Climbing curve after curve up the rough serpentine road, Saosh Yant had time to admire the beauty of this magnificent place. He stopped on a bend to take a short rest and recover his breath. Wiping off sweat that blurred his eyes, he listened to the heart that seemed to be throbbing in his entire body, ready to escape his chest. It repeated every time, “THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP! AL-TAI!.. AL-TAI!.. TICK-TACK!.. AL-TAI!..”
Saosh glanced down and saw the wonderful, majestic gorge, its steep, unscalable dark gray walls stretching both ways. The murmuring waterfalls that streamed down from them. The bed of the tumultuous river that sent its turbid, impetuous waters toward Lake Teletskoe. Then he cast up his eyes at the stately, tranquil and stern snow-capped mountains standing against the dazzling blue of the sky, where a lonely hawk was circling, spreading its wings.
“There it is, my Altai!” he thought proudly. “It’s only in such places, where the natural forces and the audacity of man meet face to face, that you begin to understand the whole beauty and power of the Creator, who has made all of this. And how many more places like this one there are in my country!”
Having feasted his eyes upon the beautiful view and regained strength, he continued the ascent. Saosh covered the rest of the path and came to the top of the gorge, where was an observation site with many obos – heaps of stones put one on top of the other. Stopping at one of them, he thought:
“Eh, today people don’t understand what these pyramids mean. They make a wish, take the first stone they see, put it into the pile and think that it will bring them closer to the fulfillment of their dearest wish. Forgetting that they are taking the soft option, making no efforts at all. But in the past people used to bring these stones with them. There were sacramental texts and prayers carved out in them. Some of them would weigh ten kilograms or more. Before going to the holy places the pilgrims used to spend a lot of time preparing, inscribing these texts with their own hands. They kept a fast and prayed, collecting subtle energy. And when they, overcoming themselves, tired, exhausted, strained to the limit, plucked up their courage and finally got to these holy places, they felt so strong and powerful that their wishes quickly reached the Gods. And the Gods granted them these wishes. But things are different now. A man thinks that if he gets in a car and goes to the place in comparative comfort, then takes the first stone he likes (the lovelier the better) and puts it in the pile of similar stones, he will achieve his goal. But the Gods can’t hear him. Because his state doesn’t come up to his wish. It is still nothing but a weak, chaotic impulse of a relaxed man, who lives with the conveniences and comfort of a sick society. NO-O-O! I don’t want to be like that! I don’t want the Gods to pay no heed to my prayers. I want to become a Great Kam. And I am ready to do even the impossible, even what is beyond my powers. I know and understand that’s the only way for me to gain the powers of a shaman!”
Saosh Yant stood on the observation site a bit longer, deep in thought, admiring the beauty of the gorge stretched below, and then directed his steps along the path, upward. One more day walking along the steadily ascending road, and he reached the place shown to him by the spirits. Here was Kudai Kam’s dwelling.
