In the series – “In Memory of My Predecessors Who Walked through the Horror of a Cruel Empire”
The small path was trodden, and the footprints of a hoofed animal could be clearly seen in the dirt. Here and there in the soft soil were the tracks of roe deer. Have I walked these steps because to do so is so pleasant, filling me with great joy? I breathed in deeply, as if I could inhale the entire Akhtamar. I took in the sweet scent of violets, in front of me in a garden of purple flowers.
Their sweetness caressed my soul, and the picture wet my eyes. Here is the fairy tale that my grandmother wrote, which today I will read through her memory, through her strength and spirit! I am Fedayi’s[i] granddaughter and his love; this strong woman is my grandmother. Her name is Takouhi, which means ‘Queen’ in the Armenian language.
In Akhtamar, the trees are one-of-a-kind, centuries-old heirs from the time of Urartu. Every leaf contains a story, and they each have their seasonal colour and beauty. The air is full of fragrance from the lilac plants, so light and heady.
The nearby lake is like a turquoise mirror. Underneath is a city of magic, waiting to break out through the surface and share its stories with us. Have I missed introducing you to ancient architecture, houses over 100 years old, with neat balconies covered in ivy, and windows with wooden shutters? All of them were deserted, lonely, almost asleep.
Takouhi was the youngest daughter of Pop (priest) Vartan, and she was only 13 years old. Her pale skin and unusual chestnut-coloured eyes were extremely striking. Her mannerisms did not suit her fragile age, and her sharp mind was filled with eloquent words.
She was friends with Raya, a girl who lived with her grandparents. Raya’s parents were exiled in Diyarbakır, with Tülay, the beautiful mayor’s daughter, who was loving and compassionate. The three girls had known each other since childhood. Each of them was of different nationalities, subjects of the Ottoman Empire, which was in its sunset. Raya was blue-eyed, slim and tall; her appearance made everyone who saw her gasp, especially if her scarf was off and her golden hair was loose around her face and shoulders. Tülay was Raya’s complete opposite – she had darker skin and dark-brown eyes. Her hair was so black that it shone almost blue in sunlight. They were all so young and innocent, they didn’t even notice that they were being admired wherever they were together.
The three girls gathered for a chat under a distant tree and talked about what had happened at school that day. They would argue, discuss books, and pick flowers, all the while enjoying each other’s company until one day they too were overtaken by the evil that the Empire brought down on its subjects. Hiding behind the tree, the three friends heard screams and the cracking of a whip. Not far from them walked ragged, bearded, bloodied prisoners dragging their feet. The girls held hands and tears streamed down their faces. A loud cry sent the Zaptiyes (Ottoman Gendarmerie) in their direction as Raya called out:
“Dad, Dad, I’m here, I’ll save you!” Raya screamed in her native language, unknown to her friends.
Raya’s father turned, searching in panic for his daughter.
“Run Raya, hide!” Goran shouted helplessly in Bulgarian.
The Zaptiyes followed Raya’s shouts and Goran’s eyes and quickly surrounded the girls and asked them in Turkish, “Which one of you was calling and what did you say? Who are you? What are you doing here?” Their voices were harsh and cold.
“I am Tülay, Osman Pasha’s daughter, please let us go home now,” Tülay spoke quietly and paused, trembling all over.
One of the Zaptiye looked at her and ordered Tülay to separate from her friends. Tülay didn’t move and held Raya and Takouhi’s hands even tighter.
The Zaptiye’s anger sparked at her defiance and he swung off his horse and pulled Tülay towards him with all his strength. Tülay shouted helplessly, but the strong hands did not let her go.
“You will answer to my father!” – Tülay challenged as the Zaptiye continued to hold on to her.
The neighing of horses was heard, in the distance, distracting the Zaptiye. Tülay took advantage of the moment and bit him on the arm. He yelped in pain and she ran to her friends, who were holding hands pressed against the tree.
Takouhi recognized the brave Fedayi (Armenian revolutionary) Ovannes and without hesitation rushed to the prisoners. She was powerless to untie them and looked around for a knife, a sabre, anything that would release them. Her eyes darted around until she found a sharp stone. She grabbed it and began to cut the rope of one of the prisoners. The man spoke to her as she worked to release him, “May God reward you, girl – here, here, one of my hands is free, leave it to me, I will finish, I will untie the rope…”
While Ovannes’ group fought the Turkish Zaptiyes, the girls managed to untie the rest of the prisoners.
“Let’s blindfold them!” shouted Takouhi and held out her scarf. Tülay and Raya followed her.
The horseman took the tired and hungry prisoners to the Armenian Vagaravank[ii]. There they were given shelter and food. However, Ovannes expected that very soon, the Turkish zaptiyes would be found, released and would try to get their revenge.
“Girls,” the Fedayi began, turning towards the trio. “We will send you to your homes, do not tell anyone about what happened and do not leave your homes!”
“Tülay, you are a good friend, and brave. Don’t tell your parents anything!”- Raya said to her friend.
———–
Pop Vartan looked his daughter in the eyes and asked her immediately, “Where have you been? You look strange, did something happen? Where is your headscarf?”
“I gave it to Tülay so that her father wouldn’t scold her for losing hers,” answered the girl quietly.
Takouhi’s mother looked at her, stroked her head and asked her young daughter to sit at the table to eat. Waiting for her were her beloved older brother and sister, Haiganush and Levon, both of whom were teachers of the Vagaravank (monastery).
A prayer followed, Takouhi’s voice trembling. In the morning, a loud knock on the door made Pop Vartan jump.
At the door was the Zaptiye. “Pop Vartan, where is Ovannes?” asked the Zaptiye as he stormed into their home. His eyes sought the Fedayi. Takouhi managed to cover her hair with a scarf and her sister hid behind the stove. Her brother stepped forward.
“We have not seen him; he has not worked on our lands for a long time. What happened, why are you looking for him?”
“It’s none of your business!” Snapped the Zaptiye. “We’ll find him!”
———–
The mosque was quiet and only a few people were praying when Ovannes’ pursuers swooped in and began searching for him. They asked everyone if they had seen him, and they described him as a tall Armenian with darker skin.
They approached a Kurd, looked at him and asked him who he was and where he was from as they had not seen him before in the mosque. The Kurd answered them that he was from the neighbouring village. He was wearing typical Kurdish clothing.
“Say the prayer!” The zaptiye ordered him.
The Kurdish man began the prayer calmly and continued it.
“Let’s go, this is not a Fedayi,” said one of the Turkish pursuers.
The one disguised in Kurdish clothes was Ovannes. He completely disappeared from the lands of Van, never to be seen again. That was until the fateful night in which all of Takouhi’s family were slaughtered, and Ovannes appeared and saved her life.
Ovannes and Takouhi left Van for good. At first, they settled in Odessa, and then in Varna. They were in Raya’s homeland and learned how to speak her language. Takouhi never forgot her childhood in Van and grieved for her loved ones whom she no longer saw. She also remembered her friends, and that terrifying night by her favourite tree. The young woman started a family and named two of her children after her beloved brother and sister, whose lives were taken prematurely. Takouhi was the sole survivor of Pop Vartan’s family.
When she lived in Odessa, Takouhi saw settlers from Van and her eyes would embrace each one of them and she would say a prayer, her heart crying for them. It was the same in her new hometown of Varna. She met runaways from Van, seeking comfort in them and they in her. She went to the small Armenian church in the centre of town and taught the local Armenians traditional prayers and told them about what happened in Van. Takouhi’s stories touched everyone both young and old, and they all admired her fighting spirit.
As she grew and became a grandmother, Takouhi continued to tell others about her life, like a dream in which her relatives had passed through the horror of a cruel Empire. The brave Fedayi worked and fed his large family in a world of kindness and humanity, a world of love and hope. Neither he nor his beloved ever returned to the lands of Van.
Now, in our modern world, I listen to their songs which are recorded on tapes, and how they recite poems in Armenian and Bulgarian. I feel the sadness and trepidation in their voices, as well as a feeling of love for their lost homeland and the childhood of loved ones taken away. Their prayers were their strength, their knowledge, their weapon. They are, as the great Yavorov says, “From an always brave nation, a martyr, children of a troubled slave mother and victims of an audibly great feat.”
These are my ancestors, my grandparents from Van!
[i] Fedayi (Western Armenian: Ֆէտայի Fedayi; Eastern Armenian: Ֆիդայի Fidayi), also known as the Armenian irregular units or Armenian militia, were Armenian civilians who voluntarily left their families to form self-defense units and irregular armed bands in reaction to the mass murder of Armenians and the pillage of Armenian villages by criminals, Turkish and Kurdish gangs, Ottoman forces, and Hamidian guards during the reign of Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II in late 19th and early 20th centuries, known as the Hamidian massacres. Their ultimate goal was always to gain Armenian autonomy (Armenakans) or independence (Dashnaks, Hunchaks) depending on their ideology and the degree of oppression visited on Armenians.
[ii] The church is currently under the care of a 63-year-old Kurdish shepherd living in the village. It is noted that the monastery complex was never renovated under any government and was abandoned by the state. Varagavank was built in the 7th century in the historical province of Vaspurakan, in the south-eastern part of the city of Van, on the western slope of Mount Varaga. It was once the residence of the Archbishop of Van.
