Болот Бегалиев – Efendi 1: the path to love (страница 1)

Bolot Begaliev

Efendi 1: the path to love

Prologue

Sometimes a journey doesn’t begin with a step – but with a glance.

A photo, torn from a magazine and forgotten on a breezy windowsill.

Or a breath you suddenly hold, without knowing why.

Efendi stood by the window, gazing at the mountains. Life in Alaya was unchanged – sheep in the valley, clouds above, the scent of smoke and fresh bread in the air. He didn’t know he had already begun walking. That his heart was already on the move.

The photograph slipped out of an old album like a stray ticket.

A girl – unknown, unnamed – with a face you couldn’t look away from. Not conventionally beautiful. Just… a gaze that held something he hadn’t realized he was missing.

And in that moment, Efendi understood: he had to find her.

Not because he knew her. But because he recognized himself.

That was how the journey began.

First – outward. Then – inward.

Chapter 1. Efendi: The Path to Love

In a mountain village called Alaya, nestled among snowy peaks and crystal-clear springs, lived a young man named Efendi. He had just turned eighteen—the age when the heart yearns for love, and the soul begins to search for a great dream. He was a simple boy: hardworking, kind, with a clear gaze and a nature as pure as the mountain air.

One evening, flipping through old magazines in his uncle’s library, he stumbled upon a photograph. And from that moment, something within him changed forever. In the picture was a girl—Cindy.

Her image was caught in golden light, almost frozen in time. Her hair—ash-blonde, with hints of silver—looked like moonlight on snow. Soft waves cascaded over her shoulders, giving her an ethereal grace. Her eyes—gray-green like a mountain lake in morning mist—looked at the camera with a quiet confidence, as if she already knew that somewhere, someone was destined to find her. Her face was clear and radiant, with a faint freckle near her left temple, and her lips—like they had just been kissed by a gust of wind. Not a trace of arrogance. Only light. And silence.

Efendi stared at the photo, unable to look away. She wasn’t just a girl—she was his future, his fate.

“She’s the one,” he whispered. “I’ll find her. I’ll win her heart. I’ll do everything, so that one day she smiles at me—not from paper, but right here, under our sky.”

From that day, his great journey began—not only across lands and roads, but along the path of the heart. He had no map. Only a goal. A dream. And a name he now repeated like a prayer:

Cindy.

That day, the air was so pure it felt like, with a deep enough breath, one could dissolve into the sky itself. Efendi stood barefoot on the threshold of his father Kawai’s home. The earth was still cool from the night, but the sun was already rising over the valley, flooding the mountain slopes with golden light. Before him stretched a tranquil landscape: towering mountains stood like ancient guardians around a green valley, where the wind played through tall grass. From beneath the rocks, springs gushed forth, cascading down the slopes in silver streams. At the heart of the valley, a wide river—born of glaciers—carried its rushing waters down toward the plains.

In this land, nature was like an artist who painted the world with tenderness and skill. Efendi walked along the stream, the wind carrying the scent of currants from the thick bushes along the banks. The berries gleamed like drops of amber, and even the birds seemed to sing differently here—with a gentle, almost fairy-tale intonation.

Golden-yellow marmots grazed calmly in the sunlit meadows, where the grass swayed like waves. Their fur shimmered like golden silk, and they raised their heads as the traveler approached, but did not flee—as if they knew Efendi meant no harm. Nearby, white hares darted into the bushes—so white, it seemed they were made of glacier snow.

Higher up the slopes, where the air grew colder, Efendi spotted deer—slender and graceful, with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. They stood dreamlike among speckled stones whose patterns seemed anything but random.

The stones… They weren’t just stones. One resembled a dog, another a bird with outstretched wings. A third, long and slightly leaning, looked like an old man with a staff. On the northern slopes lay massive jade boulders covered in moss—not a dull green, but variegated: emerald, golden, even violet. The moss curled around the rocks as if dressing them in robes of ancient sages. One especially large stone looked like a giant in prayer, his hood of green moss and collar lined with brown lichen.

Efendi stopped and looked around. His heart filled with stillness and sacred awe. He whispered:

“What need have I for gold, when beneath my feet lies the earth that gives strength? When the air is purer than silver, the water cold and clear as truth, and every stone seems to live?”

He bent down, scooped up a handful of earth and sand laced with flecks of mica, and whispered:

“This is my treasure. This I will carry in my heart, wherever the road may lead.”

Efendi breathed in deeply. Everything around him felt eternal and dear, yet in his heart now burned a new fire—the desire to find that one girl whose face he had seen in a picture painted by a traveling artist. Bright, wide-eyed, tender as a flower—Cindy had become his dream.

His father, old Kawai, sat on a rock, smoking a long pipe, watching his son.

“I see a great flame has been lit in you, son,” he said, squinting. “Love is no joke. It will drive you to places your mind fears to go.”

Efendi nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon—beyond which, he believed, destiny awaited.

“I’ll find her,” he said firmly.

Kawai laughed a deep, rumbling laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Then prepare yourself. But remember—your heart may lead, but your legs must be strong, and your mind clear. Love is not just a dream. It’s a road. Long, hard, and sometimes dangerous.”

That very night, Efendi began to prepare. He packed warm clothes, some dried meat, a flask of glacial water, prayer beads his mother had given him, and his grandfather’s old knife. His faithful donkey, Alai, stepped lightly, as if he too sensed that great adventures lay ahead.

At dawn, as the sky began to brighten, Efendi kissed his mother Sumaya’s hand, embraced his father, and without looking back, set off on his journey.

Ahead of him lay a road full of wonders and trials—where he would learn that true love isn’t just about finding someone, but about becoming someone worthy of being found.

Efendi rode slowly on his donkey, gently swaying in the saddle, taking in the beauty around him with wonder. The mountain landscape unfolded before him in its pristine, untouched glory.

The slopes were blanketed in wildflowers: purple lupines, crimson poppies, bluebells. It was as if the earth itself had bloomed in a thousand hues. The wind rolled down from the peaks, carrying the scent of herbs, honey, and damp stone. In the distance, snowy ridges gleamed, and closer by, among the greenery, crystal-clear streams shimmered, laughing as they danced over the stones.

The sky above was a deep, endless blue—a vast, transparent dome. White clouds drifted lazily, as if carrying dreams from peak to peak. Birds with long wings soared high above, their cries sharp and free.

On rocky paths, wild goats frolicked, and rabbits rustled in the underbrush. Now and then, cautious eyes peeked from behind boulders—watchful woodland creatures, hidden and wise. Everything around breathed freedom and ancient wisdom.

Efendi filled his lungs with the fresh air. He felt like a small part of this vast, living world. Even his little donkey walked with pride, as if he too understood: here, every stone, every blade of grass held a secret.

In this kingdom of nature, under the gentle sun and in the arms of the mountains, time lost its grip. Only the road stretching toward the horizon reminded Efendi of his quest—of Cindy, the dream that now led him through this magical land.

Conversation on the Road

The mountain trails had come to an end. The narrow, stony path Efendi had been descending merged with a wide asphalt highway, glinting in the sun like a drawn bow of destiny. On both sides—dry grass, scattered with lone cornflowers. The wind carried the scent of mountain dust and sun-heated resin.

At a roadside stop stood Delgara-agay, the schoolteacher—tall, courteous, in a worn light shirt, a book in hand. He was one of those elders who carried wisdom and kindness in equal measure.

He spotted Efendi at once, squinting as if against the sun, and asked with a gentle smile:

“Efendi, where are you headed, son?”

Efendi stopped, adjusted the saddle strap, looked into the old teacher’s eyes—as if checking his own heart—and answered:

“I’m looking for a girl. Her name is Cindy.” He showed him the photo.

For a moment, Delgara-agay’s face grew serious. He nodded, as if understanding something deeper than the words.

“I know,” he said quietly. “She lives in Shnapsland… But be careful, my son. There, the roads may be smooth—but fate can be slippery.”

(He didn’t mention that the girl was a princess. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare the boy or take away the purity of his pursuit.)