"What do you do when you're feeling really sad, brother?" Tan inquired.

I replied, "I can't handle sadness well at all, brother. I sprawl out with my limbs spread, wanting to cry, but the tears don't come. I can't shed a tear, so the sadness keeps piling up."

"I can relate to that a lot... Well, have I ever told you about Amirkhan Omarov?" Tan asked. "Oh, just a bit. I spent two weeks in their village near the Russian border of Seva. He insisted that I attend the 'Golden Eagle Festival' in the Altai mountain valley. Haha! Fate works in mysterious ways. If I hadn't followed his advice, everything would have been different!"

"Destiny doesn't play with us, Tan; we're playing for it, part of a big match. Don't be saddened by destiny, because you can't control it."

"That's easy for you to say, brother, easy for you to say. Anyway, just do a Google search, type 'Aisholpan,' and you'll learn about a young girl. She won the championship at the Golden Eagle Festival in Seber—the Eagle Queen. No girl had ever competed before her, and she emerged victorious. My friend Amir and the Eagle Queen are childhood pals. They roamed the golden desert of Mongolia together. Although Amir never openly admitted it. That afternoon, he introduced me to her for the first time, and Miss Aishol, upon seeing my camera, insisted that I take some wilderness pictures of her near Lake Tolbo in the south. It's been a long-standing hobby of hers to capture such images of herself. I've sent you an email, Anik Bhai. Have a look..."

Tan never spoke much about his sorrows to me. To my surprise, he abruptly ended the call from a telephone booth in Isfahan, Iran. In haste, I opened the email attachment he had sent me. While Google search did yield information about Aisholpan, her age didn't match that of the Eagle Queen.

-Tanvir Reza Anik

We followed a red trail to Lake Tolbo. Amir Khan led the way, followed by me, while Aishol's horse galloped beside me. Aishol shared her story with me. She held immense pride in her ancestry and had great self-respect. No one had ever thought that a girl could become an eagle hunter, but thanks to her family's extraordinary support, she achieved it. Following today's incident, new horizons opened up for her. At that time, Aishol was only sixteen. She was the complete opposite of a wild boy; rather, she was calm and composed beyond her years. Her maturity impressed me. She referred to me as Tan Bhai too. Aishol asked me to pass a message to Amir's elder sister, as she was too timid to believe that Amir even mentioned her. She cast a shy glance toward Amir Khan Omarov.

What Amir concealed was that he had been to Aishol's village. The two of them hunted together twice a month in the untamed wilderness to the east. Amid rugged hills and the rivers of Hatuzal, they rode the ghesoprantra, traversing the land. Amir was so immersed in Aishol that he barely learned anything about eagles from the Eagle Queen herself. He simply chuckled like a fool whenever he heard anything about it. Aishol remarked, "Amirkhan Omarov is a rather foolish teenager with no sense of responsibility. He's almost always infuriating, but one mischievous look from my Kazakh friend or a smile at a peculiar moment makes everything fade away." Not long ago, Miss Aisholpan had taken a friend from the city along for eagle hunting across the northern grasslands. The 'foolish boy,' Amir Khan, hadn't eaten properly for a week due to jealousy. He had secretly discarded his food without his mother's knowledge and sent an indignant letter about it. Aisholpan shared this anecdote herself. The Eagle Queen desired to grab Hada Chhora by the ear and give him a good scolding, but she refrained. In return, Amir Khan received a hand-stitched handkerchief from her—a gift made by a Kazakh-Mongol girl. During their last hunting trip, Aishol sprained her right wrist. What did Amir Khan do? Instead of attaching the bridle of Aishol-Pan's horse to his own horse, he rode her back to the city of Olgiai. Then, he carried the nearly equally weighted girl on his shoulders across a narrow ravine trail, just wide enough for a man to pass, leading to a hut in a remote wilderness. Amir even sought the old man, Vayaldarshan, to provide healing food, allowing Aishol to recover. Once again, he left her alone and didn't even escort her back. Why? Because Amir Khan's father was headed to Olga that day, making it impossible for him to accompany the girl on that trail. What was Amir Khan so afraid of? Aisol drinking wasn't dangerous! But there was truly an issue there, one they understood without words.

Between them lies a religious chasm! The lives of Amirkhan Omarov, a Kazakh Muslim, and Aisholpan, a Kazakh-Mongol nomad girl, stand in stark contrast. In this remote wilderness, there's a formidable and impassable divide. Even though they're both incredibly brave individuals, unashamed of their identities, an invisible wall has been erected between them since time immemorial. Despite their bravery, their youthful minds are hesitant to face the inevitable future head-on. The character of Amirkhan Omarov is likely to give in—it's only natural. He often resorts to teenage tantrums and momentary bursts of excitement when he feels directionless. In those moments, he finds solace in Aisholpan. The emotions of a restless teenager in an isolated world are not the same as the emotions I experienced growing up in one of the busiest cities in the world. Similarly, the emotions of a young girl from a world entirely removed from civilization are not so different from those of my teenage girlfriend who grew up in the bustling city. In those moments, it's as if I've traveled back to a cobblestone street in Dhaka city on a lazy afternoon in the month of Chaitra.

I promised that I would communicate Amir's close friendship and the feelings of both Amir and Aisholpan to his father. Of course, I will fulfill that promise! Don't worry, Amir Khan; don't worry, Aisholpan! Your Tan brother will find a solution, using all his wisdom.

The lake's water is a striking green, a peculiar yet beautiful sight. The clear water's darkness contrasts with the golden sandy beach. The sandbar is flanked by mountains on three sides, creating a uniform ridge that stretches across the horizon and meets the undulating plains. Only the bright white range in the northwest stands tall nearby. As I gaze upon that mountain range, I can't help but think that if someone were to bury my body in those white hills after my death, I wouldn't object to passing away right now! Mountains have always had a profound impact on me.

Though I cannot be buried in those mountains, Amirkhan Omarov's long-standing wish was granted there. He took a photograph with Miss Aishol-Pan, who was overjoyed to receive it. Similarly, Aisholpan's wish came true. Standing atop the highest rock on the hill, she whistled for her majestic white eagle, which swooped down and settled in her arms. I instructed her to smile with the grace of a true queen. However, she ended up flashing a shy smile befitting a princess, and at that moment, White Feather's patience waned, and she was ready to take flight. My camera captured that precious moment—the most valuable picture I've ever taken. Even though many people photographed her that day, none of them captured her essence. She was so thrilled upon seeing the picture that she couldn't speak for a while. It was late afternoon, and the gentle sunlight cast an enchanting scene: the Altai Valley bathed in golden hues, as if surrounded by a puzzle of shimmering gold. Then, I caught a whiff of the breeze.

I conveyed my observation to Amir, and he understood. Aishol and Amir exchanged whispers before announcing, "On our way back, we'll take a detour." It was Amir and Aishol's secret route, and they were fine with me tagging along! From the eastern tip of Lake Tolbo, we headed west along an unmarked trail running parallel to the lake's southern shore. Suddenly, a chilly gust of wind swept over us. The light vanished in an instant, replaced by a reddish-gray hue, and the air carried a stale scent.

"Do you like rain?" I mused, inhaling deeply. I felt like singing—what a splendid weather it was!

"Oh? Rain isn't something to enjoy! My Kazakh friend," Aishol cast a serious look at Amir, "Tan brother says the strangest things!" She suggested I join their family chat one day.

"Yes, I will, I will," I smiled. "If you want to avoid getting wet, ride the horse!"

"But Tan Bhai," Miss Aisholpan chimed in this time, "we have to cross a pass, so we need to assess the route."

"You can ride like a mountain goat, so why worry? Just guide me!"

We continued along the mountain path, like a band of merry laughter. A massive mountain loomed ahead; we had to cross it and descend to the other side of the desert. En route, we would come across the gorge that Aishol had mentioned. By now, the rainy atmosphere had morphed into an oddly hot one. I had never witnessed anything like it before. Amir and Aishol remained silent. Their confusion and perhaps a touch of nervousness were palpable. People here dread storms so much!

"Brother Tan, look to the south," Amir suddenly said in a dry tone.

To the south? What was happening to the south? Initially, I couldn't comprehend. The surroundings were pitch black, and in the midst of it all, there appeared to be a massive creature with even darker clouds in the southern sky. Although it seemed fixed, the black line was gradually expanding. It wasn't growing larger; it was getting closer. As time passed, the black clouds ceased to be black; they transitioned into a reddish hue. Dust storms, locally known as "chucky," are a common occurrence here. Trapped between the fierce heat of the Gobi Desert and the cold of the Altai Mountains, these storms suddenly sweep across the wilderness, wreaking havoc on the open Mongolian expanse before finally colliding with the vast Altai range.

"Hurry, it will be here in the next twenty minutes," Amir shouted above the intensifying roar of the wind. "Let's go, Aishol, don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," the eagle-queen responded in a quiet voice.

"Neither am I," I declared. "Amir, how long until we reach our destination?"

"We're hoping to get there before it arrives," Amir shouted back. Within moments, the wind's roar escalated significantly.

"Can't we avoid the pass, Amir? Aishol mentioned it's not an ideal place. Is it safe to cross it during a storm?"

"If we turn back now, it will head straight for us, Brother Tan. Look behind; there's not even a bush to shelter us."

"Have you ever been caught in a dust storm before?"

Many times! But this is the first time in such an unfamiliar location.

I glanced at Amir. He didn't appear frightened, though he did seem somewhat disoriented. While I have some knowledge about hurricanes, it's merely superficial. I have full faith in Amir, but I can't offer advice to a teenager in this situation. The wind grew stronger. We covered every part of our bodies except our eyes. As the wind's roar intensified, drowning out all other sounds, a terrifying sight emerged—a pass.

I couldn't discern if the sun had set or not; darkness closed in around us. If it wasn't pitch black, it would be more accurate to describe it as a crimson fairy tale world. However, this fairy tale lacked the enchantment of bliss. The rocky path had been ascending for a while; now it was level, skirting alongside a towering golden mountain that seemed untouched by human hands, a natural pass. After walking a few steps, the path sloped steeply on its left side, with a drop that was invisible to the eye. At first glance, it was shocking. There was no way to determine the path's length by merely asking. Amir pointed ahead, indicating a shelter farther along the pass. A bend in the pass would provide respite from the southern fury, and we wouldn't feel its effects.

Though I felt like I was lying down, I was actually sitting. The wind pushed against my back, and I leaned against the windward side of the horse to resist it. I couldn't believe our horses could actually navigate this road in such wind. They had already shown great courage. Mongolian horses are incredibly brave; they are warriors. When the decision was up to us, the three of us would have lain down. But the horses had no cover. Mongolians love their horses as much as life itself. Neither Amirkhan Omarov nor Aisholpan hesitated; they took refuge behind the mountains with their horses. They must have noticed my unease. Amir Khan embraced me. While I couldn't make out all the words he shouted in my ear, I heard him say he loved me.

What more could I possibly hesitate over? I smiled at my Kazakh friend. I formed a fist with my right hand and tapped my chest twice, then struck Amir's shoulder firmly.

Aisholpan went ahead. Amir had some complaints, but the Eagle Queen paid him no mind. She knew this path like the back of her hand. I had to follow behind Miss Aishol. After all, Amir would watch over us. Aishol's horse was a stallion. The royal Khairi-colored horse's eyes showed no emotion, and its steps revealed no hesitation. Covered in a blanket of dust, it continued up the ridge with only a few meters of visibility. The first ten meters were the most perilous. The wind was blowing directly, and the concern was that it could change direction at any moment. In that case, the horses wouldn't be able to react in time; of that, I was certain. Faced with the utmost danger, the most ungrateful thoughts arose as I thought only of the Creator, as I had countless times before. Once again, I hoped shamelessly that He would help—certainly, He would. To be honest, I was squinting. I can't recall what happened in the next few moments. All I remember is that I saw Aisholpan's horse's tail vanish before my eyes, only for it to reappear in an instant.

I might have forgotten myself and picked up the girl. I am Amirkhan Omarov, the bravest boy in the world, Miss Aishol. How proud that makes me feel!

"He was just a gossip, Tan brother," the Eagle Queen looked at me with glistening eyes. "Now there's a way not to believe all of that, tell me."

To the south of the canyon, there was a very tall mountain peak. From there, the view extended far and wide. Even the light from the festival in the distant golden desert seemed incredibly close. And the valley below was visible in its entirety. Two hours later, when the cursed pass had become an abandoned wasteland, I sat alone atop that hill. Aishol and I didn't dare approach Sagan-Gol; instead, we wandered in the valley adjacent to the village. It was there that I luckily encountered Amir Khan's cousin from the city. Through him, I managed to send word to Aisha Dadi. Later, when nearly everyone from the village arrived breathless and began following the path shown by Aisholpan, unbeknownst to anyone, I slipped away from Sagan-Gol, forever.

It was almost dawn when they found my Kazakh friend's mangled body in a mountain river far below. Throughout the night, I remained perched like a stone on the hillside, my heart shattered. They wrapped the vivacious boy in garments, placed him on a horse's back, and headed towards Sagan-Gol. I could see Alichacha, his face growing smaller and smaller as his silhouette receded. He was my only beloved younger brother among three sisters. I labeled myself a heinous criminal back then—it seems so long ago, yet it feels like it happened just yesterday. Now, it's as though I can never revert to my former way of thinking. I no longer want to consider myself as magnanimous as nature!

I spent the entire day there. As evening descended and night fell, as the biting cold of night gnawed at my bones, I felt nothing. Hunger? Sleep? Those two things had eluded me long ago. The last thing to enter my stomach was a can of Coca-Cola that Amir handed me, while the sweet notes of the Kazakh language floated through the golden Altai valley.

At midnight, I finally stood up. After walking for about two hours along the southern valley of the hill, in the open wilderness below, I mounted my horse, Asha, which I had concealed in a thicket. I then headed directly for Sagan-Gol. Illuminated by Chad, I crossed the broad path and arrived at Lake Tolbo.

Almost at dawn, I reached the outskirts of Sagan-Gol. I wondered where they would bury Amir. From the first person to pass away in Sagan-Gol, laid to rest in a beautiful, flower-strewn, green, sloping valley near the village, to the last—my friend Amirkhan Omarov. Could there possibly be anyone who doesn't experience a pang in their chest when they see a mound of loose earth atop a grave? And how helpless I felt in my grief, knowing that he who slumbers beneath this heap of soil had spoken his final words to me just a day ago. A grief that still haunts me.

I lingered by Amir's grave for a long time. I tried to think of what to say, but nothing came to mind. In the end, I whispered to him for the last time, "I love you too, Amirkhan Omarov. The third life you've bestowed upon me—I'll spend every moment of that life in your debt. One day, we'll meet again. On that day, I'll recount all the stories of my entire life, and then it will be whole."

At that moment, I had no paper with me; otherwise, I might have left a note in the village. Aisha Dadi would likely wonder about me. Perhaps she'd be quite surprised as to why I hadn't returned. I remained small in the eyes of my uncles, aunts, and sisters. They might blame me for Amir's death without truly knowing. Yet, I know that none of them will harbor true hatred toward me. Perhaps a modicum of pride might endure, and Kedeket might be able to alleviate some of my sorrow by holding my hand. But alas, Allah didn't shape me that way. I pride myself on my character, both to myself and whenever the opportunity arises, projecting an image of politeness, kindness, magnanimity, and ardor—a veneer of the peculiar, rugged human character that lies beneath. This is one of those moments when people confront their genuine inadequacies and make a final attempt to shield themselves from the erosion of self-character by diverting their thoughts. Turning one last time to Amir's grave, I clenched my right hand into a fist and struck the left side of my chest twice. Then, I pivoted and began sprinting eastward toward the Russian border without looking back. Towering Altai Mountains. The horizon—a golden valley. Across the expanse of desolate wind...

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