An ceannaire (3/3)
Mar sin rith an chéad lá, agus lean níos mó laethanta leis an rath céanna. Níor tharla aon rud an-tábhachtach, ach tarluithe fánacha: thit siad a gcloigeann isteach i díog, ansin isteach i trinse; scuab siad i gcoinne fálta agus toir sméara dubha; chas siad ar bhuidéil; bhris roinnt lámh agus cosa; d’fhulaing cuid acu builleanna ar a ceann. Ach tháinig deireadh leis an gcruachás seo go léir. Fágadh cúpla seanfhear ina luí marbh ar an mbóthar. “Bheadh siad tar éis bás a fháil fiú dá bhfanfaidís sa bhaile, gan trácht ar an mbóthar!” a dúirt na hurlabhraithe, ag spreagadh na ndaoine eile chun leanúint ar aghaidh. Cailleadh cúpla leanbh níos lú, bliain go dhá bhliain d’aois. Chuir na tuismitheoirí a gcroí croí faoi chois go stócach toisc gurbh é toil Dé é. “Agus is lú na páistí, is lú an trua. Nuair a bhíonn siad níos óige is lú an brón. Deonaíonn Dia nach gcaillfidh na tuismitheoirí a gcuid leanaí riamh nuair a bhíonn an aois phósta sroichte acu. Má tá na páistí i ndán dóibh, is fearr go bhfaighidh siad bás go luath. Ansin níl an brón chomh mór sin! “ a thug na hurlabhraithe consól dóibh arís. Roinnt éadach fillte timpeall a gcinn agus cuireann siad comhbhrúite fuara ar a gcuid bruiseanna. D’iompair daoine eile a gcuid láimh i slingí. Bhí gach duine briste agus gearrtha suas. Bhí a gcuid éadaí crochta i raibíní, ach mar sin féin bhrúigh siad ar aghaidh go sona sásta. Bheadh sé níos éasca é seo go léir a iompar mura mbeadh ocras orthu arís agus arís eile. Ach b’éigean dóibh coinneáil ar siúl.
Lá amháin, tharla rud éigin níos suntasaí.
Bhí an ceannaire ag siúl chun tosaigh, timpeallaithe ag na fir cróga sa ghrúpa. (Bhí beirt acu ar iarraidh, agus ní raibh a fhios ag aon duine cá raibh siad. Ba é an tuairim ghinearálta gur bhrath siad a gcúis agus theith siad. Uair amháin dúirt an t-urlabhraí rud éigin faoina dtréas náireach. Níor chreid ach cúpla duine go bhfuair an bheirt bás ar ar an mbealach, ach níor labhair siad a dtuairim d’fhonn gan na daoine eile a mhúscailt.) Bhí an chuid eile den ghrúpa ag teacht taobh thiar díobh. Go tobann bhí an chuma ar scornach creagach an-mhór agus domhain – duibheagán fíor. Bhí an fána chomh géar sin nár leomh siad céim chun tosaigh a thógáil. Stopadh fiú na cinn cróga gearr agus d’fhéach siad ar an gceannaire. Ag púic, sáite i smaointe lena cheann síos, chuaigh sé ar aghaidh go dána, ag cnagadh a chána chun tosaigh, ar dtús ar dheis, ansin ar chlé, ina bhealach sainiúil. Dúirt go leor gur chuir sé cuma níos dínit air fós. Níor fhéach sé ar éinne ná ní dúirt sé tada. Ar a aghaidh ní raibh aon athrú ar léiriú ná rian eagla mar a chuaigh sé níos gaire agus níos gaire don imeall. D’éirigh fiú na fir an-dána mar bhás, ach níorbh fhiú le duine rabhadh a thabhairt don cheannaire cróga críonna. Dhá chéim eile agus bhí sé ag an imeall. Ar eagla bás agus le súile leathan oscailte, tháinig crith orthu go léir. Bhí na fir cróga díreach ar tí an ceannaire a choinneáil ar ais, fiú má chiallaigh sé sárú araíonachta, nuair a sheas sé uair amháin, faoi dhó, agus tumadh isteach sa rabhain é. D’eascair ionadh, screadaíl, béicíl; fuair eagla an lámh in uachtar. Thosaigh cuid acu ag teitheadh.
– Fan, a bhráithre! Cad é an deifir? An é seo an bealach a choinníonn tú d’fhocal? Ní mór dúinn an fear ciallmhar seo a leanúint mar tá a fhios aige cad atá á dhéanamh aige. Bheadh sé dÚsachtach é féin a mhilleadh. Ar aghaidh, tar éis leis! Is é seo an ghuais is mó agus b’fhéidir an ghuais dheireanach, an bac deireanach. Cé a fhios? B’fhéidir ar an taobh eile den rabhain seo go bhfaighfimid talamh iontach torthúil a bhí i gceist ag Dia dúinn. Ar aghaidh! Gan íobairt, ní bhfaighfimid áit ar bith! – sin focail chomhairle an urlabhraí agus thóg sé dhá chéim chun tosaigh freisin, ag imeacht isteach sa rabhain. Lean an duine is cróga agus ansin chuaigh gach duine eile isteach.
Bhí caoineadh, gragaíl, titim, gearánach ar fhána géar an scornach ollmhór. Chuirfeadh duine faoi mhionn nach bhfaigheadh aon duine amach beo riamh, i bhfad níos lú gortaithe agus in aon phíosa amháin, ach tá saol an duine fíochmhar. Bhí an t-ádh neamhghnách ar an gceannaire. Crochadh sé ar toir mar a thit sé ionas nár gortaíodh é. D’éirigh leis é féin a tharraingt le chéile agus dreapadh amach. Agus é ag caoineadh, ag casaoid agus ag screadaíl thíos, shuigh sé gan ghluaiseacht, go ciúin ciúin. Thosaigh cúpla duine a bhí buailte agus feargach ag cur mallacht air ach níor thug sé aon aird air. Iad siúd a bhí in ann greim a choinneáil ar tor nó ar chrann agus iad ag titim, thosaigh siad ag iarraidh go dian dreapadh amach. Bhí cinn scáinte ag cuid acu ionas go raibh fuil ag sileadh as a n-aghaidh. Ní raibh aon duine i bpíosa amháin seachas an ceannaire. Chroith siad go léir air go tobann agus bhéic siad i bpian ach níor ardaigh sé a cheann fiú. Bhí sé ina thost agus ghlac sé leis an údar machnamhach a bhain le saoi dáiríre!
Ritheadh roinnt ama. Bhí líon na dtaistealaithe ag éirí níos lú agus níos lú. Thóg gach lá a dola. D’fhág cuid acu an grúpa agus chas siad ar ais.
As an líon mór a thosaigh, níor fhan ach timpeall is fiche. Bhí a n-aghaidheanna gruama, ídithe ina scáthán ar chomharthaí éadóchais, amhrais, tuirse agus ocrais, ach ní dúirt éinne an oiread agus focal. Bhí siad chomh ciúin lena gceannaire agus choinnigh siad ag plodáil leo. Chroith fiú an t-urlabhraí spioradálta a cheann go géar. Bhí an bóthar deacair go deimhin.
Laghdaigh a líon go laethúil go dtí nach raibh ann ach deichniúr. Le haghaidheanna éadóchasacha, ní dhearna siad ach gearán agus gearán in ionad comhrá a dhéanamh.
Bhreathnaigh siad níos cosúla le cripteanna ná fir. Bhí cuid acu ar mhaidí croise. Choinnigh cuid acu a láimh i slingí ceangailte timpeall a gcuid muineál. Bhí bindealáin agus comhbhrúite iomadúla ar a lámha. Fiú dá mba rud é go raibh siad ag iarraidh íobairtí nua a dhéanamh, ní fhéadfaidís toisc nach raibh beagnach aon áit ar a gcorp le haghaidh aon chréacht nua.
Chaill fiú na daoine is láidre agus is cróga ina measc creideamh agus dóchas cheana féin ach bhí siad ag streachailt níos faide fós; is é sin, chuaigh siad ag caitheamh aimsire ar bhealach éigin in éineacht le sár-iarracht, ag gearán, ag crith le pian. Cad eile a d’fhéadfaidís a dhéanamh mura bhféadfaidís dul ar ais? An oiread sin íobairtí agus anois an turas a thréigean?
Tháinig clapsholas anuas. Ag siúl thart ar maidí croise, chonaic siad go tobann nach raibh an ceannaire os a gcomhair níos mó. Céim eile agus tumadh siad go léir isteach i ngort eile.
– Ó, mo chos! Ó, mo lámh! – a chlois siad sa screadaíl agus gearán. Mhallaigh guth lag amháin an ceannaire fiúntach ach ansin d’éirigh sé ina thost.
Nuair a tháinig an ghrian suas, shuigh an ceannaire ann, mar an gcéanna an lá sin nuair a roghnaíodh é. Ní raibh an t-athrú is lú ar a chuma.
Dhreap an t-urlabhraí amach as an rabhain, agus beirt eile ina dhiaidh. Mícheart agus fuilteach, chas siad timpeall le feiceáil cé mhéad a bhí fágtha, ach ba iadsan an t-aon duine. Líon eagla agus dóchas marfach a gcroí. Ní raibh an réigiún anaithnid, cnocach, creagach – gan cosáin in áit ar bith. Dhá lá sular tháinig siad ar bhóthar ach d’fhág siad ina dhiaidh é. Threoraigh an ceannaire iad ar an mbealach sin.
Shíl siad faoin iliomad cairde agus gaolta a fuair bás ar an turas uafásach seo. Rinne brón níos láidre ná an pian ina géaga cripte iad a shárú. Chonaic siad a scrios féin lena súile féin.
Chuaigh an t-urlabhraí suas chuigh an ceannaire agus thosaigh sé ag labhairt le guth tuirseach traochta lán le pian, éadóchas agus searbhas.
– Cá bhfuil muid ag dul anois?
Bhí an ceannaire ina thost.
– Cá bhfuil tú ag dul linn agus cá thug tú linn? Chuireamar muid féin agus ár dteaghlaigh i do lámha agus leanamar thú, ag fágáil taobh thiar dár dtithe agus uaigheanna ár sinsear le súil go bhféadfaimis muid féin a shábháil ón bhfothrach sa talamh lom sin. Ach scrios tú sinn ar bhealach níos measa. Bhí dhá chéad teaghlach i do dhiaidh agus féach anois cé mhéad atá ann!
– An bhfuil tú ag rá nach bhfuil gach duine anseo? – a chogar an ceannaire gan a cheann a ardú.
– Conas is féidir leat a leithéid de cheist mar sin a chur? Féach suas agus féach! Comhairigh cé mhéad againn atá fágtha ar an turas uafásach seo! Féach ar an gcruth ina bhfuil muid! B’fhearr go bhfaigheadh tú bás ná a bheith cripte mar seo.
– Ní féidir liom breathnú ort!
– Cén fáth?
– Tá mé dall.
Ciúnas marbh.
– Ar chaill tú do radharc le linn an turais?
– Rugadh dall mé!
Crochadh an triúr a gcinn in éadóchas.
Shéid gaoth na fhómhair go sinistriúil trí na sléibhte agus thug sí síos na duilleoga feoite. Bhí ceo ag dul trasna na cnoic, agus sciatháin de bhfithíní ag sileadh tríd an aer fuar ceo. Bhí coganta neamhghlan ann. Bhí an ghrian faoi cheilt taobh thiar de na scamaill, a bhí ag rolladh agus ag brostú níos faide agus níos faide i gcéin.
D’fhéach an triúr ar a chéile in uafás iomlán.
– Cá bhféadfaimis dul anois? – a chogar duine go tromchúiseach.
– Níl a fhios againn!
I mBéalgrád, 1901.
Don Tionscadal “Radoje Domanović”, aistrithe ag Malachy Reynolds, 2021.
The Leader (3/3)
(Previous)
Thus the first day passed, and there followed more days with the same success. Nothing of very great importance happened, only trivial occurrences: they tumbled headfirst into a ditch, then into a ravine; they brushed against hedges and blackberry bushes; they stepped on bottles; several broke arms and legs; some suffered blows on the head. But all this torment was endured. A few old men were left lying dead on the road. “They would have died even if they had stayed at home, not to mention on the road!” the spokesmen said, encouraging the others to continue. A few smaller children, one to two years old, also perished. The parents stoically suppressed their heartaches because it was God’s will. “And the smaller the children, the less the grief. When they are younger the sorrow is less. God grant the parents never lose their children when they have reached the marrying age. If the children are so destined, it’s better that they die early. Then the sorrow is not so great!” the spokesmen consoled them again. Some wrapped cloths around their heads and put cold compresses on their bruises. Others carried their arms in slings. All were ragged and cut up. Their clothes hung in shreds, but they nevertheless pushed happily forward. All this would have been easier to bear if they had not been racked with hunger many times over. But they had to keep going.
One day, something more significant happened.
The leader was walking in front, surrounded by the bravest men in the group. (Two of them were missing, and no one knew where they were. It was the general opinion that they had betrayed their cause and fled. On one occasion the spokesman said something about their shameful treason. Only a few believed the two had died on the way, but they did not voice their opinion in order not to arouse the others.) The rest of the group was in line behind them. Suddenly there appeared an exceedingly large and deep, rocky gorge – a real abyss. The slope was so steep that they did not dare take a step forward. Even the bravest ones stopped short and looked at the leader. Frowning, absorbed in thoughts with his head down, he boldly stepped forward, tapping his cane in front, first to the right, then to the left, in his characteristic way. Many said it all made him seem still more dignified. He neither looked at anyone nor said anything. On his face there was no change of expression or trace of fear as he got nearer and nearer to the precipice. Even the very boldest men became pale as death, but no one dared warn the valiant, wise leader. Two more steps and he was at the edge. In morbid fear and with wide open eyes, they all trembled. The bravest men were just on the point of holding the leader back, even if it meant a breach of discipline, when he stepped once, twice, and plunged into the ravine. There arose bewilderment, wailing, screaming; fear got the upper hand. Some began to flee.
– Hold it, brothers! What’s the hurry? Is this the way you keep your word? We must follow this wise man because he knows what he’s doing. He would be insane to ruin himself. Forward, after him! This is the biggest and perhaps the last hazard, the last hurdle. Who knows? Maybe on the other side of this ravine we’ll find a magnificient, fertile land which God meant for us. Forward! Without sacrifice, we’ll get nowere! – such were the spokesman’s words of advice and he too took two steps forward, disappearing into the ravine. The bravest followed and then everyone else plunged in.
There was wailing, groaning, tumbling, moaning on the steep slope of this vast gorge. One would have sworn that no one would ever get out alive, much less unhurt and in one piece, but human life is tenacious. The leader was unusually lucky. He hung onto bushes as he fell so that he was not hurt. He managed to pull himself together and climb out. While wailing, moaning and weeping resounded below, he sat motionless, pensively silent. A few who were battered and angry began to curse him but he paid no heed. Those who luckily were able to hold of a bush or a tree while falling began trying strenuously to climb out. Some had cracked heads so that blood was gushing out of their faces. There was nobody in one piece except the leader. They all suddenly frowned at him and groaned in agony but he did not even lift his head. He was silent and assumed the reflective pose of a real sage!
Some time passed. The number of travelers was becoming smaller and smaller. Each day took its toll. Some left the group and turned back.
Of the large number that started, only about twenty remained. Their haggard, exhausted faces mirrored signs of despair, doubt, fatigue and hunger, but no one said as much as a word. They were as silent as their leader and kept plodding along. Even the spirited spokesman shook his head desperately. The road was difficult indeed.
Their numbers diminished daily until there were only ten. With despondent faces, they only groaned and complained instead of conversing.
They looked more like cripples than men. Some were on cruthces. Some held their arms in slings fastened around their necks. On their hands were numerous bandages and compresses. Even if they had wanted to make new sacrifices, they could not because there was almost no room on their bodies for any new wounds.
Even the strongest and bravest among them had already lost faith and hope but they still struggled farther; that is, they somehow hobbled along with great effort, complaining, racked with pain. What else could they do if they could not go back? So many sacrifices and now to abandon the journey?
Twilight descended. Limping along on crutches, they suddenly saw that the leader was not in front of them anymore. Another step and they all plunged into another ravine.
– Oh, my leg! Oh, my hand! – resounded the wailing and groaning. One weak voice even cursed the worthy leader but then became silent.
When the sun came up, there sat the leader, the same as on that day when he was chosen. There was not the least change in his appearance.
The spokesman climbed out of the ravine, followed by two others. Disfigured and bloody, they turned around to see how many were left, but they were the only ones. Deathly fear and hopelessness filled their hearts. The region was unknown, hilly, rocky – no paths anywhere. Two day before they had come upon a road but left it behind. The leader led them that way.
They thought about the many friends and relatives who had died on this fantastic trip. A sadness stronger than the pain in their crippled limbs overcame them. They had witnessed their own destruction with their own eyes.
The spokesman went up to the leader and began speaking with a tired, trembling voice full of pain, despair and bitterness.
– Where are we going now?
The leader was silent.
– Where are you taking us and where have you brought us? We placed ourselves and our families in your hands and we followed you, leaving behind our homes and our ancestors’ graves in hopes that we could save ourselves from ruin in that barren land. But you have ruined us in a worse way. There were two hundred families behind you and now look how many there are!
– You mean everyone is not here? – mumbled the leader without lifting his head.
– How can you ask such a question? Look up and see! Count how many of us are left on this unfortunate journey! Look at the shape we’re in! It would be better to have died than to be crippled like this.
– I can’t look at you!
– Why not?
– I’m blind.
A dead silence.
– Did you lose your sight during the journey?
– I was born blind!
The three hung their heads in despair.
The autumn wind blew sinisterly through the mountains and brought down the withered leaves. A fog hovered over the hills, and through the cold, misty air fluttered ravens’ wings. An ill-omened cawing resounded. The sun was concealed behind the clouds, which were rolling and hurrying along farther and farther.
The three looked at each other in utter horror.
– Where can we go now? – mumbled one gravely.
– We don’t know!
Source: Vučković, Tihomir (ed.), A Millenium of Serbian Literature, Centre of Emigrants of Serbia, Belgrade 1999, 127–135. Translated by W. Murray Lineker.
Радоје Домановић 