Tengriism didn’t spring from a single holy book but from an intricate web of stones, songs and stories passed down through millennia. The most tangible relics are the Orkhon Inscriptions (8th century CE), carved in Old Turkic along Mongolia’s Orkhon River. They don’t read like a modern scripture but rather celebrate Turkic kingship, divine mandate and the ever-watchful Sky-God, Tengri.

Beyond stone, a rich tapestry of oral epics kept these beliefs alive. The Kyrgyz Epic of Manas, stretching over half a million lines, weaves ancestral heroes and shamanic journeys under Tengri’s vast sky. Similarly, the Book of Dede Korkut—though more associated with Oghuz Turks—echoes reverence for natural harmony and sky-ward spirits. On the Mongolian steppe, tales preserved in the Secret History of the Mongols recall chieftains who sought Tengri’s blessing before every campaign.

Shamanic poems and ritual chants remain the beating heart of Tengriism. In Altai and Tuva, shamans still sing invocations to the spirits of rivers, mountains and ancestors—each performance a living scripture. These invocations often get recorded today on social-media channels, proving that even ancient traditions can find a home on modern platforms.

The 21st-century revival in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Mongolia brings new life to these old songs. Festivals like the Golden Eagle in Bayan-Ölgii showcase eagle-hunters who pay homage to Tengri’s freedom through dance and falconry. University folklore departments digitize manuscripts and audio recordings, ensuring that nothing falls through the cracks.

Although no single “Bible of the Sky” exists, the combined force of inscriptions, epics, ritual chants and shamanic lore forms a resilient oral and material canon. Like a constellation in the night sky, each piece shines on its own but gains power by being part of a larger celestial map—ever reminding humanity of its place within the natural order.