The Horse-Headed Fiddle

Morin Khuur is a traditional Mongolian stringed instrument that is carved in the shape of a horse’s head. Here’s how it came to be made.

Our story took place ages ago in the far eastern part of Mongolia, where lived a young man by the name of Khokhoo Namjil. Khokhoo means ‘cuckoo’ and Namjil got this name because he was blessed with a melodious voice. But, like the other young men of his village, he was called for army duty, which took him all the way across to the Western borders.

Khokhoo’s superior singing skills so impressed his commander that he was assigned no other duties. He spent the next three years of his army service as the resident bard. But young Namjil loved horses and missed his time with them. So he went to his commander and said, ‘Sir, all my years in the army I have spent indoors, singing. While I’m grateful for your kindness, I would like to request you to allow me some time outside, tending the horses.’

‘You’ve served us wonderfully all these years and your wish shall certainly be fulfilled,’ said the commander. ‘In fact, your term is coming to a close too. Take care of our horses for five days and then you can return home.’

Namjil tended to the horses with great care for he loved these gentle but swift animals. One day, he drove the herd far, far away from the camp. Before long, they came to a lake and Namjil stopped to give the horses a drink. Sitting on the banks of the lake, Namjil began to sing a plaintive song. Just as the song came to an end, a beautiful maiden clad in an emerald-green deel (a Mongolian cloak) emerged from the lake. She rode to the shore on a black horse, her dark hair flying behind her, although there was no wind and nothing stirred.

‘Such heavenly music! We heard it all the way back home and my parents are so taken by it that they have sent me here to fetch you. We would like you to visit us,’ she said.

‘Where do you live?’ Namjil asked, for he had seen her come out of nowhere. The girl smiled. ‘Sit behind me on my horse and close your eyes. Don’t worry about your horses, they’ll follow us.’ Namjil climbed up on the black stallion behind the girl and closed his eyes. Just a moment later, or so he thought, she asked him to open his eyes and he found himself standing before the girl’s yurt, which is a traditional Mongolian tent.

Her parents received him warmly. They appeared to be very wealthy and the maiden seemed to be their only child. ‘You must spend some time with us,’ said the father. Namjil was only too happy to oblige but could he?

‘But sir, I have just five days left in the army and I shall be failing in my duties if I were to stay here and neglect the horses in my charge.’

‘Oh . . . Don’t you worry about that. One of my men will tend to them,’ assured the father. So Namjil stayed there for the next four days and his singing enthralled the entire family. It was but natural for the girl to fall in love with the handsome young singer. Namjil too reciprocated the feelings but soon it was time to leave.

‘I must now return to my camp. But, once I’m relieved of my responsibilities, I will return,’ he told the girl.

‘And I’ll wait for you near the lake with my black stallion,’ she promised. Back at the camp, his commander was very happy to see the horses looking shiny-coated and healthy. ‘You’ve done a marvellous job with the horses, Khokhoo! They have never looked better, how can I let you go?’

‘But sir, you said I could . . .’ Namjil pleaded and his superior, kind man that he was, did not press him further. Once released from the army, Namjil rushed back to the lakeside. As he began to sing another haunting love song, the girl in the green deel appeared once more on her black horse and together they rode to that unknown mysterious destination.

The girl’s parents were only too happy to get the young couple married. Namjil lived happily with his new family, oblivious of his past life. Now there is something you must know about his life; back home in the east, he had left behind his parents and a young wife.

So, after a few happy days passed, he began to think guiltily of his old home and wished to go back. His new wife, surprisingly, understood his dilemma and gifted him a pale-brown, flying horse with wings. But it came with instructions: ‘This horse will take you home at daybreak and every night it will bring you back here. But do not let anyone else ride it. And, most importantly, before you enter your village, allow the horse to catch its breath.’

So Khokhoo Namjil returned to his village with his beautiful brown horse and went back to his old life of herding horses. His wife found it strange that he did not want to spend his nights at home. She also noticed how fiercely possessive he was of his new horse.

Every night, Namjil herded the horses in his keep to a cave and then took off on his flying horse to his home in the west. But once, while returning at daybreak, he got very, very late.

In his hurry, he forgot to let the flying horse slow down and catch its breath. This was when its magic wings would fold themselves and become invisible. His first wife, who saw this from her yurt, went out with a huge pair of scissors and cut off the flying horse’s wings. The horse stumbled, fell down and bled to death.

Namjil was heartbroken for he knew that he could never return to the girl in the green deel. He missed his pale-brown horse too. He neither ate nor slept and remained in mourning for three months. Then he fashioned a piece of wood in the shape of his beloved horse and covered it with its hide. He made a bow and two strings with the horse’s hair and thus was born Morin Khuur, the Mongolian horse-headed fiddle. Playing his new instrument, he sang the sweetest and the saddest songs but that magic life he briefly had would never return again.