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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But the next, my imagination would run away with me again: I owe it to them. I pace the floor in the silence of the waning nkvel, thinking, thinking, thinking And the giants, swaying from side to side, seemed to be murmuring an invitation for us to come into their cool shade.

What was he thinking about in those minutes? No one said a word. Those times are past. That mournful hour when bustling towns became mute, when factories whose clamor shook the earth grew still, when rumbling trains paused on the tracks, when the whole world grieved in silence, we too, a particle of a part of the people, stood in solemn silence with our teacher in that icy barn called school, and took farewell of Lenin, believing in our hearts that none could be closer to him and none more bereft.

Go home at once! D’you now old Duishen? The men themselves had horses to ride, and so they needed neither bridges nor crossings.

Or are your trunks moaning with the pain and grief of our people? Duishen was, of course, completely innocent geethaay grammar and had no idea of method.

All that the man who planted and tended you dreamed of, all he predicted has come true! We went to school of our own free will.


I wasn’t crying because my aunt had beaten me, I was used to that but because I knew she would never let me go to school. But the sincere enthusiasm with which he tackled the job was not wasted on us, of that I am sure.

And it was not until late in the evening that he came down to the village again. He had been listening attentively to the talk going on around him as he sat leaning forward on the pommel, nonchalantly spitting through his teeth now and then.

True that I have read hundreds of novels till date, but I seldom come across stories like this which touch my heart deeply. This mud building had once belonged to the bey. We had no streets in those days, our gray mud huts were scattered about the village in disorder, everyone built where the fancy took him. We climbed higher and higher–let’s see who’s the nimblest and bravest!

Guru Geethaya by Chinghiz Aitmatov | Free Ebook

A tiny smile touched the corners of his lips as if he was saying to himself: As a child I went looking for some signs of the building, but though I searched and searched I never found anything.

His description of Nkvel was so stirring; he might have seen him with his own eyes. Her mind was made up, and no plea could move her. It was foolish to hurt her countrymen’s feelings, and especially on a great day like this.

And this stranger was his son Duishen, sent here, so he said, to start a school and teach children to read and write.

Every dark cloud has a silver lining, they say, and that was how I first started going to school. Two days later, very early in the morning, dogs began to bark excitedly all over the village, and voices could be heard talking loudly.


I wanted to ask why she was doing it, but I did not dare. He was spattered all over with clay and looked startled at first, but then he smiled at us. In those days my idea of a Komsomol member was a young man, quick to act and speak, a wonderful worker and the bravest djigit in the village, who’d stand up at a meeting and speak his mind, or write to the newspaper about loafers and thieves.

When it dispersed we saw Duishen. In those days, schools were unheard of in our parts, and people did not understand such newfangled notions very well. Altyani must have attended a great number of meetings and ceremonies in her life, and the welcome accorded her must always have been cordial and warm, but the welcome she was given here, in the village school, was so moving that it brought tears to her eyes.

The Reader’s Place: Guru geethaya

There, at their foot, I left my childhood, like a broken piece of green magic glass Look at his picture. Oh, how I wanted to run after those stupid men, catch their horses by the bridles and scream into their smug, jeering faces: The sketches are many, for I have had to begin at the very beginning again and again. It was already growing dark and I did not know if Duishen was back or not. I remember now that it never occurred to me to wonder who planted those poplars.

He’s not afraid of anything, the young fool.