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. HomeĀ» Fiction, Novels, Sinhala Book, Sinhala Fiction, Sinhala Novels, Sinhala Translation NovelsĀ» Guru Geethaya by Chinghiz Aitmatov.

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Maybe your bay’s there too. Later, many years later, I discovered the secret of the poplars.


We geehaya that kerosene, which people brought from market, came from the depths of the earth. It happened in And the giants, swaying from side to side, seemed to be murmuring an invitation for us to come into their cool shade. With bated breath we’d gaze down, spellbound and motionless, each on his own branch, and forget all about our nest-rifling plans.

Duishen took a length of rope and a sickle and started off. It was already growing dark and I did not know if Duishen was back or not.

Thin plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys. She nodded vaguely, got up to leave the table, but at that very moment someone rode past the window with a clatter of hoofs, and the young lad came back to say that Duishen had gone.


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One thought alone preyed on my mind: I’m going to study, I shall go to school and bring others there! Duishen turned vuru pale. He went on foot, and was usually away two or three days. And now there’s not a broken stone left of that school shed, but the name stuck, and that’s all the good it has done us. He’ll never stop anywhere before he’s finished his job. I could not concentrate on gurh work, my fingers were all thumbs the yarn kept breaking off, and this maddened my aunt still more.

It was hardest on the smaller children, tears started to their eyes every time. I don’t geethwya Altynai expected such a welcome and I thought it rather embarrassed her. And every time I realize that my picture remains no more than a vague idea.

Lost Duishen(First Teacher) – Chinghiz Aitmatov – (Guru Geethaya)

Occasionally, he’d ride down our street, a big hoe tied to his saddle, and his horse was like its master — bony and slim of leg. This mud building had once belonged to the bey.

The disappointed villagers saw their guest to the car and made her promise she’d come for a longer stay soon, for a week at the very least. And geethayx was our own Lenin beethaya his baggy jacket, and his arm in a sling, geethxya at us from the wall as before.


A stream of fresh air comes pouring into the room. Though I knew my aunt wouldn’t let me go to school, I wanted Duishen to come and see where I lived. Calling to one another from different directions, they were converging.

Next, he pointed to the picture he had pinned to the wall.

The old man in the heethaya worn fur coat was the first to speak. The wealthy men who spent the winter up in the mountains and only came down to the flourmill occasionally were especially noxious.

The birds would take wing and wheel above our heads with loud cries. He rubbed my blue, numb legs, massaged my frozen hands and breathed on them. Why, he lives here now, he’s Duishen of the Limping Sheep clan.

Never before had I stayed out so late alone. Our schoolroom became so quiet as if it lay buried under snow. You don’t need this girl perhaps, but we do, the Soviet state does.