Taras Bulba
An old Cossack, his two sons, and the war that tested their loyalties to the breaking point
Page 1
Old Taras Bulba watched his sons ride into the courtyard. "Turn around!" he roared, mocking their long student coats. "What sort of Cossacks are these?" Ostap, the elder, dismounted. "Though you are my father," he said calmly, "if you mock me, I will fight you." Taras’s eyes lit up. "Good!" he bellowed. "Let's see what kind of man you are!" They began to wrestle, a rough, laughing fight under the wide sky. They traded heavy blows until the old man, panting but delighted, declared Ostap a true son. Their mother ran from the house to embrace them, her face wet with tears of joy, but Taras pushed her away. "A Cossack’s welcome is not kisses," he grumbled, gesturing for them to come inside. "It is a test of strength. Now, we will feast!"
Page 2
That evening, Taras looked at his sons and slammed his fist on the heavy wooden table. "Your academy is nonsense!" he declared. "I am taking you to the Zaporozhian Sich. That is the only school for a Cossack!" Their mother, who had been gazing at her boys, let out a cry of despair. "Only for a week!" she pleaded. "Let them stay home, they are so young! They have not seen their home!" Taras scowled. "A Cossack is not made to run a household," he said, his voice final. "His life is the camp and the battle. In the morning, we leave." Later that night, she crept to her sons’ room. She sat by their beds as they slept, stroking their hair and weeping silently, her heart breaking at the thought of the life that awaited them and the home they would lose.
Page 3
They reached the Dnieper River and crossed to the island of the Zaporozhian Sich. It was a wild, sprawling town teeming with thousands of warriors. "Here it is!" Taras roared, his voice filled with pride. "Here is the nest from which lions fly!" An old, scarred Cossack, seeing him, shouted back, "Ah, Taras! The devil himself has brought you! Come and drink with us!" Taras laughed and clapped his sons on the back. "You will be tempered like steel here!" he promised. Ostap watched everything with a stern, focused gaze, ready to prove himself. But Andriy was different. He saw the wild revelry and the casual brutality, and a feeling of unease settled in his heart. He walked through the crowds as if in a dream, his thoughts far away, remembering a beautiful Polish face he had once seen in Kyiv.
Page 4
Taras Bulba grew impatient. He stirred up his comrades, demanding war. Soon, the great kettle-drums boomed, calling a *rada* in the main square. Thousands of Cossacks poured in. "Depose the chief!" someone roared. "He grows old and loves peace!" The crowd took up the cry. Their leader was forced to give up his staff of office. They elected a fierce old warrior in his place, who bellowed, "I will lead you to Poland! To riches and glory!" The entire island roared its approval. "To Poland!" the cry went up, a single voice from thousands of throats. "We will avenge the faith!" Ostap and Andriy stood beside their father, caught up in the wild, savage energy. This was what they had come for. This was the Cossack way.
Page 5
The siege of Dubno dragged on. At night, Andriy could not rest. He paced the vast, sleeping camp, haunted by the memory of a beautiful Polish noblewoman he had met in Kyiv. One night, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was an old woman. "Are you Andriy, son of Taras?" she whispered. He nodded, his hand on his sabre. "My lady saw you from the walls," she said, her voice trembling. "She is the governor's daughter. She sent me to you. We are starving." Andriy’s heart stopped. "The lady from Kyiv? She is here?" The woman nodded, her eyes pleading. "For the love of God and his holy Mother," she begged, "give us a piece of bread, or she will die." Andriy did not hesitate. He ran to the supply wagons, stuffing sacks with as much bread as he could carry.
Page 6
Andriy followed the servant through a secret passage and found the Polish lady in a sparse chamber. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though pale with hunger. He laid out the sacks of bread. "My queen," he whispered, falling to his knees before her. "Take it." She looked at him with tears in her eyes, unable to speak as she took a piece. "How can I thank you?" she finally said, her voice faint. "You have saved my life." Andriy seized her hand. "My reward is to be with you!" he declared, his voice thick with passion. "My father, my comrades, my motherland—they are all gone! My motherland is you! I will stay and defend you to my last breath!" He renounced everything he had ever been for her, sealing his fate in that dark, starving room.
Page 7
When the Poles rode out from Dubno, Andriy was at their head, dressed in shining hussar armour. Taras Bulba’s heart turned to stone. He spurred his horse. "Andriy!" he called. His son meekly followed him away from the battle into a quiet wood. "So!" Taras said, his voice level and calm. "The Poles have bought you? You have sold your faith?" Andriy sat pale and still on his horse, his lips whispering a single name—the name of the Polish lady. He made no defense. Taras raised his musket. "I gave you life," he said, the words echoing in the silent clearing. "And I will take it." He looked at his beautiful, treacherous son one last time, a warrior judging a traitor, not a father judging a son, and then he fired.
Page 8
Taras had no time to mourn. He threw himself back into the battle, his heart consumed by rage. Elsewhere, his elder son, Ostap, was fighting like a lion. "Stand firm, brothers!" he roared to his men. "For the faith and the Sich!" But even the bravest warrior can be overcome. He was surrounded. A Polish officer shouted, "Take him alive! He is a chieftain!" Four, five, six soldiers swarmed him at once. He fought them off, but more came. Taras, fighting nearby, saw his son go down. He saw them pile on top of him, disarm him, and bind him with ropes. Taras fought desperately to get to him, but it was too late. He saw Ostap, his last and truest son, being led away from the field in chains, a captive bound for Warsaw and certain death.
Page 9
Taras made his way to Warsaw in disguise. In the great public square, a huge crowd had gathered for the execution of the Cossacks. A herald announced, "Behold the fate of rebels against the Commonwealth!" Taras hid himself in the crowd and watched as Ostap was led to the scaffold. His son walked with his head held high, showing no fear. He endured his terrible fate without a single sound. But at the very last moment, his strength failed him. He cried out, his voice clear across the silent square. "Father! Where are you? Do you hear me?" From the depths of the crowd, a single, terrible roar answered him, a voice of thunder that made every person tremble. "I hear you!" Taras had revealed himself, and now every soldier in Warsaw was hunting for him.
Page 10
Taras escaped Warsaw, his grief turned into terrible vengeance. But he was finally cornered on the banks of the Dniester River. His men fought to the last, with many escaping in boats. But Taras was captured. The Polish commander ordered, "He has caused us enough trouble. Burn him!" They nailed his hands to a tall tree and piled firewood beneath. As the flames rose, Taras laughed at his captors. He looked down at the river and saw his men rowing for their lives. With his last breaths, he roared out commands. "To the bank, lads, to the reeds!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the water. "They can't follow you there! Take the boats to the narrows!" A commander to the very end, he guided his Cossacks to safety as the fire consumed him.
About this story
- Audience: general readers
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