The Serpent's Son Otsamanuk and Arevmanuk, the One Who Angered the Sun

Once upon a time, there was a king. The king had no children. One day, while hunting in the mountains, he saw a snake basking in the sun, playing with its young.
"Look," thought the king, "even a snake has children. But I am childless. I have neither a son nor a daughter, not even a snakelet."
When he returned home, he was told:
"The queen has given birth to a son: a human head and a serpent's body."

The prince was named Otsamanuk, which means "snakelet." No matter what they tried to feed him, he refused everything and demanded human flesh. So, the king ordered that a young girl be brought to the palace every day for the Snakelet's meal.

The turn came for a poor peasant's family. He had two daughters: one his own, the other a stepdaughter. He said to his wife:
"We will take your daughter to the palace."
But the stepmother wanted to send her stepdaughter instead. She started a scandal and argued with her husband until she got her way. She began preparing her stepdaughter for the Snakelet. The girl wept, her father wept, but there was nothing they could do—the next morning, she had to go to the palace.

They went to bed. That night, the girl had a dream. In the dream, someone—she couldn’t tell who—appeared to her and said: "Do not be afraid. Take a jug of milk, a knife, and a bull’s hide with you. Wrap yourself in the hide, approach Otsamanuk the Snakelet, cut the serpent skin off him, and wash him with milk. You’ll see what happens."

In the morning, the girl said to her father:
"Do not cry, father. Let what will be, be. But I want to take a jug of milk, a knife, and a bull’s hide with me." The peasant prepared everything his daughter asked for and, with a heavy heart, led her to the Snakelet. The poor girl was taken to one of the rooms in the royal palace, and the door was locked behind her. The girl looked around: the dimly lit hall seemed enormous, its walls shrouded in darkness. Without wasting time, she wrapped herself in the bull’s hide, hiding the knife against her chest. The jug of milk stood on the floor, close by.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling sound. Through a small gap in the folds of the bull’s hide, she saw Otsamanuk crawl toward the jug of milk and begin to drink. After taking a few sips, he stopped: the narrow neck of the jug wouldn’t allow him to drink more. Then Otsamanuk coiled himself into a ring, laid his head on his tail, and fell asleep.

As soon as this happened, the girl threw off the bull’s hide and, with quick movements of the knife, cut the serpent skin off Otsamanuk. Then she took the jug of milk and began to wash the prince’s body with it. After his entire body was washed with milk, Otsamanuk woke up and began to thrash in convulsions, so violently that his tail knocked the girl off her feet. Staggering, she fell, knocking out her front tooth, and lost consciousness.

When the girl came to, she saw a handsome young man leaning over her. Looking around, she saw the broken jug, the bull’s hide, and the serpent skin.
"Yes, it’s me," said the young man. "You saved me. The curse is broken. I am now human." The joy of the king and queen knew no bounds. Without hesitation, they arranged a wedding: the girl gladly agreed to marry Prince Otsamanuk.

As was customary, the girl’s parents—her father, stepmother, and stepsister—were invited to the wedding feast. The feast lasted seven days and seven nights, but on the eighth day, disaster struck: enemies attacked the kingdom. Otsamanuk gathered an army and marched against them.

Meanwhile, the stepmother, consumed by envy, decided to replace the bride. The chaos in the city and the palace helped her, as did the fact that the two girls looked very much alike. Dressing her own daughter in the wedding dress, the stepmother left her in the palace, while secretly leading the peasant’s daughter—Otsamanuk’s wife—out of the city and abandoning her alone in a distant forest. The girl wandered through the forest for a long time until she came upon a small hut. There lived a husband and wife who had a golden-haired, handsome son named Arevamanuk, which means "child of the sun." Arevamanuk was very proud of his beauty and strength, which had made him arrogant and haughty.

Arevamanuk’s family took the poor girl in. Their son, Arevamanuk, befriended her. Friendship turned into affection, affection into infatuation, and infatuation into love. Soon, the girl became Arevamanuk’s wife.

One day, Arevamanuk was hunting in the forest. He saw a young man standing by the riverbank, glowing as if on fire.
"Who are you?" asked Arevamanuk.
"I am Arekag—a sunbeam," came the reply.
"What are you doing here? Trying to burn down the forest? Get out of here!" Arevamanuk said fiercely, raising his sword.
"So, a sunbeam troubles you? Very well, then know this: the night that comes tonight will be eternal for you. You will only be able to live at night. And woe to you if a ray of sunlight falls upon you—you will perish instantly. So, do not waste time and build yourself a shelter," said Arekag, flashed with fire, and disappeared.

Fear gripped Arevamanuk. He rushed to build a hut, and once it was built, he dared not show himself in daylight. Arevamanuk’s wife went searching for her husband and found him in a remote corner of the forest, in the hut. He told her everything, revealing the terrible curse upon him. She decided to stay with him in the hut, refusing to abandon him in his time of need.

Soon, they had a son.
"You must leave here and go to the people," said Arevamanuk. "Otherwise, our son will grow wild in the forest."
He wrote a letter and gave it to his wife. She took the child and, coming to Arevamanuk’s parents’ home, handed them the message from their son.
Arevamanuk wrote: "I am sending my wife and son to you, but I cannot be anywhere in daylight except my hut, or else I will perish." Arevamanuk's parents joyfully welcomed their daughter-in-law and grandson. One day, they heard their daughter-in-law rocking the child in the dark.

"Sleep, my son, lullaby," she murmured.
And a male voice echoed:
"Lullaby."

They wondered: who could it be? They pressed the daughter-in-law with questions, and eventually, she confessed.
"It is your son," she said. "He comes at night, wanting to see his little son. But do not invite him into the house. He must always return to his hut by dawn, or death will strike him."

The old couple waited for nightfall. They sneaked into the garden and saw their daughter-in-law walking and rocking the child in her arms. Suddenly, they heard someone call her and quietly make his way through the trees. They looked closer and saw it was their son. They grabbed him, kissed him, hugged him, and dragged him into the house.

"Do not touch me," Arevamanuk pleaded. "I cannot enter the house, I cannot stay with you—I will perish."

His parents did not believe him. They brought him inside, fed him, gave him drink, and talked to him. Arevamanuk forgot everything, but at the first ray of sunlight, he fell to the ground, and his breath ceased. Yet, a faint spark of life still lingered within him. His mother and father wept, tearing their hair, but they could do nothing.

The next night, Arevamanuk's mother had a dream. Someone appeared to her in the dream—she could not tell who—and said: "Get up quickly, put on iron shoes, take an iron staff, and go west. Where your shoes wear out and your staff breaks, you will find the means to revive your son."

The mother rose, put on the iron shoes, took the iron staff, and went west. She walked for a long time—not a year, not two. She passed through the land of the white people, then the land of the black people, until only birds flew around her and beasts roamed. Then even they disappeared, and she reached the edge of the earth. At the edge of the earth stood a beautiful palace of blue marble. She approached the palace, and there her iron staff split, and her iron shoes wore through. She passed through an archway into a luxurious garden, walked through it, and saw another blue arch. She passed through twelve gardens and twelve arches and entered a blue bedroom where a thousand stars lay quietly sleeping.

She went further and saw a golden divan, and on it sat the Queen of Light—Luyis, the mother of Arekag, the golden sunbeam. Seeing Arevamanuk's mother, she said:

"Why have you come to me, woman?"
"I have come to beg you to restore my son's life," the wanderer replied with a bow.
"You raised a bad son," Queen Luyis answered. "You spoiled him. He became wicked and wanted to kill Arekag, my son."

Arevamanuk's mother bowed her head, blushed with shame, and said:
"You are right, O Queen, but he has suffered greatly and changed. Forgive him, restore his life. You are a mother, and I am a mother—you must understand me."
"Let it be so," sighed Queen Luyis. "Hide there, behind the pearl curtain. Night will soon fall on earth, and Arekag, the sunbeam, will return home. He will bathe in the pool, and when he emerges, scoop some of that water and use it to wash your son."

As soon as she said this, Arekag entered, shining with fire, and immersed himself in the pool. When he emerged, Arevamanuk's mother scooped the water and, with a full jug, began her journey back. She washed Arevamanuk with the sunlit water, and he revived, the curse lifted from him.

News of this miracle spread far and wide, and Otsamanuk, who had returned from war, heard of it. As soon as he arrived at the palace, he realized his wife had been replaced. He went to Arevamanuk to seek advice from his mother, hoping she might help him find his wife, without whom he would still be a snake.

Otsamanuk was warmly received, seated at the table, and served. He told them everything in detail, and when he reached the part where the girl who saved him fell back and broke her front tooth, the daughter-in-law smiled, and a golden incisor gleamed in her mouth. Otsamanuk recognized his beloved wife. Everyone was bewildered and did not know what to do.

Otsamanuk took Arevamanuk aside and said:
"You are not to blame, Arevamanuk, and neither am I. Such is our fate. Let us test destiny. We will feed her salty khoravats, and each of us will hold a glass of water. Whoever she asks for water will be her husband."

They mounted their horses and rode into the field. The wife came out with the child in her arms and called:
"Arevamanuk!"
He dismounted and was about to offer her water when she called:
"Otsamanuk!"
He also dismounted. Standing between them, the woman said:
"Arevamanuk, here is your son. I give him to you—raise him. I will go with Otsamanuk, for I am his lawful wife."

She took a glass of water, drank it, and left with Otsamanuk. Three apples fell from the sky: one for the storyteller, one for the listener, and one for the one who took it to heart.

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