Brother Lamb

Two Orphans
They walk ahead.
The road in the heat is hard...
The sun burns,
And the dust swirls.
No river, no spring...

Sister Manush, the elder,
Endured the journey bravely.
She could bear the thirst,
But her little brother could not.

They walk and walk, and they see
A deep track, with water standing in it.
"Sister dear, I'm so thirsty!
Will you let me drink, sister, yes?"

"No, little brother, that's a cow's track—
If you drink, you'll turn into a cow at once.
Let's endure a little longer. Just a bit more:
We'll soon find a cool spring."

Two orphans
They walk ahead.
The road is so far...
The sun burns,
And the dust swirls.
No river, no spring...

They walk and walk, and they see
A hoofprint, with water in it.
"Sister dear, I'm so thirsty!
Will you let me drink, sister, yes?"

"No, little brother, that's a horse's track—
If you drink, you'll turn into a horse at once.
Let's endure a little longer. Just a bit more.
Soon, soon we'll find a spring."

Two orphans
They walk ahead.
The road is so far...
The sun burns,
And the dust swirls.
No river, no spring...

They walk and walk, and they see—
A small track filled with water.
And the brother can't endure any longer:
He secretly scoops water with his hand.

The sister turns around: where is her brother?
A little lamb is following behind.
The lamb looks at her with pleading eyes
And, bleating sadly, runs ahead...

Poor Manush! What can she do?
She wrings her hands in tears.
And the little lamb-brother runs after her.
Fear and sorrow are in his eyes.

Two orphans
They walk ahead.
Manush and the lamb, together,
Walk in tears...
How sad it is here,
In this unknown, foreign land!

They walk. Hunger and heat torment them.
They walk, not knowing where...
And suddenly—trees rustle with leaves,
A spring, and the water rings.

The orphans drink their fill, leaning to the water.
Then the sister climbs a tree,
And the brother tastes the fragrant grass.
The meadow is bright with colorful flowers.

But suddenly—hoofbeats, neighing, and laughter
In the evening forest, once quiet and empty.
The sounds grow closer, and in those sounds
Are songs, laughter, and the crunch of branches.

And then, with a golden bridle jingling,
Servants lead a horse to the water.
But what in the spring frightens the horse?
It rears up, as if sensing trouble.

The servants look, and in the spring
A beautiful face is reflected.
A breeze passes nearby,
And the face ripples in the water's stream.

They look up, and there
A beauty, bright as the dawn,
Sits, clinging to the branches,
And watches, saying nothing.

What wonders there are on earth!
Everyone marvels deep in their hearts:
How did such a marvel come to the forest,
Sitting silently on a wild tree?

"Who are you? A vision or a human?
If a vision, vanish, disappear.
If human—come down from the branches,
We'll find the best lodging for you."

"Who are you? Where are you from? We don't know,
How you ended up among us.
What sorrow, friend,
Brought you to the forest at this late hour?"

"The sorrow of orphanhood brought us
To this forest wilderness,"
From the tree answers
Our modest Manush.
"We have no home, no family
In this vast earthly world.
Night approaches. It's scary alone
In the dark forest night."

Diamonds and amber glow in the palace...
The orphans are brought to the royal chambers.
"Beauty, who are you?" exclaimed the king.
"Why is this silent lamb with you?"

And so Manush told him
What I've told in these verses.
"Long live the king on his throne,
May he sort out our affairs."

The king listened to the orphans' sad tale.
Manush was pleasing to his eyes.
And he takes her as his wife.
He feasts for seven days and seven nights.

Manush forgot about the hard days,
She knows no refusal in anything.
And the lamb-brother in the lush gardens
Grazes, content with his life.

Living in the palace, envious and wicked,
Was an old servant woman. The villain
One day was consumed by black envy,
That everyone loved the orphan girl.

And the old woman, hiding her malice,
Enters the queen's chambers—and flatters her:
"Come, my queen, my beauty,
Let me take you to bathe quickly!"

And so, having deceived her, she leads her to the water,
Throws her into the lake's depths,
And dresses her own daughter in Manush's clothes,
Sending her to the king as his wife.

Her face is hidden under thick fabric.
The deceiver enters the royal palace.
The ruler believes her to be his wife,
She wears the royal crown.

But what happened to the lamb?
He won't be lured home.
Along the shore, bleating, he makes a circle—
And runs back to the other shore.

What to do with the lamb?
He won't leave.
Thinking, the old woman decided:
Let her daughter pretend to be ill.
And she laid her in bed.

They bring her dishes—this and that,
And beg her to eat a little.
The pretender looks at nothing
And asks for lamb meat to be brought.

"Manush, Manush, but this is your brother!
Do sisters really eat their brothers?!"
The deceiver continues her game:
"Bring me what I command, now!
I'm dying!" she cries. "I'll die!"
And the king issues a terrible order:
"Light the fires,
Sharpen the knives,
Kill the lamb
And bring the meat
To the queen in bed,
So she won't be ill."

He issued the order and with secret sorrow,
With secret sorrow, he wandered by the water,
And thought sadly: "How could
My dear Manush be so cruel?"

And the rocks around weep.
And the lamb-brother bleats and cries,
And rushes, poor thing, by the shore,
And cries in a human voice:

"Sister dear! Sister dear!
They're lighting the fires,
They're lighting the fires!
The knives are sharp!
Sister dear! Sister dear!
Hear me,
Save me from the fire!"

And the king hears, full of wonder—
A voice rises from the blue waves.
A familiar voice, muffled and faint,
Calling and tenderly tormenting his ears:
"Brother dear! Brother dear!
My homeless one,
Your sister is not with you,
My lamb, dear!
I languish at the bottom,
In the dark, in the depths.
I see no day,
No one hears me.
The deceiver is wicked!
The deceit is terrible!
Doom has come,
My lamb, dear!"

The king heard—and hurried home.
He tears the covers from the queen,
Tears them off and sees—oh, my God,
Who has sat by deceit on the royal throne?
"Here, fishermen, bring your nets quickly!
Retrieve Manush, my dove!
Here, executioners, into the watery depths
Throw the old woman and the snake-daughter!"

The king raged. Nothing could calm him...
Behind him, the outraged people roar.
The fisherman throws his net into the lake—
Manush is pulled from the deep waters.

Manush is pulled out and carried to the throne.
But who stands beside her, so fair?
The brother has shed his lamb's skin and now
Looks nothing like a lamb.

The lamb has become a handsome youth—
Broad shoulders, intelligent gaze.
Not with pitiful bleating does he open his mouth—
He speaks with a living human voice.

And those who took rights by deceit—
The wicked old woman and the lying daughter—
With millstones tied around their necks,
Are thrown into the lake that same night.

No longer sad
Are sister and brother.
They've forgotten the terrible dream.
And again there is peace,
And life is a feast.
And evil—at the bottom of the lake.

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Brother Lamb

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