your good girl is gonna go bad

Now, to set the mood, here’s playlist of Kazakh and Central Asian music.

Hokay, so. The story opens in the early 19th century and the situation on the Kazakh steppe is precarious. The power of the Kazakh khanate is waning, and it has broken into three jüzes which have sworn loyalty to Russia in exchange for military assistance and protection. While the Kazakh khans had previously enjoyed a great degree of independence from interference, now Russia has begun to annex Kazakh lands and will continue to do so across this century.

Temir’s (Jean Valjean) family and clan have fallen into poverty. He takes work as a guide for a caravan traveling from Bukhara to Orenburg with some ten thousand sheep, three hundred bactrian camels, horses and wagons of cotton. The journey takes close to three months and is incredibly dangerous, and indeed they are set upon by one of the clans of the Middle Jüz. Deciding that he’s not getting paid enough for this, Temir abandons the caravan, and as he’s a Kazakh, he allowed to escape by the raiding party.

He should have been able to disappear into the steppe, but by Hugolian coincidence, he’s captured by authorities being pressured by Russia to account for the attack. He’s accused of working as a double-agent and intentionally leading the caravan into a trap. The truth doesn’t particularly matter, and indeed, the local khan took a cut of the profits of the raid. Temir narrowly escapes execution, but is sent for forced labor instead. 

Some nineteen years later, he’s released. He gets by picking up whatever work he can and thieving when he can’t get work. When he steals a horse from a large herd, he’s caught red-handed by the old man it belongs to. Instead of punishment, the man offers him a job. Temir is, of course, preternaturally good at everything and brings great prosperity to the herds. The old man, having no sons of his own, makes Temir his heir and soon dies.  

Sezim (Fantine) is an enslaved woman whom Temir purchases out of pity. Though he has no romantic interest in her or interest in taking a wife, he marries her to provide stability. She is already pregnant when he does so. She dies of tuberculosis when her daughter is eight.

Inzhu (Cosette) is Sezim’s beautiful and precocious daughter. Her father dotes on her, as you would expect. She is given a great deal of liberty and spends her time riding her horse wild and free across the steppe. Other than the death of her mother, it’s an idyllic childhood. At fifteen she begins a flirtation with one of the boys hired to help with her father’s herds: Anvar (Marius).

The idyl is interrupted by Kenesary’s Rebellion (1837–1847). The last Kazakh kahn, Kenesary Kasymov (or Qasymuly) unites the three Kazakh jüzes and incites an uprising against Russia. Whether this is  a heroic fight for freedom in the face of tyranny or a cynical and self-serving attempt to reclaim and consolidate his own power, well, that depends on whom you ask. Anvar is true believer and is recruited by —

Khamza, Erasyl, Zhandos, and Bolat (shown here: Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Combeferre and Bahorel, respectively). Inzhu is devastated by his departure. A deeply annoyed Temir leaves to collect Anvar. He means merely to retrieve him and return but is swept along by events — events which I haven’t really worked through. Boring and depressing war stuff. He avoids engaging in outright combat, but he is, again, great at everything and makes himself useful; unfortunately so useful that they’re not willing to let him go. 

Maksat (Javert) works as a spy, guide, and translator for the Russians. At some point, he identifies Temir as important/valuable. After one skirmish, he chases Temir into the mountains -- catching him would be a real career-advancing move. And then, because I’m a shameless Valvert partisan, Maksat is thrown from his horse and badly breaks his leg. Temir could leave him to die … They’re alone in the mountains and, wouldn’t you know it, a terrible blizzard is moving in. Whatever will they dooooo? Temir builds a makeshift shelter and, yes, there is huddling for warmth. Even, I daresay, some hurt/comfort. 

As for the B plot: Temir had only planned to be away for a few weeks and he’d left one of his most trusted overseers to manage the herds and look after Inzhu. The weeks turn into months, then to years and the overseer either dies or runs off. Inzhu must manage the operation. A lot of things go wrong, but one of the more memorable incidents is run ins with cattle thieves and bandits (Patron-Minette). Perhaps an Éponine character defects from P-M to help Inzhu??

Bakhtiyar (Thénardier) is one of the cattle thieves with whom Inzhu must deal. He will go on to become a slave-trader at the end of this version as well. 

Also, I haven’t quite worked out how Ulan (Gavroche) fits in, but I can tell you that he plays the dombra…

So, in the end, Temir and Anvar escape in the aftermath of the rebellion’s failure. At this point, Inzhu is in her twenties and has move on from her teenage infatuation with Anvar. Temir sustained serious injuries which continue to plague him and lead to his slow decline and death. Maksat dies in the fighting. 

Hahaha, I’m just kidding. They both survive, shack up together and live happily ever after in a cute little yurt...

Jean Valjean works in the garden, setting out tender shoots of pole beans along the trellis. It’s April and though the morning was cool, the bright sunshine has made the afternoon nearly as hot as June. He has abandoned his workman’s jacket, loosened his cravat and unfastened the button holding his collar closed at his throat. 

He has tasked Javert with pruning the blackberry canes, a task Jean Valjean dislikes, but one to which Javert has set himself with a furious and single-minded determination. He makes a note that he will need to mix an ointment to apply to the inevitable scratches Javert will acquire. 

“Papa!” 

He straightens with delight as Cosette emerges from the house. He was not expecting her but it has become her habit to drop in unannounced in addition to the appointments she schedules in his diary. 

The breeze toys with the strings of her bonnet as she hurries to him, smiling broadly. Javert seems to take no notice of her approach but finds a task which takes him to a distant part of the garden — disappearing like a minnow falling under the fisherman’s shadow. He would not say that Javert is afraid of his daughter. And yet. 

He beams and removes his straw hat to permit her to kiss his cheek: she wears an expansive bonnet with frills, feathers and lace, and the hat would prevent the action were he not to doff his own. 

“How is your garden coming along, Papa?” she asks after bestowing half a dozen kisses upon him.

He explains that the spinach has bolted and the rabbits have nibbled the tops off the turnips, despite the fence he put in, and that he’s started several raised beds of herbs: tansy, parsley, tarragon and chervil. 

“And the little cherry tree has fruited this year, though the birds have stolen the meagre harvest. They are very sweet though.” 

“Won’t you show me?” she says and flashes a blithe smile to charm him. She need not exert herself. There is no gardener in the world to resist the request for a tour. 

Cosette takes his arm as he escorts her through the beds, her mouth opening to offer some compliment or question designed to invite further conversation, but her expression careens from merry to dismayed as her gaze falls upon his neck. 

“Oh, Papa! What has happened to you? That bruise looks awful! What misadventure could leave such a horrid mark?” She reaches for him, fingers pushing the gaping collar aside with the care of a mother inspecting a scraped knee. 

And he remembers with an abrupt horror: Javert’s mouth on his neck and his hand on — well! It had pleased him to behold it this morning in the tiny mirror above the washstand: a large bruise at the juncture of neck and shoulder, carefully hidden away under collar and cravat.

It pleases him considerably less now. 

His cheeks grow very hot and knows he is blushing a bright and telling pink. He gently clasps her hand to pull it away then straightens his collar and tightens his cravat to once again hide the inculpating mark. “It’s nothing, an incident with an ill-place rake. It doesn’t bother me at all.” 

“With a rake! My poor clumsy Papa, how did you —” she pauses, her brow furrowing as she takes in his flush. She who knows him better than anyone in the world. Her eyes narrow then go wide. “Oh!” It is her turn to take a vermillion hue, which starts at her neck and proceeds to her delicate widow’s peak. She swallows and brings her gaze to the hands which are clasped across her middle. “You ought to be more careful with your … ill-placed rake.” Her mouth skews on the phrase. 

“Certainly, I will. Now, perhaps you’d like to see the cherry tree? I might find one or two the birds have missed.” 

“Don’t worry, Papa. You love your little birds — if all your cherries are gone, I’m sure they’ve been well spent.” 

There is a hedge which grows at the perimeter of the kitchen beds, to separate them from the ornamental garden. It is shorter than the average man, yet Jean Valjean can only spy the very top of Javert’s grey head as it bobs along, making for the house with great haste.