by Joshua Fogel
“Call Münglig in.” Ö’elün seemed to be planning to thank Münglig for his trouble, but Belgütei, standing at the entrance, said:
“Münglig’s already mounted his horse and left.”
These words appeared to surprise Ö’elün for a moment, but checking to see if Belgütei’s words were accurate, she stood up and walked out of the yurt. Eventually she returned, gathered her seven children together, and said to them:
“From this day forward, only those living here are our allies. We must go on living by putting our efforts together.”
It had been several days since Yisügei’s funeral ceremony, and Ö’elün had yet to shed a single tear. According to Temüjin’s eleven-year-old brother, Qasar, the source of their mother’s tears had already withered away.
In a short period of time, Temüjin learned much startling information from his mother and brothers. First, as expected, with Yisügei’s death, effective power moved into the hands of the Tayichi’uds, which caused rumblings among the Borjigins and provided the opportunity for almost everyone to move over to the Tayichi’ud side. Second, accordingly, Yisügei’s successor as khan was clearly to be selected from the Tayichi’uds. Third, out of their pent-up jealousy, Yisügei’s various concubines had ostracized his primary wife Ö’elün and unilaterally carried out the ceremonies honoring the spirit of Yisügei, an action tantamount to societal expulsion. Fourth, even those close to the Borjigin lineage were avoiding Ö’elün more with each passing day, and in the past two or three days they had disappeared altogether. Finally, although the people of the settlement had been accustomed to convening almost daily meetings, all of a sudden no one called on the now powerless Ö’elün or her family to participate.
Temüjin listened to all of this in silence. He now understood why, when he had entered the village a while earlier, it was so quiet that it seemed as if no one was there. It was the time when they were meeting and handling various matters. Temüjin now realized why his family was in such a situation.
There was no one among the Borjigins with the influence or clout to lead the entire lineage after Yisügei’s death. That such a person did not exist was due to Yisügei’s not having prepared such a man for the position. This practice was not limited to the Borjigins; it held in the Tayichi’ud and other lineages as well. The people of a settlement came together around a single powerful person and were thus unified, but when the man died, they had to seek out another powerful man to rally around so as to protect all of their interests. This pattern had repeated itself numerous times in the history of the Mongol people. It was the very nature of a group that lacked organization.
Furthermore, the fact that the heirs of such a power holder should fall into miserable circumstances after his passing was simply the nature of things. Resentment of pressures brought to bear by such a powerful person necessitated the venting of heretofore smothered indignation against his heirs. “Do not suck out only the sweet juice”—this was an expression frequently used among the Mongolian peoples in many different circumstances, which may be understood as perfectly natural. To their way of thinking, it was the will of heaven that forced all men to be treated equally.
Temüjin reflected on the situation of Dei Sechen of the Unggirad people, with whom he had spent three and a half years. Although they too lacked organization as a group, accession to the position of leader was restricted to people in the family of Dei Sechen, which retained its effective power in the form of wealth. Dei Sechen had become wealthy from his various relatives, and he had not wished to separate from his future son-in-law Temüjin because he had no male heir.
Temüjin glanced around the inside of the yurt in which his father had so long lived as chief of the Borjigins. It was somewhat wider and taller than those of other settlements, but it differed in no significant way in its interior cramped feeling. Even if particularly expensive items were all crammed together, it didn’t mean that they were plentiful. Objects plundered from other peoples were quickly distributed equally, and the chief received no special portion. In short, they had no classes, and thus they had no particularly wealthy or impoverished among them—everyone was equally poor.
In a cold tone of voice containing a measure of anger, Temüjin said to Ö’elün:
“Everything as expected, following the normal path.” These were not the words of a youngster. It was the voice of a young man bearing the responsibility of a family head after the death of his father. Temüjin continued:
“The Tayichi’ud gang is probably not going to leave us alone. Like water finding its own level, our family’s misery will probably only become more wretched before it is resolved.”
When his mother heard Temüjin’s words, her tears began to gush forth once again from the source Qasar had just said had already dried up, and she continued sobbing until finally her wellspring had truly run dry. After she had been crying a long time, Begter and Belgütei took their bows and went out to hunt, Qachi’un and Temüge went off to play, and at some point five-year-old Temülün fell asleep.
Temüjin saw to his side only his brother Qasar standing and, like him, quietly gazing at their mother. Then, as if issuing a manifesto, he said to Qasar:
“From this day forward, you’re going to be my trusted retainer. Never violate any order I give you! In return, I will recognize that within this family you are second only to me in power and authority. If we quarrel with Begter and Belgütei, we need to cooperate to oppose them. And if I fall, you shall take over leadership of this family in my stead.”
When she heard Temüjin, Ö’elün stopped weeping and raised her head slightly, but then soon reverted to her earlier posture. Temüjin sought a definitive response from Qasar. His normally composed face dizzier with agitation than that of his more mild-mannered brother, Qasar replied:
“So be it! I shall comply with your decision.”
Temüjin also felt stirred up. For him this vow was extremely solemn, exceeding in its gravity any moment since his birth. To help his weak mother and support the family, Temüjin established an order in his isolated and unaided family, laid out a system, and established strata. His determination was rooted in his sense of responsibility that he had to continue supporting them, but one thing further was his new vigilance toward his two half-brothers, Begter and Belgütei, who over the three and a half years of his absence had grown big and strong, as if to defy him. When he entered the yurt after this period of absence, Temüjin had seen his two younger brothers face to face, but the impression he had received was certainly not of loving blood relatives. He sensed in them less brethren than enemies.
As Temüjin predicted, yet worse circumstances soon struck them. One morning about two months later, there was some sort of uproar outside the door to his yurt, and Temüjin was aroused from sleep to step outside. In the dim light of early dawn, he saw several hundred men and women hard at work folding up their yurts and packing away their household effects on horses and camels. The whole settlement was on the verge of moving. At some point Temüjin realized that Ö’elün was standing at his side. She was dumbstruck, incapable of speech.
Temüjin left his mother, walked over to the neighboring yurt, and asked where they were heading. The man he addressed replied:
“We’re moving to new pastureland on orders from the Tayichi’ud chief.”
Although there was nothing the least bit odd about the settlement moving, as summer was drawing near, that they were following orders from the Tayichi’ud chief and that this information had not been conveyed to Temüjin’s yurt were serious issues. Temüjin soon realized that he and his family were being ostracized and abandoned. With no khan yet selected, it would have been normal to consult Temüjin, as Yisügei’s eldest son, on all matters concerning the movement of the settlement. Not only was there no word of parting communicated, but his family was on the verge of being deserted here and now.
Although Temüjin virulently attacked this behavior verbally, everyone held him in disdain and ignored what he ha
d to say. When he began to walk back in the direction of his own yurt, his body trembling in anger, he saw the figure of his mother, Ö’elün, sitting astride a white horse, holding a banner adorned with the hair from the tail of a white horse. She was raising a distinctive banner, symbol of the khan’s power, and attempting to prevent the villagers from unilaterally moving to new pastureland. Temüjin knew full well that his mother’s action would have no effect. He neither backed her up nor moved to stop her.
When he returned to his yurt, he stood in front of it for some time, observing the confusion of activity among the villagers. His mother stopped her horse at the southwestern corner of the settlement’s center. From time to time, the horsehairs on the banner she was holding aloft fluttered in the high breeze as if they had been tossed up into the air. At a distance the banner appeared small.
Eventually small groups of camels and horses placed here and there in the center of the settlement all began moving without control. There was one group comprised of the occupants of two or three yurts. They had abandoned the land they had become familiar with over the past half year and disappeared beyond an incline sloping abruptly from where Ö’elün was holding her banner. The banner in her hands was effectively marking the exit for groups setting out from the center of the settlement. The people and animals that had filled this area gradually decreased in number until all that remained was the yurt of Ö’elün and her children.
When the last of the groups vanished beyond the slope in the land, Temüjin saw Ö’elün approaching from the center that had suddenly been completely emptied. Still holding the banner aloft and riding her horse, Ö’elün looked ashen. From such extreme tension, she had a fervent expression on her face, such a look of courage and beauty as he had never before seen in her.
“Münglig has gone too, as have Jamugha and Sorqan Shira,” she said as she dismounted, enumerating one by one each of the men who had been on intimate terms with Yisügei. Among the names was that of Bültechü Ba’atur, the elderly man with the great memory.
That evening the oldest member of the Borjigin lineage, Charaqa (father of Münglig), rode over to them on horseback. He was injured, tumbled from his horse, and immediately fell unconscious. His wound was severe, a spear having been thrust into his back. Although the circumstances were unknown, Ö’elün and her children pulled Charaqa into their tent and looked after him.
After two or three days, Charaqa with great difficulty was finally able to say something. He described how he alone had to the bitter end raised objections to the abandonment of Ö’elün and her children; even after the villagers had begun departing, he had gone around trying to persuade prominent figures among the Tayichi’uds not to do this. At that time, one of the Tayichi’ud leaders, by the name of Tödö’en Girte, said:
“The deep water has run dry. The bright stone has crumbled. Yisügei is dead. How dare you chatter like this!?” No sooner had he spoken than he plunged the spear in his hand into Charaqa’s back.
Old Man Charaqa lived for three more days, drank only water, then died. The tears he had been unable to shed at the time of his father’s death, Temüjin now cried upon the death of this lone brave man among the Borjigins. Ö’elün worried while Temüjin wailed. He deeply regretted the fact that he had no means of repaying the fidelity that Charaqa had shown his family whose fortunes were now in such decline.
Thereafter, life for Ö’elün and her children deteriorated to an appalling state. She and her seven children, with Temüjin the leader, had but one tent and a small number of sheep and horses. Also, because the tent stood by itself all alone, they had no one to trade with for food and clothing.
Having abandoned her and her family, the Borjigins had united with the Tayichi’ud lineage and built a new settlement on the grassy plain along the lower reaches of the Onon River, a few days’ journey away. The ruler of the Tayichi’uds, Targhutai, had also acceded to the position of khan of the Mongolian people, but nothing of this had reached Ö’elün or her children.
To stave off starvation, Temüjin did not allow anyone to play. Almost every day, Ö’elün took baby Temülün with her farther and farther up the Onon River to pick wild herbs and pushed deep into the mountains to gather wild pears. In the small field in front of their tent, she grew leeks and shallots. Each day the six sons divided up the work and went out into the pastures to drive the sheep. If they had a moment’s break, they would fish or hunt.
During this period, Temüjin worried most about the fact that his half-brothers, Belgütei and Begter, were always going off together and disobeying his orders. They resembled each other like two peas in a pod, with robust builds, fierce strength, and coarse temperaments.
In the spring more than a year after Yisügei’s death, Temüjin repeatedly clashed with his two younger brothers. His full brother Qasar had sworn an oath of allegiance with him and remained obedient, but he lacked power and was meek in temperament. Thus, when it came to confronting his two half-brothers, Temüjin really had no subordinates he could rely on. His other two brothers, Qachi’un and Temüge, were only ten and eight years of age, respectively, not yet old enough to be depended upon as allies. Temüjin had been deprived of much booty by his two younger half-brothers. When they came and confronted him directly with demands that he knew were unjustified, he had no choice but to acquiesce.
On one occasion, Temüjin had gone fishing with Qasar, and Qasar caught a fish called a soghosun or dace, which had a strange, shiny light on its body. Upon seeing it, Belgütei and Begter quickly contrived to seize it from Qasar. A ferocious struggle broke out between Qasar, who did not want to relinquish the fish, with Temüjin supporting him, and the two half-brothers. In the end, the shiny dace fell into the hands of Belgütei and Begter.
Temüjin complained of this incident to his mother. Ö’elün grimaced sadly and said:
“Why are you behaving like this? You’re fighting with your brothers. Why aren’t you seeking revenge against the Tayichi’uds? We have no friends other than our shadows now and no whip other than a horse’s tail.”
Their mother’s words pierced Temüjin to the heart, but they also revived his antipathy toward the Tayichi’uds and strengthened his resolve never to leave Begter and Belgütei to their own devices, as he had until that point.
The following morning, Temüjin called to Begter outside his tent and rebuked him for his recent actions, bidding him to reform his ways. Before he knew what had happened, though, an argument broke out between them.
“You are not the son of Mother Ö’elün,” said Temüjin. “What gives you the right to make the gentle Ö’elün even sadder?”
“It’s you who aren’t the son of Father Yisügei,” replied Begter. “Belgütei, Qasar, Qachi’un, Temüge, Temülün, and I are all his children, but only you are different. I know it! Everyone in the settlement knew it. You’re the only one who doesn’t. Merkid blood flows in your veins. You just used Ö’elün’s body to be born into this family—that’s all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You may think it’s a rumor and no more, but go ask Mother. Your mother, the woman who gave birth to you, she knows all this better than anyone. If you can’t stomach asking her yourself, then ask yourself the question. Father Yisügei didn’t love you at all. Did it ever occur to you to wonder why?”
Temüjin understood Begter’s words the moment he heard them, for he had held so very much pent up inside him for a long time. It was like a mighty rainstorm pounding around his ears.
“Why are you speaking such nonsense?” said Temüjin, rejecting Begter’s every word. His voice had lost its resounding echo necessary to coerce an interlocutor. He didn’t believe Begter’s words, but he was indeed sharply hurt by them. They were the final blow to Temüjin.
“From this day forward, I obey nothing you may command me to do. I do not recognize you as my elder brother. I bear the blood of Yisügei and shall be giving the orders in this tent.”
He spit out the words, turne
d away from Temüjin, and walked off. For a short while, Temüjin watched Begter’s back after his grand declaration of resistance and his departure. All of a sudden, the feeling exploded in Temüjin’s mind that he could not let his younger half-brother go on living. One who would disturb the peace under their roof and defy him personally had to be eliminated, no matter who he was.
Temüjin called on Qasar and ordered him to check where Begter had gone and inform him. When Qasar returned shortly thereafter, he reported that Begter was guarding nine dappled-gray horses on a mountain not far away.
Seizing his bow, Temüjin ordered Qasar to do the same, and the two of them left the tent together. When they reached the foothill of the mountain, Temüjin confided in Qasar his determination to slay Begter. Qasar’s countenance momentarily changed color, his eyes opening wide in astonishment, but when he learned that this was to be Temüjin’s command, he swore to cooperate.
Attacking Begter from two sides, the brothers climbed opposite slopes of the mountain. They simultaneously fixed arrows in their bows and aimed at Begter, who was then standing on the peak. When Begter noticed them and figured out what they were trying to do, he dropped to the ground abruptly and declared in desperation:
“So, you intend to kill me. Then shoot away, as I have no recourse! Qasar, you shoot your arrow first. I’ll probably die. I don’t want to die from the arrow of a Merkid.”
Begter may have finished speaking or he may not have, as both Temüjin and Qasar let arrows fly. Hit in the chest and in the back, Begter staggered weakly and stopped. One after the next, they shot arrows at him. All of Qasar’s hit his abdomen in front; all of Temüjin’s struck him in the rear. Looking like a hedgehog, Begter dropped dead.
When they arrived back at their yurt, Ö’elün immediately asked them in a stern tone of voice unlike any she ordinarily used: