"Eastern Kazakhstan is a unique place in terms of the number and variety of reservoirs", grandpa was telling to Sanzhar. – There are more than a thousand rivers as well as more than two thousand lakes and reservoirs. And almost every source is associated with wonderful legends that come from the depths of time. Yet our most important river is, of course, the Irtysh. Sanzhar and his grandpa were resting on the bank of the Irtysh River. White-winged gulls scurried over them and flapped their wings on the water. Sanzhar looked closely at the river and saw the reflected sky, on which snow-white clouds floated and swift-winged birds flew. He saw lush grass, white birch trunks, and spreading willows. The golden sun played merrily with its rays and splashed in the clear blue-gray water, playing with the foam of the waves. A tall rainbow pulled its multicolored yarn from them. And in the evening, the moon shrouded in clouds was reflected in the icy water, and many stars glittered like emeralds. The Irtysh waves were noisy. As they splashed, the boy listened to his grandfather telling the legend of the great river. In the boy's imagination, the Irtysh came to life and became a fabulous giant.
In ancient times, the lands of Eastern Kazakhstan, through which the Irtysh River flows, were a desert plain. There were no rivers, lakes, or streams in these parts. Often there was a dry summer, and the silky grass in the meadows faded and burned to the ground. During the intense heat, animals and birds fled, and people suffered from the heat, but even more from hunger and thirst. They dreamed for storms and showers, but rain was rare. And then one day came an especially merciless hot summer, which brought with it an unprecedented drought – the primordial enemy of all living on earth. Cruel, relentless, it moved through the parched grass and withered bushes. The hot rays of the sun mercilessly scorched and burned the soil, which cracked and became hard as stone. A hot whirlwind raised thick clouds of lime dust from the ground and drove them forward along the grayish-white naked road. The wind was stifling, as heavy as the breathing of a huge slumbering monster. Sandstorms set in. Fruit trees have stopped bearing fruit. The entire crop of grain was lost. Life was draining away from these lands, drop by drop, with people in danger of suffering a painful death. Exhausted by thirst, they fell into despair. Then, at the hollow of a dried tree, the elders - aksakals gathered for a council, where it was decided to send messengers to find the famous giant batyr by the name of Ir-tyz and ask him for help. The messengers set out on their journey. They searched for the batyr for a long time but finally found him. They saw the giant resting on a hill that rose above the horizon. The blazing sun was burning hot, while he lay there, not even squinting. The hero was handsome, stately and slender. His clothes were gleaming white. In his tanned, weather-beaten face, his eyes glittered brightly, and in them shone bright stars that seemed to be taken from the sky itself. Yet these very eyes could incinerate enemies if necessary. The exhausted travelers at once cautiously approached the formidable giant and bowed, placing their right hand over their hearts, as was the custom. Kneeling before him, they spoke of the dreadful disaster that had befallen the great steppe, and asked him to deliver them from the terrible calamity. Batyr heard the beggars and was inspired with a desire to help the steppe inhabitants avert the drought. As he rose to his feet, his head was higher than the clouds, and his shadow fell so far away that even the eagles could not have seen the full extent of it from the height of their flight. Ir-tyz stretched out a mighty hand to the towering mountains in the south, digged the nail of a long finger into them, and led it north, to the plain that was always suffering from droughts, and then on to the big river that flowed to the north. The huge fingernail of the batyr left a broad and deep canal on the surface of the earth. And a miracle happened. Streams of fresh, young water ran along the canal, resulting from the melting of snow and ice that covered the stone ridges. A new mighty river was formed. It quickly ran north towards another large Siberian river, the Ob, on the banks of which stood a solid wall of dense taiga forests. Seeing the work of his hands, the happy batyr returned to the magical land. And life arrived on the expanses of Eastern Kazakhstan. Nature blossomed. Every living thing became healthy and strong. Fish quickly spread in the river, and animals started frolic among the tall reeds, where they found food and shelter. Migratory birds began to stop here as well. Close to the river, they built their nests and hatched their chicks. Parched and cracked from the drought, the land saturated with moisture and restored. The desert plain became a beautiful flower valley, where delicate flowers and fragrant herbs grew. The fields turned green. The nomads were pleased and happy. They once again started to raise cattle and collect abundant crops of grain. Remembering with gratitude what batyr did for them and for all the steppe people, they gave their newborn river the name Ir-tyz to honor him. Later, the river began to be called slightly differently - Irtysh. No wonder the saying goes: "The name of the hero in the memory of the people - the hero will die, but his name will remain." ... Many centuries have passed since then. The mighty Irtysh still makes people happy. It is deep and broad – like the soul of the coastal inhabitants. Everyone who lives on its shores, when talking about these places, thinks of the Irtysh, which, sometimes excitedly and angrily beats near the coast, and then majestically and carelessly rolls its steep waves. Irtysh is always different, but above all, it is lively, playful and restless. Even as he shrouded in sleep, he freezes reluctantly. Snow crawls into its channels and bends the sedges, the mighty wind lulls it just for a while and in the spring the wayward hero Irtysh awakes again and waits for motor ships and fishermen. It is the largest river in Kazakhstan and the longest tributary river in the world (the Missouri is second). The Irtysh fed mainly by glaciers in the mountains, as well as by melting snow in the plains, so it is probably one of the purest rivers in the world. Irtysh brings together many peoples. It originates in China and still carries its waves through the expanses of the great Kazakh steppe. Since ancient times, people of different nationalities have lived in peace and harmony on its shores.
