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. Home» Fiction, Novels, Sinhala Book, Sinhala Fiction, Sinhala Novels, Sinhala Translation Novels» Guru Geethaya by Chinghiz Aitmatov.
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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. Do not be afraid of making it embarrassing for me. Who gave you land and water? Go on, and don’t let me see you again too soon! She was gazing at the poplars with a very feminine sort of regret. Much of what he told us, I now realize, were legends woven by the people about our great leader, but we never doubted the truth of it, just as we never doubted that milk was white.
He really did teach us all he knew, and he was amazingly patient with us. Why, he lives here now, he’s Duishen of the Limping Sheep clan. Young Komsomol member and a former Red Army soldier Dyuyshen comes to the village as the new teacher of the village.
He went on foot, and was usually away two or three days. The men were not prepared to answer right away.
Chubby Cheek’s Column: The First Teacher (Duishen)
He says he whipped his horse all the way to get here before the meeting closed, so the telegrams could be read out for all to hear. Go home at once! The story that has gripped me, the story that prompted me to take up my brush seems so overwhelming that I simply cannot embrace it alone. Friends and strangers, the old and the young, they all wanted to shake her hand.
Our Kurkureu village lies on a broad plateau at the foot of the mountains, with noisy little streams rushing down to it from the many gorges. After the war he came out of hospital, in the Ukraine it was, and stayed there.
Oh, how I wanted to run after those stupid men, catch their horses by the bridles teethaya scream into their smug, jeering faces: Feedjit Feedjit Live Blog Stats. Duishen pretended not to hear, he ignored their insulting remarks completely.
But I could not sleep.
Uthum Pathum novel collection. Once upon a time there was a school on this hill, people said. Gurru and on I ran, my heart jubilantly singing to the land, the sky, and the wind: Altynai Sulaimanovna is an academician, known throughout the country.
I’ll geethaay getting a salary. There was a tumbledown shed on that hill, and Duishen started a school in it. One day, carrying bagfuls of dry cow dung for fuel, which we usually gathered at the foot of the mountain behind the village, we decided to go guri see what the teacher was doing in the old stable. They’d laugh and point, and say something like: Duishen asked in a shocked voice, peering into the faces about him.
Specially, the Aunt and Uncle of Altynai portrayed a couple of great evil who would be hated by every reader. And you, too, must stand where you are and not talk.
We climbed higher and higher–let’s see who’s the nimblest and bravest! When we got there Duishen told us to sit on the floor strewn thickly with straw, and gave each of us a notebook, a pencil and a small board.
A very old man in a badly worn fur coat suddenly interrupted him. In those days, schools were unheard of in our parts, gerthaya people did not understand such newfangled notions very well. There was snow on the ground the day we built the stepping-stones, geethata the water was so cold it took your breath away.
I wanted to ask why she was doing it, but I did not dare. The old couple, Saikal and Kartanbai, were distant relatives of mine on geethaja mother’s side. Winter was drawing close. We dropped our bags on the ground to rest a bit, and at that moment Duishen came out. She was lost in thought, and never said a word all the way to the station.
Perhaps my aunt remembered this, or may be God prompted her to send me there. Gasping for breath, I rushed into the house, startling poor grandmother Saikal. They were from the village school’s old pupils congratulating the noevl farmers on the new building.
Frightened out of my wits, I slung the bag on my shoulder and flew to the village. Hard though he tried, Duishen could not geethaha any timber to build a bridge across the stream.
No one noticed it though everyone was in high spirits, talking and laughing. I remember now that it never occurred to me to wonder who planted those poplars. It’s either a man or a horse they’re closing in on. After the speeches, the school’s Young Pioneers presented her with a bouquet and a red Young Pioneer tie, and then asked her to make the first entry in the visitor’s book.
I treasured the notebook he had given me, and I practiced my letters on the ground with the tip of the sickle, on the mud walls with a bit of charcoal, on the snow and in the dust with a twig.
Peering into the bluish distance we would see more land whose existence we geetnaya suspected and rivers we knew nothing about, glimmering silver threads in the distance.