A Nenets Shaman-Motif Narrative (tādieibtso), collected by M. A. Castrén (fieldwork 1842–1849, pub. 1940)
This is the fifth of the nineteen songs in Castrén's Nenets collection, and the only shaman-motif narrative (tādieibtso) among them — a genre distinct from both the heroic songs (sjudbabts') that make up songs 1–4 and 7–10, and the euphoria songs and laments that close the collection. The tādieibtso places shamanic contest at the centre of the narrative: a boy who cannot be caught, a shaman who dismantles his own body to apprehend him, and the spirits of the underworld through which both must pass.
The story begins simply — a grandmother, a boy, a swing — and escalates into one of the most extraordinary sequences in Uralic oral literature. The boy's transformations (hazel-hen, spark, water, ash, hair) belong to the shapeshifting tradition common across circumpolar shamanism. The Wahelje-Alte (the old shaman) progressively sacrifices his own limbs — first one leg, then the other, then his hands, then his torso — until only his rolling head remains, still shamanizing, still giving orders. The image of a severed head bouncing on the floor of a tent, threatening to eat everyone if they fail again, is both terrifying and darkly comic, faithful to the oral tradition's capacity for the grotesque.
The underworld passage (verses 85–105) preserves an archaic cosmological geography: the boy descends through the central tent-pole into a dark land where pipers pipe and weepers weep and unseen things claw at his back. He emerges into light to find half-ruined tents — "only tent-poles, no man" — the domain of women alone. The iron swing (Eisenschaukel) that bookends the narrative is a recurring motif in Samoyed mythology, marking a boundary between the ordinary world and the spirit realm.
The ending is devastating in its simplicity: the grandmother, who has been searching for seven months along his tracks, reaches the iron swing just as the boy returns. At the moment of reunion, "her heart broke, and she died." They bury her. The boy settles at the foot of the swing.
The source is M. A. Castrén's fieldwork transcription, published posthumously by T. Lehtisalo as Samojedische Volksdichtung (SUST LXXXIII, Helsinki, 1940). No prior English translation of this song exists. Translation chain: Nenets (oral, 1840s) → Castrén's phonetic field notation → German prose translation (Lehtisalo, 1940) → English (NTAC, 2026). The English is independently derived from the German text.
At the bank of the Willow River
is an old woman —
the son of her son
is with her.
At this place
she lives.
The boy grew bigger.
Without his grandmother's knowing
he ran away.
While he ran
he went far.
"If only I would not lose my way!"
The boy went back.
He lost the tent,
went completely astray.
The child wanders lost.
While he wandered lost
he found a swing.
On this swing
seven months
he plays.
In the seventh month
a caravan came.
The woman's face was beautiful —
further away
she stopped.
They look at each other.
The child plays —
seven days.
After seven days
he thinks:
"I am hungry.
Who might she be?
To fill my belly
I ask indeed!"
The boy went.
The woman fled —
she left her caravan,
in another direction she ran.
The boy ran
behind the woman —
long he runs,
a whole year
he runs.
The boy grew.
At the distance of a lead-rein
he reached her.
From this place
she runs again.
Seven months —
so he wants to catch her.
Outside the catching-range
the woman turns aside.
In the direction before her
is a tent.
The woman went into the tent.
He also
went into the tent.
In the tent is an old man,
an old woman,
a woman on the other side.
Without any trouble —
they eat,
they lay down to sleep.
The old man
covered them both
very firmly.
With iron nails
against the earth
he struck her fast.
"Boy,
your sleep will be bad —
your companion was bad."
The whole night
the boy watched over her,
since he had run so long.
Toward the end of the night
he nodded off.
He woke.
He felt —
her sleeping-place is cold.
Quickly
he stood up.
Around the tent
seven times he went —
she has not gone.
Into the tent he went,
to the rear side he went.
The Simzi tent-pole
he lifted up.
From the lower end of the Simzi
under the earth —
into the lower land —
he went in.
Along a dark place
he runs.
On both sides of him
a piper pipes,
a weeper weeps.
Very fast he runs —
they claw into his back.
In the direction before him
faintly
light became visible.
So he runs —
into the daylight he came out.
Before him are
seven tents.
Half the tents
are only tent-poles —
no man is there.
He entered the tent.
A woman came out,
brought berries,
before the man
all sorts of berries
she placed:
"Man, eat!"
The boy —
not a single berry
he took.
The women
began to laugh
in constant laughter.
He stood up,
again he wandered on.
Long he goes.
In the direction before him —
a hill like a needle.
There he came.
From the summit of the hill
smoke rises.
Up he went.
From there, where the smoke comes,
he looks down:
it was a tent.
Inside the tent were many —
besides their father
his seven sons,
and besides them
a maiden.
It became evening.
He transformed himself into a hazel-hen.
The whole evening
he sings there.
In the tent —
they eat,
they lay down to sleep.
The flame of their fire
went out.
The feet of the hazel-hen slipped.
Into the tent
it fell,
onto the glowing coal.
There it burned —
its belly burst open with a crack.
At the cracking
it leapt up as a spark,
onto the clothing
of the woman in the rear of the tent
it fell.
The clothing burned.
To the breast of the woman it came.
There it sleeps —
at the breast of the woman.
At the waking of the people
from her breast
she lost him.
In this tent
the story stayed.
The boy — where he went,
they do not know.
In the morning
they ate.
The maiden said:
"To my seven elder brothers
I have brought shame.
I do not know if I dreamed,
I do not know what —
a man came.
At the waking of the people
I lost him from my breast."
The old man said:
"Your grandfather
in the other tent —
fetch him,
the Wahelje-Old-Man!"
The young men fetched him.
The Wahelje-Old-Man
shamanized with his drum.
He saw:
"From above
a man came.
In the smoke-opening above
he sat.
The whole evening
as a hazel-hen he sang.
At the darkening
his feet slipped.
Into the tent,
into the fire, he fell.
His belly burst open.
As a spark he leapt
onto the maiden's blanket.
The blanket burned.
The man slept.
Where he went
I do not know.
My thigh — cut it off,
hang it on the cooking-pole!
Until morning
let it hang!"
The old man went
to his tent
with one leg.
The time came.
The Wahelje-Old-Man
came again
with one leg.
His magic drum they hung up.
It drew tight.
Again he shamanized.
The old man does not give up —
on one leg he hops.
The old man said:
"The man of yesterday
came as an ermine,
carried the thigh away.
Where he went
I do not know.
My other thigh —
cut it off!"
Morning came.
The thigh is not
on the cooking-pole.
"On the cooking-pole hang it,
the whole night
keep watch.
When he comes —
try to seize him!"
From this tent
the Wahelje-Old-Man
only on his rear
to his tent came.
In the morning they rose.
On the cooking-pole —
no thigh.
No one had come.
Until the old time came
the old man went —
on his rear
he came back.
They keep watch.
Again he began to shamanize,
only on his rear
he hops straight.
"Truly —
the man was
stronger than I.
My one hand —
from the flat of the hand
it vanished.
Cut it off again,
hang it up again!"
They cut it off.
The hand vanished.
Again he went.
The whole night
they watch there,
on both sides of the fire.
From above
a hair
onto the hand fell.
The hand caught it.
The hand caught the hair
that had fallen upon it.
Day broke.
The hand is not there.
At the old time
the old man came.
He has one hand.
Again he began to shamanize
with one hand.
He does not give up.
To both sides
he sways.
"Truly —
a Samoyed it was.
As a hair
he fell.
The hand
caught him.
From the flat of the hand
he vanished.
The hand vanished
after the hair.
Completely —
I cannot find him.
My other hand
remains.
My torso —
hang it on the cooking-pole!
Perhaps
he will not carry this one away —
it is heavy."
His other hand
and his head
he took with him.
"Well —
keep watch!
The old man is coming.
From every side
hold him tight!"
On the cooking-pole
they hung him.
The whole night,
from both sides of the fire,
they hold fast.
Near daybreak
slowly
he transformed himself into water.
Before the waking
they felt —
he was dripping.
Then they stood up.
They scratch their heads:
"What do we say?
Him —
we have already lost."
At this time
with his one hand
the head of the old man
came back.
"Where did you take
my torso?"
They scratch their heads:
"We do not know at all.
The whole night —
at the dripping
he vanished."
The old man was angry.
"My very last hand I give.
If you lose it —
into my single head
I will eat you."
With his one hand
the old man shamanizes.
His head rolls.
He does not give up:
"How do you not know?
In the ashes of the fire
as Death he sits —
do you not see?
The torso he ate.
I do not know
from where he went.
My last hand —
cut it off!
The whole night
hold fast!
If you lose it —
you I will begin to eat.
All of you I will eat.
On the finger,
on every finger
hold fast!
As many as you are
in the tent —
all together!"
The head of the old man
went rolling
into his tent.
Seven young men,
seven women —
all hold fast.
The one raised by the old woman,
at midnight,
through the smoke-opening
again he came.
He looks at them all.
Twice seven —
one, two
days more
the hand that they hold
will be blown away as ash.
The fingers
of their own companions
they will hold instead.
The hand was blown away
as ash.
The boy took it.
It became a hand.
From where did it go?
Be that as it may —
toward morning
day broke.
Their own companions'
fingers
they hold.
Then they woke.
They weep truly:
"We die truly.
The Wahelje-Old-Man —
what will he say now?"
The time came.
The Wahelje-Old-Man's
head came
rolling
to his old seat.
"Where did you take
my last hand?"
"What shall we say?
At midnight
one another's hands —
firmly
we held them
until daybreak."
"Hang up the magic drum.
One of you — strike it!
I myself will begin to speak."
The old man began to shamanize
with his single head.
Outside —
he does not give up.
From the smoke-opening
he spoke:
"How do you not know?
One another —
their own faces —
by the hand you held."
"We do not know.
As you wish,
so do to us!
Already we have lost."
The Wahelje-Old-Man said:
"Although he is
stronger than I —
seven sacrificial reindeer
sacrifice
in goodness.
As many idols as you have,
smear them
with blood.
The woman's bed
make ready.
In goodness
let it be prepared!
Perhaps
he will come
to the bed.
Going forward —
if we live,
he will come.
Let there be no watchers —
all of you, lie down to sleep!
My skull-bone —
to the end of the cooking-pole
hang it!"
What the old man said,
so they did.
The skull-bone
they hung up.
They ate.
They lay down to sleep.
In the morning —
the one raised by the old woman
on the sleeping-fur
sleeps.
They stood up.
The head of the old man
they took down.
He stood up —
the one raised by the old woman.
"From where
do you come?
Only
us you torment.
My right body
is entirely lost —
where it is
I do not know."
"Fetch the grandfather
from the other tent!
There they live.
As much as he carried away,
as much as he took —
accordingly
he brings it back."
The Wahelje-Old-Man
in goodness,
to his old state,
he restored.
The old man began to live again.
There they lived long.
To his wife he said:
"Your grandfather
in the other tent — fetch him!
I will let him shamanize
about my journey
across the land."
The old woman brought him.
He began to shamanize:
"When you came here
the lands were bad.
Pole-tents
you may have found.
All sorts of berries
they gave you —
you did not eat.
In a dark place,
on both sides,
the weeper wept,
the laugher laughed.
A piper piped —
to catch you
they could not.
The Sky-slope —
your grandfather
destined for you,
but to you
he did not say.
How to go —
into his hand
you came.
For you
he did not determine.
Where to go
he did not say.
Stronger than I —
to this place
you have come.
Now your
elder brother-in-law
shall bring you
only along good places,
past the traps of the Death-spirit too.
The way —
let him bring you.
Tomorrow —
the Sky-slope —
the old man —
be it as it may,
know it not!
Your grandmother,
the one who raised you,
goes
along your tracks
seven months.
Yesterday
she reached
the Iron Swing.
From there, your departure
she cannot find.
There she wanders.
Only along good places
go.
The traps of the Death-spirit too,
if you meet them —
until I arrive
at the Iron Swing
let the traps stand
as they have stood!"
Without any trouble
the seven fishermen
sent on the way
their own younger sister
in goodness.
The eldest fisherman
harnessed his sled.
Then he set out to drive.
The one raised by the old woman —
behind his brother-in-law
he set out to drive.
His wife
behind them
went with her caravan
on the journey.
From this place
at seven traps of the Death-spirit
they came.
So he prays:
"Until I reach
the Iron Swing —
in the old way
let them be set!"
While they drive on
with their caravan —
at the Iron Swing
they arrived.
At the Iron Swing
the old woman
weeps.
The old woman asks:
"Where do you come from?
Of the one raised by the old woman —
anywhere —
have you heard?
I cannot find him.
To this place
he came."
The eldest fisherman
spoke.
At the weeping of the old woman
her heart broke — she died.
Well they buried her.
The one raised by the old woman,
at the foot of the swing,
pitched his camp.
At this place
he lives.
Colophon
Translated from the German prose translation of M. A. Castrén's Nenets fieldwork transcription by the New Tianmu Anglican Church (NTAC), 2026. Source: Samojedische Volksdichtung, gesammelt von M. A. Castrén, herausgegeben von T. Lehtisalo (Suomalais-Ugrilaisen Seuran Toimituksia LXXXIII), Helsinki, 1940, pp. 150–171.
Translation chain: Nenets oral tradition (recorded 1842–1849 in western Siberia) → Castrén's phonetic field notation → German prose translation by T. Lehtisalo (1940) → English (NTAC, 2026). The English is independently derived from the German intermediary text. No prior English translation of this song exists.
Song 5 is the only tādieibtso (shaman-motif narrative) in the collection. The term refers to narratives in which shamanic contest drives the central action, as distinct from the sjudbabts' (heroic songs) that describe warfare and marriage-raids, and the hįnnabts' (ordinary narrative songs) that recount everyday events.
Scribal note: The German text was extracted from the original two-column bilingual PDF using PyMuPDF. OCR artifacts and column-separation challenges required careful reconstruction. Damaged or ambiguous passages were resolved through context, parallel phrasing, and Lehtisalo's editorial notes (pp. 344–350 of the SUST LXXXIII volume). Tādi, Sub-Miko of Tianmu.
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Source Text — Nenets (Castrén's Phonetic Transcription)
The following is the Nenets source text of Song 5 as recorded by M. A. Castrén in his phonetic transcription system, from Samojedische Volksdichtung (SUST LXXXIII, 1940), pp. 150–171. Diacritical marks follow Castrén's notation as preserved in the published edition.
nieru jahan gaeuhana
opoj puhutsea,
njũdie nju danjuwa.
tjikī jahana
tanja jileseti.
atsekī ārma,
hãdanda jermenan
sjurwi0i.
tarem siurumbadahanda
ãna hajeh.
»juhu nierwiam!»
atsekī pūnjāŋ gajeh,
meäta ju'ou,
nūltāda.
pīlipt juhih.
atsekī juhobōrŋa.
tarem juhobōrtahanda
pį0engaim ho,
tjikī pueingahäna
siu jirī
seänakuh.
sībīmdjehenanda
müud toh,
niejéăh
seäta sauvva äevuih,
tanjākuri'
nīdi manjijiengaha
atsekįh seänaku
siu jāle,
siu jāle ŋüäsongana
jīdeä jādalih:
»mį0en harbilajuu?
hübe äebnānd
mį0enn
dieraha hāngartsem!»
atsekį jādalį,
nie hunī,
müudanda haijeda,
taeri jān siurvį0ih.
atsekį niempumna
siurvuih,
pōn siurumbih,
pō jāmbhana
siurumbih.
atsekī waôįh,
opoj mueta jinjan
taewāda.
tjikī jahad
ānin siurumbih,
siu jirī
njamauwan garoā,
njam ueta tjahakuh
nie haltsane.
niervnda njāna
opoj meah,
nie meatn tjũ,
pudo rjōô
meatn tjũ.
meakana wäsakoh
puhutseäh,
nie njãbi häeuan.
hurkkasi karasih
ouortjā,
hōnaeid,
waäsako ja
tōndangahajude
ŋuli muejouna,
jēse tieß
ja jied
jutngahajuda.
»hãsaua atsekįh,
niemar tōra rjäengu,
njār waevoas.»
pī jāmbhana
atsekį jierambida
(pon) tjinad sjuruberts
pīm punjāna
hōnarāvį0ih,
sidě', hōrŋāda,
hõnimeada hanimi0i?
parom bari
jārta jārŋa.
opoj meätá
siu siurhalieda,
häemeada jānguh.
meätn tjũ,
sīnjāna hajeh,
simzim njalkä'ä,
simzim pahamana
tasī jan
pakkalj,
paeudje jauna
siurumbi.
sideta njāna
siudartā siudarŋā,
uli siurumbih,
mahaunānda hadasā.
niennda njāna
jāptakokouna
jāleda adimeäh,
tarem siurumbih,
jaleuna tarpťeh.
niervnda njāna
siu meah,
meädato pieledo
urido.
hāsaua jānguh.
nieätnn tjũ,
nie darpī,
õôi tā,
hāsaua ŋįll
hurkkari ŋōdeä
āmdtaeda:
»hāsaua auar!»
atsekī obkart ödem
nivioi mįoe'eh.
nie ōb pismga
pisűįd.
tjekahanda jurkkī,
āni jādalj,
pōn jādā.
niervnda njāna
niberaha seaôa,
tjekan daevuih,
seada malhana
jākę tarporŋa,
tju'un tanaej,
jāken tũntsjumana
tasļn sirŋah:
mea äewį0ih,
meäd münje ōka äevuih,
nisendoŋ gauna
siu njūdéä,
tjikī kauna
opoj pīriptje.
num baeuseme,
sinsieunga hajeh,
pausemdjo jāmban
tanja mallnā?
pudo meäkana
ouõrŋā,
hōnaeid,
tundo lējoh
haptįh,
sinsieu äeda njasadī,
meäd müunjāna
hāmį0i
tu jāť,
tjekahana parā,
pīrtsida peändī,
peăndavanda sier
tātosngăe sanaej,
sīnjāngi njieh
panīniŋ gāmuih.
panī paradaeida,
niemāt daevi0ih,
tanja hōnihō
niemākana.
hüberi (t)sideos
mãkanda juoda.
tjikĩ meäkana
sjudubapts hājih,
atsekī hunjāna häebtje
jiherādď.
huvvīnjãna
ouworŋā,
pīrìptie mah:
»siu njinjekahan
seadngādam,
jiekar judéam
jiekar amgaem,
hāsaua dosi,
hüveri (t)sideosı
mākadvn juou.»
waäsakoja
pį0dv mah:
»njāßi meäki
jirirá kōda
wahelje waäsakom!»
atsekī kõdď,
waelje waäsakoh
sāmbadã.
mannēda:
»tju'un jād
hāsaua dōvi0ih,
tfu3w mokodahana
ãmdjuvį0ih,
paeusemdjo jāmban
[Source text continues through pages 157–171 of SUST LXXXIII. The complete Nenets transcription spans approximately 600 verses. Due to the degraded OCR quality of certain passages in the two-column PDF, some phonetic diacritics may not be perfectly reproduced. For the authoritative Nenets text, consult the original SUST LXXXIII volume, freely available from the Finnish National Library (Fenno-Ugrica).]
Source Colophon
Nenets source text from: Castrén, M. A. Samojedische Volksdichtung. Gesammelt von M. A. Castrén, herausgegeben von T. Lehtisalo. Suomalais-Ugrilaisen Seuran Toimituksia LXXXIII. Helsinki: Suomalais-Ugrilainen Seura, 1940. Song 5 (tādieibtso), pp. 150–171. Public domain.
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