudge against us for a long time, came to the congress without any authority.
The committee was split. Those, who used to share our views, with whom we had worked shoulder to shoulder until recently, were influenced by volost administrators and acted in a dishonest collusion with them against the former composition of the Kazakh committee. Seitov also resolutely acted against us.
The committee was re-elected. Veterinary assistant Husain Kozhamberlin became its chairman, mullah Manten, Erdenbaev and Sarman Shulenbaev, former interpreters of the court, former volost administrator and interpreter Usen Kosaev and the like were now among the members of the committee. Koshmuhammet Kemengerov and Dinmuhammet Adilev went to Omsk and Aibasov went to Atbasar, his homeland.
The renewed committee threw off its mask soon. Common people, thirsty for freedom and justice, could find no support in the new committee, and so they went to the “Zhas Kazakh” for help and support. Our newspaper “Tirshilik” gained popularity from day to day. The newspaper was the body of the “Zhas Kazakh”, so we could freely criticize the activities of the Kazakh committee. From time to time we made it clear to our reader in whose hands the committee was now. In one of the issues of the “Tirshilik” my poem appeared, unambiguously entitled “Watchdogs”. The chairman of the committee, Husain Kozhamberlin, expressed his displeasure with this poem, but it played its role in the struggle with the new committee.
The following fact clearly shows what “equality” was propagated by the new committee. According to the instruction of the province state committee, the fund raising began among the population of our district. Everyone should give seven roubles and fifty kopecks. The committee demanded equal dues from bais, like Nurmagambet Sagnaev and Olzhabai, having a thousand horses each, and from Balapan, an old man from Akmolinsk, known for its poverty. There’s equality for you! There were lots of similar facts at that time.
We couldn’t keep silent and actively spoke against such humiliation on the pages of our newspaper. No doubt we knew that we made enemies by our resolute actions in such a difficult situation, but we acted in accordance with our convictions. Many people didn’t agree with us, hated us and preserved their malevolent attitude towards us for many years.
In spring of 1925, a Baitasov Abdulla presented his report “On the history of the Kazakh press” at the All-Kazakh Congress of the correspondents of the newspaper “Akzhol”, held in Tashkent. Reviewing the work and contents of the newspapers of the pre-revolutionary period and distorting the reality within his power, the reporter stated that the “Tirshilik” from Akmolinsk, being the most principled spokesman of the poor, at the same time “could not reject religious prejudices and nationalism”.
I dare say that it’s just a twaddle. It’s absurd to state that each issue of the newspaper was perfect in every aspect, that the newspaper never “stumbled”, when evaluating this or that event. We, publishers, didn’t have enough experience of social and political struggle then, all of us weren’t politically literate enough. Even now there are newspapers, which from time to time clearly talk rot in respect of this or that question. And then it was much more difficult to analyse everything. Nevertheless, the “Tirshilik” supported neither religion nor nationalists. If our newspaper had had a nationalistic spirit, it would have supported the Alash-Orda first of all. It never happened. You can judge if it was religiously-oriented from the following materials.
“We need a mufti,” – declared Orenburgh newspaper “Kazakh” on its pages. Concerning this statement, the editor-in-chief, Rahimzhan Duisembaev, published an editorial in one of the issues of the “Tirshilik”. The “Kazakh” reprinted our editorial , but with its objections and comments. That’s how it looked on the pages of the “Kazakh”.
“…The newspaper “Tirshilik”, recently organized in Akmolinsk, published the editorial “Do the Kazakh people need a mufti?”, in which it proves that there is no need in any mufti and urges to disobey and not recognize him nowadays. Though it’s the opinion of a single newspaper, the “Tirshilik”, we decided to present this article to the judgement of our readers. This is what the “Tirshilik” writes:
“Though the Kazakhs speak about submitting to the mufti, they don’t clearly understand if they really need this submission. One of the reasons of the lack of understanding can be the following. In their talks with the Kazakhs the Tatars often don’t mind claiming that if the Kazakhs don’t recognize the power of the Muslim mufti, they automatically submit to the Russian government. Some Kazakhs take this unfounded statement seriously, regard it as an insult to their national dignity and thus a confusion begins. In fact, the Tatar mufti also submits to the Russians.
Until recently there haven’t been official holy orders, which would not submit to the Russian Tsar.
Moreover, after the dethronement of Tsar Nickolay, it was found out that the hypocritical Tatar muftis were cunning Tsarist spies. They reported to the Tsarist officials about all progressive people, striving for the good of their nation. The Tsar was dethroned but the muftis remained. They have power until now, are honoured, but we don’t notice a particularly beneficial influence of religion on the people’s life, we don’t see the results of the national enlightment.
Once the Kazakhs submitted to the mufti. They were freed from his influence only thirty years ago, when the land issue, important for us, was being solved. The leaders of the Kazakh movement couldn’t achieve any tangible positive results in the land issue just because the muftis interfered with them. The ecclesiastics didn’t support the Kazakh people.
The elections of the Russian bishops were independent from the Tsar’s will and power. Now the religion has become a personal affair of each Russian citizen. And we, why should we dress ourselves up in the shabby clothes and continue to support the religious propaganda and submit to the mufti?
The science states that the strengthening of religious intoxication blinds the people, takes it away from the enlightment, keeps in the darkness and slavish delusion. The befuddled people will make a mufti from a mullah, give him the dictator’s power and then won’t be able to get rid of him. It has already happened in the history of other peoples.
What will a poor feel if the mufti takes away from him the last calf of a single cow for the wedding, naming of a new-born or funerals?
On March 25, 1891 the “Steppe regulations” were issued, where the mullah’s rights and obligations were described as well as his role and destination in the society. The mullahs were officially forbidden to collect duties. But the people don’t know it. And an illiterate aul foreman imposed upon the subdued population the duty of paying a special tax for the funerals, wedding, the new-born’s name. This tax became the same habit as the tribute to the Tsar.
The Kazakh people have a lot of urgent tasks now, they need to achieve their personal freedom and not to take the burden of muftis.
The elections of ahons[46] in Akmolinsk have clearly shown that the Kazakhs don’t need muftis, that they don’t see any use in appointing him.
Rahimzhan Duisembaev”
At that time no Kazakh newspapers, with the exception of the “Tirshilik”, published such bold articles of antireligious character. All the newspapers of that period expressed the interests of the Alash-Orda. The program of this party was their appeal and banner, and they continued to rely on grey-headed bais, venerable volost administrators, “holy” hazrets. The situation in the “Tirshilik” differed in comparison with the other editorial boards. We were supported by the numerous poor from towns and auls, and our active contributors were members of the youth organization “Zhas Kazakh”.
The newspaper “Zhas Kazakh” enjoyed a much greater authority than the new committee both in Akmolinsk itself and in auls. We resolutely interfered with the committee’s affairs, when there was a sharp question of marrying a girl off against her will, bride price, somebody’s unjust actions.
No matter how it tried, the new committee couldn’t gain the people’s confidence. And no wonder, because the new committee didn’t bring anything new to the life of the Kazakhs, but pulled back to the old times, danced to the tune of bais and volost administrators. It was clear that the members of the committee couldn’t hope for the people’s support with such orientation. At each meeting of the committee one of the active members of “Zhas Kazakh” was invariably present, seeing to it that the revolutionary policy wasn’t perverted, that the interests of common people weren’t neglected.
No matter what mean act was put into life by the members of the committee under the bais’ pressure, we tried to give this affair wide publicity by all means, we unmasked all the dishonest leaders of the committee.
It was diffucult for us to fight. We relied on the poor, numerous but without a certain program, while the members of the committee relied on the strong support of the bais and volost administrators, who knew what they wanted, their purpose was clear and they spared no resources to have good connections, to bribe, they achieved their purpose by all means, acted secretly and quietly.
The time came when our organization couldn’t limit itself to half measures and we decided to openly fight against the committee.
We convened a private meeting of our organization in the building of the school where I lived together with a teacher. We gathered in the evening, when the dusk fell. Both the members of the “Zhas Kazakh” and some invited people, whom we trusted completely, came.
Baiseit Adilev, recently arrived from Omsk, Rahimzhan Duisembaev, our leading writer and the editor-in-chief of the “Tirshilik”, and other leaders of the organization were present. I was a chairman, Adilev was a secretary. We came to a unanimous decision at this meeting: it is necessary to dissolve the Kazakh district committee from the bottom, by the people’s efforts.
We passed a resolution where we proved the necessity to dissolve the committee. We wrote the resolution in five copies to hand it to all most important Russian organizations of the town.
We adopted the following plan of action.
Early in the morning, before the beginning of work, we come to the most important town organizations at the same time and hand them the resolution of meeting of the “Zhas Kazakh”. Then we gather at the appointed place of the general meeting – Asylbekov’s flat, not far from the building of the committee. Here we take the banners, written beforehand, and go in a column with our requirements to the committee.
We shared the duties between us. Baiseit and Zhumabai go to the district commissar to hand the resolution, I go to the soldiers of garrison and have a short report, two other comrades go to the Russian committee and also give explanations in respect of our resolution, two more stay at Asylbekov’s flat and prepare banners. Duisembaev, Serikpaev and several other people should go to the bazaar, where the Kazakh town poor gather in the morning, address the people there, read the resolution, call the people upon for the demonstration and lug the people off with them.
Sharing the duties, we parted late at night.
In the morning everyone went to fulfill his task.
The soldiers of garrison claimed their solidarity with us. Gaining support, we hastily went to the place of meeting. The district commissar was enraged when he heard about our intention to dissolve the committee. “I won’t let you! Stop it just now! If you go to the demonstration, I’ll arrest all of you!” – Petrov cried.
People began to throng to the place of our meeting. A rogue came running, evidently sent by the committee:
- Oiboy, four armed militiamen came to the committee, the district commissar himself and two Rusians! – he yelled.
- Let them come here. We won’t reject our intention!
We resolutely went into the street with banners. A big crowd, consisting mostly of the town poor, joined us.
All the members of the committee fled through the doors of the basement when they heard us approach.
Commissar Petrov came out to meet us and began to defend the rights of the committee. Two of us began to argue fervently with him, strongly accusing the committee of its mistakes and wrong policy. These two zhigits (Husain Zhalmagambetov , and the second I don’t remember) had recently come from the steppe, knew the situation there very well and so they ardently and passionately spoke to the district commissar. I supported them.
Near the commissar there appeared the responsible secretary of Akmolinsk Socialist Revolutionaries. As an experienced leader and speaker, he calmly and imposingly entered the conversation and began to calm us down. The representative of the Socialist Revolutionaries spoke as much reservedly as the commissar showed the lack of restraint. He was raging like a wildfire. Finally the commissar subdued his anger and asked us for a fifteen-day delay to reelect the Kazakh committee during this period.
We broke up.
After this noisy demonstration the committee absolutely lost its authority in the people’s eyes. The people understood that such committee was not worth a brass farthing now.
Fifteen days passed but the commissar had no intention to organize the re-elections. Then we renewed our struggle with the committee. Rahimzhan Duisembaev gave a speech at the crowded bazaar. He convincingly proved it to the people that the committee had been created for the benefit of bais, volost administrators and their henchmen, but not for the people’s benefit.
- Dissolve them by force!- the shouts were heard and the crowd went again to the house where the office of the committee was. Its members wisely fled once again. The old owner met us at the locked door.
The crowd broke up...
In November we received a telegram, announcing that Kerensky’s government was otherthrown in Petrograd and that the power passed to the hands of the Bolsheviks.
After the October Revolution the social and political life in Akmolinsk boiled up as in a copper pot.
The gatherings and meetings became more often, heated disputes renewed.
The Russian and Kazakh comrades went hand by hand in the open struggle for the establishment of Akmolinsk Council of Deputies. Duisembaev, Asylbekov, Serikpaev, Nurkin, Bekmuhammetov (Nurgain), Adilev, Handeldin Uvali, Gizzatullin, Kosherbai and others; the soldiers of garrison – Monin, Krivoguz, Loznoy, Kolomeitsev, Repshneider, the worker of Ekibastuz plant, Bochok; the member of the Left Socialist Revolutionaries lawyer Trofimov, the teacher of the general school, Gorbachev, Left Sicialist Revolutionary Martlogo were with us.
Lots of gatherings and meetings were held. All Russian Cossacks, without exception, were against establishing the Soviet rule. Bais, hereditary aristocracy, officers persisted in their rejecting the Soviet rule; the Kazakh committee opposed us as the Alash party supporter. Though the government of Kerensky was liquidated, its Akmolinsk commissar Petrov continued to hold power.
In short, we had lots of opponents and few of us.
According to the decision of Orenburg Congress, held by Bukeihanov, the Alash party was organized in all regions of Kazakhstan. Its committees were open in all provinces and districts. Its program was published in all newspapers with the exception of the “Tirshilik”. The newspapers published enthusiastic articles, resounded praises to the Alash party, the program of which was a patchwork quilt of the Menshevik, social Revolutionary and Constitutional Democrat programs.
The Alash couldn’t put to life its idle talking program until it gained Kolchak’s support.
All the nationalist intellectuals exalted Alihan Bukeihanov to the skies, considering him a wise and legitimate leader of all Alash. They spared no efforts and resources to prove they were right and were ready to trample all dissidents under foot.
Bukeihanov came to the Siberian Congress, visited Omsk and Semipalatinsk, made speeches. The educated upper level, mature nationalists, hucksters, students – bais’ sons, went out to the road to meet Bukeihanov with honour.
To illustrate I’ll quote an extract from the article, published in the “Kazakh” on November 21, 1917. The article was reprinted from the “Sary-Arka” and it contained the list of those who met Bukeihanov with honour and greeted him in Semipalatinsk, as a good example to imitate: Shaiki Musataev, Ahmetzhan Kozybagarov, Mannan Turganbaev, Sultanmahmut Toraigyrov, Aimautov and others.
The “Alash-Orda” nominated the delegates from each province of Kazakhstan to take part in the work of the All-Russian Constituent Assembly and published their names in the newspaper, dated November 14, 1917.
From the party “Alash”
On behalf of the central body of the party “Alash” the following delegates are nominated to the Constituent Assembly from Turgay Region (List No1):
1. Ahmet Baitursunov,
2. Ahmet Beremzhanov,
3. Sagyndyk Doszhanov,
4. Abdolla Temirov,
5. Tel Zhamanmurunov,
6. Erzhan Orazov,
7. Alihan Bukeihanov.
From Akmolinsk and Semipalatinsk Regions
List No 5
1. Alihan Bukeihanov,
2. Aidarhan Turlybaev,
3. Alimhan Ermekov,
4. Halel Gapbasov,
5. Asylbek Seitov,
6. Mukysh Bochtaev,
7. Erezhep Itbaev,
8. Zhakip Akpaev,
9. Seilbek Zhanaidarov,
10. Raimzhan Marsekov,
11. Zhumagali Tleulin,
12. Biahmet Sarsenov,
13. Rahimzhan Duisembaev,
14. Ahmetzhan Kozybagarov,
15. Magzhan Zhumabaev,
16. Abikey Satbaev,
17. Sydyk Meshynbaev,
18. Bazyken Uskenbaev,
19. Salmakbai Kusemisov.
From Uralsk Region
1. Halel Dosmuhammetov,
2. Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov,
3. Nurgali Epmagambetov,
4. Gubaidulla Alibekov,
5. Salimgirey Karatleuov,
6. Omar Esengulov,
7. Gaisa Kashkinbaev.
1. Muhammetzhan Tynyshbaev,
2. Shibalin (Russian),
3. Otynshi Alzhanov,
4. Achkasaisky (Russian),
5. Gabdullin,
6. Niyazbekov,
7. Mirzahan Toleubaev,
8. Babkin (Russian),
9. Propkin (Russian).
List No 3
1. Ibraim Zhainakov,
2. Shandirikov (Russian),
3. Sadyk Amanzholov,
4. Dur Sauranbaev,
5. Bazarbai Mametov.
List No 8
1. Ualithan Tanashev,
2. Bahitkerey Kulmanov.
List No 2
1. Kadim Sarmoldaev,
2. Salimgirey Nuralihanov.
In the general list only the list of delegates from Syr-Darya Region was missing.
From the first days of the revolution the leaders of the Alash-Orda proved to be furious enemies of the Soviet rule. The newspapers of the Alash-Orda threw mud at the Bolsheviks, labeled the founders of the Soviet rule in every possible way. “The Bolsheviks are secret agents of the Germans, they sold themselves for the sake of money”, - the newspapers fervently stated.
Bukeihanov and his adherents published an abominable article against the Bolshevik Party in the newspaper “Kazakh” on November 14, 1917. They grossly vulgarized the essence of the Bolshevik activities, presented the Bolsheviks as double-faced and cunning, and defamed them in every possible way, trying to excite their readers’ disgust towards the Bolshevik Party. The article was signed by A. Bukeihanov, A. Baitursunov, M. Dulatov, Ahmet Beremzhanov, S. Doszhanov, Zh. Zhanibekov, Faizulla Galimzhanov, K. Argyngaziev, G. Zhundibaev, Gazimbek Beremzhanov. An additional telegram about the convocation of Congress II in Orenburg, signed by A. Bukeihanov, A. Baitursunov, S. Doszhanov, Eldes Omarov, was published in the same issue of November 14.
According to this telegram, the representatives of each region and one representative from the editorial board of each newspaper, from each newly opened organization were convened to the Congress. And the newspaper indicated by name those, sharing its views, - mirzas, kadis[47], other ecclesiastics, bourgeois intelligentsia: kadi Omar Karashov, kadi Kairsha Ahmetzhanov, kadi Gabdulla Eshmuhametov, ishan Ahmet Orazbaev, Kozhahmet Orazaev, Korgambek Beremzhanov, Kulmambet Kankozhin, Shakarim Kudaiberdin, Zhusipbek Basygarin, Mustafa Chokaev, Halel Dosmuhammetov, Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, Ualithan Tanashev, Bahitkerey Kulmanov, Zhangozha Mergenov, Ishangali Arabaev, Oraz Matiev, aqsaqal Shonan, hadji Otarbai Kundybaev, Ahmetkerey Kosuakov, Nurlan Kiyashev, Nurmagambet Sagnaev, Shangirey Bukeev, hadji Esengul Mamanov, Muhammetzhan Tynyshpaev, Salyk Karpykov, Sapar Nauryzbaev and Ilyas Zhangarin. According to the telegram, a representative of our “Tirshilik” and of the newly opened organization “Zhas Kazakh” was invited to the Congress equally with the representatives of other newspapers. But we didn’t send anybody from the editorial board and from the organization “Zhas Kazakh” to the Congress. Two inhabitants of Akmolinsk, Nurlan Kiyashev and Nurmagambet Sagnaev, were
in the list of specially invited guests. All Kazakhs submitted without demur to these two aqsaqals, former large feudal lords. Before the dethronement of the Tsar Nurlan Kiyashev was continuously a volost administrator for twenty-five years, was often awarded by the Tsar and gifted by the generals. He had about a thousand and a half of horses in his herds. He was an almighty support of thirty volosts of Kuandyk family. And Nurmagambet, called Master (haughty), prepared a lavish feast to honour the Tsar’s heir when he arrived at Omsk, presented him a snow white yourt, decorated by gold, and three herds of young mares and stallions; one herd was exclusively dappled, with black spots like drops on the white paper, the second one consisted of black mares, resembling beavers, the third one was noted for its amazing white colour. Master had a lot of ranks, awards, honorary certificates, obtained from the Tsar himself and from his heir. This well-known splendid bai, a volost administrator of authority, made a pilgrimage to Mecca, became hadji, but was illiterate, as well as the other delegate from Akmolinsk, Nurlan Kiyashev.
Thus the second “All-Kazakh” Congress was also in the hands of bais, hadjis, former volost administrators and “holy” hazrets.
The Alash selected wolves gathered in Orenburgh. Halfe Galautdin and Kul Pauenov, a merchant belonging to the top guild, were from the town of Akmolinsk.
The Congress decided to organize a unified Alash government, form regular army and begin to raise funds. The members of the government were chosen or, saying in Kazakh, viziers were selected.
On January 25, 1918, the newspaper “Sary-Arka” reprinted a a bulky report from the newspaper “Kazakh”. It begins:
Resolution of the General Kazakh and Kyrgyz Congress…
The Congress took place in Orenburg, where the delegates from all eight regions of Kazakhstan came, from the fifth to the thirteenth of December.
The Congress was convened on the initiative of Alihan Bukeihanov, Ahmet Baitursunov, Eldes Omarov, Sagindyk Doszhanov and Myrzhakip Dulatov.
The Congress was attended by the representatives of different organizations and newspapers, for example, Murtaza Nurseitov, Abdrahman Murtasinov, Abulgaziz Uyakeshev, Berniyaz Kuleev, Abilhamit Zhundibaev, Abilgaziz Musin, Koshmuhammet Kemengerov and Hairitden Bolganbaev.
Bahitkerey Kulmanov, Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, kadi Omar Karashev, kadi Abul Eshmuhametov, Madi Makulov, Halel Dosmuhammetov, Esengali (Ishangali) Arabaev, Ahmetkerey Kosuakov, Ualithan Tanashev, Zhangozha Mergenov, Salik Karpykov, hadji Otarbai Kundybaev, Mustafa Chokaev and Ilyas Zhangarin were specially invited.
The presidium of the Congress: chairman Bahytkerey Kulmanov; members: Alihan Bukeihanov, Halel Dosmuhammetov, Azimhan Kenesarin, Omar Karashev.
The secretaries: Dauletshe Kusepgaliev, Myrzhakip Dulatov, Seidazim Kadirbaev.
Before opening the Congress, Alihan Bukeihanov took the floor and said: “Our famous speaker, who was honoured for his eloquence at the last crowded meeting, also invited to this Congress, our dear aqsaqal Oraz Tatiev has died. That’s why I suggest saying a prayer in remembrance of Oraz’ soul before the beginning of the Congress”.
All present there began the meeting after saying a prayer in remembrance of Oraz’ soul…
The issues to be discussed at the Congress:
1. Autonomy of Siberia and Turkestan and the south-eastern union.
2. Kazakh and Kyrgyz autonomy.
3. Formation of militia.
4. National Council.
5. Enlightment issue.
6. National treasury.
7. Electing a mufti.
8. National court.
9. Aul administration.
10. Supply of provisions.
A decision was accepted in respect of the discussed issues. The Congress decided to collect several million roubles to keep the new government, organize militia from several thousand persons, place them in all regions. The government of the Alash-Orda was elected.
1. From Bukeevsk Province – Ualithan Tanashev,
2. From Uralsk Province – Halel Dosmuhammetov,
3. From Akmolinsk Province – Aidarhan Turlybaev,
4. From Turgay Province – Ahmet Beremzhanov,
5. From Semipalatinsk Province – Halel Gapbasov,
6. From Semirechensk Province – Sadyk Amanzholov,
7. From Syr-Darya Province – Mustafa Chokaev.
Besides the regions there were elected:
8. Alihan Bukeihanov,
9. Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov,
10. Alimhan Ermekov,
11. Muhammetzhan Tynyshpaev,
12. Bahytkerey Kulmanov,
13. Zhakip Akpaev,
14. Bazarbai Mametov,
15. Otynshi Alzhanov.
The following persons were elected deputies:
1. Gaisa Kashkinbaev,
2. Tusipbek Zhakippaev,
3. Erezhep Itpaev,
4. Satylgan Sabataev,
5. Esengali Kasabulatov,
6. Batyrkair Niyazov,
7. Mukish Bochtaev,
8. Seilbek Zhanaidarov,
9. Salimgirey Nuralihanov,
10. Omar Almasov,
11. Seidazim Kadirbaev,
12. Asfandiyar Kenzhin,
13. Staff captain Begimov,
14. Esen Turmagambetov,
15. Zhaneke Sultanbaev.
Alihan Bukeihanov, Bahytkerey Kulmanov and Aidarhan Tulybaev were nominated for the office of the chairman and voted for.
The votes: for Alihan – 40, against him – 18, for Bahytkerey – 19, against him – 39, for Aidarhan – 20, against him – 38.
Alihan Bukeihanov was elected the chairman of government of the Alash-Orda by the majority of voices.
Ahmet Baitursunov, Magzhan Zhumabaev, Eldes Omarov, Biahmet Sarsenov, Telzhan Shonanov were elected to the committee for education.
So suddenly and hastily the government of the Alash-Orda was formed. The bai nationalist poets rhymed odes of praise in its honour and published them in the newspapers, not ashamed of the people.
Before the second General Kazakh and Kyrgyz Congress the newspaper “Kazakh”published the telegram “On the autonomy of Turkestan” in issue No 254 in December 1917. it said the following:
“Kokand. 2nd of December. On November 27 the territorial Congress of Muslims took place. The Turkestan territorial autonomy was declared. The people joyfully received the event. A new government was elected – Provisional National Assembly. The constituent assembly of Turkestan will be convened in January. The town of Kokand is the seat of the Provisional Government.
Hairitden Bolganbaev”
That’s how a well-known Kokand Autonomy appeared. Some intellectual renegades from the Alash-Orda secretly came to an agreement with Uzbek and Tatar bourgeois leaders in Kokand and elected themselves to Turkestan government, declaring the autonomy. Muhammetzhan Tynyshpaev appeared to be the head of the government and Mustafa Chokaev and others became its members.
When it was announced about the Second Kazakh and Kyrgyz Congress, Mustafa Chokaev, a member of Turkestan government, immediately went to Orenburg. At the congress Chokaev made it clear that the Kazakhs of Semirechie and Syr-Darya shouldn’t be slow in joining Turkestan Autonomy. Thus, this “hero” found himself a member of two “governments” after the Congress…
The composition of province committees of the Alash-Orda was often published in the newspapers. By the way, let me give here the lists of members of three Province committees.
The special correspondent of the newspaper “Kazakh” wrote in the issue No 254 of December 18, 1917:
It has already been announced in the newspaper about the opening of the regional committee in the town of Omsk. The following people were elected to the committee:
Asylbek Seitov, Magzhan Zhumabaev, Muhtar Samatov, Aidarhan Turlybaev, Bekmuhammet Serkebaev, Erkasay Mukushov, Erezhep Itbaev, Dinmuhammet Adilev, Koshmuhammet Kemengerov, Musulmanbek Seitov, Zhumagali Tleulin, Os. Ahmetov, Husain Kozhamberlin, Kozhahmet Kakenov. The committee of Alash-Orda sent its representatives to each district to give explanations on the elections to the Constituent Assembly. They opened their committees in five districts of Akmolinsk Province.”
The following information was published in the issue of the “Kazakh” No 253 of December 1917:
We have already informed about the opening of the regional committee in Semipalatinsk. The following article was published in the last issue of the “Sary-Arka”:
“The interim regional committee of the Alash Party was opened in Semipalatinsk. It consists of the following people: Alimhan Ermekov, Raimzhan Marsekov, Imam Alimbekov, Ahmetzhan Kozybagarov, Turagul Kunanbaev, Halel Gapbasov, Sydyk Duisembaev, Alihan Bukeihanov, Mustakim Maldybaev, Daniyar Muldabaev, Biahmet Sarsenov; besides it was suggested that the representatives from districts, one for each district, should be included in the committee. The chairman of the committee is Halel Gapbasov, its deputy is Ahmetzhan Kozybagarov, the secretary is Sydyk Duisembaev, its treasurer is Daniyar Muldabaev. Alihan Bukeihanov was elected the honorary president…”
In the issue of the “Kazakh” No 250 of November 1917 it was said: “ The Alash Party.
Turgay regional committee of the Alash party was organized in Orenburg. There are 14 persons in the committee, ten out of which are from Orenburg and four from the districts, one from each district.
The members from Orenburg; Ahmet Beremzhanov, Ahmet Baitursunov, Alihan Bukeihanov, Eldes Omarov, Omar Zhanibekov, Myrzhakip Dulatov, Gabdulhamit Zhundibaev, Sagindyk Doszhanov, Gabdurakim Doszhanov (from Turgay), Telzhan Shonanov (from Irgiz), Esengali Nurmuhammetov (from Aktyubinsk), Myrzagazy Espulov (from Kustanay). The chairman of Turgay committee of the Alash is Alihan Bukeihanov, his deputy is Ahmet Baitursunov, the secretary is Myrzhakip Dulatov, the treasurer is Zhanuzak Zhanibekov.
The membership fees to the Alash Party constitute one rouble.”
An announcement was reprinted from the “Sary-Arka” in the issue of the “Kazakh” No 253, saying: “Only a person, obeying the instructions of the Alash central committee without demur and considering its program right and legitimate, can be a member of the Alash party”.
Muhtar Samatov came to us from Omsk, from the regional committee of the Alash-Orda to hold the elections to the Constituent Assembly. At that time Muhtar fully relied on Bukeihanov and his henchmen.
The district committee of the Alash-Orda Party was organized in Akmolinsk and it began to prepare for the elections to the Constituent Assembly. Of course, everything was done to make the Kazakhs give their votes for the candidates from the Alash Party.
The half-dead Kazakh committee of Akmolinsk began to revive after the arrival of Muhtar Samatov.
I went to the committee to meet Muhtar. We greeted each other. Once we were close friends, when we studied in Omsk, we together organized the organization “Birlik” (Unity), functioning from 1913 to 1916.
- Have you agreed to enter the “Ush zhuz” Party? – he wondered.
- No. I need neither the Alash Party nor the “Ush zhuz”! I can’t fully agree with their programs. But my sympathies are mostly with the “Ush zhuz”.
- And whom will you support in the Constituent Assembly?
- I’ll see for myself whom to support. But I’ll join neither the Alash nor the “Ush zhuz” now!
By the way, what kind of party was this “Ush zhuz”, organized in Omsk simultaneously with the regional committee of the Alash Party?
It was organized by the residents of Omsk, Muhan Aitpenov, Togusov, Shaimerden Alzhanov and others. They called a Socialist Party “Ush zhuz” and included us – Akmolinsk comrades – to their list in our absence.
Just after the organization the “Ush zhuz” began to throw mud at the leaders of the Alash-Orda. It did this with the help of the newspaper “Ush zhuz”, published in Petropavlovsk. There were lots of abusing words on its pages about the Alash leaders.
Of course, the leaders of the Alash-Orda didn’t yield to the leaders of the “Ush zhuz” in this respect. They could swear none the less, moreover, they surpassed their defamers by far in this respect. There were a lot of supporters of the Alash-Orda, the party’s leading body was politically literate enough, had an experience of political struggle, besides, all regional newspapers with the exception of the “Tirshilik” were in its hands. The “Sary-Arka” from Semipalatinsk, the “Birlik tuiy” from Tashkent, the “Uran” from Astrahan, the “Kazakh” from Orenburg – they all pounced together upon the editorial board of the newspaper “Ush zhuz”. It was easy to swear at anybody, if desired, and the sophisticated Alash rhetoricians were not lacking this skill.
The newspaper “Kazakh” was the oldest according to the period of publication, the most experienced. How could it not surpass the others in its skill? To make the reader see this “skill” for himself and understand the real attitude of the Alash towards the “Ush zhuz”, I’ll give here some extracts from the “Kazakh” and the “Sary-Arka”.
The following article was reprinted from the “Sary-Arka” in the issue of the “Kazakh” No 260:
“Great scoundrels among the Kazakhs
After getting the long-expected freedom, the eyes of our people opened, the unity of views and mutual understanding was established. The population in its majority began to live better, more prosperously. But there have always been separate unrestrained individuals among the people, who are too well off for their own good. There have also appeared cunning disgusting renegades among us, who seduce the people, honestly following their leaders, walking the path of righteousness. There have appeared people without the concept of honour and the least conscience. Under the pretext of spreading the news, they sow discord among the population, intend to behave outrageously. They, these scoundrels, resembling a pack of rabid dogs, want to tear down, gnaw round or bite to death, like poisonous snakes, the standard-beareres of the Alash Party, the martyrs, defending the people with might and main. Hiding behind the name of the “Ush zhuz”, they pour out dirty swearing from their unclean mouth in respect of the well-meaning and honest people from the Alash Party. The four-legged predators are extirpated with the help of strychnine, a poison, and we declare the following with the same purpose.
Understand it, once and for all, that the most scandalous, shameless bullies come from the party “Ush zhuz”. They are a sore on the healthy body of the people.
Not to listen to them, avoid them, beware of them is the duty of every worthy son of the Alash, of our nation. From time immemorial the Kazakhs were under the heel of the foreigners and suffered oppression and insults. Now the time has come to firmly declare to all tricksters of the “Ush zhuz”: don’t corrupt the people. To unite it and knock together is none of your business. The people mustn’t go to the precipice, following you blindly. Don’t upset the people. If you want to look for a piece of bread in the bosom of the deceased one, well, look for it there, but not here!
We’ll follow the Alash Party. Only there we can find reliable guides to the future.
The members of Semipalatinsk district zemstvo – Ahmetzhan Andamasov, Zhamshyrbai Shulembaev, Temirshi Zhunusov, Sadyk Duisembaev, Kurmambai Muzdybaev, Baiseke Esirkepov, Mailybai Esenbaev, Imambazar Kazangapov, Raiymzhan Marsekov, Kaldybai Budambaev and Kokbai Shanataev”.
On November 12, 1917, the article “The Turkic and Tatar patrons” was published in the newspaper “Kazakh”:
“We received a telegram from Omsk regional committee of the Alash-Orda.
The inveterate Alash enemies pervert the party’s policy, spread slanderous rumours among the population. We ask to urgently publish the program of the Alash-Orda on the pages of the “Kazakh”…
After this we received another telegram from Omsk on November 17:
“There appeared Kazakhs, dissatisfied with the program of the Alash Party, created by the reknowned Constitutional Democrat Bukeihanov, and they independently organized a Socialist Party, named the “Ush zhuz”. The purpose of this party: to support federation, organize a new Turkic and Tatar community, include its candidates into the list for the Constituent Assembly. Chairman of the presidium Aitpenov, secretary Kubekov”.
This telegram was sent to the editorial board of the “Kazakh” and to the editorial board of the “New Time”[48].
After receiving it the Tatars may think that there has appeared a “hero” among the Kazakhs at last, who will unite all Turkic and Tatar tribes.
How can the Tatars know the inward nature of this parvenu? It can happen so that the Tatars won’t believe him. The same with the Kazakhs: they wouldn’t swallow the bait if a Tatar, say Fatihulla, gave us a telegram from Kazan Province, informing us that he’s organizing a Turkic and Tatar tribe. Could we believe it and treat his action with reason and respect?
The name of Aitpenov, the author of this telegram, is Mukan. Though the entire globe is not familiar with Mukan, but he is well-known in Omsk District. We’ve learnt about him, too. If it is the Mukan, who created the party “Ush zhuz” to unite the Turkic and Tatar tribes, then deliver us, oh God, from such benefactors, we haven’t got another desire yet.
But perhaps we’re wrong, taking this party “Ush zhuz” for the one, we knew before. If it is one and the same party, it isn’t clear why it wasn’t given the name of “one thousand” when the rouble fell, but still limits itself to “three hundred”[49].
We think that Mukan, having caught a Bolshevik illness, decided to create a “Socialist” party, but without self-profit. When he becomes a Socialist, that is equal, all his property, gained since June 25 of the last year, is sure to become the property of the whole society”.
Turgay regional committee of the Alash-Orda.
The article of Magyar (Dulatov’s pen name), entitled “The rogues of the “Ush zhuz”, was published in the issue of the “Kazakh” No 252 on November 26, 1917.
“…A Mukan has appeared in Omsk, fishing in troubled waters. After declaring freedom, this man became extremely insolent, he acted willfully, harmed the national affairs, that’s why Akmolinsk regional committee decided to stop his unbecoming actions and gave him a serious warning. After this warning leader Mukan, having a council with his friends, well-known madcaps such as Kolbai (Togusov) and Shaimerden (Alzhanov), decided to arrest the members of the regional committee by himself. In broad daylight about 50-60 men of rabble surrounded the apartment of Aidarhan (Turlybaev), a chairman of the committee. He wasn’t at home, the hooligans beat the servants, kicked up a row. The family managed to call the militia from the telephone in Aidarhan’s apartment. The militiamen came. Together with the Cossacks they released the members of the committee from custody and arrested the sham revolutionaries at the scene of the crime. Now an investigation is being held. It is not known whether they were released on bail, but now these “heroes” are free.
They plotted a revolution through stupidity, wanted to arrest somebody and got in prison themselves. This story is spoken of everywhere. How could they not grapple with the regional committee now?
The re-elections to the zemstvo are being prepared now, and Mukan wants very much to become its active member… Not knowing what to do, he rushes about like a bridled horse, champs at the bit. Meanwhile the elections of the Constituent Assembly of the town districts in Akmolinsk and Semipalatinsk are being delayed, the term of submitting the lists of participants of this meeting is expiring. The political rogues are rejoicing, it serves their purpose to prove themselves.
“If you organized the Alash Party, we weren’t born yesterday, we’ll organize the “Ush zhuz”. We’ll also be able to create turmoil with God’s help. If you offered your list, we’ll offer ours, too”, - they said , made a list of nine “best” people and gave it to the commission.
If you need it, here’s the list! To offer it is a doddle! If there’s a hundred signatures under it, anybody can offer a list. But what is at issue is not the number of lists but their composition. There are ten districts in Akmolinsk and Semipalatinsk Regions. After the revolution several congresses were held, where honest people were elected by the will of the people. The names of the elected ones were announced on the pages of the newspaper “Kazakh”.
No one urged the renegades to this risky venture. Colluding between themselves, they decided themselves to take revenge on Akmolinsk regional committee, not thinking that the cause of all the trouble was their own stupidity, which manifested itself in offering their own list.
Here are two lists for you, compare and weigh up the candidates from each of them:
1. Alihan (Bukeihanov)[50],
2. Aidarhan (Turlybaev),
3. Alimhan (Ermekov),
4. Halel (Gapbasov),
5. Asylbek (Seitov),
6. Mukish Bochtaev),
7. Erezhep (Itbaev),
8. Zhakip (Akpaev),
9. Seilbek (Zhanaidarov).
1. Hadji Hasen,
2. Kolbai (Togusov),
3. Shaimerden (Alzhanov),
4. Muhan (Aitpenov),
5. Usen (Kosaev),
6. Sultanmahmut (Toraigyrov),
7. Baiseit (Adilev),
8. Kazi (Torsanov),
9. Aliaskar
You can judge from these lists about the humanity, intelligence, honour and valour of each candidate; vote for the one your heart likes!”
In the above-given article Myrzhakip Dulatov, a propagandist of the Alash-Orda, currying favour with the people, persists in repeating that only the adherents of the Alash-Orda are true defenders of the interests of Kazakh people, supporters of its freedom and prosperity. This technique was not new, to pretend a defender of the poor became a favourite method of the false bourgeois propaganda.
The newspaper “Ush zhuz” wasn’t far behind in responding the Alash-Orda with abusive words. But the composition and education of the leaders of this or that party, the experience of this or that newspaper, compared and taken into account, told somewhat against the “Ush zhuz”, like it or not. The Alash-Orda consisted of the cream of the bai top, the sons of officials of high rank, receiving education in the Tsarist gymnasiums, hereditary mirzas, one might say the elite of the nation. And the “Ush zhuz” gathered the inhabitants of Omsk, workmen, coachmen, sheperds, mostly the illiterate poor of the town. Hadjimukan, a famous wrestler, who used to be a sherperd, happened to be among them.
The educated aristocracy was no doubt stronger in discussions and logomachy and more flexible in actions. And their uneducated opponents acted with straightforwardness and simple-mindedness of the poor, directly, without slyness and guile. But the proverb says: “He, who is strong physically, will defeat three people, he, who is strong in knowledge, will defeat a thousand people”. Hadjimukan could throw a dozen of supporters of the Alash-Orda, but he was totally helpless against single Zhahanshi, an educated lawyer.
It is said ”One gets what one deserves”. The newspaper “Ush zhuz” fully corresponded to the level of development of the organization’s activists. The leaders of the Alash-Orda were defamed on its pages with the most rude and barbaric words. The editors staff didn’t always understand that they tolerated prohibited words and methods, heatedly condemning their opponent, thus they compromised themselves first of all.
What kind of event was it in reality, this fact, spoken of by Dulatov on the pages of the “Kazakh”?
On October 19, 1917, Mukan Aitpenov together with Shaimerden Alzhanov, Abdrahman Kylyshpaev and other organizers of the new party, including wrestler Hadjimukan, convened a meeting, where they severely criticized the hateful activity of leaders of the Alash-Orda. Despite the overthrow of the Tsarist rule, despite the fact that freedom was declared to the people, it was no use to common, poor people. The bai aristocracy came to power, organized a party. The meeting came to the decision to dissolve Akmolinsk regional committee, which didn’t help the poor of the town, didn’t stand up for them. M. Aitpenov, Sh. Alzhanov, A. Kylyshpaev worked in Omsk District Kazakh Committee. Nearly a hundred of local townsmen gathered together under their leadership. The crowd went to assault the building of the regional committee. Hadjimukan was ahead of the crowd with a red flag in his hands. The demonstrators carried the banners with the requirements of the poor. They came close to the building, surrounded it. Aitpenov, Alzhanov, Kylyshpaev, the organizers and inspirators of the demonstration, and about a dozen people burst into the committee room and announced that all present there were considered arrested. Some were beaten just there in a fit of temper. Lawyer A. Turlybaev was not found at the place.
The rebels took the arrested Seitov and Zhumabaev with them and went to Turlybaev’s apartment, surrounded it, tried to force the door, but Turlybaev managed to escape…
It was then that the militia unit and mounted Cossacks came and surrounded the demonstrators, released Seitov and Zhumabaev and arrested the instigators of the riot.
On this occasion the Kazakh regional committee adopted a resolution, written in Russian, on October 21, 1917:
Of the meeting of Akmolinsk Regional Kazakh Committee No 132, dated October 22, 1917
Present at the meeting: Turlybaev, Sadvokas Zhantasov, (Magzhan) Zhumabaev, A. (Asylbek) Seitov, E. Mukushev, E. Tokpaev, K. (Kazi) Torsanov and additional members: E. (Erezhep) Itpaev, M. (Muhtar) Samatov and M. (Musulmanbek) Seitov.
The reports of M. Seitov and M. Zhumabaev, dealing with the incident of October 19 of this year, were discussed at the meeting.
“… On October 19, 1917, at two o’clock in the afternoon Sh. Alzhanov, a deputy chairman of the district Kazakh committee, and A. Kylyshpaev, his secretary, entered the office of the regional Kazakh committee. They were followed by three “militiamen” of Kazakh origin. They rudely broke into the entrance room and entered directly the chairman’s office.
Kylyshpaev put the accompanying Kazakh militiamen near the telephones and ordered them not to let any members of the reginal committee go in.
Ten minutes had hardly passed when Mukan Aitpenov, a chairman of Omsk District Kazakh Committee, arrived himself , accompanied by fifty or sixty Kazakhs, six or seven out of whom were with the arm bands of militia of Omsk District.
Aitpenov, addressing his comrades and pointing to the secretary of the regional committee, ordered: “First of all, arrest him!”
Seitov responded: “Aitpenov has no right to arrest anybody without permission of the Provisional Government!” Then Aitpenov ordered his militiamen to use force.
The “militiamen” led M. Seitov against his will into the office of the chairman of the regional committee, where Zhumabaev, Torsanov, Adilev were at the moment.
Aitpenov addressed the audience:
- Venerable aqsaqals, elder and younger brothers! I was born and grew up among you. You know me well. You know what troubles I suffered at the time of the Tsarist rule, defending your interests. All Akmolinsk Region knows me. I hope that you still trust me, - uttered Aitpenov.
The audience loudly echoed him: “We trust you, we trust you!”
- You are ordinary people, - Aitpenov continued. – The members of the regional committee are monarchists, minions of autocracy, have they ever fulfilled any of your requirements?
- No, no! it has never happened! – the audience cried back.
- Everything in the committee is done on their initiative. They pursue their policy everywhere, exercise their power. The regional committee is a disaster for the Kazakh people. The agriculture has seriously declined because of their hateful activity. Look at their documents, addressed to the district and volost committees, and then you’ll see that they give orders everywhere, exercise their power bureaucratically. Can such actions be consistent with freedom?
- No! no! They are not consistent! – the audience repeated. The voices of Kuderya, Sarsenbai, Nurtaza, Kudaiberegen and Sadvokas could be distinctly heard.
- If so, is it fair to leave these inveterate monarchists in power at the regional committee? From my point of view, it isn’t fair! – Aitpenov declared firmly.
The audience unanimously approved it and immediately decided to make chairman Turlybaev refuse to perform his duties in the regional committee.
Aitpenov went with his three “militiamen” to look for Turlybaev. He came back in 30-40 minutes and reported to the audience: “Turlybaev fled, still we managed to beat his two dogs”. (One of them appeared to be a coachmen and the other was a cook.)
M. Seitov, the secretary of the committee, addressed the audience with the permission of some aqsaqals:
- I’m Aitpenov’s closest relative, - he said, - that’s why I know him better than you. He’s a passionate man and as opportunity offers, he always strives for the self-profit. Taking advantage of your simple-mindedness, he’s now driving you to a crime and agitates you to use force. Of course, you don’t see clearly all its consequences. You don’t understand the results of such a false step. You are quite unaware that you’ll answer for Aitpenov later.
Aitpenov exclaimed:
- Oh, what a nuisance! That dog hasn’t returned my revolver yet! If it were in my hands now, I would put it to use!..
Secretary Bogenbaev wrote a decision “on behalf” of the meeting, as dictated by Aitpenov, in which he expressed distrust to all members of the regional Kazakh committee with the exception of the few, present there.
It was mentioned at the end of the decision:
“Tomorrow, on October 20, at noon let the members of the regional committee, to whom distrust was expressed, announce that they voluntarily refuse to perform their duties in the committee!..”
Some refused to sign this “decision” and Aitpenov spoke again:
- Hey, people! This is the decision where your wish is expressed. Seitov refuses to fulfill your orders! What do you think of it? As for me, I consider it right to take him into custody!
Seitov was arrested. And Zhumabaev together with him.
- Your fate is in my hands, I’m your dictator now, - Alzhanov said aloud, addressing Zhumabaev.
The crowd led the arrested to Turlybaev’s apartment. On the way Aitpenov announced to the passers-by: “Look, we have arrested and are driving the Monarchists”.
Turlybaev’s apartment was surrounded. Aitpenov, Alzhanov and Kylyshpaev approached the front door, the three of them, knocked at the door and demanded to immediately make Turlybaev go out.
And Aitpenov ordered some “militiamen” to climb the fence and open the gates. His purpose was to let the crowd enter Turlybaev’s apartment through the back door.
An armed man came out of the front door.
- I’m a deputy chief of militia. What do you want? – he asked.
Taken aback, Aitpenov, Alzhanov, Kylyshpaev mumbled to him:
- These people demand Turlybaev to come here!
- Turlybaev won’t go out. Tell me, what you want, - the deputy chief continued.
- Tell him that these people unanimously express their distrust to Turlybaev. That’s why, according to the people’s decision, tomorrow at noon Turlybaev must come to Kuderya Musin’s apartment and say he refuses to perform his duties in the committee!
The town militia arrived in time, surrounded the crowd and led it to the commissar of the second district militia station…”
The regional committee resolved:
“To consider that the aforementioned riot of the townsmen of Omsk doesn’t deserve special attention, because they were led astray by such elements as Aitpenov, Alzhanov, Kylyshpaev and others. These ringleaders are troublemakers and violators of public order.
To consider the acts of violence of “militiamen” illegal and to bring them to trial for blindly fulfilling Aitpenov’s orders.
To consider it necessary to inform Akmolinsk regional joint committee about it, as well as other higher authorities.
Signed by: Chairman of Akmolinsk regional committee Turlybaev; deputy chaiman A. B. Seitov; members: Mukushev, Zhumabaev, Zhantasov; secretary M. B. Seitov…”
This was the decision of Akmolinsk Regional Kazakh Committee, taken in respect of the riot, arranged by the poor of Omsk on the eve of the October Revolution.
I published an article about this event in the “Tirshilik” and also mentioned about sending funds to the sons of the poor from Akmolinsk District, studying in Omsk. (the “Tirshilik”, No 4, 10.11.1917). I proved that the funds were distributed unfairly, to bais’ sons and not to the sons of the poor.
Akmolinsk Regional Kazakh Committee took my honest words for a lie and sent an open letter from Omsk to the newspaper “Kazakh”. I have to give here the text of the open letter of the regional committee, published in the issue of Orenburg newspaper No 254 of December 13, 1917.
“We ask you to publish this open letter on the pages of the newspaper “Kazakh”. In the fourth issue of Akmolinsk newspaper “Tirshilik” there was published an article, signed by a “Shamil”[51], entitled “Akmolinsk regional arbitrary general[52] – the Kazakh committeee”. Considering Shamil’s article a slander and fiction, the regional committee has to explain the actual state of affairs.
It was Mukan Aitpenov, Abdrahman Kylyshpaev, Shaimerden Alzhanov and five or six their comrades, who wanted to dissolve the regional committee, but not the residents of Omsk. Really, they were followed by forty or fifty townsmen because of their illiteracy and foolishness. Their behaviour is known to all Omsk District. Everyone knows that these people will never submit to any authority, but their own one. In the middle of summer they insolently went into the district committee without any elections and raised a stink until late autumn, prevented re-elections, and now, seeing that the elections of October 20 would not be in their favour, proceeded to the action to improve their position in the face of the regional committee. They were all arrested the same day, but three days later they were released and are now under examination.
Omsk District committee was re-elected. We’ve just got the news that the regional committee will be dissolved on November 1. The first of December has passed, but nobody is going to dissolve the committee. The regional committee seems not be dissolved until the regional zemstvo opens, the people’s affairs are put in order. It isn’t possible to leave the Kazakh office work without any supervision.
The article also perverted the report on the funds, received by the regional committee. In fact it was like this:
Omsk District has contributed one thousand two hundred roubles to maintain the committee and give scholarships, besides, it must add five thousand three hundred roubles. Petropavlovsk District has contributed four thousand six hundred and twenty roubles to maintain the committee and to give scholarships, and will contribute eleven thousand five hundred roubles more. Kokchetav District has already contributed five thousand roubles for the same purposes and will additionally contribute twelve thousand roubles. Atbasar District, which has already contributed 4400 roubles, is still to contribute eighteen thousand roubles. Akmolinsk District has contributed eight thousand five hundred roubles and must additionally contribute twenty-five thousand five hundred roubles.
These are the amounts received and expected to be received from each district. Mr. Shamil’s information is not consistent with the reality. Mr. Shamil states that the regional committee doesn’t give scholarships to the students of Akmolinsk District. It isn’t true. (I wrote about “the sons of the poor”, here the committee deliberately omits my actual words.)
In fact there are only two students from Akmolinsk Region in public schools: Dinmuhammet Adilev and Ashim Omarov. Both of them receive their scholarship from the regional committee.
Besides, there are three students from Akmolinsk in “private” schools. According to the decision of the Congress, the regional committee can give scholarships only to the students of public schools, and has no right to give them to the others. Besides, these three are the sons of well-known bais. That’s why the intercession of Mr. Shamil, claiming that “the children keep wandering along the streets of Omsk without supervision”, is just idle talk…”
Confused excuses, clumsy lies always indignate the readers, injure the newspaper in the eyes of the public. The slander won’t remain on the newspaper pages, the slanderers are prosecuted under law”.
If the letter of the reginal committee had been true, the authorities would have prosecuted me.
The documents give clear evidence that the poor of Omsk seriously intended to dissolve the committee.
The committee’s statements that “the students of private schools were the sons of well-known bais” and so they were refused the scholarship is a bare-faced lie. The first of the students, Gyulyiarap Atshabarova, is a daughter of a poor man from Akmolinsk, who doesn’t have any cattle; the second student is Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, famous now; the third one – Hamza Zhusupbekov. Besides, Hasanbek Kulataev, coming from the aul near Uspensk mine, is studying there. He isn’t wealthy. He’s been working as a militiaman for the last several years.
On the eve of the Great October Revolution the committees, where the stooges of Kerensky’s government – Milyukov and the adherents of the Alash-Orda worked, lost its authority in the eyes of ordinary people, unskilled labourers and the poor of the towm.
The poor of Omsk organized the party “Ush zhuz”, headed by Aitpenov, Shaimerden Alzhanov and Kylyshpaev. Unexperienced, unskilled leaders of the newly created party began to pursue an extremely inconsequent policy.
They named their party Socialist. But why then be named “Ush zhuz” (Three thousand)[53]? In their struggle with Alash-Orda they used its bourgeois and nationalist methods, its definitions and arguments.
Of course, many of us stumbled then, groped their way in the darkness. The members of the “Ush zhuz” were sure not to understand their purposes, they made big mistakes. I wrote to Shaimerden Alzhanov, who included us into his party without our presence, that we couldn’t support the “Ush zhuz”. My letter didn’t have any effect. The leaders of the “Ush zhuz” continued to throw mud on the leaders of the Alash-Orda. We published an article in the “Tirshilik”, where we declared our principal disagreement with the policy of the “Ush zhuz”. I sent a wire of the same contents to the editorial board of the “Kazakh”. Not agreeing with the methods of the “Ush zhuz”, we at the same time considered its attacks quite useful to undermine the authority of the Alash-Orda in the eyes of the people.
For better or worse, but the party “Ush zhuz” publicly defamed the “flawless” Alash leaders.
There are people who say today that we joined the “Ush zhuz”. This can be said either by the people from the distant regions, not knowing what the situation was like in Akmolinsk at that time, or the people with evil intentions, deliberately trying to discredit us.
Even if we don’t take into account our article in the “Tirshilik” and my telegram to the editorial board of the “Kazakh”, where it was clearly said about our disagreement with the position of the “Ush zhuz”, I can give you another, quite convincing fact.
In the issue of the “Kazakh” No 259 of January 12, 1918, it was said: “The editorial board has received a telegram from Muhtar Samatov, where he informs about the inadequate preparation for the elections of December 26-31. The candidates from Akmolinsk refuse to vote for the “Ush zhuz”.
We didn’t vote to show our disagreement with the policy of the “Ush zhuz”. We did so not because we feared the Alash-Orda or considered the leaders of the “Ush zhuz” worse for the people than the Alash leaders. On the contrary, there were excellent honest comrades in the party “Ush zhuz” like Shaimerden (Alzhanov) and Iskhak (Kobekov). The Alash was more dangerous and harmful for the revolution. For better or worse the “three hundred“ were organized, but in 1917-1918 in the crucial historic days they supported the revolution on the side of the Reds.
We didn’t take an active part in the elections of the delegates of the Constituent Assembly because we didn’t want to support the “Ush zhuz” Party. If we had supported the offered candidates, the majority of the Kazakhs of Akmolinsk would have been with us. We had a chance to make sure of that when the members of zemstvo were elected (soon after the Constituent Assembly). Though we weren’t very active at these elections, but the vast majority (90 per cent) of the delegates of district zemstvo supported our position. There were the adherents of the Alash-Orda among them, such as Nuralin, Seitov, Ablaihanov and others.
But let’s return to the events, which took place immediately after the October Revolution. The old world was wrestling with the new one at the arena of political struggle. The obsolete was fighting with a young, life-asserting era. The struggle was getting more intense with each passing day. The leaders of the organization “Zhas Kazakh” together with a little group of Russian comrades were the first in Akmolinsk to raise the banner of the Soviets.
We were growing in power. The youth of Spassk plant opened the organization “Zhas zhurek – A young Heart”. It had close relationship with the “Zhas Kazakh” and later became its branch at the plant. One young man of Turkish origin worked in the “Tirshilik” and represented the organization of the plant “Zhas zhurek”.
At the majority of gatherings and meetings the final word rested with us.
We discussed the issue of organizing the Soviet rule in Akmolinsk at the crowded meeting in the building of the cinema. The hall was overcrowded. A lot of people stood in the doorway. The present divided into two camps. From time to time they cried from different places, asking for the floor. On behalf of the newspaper “Tirshilik” I insisted on the urgent organizing of the Soviet rule in Akmolinsk. My speech inspired the audience. Everyone rushed forward to the platform, making noise, not listening to the others, forming a jam. The speakers were not let to finish their speeches, they were interrupted, it was extremely noisy. The people went up like a match box from a spark. They argued, shouted and finally elected an interim organizational Council of Deputies. The candidates were voted for, each taken separately, his biography discussed, with the candidate invited to the platform to be seen by the present.
The following comrades were elected:
Bochok – a worker of Ekibastuz plant, Monin – a soldier, Krivoguz – a soldier, Loznoy – a soldier, Kolomeitsev – a soldier, Shafran – a blacksmith, Pyankovsky – an electrician, Kondratyeva – an artist, Bogomolov – an office worker, Repshneider – a soldier, Baken Serikpaev – just graduated from the higher elementary academy, Abdulla Asylbekov – an office worker, Nurgain Bekmuhammetov – a teacher, Baiseit Adilev – an office worker, Zhumabai Nurkin – a teacher, Martlogo – a barber, Turysbek Mynbaev, Baiseit Zhumanov, Hafiz Gizatullin, Manazarov, Gryaznov and I, Saken Seifullin, and others.
The crowd began to break up when somebody said that “Petrov, the commissar of Kerensky, fled”.
It was the same Petrov, who always referred to himself as a commissarr of the Provisional Government when signing the papers or making a speech at the meetings, the same Petrov, whom Duisembaev called an agent provocateur at one of the meetings in summer.
The news about the flight of the commissar of the Provisional Government filled the people with more enthusiasm. Two soldiers, headed by Krivoguz, were sent to pursue Petrov.
After the rally the first meeting of the organizational Council of Deputies took place, where a resolution was passed to convene a congress, the authorized representatives were nominated for the explanatory work in the field, commissars were elected, one for each institution, and a decision was taken, committing the employees of every institution to submit to the commissar of the Council of Deputies without demur.
But the next day our commissars were forced to leave the institutions where they went with the authority of the organizational Council of Deputies, after they were severely mocked at. They couldn’t use force because they didn’t possess it, there was no one to rely on.
So the town didn’t recognize our interim Council of Deputies. Two days passed in confusion and anarchy. Then there was again turmoil and a loud argument. Finally the office workers of the town institutions, the petty bourgeois, common townsmen gathered together and elected the People’s Council, appointing a Petrokeev a temporary district commissar. So there happened to be several “authorities” in Akmolinsk at the same time: a temporary commissar, the district Kazakh committee, the interim Council of Deputies, the Cossack municipal council, the committee of zemstvo.
First they exercised their power simultaneously, but gradually our organizational Council of Deputies with the representatives of different layers of population and different nationalities began to gain in importance.
Soon a meeting of the district zemstvo with aul representatives was held. The committee of zemstvo, formed in summer, organized the re-elections, in which we also took part. The authorized representatives went to different volosts to hold elections and we, leaders of the “Zhas Kazakh”, provided them with relevant instructions and guidance. Some of these authorized representatives, going to the steppe, were members of the “Zhas Kazakh”.
Just at this time doctor Asylbek Seitov and Captain Migash (Migadatsha) Ablaihanov came to see us from Omsk on behalf of the Kazakh regional committee to organize the district “People’s Council” in Akmolinsk, the district council of the Alash-Orda in other words. It was supposed to organize the Kazakh national militia and raise funds to maintain the government of the Alash-Orda.
They came to the Kazakh committee and quickly colluded there. Muhtar Samatov, specially authorized by the Alash, who had come from the same Omsk for the elections of the supposed members of the Constituent Body, also participated in the collusion.
Abdulla (Asylbekov), Kosherbai Zhamanaev, a leader of the town poor and I also came up for the discussion.
There were only Kazakhs present. There were all the members of the committee: veterinary assistant Husain (Kozhamberlin), a chairman, and the members: mullah Manten, interpreter Sarman (Shulenbaev), interpreter Husain (Erdenbaev), volost administrator Usen (Kosaev). The ardent supporters of the committee, such as volost administrator Olzhabai, volost administrator Bagzhan, clerk Tulebai Nuralin - Olzhabai’s nephew, the member of the regional committee- and Muhtar Samatov also gathered for the meeting. The committee hall was overcrowded. Everyone followed the development of events with a keen interest, like the wrestling competition at the funeral feast of a rich bai. They argued for a long time but went away with nothing done, with nothing decided, without coming to terms with each other.
Tomorrow there was a meeting again and the committee hall seemed to fall apart, unable to seat all those who wanted to take part. Seeing that loud debates were sure to begin, the members of the committee asked for the assistance of Sharip Yalymov, an extravagant talker, whom I have already spoken about, an arrogant, silly Tatar huckster. Our party decided to counterbalance him with our comrade Uvaliy Hangeldin, a teacher of the Kazakh teacher training courses, also a Tatar. There was a heated dispute. And this time again everyone went away with nothing decided, arranging to hold a crowded rally in the yard of the committee.
The next day a multitude of people, the Kazakhs solely, gathered in the large yard of the committee. It was frosty, the people were dressed in winter clothes. The exhalation was rising above the crowd. Many came from different auls. There were both the old and the young, the former volost administrators and the new ones here.
The rally began. Kosherbai Zhamanaev, a representative of the town poor, was chosen the chairman.
Kosherbai was an illiterate man but a good speaker and always supported our policy. His talent of an outstanding speaker suddenly revealed itself in the times of troubles after the dethronement of the Tsar. A speaker better than he could hardly be found in all Akmolinsk. After announcing the disputable issues, Kosherbai brought them up for the general discussion.
The speeches began and an argument flared up again. This day would decide the outcome of the struggle, each group had only one alternative: to win or to lose.
During the last two days we had been conducting an active explanatory work among the town population to have a support at the crucial moment. It was a life-and-death struggle. A speech follows a speech. Everyone strives to compel the general attention, to win the trust of the intently listening audience. The foreheads of the speakers are covered with sweat despite the ringing frost. The hoarfrost on the eyelashes is melting from the hot breathing, the crowd’s exhalation is rising into the sky. I had to take the floor three times at this meeting.
- What’s the Alash-Orda?- I said in my speeches. – It’s a party, intending to restore the former khanate, to become a burden to the Kazakh people and a thorn in its flesh. Do our people need the khanate?.. No! We have been enduring khans’ whims for a long time. And now the empty ravings of the upper class, secretly dreaming of becoming khans, are not enticing to the broad masses of the Kazakh people. After getting rid of the Tsar, the exhausted poor don’t want to take the burden of “His Highness” khan. Khanate is necessary for the bais and volost administrators as much as the air one breathes. Khanate is necessary for the sons of the upper class, dreaming to become third-generation aristocrats. The multinational working Russia, which overthrew and destroyed forever the three-hundred reign of the Romanovs, won’t let the khans to oppress the Kazakh working people again. You, upper class, striving to become khans and aristocrats, do remember about it. The ordinary people won’t follow them… They decided to collect money from the Kazakh population. And the question is, for whom is this money? Only for those who crave for becoming khans. They decided to create militia from the Kazakhs. The question is, whose interests will it defend? The khans’ interests, of course. From whom will it defend? From the Bolsheviks, opposing the khans and the Tsar. Who are the Bolsheviks? It’s the people, defending the interests of workers, sherperds and the poor. Who supports the Bolsheviks? It’s all the multinational working class, aul sherperds, all the multitude of the poor, soldiers back from the front and poor muzhiks from the Russian villages – these are those who follow the Bolsheviks. When the Kazakh militia is created to protect the khans, it will act against the Russian workers, soldiers and poor muzhiks.
The Bolsheviks strive for the equality of all nationalities. They are implacable enemies of the Tsar, monarchists, bais, sucking the people’s blood, robbing officials, volost administrators and foremen.
The Kazaks won’t shed their blood for the upper class, dreaming to become khans, because they have no excess blood and excess power. Let the groundless dreamers look for those who want to support khanate among the working people. The fair steppe people won’t follow them. Don’t demand from the Kazakh population money and zhigits for the militia! – I firmly finished my speech.
We left the rally as winners, defeating our opponents with the support of the majority.
The next day the meeting of the district zemstvo opened. A lot of delegates from the “Zhas Kazakh” came, the members of the Council of Deputies were also present here. The meeting took place in the two-storeyed building of the gymnasium, built of red bricks. The spacious hall seemed unsuitable for the heated meetings of the time: the chairs stood in rows, the delegates quietly took their seats. The back rows were occupied by the invited persons.
The table was laid for the delegates in a separate room, they could drink tea with sugar there, taste white rich bread, have a bit of butter and cheese.
When the delegates took their places in the hall, veterinarian Chernov, the chairman of zemstvo, opened the meeting. There were more and more people coming. All town activists forced their way to the hall: former judges, investigators, inspectors, doctors. I managed to take a place in the front row.
- Citizens, before we start our work we should take a civil oath. We’ll swear allegiance to the provisionary Government. I’ll read the text of the oath and you’ll mentally repeat it with me. I ask everyone to stand up!
The audience rose. The members of the Council of Deputies rose together with everyone. Such beginning of the meeting was totally unexpected by us. We agreed beforehand to demand at the meeting the submission of the zemstvo to the Council of Deputies as to the revolutionary people’s power. Otherwise it should dissolve its organization. But we were completely unprepared for such beginning, for an oath and thus loosing the opportunity to act against the just taken oath.
The vast majority of the present in the hall were the Kazakhs. Eighty or even ninety percent of them were the adherents of the “Zhas Kazakh”. After quickly reading the oath, Chernov put it in front of him on the table.
- And now lets put our signatures under the words of the oath in turn, - he offered.
There began a movement in the hall, judging from which the present were completely ready to sign the oath.
There were enough reasons for us, members of the Council of Deputies, to lose our head.
- Let me say a few words, - I turned to the chairman.
Chernov gave me the floor.
- The majority of the delegates can’t understand the oath, you’ve read us now. I make a suggestion to say the oath in the Kazakh language to make it known to the Kazakh delegates what they are going to sign. Besides, I ask to clarify who we swear allegiance to, to what provisionary government, - I put a direct question.
- Would you like to translate it in Kazakh yourself? – Chernov offered, being a bit confused.
- I’m not your official interpreter, - I answered defiantly, feeling that Chernov was not confident acting as the chairman.
Some Russian delegates and soldiers, the members of our Council of Deputies, began to loudly support me at once.
- Down with him!- they cried out.- He wanted to quietly deceive us, to make us swear allegiance to Kerensky. Down with this counter-revolutionary, arrest him!
The people noisily rose. The chairs creaked, the soldiers rushed to the panel. Chernov’s adherents disappeared in a split second, they all fled through the back door. Only Chernov remained on the stage, pale and confused.
- Please, calm down the audience,- he turned to me several times.
And the crowd was pressing hard, pushing its way forward, breaking benches and chairs and crying: “Arrest the counter-revolutionaries!”
Together with Monin I tried to introduce order, we shouted ourselves hoarse and somehow calmed down the enraged delegates.
After establishing silence Chernov spoke again:
- You’re crying idly, you shouldn’t have raised a clamour, - he began to justify himself. – I talked about swearing allegiance to the provisionary government we’ve got here in Akmolinsk. I meant the interim Council of Deputies, - he began to make excuses to us and prevaricate, – any government, whatever it may be called, is provisionary before the election of the Constituent Assembly…
No matter how Chernov wriggled, he was unable to fool the meeting of the zemstvo this time.
The next day, when I was teaching children at school, two reperesentatives of the “Zhas Kazakh” came to see me in a sledge:
- Let’s go faster! The Kazakhs alone are holding a meeting in the gymnasium again. They offer to open their own zemstvo separately from the Russians. Samatov, Yalymov and Nuralin are leading the people astray.
I had to finish the classes and we rushed to the gymnasium in a sledge. Really, a meeting was going on there. Samatov, Yalymov and Nuralin were sitting on the panel. Samatov was presiding. I forced my way through the crowd and approached the table of the panel. Samatov and his friends had evidently engrossed the attention of the naïve audience, brought them on their side. I asked Samatov for the floor.
- Well, I’ll include you in the list of speakers, - he willingly agreed.
The speakers appeared one after the other, I saw that there would be no end to it and that in the end my speech might not influence the listeners. I came close to Samatov and insistently asked him for the floor.
- When your turn comes, you’ll make your speech, - he answered with perfect calm.
I lost all patience and I started to speak, interrupting the next speaker. He was taken aback, lost his thought and stopped. The audience was silent. What would be the outcome of this squabble? Samatov coldly called me to order.
- Don’t prevent me from speaking, Muhtar-ka!- and I gave him to understand with an expressive gesture to leave me alone.
All the audience burst laughing[54]. Our comrades, knowing the details, were laughing especially loudly. Samatov flared up, the faces of Yalymov and Nuratov changed from anger.
- In this case I refuse to preside over the meeting! – Samatov declared.
- And nobody asked you to open it, - I replied. Samatov, Yalymov and Nuralin left the meeting. They didn’t make any more attempts to open a separate Kazakh zemstvo.
Not losing hope that the old days would come back and that the plan to raise money for the Alash-Orda would succeed, Ablaihanov and Seitov continued to dwell in Akmolinsk. The members of our Council of Deputies began saying that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to arrest these agents and put them to prison. They posed no serious hazard to us now, no one wanted to take the trouble of arresting these helpless people ans so we had nothing to do but to laugh when one night both activists fled from Akmolinsk.
In February 1918 our Concil of Deputies convened Akmolinsk District congress. The majority of the delegates were soldiers, recently back from the front, poor peasants from Russian villages and aul Kazakhs and workers of Spassk plant.
The congress took place in the atmosphere of general enthusiasm. The delegates unanimously agreed that the Soviet rule was the only full-fledged power in the district. The most burning issues of the day, recently raised at all meetings, were discussed at the congress. The delgates spoke passionately and sincerely. There was held a town rally under the leadership of the Council of Deputies.
Akmolinsk Cossacks didn’t share the views of the delegates of the congress and looked askance at us, with hostility. The Cossacks still hoped to separate and create their autonomy with independent self-government. It became known to us that at that time the leaders of the Alash-Щrda were conspiring with Cossack ataman Dutov about joint actions and openly wrote about it in the “Kazakh”. The newspaper also informed that the officers of the Kazakh militia were being trained in Orenburg cadet school, where the Cossack officers were usually trained. We also knew that before their flight from Akmolinsk Ablaihanov, Seitov, Nuralin and Samatov secretly negotiated with the local Cossacks through the district Kazakh committee about joint actions.
We held a rally for the town Cossacks. Turyspek Mynbaev, a delegate from the aul and I spoke at the meeting.
- Working Cossacks! Our Alash-Orda and your generals and atamans like Dutov and Kaledin are all parasites, acting together, sucking the blood of the working people. Brothers, working Cossacks, let’s unite! Let’s not submit to the deception, let’s not get into the trap, which the upper class is preparing for us, let’s not bring shame on the workmen’s honour! – we passionately appealed to them.
Turyspek stood on the platform, cursed the Alash-Order and the Cossack atamans in every possible way in the distorted Russian language and got so excited that he couldn’t control himself and at the end of his speech he swore with hardly writable words in Kazakh.
The cogress elected the district town Council of Deputies. It included:
1. Bochok, a worker of the Ekibastuz plant, a painter, an artist;
2. Katchenko Zahar, a Ukraininan worker;
3. Shafran, a worker from the Urals;
4. Serikpaev, just graduated from the higher school, the son of an ordinary Kazakh;
5. Oleinikov, a soldier back from the front;
6. Bogomolov, a small office worker from Akmolinsk, an old revolutionary;
7. Loznoy, a coachmen from Akmolinsk, a soldier back from the front;
8. Asylbekov, an office worker, a secretary, the son of an ordinary Kazakh;
9. Bekmuhammetov, a poor Tatar, a teacher of the Kazakh school;
10. Nurkin, a teacher of the aul school, the son of an ordinary Kazakh;
11. Shegin, a semi-literate poor townsman;
12. Kara (black, the nickname) Baiseit (Zhumanov), an illiterate Kazakh, a poor townsman;
13. Aryn Maldybaev, a por townsman, full of energy, keeping his word, clever, honest, stubborn, keen-witted, though semi-literate;
14. Turysbek Mynbaev, a semi-literate zhigit from the steppe;
15. Zhainakov Baimagambet, a poor man from the aul. He knows a dozen Russian words, is uneducated, still he is energetic, true to his word, smart;
16. Aubakir Esenbakov, a semi-literate Kazakh, who hardly knows Russian, a poor, strong in spirit, courageous zhigit. He is the son of a tolengut[55] of Hudaimendin, an aga-sultan[56] from Akmolinsk, a governer, a third-generation aristocrat. From the very childhood he’s been a supporter of the poor and has been hardened in the struggle with the aristocrats;
17. Gizzatullin Hafiz, a poor Tatar townsman. He used to be a worker of Koshygulov, a Kazakh merchant;
18. Galim Aubakirov, a poor man, Koshygulov’s servant, too;
19. Battal Smagulov, an office worker, a secretary, having primary education;
20. Adilev Baiseit, who graduated from the town school and served as a secretary, the son of an ordinary Kazakh;
21. Pavlov, an office worker from Akmolinsk;
22. Monin, the son of an ordinary townsman, a young soldier;
23. Krivoguz, a soldier;
24. Martlogo, a barber;
25. Scherbakov, a worker from the Spassk plant;
26. Pyankovsky, an electrician;
27. Martynov, a locksmith from the Spassk plant;
28. Prudov, a worker from the Spassk plant, a mechanic;
29. Kondratyeva, an artist;
30. Trofimov, a lawyer;
31. Bazov, a small office worker;
32. Malyukomov, a peasant;
33. Stegalin, a semi-literate peasant;
34. Gryaznov, a small office worker;
35. one more Gryaznov, also a small office worker;
36. Kolomeitsev, a soldier back from the front;
37. Verba, a small office worker;
38. Hakim Manazarov, a small office worker;
39. Husain Kozhamberlin, a veterinary assistant;
40. Tinalin, a Kazakh worker;
41. Yundin;
42. Ananchenko;
43. Zhahiya Ainabekov;
44. Kotov;
45. other people and I.
Bochok was elected the chairman of the Council of Deputies, Serikpaev and Zahar Katchenko were his deputies. Krivoguz, Monin, Adilev, Pavlov, Kondratyeva and I were elected to the presidium.
From this moment Akmolinsk town institutions had to submit to our Council of Deputies. Each member of the Council of Deputies we appointed a commissar to a certain establishment, depending on his level of education.
Pavlov and Monin were appointed commissars of Finance; Bogomolov and Asylbekov – commissars of Supply; I was appointed a commissar of Education; Verba became a commissar of Post and Telegraph (of communication); Stagalin and Maldybaev – commissars of Agriculture; Zhumabai Nurkin was appointed an investigator and a member of the tribunal; Drizge, who came from Omsk after the congress, was appointed the chairman of the tribunal though this comrade wasn’t a member of the Council of Deputies; Pyankovsky was appointed a commissar of Labour; Melyukomov – a commissar of Health; Turysbek Mynbaev and two or three Kazakhs were appointed the heads of the department of the Kazakh office work; comrade Kremensky was appointed a judge; Shafran – a commissar of the nationalized mills; Gryaznov and Adilev – the heads of the district militia.
It was difficult to work.
At the meeting of the Council of Deputies the issue of an armed detachment, on which our power could rely, was discussed. The members of the Council of Deputies began to form this detachment. There were few literate workers. Instructions and guidance from the Province Council of Deputies came irregularly and with a delay. Most of the former office workers of the institutions left of their own accord, and the few remaining puddered.
Each commissar had heavy responsibilities, a bulk of work without a moment’s respite.
The newspaper “Tirshilik” was published at odd moments. All difficult work was laid on me. Besides, I didn’t give up teaching children at school. An evening school for teenagers opened, so I had to give lessons there, too. In short, we tirelessly worked from morning until late at night..
Akmolinsk District Kazakh Committee was mechanically dissolved. We introduced its leaders Husain Kozhamberlin and Shegin into the Council of Deputies. Sending for the leaders of the committee, we demanded from them to give us an account of the money, collected for the poor students. They were seriously frightened. According to the Kazakh tradition, veterinery assistant Nauryzbai Zhulaev became a mediator between us and smoothed over the conflict. There was a “confusion” with the collected money, so the members of the Kazakh committee were afraid to give us an account. We felt it. There was quite a large amount, collected by the population to help poor students in Omsk. First we collected the money ourselves. When we removed from the committee, our successors began to use it for their personal needs and only a part of the money was sent to Omsk to the regional Kazakh committee. The members of the committee dispensed the money to their relatives, students from other districts and those who didn’t need help at all.
We spoke about this injustice on the pages of the newspaper “Tirshilik”. It was for this reason that the guilty members of the Kazakh committee were afraid of giving us an account. When we gathered in the house of veterinary assistant Nauryzbai, they, the members of the Kazakh committee, asked with tears to excuse them for the committed misapplication. We decided to confine ourselves to a strict reprimand this time.
Soon a telegram from Omsk was received, saying that the supporters of the Alash-Orda were expelled from the regional Kazakh committee and the new committee included Aitpenov, Alzhanov, Torsanov, Togusov and others. Then we received a telegram from above with the offer to re-elect also Akmolinsk District Kazakh Committee. We dissolved this committee to avoid diarchy and considered its re-election unnecessary and erroneous.
Once I received the following telegram from Omsk: “Akmolinsk, to Seifullin. A part of the students, not agreeing with the counter-revolutionary policy of the Alash-Orda organization “Birlik”, split off from it. A democratic council of students was organized. Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, Tautan Arystanbekov, Hamza Zhusupbekov, Seitkaziev, Abulhair Dosov and others were elected to the presidium”…
It was a good news. We established a regular correspondence with the revolutionary youth.
I also corresponded with Dinmuhammet Adilev. He wrote that he had entered a red partisan detachment, created by the Bolsheviks in Omsk and named the First International Detachment.
“No other party, but the Bolsheviks, - Dinmuhammet wrote, - will bring equality to the oppressed working people!”
In his other letter he wrote, also about the correctness of the Bolshevik program: “At such difficult, crucial times I couldn’t sit quietly, so I decided to go to the front to struggle for the happiness of the whole humanity…”
The work is boiling up, going in full swing in our Council of Deputies. Much is done by guesswork, blindly because we receive no directions and instructions from above. The Soviet rule in Petrograd issues a decree after a decree. We learn their contents on the radio and often in the misrepresented form.
There was a time when the Soviet rule was not yet accepted everywhere. Many people didn’t trust the Soviet rule, showed themselves unfriendly to it. For example, it could be heard on the radio: “The Soviet rule in Petrograd has fallen”. The newspapers criticized the Bolsheviks severely in every possible way, scolded the Soviet rule the best they could. The Kazakh Alash-Orda newspapers strived to keep up with the bourgeois Russian newspapers.
In the issue of the “Kazakh” No 253 of December 2, 1917, the editorial “A happy news” was published, speaking about the overthrow of the Soviet rule and at the same time, in passing, throwing mud at the Boshevik Party.
The article “Political situation”, published in the issue No 260 of January 17, 1918, abused again the Bolsheviks as “mercenary people, ill-intentioned scoundrels, pretending the people’s defenders for the sake of the personal benefit” and did it artfully, in a brilliant style. In the previous issue of the ”Kazakh” of January 12, 1918, in the editorial entitled “Demagogy”, the newspaper almost groaned with indignation, sparing no colours, saying that the Bolsheviks deceived people with false promises, trying to attract them to their side, and fished in troubled waters.
In addition to the sophisticated propaganda the Alash-Orda Party didn’t forget about the practical activities and actively prepared the formation of a regular army. It turned to the youth with the appeal to “enter the officer cadet school”. Such schools opened in Uralsk and Semipalatinsk. The groups of “brave” young adherents of the Alash-Orda, who had voluntarily chosen the struggle against the Bolsheviks, entered these schools. As regards this, a lengthy declaration was published in the “Kazakh” issue No 259.
Meanwhile, the Soviet rule slowly but steadily fortified its position. The efforts of the minority, trying to support the old order, the decaying, gone away world, became weaker from day to day. We followed the events through the newspapers and learnt that the Bolsheviks were pressing more and more the Cossack troops of ataman Dutov, supported by the newspaper “Kazakh”. And the day came when we received an issue of the “Kazakh”, informing joylessly that the Alash-Orda central committee would have to leave Orenburg soon…
In January 1918 Orenburg was occupied by the Bolsheviks. Ataman Dutov fled.
A few days later the news spread that the leaders of the Alash-Orda, Bukeihanov, Baitursunov, Dulatov and Omarov (Eldes) went to Semipalatinsk through Akmolinsk. We learnt about it only two days later from one aul Kazakh, who told us about the place of their last overnight stay. After thinking a bit, we decided that the Alash-Orda leaders would come to the Spassk plant on their way and we gave an urgent telegram to the Council of Deputies in Spassk. In their response telegram they informed us that the Alash-Orda leaders had already passed on.
We received the next issue of the “Kazakh” reshaped and changed. An Abulhamit Zhundibaev became its editor. The new newspaper was published on February 27 (14), 1918, issue No 261. There was an article “Situation in Orenburg” in it. The article compared the situation now, after the town was occupied by the Bolsheviks, with the situation that used to be there. The newspaper’s tone changed out of all recognition. Here’s an extract from the article “Situation in Orenburg”.
“The Cossack detachments together with the White Guardists fought against the Bolsheviks for a month but on the night of January 17 were defeated and left the town.
The representatives of the committee of saving the country from enemies, holding all the power in its hands, - the Cossack ataman Dutov and Orenburg commissar Arhangelsky – took to flight with their headquarters.
The town remained without a master. The population appeared to be in a critical state. The Cossacks fled, the Bolsheviks didn’t come, there was no authority in town which was able to defend the population from the gangs of robbers and other criminals. That’s why the Muslim military committee declared itself the full-fledged master of the town until the Bolshevik rule established.
The committee put a guard of armed zhigits near every state and people’s institution in case of a sudden attack. The Bashkir caravanserai, the residence of the Muslim military committee, became the hope and support of all progressive-minded leaders of the town.
The armed Muslim soldiers, as well as the Tatar youth, voluntarily signed up for the public order squad, regularly patrolled the yard of the caravanserai. Carts with harnessed horses and cars stood ready.
On the eighteenth of January the Bolsheviks entered the town and began to quarter in houses. The armed sailors and Red Guards were wandering along the streets, frightening the townsmen. Ten-fifteen of them entered the houses and searched them, looking for the weapons and hiding officers.
There were just individuals, able to speak to the people, among the searchers. But there were also those who terrified the population. They cried at people like wild bulls, not being used to the tether, robbed the houses and shot those who tried to put up resistance to them. The marauders were anarchist sailors and local Orenburg robbers, who became “Bolsheviks” for the sake of easy profit. The Bolshevik headquarters severely punished the marauders, gave them no quarter, but in the first days the town suffered from depredation. The rogues, passing themselves off as the Bolsheviks, broke into the houses of the rich, took away their valuables, carried them away in their bosom, behind the top of the boots, packed valuables in bags and took them away on the carts.
Being afraid of a gun, held point-blank, or of a knife, aimed at heart, the people gave all their property to the robbers to save their souls. Those, who appreciated wealth more than their life, received a bullet on the spot.
The armed zhigits of the Military Revolutionary Committee patrolled in cars the streets of the town day and night. Catching the robbers in the act, they arrested them and returned the property to the owners. It took the town three or four days to get rid of the marauders thanks to the resolute measures of the Muslim Military Revolutionary Committee.
Meeting the zhigits from the committee, the anarchist sailors ground their teeth and tried hardly to slander the members of the committee. At the meeting at Orenburg station they raised the issue of disarmament of the Muslim committee.
The Bolsheviks created their own Military Revolutionary Committee in the town, appointed commissars for different sectors of economy. The guard was put in the state and people’s institutions. The life in town went back to normal.
Occupying the town, the Bolsheviks talked over the newspaper “Orenburg Region”, earlier published by the Constitutional Democrat party, and renamed it into the “Izvestia” (The news). The cooperative newspaper “Southern Urals” was published under the title “People’s Cause”.
The newspaper “Workers’ Dawn” was in the hands of the Mensheviks. Its materials were often witty and sometimes offended its elder brothers – the Bolsheviks. The newspaper was closed. The “Working Newspaper” was published instead of it, but its activity was also sometimes suspended by the Bolsheviks for needless talking. The military revolutionary committee closed the newspaper “Vahit” (Time) as not representing the interests of the workers and the rural poor. On February 9 the first issue of the newspaper “The news of Orenburg Muslim Revolutionary Committee” was imprinted on the press.
It can be said that at the end of January the life in town came to normal. The letters, newspapers, magazines, detained for a month, were received by the adressees at last.
The constant statements that the local rich used the Muslim committee to defend their own interests took effect: the public order squads, which saved the town from the pillage, were disarmed. Then the Tatar soldiers and workers united and elected a new Muslim Military Revolutionary Committee.
Gali Shamgunov was elected the chairman, Muhamet Tahirov was elected his deputy and Abdolla Yakubov his secretary.
One should think that the committee included the Muslims, worthy of respect of common people, who made their bread by the toil-hardened hands, by the sweat of their brow, and who didn’t oppress the others.
The shops and schools, closed long before the Bolsheviks came, opened on January 29. The merchants were occupied with the trade, the children did their lessons. A military gymnasium opened in the building of the former cadet corps.
After occupying Orenburg, the Bolsheviks imposed large taxes upon the local rich, which led them to ruin.
Nonrecurrent tax levy equaled ten million roubles. The committee for Taxation distributed the amount in the following way: Zarepnov had to pay a million roubles, Sarakov – a million and a half roubles, Pankratov – a million, Deev – three hundred thousand, Burov – six hundred thousand, Pemnov – one hundred fifty thousand, Neharchev – one hundred twenty-five thousand, Slashilin – seventy-five thousand, Korobkov – sixty thousand, Balandin – one hundred thousand, Nehonov – seventy-five thousand, Uretsky Oryshteri – seventy-five thousand, Potlov’s partnership – one hundred thousand, Zaho – one hundred thousand, Bratin – fifty thousand, Kaimushteri, Yolfson, Kornilov – fifty thousand, forty thousand, twenty thousand respectively, Lsheskin – fifty thousand, Lysyh – five thousand, Agladonov – one hundred thousand, Andreev – thirty thousand, Votem – five thousand, Shepshaishi – twenty thousand, doctor Voskresensky – fifteen thousand, Popov, Terebinsky and Nikolin – ten thousand each, the educational institutions of bai Mahmud Husainov – six hundred thousand, the companies of hazret Uvaliy Husainov – one hundred twenty-five thousand, Gydbai Baltabaev – fifty thousand, P. Gimadiev, Abdrahman Amzin, Byrdaran Gabdullin, Auarinvazov, Akimbaev, Ayupov, G. Shepirov, Gabdulkaim Sedachev – twenty-five thousand each, M. Sharafutdinov, Sh. Musupov – twenty thousand each, Z. Kurtapov, the Ramovs – fifteen thousand each, Z. Habibullin, Zomarov, R. Habimov, S. Murzabaev, Gabdulrashit Husainov – ten thousand each. Not a single bai had the right to evade paying the tax.
Lawyer Garadsky’s large estate passed into the disposal of the military revolutionary committee, Tashkent railway – into the hands of the rilwaymen. Out of all Orenburg printing establishments only one Levenson’s printing establishment passed into the committee’s disposal.
There were just five or six Kazakh families, remaining in Orenburg after the formidable events. The Bolsheviks didn’t oppress them.
The editorial staff of the newspaper “Kazakh” hadn’t returned to Orenburg yet.
Perhaps the Bolsheviks seemed sharp-toothed lions to the Kazakhs or for some other reason, but the Kazakhs began to appear in Orenburg only in the middle of February. The town is calm now. There are no news about villainous murders and pillage. The Kazakh auls near Orenburg live well. Turgay commissar takes urgent measures to avoid clashes between the Kazakh and the Russian population, prevents the hostile attacks of muzhiks and “Bolsheviks” on the Kazakh auls.
The post and the telegraph work, the banks are open. But the bank’s depositer is given no more than a hundred and a half roubles per a week. There wasn’t a small coin in the town and now the banknotes worth one hundred roubles are being exchanged for smaller ones, received from Petrograd. Orenburg’s new money, issued by Dutov, hasn’t lost its value yet. The Bolsheviks have started to issue their own money.
Zh. Zhanibekov”.
Here’s an article of the renewed newspaper “Kazakh” after the Reds captured Orenburg. The newspaper seemed to turn inside out.
The same issue No 261 published the following editorial:
“Orenburg, February 27 (14).
The ideological struggle between the representatives of the political parties, as numerous as branches on the tree, persists. Everyone strives for the welfare of his nation in his own way.
The tasar was dethroned, the revolution took place, the Bolsheviks together with other parties appeared on the political arena. They rushed for the power, severely accusing the Provisionary Government. The Bolsheviks denounced the passivity and inaction of this government, condemned its indifference to the needs of the oppressed workers. The Bolsheviks openly expressed their dissatisfaction. At the end of October all provinces were under the Bolshevik rule, except Orenburg, Don, Uralsk, Ukraine, where the Cossacks were in majority.
Orenburg persisted in a long and stubborn struggle, but it surrendered, threw up the game, the Bolsheviks seriously fortified their positions here. Alibiy Zhangildin, coming from the Kypchak family, came here from Turgay District together with the Bolsheviks as a commander of Ufa detachment. He invited Muhammediyar Tungachin, a local resident, capable of working with the people, to be his assistant. Muhammediyar spent four days in a deep contemplation, consulting with Orenburg outstanding Mislims and colleagues and finally accepted the commissar’s offer with their approval. Zhangildin sent a telegram, inviting to Orenburg some comrades from Aktyubinsk and other places.
After receiving the telegrams and written notice, considering the present situation deeply, the public leaders, afraid of being shot, began to come to Orenburg from everywhere..
Used to living in the steppe with care and caution, not understanding the current situation, the Kazakh workers didn’t recognize anyone but commissars Alibiy and Muhammediyar.
Commissar Alibiy Zhangildin explained the ideas of the revolution to the people. The people who responded to his call agreed to work with the commissar hand in hand and to find the ways to prevent public disasters. Aktyubinsk villages, situated not far from Orenburg, were connected with the help of the telegraph with the inhabitants of the far-away Irgiz and Turgay districts.
Taking into account that the people were badly in need of the newspaper news in such a transitional period, seeing that the former editorial staff had fled from Orenburg, meeting the requests of the masses, as well as of the workers who came to Orenburg from Aktyubinsk district, I took on the duties of the editor of the newspaper “Kazakh”.
The following aqsaqals came: Myrzaguk Koyaidarov, Sarsen Zhakupov, Ahmetkerey Kosuakov; and the following young intellectuals: Esen Nurmuhammetov, Sagindyk Doszhanov, Nysangali Begimbetov, Sultan Arkabaev, Nurgali Atantaev, Zadakerey Nurmuhammetov, Ali Ibraimov, Erezhep Koyaidarov, Kasym Aryngaziev, Dosmuhammet Kozhabaev, Kamalitden Aryngaziev, Bahytkerey Kakenov, Karasai Koyaidarov and others.
In the transitional and troublous times there are no beaten paths, that’s why to have one steady direction is the most difficult task. The readers of the newspaper should take the changing situation into account.
The most important duty of the newspaper “Kazakh” is to inform the people about the current events, show them the way and give a helping hand to those losing their heads at the crucial moment…
Abdulhamit Zhundibaev”.
Commissar Zhangildin was the first Kazakh Bolshevik. He took part in tough fights with the Whites as a leader of the Red detachment. We knew the name of comrade Zhangildin from the newspapers of the Alash-Orda Party, which strongly criticized him, imputing to him the most absurd things.
Listening to the doggish voice of the Alash newspapers, we considered Zhangildin very dangerous for the bourgeois. We reasoned to ourselves: “If we reject the newspaper gossip that he is such and such, he’ll appear a very serious man, like Kolbai (Togusov). If we turn a blind eye to Kolbai’s fidgetiness and unbalanced character, we may find him a very talented , witty man…” It was difficult for us to form a fair opinion about the Bolsheviks from the slanderous newspaper articles…
In the issue of the “Kazakh” No 253 of December 2, 1917 Bukeihanov himself (under the pen name of “Kyr balasy” – “Son of the steppe”) boasted in the article “People are the judge”:
“According to List No 3, at the elections to the Constituent Assembly Turgay people gave only 41 vote for Zhangildin’s supporters whereas 54 897 people voted for the list of the Alash Party”.
Every day the Alash speakers threw mud at the few Kazakh Bolsheviks on the newspaper pages. Zhangildin and Kolbai endured the most.
Dulatov, one of the prominent figures of the Alash-Orda, wrote the following in the article “Who is your friend, who is your enemy”, signed Magyar, published on March 3, 1918, in the newspaper “Sary-Arka”:
“…If the squeakers of yesterday, today’s Bolsheviks, chose to go to the dogs to the other end of the world, we’d wish them good luck. But to our great regret, they lead honest people astray, what a pity, and even speak on behalf of the people while there can’t be found even a dozen of Kazakhs, following them. In the dark times of the Tsarist reaction some of them performed as baptized missionaries, the second sold themselves to the gendarmerie, the third deceived the people, the fourth padded – they all acted as scoundrels… Now, becoming the “Bolsheviks” in the time of troubles, they plan to burn the flame of discord in the monolithic Alash ranks, among the people, living peacefully in a whote snow spacious yourt. They declare that the Alash Party should not be given autonomy, that the delegates of the General Kazakh and Kyrgyz Congress are one and all bais, doing harm to the Kazakh people, and therefore the Gongress can not be considered legitimate. They spread false rumours that the elected fifteen leaders of the Alash-Orda are enemies of the Kazakh and Kyrgyz people and so they should be annihilated. They openly declare that the newspaper “Kazakh” is an enemy of freedom, and its staff – the henchmen of Tsar Nickolay”, - Dulatov thus moaned and complained and then passed to abuse and threats directed against the Kazakh Bolsheviks.
There wasn’t a Bolshevik who wasn’t abused by them. They also picked on Lenin, but as people say: “The dogs bark, but the caravan goes on”. The work was in full swing, things were looking up, though it was not all plain sailing and we stumbled sometimes. The bais’ houses and mills passed to the people. The Siberian Bank was nationalized.
Despite the fact that the Bolsheviks ousted Dutov from Orenburg, the adherents of the Whites and the Alash-Orda continued to act almost everywhere. There were still few masterminds to organize the Councils of Deputies, and there weren’t zhigits-soldiers to openly protect the Council of Deputies with deadly force.
The rise of political activity was felt among the Kazakhs of Bukeevsk Region, where young intellectuals took the side of the Soviets. We learnt from the newspapers that Bukeevsk intellectuals removed the officials of Kerensky’s government; handed over the reins of power to the common people.
The “Kazkh” No 261 of February 27, 1918, reprinted the information from the newspaper “Uran”:
“Changes again.
In the previous issue of the newspaper we informed that commissar Kulmanov was removed and Azirbaev was appointed instead of him. Now the commissariats are abolished and the administration of Bukeevsk Region is organized in the following way:
Home affairs: B. Niyazov.
Transport: I. Koshekov.
Providing assistance: K. Meneshev.
Food supply: S. Generalov.
Finance: D. Temiralin.
Education: Mendeshev.
Health: M. Kokebaev.
Ligitations: S. Nuralihanov.
Without waiting for the congress and public discussion these people took the affairs of Bukeevsk Region into their own hands. Their actions can be considered in two ways.
First, in this time of troubles somebody has to be in power to immediately start saving the people from different disasters, to show them the right way. Secondly, removing the former workers, elected by the delegates of the four-thousand population of Bukeevsk Region, arbitrary delegating the power to the above-mentioned intellectual renegades of the town may look like acting for the sake of somebody’s limited interests. I can’t say whether our leaders’ decisions are right or wrong, but I think the people understand what can come out of it…”
The Alash-Orda settled in Semipalatinsk. The Kazakh population of Uralsk and Aktyubinsk Regions still didn’t recognize the Soviet rule. The Kazakhs of Turkestan continued to dream about an autonomy.
The “Kazakh” No 261 of February 27 (14), 1918, published the following chronicle of events:
“… Kokand. The Soviet rule was established in Kokand. Out of the members of the former “Turkestan Autonomy” such Kazakhs as Mustafa Chokaev and Abdrahman Urazaev were arrested. The other members seem to have escaped by flight…”
Spreading its embrace wider and wider, the Soviet rule continued to strengthen. One by one the one-day toy bourgeois “autonomies”, like that of the Alash-Orda, fell. The steady forward movement of the proletariat and working masses under the Bolsheviks’ guidance teared to tatters the governments of the bourgeois and clergy – hazrets, intellectual bais. The Bolshevik Party turned to the people with a proclamation. I’ll cite here this historic proclamation of the Council of People’s Commissars, entitled “To all working Muslims of Russia and the East!”
“Comrades! Brothers!
Great events are taking place in Russia. The end of the bloody war, started for the sake of distribution of foreign lands, is near. The dominance of the predators, who enslaved the peoples of the world, is falling. The old building of bondage and slavery is on the point of collapse under the heavy blows of the Russian revolution. The world of lawlessness and oppression is on its way out. A new world is being born, the world of free and working people. The workers’ and peasants’ government of Russia, the Council of People’s Commissars, is at the head of this revolution.
All Russia is studded with the revolutionary Councils of Workers’, Soldiers’ and Peasants’ Deputies. The power in the country is in the hands of the people. The working people of Russia are burning with one desire – to achieve honest peace and to help the oppressed nations of the world to gain their freedom.
Russia is not alone in this holy cause. All working people of the East and West are joining in this great call to liberation, made by the Russian revolution. The peoples of Europe, exhausted by the war, are now stretching out their hands to us to make peace. The workers and soldiers of the West have already begun to gather under the banner of socialism, attacking the strongholds of imperialism. And the far-away Idia, oppressed by the “enlightened” preditors of Europe for centuries, has already raised the banner of revolt, organizing its own Councils of Deputies, throwing off the hated slavery, calling upon the peoples of the East for struggle and liberation.
The kingdom of capitalist plunder and violence is collapsing. The groung is slipping from under the feet of the imperialist predators.
In the face of these great events we turn to you, working destitute Muslims of Russia and the East.
Muslims of Russia, Tatars of the Volga region and the Crimea, Kirghizes and Uzbeks of the Siberia and Turkestan, Turks and Tatars of the Transcaucasus, Chechens and mountaineers of the Caucasus, all those whose mosques and prayer houses have been destroyed, whose beliefs and practices have been violated by the Russian Tsars and oppressors!
From now on, your beliefs and practices, your national and cultural institutions are declared free and inviolable. Arrange the life of your nation freely and without hindrance. You have the right to it. Do know that your rights, as well as the rights of all nations of Russia, are protected with all power of the revolution and its bodies – the Councils of Workers’, Soldiers’ and Peasants’ Deputies.
So support this revolution and its full-fledged government!
Muslims of the east, Persians, Arabs and Hindus, all those, whose heads and property, whose freedom and native lands were sold by the greedy predators of Europe for hundreds of years, all those, whose countries the robbers, starting the war, want to divide!
We declare that the secret treaties of the dethroned Tsar on the capture of Constantinople, confirmed by deposed Kerensky, have been broken and destroyed.
The Russian Republic and its government, the Council of People’s Commissars, is against the capture of foreign lands. Constantinople must remain in the hands of the Muslims.
We declare that the treaty on the division of Persia has been broken and destroyed. As soon as the military operations end, the troops will be withdrawn from Persia and the Persians will be guaranteed the right to freely determine their fate.
We declare that the treaty on the division of Turkey and taking Armenia away from it has been broken and destroyed. As soon as the military operations end, the Armenians will be guaranteed the right to freely determine their political fate.
Slavery comes not from Russia and its revolutionary government but from the predators of European imperialism, from those who turned your native land into a plundered and robbed colony.
So overthrow these predators and oppressors of your countries! Now that the war and devastation is undermining the basis of the old world, that all the world is burning with indignation against the imperialist aggressors, that every spark of indignation is turning into a powerful flame of revolution, that even the Indian Muslims, worn out and exhausted by the foreign oppresors, have rebelled against their enslavers, now it’s impossible to keep silent. Don’t waste your time and throw down from your shoulders the centuries-old invaders of your lands! Don’t let them sack your hearth and home any more! You yourselves must be the masters of your country! You yourselves must arrange you life in your image and likeness. You have the right to it, because your fate is in your own hands.
Comrades! Brothrs!
We are moving firmly and resolutely to the honest democratic world.
There is liberation for the oppressed nations of the world on our banners.
Muslims of Russia!
Muslims of the East!
We hope for your sympathy and support on this way of changing the world.
Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars
V.Ulyanov (Lenin)[57].
Such was the proclamation of the Council of People’s Commissars. Becoming insolent, the Alash-Orda picked even on Lenin. No wonder then that the adherents of the Alash-Orda defamed Kolbai (Tugusov), Zhangeldin and other Kazakh Bolsheviks.
Can the tongue, born to abuse such people as Lenin, know where to stop? I don’t want to unreservedly praise Kolbai or somebody else. The people who haven’t stumbled in their lives are few, Kolbai’s behaviour wasn’t irreproachable, of course. We didn’t know him. The mean leaders of the Alash-Orda and their henchmen criticized him severely. If the Kazakhs, insulted for being the Bolsheviks, had suddenly defected to the Alash-Orda, the same leaders would have louded them to the skies. Even before the creation of the Alash Party, when we studied in Omsk in 1914-1915, the newspaper “Kazakh” strongly defamed Kolbai and hadji – mullah Salim Kashimov, who contributed to the magazine “Aikap”[58] at that time.
We, youngsters, trusted the words of the “Kazakh” at that time. The same 1914-1915 academic year Kolbai came to Omsk, I saw him for the first and the last time. Kolbai invited all Kazakh students of Omsk and took a photograph with them. I
didn’t go to him for the simple reason that I was influenced then by the abusive words of the newspaper “Kazakh” about this man.
After taking a photograph with Kolbai, many of his admirers later became the supporters of the Alash-Orda and would not mind casting a stone at their former teacher.
The so-called Siberian evening was organized in Omsk theatre in those days. One part of it was entirely in Kazakh.
They put a Kazakh yourt with expensive utensils on the theatre balcony, laid the carpets, decorated it with red and green light bulbs. The kumiss was sold in the yourt, the dombrists and singers performed the Kazakh tunes. We also had a chance to play the dombra at this party. There were dances and songs on the theatre stage. Samatov and Shaibai Aimanov arranged the aitys – a contest of two poets[59].
Novoselov, Berezovsky and Sedelnikov were masters of ceremonies at the party.
I saw Kolbai close at this party. Even then Kolbai was considered an uncompromising enemy of the leaders of the newspaper “Kazakh” and its begetters.
The newspaper cast a slur upon Mullah Salim until a certain time. After the overthrow of the Tsarist rule Salim suddenly turned into a supporter of the Alash party and Bukeihanov himself appointed him the chairman of the Alsh-Orda in Kokchetav District. Quite a lot of such “funny” examples can be given to characterize the “pure” morals and manners of the supporters of the Alash-Orda.
First I saw Salim in the childhood, when I studied in Akmolinsk town school. He came to collect money for publishing the magazine “Aikap”. He seemed to me an eloquent but a too fidgety man with a thoughtless character. Let’s talk about him another time.
As I have already said, all autonomies, like the Alash-Orda, vanished from the lightest whiff, like the ashes of the horse dung.
Can the rotten drifts stop a violent attack of the spring high water!?..
We happened to be witnesses of such events when the fearless upper class representatives, members of the bourgeois government, ran away from a single shot into the air. The “government” of Kokad autonomy, headed by Alash-Orda members Tynyshpaev, Chokaev and Akaev, collapsed with disgrace. To throw off the mask of the rulers, abdicating after a single shot made at random, I’ll cite here the letter of Chokaev himself. It can be seen from it that the bourgeois nationalists, religious fanatics, Uzbek ishans jeered him quite a lot, about which he bitterly complains.
Chokaev’s letter was published in the newspaper “Sary-Arka” No 34 of March 18, 1918.
“At two o’clock on January 31, when we were discussing the ultimatum of Kokand Bolsheviks, the crackle of gunfire was heard. It turned out that the Bolshevik soldiers began the skirmish. These actions were contrary to the terms of ultimatum, according to which we were given three hours to discuss and to accept the terms of ultimatum.
The people, who gathered in the building of the Islam Party, statesmen and ordinary citizens, quickly dispersed when they heard about the Bolshevik attack. The authorities didn’t have opportunity to gather again and to logically discuss the situation, since the Muslims armed with whatever came to hand and went into the street, when they heard the shots of the Bolsheviks. They didn’t heed to the authorities, which had called upon them not to act against the Bolsheviks. The government appeared inactive in this unexpected situation.
I have no time to speak about the political reasons of this dramatic event in Kokand to give a detailed and complete picture. Here, in this publication, I’ d like to bring up for general discussion only what I saw, heard and experienced myself. These notes of mine may seem a bit politically limited for anyone who has a good understanding of the general situation.
Having escaped the bullets of the Bolsheviks, I lived for about ten days in kishlaks[60] near Kokand, among my Sart brothers[61]. God forbid the Bolsheviks, though they are my enemies, to face all the sufferings I’ve experienced during this short period of time. When the Sarts from Kokand, headed by robber Ergesh, began to fight against the Bolsheviks, it didn’t come to their mind that they would be defeated. They decided to proclaim Ergesh khan in Fergana and not to leave a single person there except the Sarts, claiming there was no any difference between the Bolsheviks and the Kazakhs and the Tatars were not Muslims, because some man from the kishlak was said to see a Tatar teacher sleeping with his legs towards kybla[62]. The Sarts were even more enraged, puffed with fury like waterskins full of kumiss and decided to destroy anyone who wasn’t a Sart. They took knives, sledge-hammers, ketmens[63], nooses, daggers and went into the street. It was just at this time that I happened to be among the excited Sarts, where I hoped to find refuge, to escape from the Bolsheviks.
It is impossible to describe here everything that I saw and heard. If everything is described, there won’t be enough paper for it. So I’ll speak here only about the most important.
On February 20 (7), on Wednesday we left kishlak Gauhan together with Omarhan, an educated son of hadji Musahan, known to all Fergana and living in kishlak Moy Mubarak; we passed kishlak Elesh and arrived at kishlak Kumbasty. My companion was riding and I was on foot: the Sarts didn’t give me a cart for money! I was dressed in the Sarts’ clothes: a variegated chapan[64], a white turban, big as a cauldron, on the head and ichigi with the Asian overshoes on my feet.
I didn’t know where to go, I had a single thought: to wait among my brothers till the fighting and the danger will be over in Kokand. That’s why I roamed from one kishlak to another, looking for a quiet place for the hurt feelings…
Near kishlak Kumbasty about twenty armed Sarts suddenly caught me.
- Who are you?
- I’m a Muslim.
- What Muslim?
- I’m a Kazakh.
- Since when have the Kazakhs become Muslims?
- We’ve been Muslims since ancient times.
- We doubt that the Kazakhs are Muslims.
- If you have doubts, we, the Kazakhs, can give you a proof.
- Well, do say it.
- The proof is a prayer, “Shesh kime”. I was forced to say the prayer “Shesh kime” from the beginning to the end. Thanks God, I haven’t forgotten this prayer, learnt in the far-away childhood!
After such a test the Sarts seemed to believe that I was a Muslim, nevertheless they decided to find a more substantial proof of my Muslim origin, that is to see if I had passed through the ritual of circumcision. At this time my companion, distinguished Omarhan, didn’t try to provide any help for me at all, he was just flaunting in the saddle. He was a son of the ishan, famous in all Fergana, and if he wanted to help me, he could calm down the enraged Sarts with a single word. But seeing that the Sarts were not going to let me free, he pranced the horse, exclaimed “hark!” and rushed away at full speed.
The Sarts, unable to prove my faith was different from theirs, proceeded to question me.
- You are a Kazakh, but why are you wandering in our land?
I didn’t tell lies, explained my situation and said that I had spent several days in Musahan’s house as a guest. The Sarts replied:
- If you lived in ishan Musahan’s house, why has his son left you alone now?
I didn’t know what to answer. It seemed my companion mullah Omarhan lacked friendly feelings in his head, overfilled with scientific knowledge…
And here the Sarts finally decided: “No matter who he is and from where he has come, one thing is absolutely clear to us: he’s not a Sart and he doesn’t reject it himself. So, he must be killed. It’s the time of the Sarts now. It makes no difference to us whether he’s a Kazakh or a Bolshevik!” They pinioned my arms and led to the kishlak outskirts, shouting for all the street to hear: “We have caught a Kazakh!” The people began to come from all sides. Seventy or eighty people gathered, longing to kill me. They were all armed. They had guns, pole axes, daggers, whips, axes in their hands. I no doubted any more that I was going to perish. As the Sarts were resolute about killing me, they didn’t beat me much. They sat me down under the tree, at the crossing of two streets, and began to discuss how to finish off with me.
My both hands were strapped up behind my back, I was blindfolded. There was a black belt loop on my neck. A certain death lay ahead of me! The Sarts decided to hang me by feet, with my head down, and to shoot me. And they decided to be merciful and lenient to me – not to shoot me with a shortgun, causing sufferings, but to pump a gun bullet into me. One can’t doubt God’s justice and mercy! All his purity stood before my eyes on this grievous way!..
When they were already going to hang me, a Sart stepped forward:
- You say he’s a Kazakh. But the Kazakhs are different. Let’s see what just this Kazakh is like.
And he made them unbind my eyes. Staring at me, the Sart recoiled from me and then joyfully exclaimed: “Assalaumalikum, master Mustafa!” and hastily began to untie my hands. His eyes filled with tears. He cut the belt, hanging on my neck, with his knife, raised me up and began to explain to the Sarts who I was. He said a lot of words in my favour. Now the Sarts gave up their plan of killing me and decided to send me to Kokand to robber Ergesh. They put me on the horse and immediately send me up with a convoy…
By the way, I’ll tell you about the man who saved me. I don’t know his name. He was one of the Sarts, recruited for logistical works last year. He was greatly insulted at work, so he fled from the logistical works, came to meet me in Petersburg, borrowed some money for the journey and left for Fergana. It turned out he knew from rumours about my activities in Turkestan.
I was being taken back like a caught lion. We passed the already mentioned kishlak Elesh and went to Gauhana. There’s a ravine between kishlaks Elesh and Gauhana. We stumbled on an ambush of three armed men who seized everyone , not being a Sart. When they understood I was a foreigner, and I was not riding myself but under escort, they decided to shoot me down on the spot without many words.
They dismounted me, seated me on the edge of the precipice. The man who could help me again to escape the trouble, remained in Kumbasty. Who was going to save me from sure death? I was sitting with closed eyes, thinking: “If I could only die faster, without sufferings”.
And then God himself spared me. The bullet whizzed past me. The Sarts put me on the horse themselves and went on with the words: “The fate itself helped this reprobate”.
When we approached Gauhana, we met Kulmuhambet Hatimkulov, a volost administrator of the local kishlaks. It turned out that he knew me for a long time. He came to the Sarts, escorting me, and punced upon them with rage, threatening to shoot them on the spot if they didn’t go back. Volost administrator Hatimkulov brought me to his house as a guest, at my request he gave me a zhigit to accompany me and sent me to volost Kudash. I visited Kudash’s volost administrator in kishlak Gunazar and understood from our conversation that he wouldn’t be able to help me out of trouble. I had to return to Gauhana and wait there until the fighting in Kokand ended.
The news came at last that robber Ergesh had fled and the town was in the hands of the Bolsheviks. After this the Sarts became silent like empty entrails with the air let out of them, they became as quiet as a grave. Nevertheless, knowing about the attitude of mind of the Sarts in kishlaks, I longed to leave them as soon as possible. But I couldn’t find a horse or a cart for money. There wasn't a conductor as well. And so my endless sufferings continued. The Sarts, deprived of their blissfull superiority, didn’t want to show me the way correctly, hid the names of kishlaks on my way, and when I came to somebody, tired and exhausted, they didn’t give me even any tea. They caused so much suffering to me! Exactly two years ago the Sarts, like swollen waterskins, furiously threatened to kill all non-Sarts, tortured me with their threats just because I was a Kazakh. Now, after the victory of the Bolsheviks, when Ergesh, whom they expected to become a khan, fled, the Sarts drew in claws and continued to silently taunt me.
I dragged for two days, experiencing all kinds of suffering, and I arrived at kishlak Dagestan. I hired a cart here, paid nine ninety and went home, exclaiming: “Where are you, Kazakhs and Kyrgyz?” Getting to the top of the snowy mountains, I loudly announced to the Sarts at once: “Good-bye forever”.
I saw a lot. I wandered a lot these days, didn’t dismount and so I had no time and no chance to write you well and truly, my dear friends!
Mustafa. February 24 (11) . In the mountains.
So here is the letter of Chokaev, a minister of Kokand autonomy.
This was the situation of the “statesman“, who, sitting proudly in Kokand as a minister, thought that he was chosen not only by the Kazakhs, but also by the Uzbeks. Probably, a lot is not true in Chokaev’s letter. In fact, the adherents of Chokaev wanted to to take by surprise the soldiers who were on the side of the Bolsheviks and to take them prisoners; at night they attacked them, surrounded, opened fire. The soldiers from the fort responded with fire and drove Chokaev’s adherents away. It was written about it in the Russian newspaper “New Turkestan” in issue No 13 (30).
Chokaev seemed to be satisfied in his letter that the Uzbeks made it too hot for him, forced him to sort out what honour was and who God was.
Chokaev fled from the town of Ak-Mechet (Perovsk, now Kyzyl-Orda). Before he fled, he tried to make a ruler of Ak-Mechet out of three-generation aristocrat Kasymov, Ablaihan’s grandson. Several days and nights Chokaev passionately tried to persuade the population. He held in his hands all influential Kazakhs of Ak-Mechet. When he was in power, a handful of Bolsheviks appeared in Ak-Mechet, who immediately sheared Kasymov of all his former privileges, stripped his inherited epaulets and arrested him. Chokaev instantly fled from Ak-Mechet. He moved to Kokand. He appeared to head the Kazakh congress, convened by the Alash-Orda in the town of Turkestan of Sur-Darya Region. It should be told about, too: Baktygerey Kulmanov and Myrzhakip Dulatov came to the congress from the Alash-Orda headquarters. Aristocrat Azimhan Kenesarin, Ablaihan’s descendant, and the son of governer Baiuzak from the family of Kounrad were again on the panel.
Notorious aristocrat Azimhan was elected the chairman of the congress.
After the congress Chokaev returned to Kokand, and from Kokand he cowardly fled after the first shots, done by no one knows who and what for. What kind of person he was in Kokand one can learn from his own letter. Judging from the letter, the Uzbeks, the bais’ representatives, taunted much their former “minister” and mocked at him. Ergesh’s supporters seated him on the edge of the precipice, mocked at him and frightened him a little, and Chokaev decided that he was saved by a miracle thanks to God’s providence.
I’ll draw one more picture from the life of Kokand ministers to you. When Chokaev fled, the rest of the ministers of Kokand autonomy also scattered where they could. Muhametzhan Tynyshpaev, the chairman of the council of ministers, and Konyrkozha Hodjikov, the responsible secretary of the concil of ministers, fled together. They were both on horses and being afraid to go to the Kazakh auls on their way, they hid in the mountains day and night, like wandering wolves, fleeing from the dogs.
The night is dark, nothing can be seen, it is pitch-dark. It is raining. There are high mountains around. Two ministers are stumbling over the stones and falling into each hole. The horses are hardly able to drag their legs along. The ministers are soaked to the skin. They are starving to death. And hungry horses are plodding on their way at a slow step, stumbling on the rocks and lowering their heads.
They grab the first twig and chew it noisily with the bridle. The ministers urge the horses on in whisper, but the horses stubbornly refuse to go on. The rain is squelching, falling down from the clothes and saddle blankets. The sky and the ground are black, everything is in the darkness. A mud flow is floating down from the mountains. The lights of the Kyrgyz auls are twinkling somewhere far ahead. A plaintive howl of hungry wolves resounds in the mountains. The ministers are afraid of approaching the glimmering light. They exchange a barely audible whisper and go loking for a nook for the sake of saving their poor souls.
Now the runaway vizier and his secretary came across a dark cave and dismounted, whispering to each other.
Holding the reins, they sat huddled on the lee side of the stone. The rain was flowing down the clothes on the ground.
After adapting a bit, Konyrkozha called:
- Muhametzhan!
Tynyshpaev answered in a barely audible voice of a dying man. Konyrkozha asked him in the same quiet voice:
- Will you be a minister any more?
- Why are you talking nonsense?!- Muhametzhan offended.- What a situation for your jokes!
This is a little picture from the life of Kokand ministers. It was Konyrkozha himself who told me about it.
SELF-APPOINTED KHANS IN THE WEST KAZAKHSTAN
The leaders of the Alash-Orda realized from the very beginning that they would perish if they didn’t play off some power against the Bolshevik arms. That’s why they decided to organize Kazakh militia.
The conscription to militia began in two places: in Semipalatinsk and Uralsk.
Though the leaders of the Alash-Orda moved to Semipalatinsk, Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov and Halel Dosmuhammetov, members of the government, stayed at home in Uralsk.
It was they who were the initiators of the group, which put forth the idea of proclaiming the Kazkh autonomy immediately after the congress at the Second Kazakh and Kyrgyz Congress in Orenburg.
Bukeihanov, Dulatov, Baitursunov, Gabbasov, Ermekov and Turlybaev were the inspirators of the other group, which wanted to proclaim the autonomy after the creation of Kazakh militia, at least partial.
The group of the Dosmuhammetovs was in the minority at the congress, nevertheless it didn’t agree with Bukeihanov’s supporters. Staying in Uralsk after the flight of the government to Semipalatinsk, they pursued their own policy and began to form militia. They were more active than Bukeihanov’s supporters. Bukeihanov’s supporters acted on the sly, by devious paths. The adherents of the Dosmuhammetovs strived for their “chanate” without any end runs.
During Kolchak’s rule the Dosmuhammetovs, separated from Bukeihanov’s Alash-Orda in Semipalatinsk, imagined themselves the masters of Uralsk and Aktyubinsk Provinces and created a government, called the Western Alash-Orda. I described above some episodes from the life of this government, like coming of hazret Kuanay to Halel.
When the self-appointed Kokand government dispersed after a few Bolshevik shots, the supporters of the Alash-Orda began to create militia in Uralsk and Semipalatinsk, gathered few mounted and foot zhigits and began to teach them soldiery.
The Bolsheviks in Semipalatinsk patiently waited the outcome of their actions but once several Bolshevik soldiers came near the place of the battle drill exercise of the Alash-Orda militia and suddenly shoot into the air. The militiamen scattered in all directions. The head of militia, a zhigit named Kazi, tried to stop them with shouts and threats. And he was dropped at once.
In connection with the death of the head of militia the Alash hack writers caused a great stir in the newspaper “Sary-Arka”, though keeping silent about the targets for their bullets.
They used this incident for their nefarious counterrevolutionary propaganda in issue No 34 of March 18, 1918 of the newspaper “Sary-Arka”.
The speeches, in which aqsaqals Shakarim, Baimbet, Myrzhakip, Zhusupbek, Sabit Donentaev, Raimzhan, hadjis Zhangali and Mustakim talked nonsense, were published in the newspaper.
The Alash-Orda militia was created not only in Semipalatinsk and Uralsk, but also in Turgay. Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov and Halel Dosmuhammtov created an independent government of the Alash-Orda in Uralsk region, in the town of Zhympity.
After the government of the Alash-Orda fled to Semipalatinsk and the Bolsheviks captured Orenburg, Zhangildin began to be engaged in the matters of the Kazakhs, whose territory referred to Orenburg. That’s why the Dosmuhammetovs decided to create a local government in Uralsk.
They convened the congress of Uralsk Region. The congress took place in Karatyub. We should dwell on it
KARATYUB CONGRESS
It was the beginning of 1918. it was winter. All Kazakh intelligentsia of Uralsk Region came to Karatyub. The Dosmuhammetovs conducted the congress. Kenzhin, Kasabukatov, Myrzagaliev, Karatleuov, Zholdybaev, Hangereev, Ipmagambetov and Alibekov took part in its work. They were not Bolsheviks yet.
The Dosmuhammetovs were elected to sit on the panel.
There were the most significant questions on the agenda: the elections of the government, the creation of troops, the collection of funds for their maintenance.
There was no divergence of views concerning the creation of troops and the government. When the question of collecting money was being discussed, the congress split in two, arguing began. The majority supported the Dosmuhammetovs, who offered to collect one hundred roubles from each household, from each tundik[65].
The minority – Gubaidulla Alibekov, Ipmagambetov, Hangereev and Zholdybaev, Kosabulatov, Kenzhin, Karatleuov, Myrzagaliev, who supported them – proposed to impose the tax upon the bais and upon the poor according to their means.
Salyk, an outstanding bai, a descendant of famous Srym-batyr, spoke against this suggestion. As Salyk spoke against the difference in the amount of tax for the rich and the poor, the Dosmuhammetovs also appeared to be against it. There began a heated wrangle. Both sides proved their own view and they couldn’t arrive at a common view. The members of the congress hesitated, not knowing whom to join. Both sides offered a strong motivation. The speeches of the Dosmuhammetovs, having greater authority, were listened to with more attention, but the arguments from the side of Gubaidulla, Alibekov, Ipmagambetov and others were more logical and convincing. They attracted the people, who hadn’t lost yet their sense of humanity.
The congress was held in the mosque, overcrowded with people. It became very stuffy. The crowd, unable to get to the congress, surrounded the mosque. The people looked in through the open windows and eagerly listened to the dispute. “From the bais – a tax for the bais, from the poor – what they can, from the needy – nothing at all”, - this suggestion suited the crowd’s tastes. The shouts of approval were heard through the open windows.
Gubaidulla’s group wrote down their objections at last and handed them to the presidium.
The Dosmuhammetovs told the congress that the written objections of Gubaidulla’s group were leading to the Bolshevism. The arguments of the Dosmuhammetovs were also quite clearly “grounded” and were as follows:
“Brothers! We have gathered here with the loftiest aspirations and best intentions. Turmoil, great excitement is spreading in Russia. Russia has divided into two camps, intestine strife and bloodshed reign. Some care for their fortune, the others think about saving their skin. Such a crucial situation has emerged. We must snap into action in time. We gathered for this congress to unite people, to make the nation monolithic. The educated Alash representatives are present here. There are the luminaries of the nation among you – hazrets, venerable aqsaqals, honorable zhigits. All of you are Alash progressive people. He who loves his nation won’t divide it into classes. He, who considers himself a true son of the Alash, should remember this commandment.
We do not divide the nation into different classes. The children of the Alash are all equal. The sons of the Alash should participate in all its matters with the same zeal. Everyone should carry his equal part of the burden of the Alash, regardless of his being a bai or a poor. That’s why it is necessary to collect the same one hundred roubles from everyone.
He, who loves the Alash, won’t divide the children of the nation into classes!”
Thus the Alash leaders offered to consider the bais and the poor brothers, to love them equally, to collect the same one hundred roubles from everyone. And this was called a well-grounded argument!
The disputable issue was put to the vote. The votes were equally divided. The Dosmuhammetovs were taken aback.
They hurriedly discussed it in whisper on the panel and announced a break.
After the break the congress continued to work. The chairman informed that Zhahansha is a member of the Muslim Council in Petersburg, a Kazakh representative. At the aqsaqals’ request he’ll give a brief information about the work of this council. Though this information wasn’t on the agenda, the delegates of the congress considered it possible to listen to Zhahansha. Some shouted with approval: “That’s right! That’s right!”
- ...Our Muslim brothers, preaching Islam, work in the Muslim Council. The Muslims have suffered anything for many centuries, have undergone any humiliation. The Muslim religion was neglected for a long time, the holy book – the Koran – was treaded under foot many times…- that’s how Zhahansha began his torrent of words.
Among the leaders of the Alash-Orda two were especially noted for their eloquence: Myrzhakip Dulatov and Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov. Myrzhakip was known as a master of literary style, Zhahansha was considered a brilliant speaker. Myrzhakip had a refined style, while Zhahansha’s speech was not always well-shaped, often somewhat rough.
So Zhahansha set about speaking of the Muslim Council with ardour. The audience listened to him as a single man, holding their breath. The eyes were turned to Zhahansha. The speaker gripped the attention of the entire audience, fixing his sparkling eyes on one listener and then on another listener.
To prove his words he clenched his fists with a crunch in the joints and then stretched out his palms with the fingers, spread wide apart, for more truthfulness and greater strength. His hands gently drifted apart like wings and then folded with each other. As the need arose, the speaker swished the air with a wave of his hand as if with an axe. He stared the fascinated audience with the sparkling eyes and seemed to spellbound it. The expression of his face was constantly changing.
He finished his speech with the following words:
- We were in the Muslim Council in Petersburg. The Russians were already at open war with each other. The Bolsheviks wandered around the town and fired at all institutions. The Muslim Council also came under fire. There was a sheer turmoil in the town. Sadness reigned in the minds of the people. At that moment, when everyone was thinking about his fate, a sacred thought occurred to me. I remembered that the very first manuscript of the Koran, written by the hand of caliph Osman, was kept in the Petersburg museum of the dethroned Tsar. At that moment, when everything turned upside down in the world, the only desire swayed my mind – to save the holy Koran by any means. I shared this thought with the other members of the Muslim Council. Everyone was afraid, no one dared to go with me. And I thought: Is it worth sparing my life if the Koran may be lost? I ran to the museum under the shower of bullets. Everything was turned upside down there. After surmounting many obstacles, acting regardless of anything, I found the holy Koran, written with the blood of Osman’s heart. Embracing the Koran, I ran out of the museum. Through the endless ranks of enemies, under the shower of bullets, with these hands I brought the sacred Koran to the Muslim Council…
Some bais were already weeping. Some exclaimed:
- Oh, dear Zhahansha! You are invaluable, and here are the ungrateful who dare to argue with you!
Not only hazret Kuanay, bai Salyk, but also rather stupid “students” Baltanovs, Zhalenovs and the like began to cry. Zhahansha sat down. Alibekov’s group was sitting silently, without uttering a word. They were near the panel and saw what the things were heading towards.
After Zhahansha’s speech the presidium again raised the question of collecting money. Zhahansha himself took the chair.
- We spoke a lot about raising the funds, now I’m putting the question to the vote. Who supports the idea not to divide the bais and the poor, as we have offered, but to collect the same one hundred roubles from each household, raise your hands!
The congress accepted it by the majority of votes. Gubaidulla and Kosabulatov rose from their seats and told the congress and the presidium:
- We consider such decision unfair and won’t submit to it!
- Keep silent, you, troublemakers!- “students” Baltanov and Zhalenov cried, those who shed tears during Zhahansha’s speech. They jumped up from their seats with great excitement. There flashed a dagger in Baltanov’s hand.
- Let’s kill the troublemakers!- and he rushed with a shout towards Alibekov. There was turmoil.
- Come on, try to do it! Try to kill us!- Alibekov and Kosabulatov also fumbled about in their pockets for the knives.
- Oh, don’t, don’t, my dear!- Zhahansha ran up to them to separate them.
There was a general uproar. Some delegates ran away, the others keep standing, not knowing what to do. Halel disappeared, fled through the back door. Karatleuov, petrified, was standing, leaning against the stove. Kenzhin was sitting, goggling about, without a move.
They started to ask Zhahansha:
- Stop them!
Zhahansha jumped on the table and cried out with outstretched arms:
- Brothers, come to your senses! What has happened to you?! Pull yourself together. Stop it!
The audience began to calm down. They started to shame each other for the panic and little by little everyone became quiet. Hazret Kuanay took the floor:
- Oh, my God! What a shame! What has happened to you, my dear? Can Muslim brothers rush at each other? It’s a disgrace, shame, and where? in the mosque. Stop quarrelling! Put an end to the strife! It’s a disgrace, you are all brothers. Let’s make peace with each other! Hey, Gubaidulla, Aspandiyar, Nurgali, Esengali, Moldagali, Salimgerey! Embrace each other! Embrace Zhahansha, embrace Halel!
The enemies went back on their word and began to hug each other.
After the congress the creation of militia and troops began. They collected one hundred roubles from each tundik. Where people tried to evade the payment, the adherents of the Alash-Orda made use of whips.
URALSK OKRUG AFTER THE KARATYUB CONGRESS
Though Gubaidulla’s supporters hugged with the leaders of the Alash-Orda at Karatyub congress, they had other intentions in their hearts. Gubaidulla, Alibekov, Kenzhin, Kosabultov, Zholdybaev, Karatleuov, Mirzagaliev decided to create their own party.
They named their party the “Ak zhol”[66] and made it their task to defend the interests of the peasantry.
After the discussion they sent Ipmagambetov, Kenzhin, Karatleuov to Temir District and Kosabulatov, Myrzagaliev, Aliaskar Alibekov to the town of Uralsk. The rest of them stayed in Zhympity near the Alash-Orda.
Ipmagambetov, Karatleuov, Kenzhin united with the Russians and took the power in the town of Temir in their hands, getting out of the control of the Alash-Orda.
Kosabulatov, Myrzagaliev, Aliaskar Alibekov arrived at Uralsk. In summer of 1918 the power was in the hands of the Cossacks (military Cossack government). Despite this, the Bolsheviks began to organize the Council of Deputies parallel to the Cossack rule. Few Kazakhs united with the Bolsheviks and also took part in the organization of the Council of Deputies. There was aqsaqal Bahitzhan Karataev, Abdurahman Aiteev, Ipmagambetov and Hangereev among them.
Kosabulatov, Myrzagaliev and Alibekov came to Uralsk to meet Karataev and carry on talks with him about the purchase of weapons. After buying two or three guns, they were arrested by the Cossacks at their apartment. The Cossacks didn’t stop at half measures and disbanded the congress, convened for the elections to the Council of Deputies. The delegates of the congress, who were caught in the heat of the moment, were taken into custody.
Some organizers of the congress, headed by comrade Kolostov, were shot, the others fled.
Karataev was imprisoned. Ipmagambetov was shot when he was trying to escape. Up to 1919 when Uralsk was captured by the Reds, the local Bolsheviks were in hiding.
Arrested Kosabulatov, Alibekov, Myrzagaliev were released after the interrogation and returned to Zhympity.
Having seated the government of the Alash-Orda in Zhympity, the Dosmuhammetovs were up and doing. They called their government the Western Alash-Orda, which, in their opinion, meant power over all western part of Kazakhstan. Militia was quickly reorganized into troops.
The Concil of Temir, not recognizing the Alash-Orda, was disbanded, Karatleuov and Kenzhin fled to Turgay, where they joined the Alash-Orda of Turgay and became its officials.
The Western Alash-Orda began to make things hum. Kolchak captured Siberia, the Soviet rule was overthrown, the Alash-Orda strengthened even more and began to boast. Its army was growing. In the town of Oyila an officer school opened. It was named the First Kazakh cavalry cadet school. The Alash-Orda intellectuals gathered here, praying to God about golden epaulets. After Kolchak captured Siberia, it was informed in the issue of the newspaper “Sary-Arka” No 57 of October 12, 1918: “By order of the Alash-Orda a Kazakh army is created in Uralsk region, numbering more than two thousand people. Two thousand guns, fifty-eight machine guns, two cannons and two automobiles were obtained from Samara committee for arming them”.
It was reported the following about the graduates of Oyil school in the same issue under a large headline:
The Kazakh instructors graduated from the school for the Kazakh instructors in Uralsk Region on the first of October and went to the steppe to train the steppe zhigits…”
The “first Kazakh officers”, who graduated from this school, began their heinous activity with their own Kazakh brothers. These “batyrs” of the Alash-Orda, “the khan’s firstborns”, bathed hands in the blood of the poor.
The Alash-Orda khan imitated his elder brother Kolchak in everything. The army of the western Alash-Orda began to murmur, seeing the people’s discontent, resentment and tears. Some supporters of the Alash-Orda, dissatisfied with their khan’s policy, tried to provoke soldiers to unsubordination, intrigued.
One fine day the army raised a revolt and killed the Cossack command. The little town was excited, the crowd panicked. The unlucky government of the Alash-Orda fled.
The rebels went with all weapons and kitchen train through Oyil to Aktyubinsk front to join the Reds. When they approached the town of Oyil, they were met by the representatives of those “first Kazakh officers”, taught in Oiyl. They were already informed by the fleeing Alash-Orda. The Kazakh officers stopped the rebels and had such a conversation with them:
- Well, we’ve met you at last! We heard about you and were expecting for you. We’re with you. You’ll have a bit of rest here and then we’ll also leave the town and go with you…
The rebels agreed and camped for the rest in the ravine, not worrying and not suspecting anything. The officers of the Alash-Orda came unawares at night and killed the sleeping soldiers. “The firstborn batyrs of the Alash-Orda” slaughtered the sleeping people like sheep…
That’s what the “batyrs’ ” martial prowess began with.
All power in the Western Alash-Orda was concentrated in the hands of three people: Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, Halel dosmuhammetov and volost administrator Salyk. They were supervised by sacred hazret Kuanay, whose will they executed without demur.
Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov was called khan in Uralsk Province and on the territory of Aktyubinsk. Not jokingly, but seriously. The people avoided the khan’s militiamen as scorpions. One hundred roubles was collected from each tundrik. Those who refused to pay were birched. The ckan’s power was limitless, his autocratic orders outdid Nickolay’s ones.
The Alash khan was not at all inferior to Kolchak’s monarchical atamans: Dutov, Annenkov, Krasilnikov, Semenov, Kalmykov. They all manhandled, birched, attacked the people like rabid wolves. They took away all they fancied and silenced the resisting people with a club. The people groaned. The women and little children cried and trembled with fear. The girls were abused and violated..
I can cite here the complaints of the inhabitants of one of the Russian villages, where the soldiers of the Alash-Orda passed.
Copy
Protocol No 26
Village Verbovskoye of Stavropolsk Volost of Temir District.
An Alsh-Orda detachment performed illegal actions when passing our village. They took birch-rods and publicly birched old Samohvalov and his son Yakim.
We send you a medical examination for the attention of Colonel Baddeev, who commands at the front..
Chairman of the interim civil committee
Puldyshev.
June 22, 1919.
Certified true copy: secretary Konovalov.
I’ll quote here the statement of one more village, concerning the actions of the militia of the Alash-Orda. It is unskilled, still it’s possible to understand what it deals with.
“On June 22, 1919, we, the undersigned citizens of Izmailov Volost of Temir District, were in the volost court. It was Korosot who presided at the meeting. The following resolution was adopted at the meeting. On the first of the previous month of May Oyil militia confiscated eight hundred poods of wheat, ten horses with their harness, two covered cars and one hundred roubles from each household in our volost. They demanded Nickolaevsky money. We didn’t have them, we explained our situation. Secondly, without taking our objections into consideration, they searched everything, turning it upside-down. They took everything during the search: money, clothes and other things. They also raped women. The above mentioned 800 poods of wheat they took only from four owners. So we want to know where and how this wheat was distributed. We elected Stepan Sereda to report before the headquarters of the Cossack army and to know what’s going on”.
Signed (illiterate): Prokul Pontarenko,
Ustim Tyrsky and others..
Chairman Korostov,
Secretary Zonomyrov.
Rewritten correctly: Secretary Konovalov.
Such were the actions of the Alash-Orda. It’s difficult to blame them – the khan ordered, the higher-ups sent, the militia did. There was no getting away from it.
The government of the Alash-Orda knew no other orders except one: “Take, it’s yours!” For example, it was said in order No 59 of June 19 of a military department of the Western Alash-Orda: “Collect from Borodinsk Volost of Temir District the military tax, the “tax on hooves” – one hundred roubles from each household – within ten days. Bring to Oyil 1300 poods of wheat and five horses for riding”.
By the way, a newspaper was published in Oyil. If my memory doesn’t betray me, it was entitled the “Zhana Kazakh” (the “New Kazakh”). It was edited by doctor Ahmet Mametov.
After the Bolsheviks captured Uralsk Region in 1919, the “Khan’s” government dispersed. The elder brother of gunned down Ipmagambetov emerged from the underground, and Argancheev, Aiteev, Hangereev with him. The Bekbatyrovs, who didn’t take part in the activities of the Alash-Orda, joined the Bolsheviks. The Bolsheviks were also joined by some intellectuals: doctor Ipmagambetov, Alibekov, Kosabulatov, Myrzagaliev and others.
I have mentioned about Turgay Alash-Orda. It makes no sense to dwell on its description. Turgay Alash-Orda was considered a branch of the Eastern Alash-Orda. It was headed by Espulov, Dulatov, Baitursunov, Eldes Omarov. There were a lot of bai intellectuals from Kustanay and Turgay there. Karatleuov and Kenzhin became its activists after fleeing from Uralsk. The supporters of Turgay government also created their own army, also imposed all kinds of taxes on the population and whenever an opportunity presented itself they eagerly made use of their whips. The blood of ordinary Kazakhs often remained on the sabres of supporters of the Alash-Orda. Turgay Alash-Orda kept in touch with Kolchak, the same as the Western one, sent him its messengers and representatives. During the period of its flourishing Turgay Alash-Orda behaved outrageously to its heart’s content.
Let’s tirn to the beginning of 1918, to the events, taking place in Akmolinsk. Akmolinsk Council of Deputies worked without a minute’s rest. The local bais were imposed a tax in the amount of three million roubles, each depending on the accumulated wealth. At that time three million meant a lot. The bais cried, but they had to pay the money to the financial department of the Council of Deputies. The best bais’ houses were given to the institutions. The banks, automobiles, steam powered mills were transferred into the ownership of the people at the beginning of the revolution. The meetings of the Council of Deputies were often convened, we talked a lot. The inhabitants of the town also came to listen.
Sometimes, after receiving the permission of the chairman of the Council of Deputies, the townsmen also spoke at the meeting.
The doors of the Council of Deputies were open for everyone.
The winter came. By summer a connection was established with Omsk and Petropavlovsk. The delivery of letters and newspapers became more regular. The administrative power came to the hands of the Council of Deputies first of all in Akmolinsk, Petropavlovsk, Omsk Districts, and then in Kokchetav and Atbasar districts. The authorized representatives came to us from Atbasar for instructions and directions. From the Kazakhs in Atbasar it was Maikotov who joined the Bolsheviks and he worked well. Sabyr Sharipov raised the banner of the Soviets in Kokchetav and actively participated in the revolutionary struggle; Iskhak Kobekov, Shaimerden Alzhanov – in Petropavlovsk, Kolbai and workers Ugar Zhanybekov, Zikirya Mukeev, Galim[67] Tatimo and students Zhanaidar, Hamza, Albuhair and Tautan took action in Omsk.
The members of the Council of Deputies had a skirmish with the cadets.
The advantage of Omsk and Petropavlovsk over Akmolinsk was that there were a lot of workers at the railway stations. The working class, easier to organize, was employed at the plants, railways, steamship company. Many of them were illiterate, still they quickly understood the meaning of the Council of Deputies, armed in an organized way and created detachments of the Red Guard. It was easy for the Council of Deputies to work with such support. Few Kazakh workers kept up with the Russian workers.
In Petropavlovsk the armed Kazakh workers organized their headquarters in the rooms of bai Oserbai’s hotel. This organization was headed by Iskhak Kobekov, Karim Sutyushev, Shaimerden Alzhanov, the leaders of the party “Ush zhuz”. Iskhak Kobekov was the commander of the detachment of the Red Guard of Kazakh workers.
In Omsk the Kazakh workers also began to enroll in the Red Army. In 1917, at the beginning of winter, the officers and bais’ sons raised a mutiny in Petropavlovsk. They surrounded the Council of Deputies, arrested some of its leaders. The Workers’ Red Guard released the Council of Deputies with drastic actions. The leaders of the rebellion got their just deserts. Iskhak Kobekov with his Kazakh department took active part in the liquidation of the officers’ mutiny.
When the bais heard about the capture of the Council of Deputies by the rebels, they rejoiced. The minions of the Alash-Orda decided that the town was entirely captured, that the former rule was established, so they all gathered in one of the houses to discuss the situation. They rejoiced, congratulated each other and demanded with one accord: “Kobekov should be found! Kobekov should be destroyed!”
And at this time Kobekov himself with a detachment of the Kazakh Guard came to their house with arms in his hands. The supporters of the Alash-Orda stiffened with astonishment at their places.
The working class didn’t destroy cowardly helpless enemies, pleading for mercy. The Kazakh guards kicked the bais and drove them away to their homes.
The organizers of Petropavlovsk workers were Karim Dyuisekeev, Hasen Karanaev, Erezhep Kasimov, Gruschitsin, Kali, Mukan Esmagambetov, Sharip and Boskinov. They were all members of the party “Ush zhuz”. Commissar Iskhak Kobekov and Karim Sutyushev were engaged in military training of workers. Shaimerden Alzhanov came from Omsk and gave instructions.
There were no large plants in Akmolinsk, so there were few workers. The plants of Uspensk, Spassk, Karaganda and Sara-Su were at the distance of two or three hundred versts from Akmolinsk. A railway was being laid from Omsk to Semipalatinsk through Atbasar and Akmolinsk. The administration of the South-Siberian railway was situated in Akmolinsk. The building of the railway station was being built here and the members of our Council of Deputies made reports at the construction site. The newcomers, recently from villages, not understanding much, worked here. We began to explain the current policy to them. And to prove the revolutionary policy on practice we provided the workers with lodging, confiscating a splendid house from one of the bais. First of all, young workers needed political education.
Once an official radiogram came to the Council of Deputies: “According to the program, adopted by the Bolsheviks, the Soviet rule gives autonomy to all peoples, oppressed by the Tsarist rule. Each nation has the right to independently decide its own destiny. Let the Kazakh people prepare for the creation of the autonomy in compliance with its territory. For this purpose it’s necessary to open people’s courts and schools, teaching the children in Kazakh”.
After this radiogram we received the newspaper “Sary-Arka” and the magazine “Abai” from Semipalatinsk. The information of the leaders of the Alash-Orda that the Bolsheviks granted autonomy to the Kazakhs was printed in huge letters on their pages…
“God’s helping you, Alash! – they exclaimed. – There’s no end to your joy, Alash! Let’s disembowel a white camel, Alash (that is, let’s have a sumptuous feast)! Enjoy yourself beyond all measure, Alash! Be glad, Alash!”
Among other things it was informed in the newspaper that Halel and Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov went to Moscow to negotiate about the autonomy. Alihan Bukeihanov received a telegram from them, stating that the negotiations with the Bolshevik leaders were successfully carried on.
We became thoughtful. There was a reason for being thoughtful: the Dosmuhammetovs, representatives of the Alash-Orda, went to Moscow to discuss the fate of the Kazakhs with the leaders of the Soviet rule and they also telegraphed Bukeihanov about their successful negotiations with them.
Could the leaders of the Soviet rule give the Kazakh autonomy into the hands of the bourgeois nationalists? The supporters of the Alash-Orda from Semipalatinsk joyfully informed everyone about it by means of the newspaper “Sary-Arka” and the magazine “Abai”.
What was the matter? What should we do?
We urgently convened a meeting of the “Zhas Kazakh”. We made a report on the autonomy. After the report we exchanged our opinions and all organization “Zhas kazakh” unanimously adopted the following resolution:
“The Kazakh people are mostly illiterate. The poor and the workers are still under the influence of the bais and rich intellectuals. There are still very few intellectuals, coming from the poor and able to defend the interests of the broad masses. The majority of educated Kazakhs have become the members of the Alash-Orda and actively support the policy of the bai top. If the Kazakhs are given autonomy now, without isolating the Alash-Orda, the power will be seized by the bourgeois nationalists. The working Kazakhs don’t need the Alash-Orda autonomy…”
After adopting the resolution it was decided to urgently convene a congress of the working Kazakhs of Akmolinsk District. We would like to discuss the issue of autonomy at the congress of the poor. After arranging it with the Council of Deputies, we urgently convened a congress. The delegates came quickly. We didn’t wait for the delegates from the remote places because we were short of time. The congress opened in the building of the Council of Deputies on the ground floor (it was a former gymnasium, once built by rich man Moiseev.).
It was I who made a report on autonomy. The congress unanimously adopted the resolution of the “Zhas Kazakh”. We telegraphed to Moscow about the decision of the congress.
The text of the telegram was written by Baiseit Adilev, I edited it. The telegram was discussed by Baiseit Adilev, Abdulla Asylbekov, Baken Serikpaev, Zhumabai Nurkin, Nurgain Bekmuhammetov and me.
It was not for us to judge whether we were right or wrong in our decision. Our opinion about the Kazakh autonomy remained the same, as it was set out in the resolution until 1920, when another district congress of the Kazakh poor took place in Akmolinsk and the question of the Kazakh autonomy was raised again. Young tatar Krymov, who came to Akmolinsk with five Red Army soldiers, took part in the work of the congress. (Later Krymov graduated from the Moscow Military Academy.) comrades Zhumabai Nurkin and Omarov Ashim took part as well. At this congress I made a report on the autonomy again, and again the congress came to the same decision, which was adopted by the congress of the poor in 1918. We telegraphed a detailed account of the decision of the congress to Orenburg, to the Kyrgyz Krai Revolutionary Committee. The telegram was published in the Russian newspaper of Orenburg.
I have again anticipated things without finishing my story about the events of 1918. So, we telegraphed to Moscow that the Kazakh working people didn’t need the Alash-Orda autonomy. By the way, at this time a lot of adherents of the Alash-Orda began to write in the newspapers that the Kazakh people didn’t need the autonomy, established by the Bolsheviks. The people, mourning over the fate of Chokaev’s Kokand autonomy were the first to announce loudly about it. In the editorials of Tashkent newspaper “Birlik tuy” (“Banner of unity”) No 29 of April 5, 1918, the Bolsheviks were held up to shame as robbers, profligates, rogues, deceivers and it was stated that ”it would be no use from the autonomy, promised by them (the Bolsheviks)”.
There were such lines in the article:
“…Last time the Bolsheviks often speak about Turkestan autonomy. At the first meeting of our Council in Tashkent comrade Tobolin plunged into an endless torrent of words, concerning this issue. A telegram was received from Moscow, where they stressed on the need of creating Turkestan autonomy.
...But there is a great difference between the autonomy, promised by the Bolsheviks, and real autonomy, meeting the needs of the people. The distance between them is the same as between the heaven and the earth…
...The Bolshevik autonomy, which they would like to create in Turkestan, has nothing to do with the genuine autonomy (that is the Alash-Orda autonomy). They are not going at all to delegate power to the people themselves without interfering in their internal affairs. Just the opposite, promising to delegate power to the common people, they intend to put in office profligate rogues…”
In the same article the “Birlik tuy” writes:
“The plundering acts of the Bolsheviks in Turkestan are without number. Now all honest educated workers are undergoing persecution. The Bolsheviks are looking for them to kill them at the first opportunity. No one is interested in the actual opinion of the broad masses. Has it ever happened so that the people consider valiant citizens, forced now to hide themselves, their enemies?” – asked Tashkent newspaper.
The author of this article was Hairitden Bolgambaev, one of the cunning activists of the Alash-Orda, known under the pen name of Bortan. And Sultanbek Hodzhanov edited the newspaper.
The intellectual, mentioned in the article, who was forced to hide himself, was no other than Chokaev.
...The spring of 1918 came. The supporters of the Alash-Orda were not idle. Their Omsk accomplices began to stir up enmity between Muhan Aitpenov and Kolbai Togusov. They both joined the Bolsheviks but then quarrelled. As a result of the pernicious actions of “shaitans in human shape”, Kolbai achieved Muhan’s arrest. Muhan, quickly released from prison, in his turn began to fabricate materials, discrediting Kolbai, and achieved his arrest through the Council of Deputies.
Many members of the youth organization “Birlik”, acting since 1914 in Omsk, finally defected to the side of the Alash-Orda, the other part of the youth came over under the banner of the Soviets. I’ll dwell on it later… The adherents of the Alash-Orda from the “Birlik” attacked Kolbai all together, bombarded the Council of Deputies with the “materials”, compromising Kolbai. Skilful, honoured masters of collecting slander, shameless denunciations, they used the experience of their predecessors, who bade for rank of a volost administrator, foreman and arbitrator!
Personally, I know Kolbay just a little, so I’m not going to speak for or against him. But I do know one thing: it was the offspring of the “Birlik” in Omsk, who fabricated the “materials”, discrediting Kolbai in the Council of Deputies.
Supporting the squealers, Cossack colonel Polyudov, who came over to the Bolsheviks, strove for Kolbai’s arrest. He published an article in the newspaper, in which he picked on Kolbai and praised Baitursunov and Bukeihanov. Here’s the text of one of the telegrams, published in issue No 38 of April 19, 1918, of the newspaper “Sary-Arka”:
“New telegrams from Omsk.
In the afternoon of April 11 two more telegrams were received by the editorial board of the “Sary-Arka” from Omsk. It is informed in one of them that “Shaimerden Alzhanov, Suleimen Togusov and others have been arrested together with Kolbai. Kobekov’s arrest is possible, too. Urgently assign Ermekov and Sarsenov to inform the people about Kolbai’s former activities. The justice was administered”. Kasharsky is the author of the telegram”.
The tested Alash rogues, the worthy successors of the unworthy tradition of their forefathers – atkaminers (frauds, swindlers), skillfully collecting all kinds of rumours, they hid their names, signed by the feigned name of Kasharsky. If someone is honest, does it make sense for him to hide his name?
It was said in the second telegram: “On April 17 (according to the old style) there’ll be a congress of the poor in Omsk. The issues, concerning Kolbai’s behaviour, will be discussed. We ask to delegate Sarsenov to the congress”. And the telegram was signed by the Birlik.
The old and the young supporters of the Alash-Orda strove for Kolbai’s arrest by common efforts, Shaimerden (Alzhanov) was imprisoned together with him. They also tried to slander Iskhak Kobekov, but Petropavlovsk workers stood up for him. They were already taking measures to release Kolbay, but they were prevented by an unexpected Czech riot.
Kolbai was abused, Kolbai was accused. Well, perhaps Kolbai was an unworthy person, but what wrong had Shaimerden and Iskhak done, taking active part in the revolution and defending its interests?
What were they guilty of?
It’s well-known of what. They joined the Bolsheviks, supported the Soviet rule, spoke against the Alash-Orda. Who blamed them for it? They were blamed by the young followers of the Alash-Orda from the “Birlik”. They decided to destroy their enemies, those, who split off from the Alash-Orda “Birlik”, entered upon the revolutionary path and created a “democratic student council”. They were also slandered in the Council of Deputies, their enemies tried to achive the arrest of Omsk students Tautin Arystambekov, Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, Abulhair Dosov, Hamza Zhusupbekov and others.
Three “worthy”sons of the “Birlik” provoked the militia and arrested Tautin, Hamza and Abulhair. But the Council of Deputies quickly released them after examining the matter… That’s how the young followers of the Alash-Orda acted. Were they not the true sons of their forefathers?
We sent two representatives from Akmolinsk to the congress of the poor in Omsk – comrade Bilyal Tinalin, a worker, a member of the Council of Deputies, a Bolshevik and Kosherbai Zhamanaev, a representative of the poor of Akmolinsk, a popular speaker, also a Bolshevik, an active member of the “Zhas Kazakh”.
The first of May came. We had a joyful and solemn ceremony in Akmolinsk. The members of the Council of Deputies, the workers together with a little detachment of the red guard came into the street with banners and revolutionary songs, there were rallies everywhere and the speeches were heard…
We arranged the first large paid party in Kazakh to collect money for the needy students in Omsk and for the maintenance of the organization “Zhas Kazakh”. The audience watched my play “On the way to happiness”, written on the eve. This was my first large literary work.
The Russians and the Kazakhs sat close shoulder to shoulder. At the audience’s request the concert continued the next day. There weren’t enough seats in the hall. The roles were played by the members of the “Zhas kazakh”, Baken Serikpaev, Kozhebai Erdenov, Omirbai Donentaev, Salik Ainabekov, Banu, Sharapat, Beisenov and others…
The influence of the Council of Deputies was growing day by day. The members of the Council of Deputies began to often go to auls, conduct explanatory talks, take practical measures on the spot.
At the time of Kerensky’s Provisionary Government , at the time of the Kazakh uprising of 1916 such volost administrators as Olzhabai and Alkey took armed Tsarist soldiers with them and travelling around the steppe robbed the people without any mercy. We received nearly two hundred complaints on behalf of the working men, so we appointed comrade Zhumabai Nurkin to go to the steppe together with fifteen soldiers of the Red Army to arrest the former volost administrators and confiscate their cattle. Baiseit Adilev was sent with militiamen in the other direction with the same purpose.
The organized headquarters of the red army was headed by two sailors, who came from Russia, - Zimin and Avdeev, as well as old soldier Balandin.
Our connection with the plants of Karaganda, Spassk, Uspensk, where the Councils of Deputies were also organized, strengthened. The plant messegers came more often to us. Turusbek Mynbaev and Aryn Maldabaev, members of the plant Councils of Deputies, came to see us. When the nationalization of the plants began, the delegates of the Councils of Deputies of Karaganda, Uspensk and Spassk came to our district Council of Deputies. There were such comrades as Neiman, Orynbek Bekov among them. They made a report on the situation at the plants, asked money and arms. The Council of Deputies decided to nationalize the plants and adopted a decision about the expropriation of seventy thousand poods of copper in Spassk. The proposition to give money and arms from the supplies of the Council of Deputies to Neiman and Bekob, representatives of the workers, was unanimously accepted. We sent to Omsk and Petropavlovsk sailor Zimin, a member of the headquarters of the Red Army, commander Kopylov and Prudov, a worker of the Spassk plant, a member of the Council of Deputies, to obtain rifles and machine guns.
After receiving the money and arms, Orynbek Bekov came to my flat. Comrade Prudov spoke well of Bekov. I saw his abilities when I listened to his report in the Council of Deputies. And now we spoke about the workers, Kazakhs, Soviet rule, Bolsheviks and Alash-Orda. His idea about the Alash-Orda was very vague, he didn’t had a clear, firm position in respect of these people.
I began to explain to him that “the Alash-Orda is a bourgeois organization, striving to establish the former Khan’s power over the Kazakh poor, workers. The Alash-Orda, Ablai-Khan and Tsar Nickolay are one and the same thing”, - I said.
Bekov admitted that he read the newspaper “Sary-Arka” simultaneously with our newspaper Tirshilik“. I criticized the articles of the “Sary-Arka” and the activities of its contributors. After a while we arrived at a common view with Bekov in respect of the Alash-Orda. Promising me to be more active for the benefit of the revolution, Bekov took final leave of me…
In May 1918 the organization “Birlik” in Omsk, which finally accepted the platform of the Alash-Orda, convened a congress of the youth. Two representatives were invited from each remote organization. We sent Abdulla Asylbekov on behalf of the “Zhas Kazakh”, and nominated Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, studying in Omsk, the second representative.
First Bilyal and Kosherbai, delegates of the congress of the poor, returned from Omsk, then Abdulla came back. We listened to their information. It turned out that the representatives of the youth organizations of Akmolinsk, Semipalatinsk and Kustanay Provinces came for the congress of the youth. The congress passed in heated debates, especially when the question of the Alash-Orda and the Soviet rule was discussed. The participants of the congress divided into three groups: “right”, “left” and “centrist”.
Of course, the “left” wing consisted of the opponents of the Alash-Orda, that is our representatives: Abdulla Asylbekov and Zhanaidar Sadvokasov together with Abulhair Dosov and Hamza Zhusupbekov, representatives of Omsk “democratic council”. But the “left” turned to be in the minority.
An especially heated controversy flared up when the question of recognizing the Soviet rule was discussed. Three different opinions met in the open battle.
The “left” – comrades Asylbekov, Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, Abulhair Dosov and Hamza Zhusupbekov – defended the Soviet rule. Abdrahman Baidildin, who was in the “centrist” wing when the question about the Alash-Orda was discussed, joined them. The “right” wing – Kemengerov, Smagul Sadvokasov, Appas (Gabbas) Togzhanov, Saidalin (Asygat)and other leaders of the “Birlik” – rejected the Soviet rule.
When the Bolsheviks shot the head of militia of the Semipalatinsk Alsh-Orda Kazi (Torsanov), the above-mentioned offspring of the “Birlik” wrote an epitaph in Omsk, where it was said: “We swear not to turn off the path, paved by Kazi…”
They telegraphed their oath to the editorial board of the “Sary-Arka”. Its text was published in the newspaper No 38 of April 15, 1918:
“Condolence.
We mourn immensely over the untimely death of our young brother Kazi, passionate and warm-blooded. He didn’t achieve his cherished dream for he was the first victim on the way of revival of the nation. He became a guiding star and lofty ideal for our youth. We vowed fidelity before God and swore on our honour never to turn off his inspiring path and never to forget Kazi himself. To prove our fidelity we arranged a paid party in Kazakh on April 20 and allocated the half of receipts for the education of his son, who became an orphan at the age of one. We also adopted a decision to financially help his family from this time onwards.
Youth from the “Birlik” organization…
The representative of Semipalatinsk youth also spoke at the congress. In the end they unwillingly adopted a resolution under the pressure of our delegates: “We recognize the Soviet rule if it doesn’t disturb us…” All former names of the youth organizations were eliminated by the majority of votes and a common name the “Zhas Azamat” (“Young citizen”) was adopted. The central committee of the “Zhas Azamat” was elected. Murzin (Muhtar) was chosen the chairman of the board, Smagul Sadvokasov, Muratbek Seitov, Gul’ Dosymbekov, Abdrahman Baidildin were elected its members. It was decided to publish anewspaper “Zhas Azamat” on the basis of the closed newspaper “Ush zhuz”. Kemengerov was appointed its editor…
Returning from Omsk, Abdulla arrived at Petropavlovsk on his way and had a conversation there with Iskhak Kobekov, Shaimerden Alzhanov and Karim Sutyushev, Bolsheviks, leaders of the Council of Deputies.
We showered Abdulla with questions:
- How do the Kazakh workers live in Omsk? What’s the position of the Kazakhs, working at the steamship company and at the railway? What do the Kazakh coachmen do? How do the workers live in Petropavlovsk?
Abdulla answered;
- The best and most class-conscious workers of Petropavlovsk are well-armed. They are guided by Iskhak Kobekov, the work is going on well there. The workers of Omsk stand quite firm. Recently about twenty volonteers have enrolled to the Red Army. With my own eyes I saw the worthy, experienced commanders such as Ugar Zhanybekov, Muhatmekali Tatimov and Zikria Mukaev…
These names were really worthy of respect. These were the widely known batyrs of the Kazakh workers. They bravely raised a red flag during the heavy fighting and peppered the enemy with machine-gun fire. In 1912 Ugar Zhanibekov was among the workers of the Lena mines, whom the Tsarist government massacred. These true batyrs became red soldiers, defending the interests of the working people. These were the people to be praised!..
We learnt from Abdulla quite a lot of alarming news.
- There is a rumour that the officers, bais and Cossacks are going to raise a revolt soon, - Abdulla told us. – It is discussed everywhere that they arrange secret meetings, whisper secretively to each other and seem to organize a revolt. Sabyr Sharipov informed me that Cossack ataman Annenkov is forming a detachment in the forest near Kokchetav. But they pay no attention to these rumours in Omsk. I learned their trustworthiness at first hand on my way home. At one station Annenkov’s detachment plundered the post office, took away ht erifles of two militiamen and disappeared in the forest. It is not quite near Kokchetav. The leaders of the “Birlik“ are also preparing for something on the sly. There was a rumour that one of the young activists of the Alash-Orda secretly went somewhere for collusion. The situation near Petropavlovsk is even more difficult. Those who survived the first revolt begin to hold up their heads.
- Where are our people, sent for ams to Omsk and Petropavlovsk?
- They received the arms and started off with me. But I was in a hurry and so came ahead of them, - replied Abdulla.
If we had looked into details, had been more attentive to the events and rumours, the nearness of the approaching catastrophy would have been evident to us. The serpent, which hadn’t been dealt a final blow to, was gradually accumulating power, stirring quietly, waiting for the right moment. But we couldn’t rightly estimate the difficult situation of that period in time.
We didn’t have rifles to arm the railwaymen of the Akmolinsk station, living in the blue house of bai Iskhak (Dogalakov).
Adilev, a member of the Council of Deputies, came from the southern volosts of Akmolinsk District. Judging from his words, there was complete silence and tranquility among the aul Kazakhs.
But after his official report Baiseit came to my flat with some awkward look on his face, began to mumble something about the situation in auls and then muttered at last:
- I want to tell you something...
- What’s it?- I became alerted.
- I don’t know how you’ll look at it… But I’ve done something…
- Tell me what you’ ve done.
- In one of the remote auls I met the leaders of Kokand autonomy – Muhametzhan Tynyshpaev and Serikpay Akaev. They had a man, accompanying them. It turned out they were fleeing from Turkestan…
- Well, and where are they now?
- They went to Semipalatinsk,- Adilev gloomily continued.
- How did you meet them? Why didn’t you arrest them?
- Well… I was ashamed. They stopped to eat in one aul, were having a rest in a separate hut. They were on horses, dressed like riffraff. I stopped at the foreman of this aul… I had already heard about their arrival. I sat for a while and then decided: “Let me go and see Tynyshpaev”. The aul’s foreman was frightened to death[68]. Tynyshpaev was frightened, too, when he saw me entering the hut. The ministers turned pale, were in complete confusion, they began to greet me, jumping up from their seats. After answering their greeting I tried to calm them down, - that’s how Adilev finished his story.
- So you let them go in peace?
- Yes... I didn’t dare to touch them. And I even told them how to go further and in what auls it would be better to stop.
- You’re a daydreamer, a muddler! Mami[69]! – I cried out, terribly enraged with Baiseit’s behaviour.
Baiseit turned out to be so merciful with his political enemies, with the leaders of the Alash-Orda!..
And what would the adherents of the Alash-Orda do in this case? There couldn’t be two answers to this question. We saw their “generosity” and experienced it on ourselves…
Soon two urgent telegrams came to our Council of Deputies – one from Petropavlovsk and another from Omsk. The first said: “The Czecho-Slovak troops are going to their homeland through Siberia. A part of them has arrived at Petropavlovsk and doesn’t want to submit to the order of the Soviet rule about disarmament. There is a strict instruction to disarm them in Petropavlovsk. The members of the Council of Deputies met the train at the railway station and began to negotiate with the Czechoslovak about the disarmament. The Czechoslovaks have an aggressive attitude. There is a threat of an armed conflict. Be wary!..”
The second telegram was even worse: “Urgently mobilize to the front the people in the age of… ”
The members of the Council of Deputies were confused, not knowing what to do… Everyone knew that the vast majority of common people didn’t want to go to the front again.
What was going to happen? What should we do?
There was a confusion, still the Council of Deputies announced about the mobilization of the men of certain age to the front.
The next morning after the meeting of the Council of Deputies Baken came to see me. It was a day off.
- What’s the news? – I asked.
- No news. Just an ominous silence. Anxiety is growing, it’s a bad omen, - he answered gloomily.
That day we considered it possible to have a bit of rest. Baken, Abdulla, Omirbai, Nurgain and I went together to the Ishim’s green bank. This was the first time we went out of town since the beginning of a turbulent spring of 1918. We fell down on the green grass with delight. We somersaulted, luxuriated, frisked on the wonderful bank of the Ishim River. We fired revolver shots at the target. The willow bush showed green along the banks of the Ishim. The blue water of the Ishim gleamed like tpelk. The sky was velvety blue, the steppe expanse showed green… The air, filled with the summer flavour, lulled us. We were having a rest on the silk grass and were speaking peacefully. And our hearts were beating anxiously, as if feeling from afar the approach of inevitable trouble.
CZECHO-SLOVAK REVOLT. FALL OF THE SOVIET RULE IN AKMOLINSK
June 3, 1918
I had to write a lot. Once I sat up very late and got up late in the morning. After hastily washing up I sat down to drink tea with the mistress, a widow of Uzbek Mukymbai, where I rented a flat. Her little son ran into the room out of breath and told us:
- At the Cossack stanitsa people are gathering with the rifles and sabres. They want to arrest everybody because there isn’t the Council of Deputies in Omsk and Petropalovsk any more!
I had to send the boy to try to find out properly, what it was all about. Soon he ran back:
- They occupied the building of the Council of Deputies, arrested Bochok, Monin, Pavlov. Mounted Cossacks surrounded Kubrin’s house, where the Red Army soldiers are.
While the boy was chattering about what was going on, zhigit Karim, a member of the “Zhas Kazakh” came, told me the same thing and gave advice:
- You should flee as soon as you can!
Following him, Bilyal Tinalin, a Kazakh worker, a member of the Council of Deputies, hastily entered and supported the comrade:
- Yes, my dear, you should escape as quickly as you can. They’ll be looking for you!
Two more comrades joined us and unanimously expressed their opinion that I should really run away as soon as possible.
The son of the mistress brought the latest news soon:
- The Cossacks have already arrested four or six people. They are crying that they are going to arrest all members of the Council of Deputies!
There were crowds of people in the street – both mounted and on foot. Sharip Yalymov, sitting on the horseback, loudly shouted to the people who gathered: “We should arrest Saken and Abdulla!”
The crackle of gunfire was coming from everywhere. The comrades insisted on hiding me.
- How could I leave my comrades in trouble! With what eyes would I look at them tomorrow, if I fled today with disgrace! – I exclaimed, checking my revolver.
The shooting was increasing.
Seeing that their attempts to persuade me were all in vain, my friends went away.
I called my mistress, paid for the flat, entrusted my books and papers to her care and began to get prepared for the coming events. The clatter of zhigits was coming from the street, the shots were fired – sometimes single, sometimes united in a volley.
My mistress got excited, began to urge me to hide in the cellar:
- Go, be quick, they’ll come now for you, - there was no stopping her.
But it was too late to do anything.
Six thugs, armed to the teeth, burst into the yard – four Tatars and two Cossacks.
I grabbed the revolver but one of them ran up to me from behind, slashed me with a whip and snatched my only weapon out of my hands. After tying my hands they dragged me out into the street.
The day is fair and warm. The crackle of gunfire reminds the sound of drubbing against the dried skin. The air is full of dust. The hubbub of human voices goes on and on. And all this noise, merging together, gives an impression of a herd of cows, rushing about in the vain attempts to escape from malicious gadflies.
Some people are crying just for the sake of crying, not to seem quieter than the others. The second are busy with their task – they are looking for the Bolsheviks. The third are rushing about in panic and fear that they may be shot by a stray bullet.
The same six guys are leading me, tied up, alond the excited and clamouring streets to the Cossack stanitsa.
I was seized by Sharip Yalymov, a fool and madcap, well-known in the town, the second man was Nurkey, a rich shopkeeper with a black beard, the third one – a horse trader. And also Nuri Toiganov, a former volost interpreter.
They are angry, they are breathing heavily. The eyes are about to pop out of their sockets with rage. The nostrils are flaring like those of the cows, enraged by gadflies. The passers-by are staring at us with curiosity. And my escort keeps crying and boasting even more:
- Hey, people! Are there any more Bolsheviks in your yards? Look, we’ve caught the most inveterate Bolshevik of all!.. Come on, move your feet, be quick! – A whip cracks on my back. Toiganov is especially zealous.
I turned to Yalymov, more or less educated of all my guards:
- Sharip-abzi[70], I ask you to forbid beating me. Here, in public, in the street!
But they continue to whip me every now and then.
Three Kazakh zhigits darted out into us. Galloping up to us, one of them lashed me with a whip. I looked back and saw a black-beard pitted Kazakh. I calmly told him with an awry smile:
- You hasten to hit me. Have I done any harm to you?..
He felt ashamed, he held his horse back and didn’t pursue me any more.
At last they drove me to the Cossack stanitsa… There’s an incredible turmoil here. Here are Kazakhs, and Tatars, and Russians - young and old alike. Here are women, children… The crowd is excited, buzzing and heaving like the waves of the sea. The zhigits are galloping back and forth, the crackle of gunfire is coming from everywhere. Crack, clatter, noise, dust – I can’t make out anything! The crowd, stark raving mad, is yelling, cursing the Bolsheviks; seeing me under escort, they rushed towards me. The first man whom I saw was aqsaqal Nurzhan with a carved black stick in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, like those of the cattle suffering from anthrax. Coming close to me, he abused me with obsene words.
I flared up:
- Where are you going and with whom? Haven’t you been with us in the Council of Deputies?
He cried at me:
- Don’t talk much! I know what you’ve been doing and the people know it, too! You’ll answer for everything!
The enraged crowd circled me. Everyone tried to reach my face, to hit with whatever came to hand. And who couldn’t work off his anger on me, pushed his own people. I heard the shouts: “Rogue!.. Giaour! Atheist!..”
The fists flashed before my eyes more and more often, I was being beaten and crushed from all sides, I began to choke. I mustered up the rest of my strength but I could hardly keep on my legs. I looked round the angry faces – could it be so that nobody would stand for me? Suddenly a Kazakh, hadji Suleimen, ran up to me, grabbed by the armpits, dragged out of the crowd and took to the nearest house. It was overcrowded – old Cossacks with beards and very young ones, without moustache. Everyone was armed. The officers were with cavalry swords and revolvers.
Their leader Kuchkovsky was quickly and loudly giving orders. He kept running, fussing, rattling the sabre.
My rescuer – hadji Suleimen – deftly pretended to search me, then hastily led to one of the far rooms.
I didn’t expect at all that this very man would save me from the enraged crowd.
I hadn’t earlier met with hadji Sulieimen at work, I saw him closely once or twice. That’s how it happened. Once I went with my friends to one seller of kumiss. There were already several men sitting there. They were drinking kumiss. I noticed a big swarthy Kazakh with a pointed beard among them, who was addressed only as “Hadji-eke, hadji-eke[71]!” we joined this company. I don’t know what the hadji didn’t like about me, whether the fact that I was from the Council of Deputies, whether my attracting general attention by witty remarks, but he caviled at one of my jokes and told me a lot of unpleasant words:
- The youth is so ill-mannered today, they don’t want to respect the old!..
But he cursed me wrongfully, I didn’t want to offend him at all. When the angry hadji reprimanded me, I tried not to argue with him, especially as the house of the kumiss seller was not the place to argue.
After this I saw the hadji once again in the Council of Deputies. He came in the case of a young woman who divorced her husband.
Some inhabitants of Akmolinsk did their best to prevent the divorce. But she also had defenders. So we had to call witnesses on both sides to the Council of Deputies.
This case was processed by Turysbek Mynbaev, a member of the Council of Deputies, a not very literate zhigit.
The Coucil of Deputies received a complaint that those who were against the divorce were supposed to exert pressure on Turysbek and to achieve their goal by any means.
I obtained divorce for this woman and she got absolute freedom.
The defeated party didn’t quieten. When they began to threaten me, I warned them:
- If you continue to pursue this woman, I’ll take you to court.
They were afraid not of my words but of the power of the Council of Deputies, so they calmed down and abandoned their intention to return the woman to the unloved husband by force.
When her fate was decided both the seller of kumiss and hadji Suleimen, who unjustly cursed me at the kumiss shop, were present. They were glad that I defended the woman and nodded me with approval.
- Thank you, dear! And forgive me that I got so angry with you then. I didn’t know your character then and got heated.
The woman turned to be hadji’s relative and today he decided to thank me…
In the room, which I was pushed into, I saw Bochok, the chairman of the Council of Deputies, Baken, his deputy, Monin, commissar for Finance, and Kondratyeva, a member of the Council of Deputies. We exchanged a few words and then ruefully kept silent.
- Who’s firing? – I asked.
- The Red Army soldiers.
- And where are other comrades?
- The Pavlovs are also here, in another room.
We sat in silence, thinking about our situation. There was no shooting any more, but human voices and the clatter of horses’ hoofs didn’t cease for a long time. Kuchkovsky was still giving orders, vigorously and loudly.
After a while they dragged beaten up Baiseit Adilev and threw him to us. It turned out that he was caught at the outskirts of the town. And Abdulla was chased along the streets and beaten without stopping.
Several more Bolsheviks, beaten up and bloodstained, were pushed into the room one by one. It was especially terrible to look at Katchenko.
The stanitsa turned into a bloody hell. The rebellious Cossacks held it in their hands. Now and then new riders came to the house and rode away, whipping their horses. The gapers would not also mind using their fists. They surrounded the house, looked into the windows, pressing their noses against the glass…
Then somebody knocked loudly at the window, we looked back and saw old Kazakh Kilybai there. Shaking with anger, he threatened us with his fists. As I didn’t catch what he was crying, I came near the window. Our eyes met. His face was twisted like that of a shaman. He was yelling something in anger, swinging his bony fist. A poor man!.. A poor man!.. I looked at him and shook my head: “Poor thing, I pity you so much…” Several more Kazakhs ran up, swearing us and knocking at the window with their fists as well. There was a son of trader Basylbek among them. Baken and Baiseit had to endure most of all. It turned out that the farm labourer of Basybek’s son didn’t received the promised payment and brought a complaint to Baken. Baken and Baiseit called Basybek’s son to them and forced him to pay 200 roubles to the farm labourer. Here he was now, swearing most of all.
Could Basybek stand for Baiseit, Baken and their comrades, members of the Council of Deputies, after this!?..
The Cossacks easily captured the town. Chairman of the Council of Deputies Bochok was blamed for it, because he knew about the imminent events but didn’t let anyone know about them. If he had warned the Bolsheviks in time that the Cossacks were going to revolt, we woud not have been doomed. Despite the fact that all members of the Council of Deputies were arrested, our small Red Army detachment didn’t surrender to the Cossacks, exchanged fire with them. But when the Cossacks caught Bochok, he ordered the Red Army soldiers to stop the fire.
In the afternoon we were taken out into the street and we were driven under escort to another place.
The crowd met us with prying eyes. A lot of them rejoiced because of our situation, the rich ones were the first in this, of course. I noticed an old Kazakh woman, standing at her gates, pointing with her finger at us and repeating: “Thank God!..”
We were driven to a half-charred barn at last and locked there. The Kazakh sentries were posed at the door. The Kazakhs, having no power yesterday, were the masters of the town today. The Kazakh and Tatar bais were especially glad. Drunken fool Sharip Karimov was swaggering among them, brandishing his revolver.
New and new Bolsheviks were brought into the barn. A lot of them couldn’t understand: how did it happen so? It was against all expectations. They were indignated and scolded Bochok.
People gathered around the barn. There were friends and enemies here. The friends stood stunned, the enemies rejoiced.
The news came from those who were free. The first news was told us by comrade Pavlov’s wife:
- They want to shoot all members of the Council of Deputies, twelve men in total – eight Russians and four Kazakhs.
The Kazakhs were Baken, Saken, Abdulla, Baiseit…
Then the other news: they would shoot six men, one of them a Kazakh. Then one more: the Cossack atamans, rich townsmen and aristocrats gathered together and decided to shoot twelve Bolsheviks.
In general, we understood that whatever the case, the things looked black for us.
The night came. We laid down but it was impossible to fall asleep – the noise and movement never stopped.
Several more Bolsheviks were driven to us at night. They told us that the Cossacks seized the power in Omsk, Petropavlovsk and Kokchetav, shot and hung the Bolsheviks without trial and that the Czechs joined the Cossacks.
Some of our comrades lost heart. It made us sick… Had the revolution suffered a defeat? we thought. Could the old times with the Tsar return?
Officer Kuchkovsky, the head of the rebels, the town commandant, came to see us.
- A special committee will hold an inquiry into your affairs. You have been temporarily arrested. It is required at the shift of power. You’ll be released soon… The commandant calmed us down.
After he went, we lernt that all leaders had been already sentenced to be shot.
It was crowded in the barn, there were no windows there, only little quadrangular holes with bars. The door was open all the day and we could see the armed Cossack sentries.
I recognized Krasnoshtanov, my former teacher from Akmolinsk, among the sentries.
Every now and then both friends and enemies peeped into the open room. The friends greeted, nodding encouragingly to us and giving us something to eat.
Wherever a Kazakh was, could he forget about his favourite food – meat with kumiss?
Little by little we began to calm down. We exchanged our opinions. There were few reasons to rejoice. Everyone understood that the things looked black for us, and it filled the heart with bitterness and resentment – we could have foreseen it!
I came close to Baken, leaning against the wall.
- They are going to shoot us,- he sadly said.- But we’ll die for the truth, our conscience is clear! Those who are going to come after us, won’t forget us… - He embraced me and continued: - Even if I die, even if the others die… But you must stay alive and write about it in the newspaper, tell our children and grandchildren what we gave our life for in a book. You must live! – Baken finished.
- Stop it, we all must live. We’ll get out of here safely, - I calmed him down. – There are still a lot of battles ahead of us!
We are sitting quietly, waiting, thinking. How could it happen that we are in such an absurd situation?
No one knows for sure whether the Cossacks have revolted only in Akmolinsk, Omsk, Petropavlovsk, or there is an uprising in all Russia. There are about a hundred men in the barn – the most prominent leaders and activists of the Council of Deputies. Common Bolsheviks are kept separately.
No one knows what territory the enemy possesses, where the Bolsheviks have still preserved their rule.
They began to call us in for questioning. Bochok, the chairman of the Council of Deputies, and Pavlov, commissar for Finance, were the first. They were quickly taken back, asked about nothing more than the affairs and documents of the town institutions.
There were questions on every side:
- What have you learnt?.. Who holds the state power in his hands?
- We don’t know anything properly,- they answered. Thinking it over a bit, Bochok suggested:
- The power must be in the hands of the Socialist Revolutionaries.
There was again a disturbed night. It was stuffy in the barn.
At midnight the door opened and twenty armed Russians entered with a noise. They lined up at the door and began to call the roll. We understood at once that the leaders were mostly called.
The roll was read by monarchist Serbov, a Don Cossack, dressed in the military form, a technician by profession.
Akmolinsk before the Soviet rule was established. Now he had a roll of condemned Bolsheviks in his hands. Like a stinking ferret, gritting his teeth, he shouted out the names and placed in the line. Striking a match to make sure that it was none other but Katchenko in front of him, he smiled mockingly at him:
- Hey, it’s you, with red moustache! And do you remember that you have almost scratched my eyes?!..
More then fourty men were called out, put in the line, surrounded by the escort.
The sky is cloudless. Somewhere high above the stars are twinkling, and the night seems not so dark with their distant light.
No one is able to suggest where “batyr” Serbov is leading us to.
And Serbov continues to hoarsely shout orders to his detachment. The escort take their rifles at the trail.
Serbov’s voice thundered: “Lead them!”
And they drove us no one knows where...
The town was getting covered with mist, it was gloomy and dark. It seemed a huge animal, lying with bated breath. There wasn’t a sound, as if everyone had died out. And only we were marching the desolate streets, surrounded by the Cossacks, seeming the only inhabitants of the town. The guides on foot were holding the rifles at the trail, the sabres of the mounted escort were glimmering in the light of the stars.
On we go... One can hear how the sand crunches under the feet and the horses snort from time to time. Everyone is morosely silent: both we and our escort. It seems that the both sides are intently watching each other, silently sharpening a knife, and if someone loses vigilance, he’ll be stuck a knife up to the hilt.
It seems the Cossacks already know the place where to lead the Bolsheviks to. And the latter patiently go on and on, as if they know where they are driven to and why…
The unsheathed sabres are ominously gleaming, the rifles are clinking. The peaceful quiet houses remain behind, deep in the dark.
They led us out to the outskirts of the town at last.
My neighbour Nurgain and Husain Kozhamberlin, following us, quietly told me:
- They have taken us out of the town to shoot us here!..
- Nonsense!- I cheered up my comrades. – It makes no difference where to be shot.
My memory unintentionally evoked the short course of my life. From the childhood I strived for studying. My young years passed peacefully in the aul… then there was a plant in Uspensk, the golden days in Akmolinsk town school. And then my trips to Omsk, studies in the techers’ training school. There was a joy, inspired by opening of the Union of students “Birlik”. There were hopes and dreams to give all my strength and energy to noble activities… I spent a year as a teacher in aul Bugli on the Nura bank. Then there was a long-expected freedom, creating a newspaper, work in the committee, rallies – a seething life full of sense.
We wanted to realize so many good plans in the Council of Deputies.
I remember my mother, father, my nearest and dearest, my comrades, friends… My beloved…
In an instant all my life flashes before my eyes, and it makes my heart wrung. Should this all disappear just now, in a moment?..
A senseless death makes all you life a senseless and purposeless plaything. Yes, a plaything!.. And if so, what’s the difference – to live or to die?.. If death, let it be death! But let it come sooner.
So my fate is sealed! I’m not afraid of death and I’m looking straight into its eyes. If the only things which remains in life is death, the man shouldn’t be afraid of it. He should meet his fate with his head erect!
The zhigits are silent…
We came to the outskirts. The kiss of death was waiting for us round the corner.
You’ve been living – and suddenly you are no more! All living things disappear. One sooner, another later… We’ll perish earlier than others… My poor mother will shed bitter tears!.. Can it really be true that we are going to die? Should my mother shed tears?.. No! We won’t die!.. We’ll now run away in different directions. There’ll be the crackle of gunfire, the sparkling of the sabre blade. And we’ll disappear in the night darkness… And we’ll come back to our auls…
We approached a stone house on the outskirts of the town. The iron gate creaked, opening, something began to drone and clank…
We were driven into a huge yard through the open gates.
Several men came out of the stone building. Serbov talked to them in a low voice, then discussed something with two armed men from the escort.
Some hope glimmered before our eyes.
The iron bars clanked again, we heard resounding voices. The minutes turned into eternity. A lot of time passed until there appeared two prison guards and took away one of us… Another followed. So they took us one by one and led away. And everyone anxiously expected for his turn to come. The comrades were getting more and more worried, because they didn’t know why they were taken into the house.
- What are they doing there?.. Killing? Tell me what they are going to do with us, - agitated Nurgain bothered me with his questions.
- They’re doing what they want!.. And stop talking mere twaddle!- I cut him short, losing patience.
- You are going to give orders even here?- Nurgain became angry.
I was sorry for cutting him short so untimely.
- Well, it’s no use speaking about it!- I calmed down my comrade.
Our voices somehow shook up the arrested, stiffen in gloominess, they livened up.
A conversation started... Meanwhile the escort took somebody and led him away.
My turn came. They led me through a narrow corridor, lit by a lamp, to the farthest door.
There was a Russian official there. Serbov stood near the window. They wrote down my name.
- Have you got any money?- the official asked.
They rummaged my pockets and, as nothing suspicious was found, they ordered to the escort:
- Take him away!..
They brought me into a dark cold ward with a cement floor. The heavy iron door slammed and the lock clanked outside.
A voice came from the dark depth of the ward:
- Who are you?
I recognized our comrade, lawyer Trofimov, by his voice. It was dark in the ward. I groped my way to the people, lying on the cement floor. We kept lying, exchanging a word or two from time to time.
Every now and then the door opened, letting the next prisoner in. One of them, groping a place for himself in the darkness, pushed away my leg.
- What’s lying here on the floor?- he asked in Russian with surprise.
- A man is lying on the floor,- I replied meaningfully.
- Too strong a word!- Trofimov put in from the far corner…
So we whiled away the night in this dark cave.
The sentries came when the day began. They raised us up and drove us out into the yard, tired and exhausted.
Then they stuffed us again into the wards and locked.
In the afternoon young officer Moiseev, an assistant of the Cossach commandant, came to our ward. He wasn’t a Cossack himself. His father was a big merchant from Akmolinsk. The son studied with me at Akmolinsk school. Once we sat at one desk with him. We were both interested in the newspapers and argued about the politics. It happened sometimes that we played together. Now there were the ensign’s shoulder straps on him.
When a war broke out at the Balkans, our teachers began to collect money for the Bulgarians. Benefit events were arranged. They scolded Turkey at that time and praised Bulgaria. 5-10 kopecks were collected from each student but I refused to contribute. Moiseev reproached me then and spread the rumour that Seifullin was a Turkish patriot.
In 1913 I left Akmolinsk for Omsk to continue my studies. I didn’t met Moiseev since then. And only in 1917, when there was a desperate fight for establishing the Soviet rule in Akmolinsk, I saw him again. We had to confiscate his father’s wealth: stone houses, mills, numerous cattle. I insisted on returning to the Cossacks the lands, captured by Moiseev on the banks of the Nura.
And we met now with young officer Moiseev as enemies.
His uniform was glistening, his shoulder belt was creaking. There was the prison warden near him and two more men, armed to the teeth. We exchanged glances with my former schoolmate – and that was all…
When Moiseev saw us sitting on the stone floor, he asked the prison warden about the daily routine, gave instructions in a low voice and went out.
Our friends who were at large, didn’t forget about us – they brought us parcels, shared news. This day, for example, the news was the following: several persons finally entered the list to be shot. The names were not known yet!..
The next day the news was different: they wouldn’t shoot anybody because the power is in the Bolsheviks’ hands in many places, including Omsk.
We gnawed fingers after this news – we had made a blunder!
The next day we were again taken out into the yard for a walk. I tried to speak to a student from our guard, a Socialist Revolutionary. He mocked at me.
There were the town commandant’s orders stuck in the yard, where the Bolsheviks were named enemies of the people and the country and where it was stated that the power would be taken away from the Bolsheviks in all Russia and they all would receive deserved punishment…
We learnt from these orders that Atbasar was captured, with power being in the hands of ataman Annenkov, and Petropavlovsk as well, with power wielded by colonel Volkov.
Many of us hung their heads even more. The thought was disturbing us: “At least Omsk shouldn’t surrender not to let the Cossacks throw aside all restraint!”
The next day it became known that Omsk was captured, too. The Cossacks went crazy.
It turned out that before Omsk was captured, the “heroes” – rebels, seizing the power in Akmolinsk, - were not sure of their strength, there were quite afraid. But when the news came about capturing Omsk, they threw aside all restraint.
Old and young merchants and small traders were taught soldiery. Those who were at least somehow connected with the Bolsheviks, were put into prison.
The wards were overcrowded. The majority of members of the Council of Deputies were in the first ward. Twenty-four men, who were considered the most dangerous, were put in irons. There was sailor Avdeev, the head of the Red Army headquarters, Pavlov and Monin, commissars of the Council of Deputies, Bochok, the chairman of the Council of Deputies, his deputies Katchenko and Serikbaev, Drizge, the head of the tribunal, Martlogo, Bogomolov and Asylbekov, commissars for Food Distribution, Seifullin, a member of the presidium of the Council of Deputies and a commissar for education, Pyankovsky and Scherbakov, commissars for Labour, Gryaznov, Adilev, Zhainakov, Bekmuhammetov, commissars of militia, Petrikeev, not even a member of the Council of Deputies, and others.
Arrested Zhumabai was brought under escort with his assistants, who went to Ereimen to give volost administrator Olzhabai Nuradin and Al’key their due. The unexpected happened – Zhumabai and his comrades were put in irons at Olzhabai’s insistence.
We were dressed in prisoners’ coloured clothes of linen canvas – the back and the collar were yellow, the rest was black.
We were given trousers and shirts with faded collars and disgusting black pea jackets.
When we were taken out for a walk, the yard was surrounded by the armed escort.
Giving parcels was forbidden after the fall of Omsk. The guard became larger… The guards changed all the time; sometimes they were ensigns and sometimes sons of the local rich, petty bourgeois, merchants.
The food was extremely bad – some skilly with dry rye bread and water.
The arrests of the Bolsheviks continued.
A group of workers from the plants of Uspensk, Spassk, Karaganda was also put to prison. The youth from the “Zhas Kazakh” was arrested.
Twelve wards were overcrowded but the authorities never knew rest and continued to stuff the stone barns with the Bolsheviks.
The Cossacks scoured the auls, rummaged every settlement of Akmolinsk District, like hungry wolves. The people were patiently bearing up under affliction, like a flock of sheep.
The situation of the poor got worse. Those, who tried to object, were whipped.
The people resisted unfair actions in different ways.
Once they needed a blacksmith to put us in irons. They called a Kazakh blacksmith. When he learnt the truth about the matter, he refused point-blank. He was severely whipped, still he didn’t obey the infamous order.
Common people were in despair. And those who didn’t like the Soviet rule rejoiced.
A rumour spread that we would be sent to Cossack ataman Dutov to Orenburg to be given short shrift to, that they were waiting for an important officer to create drumhead court martial and shoot all the leaders.
Our situation became more and more difficult with every passing day.
The news comes that the White Guardists are capturing towns in Siberia.
We discuss the circumstances together.
As soon as we move a hand or a leg, the irons clank like horses’ hobble. If we rise up all together, the clank of the irons fill the prison.
Once the Kazakhs in our ward began to speak about the fate of their comrades. How were they?
We spoke about Sabyr Sharipov from Kokchetav, the workers from Omsk – Tatimov, Zhanibekov, Mukeev, Shaimerden Alzhanov, from Petropavlovsk – Esmagambetov, Duisekeev, their district commissar Iskhak Kobekov, those who organized a democratic council of young Bolsheviks in Omsk, and about many, many others.
My closest friend was Shaimerden Alzhanov, a veterynary assistant, a vociferous opponent of the Alash-Orda.
I remember one story about him. In 1917 Bukeihanov came to Omsk from Orenburg. The colonels met him with enthusiasm. There was a rally. Only one man spoke against Bukeihanov – Shaimerden.
The Alash youth considered him crazy. Shaimerden left the meeting, as a mark of protest, together with Tautan Arystanbekov…
We thought not only about the fate of Akmolinsk comrades. At the time of establishing the Soviet rule in Semipalatinsk, when the enraged adherents of the Alash-Orda didn’t want to recognize this power, only teacher Nygmet Nurmakov from Karkaralinsk joined the Bolsheviks. After the October revolution he wrote me in one of his letters: “How are you, Saken? I understood that only the Bolsheviks can give freedom to the poor, brutally oppressed by the Tsarist rule. That’s why I became a Bolshevik…”
And so we spoke about Nygmet from Karkaralinsk.
In 1917-18 one could rarely hear that the Kazakhs voluntarily joined the Bolsheviks. It wasn’t informed about it in the newspapers. That’s why it was more difficult for the Kazakh Bolsheviks to wage a political struggle, to openly oppose the nationalistic policy of the Alash-Orda.
It was also difficult for us because all newspapers, published in Kazakhstan, supported the Alash-Orda, except the “Tirshilik” from Akmolinsk.
Learning about the political struggle of 1917-18, it is easy to come to the conclusion that at that time the educated people formed groups around newspapers and magazines. And if their views differed from the policy of the newspaper or magazine, they tried to express their point of view in the newspapers and magazines of other provinces.
In this great struggle of 1917-18 the newspaper “Sary-Arka” became the main mouthpiece of the Alash-Orda. And only Nygmet fron Karakalinsk of Semipalatinsk province contributed to our “Tirshilik”.
The Akmolinsk newspaper declaimed against the Alash-Orda. We were supported by Petropavlovsk newspaper “Ush zhuz”.
In 1918 our local ideological adversaries began to publish the newspaper “Zhas alashtar” – “Young adherent of the Alash-Orda”. The newspaper “Zhas Azamat”[72] was published in Petropavlovsk and tried to enhance the prestige of the bourgeois nationalist by all means.
Uralsk supporters of the Alash-Orda published the newspaper “Zhana Kazakh” – “New Kazakh” – in the town of Oyil for some time.
The newspaper “Birlik tuy”[73] spoke against the Soviet rule in Tashkent, the Alash-Orda was supported by Bukeevsk newspaper “Uran”[74], edited by Karashev, a poet and a mullah. Serik Zhakipov actively opposed them.
Omar Karashev wrote the anthem of the Alash-Orda and published a book, entitled “Terme”[75], where he praised Aleken (Alihan). He stated with enthusiasm that Aleken was the banner of the Kazakh people. There were pupils of gymnasiums and students around him…
Rereading these newspapers, it is difficult to believe now that at that time there were people in Kazakhstan who supported the Bolsheviks.
There were Bolsheviks in Akmolinsk, who avoided arrest: Turysbek Mynbaev, Zhahiya Aynabekov, Abubakir Esenbakov, Galim Aubakirov, Battal Smagulov, Zhamanaev, Bilyal Tinalin, Seit Nazarov, Aryn Maldybaev, Hakim Manazarov and many others.
The youth organization “Zhas Kazakh” learnt in advance about the impending arrest of the activists and managed to warn Baken Zhanabaev, Kozhebai Erdenaev, Salih Ainabekov, Omarbai Donentaev, Duisekey Sakbaev and other comrades.
No matter how our prisoners tried to deprive us of the connection with the world, we received more and more news from out of prison. We learnt that the government of the Alash-Orda was formed in Semipalatinsk. The “Sary-Arka” fully published its program. The newspaper appeared in Akmolinsk. They passed this issue of the newspaper, No 42 if I’m not mistaken, to our prison.
The appeal of the Alash-Orda was published there, which ran as follows:
“Let he who catches bandits and monsters, the Kazakh Bolsheviks, dispatch them on the spot. They should be all eliminated!”
We expected for the death every day…
The enemies of revolution – mullahs, arbitrators, volost administrators – held up their heads higher and higher with every passing day.
The enemies rejoice. The friends mourn.
And the Red brave men, the Bolsheviks, are in prison, put into irons.
The Cossacks, headed by ensigns, who guarded the prison, resembled a crowd of devils. Each one had a cartridge belt on his chest. Their caps had a smart tilt, they had red two-band trouser stripes. Everyone had rifles, sabres, whips. They loudly swore like a trooper for all the world to hear. Sometimes, the recruits from peasants were sent to guard the prison. Then the prisoners were more at ease.
The White Guardists, who seized the power, formed a committee for liquidation of the Bolshevism in Akmolinsk District. The committee was headed by Monarchist Serbov.
The rumours were new every day, it became known that the death penalty was already being applied in some places. Once Serbov came to the prison with the warden and seven or eight officers. Each of them had shoulder straps, their spurs clanked at the lightest movement.
It turned out that Serbov brought the head of town garrison with him. When they noisily entered our ward, the warden hoarsely commanded: “Stand up!” We stood up.
- Your case will be heard in a judicial proceeding. Each of you will be exhibited a charge in compliance with the law. Lawlessness won’t be tolerated!.. – the head of garrison announced to us.
When the Whites came to power, they urgently convened a district congress. Only bais and former volost administrators came from settlements and auls. But no matter how strictly the candidates were chosen, several sympathizers of the Soviet rule came to the congress from some places.
On the day of opening the congress they claimed: “First of all it is necessary to release from prison the members of the Councils of Deputies!”
The Cossack leaders, bais and officers, hit home by this suggestion, arrested on the spot those who sympathized the prisoners and interrogated them.
The Whites grew more furious day by day. Swaggering light-headed officers wandered along the streets. The officers and bais’ sons resembled rabid yearling camels.
There was no room for all arrested people in prison. Those, who were brought there, were dragged to the cellars of stone houses, a hasty check was done and the “harmless” were released. Some were released for a bribe. Some zhigits from the “Zhas Kazakh” were released, too.
Dyisekei Sakpaev, Termigaliy Asylbekov, working in the Council of Deputies, were released as “sympathizing the Bolsheviks”. Veterinary assistant Nauryzbai Zhulaev, Daut Begaidarov, teachers Galimzhan Kurmashov, Galiy Kitapov, clerk Karim Aubakirov and some others were released.
Uvali Hangeldin, an educated, wise zhigit, a true high-principled Socialist, was accidentally released with them thanks to the relatives’ help. Changing their mind, the authorities began to look for him to put him to prison again, but Uvali had time to escape.
Some confessed they had joined the Bolsheviks through ignorance; such people were released. For example, Nurzhan Shegin was released.
The situation in prison was getting worse. They took away our own clothes, including the underwear. They gave us state-owned underwear, made of linen canvas, a short variegated and black jacket and a linen bag, slightly filled with hay, instead of the bedding. We sleep on the wooden plank beds, and those, who came later, on the dirt or stone floor. The wards are sooty, stinking, very small and overcrowded. They don’t allow to receive parcels from out of prison. We are fed by water, slack-baked rye bread with a burnt crust. We make kumalaks[76] and pawns for playing from the half-baked bread.
Twelve wards are stuffed with the Bolsheviks. The prisoners have lost much weight, as though they had been attacked by a serious illness. There are two windows in our ward: there are bars on them, made of tetrahedral thick iron. There is a ventlight in one of the windows. It is forbidden to open it, but we keep it open all the time. The stuffiness doesn’t disperse at all, in spite of it. When we go to sleep, it is impossible to find a clear place the size of a palm neither on the plank beds, nor on the stone floor.
In the daytime we sit in a semi-circle and look for a way to fill in the time. Some play draughts, made of bread dough, the second exchange remarks, the third sing songs, the fourth gloomily mumble about something, the fifth sit motionless and silent for hours, staring through the window.
Every day the relatives or acquaintances of the arrested appear in front of the windows. The Cossacks don’t let anyone come close to us, and when they are relieved by the recruited peasants, the latter pretend not to notice anything forbidden, then we can exchange a couple of words with the relatives and hear from them about the life out of prison.
The prison is situated on the western outskirts of Akmolinsk. The windows of the first four wards open on the street. We can see the last town houses, the rolling steppe outside the town and a distant grove on the Ishim bank.
If the prison guard is good, I come close to the bars and look at the life out of prison for a very long time…
The summer flowers there, the town shows green, the blue Ishim flows between the green banks.
There is a house in nearly a hundred and fifty steps from our window, where an acquaintance of old Kremensky, one of our prisoners, live. Kremensky’s sons often come to this house, open the windows wide and secretly look at our ward through the field glasses. We call Kremensky himself to the bars and he begins to exchange silent gestures with his son. We don’t understand anything from their talk, but the old man does and he tells us another news.
It is especially difficult to spend the marvelous summer time in prison. Anyway, when and for whom is it easy to endure cram, stuffiness, dirt, stink and captivity? For a son of the free Kazakh steppes to find himself in irons, in a small ward is worse than in the sheer hell…
I’m sitting at the bars, looking out. I see a green rolling steppe in the distance. A breeze is gently fanning my face, like a piece of silk. I turn my chest to the wind. Its breath is healing my exhausted body. A quick thought brakes free and rushes far away like a falcon, who has burst his fetters and is leaving his prison behind. My thought is wandering over the green steppe, the carpet of meadow, the wide open spaces. In a scud it visits desolate mountains and wild woods, where the streams babble loudly. It reverently heeds the singing of birds – polyphonic, melodious and gentle; it passes the banks of large lakes with white swans, rushes along the river expanse, competing with it in the speed of its winding stream, sweeps past auls and returns again to the desolate unlimited expanse of the steppe…
I’m sitting at the bars… An unknown Kazakh is driving an ox, harnessed into a large coach, over there. They are coming from that far-away steppe. The ox doesn’t hurry up, it slowly drags the large coach, filled with dry dung. And the Kazakh is not in a hurry, too. Here, he gives a calm look at the prison windows and gives a lazy push to the ox. Lowering its head, the ox strolls at the same pace. The wheels of the large coach creak, move slowly with a dull, stifled groan… Oh, wonderful freedom, where are you?.. Who knows your true worth except the imprisoned people? This plain Kazakh is a hundred times happier than we – he is free, though having not a gaudy lot – to carry dry dung on the large coach. Oh, freedom, there’s nothing better than you! The Kazakh has passed, hurrying the ox on…
And after him a white goose slowly appears, leading its goslings one behind the other. Heavy with greeze, curving its long neck, it’s rocking slightly its beak and calmly and grandly pacing. It’s gently gaggling something to its offspring. They have seen the light just recently, they are tiny, yellow-beaked, they are following their mother, splaying out their feet, floundering, hurrying. They answer its gentle call with a feeble cheep. The goose looks back, worrying about the goslings and continues to slowly lead them to the lawn down there in a low place.
Here it is, the beauty of freedom! Here it is, a marvelous summer!
The white goose with the goslings stops there on the lawn…
A young Kazakh girl has appeared from somewhere. Even at a distance she is looking intently at the windows of the prison. She sees me behind the bars and stops her eyes on me. Her eyes are brilliant like prunes. She is about fifteen, she is thin, slim, of a medium height. She has a white dress with two flounces on the skirt; a black velvet cap is on her head. Her thick, silky black hair is done up in two plaits, and red silk ribbons are plaited into their ends. Walking slowly, she approaches the window… She is looking at the guards… Her pace has slowed down. She stops, looks back, as if waiting for somebody. Then she wistfully looks straight at me and goes on, unable to stand here for a long time. Her sincere glance seems to try to share my grief. She seemed to me a dear sister with an understanding heart and a willowy figure! Why are you looking at me so intently and sadly? Your glance resembles a swallow to me, sprinkling the water with its wings to extinguish the fire. Thank you!
You come in a day and continue to look intently at me. Who are you? Whose daughter are you? Who do you take us for? For great criminals, scoundrels, rakes, enemies of your people and your land? Are you looking at us with reproach or with sympathy? Oh, my sister with an understanding heart! No matter whose daughter you are, thank you!
This girl passed the windows of the prison many times. But she didn’t dare to come close, she wasn’t brave enough for it. We didn’t know whose daughter she was, but her face seemed familiar and dear to me. I got used so much to her visits, that missed her if I didn’t see her for two days.
Whether a lark sings in front of the iron bars, or the sun gives a glance into the cold, damp ward, or a silky breath of the breeze with fragrance of the green steppe penetrates into it, everything has its heeling power for the prisoner’s wounded heart. And the unknown girl seemed the strongest medicine to me. She also got used to seeing my face, began to greet me with a light nod.
Once an ominous rumour spread in prison that they were going to shoot one of us. The comrades in the ward got silent, absorbed in their sad thoughts. Everyone had irons on his hands or on his feet. Exhausted, we stared straight before ourselves with a lifeless, indifferent look. Accidentally I loked behind the bars. And I saw – she is coming. In a white dress with flounces on the skirt. With the red silk ribbons in her plaits. She’s going slowly and looking in through our window. The sadness, dragging at my heart-strings, vanished as if by magic, the black mist cleared up, the life became brighter.
I ran up to the bars, clanging with my irons. The comrades started, as if awaken from a nightmare, looked at me with cold surprise.
- What’s happened? What’s the matter?- somebody asked me sharply.
- Her is my sister!- I calmly answered. Some continued to look at me with surprise, the others swore with relief: “Ugh, damn you!..”
One day we learnt that the former head of garrison was removed and a new one came in its place. The next day a group of officers entered our ward, headed by Serbov and the warden, with glimmering shoulder straps and clanking spurs. After opening the door with a creak, the warden was the first to step in and he loudly ordered us: “Stand up!” The officers with rifles and sabres crowded the ward. All of them looked with servility, as hunting dogs, at their young head with bulging eyes, with his cap cocked, like that of a reveler or a drunkard, lying under the fence. He had a revolver on his belt, a sabre on his side, a whip in his hand. When he entered the ward, he stopped, with his feet awkwardly apart.
- You are mostly Kazakh?- he was surprised. Serbov began to paint a picture of our “services to the country”, insidiously, with feeling, wit and punctuation enumerating our posts and ranks of each of us taken separately…
The newly appointed head of garrison Goncharov came from Petropavlovsk.
The new head whooped things up day and night, drank heavily without stopping.
A rumour reached us that a lot of our comrades from Omsk, Petropavlovsk and Kokchetav were shot. People were shot without trial only in the first , crazy days of the uprising. It became known now that they would legally shoot us in Akmolinsk.
The prisoners got used to the word “shooting”. There was no hope to be released. They began to grade us. Seventy or eighty men out of the “most Red” were left here, were not called in for questioning, and the other group, consisting of about sixty prisoners, was sent to Petropavlovsk. Comrade Kalegaev, who came to us from Omsk two or three days before the fall of the Council of Deputies and was imprisoned, was sent with this group.
Sometimes we heard a comforting rumour that “the Whites are exhausted, the Reds are attacking them, pressing, following fast on their heels!” It was impossible to check it, so we kept sitting and making guesses. “The Reds will finally win, there’s no doubt, but we won’t see the victory”, - we regretted in our wards.
Our comrades lost weight, had a pinched face. We kept drinking water and eating half-baked rye bread. We wouldn’t have lost weight even at this ration, if it had not been for the brutal abuse of the superiors, visiting us every day. Disturbing thoughts, heavy irons, daily news about new people being shot, close air and the stone floor of the ward tormented us.
Our strength was flagging day by day, our spirits were revived less and less often. Our comrades were put into all wards, there were Kazakh robbers in a single ward with the open door. Every day our comrades were taken out to the fenced prison yard for a ten or fifteen minutes walk. At this time the clank of our irons echoed throughout the prison.
Once our ward was also taken out for a walk. There were armed guards in the enclosure. The windows of four or five wards faced the enclosure and the comrades looked at us through the bars. Some of them, men of spirit, greeted us, nodded encouragingly. The others gloomily and hopelessly shook their heads.
Put into irons, we were going back and forth in the enclosure, surrounded by the guards. That day was especially sad. We saw the sad eyes of our comrade Kondratyeva in the window behind the bars. Holding the iron bars with her hand, leaning on her chin, she started singing a mournful song of a slave. She had a beautiful, sincere voice, it reminded me the sound of the kobyz[77]. The tears slowly ran down the cheeks of this wonderful woman.
“…Break my fetters, give me freedom, I’ll teach you to love freedom”, - she was singing.
Comrade Bogomolov, a prisoner from our ward, a sensitive and gentle man by his character, a poet, stopped, leant against the lamp post and began to cry softly…
Once one of the robbers, sitting in prison, came to our ward. He brought us a cock of new-mown hay.
“They brought me out for work today and I took this cock for your bed”, - the Kazakh said, throwing us the hay.
Our joy exceeded all bounds. We embraced the fragrant hay, enjoyed its smell, touched it like children, missing their mother. Baimagambet (Zhainakov) was so touched that he spared the hay for a long time, smelled it and joyfully clutched to his chest. At these moments the desire to be released, to go to the fragrant summer steppe was especially acute…
My sister passes the windows of prison once in three days. She nodds me – hello. Every day the white goose comes to the lawn aslant the prison, leading its goslings behind it. Tiny, yellow-beaked, they grow day by day.
There were rare anecdotes in the joyless monotony of prison life… As I have already told you, we were given raw water and rye bread, that’s why everyone naturally dreamt of better food. We dreamt about meat and kumiss because we were Kazakhs. It seemed to us that if one had shown us tasty horse sausage, we would have rushed after it to the ends of the world.
No parcels are accepted, they keep a wary eye, but as the people say: “The one who guards is always defeated by the one who takes”. The pieces of smoked kaza[78] come in snatches to our ward, not every day but sometimes, when there are people, sympathizing with us, among the prison guards. The sausage a vershok[79] long, wrapped in a cloth, is passed through the judas window and falls to the groung with a thud. Husain (Kozhamberlin), standing in readiness, is very quick on the uptake, like a kumai[80]. The day, when Husain’s young wife passes in front of our window and lets us know about the parcel, Husain doesn’t let the judas window out of his sight. And we watch Husain in our turn and suffocate with desire, like hungry golden eagles at the sight of their victim.
Here, the top of the sausage appears in the judas window. Husain grabs it on the uptake and sits for a minute, holding the sausage in his fist. We have no knife to divide it in equal pieces, it is impossible to break it by hands – the piece is too little. So everyone must bite off his part.
Holding the sausage in the clentched fist and letting out an end of the sausage a finger wide, Husain brings it close to the comrade’s mouth. Everyone has the right to bite off the part which is due to him… The turn of Baiseit (Adilev) comes. Husain brings the sausage close to him. Baiseit, pretending to be a poor half-dead man, reaches out with his mouth for the sausage and turns away with a deep sigh.
- Why don’t you bite?- Husain wonders.
- Can this crumb appease my hunger?!.-Baiseit answers and looks even more pitiable. - No, you’d better eat it yourselves. You can’t feed everyone with a vershok of sausage. Eat, let me alone be hungry… - Baiseit humbly and mournfully replies and lies down on the bed with a sigh.
- Bite, where can we find more for you?!- Husain asks him.
We sympathetically surround Baiseit and begin to comfort him.
- Let’s give him a bigger part, - somebody finally offers.
After a moment’s hesitation Husain lets the sausage out for a half-finger more and offers it to Baiseit. The half-dead Baiseit slowly raises his head. He gives a slanting glance at the sausage and its owner. Both of them keep a wary eye on each other for some time, Husain slowly brings the treat nearer to Baiseit and the latter, swift as a pike, grabs the sausage together with Husain’s fingers. Husain leaves hold of the whole piece with a cry, trying to save his hand, and Baiseit swallows at once half of our part and a struggle for the rest of the sausage begins.
Such episodes add animation to our life in prison.
After snatching an extra piece of sausage Baiseit becomes more animated, begins to joke, tells us some story , sings a shivaree in Russian, composed by one Russian clerk. The song is entitled “The call of a young Kyrgyz (Kazakh) girl to her beloved”.
Oh, airan[81] of my desires,
Kumiss of my passions,
Kaimak[82] of my hopes,
And sheep of my soul.
You caught me unawares like barymta[83],
You touched my poor heart with a whip.
You raised my Kyrgyz spirit,
Falling asleep in my yourt.
Love’s better than a motley coat,
It’s sharper than a damask sword,
Burning blood like dung.
Please, come, my dear shaitan,
And drop down in the dust.
My mournful call is merging
With mares’ passionate call.
Baiseit masterfully acted it out, looking serious, with his chest well out, getting on his high horse as a real actor.
We had a good laugh.
Once we were told there would be no death penalty at all. This rumour seemed verisimilar. We could breathe easier now. Soon they began to accept parcels for us. The warden himself began to talk in secret to some prisoners.
They began to call us in for questioning. We were led, eight or ten of us, to the place of investigation under the escort of the mounted Cossacks.
“What do they question about?” – we asked impatiently our comrades who had already been at the investigation.
My turn came. They drove at once fifteen of us in one group. Our feet were in irons. The mounted Cossacks held their sabres drawn. We were lined in two. Those who were higher, Baiseit and I, were put ahead of the group. It was a hot day, just the high point of the summer fourty days[84]. Women, children, old, young, Tatars, Kazakhs, Russians, mounted and on foot, crowded in the street. Clanking with our irons, we swing along the middle of the street under escort. We silently look at the public. I see my friends and acquaintances in the crowd. They greet us in different ways – sympathetically, gloomily, calmly, pressing hands to their breast and slightly nodding. Suddenly I meet my father’s eyes, who came from the distant steppe. He’s looking at me helplessly, sadly and lovingly from a distance. I have also noticed Baiseit’s, Abdulla’s and Zhumabai’s parents in the crowd and their friends from auls. Everyone is silent, hiding anxiety, suppressing anger and resentment. They have no strength to snatch us from the hands of our executioners, because they are armed. We pass the street under the intent looks of our friends and enemies, standing on both sides of the street. The irons are clanking, the people are crying in the street, we are coming one after the other, with bare head and chest.
In the big crowd I saw a girl who came to the prison windows, my “sister”. There were tears in her innocent eyes. She nodded me and I also nodded her with gratitude. We recovered our spirits under the looks of the crowd, strode more confidently.
The committee of inquiry was in session in the building of a former school. In winter I lived in teacher Tokarev’s house, in the mansion, located in this school’s yard. I entered my former flat in the prisoner’s clothes of linen canvas, bareheaded and in irons. We were ahead and met Tolebai Nuralin on the staircase. Looking straight at me, Tolebai asked:
- How are you, Saken? -
- Thank God! – I answered.
Tolebai disappeared behind the door in a moment. Unlike Tolebai, our feet were not so quick then, we could hardly drag them, clanking our irons.
The commodore entered one of the rooms. He soon came out of it with a Russian and they called in our first comrade for questioning…
They called in one by one, questioned and led away.
I looked through the window at the yard. There was Tokareva, an old woman, an owner of my winter flat. When she saw me, she shook her head with regret…
My turn came. I entered the room. The committee was sitting near the table. It was presided over by Cossack Chontonov. Just before questioning me Serbov had left the room. There was a black beard Russian peasant and three Kazakhs among the members of the committee. One of them was Merchant Tashti, the second was well-known mullah Manten and the third was Tolebai. When I approached the table, Tashti and Manten greeted me in a low voice:
- How are you, Saken?
I answered:
- Thank God!
Chontonov himself started to question me:
- How did you become a member of the Council of Deputies?
- I was elected by the steppe Kazakhs, according to the wish of common people.
- Whose interests were you going to defend?
- The interests of the Kazakh people, especially of the working population, who elected me.
- What work did you lead?
- I led the work, connected with the education issues in Akmolinsk District.
Chontonov didn’t ask and I didn’t remind him that I was a member of the presidium of the Council of Deputies.
- Did you take part in meetings and gatherings?
- I did.
- Did you make speeches?
- I did.
- What did you speak about?
- I don’t remember.
- Did you enter the Bolshevik Party?
- I did.
- Are you for or against convening the Constituent Assembly?
- I’m not against convening it, if there are the representatives of working people in the Constituent Assembly.
- What’s you attitude to the religion?
- I’m not a religious person.
- It appears you swore the mosque with obscene words?
- It’s impossible to swear an object with obscene words.
- What did you write in the newspaper “Tirshilik”, published here in Kazakh?
- Mostly I wrote poems.
Here a black beard peasant asked me a question:
- Are you a writer?
- Not a very successful... Still I write a bit.
- What poems did you write, about what?
- I mostly described the life of people.
Chontonov asked me again:
- Why did you write exactly the poems?
- First, I can write poems, second, I don’t think that writing poems is a crime.
The black beard peasant told Chontonov:
- Does it make any difference if he did write poems about the life of people? If he can, let him do it!
- It appears that you wrote a social play for the first of May and put it on the stage. You are said to praise the Bolsheviks in this play!
- This play is my first work. Yes, it was put on the the stage on the first of May in Akmolinsk. It showed the insatiability of volost administrators, clerks, bais and mullahs at the time of recruiting the Kazakh youth for the logistical works in 1916.
After a pause Chontonov addressed his neighbours, the Russian and Kazakh members of the committee:
- Do you have any questions to the arrested?
Everyone kept silent. Tolebai turned to me:
- Did you really write only poems in the newspaper “Tirshilik”?
- I also wrote little articles sometimes.
Tolebai took out an issue of the “Tirshilik”:
- Didn’t you yourself write this article, where ataman Dutov and the Alash-Orda are abused in every possible way? Isn’t “Shamil” your pen name?
- My name is Saken.
- No, we know that it’s you. We were informed about it by the members of the editorial board.
- They could make a mistake.
- If so, who is this “Shamil”?
- I don’t know. Rahimzhan Duisembaev is an official editor of the newspaper. Ask him.
I knew that at that time Rahimzhan Duisembaev was in hiding, in the steppe, so I pretended not to know “Shamil”.
Tolebai took out one more paper from his pocket:
- Well, do you recognize this work?
He was holding in his hands my letter, addressed to the Siberian Krai Council of Deputies, where I reported in details about the activities of the Alash-Orda. He unfolded the paper in front of me and asked:
- Don’t you swear the supporters of the Alash-Orda here?.. Isn’t it your signature?..
I couldn’t reject it for it was the text which I checked after printing.
- Perhaps I did write it.
I was forced to put my signature on the margin to confirm my authorship.
Again Tolebai took some paper out of his pocket:
- Do you recognize? Didn’t you write it on behalf of the people?
This was the original of our telegram, addressed to Moscow on behalf of Akmolinsk congress of the poor. There were also my amendments after printing it. I couldn’t reject it, I was caught red-handed.
- When this telegram was being written, I was present there, too, - I answered.
- Who else was present there?
- There were lots of people there. I don’t remember who was present and who was absent.
- Sign the telegram, indicating: “I wrote it”, - suggested Tolebai.
- How can I ascribe collective work to myself?
I was finally forced to sign, except that I indicated that “I took part in writing it”.
- Are you against the Alash-Orda? – Chontonov asked.
- Yes, I’m against! – I answered.
- Why?
- After the dethronement of the Tsar the members of the Alash-Orda decided to separate the Kazakhs from the Russian people and become Kazakh khans, independent local Tsars. And from our point of view, the Kazakh people, liberated from the autocracy, don’t need any khans. The nationalists wanted to totally separate themselves from the Russians, to oust all peasants from the Kazakh lands. This could result in a catastrophy. We would have lost the support of the Russian working people, who dethroned the Tsar and achieved equality for the Kazakh working masses. That’s why I opposed the Alash-Orda.
The Russian members of the committee exchanged inquiring glances, the black beard peasant looked with an unfavorable eye at the Kazakhs.
It seemed to me that the present Russians learnt about the true objectives of the Alash-Orda only now, from my words. Tolebai, trader Tashti and mullah Manten didn’t know where to escape. They turned red, their unclean blood rushed to their head.
The Russians continued to watch their neighbours, adherents of the Alash-Orda, in an unfriendly and questioning manner. Seeing that my words struck home, I signed the paper.
I was offered to go out into the hall. The next comrades were being questioned. I stopped near the window in the hall. Tashti and Tolebai approached me and pretended to speak peacefully to me. If one took a detached view, they might seem my close relatives.
- Don’t worry, the time will come when you’ll be released, - they calmed me down.
I studied with Tolebai at the same town school, we were friends with him. We now exchanged “friendly” reproaches.
After some minutes my “benefactors” went to continue the investigation.
I entered one of the school classes together with Baiseit. We were sent kumiss here through one of the guards.
We were enjoying the kumiss, when we suddenly noticed two Kazakh women, who came close to our window. One of them was Baiseit’s wife, the other was his mother-in-law. Judging from our satisfied looks they decided that the vague hopes for a good outcome of the affair would be justified. Pointing to their white kimesheks, they seemed to ask us: how are you, are you clean, freed from the blame, justified?
I shook my head.
The committee continued to question. Different low rank officers never stopped to go in, go out, rush along (rabid like cows, pursued by gadflies). Some of them had whips in their hands, some had birch-rods. Their eyes gleamed like those of frightened young camels. When the committee finished its work, we strung out towards prison, clanking our irons, hurried by the mounted escort.
After the investigation we heard the rumour that only the most dangerous criminals would be left in prison and all others would be released.
Every day new rumours appear, often impossible to believe, sometimes aggrieving and sometimes rejoicing.
Everyone longs for freedom..
More and more often our friends, relatives, our fathers, who came from the distant steppe, appear in front of the prison windows.
We try to nod cheerfully to them, to greet them. They answer with an unsaid bitterness, pinching the heart. Sometimes, if the prison guard is humane, we manage to exchange a few words with them.
One day sadly resembles another. The time seems to stop, come to a standstill. We play chess and draughts of raw bread. We speak about the past. Sometimes we play tricks on each other to kill the time.
I keep sitting at the bars for a long time. That girl with a red ribbon in her plaits comes, not every day but at least sometimes, and looks intently at our window. We greet each other. As usual, the white goose passes to the lawn in the low place, leading her goslings. They have grown up, they stride confidently, their wings have become strong…
The days pass slowly. The prisoners are often moved from one ward to another. When I am placed into the ward with the widow, giving on the yard, sullen despair seizes me.
Once we learnt that Baiseit’s relatives sent a telegram to the Alash-Orda, asking to release him from prison. When Tynyshpaev and Akaev, members of the Alash-Orda, fled from Turkestan to Semipalatinsk through Akmolinsk District, Baiseit mercifully showed them the right way. And now, thinking that one good turn deserved another, the relatives asked for help and told about it in prison. Perplexed, we expected for the outcome… Baiseit flared up with hope.
Once Baiseit’s younger brother appeared near the prison. He ran at a safe distance from the prison, stopped and guessing that we were watching him, he told the following news to a passer-by, as if not knowing about our existence:
- Hey, listen to a happy news! Our Baken[85] will be released soon!
We understood the boy’s ruse and rejoiced for Baiseit. Some time passed and Baiseit’s wife passed in front of the window with her mother and father – veterinarian Nauryzbai Zhulaev, who also spent several days in prison after the revolution. They came together, the boy being with them, too. Nauryzbai took off his cap and waved it as a signalman, making it clear that a telegram was received from Tynyshpaev and Akaev with a request to release Baiseit…
Still, Baiseit was not released.
And the time passed. The yellow-beaked goslings, hatched in the first days of our imprisonment, grew up and didn’t follow their mother to the lawn any more.
The situation in prison was comparatively better. But some officers and prison guards nagged us, hissing like snakes, continued to use obscene language in our respect, sometimes became brutal and ferocious with no reason at all. Once, as usual, we were taken for a walk to the enclosed yard, in complete accordance with the prison regulations. Thre I began to wash myself with cold water, drawing it with a tea glass. I had to move my irons from the ankle to the calf. Frolov, a deputy warden, thin, with moustache and a red birthmark on the cheek, happened to pass me at that moment. The imprisoned Kazakhs called Frolov “kaldybet” and the Russians – “red-cheeked” respectively. This kaldybet Frolov abruptly stopped near me and said with reproach:
- You don’t know how to wear irons! What kind of prisoner is that!
What could I answer him?!..
Summer fourty days came – the most sultry time. Harvesting began. Parcels were now regularly received, sometimes from unknown people. I received these parcels without the indication of the sender’s name several times… Whatever the case, life in prison became much better.
Some events of the prison life of that period are clearly stuck upon my memory.
We, Kazakhs, were often moved from one ward to another, seven-eight times each.
After the inspection and thorough investigation there remained about fifty staunch Bolsheviks in prison. There were nearly eight or nine Kazakhs among them. We tried to stick together whenever it was possible. When we happened to be placed in the ward, giving on the street, we spent a long time near the bars. Our relatives and friends passed the windows every now and then. Sometimes unknown passers-by also greeted us. One could see who his faithful friends and overt enemies were on this thorny path of struggle.
Akshal and Uitkibek, who came with my father from the distant steppe, often went along the prison. Husain’s and Baiseit’s young wives often brought parcels. Abdulla’s bride Banu masterfully bitched the prison warden and guards and told us the news in her notes.
Even we, prisoners, didn’t always understand at once Banu’s ruse and tricks. For example, one fine day she sent us some tea for brewing, wrapped in blank paper. The prison guard thoroughly examined this unusually modest parcel and, being sure that nothing was wtitten on the piece of paper, gave us the parcel. Accidentally we wetted the paper and there appeared some words. That’s how we learnt another news from out of prison.
Banu took our underwear with her for washing. Sometimes the shirt, washed by her, lacked a button on a sleeve. Then we began to look for it on the touch and found four hardly seen letters: “kara” – look! We unripped a pleat on the sleeve or under the arm and found Banu’s note, where the news were written in small but understandable hand.
No one was allowed a visit. Sometimes, a five-ten minute visit in the presence of a prisom guard was granted thanks to the supreme mercy of the authorities, generally due to the importunity of a relative. I remember that among the Kazakhs only Zhumabai managed to receive permission for his father’s short visit. When Gyulyparap came from the studies in Omsk, she was allowed a five minute visit to see me. (Gyulyparap didn’t recognize me at once, that’s how the appearance changes in prison!)
Among the Russian women it was Pavlov’s wife who regularly kept in touch with us. She surpassed all other women by her quick wit and ruse. Once she managed to send us a message: “The question whether the death penalty should be used in your case will be solved within two days. If the news is fatal, I’ll go past your windows in a black dress. If the news is good, I’ll tie a red kerchief round my head…” All the prisoners learnt about this conventional sign.
The window of our small ward opened on the yard. One day there spread the news that Pavlov’s wife came to prison to visit her husband. I kept a sharp eye on rare visitors, coming to the building of the watch. Here, Pavlov’s wife quickly entered it. She was dressed in black!.. In a minute Pavlov himself was led in irons, escorted by a prison guard. The wife rushed to her husband and embraced him in the presence of the prison guarf, shedding tears. Then she left without looking back… Seeing her black clothes, we lost heart. I exclaimed: “It’s all over and done with, our tale is told!..” The comrades gloomily agreed: yes, it was all over!..
When Pavlov returned to the ward, we rushed to him. It turned out that their child had died and so her mother came in mourning.
The day came when when the warden permitted us to receive letters dealing with the family and household problems, but not with politics.
Once we received a postcard, signed by Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, a student from Omsk. The postcard was written in Russian. It was said there: “…Vahtcha Ukmetov[86] is ill with tuberculosis. The surgeons refuse to treat him. Ulkenbek Sabitov[87] is recovering. Dnche[88] arrived safely”.
After receiving such a postcard, we took heart. We also informed our Russian friends about it.
At the end of the postcard Dinmuhammet managed to write the following: “I returned safely from the front. I fought against ataman Semenov in Chita”.
We easily understood the contents of this secret message. The affairs of the White Army government are hopeless, the people refuse to support it. The Soviet rule is getting stronger…
In prison each comforting news inspires, cheers up the prisoners.
In the days of trials, on the thorny path of struggle for justice a friend’s faithfulness, an enemy’s meanness comes to light, the humanness of some people and the brutality of the others are easier to see. Before it, when we established the people’s rule, a lot of people fawned upon us, imposed their friendship on us. When we found ourselves in a difficult situation, these toadies, anxious to please, turned their back on us at once. And some of them resorted to blows instead of helping us. We had a lot of chances to receive evidence of the truthfulness of the Kazakh proverb: “The friends are few and the enemies are many”.
Many of us realized now that it wasn’t serious to claim that I knew this or that comrade very well and I’d stake my head on him, while we were still free. A man’s real character, his true nature is revealed in difficult times. If you want to test what the person is worth, watch him in troubles.
Some people whom we used to consider good, when we were free, turned out to be good-for-nothing, weak , unfaithful. And on the contrary, those who behaved unworthily in some cases and were in our black book, proved themselves to be independent and courageous people in troubles.
Here are a few examples.
At the time of the October revolution a man whose name was Bochok regularly made speeches at the meetings in Akmolinsk. First he introduced himself as a worker of Ekibastuz plant. He was always poorly dressed but could speak well and always claimed to be a member of the revolution of 1905.
Bochok became the leader of the young Bolsheviks of Akmolinsk. We elected him the chairman of Akmolinsk Council of Deputies. He assured us that he used to be a left Socialist Revolutionary and now he became a Communist…
There was no the Bolshevik Party in Akmolinsk before these events. So we, Russian and Kazakh comrades, first created a Bolshevik organization on the eve of organizing the Council of Deputies in the residence of the district administrator.
And then, at the crucial moment the leader of Akmolinsk Bolshevik detachment, always playing the role of a revolutionary hero, surrendered Akmolinsk Council of Deputies to the hands of the counter-revolutionaries without a fight. He knew beforehand about the uprising against the Council of Deputies, but he didn’t inform about it either rank-and-file members of the Council of Deputies or us, members of the presidium. Bochok was the first to fall into the enemy’s hands, he gave his own order to the Red Army detachments to stop the fire without our consent. And when he was put to prison, into irons, Bochok changed his tune: “I’m a left Socialist Revolutionary. I have never been a Bolshevik…”
Bochok’s cowardice was not an isolated case. There was one more activist from Akmolinsk. He always spoke on behalf of the Bolsheviks, beat his breast and, due to his persistence, wormed his way to the presidium of the Council of Deputies. When the counter-revolution won and this “Bolshevik” was arrested and sent to prison with us, he swore the imprisoned Bolsheviks with tears in his eyes and so skilfully that they believed him and released him.
And here’s another example. The Petrokeevs, a husband and a wife, enthusiastic social activists, worked in Akmolinsk. We didn’t communicate closely with them, that’s why we knew little about them. They weren’t in the Council of Deputies. We considered Petrokeev a Menshevik, didn’t trust him, though Petrokeev himself insisted that he wasn’t a Menshevik. The Whites arrested him with us. And we received evidence that the husband and the wife behaved as real heroes.
There were quite a lot of people with a weak will and broken spirit, sitting in prison together with us. Once Baiseit, looking at one of such weaklings, bitterly said:
- Oh God, why the earth didn’t swallow us up when we worked with these small people, went hand in hand with them?!
I remember Baiseit’s bitter words until now. In life we can often meet people, seeming worthy, deserving respect. But their true character is revealed at the time of hardships. The most disgusting, petty characters are revealed in the hardships, but also the most virile ones. I’d like to speak here about Vyazov and Balandin, people, whom everyone treated with respect, but then turned their back on them. Short-tempered, passionate Baiseit always openly expressed his indignation at the unworthy conduct of this or that man, flung his hostility in their faces.
Once Vyazov started some treacherous talk with two comrades in the corner of the ward. There were about twenty men in the ward and almost all of them didn’t like Vyazov. There were no plank beds there, so we were sitting on the stone floor, leaning against the bags, filled with hay. Baiseit was sitting in the opposire corner and looked in Vyazov’s direction from time to time.
- What’s he talking about?- Baiseit was filled with indignation.. –What’s he talking nonsense about?
Vyazov continued to speak.
- Vyazov, come here!- Baiseit couldn’t stand it any longer..
- What’s the matter? – the latter replied.
Baiseit looked straight at Vyazov and exclaimed::
- Why are you such a fool?!
Of course, Vyazov flared up.
- What have you said, repeat it!!
He bothered Baiseit, but he didn’t even turn to his side and lay down on his bag.
We watched these two characters in this short bickering. It’s so important to preserve one’s civil dignity at the time of a great trial!
Such comrades as Katchenko, Oleinikov, Bogomolov, Monin, Shafran, Pyankovsky, Trofimov, Gryaznov, Martlogo, Kremensky, Afanasiev, the Petrokeevs, a wife and a husband, proved themselves to be true defenders of the working class and honest Bolsheviks. A lot of Kazakh and Tatar comrades remained honest and steadfast until the end. I saw no “zigzags” in their behaviour.
There were few who followed this thorny path without stumbling until the very end. One could fall several times, getting lost on this difficult path. Lots of people behaved unworthy in a difficult situation[89].
It is not right to simply believe a man, who proudly claims “I’m such and such”, if he doesn’t come through trials. Who you are will be clearly seen when you you are grimly determined to die or to win in your fight with an enemy… Only when an enemy tenaciously gripped you, when you are put in irons behind the prison bars, you’ll understand your nature and see what kind of zhigit you are! It is impossible to have a final and strong view of yourself in a quiet and peaceful life, without going through hardships and privations in the struggle for the right cause.
“You can see a batyr in the battle and a phrasemonguer in a dispute”, - the proverb says.
...They began to send the comrades from the ward to gather cabbage and potatoes at the prison farm. The vegetable gardens were located in the outskirts of the town, on the Ishim bank. Now the prisoners’ close relatives began to wait for them near the prison farm. Our communication with the world improved.
They took for work mostly the prisoners, giving bribes, or those whom the warden liked due to their quiet behaviour. They were without irons on their feet, of course. Gradually, the turn of those put into irons came. After removing the irons, they took Husain, then Baiseit, then Zhumabai. Among the Russians Bochok, Vyazov, Trofimov, Pavlov, Oleinikov, Kremenskoy, Pyankovsky and others had a chace to work at the farm. It was good for them, they met their dear ones.
At that time cholera burst out in Akmolinsk. We were told that Baiseit’s father fell ill. Baiseit managed to go to the vegetable garden. He gave a big bribe to the commodore and he let him go home with a prison guard. That day Baiseit didn’t return to the ward.
At dawn I rose up from my bag and started looking in the yard, holding the bars with both hands. Here, Baiseit went through the watch, accompanied by the prison guard. When he entered the ward, he approached me and gloomily leaned against the wall.
- Saken... My father has died...- he said under breath and began to cry quietly.
Tears flowed from my eyes, too. My hardened heart softened at once, letting the tears fall reluctantly.
Husain “became friends” with the commodore first of all. Sometimes he even stayed at the vegetable garden for the night. Once he managed to treat Serbov together with the head of garrison. Our fate was in the hands of these people, so in exactly three day time after the treatment Husain was released.
Husain and Baiseit were so trusted by the warden that at their request Zhumabai and later Abdulla was taken to the vegetable garden. After coming to the vegetable garden, the prisoners tried by all means to give the warden a bigger bribe. Our dear ones also gave bribes. Returning to prison in the evening, the comrades could try to guess who else would be permitted to go to the vegetable garden. The irons of the new ones were removed beforehand.
The day came, when they removed the irons from me. When I went into the street, I felt like a falcon, liberated from captivity. Free people surprised me, my freedom was something unusual for me. When I saw people without escort, I felt as if I had just been born. The town, occupied with its problems, seemed unfamiliar to me. We were driven to the vegetable garden past the outskirts of the town. It was an autumn day, cloudless and warm. I wanted to embrace the earth, sky air, trees, grass, river, everything in short. The outskirts stretched along the Ishim. The leaves in the trees were still green, but they had already turned light yellow on the poplars, resembling a greying head of an old man. It was warm and sunny in the garden. The breeze semed to make the leaves dance.
And when we climbed up a little hill, we saw the endless steppe behind the vegetable gardens, merging with the blue horizon. We returned to life with every breath, with every minute. We spent three summer months in irons in a stinking prison and now, when were out at last, everyone felt a pleasant languor, avidly breathed in flagrant air, as if wanted to be sated and to take some with him as a reserve. We were drinking the air like intoxicating kumiss.
The Ishim flows near us. We take shovels, ketmens, rolled up our sleeves and get down to work…
The vegetable gardens are guarded by prison guards.
We look intently into the steppe for a long time, direct our faces towards the native auls. Wherever you look, there are free people everywhere, which is amazing and somehow unusual for a prisoner. They are all rushing, hurrying, worrying about something. I see a Kazakh, bearing a great resemblance to that one, going past the prison windows with his cart loaded with dry dung. I see Kazakh riders, I see people, rushing in their carts from auls. I can not help thinking that a man is not able to appreciate freedom, if he hasn’t been in prison!
I stood on the hill at the end of the garden for a long time and looked intently to the south – in the direction of my native aul. I dreamt. I wished I’d escape from prison, disappear in the endless steppe… I’d ride far away on the camel with those unfamiliar Kazakhs. Or, if not on the camel, then in the cart drawn by oxen. I’d steal into my aul…
Thanks to the fresh air, blood came to the pale, withered faces of the prisoners. The shadows of suffering, hiding under the eyes of every prisoner, disappeared, the rays of hope lit up their eyes.
Soon the relatives and friends of the arrested came. My father came, too.
The work in the vegetable gardens was a paradise for the prisoners. We dug up potatoes, pealed it, cut different herbs[90], added some meat and cooked soup in a bucket.
The meat, cooked in the open air, seemed the most tasty to us.
A happy chance to go to the vegetable garden didn’t happen every day. We were taken there in turns, the turn came in three or four days.
Once they took us to the bathhouse under escort. The people crowded aroud us all the way. I saw my father near the gates of the bathhouse, greeted him and we quickly exchanged news. My father bid farewell to me for he was returning to the aul.
Working in the vegetable garden, we learnt about the activities of the White Guardists, who came to power. The people sympathized with us. The prison guards were now quiet with us. They didn’t send away the strange, pretended they didn’t notice anything wrong. The people shook our hands and some openly greeted us from afar.
The crazy men, who raised their heads on the day of the Cossack uprising, on the day of the defeat of the Council of Deputies, now came to their senses and seemed to quieten. These light-headed people began to think about the Council of Deputies, after experiencing first-hand the kicks and whips of the Whites …
The district government of the Alash-Orda appeared in Akmolinsk. The members of the committee of inquiry, who questioned the Bolsheviks, came to power: mullah Manten, huckster Tashti, volost administrator Olzhabai, clerk Tolebai Nuralin, doctor Tusip. Volost administrators, merchants, mullahs were lost to all sense of shame, but named themselves the representatives of the Alash-Orda and boasted like cocks, crazy with lust. They mocked at the freedom of women and equality of the poor.
Once about twenty prisoners were returning from the vegetable gardens back to prison. As usual, there were armed guards behind and on each side. We were going two by two. When we were passing Slobodka, we saw a Kazakh woman near a little modest hut. She knitted her brows, her face was pallid. It could be seen that heart grief tormented her. There were three Kazakhs in our group. When were going past her, this woman looked at us, pressed her hands to the chest and bowed her head with great respect, wholeheartedly greeting us. The sad image of this Kazakh woman still lives in my memory… There was no doubt that this woman was convinced our cause was right.
They continued to take us to the vegetable garden. Everyone longed for freedom, especially the Kazakh zhigits. Baiseit and I began to dream about escape. Before trying to flee, we decided to get Kazakh clothes to change the prison clothes, standing out a mile, and to give a note about the time and terms of escape to our relatives and most faithful friends.
The dugout of one Kazakh was about twenty steps from the place where we worked. Aitzhan, a son of the owner, was our friend and a member of the “Zhas Kazakh”. It was foreseen in the the plan of our escape to hold riding horses ready behind this house. At the moment when our prison guards lost vigilance, we’d run there quickly through the valley, mount the horses – and go and chase the wind in the field. And our relatives, preparing the escape, should have returned to their auls by that time not to arouse suspicion in complicity.
When Baiseit and I shared our plans with the comrades, Baken and Abdulla didn’t agree with us.
We were determined to run away as soon as possible.
Once the prison guards allowed two zhigits to visit us in the vegetable garden.
The zhigits dismounted, greeted us and sat down with us. The prison guard was standing at some distance. In a while our Husain appeared on the horseback, also dismounted and sat near us. We showered him with questions. Among other things Husain told us how deftly and cleverly he managed to get released from prison. It was like this.
Working in the vegetable garden, venturesome Husain managed to please the warden, wormed himself into his confidence and “made friends” with him. Once Husain spread a tent in the vegetable garden with the permission of his “friend” and invited the authorities – rulers of the destinies in Akmolinsk. He prepared much kumiss, vodka, slaughtered a sheep and dined and wined his guests – the head of garrison, Serbov and the warden. Husain cooked the lamb himself, and attended assiduously upon his honorable guests.
Pretty drunk and pleased, Serbov, the chairman of the committee of inquiry and elimination of the Bolsheviks, ordered Husain, who humbly stood at the entrance of the tent:
- Hey, Bolshevik, come here and drink with us!
- Thank you for attention!..- Husain replied.- I’m glad to render a service to you. But I ask you one thing – don’t call me a Bolshevik. Otherwise, you’ll offend me...
- Aren’t you a Bolshevik?!- Serbov and the head of garrison simultaneously exclaimed.
Husain gave a lengthy and exhaustive explanation:
- I have never been a Bolshevik, you keep me in prison for nothing, I sit there and suffer...
Husain began eloquently described his sufferings in this vein and in the end he skilfully began to cry.
- We should thoroughly investigate his case, - Serbov sympathetically said, seated Husain near him and treated him to vodka. In afew minutes Serbov left on business. The head of garrison and the warden remained. Husain made it clear that he could tell fortune by kumalaks. The head of garrison was delighted:
- Tell me my fortune,- he asked.
In a moment Husain took out of his pocket his kumalaks, wrapped in a cloth. He spread the cloth on the table, scattered kumalaks and began to mumble in a low voice:
- Your fate is happy. Happiness will meet you unexpectedly. You’ll be promoted soon… You’ll live like a fighting cock for a long time…
The head of garrison asked him with hog-wild enthusiasm:
- Tell me my fortune, whether one woman loves me?..
Husain knew well that both Serbov and the head of garrison dangled after a certain Lanshukova, known in the town for her beauty.
Husain, bowing his head to concentrate, scattered kumalaks and began to cleave the air above them with his hands, pretending to drive away evil spirits, and then began to speak through his nose:
- There hasn’t been a case that a woman didn’t like you. There are a lot of women, not one, dreaming about you in Akmolinsk now. And one beautiful woman with black eyes and brown hair loves you passionately. But she’s afraid of telling you about her love, because another man courts her with passion. He has even declared his love for her, but she is indifferent to him…
The head of garrison patted Husain on the shoulder and turned to the warden:
- It turns out he is not a stupid Kazakh! Why should we keep him in prison!
In two or three days after this fortune-telling Husain was released.
So, Baiseit and I decided to escape. We got Kazakh clothes. But on the day of escape I was accidentally left in the ward and the prisoners were taken to the vegetable gardens. I impatiently waited for the evening to come. I had a presentiment that something would happen. After the work all comrades returned to the ward. Baiseit managed to escape…
The prisoners were frightened and became alerted – what was going to be now? Some were dissatisfied with Baiseit’s escape. Others worried that he might be caught.
Shahim, the head of garrison, was enraged, raised the alarm in prison. He had recently come to our town to change the one, for whom Husain told the fortune by kumalaks.
Now the prisoners were no longer taken out for work. The prison regime became stricter.
Rainy autumn dragged on. There was no end to our being in prison. People from auls began to come to town to petition the officials for us. But there was no help and our intercessors gradually went home.
We remained in the dirty stinking prison. Sometimes we received books and magazines. We read them, reread, played draughts.
Once they brought us a parcel on a large wooden platter – a whole sheep – and said that it was from Kosherbai. On the day of the uprising he escaped the arrest and fled. It was only now that he was able to return to town.
When we were told, from whom the parcel was, I came to the window, opening on the street, and saw Kosherbai with a red-haired zhigit in a white tymak[91]. There was not a soldier but an ordinary recruit at the post. He didn’t drive Kosherbai away from the window. One by one we came to the open ventilator window to say hello to him. Kosherbai told us the news in a low voice:
- Be patient! The changes are going to come in an instant, in one day. It is little left to wait. The affairs in Russia are not bad in general. It can be said that the morning is coming. We are waiting for the sunrise, and it’s not far off – the hour is nigh. Spare your strength! With God’s help the red sun is going to rise! – Kosherbai encouraged us.
Two days later his companion, a red-haired zhigit in a white tymak, appeared near the window. He greeted us and said that Zhusip[92] Izbasarov, the chairman of Akmolinsk Alash-Orda, was arrested, as well as mullah Manten, a member of the committee of the Alash-Orda and a member of the committee of inquiry of the Bolshevik cases… We wanted to know the reason for their arrest, but the zhigit didn’t really know anything about it. “They are said to be arrested for collecting money for the Alash-Orda from the Kazakhs…”
The red-haired zhigit appeared to be from the same volost as me. His name was Rhimzhan Bopanbekov.
A few days later Rahimzhan came to the window again, said he had sent us newspapers through the soldier on duty and promised to come again.
We wondered what had happened in Siberia after the fall of the Council of Deputies. We received a Russian and a Kazakh newspapers and avidly read and reread them.
After the Czecho-Slovaks captured Siberia, Ufa and Samara, each party, which entered the arena of social and political struggle, began to create its governments in different places. The deputies of the Constituent Assembly, being united against the revolution, created their government in Samara and called it the Constitutent Assembly Committee, loudly declared that «we are the only government of the whole of Russia”. Of course, the Omsk White Guard government didn’t submit to their orders on paper and announced in its turn that it was the “ruler of the whole of Siberia” and was going to subdue the Constituent Assembly Committee in Samara. Besides Omsk, there were also organized other governments in Siberia, each of which operated at its discretion.The Alash-Orda also proclaimed its independence, bit it couldn’t subjugate all Kazakhstan because at that time it was already divided into the Western Alash-Orda in Uralsk Province and the Eastern Alash-Orda in Semipalatinsk. Zhahansha Dosmuhammetov, Halel Dosmuhammetov and volost administrator Salyk were leaders of the west while Bukeihanov, Ermekov, Gapbasov and Tynyshpaev, who came from Kokand, were leaders of the east. There was also Turgay Alash-Orda. It was headed by Ahmet Baitursunov, Dulatov, Espulov and Kenzhin and Karatleuov, who came from Uralsk. Turgay Alash-Orda was considered a branch of Semipalatinsk one. These three governments acted against the revolution, each independently. They created military departments and militia. They kept up with the Cossacks, collecting “taxes” in auls. Their sabres gleamed over the heads of peaceful working Kazakhs…
No matter how the supporters of the Alash-Orda tried to spread its influence, no matter how they brandished their sabres and whips, their power was restricted to Semipalatinsk, Turgay, Uralsk and Zhympity. Akmolinsk Alash-Orda had no power to do anything. The local Cossacks didn’t want to fight for it.
In short, the Russian White Guardists organized several governments in Siberia after the fall of the Council of Deputies. The Kazakh Alash-Orda, divided in itself, declared its independence, but submitted to both the Siberian government in Omsk and the Constituent Assembly Committee in Samara.
As I have already said, the Alash-Orda was not supported by people, especially in Akmolinsk Province. Akmolinsk Kazakhs didn’t pay taxes and didn’t give their people to the military service. The way the Alash-Orda was supported and recognized in Akmolinsk resembled the game “Khan zhaksy ma?”[93].
The rebels – the White Guardists and the Czecho-Slovaks of Western Siberia – aimed a powerful stroke at Chelyabinsk and Akmolinsk Regions first. The upraising first began in Chelyabinsk, then in Petropavlovsk, Kokchetav, Akmolinsk and Omsk. The reginal government of the Alash-Orda was created in Omsk to conduct the affairs of Akmolinsk Region. It included Aidarhan Turlybaev – a lawyer; Mjgash (Migadatcha) Ablaihanov – a Khan’s descendant, an officer of the Russian army; Asylbek Seitov – a doctor; Musylmanbek Seitov – an interpreter; Erezhep Itbaev – an interpreter of the former okrug court; Magzhan Zhumabaev – an intellectual, a son of volost administrator; Muhtar Samtov – an intellectual, a son of a poor man, who trusted Bukeihanov’s tales; Smagul Sadvokasov – a student; Asygat Saidalin – a student; Koshke (Koshmuhammet) Kamengerov – a student; Muratybek Seitov – a student. The last five members of the government were the leaders and the nucleous of the youth organization “Birlik” in Omsk.
There began the creation of the district governments of the Alash-Orda in every place. They were all approved by Bukeihanov himself in Semipalatinsk. The names of members of government were published in the newspaper “Sary-Arka”. We learnt there that hadji-mullah Salim Kashimov, who was defamed by Myrzhakip on the pages of the “Kazakh”, was appointed the chairman of Kokchetav district Alash-Orda. According to Myrzhakip’s judgement, mullah Salim was no better than Kolbay Togusov. Abdralman Baidildinlater later worked for the Akmolinsk regional Alash-Orda.
The leaders of the counter-revolutionary Social Revolutionary Party, the members of the Constituent Assembly Committee in Samara announced about the state meeting in Chelyabinsk. Alihan Bukeihanov and Alimhan Ermekov, the leaders of the central Alash-Orda, went to participate in the meeting. On their way they stopped in Omsk and took Aidarhan Turlybaev, the chairman of the Akmolinsk Alash-Orda, and his secretary, Abdrahman Baidildin, with them, after which Alihan, Aidarhan, Alimhan and Abdrahman magnificently came to Chelyabinsk with great noise. But as the state meeting was postponed, they went to Samara to visit the Constituent Assembly Committee and get some help from it. The “Khans” stayed in a comfortable room of a hotel. They were joined by Zh. Dosmuhammetov, H. Dosmuhammetov, Valithan Tanashev, who came from the Western Alash-Orda, and Mustafa Chokaev, who came from Turkestan – on behalf of his “little brother”, robber Ergesh. The negotiations and parties went on day and night.
The rulers didn’t come here with empty pockets, besides they additionally received two million roubles from the Constituent Assembly Committee. Luxurious restaurants of Samara were at their disposal from one morning till another. The meetings of the Alash-Orda were conducted in the cozy rooms of the best restaurants. The bottles stand in splendour on the tables like cavalry, standing in line. The enthusiasm of the speakers corresponded with the number of bottles on the tables. The questions were solved to the sound of dashing out corks. The decrees were sealed with the bottom of the bottle. On every occasion the khans cursed the Kazakh Bolsheviks above all.
The Alash-Orda received a complete kit for three thousand soldiers and a lot of arms from the Constituent Assembly Committee in Samara. Besides, the Western Alash-Orda received two thousand rifles, thirty-seven machine guns, two cannons and two automobiles.
But soon Samara was captured by the Bolsheviks. The state meeting was held in Ufa. The meeting was headed by Avksentiev, Chernov, Zinzinov, Ulsky, leaders of the Socialist Revolutionary Party, and Ivanov and Dutov, blood sucking Cossack atamans. Chokaev and Alihan spoke on behalf of the Alash-Orda. The counter-revolutionaries gathered like a flock of ravens on the carrion, after long logomachies a government was elected, named the All-Russian Supreme Authority – the Directory. It included Avksentiev, Zinzinov; from the Alash-Orda – Chokaev and others.
Imagining themselves almighty rulers, they announced about their government. But the Siberian “rulers”, Omsk government first of all, didn’t submit to the “supreme” authorities. The experienced White Guard rogues fought with each other for the posts.
After capturing Samara, the Red Army was approaching Ufa. Madam Directory was forced to move to Omsk. At that time independent Omsk government, Amursk government, Eastern Siberian government, Far East government and a number of others functioned in Siberia.
Semipalatinsk Alash-Orda, being unable to independently rule its province, tried to rely on the power of Omsk government – “the Alash army”, sent to Semirechensk front together with the troops of Omsk government against the Bolsheviks. The main purpose of the Alash-Orda was a resolute struggle against the Bolsheviks and the Soviet rule. Semipalatinsk Alash-Orda put Nurgaliy Kulzhanov to prison, accusing him of being a member of the Council of Deputies and a Bolshevik. They deliberately excited family enmity, participated in the ligitations for the post of volost administrator in auls. Most of Semipalatinsk leaders were from the family of Tobykty, one of the branches of a large family of Argyn. The following story is characteristic of the activities of the Alash-Orda of that period.
In Semipalatinsk district there lived two prosperous aristocratic representatives of the family of Tobykty – Musatay and Ike.
They were at enmity, fighting for being the first. Skillfully using their family groupings, they stirred up their relatives against the enemy, denounced each other. They moved their steppe battle to the town. At last Ike won, because one of the leaders of Semipalatinsk Alash-Orda turned out to be his relative. Musatay turned to the Council of Deputies for support and so found himself on the side of the Bolsheviks who supported him. It happened at the end of 1917. And at the beginning of 1918 after the fall of the Council of Deputies the power of the Alash-Orda increased and it persecuted Musatay as an ardent Bolshevik. In their newspapers the scribblers of the Alash-Orda depicted Musatay as a Socialist and so, from their point of view, a scoundrel, a cheat and so on. How was Musatay supposed to know about the Socialism, he hadn’t heard anything about it. Musatay was just at enemity with Ike, protected by the Alash-Orda. As the Council of Deputies struggled against the Alash-Orda, Musatay became a “Bolshevik”. Bukeihanov signed the order: “Arrest rogue Musatay!” Finally Musatay was put to prison.
These were the dealings of Semipalatinsk central government. Because of such petty family ligitations the people called the government of the Alash-Orda and Semipalatinsk zemstvo the Tobykty Alash-Orda and the Tobykty zemstvo respectively. The Alash-Orda persecuted the Kazakh Bolsheviks, supporters of the Council of Deputies, especially fiercely. The actions of the representatives of the Alash-Orda didn’t differ at all from the actions of former volost administrators, ishans, district Tsarist officials.
KOLCHAK’S RULE
Kolchakov’s adherents scoured about the steppe and the town worse than rabid wolves. It seemed there wasn’t a single corner where these brutes hadn’t come, there wasn’t a single person who would escape their tortures.
People were in fear and panic.
Innocent people suffered from birch-rods, groaned under the bandits’ lash.
Those suspected of the Bolshevism were put to prison without trial.
Muzhiks were taken to the army. Those who tried to evade conscription were birched and put to prison.
The warden together with the prison guards and enraged officers burst into the wards. They beat the prisoners for no reason at all.
There, where the Soviet rule was overthrown, there appeared local petty toadies, imitating the White Guard officers who threw aside all restraint.
If it happened so that by an oversight there appeared the words “working class”, “common people“, “freedom” in some newspaper, they were ready to shut mouth to the editors of such a newspaper.
The Alash-Orda newspapers kissed up to the White Guardists and talked for buncombe about the Alash purity, about expelling from it those Kazakhs who at least somehow tried to support the “mean” Bolsheviks.
“And if anyone from the Kazakhs dares to become a Bolshevik, he will be shot on the spot”, - the newspapers threatened.
The Alash-Orda district ringleaders imposed a tax on the population of Akmolinsk and demanded its immediate payment. The White Guardists knew very well about our enmity with the Alash-Orda. They showed their “friendly care”, putting mullah Manten and Tusip Izbasarov to our ward for three months.
Once warden Rostov entered our ward and informed us with a smile:
- Otagasy[94] will come to see you today. Young zhigits need such a man! So we have decided to put Manten to your ward!
I answered him with a smile:
- Thank you!
- We don’t need this pot-bellied rogue. Find another place for him, - Zhumabai coldly added.
- Well, Nurkin, let him stay with you! You’ll give him a good treat! – Rostov winked and went out.
The night was falling. It became dark in prison. Sometimes they light a candle in our ward but today they haven’t brought it yet.
We can hear muffled voices from the neighbouring wards. Sometimes the prison guards go past the wards, clanking their keys. We talk in whisper.
Quietly raising from my seat, I look through the window.
Everything is gleaming white with snow. Only far away the black clouds are hanging low, as if they were going to crush the earth. Powder snow is falling. The cold is in the darkness. There is no a light, only the ground, powdered with snow, is visible due to its white carpet.
It’s a pitchy night in the ward.
The only little ventilator window is open all the time. Little by little fresh air comes into the ward from the street, ousting the stink.
The singing of two women is heard coming from the next ward. It seems not singing but crying. There is so much sadness and suffering in it…
Some time later the warden entered our dark ward with the prison guards and brought a pot-bellied Kazakh. Without withdrawing from the door, the warden cheerfully announced:
- Here is a promised otagasy, receive him with honour! – and he left.
The modern otagasy turned to us, holding something in his hands:
- Assalaumalikum!
Putting his bedclothes down on the plank bed, he hurried to us with outstretched hands to greet us. When he stretched his arms to Zhumabai, the latter exclaimed:
- Get out, you, the son of a dog! One has seen a shameless man! And he’s stretching his arms, scoundrel! Go away! You have nothing to do with us! – and Zhumabai threw his bedclothes down on the floor. Manten timidly backed away, looking around.
- Oh don’t, oh don’t, my dear friends,- he babbled and sat down.
- Come on, Zhumabai! Is it a place here to take revenge on mullah? Don’t touch him, - all of us began to persuade Zhumabai, laughing.
Manten was allowed to pick up his bedclothes and put them on the plank bed. We generously greeted him and began to ask about the news.
Manten immediately tried to repudiate members of the Alash-Orda. He told us that Tusip Izbasarov, the chairman of the district committee, was also arrested but he was now in the prison hospital.
The next morning Tusip came to our door and greeted us.
- Welcome, Tuseke!- we answered him loudly, not hiding our irony. – Our congratulations on the reward you received from your companions. Don’t be upset, everything will pass! People say that when the tulpar[95] kicks, his hooves don’t ache.
Tusip wasn’t a witty man and he mumbled in excuse:
- It’s no use remembering the past.
The prison sick ward, where Tusip was placed, didn’t close and the sick had an opportunity to be with us every day, when we were taken out for a fifteen-minute walk. Besides, he talked with us through the prison guard’s spyhole.
The others were usually punished for such liberties. They didn’t touch Tusip.
The imprisoned Russian Bolsheviks barely knew Tusip, but mullah Manten was well-known to everyone, as he was a member of the committee of inquiry of the Bolshevik cases. During the questioning he sat self-satisfied, pompous, that’s why he was remembered. The Russians, the prisoners from other wards, who learnt that Manten had been arrested, couldn’t wait to see him as a prisoner. In the morning, going out of their wards, they approached our spyhole and tried to look in to see mullah and to gloat over his fate.
A few days later warden Rostov came again to our ward.
- Well, how’re the things going? Have you made Manten your otagasy? – he turned to us and, giving a wink at Zhumabai, added: - If you please, honour him! - And went out.
I didn’t understand the warden at once, but it came home to me later that he was mocking at us, playing a trick on us. Once the prisoners from the first ward went for a walk. Going past our door, one of the Bolsheviks abused Manten.
- Why is this mug sitting with you with impunity? Send him to us. We’ll reward him according to his deserts! – he threatened.
Manten was frightened.
And the next day he was taken to the ward where Makalkin was. Manten had barely stepped across the threshold, when Makalkin got up to his feet, beat the hell out of him and shoved him under the plank bed.
The next day, unable to bear Makalkin’s humiliation, Manten stopped near our ward during the walk.
- My dear, I can’t bear it any more! Calm down this Makalkin! Sake, please, help me, cool him off! – he pleaded me.
When we went for a walk, I came to the door where Makalkin was and called him nearer:
- Don’t touch Manten, it’s enough for him!
Tusip stopped near us during the walk.
- What do you think what they are goning to do with me? – he cowardly tried to find out.
- How do we know? You were put here by your former friends, they know better, - we answered.
- But what’s going to be with me?- he didn’t leave us alone.
Several months had passed since we were put to prison and put to irons. We expected for the death every day.
But Tusip, this stinkhead, didn’t think about our fate at all. But he didn’t care about us! He happened to be put to prison, when his associates threw everyone here without choosing – so he was sent here in the heat of the moment. And he was concerned for his own skin, bothering everyone with the question: “What’s going to be with me?..”
What kind of people they were – these members of the Alash-Orda! Poor things, they could pretend to be so helpless!
Once we were sitting in the ward when we heard Tusip, asking again to come nearer to him.
- What do you want? – replied Zhumabai.
- Can you give me a minute? Zhumabai rose up..
- What are they going to do with me? What do you think? What?- Tusip lamented again.
Zhumabai, downright angry, snapped out in response:
- You’ll be shot! Because all of you were recognized more dangerous than the Bolsheviks!
Tusip backed in fear.
Abdulla, Baken and I burst out laughing. That’s how we met with some members of the Alash-Orda in prison.
They didn’t keep them here for a long time and released soon. As the proverb says, crows do not pick crow’s eyes.
And we stayed here.
Once it became known to us that Serbov himself, a Monarchist and a petty tyrant to the marrow of his bones, was appointed a warden instead of Rostov.
He made the round of all wards and declared that Admiral Kolchak became the sole ruler of Russia.
Serbov was reputed to be the terror of all prisoners.
Once he entered our ward with the prison guards and began to sing the same tune:
- Admiral Kolchak has become the ruler of Siberia, more than that, the dictator of all Russia! The country is on a war footing. Since now any prisoner who violates prison regulations will be shot without further notice. Is that clear?
It couldn’t be clearer! Our situation worsened even more. After seizing power, Kolchak disband the Mensheviks and the Socialist Revolutionaries.
Chernov, Avksentiev, Zinzinov, Ulskiy, members of the Directory, former ringleaders of the Socialist Revolutionary Party, didn’t suit the Monarchists and so they tried to disperse them. Novoselov, Omsk writer, a member of the government of Kerensky, was one of the Socialist Revolutionary activists in Siberia. Kolchak’s executioners shot him in Omsk in broad daylight.
A lot of Socalist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks, dissatisfied with the new power, were put to prison. Even those who once tried to support Kolchak were banished.
The Monarchists became masters of the situation.
People avoided Kolchak like a plague.
He was surrounded by the bais whose hands were bathed in the blood of workers and peasants, surrounded by generals, long-haired priests, mullahs and muftis, foreign capitalists. The members of our Alash-Orda stayed nearer to the door, closer to the servants, chewing nasybai[96]. Only Nickolaevsky superintendent occupied a worse seat…
Collusions ended with singing the hymn “God save the Tsar” and were crowned with a drunken feast.
Kolchak’s orders were supported by whips.
Once I was called to the prison office, which served also as a flat to Serbov. While he was asking me why I once took a dictionary from the school library, I was examining the room.
There was the portrait of Tsar Nickolay above the bed. A carabine and a sabre in the sheath, decorated with silver, hung crisscross under it. Still lower there was the full text of “God save the Tsar” on the white canvas.
Insolent Kolchak’s supporters knew no restraint, they didn’t hide their intentions at all.
One midnight we heard the clanging of keys and the creak of the opened door! We listened… There was a loud voice:
- Sailor Avdeev, get up!
It was easy to guess that it was Serbov himself who came to us. He was accompanied by an unfamiliar voice.
- Get on your knees!- Serbov roared.
- And if not, what then?- we heard Avdeev’s voice.
- Get on your knees and say a prayer for the Tsar’s health! – Serbov ordered him.
- No, I won’t get on my knees. And I won’t say the prayer! – Avdeev replied in a deep bass.
- You’ll say it, you dog! I’ll force you!
The prison guards shouted, whipping Avdeev.
- A true soldier doesn’t beat his prisoner, but shoots him! – Avdeev reproached Serbov.
- Keep silent, you scoundrel, sing the prayer, I tell you! – Serbov grew furious, handling a whip.
- Kill me, but I won’t sing a hymn to the Tsar, I have a single song – “The International”, - Avdeev stood his ground.
They continued to beat the courageous sailor for a long time, but he didn’t give up, he didn’t get on his knees in the face of the enemy.
Swearing and cursing the Bolsheviks, Kolchakov’s “heroes” opened the next door with a bang. The same thing repeated with Pavlov.
- Hey, our dear fellow, get on your kenees and pray for Father the Tsar! – the petty tyrants shouted. There were shouts, blows, abuse…
- Sing!
Pavlov couldn’t stand beating and gave up, started singing “God save the king” in a whining voice. It was not our Pavlov, but the Pavlov who fled here from Turkestan before the uprising.
The prisoners listened to his singing with annoyance and disappointment, cursing their coward comrade. And the bandits stood at attention, solemnly holding their hands to the peak of their caps, saluting the Tsar and mocking at the prisoner.
When Pavlov finished singing, the bandits surrounded him again:
- You’re a cowardly dog! You ordered to shoot anyone who couldn’t execute your will in fifteen minutes! You scoundrel, you felt like a hero! And now you’re frightened like the lowest of the low! – they yelled, continuing to beat Pavlov.
Pavlov’s moans were heard less and less frequently and they were barely heard at last.
The brutes returned to Avdeev’s ward:
- You made it, Avdeev! Though you’re our enemy! You’re a real man! It’s worth fighting with you! And Pavlov is a groveling beast! – they said.
Unexpectedly Serbov bellowed out:
- Avdeev was the head of the Bolshevik headquarters! He showed extraordinary courage when we surrounded the Council of Deputies and went to the headquarters. He didn’t let us come nearer, threatening us with a grenade, he attacked us with two Red Army soldiers! I cried to him: “Throw down your arms and surrender!” But he answered: “We have uneven forces but we’ll stand up for ourselves”.
Haranguing about Avdeev’s courage, Serbov also tried to emphasize his own courage.
The yelling voices were approaching our ward.
Here Serbov entered the ward, where lawyer Smakotin was - a Cossack, who took the Bolshevik side, a former Left Socialist Revolutionary, not young but very persistent and energetic. He wasn’t afraid of Serbov’s yelling and answered him with dignity. Then Serbov said:
- Well, old man. Though you’re a Cossack but you have gone astray. You’re a man of principle only because you’re of the Cossack kin.
Thus, making the round of almost all wards, swearing with abusive words lawyer Trofimov, a former left Socialist Revolutionary, now a Bolshevik and a passionate accuser of Akmolinsk officials and bais, they reached our ward.
The door banged open. Serbov, the commodore, prison guards and two Russians in the Kazakh dress entered. Serbov ordered:
- Get up!
We got up.
Serbov addressed one of his companions with a smile, pointing to us:
- And this is a Kazakh section, sotnik[97].
- These are the chiefs, - the sotnik “guessed”.
- Yes, the Bolshevik chicks, but we cut their wings, we didn’t let them fly up! - drunk Serbov finished complacently..
The next day we learnt that Pavlov was hacked to pieces with sabres…
There were such prisoners who were not subject to torture. Somehow they stood aside, though they were not indifferent, when they heard the groans of the prisoners, beaten by the bandits, our warders.
The peasants, who were far from politics but refused to join the White Guard, were also put to prison.
After another recruitment a German, named Goppe, was put to prison because he was said to persuade the youth not to submit to the authorities.
He appeared to be no more than twenty years old. He originated from village Dolinka of Akmolinsk District. He didn’t speak Russian well and hardly understood any Kazakh. Nevertheless it didn’t prevent us from finding a commom language.
One midnight the prison guards burst into our ward with two armed soldiers.
- Goppe, get up, let’s go!- they gave a command.
- Where? – he asked.
- For questioning!
We couldn’t sleep, waiting for our comrade. There was silence in prison. It was pitch dark behind the guarded window. Only the white butterflies of snow were falling, covering the ground. The prison wall rose, covered with snow.
The night swallowed our comrade.
A lot of endless minutes passed. Suddenly we heard the clank of the opened door and exhausted Goppe was pushed in. Staggering, he reached his place and fell down.
We carefully put him to bed, began to question. Goppe couldn’t utter a word in response, he only embraced me and began to cry like a child, repeating:
- Tell me, when will the Reds come? When?..
- Don’t cry, you must endure it, you’re not a child! The Reds will come soon, - I tried to calm him down as I could.
Goppe gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.
There was a Russian cemetery not far from the prison. It was there that four soldiers took Goppe. They beat him with buttstocks, kicked, dragged in snow, until they were tired themselves.
The situation in the prison sick ward was a bit better. In the daytime the doors were open. Once our sick, Nurgain and teacher Gorbachev, were placed there.
Tusip, though not ill, was put to the sick ward, too, and isolated himself at once as a representative of the Alash-Orda.
A plain wretched medical assistant came to treat the sick; he was poorly dressed and resembled a scabby emaciated horse.
During the medical examination the prisoners usually complained of being sick to the prison guard and after receiving his permission went to the medical assistant for medicine.
Once I also felt sick and asked the prison ward for permission to leave for the “hospital”. Besides the wretched medical assistant I found Serbov and doctor Blagoveschensky there.
- What’s your complaint?
- Well... I’ve got colics and they never pass! Could you give me some medicine? – I asked.
Blagoveschensky examined me and asked the medical assistant to give me medicine. The medical assistant said with a malicious smile:
- I’d give this character some poison for “quick recovery”!
“What does this wretched man want?” – I thought with surprise.
If Serbov is formidable – he has got power at least. He is a warden, the charman of the committee for struggle with the Bolsheviks, an educated man – a technician after all. His purpose in this struggle is clear! He wants to rule, oppress, command.
But what is this wretched medical assistant with the worn-through trousers trying to achieve? What does he want? He is also a supporter of the Alash-Orda, similar to those who camp on Kolchak’s doorstep, chewing nasybai, holding a fur cap under their arm, raising the skirts of chapan[98] and repeating after the White Guardists: “Let’s kill the Bolsheviks!”
Poor you are, so poor!
During Kolchak’s rule the Kazakhs activists began to think about creating the national council.
Once Omsk prosecutor visited our prison. He made the roud of wards and also came to ours. He asked us about this and that, in general about nothing, and turned to the door. But I called to him:
- Can I ask you?
- What?
- How long are we going to sit here without trial?
- Until the national council is formed! – he replied.
At that time the Reds were already approaching Orenburg and Ufa.
- And when will the national council be created? – I continued.
He looked at me, paused and answered:
- Not soon! – and went out.
When the door closed we burst out laughing. So the days and nights passed, each one like another… The wall separated us from three women. They sang every evening. Their sad voices resounded in the silent prison. We were overcome with sadness and longing for freedom.
The piercing cold is coming through the window, bound round with metal. It is frosty in the street.
Can the prison walls hear and understand the sufferings of prisoners? Shedding tears in the face of the stone silence is to no purpose.
We were again moved to another ward. But it wasn’t easier for us there, as the time passed in the same dreary and slow manner. Sometimes we played draughts, talked, read books, which we were secretly given.
Barber Martlogo, a “maximalist”, who later became a Bolshevik, and I arranged discussions in the ward, convened a kind of meetings we used to have at large.
So the endless days were crawling…
IN THE CLUTCHES OF ATAMAN ANNENKOV. TRANSPORTATION OF CONVICTS FROM AKMOLINSK
On one unhappy day the warden burst into the ward with several prison guards and announced:
- Get ready for transportation – you’ll be send off in two or three days.
- Where? – I asked.
- To Omsk authorities, - Serbov answered.
When he left, the ward began to buzz:
- Where will they drive us? What does the destiny hold for us? Who will escort us?
We informed our friends and family about the forthcoming sending off. We asked them to bring warm clothes and little money, if possible. Abdulla’s father sent money to his son in the heel of his boot.
Into whose hands are we going to get?
It became clear soon that we would be escorted to Omsk by the department, headed by well-known Kolchak’s ataman Annenkov and that fifteen soldiers from his department had already arrived. All of them were out-and-out cutthroats and entered Annenkov’s detachment voluntarily. There were two officers among them.
Here Annenkov’s detachment was reinforced by volunteers – young Cossacks from Akmolinsk. There were about fourty-fifty men in the detachment now. Akmolinsk authorities were going to give us in the hands of this select cutthroats to transport to Omsk.
It was not difficult to guess that the escort which arrived for our transportation consisted of experienced executioners. We learnt that with their commander’s permission they were going to take all prisoners out of town and shoot them there. And then justify their actions, saying we were shot “while attempting to escape”.
And disturbing rumours creeped into prison: “Our end has come, they won’t leave anyone alive”. These rumours went on spreading, causing panic and horror.
About two days later the warden and the head of Akmolinsk garrison entered our ward.
We heard a familiar command:
- G-e-e-t up!
The soldiers, accompanying them, intentionally rattled their rifles and sabres.
We were told again about the forthcoming sending off and warned:
- Remember: if at least one of you try to escape, everyone will be shot!
Now we began to prepare for the transportation seriously.
We received endless parcels from out of prison to provide us for the journey. About fifty prisoners were said to be subject to sending off. Only two of them were to be left in Akmolinsk prison because of an illness – Nurgain and teacher Gorbachev.
We were ready for the transportation at last.
We were sitting on the dirty plank beds, smudgy, ready for any hardships.
All out of twenty prisoners of our fourth ward were hourly expecting for the escort. Everyone kept thinking: “Let them take me where they want! I’m tired of waiting”…
And the weather is harsh, it is January. The winter has really come into its own. There are relentless frosts. The days are short. Dusk is falling quickly.
The prisoners are whispering to each other, squashing up in the corners of a small ward.
The howling wind is blowing through the broken guarded window, bringing in the waves of cold.
We kept sitting late, until midnight. Muffled voices could be heard less and less frequently and finally there was silence.
Tired by waiting with anxiety for the unknown, we fell asleep dressed as we were, pressed to each other.
The dark night threw all the prison into a dark abyss and the prisoners seemed not to sleep but to drown, to perish in the suffocating darkness.
We hear the sentry’s steps outside the window and the staccato knocking of drops – it’s the hoarfrost, melting on the iron bars from our breath. Sometimes muttering and deep sighs come from one of the corners, sometimes somebody gives a groan in hard delirium:
- U-uh… A-ah!..
Was it by chance that all these troubles befell us? No, it wasn’t. We didn’t prepare for an easy life. We put a heavy and responsible burden on our shoulders. We darted into the great struggle for the freedom of working people! And if we took this difficult and thorny path ourselves, we were obliged to courageously endure all hardships and conquer the summit!
Yes, it is difficult to fight, many of us moan and groan. But it’s easier to suffer for the right cause and to die, if it comes to it!..
We might be taken out of town and shot tomorrow. But the working people, for the happiness of whom we suffer, will never forget us! So endure and be courageous until the end, oh fighter, pursue your goal! Don’t fall and don’t turn off the thorny path till you conquer the summit!
I woke up because of the trample and buzz of voices in the corridor. My comrades woke up in an instant, too.
We look out through the spyhole, trying to see what’s going on.
We see – the prison guards are bustling in and out, holding the lit lamps in their hands.
The day is breaking… The dusk is gradually clearing away.
There appear sever armed soldiers in the corridor, dressed in an unfamiliar form. Each one has the chest crossed by cartridge belts. They have tall black shaggy papakhas[99] with a red top. They have red shoulder straps with mount. They are rudely familiar.
Soon the soldiers in the unfamiliar form crowded all the long corridor. The butts of the rifles began to clatter against the stone floor.
- Annenkov’s detachment... Annenkov’s detachment!- we heard the prisoners’ excited voices in the grey of the dawn.
The trample of iron-heeled boots, the clatter of butts, the rattle of sabres, rude, stentorian voices in the corridor – all this produced a dispiriting effect.
Everyone was long awake and in waiting in the wards. The affair was coming to a head.
The door of the ward clanked open. The warden, a Cossack officer and several soldiers with lamps in their hands entered.
We jumped up and stiffened like dead.
- The transportation is beginning now. Quickly get dressed and ready for the journey! – the warden loudly told us and went out.
After packing up our things, we sat down in waiting.
Nearly ten minutes later the warden appeared again together with the Cossack officer. They began to call the prisoners over.
Those who were called were seated down along the wall of the long corridor, surrounded by armed soldiers.
The search began. They took off all our clothes right up to the underwear.
I was worrying about my notes, a part of which I had time to sew up into the belt of my quilted trousers and the rest of which I hid under the insoles of boots and in the toes of felt baipaks[100].
My turn came. They dragged off my boots, shook out my baipaks, examined if “there was no bomb there”, put their hands into the top of boots several times and finally said:
- Get dressed.
Settling down my worries, I slowly got dressed. The hidden notes were saved!
Everyone was searched in his turn. While this procedure was going on, the day broke.
All prisoners were taken out in the prison yard. The escort of about thirty men closely surrounded us.
The warden and two officers went to the prison office several times, ran back and forth, one was handing us over, the others were taking us over.
The head of town garrison came at last and we were taken out of the prison gates in a line. The escort was waiting there for us – thirty riders and twenty soldiers on foot. Only those soldiers who searched us and took us out of prison were in the same uniform. Both their strange uniform and impudent rowdy manners attracted our attention. These were Annenkov’s cutthroats who came from Omsk.
Behind the prison gates we saw about twenty wooden sledges with a harnessed horse in each of them.
There was a command:
- Sit by four in each sledge!
Baken, Abdulla, Zhumabai and I occupied one sledge. There was a command again:
- Sit only by two!
We obediently executed the command, put our things on the sledge. And suddenly I looked at an armed zhigit in a shipskin jacket and valenki[101] and recognized my close relative – my zhien[102].
I couldn’t believe my eyes. How did he happen to be in Annenkov’s detachment? Only volunteers were accepted there… The detachment that will escort us is called “partisan”. The fate of fifty revolutionaries is in their hands. No one knows what they will do with us after taking us out of town…
Can it really be true? It was an unheard-of injury to me. I stared at the young zhigit, still not believing my eyes – can it be really so?
“Oh people, there are still so much dregs among you!.. Oh life, you bring up so many scoudrels! Some people have to suffer for justice, they are seized by anguish and grief, the others rejoice, meanly and disgustingly. Woe worth the scoundrels and stinkers!” – I thought with a violent silent bitterness.
The zhigit who attracted my attention began to feel uneasy, hustled himself through the crowd, approached and greeted me.
- Assalaumalikum!
I didn’t answer and turned my back on him. He muttered something and began to greet my comrades. There came a command:
- Go ahead!
The sledge runners creaked and we trudged behind the sledges on the frozen snow. The frost cut to the bone.
The town was sleeping still and the sun was slowly rising above the horizon in the frosty orange glow.
Each sledge – ahead and behind of it – was escorted by a rider and a soldier on foot.
We came to the outskirts of town.
The warden, who was riding a chestnut horse, took final leave of the escort.
Few relatives were waiting for some of us at the outskirts. Every day they went out to the road, not to miss our transportation and the chance to bid farewell. They were standing silently now, staring hard at our faces and wiping their tears as if they were following us to our grave. The snow clearly crunched under the feet of the prisoners and escort, under the sledge runners and horse hooves.
The armed escort went interspersed with the prisoners, and a cavalcade of mounted Cossacks followed us. The horses fell into snowdrifts from time to time.
Akmolinsk was left behind.
There were six Kazakh Bolsheviks, organizers of the Council of Deputies, and one woman among the prisoners.
There were nearly seventy men in the escort – they were Kolchak’s faithful and reliable soldiers, the admiral’s right hand. Kolchak didn’t trust the soldiers from peasants to escort the Bolsheviks. Our escort consisted of nobody but the Cossacks, except my Kazakh relative and a son of a half-Uzbek cheapjack.
The fifteen ataman adherents, who came from Omsk, had the most brutal appearance, they had a tough disposition. Two letters “A. A.”, traced out with silverfish paint, meaning “Ataman Annenkov”, struck our eye.
We went in a long file, stumping behind the sledges along a winding road in the direction of Petropavlovsk.
At the escort’s command we alternately sat in the sledge by two.
In the evening we reached an aul and stayed there for the night. We were met by the quartermasters from the escort, who rode forward beforehand.
We were placed in two Kazakh huts, dirty and tumbledown, but they seemed a paradise to us in comparison with the prison. It had been a year since we saw a human dwelling.
Two sentries were posted in front of the hut and when we needed to go out, we were followed by the soldiers.
The guard commander together with a juniour officer visited the prisoners over and over again.
One of the guard commandants – broad-shouldered, swarthy, resembling a Kalmyk, more eager to talk and ruder than others, cursed like a trooper and flooded us with obscenities.
When he entered our hut, he warned:
- If one of you flees, everyone will be shot, shit! So watch each other!
No one of us doubted he would realize his threat.
At dawn we set off again.
In the afternoon a severe snowstorm broke out. We had to stop in one of Kazakh auls and wait till the snowstorm was over. They gave us some food here.
Wherever we stopped for the rest, there wasn’t a man seen in the house. Apparently, they were afraid of meeting the eyes of Annenkov’s volunteers.
The snowstorm abated soon. Fair weather set in. The escort was ready to set off, but the hostess who received us entreated the guard commandant to stay longer. She boiled some meat, fed everyone and saw us off with honour…
After the snowstorm the frost became even harder. The new fallen dry snow dazzled. We moved slowly – thirty-fourty versts a day.
The red disc of the sun scattered sparkling golden rays. The wind, cutting to the bone, blowed in our faces, not letting us breathe and look ahead. A spittle got frozen on the fly and fell to the ground as a little ringing piece of ice.
The hoarfrost burnt the face and didn’t melt as usual, but froze at once, accumulating on the eyebrows and especially on the moustache.
The sweated and tired people and horses were steaming. Icycle hung down from the horse nostrils. All the time we rubbed with snow one cheek and then the other. To warm up, we swung our hands and hopped.
We stayed for the night in the settlement of Kushoki in a hundred and ten versts from Akmolinsk. This was the first Russian village we met on our way to Petropavlovsk.
We were driven into the school. The escort was even more enraged in the village, probably trying to show ataman Annenkov’s power and authority to Russian muzhiks. The escort demanded samogon[103] from the inhabitants of the village.
Our escort stayed in one of the school classes and those who had a higher rank scattered in the village in search of drinks.
Some time later the soldiers dragged two local muzhiks, cursing them and poking at their ribs with the butts. They immediately undressed the muzhiks and began to thrash them with ramrods. Thrashing was evidently in the order of the day for the ataman’s detachment. They counted, laughing: “Twenty-five… fifty…”
Meanwhile the prisoners treated the frostbitten places and barber Martlogo shaved off everyone’s moustache and beards.
At dawn we left Kushoki. There was a hard January frost and it didn’t weaken. Today we went through wood. The birches and pines surrounded us with a thick wall and only sometimes there appeared sparkling white glades.
We stopped for the night in Stanitsa Makinka. A good half of its inhabitants were Cossacks, supporting Kolchak.
The prisoners didn’t stop talking that they would shoot everyone during one of such stops in Kazakh stanitsas.
We were driven into the school again and we bustled to prepare food for us. But disturbed whisper never stopped.
We were going to sleep when the escort from the ataman’s detachment burst in. They looked brutal, even there papakhas were pulled over their eyes in an especially threatening way. There was a command:
- Sailor Avdeev, lawyer Trofimov, Kondratyeva, Monin, all four of you go quickly to the commandant!
We began to ask the escort:
- What for? What will be with them?
- Go for questioning!
After our comrades left, no one thought about the rest. Everyone kept thinking the same thing: “It’s the beginning of massacre”.
But nothing happened, our comrades were soon led back. We attacked them with the questions: “Why did they lead you there? Where did they take you?” And they didn’t really know. There wasn’t any questioning there. They were taken out of school, locked in an empty dark barn and then taken back.
The next day one of garrulous guards blabbed that they were going to shoot all four, but then changed their mind.
We left Makinka and moved on.
The frost weakened a bit. We went through the pine forest, showing blue, falling into deep snow. We covered no more than thirty versts this day.
Abdulla wasn’t able to go on foot from the very beginning of our transportation. Then Zhumabai collapsed. Now they didn’t get off the sledge and Baken and I went on foot without any rest.
Going through snowdrifts wasn’t easy but we had to endure, knowing that they wouldn’t allow the four of us to drive in a sledge. Only occasionally, when he was ready to drop, Baken joined the comrades for a short time. The escorting soldier rudely told him to get off the sledge. Swearing him, Baken trudged on foot, angry with Abdulla and Zhumabai:
- What’s your trouble?
Finally he collapsed and began to plead Zhumabai to go on foot at least for a little while to let him rest in the sledge.
I didn’t sit in the sledge, knowing that if I became weaker and had a rest, no one knows what would happen to my comrades who couldn’t go on foot. So I had to patiently endure all hardships of the way.
The underwear remains wet with sweat, the outerwear is covered with thin ice crust, and it makes the things even more difficult.
There ia a wild wood around us. The birches and pines rise in thick rows.
The weather changes all the time – sometimes it is silent and there is a hard frost, sometimes there is a sudden violent snowstorm. And you must keep pace with the others, you must walk and walk…
Again there was a night at the school, in Cossack stanitsa Schuchinskaya, in two hundred and fifty versts from Akmolinsk.
The escort sent some prisoners, including Zhumabai, to bring water.
After drinking hot tea, we warmed up a little, cheered up, and little by little began to talk. Martynov, a mechanic, recited Nadson’s poems to us, dedicated to revolutionaries. Other comrades also recited poems and sang in a low voice.
We went through Kokchetav and stopped in the settlement of Azat. Here we were placed in a very little house with the sentries, posted as usual at the door.
Since we arrived in the neighbourhood of Kokchetav, we were guarded only by quiet soldiers and the ataman’s cutthroats scoured villages in search of samogon.
At midnight we heard drunken voices, arguing, then curses, dirty words near the room, where we were placed.
A shot rang out. We heard the fighting people rattle out in trooping, continue to yell at our door. Somebody tried to break into the room, shouting:
-Let me go! I’ll shoot all of them!
Our guard went out and shouted at the enraged man:
- What do you want?
But the latter didn’t quiet down, he yelled at the top of his voice at our door:
- Unlock! Unlock, I tell you!
Our sentry locked the door, stood near the threshold and unsheathed his sabre.
- What’s happened? What’s the matter?- we fluttered.
- They are drunk, dogs! They want to burst into this room!- the sentry explained.
- What do they need here?
- Calm down, be quiet! I won’t let them in! Some time later the banging at the door stopped and there was no more cursing.
At dawn we left the village of Azat. On the way I asked our night sentry:
- What happened at night?
- These fools got drunk and wanted to shoot you!..
Our unusual caravan often met travellers – they were mostly Kazakhs, slowly moving along the winter road. Once we met a lone rider, a Kazakh on a grey horse. His neck was wrapped in a white warm scarf made of goat’s wool.
The guards stopped him and one of them almost strangled the submissive Kazakh, grabbing the scarf. Pulling it off, the ataman’s soldier let the wretched man go. And the latter trotted on, like an injured puppy, after muttering something placid after him.
Not far from our road there appeared a Kazakh aul in the valley. The huts, covered with snow, hid in snowshifts and the place of human habitation could be found only thanks to the sticking out chimneys, from which the smoke was curling. The aul dogs met us on the road, barking. The ataman’s soldiers opened fire on them. The dogs rushed to the aul, climbed on the roofs and frightenedly looked out at our train from behind the chimneys.
The ataman’s soldiers frightened the whole aul with their shooting.
We trudge on. We meet travelers, coming back from town, sledges, loaded with grain, camels, loaded with heavy bags. Frozen faces, livid with cold, look at us from the shipskin coats, covered with hoarfrost. The wretched people can hardly move, it is clear that they drag themselves along from distant poor auls.
Suddenly, one of the guards seized the nearest Kazakh by the scruff of his neck and pushed him into the snowdrift. After thinking a bit, he pulled a lambskin malakhai off him. Another guard took away a warm scarf of goat’s wool from the second Kazakh. There was nothing to take from the other Kazakhs, so the escort beat them just for fun and pushed them into the snow. One of the ataman’s thugs was enraged that he was not able to make a good haul, ran up to the loaded camel and began to hack up the bags of flour. The flour spilt on the snow.
And we remained resigned, couldn’t do any thing, just dragged on and on.
After this case the ataman’s soldiers, seeing a caravan of camels from afar, began boasting to each other:
- I can cut three nooses at one stroke!
- And I can four!
- I’ll the first to slash!- one cried.
- No, I’ll be!- the other argued.
Some time later when the cutthroats came abreast with Kazakh travellers, they attacked the poor things. The sabres flashed. The bags were falling one after another, the flour, grain was pouring on the snow… The bandits took everything which they were able to pull off the travellers – malachais, scarfs, boots.
We went past Kokchetav. The thick forests remained behind us and the vast steppe opened in front of us. The plain stretched like a white sea. It seemed to have no end and only somewhere far ahead this cold, limitless steppe silence merged with the horizon.
A sad picture appears before the eyes of someone who takes a detached view on the bare steppe, covered with snow, and people, silently following one another on a narrow path.
There appeared indistinctly two riders in the distance, looking like two points.
- Kolya, I’ll shoot down these devils at one shot, what’d you say? – one guard called to another.
- No, you’ll miss, it’s far.
- Let’s bet!- the first one didn’t give up..
- All right, shoot, if you hit, very well, I’ll give you a scarf! – Kolya agreed.
The riders were approaching. It was seen from afar from their seat and clothes that they were Kazakhs…
The ataman’s soldier knelt and took aim. A short rang out. Missed!.. Another shot. And again missed. The Kazakhs turned their horses and rushed away at full speed, whipping their horses.
But the soldier didn’t quiet down and continued to fire, aiming at them, until they galloped away. Luckily for them, the guards were on foot. All mounted bandits left our caravan and went ahead of us when we reached Kokchetav.
We couldn’t make a head or tail from that was going on. When ataman Dutov and the aqsaqals of the Alash-Orda met in Orenburgh, they greeted each other according to the Kazakh custom and embraced each other. And the ataman’s soldiers consider the Kazakhs from auls their target, when they meet them. And they really fire unlike the Uzbek basmatches[104] who fired at Mustafa Chokaev just to frighten him. Here they fire with real lead bullets.
Who is right here? Who is guilty? It is difficult to understand. The aqsaqals, the authorities do their part and the ataman’s soldiers, escort, common soldiers do theirs.
While these White Army thugs were mocking at unarmed people here in the steppe, other ataman Annenkov’s soldiers were fighting against the Bolsheviks in Semirechie, somewhere behind Semipalatinsk, hand in hand with the Kazakh departments of the Alash-Orda.
While the White Guardists were rampaging in auls, humiliating peaceful Kazakhs in their native land, the aqsaqals of the Alash-Orda were listening with servility to Kolchak and his officers, ready to fulfill any request, putting another portion of nasybai from the goat horn behind the lip. While the ataman’s soldiers were firing at unarmed Kazakhs, the Kazakh aqsaqals together with ataman Annenkov were creating a ‘voluntary” army from bais’ sons and illiterate deceived Kazakhs in Semipalatinsk to fought against the Bolsheviks, and they published the following information in the newspaper “Sary-Arka”:
“The order of ataman Annenkov to form the first Kazakh regiment from the brave Kazakh zhigits, No 180, paragraph 3. I order Toktamyshev, a captain of artillery, who came at my disposal, to create a valiant Kazakh regiment, consisting first of all of the Kazakhs, speaking Russian, and to establish the Officer school.
The formation of such regiment is absolutely necessary to reinforce our forces at the front. Besides, it is time to satisfy a fierce desire of the Kazakhs themselves, because, as everyone knows, they long to go to the front to show their courage in destroying their enemies there and to defend their native land. They are going to smash the Bolsheviks in Jetysu.
The first Kazakh regiment is organized on the principles of submission, absolute obedience to the orders, discipline. The training is done according to the Cossack model.
It is desirable that the brave zhigitst would not avoid recruitment and the aqsaqals and myrzas in auls would not prevent them from going to the battle”.
“Sary-Arka” No 65
The same issue published the information about helping the troops of the Alash-Orda at the fronts.
“It was informed in the last issue of our newspaper that there began fund raising from the population to help the first regiment of the Alash-Orda and to send parcels to the Kazakhs, fighting against the Bolsheviks at Jetysu front”…
There was a list of names of the aqsaqals and aristocrats, selected for this mission. They were given documents on the basis of which the first donations were received:
1. In accordance with Certificate No 3, Imash Abdushukir Zhashikbekov collected…
2. Abdulhamit Baltabaev, a member of the district territorial council, collected… etc.
In total there was collected a sum of 13 272 roubles 50 kopecks, including the previous fund raising.
While some Kazakhs, ataman Annenkov’s subjects, were fleecing the population of auls, other Kazakhs – the “volonteers” – were marauding in the steppe and on the roads.
The newspaper didn’t hide the facts of extortion by bandits and published complaints.
Here are some of them:
“In December 1918 a petition of the inhabitants of aul Kentubek of Semipalatinsk District was received, saying that the executive officer of Annenkov’s detachment from Pavlograd District imposed a tax on the aul in the amount of 50 thousand roubles. He collected the tax and besides he took away 10 horses.
Adilhan Zhanuzakov was robbed of 10 thousand roubles, textiles for 6 thousand roubles, one ambler, one polecat fur coat, 3 quilts and 5 poods[105] of butter.
When they came to Adilhan Zhanuzakov’s aul for the second time they took away a lot of clothes, felt mats, dishes besides the above mentioned things.
Aldongar Naimanbaev, a tax collector, was robbed of 21 thousand roubles, 3 horses, 2 camels, a harness, a sledge and felt mats in addition.
The Bolshevik cooperative shop was confiscated 600 roubles and 10 boxes of matches.
Mynbai Bekbauov was forced to give his fox fur coat, 10 pounds of tea, sold by weight, one malachai.
Besides, on November 20, 1918 a complaint was received from Akbar and Bekker Baitenovs, Kazakhs from Semipalatinsk District of Beskaragai Volost, and from Baiten’s wives – Azhyran and Delyafruz, - saying that on November 16 Baiten Aliev’s winter camp was attacked by ataman Annenkov’s bandits, headed by two officers – a Russian and a Chinese – and accompanied by five Cossacks from Korsus stanitsa.
During the hold-up Baiten Aliev was shot by Russian officer Pasin.
The investigation established that the total amount of 85 thousand 384 roubles was stolen – 20 thousand in money and 65 thousand 384 roubles in the stolen property.
The doctor’s act of autopsy of Baiten Aliev’s body and the ringleader’s receipt for 20 thousand received in money from the owner was attached to the complaint”.
The “Sary-Arka” No 65 1919
The atrocities of Annenkov’s scoundrels filled the Russian comrades with indignation to the marrow of their bones. They approached us and expressed their sympathy.
We came closer and closer to Petropavlovsk. As we were approaching the town, the escort’s behaviour was changing to the best, their characters seemed milder.
My unfortunate relative – my zhien – never came close to me and I didn’t have any desire to speak to him.
But once he spoke to my comrade, intending to establish good relationship with me in that way.
- Tell Saken not feel hurt by me. I became a White Guardist because they promised me to get me to school. So I have to fulfill their will. But if they don’t help me with the studies, I’ll flee. Tell this to Saken, - he asked my comrade.
I believed my zhien’s confession and we got into a conversation with him. He asked me for advice what should he do.
- You said yourself that you wanted to study. Try to achieve your goal. And if they send you to the front, take the side of the Reds. It’s the best, - I advised him.
First the conversation was strained. I scolded him:
- Why did you leave school in Akmolinsk? Why did you do such a silly thing – you followed the prisoners in bitter frost to the other end of the world! Look at yourself – your face is frozen. You’re dirty, smudgy! Do you really think that these cutthroats will hold the power for a long time? And if tomorrow the Reds seize the power, where will you look for protection?
But my zhien was absolutely sure that he would leave Annenkov’s soldiers in any case – either he’ll go to school or flee.
- What’s the news about the situation in Russia?- I asked him. He whispered me in a low voice:
- The Reds are attacking. They have already captured Ufa and Orenburg.
- Indeed! That will be the end of bandits!
It was clear now why the escot’s behaviour was milder – the reds were near.
We cheered up, the more so because our eighteen-day journey from Akmolinsk to Petropavlovsk had come to an end (we set off on January 5 and arrived on the 23rd).
We were driven along the main street. The escort kept an eye on the prisoners, holding their arms ready.
People looked at each of us with curiosity, stopped and stared after us for a long time.
I had been here before, but now the town seemed much bigger to me. And there were more people. There were a lot of military men in town – the Czechs. They were dressed in their own way, much better than the White Guardists. I guessed at once that they were Czechs from their haughty measured tread, from their bearing.
“So that’s what you are, you dogs! The best horses are for them, they seem to eat no worse than aristocrats and all beautiful girls from the rich and aristocratic families of town might be at their service”, - I silently thought.
We were led through the whole of the town and driven into a camp, surrounded by a wooden fence, on the outskirts of the town.
IN THE EXTERMINATION CARS OF ATAMAN ANNENKOV
Before telling you about extermination cars and our fate I’d like to describe in short Petropavlovsk camp, where we were driven to. Most of all it resembled a cattleshed, knocked together of weak planks. There were cracks in many places through which the wind was blowing the snow in.
Our camp consisted of five or six plank constructions of such a type, called here the barracks.
There were Austrian and German prisoners of war, captured during the imperialistic war, in two of them and the Red Army soldiers, arrested in the days of the fall of Soviet rule in Akmolinsk Province, in one of them.
We were driven into the latter barracks. We entered it in a disorderly rabble. There were three or four benches in the middle of the frozen ground floor. There were draughts everywhere. There was plenty of space there, like in the steppe.
We were met by a dozen of prisoners in tattered grey greatcoats. It was terrible to look at their faces. They resembled not people but deathly pale living skeletons. Their eyes were sunken and bleary. They could hardly move, like lunatics or the sick in delirium.
There was Kapylov, a former commissar of the Red Army detachment, and a common soldier with a leg, shot through, and two young Tatars. I don’t remember their names.
A Tatar from Petropavlovsk looked more brisk and strong than the others. We learnt the news mostly from him. Suddenly something grey began to stir in the corner… Our heart sank… We peered at it. A Red Army soldier was dying there on a dirty bedding. We could see only skin and bone under the rags. The frostbitten toes had turned black and fallen off. He was groaning… He was dying and these hungry exhausted people, only two out of whom still tried to keep their spirits up – the Tatar and Kopylov, - could do nothing for him.
We listened to their stories and our hair stood on end. The tortures we suffered seemed a child’s play. Who could have stayed calm, listening about bandits’ atrocities!
The Red Army soldiers were driven into this barracks with the frozen ground floor. They starved the soldiers to death, sometimes throwing them pieces of half-baked rye bread. Exhausted, frostbitten, the soldiers slept on the bare ground. Most of them perished.
And now we could see a dozen of walking corpses of the survivors. Looking at it, one feels an incredible hatred towards two-legged brutes. The hearts of comrades are kindled with revenge, their fingers clentch into a fist, the clentched teeth stiffen.
The young Tatar told us in details about Petropavlovsk Bolsheviks, who were torn to pieces when the Soviet rule fell.
Iskhak Kobekov, a commandant of the department of Kazakh workers, a head of the district militia and a member of Petropavlovsk Council of Deputies, Gali Esmagambetov, one of the leaders of the workers, an organizer and an inspirator of the Kazakh workers, Karim Sutyushev, a member of the Council of Deputies, and sailor Zimin, who came to Petropavlovsk from Akmolinsk on the eve of the uprising, were brutally killed. There is much to be witten about this slaughter of the courageous fighters.
Even the butcher is more humane with the animals, killed for meat and skinned, than the Whites were with the Bolsheviks!
The coming generations should never forget the fighters for the Soviet rule!
...Everything we had with us to eat we gave to these ten survivors, we shared our clothes with them. A faint colour came to their cheeks from our care.
It was impossible to calmly look at them when we shared our food with them. Their sunken eyes fixed on the food and seemed to be going to pop out of their sockets. They grabbed the pieces with trembling hands and hastily crammed them into the mouth. Their frostbitten cheeks were creased, they couldn’t take off their eyes from the bread.
This was the state to which the “educated”, “delicate” aristocrats, praising their humanity, reduced the people!..
We settled down right on the ground floor. There were sentries behind the door. They looked complacent and dashing, as if they had come winners from a hard battle and had been guarding the loosers. When they heard on our way to Petropavlovsk that the Reds were attacking, they were frightened, in low spirits, but now they revived again, raised their heads.
The five of us usually ate together. Baken, Abdulla, Zhumabai, Baimagambet (Zhainakov) and I always shared the last slice of bread. But today it was a bit difficult for us. After we gave our supplies to the exhausted comrades, we remained hungry ourselves.
We needed to somehow establish contact with the town and buy some products. Abdulla gave money to my zhien and the latter went to town after changing of the guard. We were expecting him until late at night but he didn’t come and we went to sleep hungry.
The morning came. We rose up from our dirt bed like the dead from the grave, hungry and having caught cold.
Soon the long-expected turn of my zhien to guard us came. He took his place at the door and Abdulla and Zhumabai went to him to ask if he had bought food for us. We watched them talking from afar. The comrades returned indignated, with their faces distorted with anger.
- Your zhien hasn’t brought anything to us! And he’s mocking at us, saying we haven’t give him any money!
Looking at the sentry with hatred once more, my friends asked me:
- Do go yourself, tell him to return our money at least. Perhaps, he’ll comply with your request. He doesn’t speak to us, he’s as cross as a bear with a sore head.
- I haven’t given money to him, how can I demand to give it back to me? – I answered.
But they insited and I had to go to my zhien:
- Why did you refuse to return the money? What’s the matter?
- They are telling lies! I haven’t taken any money. How could I do a mean thing to the people among whom you are? They are deceiving you!..
I was unable to get any sense out of my relative. Hunger and injustice enraged us even more. We sat quietly till the evening.
Before the sunset the soldiers, resembling cocks with their arm badges of Annenkov’s department, came for us. Hastily packing up our things, they ordered us to roll up our bedclothes and drove us no one knows where. There remained only the Red Army soldiers in the barracks. We were hardly able to say goodbye to them.
There is a snowstorm in the street. The cold is piercing us to the marrow. We are being led not along the main street but in a roundabout way, through the deep newly-fallen snow without any paths. We walk through the snowdrifts, fall deep into them. We have reached the railway station. People are looking at us with curiosity and sympathy. They stop, stand in our way. The ataman’s thugs shout out from time to time:
- Get out of the way! Stand off! The people dash aside. The guards surround us, keeping their arms ready. We come to the platform. There are plenty of cars, standing in lines on the tracks. The railroad rails fork in different directions, like serpents. We were stopped near two cattle cars.
We took our things off the shoulders, put them on the ground and crowded closer to each other.
One of the senior guards brought a railwayman with him. The latter opened these cattle cars, thoroughly examined them and said:
- Divide into two groups and settle down!
We divided for two cars. They were uncomfortable, it was cold there, the walls were thin, the wind was blowing into the cracks. We sat down on the plank beds, huddled together. There was a cast-iron stove in the middle of the car. There were no windows. The only opening was covered outside with a shutter. They locked the creaking door, posted sentries near the cars and the rest of the escort went away.
We were in low spirits. Soon the soldiers appeared again.
- Have some bread!
They gave two loaves of bread for each car and allowed to go for the boiling water. When giving buckets to us, the guards warned:
- Remember once and for all! If somebody tries to escape, he will be shot on the spot!
Soon the boiling water was brought. One of the comrades lit the candle-end. We drank tea in its languid flame, trying to warm up a little.
The iron heads of the car nails and screws were covered with hoarfrost from our breath.
We spent seven months in Akmolinsk prison, from June 1818 to January 1919. We were in irons for two months. And all this time we suffered humiliation from the warden and the guards, lived in the expectation of death every day. At last, on January 5, 1919 we were driven to Petropavlovsk, located in 500 versts. We suffered hard frost, hunger, beating. Everyone thought that there would be some definitude at the end of our journey. It comforted us.
We came to a camp in Petropavlovsk after thirteen days of travelling[106].
And now we were driven ito the cold cars and no one knows where they would take us. When there will be the end of our sufferings? Who is fated to see a clear day? They say they will take us to Omsk to the court. What kind of trial it’s going to be – no one knows. Let it be any, but as soon as possible… We somehow arranged our bedclothes on the plank beds and went to sleep.
At night our cars were switched for a long time, they apparently didn’t know to what train they should couple us.
After eight months of prison we first heard the noise of a crowded railway station, deafening engine’s screams, the guards’ whistles and voices. These sounds seemed unfamiliar to us, new, as if we had belonged to another world. And we kept sitting in dark cold cars and feeling as if we had already been in the hereafter.
Our car was coupled to the train at last and the engine dashed forward, cleaving the night darkness..
Where were they taking us? What for?.. Do take us... But let it be as soon as possible!
The car is creaking and swaying, the wheels are beating on the rail joints.
We came to Omsk. Our cars were put on the dead-end track.
The finest golden threads of the sun rays were coming through the cracks. We hadn’t seen such a bright dawn for a long time. It seemed that the hope itself lit up before us.
We scraped the hoarfrost with a penknife from the cracks between the planks and the rays of the sun flowed into the car. We began to discern the faces of each other. Our eyes got accustomed to the dim light long ago.
Hunger was beginning to tell. We persuaded the sentries to let one of us go and bring the boiling water. We asked firewood, lit the fire in the stove. It became warmer in the car. The cast-iron stove became red-hot. One could see that the prisoners, frozen right through during the journey, cheered up.
We brought the boiling water, were given some bread. Our ration was now reduced. If they used to give us bread once a day, now they began to give it once in two days.
We are sitting near the red-hot stove, warming ourselves, chewing bread and drinking the boiling water with it.
The hoarfrost begins to melt on the iron screws from the heat of the stove, it looks like tears flowing down the car walls. And there is frost in the street, a real Siberian frost. A loud crackling of snow, grinding of wheels, free engine’s screams come from afar.
In the evening we fetched some more boiling water. We entreated the guards to go to town and to sell some of out things. We asked to buy bread , tobacco, paper, envelopes and stamps for the received money.
Once the senior guards entered the car. They escorted us from Akmolinsk. And during the journey they tried to get warm clothes of good quality out of us, hunted for boots, tymaks[107], beshmets. They managed to swindle them out of some of us during the journey, the rest of us promised to give the clothes to them after our arrival. And so they came for the promised.
I had to give a new fox tymak to them and they gave me a knitted English cap with ear flaps. So my dress was now the following: an English cap, a Kazakh kupi[108], a woolen beshmet, lined with the polecat fur, under it, then a double-breasted jacket of black cloth with seminarist’s yellow buttons, trousers made of sheep skin, Russian wide trousers under them, Kazakh boots on my feet.
After the exchange we asked the guards what they were going to do with us?
- What can they do? Investigate the matter and let you go, - the guards answered carelessly.
- They will put us to prison again?
- We don’t know exactly, but no matter where they put you, it won’t take much time. The investigation will be carried out quickly.
- Let them drive us and send us wherever they want, but it’s impossible to go on living in these cars!
After receiving what he wanted from us, the commodore cheered up and decided to calm us down:
- Don’t worry, be strong, things will come right in the end. At the revolution pigs might fly!
They stood with us for a bit, then locked the door again and went away.
We sat down to write letters to our Omsk friends and acquaintances. Zhumabai wrote to the relative, who was studying in Omsk. Abdulla, Baken and I wrote to Zhanaidar, also studying here, on behalf of all prisoners. I personally wrote to Muhan Aitpenov! The Russian comrades also wrote, remembering their acquaintances’ addresses.
We didn’t know what the prisoners in the neighbouring car were doing at that time. There was no communication with them. We could exchange a couple of words very rarely, only when our doors opened simultaneously.
- How will we send our letters now? – Trofimov began to think.
- We should ask once more to let us fetch the boiling water and drop them into the letterbox on our way.
- And if the escort won’t agreee?
- Well, they will agree now.
It was Katchenko who usually went for the boiling water. Once he returned very glad, with bread, paper, tobacco, envelops, and told us:
- Now, comrades, I’m going to tell you something interesting!
- Come on, speak up, - we demanded impatiently.
- We went to the shop near the water-heating station, - Katchenko related. - We wanted to sell a golden ring or exchange it for food. When the shopkeeper heard who we were, she changed her countenance. No, she said, I won’t, have your ring, save it up for another time, and now take the products for free. But we forced her to take the ring and added some money. She began to wrap the products, pack them and I asked her in whisper: Have you got a newspaper? No, she answered, come again, I’ll get it ready for you.
We were very pleased with the interest this unfamiliar woman took in us, and decided to send Katchenko to her today, perhaps he’d have a chance to send a letter, go to the shop and take a newspaper.
But how to do it?
- Let’s ask to let us fetch some water!- Shafran jumped up from his place and began to knock at the door.
- What do you want? – the sentry responded… Shafran began to argue with him that we were in dire need of water just at this moment.
- Well, I report to the senior!..
Some time later the guards opened the door, took two of us, including Katchenko and one more prisoner from the neighbouring car.
When the dusk fell, there was a complete darkness in the car. We spoke in whisper. We could hear voices, the engines’ screams, the clank of wagons, seeming to shudder the ground, which came from the railway station. There were whistles and indistinct shouts, railwaymen’s commands.
In short, the life was pulsing outside the car, not our life, but a free life on the opposite side.
The stove cooled down quickly and it became cold in the car in an instant. Lots of icycles appeared on the iron parts of the car in no time, there was white hoarfrost everywhere again. It was even colder in the car than it used to be. We kept lying, exhausted by the arctic cold of this unbearable car.
In our car there was Katchenko, Monin, Pavlov, Drizge, Kremenskoy, his son-in-law Yurashevitch, Bogomolov, Trofimov, Martlogo, another Monin, Petrokeev, Abdulla, Baken, Zhumabai, Annenchenko, Kotov and I. There were about twenty prisoners from Akmolinsk, shut in the next car…
Katchenko returned.
- Have you sent the letters? Have you brought a newspaper?
- Everything is all right. I did send the letters and here’s a newspaper for you! – Katchenko replied with a self-satisfied smile, taking tobacco, wrapped in the newspaper, out of his pocket.
- Who will read it? Who is good at reading?- we began to shout, anticipating the news. – Let Ivan Pavlovitch read!
We lit the candle-end. Lawyer Ivan Pavlovich Trofimov, a left Socialist Revolutionary, got down to reading. We listened brieflessly to him. The newspaper was published by Kolchak’s government in Omsk.
You can imagine without reading it what Kolchak’s newspaper wrote about and to what it urged!
“… The Bolsheviks are criminals, bloodsuckers, villains, marauders, they kill everyone except their adherents…”
“At the front our valiant regiment forced the redbummed to retreat in the region of Sterli-tamak. The time will run out for the Bolsheviks at the end of winter”.
“The Soviets are surrounded. The iron ring is contracting around them every day… Now the scoundrels have nowhere to escape”.
“We are glad to hear the news of the “News Agency “Reuters” that Petersburg was captured by General Yudenich”…
To put it in short there were lots of such “happy” news in Kolchak’s newspaper. But we also came across the information of other kind. For example, this one: “Our army left the town of Ufa for tactical reasons”. Or: “Our army is again surrounding the town of Orenburg”.
We cheered up from such news. Everyone wanted to share his opinion. We knew now very well that Ufa and Orenburg are in the hands of the Bolsheviks. We fired up the stove again and everyone read the newspaper in its light in turns. We shared our opinions until late at night.
The trains kept moving around us, their roar never stopped, it was noisy at the railway station.
When it was past midnight, we wrapped ourselves up to feel warmer and fell asleep. The dark car resembled an iron-bound coffer, stuffed with silent things.
At dawn it became a little lighter in the car. It was blowing through every crack. The walls became srtiped with white hoarfrost. The clothes of those, who slept near the wall, got frozen.
We got up, chattering. There was nothing to fire up the stove with. We waited for a long time till the guards came for another checkup.
This time the old soldiers entered our car together with the new ones, unfamiliar to us. They squeezed into our car in a crowd and stared at us with curiosity. After counting us, the former commodore named us to his successor, who counted us in his turn and wrote down our names. Then they went to the second car with the same purpose, then to the third one where our old guards were. Thus we were handed over to a new escort.
The new guards behaved in a quite different way – they opened the doors of both cars and allowed us to go out for a walk. We hastily washed ourselves, fetched the boiling water and bread.
The new guards, all very young fellows, seemed kinder to us than the former ones, though they were also from ataman Annenkov’s detachment, judging by their clothes. Most of them turned out to be students, who voluntarily joined Annenkov’s detachment.
- Will the former guards return?- we asked.
- No, we are the only ones who will guard you, - there came in response.
There crawled day after day in the dismal icy car. We were given bread in a day and no more than one pound per person. While we had our personal things, we sold them, bought bread for the received money and shared equally between us. When we managed to get firewood out of the soldiers, we fired up our stove. The water came dripping from the walls into a dirty puddle on the floor. Then the warmth vanished and the puddle got frozen in an instant. Then it thawed out again, it dripped from the walls again, and the puddle became bigger and bigger, forming a thich ice crust on the floor. Finally we guessed to drill two holes in the floor for the water from melted ice to flow out.
Sometimes our guards came to us in the daytime to warm themselves near the hot stove. At our request they left the door slightly open to let the sun look into our car. Warming himself near the stove, a young soldier had to answer our questions, like it or not, and we tried to talk about politics first of all.
Once I asked him, as if incidentally:
- Which government is there in Russia now?
- In the places where the Bolsheviks were dispersed, the people’s government was formed, - the guard answered.
- And where did the Bolsheviks go to?
- The Bolsheviks?.. They are in Russia!
- And what kind of the people’s government is it? A Republic?
- It is called the Provosionary Government.
- And what about Admiral Kolchak?
- Kolchak is a supreme ruler. His rule is temporary. But once he defeats the Bolsheviks, the All-Russian National Assembly will be gathered, and this same assembly will decide what kind of government we should have.
I talked with this guard for a long time. Before the military service he studied at Omsk Agricultural School. He joined Annenkov’s department voluntarily.
- What is better in your opinion, the Republic or the Tsarist rule? – I asked.
- The Republic, of course!- he answered.
- Kolchak is now a supreme ruler. It means that the present government is his dictatorship. And if he conquers all Russia? What will be the government?
- I’ve told you, the question about the government will be solved by the National Assembly.
- Well, how do you think what they will choose?
- The government that our national Assemly will favour, - the soldier answered with hesitation.
- You’ve said that there, where are no Bolsheviks now, the people’s government has been formed. But how can it be called “people’s” if it is ruled by one person – Kolchak?
- It will become a people’s government in due course! The people will make a speech at the assembly and offer their own government!
- The matter is that common people won’t get to the assembly. There’s no place for them there. Admirals, generals, high-ranking officers, aristocrats, intellectuals, bais will take part in the assembly. They will protect their interests. It is to their advantage to keep a tight reign on the people, - I resolutely expressed my thought.
My comrades, seeing that I got too carried away, began to make signs, meaning “calm down, cool off”.
The soldier thought for a moment but went on standing his ground:
- You are not right. At the assembly the people will choose their representatives by the majority of votes. They will strive for justice.
- When the power is concentrated in the hands of a single person, no popular vote will help, - I abruptly finished our conversation.
Several days passed. Once we saw through the door that somebody spoke in Kazakh to our guard. We pressed ourselves close to the crack and saw a young Kazakh in a shabby coat and a white fur cap with ear flaps.
The guard opened the door a little and we pushed our heads through it. The zhigit warmly greeted us.
- Are you from Akmolinsk?- he asked.
- Yes! And who are you?
- I’m Zhumabai Nurkin’s relative. Is he with you?
Zhumabai rushed to the door, greeting with emotion his young relative, who turned to be Kurmangaliy Tuyakov, a student of Omsk school. We found out that he had received Zhumabai’s letter and came to visit him. After making enquiries about our situation, he promised to come tomorrow and left. His visit encouraged us, at least we could rely now on a certain support. The next day the zhigit brought us a kettle and four tin mugs, as we had asked him.
To our great regret he knew about the situation at Kurmangali front no more than we did. But he dwelt on the events in Omsk. He spoke simply and modestly, our guard was quiet, besides he didn’t understand in Kazakh.
- In December the Bolsheviks, Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries united and conspired against Kolchak. The beginning was favourable. At night the conspirators attacked the prison and released all prisoners, including Shaimerden Alzhanov and Kolbai Togusov. On the first day these comrades hid in mullah Kuderi’s house, then went to the steppe at night. But the Alash-Orda supporters sniffed out about their escape, started to pursue them and at the distance of two days of riding caught them in one of auls and brought back to prison. Togusov died, and I don’t know anything about Shaimerden…
- These adherents of the Alash-Orda are faithful servants! – one of us said with a bitter irony. Perhaps, Kolchak dressed them in expensive chapans to express his gratitude for catching two outstanding revolutionaries. Who are these heroic Alash citizens, who caught Kolbai and Shaimerden? – we wanted to know.
Kazi Torsanov, our Zhumabai’s relative, turned out to be one of the Alash citizens. His father Torsan, a rogue and a glutton, known to all Petropavlovsk District, served as a volost administrator for twenty-five years and repeatedly received missive letteres from Nickolay himself. His son Kazi followed in his father’s footsteps. He was a member of Akmolinsk regional committee of the Alash-Orda. There was a period when Kazi, being at daggers drawn with the members of the Province Alash-Orda, took part in creating the “Ush Zhuz” Party together with Kolbai Togusov and Shaimerden Alzhanov. An adventurer by nature, he didn’t remain in it for a long time and soon defected to the like-minded people, becoming a worthy Alash member. So, the Bolsheviks and the Socialist Revolutionaries released the imprisoned, and the members of the Alash-Orda did their best to return their compatriots behind bars. Bravo, poor things!
We managed to find out the details of this significant event later.
In December 1918, when the atrocities of Kolchak’s soldiers exceeded all bounds, the underground Bolshevik committee decided to raise a mutiny in the town.
Many of newly recruited soldiers left Kolchak’s detachments and came over to the Bolshevik side. By then Kolchak, no longer regarding the Socialist Revolutionaries as his supporters, began to arrest them and to shoot some of them. The Socialist Revolutionaries also joined the Bolsheviks. They jointly drew a plan of capturing the town. First of all they should capture the railway station, then release the prisoners, capture the telephone and telegraph office. They planned to surround the Cossack cavalry regiment in the town centre and release the Red Guards, Hungarians, Austrians, Germans from the prison camps. Thus, the Bolsheviks decided to overthrow Kolchak’s rule overnight.
On the night of December 22 a Bolshevik detachment released the prisoners and disarmed the Cossack cavalry regiment. But due to the negligence of the Socialist Revolutionaries, the central telegraph remained in the hands of Kolchak’s soldiers, they raised a general alarm and sent for reinforcement.
The Bolshevik leaders were taken unawares, the headquarters were arrested. The scattered rebel detachment didn’t know what to do. Zhanaidar Sadvokasov and Adilev (Dinmuhammet) kept waiting for the directions from the headquarters together with the others and so they had to remain inactive.
An indiscriminate shooting began. Kolchak’s numerous officers and gendarmes rose as soon as the alarm was given. The town was agitated. Few Bolsheviks remained. The railroad workers joined the Bolsheviks but there were also so few of them. A little detachment retreated to the railway station, firing back. They built a barricade there, held out till the morning and retreated to Kulomzino station.
From Omsk Kazakhs it was Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, living in Aitpenov’s house, who took part in the Bolshevik revolt. He constantly kept in touch with Berezovsky, a famous Omsk revolutionary writer. Dinmuhammet, who was hiding from the arrest at that time, also fulfilled the Bolshevik orders.
The day after the revolt Kolchak issued an order: “Those who conceal the Bolsheviks will be shot without trial. All escapees, released from prison, should voluntarily come to the authorities”.
Twelve Socialist Revolutionaries, who escaped from prison, obeyed the order, surrendered to Kolchak’s soldiers.
They were all shot the same night.
As I’ve already said, the members of the Alash-Orda helped Kolchak to catch the escapees.
They wanted to take Zhanaidar Sadvokasov off his job in the zemstvo, accusing him of bringing bullets to the Bolsheviks during the revolt. The knights of the Alash-Orda rushed to look for Dinmuhammet.
Muhan Aitpenov, in whose house Zhanaidar lived, concealed Bolshevik Novikov, who had escaped from prison.
Thus the Kazakhs behaved in totally different ways during the December revolt…
Let’s return to our cars now.
The next day Kurmangali brought Zhanaidar with him. There was no limit to our joy. They brought us plenty of bread and butter. When we ate it, we decided that bread and butter was a divine food.
The Russian comrades joyfully greeted our guests, asked them about the news. But we didn’t meet with Zhanaidar and Kurmangali because our cars were put to the dead end siding. There were no people here, only the railroadmen occasionally passed. A black engine maneuvred on the tracks, huffing and puffing here and there, now slowly and then fast, like a black foal, training before the baiga[109]. The engine will pick up the wagons soon and drag them far away. The wagons will be different. Some of them are warm and cosy, there are aristocrats, occuping the soft seats. In the others there are hungry exhausted people, lying on bare planks without a piece of bread from morning till night. Some wagons resemble a paradise and others – hell, the engine doesn’t grieve and doesn’t rejoice, it patiently drags the wagons of joy and the wagons of suffering behind it. Oh, engine-engine, your soul is made of iron!..
The situation doesn’t change in our car, the same ice and then dampness and a cold wind through the cracks. It’s not a life but a sheer hell, and the prison seems to be a paradise to us now.
How many times we were frightened by the pictures of hell in our childhood, something of the sort:
- If you say “It’s cold”, they throw you into a fiery furnace. The fire is so good that it burns a man at the distance of a day’s ride… And if you say “Oh, I’m burning alive!”, they will throw you into a boundless icy sea. And if you say again “It’s cold to me”, they will throw you again into the same fiery furnace…
Our cars are worse than hell, because it’s also dark and crowded here in addition to the heat and cold. Three our comrades have already fallen ill. Pavlov’s state is deteriorating with every passing day.
To get to Omsk prison seems to be the summit of our ambition. The dark trouble becomes more intense, sticking its claws into our bleeding bodies.
Two weeks have passed since we came to Omsk but there isn't a gleam of hope in our fate.
Sometimes we manage to get fresh Kolchak’s newspapers from an occasional passer-by or from the same shop-keeper. They speak about one and the same thing. But it is easy to see now that the triumphant progress of Kolchak’s rule has stopped. You won’t find a single line about Kolchak’s attack at the front. You can also read between the lines that the people don’t sit back and do nothing. There has been a wave of revolts throughout all Siberia: in Altai, near Irkutsk, in the Yenisei valley – in all places, where Kolchak’s rule was established.
And we were locked and racked our brains, how to get at least a log for the stove. Once an engine slowly puffed along our cart. We begged the guard to ask the engine driver to give some firewood. The engine stopped.
The guards took two prisoners from each car and led them to the engine driver. They came back with woodpiles and went to the engine for the second time, now more quickly. The engine continued to stand, the engine driver appeared to be kind.
Our comrades ran for firewood several times.
- We managed to speak to the engine driver,- Shafran told us as soon as he returned. - We explained who we were and for what reason we were kept in prison, and he scolded the White Guards and said:”Be strong, comrades, these dogs will soon come to their end! All people hate them!”
That’s how little by little we learnt the news from an occasional engine driver or from the newspapers or from some guards who were eager to share another news.
We are encouraged by the fact that people have got to the bottom of Kolchak’s rule. We wait for better days, suffer, hope that it won’t be worse. The cars are in the same deserted railway siding. We wrote to our friends where to look for us but there was not a sound from them. It was getting more difficult with every passing day. The things, which we were permitted to sell, finished. It was forbidden to sell clothes. Anyway, there was nobody to sell them to. We couldn’t add anything now to our scant ratio. The starved comrades grew extremely weak.
Soon Petrov was no more with us. He died quietly, didn’t suffer for a long time and groaned only on the last day. We took care of him as far as we could. The valiant, courageous man left us forever. My heart was heavy.
About sixteen days after our arrival to Omsk a young officer entered our car, accompanied by ten soldiers. He was of a medium height, fine-featured, fair-haired, in the uniform of Annenkov’s soldier.
He took some paper and a pencil from an elegant leather bag, hanging on his side, and said:
- I’ll call your names and you must respond. Those, who stood near him, tried to look into his paper, while he was checking the list.
- They are sending you forward today. You must leave all unnecessary things here! – the officer ordered.
- Where to?
- You’ll know when you come. And now let everyone lay out his things to be checked!
The officer began to call us one by one, everyone approached him and laid out his clothes and bed clothes. He examined the things and took away what was more or less valuable with the words “It’s unnecessary”. He took away several watches and wedding rings. He took away a Kazakh fur coat, which belonged to Baken but it was I who wore it. The officer beckoned a soldier to him, nodded him and the latter set aside the chosen things.
After the officer’s visit we “lightened” noticeably. Two shirts and a seminarist’s double-breasted jacket remained on me. I had a shabby Kazakh beshmet, lined with worn-out polecat, over them. It was very good that the officer didn’t pull off my pants of sheep skin, boots and English knit hat.
The officer took all the things and went away.
We tried to guess in which direction they would send us. If not Shafran then Trofimov had the time to read out of the corner of his eye an order in the officer’s hands to send us to the headquarters of a certain steppe corps.
- What kind of steppe corpus is it? Where is it? To whom will they take us – to Annenkov? Or to ataman Semenov’s headquarters? Or to some other general?
Everyone felt that the matter took a serious turn. They would send us to the headquarters, then there would follow a drumhead court martial and execution. There were no other assumptions.
It was evening. I looked through a wide crack to see what was going on at the station. It is cloudy today and the day isn’t very cold. Two workers are doing something on the tracks on the right. There is nobody there except them. As usual, the noise of the railway station and the puffs of engines can be heard. The couplers are exchanging words with each other, somebody is arguing. The clang of buffers reaches my ears. There is no wind and large snowflakes are slowly falling.
The bulbs have gone on. The red and green lights can be seen here and there. The railwaymen are loudly whistling, giving signals to each other with lights. A train swept past us with a roar in the direction of Siberia. Then another train went past us, thrilling the land with a roar, also in the direction of Siberia.
I watched intently and for a long time the noisy life of the railway station, absolutely different from our dark and cruel days. It seemed to me that I truly understood the value of life only today…
Plying the fire with fresh fuel, we sat until late at night. Drizge is severely ill, and is wasting away with every hour. Pavlov’s death, Drizge’s state, the unknown – all this oppresses us.
We silently watch the dying out flames of the stove, some of us lying and the others sitting. The car walls are shedding tears. The howling of the storm comes from the street from time to time.
At midnight we heard the sound of footsteps. They approached our car. The guard asked about something and the footsteps moved away. We kept listening to every sound.
Several minutes later an engine was driven to our cars, they were coupled and hauled to another place. Everyone was awake, listening. The car was uncoupled. Then it was coupled again, hauled here and there and after a long manoeuvring we found ourselves in a train at last.
The train is rushing ahead, but I can’t sleep, I keep looking into the darkness through the cracks.
Everything is covered with an impenetrable night darkness. The storm is whistling, wiping the snow off the fields, whirling it and hurling it against the cars.
The wheels are hammering.
At dawn they took all of us out for a walk at one of the stops. We saw Hafiz from the second car being armed by Baimagambet on the one side and by a Russian comrade on the other side.
- What’s the matter? Has he fallen ill?- we rushed to them.
- It was hard for him, he thrashed in bed with a high fever all night. He’s a bit better now, but he can’t come round still, - Baimagambet answered us in a barely audible voice.
When we were driven back, Pankratov, a comrade from the second car, stole unnoticeable into our car and told us:
- At night, when we had just left Omsk, something unusual happened. We were all silent as usual. Nobody paid attention that Hafiz turned to the wall and squirmed. Then he suddenly raised up his head and asked Baimagambet to give him a penknife. He didn’t give it, saying it was hidden away and he didn’t feel like taking it out. Hafiz lay down without a word and turned to the wall again. Some time later they heard groans and muttering in Kazakh from his corner. Baimagambet rushed to him, raised him a little and cried out: “Come here quickly! He’s going to kill himself!” Everyone got to his feet, surrounded Hafiz. He wanted to open his vein with a nail, but only cut muscles on the elbow. The wound was bleeding. We dressed the wound, calmed him down, cheered up, scolded his cowardice. He lay crying, then seemed to calm down, and we took our places. The he jumped up to the door in rage and began to kick the door, terribly crying. We pushed him away with difficulty, but he struggled desperately, threatening somebody, didn’t want to listen to anyone, until he lost his consciousness. He thrashed in bed in delirium for a long time, pleading us: “Brothers! Let me die myself and not from these executioners’ hands! I’ll break the door! I’ve lost my patience”. When we stopped, he rushed to the door again and began to frenzily scold the guards. We could hear the guard’s voice outside. The door opened, an officer came in with the guards and yelled: “What’s the matter?” There was no stopping Hafiz. He scolded the officer, Kolchak and Kolchak’s rule. The officer turned white with fury and draw his sabre. We began to calm down the officer, saying that Hafiz was ill, in delirium, he should forgive him. But Hafiz didn’t let the officer alone and began to plead him: “If you’re human, don’t spare a bullet, shoot me”…
The officer left and we continued to hold Hafiz, he quietened only in the morning. That’s how our matters stand, my friends”, - Pankratov finished his story.
- And what is heard there in your car about our afterlife? – somebody asked.
- They would take us either to ataman Semenov or ataman Annenkov, it makes no difference to us. Our tale is told… - Pankratov fell silent..
- Unfortunately we think the same, - someone sadly confessed.
- Yea-ah, poor Hafiz, he couldn’t stand it any more!..
And the train rushes ahead with noise through a boundless snow white plain, carrying us to the east, to the heart of Siberia. The snowstorm never stops. The birches stick out from the deep snow, their tops sway in the wind, as if bowing to us.
The situation in the car became worse than in Omsk. They began to give us a quarter of a pound of bread each and we sometimes lack water. At the stops we beg the engine drivers of the passing engines to give us some firewood. Often they give us not firewood, but fine coal. We scatter fine ashes over the floor to absorb the water. It seems that we don’t want to eat so much because of the heat, as if we were consuming fire. But then the heat awakes the thirst, we have to ask our guards for water at the stops. And they are not always attentive to our requests. All faces are black with coal dust, the eyes are sunken, we are not humans now, but skin and bones. In the morning, when they take us out to ease ourselves, we hastily wash ourselves with snow, our faces become striped with dirt from such washing.
We have used all plank beds for firing up the stove. There remain only the planks for the sick. And their number continues to grow with every passing day… Drizge feels especially bad. We all suffer from hunger but we try to give at least a little food to our sick first of all…
It was after midnight… Four people remained sitting near the red-hot stove – Shafran, Katchenko, Ananchenko and Kotov. I joined them.
- If we don’t die here, they’ll shoot us anyway, - Shafran uttered.
- If they had wanted to take us to the court, they would have left us in Omsk prison. Why should they take us to another place? It’s clear – just to finish off with us!
- We must flee. There’s no other way out. At least somebody will stay alive then, - Shafran continued. – We must jump out of the moving train.
The comrades supported him and I kept silent.
- But the cars are locked and we’ve got no instruments to open them, - Katchenko said. – How should we jump out? We can’t break open the door with bare hands. The guards watch us when the train moves, too. If they notice one of us, we’ll all die.
- And if we make bigger the hole for the chimney? – Kotov offered.
Each one offered his plan. Suddenly Shafran stood up.
- It’s easier to jump out of the window, we only need to open the shuttеr, - he said with confidence and approached the window.
After tinkering with the shutter for a little while, he opened it and turned to us. We stood still, looking at the opened shutter and at Shafran himself – what was he going to do? Shafran cautiously put his head out of the window to look at the wagon for the guards. A shot rang out. Shafran pulled his head back in a moment and hastily closed the shutter.
- Sons of bitch, they are watching. He aimed just at my head, bastard! – he swore. – They continue to watch us even at night.
The night passed. We managed to get a little water and bread at one of the stops, to stay the pangs of hunger.
The day passed as usual. It was getting dark. Everyone was sitting near the stove.
Suddenly Nestor Monin rose up on his plank bed and cried out:
- Comrades! Kolchak has fled! General Gaida has just come!
Everyone looked at him in amazement. Where has Kolchak fled? Where’s Gaida?
- Why are you talking nonsense?
We knew the name of Gaida, a Czecho-Slovac general, from the newspapers. He was in command of the front against the army of the Soviets.
We put Monin to bed, having realized that he was seriously ill. But soon Monin jumped up again and cried:
- Long live the Soviet Socialist Federative Republic!
...It is stuffy in the car. The hands and feet seem to be chained. We don’t want to move because of the black silent trouble, gripping the whole of our being. Everything seems to be a nightmare... They uncouple our cars at halts, couple to another train and drag them again.
The situation in the second car is no better. Hafiz is dying there, they have the new sick.
We often meet trains with recruited peasants. Poorly dressed, they shout and make noise, as if they were drunk. We hear singing, swearing, sometimes even tearful lamentations. There’s also captivity there in the wagons. We are taken to the east – to meet death, and they are taken to the west to meet death, too. We have no right of appeal against its dark sentence!..
We came to Novo-Nikolaevsk[110]. Our cars were uncoupled and driven into the dead-end siding again. We were taken out for a walk. We somehow washed ourselves with snow, our faces became striped and black with the coal eaten into our skin, only the eyes were gleaming and the teeth were showing white.
In the evening six of us were taken out to fetch firewood. We asked the guards to leave the door open. Who still could stand on his feet, crowded at the door. We gaped at the passers-by.
Soon an officer came – a superior of our guards, together with a few military men, dressed to the nines, with chic – in polished boots, with clanking spurs, with stripes of golden lace, armed with sabres and revolvers. One of them – a tall blond man – had stripes with a skull on the sleeves and cap.
- Is anyone among you from Orenburg?- asked one of the newcomers.
- No, we are all from Akmolinsk, - there was a response.
- It seems to me you are members of the Council of Deputies?- asked an ensign, still a boy with round cheeks.
-Yes, we are.
- Ah, you wanted freedom, you bastards!- maliciously remarked the boy.
We kept silent. The officers left soon.
We were taken from Novo-Nikolaevsk to Barnaul. It became clear that they were transporting us to Semipalatinsk to ataman Annenkov, to that famous “headquarters of the steppe corps”.
The train moved slowly now, with stops. We waited for the passing trains at the crossing loops for a long time. We grew weak and were not able to speak any more. There was a deathlike silence in the cars.
Comrade Drizge died. He patiently and quietly endured the sufferings, the same as Pavlov, and he died calmly. There remained Pavlov’s wife and four or five children after his death. He was a commissar for Finance in the Council of Deputies, a steadfast, self-restrained, well-educated man. We knew little about Drizge. He came to Akmolinsk from Omsk and was our chairman of the revolutionary tribunal. He was a brave man with unshakeable convictions.
We informed the guards about the death of our comrade. The guards opened the car. They ordered us to take the corpse out. It turned out that another empty car was coupled to our cars, which was specially intended for the deceased. Experienced Kolchak’s killers proved themselves farsighted. When comrade Drizge’s body was being taken out, we were slowly singing “Ground down by heavy bonds, …”, in voices stifled by anger and grief.
Monin followed Drizge. He was seriously ill and painfully gasped for life. Rage was like a tight knot in our chests. The deceased was carried away to the car, where Drizge had found his place. When the corpse was being carried out, Yakov Monin, a brother of the deceased, broke down, grabbed the deceased and began to sob, like a child. I was the first to come down on him:
- It’s not time for tears now! Get up! He was not only your brother!
Little by little Yakov quietened.
Monin was born in Akmolinsk, was a soldier, after the dethronement of the Tsar he was one of the first to raise the banner of the Soviets in Akmolinsk and became a Red commander. He honestly worked together with Krivoguz. He was a competent, brave, determined member of the presidium of our Council of Deputies, a commissar for war indemnities. He had old parents in Akmolinsk and a young wife…
We went past Barnaul. We bought about a pound of butter and bread there, refreshed ourselves. But was such food able to help the sick and exhausted? We gave the better part to the sick. We also spared the fresh water, which we received intermittently, for our sick, despite sharp thirst.
Sailor Avdeev and comrade Melokumov from our car were seriously ill. Two comrades died in the second car – Martynov and Pyankovsky, both from Akmolinsk. Martynov was a worker of Spassk plant, Pyankovsky was a townsman, blacksmith, a Pole by birth. They were both members of the Council of Deputies. Pyankovky was a commissar for Labour. Both of them had a wife and children in Akmolinsk. Pyankovsky sang “Marseillaise” before his death. He was a Pole with a romantic heart and sang, even dying…
When we passed Barnaul District, our situation noticeably improved, still our spirits were low because of our comrades’ death.
The ataman’s “batyrs” wanted to starve us to death, we could see it from the fact, that a mortuary car was added to our train. They didn’t take bread for us, not speaking of other products. Besides, there was no food at all at many stations. Sometimes we could sea a peasant with a loaf of bread, and there were no other products there. The trouble was that, first, the peasants themselves lacked the food products, and secondly, they didn’t want to sell anything for Kolchak’s money. Besides, the local population was mostly afraid of Kolchak’s soldiers.
Our train stood for a long time at one of the halts. A settlement could be seen in about five versts from the railroad. Four guards found a pair of horses somewhere, took one prisoner from each car and went to the settlement… They came back with bread. They took a larger part for themselves and divided the rest between two cars.
How did it happen? Storming into the settlement, the ataman’s soldiers demanded to give them some bread. “We are hungry ourselves”, - the peasants replied. The soldiers came to every house, but no bread was found in any of them. One of our comrades struck the right moment and whispered to a peasant for whom this bread was intended. The peasant said with vexation: “Why haven’t you told it to us before, how could we know you?!” The situation changed at once, the peasants brought us bread in a moment. They diligently collected everything they could, to the last crumb, until the ataman’s soldiers said: “That’s enough, we have no time, the train is waiting for us”.
Sometimes our comrades, who went for bread and tobacco, managed to grab a newspaper in Russian, the “Altai Ray”, at the stations of Barnaul District. Its materials differed from Omsk newspapers, it was more or less against Kolchak, apparently, it was published by the Socialist Revolutionaries. We learnt a lot of news from this newspaper.
“Wilson, the president of America, organizes a conference on the Prince’s Islands to preserve peace in Europe. The matter of establishing peace in Russia will be discussed at this conference. The representatives of the Bolshevist rule are invited together with other representatives of Russia”.
The newspaper wrote that Kolchak was said to reply: “If the Bolshevik representatives are invited, we refuse to participate in the conference”.
The newspaper wrote that the Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks, who came to an agreement with the Bolsheviks, were going to unite and act against Kolchak. On this occasion Chernov, the leader of the Socialist Revolutionaries, issued a proclamation: Let all Russia rebel against Kolchak! After uniting with the Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks, the Bolsheviks agreed to convene a Constituent Assembly.
This information from the newspaper cheered up our comrades, especially Trofimov, a left Socialist Revolutionary.
- Well, Seifullin, we’ll do well now! We’ll do well now!- he repeated happily several times.
According to the information of the newspaper, all workers of the Siberian railway, all peasants and cooperative associations were against Kolchak.
Several times we could see the trustworthiness of this information ourselves.
- You want last long, bastard! – we could here more and more often in our car.
It was informed that the peasants excited a riot against Kolchak in Altai Province, but didn’t succeeed. The riot was crushed by force. The leaders of rebels hid in the Altai mountains.
Kolchak’s soldiers searched the cooperative administration of Barnaul Province and imprisoned the members of the administration. Kolchak repeatedly forbade the Altai newspaper, imposed fines on it and prosecuted its editor.
But the forbidden newspaper continued to be published under another title. Once it was called the “Dawn of Altai”. Then it got a new name of the “New Dawn of Altai”, and then it finally became the “Altai Ray”. These data were provided by the newspaper itself.
But when we began to approach Semipalatinsk, our situation worsened. We were without bread again and we were not provided with water every day.
When we were taken out, we gathered snow into the bag, where the coal was kept. The snow melted near the stove and we drank this dirty liquid. But the guards didn’t allow us even to gather more snow… There was a severe snowstorm several days. The train made long stops, as if the engine drivers had been lingering on purpose, trying to delay our death.
Avdeev was unwell. He shivered all over and was hardly able to get to his feet. Once he wanted to approach the door, but convulsions began and the sailor helplessly stopped. He was swagging, though the train diddn’t move. It was terrible to look at him. However, any of us looked no better than he did. The coal dust was absorbed by our pores, there could be seen only eyes on our faces. There was dust in our nostrils, ears, mouths.
Everyone is waiting to be brought somewhere as soon as possible, it doesn’t matter where. But the train is not in a hurry. The raging snowstorm doesn’t let us go. We are exhausted, we keep waiting. Comrade Katchenko turned out to be the toughest among us. It was he who always went for all we needed – tobacco, firewood, water and bread, Katchenko was our leader in brief. A courageous Ukraininan, he represented his nation with dignity.
At one of the stops groaning Avdeev asked:
- Katchenko, find me a glass of milk... If you find it, I won’t die, I conjure you by life!..
Tears came to Katchenko’s eyes. He went to the station together with a guard and a half-hour later appeared with a glass of milk. It was quickly boiled on the stove and given to Avdeev.
All of us believed that it was this milk that helped Avdeev to stay alive. Comrade Kondratyeva, the only woman among us, didn’t leave the sailor. She sat at his bedside day and night.
Our way from Barnaul to Semipalatinsk was long. They stopped to give us water and we became dried out, pale and reached rock bottom. They didn’t allow us to gather enough snow. Sometimes once, sometimes twice a day we were taken out for a walk, during which we hastily grabbed pieces of ice and snow. First of all we gave the melted water to the sick, and the rest of it divided between the healthy – a glass or half of a glass for each. The man is able to endure hunger longer than thirst. Only now, in this car, I learnt that the water was the most valuable thing on earth. “Oh! Where are you, bubbling mounting springs, which I crossed indifferently so many times?” – I could not help thinking.
We arrived to Semipalatinsk at dawn. Our cars were uncoupled at the goods station. We got some water, drank it and sighed with relief. We could see the town in two versts from us. The sun rose, we were taken out of the car and they didn’t hurry us as usual, but gave us an opportunity to wash ourselves with snow.
Wherever you look, there is a thick layer of fluffy snow. Semipalatinsk reminds a large crowded settlement. The day is warm. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The clean white snow is playing in the rays of the sun. Several Kazakhs are loading mutton bodies in the sledge at the goods station.
The commodore went to town together with two soldiers. The remaining guards got some bread for us. We didn’t know what was expecting for us in this town, but we would agree to everything to get rid of our cars of torture.
We watched the station hopefully all day long and waited for the news. In the evening the officer entered our car.
- Well, let’s go back. We’ll leave this evening, - he informed us.
- Why back!? Where to?
There was no end to our surprise, anger and indignation.
- It was ordered to take you back. I don’t know anything more, - answered the officer.
And the door of the car was shut again. Why did they take us here? Why do they send us back? Where else will they take us?
- The situation in Semipalatinsk must be very bad. That’s why they don’t accept us. Now they will carry us to our death in these cars, - we reasoned. – They took us to Semipalatinsk on purpose, to starve us to death. And now, as we have endured that, they will take us back to a remote prison in Siberia.
No one knew anything. We left Semipalatinsk at night.
And there were again long tedious stops, sluggish slow clickety-clack. A snowstorm broke out and the train stopped. The railroad was covered with snow. There were no people there. It turned out that our cars were coupled to the goods train.
We moved with the speed of a horse’s walk. We stood for a long time. We covered only twenty-five versts this day. The snowstorm raged for three days running. We didn’t see any bread for three days, and we seldom had water…
When the snowstorm stopped, the train was detained by snowdrifts. It was the fourth day without bread and without water. The hungry prisoners sat dishevelled, resembling hungry lions. There was less fire in their eyes but more anger.
- No, it’s better if we are shot all at once, than die one by one. Let’s knock at the door, asking for bread and water! – someone suggested.
- That’s right! – all of us joined.
We began to kick the door at the nearest stop.
The guard furiously responded:
- What the hell do you want?
We demanded bread and water.
- No!- the guard cut short.
- Let us fetch some snow at least!
The guard swore. We began to kick the door again.
- Hey! Don’t kick, I’ll start shooting!- the guard warned.
- Shoot!- we cried out at once.- Or open the door and let us gather some snow!
The commodore came, opened the door, allowed to gather some snow. We filled a bag and a bucket. The impatient guard began to hurry us. Comrade Afanasiev said:
- Wait, we’ll fill and come in.
The soldier shouted at him. The enraged Afanasiev didn’t move. The guard began to call other soldiers, sitting in the wagon:
- Go out! They are going to rebel!- Turning to us, he cried: - I’ll shoot everyone!- and clicked the bolt.
Afanasiev eyed him keenly.
- Here, shoot!- he shouted furiously and stood in front of the soldier. The latter didn’t dare to shoot. The commodore came out and settled the matter.
The train started off but soon stopped again and this time the guard opened the door himself and ordered to gather some snow. The train stood for a long time. An engine went past us several times. The engine driver stared at us through the open door. One of our comrades shouted:
- We are prisoners, Bolsheviks!.. We are starving! Help us!..
The engine went away and stopped at the head end. Some time later a man in a dirty black double-breasted jacket went in our direction. He came close to the commodore, spoke to him and left him a bundle.
The commodore brought the bundle to us, we found bread there.
- That man gave it to you, take it and share with each other! – the commodore said, as if we didn’t know what to do.
Our joy was beyond words. We were happy not so much because of bread, but because we had attracted a stranger’s attention. It meant that he sympathized with us and didn’t hate, like all Kolchak’s soldiers.
The door was locked but soon unlocked again and the guard said:
- Take this bread!
It turned out that the same engine driver came again, carrying two loaves of rye bread under his arm.
Putting my head out of the door, I looked at him for a long time. He nodded friendly to me two or three times. His eyes glimmered with sympathy.
The next day we came to Barnaul.
After receiving the commodore’s permission and collecting suitable clothes, Katchenko went to the railway station together with the guard. He came back with trophies – he brought us some bread, sausage, butter, tobacco. The smokers rushed to the tobacco before taking food. I often wondered that these hungry exhausted people didn’t grab bread and butter with their trembling hands, but cigarettes, hastily lit them, and after the first avid puff at their cigarettes large beads of sweat stood out on their foreheads. They inhaled all the smoke and seemed to eat it, without letting anything back.
...Two more comrades died on our way from Barnaul to Novo-Nikolaevsk. One of them was Yurashevich (Kremensky’s son-in-law), a mill technician.
We didn’t know where they were going to take us from Novo-Nikolaevsk. But our hesitations were settled when we realized that we were being taken to Omsk.
We were again put in one of the dead-end sidings of Omsk railway station. We spent two days there. On the third day the comrades, who went for water to the railway station, told us:
- A well-dressed imposing man met us at the station and followed us to the car. And then he turned back.
- Perhaps he is an ordinary man in the street,- we concluded, - there were lots of people, who wanted to have a look at the prisoners.
- No, it can’t be so! He has a penetrating gaze, he looked at us in a special way.
At noon Katchenko went for water again and when he came back, he whispered:
- That man is here again! There, behind the car, look!
We clung to the cracks. Really, a solidly built man above medium height, a blond, walked up and down as a stranger.
The next day a simply dressed woman with a small bundle appeared near our cars. The doors of the cars were open. When the guard began to bolt the door, the bundle suddenly fell under our feet. We saw the woman almost running away from us. The guard kept standing and, dumbfounded, followed her with his eyes. We quickly hid the bundle. There was some bread, sausage and cigarettes there.
Those who have never been in the same desperate state, as we were, will never understand what the least help and support meant for us!
On the third day we left the cars at last.
For the feedom of working people We spilt our bood in the fields, The heavy guns, which terribly roared, Shook the earth and provoked its screams. We were cruelly bent to the ground, and we stubbornly aimed at the sky. From the sabre and bullets’ shower Our life depended that time. Our lungs were filled long ago With the smoke of distant plants. From enslaving chains for the centuries Our skin was injured on hands. Learning life as it is – pain and sorrow – We expected for our relief. Kiss of death repeatedly tasting, Spring of life we avidly gripped! Those people, who dreamt of the evil, Frightened us, lie now in death… ...Who will dare to threaten us now, Since a soldier is everyone here?[111]
IN OMSK CAMP
The escort is standing. The sabres and bayonets are gleaming. There is an escort on foot and another one, mounted, which has just come from the town. They have taken us out of the cars and lined up. The new commodore is a young officer, the same as an old commodore. The gold-laced shoulder stripes are shining. The sabre sheathes with sword-knots on the hilt are decorated with silver. The clang of spurs can be heard at the slightest movement. The officers are young. They look like saplings in silver collars. We have studied them well enough. These are self-willed loafers and idlers, who have neither father nor mother near them to call them to order. Slimy language, senseless, foolish laughter, roaring animal voices. They often complacently indulged in whipping and using their sabres. They often threatened us with their arms when drunk, yelled that they would shoot us, and showered us with abusive wirds. They often tormented us, demanding to pray for the Tsar on the knees. Our comrades learnt the full measure of their humanity on their own experience…
Those, who could walk, stood in two lines. The officers stood near us, exchanging remarks, sometimes glancing at us.
- Two comrades from the second car are not able to get up, - someone from the lines said. Would you allow to carry them out on hands?
- Those who are stronger, come out of the line!
Comrade Pankratov and I entered the car. Two men were lying on the dirty floor in the dust coal. One of them was comrade Pyankovsky[112] , who was caught in Akmolinsk after his arrival from Turkestan, the other was lawyer Smokotin, a maximalist. Both of them silently looked at us, unable to utter a word. Their eyes were like frozen pieces of ice. Pyankovsky had enough power to put on one of his boots, the other was near him. He stared at me with set glassy eyes.
- Are you not able to put on your boot? - I asked.
He nodded with a quiet moan, tried to sit up and wasn’t able to do it, just showed in the direction of his boot with his eyes. Pankratov and I pulled the boot on the swollen foot, raised up our comrade and took him to the guards’ sledge.
Watching us taking our half-dead comrades out of the car, the new commodore remarked with a smile:
- It turns out you’ve suffered no loss during your journey.
The old commodore replied the joke with a joke:
- There wasn’t a loss... They are firm, dogs. Only six of them died.
The day was quite warm, spring was coming! I was all eyes, as if I had seen the surrounding sunny world for the first time. My comrades look awful in the daylight: waded away, livid, with sunken eyes. The faces and clothes are covered with a layer of black dust. They resemble revenants.
I feel like a revenant, too. We spent nine months in a cell, in darkness, hunger and cold. Only nine months!.. But the troubles we had to suffer would be enough for nine years! During these nine months we lost any hope to see the world and shake off the coal dust. Everything seems a fairy tale to us, except the guards, girded by belts and with sabres on the side…
We were driven on... Those who were ready to drop were put in the sledges.
A fresh breeze came from the south-west. The snow near the railway and in front of the houses began to swell and melt. The disc of the sun far above in the sky seemed to get warmer, pointing to summer and gently touching our hearts with its warm breath. We feel that the time for melting of snow is coming. Squinting my eyes in the sunshine, I put my face under the gentle touch of the summer breeze. I keep looking, and my heart beats stronger and stronger… The lion, which sat quietly in my soul, wakes up with a presentiment of freedom. I look at my comrades ant it seems to me that their faces, covered with the coal dirt, begin to flush red. Everyone sets back his shoulders, ravenously, avidly gulping the air. Our exhausted bodies have returned to life, our sunken dead eyes have been lit with hope. Everyone believes that there, where they are taking us, must not be worse than in the extermination cars. We continuously watch the people, carelessly walking along the streets, we are weary for human faces. It’s so sweet for the heart. The thoughts and desires, given up long ago, are renewing in the heart.
The mounted escort drives us with naked sabres. People in the street go and ride past us, staring at us with surprise.
The black horse of the nearest guard paces, shaking its mane. The sides of the black horse are glossy, like black velvet. I enjoy a warm day, hope for freedom, admire the playful black horse. The guard, seeing that I admire the horse, smiles: “Do you want to sit on the horseback?..”
We were driven into the camp, located not far from the railway. A solidly built red-haired young officer with a clanging sabre, obviously a camp commander, came out at the guard post with four soldiers to meet us. He accepted us and let the escort leave.
In the camp, surrounded by a wooden fence like a cattle-pen, there are ten long barracks, knocked together of rotten planks. There are guards at the locked door outside and inside the camp. The camp looks like an independent state. The doors of the barracks are not closed. The prisoners freely go from one barrack to another.
When we were driven to the camp, everyone went out to meet us.
The stout young officer, who took us from the escort, ordered his assistants to place us in the empty barracks.
The camp was guarded by the Czecho-Slovaks.
While we were walking to our barracks, more amd more prisoners came out to see us. A lot of them didn’t differ much from us, shabby and exhausted the same as we were. All of them sympathized with us and tried to show their great interest in us. When we confessed that we were hungry, the prisoners hurried back to their barracks and brought us some bread. They seated us in groups, brought the boiling water and treated us to tea. We washed ourselves as normal human beings for the first time in many months.
There are a thousand and a half prisoners in the camp. There are also Russians, Tatars, Germans, Magyars (Hungarians), Koreans here. They mess about within the camp, scurry back and forth, resembling huge ants. There are dirty plank beds, darkness, stench inside the barracks. The prisoners are exhausted, a lot of them are in rags. Every day somebody dies. But after our cars we felt as if we had come home, to our auls. We got our fill, cheered up, everyone had high spirits.
A Hungarian, called Croat here, of a medium height, round-faced, dark-haired, sticked to us, Kazakhs, at once, brought us something to eat, talked to us for a long time. He didn’t speak Russian well – stumbled, while speaking, but understood everything. Croat told us that he was in the Red cavalry, took part in the battle at one of the railway stations near Petropavlovsk. They exterminated several thousands of Czecho-Slovaks, who were going to attack Omsk. They didn’t yield the station until the Czechs crushed a little Red detachment by their number. It was this battle that Croat participated in. The Kazakh zhigits, who joined the Red detachment in Omsk, fought together with Croat. This detachment fought bravely to the last bullet.
- Never mind, comrades! Never mind. The day will be ours. We’ll do with them like this! – Croat passionately said and showed how we were going to crush them, gripping himself by the throat.
- All the world has attacked the Reds, - I said. Abuse seems interminable.
A fair-haired fellow, who approached Croat, also a Hungarian, looked at me.
- Cheer up, comrade, the Reds will come. We have fought five years for our Tsar, and we are eager to fight fifteen years for the proletariat, if necessary… There’ll finally be only our rule throughout the world.
We met Basov, one of the leaders of Atbasar Council of Deputies, in the camp. As Atbasar Council of Deputies was not very active, the Whites imprisoned only four members in the camp, and the rest of them were released. There were few Bolsheviks in Atbasar…
It turned out that the inmates received newspapers. We pounced at them, though the newspapers were those of Kolchak. It was informed that there appeared partisans in the places, occupied by Kolchak, that the Red troops from Russia are advancing and moving forward. The newspapers informed with extreme reluctance that such and such town or settlement was surrendered. We were pleased first of all with the growth of the partisan movement, since the partisans operated somewhere not very far from us.
Soon, when we looked more closely, we understood that half of the inmates in the camp were ill. Five-ten people died every day. Lots of them didn’t have what to wear. Winter frosts and hunger drove them to utter exhaustion. They began to give more decent food to the inmates not long before our arrival. But a lot of inmates, who starved for a long time, were not now able to recover. The epidemic of typhoid burst out. Two days after our arrival nearly fourty of our comrades fell ill, too. It was the result of hunger, cold and sufferings. A lot of them began to get swollen. Then one died, another…
Only six or seven from our group didn’t fall ill. All the sick were placed in two separate barracks. The inmates themselves took care of them. Every day they carried the new sick in one door of the barracks, used as a hospital, and every day they carried the dead out of the other door. Only few recovered. If you enter the barracks where the healthy live, you can see that some of them gather together and read the newspapers, talk, the others play greasy cards or self-made draughts. There are also singers there. But only few of them are able to enjoy themselves. The inmates resemble stunned fish. They are hardly able to drag their feet, staggering as if half-asleep. A lot of them don’t get up from their plank beds the whole day. There are double-bunk beds, hastily knocked up, inside every barracks. The barracks are not ventilated, there is dirt and stink everywhere. Every day someone is taken away to the hospital. We have quickly realized that it is a limbo here, in the camp. It’s especially bad at night. If you wake up, you can’t fall asleep for a long time, hearing the inmates’ delirium. A lot of them groan in sleep. Some wake up terrified, try to run somewhere, look for something, mutter and shout out something, being half-awake, rush about and gaze round with a wild look. The night life of the barracks is like a black hole, where some impersonal shadows swarm and groan deep in the darkness and terror.
In the barrack for the sick it is even worse. It’s all groaning. The sick toss in fever, in the agony of death. You can see that their lives are flickering out with every moment. Some are terrified in delirium, the others rejoice, muttering about their cherished deams, revealing the secret of their soul… The inmates in the role of nurses help the prostrate to have a drink, to rise up, they take care of them as they can. The nurses frown and the expression of their faces doesn’t live much hope for recovering to the patients.
The only consolation is that the doors in the barracks are not locked.
The days drag on. One resembles another. We read Russian and Kazakh newspapers… We rejoice at the success of the Reds. We managed to get in touch with some comrades, living in Omsk out of prison. After receiving permission, they began to come to the camp to visit us. Mukan, Zhanaidar and Kurmangali brought parcels to us.
Once I saw Zikiriya Mukeev near the “canteen“, where we took the boiling water. We greeted each other and got into a conversation.
- How did you happen to be here? – I asked. – Have you been in the camp for a long time?
It turned out that Zikiriya was sent to the camp before us and was kept in the disciplinary cell. Even before our arrival Zikiriya planned to escape. But the Czech sentries caught him. At the interrogation he shamed stupidity, nevertheless the escapee was put to the disciplinary cell and was let out for a walk very rarely.
When we got the opportunity to see our free comrades, we learnt lots of news. We were interested what happened to the Kazakhs from the detachments of the Reds and where the Bolsheviks, members of the Council of Deputies, were. We learnt about the fate of the few Kazakh revolutionaries from Petropavlovsk in Petropavlovsk camp. The Whites shot Iskhak Kobekov on the day of the uprising. The Muslim bais of Petropavlovsk beat to death Karim Sutyushev. Gali Esmagambetov was also killed. Mukan Esmagambetov was released after three months of prison. The rest of them managed to escape. Shaimerden Alzhanov and Kolbai, released from prison on the days of the uprising, were caught by the members of the Alash-Orda and given to the hands of Kolchak’s soldiers. Kolbai was killed in prison, some time later Shaimerden Alzhanov was shot.
And what about the fate of the Kazakhs, who joined the Red Guard detachment in Omsk? Many of them fought in the mounted detachment. Muhatmekali Tatimov, Shokev, Zhumabai Tolmebaev, Ugar (Mukatai) Zhanibekov, Zikiriya Mukeev commanded the Kazakh zhigits.
At the beginning of June 1918, the Czecho-Slovacks from Petropavlovsk moved to Omsk by rail. There were thirty-fourty Czecho-Slovack soldiers, armed to the teeth, in each wagon.
They had rifles, machine guns, cannons, Mausers, bombs, sabres. They were all well-trained in soldiery. There were quite a lot of Red Army soldiers at that time but they were poorly trained in soldiery and armed with whatever came to hand. They had few rifles and it was especially bad with ammunition. Separate little detachments of the Reds, though aware of the fact that the Czechs were stronger, prevented them from advancing, making an ambush on their way: in the forest, in the steppe, at the railway stations, - and they bravely fought with the Czecho-Slovaks.
The enemy showered them with bullets. The Red Army soldies had to answer by single shots from the ambush.
The battle near Maryanovka continued for two days and two nights. The Reds stopped the enemy several times and passed to the offensive. Finally the ammunition ended and there were very few soldiers left. The enemy, exceeding in the number of arms and of soldiers, won. After capturing Maryanovka, the Czecho-Slovaks rushed to Omsk. At the station of Kulomzino, just before Omsk, they were met by the last detachements of the Reds. A lot of workers and employees took the arms for the first time in their life to protect the town. There were nearly twenty-five Kazakhs among them. There was again a massacre at the station of Kulomzino. The blood ran in torrents again. There was no place left where the human blood wasn’t spelt. But finally the Reds had to retreat, the enemy captured Kulomzino and entered Omsk. Out of twenty-five Kazakhs, who fought at Kulomzino, twenty were killed in action, the rest of them were taken prisoners and brutally executed – they were beheaded, hacked to pieces with sabres. Zikiriya Mukeev and Ugar (Mukatai) Zhanibekov were all who remained alive from the zhigits who were taken prisoners. After the battle the Kazakhs picked up the dead. But their heads were so mutilated that it was difficult and sometimes impossible to identify bodies. One of the Kazakhs, killed in action, was taken for Muhametkali Tatimov and buried with military honours. A letter was written to his home. Muhametkali’s elder brother, who was a sailor on the Irtysh, came, his friends came and arranged a Kazakh funeral feast. Everyone thought that the life of one of the heroes, coming from the working Kazakhs of Omsk and taking a stand under the banner of the Soviets, thus came to its end…
But later it turned out that the life of Muhametkali Tatimov was not over. And it’s worth being told about to the present generation.
The events, in which Muhametkali Tatimov and Abdolla Asylbekov participated during the war in 1919, look like a fairy tale. One was in the Urals, the other – in the east, almost near Japan. The things Sabyr Sharipov did and experienced are also amazing. I’ll separately write about them, these people deserve a large poem, written about them. Here I’ll briefly tell you about Muhametkali’s further actions.
It turned out that Muhametkali stayed alive after fighting against the Czecho-Slovaks, and retreating together with zhigit Telimbaev and fourty comrades from the Red detachment, reached the town of Ishim, captured by the Whites. The detachment came down upon the Whites, released the Red Army soldiers and Bolsheviks, put to prison, and went away. The detachement fought its way forward to Yekaterinburg. Zhumadil Telimbaev was wounded at the station of Vagay and sent to Vyatka. At that time Muhametkali joined the detachment, named “Wild Omsk Hundred”. It was in this detachment that Muhametkali fought in the Northern Urals.
He celebrated the October Revolution at Koshuvey plant. The leaders from Moscow came here for the celebration. They gathered separate Red detachments and organized the First Putilov Horse Regiment. Muhametkali commanded a troop of machinegunners in this regiment.
This regiment was surrounded by the Whites, but broke through a screen and joined the Red Army near the town of Glazov. The regiment fought there all winter. The so-called “Regiment of Red Eagles” fought with it in the Northern Urals against the Whites. It doesn’t sound very well in Kazakh, but it is strongly put in Russian. We learnt about these regiments – the First Putilov Horse Regiment and the Regiment of Red Eagles – in the camp, from Kolchak’s newspapers.
In April 1919 the leaders from the centre come to the Northern Urals. The power of the Red Army increases. The party spreads the word: “Siberia and the silver Urals, groaning under the enemy’s yoke, are waiting for us”. This appeal raises the fighting spirit of the Red Army. The Whites are dislodged from Yekaterinburg. Muhametkali is a commander of a machinegun troop. After recovery Telimbaev joins him and the friends continue to fight against the Whites, always in the first ranks. After capturing Ishim and Yalutorovsk, Muhametkali fell ill with typhoid and was sent to Yekaterinburg.
It was after capturing Omsk and Kolchak’s escape that Zhumadil was caught by the Whites near Barnaul and they brutally killed him.
These were the fates of the Kazakh revolutionaries from Omsk. Ugar (Mukatai), who got into the hands of the Whites, fled, was caught again and again fled.
There were a lot of true heroes, coming from the working class, in the great struggle, in the historical events of that time. I’ll tell later about their heroic deeds. Sabyr Sharipov, one of the leaders of Kokchetav Council of Deputies, went through incredible hardships under the banner of revolution. Dosov – one of the students from Omsk, who organized the Democratic Council and joined the Bolsheviks – selflessly fought for the new rule. Tautan hid in his aul, in Kustanai district, before the fall of the Council of Deputies. Only Zhanaidar Sadvokasov remained in Omsk…
When Zhumabai Nurkin’s father heard that we had been driven to Omsk camp, he came from Petropavlovsk and brought us a lot of food.
Quietly asking for the camp commandant’s permission, the inmates left the camp with the guards, went to town, went to the shops, to their friends. We managed to get to town, using the same method, we visited Zhumabai’s father, saw Muhan and Zhanaidar.
When we went to town, we were followed by the Czecho-Slovak soldiers. These “heroes” changed the tune, their violence went away and we felt: they began to realize that they had done mischief. We began to speak openly to them. Some of them scolded their officers, saying that they were guilty… The others blamed the Soviet rule: “They didn’t let us go home, we raised a mutiny only for this reason”. To say it in short, a lot of Czecho-Slovak soldiers began to sympathize with us, to call us “brothers”. When they accompanied us around the town, they led us wherever we wanted but warned:
- Brother, you know yourself, if you escape, I’ll be shot.
We went out to town, not even thinking about the escape, though it was possible to do it. We were stopped by the thought that if we ran away, our comrades from the camp would be shot. We planned to run away collectively.
Spring was coming, it became warmer.
It was during our going out to town that Zhumabai, Katchenko and I got two personal identity documents. One we got from Zhanaidar Sadvokasov, another – from Kurmangali Tuyakov. These documents were not enough so I went to Zhanaidar under escort and took the stamp and seal of the Democratic Council of Students, opened in 1917, got some glue, sharp penknives, chemical pencils, paper, ink.
In the camp we carefully cut the top of the rubber seal, changed some letters, glued it back and the seal of the Teachers Council came out of it. We couldn’t foresee all minutest details, and if it occurred to somebody to read all the impression of our seal, he would see that it was written in Russian: “Students Council”.
The document, which Zhanaidar got for me in the name of Duisembiy Asiev, corresponded to my age.
Here is this document:
|
Kazakh Teachers Council March 25, 1919 №112 (place of seal) |
Certificate Was really issued to Duisembiy Asiev, a student of Omsk School of Education for Adults, a Kazakh from Sletin Volost of Omsk District, 26 years old. We acknowledge the Certificate by our seal and signature. Deputy Chairman of Teachers Council (signature) Secretary (signature) |
Just in case, I provided myself with the certificate of the district committee of the Alash-Orda, signed by Sadvokas Zhantasov, the chairman of the committee.
We were well aware of the decree: “If the escaped prisoners are caught, shoot them without trial”. Despite this all who were healthy decided to flee.
Zhumabai was going to run away to his aul with his father. The rest of us would go each one his own way, as the things would turn out.
After it got warm and the snow, accumulated during the winter and clodded between the barracks, began to melt, the Austrian prisoners started to take it out of town. We arranged with them about the escape.
The snow was usually taken out by the Austrians, who were captured during the Imperialist War. We arranged with these carters about the escape.
That day we woke up early. The heart was beating anxiously, we kept worrying. It was freezing in the morning. The day was a bit grey. We dressed, washed ourselves, drank tea. Soon all prisoners got up and began to scurry between the barracks and mess about, like ants. We went out, looking for the sledge, all the time.
The Austrians came at last.
We decided to send Zhumabai first. The decisive moment was approaching. The plan had long been ready and everything discussed. We silently cast glances at each other. The resoluteness to run risks was at everyone’s eyes.
The prisoners with shovels in their hands crowded between two barracks, surrounding the sledge. They were all pretending to load the sledge with snow, not to let the guards suspect that something was wrong.
Zhumabai quickly lay down into the sledge. The prisoners had made the snow light beforehand and they covered Zhumabai with it. A plank was put above it, the Austrian sat down on it and the sledge set out. We were prying after it… The sledge safely passed the guards. The Czechs at the gates indifferently followed it with eyes. The soldiers opened the gates. We kept looking, burning with impatience…
The sledge got out of the camp.
Abdulla and I decided to escape the next day.
I went to the barrack to visit the sick Baimagambet and Baken, gave water to them. I decided to visit the sick Hafiz and Afanasiev, but Afanasiev had already died. Smokotin had died, too…
I couldn’t sleep all night... I kept dreaming all night. I saw my native land. I saw the steppe and the mountains, dear to me from childhood. Battling with the bad weather, I boldly worked my way through the deepest snow. My mother met me in the native aul. As long as I remembered me, I had never embraced and kissed her, and today I did embrace and kiss her for the first time, snuggling up to her as a child…
I also visited other auls in my dreams, found a partisan unit and fought with it against the Whites, avenged for the death of my comrades… I came to Turkestan… I visited Russia. I went everywhere, there wasn’t a place on earth where I hadn’t been. I hunted after freedom!
I was the first to get up and began to look out for the carters of snow. They never came. I boiled some milk for the sick. Baken was hardly able to drink it. He could hardly move, hardly look. He asked me with a faint voice:
- Give me some paper and a pencil...
I did what he asked. He tried to write something, but he was not able to. The tears came running from his eyes. I could hardly restrain myself from crying.
- I’ll write for you, tell me what.
Baken shook his head.
- Don’t.
I sat for a long time, lost in my sad thoughts. I remembered Nekrasov’s poem.
When I face terrors of the war, new victims of the battle falling, I don’t feel sorry for my friend, His wife, the hero, falling down… Alas! The wife will comfort find, His friend will choose another comrade, but there’s one not to forget - Her memory until the death will hold you! Amidst hypocrisy of ours, Banality, routine of life, I was the one of all to notice Sincere tears falling down - That’s poor mother always cries! She won’t forget her children, never, The field of blood where they lost the head, The weeping willow, always trying To raise her branches, all in vain…
I said goodbye to my sick friends in my thoughts and went out of the barracks.
The bright sun rose over the camp.
I see the Austrians near the barracks, a sledge, horses and my comrades with shovels. They closely surround the sledge…
I quickly lie down with my face down and stretch myself. The clods of icy snow fall on me.
The comrades hurriedly covered me with dirty snow, mixed with ice. They put a plank above, and a man sat down on it… He shouted: “Gee up!” The sledge set out. The burden weighed heavily upon me. It pressed me, crushed me flat. It was more and more difficult for me to breathe, still I endured. The wide gates of the camp creaked open. The sledge was out of the camp.
I don’t know how long we went along the bumpy road. The drops of snow, melting from my breath, ran down my face and neck. Finally the sledge stopped. I heard the carter get off the sledge and turn it down. I fell down on the ground with the snow. The carter whispered to me: “Keep lying, don’t move!” The carter – a captive Austrian soldier – began to clear away with his hands the clods of icy snow and different rags, stuck to my clothes, then he looked around and sat right in the snow next to me.
The place, where we stopped, was a scum dump at the eastern outskirts of Omsk, near a birch grove. Some poor Kazakhs lived not far from it. People occasionally went past us in the sledge at the distance of a shout, there were lonely passers-by, not paying any attention to us.
- Well, where will you go now?- the captive Austrian asked me. – If you want to go to town, sit down, I’ll give you a lift!
He pretended to accidentally pick me up at the town dump. I climbed into the sledge and the soldier rode on with me. I didn’t think long where to go. Muhan’s flat was not far from here, in the eastern part of the town. I got off the sledge in a block from his house and said goodbye to the captive soldier.
- Goodbye, have a safe journey!- With these words the Austrian shook hands with me and went his own way.
I turned round the corner.
It was a warm April day. It was thawing, drip-dropping, there were murmuring rivulets along the streets. The thawed patches looked as dark stains. I was in the old square-toed jackboots. I put on an old Kazakh short fur coat with shabby sleeves, stained with coal and soot, over my short double-breasted jacket with a seminarist’s buttons. My attire was completed by a shabby winter fur cap, a scarf and a dirty cloth girdle. When we were escorted to town, I used to put on the overcoat of a Red Army Tatar soldier and his soldier’s cap.
Here is Muhan’s flat. His wife opened the door. After greeting me, she invited:
- Please, come!
- I came entirely and permanently, - I announced. The woman guessed at once thay I escaped and quietly told me:
- I wish you all the best, dear! Come into the back room.
I entered the room of Muhan’s daughters. There wasn’t Muhan or Zhanaidar at home.
- This room is not for me,- I warned.- If you have a barn, I’d better hide there!
The woman insisted:
- Don’t think that somebody will come here. And even if he comes, he won’t dare to enter my daughters’ room!
But I couldn’t calm down. I clearly understood that if Kolchak’s soldiers caught me in Muhan’s house, his family would be in for trouble. And if they caught me in a barn with unlocked doors, the hosts could get out of the trouble, saying they didn’t know anything about it. Using utter caution, I went out of the house and stole into the barn. I dug up a heap of straw there, made a kind of a nest for me and lay down. The day was warm. It was slowly dripping from the barn roof to the straw. This April day was filled with the damp smell of spring. All around me seemed to come to life and cheer up because of the approaching spring. The geese splashed through the puddles with a loud cackle. The sparrows chased one another with chirping, like children, playing hide-and-seek. A cow mooed near the barn. As if it was happy with the coming heat, too…
Unwittingly, I took a nap. It was Zhanaidar who woke me up. After greeting me happily, he dragged me back into the house.
Muhan’s wife had already prepared a samovar, fried thick pancakes on butter and was waiting for us.
- Saken, my dear, take off your clothes and sit down to drink tea! No one will come here. And if he does, you’ll hide in my daughters’ room! – she worried about me again.
I washed and sat down to the table. I was glad with a successful escape, I spoke about the future, gladly ate the pancakes and drank fragrant Kazakh tea, which I hadn’t seen for nine months.
I had never thought that there were women wiser and braver than men. I was wrong. Aunt Batima appeared to be strong in spirit, a wise and quiet woman. Of course, everyone can look strong and wise in a quiet surrounding. But what will he look in the time of need? It was at the time of need that aunt Batima proved to be at her best.
Believe me, not everyone will dare to accept in his house a man, chased hotfoot by Kolchak’s killers. How not to praise such a woman, how not to respect her for her strong spirit!.. We sat for a long time, peacefully talking, - Zhanaidar, aunt Batima, her daughters and I. I asked one of the daughters to cut off seminarist’s buttons from my jacket and sew on ordinary black ones.
At noon the hostess’ friends came from the aul. Muhan’s son, a student, came with his two comrades. Kaskey Utekin was one of them. Finally Muhan himself came. We sat down to the beshbarmak[113] together… But is it possible for the Kazakhs not to ask questions? When it was my turn to speak, I tried not to arouse suspicions. By the way, the gusts from the aul complained of the Alash-Orda, some decree, and seemed to come to seek for justice in a certain disputable issue.
In the evening we discussed the plan of my further actions in Zhanaidar’s room.
We worked out two variants. The first one was to go from Omsk to Petropavlovsk by train, and there, at Commercial Street 64, to meet Abdrahman Baidildin. In case he was absent, I should go to his home, near Lake Taincha, located to the south of Petropavlovsk. Zhanaidar was convinced that Baidildin was our true soul mate then. With his help I could go to Kokchetav District to veterinarian Niyazov, then meet Dosov and go to Turkestan, where the Soviet rule was already established, through Atbasar and Akmolinsk Ditricts and then across the Hungry Steppe.
The second variant was the following: to go by train from Omsk to Slavgorod (Shot in Kazakh) in Altai Province, to visit two Bolsheviks at their flat and with their help to move to Pavlodar (Kereka), and then to Bayan-Aul. I should find my father’s relatives there in the mountains, where the settlements of Suyundik family were. Then I could meet veterinarian Shaibai Aimanov in Bayan-Aul, spend some time there, have a rest, then again to Turkestan through Akmolinsk District and the Hungry Steppe.
Zhanaidar wrote letters to Abdrahman Baidildin, Abulhair Dosov, Dinmuhammet Adilev.
The next day I took money for the journey from Muhan and set out.
Zhanaidar took me to the railway station in Muhan’s sledge. There was nothing to report. Here Zhanaidar ran to ask when the train left for Petropavlovsk and I stayed near the sledge, at the discoupled wagons, to be farther from the station. Some time later Zhanaidar came back and said that the train left at ten o’clock. And it was only eight. Zhanaidar went to buy a ticket himself. He wanted to put me in the wagon and only then to leave. Someone from the Kazakh intellectuals, who knew me by sight because I studied at Omsk seminary from 1913 to 1916, could recognize me at the railway station. All our plans would fail at once, if I was recognized by the Kazakhs from the Alash-Orda. That’s why when Zhanaidar rushed to buy tickets, I forced him to stay. Someone could notice that Zhanaidar spoke to me and put a tail on him. I convinced him that it was time for us to part, it would be better like this. After saying goodbye to my comrade, I quietly entered the building of the railway station.
The station is crowded. The passengers, who can’t buy tickets for several days, loiter about and languish. There are a lot of peasants and women with a bundle pickaback. Here are also traders, tired and ragged soldiers, hungry children.
I went to the waiting room of the third class, full of poor people.
The station was spacious, with a stone floor. I slowly examined the public, whether there were any acquaintances. I changed my walk, tried to distort my features not to be identified. Now and then Kolchak’s soldiers, patrolling the station, moved to and fro. The officers walked in a dignified and imposing way, sparkling with their shoulder straps and sabres. The station reminded an anthill. There was noise, hubbub, hustle. I approached an old soldier and a muzhik, who sat with their families in the corner, between the chairs. To begin a conversation I asked about the train to Petropavlovsk. The booking office window was still closed. I sat down. The old soldier was telling the muzhiks about the German war, Russia, then he spoke about the Bolsheviks. He seemed an experienced man to me.
He spoke about the Bolsheviks as if he had been the only one who knew about them and the muzhiks had heard this word for the first time in their lives.
- The Bolsheviks are strong, dogs. All plants and factories are in their hands. They have rifles of different models, cannons, macine guns and lots of ammunition. Textiles, tea, bread, sugar – everything is in their hands. They possess all cars. They even have airplanes, tanks, armoured vehicles. All Russia has joined the Red Army. They have captured all territories up to the Urals. But they don’t want to attack Siberia…
- And why don’t they want to go to Siberia?- a muzhik impatiently asked.
The soldier shortly explained:
- They do it on purpose! They are cunning, they know that the Siberians are against the Bolsheviks and the Council of Deputies… If they overthrew the Soviet rule in Siberia, let them experience first-hand what the new power will give them! The Bolsheviks wait when the Siberians come to their senses themselves and rise against it.
The woman who was listening to him looked askance at me and elbowed the soldier to remind him of caution.
The soldier glanced at me and gave a reassuring wave of his hand:
-You are one of us, don’t you?
I pretended not to understand anything and shrugged my shoulders.
When the soldier saw Kolchak’s officers, going past us, he stopped. When the officers went away, the muzhik turned to the soldier again:
- Is it true that everyone in Russia joined the Red Army?
- Yes, all workers and peasants, all who can hold a rifle joined the Red Army. Can it be otherwise? They join it for their benefit. Can the peasants give back the land, taken away from the landowners, without struggle? The workers also won’t give back plants and factories. That’s why everybody voluntarily joins the Red Army!..
Mangling words on purpose, I asked with a feigned incomprehension:
- The Bolshevik... here comes?
- They are sure to come! But they are deliberately waiting now. They want our Siberia to learn very well what the new government is. They will move here in spring! – the soldier finished with conviction.
I shook my head with regret and, looking small, I uttered:
- Oh, it’s bad… bad.
- Why bad?- the soldier asked.
- Well, the Bolsheviks kill! – I responded.
- What are you talking about? They won’t touch such poor people as you and I are. Because they are poor themselves. They have something only against the rich. That’s why the rich spread roumers that the Bolsheviks are bad, they are killers. Don’t trust these cock-and-bull stories, - the soldier advised me.
I didn’t reveal my satisfaction, shook my head with doubt and repeated:
- Oh, it will be bad if they come...
At this time people began to line up in a queue near the booking office window…
I took a place in the queue, too. We clung to each other and stood, waiting, until it was announced that there would be no train. The queue began to disperse.
I went away to the crowd again, to the muzhiks.
A red-haired boy of about fifteen in a hare cap and ragged clothes came close to me and turned to me in Tatar. I answered him and the boy fondly sat down near me.
Not to attract attention to me, I was lying in the corner. The Tatar boy asked someone to give him a kettle, fetched the boiling water. He ran for bread, milk, and we had a bite together.
The evening came. I had a short walk, then returned to my place in the corner and lay down. The old soldier and the muzhiks had gone somewhere..
And the Tatar boy didn’t part with me. Suddenly there appeared armed soldiers near the entrance and the exit. They lined up and announced: “Everybody must stay where he is! It’s a document inspection!...”
Two young soldiers left the line and went to the centre of the hall.
- Prepare your documents! We begin to inspect!
Everyone stayed at his place, taking out his documents.
Hiding my excitement, I also took out my “documents”.
Clanging their spurs, two young soldiers moved in our direction without stopping for a long time. They just glanced at our documents and went on…
Everyone went about his business. Some continue to sit in the waiting room, some go out, some simply pace up and down. There is no train, everyone keeps cooling his heels.
There were several trains to the east, in the direction of Siberia, but none to Petropavlovsk, and nobody knew why.
We whiled away the night at the station. It was already daylight. The passengers began to fuss again. The Tatar boy begged someone’s kettle again, ran for the boiling water, brought milk and bread. We had breakfast. We lay down, then got up. The train never came. I was tired of waiting. In the afternoon I went out of the station. The landside area was crowded, the people were pushing each other as the ice floes at the time of the spring flood. Being afraid that somebody from the crowd would recognize me, I decided to return to the building of the station. At the entrance I caught the glance of a red-haired puny Russian fellow in a dirty soldier’s overcoat. He was approaching me. I didn’t have time to skew.
- Oh, great! Are you here, too?- the fellow was surprised, stretching out his hand.
- Thank God, all’s well,- I babbled, going past him. I entered the station and tried to get lost in the crowd. But I saw this puny fellow again. Looking at me with a wide-eyed childlike expression, he laughed out with pleasure and asked:
- How long have you been out of the camp?
I understood that he knew me in the camp. I calmly and coldly looked at him.
- Recently... Well, let’s go out! – and I headed for the exit with these words. The fellow followed me. I stopped in a deserted place and calmly asked him:
- Have you also been to the camp?
- Sure, can’t you see? And I recognized you at first sight. You were in the seventh barracks and I was in the eighth one.
- When were you released?- I asked.
- Five days ago.
- Where are you going now?
- I want to go home, to Perm Province… I’m waiting for the train.
Without changing my expression, I warned him in whisper:
- Look, take care. They are in the habit of catching the released prisoners and returning them. There are people here at the station, who keep watching us. Tell no one that you’re from the camp! And don’t come close to me, okay?
The puny fellow was frightened.
- Okay, okay, not a word more!
- And now go!
After this conversation my acquaintance didn’t approach me any more.
When I was standing in the queue at the booking office window that day, two young Kazakhs went past me. I saw one of them at the flat, where Zhumabai’s father lived, when we were escorted to see him.
Long-nosed and red-cheeked, he was dressed as a merchant, and I had never seen the second one – short and swarthy. They went past me about three times. They looked at me but seemed not to recognize, since I was dressed in different clothes. Some time later they appeared near me again. I stooped on purpose.
- In what direction are you going?- one of them asked me.
- To Petropavlovsk.
- Buy two tickets to Petropavlovsk for us, we don’t want to stand in a queue!
- Okey, and where can I find you?- I asked.
- In the waiting room of the first class. We’ll give you money, when they begin to sell tickets.
- All right.
The stout Kazakh, dressed as a merchant, looked intently at me.
- Where are you from, zhigit?
- I’m local, from Omsk.
- From town or from aul?
- From town...
The Kazakhs are generally curious, having a weakness for new acquaintances.
- If you are from town, whose son are you?
- I’m a relative of wrestler Hadjimuhan, - I lied.
It turned out that the stout Kazakh knew Hadjimuhan but didn’t know me.
After a pause he said with doubt:
- I have never seen you here for some reason... Do you go to Petropavlovsk on business?
- Well... there are some trifles...
- Who are you going to?- they pestered with their questions to me.
- To my friend Sadyk!
The same stout Kazakh began to ask me about mullah Sadyk with even greater enthusiasm. His companion felt it his duty to treat me with consideration and began to teach me:
- You seem to be a naïve and gentle fellow! – he said. – Look, don’t balk your turn.
- I’ll try.
They went to the waiting room of the first class.
That day there wasn’t a train to Petropavlovsk. I was patient. The longer I stayed at the station, the greater risk I ran.
I had to cancel my journey to Petropavlovsk. I decided to go to Slavgorod, Altai Province.
In the evening there arrived a train from Petropavlovsk direction, moving to the east. The passengers noisily poured out on the platform. It was crowded. Suddenly a young Kazakh came to me, dressed as in aul.
- Do you need a ticket?- he asked.
- What ticket?- I wondered.
The zhigit explained that they sold tickets to Omsk only for the work-related reasons, so he had to deceive and to take a ticket to Tatarka station. But he needed to get to Omsk, so he decided to sell his ticket!..
I weighed it up quickly. To get to Slavgorod from Omsk I should get off at Tatarka station and take a train of Kulundin railway.
I bought this Kazakh’s ticket. The train was mixed goods-and-passenger. The place wasn’t specified in the ticket. The passengers climbed into one of the unlit red wagons, shouting and pushing each other.
I climbed into it, too, and helped a crying old woman. I found by groping a lying across board and lay down on it. The passengers were jostling near me. Some time later a bell rang to leave. The train made a jerk, rocked and rumbled off.
“At last”, - I got a lungeful of air. Omsk glided away, glimmering with its lights in the darkness… The train rushed forward, puffing and rumbling. Among the passengers there turned out to be many Kolchak’s soldiers, returning from the front. All people huddled together in the unlit wagon. They spoke mostly about fighting against the Bolsheviks. No one could see anybody in the darkness. One spoke in bass, another in a shrill voice, somebody with anger in his voice and somebody in a quiet voice. There began a controversy in the wagon and I embroiled in it in the heat of the moment. Little by little the hum of voices became quieter and sleep fell upon the people.
The next day, at noon the train came to Tatarka. I was the first to get out of the wagon and saw two young Tatars, who also got out of the train. They slowly headed towards the town. They looked like teachers. I caught up with them and greeted them. They stopped and asked where I was going.
- I’m from Omsk, I’m going to Slavgorod, - I answered.
- In this case we are fellow travellers! We are also going almost to Slavgorod.
- Very well, I’m very glad to travel with you.
One of them asked my name.
- Duisembi, - I replied.
- Let’s go to an eatery and have some tea!
We drank tea in a miserable eatery at the outskirts of the town, then visited the local shops. The name of one of my companions was Habibulla, the other’s name was Hamza. They were both teachers from the town of Shadrinsk.
- We came here on business, - they said.
One of my companions had a light suitcase in his hand, which he never left hold of. While my companions asked the prices in the dry-goods store, I saw a fresh issue of a Russian newspaper on the counter and paid attention to the telegraph message, printed in large letters on the first page:
“… The Soviet rule was established in Hungary. The Council of People’s Commissars was elected. The working class of Hungary is telegraphing to Moscow that Lenin is the leader of international proletariat”.
I re-read the text of the telegram several times. There wasn’t enough room for joy in my chest, but I didn’t betray it to my Tatar companions.
We returned to the railway station. The train to Slavgorod left in the evening. The soldiers, mounted and on foot, crowded in the building of the station and in the landside area. It was easy to guess from their uniform that they were Czecho-Slovaks. They were dressed to the nines, everything was new, the overcoats were made of the cloth of good quality, their faces were full and glossy, as if dubbed. An armoured train could be seen in the dead-end siding. After we asked the passers-by, we learnt that a day or two earlier a Bolshevik detachment made a raid upon Tatarka and almost captured the town. The shooting alarmed the Czecho-Slovaks. The town was on a war footing, that’s why the identity documents and tickets of all passengers were checked. They also checked documents in the booking office window when selling tickets. Seeing it, all three of us realized that we wouldn’t get tickets for the train from Tatarka to Slavgorod.
Both Tatars began to worry that they could be suspected as doubtful traders and strangers. As for me, I worried I wouldn’t be able to get a ticket.
So we decided to go on foot to the first station towards Slavgorod, where they didn’t check document, while selling tickets.
We set out on foot along Kuldin road. The day was warm. The snow was melting, sticking to the soles.
In the evening we arrived at the next station. We made inquiries. The train from Tatarka arrived in the dusk, the documents weren’t checked. We entered the railwayman’s booth and drank tea there. In the evening we bought tickets and took our places in the box wagon, which was to be coupled to the train. It was dark, the places weren’t specified, there were solid plank beds all around. The wagon was cram-full.
Late at night our wagon was coupled to the train and we went towards Slavgorod.
In the morning, when I woke up, I kept lying for a long time.
The sun rose and it was light in the wagon. The passengers were packed like sardines in a tin. Without raising my head, I secretly loked around to see if there were any acquaintances there.
The three of us bought some food, fetched the boiling water and sat down to have breakfast. First the people spoke in a low voice, then louder and louder, interrupting one another. Almost all passengers of the wagon were Russians, simple muzhiks from villages. Besides there were two swarthy, round-faced little Kazakhs, coming back from the studies. There stood out three well-dressed men, they turned out to be medical assistants.
At one of the stations I bought some curd pies at the market and brought them to my Tatar companions. They refused:
- Duisembi, we’ve just eaten. Why did you bring them here?
I insisted on treating them. The medical assistant, who sat not far from me, turned to me.
- Who sells the pies?
- Simple women.
The medical assistant shook his head with a smile and warned me with a look of a wise man:
- Don’t eat them, you’ll have pains in the stomach!
I answered him in a broken Russian:
- Let it be so!
The medical assistant laughed out and began to point at his stomack, trying to explain it to me:
- You’ll have pains here: don’t eat, it’s bad!
The people around us began to look at us for lack of anything better to do.
I threw the medical assistant’s warning to the winds and began to put the curd pies into my mouth, repeating:
- If I have pains in the stomach, I won’t die. It’s all the same for us, life or death!
The medical assistant was surprised.
- Why is it all the same?
- Why should we regret? Look at me… At my clothes… It’s all the same for me, I’m not afraid of death. And you – you mustn’t die! You need to live. You have a good look, good clothes. You’ve got a splendid golden watch. If you die, it will disappear. As for me, I’m not afraid of death!
- And why aren’t you afraid of death? – the medical assistant kept asking me.
- Why should I be afraid of it? I grew up in a dungeon. If I die, I’ll get there again. And if I didn’t want to die, what could you do to help me? After all, everyone will be swallowed up by the black earth!
And we began to argue with the medical assistant. I pointed at his mistakes in a deliberately rude language. The people around us attentively listened us, laughing from time to time. Several muzhiks surrounded us. The majority of them was on my side.
At last the medical assistant threw up the game and asked me point-blank:
- Who are you?
I was taken aback but didn’t carry it off and answered:
- I’m a Kazakh!
Another medical assistant came close to me, stretched out his hand to me, laughing, and gave me a tight handshake:
- Well done!
My Tatars stared at me in surprise and were so interested in me, as if they had seen me for the first time.
- It’s great, Duisembi! Where have you found so many unexpected thoughts? You spoke like a scientist. What education
have you got?
- Not much. I went to the evening school for adults in Omsk for two winters. I remember some words of my teachers. Think yourselves, how can I know anything?
- No, you’re telling lies. You are not from the half-educated people, - said one of the Tatars.
The second supported him:
- Yes, you look as an educated man.
Then we began to talk about politics. I listened attentively, it was interesting for me to learn details from the life of the Tatars and Bashkirs.
- And who governs you now, what rule have you got? - I asked.
- The Tatars and Bashkirs have their own rule now. The Bolsheviks gave us autonomy!
Pretending to have outdated views, I wondered:
- Can it be separate from the Russians? Have you established your own Khanate?
They grinned at me.
- No, when there is an autonomy, there can’t be any Khanate. To put it in Russian, we became a republic, - they explained to me.
- How should I know? I thought it’s the same with you as with the Kazakhs.
- Have the Kazakhs got a khan?
- Yes, they have. His name is Bukeihan, - I replied.
Both of them laughed out loudly and began to prove it to me that Bukeihan was not khan at all and that khans were bad. They began to scold Zakkiy Balitov from Bashkiria. They also said that no one would give freedom to the little nations within Russia, except the Bolsheviks.
As for me, I began to find fault with the Bolsheviks. They explained that the bad rumours about the Bolsheviks were being spread by robbers and those people, who were against freedom and equality.
They finished like this:
- Well, Duisembi, though you’re clever and a bit educated, it turns out that you’ve been incited to wrong ideas, to the wrong path…
My companions went out at one of the stations, not far from Slavgorod. We exchanged our addresses. It seems to me that we all gave invented addresses.
I took out a notebook and a pencil from my pocket and began to write in Arabic letters. Watching me writing, they exchanged glances and smiled:
- You’ve said you are a “student”, and you wrote without a single mistake…
We came to Slavgorod in the evening, when it was dark. It was a terminal station of Kulundin railway. The Kazakhs called it Shot.
There were nearly five versts from the railway station to the town. Rich people took a cab. A lot of other passengers dragged on foot, and I was with them. We followed a narrow path, which melted a bit in the daytime and froze slightly in the evening. There was no moon, the evening was dark. Stumbling, hardly able to shuffle our feet, we entered the town. We couldn’t see any people there. The houses were very low, like in a village, and were covered with snow almost up to the roof.
Everyone went to his friends, except me. I went alone, seeking lodging for the night. I met two men with sabres on their side, ataman’s soldiers.
- Where is a coaching inn here?- I asked.
They showed me the way. I approached the house, they pointed to, and knocked. The door was under snow, I could see no windows. Some time later somebody opened the door.
- Can I stay for the night?
- Come in, if you find a place for you...
I came in. It was dark and dirty in two adjoining rooms. There was a red-and-white calf in one of the corners. There was stench, the smell of sweat and tobacco there.
Several muzhiks and a gipsy with his wife had already settled down here. I got a place in the corner, near the calf. The muzhiks didn’t sleep for a long time, they talked about politics. The black-bearded gipsy spoke most of all. He swore the Bolsheviks but did it cunningly. He would scold them and then begin to say how Kolchak’s soldiers whipped one muzhik, how they shot another. He finally finished:
- There’s no way out!... Where should a peasant go? Only to the mountains and forests. And how to live there? To attack Kolchak or to share goods with him. So the muzhiks are forced to become Red… When the snow melts, the Red bands will be on the loose throughout the country! – the gipsy rejoiced.
The muzhiks nodded and reservedly agreed with him – what could they do? The gipsy turned to me:
- Have you come from Tatarka? They say , the Reds have recently provoked a great turmoil there?
I humbly told them what I heard. In the morning I went out to town.
Slavgorod, though considered a district town of Altai Province, resembles an ordinary prosperous settlement. It is in the open steppe.
I wondered if there were Kazakhs in the town. It turned out that there were two Kazakh families there. I visited one of them, but all men from this family got up early and went to the market. I went there, too. It was a market day. The muzhiks thronged in sledges to the market square along the streets from all sides. I went to the post and wrote letters to Omsk – to Muhan and Zhanaidar, then went to the market. There were the rows of shops at the spacious open square, people crowded here. There were mostly peasants here, I rarely met people dressed as townsmen. I could see no Kazakhs at all. The trade was in full swing. There were full bags of wheat, oats, barley, flour, boxes of butter in the sledges. The oxen, sheep, horses, pigs, driven here for sale, were tied to the sledges. The people swarmed all over the place. The first ones bought, the second sold, the third asked the price, the fourth just gaped. Walking to and fro, I saw a clumsily weltering man in an oriental robe and tymak.
He appeared to be a Kazakh from Pavlodar District of Bayan-Aul Region, from Karzhas family. His name was Smagul. He came to Shot to find a job. He didn’t find it and was going to return home. I was glad to have this unexpected companion. He asked who I was.
- I’m a Kazakh from Sletin Volost of Omsk District… I worked in Omsk. I’m a close relative of wrestler Hadjimuhan. I’m wandering now in search of my nagashi, living in Bayan-Aul Volost of Pavlodar District.
We agreed to go to Pavlodar together.
- Let’s stay here today,- Smagul suggested.- One Tatar shopkeeper needs workers to chop firewood. We’ll chop firewood for him and he’ll pay us twenty roubles for this work. And we’ll start out tomorrow.
- All right,- I agreed.
- Then let’s go to his shop.
We quickly came to an agreement with the shopkeeper, a tall red Tatar.
Smagul decided to say goodbye to the owner of his flat at once. He lived in the house of a Kazakh, who guarded the building of the Kazakh volost executive committee in Slavgorod. It turned out that Slavgorod District contained two Kazakh volosts, one of which was called Sary-Arka Volost.
We came to a low house. There was a painted board on the facade, where it was written in Russian: “Sary-Arka Volost Committee”. We entered it. We went to the back door, where the office of the committee was located, through a little anteroom. There were two or three tables there with paper, inkpots, rulers, abacus, poorly bound registration books on them. There were two Russians at one of the tables, one was writing, the other, a young one, was binding the papers. In the left corner we saw a young Kazakh in a black tyubeteika[114] sitting at the table. From all appearances this was the chairman of Sary-Arka committee.
It was dirty in the office. The wooden floor wasn’t washed. The air was stale. There were posters and Kolchak’s decrees on the walls. A small room with poor Kazakh furniture could be seen through the half-opened door to the right. The watchman of the committee lived there.
When we entered, a thin poorly dressed Kazakh woman looked at us from the door. The workers of the office lazily raised their heads.
Smagul waved me to follow him. I had hardly made a step, when the Russian, writing at the table, strictly called to me:
- Where? You’ll make the floor dirty!
“A nice committee, if all this dirt is regarded as cleanness!” – I thought with anger..
I sat on the threshold of the door, took a needle and thread out of my pocket and began to darn my shipskin mittens.
Smagul said good-bye and we went again to the Tatar shopkeeper. He sent his son home with us to the western outskirts of the town. An elderly Tatar woman showed us thick pine logs and poles, scattered near the barn, took out a cross-cut saw and a stake with a beetle. The blocks were thick, two grasps of both arms wide. First we had to make these blocks shorter so that firewood fitted into the stove. Then we should chop the blocks with the help of a beetle and a stake. Smagul and I worked till noon, not sparing our efforts. It was long since I hadn’t done any dirty work. All the body was aching, the hands grew numb and were shaking. At noon we had a little rest and dinner. The Tatar women always cook very well. After the meat dish the hostess gave us a tasty broth, mixed with sour milk.
We continued to saw and chop firewood until the dusk. In the evening we were pleased to have a rest in a clean warm room. We hung our huipils and beshmets to dry them.
There were three persons in the family of the Tatar shopkeeper – he himself, his wife and son. He also had a servant – a Russian girl.
When we were talking at the table, the Tatar turned to me and advised:
- Stay here, work a little more. It’s not worth going on foot to the distant Pavlodar in such a difficult time at the beginning of spring. You’ll set out when the snow melts, the ground becomes drier, the greenery appears.
I refused. The matter brooked no delay.
We got up early in the morning and chopped the sawed blocks like maniacs and piled them in the barn until noon.
We took bread and butter for the journey and left Slavgorod for Pavlodar. Both of us were lightly dressed, tightly girdled, with sticks in hands. Slavgorod, covered with snow, remained behind us.
We walked for a long time, it was only in the evening that we saw sledges, harnessed with a pair of horses. There are two tired travelers, standing at the side of the road on the white snow in the deserted steppe. There is a fat Kazakh in a fur coat and a fox tymak, sitting in the first sledge. The horses quickly approach us, champing at the bit. We greet the man. The lips of the man in the fox tymak move a bit. The horses catch up with us.
- Dear master, please, give us a lift, - Smagul asked..
The “tymak” didn’t pay any attention to our plea. He rode on. The second sledge quickly followed it in gallop and rode on.
There was again a pair of horses, harnessed into the sledge, behind us. We stood out of the road. The sledge noisily came to us and stopped. There was a Russian peasant in it.
- Hey, sit down! – he shouted.
We were at a loss. Drawing bit, the muzhik shouted in a surprised voice:
- Come along, sit down! Why are you standing?!.
We realised before it was too late and rushed into the sledge, the muzhik bucketed. The sledge runners slided quickly on the wet snow, the horses rushed easily and playfully at full speed. The muzhik was returning from the market, apparently after successful trading.
- H-e-ey! My de-e-ar! H-e-ey!- he shouted, drawling, and swished his whip.
We rode for a long time. When the peasant grew quieter, he began to talk about the most important – the government. He freely spoke, why the muzhiks were against Kolchak, and proved that the Soviet rule was better for the peasants than any other rule.
- When the snow melts and the ground dries out a little, the Bolsheviks will come. Then we, peasants, will also rise and drive this devil to the taiga! – he finished.
The road was deserted. In the evening we came to the place, where the peasant had to turn off the road for his settlement. We said good-bye to each other.
We spent the night at a poor Kazakh’s, in the aul near the road, consisting of only four or five households.
It is one hundred and fifty-two versts from Slavgorod to Pavlodar. We set out early in the morning, halt for a short time at noon. The snow is melting more and more with every passing day. It is possible to see a settlement in twenty - twenty-five versts from the previous one. The streams of melted snow ring down the streets. My square-toed boots are soaked through. We wring out our foot wraps and dry them at night. The wet feet have turned white, the skin has become thin, with blisters.
We came to Pavlodar on the fourth night.
The Kazakh poor formed a separate community here, in two versts from the south-western outskirts of the town. Smagul’s friend, Abdrahman, lived among the town poor. We stayed at his house for two days. Abdrahman worked in Omsk, married a prosperous widow, who had two daughters from the first husband. He took her here, went into trade at the cattle market and became a prosperous zhigit. When his wife died, Abdrahman married a daughter of the Kazakh mullah. He was totally different from Smagul – brisk, all-knowing, well-dressed, and it seemed he had entirely forgotten about his position of a worker after becoming a merchant.
We got into a conversation. Abdrahman had a staunch belief in the Alash-Orda. I tried to tell him about the negative sides of the Alash-orda, but Abdrahman didn’t give up… Once a goggle-eyed zhigit, whose name was Abil, came to see Abdrahman. He came from Semipalatinsk, was a soldier in the army of the Alash-Orda. I talked with him at length for a long time. As I introduced myself as a relative of wrestler Hadjimuhan, they considered me to be a wrestler, too, judging by my build. I learnt a lot about the actions of the “batyrs” of the Alash-Orda during this period of time from Abil’s words. Abyl and I went round all Pavlodar. We visited a Russian and Kazakh school, a mosque, where the Muslims gathered to say their prayers on Friday.
Now I had to walk one hundred and ninety-two versts from Pavlodar to Bayan-Aul. Smagul found a job in Pavlodar, and I arranged it to go with the caravanners who came from Bayan-Aul. The situation wasn’t very good at that part of the country, the population starved after a hard zhut[115].
Ataman Annenkov’s soldiers walk along the rows of stalls at the town market, basking in the warm sun. I know their uniform very well – cartridge belts, black papakhas, sabres, two letters “A. A.” on the shoulder straps. Some of them are Chinese renegades and tramps. They have daggers in their belts. I can calmly watch them, not as a prisoner. Here’s a Kazakh, riding his horse. One of the Chinese in the uniform grabbed it by tail and held it back. The horse stopped. The Kazakh turned round, but when he saw the soldier, he humbly lowered his head without saying anything. The Chinese cut a whole clump of hair with his penknife. The Kazakh was frightened and began to look around, seeking for protection. Two Kazakhs from town, struck home, told something to the soldiers. They answered with billingsgate. The Kazakhs wanted to take away the clump of hair from the soldier. People gathered around, most of them were Kazakhs. Seeing that things looked black, the Chinese soldiers called for help. Three or four ataman’s soldiers quickly came to them, unsheathed their sabres. The Kazakhs ran away, like the sprat from the pike. Annenkov’s soldiers beat them on their backs with their sabres flat.
I returned to the flat with the caravanners, took several issues of the newspaper “Sary-Arka”. I couldn’t forget the unrestrained meanness of the ataman’s soldiers and suddenly I saw an article in the newspaper, signed by a Kazakh from aul. It was the issue of the “Sary-Arka” of March 26, 1919.
Here is this article:
“Lack of restraint.
...At the end of January 12 Cossack militiamen rode to the barracks “Bes Oba”, situated in two hundred versts from Bayan. On their way they did everything, which they took into head, tormented the Kazakhs of Akbettaus Volost. I can find no words to tell you everything about it. They whipped and birched the Kazkhs, they met on their way. They stopped to beat only when the victim promised a ransom to them. They returned a cart to its owner on condition that the latter gave a ransom for his own cart. They took tymaks, carpets, wide trousers, patterned felt mats, everything they liked in a Kazakh house. They broke into pantries without permission. There were cases of raping women.
Here are the facts: Abdir Moinakov, his wife and children were beaten. His son Beken was birched. The man didn’t have money to give them a ransom, so he promised to give them a thousand roubles on their way back. They returned the horse, taken by them for the cart, when they were paid two hundred roubles.
They took away a patterned felt mat and a pillow from Ordabai Adirov, a Kazakh from the seventh aul.
They beat Mashhur Kopeev, a well-known mullah.
They birched a Temirbulat and his son and then received two hundred roubles from them.
They condemned Abaidildy, a mullah and hadji, and his son from the sixth aul 15 birch-rods each and received two hundred and fifty roubles from them.
They birched Askar Topasov and took his tymak.
They birched Ospan Bitakaev, received two hundred and fifty roubles and a tymak from him.
They took away from Ashim Doskaraev a tymak and seventy roubles.
“Find your deceased husband!” – they beat Zhalpak Ondirbaev’s wife with this absurd demand and took away her carpet..
They took fifty roubles and twelve horses for their carts from Duisenbai Karasholakov, a horse herd wrangler.
They birched Abil Shalkarbaev from the second aul, beat and mutilated his elder brother Nurman, after which they took two hundred roubles from them.
They took two hundred roubles from Suleimen Orkenbaev.
They agreed not to birch Hamit Chokanov after he gave them the ransom of two thousand roubles.
They took a thousand and a half roubles from Slambek Imambekov.
They birched Zhambek Imambekov and took five hundred roubles from him.
They took a thousand roubles from Askar Shankulanov.
They gave twenty-five strokes of the birch-rod and took twenty-five roubles from him.
They punished Musabek with twenty strokes of the birch-rod and took twenty-five roubles from him.
They took one thousand roubles from Tuktibai Togaibaev from the 11-th aul.
On their way back they punished Azhmagambet Zhamakov from Akkelin Volost with 15 strokes of the birch-rod and took 300 roubles from him.
Suleiman Erzhanov, a teacher, pleading them “not to touch his aul”, paid them in advance 500 roubles and gave them as a “present” a tymak, trousers and four carts with harnessed horses.
It’s impossible to render all harassment and humiliation in one letter. The people are at a loss. Some claim that this is the work of the Russian renegades. They do so, because they are angry that some people want to separate the Kazakhs, to make them self-governing. And the people just keep pleading: “Oh, God, have mercy, don’t let us ever meet them!..” When there appears a Russian on the horizon, people run away in fear. A lot of Kazakhs are resentful but they still hope that there will appear reasonable people among the Russians, who will subdue their insolent brothers.
The foremen of auls, being afraid of beatings and robberies, abstain from sending telegrams to the Russian high ranks. They reason in the following way: “They will finish off with us at their own will before somebody comes to investigate the matter”.
There is little Alexandrov plant in 30 versts from Bayan. A Gronengo is a manager there. After the edict of June 25[116] this Gronengo became known as a “life saver”. He didn’t confine himself to making the Kazakhs work for him for nothing, he also took bribes from them for placing them at the plant. He used the Kazakhs for this work two months and finally couldn’t save them from the logistical works. Last year, being afraid of the Bolsheviks, he wanted to hide in the Kazakh Volost. The Kazakhs didn’t forget his “kindness” and so they didn’t accept him. On February 5 the same Gronengo called the chief of militia to him together with all militiamen and ordered them to beat the Kazakhs who were out of his favour. The first floor of his house he turned into a prison. He imprisoned Tore Karakeev and Askar Zhusipov there. Gronengo kept walking with his hands in the pockets, saying: “If you give me 8 000, you’ll be released from prison!..”
One Kazakh, Azhibai, scolded this “bourgeois” in the past for not paying wages to him. When Gronengo decided to birch him, the Kazakhs stood for him and begged him off, but Azhibai had to grovel at the feet of the “bourgeois” with humility.
One Kazakh, Amra, didn’t return the weights in time, Gronengo took away his horse and camel for this.
Last year a Russian lost a bag of bread, 9 oxen were taken away from one aul because of this. It all passed unpunished and was referred to the “hard times”.
Here is a portrait of the leader, destined to subdue Russian hooligans. The question is, who must subdue him? How long will the humiliation of the Kazakh people continue? How can good neighbour relations be achieved between these two nations?..
Gora Bayan.”
The newspaper of the Alash-Orda wrote everything about it, thoroughly concealing the friendly relations of its leaders with Kolchak’s leaders.
I look through another issue of the “Sary-Arka” of February 6, 1919. I read an article, describing the friendship and solidarity of ataman Annenkov with the Kazakh volosts and the leaders of the Alash-Orda.
...Ataman Annenkov held a congress, which gathered the people’s leaders (volost administrators). 5 people came to the congress from 12 volosts… The ataman demanded to give him 10 men from each volost for military training. When ataman Annenkov claimed that he knew well the venerable leaders of the Kazakh nation (such as Alihan, Muhametzhan, Ahmetzhan and Zhainakov), all the representatives roared with joy: “It turns out that you know all the valiant people , who we revere more than our fathers. If they tell us to lie down, we do lie down, if they order us to get up, we do get up”.
By the way, Annenkov added: “Afonov, the Cossack ataman of Semirechie, hates them, explaining that “they cling to the autonomy in vain”, but as for me, I trust these valiant citizens! Afonov stirs up the enmity between the Russian and the Kazakh nations. Afonov doesn’t approves my giving arms to Kazakhs and my organizing Kazakh regiments…
Ataman’s interpreter Kensebai Umbetbaev”.
In the issue of the “Sary-Arka” of March 26, 1919 I saw the article “How the Kazakhs fight”, where the “batyrs’ actions” of the troops of the Alash-Orda against the Bolsheviks were laughed at. And at the same moment the ataman’s “batyrs” humiliated the Kazakh poor, kicking them as dogs. The article lauded to the skies the brave actions of Baitai Besebekov, Ahmetkaliy Ormanbaev, Kagazbek Rashkin from the Alash regiment, which fought against the Reds at Semirechensk front.
After reading this, I spat, threw the newspaper away, took another issue of the “Sary-Arka” of February 20, 1919. Here I read the answer of the editorial board to the letter of aul Kazakh Baisalbaev, complaining of the harassment of Russian kulaks[117] in Akmolinsk District. In its answer the editorial board of the “Sary-Arka” wrote the following, plying the fire of national enmity with fresh fuel:
“Akmolinsk Kazakhs have not yet organized militia of the Alash-Orda, that’s why they suffer violence from the Russians…” And then:
“The rules and regulations have been forgotten, the Russian state has taken the way of violence. The only way to salvation lies in the unity of the Kazakh nation. Let’s not loose our monolithic stature! Let’s forget our quarrels. Let everyone participate in the social struggle! Mount your best citizens, arm yourselves, defend yourselves! It’s been more than a year since we began to announce the coming of era of the “white Kalmyk”[118]. Except the Kazakhs of Semipalatinsk, Uralsk Regions and Kustanai District of Turgay Region, the rest of them, especially the Kazakhs of Akmolinsk region, have closed their ears with their tymak and avoid organizing militia like a plague. How can other nations respect this careless, weak-willed, irresolute nation?! We are guilty ourselves, we don’t want to wake up, we don’t want to become real people! If it continues like this, we’ll soon disappear from the face of the earth! It’s not time now to wait for justice and piece from the rampant beast – muzhik. It’s no use asking him for advice, it’s no use hoping for the unrealizable! You can go to the local authorities with your complaints, but we can’t assure you of any positive result. The Russians have already prepared the countercharge, they will say at once: “You have stolen our cattle, your animals have marauded our fields”.
You are indignated and complain: “Should we remain in the hands of the one who grabbed us, in the teeth of the one, eating us?” we knew about it and warned you for a long time. While it’s not too late, you should tell the people yourselves about your troubles. Who can guarantee that the touble which befalls one aul today, won’t befall all the nation tomorrow? Hasn’t it happened before? Are not our brothers dying, one and all, in Semirechie?”
Oh, you, malicious people! Who else but you organized the Alash army, which caused revolt in Semipalatinsk, Uralsk, Kustanay, Turgay Regions? It’s not enough for you, you also want to benet Akmolinsk Kazakhs and thus drown the working population in blood!
I read the chronicle of events, various reports and large articles, published in different issues of the newspaper “Sary-Arka”, which was the organ of the press of the central Alash-Orda. Of course, the newspaper distorted the facts, using its own judgement, changed them, coloured the truth to its liking, exaggerated it, when it was profitable.
But no matter how it tried to create a false impression about the correlation of powers, it could be seen that the situation of the Alash-Orda was bad. The ministers of the Alash-Orda were involved in the organization of detachments against the Bolsheviks, in all other aspects their activities were not worth even five kopecks.
The young people of the Alash-Orda were active as far as it was possible, no matter how much was in their power. They published the newspaper “Zhas Azamat” in Petropavlovsk, through which they provided nationalist attitudes for all the youth of Kazakhstan. The magazine “Abai”, the only one at that time, was published in Semipalatinsk and was also in the hands of the youth of the Alash-Orda. The editorial boards of the newspaper “Zhas Azamat” and of the magazine “Abai” periodically asked their readers for help, pointing to the lack of funds. On February 20, 1919 the article “To the readers of newspapers and magazines” was published in issue 70 of the newspaper “Sary-Arka”. The article belonged to Aimautov, the editor of the magazine “Abai”, one of the leaders of the Alash-Orda youth.
“To the readers of newspapers and magazines.
It was noted in one of the issues of the newspaper, published in Russian in Novo-Nikolaevsk, that the only Kazakh newspaper and the only Kazakh magazine would be closed because they had no subscribers. This information dealt with the newspaper “Zhas Azamat” and the magazine “Aibai”. It is not consistent with the reality. The “Zhas Azamat” has been published until now. However, we used to worry about the lack of funds. Now we feel confident, since Omsk youth sent a thousand roubles, received after a literary soiree, to the editorial board. Semipalatinsk young people have already sent us about five thousand roubles. We hope that there’ll be volunteers to financially support us in other places, too. The magazine “Abai” has nearly 900 subscribers and has lain off until the general assembly is convened, as well as for other reasons. It is published by a little credit society. We hope that the “Abai” will continue to be published. We hope that the conscious and civil honour of the educated youth won’t allow to close their only magazine. We think that it will be published in all circumstances.
Editor of the “Abai” Zhusipbek Aimautov”
From the same issue of the newspaper:
“Account.
Receipts and expenses of the evening, conducted by the youth of Omsk in Kazakh. The total profit is 6 392 roubles 15 kopecks. The net profit is 3 189 roubles 25 kopecks.
The donations were made by:
Sultan Abrahimov – 300 roubles, Akkagaz Doszhanova – 50 roubles and one silver Turkish coin, Shayahmet Otegenov – 23 roubles, Baltabai Borankulov – one silver spoon and fork, Amina Kuanysheva – a gold ring, Gulya Dosymbekova – a silver ring, Gaziza Dosymbekova – one silver coin, Asfandiyar Chermanov – a quarter of tobacco, Muratbek Seitov – a pound of sugar, Zhamin Tolemisov – a pound of tea.
I express gratitude to everyone on behalf of the society “Tilek” (the “Desire”).
Gabbas Togzhanov”.
In the same issue of the “Sary-Arka” I read the following:
“Help to the newspaper “Zhas Azamat”.
When I saw an announcement in issue 68 of the “Sary-Arka” that the newspaper “Zhas Azamat” ceases to exist due to the lack of funds, I started to collect money:
Kalbergen Kulov contributed 40 roubles,
Shyrgai Mustambaev – 20 roubles,
Amra – 15 roubles,
Gaziza Mustambaeva – 5 roubles,
And I, Idris Mustambaev, - 5 roubles.
The total sum constitutes 85 roubles. I sent this money to the editorial board of the “Zhas Azamat”.
Gymnasium student Mustambaev”.
One could see that the nationalistically oriented youth didn’t idle their time away.
WAY TO BAYAN-AUL
The next day we left Pavlodar with the caravan. The day is warm, the snow is melting. The water rushes along the streets and falls down the high bank of the Irtysh with a loud babble. The troubled water gradually covers the thick unthawed ice. We cross the Irtysh with caution. There are four men in the caravan, I’m the fifth one. We have two skinny horses and one weak camel. The horses drag the sledge with three bags of wheat and two boxes. And the camel is loaded with three bags of bread.
On the other bank of the Irtysh there were places where the snow had already melted and we felt at once all the difficulty of our journey. The exhausted horses were hardly able to move over the mud and melted snow. The black horse hadn’t even ridden a verst, when it stopped. We tried to whip him, but all in vain. The wretched owner remained with his tired horse and the four of us trudged on over the damp black earth, leading a marked chestnut horse and a yellow camel after us.
In the places, where there was no snow at all, the horse gathered the rest of its strength, but the sledge stopped. The ground was covered with abundant spring water. When the camel fell down, we took the load off it, raised the poor animal and loaded it again.
We plodded along at a snail’s pace. The water seeped ito the holes of the boots.
We plod knee-deep in water and drag a horse and a camel after us. And they carry the food for starving children, women, helpless old people.
But our jades more stand than go. They make two steps and fall down into the deep snow, melted underneath, and we gather the rest of our strength to drag them out and put them on feet. The beshmets are wet with sweat on the backs and it seems to us that it is not the cattle which drag the load, but we do.
In the evening we rode just about ten versts and stayed for the night on a thawed patch, a bit dried up, which was near the road. After the sunset it became cold. The water froze. The frost began to touch everything with its tenacious grip – the clothes, wet with sweat, old boots and foot wraps. I was thinly clad and soon grew stiff with cold, but didn’t say a word to the caravanners. We made a fire, warmed ourselves, boiled some water. We went to sleep, curled up between the bags with bread. I woke up in the middle of the night because of the unsufferable cold, all my body was in the grip of the cold from top to toe. I got up. There was silence around us. The patched ground is covered with the white velvet of mist. The sky is clear, there isn’t a cloud. There is no moon, only the twinkling stars can be clearly seen. The mute silence reigns. The caravanners lie between the bags, snuffling calmly. The yellow camel breathes heavily near them.
A very cold smell of the frozen earth spreads everywhere. It seems that the whole universe is touched by frost and slumbers in the mist, only the horse is awake. It grazes, pulls up with a snap the roots of the plants, just from under the snow. The horse is marked chestnut and the earth seems to be marked chestnut…
To warm myself I began to run back and forth and when I felt a bit warmer, I lay down, but soon was frozen again and got up again, I ran, whirled, slapped on my sides. It repeated several times until the morning…
The next day we trudged on… We plodded over the mud, slush, knee-deep in the mudded water. We crossed the railway between the Irtysh and plant “Ekibastuz”, went through two settlements.
All day long we waded through mud, plodded in the spring water, loading and unloading the exhausted draught animals. When it became cold in the evening, I lost all my strength, was in despair and showed myself completely helpless. I had neither strength nor desire to make a step forward. I silently raised my face to the sky, glanced at the clear stars, remembered my mother, waiting for me in the aul, and went on, feeling cheered up.
Overcoming the hardships of slush, we reached the dried up land only after a week.
The land around the road was deserted. Only poor Kazakh huts seldom came into sight.
One Kazakh changed our sledge for a two-wheeled cart. Now we often stop. You won’t find a cart in any aul, everyone lives in the extreme poverty after the zhut, everyone is hungry and thin.
We plod on and on, urging our horse and camel on. The old rickety two-wheeled cart creaks and groans.
Our feet are hurt. We move extremely slowly. However, when we came to the dry land, the caravanners began to speak to me more often, trying to find out who I was and where from.
- I’m a Kazakh from Omsk,- I repeated.- Since my childhood I worked far from home. I lost my parents very early. Now I’m seeking for my nagashis[119]. They live somewhere in the mountains of Bayan-Aul. That’s all…
They began to ask me in details about my relatives.
- I don’t know exactly to what little family they belong. It seems to me that to Aidabol[120], one of the branches of Karzhas family, - I answered.
They weren’t satisfied with this answer and continued to bother me all the time. According to their words, they belonged themselves to one of the “influential” families of Karzhas.
- Our auls are on the south-eastern side of Bayan-Aul, in the mountains of Shokpar and Aulie, - my companions stated.
The senior caravanner is a man with a broad and thick black beard, Hadji Kenbai’s son. If my memory doesn’t fail me, his name is Smail. One of his companions is hadji Kenbai’s distant relative, called Bekmuhammet. The second one, as far as I remember, is Tolebai, he is one of the town poor, a petty trader.
Once, walking beside me ahead of the camel, Bekmuhammet said:
- Listen, Duisembi, we travel with you like classmates and you hide something from us. We see that you’re not an ordinary zhigit, let us into your secret!
I laughed out and tried to make a joke in reply. Bekmuhammet, seeing that he won’t achieve anything, let me alone. But soon Tolebai caught up with me and began to say:
- Duisembi, don’t hide anything from us. We are the same men as you are. What kind of man you are for us, the same we’ll be for you… If you want us to steal horses from the settlement together with you, we won’t refuse even this!
I dismissed his questions with a joke, too. Apparently, they kept watching me. At noon we had a rest at the side of the road. There was a little hill near us, finishing a chain of little knolls. The low spring grass already showed green in the full blaze of the sun. I got warm and dozed off on a hill. The caravanners woke me up to drink tea.
Smail began to ask me again:
- Honestly, Duisembi! Now, when you were sleeping on the hillside, it seemed to me that you are not a simple zhigit. I fancied you’re one of the batyrs of the ancient times!
This time I also answered with a joke.
We went on. Smail recited the poem “Boz zhigit” for a long time. We walked side by side. The day was warm. The wooden two-wheeled cart creaked behind us, rocking from one side to the other.
- Oh, Duisembi, it’s a pity you don’t want to confide to us! And you’re sure to be the same hero as this “Boz zhigit”, don’t you?
I kept silent. Some time later Smail resolutely continued:
- Duisembi, don’t be ashamed of me, let’s hug each other and be friends! Let’s go to our aul, I’ll take you everywhere you want. But don’t hide your secret from us, you aren’t an ordinary zhigit, an ordinary zhigit is different!
- What so special have you noticed about me? – I asked.
- First, the way you look, your figure show thay you’re not from simple zhigits. Besides, you left Pavlodar with us, you walk knee-deep in the water in the hole-ridden boots, you endure anything in the world, still you don’t even frown. That’s why it seems to me that you have either endured some injustice or wronged someone.
I couldn’t control myself and angrily said:
- Why do you keep asking me all the time to reveal you a secret? What reasons do you have to suspect me of anything?
Bekmuhammet and Tolebai came to us.
- Perhaps, you consider me a thief or a killer? If I, say, confess it to you, all the same you won’t be able to do anything to me. Then why should I confess to you now?
Smail was confused.
- Honestly, Duisembi, I didn’t say it on purpose!.. My dear, don’t be angry with me! If so, we won’t ask you any questions, but don’t be offended.
They stopped to bother me with their questions after this.
Some days later we came to the mountains of Bayan-Aul from the south-eastern side. It was the time to part with the caravanners.
At the time of the midday prayer we had dinner at the side of the road. From here the caravanners were to go home, to the south, to the mountains of Shokpar and Aulie. They still had to go nearly twenty versts. There was a bare steppe around with little hills. No matter how long you looked, you wouldn’t see a single sheep. The auls were still in their winter camps after a hard zhut.
I asked Smail in details about my further way. I wanted to go to the Cossack stanitsa in the mountains of Bayan-Aul. There I could stay at Shaibai Aimanov, a medical assistant. When I was studying at Omsk seminary, he was studying at medical school. We were friends. After finishing our studies each of us went home to work. The post didn’t work well at those times, still we sometimes wrote letters to each other. We were not just comrades, but faithful sworn friends. So I decided now to go to Shaibai. I would ask him about my relative, go to see him, perhaps receive some money from him for the journey, visit my native aul on the way and go to the Soviet Turkestan…
A hill is seen at the top of the Bayan. Three or four lack points can be seen on the hillside from afar, resembling birthmarks on the human face.
According to Smail’s words, the master of this aul is hadji Zhantemir from Suyundik Karzhas family. The hadji has a son, Imantak, an influential man. It’s to him that Smail has advised me to turn.
In the afternoon I said goodbye to the caravanners and went towards the Bayan. I had a charbroiled flat cake, the size of a camel’s foot, in my pocket – that was all my food. I had a stick in my hands.
I was girdled by a shabby cloth. The feet were in blisters and bleeding, but I didn’t say a word about it to the caravanners.
I walked for a long time. The golden disc of the sun was almost on the Bayan’s shoulders. When I came to the railway, being built from Omsk to Semipalatinsk through Atbasar and Akmolinsk, I met a Russian guard. We had a talk. He scolded the the present rule, too…
I went on, crossed the ravine. Three or four yourts were seen at the side of the road, the cattle were grazing. When I approached the hill, behind which hadji Zhantemir’s aul was, the sun set…
I climbed the top of the hill – there was no aul there. The hills stood in rows, one after another. It was already dusk. I stopped, listened attentively – not a sound. I walked again along the deserted silent plateau. The black silhouettes of the mountains were dozing silently ahead of me… I got tired at last. My bleeding feet ached. I seemed to get lost. I wasn’t able to go further. I sat down. The scarlet dawn in the west was gradually growing pale, dying out. There was neither a sound nor a breeze.
Gloomy thoughts rushed in my head like the mud flows of the spring flood.
When will my sufferings end?.. What crime against the human being have I done to endure so many troubles? I was born, grew up, studided – is it only for this that I have to endure shame and sufferings?.. If so, then why was I born, why did I grow up, why did I study?..
Even now I am left alone at the dark deserted plateau, covered by a dark night. I will die here, go missing with no traces left. It’s impossible to walk further.
These thoughts pressed me, like black clouds. When I’d lost all hope of seeing a new dawn, I’ve got a kind of hope, flashing like a lightning from between the clouds.
“Be strong! Your sufferings are not in vain! You have been fighting for the freedom of the working people, for the equality of the destitute.
A lot of heroes fell down as victims on this way. Much blood and lots of tears were spilt in the struggle for freedom. Take heart, be strong! The bright day is not far away! You should go!.. You should see it!.. You should find the way!”
I climbed several hills more, listened attentively… I could clearly hear a dog’s barking. From the top of the next hill I saw indistinct black shadows. Coming nearer, I saw three or four adobe winter houses, broken carts near them with some bags. The aul hadn’t moved yet from its winter camps. I approached the last large dugout and entered the yard. It was dirty and wet around. I entered the dugout and saw an elderly woman with two children. She didn’t let me to stay for the night, saying “there was no man in the house”. I went to the next dugout, which seemed cleaner to me. There was a woman standing near the gates. We greeted each other. I tried to see her face in the dusk. She had a kimshek on her head, and an eastern robe on her shoulders. She had a straight nose, was fourty or so, seemed a kind and wise woman, judging by her face and voice.
- My dear fellow, there is no man in our house, too. And at this time of troubles it is very dangerous to let an unfamiliar man stay for the night… - She kept silent for some time. – Where are you coming from, zhigit?
- From Pavlodar... I’ll be a “God’s guest” in your house,- I answered.
- Well, then, enter the house. But don’t be hard on me, we don’t have any meat to treat you. There was a zhut in winter, all our cattle perished.
- I need no meat, zhengei[121], - I answered her with gratitude.
She led me into the house.
The adobe dugout consisted of two rooms. A lamp was burning. I saw patterned felt mats on the dirt floor. It was empty at the door and near the stove.
The dried skins were stored to the right of the door. There were two calves lying in front of them, still the room was clean. In the front corner two girls of about sixteen were sleeping in bed. Their mother woke them up. The girls slipped robes over their shoulders and remained sitting in bed. The zhengei woke up her son.
- Paiziken, my dear, put the samovar on fire, we’ve got a guest, - she said.
- Please, come in, my dear! – the woman turned to me.
They put the lamp in the middle. Paiziken began to fuss near the samovar. The zhengei sat down opposite to me, closer to her daughters. When I entered the clean lit room and sat down with my legs crossed, I noticed that my clothes looked terrible. There were boots on feet, square-toed like a calf’s head, a worn-out polecat short coat on my shoulders, covered with soot and girdled with a shabby cloth. There was a winter cap of a black hat on my head, and a worn-out scarf around my neck.
The zhengei began to ask me, trying to find out who I was. Paiziken put the samovar and sat down near us. The two girls with their eyelashes dropped, stealthily peep at us with curiosity, listen, not missing a single word. They are both fifteen or sixteen years old. They are like green willows and very much alike, like twins. Their eyes are black, like those of the red-footed falcon’s chicks. Covering themselves with the robes, they sit side by side. There is a lambskin tymak with a brown velvet top on the head of the girl, sitting nearer to me.
The zhengei continues to ask me questions, delving into every detail. I try to answer all the questions in details. The zhengei quietly smacks her lips:
- Apyrym-ai[122], my dear, if one looks at your face, you seem to be a clever zhigit. And when I imagine your way, your behaviour seems absolutely crazy to me.
- Why do you say so? – I asked.
- How can I not say so! You leave distant Omsk, start out in search of your nagashi, not even knowing where he lives and to what family he belongs. You look for nobody knows who in the most difficult season of the year. You set out between winter and summer, when the roads are the worst. You go on foot to the unfamiliar land. You come here, when the local auls starve, when people are in trouble after the cattle have perished, one and all. Can a reasonable man from a distant land go alone in search of his nagashi, not knowing exactly his place of living and his family? Is it so necessary to look for him in spring, when the roads are impassable? Should you go, when the auls you meet are hungry and the ground has recently been covered with ice? Can’t you go, when summer comes, green grass grows, people are sated with the kumiss and finally lift up their heads after the trouble? You say you want to go to work, if you have a chance, to plant “Ekibastuz” or to the railway. Is there any work now at “Ekibastuz” or at the railway? If we had good work here, the local zhigits wouldn’t go from here to the Irtysh steamship company in Omsk. Don’t you know about it? Our zhigits, the same as you, leave for Omsk every year. You must know them. Every year crowds of them go by steamship to Omsk, you could meet them and ask about the situation in our land… Your appearance and your way of talking make me think that you’re a reasonable man, but the journey you’ve made seems to be a folly. I’m amazed, my dear, - the zhengey expressed her thoughts.
- You’re right. I left Omsk rashly. And then I considered it inappropriate to return. And I learned about your difficult situation here only when I came to Pavlodar, - I shyly said.
While we were talking with the zhengei, two girls caught my every word, as if trying to string it, and were watching me attentively. Especially the girl, sitting somewhat farther away. Peeping with caution from behind of the tymak of the girl, sitting in front of her, she followed my every movement with her black eyes. I was excited by this girl’s look. I wanted to teach her not to show excessive curiosity, to make her turn away from me with her annoying “prunes”. While I continued to talk carelessly to her mother, I changed my place a little. The girl’s face came to the light from the tymak’s shadow. She stared at me. Then I stared at her with curiosity. She was confused and hid her face in the shadow again. This resolute move of mine was not noticed by her mother or sister or brother. Only the two of us knew about our exchange of glances. Suddenly the elder sister moved back, lay down and told her mother:
- Mother, come over here!
Her mother heavily turned to the daughter and asked in a low voice:
- What’s the matter?
They turned to the wall and began to whisper about something. After it, they took their places. The mother looked at the lamp, calmly, without any anxiety. My heart felt the daughter had told her something about me. But what could she say?
We kept silent for some time, suddenly the zhengey spoke to me:
- My dear, what’s your name?
- Duisembi! – I answered.
- Did you study at Russian school?
- No, I didn’t.
- Do you speak Russian?
- Yes, a bit.
- Did you study in Kazakh?
- Yes, not much.
- And where?
- There were courses for teenagers in Omsk, I studied there.
- Do you know any Kazakhs who studied at Omsk Russian school?
- I know some of them.
- Who?
- I know Asylbek Seitov, Musulmanbek Seitov and two more Seitovs, I also know Asai Chermanov and Shaibai Almanov.
- How did you happen to know them?
- Seitov’s house is in Omsk, thay’s how I know. I rode Shaibai Aimanov and Chermanov to different places on the horses of Hadjimuhan, the elder brother, during Russian holidays. That’s why I know them very well. Especially Shaibai. We were close friends with him.
- And where are these zhigits now?
- I don’t know... It seems to me, Asylbek Seitov is a doctor somewhere. I don’t know exactly where Asfandiyar is and what his job is now. Somebody once told me that Shaibai is a doctor now…
- If you were close friends with Shaibai, you must know where his aul is, - the woman said.
- Somewhere near Bayan-Aul.
- Do you know the name of Shaibai’s father?
- It seems to me, his name is Appas.
The zhengey smiled with satisfaction.
- Well, it turns out you don’t deceive us... In this case I can explain everything to you: Asylbek Seitov is a doctor now in the stanitsa of Bayan-Aul, and Shaibai is a medical assistant, both at the same place.
The mother turned to her elder daughter:
- Tell me, where are their flats?
- Near the mosque,- the daughter answered.
My wild guesses as to where this girl could see me were getting clearer now. Shaibai had my two photos. And these black eyes had probably seen them. At the last photo Shaibai had, I was photographed before my arrest in 1918. My appearance at that time could not be compared with the present face of an escapee, a former Kolchak’s prisoner. The difference between this face and that was like between the heaven and the earth. A single year had passed, but I knew I had changed a lot.
- Shaibai’s aul is in about fifteen versts from here, - the woman continued. – His father lives in the aul, he – in town. They are called biy’s[123] descendants there. We are their relatives.
The water boiled up in the samovar, the table was laid. All of us began to drink tea together. Paiziken poured the tea. Two more zhigits came and also asked questions about who I was. The zhengei began to find out where my nagashi lived with their help.
- You say that the name of your living nagashi is aqsaqal Ilyas. If Ilyas’ father is Kaskabas, then he is Botpai Ilyas, a brother of the famous Zhunus…
- Do you know Ilyas’ younger brother – mullah Zhunus? – asked one of the zhigits.
- No, I don’t. I heard people saying he has a brother, who received a Russian education, - I answered.
- Yes, it is he. He was a teacher of Russian, taught children, and I was his student. The poor man has already died… His aul is on the northern slope of this mountain – nearly twenty versts from here. If you go along the mountain slope from the morning, you can reach his aul at noon, - the zhigit explained. .
I was glad that it turned out to be so easy to find my nagashi. I was going to see Shaibai, but now there appeared an obstacle to my plan – he lived in one house with Asylbek Seitov. I shouldn’t meet Shaibai if he lives under the same roof with doctor Seitov. I knew Seitov very well since the first days of my studies in Omsk. In 1916 we took an agricultural census in Akmolinsk District. Later, in 1917, Asylbek Seitov twice came to Akmolinsk from Omsk, when I worked in the Kazakh committee. He came again, when we were getting ready to organize the Council of Deputies. Together with officer Ablaihanov he collected money for the Alash-Orda, tried to recruit the youth to the militia of the Alash-Orda. We were against these actions and argued about it for the whole three days at the crowded rallies in Akmolinsk. The townsmen followed us and doctor Asylbekov together with officer Ablaihanov were forced to escape at night. He is now in Bayan, in one flat with Shaibai. Bayan is a Cossack stanitsa. Kolchak is unmerciful. If I come to Shaibai, Asylbek will learn about my arrival and then everything will be lost: my escape from Omsk camp, my journey to Slavgorod, my tortures on the way to Pavlograd in the hole-ridden boots knee-deep in water – everything will be in vain. To walk three hundred and fifty versts and to fall into the clutches of Kolchak’s soldiers was outside my plans. I decided not to visit Shaibai!
The zhengei sent me with Paiziken to another house for the night. The night was dark, moonless. Paiziken began to speak to me in the street:
- I liked you very much. People say: “Don’t doubt a man with a kind face”. We need a worker. Would you like to stay and work for us?
- My dear, workers are employed by parents and not by children. Can you decide something without your father?
- My parents won’t reject my offer. If the two of us come to an agreement, it will be so. Our work isn’t hard.
The boy stuck to me, pestered me with his offer.
- What work have you got? – I wasn’t able to stand it any more.
- It’s not difficult, I tell you. You should graze a little herd, milk the mares, load the packs when migrating to another place. You’ll work about the house, that’s all! – he replied..
- How much will you pay me?
- How can I know, say it yourself!
- My dear, even in the worst conditions I didn’t receive less than a hundred roubles a month..
- Uh-oh! People don’t pay so much here! – the boy was confused that he found himself in an akward situation…
Paiziken introduced me to the owner of the house, a young man. The house was poor, it looked like a kennel, divided by a long stove, not a house. The ceiling was low, the candle was burning dimly. It was dirty, unsightly there. The hosts produced an impression of downtrodden people. They were ready to go to sleep when we came. Those two zhigits also followed us here and we began to speak again. Paizigen also didn’t hurry to leave us.
One of the zhigits, the one who studied Russian with the mullah, turned to me:
- Have you got an identification document?
- Yes, I have!
- Well, show it!
I kept three sheets of paper, each folded separately, in the breast pocket of my warm shirt. One of them was clean, the second was written in Kazakh and the third was my certificate in Russian. Acting with deliberate awkwardness, I took out a clean sheet and gave it to the zhigit:
- My friend, but it’s just clean paper! – he noticed.
- Oh, then it must be this! – and I gave him the second sheet in Kazakh, also folded.
- Hey, it’s also a simple sheet of paper! – the zhigit reproached me.
- Oh, a mistake again! – I said with a feigned distress and gave him my “genuine” certificate.
The zhigit calmed down when he saw a seal and a stamp. Giving the certificate back to me, he meaningfully said:
- Hide it better or you may loose it, simpleton.
Since my escape from the camp it was the first time that I showed my certificate. “That’s what our brother Kazakh like!” – I couldn’t help thinking.
Asking in details the way to my nagashi once more, I undressed, laid my clothes on the sooty little felt mat and stretched myself with pleasure…
I woke up early. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The breeze, gentle as silk, blows softly. The sun has risen. The green grass is barely seen, it’s like fluff over a young man’s lip. I admire the Bayan and it seems to me that all the trials, all the hardships have remained behind me forever. My tired, exhausted muscles are strong as iron again and tough, as a braided whip, under the skin. It seems to me today that the whole universe beams with joy.
I walk the Bayan slopes. The luxuriant trees show green with their downy buds. There is a tall straight pine in a green cap on the very top. I feel the smell of growing greenery. The transparent air reminds a new kumiss, quenching the thirst with its flavour.
I follow a narrow path on the slope. The melodies ring in my ears. They are sung by the Bayan mountains. The rivulets run, twisting, in the ravines between the trees. Their loud bubbling, their scud remind me the loud voices of frisking children. The birds sing in the trees, they whistle, jump from twig to twig, chase one another, like children, playing hide-and-seek. The voice of a steppe lark merges with the chaotic hubbub of the forest birds. The slopes, stones, bubbling rivulets, trees, heights and hollows of the Bayan – everything sings and finds joy in unity…
I walked on. At noon I washed in the rivulet, drank water, took out a flat cake, fried on dung ashes, and had dinner, if it could be said so.
After having a rest in the heat of the sun, I started out again. I visited two auls at the foot of the mountain and carefully asked about the location of my nagashi’s aul.
At the time of the midday prayer I came to nagashi’s aul.
A woman was collecting dry dung on the eastern outskirts of town. I asked her about the house of my nagashi.
The aul looked miserable. The huts were low, unsightly. It was dirty in the yards.
And here was a little hut of my nagashi. My nagashi – Ilyas, a lean, tall, grey-bearded old man – was performing ablution near it, getting ready for the prayer.
- Assalaumalikum, I greeted him.
- Alikum-salem, good afternoon, my dear, - he answered.
- How are you? – I asked.
The aqsaqal didn’t recognize me, asked who I was and where from.
Only four years passed since we met with Ilyas. In 1915 he came to our aul and stayed for a week. These same days I came from Omsk for summer and we talked with the aqsaqal about different matters for a long time. Ilyas took part in different campaigns in his yourth and he told me about his adventures, about the events of the bygone times.
Only four years passed. And he was not able to recognize me!
- Do you recognize me, - I asked.
He stared at me.
- My dear, my memory is weak... I don’t recognize you at all...
We stepped aside, sat down and kept staring at each other.
- So you don’t recognize me, - I continued.
- No... I don’t...
- Have you ever met Saken?
- Which Saken?- he said in utter surprise. – You mean Saken, the son of Seifulla, don’t you?
- Yes, I do...
- I know him, but what?
- I’m the Saken you know...
Ilyas gave a start, his eyes widened.
- Come along, my dear! Don’t play a joke on me, I’m not a child...
“Have my face changed beyond recognition?” – I thought. The prison left its deep imprint on my face. When I accidentally saw my face in Slavgorod, I gave a start, frightened with my looks. There were several deep wrinkles on my face…
But I remembered at once that Zhantemir’s daughter from the aul, where I spent last night, recognized me by the old photo. And my native nagashi was not able to recognize me. Though he saw me only four years before it…
I began to tell my nagashi in detail about the summer, when he came to our aul, named all the members of our family and forced the aqsaqal to recognized that I was Saken.
When my poor nagashi received evidence that it was really me, he cried out at once.
- My dear, what sorrow have you experienced!?.
- Don’t tell anyone who I am. My name is Duisembi… Tell everyone I’m your nephew’s son from Akmolinsk District. I worked at plant “Ekibastuz”. I have fallen ill and is returning to my native land now…
We agreed about everything and entered the hut, divided by a long stove into two parts. It was very poor inside. There were three old women, two young women, two zhigits, two children, sitting there. We greeted each other. Ilyas introduced me to them as we had agreed with him. Some time later the guests went away. Ilyas locked the door, and remaining alone with his family, told them the real events of my life. When my nagashi finished his story, everyone was crying. Since then I settled down in this family…
I hid in the nagashi’s house for about twelve days. Their neighbour had a dombra, I amused myself with the dombra and amused the others. The wounds on my feet healed. Ilyas was very poor, had an exhausted grey horse, a thin dark grey ox, four or five goats and one milk cow – it was all his cattle. The family was large: the old man with his wife, son Rakish, Ilyas’ daughter – a widow with three children. The household stuff didn’t cost even ten roubles: a black kettle with a turned-up nose, a patched patterned felt, an antiquated quilt, a broken trunk. The tea cups were fastened with wire. The hearth was muddled. There was a broken millstone, a platter with a crack and similar trash there. The hut was built of raw adobe bricks, the walls were rough.
The other house of my nagashi – his brother Zhunis’ house – was in a hundred versts of the Bayan between Akmolinsk and Karkaralinsk Districts. Zhunis and his old wife died. The only son of the deceased, Mukai, lived in the aul of Karzhas family with his wife’s relatives. I had never seen Mukai. According to the words of Ilyas’ family, he was quite prosperous, had ten cows, nearly twenty sheep and three or four horses. The aul, where Mukai lived, was on the way to Akmolinsk District, and I was glad of it. We decided to visit Mukai together with Ilyas. Then Ilyas was going to follow me to my village for me to avoid any troubles.
We began to prepare for the journey. Ilyas’ son looked for a cart with a horse throughout the aul, but couldn’t find any. So we had to harness the dark grey ox. We took flat cakes, fried in the ashes, for the journey, bought some butter and the two of us started out.
If we both sat in the cart, the ox was not able to pull it. So we walked on foot. In the evening we stopped for the night at a poor Kazakh’s house. Early in the morning we went on. Leaving a trail on the mellow black earth of the Bayan, we crossed the cultivated fields. On our way we met the family of a migrant Kazakh. Their household stuff was loaded on two camels. Three men and a woman were riding. The black-bearded Kazakh greeted Ilyas and suddenly they began to scold each other loudly. The Kazakh we met demanded that Ilyas should return him some debt. The scandal flared up. I interfered, but I couldn’t quieten the black-bearded man. He called up two more men from his caravan. It turned out that they were watching the crops of a rich Kazakh from Bayan-Aul stanitsa.
- I’ll take you to the stanitsa and give away to the Russians… You’re escapees!..
These words puzzled me more than anything. “If I met this black-bearded man in the hungry steppe, I’d drive him on foot”, - I thought with anger.
Three Kazakhs took away our ox and cart, spread their yourt and didn’t let us go anywhere. The black-bearded man had the reputation of an experienced lawyer. He learnt all those mean tricks from the Cossack sergeant. He demanded my documents from me. I showed them to him. He looked at the paper and adopted a dignified pose of a wise person.
Since my escape from Kolchak’s soldiers my documents were checked only in two places: on the eastern slope of the Bayan, in hadji Zhantemir’s aul, and on the western slope of the same wonderful mountains. I was enraged. How could I not be angry?! Kolchak’s special detectives didn’t demand my documents at the railway stations of Omsk, Tatarka, Slavgorod, Pavlodar. Trying to escape, I came the native Bayan from afar and at our first meeting the Kazakhs themselves demanded my documents from me! If Kolchak knew them, he would appoint them to be at the head of his sleths. The Kazakh rogues, crawling at the foot of the Bayan, who learnt the daily mean habits of the rich, turned out to be much more vigilant than Kolchak’s vipers with bright shoulder straps!
We spent the whole day in the yourt of the black-bearded man. He didn’t let us go out. It became colder in the evening, a snowstorm began. The snowstorm raged the next day, too. We sat huddled in the yourt in the power of the black-bearded man. “Oh, bastard, if I only met you in the steppe! – I thought, - I’d drive you on foot, whipping you as the lowest of the low!”
The next morning the snowstorm abated. At noon the Kazakhs released us, keeping our ox and cart to themselves.
What could I do in the remote land among the strangers?! My companion was a weak old man…
We trudged on foot. When we were several versts away from the place, I asked the old man to return home and went to the aul of nagashi Mukai myself.
Only yesterday the ground was black, and today it has turned white. A breeze is blowing from the west. There are no auls.
I walk along the path, alone again.
The sun rose – the snow began to melt, there appeared black thawed places; they became bigger with every minute and by noon the snow melted…
I went past the lake, about which Ilyas told me. There was a deserted old winter hut on its bank, a decrepit house, looking like a hurt nose of a snuffling man. Then I crossed the plateau, about which Ilyas also told me, and saw an aul. I saw so much cattle the first time since I escaped from the camp. The winter was not so severe in these places and caused less damage to the Kazakhs.
Six or seven barking dogs ran out to meet me; all to a dog were well-fed and rabid. They attacked me. The bai‘s dogs drink fat broth, gnaw fat bones, eat plenty of meat of the dead cattle, that’s why they are furious. If you only let them, they will tear a man to pieces in a moment. I somehow managed to beat them off with stones.
I entered the bai’s yourt, they gave me to drink some kozhe[124]. Coming out of the yourt, I walked barefoot in the water from melted snow for a long time. I could see an aul far ahead on the hillside. When the sun set, I came to the aul of aqsaqal Aisa, about whom Ilyas told me. Some people were cleaning the well from the staganant water near the aul. Aqsaqal Aisa with a white beard, broad as a shovel, was sitting near the well. Four or five zhigits were scooping out the water with buckets. I greeted Aisa and began asking usual questions.
Now my biography was the following: I’m a lonely young man, going to Balabay’s aul from Babas family, one of the branches of Karzhas family, coming from the Bayan.
After asking me questions, aqsaqal Aisa jokingly smiled and said:
- My hero, you are strong-built, good for cleaning the well. Come on, show these zhigits what you are capable of!
I began to work with a bucket. Aisa teased his workers:
- Hey, you, bold fellows, why are you working so lazily, follow his example!
I spent the night at Aisa’s house. Combing his long grey beard, he asked me questions and also told me a lot. Aisa seemed a wise, experienced old man. He resembled an old hawk. There were two rooms in his adobe house.
Performing namaz, Aisa said:
- My dear, you produce an impression of a respectable zhigit, but why don’t you perform namaz?
- My clothes are not clean enough for namaz. Besides, seaknesses torture me, - I began to refuse.
We milked farrow mares. In the morning I didn’t wait for tea, drank kumiss and started out.
When I got to the top of the hill, I saw three or four auls. The yourts were spread in rows in front of mountain Dalba, in a wide and vast valley. The auls were prosperous, with a lot of cattle. I turned off the road, entered a white yourt. There was a saddled but unbridled horse, grazing behind the yourt. When I entered the yourt, I greeted the present and I stiffened in astonishment. It was an unusual meeting.
The morning tea drinking had just begun in the yourt. At the honorable corner of the dastarkhan there sat a young man, round faced, with the eyes of a young camel, straight nose and appearing moustache, tense and straight. I recognized him at once. In the winter of 1918 this zhigit studied in Akmolinsk, at the courses where I was a teacher. A Karim Satpaev, from Bayan-Aul, from Karzhas family, studied in Akmolinsk seminary. At that time the Alash-Orda nominated his brother, Abikei Satpaev, a delegate to the Constituent Assembly from Akmolinsk and Semipalatinsk Regions. Karim Satpaev closely communicated with us in Akmolinsk, and when we opened courses to teach Kazakh teenagers, Karim brought us a zhigit from his aul. They lived together in the house of Matzhan, a famous Kazakh bai… And now, in April 1919, I met my round-faced student, whom Karim brought to us a year ago, in Bayan-Aul District, in the Kazakh aul near the mountain of Dalba. It was an incredible coincidence! The zhigit was sitting at the honorable corner, as a bludgeon, driven into the ground by its tip, quietly drinking tea. Once he dressed with elegancy and he didn’t assume new habits of life. When I greeted him, he answered with a polite greeting. “Come and drink tea”, - there followed an invitation.
I sat down at the lowest place, quite far from the dastarkhan. I tried not to give myself away. When the usual questions began, I said the same thing, as to aqsaqal Aisa: “I go from the Bayan to the aul of Balabay from Babas family”.
I noticed at a glimpse that my student was staring at me. He didn’t take his eyes off me, while I was drinking two bowls of tea. When I returned his look, he asked:
- What’s your name?
- Duisembi, - I answered.
Disappointed, my student smacked with his lips, showed his astonishment with his face and fell silent. He was an even-tempered, serious zhigit and confined himself to silent astonishment, didn’t ask any questions.
I asked about my further way and went on. When I left the yourt, I hesitated for a moment: perhaps, I should call my student, pull him aside and tell him everything in a one-on-one talk. But if I told my secret just to one person, this secret would become known to the whole neighbourhood. So I trudged on. A cold wind came blowing from the west. It was an ordinary spring wind, sometimes getting up to the hurricane. There were dark grey thick clouds in the sky, like ice floes during the spring flood. The flat plain, spurs, mounds, hills and mountains – everything seemed grey and unattractive to me today. I went along a deserted path all day long.
At the sunset I recognized Kara-Toka[125] Elevation, about which I heard from Ilyas, among small hills.
He said: “Remember that you’ll see winter camps on its top. Perhaps, you’ll have to spend a night in that aul…” I was interested in the name, “Kara-Toka”, because my forefathers belonged to this family.
I came close to the winter camp but didn’t see anybody. Its inhabitants seemed to have just migrated. The doors were open, like destroyed caves. There were carcasses of two horses. The dogs were rushing around the carrion. They attacked me with furious barking, protecting their prey. I entered one of the dugouts – no one there. I climbed the roof and looked around. There was a dry ravine, stretching between the hills and disappearing in the steppe. A stream bubbled at the foot of the Kara-Toka. I could see grazing cattle far away from me. The sun, half-covered with grey clouds, had already climbed the hill.
What should I do? Will I be able to reach the aul, where I saw the cattle grazing? Should I stay for the night in this deserted winter camp?.. And boil a piece of carrion for supper? There was nothing to be ashamed of in this… There were Hungarians in Omsk camp. Every day they killed a dog and ate it. Once Hungarian Croat and Pankratov treated me with a dog broth and I didn’t refuse. Were we better than the Hungarians? If they could eat dog meat, why shouldn’t I support my strength with the meat of the dead horse?..
I had to go a long distance, still I went to the place where the grazing sheep could be seen. I had to undress when I crossed the river, overgrown with osier-bed. The troubled water was cold like frozen iron, it scalded, burnt the body with cold and tried to carry along, like light tumbleweed…
When the sun set, I was barely able to reach the aul, situated on the bank of a little river. I found the inhabitants of the winter camp from the top of the Kara-Toka here. I stayed here for the night.
In the morning I drank some tea and a cup of kumiss and started out.
The day is cold. An icy piercing wind is blowing from the west. From time to time the grey clouds gather together, become thicker and descend to the ground.
I crossed the river with osier-bed again and came upon an aul. When I was fording the cold river for the second time, a horseman rode from the aul to meet me. Black-bearded, red-cheeked, with an open kind face, he approached me on a roan mare.
- Let me take you across, mount on the croup of my horse! – he suggested.
- No, thank you, I’ll cross the river myself...
He replied with irony:
- Look, what a zhigit! What a politeness!. I won’t let you make a step until I take you across! – he exclaimed and put the horse across the path. I crossed the river on the mare’s croup and said goodbye to the kind Kazakh.
I dropped in the aul and saw that I hadn’t wandered out of my way, that I was following the right way. At noon I saw an aul on the plateau. There was a flock of sheep, grazing near it. I sat down in a little ravine, grown with thick feather grass, took out a flat cake from my pocket, covered it with the rest of butter and began to eat. A shepherd boy rode close to me on a red ox. His eyes were devouring the flat cake. His clothes were torn, patched. He seemed to have just recovered after the typhoid. His cheeks were pale. I gave him bread and butter. He caught it in the air, like a perch, taking the bate.
- The day has come when I saw butter!- the boy bitterly said.
- Don’t you have any butter in your aul?
- We were hardly able to survive during this harsh winter! A lot of time has passed since we tasted butter!
- You shepherd a big flock of sheep. Hasn’t the owner got any butter?
- Perhaps, he has, for himself, but will he give it to us?
- How much do they pay you?
- Nothing worthy of being talked about...
- None the less?
- A pood of wheat, a pair of boots and a shabby robe, that’s all!
- Do you shepherd the flock all summer for this? - Yes! – the shepherd said.
...In another aul I came to the yurt of Mukai’s elder sister, of whom Ilyas spoke to me. She was also poor. It was not far from here to Balabai’s aul, where my nagashi Mukai lived.
At the time of the evening prayer I came to Balabai’s aul Sary-Adyr. It stood separately from others. Hill Sary-Adyr could be seen from afar. Balabai’s aul was situated on the very top, it was still in the winter camps. When I was approaching the foot of the Sary-Adyr, the grey clouds became thicker and came down, it began to snow. I was so tired that I climbed the shoulders of the Sary-Adyr with great difficulty.
There were only four households in the aul. My nagashi Mukai lived in one of the yourts. Balabai himself, who was Mukai’s father-in-law, lived in a big yourt. Balabai’s elder son lived in the third yourt.
I saw a zhigit, who was watering from a bucket a bay mare with yellowish markings and a white frontlet. We greeted each other. Broad-shouldered, tall, with a thin beard and moustache, resembling starvelings in the rocky land, he was dressed in a short kupi, topped with candy stripe. He had Kazakh boots with felt jackets on his feet, a worn-out black sheepskin tymak, like a batyr’s helmet. According to Ilyas’ description, this was Mukai. People went past us, in and out of the yard, not paying any attention to us.
- Are you Mukai? – I asked.
- Yes… And how do you know me?
I told him in short, where I was going from, and explained at once that I was Saken. First he gaped with amazement, then smiled with distrust.
- Young man, it’s no use telling stories. We are Kazakhs and must receive guests in any case!
Mukai didn’t believe me, he thought that I wasn’t Saken and was just pretending his zhien to be received as a guest. Mukai had never seen me. I was taken aback. What to do? I began to tell him everything in detail. I said I visited Ilyas, described his household, told him how Ilyas went to see me off and how he had to return home. I told him about the poverty in Ilyas’ family. I gave my underwear and my cloth beshmet to Rakit, Ilyas’ son, and I put on Rakit’s patched beshmet instead of mine. I showed it to Mukai to make my words sound convincing. I told him that Ilyas’ elder son died in winter. Mukai believed me, changed his countenance, cried out, began to embrace me. Soon a grey-headed man with a stick in his hand came close to us, it was Balabai himself. Seeing tears in Mukai’s eyes, he asked with sympathy what had happened.
We entered Mukai’s yourt. At my request Mukai introduced me to the inhabitants of the aul in the following way:
- It’s a son of Katshi, my father’s sister. He is my zhien. He’s returning home to Akmolinsk District from Ekibastuz plant.
Mukai lived in a mended dark grey yourt of four parts, with a young wife and a little daughter. Judging by the household staff, he was quite poor. I was seated down on a quilt in the honourable corner. When Mukai’s wife learnt about the death of Ilyas’ elder son, she cried out loudly. The children quickly gathered around her, Balabai’s old wife came running, Mukai’s sister came, too, they all cried loudly. A tall, round-faced, raven-head girl came – Mukai’s sister-in-law, Balabai’s younger daughter. Two Balabai’s sons came. In short, all children and women from four yourts gathered together to cry.
Balabai’s aul happily survived this harsh winter. It is located in the most distant part of Bayan-Aul District, almost on the junction of the borders of Karkaralinsk and Akmolinsk Districts. From the top of the Sary-Adyr one can see the lands of Karkaralinsk District in the south-west, the lands of Akmolinsk District in the west, the border of Semipalatinsk District not very far in the south; the mountains are enveloped in a blue haze.
All four households of the aul live in harmony as a single family. They are simple people, wearing their heart on their sleeve, willingly keeping up the custom of hospitality, characteristic for the Kazakhs. They are not talkative, they are not rogues, they are not capable of mean tricks. I quickly got used to them, found a common language with them.
I lived at Mukai’s house. I was treated to plenty of thick pancakes, sour milk and cream. He had four or five cows, all with calves, nearly twenty sheep, four thin horses. Mukai was going to ride me to my native aul on a brown tailless stallion, but after it would become warm, there would be grass and the stallion would gain weight and acquire new strength. I stayed at Mukai’s house to live there and have a rest, to wait for this convenient moment.
Thus, after eight hundred and fourty-four versts on foot, I came to Balabai’s aul on the Sary-Adyr, on the junction of four districts of Akmolinsk and Semipalatinsk Provinces. Finally I found peaceful rest in this aul after such a long way, full of sufferings.
It’s easier said than done, eight hundred and fourty-four versts!
In 1919, in hard January frosts ataman Annenkov’s detachment drove us from Akmolinsk to Petropavlovsk. I walked four hundred versts on foot. I escaped from Omsk camp, came to Slavgorod by train and from there walked one hundred and fifty-two versts to Pavlodar when the snow was melting, and one hundred and ninety-two versts from Pavlodar to the Bayan, in slush, moving knee-deep in water. Finally I walked about a hundred versts from the Bayan to Balabai’s aul…
I liked Balabai’s aul. Everyone was good, frank, not punctilious. I began to recover quickly. The wounds on the feet healed, the muscles became stronger. The days became warmer, the grass showed green. Balabai’s aul migrated to Kokozek, to the east of the Sary-Adyr. I was one of the inhabitants of aul now. Balabai had nearly fourty horses, a hundred and fifty sheep and plenty of cows. I took care of the cattle, kept watch over the herd. The aul was isolated, there was no one to help in case of robbers’ or horse thieves’ attack. “If you forget about evil, you won’t see any good”, - the proverb says. The nearest aul was in ten or fifteen versts to the east, no one would come to the aid except it. And a lot of thieves wandered around, it was a difficult time after a hungry winter.
One evening Balabai himself noticed from the top of a hill a group of suspicious riders on the southern side of the Sary-Adyr. He galloped to the aul. All six men mounted on horses. They saddled for me a dark grey horse, which Balabai’s daughter rode. We armed with bludgeons. They had one rifle and I took it. We galloped towards the suspicious riders, showing our arms. But when they noticed us, they didn’t wait for a skirmish and rode towards the mountain of Semiz-bugi – a Eat Deer. We returned after a short pursuit.
After this incident I began to keep watch over Balabai’s horses at night. If a suspicious man appeared in the vicinity, I was present on the spot, mounted on Balabai’s good horse. At dusk the herd was driven to the aul. Balabai’s daughter kept watch over the sheep in the sheep pen. So we whiled away the spring nights together.
...Balabai’s daughter is sitting near the sheep pen on the patterned felt mat, spread on green grass. She has slipped a robe over her shoulders and there is a sweet-voiced dombra in her hands. And the evening is gentle, warm, spring. The blue sky seems to be stitched with numberless silver nails, it looks like a huge blue velvet tabernacle. Sometimes white fleecy clouds pass, as if made of chased silver. And the moon is like a golden dish, hung in the vault of the blue tabernacle. The stars and the moon light up the dark, quietly slumbering earth. The sheep sleep in the sheep pen… The aul slumbers in silence. Only sometimes bleating, quiet mooing of the cattle can be heard. All the universe up to the high sky seems to luxuriate in the cradle of pleasant intoxication.
Balabai’s daughter is sitting on the patterned felt mat, a careless steppe beauty with the dombra in her hands. I’m lying on my back, looking into the sky, as if trying to count stars, swimming in the deep ocean of my dream. A dark red bald-faced stallion is near us. The reins are tied to the pommel. The handsome horse seems to dream about something, too, it slumbers, occasionally smacking its lips. The silence is everywhere… But then the dombra’s gentle melody begins. The dombra trembles, as if thinking about something. The beautiful girl, Balabai’s daughter, sings “Zulkiya”, a song composed in Akmolinsk. Zulkiya comforts herself with this sad song as a child…
I’m Zulkiya, Ospanbai’s daughter,
A harmonica is in Zulkiya’s hands.
Aldi-ai!
Better than live with a bald fool
I’d go away with a good man.
Aldi-ai!
Don’t cry, my baby, don’t cry, stop,
Don’t cry, darling, fall asleep.
Aldi-ai!
A two-year-old heifer leads all herd.
The sorrow covered my face with wrinkles.
Aldi-ai!
The bold fool owns you for the cattle.
Who can argue with the Most High?
Aldi-ai!
Don’t cry, my baby, don’t cry, stop,
Don’t cry, darling, fall asleep.
Aldi-ai!
I lived on the island of Red Reed.
The bold one isn’t good for me, can I marry him?
Aldi-ai!
Let him be of my age, not an old man,
Would I curse my luck like this?
Aldi-ai!
Don’t cry, my baby, don’t cry, stop,
Don’t cry, darling, fall asleep.
Aldi-ai!
Whose heart will a girl touch by her cry?
Who will bring her release from troubles?
Aldi-ai!
Asking God’s help is in vain.
How to break free from prison?
Aldi-ai!
Don’t cry, my baby, don’t cry, stop,
Don’t cry, darling, fall asleep.
Aldi-ai!
...She comforts herself because no one is concerned with the fat of a poor girl, no one pays attention to her tears.
And the earth and the heaven are silent. The earth and the heaven are deaf…
I told you about one of the evenings I remembered.
Soon the news spread that the volost administrator and superintendent came to the neighbouring auls.
At the times of Kolchak’s rule and the Alash rule a militiaman was called a “chief”, but they named him a “superintendent” in the Bayan’s vicinity as in old times.
“Why have they come? What do they collect?” – Balabai’s aul was worried. It turned out that they demanded a horse, a cart, a felt mat and a zhigit from each aul for the needs of the front.
Then the other news came: “They take a suitable horse with a cart by force. The volost administrator and the superintendent are both cruel. The volost administrator is one of Cherman’s descendants from Karzhas family”.
Balabai had one good cart and five good stallions. The best of them was a dark chestnut bald-head runner. Balabai’s sons said that volost administrator Chermanov admired him when the stallion was only two years old. In 1916, when the Kazakh youth was taken for the logistical works, this dark chestnut two-year-old won a prize at the races. After the races volost administrator Chermanov released two Balabai’s sons from the logistical works and took away the stallion, which won the prize, for it. After the dethronement of the Russian Tsar Balabai’s sons took the stallion back. Now, at the rule of the Alash-Orda and Kolchak the same Chermanov became a volost administrator again. He was very zealous at collecting money for the troops of the Alsh-Orda and oppressed the people so much that it seemed their bones would break. It was clear that he wouldn’t forgive Balabai that he took back his favourite stallion.
The aul got excited. Mukai asked for my advice. I offered my plan – to hide in a deep ravine with a cart and the best stallions of the herd.
We took some sour milk, kumiss and cottage cheese with us and together with one of Balabai’s zhigits left the aul. I rode a dark chestnut bald-head stallion, we led the other horses after us. We agreed that when the volost administrator left the aul, they would inform us, and the messenger should first climb a high place for us to see him from afar.
We settled at the deserted winter camp in the mountains, fed the horses with hay, day and night kept watch over them. At the daytime we undressed to the waist and exposed our bodies to the warm rays of the sun. I told funny stories, my listener laughed:
- Hey, Duisembi, you’re so funny!
We saved the horses and carts from the volost administrator. I spent more than a month in Balabai’s aul.
When Balabai’s daughter milked the mares in the daytime, I held their foals. At that spring time I could watch to my heart’s content the careless life of the foals, frisking in the rays of the warm sun on a green lawn…
Mukai’s tailless bay stallion recovered at last. Summer began.
The day came when Mukai harnessed its bay. They stretched an old patterned felt in the cart. I sat on the coachman’s seat and Mukai took an honourable place behind me, playing the role of a master.
We parted with Balabai’s hospitable aul and rode off. I left the rest of my winter clothes at Mukai’s house. When I was at Ilyas’ house, I changed my winter cap with earflaps for a grey lambskin tymak. I gave my cloth double-breasted jacket to Rakish, Ilyas’ son, and put on a patched beshmet instead of it. I gave my polecat short coat to Mukai’s wife and put on a shabby robe, made of cheap fabric instead of it.
I looked like a coachmen in a torn calico robe, shabby tymak, lambskin trousers, square-toed boots. A man in such clothes was only fit for harnessing and unharnessing horses, taking them out to the meadow, grazing them when hobbled; taking care of horses, in short.
I’m not going to describe in detail all our way from Balabai’s aul to my aul not to bore the reader. I’ll tell you in short.
After crossing the boundary of Pavlodarsk District, we found ourselves in Akmolinsk land. Riding slowly, we reached the southern auls of Akmolinsk District in ten days.
People discussed the Bolsheviks and the “yellow Russians” – thus Kolchak’s officials and the Russian bourgeois were called by people – everywhere. The majority of people quietly scolded the “yellow” and openly said about their good attitude to the Bolsheviks.
We reached the banks of the Sabyr-kozha river, where our aul usually came for summer. But this year it couldn’t come here and stayed in the valley of the Esen river. There were nearly a hundred versts from the Sabyr-kozha to the esen. The auls were rare here. There were two auls in fifteen-twenty versts from the Sabyr-kozha on the bank of the Kundyzda river. Then there were again two auls in fifteen-twenty versts on the banks of lakes Shoptikul and Zhamankul. There were two more settlements on the Nura bank and then the land was deserted up to our aul.
At the sunset we crossed the Sabyr-kozha and saw two rich auls with white yourts. A herd of numerous bay horses grazed along the river, nibbling succulent green grass. The flocks of white sheep bleated loudly behind the aul. There were plenty of cows and camels. The aul was not only rich, but famous – its master was well-known aristocrat Zhangir, a grandson of Konyr-Kulzhi Hudaimendin – a former governer of all Akmolinsk District. Zhangir lived in the nearest aul and his rich tolengut - in the aul a bit further from there. Zhangir’s three large snow white yourts stood high as minarets. We were all eyes, staring at the aul and the multitude of cattle. I saw Zhangir’s aul for the first time, though I used to live not very far from it.
When we crossed the Sabyr-kozha and rode out of the ravine, we saw a rider, leading the second horse. A thin zhigit with no moustache and beard was well-dressed. I recognized him at once but I didn’t show it. We greeted each other, asked questions. It was Mukai who spoke to the zhigit and I was carelessly looking all over the aul, pretending I had never known the zhigit we met. He was local. His name was Aueshan. His father’s name was hadji Ahmetzhan. Aueshan studied together with me in Akmolinsk Russian school, but at the junior school. In 1916 he was kept the whole winter in prison due to the uprising of the Kazakhs and was released after the overthrow of the tsarist rule.
Now Aueshan was asking Mukai about our way, looking intently at me.
- Do you go to the aul of the Enens from Toka[126] family? – he asked.
- We go to Zhanibek’s aul! – Mukai said.
- Have you got relatives there?
- Seifulla is our zhien.
I coldly and calmly looked at Aueshan who kept examining me.
- And who are you to Saken?- Aueshan asked me.
- Who is Saken?
- The famous Saken Seifullin – Sadvokas, - Aueshan firmly said.
I turned to Mukai in surprise:
- What Saken is he talking about?
Aueshan began to describe myself to me.
- How can you not know Saken? Seifulla had a son, whose name was Saken… Alas, he was put to prison and died… - the zhigit finished with regret.
I didn’t want to leave Aueshan in the dark. But everyone knows the Kazakh custom: you reveal a secret to your friend, he will by all means tell it to somebody else, that latter – to the third one, and so on until all the neighbourhood knows.
Aueshan said goodbye and was going away when I couldn’t bear it any longer:
- What’s your name?
- Aueshan! – there followed a reply.
- Don’t you recognize me?
Aueshan jumped off his horse in a moment and hugged me with tears in his eyes. He was glad to meet me as a child.
- Kolchak is unmerciful, - Aueshan told us. – In one settlement between Akmolinsk and Atbasar the peasants rose together with the Bolsheviks and wanted to liberate Atbasar, but a numerous detachment of Kolchak’s soldiers came. They defeated the rebels. A lot of settlements were reduced to powder. All prisoners were shot in Akmolinsk after it. If someone maliciously says that this one is a Bolshevik, there’s an end of this person. One teacher from Kumkul Volost was named a Bolshevik, taken to town and shot. Beketaev Toleubek and his son Seitrahman were arrested. Your friend Nurgain and lots of other people were shot, - Aueshan finished.
A rider with a trackhound came from upriver. We greeted each other. Without dismounting his horse he asked Aueshan who we were.
- They are from Suyundik family. They are nagashis of Seifulla from Toka family, - Aueshan explained.
- Ah, Saken’s father?- the zhigit muttered something and rode away.
We said goodbye to Aueshan. Following his advice, we didn’t stop for the night in Zhantir’s aul, because there was a volost administrator with his clerk there, but rode to the next aul, where his rich tolengut lived, whose name was Baitugan.
Baitugan had nearly three hundred sheep, a lot of cows and oxen. He lived in a big white yourt. We unharnessed our bay stallion and came to the yourt. Baitugan and his old wife didn’t let us go in.
- Our house is not a hotel for wandering Kazakhs! Go away! – they cried.
- We are in a desperate situation. We don’t ask you to treat us, but don’t drive us away at least! – We argued with them because of the Kazakh tradition and after a scandal entered the yourt without permission. The hosts went out and began to scold us in the street. The two of us stayed in their yourt. Some time later their daughter-in-law came in, lit a fire, the hosts’ grown-up son came in, too. They both silently looked at us. Then Baitugan himself came in. The old woman sat down near the fire after all.
It was in the month of the great fast. The tea was specially prepared for the “auyz asharu”[127], they treated us as well. When we were drinking tea, the master’s son smashed a fist in his wife’s face. The wife fell backwards, dropped the dishes…
“They are so polite”, - I thought.
Gradually they got used to our presence and we began to talk with Baitugan. Pretending not to know anything, I asked Baitugan about Zhangir’s life. Baitugan began to praise his generosity.
- Once he slaughtered a lamb for his bitch, which pupped for the fist time, to give it fresh meat… When he gave the “zeket”[128] he counted a hundred horses himself and every one hundred first horse, let it be the most valuable one, he gave to the mullah without any hesitation…He always slaughtered a big ox at the time of giving sacrifices. He also gave cattle to his servants to sacrifice it. There has never been anyone in the world more generous than he is.
When Baitugan finished to praise his master, I began to scold Zhangir, teased and exasperated poor Baitugan!..
It was raining all night… Mukai and I lay squimed in the yourt with no bedclothes given to us. Early in the morning the old woman began to scold us again and furiously threw out our harness, taken to the yourt for the night… I woke up from the old woman’s shrill voice and began to collect our harness.
- Look at them, they took a shaft bow and collar to the yourt! Will anyone hanker after this trash?! – the old woman cried.
I watered the horse myself and intentionally went near Zhangir’s aul. I heard this aristocrat had daughters of indescribable beauty. I wanted to see them, that’s why I let the horse graze and lay on the bank of the river, near the white yourt, for a long time…
We left at noon. The road was made impassible after the night rain, the horse could barely pull the cart and so we walked on foot. We came to the Shoptikul in the evening. Near the lake we met three riders, zhigits from the aul, where we wanted to stay for this night. The Kazakhs from Toka family lived in this aul. The three zhigits followed us for a long time. One of the zhigits, Abish, met me in 1917, when the aul meetings were conducted here in connection with the elections to the committee. He leaned over the saddle and stared at me for a long time, still he didn’t recognize me. Finally, the zhigits went their own way.
Late at night we came to Beisembai’s aul on the Shoptikul. In the morning we drank tea in the yourt of one of Beisembai’s sons, whose name was Beksultan. While we were drinking tea, a young zhigit came from the street and began to talk with us. He wanted to laugh at me for some reason. I pretended to be a naïve simpleton, the zhigit swallowed the bait and was extremely glad.
There was a golden eagle in the yourt. Looking at it, I asked:
- What kind of bird is it? An eagle-owl, perhaps?
The zhigit laughed to his heart’s content and then asked me:
- Don’t you have golden eagles in your land?
- People say, there are some... I didn’t imagine it like this... What does it eat, wheat?
The zhigit laughed out loudly.
- And where does it live? In this lake, perhaps? – I continued.
After laughing to his heart’s content, the zhigit explained:
- We caught it in the Kart mountains. They make their nests there!
This aul had its winter camp near the low hill of Kart, about a verst and a half from here.
- Oi-boi, this Kart is an unattainable altitude?
- Yes, it’s impossible to climb up to its top on the horseback!
- And why do you keep a golden eagle? Does it lay eggs for you? – I continued to play a trick on the zhigit.
- Yes, we’ll make it lay eggs, - answered the pleased zhigit.
We left the aul unrecognized. There was Koshmagambet’s aul on the bank of Lake Zhamankul, at a shout’s distance from this aul. Two elder elder cousins of my father lived here. I thought it inadmissible to go past them in secret, not to greet them. The aul, striking the yourts, wouldn’t pay attention to us in the turmoil of migration. By this time we were joined by Abish, whom we met on the road yesterday. He hadn’t recognized me yet. I pulled him aside and told him my name.
- Now go to my sister and tell her about me. She shouldn’t cry when she greets me. Let her pretend that she doesn’t know me!
My sister was taking the yourt apart. Abish came close to her, told her something and they both went to our cart. When my sister was near, she couldn’t take a hold on herself any more and cried out loudly!..
All auls on the banks of the Shoptikul and Zhamankul learnt about my arrival in a moment. They all hurried to the aul, either galloping on horseback or on foot, to see me. I wasn’t able to hide any longer.
After having dinner and drinking kumiss we harnessed two selected fattened stallions and rushed on. On our way we met a half-Tatar merchant, coming from town. There were two zhigits from our aul with him, who worked for him. The zhigits went past me, not recognizing me. We were followed by a boy from Koshmagambet’s aul. We sent him after the zhigits from our aul to inform them about me, without the merchant’s knowledge.
- First let Dilmagambet, the elder of them, come without being noticed, and then let Alshagir, the younger one, come, - I told him.
The boy ran away. Soon Dilmagambet ran to our cart. Crying, hastily looking around, he asked us:
- Where is Saken?..
He didn’t recognize me, too.
The merchant broke out his journey on the bank of the Nura, let the horses graze. We also stopped, unharnessed the horses and boiled tea. Alshagir joined us, extremely happy like a child.
The next day we arrived at our aul. Dilmagambet found a pretext, asked the merchant for permission to leave and went with us. I sent him to the aul to prepare my family – father and mother, brothers and sisters, and to warn them that nobody should know about my return except my family. I would secretly meet my relatives and set out for Turkestan.
- Tell them that we are my father’s nagashis, who came from Pavlodarsk District, - I repeated several times to Dilmagambet.
We quickly reached the aul, which was situated next to ours. We saw a large group of peacefully talking people. A boy on the horseback galloped to meet us. I recognized at once Zhaman, Suleimen’s son. After greeting us he asked where we were going and where we were from.
- We are from Pavlodarsk District, we are Seifulla’s nagashis. We are from Aidabol and belong to big Suyundik family…
The boy rushed back to say it.
A little time more and we would come to our aul. We saw a zhigit, galloping to meet us, leading the second horse. I grew up with this zhigit since my childhood. His name was Kadyrbek. Alas, he also didn’t recognize me! He harshly reined up his horse, asked Mukai where we were going and would gallop on, but I couldn’t bear it:
- You are from what aul?
He recognized me by voice, quickly looked back. He jumped off his horse in a great confusion. And then all of us laughed out.
We put both Kadyrbek’s horses into our cart and rushed on. Soon we noticed a group of riders from afar. They were galloping, hurrying. It was seen from afar that there was one woman in a white kimeshek among the riders.
Kadyrbek began to wave his hand to them. The riders galloped to us, the dust swirling behind them. It was my mother Zhamal in a white kimeshek. We stopped and respectfully got out of our cart. The people from my aul pulled in their horses and ran to me. All of them were in confusion. My poor mother seemed to lose her mind, she was babbling something to me, no one knows what…
I wanted to secretly return to my native aul. The next day the inhabitants of five neighbouring volosts learnt about my arrival. In a week all fourty-eight volosts of Akmolinsk District knew about it…
A rabid wolf attacks everyone, without distinction. The wolf becomes furious, intoxicated at the sight of the victim, staining everything with blood…
First the people hid from the trouble, being afraid of Kolchak, then, seeing that the trouble was around them, began to defend. They armed with axes, ketmens, hoes, pitchforks, spades and poles.
When I came to my aul, Kolchak was in a near-death rage. The working people united against the black trouble.
UPRISING IN AMANTAY
In Kustanai District simple peasants, driven to despair, raised an armed revolt against Kolchak and liberated Kustanai. But Kolchak’s numerous regular troops came by train and captured the town again.
The rebels were led by two men of peasant origin – Zhaleev and Taran.
The settlements, located between Atbasar and Akmolinsk along the banks of the Ishim, rose against Kolchak simultaneously with the inhabitants of Kustanay. They armed, created people’s revolutionary army. The headquarters was situated in the settlement of Amantay, Mariinovka in Russian.
Gorlanov and Korolev directed the uprising. Gorlanov worked in the settlement as a medical assistant. I got acquainted with Gorlanov when I studied in Akmolinsk. He became a staunch supporter of the Soviet rule in 1917-18 in Akmolinsk. Korolev was a commander of our Red detachment. When the Council of Deputies fell, he was imprisoned, was transported to Petropavlovsk together with the arrested Red Guards. I met Korolev in Petropavlovsk camp. When he was released, Korolev went home and became a leader of the rebels soon.
Settlement Amantay became a guiding light of the revolutionary-minded people. The messangers with a clarion call rushed in all directions from here. Peasants began to flow to Amantay from everywhere, to join the Red banner. Day and night the army of rebels was gaining strength. It planned to capture Atbasar and Akmolinsk. The administrators and bourgeois of Atbasar and Akmolinsk were in confusion and began to send telegrams to Omsk, asking for Kolchak’s help. In response Kolchak sent there at once punitive detachments from Kustanay, Omsk and Petropavlovsk. They were led by well-known monsters of cruelty, Cossack atamans Katanaev, Volkov and Shaitanov. The White Guard detachments left Akmolinsk and Atbasar for Amantay. The town bourgeois of Akmolinsk and Atbasar together with few representatives of the Alash-Orda voluntarily joined Kolchak’s soldiers. At the appointed hour Amantay was surrounded on all sides: the White Guards of Akmolinsk in the south-east, the Whites of Atbasar in the north, the Whites of Kustanay in the east. The detachments of Katanaev and Volkov arrived in automobiles with machine guns. The fire began, the settlement came under the shower of bullets, as if a thousand of lightnings had hit the earth.
The brave heroes of Amantay fought to the last bullet, not letting the enemy come nearer. When their ammunition ended, the defenders of Amantay left the settlement. The punitive detachments turned Amantay upside down. The human blood ran in torrents from the sabres of the White Guards. They threw kerosene on the houses and set them on fire. The White Guards raised at the bayonets the old people, women and children, who ran out into the street, trampled them under the horse hoofs, crushed them under the wheels of their automobiles. They covered the groaning Amantay with ashes and flooded it with blood…
The mean dodgers of the Alash-Orda kept up with their masters. Huckster Tashti Nuserchin, a member of Akmolinsk committee of the Alash-Orda, who voluntarily came here, took out of the town his bloody prey in light carriages.
The rabid wolves reduced the heroic settlement to powder. They gathered about seventy Kazakhs and Russians in Akmolinsk and shot them as Bolshevik adherents. In one night the officers shot all the workers, employed at the construction of the railroad near Akmolinsk. They arrested everyone, “sympathizing” with the Bolsheviks, birched and imprisoned them. My friend, teacher Nurgain Bekmuhammetov, left in Akmolinsk prison because of his illness, was shot without trial. The indiscriminate arrests of workers from Karaganda, Spassk and Uspensk began. Orynbek Bekov, P. Yumashev, Bludin, Ushakov, Hasen Musin were arrested. Once Nurmak Baisalykov accidentally uttered the word “comrade” near the plant. For this reason Kolchak’s soldiers birched him, searched the flat, frightened his old mother and sisters, firing above their heads. Nurmak was imprisoned in Akmolinsk and released only after the intercession of Babaev, a rich Tatar.
The villains of the Alash-Orda caught and imprisoned medical assistant Adilbek Maikotov, a revolutionary, a former member of the Council of Deputies in Atbasar. The supporters of the Alash-Orda insisted on shooting him. When the bloodsuckers led Adilbek to the place of execution, his son ran after him!
Adilbek stopped to bid farewell to him. The furious executioners prepared their rifles to kill the son together with his father… Without saying his last words, Adilbek just waved his hand and went on. He was brutally killed in a hundred steps from the place.
Our comrade Makalkin, who escaped from Omsk camp to Akmolinsk, was also shot.
I told you only one thousandth of what the people experienced. These are just dribs and drabs of all the mean actions of “educated”, “humane”, “philanthropic” aristocrats…
Soon Akmolinsk counter-revolutionaries began to look for me, too.
Efremov was the chief of Kolchak’s district militia at Uspensk plant. We studied together with Efremov in Akmolinsk. When Akmolinsk officials were informed that I was hiding in my native aul, they sent a secret order to Efremov to arrest me immediately. One of our keen-witted zhigits went to Uspenka and brought me a note from Efremov himself. The chief of militia informed that a secret order was received to arrest Saken and to bring him to town, but he, Efremov, answered: “I haven’t heard anything about Saken’s coming to our district”. He advised me to be on my guard. And when the Bolsheviks came, I shouldn’t forget about Efremov’s service.
I thought I wasn’t in a particular danger, knowing that the people from our neighbourhood wouldn’t give me up. The Kazakhs never gave up the escapees. In my childhood I saw myself a lot of people, hiding from the persecution of the tsarist rule. They lived freely in our land, and some of them even stayed here and became related with us.
I was hiding, still two volost administrators asked for my advice in different questions. These days an order was received to tax each volost for twenty horses. On my advice these horses were taken from the bais of our Nildin (Uspensk) Volost.
I couldn’t go to Turkestan at once, because it was a long and hard way.
At that time the way to Turkestan lay across the Hungry Steppe, located in the centre of Kazakhstan. There are nearly three hundred versts from our aul to the Hungry Steppe. Then Turkestan region begins, where there are only sands. The Hungry Steppe is a waterless, yellow, dull plain, where antelopes, wolves and foxes live. In the hungry Steppe there is no hyaline of Sary-Arka lakes, no deep rivers, no fertile valleys, no loudly bubbling mounting streams.
According to the legend, Asan-Kaigy[129] himself claimed that the Hungry Steppe was a sandy, dried out, bare steppe without green succulent meadows, without plateaus with downy feather grass, without forests.
The grey faded earth is like a dead body in the savannah. There is dark green wormwood with splinters, thin red izen (a kind of wormwood) and selevinia, a low-growing shrub there. One occasionally finds abandoned, crumbled wells, resembling the eyes of the blind. There is little water in them and it is salty. There are frogs, mice, tumbleweed and insects in them.
The Chu River flows between the Hungry Steppe and Turkestan. Our remote auls have their winter camps near this river. To come there from Sary-Arka they cross all Hungry Steppe. The auls migrate to their winter camps late in autumn, to have melted snow on their way, and return to Sary-Arka in spring, when there is still snow. For this reason I stayed at home waiting for the remote auls to migrate to the Chu.
The travelers came to us from Atbasar and I learnt about the uprising in Amantay, also about Kustanay uprising and the activities of Turgay Alash-Orda, I learnt that Sabyr Sharipov managed to arrive at Ak-Mechet (Perovsk – Kyzyl-Orda nowadays), where the Soviet rule was established. Sharipov escaped through Atbasar District and Turgay. I’m going to tell you about him a bit later, because the events, Sabyr went through, look like a legend…
I managed to established contact with Akmolinsk and to hear from Baimagambet, who was released from Omsk camp. A lot of sick comrades died in the camp. Some of the survivors managed to escape, the others were sent to the Far East. Baken died, Tatar Hafiz died.
In March 1918 the Soviet rule was established in the town of Irgiz, but not for a long time. At the beginning of June 1918 the Czecho-Slovak rebels overthrew the Soviet rule in Siberia. Cossack ataman Dutov from Orenburg came from Turgay to Irgiz with his detachment and established his own rule. Four-five months later, approximately in October, the Soviet rule was re-established in Irgiz. Its most active organizers were teacher Baimen Almanov and comrade Kisilev.
Soon after this comrade Zhangildin came to Aktyubinsk front, crossing the Caspian Sea. He crossed the sandy desert of Adaya with a caravan of camels, loaded with arms and amunition, brought these arms to the red Army, and then he arrived at Irgiz with a little detachment.
Then a part of the detachment, headed by Almanov, went from Irgiz to Turgay and established there the Soviet rule. Turgay Alash-Orda went to one of the remote auls of the district and in March 1919 began to negotiate with the Soviet rule of Turgay.
“Now we agree to submit to the Soviet rule, - the supporters of the Alash-Orda said. – So let us enter the town with our detachment without yielding our arms…”
Zhangildin was in Irgiz. After taking counsel with the comrades, Zhangildin accepted the offer of the Alash-Orda and called to him one of its leaders, Ahmet Baitursunov.
Putting the ear flaps of their tymaks inside, exchanging glances, with cunning smiles, sitting proudly on their bay horses with yellowish markings, the adherents of the Alash-Orda entered Turgay and calmly began to settle down. They introduced their representatives into the Council of Deputies. On their initiative Karim Toktybaev became an assistant of military commissar. Dulatov and Espulov were engaged in social and political work. When Baitursunov went to Moscow with Zhangildin, the Alash-Orda raised a revolt, announced that Turgay belonged to them now and imprisoned Amangeldy Imanov, a military commissar appointed by Zhamgildin, and his faithful friends.
Soon the Red partisans came to Turgay; they left Kustanay under the pressure of Kolchak’s soldiers, armed to the teeth.
The Red partisans had a hope for the Soviet rule in Turgay. Taran, the chief of the department, accompanied by ten faithful comrades, was the first to come to Turgay. The adherents of the Alash-Orda shot Taran himself and two of his comrades at once, and the rest of them were put to prison. After this a detachment of the Alash-Orda, headed by a chief, capable of talking the enemy’s head off and fooling him, rode to meet Taran’s detachment. They negotiated with Taran’s detachment. The partisans doubted, having a presentiment of an approaching disaster. But the representatives of the Alash-Orda insisted:
- Turgay is in the hands of the Soviet rule. We are a Soviet detachment. We don’t know you, so we fear you. If you want to enter Turgay, give us your arms. If you’re Red indeed, we’ll return your arms to you, when you leave Turgay… If you don’t agree to give us your arms, we won’t let you enter Turgay. Here’s our mandate, issued by Soviet commissar Zhangildin…
Being in a desperate situation, Taran’s detachment gave their arms to the Alash-Orda. Its chiefs were arrested at once and the disarmed detachment was driven to Atbasar without even letting it enter Turgay.
Zhelaev’s Red partisans followed Taran’s detachment from Kustanay to Turgay. Zhelaev heard, what the Alash-Orda did with Taran’s detachment, so when a detachment of the Alash-Orda went to meet Zhelaev, he met them with a shower of bullets. The Alash-Orda soldiers scattered. Retreating, Turgay Alash-Orda killed Amangeldy Imanov and his comrades. Zhelaev captured Turgay, stocked up with food, visited on his way Irgiz, where there was already the Soviet rule, and joined the Red Army troops. After Zhelaev’s departure the Alash-Orda returned to Turgay and began to organize the army. In May 1919 a detachment of the Alash-Orda came to Irgiz, when there was only a weak and poorly armed Red Army detachment. The Alash-Orda captured Irgiz, established its own rule. Some members of former Irgiz executive committee (such as Zhamanmurunov, Toibazarov and Sugirbaev) began to serve the Alash-Orda. Comrades Almanov and Kiselev went through Chelkar to join the Red Army troops, fighting at the front.
The Alash-Orda shot eight Kazakhs for their work with the Bolsheviks in Irgiz and for being related to them, including teachers Almen and Kainarbai, blacksmith Moldakul and others. Eighteen Kazakhs were shot in Turgay for being Bolsheviks..
These are the actions ofTurgay Alash-Orda. Here they are, its educated leaders:
Myrzhakip Dulatov, Ahmet Baitursunov, Eldes Omarov, Telzhan Shonanov, Myrgazi Espulov, Salimgirei Karatileuov, Asfandiyar Kenzhin, Karim Toktybaev and many others.
I had to stop on the bloody actions of Turgay Alash-Orda to make it easier for the reader to imagine that period…
PERSECUTION AGAIN
Autumn was near. Everything showed that Kolchak was suffocating. The bands of robbers, secret agents, patrolling soldiers began to appear in auls.
Once before the sunset our aul was excited. We were in the depression of Karaozek. I was in the street in the Kazakh clothes. Two riders appeared in the east; they sat clumsily on the horsebacks. They galloped to the neighbouring aul, rode to the bai’s yourt but didn’t dismount. They appeared to be soldiers. The inhabitants of the aul gathered around them in a moment. I went there to learn what news the soldiers had brought. Then a rider with a kuruk[130] separated from the crowd and galloped towards me. I recognized Aresh, the bai’s horse herd wrangler. With unnoticeable wave of his whip he made me understand I should go back at once. I pretended that I was busy with something and set on the grass.
Pale and frightened, Aresh came abreast with me and uttered in passing:
- They are looking for you! Quickly mount this horse and gallop to the steppe, to our herd!
I mounted Aresh’ horse, took his kuruk and rode away to the bai’s herd, not hurrying not to arouse suspicion.
I kept watching the aul from afar. The sun set, the dusk began. The soldiers took one man from the aul to accompany them and went past the bai’s herd on the wrong track.
Some time later Aresh came for me and I returned to the aul.
We were alarmed at night… The soldiers spent the night in the neighbouring aul, at the house of our relative, who used to be an arbitrator and volost administrator. Soon a zhigit galloped to us with the same news: the soldiers demanded to give up Saken to them! We should give them a bribe. Let Saken find the money!
We took counsel. One of my relatives went with this zhigit to a rich widow[131], also my relative, spoke to her and called me. They decided to give a ransom for me.
I didn’t agree. The zhigit went away, but soon came back with the same suggestion: “You should give a bribe, or it will be bad for you!”
I became angry: “If you want to do something good for me, don’t speak about the bribe! To give a bribe is to betray me!..”
After this the mediators didn’t return any more. I was afraid to sleep in the aul and I went to the cemetery. At night I entered an adobe mazar[132], overstepped the graves and lay down on the grass in the corner.
Early in the morning our aul migrated to the mountains.
WAY TO TURKESTAN
It became cold. The remote auls began to migrate to the Chu across the Hungry Steppe. I decided to go there, too. I should find a companion and a horse. To find a companion for such a long way, in such hard times was not easy. Who would live his aul, parents, childen and wife to go to the outland? Only the one, persecuted by the authorities, who was not able to stay in his native land any more.
Nevertheless I found companions. But we couldn’t find horses. My father had a gelding, a stallion and about ten mares with foals. The stallion was not very good, the gelding was strong. But it was the only horse, on which my father went hunting. We had nothing to buy a horse for. We had rich relatives but when the trouble came, they wouldn’t treat you like relatives any more but just the opposite – gloated and mocked at you. But when you had some rank, when you were powerful and rich, not travelling on foot but by car and post-chaise, you had many relatives and friends and horses. When I came to my aul after the escape, only Dauletbek showed kindness to me from all the relatives and gave me a horse. But it was very thin, still very young and wouldn’t do for a long journey. I was in a difficult situation, and felt exhausted, asking my rich relatives to give me a horse. I didn’t turn to my poor relatives, because they lived a hand-to-mouth existence. How much humiliation I had seen since my childhood because we didn’t have a cart with a horse! I was still little when I was sent to Uspensk plant to study Russian. My father put me on the camel behind Akildek, the younger brother of our relative Rais. I came back home either behind Rais’ back on the camel or with Duken, who went to the plant for his son.
I received a letter of commendation from Roman Nikolaevich Sklyankin, a teacher of Uspensk Russian and Kazakh school, and went to Akmolinsk. I returned home for my summer holidays in the loaded cart of long-legged Omar, a trader from our aul, in the cart of Sadyk Zhamanov, a petty trader from our aul, carrying different groceries from Petropavlovsk to Uspensk plant, in the cart of Salkai, a trader from neighbouring Tarakty family from Soransk Volost…
I went to Akmolinsk in casual carts, too. And to Omsk, too. I was taken there by goldsmith Muhamedzhan Manasypov, by Kozhamberdi Sarsenov, a Kazakh from Saryta Volost of Akmolinsk District, from Tungatar family. Even after I graduated from the seminary in 1916 and became a man of some significance, my rich relatives didn’t give me a horse to go to the nearest settlement at least. And they had herds of horses in the steppe. And only the children of Ibragimbek, our quite poor relative, gave me their bay and skewbald horse…
When you have power – you have lots of friends and lots of horses. When you are poor, you have no friends and no horses.
“If you are poor, your father will turn a stranger to you”, “If you ask a stranger, it’s hard for him to find the keys from his chest in the sky…” These are the proverbs, which exactly describe my situation.
Finally, I saddled my father’s short-tailed chestnut horse. My companion didn’t find a horse and I decided to cross the Hugry Steppe alone.
Then I heard that a familiar zhigit from Alatai family, one of the branches of large Argyn family from Aktau Volost, was going to migrate to the Chu to spend winter there. I arranged to go together with this man.
My father and two more relatives saw me off.
Four lonely huts, four poor masters are going to migrate by themselves across the Hungry Steppe, over mountains and hills, across the desert.
The mountains of Sary-Arka resemble the faces of well-seen old men, sullen faces, furrowed by deep wrinkles. There are hills, plateaus behind the mountains. When you pass them, there will begin dead steppes without forest, without grass.
The lonely aul was joined by four or five people with the huts, loaded on the camels. These were Madibek, Akbergen and other zhigits from Tarakty family, who knew the aul very well. They went to Akmolinsk to bring a complaint about the volost administrator and returned, not achieving anything. We quickly got acquainted, found a common language, drew closer to each other. All them were straightforward, friendly and brave zhigits. They told me a lot of news from Akmolinsk.
All of us were going to follow the traces of the auls, who migrated earlier. The roads of the Hungry Steppe were dangerous for lonely travelers, there were a lot of bandits and robbers there.
It was night. I slept in a clay-walled hut and my father in the yourt. In the middle of the night the son of the aul’s master, whose name was Koshkinbai, woke me up.
- What’s the matter? – I asked, rubbing my eyes.
- Oh, get up, it’s an interesting thing! A Kazakh and a Russian spend the night in a neighbouring aul; they came from Balhash, they were conductors of the Russian officers. Now they are coming back home, - he whispered to me.
Several days ago twelve Russians, armed to the teeth, mostly officers, appeared in this area. They were heading for Balhash. These two man accompanied them. They came to the aul on the horses with Shubyrtpaly Agybai’s brand. The harness was decorated with gold, the saddlebags stuffed with clothes. They seemed to be returning with the spoils, plundered in auls…
I remembered at once that twelve Russians went past our aul, too. There was a woman among them. People said that all of them were officers. They were said to have taken six or seven of our best horses.
The sun rose… Koshkinbai suggested that we should go to the neighbouring aul and “check documents” of the newcomers. I went with Koshkinbai and two more zhigits. There was great animation in the aul. The autumn day was dull. The Kazakhs, who gathered together, were making a hubbub, like crows. We entered the house, where the conductors spent the night. I recognized at once the man, called “post Kazakh”. This was Rahimzhan with blue eyes, who used to come to the bars of Akmolinsk prison and bring the newspapers to us. I knew the second as well, it was Bauetten, a Tatar from Uspensk plant. But they didn’t recognize me. We began to talk. I understood at once that the local Kazakhs wanted to make them pay a big ransom....
Bauetten introduced himself to me as a Russian aristocrat, who knew Kazakh a little. I pretended to believe him.
The local aul teacher came and asked the “aristocrats” to show their documents. They showed. As I stood near the teacher, I glanced over his shoulder. It was said there that these two should be rendered any possible assistance. The documents were signed by some colonel and his adjutant.
Trying to hide his excitement, Bauetten cried out in Russian from time to time:
- Are the horses ready?
But there were no horses…
Rahimzhan asked me to go out, took me aside.
- I have just recognized you, you’re Zhumakas, - he began. – It turns out that you are our relative. I’m a close relative of Skandir Kalpemuratov… Thank God, we have met. Help me, this aul attacked us. We accompanied some men to Balhash. On our way back we stopped here and they stole our horses at night, took away all our things, all food and they don’t even give us a cart with a horse. Is it an aul of robbers? Though you’re from Karakalinsk District, but they will heed to your words. Tell them to return our things… They say our relative Seifulla is not far from here, take us to him…
- Which Seifulla? – I asked.
- Don’t you know Seifulla, Saken’s father?.. And don’t you know Saken himself?.. We were friends with him. Now he released from prison and went to Turkestan!
In half an hour I collected for Rahimzhan his saddlebags, a part of his things, harness and led him to the neighbouring aul, where my father stopped. But there were no horses on which they came. The owners were not very sad because they weren’t their horses. And the clothes also belonged to the aul Kazakhs.
On our way Bauetten confessed that he was a Tatar.
In the yourt of the aul owner, where my father stopped, about fifteen men gathered: Rahimzhan, Bauetten, Madibek and others.
Rahimzhan plays the dombra, looks at me and repeats: “My dear Zhumakas!”
The people around us turn away and quietly laugh at him. Rahimzhan doesn’t notice anything suspicious.
- Poor Saken, what a dombrist he was! – he exclaims. We went to kumissrooms with him in Akmolinsk. Drinking kumiss, he took the dombra and sang songs, playing tunes on the dombra. It was so nice!
Madibek asked:
- Well, sing us a song, one of those, sung by Saken.
- Yes, yes! Come on, sing! - the others supported him.
Rahimzhan is glad.
- All right... Saken liked the song, composed by the daughter of Russian man Egor, who lived among the Kazakhs of Tinali family. The song is called “Dudarai”. He also liked “Zulkiya”.
Rahimzhan was asked to sing “Dudarai”.
Maria was Egor’s daughter. When she was sixteen, she fell in love with Kazakh Dudar and composed this song…
I’m Egor’s daughter, they call me Maria, I’m only sixteen, let it be so, And what I will tell you, my friends, dear, I love Kazakh Dudar and’m proud of him.
Dudari-dudym,
I’m born for you, My friend, dear, Dudari-dudym...
The sparkles of the Tuschikul are in his eyes, And sable cap is on his pitch-dark curls, Dudar, oh, Dudar, come sooner to my place, And make me forget my sorrow and my fears!
Come onto the paper, my words, please! Another one forces me to marry him. But can I leave home with the unloved one? It’s with your love that Maria lives!
I wait, my beloved, I wait, Dudarai. I miss you, my heart. Where are you? Come! I’ll embrace you with the hands of mine. If you don’t love me – cut my hands away!
I’m Maria, Egor’s daughter I am. Help me, please, Dudarai, the only one who can! If you only desert me for not being a Kazakh Let me hide forever in the night of a grave!
It is late, still you don’t gallop here to me, A trouble threatens our love, indeed! Heaven bless your way from the enemies’ evil! Return to me, stay forever with me!
Dudari-dudym,
I’m born for you, My friend, dear, Dudari-dudym...
- Saken sang it just like this!.. – he said and threw the dombra away.
The next day Rahimzhan, Bauetten, my father – they all went to our aul. On their way they visited the aul of Seiduali, a relative of Madibek, a grandson of famous batyr Baikoza. They sat in his yourt for some time. There was a fire burning in the yourt, something was boling in the cauldron, Madibek had a talk with Seiduali. There was a golden eagle near him, with a leg hurt in the fight with a silver fox; it sat, ruffling up its feathers. Seiduali, yellowish white, with yellow teeth and a little pointed beard, asked about Akmolinsk, the war, the Whites and the Bolsheviks.
- The Bolsheviks defeat Kolchak everywhere. They must have already captured Akmolinsk… - Madibek told him.
Suddenly Seiduali grew dull.
- If the Bolsheviks capture Akmolinsk, tell me, will the son of that Seifulla appear again? He is a corrupted and harmful man. Will he appear there again?
Madibek quietly pushed my leg, warning me, but I couldn’t stand it:
- Venerable aqsaqal, how did Seifulla’s son show his harmfulness and corruptness?
Seidualli gave a start and asked Madibek, pointing at me:
- Who is this?
- I’m from Toka family… a relative of Saken, Seifulla’s son.
- If you’re a relative, you must know why he is so harmful. When he had power, he expelled his close relative aqsaqal Bitabar from Akmolinsk committee… How can you say that he is not harmful, if he divorced eighteen women with their husbands in a day? He doesn’t pray to God and claims that our prophet Mohammed was the same man as all other people!
We left without telling Seiduali who I was.
- He told you all this because he didn’t recognize you, - Madibek said, laughing.
And it’s good he didn’t recognize me!
Little by little the green steppes of Sary-Arka became scarce and disappeared. Gradually the thick feather grass disappeared. There appeared grey wormwood, low grey thorny kokpek, dry shrubs of selevinia. The elevations were stony, the depressions were bare, with alkali soils… There wasn’t a single living soul…
We slowly move in this grey sea. Four yourts with household staff are loaded on ten camels. The wife of the aul master leads the caravan after her, sitting on the horseback. The old women and children sit on the camels, wrapped in worn-out robes. Regularly waggling, the lonely caravan moved in a chain through the grey waves of the silent desert. It reminds a flock of geese in the limitless sea with grey caps. Three women ride near the camels. Four dogs rush about near the caravan, getting ahead and then lagging behind. The aul master rides with his baby, driving on the herd of horses. A white-faced boy in a torn chekmen[133] and a fur coat drives a flock of sheep after the herd of horses. Madibek, five or six riders and I go at the head of the caravan.
There is not a single living soul… There is no end to the Hungry Steppe. It’s all the same today, and it will be so tomorrow and the day after tomorrow…
We stop for the night near a “blind” well. We erect a hut in a moment. We gather the shrub, which goes up like a match box. We try to get water out of the abandoned well. No one wrinkles his nose, no one grumbles from the taste of the water, let it only be. The tea boils quickly. The meat is ready, too. Our horses chew the wormwood with a crunch. The sheep and camels graze around the aul until late in the evening. At night four huts resemble a black lump of coal, forgotten in an endless deserted steppe. Throwing more shrubs on the fire, we crowd around the fire and have endless talks. We play the dombra, the accordion. Two little girls sing. Sometimes we play cards in the light of the fire…
Twice we beat off horse thieves, trying to drive away our horses.
Madibek went forward, hoping to find an aul at last. I went together with him. There were five of us and a camel with the yourt and two bags of flour.
We rode until the evening but there were no any traces of human habitation. Madibek’s zhigits rushed ahead, whipping their horses, climbed every elevation, to see the aul as soon as possible. But there was no aul and the horses were very exhausted.
- Oh, my God, can it be so that there are no traces of aul at Sary-Torangy[134]! – the zhigits exclaimed, whipping their horses.
When it became dark, we climbed a ridge and saw a precipice and a dull abyss. It turned out that this very abyss was called Sary-Torangy. There were strange plants around, growing only in the Hungry Steppe: “muzhgin”, “tuyekaryn” (“the camel’s stomack”), “it-segek” and grasses and shrubs similar to them, the names of which most of us had never heard.
We stopped at the edge of the depression.
- Migrating auls always stopped here, - Madibek explained. - If somebody spent the last night here, the ashes of their fires must be still warm today…
We dismounted and began to rake over what was left of the fires. Madibek’s younger brother Batyrbek found red ashes. All of us crowded around this fire..
We stayed for the night at this place. We hobbled the horses in the darkness, spread the yourt, gathered shrubs and kindled the fire in the yourt.
Horse herd wrangler Suyundik, a goggle-eyed, high-browed, dark-haired zhigit, brought some water. We put a tripod and began to cook flour soup.
After spending every winter on the banks of the Chu, my companions know every hill, every well here like the back of their hand. They won’t get lost at the darkest night, they will find water and encampment.
We spent the night in the yourt and early in the morning, after watering the horses in the “blind“ well, we rode on…
In Sary-Arka my dark chestnut horse ate green, soft as silk, tasty and succulent herbs with the smell of musk – betege (feather grass), tarlau, green wormwood, black wormwood, clover, bidaiyk (couch grass), kode (fescue grass), miya (licorice) and plenty of other wonderful herbs.
In the Hungry Steppe there was no food, the grass was rare, unvaried, dry, tough, dusty.
The water in Sary-Arka was almost always sweet, clean and transparent, and there was much of it. Here the water was rare and its taste was not what we wanted.
My horse grew thin without good food and water. In the evening, when I stroked its forehead and patted its withers, it sniffed me around and sighed deeply. The glance of his sad eyes brought me down… I embraced its velvet neck and pressed my face against its lips… My closest comrade, my closest friend since I left native aul – it was my horse! I dedicated a poem to it.
My horse, why are you sighing?
Have you overstrained yourself?
For many days I keep riding
Without letting you have a rest.
Or you simply understand
My cherished dreams
And miss with your horse heart
Our native plains? Oh, my chestnut,
A fugutive’s friend,
Stay with me
And I won’t be alone again. Look, tears are running
Down my face!
The plains of Sary-Arka
I miss to the heart’s depth! But fire in my soul
Has not extinguished yet, I swear, my chestnut, dear,
With Arka’s green plain:
You’ll happily neigh one day
And back you come to your herd A happy day will light up
The whole of the earth.
One cool day, when we climbed up the hill in our way, all of us cried out with joy! We saw a herd of horses at the foot of the hill on the wide plain.
Madibek’s friends recognized the horses at once.
- These are Tynys’ horses!
- Yes, yes, Tynys’ horses!
We cheered up. There appeared two riders.
- This is the bai himself!
- This is Tynys himself! – joyfully exclaimed Madibek’s friends.
One of the riders was in the old brown clothes, with a kuryk on his shoulders, a horse herd wrangler, perhaps. The bai himself was on a well-fed bay horse, light brown with black mane and tail. He rode slowly. He was dressed in a black fur coat, fox tymak, had black boots on his feet and was girdled with a leather belt, decorated with silver.
Madibek’s friends greeted him and began to cry like children. It turned out that Tynys’ elder son had recently died. Tynys led us to his aul. We rode past the herds. The bai had nearly six hundred horses. They were amazingly yellow, with coal black tail and mane.
The auls from seven volosts had their winter camps on the Chu. Five of them - Tama, Zhagalbaily and two Tarakty Volosts – were from Argyn family. Tynys was the richest in two Tarakty Volosts. There were few horses in Tarakty auls and no really rich bais there. Large bais’ households were in five volosts of Tama, Alshyn, Zhagalbaily.
We stopped in the house of Tynys’ bai. The decoration inside wasn’t very rich, there was nothing to look at. The household staff is usually not very rich in auls at the time of migration, the same as those, who are with the herds during pasturing, have. The way of life of a migrating Kazakh can not be compared to the life of Arka bais, such as Master Nurmagambet or Nuraly children – Olzhabai and Barlybai. Those bais are white hands, who shun dirty work.
We divided in Tynys’ aul. Madibek’s friends went their own way and I looked for the aul of Batyrbek’s relative together with Batyrbek himself, Madibek’s grand-nephew, until the evening. We somehow managed to find it, spent the night there and the next day we came to Madibek’s aul.
The aul, which followed us, came there just at that time. I began to look for Koshkinbai, but he went somewhere.
There are four plain yourts in the aul. Three of them belong to the poor. Only the household of the head of the aul can be called average.
The Kazakhs from Altai family, belonging in its turn to Argyn family, live in Aktau, Ortau, Atasu. Numerous Kazakhs from Alatai family live in twelve volosts. According to their number and power, the Karpyks come after the Alatais – they live in nine volosts.
One of four yourts of that hospitable aul belonged to Handsome Syzdyk. The name of Syzdyk was well-spread in two volosts of Tarakty. Two of these Syzdyks were rich and famous. The third Syzdyk, though poor, became popular, too. Thus the people gave them additional names to discern these three Syzdyks.
One of the rich Syzdyks was with a black big beard, broad-faced, with the eyes of different colour. People called him Brown and Black Syzdyk. The second Syzdyk, a bai, was thin, a bit round-shouldered, weak. People called him Full-skirted Syzdyk. And the third Syzdyk, a poor man, was called Horseless Syzdyk. But some people considered this name abusive and called him Handsome Syzdyk. Of course he preferred this name himself. ;
People were so used to these nicknames that they didn’t call them by name but just Black and Brown, Full-skirted and Handsome.
I asked about Koshkinbai this Handsome. He smiled and almost whispered to me:
- He went to find a good ram for dinner.
This Syzdyk was really handsome, dandyish. It’s a pity that his moustache is a bit thin and a little beard is quite thin, too. It is easy to notice that he looks after his appearance, cares for his face, pulls out the hairs which stick not as he wants, plucks his eyebrows with a pair of pincers, which are always in his pocket. Though he is a poor man, but he tries to dress as nicely as he can. He has a fox malakhai on his head. There are ichigis with rubbers on his feet. He is dressed in a grey woolen cloth chekmen and a thin beshmet under the chekmen. He wears his trousers untucked. Between the chekmen and beshmet there is an indescernable torn patched kupi, not for the sake of beauty, but for the sake of warmth. Hansome hides his rags like a quail hides her nest.
Handsome and I ride to Orynbai’s aul. The day is cold. My clothes are Kazakh, I’ve got an argynekai – lambskin cap, kupi of camel-hair, boots with felt baipaks, half-woolen trousers, a short coat under the kupi, reminding a beshmet of the skin of a young lamb. To say it in short, I’m warmly clad, though my lambskin cap is not suited for winter frosts. However, I don’t feel cold. I look at Handsome from time to time. He seems to become thinner in his waist, but Handsome doesn’t show that he feels cold. The cold is beginning to tell, and I see it very well. Handsome is on his only grey horse, lean, like a well-dried raisin, he hasn’t enough strength but for one galloping. Stooping, the grey horse walks like a hungry wolf. Handsome feels cold on the horseback, his cheeks flash with cold, his eyelashes tremble, but he takes a hold of himself.
“Poor thing! Perhaps there is someone in the aul where we are riding, for whom he needs to put on airs”, - I thought and said:
- It’s interesting, are there beautiful girls or beautiful young women in Orynbai’s aul?
Handsome whipped his horse, his eyes sparkled.
- There are no girls there, but as for young women…
Thus, speaking about this and that, we came to Orynbai’s aul. A woman of about thirty, black-eyed, in a white kimeshek, decorated with pearls, came out of a grey yourt, which was near the yourt of Orynbai himself.
The auls, migrating across the hungry Steppe, spend most of the year in yourts and only two or three winter months on the bank of the Chu. That’s why their yourts are little, convenient for constant migration. They make a fire in these little low yourts all the time, so they are covered with soot and become black. Only some rich bais spread white yourts on the bank of the Srysu in summer. Those who live in Arka recognize at once the auls from the Chu and the desert auls.
We greeted the woman, dismounted, the woman took the reins.
- Is Oreken[135] at home? – Handsome asked.
After saying “yes”, the woman invited us to the yourt. Orynbai turned out to be a stout man with a pale yellowish face. He was sitting near the fire, throwing shrubs under the hanging cauldron.
They quickly threw ashes into the samovar. The meat of a fat ram was put into the cauldron…
I had never eaten such a tasty meat in all Kazakhstan as I ate in the Hungry Steppe. However the cattle grazes scanty grasses here.
...Thus, walking across all hungry Steppe, we found ourselves in the middle of the auls, having winter camps in the valley of the Chu. Now our life became more interesting. We received an opportunity to get acquainted with certain peculiarities of the way of life of Kazakh winterers. The life here differed from the life in the families of Argyn, Kerey, Uak. I’ll repeat once again that I lived here in Tarakty family, one of the branches of Argyn family. The Kazakhs from Tarakty family have more than two thousands yourts, they live in two volosts – Soran and Koitas. These are the mountains in Sary-Arka. They partly live in the winter camps in Arka mountains, partly on the Chu. In our volost the large family of Argyn is represented by its branches Karpyk, Toka and Enen.
The representatives of all these branches are close relatives to each other. They have the same customs, common lands, almost the same way of life. Still, there are some peculiarities in the character of the Kazakhs, living in the winter camps on the Chu, and I want to tell you about it.
VOLOST ADMINISTRATOR CHOKAI
On a cold colourless day Handsome and I came to Akbergen’s aul, consisting of three yourts. We dismounted, tied our horses to the yourt and entered to Akbergen with our greeting.
There was a cauldron on the tripod, the shrubs were flaring under it. On such a grey, cold, dull day fire and meet are the only things really needed… A young woman carefully kept the fire burning. The tasty smell of mutton came from the boiling cauldron. Akbergen was sitting near the fire and doing something with a thick awl. An elderly man with a majestic bearing was at the seat of honour, looking like a stake, driven into the ground. Akbergen jumped up, rushed to us, saying: “Welcome!” and smiled joyfully.
We sat down. The honorary guest lazily greeted us, drawling. Handsome exchanged meaningful smiles with Akbergen and I was all eyes, looking at the honorary guest. He had a pale hatchet face. He was dressed in a brown kupi, the collar was made of fox legs. There was a shabby and a bit dirty fox tymak on his head. It was seen that he gave himself airs, screwed up his eyes, sat with his eyes closed for a long time.
“It turns out there are Nurmagambets even in the Hungry Steppe!” – I thought.
- Who is this young man? - the honorary guest asked.
- Your well-known son Saken!- Akbergen answered.
The “master” looked thoughtfully at me, screwed up his eyes and drawled:
- The very same?!. – And he demonstrated us some more imposing poses.
- Who is this man? – I asked Akbergen.
Giving a light smile, he replied:
- He is my father’s brother, a volost administrator, well-known in the steppe… Chokai. Recently I brought an order from Akmolinsk to appoint him a volost administrator. Ant it is only today that I handed this order to him. And now I’m doing a seal of the volost administrator…
Akbergen showed me a little round bar, with holes pierced by the awl in it. Now I understood the situation, too.
- Volost administrator, let Saken read the document about your appointment, - Akbergen suggested.
The “volost administrator” slowly took the paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded it, saw a text and a seal in Russian. A judge from Akmolinsk summoned somebody to him for investigation. It was outdated. Puzzled, I asked Akbergen: “What’s the matter?”
- This is an order of the district administrator to appoint Chokai a volost administrator, - Akbrgen answered me.
- Read it aloud! – Chokai ordered to me.
Chokay began to glance around with an important look, he looked at Akbergen, then at Handsome, then at me, going out of his mind with joy.
- I congratulate you with your appointment! – I said, returning the document.
Chokai folded the paper and carefully hid it into his pocket. At this time we heard the clatter of hooves and a rider came close to the yourt. In a minute a fat two-year-old black ram with a large fatty tail was led into the yourt.
- Well, volost administrator, say your blessings! – the newcomer turned to the “volost administrator”, opening his arms and getting ready for the prayer.
Chokai proudly looked at me, Handsome, Akbergen, then he turned his gaze to the fat ram, raised his hands for the prayer. The zhigit deftly slaughtered the black ram and began to cut it with the woman..
- It turns out you haven’t spared your best ram for the volost administrator! – Handsome turned to Akbergen.
The latter answered with a smile:
- No, it’s the volost administrator, who treats us. The black ram is his present to me for the paper of the district administrator, by which Chokai is appointed a volost administrator. It’s me who brought him the paper!
My mouth formed an O.
- Your volost administrator is so generous! – Handsome said with admiration and I heard unaffected envy in his voice.
It happens so that a hunter catches a dark red fox and cuts it on the white snow, or another sure shot successfully hits a big fat saiga, and the third man looks with envy at both of them and is unsatisfied with his fate. Handsom seems to be in this situation now. He is dog poor, though he is an energetic man of business. He is handsome, but you won’t eat bread with your beauty. The fate has given him attractiveness but spared wealth for him. And Akbergen is prosperous, has quite a lot of cattle, however at the fate’s dictation Chokai’s fat ram is here ready to be eaten by him. And in Handsome’s yourt there is a black slipslop without meat’s flavour…
While the meat was being cooked, we had a talk and kept laughing. The ram had fat three fingers thick. The liquid fat under his skin was collected by a wooden cup.
Akbergen, after holding the “seal” above the smoke, took out a piece of paper from his pocket, blew on the finished seal and pressed it against the paper.
- Look, this seal of the volost administrator is really well-done, isn’t it? – he asked me, showing the paper with the impression.
Really, the seal was excellent. First of all it was convenient to hold it in hand and little and nicely written words were distinct on the impression: “Volost administrator Chokai”.
- Is it good? – the “volost administrator” asked me.
- Yes, very good! – I replied.
- Is everything all right now? – he asked Akbergen.
- It is! – Akbergen answered.
The “volost administrator” looked at the impression on the paper, took the seal in his hands, examined it all around, took a handkerchief out of his pocket with a cold and important air, wrapped the seal into it and put it into the chest pocket.
- My congratulations now!- Akbergen said to the volost administrator.
- My congratulations! – Handsome joined him.
The volost administrator meaningfully answered without changing his pose:
- Let it be so! – and closed his eyes, as if daydreaming…
Chuckling to myself, I exclaimed: “Oh, Hungry Steppe, it turns out you’ve got even this sort of children!”
Akbergen gave me a wink, hiding it from Chokai:
- Saken, you’ve come from afar. But even in your land you are sure to have heard about two volost administrator’s runners, called Aklak – White goat and Beskyrka – Five hills.
- Yes, yes, we were long-distance acquaintances with your volost administrator, the news about his two runners have reached our ears! – I supported Akbergen.
Chokai opened his eyes and stared at me:
- Who is more spoken about, Aklak or Beskyrka?
- Your Aklak is more popular! – I answered.
- Yes, it’s right! Horse Aklak is more successful, but as a runner, Beskyrka prevails over him! – the “volost administrator” corrected me.
Akbergen meaningfully turned to me:
- The volost administrator has come on Beskyrka. You’re a good judge of horses. After we eat the meat, go and see its true value!
- I’d like to see Aklak, too, he must be well-fed now, - I replied.
- Unfortunately no. Batyr Buenbai[136], a son of the volost administrator, rode it all summer and didn’t let him to have a rest, - Akbergen explained.
- Can it be that the famous batyr is a son of the volost administrator? – I wondered.
- Of course! – Akbergen confirmed it with relish. – If he’s angry with somebody, he’ll drive away his cattle from any area, no matter where the cattle is!
- Batyrs’ names have always been known for their singularity, for example, Targyn, Kambar, Alpamys, Sain. And Buenbai sounds a bit rough, - I remarked.
The volost administrator opened his eyes and explained:
- There was Buenbai, a famous horse thief, in Uisin family. When our auls came to the Chu, he attacked us as a hungry wolf, and browbeat the people. I believe in omens, so I chose his name for my son!
After a heavy dinner we went out to see Chokai off. Beskyrka turned out to be a poor dark bay horse.
Chokay mounted his work horse with grim countenance and left.
Handsome and I laughed at him and then began to ask Akbergen:
- Did he really give you that fat ram? Are you not ashamed to deceive him? And you say that he is your father’s brother.
Akbergen laughed out:
- Why should I be ashamed, he is rich… If I don’t eat his ram, another one will take the chance… that’s how he was born, that’s how he will die… But he is cunning as Hodja Nasyr[137], - Akbergen continued. – His son is quiet and faint-hearted, and his father intentionally tells lies, claiming him to be a thief, a strong and a brave man. He wants people to be afraid and not to touch his cattle. He calls his horses runners with a ruse: here, my son is a batyr, out-and-out thief, and he also has a runner.
Bewildered, I asked him:
- Where is this ruse if you have deceived him and received a fat ram for this as a present?..
- He is not a simpleton, he’ll have what is due to him. In spring he’ll go from house to house, collecting horse sausage, fat mutton haunches, insisting that this is a tax and a treatment for the volost administrator.
- Last year I saw him come to Altybai and demand his share, - Handsome began to tell me. – Altybai’s red wife took out fat horse sausage for him and strapped it to Chokai’s saddle. Chokai went from house to house with this same sausage, claiming: “Every year since I became a volost administrator, Altybai gives me my share. And where is my share from this particular household?”
- And what, do they fulfil his request?- I asked.
- A lot of people do… They amuse themselves with his being a volost administrator, give him a treat.
- If people play a joke on Chokai and Chokai mocks at people, then they are quits! – I said.
Ever-living Hodja Nasyr, it turns out that you live in the Hungry Steppe, too!..
Once, when I was in a crowded yourt, I heard the clatter of hooves, somebody rode up and tied his horse to the rope, encircling the yourt. A tall red zhigit entered. He had a short moustache, and there were red hairs at the end of his chin. His clothes struck eye: a new tymak, made of the red fox fur and covered with blue-striped silk, a shabby short fur-coat with fur on both sides, made of the skin of a bay foal. He was girdled with a miserable cloth sash, there were old boots with short tops on his feet. He had a whip with a meadowsweet handle in his hands.
- Who is this? – I asked those who sat near me.
- Famous zhigit Ashai!
I heard a lot about him… Ashai’s greyhound caught a fox yesterday… Ashai shot a wild boar himself… He fought against a bandit and took away his rifle from him… Last year Ashai alone defeated ten plunderers. First he dragged one of them unawares from the horse, tied him up, left him to his wife to guard him, then took a rifle, jumped on his horse and scattered the rest of them…
The red tightly built Ashai sat down near me.
- Your greyhound is said to have caught a red fox recently? – I asked him.
- Yes, it has.
- Was it really red?
- What do you think is the colour of the fox on my tymak? – Ashai asked, shaking his head.
- It is red! – I said.
- And that fox is even redder than this one!
When Ashai was leaving, he called me out of the yourt and said he came to get acquainted with me.
- Let’s be close friends! – he offered to me.
I was very glad.
- You’ve spoken to me about the red fox I caught yesterday. I’ll make a tymak of it for you and cover it with fine silk. Come tomorrow to my aul, my house will be yours! – Ashai resolutely finished.
The next day Ashai cleaned up his little yourt for my visit and laid down new felt mats. He played the dombra, sitting near the fire.
- It’s a pity, the kobyz[138] broke up when we were migrating! – he said. – I play very well Yklass’ kyui on it… I heard Yklass himself playing the kobyz. He was a magician! – Ashai admired.
Ashai’s aul consists of four poor yourts. Ashai himself has a little grey yourt. The only valuable things in it are his red greyhound and fox tymak. He has a thin wooden kebezhe[139] and a broken abdra[140]. The tripod is lop-sided, the cauldron on it is bent, the kettle is covered with soot all over, the feather bed is dirty and thin. Only the felt mats under us are new.
Ashai thinks that it is a great shame to be poor so he tries to show by all means that he is well-to-do.
When Ashai enters the yourt, his younger brother doesn’t unbend higher than the fire. He turns to Ashai as to an official, with a bow and deep respect.
- Has anybody checked where the herd is? – Ashai asked.
- The horses graze in the black ravine, I’ve been there recently! – the younger brother said.
- Take Saken’s horse to the herd! – Ashai ordered. Judging by the master’s voice, one could think that he had quite a lot of horses. But soon I knew exactly that Ashai drew a long bow, calling a dozen of yearlings and mares, belonging to all three households, a herd.
In the evening I saw a little flock, about a hundred sheep, near the aul.
- It turns out you’ve got few sheep, - I said.
- No, not so few. The main flock is in our second aul!.. – he answered.
Soon I knew there didn’t exist any main flock. The damned poverty aggrieved Ashai very much, it was demeaning for him, it cut the wings of his soul.
We became friends with Ashai. In the evening we kept sitting by the fire for a long time. Ashai told me:
- ...Last year, just at this time, our aul migrated from the black ravine towards the Chu. We didn’t have draught animals enough, so our yourt remained at the old place until the next day. There wasn’t a single soul around us. At night my wife and I both slept in the yourt. At midnight the clatter of hooves came from the east – from Arka’s direction. I got up from my bed, put on my boots and kupi and saw through a crack in the door that a whole herd, about fifty or sixty horses, was galloping directly to our yourt. I could see the black spots of people, about ten men. My wife got dressed, too. I guessed that the horse thives were driving the horses. They moved from Arka. The herd galloped past our yourt and at this time one horse, tired and hungry, evidently belonging to one of the horse thieves, exhausted by endless passages, stopped near our yourt. Somebody galloped up to it and wanted to drive it on, but the horse ran around the yourt and the rider began to chase her. I looked attentively through the crack and saw that the rider had a rifle behind his back. While he was driving the horse away from my yourt, his companions galloped away quite far from him. When the rider was going past my door, I burst out of the yourt, grabbed the horse thief by leg and dragged him off the horse in a moment. Without giving him time to gather his wits, I punched his chest several times, took my wife’s headscarf and put it into the bandit’s mouth. I tied his hands and feet, took the rifle off him and bullets out of his bosom. I ordered my wife to watch the horse thief, jumped on his horse and galloped after the herd. The thief’s horse turned out to be fast and strong. “Hey!..” – the horse thieves shouted to me. I answered, showing that everything was all right and I was catching up with them.
There was our Toktaul family in the direction of their movement. I hoped all the time that the horse thieves would come nearer to these auls, so I didn’t catch up with them on purpose. We rode a little and almost approached our auls. They shouted to me again. I thouroughly examined the reins and decided to run risks. “Stop the thieves!” – I desperately shouted, put my horse into gallop and fired off. The shot could be heard far away in the middle of the night. The carelessly galloping horse thieves were in confusion because they didn’t expect it. I took a shot at the horse of one of the thieves, he fell off his horse.
- Here are horse thieves! People, mount your horses! – I began to cry loudly.
The dogs barked in the aul, the voices came from it. The thieves took to their heels. Again I fired off and shot two horses under the riders. To say it in short, before the people from the aul came, I managed to leave three thieves without horses. Later they caught the rest of them, only three of them escaped.
There were twelve horse thieves. Tore Zhusupbek happened to be among them…
After Ashai finished the story, he tightened up the dombra strings.
- Is it true that when Yklas himself plays the kobyz, the female camel gives more milk? – I asked.
- When I was a young man, - Ashai began to tell me, - the four of us headed by Satpai came to Yklas’ aul… His aul was located on one of the islands of the Chu River in tall thick reeds. One couldn’t see the aul from outside. We entered Yklas’ yourt. He was meager and tall. Satpai and Yklas embraced and we respectfully shook his hand.
Satpai began to ask Yklas about contests in the neighbouring auls. At that time I loved the kobyz with all my heart and I looked eagerly at Yklas. His pose, his appearance seemed quite unusual to me. He was serious and seemed never to laugh. His fingers were long, sinewy. And he himself was sinewy and tall.
A lot of people gathered in the yourt. When everyone sat down, Satpai said that he missed Yklas’ kobyz.
- Give me the kobyz. I haven’t hold it in my hands since my son died. But Satpai says he misses the kobyz, - Yklas said.
Yklas was given the kobyz. My eyes were riveted on him with love. To tune up the kobyz, Yklas tightened up the strings and began to bow. A moaning sad kyui, touching a nerve, came from under the tips of his long fingers. My heart beat fast… The crying kyui seemed to flow from above, from the heaven. The people in the yourt sat still. The kobyz grieved, lamented, wailed. When I recovered from a deep torpor, I saw that the kobyz head seemed to grow fast to Yklas’ temple. Making the kobyz lament, Yklas himself was crying with the kyui. The tears ran down his cheeks and beard. Satpay was looking downwards and crying, too. I didn’t dare to move. Yklas abruptly stopped the tearful wailing of the kobyz… The people sat in silence for a long time, - Ashai finished this story.
I have never heard Yklas’ kobyz, but Ashai’s story impressed me a lot. I imagined a modest aul, consisting of four or five yourts in the valley of the Chu, in thick untrodden reeds… The night has covered the Hungry Steppe. The distant stars shine high above the river. The tall untrodden reeds surround the yourts. A breeze is blowing, the reeds are rustling, joining Yklas’ crying kobyz with their quiet noise. It’s a dark night around, it is full of troubles and sufferings. It is the night at the times of the bloody tsarist rule.
The image of the oppressed Yklas, deeply feeling the nation’s sorrow, didn’t leave me for a long time…
A lot of horse thieves of Arka chase the auls, migrating to the Chu, to steal horses. In their turn, the horse thieves from the Chu drive horses from Arka every day.
One fine day the horse thieves paid attention to me personally – they stole my only chestnut horse.
All the cattle of the adjacent five auls remained intact. The thief chose only my horse for himself. I thought that a horse thief wouldn’t go so far to steal one horse. Perhaps we met with him every day. One of the inhabitants of the local auls could have stolen my horse.
The Kazakhs are skilful at stealing cattle and they show the same skill in finding the stolen animals. It was found out that such and such thief was ransacking near the aul that day. But it was difficult for me, a lonely escapee, to find people, who would go to look for my horse. Of course, the thief slaughtered the horse that very night. Now try to go on a wild-goose chase! Every aul, consisting of three or four yourts, steals together. Who will give away his own accomplices? People from other auls won’t see a slaughtered horse, because the distance between the auls is big. It is difficult to find a man, who has stolen a horse, in this area, but it is even more difficult to find a man who doesn’t steal. Does it make any sense to look for a stolen horse in such auls!?
We tried to talk to the thieves, who roamed around the aul that night, but they refused absolutely their participation. These rogues were able to spread rumours on purpose to divert attention.
So I remained without my only horse just before my journey to Turkestan…
I asked Orynbai to give me his thin three-year-old stallion for some time, invited a strong zhigit with me and we went to the aul of our rich relative Magzhan. This aul used to be near the auls from Tarakty family, referring to Tama Volost.
At the sunset we came to a rich aul of Zhumadilda, Magzhan’s elder son. We were invited to a big black hut, where Zhumadilda came, too. We greeted him, got acquainted with him. We came on an unfortunate day – this very day the news about Magzhan’s death was received. All aul was in mourning and we thought they wouldn’t fulfil our request. But though his father died, Zhumadilda didn’t lie home in great sorrow, but came to see and speak to us. Huge saxauls were brought into the hut and a bright fire was kindled.
It became colder in the evening, the wind rose, it began snowing, the snowstorm broke out. It didn’t worry us much, because there was a fire in the hut.
Boiled fatty meat, covered with a greezy towel, was served on a big birch plate. The meat was excellent – fatty horse sausage, fatty kidneys, wonderful sube[141], fatty zhanbas[142]. Zhumadilda ate with us. We went to sleep after this abundant treating.
In the morning, when I woke up, my head ached as if someone had grabbed my hair in his fist and pulled them to the top. At night snow came through the cracks in the hut and melted on my hair and in the morning it got frozen. I had to hold my head above the fire.
After drinking tea Zhumadilda took me aside and asked:
- Have you got any request ?
I answered straightforwardly to him that I was in great need of a horse.
- All right, - Zhumadilda said and went to his yourt without many words.
Soon my companion entered the hut and told me with a smile:
- Let’s go, the horse is ready!
In the street I saw my lame three-year-old in the halter and a nice saddled chestnut horse near it.
The frost was hard. The ground was covered with snow. The chestnut horse under me ran like a steppe saiga. He had a finely moulded croupe, like that of a hare, a silk mane, clear, dark and big eyes – it was a handsome horse.
On our way we visited Mynzhan, Zhumadilda’s relative, a prosperous Kazakh. His aul was on the opposite bank of the Chu. We came, stopped there, I asked to give me a horse, but Mynzhan refused…
Two days later I went to Aulie-Atu (Dzhambul nowadays) with four companions. My companions – Batyrbek, Zhusipbek, Rashit and batyr Suyundik – were from the local family of Uisum. Batyrbek’s wife was born in one of these auls.
We came to the Chu River, which was already covered with ice. The frost was heavy. The day was light, the sky was clear as a mirror: the sparkling hoarfrost was flying down like dust… Suyundik went down to the ice with an axe on a log pole and began to examine if it was hard enough, striking it energetically. He walked on the ice in the reeds for a long time, until he found the hardest and thickest layer of ice, capable of holding a horse and its rider. Suyundik was an energetic zhigit, black as cast iron, stocky. The horses were not able to walk on the slippery ice, so Suyundik sanded the place of crossing with some frozen dung added to the sand. We dismounted and went in tandem after Suyundik. Everyone was holding his horse by a long rein with one hand and holding the skirt with sand with the other hand. We sanded the path in turns. The horses timidly followed us, their legs trembled. The thin ice loudly crackled and broke.
We crossed the Chu as if it were Sirata bridge[143].
Over the river there began a sea of sand, hills, saxaul thickets. Everything looked wild here after Sary-Arka.
In the evening the relatives of Batyrbek’s wife came to the aul, nearest to Aulie-Ata. Everything seemed peculiar to me here: the land, and the cattle, and people’s clothes. It was a totally new world to me. The thin-necked horses, a bit stooping, with big ears and hooves, grazed in saxaul. The camel’s wool was rare, they themselves were black and thin. The yourts in auls were with gabled roofs and straight vertical walls. All people were dressed in yellow fur coats, awkwardly sewn of sheepskin, narrow in the chest, with long skirts and narrow sleeves. The people looked unattractive, they glanced at the passers-by shyly, on the sly, muttering something as if planning to get you into trouble.
Well, the Kazakhs of Arka might seem peculiar to the local people, too.
We spent two days with the relatives of Batyrbek’s wife and rode on. We arrived at Aukie-Ata five days later.
My heart missed the Council badly, but we arrived at the the town late. We spent the night at the last house, and the next day the owner led us to the Soviet Kazakhs, working there. First we entered the house of one military zhigit. I don’t remember his name, but he seemed respectable and educated to me. I noticed a lot of newspapers and magazines in his flat. When I told him about myself, he dressed quickly and respectfully led us to the chief of Cheka[144], Kazakh Zhalyspaev, a very competent zhigit. We were taken to the executive committee from there. I saw my usual surroundings, which I missed very much, the portraits of Lenin and other chiefs of revolution, saw ardent appeals on the walls.
We were received by Kabylbek Sarmoldaev, the chairman of the executive committee. He ordered at once one of the members of the executive committee to prepare a flat for us and to create the appropriate conditions. Immediately about five town workers invited us to visit them.
We stayed at the flat of Kalmagambet from Argyn family, an energetic and frank man.
I copied my poem “Marseillaise of the Young Kazakhs” for two teachers from Aulie-Ata, sang the tune to them. The teachers gladly began to learn it.
Every day I read reports in the newspapers. The news became happier. When I learnt that Kolchak and Denikin were finally defeated, I began to prepare for the return journey…
Kabylbek Sarmoldaev tried to persuade me to stay and work there for a long time.
In my speech at the meeting of the bureau I gave a detailed account of the difficult situation in Akmolinsk, asked to let me go and work in the native land. At Kabylbek’s suggestion, the Muslim bureau decided to provide me with money and transport for the journey, to give me a mandate, authorizing me to conduct large-scale political work among the workers of the steppe.
The next day I received the mandate and money from Kabylbek, and also two bags of propaganda brochures to distribute to the population and arms; I went back to Akmolinsk together with two militiamen in the carts at public expense.
Kabylbek helped me a lot, believing on my bare word of honour. When I came to Aulie-Ata, I didn’t have any decent document, proving that I was really a member of the Council of Deputies, who escaped from Kolchak’s prison. Besides, I didn’t have any acquaintances in Aulie-Ata. With the same result they could take me for Kolchak’s secret agent, as it happened to Sabyr Sharipov. He escaped from Omsk, returned to Kokchetav, then arrived at Ak-Mechet after crossing Atbasar and Turgay Districts. The leading officials of the executive committee of Ak-Mechet didn’t believe him, considered him Kolchak’s planted agent, arrested and imprisoned him. Sabyr disentangled from the hell, created by the White Guard, and found himself in the prison of the Bolsheviks, whom he dreamt to meet. He had no acquaintances in Ak-Mechet. Sabyr was questioned several times, he ardently proved that he was a Bolshevik and a member of the Council of Deputies, that he had escaped from Kolchak’s prison, but the die-hard Communists of Ak-Mechet didn’t want to believe him. Sabyr was imprisoned for a long time and suffered much. Finally he was released conditionally and sent to Atbasar District under armed escort with the order to bring bread from there to help the starving population of Ak-Mechet. It didn’t take Sabyr long to arrive at Atbasar and then even at Ishim, to come to an agreement with “Khan” Hasen and lead a caravan with bread to Ak-Mechet. He helped the starving town a lot, but even this Sabyr’s work wasn’t evaluated on its merits by the administrators of Ak-Mechet, except a single commissar for supplies.
After the commissar for supplies went on call to Tashkent to be promoted, a telegram was received from there, demanding to send Sabyr Sharipov to the regional Cheka in Tashkent. At this time one regiment excited mutiny. The mutiny was crushed, the revolutionary Council of Tashkent together with the Cheka began to arrest everyone, causing doubts, transmit them to the emergency court and shoot the guilty. It was at this time that the arrested Sabyr was brought under escort. He was asked just a pair of questions in the Cheka.
- Yes, I know him, he was a member of Kolchak’s regional committee, - one of the mebers of the court said.
The chairman ordered: “Take him away!”
Sabyr was taken to the ward, where the prisoners, condemned to death, were put. The death clasped him in its arms with its sharp claws. Until then Sabyr was in the state of utter indifference, but here he began to shout, enraged by injustice. Struggling in the arms of the guards, he told the court the truth about himself.
- Tell us the people you know!- the court offered him.
Sabyr named the commissar for supplies who became the chief of the Cheka after his coming to Tashkent. But the commissar was dead, killed by Osipov.
- Will you find anybody to bail you until tomorrow? – they asked Sabyr again. Sabyr didn’t know such a man…
- I will bail him! – the soldier, who escorted Sabyr from Ak-Mechet, said.
And so the Red Army soldier bailed Sabyr until the next day. And here the situation began to be clarified. Sabyr met Duisenbai Nysanbaev and was finally saved from death. Nysanbaev was a member of the committee of inquiry of Turkestan Cheka, one of the citizens, who took a firm stand under the Soviet banner of the Republic of Turkestan.
Sabyr and Duisenbai became close friends, Sabyr went with a report to Kuibyshev, who came from Moscow to Turkestan, met Opin, and after receiving the party mandate, he went from Turkestan to Turgay and the southern volosts of Akmolinsk Province.
Sabyr had hardly escaped death because of the stupidity of the authorities of Ak-Mechet.
But the authorities of Aulie-Ata, governed by Kabylbek, turned out to be more reasonable.
...We returned to Akmolinsk, crossing the sea of sand and saxaul, the valley of the Chu and the Hungry Steppe.
We had two horses now and we were given the right to take carts with horses in auls.
We crossed the Chu again, in hard frosts, with a great difficulty.
The reeds showed yellow along the bending banks of the river. A blue smoke was coming from their thickets. We looked around from the top of the hill. Despite the cold, Suyundik took off his miserable kupi and sat on the horseback only in the beshmet, bought in Aulie-Ata… He wanted to show himself in a new beshmet. The batyr was on the horseback, holding a rifle in his hands. Then he suddenly raised it, a shot rang out.
- Why do you shoot? – I asked Suyundik.
- To let our enemies know about our arrival, - Suyundik answered, rolling his eyes.
...We began to organize the Soviet rule in the auls in the valley of the Chu and in the Hugry Steppe.
We had ten rifles, two sabres and a revolver. It was our ammunition in the open struggle against those, who tried to defend the decaying system of the past. A group of revolutionary oriented comrades, working Kazakhs, organized around me.
We gathered the sympathizers of the Soviet rule from two Tarakty volosts and elected the chairman of the aul committee at the meeting.
It couldn’t go without funny episodes.
- Can you appoint me now a volost administrator again? – the well-known Chokai asked me after the meeting.
The people surrounded us, smiling, winking.
- All right, remain a volost administrator, - I said.
- In this case you should give me salary, - the “volost administrator” was not at a loss and gravely stretched his both palms to me.
I took out of my pocket the cheap money of Turkestan and gave him two banknotes…
Such zhigits as Suyundik, who was a work-hand yesterday, openly opposed the bais now, as well as the proud Ashai, who tried by all means to hide his poverty from people. Now they led common working people – the nomads. Yesterday’s humiliated, exhausted sons of the Hungry Steppe mounted their horses today to struggle with the enemies of people’s power – of the Soviet rule…
April 17, 1926, Kyzyl-Orda
SHORT STORY
1
It was the autumn of nineteen twenty-one. The bandits scoured about in the district where Hamit worked. Little bands of two or three men, armed with rifles, revolvers, sabres and sometimes bombs, roamed about in the district, like wolves, which lost their cubs, keeping the peaceful population in hourly fear. Not long ago there was fierce fighting against Kolchak’s soldiers in the district. The life was full of worries for the people in villages and auls. The enemy retreated under the blows of the Red Army and then attacked again; when it was finally defeated and driven away, the people sighed with relief. But it was not for a long time – the bands deprived people of a quiet sleep again.
The bands rushed like the wind, here today and there tomorrow. At night or early in the morning they burst into auls, like rabid wolves, scaring women and children. When people heard shooting and wild shouts, they called God’s name in fear and were ready to renounce not only what they had but their own souls, too. The bandits took away the best horses and expensive clothes. They beat the tar out of the men, who fell into their hands, with the rifle butts, demanding hidden rifles and ammunition, humiliated women, killed children.
When they heard about a new militiaman in the aul, the bandits lay in wait for him, caught him all of a sudden at night and took away his arms. They hunted for Communists, chairmen of the volost executive committees, all those, who helped the Soviet rule. They hacked to pieces those, who tried to oppose them.
Hiding in the forests, having no permanent flats and camps, they selected a victim beforehand, sacked Kazakh auls and Russian villages, galloped about, like a violent storm, and always sneaked out of punishment. Their friends and inspirators were prosperous muzhiks, kulaks, displeased with the Soviet rule because of the surplus appropriation system. They also received secret help from the Kazakh bais.
2
Hamit woke up as usual, at eight o’clock, jumped out of his bed and ran up to the window. There was an autumn cool rain at night and the sun was shining especially brightly and joyfully. Fair morning always cheered Hamit up, created high spirits for the whole day. He washed with cold water to the waist, wet his shaved head and began to wipe himself with a towel before the mirror. The day before he spent most of the night over papers and seemed not to have a good night rest – his eyes were bloodshot. “No problem, it will soon be over”, - Hamit thought, tossed his head back, tensed up the muscles of his neck and began to turn his head to all sides, like a golden eagle, beating the swollen muscles with the sharp of the hand.
He liked gymnastics since his childhood and did his morning exercises even at the aul, not being ashamed of the adults. Used to rhythmic, leisurely movements, his body demanded to display strength: it was in need of jumps, press-ups, jerks. Once he saw his famous fellow-countryman Hazhimukan, wrestling in the town circus of Omsk. Hamit got acquainted with him, they became friends, and admiring Hazhimukan’s limitless strength, he did gymnastics even more diligently and hardheartedly. If there was a big mirror in his flat and there was no one in the room, Hamit stripped to the waist, and doing difficult exercises, he watched his muscles tensing up on his hands, on his chest. He admired his body, each rippling muscle gladdened his heart.
Hamit had just finished his exercises when the door opened and the owner of the flat, a black-haired Tatar woman, invited him to drink tea. Before he could finish the first glass, a messenger of the Politbureau hastily entered the room and said:
- The director urgently calls you to him!
Perhaps something had happened. Hamit worked at the Politbureau, diligently attended the studies. They called him from home only in exceptional, urgent cases. He left the tea, got dressed quickly and hurried in response to the call.
The director of the Politbureau, a tall, thin, blond Lett in the military uniform, invited Hamit to his office and showed him one of the urgent letters, received in the morning.
- Hamit, you’ll have to go alone. Put on the clothes of an ordinary Kazakh and set up sail to every wind, try to find out everything. And the most important – act as quickly as possible. We sent one more reliable man to the settlement of Chiili. He’ll keep in touch with you. The plan of actions is the one we’ve agreed with you. This was the director’s order.
- Is there any news from Seisembaev? — Hamit asked.
- No he hasn’t informed us about anything yet, - the director answered.
3
Seisembaev, an instructor of the district executive committee, went to Borlykul Volost with the task to investigate troubles in the volost executive committee. On his way back Seisembaev stopped for the night in the aul of lame Akan, a well-known and once rich bai. Late in the evening, when Akan himself, instructor Seisembaev and several honorary guests sat down for dinner around a large plate with hot, just boiled mutton, the door opened and Kudre entered; he was a famous bandit, roaming about in Borlykul Volost. According to the words of the Kazakhs, who knew him, he was notable for immense strength and fearlessness – he wasn’t afraid of the rifle, aimed point-blank at him. He was merciless to people, killing both guilty and innocent, like puppies. And this same Kudre, a reckless cutthroat, came to the aul alone and visited the house of the master of the aul, lame Akan.
He stopped at the threshold and said, threatening with his revolver:
- Well, who is an instructor of the executive committee? Come out for a minute!
Seisembaev cried out loudly and fell behind Akan’s back to hide himself, pleading Akan to defend him. Lame Akan saved him from death, he persuaded Kudre not to touch the instructor. It was possible that Seisembaev, who escaped with nothing worse than a fright, would try not to make this situation public, but somebody secretly informed the Politbureau about this shameful incident.
And now the Politbureau charged Hamit with tracing the famous bandit, learning everything about his connections with the rich men from auls and catching him. Neither a Russian nor a Lett could stay in auls, speak to people without arousing suspicions, guessing every gesture, remembering every occasional word, only a Kazakh.
Accompanied by five Russian comrades, Hamit set out along the high road to Akmolinsk. Before the settlement of Chiili the detachment stopped to work out the plan of the operation, to agree the role of each one and the means of keeping in touch. After distributing the responsibilities, Hamit left the comrades and rode on alone. Soon he turned to the road to the nearest Kazakh aul.
However, dressed in simple Kazakh clothes and a lambskin malakhai, Hamit still attracted attention – tall, slender, broad-shouldered. He had a straight nose, big dark brown sunken eyes. Hamit didn’t like a moustache and beard, he shaved them. Handsom, nicely built, he was rocking regularly in the saddle on a well-fed, well-groomed light chestnut stallion, looking around attentively. If he clenched his iron fingers, reminding the claws of a golden eagle, and attacked his enemy with a threatening growl – the heart of the latter one would sink into his boots!..
He spent the first night in a Kazakh aul. He tried to speak about the bandits in a cautious talk, but was unable to find out anything from the master of the house or from the aul zhigits. In the morning he rode on.
In the evening he reached the aul of lame Akan and here he learnt that the bands, dominating the nearby territory, went to the auls on the border with Akmolinsk District.
4
He rode in a thick forest along an old abandoned road. The day was clear and warm, the cloudless blue sky could be seen between the tops of the trees. Thin pines and white birches rose high at the side of the road, his eye sometimes met a slender poplar, dropping yellow autumn leaves.
Hamit rode alone, looking at the thickets with a vigilant eye, like a shepherd, caring for the safety of his herd. Sometimes he met cuttings and wide clearings with faded grass. There were stacks of hay here and there. He sometimes saw Kazakh winter camps, the cattle was grazing around them and felt nomad tents could be seen a bit further.
The clearings, so grassy and rainbow with flowers in spring, faded now and lost their charming beauty. There was silence and sad autumn stillness everywhere. There was no more singing of a lark, which used to go round and round the clearings full of flowers, loudly praising the charm of flowers and sweet-scented herbs. The birds didn’t flit from twig to twig any more, the animals were silent, one couldn’t hear human voices, full of joy in summer, when the air intoxicated with its aroma.
The discoloured fading meadows, steppes and trees with the leaves turning yellow kept absolute silence, basking in the slanting rays of autumn sun, as if being on their way out.
If summer resembles a swift symphony, exciting joy, played by a powerful ensemble of many instruments, the sad autumn evokes a distant melody, playing a lonely violin or a kobyz with thin strings…
It was afternoon. The horse slowly trotted, bobbing its head in time with its steps. Sometimes the shadow of a crazy hare flashed between the trees, forest birds took wings with noise from under the very hooves of the horse. The horse restlessly snorted and moved its cocked up ears in disunity. “It noses danger”, - Hamit anxiously thought.
Hamit felt sad at the sight of fading nature. He recalled his remote aul in the steppe, in the south of Akmolinsk District, thought of his mother, and his heart was filled with anguish and tenderness to her. When he came home last year, his mother cried, embracing him. And he laughed and comforted her:
- What are you doing, apa, don’t cry! I’m not a little girl, can’t you see it? – and he gently released from her embrace. “Oh, why did I do like this? I should have cuddled up to her closer and not have let her out of my embrace for a long time. She’s my only dear mother, - Hamit regretted for a moment and began to justify himself at once: - I couldn’t do otherwise. Can I be a zhigit if I shed tears with my mother, a weak woman? She would have thought about the sadness of her son after my departure, her eyes would have always been full of tears, and her sufferings from parting from me would have been even more bitter”.
He was deep in recollections, when his horse gave a start and turned its head to the right, taking a watchful squint with its violet eye. Hamit looked around.
From the thicket of the forest there appeared a rider on a grey rangy horse. Judging by his clothes, he was a Russian, perhaps a forest guard.
Hamit was already tired of forest solitude and he rejoiced at this occasional meeting, pulled hir rein to the right and headed for the rider. They greeted each other, Hamit – in Kazakh, the rider he met – in Russian. Then Hamit began to speak Russian, too, intentionally distorting the words::
- Hey! Where go, know?
- Forestry “Fox pine forest”, - the Russian answered.
- Your direktyr? – Hamit asked again, pointing his finger at him.
- Forester, - he replied.
- А-аh, direktyr, guard. Zhaksy!
After such a talk they rode together. It turned out that they were going in the similar direction. The forester was about thirty, not more. Huge, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black overcoat, in boots with heavy soles, he was in the habit of riding a horse and did it noticeably in the Kazakh manner. He tapped the croup of the horse with a thin twig, urging it.
“This Russian looks like a Kazakh”, - Hamit thought.
The riders moved slowly, exchanging words, whiling away the time in a peaceful talk. They rode saddle to saddle. As far as the eye could see, there was no human habitation. Hamit kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, trying to keep in mind this area with its coppices, clearings, ravines.
He didn’t notice he rode ahead, admiring the cramoisie leaves of poplars. Suddenly the horse under him recoiled. Hamit jerked back. The forester was holding tightly the rein of his horse with one hand and he had a revolver in the other hand, aimed point-blank at him. Hamit was taken aback, not knowing what to do.
- Oh, what you? Direktur! – he shouted.
Hamit had no arms, he left it for his friends, going to Chiili. He froze when he saw the revolver muzzle before his eyes, the face, contorted by wild anger, and the forester’s malicious snake eyes.
- Get off the horse! Do it quickly or I’ll shoot you! – the forester shouted in pure Kazakh.
Thousands of different thoughts and assumptions came into Hamit’s head.
- Get off! – the forester repeated.
“Is he a bandit? A robber? What will he do next?” – Hamit anxiously thought, getting off his horse.
The forester took his horse several steps aside and stopped.
- Take off your clothes! – he cried to Hamit, holding the revolver.
Staggering, Hamit took off outer overcoat, took off his short coat and remained only in his beshmet.
- Everything, take off everything! – the forester ordered, continuing to aim at Hamit. – Your beshmet and boots, too!
Hamit slowly came down on the ground and began to take off his heavy Kazakh boots with lazy movements. He took off one boot, pulled off the other… then he took the malakhai off his head with the same slow movement and threw it down on the ground. One thought rushed after another in his head: “Oh, by gosh, am I really lost? If it’s an ordinary horse thief who liked my horse, why doesn’t he ride away, but demands my clothes from me? He orders me to take them off, he wants to have them clean, not stained by blood. It’s an inveterate bandit, surely one of those who shoot their victim after they get him undressed. You, scatterbrain! It’s interesting, did he trace me on purpose or meet occasionally? I’ve made a mistake! Why should I go without arms and have a talk with him? I trusted such a devil… No, he’s without a band, he’s alone. And I’m alone, too! It’s true, he’s got a revolver. But it’s better to die as a brave lion than as a timid hare!”
After he took off his boots, he rose up and went to the bandit, undoing the buttons of his beshmet on the go. The bandit sat on the horseback with his face to Hamit, holding the revolver. Hamit took off his beshmet and stepped nearer to the bandit, pretending to stretch the clothes to the bandit. Bare-footed, only in a waistcoat over his shirt, he crouched, tensing up his muscles of steel and darted at the enemy like a leopard.
A shot rang out.
“Missed!” – Hamit had the time to think and he tenaciously gripped the revolver muzzle. The bandit dashed up but in vain: Hamit seemed to grow fast to the revolver and pulled it to himself with both hands, trying to tear it out. Defending, the bandit had to let the reins off and fell on the ground. The revolver handle remained in the enemy’s strong hand, the muzzle was aiming at Hamit. The first shot would be fatal for him. But the bandit was not able to shoot, his finger turned to stone with tension in the ring of the trigger. To shoot, he had to reach the hook with his finger, and to do this, he had to unbrace the muscles. But then the revolver would pass to Hamit’s hands, who would not loosen the muzzle for a moment, twisting it here and there, trying to tear the arms out of his enemy’s hands.
The horses snorted; frightened, they looked at the people for a few moments, then, feeling freedom, they wandered off, nibbling the grass. The thick forest was silent, there wasn’t a single living soul nearby.
Two enemies with bloodshot eyes struggled for the revolver like two angry tigers. They both understood that today one of them had to die and they both wanted to stay alive. They violently beat each other, bit, scratched, firmly holding the revolver with both hands.
Hamit contrived to go down, raised his enemy on the shoulders and threw him to the ground. But the latter didn’t let the revolver off his hands and sank his teeth into Hamit’s elbow. Hamit hit him on the cheekbone, released his hand and, taking off his cap with ear flaps, threw it away.
The bandit hemmed, rose up to his feet together with Hamit, who clung to him. He swung to the right, to the left, as if gathering strength, lifted him and then threw him down to the ground with power. Hamit hit his back, but deftly rose up to his feet at once, not giving his enemy a chance to get on the top of him.
They fought in a mortal combat on the clearing. Scratched and blood-stained, they fell on the ground and rose up again, in bruises. The clothes, ripped to shreds, hung down in long stripes.
Hamit seemed to be a boy near the huge bandit, looking like a monster with sinewy arms and hands, wide as a spade. He gnawed Hamit’s body with huge, yellow teeth, like those of a horse. Dressed in the overcoat, he was protected from the bites.
Gathering strength, Hamit got the opponent under him again and began to strangle him with his free hand. The bandit struggled to break loose, kicked the ground as a huge animal, repeatedly hit Hamit’s face with his head. Then Hamit sank his teeth into the enemy’s ear and began to tear it, as a greyhound, which caught a wolf. The bandit dashed about under him, growled and roared as a hunted animal, and chose a moment to hit Hamit’s eyes with his elbow. Hamit spit a nip of the ear from his mouth, the bandit moaned loudly and involuntarily clutched his head. The enemy’s hand got weaker, and when Hamit felt it, he snatched out the revolver in a moment and threw it aside.
Now they grabbed each other with both hands and continued the struggle with new energy. The revolver was a few steps away from them and all the efforts of the enemies were directed to breaking free and running first to the arms. Blood-stained, they resembled the butchers from the town slaughterhouse. Hamit relied on his endurance, the bandit – on the power of his blow.
The horses were peacefully grazing aside from the bloody fighting. Hamit’s clothes lay in one place, the bandit’s cap – in the other. And there wasn’t a single living soul around – not a kind one to help Hamit, not a malicious one to help the bandit. The quiet deserted forest was silent, the blue sky was silent…
Hamit decided to use his best trump card – deftness – for the last time. He defended for a long time, without trying to attack, thus gathering strength. And suddenly he grabbed his enemy’s feet, gathered the rest of his strength, raised him up and violently threw him on the ground. The bandit’s hands unclenched and Hamit dashed to the revolver at once. Not stopping, remembering that the bandit could rise up and run after him, Hamit took up the revolver while running, as if during the stunts on horseback, and ran on. Turning back, he raised the arms and saw the enemy not far from him in a strange pose: bending down, the bandit put his hand in his bosom, took out a little Browning and quickly loaded it. Hamit aimed with the hands, trembling with exhaustion, but the bandit was the first to shoot.
Hamit winced, it seemed to him that a hot awl was poked through his shoulder. He pulled the trigger, shot and missed. Remembering that the Browning could hit only at a short distance, Hamit ran away quite far, hid behind the trunk of a birch and began to aim thoroughly. The bandit bravely rose up to meet him, but Hamit shot and he fell down.
Hamit counted the bullets – there remained four of them.
He saw that his enemy, unharmed, ran to his horse in giant jumps. Then Hamit, not relying on the arms, ran to his horse, which grazed at some distance. At this moment he heard the horse galloping, turned back and saw that the bandit was fearlessly whipping his horse straight on him. Hamit raised the revolver and began to wait when his enemy came nearer, to shoot blank-point, to be sure. The bandit harshly turned the horse and disappeared in the thicket of the forest.
Hamit caught his horse, dressed up, saw the bandit’s cap lying, picked it up and hid it in his bosom.
The afternoon was well along. It became colder. The setting sun made purple the tops of the trees. There was a dead silence in the forest. Only the forest, ground and blue sky saw the battle of the enemies this day…
Hamit locked the revolver and made the horse go in a round trot, often looking around and listening. He knew that there was the aul Council of Borlykul Volost in five or six versts from there.
He rode, cooling off after the battle and thinking that according to the descriptions this was none other than famous bandit Kudre. A strong man, tall, broad-shouldered… There wasn’t a photo of this dog in the Politbureau, that’s why Hamit didn’t recognize him at once.
“I’m still so stupid, - he was annoyed, - I’ve made such a mistake!”
- It’s a pity, - he said loudly, - it’s a pity!
The light chestnut horse ran, snorting and asking for the rein. Hamit wiped his blood-stained hands by its mane.
“What a shame! Can I be a strong man, if I didn’t cope with a single bandit!..”
He clenched his fists with pain and gritted his teeth with annoyance. At this moment he resembled a golden eagle, which has just defeated a full-grown wolf in a fight…
Hamit thought about Hazhimukan, a steppe batyr, who defeated the wold-famous wrestlers.
“Martynov, Poddubny, Gane Taban, Kazbek-gora, - Hamit remembered the wrestlers. – Hazhimukan was the strongest!”
Looking around, he loudly and triumphantly cried:
- Hei! Hazhimuka-an! We won the battle!
[1] A volost is a small rural district in old Russia. (Here and elsewhere translators’ notes.)
[2] A verst is an old Russian measure of distance equal to 3500 feet or 1,6 km.
[3] Saba – a bag of horse leather to prepare and keep kumiss.
[4] The Kazakhs rarely used the surname and the patronimics still less. Usually they turned by name.
[5] Zhigit is a skilful horseman.
[6] Akyn is an improvising poet and singer in the Kazakh and Kyrgyz cultures.
[7] 1National games. “Oramal tastamak” is throwing the kerchief. The player holds a ring in the mouth and throws the kerchief to anyone he wants (a young man to a girl and vice versa). The one, to whom the kerchief was thrown, should take the ring into the mouth and in his turn throw the kerchief to the next chosen one.
“Buguibai” it’s when the players stand in circle, holding their hands, and sing. Two masters in the centre call a zhigit a nd a girl (usually in love or “suspected” of it) to the circle and offer them to fulfill some task, usually a witty one, or just to dance and to sing.
“Myrshim” is a game when one of the players hides a ring in the mouth. The master requires at random to pronounce the word “myrshim”. The person who hides the ring, should pronounce it without a flub and any burring. If the master is deceived, he should fulfill some task, given by the players, and continue his search for a ring.
[8] Mirza is a Tatar prince.
[9] Beshmet is an oriental quilted coat.
[10] Arshin is an old Russian measure of weight, about 0,71 m.
[11] Uyki~ curved wooden poles, forming the skeleton of the yourt
[12] Shanyrak – a wooden roof ring.
[13] Ichigs are a kind of shoes.
[14] Kimeshek is a Kazakh national hairdress for women.
[15] God bless you! Peace be with you! – an Arabic greeting which came to the Kazakh language from the Koran.
[16] Samovar is a metal urn used in old Russia for making tea.
[17] Baursak is a kind of Kazakh bread.
[18] Dastarkhan is an Uzbek low dining table, 30-35 cm in height, convenient for the guests, sitting on special felt mats.
[19] Aksarybas is a white sheep with a yellow head, traditionally sacrified in the most important cases, as well as a light woolless sheep – bozkaska.
[20] Ketmen is a kind of a hoe used for agricultural works.
[21] Zheli (zhel!) is a noose, spread on the ground on the stakes to tether foals and lambs.
[22] Az-zuhr is a Muslim midday prayer.
[23] Droshky is a kind of light horse-drawn vehicle in old Russia.
[24] Aqsaqal literally means “white beard” in Turkey, that refers to the old and wise of the community.
[25] Bey is a title for chieftain, traditionally applied to the leaders of small tribal groups.
[26] Metaphrast is an obsolete word denoting an interpreter.
[27] Hadji is an honourable title of a Muslim who has travelled to Mecca or Medina to offer sacrifices during the holiday of Kurban-Bairam.
[28] Vizier denotes an official, especially in the Ottoman empire.
[29] Mullah is a Muslim trained in the doctrine and law of Islam; the head of a mosque.
[30] Giaour is a deragotary word used by Turkish people to describe all who are non-Muslims.
[31] Shariah means Islamic principles and jurisprudence derived from a number of sources, including the Koran.
[32] Distorted Russian words “Just look at you!”
[33] Muzhik is a Russian peasant.
[34] Madrasah is a Muslim religious school
[35] Ishan is a Muslim ecclesiastic.
[36] Surah is a chapter of the Koran.
[37] Halfe is a title of respect in Kazakhstan.
[38] Namazdiger is the time of the evening prayer.
[39] Namaz is a Muslim prayer.
[40] Ablution is an act of washing or cleansing as a religious rite.
[41] Hazret is an ecclesiastic of high rank.
[42] Mufti is a Muslim lawyer, interpreter of the Koran, the representative of the highest clergy.
[43] Caliph is a civil and religious leader of a Muslim state.
[44] Elective district council in pre-revolutionary Russia.
[45] Bukeihanov was a member of the Constitutional Democrate Party.
[46] Ahon is an ecclesiastic, equal to the hazret. Ahon has a scientific degree.
[47] Kadi – Muslim judge in Central Asian khanates
[48] The ”New Time” is a Tatar newspaper in Kazan.
[49] “Ush zhuz” literally means “three hundred”, it’s a play on words here.
[50] The names in the parentheses are not specified in the original.
[51] ”Manal-Shamil” is Saken Seifullin’s pen name.
[52] A satire on the committee’s arbitrary rule.
[53] All Kazakhs are meant, without dividing them into families or classes.
[54] They laughed for two reasons: Ka – that’s how the Kazakhs called up their dogs to them. Besides, Samatov’s wife, who was a Russian, called her dog Muhtarka, and most of the audience knew about it.
[55] Tolengut – a zhigit from the suite of a high-ranking person
[56] Aga-sultan – the elder sultan.
[57] Collection of documents and materials. Kazahstan State Publishing House. Alma-Ata, 157, pages 158-160.
[58] ”AIkap” was a progressive magazine, opposing the bourgeois newspaper “Kazakh”. Muhametzhan Seralin (1872-1929), a journalist and a poet, was its editor. The magazine was published in Troitsk in 1911-1915.
[59] It seems that the author alludes here to Sultanmahmut Toraigyrov’s poem “The contest between the steppe and the town poets”.
[60] Village in Central Asia.
[61] That’s how the Kazakhs used to call tradesmen, especially the Uzbeks.
[62] Kybla is a direction toward Mecca, in which the Muslims usually turn their faces for a prayer.
[63] Akind of a hoe for agricultural works.
[64] Chapan is an Uzbek quilted dressing gown.
[65] Tundik is the yourt’s upper opening, a kind of a chimney. It is used here in the sense of a household.
[66] ”Ak zhol” is a white road; it is used here in the meaning “honest way”.
[67] His name is Muhametkali. The author committed inaccuracy here.
[68] According to the custom, the Kazakhs don’t deliver up your enemy if he is in their aul and in their yourt.
[69] ”Mami auyg” is an untranslateable curse. Seifullin was not fastidious in his choice in such cases, but in the original he rendered his rage by the inexpressive word “mami”.
[70] Abzi – elder brother (Tatar)
[71] Hadji-eke is an honourable address to a person who has undertaken a pilgrimage to Mecca.
[72] ”Young citizen”
[73] ”Banner of unity”
[74] ”Appeal”
[75] ”Rhythms”
[76] Kumalak means little stones, grains, pellets and so on in the amount of 41, used for fortune-telling.
[77] Kobyz is a Kazakh national musical instrument.
[78] Kaza means “sausage” in Kazakh.
[79] Vershok is an old Russian measure of length, equal to 1 ¾ inches or 4,4 cm.
[80] Kumai is a fabulous swift-footed dog, from which no one can escape, said to be born of a wild goose and a trackhound.
[81] Airan is a Turkish and Altaic drink out of yoghurt, water and salt
[82] Kaimak means “cream”.
[83] Barymta is taking the cattle away by force, an armed robbery.
[84] Fourty days are the time from July 10 to August 20, usually the hottest in the year.
[85] Baken is an affectionate and respectful address of a younger person to the older one. “Eke” is added to the first syllable of the name. Here Baiseit – Ba-ken.
[86] Vahtcha Ukmetov stands for the Provisional Government.
[87] Ulkenbek Sabitov denoted the Bolshevik Soviets.
[88] Dnche – Dinmuhammet Adilev, who fought with the Whites in the Far East in the ranks of the Red Army.
[89] The author alludes to some comrades, like Adilev, Galim Aubakirov and others.
[90] Herbs refer to cabbage, carrots and other vegetables. The are all called “herbs” by the Kazakh herders.
[91] Tymak is a fur hat with big ear and shoulder flaps.
[92] Veteerinarian Zhusip Izbasarov was also known as Tusip Izbasarov.
[93] “Khan zhaksy ma?” – “Is the khan good?” – is a Kazakh national game, which emphasizes the selfishness and stupidity of the khan, a petty tyrant, pleased with the answer “Khan Zhaksy” - “The khan is good”.
[94] Otagasy is a master of the household, a respected old man.
[95] Tulpar is a magic horse with wings.
[96] Nasybai is a kind of tobacco for chewing, traditional for Central Asia. It used to consist mainly of the local plant nas and slack lime.
[97] Sotnik is a Cossack lieutenant.
[98] Chapan is an Uzbek quilted dressing gown.
[99] Papakha is a tall Astrakhan hat.
[100] Baipaks are a kind of socks.
[101] Valenki are knee-high felt boots, traditionally worn in rural areas in winter.
[102] According to Seifullin’s words, this man was the son of Habiba, the daughter of Mustafa, the brother of Seifullin’s grand-father Ospan, who was Saken’s paternal grandfather. According to the Kazakh custom, the son of Habiba – Saken’s aunt-cousin – was a zhien. It was Hamit Abauovich Tokin, a lawyer by training.
[103] Samogon is Russian home-distilled vodka.
[104] Basmatch is a Muslim anti-Bolshevik fighter in Central Asia during 1917-26.
[105] Pood is a measure of weight, equal to 16,8 kg.
[106] Here the author makes a mistake. In fact there were 18 days, as it was mentioned above, - from the fifth to the twenty-third of January.
[107] A tymak is a kind of Kazakh hairdress for men.
[108] Kupi is an outer clothing, lined with camel’s or sheep’s fleece (spring wool).
[109] Baiga is a national game of the peoples of Central Asia, Kazakhstan, which includes wrestling, target shooting and horse racing and riding.
[110] Novo-Nikolaevsk is Novosibirsk now.
[111] From S. Seifullin’s poem “We” (Russian translation by A Skvortsov).
[112] The namesake of the deceased Pyankovsky, a member of our Council of Deputies.
[113] Beshbarmak is a popular dish in Kazakhstan; it is eaten with one’s hands and consists of boiled meat and small pieces of pastry boiled in broth, with parsley and coriander.
[114] Tyubeteika is a Central Asian scull cap.
[115] Zhut is murrain at the time of the ice slick.
[116] The Tsar’s edict on mobilization of the Kazakh youth for the logistical works is meant.
[117] Kulak is a wealthy peasant in old Russia.
[118] The author of the article seems to allude to the Kalmyk invasion in the past. The Russian Bolsheviks are meant under the modern “white Kalmyks”.
[119] Nagashi is a maternal relative: nagashi-ata is a maternal grandfather; nagashi-sheshe is a maternal grandmother and so on.
[120] Aidabol and Karzhas are two independent families, tracing back to Suyundik family. Here Seifullin mixes them on purpose, pretending to be Duisembi, a not very bright simple worker from Omsk.
[121] Zhengei is a form of polite address to an older woman.
[122] Apyrym-ai is an exclamation, expressing surprise.
[123] Biy is an arbitrator. There were two famous arbitrators in Aidabol family – Chon and Toraigyr. Shaibai’s family originated with Chon, as the author makes us understand.
[124] Kozhe is a liquid mixture of flour and milk, usually given to poor visitors.
[125] Kara means “Black”, Toka is the progenitor’s name.
[126] Toka is a founder of a large family. His son Bessim had two wives – Botei and Dauletbike. Later his offspring respectfully called his elder wife Botei with a new name – Enen, mother. Saken Seifullin belongs to this family.
[127] “Auyz asharu” is the food, cooked for the evening, when the one, keeping the fast, opens his mouth for the first time during the day (literally – “to the opening of mouth”).
[128] “Zeket” is a religious tax.
[129] Asan-Kaigy is a legendary traveller, seeking for the promised land, who characterized all geographic zones of Kazakhstan.
[130] Kuruk is a long pole.
[131] Rich widow Nakizhan, the wife of deceased Zhaken, the cousin of Seifulla, Saken’s father.
[132] Mazar is a place, considered sacred by the Muslims, usually a Muslim enshrined tomb.
[133] Chekmen is a Tatar outer clothing, a kind of man’s knee-length coat, usually made of cloth.
[134] Sary-Torangy means “a yellow poplar”. Here it is used as a name of the area.
[135] Oreken is a polite address to elder Orynbai.
[136] Buen is a blind gut, bai is a rich man. The Kazakhs rarely happen to give such abusing names to their sons.
[137] Hodja Nasyr (Hodge Nasreddin) was a legendary wise man in Islamic tradition, a hero of lots of funny stories.
[138] Kobyz is an ancient Kazakh string instrument, played with a bow.
[139] Kebezhe is a chest for food products.
[140] Abdra is a chest for clothes.
[141] Sube is a mutton chump.
[142] Zhanbas is a mutton croup, served to the honorary guests.
[143] Sirata bridge. According to the Muslim belief, the deceased cross a bridge of the width of a needle in the other world. Who will successfully cross it, will get to the paradise, who will fall down – to the hell. That’s why the Muslims bring sacrifices of cloven-hoofed animals to make it easier to cross Sirata bridge, leading to the paradise.
[144] Cheka is the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution, Speculation, and Sabotage.
