Guru Geethaya by Chingiz Aitmatov (Translator – Dadigama V. Rodrigo) Download the Attachment (Pahalin Thiyen Link eka Click karala File. Author, Dadigama V Rodrigu. ISBN, Publisher, SAMEERA PUBLICATIONS. Pages, Size, x x cm. Weight, Our Price, Rs. HomeĀ» Fiction, Novels, Sinhala Book, Sinhala Fiction, Sinhala Novels, Sinhala Translation NovelsĀ» Guru Geethaya by Chinghiz Aitmatov.

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Then why do you murmur so sadly, so mournfully?

No one forced us to go and freeze in that icy barn. Friends and strangers, the old and the young, they all wanted to shake her hand. The sun was sinking where the sky met the blurred lilac line of the steppe. Guri poplar trees also have a significant role in the story.

Lost Duishen(First Teacher) – Chinghiz Aitmatov – (Guru Geethaya)

Posted by Dini at 8: Then Soviet power was established, the bey went away, abandoning his property. Would you like to see inside? In the bluish paling half-light I pore over the Out of my yard with you!

But, of course, they should have stopped to consider why this young fellow, who was as good as they were in every way, took the trouble to teach their children, doing it with such amazing staunchness, such extraordinary persistence, undaunted by difficulties, hardships, sneers and insults. Peering into the bluish distance we would see more land whose existence we never suspected and rivers we knew nothing about, glimmering silver threads in the distance.

Who, I ask you? At the end of every month Duishen went to the regional center to report on his work. I wanted to ask why she was doing it, but I did not dare. You’ve got a crowd together, go ahead and head them to school, there’s nothing for you here. Altynai, who was sitting next to me, started nervously as though suddenly remembering something, and asked me what Duishen they were talking about.

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And clinging to our branches we would wonder: Afterwards, squatting in front of the fire which I had to tend, I wept quietly, without a sound, as I stroked our gray cat which always seemed to know when I was in trouble and would jump into my lap to comfort me. I met her when I too, became a townsman.

But I could not sleep. Come, sit in front of the fire, you’re frozen.

I hurried out The wind was howling like a shaman; choking with rage, it would grow still for a moment, and then it would attack you again suddenly, flinging handfuls of stinging snow into your hot face.

Yes, I do believe that it knew why I was running with such light- hearted abandon: Winter was drawing close. He kept his mares there, which had foaled in the winter.

We were up at once, Saikal and I, shaking with fear. There, at their foot, I left my childhood, like a broken piece of green magic glass My aunt gave him no answer and pounded the millet with vicious fury. In the bluish paling half-light I pore over the sketches for my new picture. Perhaps they would have forgotten all about this school business, if a general meeting had not been called soon after Duishen’s arrival. Till this day I can hear that shout, rising from the very heart, the very depths of his soul.

To make things worse, wolves became a menace. How Duishen stood it I don’t know–he was barefooted and he worked without a pause. At midnight, Kartanbai decided to go to bed.

And on the hill behind the village there are two great poplars. Tall though they are, I could hardly expect to see them from that distance, but to me they are always visible and tangible. Saying this, Satymkul turned his horse about and rode away. What was it to us? I was glad grandmother Saikal was so talkative it made the waiting easier.

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Yes, The novel makes reader emotional all along. So I would just stand, gulping down my bitter tears.

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He was spattered all over with clay and looked startled at first, but then he smiled at us. The neighbors’ kids and I followed him at a run. I shall never forget that portrait. My aunt, who was sitting in front of novrl fire, got up and advanced on me with an ominous scowl.

I waited for him; all my thoughts were of him–a solitary figure braving the windswept snowy steppe. The grandeur of that world was staggering. On the last day of school before our summer holidays began, a crowd of us would go there to rifle birds’ nests, racing up the hill with whoops and yells.

I cannot act differently, because I feel that it is too big for me to handle along. When it dispersed we saw Duishen. Every word he spoke, every letter he taught me to write, were sacred for me. I must have dozed off, for suddenly I was jolted awake. Otherwise he’d have been back hours ago. Ah I have to do now is get in a supply of fuel for the winter, but that’ll be easy, there’s plenty of thistles growing all around.