Shurale fairy tale in Russian to read. Children's fairy tales online

There is an aul near Kazan, named Kyrlay.
Even the chickens in that Kyrlai know how to sing... Wonderful land!

Although I'm not from there, but I kept love for him,
He worked on his land - he sowed, reaped and harrowed.

Is he reputed to be a big aul? No, on the contrary, it is small,
And the river, the pride of the people, is just a small spring.

This side of the forest is forever alive in memory.
Grass spreads like a velvety blanket.

There the people never knew neither cold nor heat:
The wind will blow in its turn, and the rain in its turn
will go.

From raspberries, strawberries, everything in the forest is variegated, variegated,
You pick up a full bucket of berries in an instant.

Often I lay on the grass and looked at the heavens.
Boundless forests seemed to me a formidable army.

Like warriors stood pines, lindens and oaks,
Under the pine - sorrel and mint, under the birch - mushrooms.

How many blue, yellow, red flowers are there
intertwined
And from them the fragrance flowed in the sweet air.

Moths flew away, flew in and landed,
It was as if the petals were arguing and reconciling with them.

Bird chirping, sonorous babble were heard in silence
And filled my soul with piercing joy.

Here and music, and dancing, and singers, and circus performers,
Here are boulevards, and theaters, and wrestlers, and violinists!

This fragrant forest is wider than the sea, higher than the clouds,
Like the army of Genghis Khan, noisy and powerful.

And the glory of grandfather's names rose before me,
And cruelty, and violence, and tribal strife.

2
I depicted the summer forest - my verse has not yet been sung
Our autumn, our winter and young beauties,

And the fun of our festivities, and the spring Sabantuy ...
O my verse, do not excite my soul with remembrance!

But wait, I was daydreaming... Here is the paper on the table...
After all, I was going to tell you about the tricks of the shurale.

I'll start now, reader, don't blame me:
I lose all reason, only I remember Kyrlai.

Of course, that in this amazing forest
You will meet a wolf, and a bear, and an insidious fox.

Here, hunters often saw squirrels,
Now a gray hare will rush, then a horned elk will flash.
There are many secret paths and treasures here, they say.
There are many terrible beasts and monsters here, they say.

Many fairy tales and beliefs walk in their native land
And about genies, and about peri, and about terrible shurals.

Is this true? Endless, like the sky, the ancient forest,
And no less than in heaven, maybe in the forest of miracles.

About one of them I will begin my short story,
And - such is my custom - I will sing verses.

Somehow in the night, when, shining, the moon glides in the clouds,
A jigit went from the aul to the forest for firewood.

I drove quickly on the cart, immediately took up the ax,
Knock and knock, he cuts down trees, and all around is a dense forest.
As often happens in summer, the night was fresh and damp.
Silence grew as the birds slept.
The woodcutter is busy with work, know he knocks for himself, knocks,
For a moment, the enchanted horseman forgot.
Chu! A terrible scream resounds in the distance.
And the ax stopped in a swung hand.

And our agile woodcutter froze in amazement.
He looks and does not believe his eyes. Who is this? Human?
Genie, rogue or ghost this twisted freak?
How ugly he is, involuntarily takes fear.
The nose is curved like a fishhook
Hands, legs - like branches, they will frighten even the daredevil.
Eyes flash angrily, they burn in black cavities.
Even during the day, not like at night, this look will frighten.

He looks like a man, very thin and naked,
The narrow forehead is adorned with a horn the size of our finger.
He has half a arshin fingers on the hands of curves, -
Ten fingers ugly, sharp, long
and straight lines.

And looking into the eyes of a freak that lit up like two fires,
The woodcutter asked boldly, "What do you want from me?"

“Young horseman, don’t be afraid, robbery doesn’t attract me,
But although I am not a robber, I am not a righteous saint.

Why, when I saw you, did I let out a cheerful cry?
Because I'm used to tickling people.

Each finger is adapted to tickle more viciously,
I kill a man, making him laugh.

Well, with your fingers, my brother, move,
Play ticklish with me and make me laugh!”

“Okay, I’ll play,” the woodcutter answered him.
Only under one condition... Do you agree or not?

“Speak, little man, please be bold,
I will accept all the conditions, but let's play soon!

"If so - listen to me, how you decide -
I don't care.
Do you see a thick, large and heavy log?
Forest spirit! Let's work together first.
Together with you, we will transfer the log to the cart.
Did you notice a big gap at the other end of the log?
There, hold the log stronger, all your strength is needed! .. "

Shurale squinted at the indicated place.
And, without contradicting the horseman, the shurale agreed.

His fingers are long and straight, he put them in the mouth of the log...
Wise men! Can you see the lumberjack's simple trick?

The wedge, pre-plugged, knocks out with an ax,
Knocking out, performs a clever plan in secret.

Shurale will not move, will not move his hand,
He stands, not understanding the clever inventions of man.

So a thick wedge flew out with a whistle, disappeared into the darkness ...
Shurale's fingers pinched and remained in the crack.

Shurale saw the deception, shurale yells, yells.
He calls the brothers for help, he calls the forest people.

With repentant prayer, he says to the jigit:
"Have pity, have pity on me! Let me go, dzhigit!

I will never offend you, dzhigit, or my son.
I will never touch your entire family, O man!

I won't hurt anyone! Do you want me to take an oath?
I will tell everyone: “I am a friend of a horseman. Let him walk
in the forest!"

My fingers hurt! Give me freedom! let me live
on the ground!
What do you want, jigit, for the profit from the torment of the shurale?

The poor fellow cries, rushes about, whines, howls, he is not himself.
The woodcutter does not hear him, he is going home.

“Is it possible that the cry of the sufferer will not soften this soul?
Who are you, who are you, heartless? What is your name, jigit?

Tomorrow, if I live to see our brother,
To the question: “Who is your offender?” - whose name shall I name?

“So be it, I say, brother. Don't forget this name:
I was nicknamed "The God-Minded One" ... And now -
it's time for me to go."

Shurale screams and howls, wants to show strength,
He wants to escape from captivity, to punish the woodcutter.

"I will die. Forest spirits, help me quickly!
I pinched Vgoduminuvshiy, the villain ruined me!

And in the morning shurale came running from all sides.
"What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? What are you upset about, you fool?

Take it easy! Shut up! We can't stand screaming.
Pinched in the past year, what are you doing this year
are you crying?"

Tatar folk tale with pictures. Illustrations: K Kamaletdinov

There is an aul near Kazan, named Kyrlay.
Even the chickens in that Kyrlai know how to sing ... A wondrous land!