Tag Archive | Battle of Kosovo

A Vote for the Blind Bards

Up until a few years ago, grandpa-Mijat, as the whole village and all the neighbouring villages had called him, was still alive. And it had amazed me even when I was little – even grey-haired old men called him grandpa-Mijat, saying that for as long as they could remember grandpa-Mijat was an old man. I remember him from when I was little and attended the village primary school. His house was near the school and I feel as if I were looking at him right now, strolling gently down the road by the school. Tall, stout, with long grey moustache, longish grey hair, nearly at shoulder length, beard neatly shaved, and long grey eyebrows that almost covered his eyes. He walked at a slow pace, in long strides, and always upright. He smoked a long chibouk[1] made from cherry wood, and a firesteel was always hanging at his hip; across his chest he always carried an old leather pouch, and in it a tobacco pouch made of dried sheep’s bladder, a flint stone, and a few more necessities. His household was a strong, big zadruga[2] with over fifty members. It was probably only due to respect towards grandpa-Mijat that they stayed together, because almost immediately after his death their zadruga split into several households.

Although illiterate, grandpa-Mijat still held school and science in high esteem as if it were sacred, and he rejoiced seeing any child that could read books and write letters, which was a rarity in his youth. He always advised the younger folk to send their children to school to receive education. Sometimes he would sit by the hearth, light his chibouk, letting thick wisps of smoke through his grey moustache that was slightly yellowed around the lips, and the children would read epic poetry to him, or he would tell them about the battles and the heroes of the uprising. When the first uprising erupted he was five years of age, and by the time of the second uprising[3] he was already on the battlefield. Often when telling the stories about those harrowing days, slain heroes, and devastating adversities, a tear would roll down his wrinkled cheeks and he would take the gusle[4], pull the bow over the string – the mournful sound shimmered in the air – and the sombre old voice sounded:

Dear God, a mighty marvel, such portents in the skies
Across the realm were seen, to herald Turks’ demise…
[5]

Once, some two or three years before his death, in a conversation with the teacher, grandpa-Mijat said,

– It makes one wonder, teacher, today we have liberty and literate men and schools and everything, and yet men are only becoming worse!… – and saying that, grandpa-Mijat sank deep in thought, sadly shook his head, and sighed.

Teacher said nothing.

After a short silence, grandpa-Mijat spoke again.

– My child, I will die soon, and would really love to see the children learning in school, and watch what is going on in there.

– School exams are in three days, grandpa-Mijat, you can come to the exams! – teacher invited him wholeheartedly.

And grandpa-Mijat promised he would come.

The exams were like any other: children with their faces freshly washed, dressed better than usual, sitting stiffly on their seats with a terrified look on their faces because the school inspector, that “monster” that teacher had used to scare them throughout the year, had come. The inspector, serious, frowning, sat at the table with an important air. Specially for him they put a clean cloth over the table and a bouquet of flowers in the glass. His face was dignified as if he were preparing to hold a lecture at the University, and when he browsed through the report cards, he did it with such an important and pensive expression that one would think he was in the process of solving some serious scientific problem. Children stared at him, their eyes bulging out, frightened, and from each of their expressions one could read, “Oh, my, how scary he is!”

The teacher also looked scared and changed, as if he were expecting a verdict on which his life depends. There is also another important question tormenting him: “Is the inspector a philologist or naturalist?” The answer will determine how he will proceed with the examination, and, of course, determine its success. The school board, consisting of five townsmen, sat there in all seriousness and pretended to observe and appraise the teacher’s efforts. Pupils’ parents sat at the end of the room and listened to their children’s achievements.

The exam was proceeding as it should.

Grandpa-Mijat came in. Both children and adults stood up. Inspector fretted and waved at the children to sit down and not interrupt the exam. Grandpa-Mijat was given the best seat. He sat and observed with reverence the multicoloured pictures of snakes, cows, birds and other God’s creatures on the walls, and then the abacus, blackboard, maps. On one table he noticed a lump of salt, a small bar of sulphur, a piece of iron, a steel rod, some stones, and dozens of other common items.

All these things around the school impressed grandpa-Mijat as much as the first time he saw the railroad.

And once grandpa-Mijat sat down, inspector called a pupil.

– Ask him the same topic – inspector told the teacher with dignity, assuming a position and expression of deep, solemn attention.

– Tell us, Milan, what you know about sheep. Careful, slowly, don’t be afraid, you know it well.

The child’s eyes bulged, He extended his neck a little, swallowed nervously, looked in fear at the inspector and shouted in a resonant voice,

– Sheep!… (there he swallowed again, stood on his toes a little, and shouted further) Sheep, it has a head…

– Very good! – said the teacher.

Inspector nodded approvingly.

Not knowing what the inspector’s gesture meant, the child became a bit confused, and continued:

– It has a head, neck, body and limbs; on its neck it has long hair that is called mane…

– Careful, don’t talk nonsense! – said the teacher with a slightly stricter tone.

– Have you never seen a sheep, you fool! – the child’s father shouted angrily from his seat and the other guests laughed.

– The guests will kindly not interfere! – remarked the inspector.

– But, Sir, this is my boy, he’s been herding sheep for days on end, and now he’s saying it has a mane. What did you to my child in school?!

The child started crying.

– Be careful, what’s upsetting you, you can do this well – said the teacher and patted the child’s head, although he would have rather slapped him with an open hand.

The child became even more bewildered and proceeded to mix up all the subjects:

– Sheep, it is our domestic animal, it has a head and on it the post office, telegraph and the district court.

– Think carefully. Sheep! Understand: sheep! – said the teacher, all trembling. – What post office are you gibbering about?!

– It has a head, and the national assembly convenes therein!

– Careful! Or I will send to your seat!

– It is a predator; it has two sources, one on the Golija mountain, and other… and they merge into one near Stalać and flow northward…

– Have you lost your mind today?! – the teacher shouted.

– It is our useful plant which ripens in the autumn and gives us a sweet thick-skinned fruit, its young are born blind, and it sheds its fur every year.

– Sit down! – shouted the teacher angrily and wiped large beads of sweat from his brow.

The exam continued with the other pupils.

Grandpa-Mijat was all ears and listened with amazement at the questions the children were being asked, while he knew it all as well as any child, even without any schooling.

He heard that pigs love to eat acorns, that they have a head and four legs, that the young pig is called a piglet, female is a sow, and male is a boar. He also heard that the ox has a head, four legs and a tail, it ruminates, eats grass and pulls a cart, and the cow gives us tasty milk. The ox meat is eaten, and ox hide used for shoemaking. He heard then also that salt is salty, white, and it can dampen; that steel is unyielding and used for making knives, scythes etc.

And there were some children who were unable to say all that. One child even said that horses nest in high trees and eat bugs, and another child raised their hand and said that a horse eats hay, grass and oats, and it does not ruminate; the child also guessed that horse draws a cart and can be used for riding as well.

– There you see who pays attention in class, doesn’t dawdle about, learns all lessons and knows his subjects! – added the teacher, satisfied.

Next grandpa-Mijat listened to the children talk about pears, cherries, apples, plums, and different trees. Where each one of them grows, what kind of fruit it bears, and what it is used for: grandpa-Mijat listened, and he started wondering why he knew all that better than the children without having gone to school.

Then they moved on to fourth grade Serbian language.

Inspector called one of the better students.

– Let him read, or if he knows any song by heart, recite it!

– A song? Alright.

– Which song do you know?

– I know “Departure for Kosovo”.

– Let’s hear it then!

Now when the gates were opened, what time the morning shone,
Then forth unto the gateway Queen Milica came down,
And stood beneath the portal in the shadow of the arch,
What time unto the muster the host began to march.
The spears shone over the chargers…
[6]

– Enough! – the inspector interrupted.

Grandpa-Mijat had just warmed up to it a bit and he liked the song, but frowned when the inspector interrupted it.

– Tell me now, what type of word is spears? – asked the inspector.

Spears, it is a common noun.

– Very good!

–Which grammatical case is it in?

Spears, it is the first case plural, the first case singular is spear, and it is declined by the second pattern.[7]

– Nice, and now tell me what is that word when? “Now when the gates were opened”, that’s how you started the song. So, the when?

When, it is an adverb.

– And what are adverbs?

– Adverbs are words added to verbs to show place, time and method, where, when and how the action of the verb is performed.

– Very nice! And are there any verbs in that sentence?

– Yes, verb shone, from the verb to shine.

– Very good, sit down, you passed.

– Let Milivoje Tomić continue the song! – inspector called out.

The spears shone over the chargers, before them Boško rode
On a bay steed, and his rich weed with shining goldwork glowed.

– Hold it: “and his rich weed”. What type of word is that his?

His, it is a pronoun.

– Carry on!

And the standard that he carried swept round him fold on fold;
Over the steed it bellied; thereon was an apple of gold;
From the apple rose gilded crosses, and tassels from them did hang,
And brushed against his shoulders as in the wind they swang.

– Enough! – said the teacher. – Tell me now what type of word is brushed?

Brushed, it is a verb, from the verb to brush.

– What tense is it? – asked the inspector.

Brushed – past tense.

Grandpa-Mijat started grumbling sullenly because they interrupted the song. This was the only thing he liked from all the subjects that children were taught, and even then they would not allow people to enjoy the whole song.

The next pupil they called continued:

Queen Milica sprang forward to the bay stallion’s head,
And she clasped arms round her brother, and unto him she said:
“My brother Boško, thou art become the tsar his gift to me.
Thou shalt not go to Kosovo; he gives his blessing to thee;
Thou shalt give the golden banner to the hero of thy will,
And be my brother in Kruševac, that I may have thee still.”
Boško answered her straightway: “Get back to thy hall this tide!
I would not turn nor give up the flag with the great cross glorified,
Though the tsar should give me…

– Stop! – the teacher interrupted. – What type of word is me? “Though the tsar should give me…”

Grandpa-Mijat jumped up from his seat, his grey hair shaking violently, eyes shining angrily under his bushy eyebrows, and he shouted,

– You scoundrel, why don’t you let children recite this beautiful song, but keep distracting them with that nonsense?

Teacher smiled at grandpa-Mijat’s remark, whispered something in the inspector’s ear, and the other said:

– We have to, old man, that is the curriculum.

– If you have to, then throw your curricula away, and close down all the schools so that children would not sit there in vain. That curriculum of yours baffled the children with nonsense so that after all this schooling they don’t know what a horse eats, even though they knew it all before coming to school. If your curriculum is like that, then they would be better without it and without schools. Let the blind bards roam the world, sing our old songs and praise our heroes, as it was in my youth, and we were no worse men back then!

Thus spoke grandpa-Mijat with a deep sorrow, his voice trembling. He wanted to say something more, but instead he shook off his hands, sighed deeply, turned towards the door, and sadly shaking his head walked out of the school while the guests, teacher, and children remained inside in silence, taken aback.

– By God, grandpa-Mijat is talking sense, a wise, old-fashioned man! I, too, vote for the blind bards! – a low voice came through from one of the peasants, for whom voting has already become a habit, and thus broke the gloomy, deep silence.

 

In Belgrade, 1902.

For the “Radoje Domanović” Project translated by Vladimir Živanović, proofread by Hannah J. Shipp.

English translation of the Serbian epic poem “Departure for Kosovo” (“Tsar Lazar and tsáritsa Mílitsa”) taken from: Heroic Ballads of Serbia, Sherman, French & Company, Boston 1913, translated by George Rapall Noyes and Leonard Bacon.

 

[1] Chibouk (Turk. çıbık, Serb. чибук) is a long-stemmed Turkish tobacco pipe.

[2] Zadruga (Serb. задруга) refers to a type of rural community historically common among South Slavs. Generally it was formed of one extended family or a clan of related families; the zadruga held its property, herds and money in common, with usually the oldest member (patriarch) ruling and making decisions for the family.

[3] First and Second Serbian Uprising are a part of the XIX century Serbian Revolution, during which Serbia evolved from a province of the Ottoman Empire into an autonomous state. First Uprising lasted from 1804 to 1813, and the Second from 1815 to 1817, after which the semi-independent Principality of Serbia was established.

[4] Gusle (Serb. гусле) is a traditional single-stringed musical instrument used in the Balkans; it is always accompanied by singing, mostly of epic poetry.

[5] First verses of “The Start of the Revolt against the Dahijas”, epic song created and performed by the famous Serbian blind bard (guslar i.e. gusle player) Filip Višnjić (1767–1834). The song recounts the events that lead to the beginning of the First Serbian Uprising, and it was first recorded by Vuk Karadžić in 1815.

[6] Serbian epic poem which tells the story about the departure of the Serbian army to the battle of Kosovo in 1389. The poem was first recorded by Vuk Karadžić from the famous bard (guslar) and storyteller Tešan Podrugović (1783–1815). It was titled “Tsar Lazar and tsaritsa Milica” by Vuk, but it is also known simply as “Departure for Kosovo”.

[7] Serbian nouns have three declensional types, which are further divided into different patterns.

Reasoning of an ordinary Serbian ox

Good deal of wonders occur in this world, and our country is, as many say, overflowing with wonders to such an extent that wonders are no longer wonders. There are people here on very high positions who do not think at all, and as a compensation, or maybe for some other reasons, an ordinary peasant’s ox, which differs not one bit from other Serbian oxen, started thinking. God knows what happened that made this ingenious animal dare to take up such a brash endeavour, especially since it had been proven that in Serbia this unfortunate occupation could only bring you disservice. Let us then say that this poor devil, in all his naïveté, didn’t even know that this endeavour is not profitable in his homeland, so we won’t attribute him with any particular civic courage. But it still remains a mystery why an ox should think since he is not a voter, nor a councillor, nor a magistrate, nor has he been elected a deputy in any bovine assembly, or even (if he has reached a certain age) a senator. And had the poor soul ever dreamt of becoming a minister of state in any bovine country, he should have known that on the contrary, he ought to practice how to think as little as possible, like those excellent ministers in some happier countries, although our country is not so lucky in this respect either. In the end, why should we care about why an ox in Serbia has taken up an endeavour abandoned by the people? Also, it might have happened that he started thinking merely due to some natural instinct of his.

So, what kind of an ox is it? An ordinary ox which has, as zoology teaches us, a head, body, and limbs, like all the other oxen; he pulls a cart, grazes on grass, licks salt, ruminates and brays. His name is Sivonja, the grey ox.

Here is how he started thinking. One day his master yoked him and his buddy, Galonja, loaded some stolen pickets on the cart and took them to the town to sell. Almost immediately upon entering the town, he sold the pickets and then unyoked Sivonja and his comrade, hooked the chain that ties them to the yoke, threw a sheaf of thimbleweed in front of them, and merrily went into a small tavern to refresh with a few drinks. There was a festival ongoing in the town, so there were men, women, and children passing by from all sides. Galonja, otherwise known to other oxen as being somewhat dumb, did not look at anything, instead, he stuck into his lunch in all seriousness, ate a bellyful, brayed a bit out of pure enjoyment, and then lay down, sweetly dozing and ruminating. All those people passing by were no concern of his. He is just dozing and ruminating peacefully (it’s a pity he is not a human, with all these predispositions for a lofty career). But Sivonja could not take a single bite. His dreamy eyes and the sad expression on his face showed at first glance that this was a thinker, and a sweet, impressionable soul. People, Serbs, are passing him by, proud of their glorious past, their name, their nation, and this pride shows in their stern demeanour and pace. Sivonja observed all this, and his soul was all of a sudden consumed by sorrow and pain due to the tremendous injustice, and he couldn’t but succumb to such a strong, sudden and powerful emotion; he brayed sadly, painfully, tears rolling in his eyes. And in his immense pain, Sivonja started to think:

– What are my master and his compatriots, the Serbs, so proud of? Why do they hold their heads so high and look at my people with haughty pride and contempt? They are proud of their motherland, proud that merciful fate has granted them to be born here in Serbia. My mother gave birth to me here in Serbia as well, and Serbia is not only my native land but my father’s also, and my ancestors have, just like theirs, all together, come to these lands from the old Slavic homeland. And yet none of us oxen have felt proud of it, we only took pride in our ability to pull a heavier load uphill; to this day, never has an ox told a German ox: “What do you want with me, I am a Serbian ox, my homeland is the proud country of Serbia, all my ancestors had been calved here, and here, in this land, are the graves of my forefathers. ” God forbid, we never took pride in this, never has it come to our mind, and they are even proud of that. Strange folk!

Taken by these thoughts, the ox sadly shook his head, bell on his neck ringing and yoke crackling. Galonja opened his eyes, looked at his friend, and mooed:

– There you go again with that tomfoolery of yours! Eat, fool, grow some fat, look at your ribs all sticking out; if it were good to think, people would not have left it to us oxen. No way would we’ve been so fortunate!

Sivonja looked at his comrade with pity, turned his head away from him, and immersed back in his thoughts.

– They take pride in their glorious past. They have their Field of Kosovo, Battle of Kosovo. Big deal, haven’t my ancestors pulled carts with food and armaments even back then? If it weren’t for us, people would’ve had to do it themselves. Then there is the uprising against the Turks. A grand, noble endeavour, but who was there at the time? Was it these high-nosed dimwits, strutting proudly before me as if it were their merit, who raised the uprising? Here, take my master as an example. He too is so proud and brags about the uprising, especially with the fact that his great-grandfather perished in the war of liberation as a true hero. And is this my master’s merit? His great-grandfather had the right to be proud, but not him; his great-grandfather died so that my master, his descendant, could be free. So he is free, and how does he use his freedom? He steals other people’s pickets, sits on the cart, and I have to pull both him and the pickets while he’s asleep at the reins. Now he has sold his pickets, he’s drinking liquor, doing nothing and being proud with his glorious past. And just how many of my ancestors had been slaughtered in the uprising to feed the fighters? And did not my ancestors at the time pull the armaments, cannons, food, ammunition? And yet we don’t take pride in their merits because we haven’t changed; we still do our duty today, just as our ancestors did, patiently and conscientiously.

They are proud of their ancestors’ suffering and of five hundred years of slavery. My kin has suffered throughout our existence, and today still we suffer and are enslaved, and yet we don’t scream about it at the top of our voices. They say that Turks had tortured, slaughtered and impaled them; well, my ancestors were slaughtered by both Serbs and Turks alike, and roasted, and put on all kinds of torture.

They are proud of their religion, and yet they believe in nothing. What is the fault of me and my folk that we cannot be accepted among Christians? Their religion tells them “thou shalt not steal” and there is my master stealing and drinking for the money he got for stealing. Their religion instructs them to love their neighbours, and yet they only do harm to one another. For them, the best of men, an example of virtue, is the one who doesn’t do any harm, and of course, nobody even considers asking anyone to do something good as well, aside from not doing harm. That’s just how low they’ve got that their examples of virtue amount to no more than any useless item that doesn’t do harm.

The ox sighed deeply, and his sigh raised the dust from the road.

– So – the ox continued with his sad thoughts – in this case, aren’t me and my kin better in all that than any of them? I have never murdered anyone, I have never defamed anyone, haven’t stolen anything, haven’t fired an innocent man from public service, haven’t made a deficit in the state treasury, haven’t declared a fake bankruptcy, I have never chained or arrested innocent people, I have never slandered my friends, I have never gone against my ox principles, I haven’t made false testimonies, I was never a minister of state and never did the country any harm, and not only did I not do any harm, I even do good to those who do me harm. My mother gave birth to me, and immediately, evil men even took my mother’s milk from me. God has at least created grass for us oxen, and not for men, and yet they deprive us of it as well. Still, besides all that beating, we pull men’s carts, plough their fields and feed them bread. And yet nobody admits our merits that we do for the motherland…

– Or take fasting as an example; well, to men, religion tells to fast on all feast days, and yet they are not even willing to endure this little fasting, while I and my folk are fasting all our lives, ever since we are first weaned from mother’s breast.

Ox lowered his head as if he were worried, then raised it again, snorted angrily, and it seemed that something important was coming back to him, tormenting him; all of a sudden, he mooed joyously:

– Oh, I know now, it has to be that – and he continued thinking, – that’s what it is; they are proud of their freedom and civil rights. I need to put my mind to it seriously.

And he was thinking, thinking, but couldn’t make it out.

– What are these rights of theirs? If the police order them to vote, they vote, and like that, we could just as easily moo out: “Foo-o-o-or!”And if they are not ordered to, they dare not vote, or even dabble in politics, just like us. They also suffer beatings in prison, even if completely innocent. At least we bray and wave our tails, and they don’t even have that little civic courage.

And at that moment, his master came out of the tavern. Drunken, staggering, eyes blurred, mumbling some incomprehensible words, he meanderingly walked towards the cart.

– Just behold, how is this proud descendant using the freedom that was won with the blood of his ancestors? Right, my master is a drunkard and a thief, but how do the others use this freedom? Just to idle away and take pride in the past and in the merit of their ancestors, in which they have as much contribution as I. And us oxen, we remained as hardworking and useful labourers just as our ancestors had been. We are oxen, but we can still be proud of our arduous work and merits today.

The ox sighed deeply and readied his neck for the yoke.

 

In Belgrade, 1902.
For the “Radoje Domanović” Project translated by Vladimir Živanović, proofread by Julia Bleck. In Belgrade, 19 August 2019.