Batukhan

It was spring in the Griadines, in late May, when the harsh mistress of Winter finally beat her retreat, loosening her grip on nature and on people. This year the sky was exceptionally clear and the blossoms of the cherry tree more radiant than the usual, and birdsong re-emerged from hibernation in step with the new leaves. What was absent, however, were the people. Only Batukhan and his brothers in arms can be seen, resting under one such cherry tree. Thin wisps of smoke could be seen in the distance, behind one hill or another. These came from villages which they had set to flame.

The Griadines were never a populous country, being mountainous; during the centuries of  the Settlement of the North, these parts were eschewed in favour of more conducive plains to its north and south. This was the same for most of the Sultanate, which saw the Griadines neglected as an inaccessible backwater. The consequence of this was that when Musa passed by, clad in sackcloth and with a bale of firewood over his shoulders, he followed a trail slightly less overgrown than the ground to either side, and this trail just happened to pass close by Batukhan's cherry tree.

We are reminded, now, that Musa had been a brigand in times before he found his present vocation. Batukhan knew him intimately as a fierce rival, an enemy that besieged his own people. Musa was undeniably a villain, who relished reaping where he did not sow and eventually to get his way by brutal force. It was exactly this greed and avarice which lured him to the monastery at Amatodate, where he was trapped and almost burned to death by the fire he started himself. Batukhan, who had led his loyal brothers in valiant defense against his onslaughts, was gratified with his downfall when the news of his downfall had reached Shurikoi. Presently he was surprised that Musa was still up and about — he had assumed for some time that the scoundrel had died.

As the lumbering figure with the firewood drew closer, it became undeniable that the sackcloth-draped creature was Musa of Abisheganaden, the skullduggerering family of the Griadas. His build was formidable, to the effect that Batukhan regarded him as swollen and grotesque as a buffalo. His huge dark face was set contemptibly in a perpetual scowl, his eyes set to the distance, unfocused on anything in his immediate surroundings. His lips moved, as if in conversation with an unseen companion, but his words were not audible.

Batukhan and his men emerged from the shade, and spread themselves to block Musa's path. Musa did not respond, only stopped in his tracks, and waited for them to leave. His eyes still had the distant look, and his lips also moved. Batukhan led the verbal assault, jeering at him; for the Shurikoi had prevailed and the Abisheganaden had been vanquished in this feud, and the former now shines with pride, now undeniably the victors. Truly, they have proven to be the true heirs of Qashlik, qualified to trace their illustrious lineages to Manas, who kidnapped all his seventy-two wives, to Yermak, who conquered the entire continent of Russia, and to Mehmet, who stormed the gates of Constantinople and brought the most humiliating deaths upon his foes, men, women, or children, with all their progeny enslaved in perpetuity. What has Musa to show for after all this time?

Musa's lips had stopped moving as he listened to Batukhan's boasts. When Batukhan had finished, Musa's eyes were watching him. The blank scowl he had worn before became sorrowful and downcast, and he replied: "I am now Servant to the Slave."

"Where you, dear Batukhan, are now swelling to a stature of a King, while only just short of being royalty; I have gone to the most wretched swamps of the Griadas. I live on locusts and wild oats, and maggots are my sleeping companions. No riches have I kept in my long life as a bandit; as easily as I tear it off the arms of the weak, I lose them in the span of a moment."

"I coveted the treasures of Amatodate, the magical source of wealth in its crypts, from where the peaceful keepers of that sanctuary took all they needed to live, as soon as they wished it. Only when I killed them all and set their home ablaze, I realized what it was, and it burned me." And he began choking and retching on his own tears. "It burned me and I did not even have a voice to scream with, so much was my anguish."

"I was a murderer; I maimed and I raped and I stole, fearing the wrath of no deity. I have wronged you and many others. I am fearful even to ask for forgiveness."

Batukhan did not seem gratified with this response. He later reflected that he had expected and hoped Musa to hold his own, to respond in kind, to throw an insult in retaliation, or an impotent curse, if just to amuse his company. He was disappointed that the man he once regarded as a formidable enemy has come through as wretched as a mealworm. He felt in some sense that Musa's act had diminished his achievements as leader of his militia. In view of this it made sense that Batukhan's immediate reaction was disgust, and he set his men to rain punches and kicks upon Musa, scattering his firewood, as what they would have done to any unlucky vagrant who dared stray too near to them.

When they came to disrobe him, however, they realized that Musa Abisheganaden's body was riddled with pockmarks and welts, as if four plagues had passed through him from his time serving the poor. At the same time, his bare body released a waft so pungent that the proud men of Shurikoi then decided that it was beneath their gallant duties even to trample this bandit into the ground, and left in haste, leaving him writhing on the ground in pain.

Fr. Damien de Veuster (St. Damien of Molokai)
Arterra Image Library