Maung Tun Thu - Olesia

Chapter ( 1 )

Yamola, the woodcutter who was my servant, cook, and companion on hunting trips, entered the room carrying a bundle of firewood and threw it from his shoulder onto the floor.

And...

He was blowing on his fingers, which were too cold and numb, to warm them up.

"It's very windy outside, sir."

He said to me, sitting cross-legged in front of the stove.

"I'll have to light the stove again, I'll use your lighter."

"If this continues, I don't think we'll be able to go hunting tomorrow, Yamola."

"Hey.. This is not easy to do. In this season, rabbits usually hide in low places. If we go out tomorrow, we won't find any footprints."

I had the opportunity to stay in Paraboro village for six months.

Parabrod is a small, little-known village in the Voronezh region, a border region of the Polesie province.

During my stay in this village, my main occupation was hunting.

To be honest, I never thought for a moment that I would be so unbearably bored when I found out I was going to this southern region.

I was completely satisfied with the trip I was about to take.

“The Polesie region is a very remote region. You will see the best natural landscapes, and you will also encounter honest and very ancient customs and traditions.”

I was delighted with my own imagination on the train.

"You must see strange customs, hear strange words, and hear strange poetry."

I thought about it, etc. At that time...

A short story I wrote has already appeared in an obscure newspaper, so isn't it a literary fact that a writer should study customs?

Anyway, I'm not very close to the farmers in Parabro village.

Is this because the farmers themselves are not very friendly and are too stubborn?

Or maybe it's because I don't know how to be friendly with them. I can't say.

When the villagers saw me from a distance, they took off their hats.

When he walked past me, he was so calm and collected.

“May God protect you”

They murmured.

But if I stop and try to talk to them, they stare at me in amazement, their eyes wide open.

Then they didn't answer any of my questions.

They show no sign of understanding even the easiest questions.

Rather than try to talk back to me, they would repeatedly try to hold my hand and kiss it, a tradition that dates back to the days of the old Polish serfs.

Finally, unable to cope, I tried to relieve my boredom by reading the books that came with it.

Soon, the job became a boring chore.

Then I thought it would be good to meet and talk to local experts.

Actually, I don't like that idea.

In any case, if the idea is to be implemented, there is a situation where it can be done.

About ten miles from where I live, there lives a Polish priest, and a pianist lives with him.

In addition, there is a rural police officer, a clerk who is responsible for maintaining farmland in the surrounding area, and a retired officer.

Putting that idea into practice is no different.

This is how I imagined the villagers of Parabro.

The medicines I have with me, such as castor oil, carbolic acid, boric acid, and tincture of iodine, might be useful for external diseases, right?

However, I have very little experience and knowledge in the medical field.

Meanwhile, all the patients who came to me talked about their illnesses, and they all said the same thing, "I have a stomachache" and "I can't eat or drink," which was a common refrain among those who had consulted with each other beforehand. It was very difficult for me to try to come up with a diagnosis.

Let's say... ,

An old woman patient came in. Her face was pale due to the pain she was suffering.

He poked his nose with his right index finger and took out two eggs that had been stuck in his chest and dropped them on my table.

Then he grabbed my hands and tried to kiss me.

I took both of his hands back and spoke a warning.

"That's enough, Grandma. Don't do it again. I'm not a monk. You shouldn't do this to me, Grandma. Why now?"

"My stomach hurts, my heart hurts. I can't eat or drink."

“When did it start?” “How do you know?” he said.

"It just hurts, it hurts, and then I can't eat or drink anymore."

I'm trying to figure out what other symptoms are associated with the disease.

However, it was in vain.

A retired officer once told me about this kind of thing.

"You're worried, don't worry. They'll go away on their own in time. I only use one medicine. No other. Zawetsar powder. When a farmer comes, I ask, "What's the matter?" If he answers, "I'm sick," I stick the Zawetsar bottle in his nose.

“Now... breathe this in,” he asked. He took one breath. I said , “ Take another breath. Take another breath.” He did as I asked. “What? You’re feeling better after sitting down, aren’t you?” I asked .

" It feels a little lighter." Then I ...

"Now... now ... go, you'll be fine soon," he said, and I did the same."

While I was getting annoyed with the habit of grabbing my fingers and kissing them, I also encountered some patients who would kneel at my feet and kiss my shoes.

This practice is not done out of gratitude or out of a sense of gratitude.

They do this because the habits that came with the era of serfdom are deeply ingrained.

When faced with such behavior, retired officers and rural police officers can remain calm.

They could watch with unwavering faces as the villagers' lips touched the tops of their shoes.

Thus, I figured that the only way to escape the boredom I faced every day was to hunt.

Actually, you can't do hunting whenever you want.

By the end of January, the weather often becomes so bad that hunting is impossible.

The wind blows every day.

In the evening, the snow is hard on the ground, making it difficult for predators to leave tracks.

So, sitting with the door closed and listening to the wind blowing outside, I felt a pang of boredom.

That is why I have been trying my best to teach my student Kyaw Yamola how to read and write.

This is how he started teaching.

One day, while I was writing a letter, I noticed a man standing behind me.

When he turned around, he saw Yamola.

Yamola, wearing slippers, always arrives without a sound or a sound.

"What's wrong, Yamola?" I asked.

T “It’s nothing, I’m just looking at it because I want to see it. Well… I also want to write like a teacher. Ha … no. I’m not saying it’s like a teacher. I’m just saying I want to write my name.”

"Why?" I asked, surprised.

In fact, isn't Yamola considered by the entire village to be the poorest and laziest farmer?

Furthermore, he squandered all the money he earned from logging and crops on alcohol.

And the cows he owned were the leanest and weakest in this neighborhood.

In my opinion, I don't think he needs to be educated.

So I asked him again.

"What are you doing that makes me want to write your name?"

"Here you go, teacher."

“There is no one in this village who can read or write. When there is a matter to sign, no one can sign. And when there is a district representative position, no one can enter. The village headman does the sealing. But he has no idea what is written on the paper he seals. So he signs his own signature.

"He must be the luckiest man in our village."

The entire village considered Yamola to be a thief by name, but also a scoundrel who was always on the move.

Therefore, all the seekers do not take anything he says seriously.

However, I not only took his view of the village seriously, but also felt sad.

This way, I guarantee that I will teach him.

However, the task of teaching him to read and write was a very difficult one.

When it comes to the paths in the forest, he remembers every path.

When it comes to trees in the forest, I know almost every tree.

Whether it's day or night, he knows where the path he's taking is heading.

Just by looking at the footprints, you can tell them apart with precision: wolf tracks, rabbit tracks, fox tracks, etc.

However, I don't understand at all how the letters "अ" and "म" are combined systematically to form "अमे".

I don't understand at all.

"My eyes are wide open as I look at the letters that should be read, 'A, A

“Read it, Yamola, read it as mother, Arey, Sawai, Ma, read it as mother”

I insisted.

"Don't stare at the paper, look at me. Oh... okay, now ... read it."

Yamola let out a long sigh and answered bluntly.

"No, I can't read."

"Why can't you read? It's so easy. I just say it like that. Now... say, "Oh, my God, I'm sorry, Mom."

"I can't sing, teacher. I forgot."

Yamola is a disappointingly intelligent person.

No matter what method you use, nothing will work.

However, his desire to study has not diminished in the slightest.

"If you can write my name, that's great, sir," he said to me softly.

"It's okay if you don't know anything else, as long as you can write my name "Yamola" it's enough."

Eventually, I gave up on teaching him to read and write and focused on teaching him to sign his name.

I noticed that it was easier for him this way.

By the end of the second month, he was able to sign his name.

When night came, he lit a fire.

And then I patiently waited for the time to call him.

"Now... come on ... Yamola, let's study together."

I called.

Then he rose from his seat as usual and sat down at the table.

He supported the table with both elbows and held the pen with his large, strong fingers.

And then raise your eyebrows...

" Shall I write?" he asked.

"Okay..let 's start writing"

He started writing his name with the first two letters, "Yapetch".

After finishing the writing, he looked up at me.

There was a look on his face that reflected the desire to ask something.

"Why did you stop writing? Have you forgotten again?"

"Yes," he muttered, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Are you a strange person? Come on.. try drawing a horse's hoof. "

“Oh... that's right, horse hoof ... horse hoof, yes ... I know.”

His face brightened.