Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1903-02-20
THE AP0STATE.
a Bsshkir story of Love and Hate.

n Bashkr Story of Love and Hate.
Tho Young Bashkir Mussa was
.o.nv years old. and the beautiful
va,tm. the daughter of Risney, was
also twenty years of age Makhras
r..s were darker than the wings of a
ro1E and rounder than the moon.
Nr-.a loved to gaze at her eyes, and
nj m-ht he often roamed stealthly
among the pine trees which grew be-
hind Risncy's hut. Everything went
rism with the lovers until the old
sgudercr Ultarbay told Mussas father
of his sons love affair. The stern
old man was enraged because his son
was trying to deceive him. He gave
him a sound thrashing. and i'm
m.d'atcly directed his footsteps to
Ri,ueys house.
For some reason or other Mussas
father had never been on friendly
terms with old Risney. He was very
angry as he entered his house. With
ont greeting Risney, who was the
chief of the village, he commenced to
reproach him for neglecting to look
after his daughter. 81 should not wish
nv horse to have such a name as your
daughter has made for herself, Ris-
ney.' he said.
The chief turned pale; his hands be-
gan to culver, and he exclaimed:
"You have never liked me, Afaton
therefore | cannot take your words for
granted. I'll speak to my daughter in
YOUR presence. But beware: you shall
fare i'll if it is SANDER that speaks in
you
"Makhra. come I'M" he ordered
angrlly clapping his hands.
The young girl entered the hut
slowly and cast down her eyes.
"Is it true that you love Mussa ?"
the chief asked in a stern voice.
ut is true, father" replied Makhra;
81 do love him."
without your fathers order?"
Makhra shuddered and maintained
silence.
"Begone." cried Risney hoarsely
"You are not my daughter any
longer."
You were right, Aflaton." he turned
to the guest You have brought me
i'll fortune"
But what is the use of talking
now?" Afaton interrupted him ut
is too late and we must act. Tell me-
how much do you want for your daugh-
ter? | don't want my son to act dis
honestly"
Two mares and five rams" said
Risney. You are the richest man in
the village. This is a trife to you"
Afaton made wry face and clasped
his hands
you must have been drinking too
much koumiss today" he said, burst
ing into laughter. you want two
horses for that girl of yours, For two
horses l can surely get a better bride
for my son. What good is there in
your daughter? She's as thin as a
herring,"
Old Risney grew pale. but said moth
ing in reply.
Really, think it over. or it will be
too late" said the guest with a sheer.
You are my guest" cried the chief
in a trembling voice, but remember
that a guest must also respect the
host"
Il am simply telling you the truth, P"
said Afaton. IF you don't change
your mind your daughter will not be
my sons wife"
She shall not be his wife under any
circumstances" calculated Risney
slowly. "She shall not be his wife
don't want it,"
The worse it will be for YOU"
sneered Aflaton. eff you wish to
know the truth, I would not give you
even one horse for your daughter"
"Begone!" Numbered Risney rising
10 his feet, his eyes flashing fire.
And Afiaton left the house before the
bargain was closed.
This was the end of the matter
The fathers prohibited their children
to meet again, and when Risney once
caught Mussa and Ma,;hra speaking to
each other among the pine trees, he
gave them a fearful thrashing.
Then Mussa ran away from home,
penniless, with his fathers curse upon
his head. His father told him that he
would not give a dead dog for Makhra.
Mussa ran away to look for work in
the city. Not knowing the Russian
language. ragged and penniless, it was
hard for him to find work. He had to
pass many a day in police stations,
among Migrants, thieves, and pau
pers.
All Bashkirs who leave their people
and go to work in the cities suffer in a
similar way. The Russians regard
them with suspicion and contempt,
and their own people renounce them
as apostates.
Three years had elapsed since Mussa
left his home-three years of suffer
ing and humiliation and hard labor.
After long hesitation, Mussa resolved
to go back to his native village of
Mainuki. He decided to go there on
foot. so as not to spend the scanty
savings he had scraped together as a
waiter in a restaurant. There was
distance of about one hundred and
nifty miles between the city and the
village, but as the winter was very
severe the distance seemed much lon
ger, Illtreated by the Russians on the
way, finding no shelter in time of