Father of the nations Stalin was to foresee any discord in a large multinational family. Riots were eradicated without delay, using any methods. Otherwise, there could be trouble.

The leader's iron hand reached «to the very outskirts» of the Soviet Union. There was no way to hide in the taiga wilderness or in the endless tundra of nomadic reindeer herders, nor in the marshy swamps of the Ob North.

The decisions of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the АН-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks and the orders of the NKVD in 1937 brought fear, hopelessness, denunciation and spying, including to the North. They were looking for spies everywhere. The planned tasks, figures and norms for the arrest of «enemies of the people», approved in the center, served as a guide for the local NKVD bodies. They had a kind of social competition for the greatest exposure of «enemies of the people.» The arrests of shamans and «kulaks» destroyed the indigenous peoples of the North. Instead, the leadership assigned obeying people able to bow their heads before the authorities. But here, in the dense swampy lands, among the small peoples of the Ob region, accustomed to roam freely along their hunting and deer paths, through the vast expanses of their native land for centuries, there were still few of them.

Therefore, today the main representatives of these people, confident in themselves, silently moved to the unknown. Like an unbending trunk of a cedar, they did not bow, and did not lower their heads. And it did not matter that there were few of them among the so-called shamans. The storytellers, stewards of sacred rites, the mind and power of the people, went away forever and nowhere. In today's mess, no one could disobey the Father of Nations. The police, the NKVD, even if they wanted to help someone, did not have the right to do so. They were firmly accustomed to the forgotten Khanty mountains, bringing them into a new order.

An elderly woman in front of the crowd pushed her old man:

«Help me unhook her fingers. She's got three kids without a father at home! They can take her!»

Together, they went to Khartaganov's crying wife, dragging lifelessly after her sweet, most dear man in this world. The young shaman, realizing what could happen to the mother of his children, tried to tear off the hem of his clothes. He finally managed to grope and tear a weak spot along the seam of his malica, sewed in the evenings by his Khutline – the morning dawn of the young shaman. As he walked, he continued tearing off the wide hem of his clothes. Skilful stitches sewn with reindeer veins gave in with difficulty. Finally, he stepped over the torn part of the malica, leaving it in the hands of the one that was half of his soul, half of his heart. His beloved remained sobbing angrily at the earth.

«Heia!» The crowd was agitated. «Your husband won't come back. Don't you howl like that!»

«He tore his clothes alive. Bad sign.»

Long winters and frosts in the North established their conditions for the funeral rites that had appeared in distant times, when people got used to live among the eternal snows. It was believed that in the «lower world» the dead live an ordinary life, so they need all the necessary utensils, including clothes. Women were buried in a new yagooshka, and men were buried in their malica. During the funeral, all things were spoiled – torn or cut with a knife. With a hatchet they cut sleds into two halves.

Today, the shaman tore his clothes going on a long journey. He knew the customs, but the family was more important than the ancient customs.