JALNIK,
THE SITE OF COMPASSION
(This is chapter 11 of the Nicholas Roerich's book
Shambhala.)
On
the high hills of Altai, the tops of old pines and fir-trees engage in peaceful
communion. They know much—these mountain forests! They stand in wonder before
the snowy ranges of the mountains. Their roots know what riches, what
innumerable mineral treasures, are guarded in the stony depths of the
mountains, for the future prosperity of humanity.
And
the roots of these giant trees tenderly embrace the gray stones. These are the
stones of the “site of compassion.”
Who knows who placed
these stones here?
And who saw these men
transfixed in awe beneath the stone stronghold?
Had these people
heard of the future wealth of this country?
Did they know of Zvenigorod,
the City of the Bells?
Was it they, who
conceived the saga of the river Katum, of all the events which passed on the
shores of this river, as it rolled down the great stones from the White
Mountain, Belukha?
Were these people
settlers or wanderers?
Old
grandmother Anisya knows something about this place. She comes here to perform
her invocations and conjurations. Do not be afraid! She is not a witch, she is
not a Shaman sorceress. No one would speak ill of grandmother Anisya. But she
knows many precious things. She knows the healing herbs; she knows conjurations
which serve as prayers; she learned them from her grandmother. And a century
ago the same stones and the same forest stood here as now.
Grandmother
Anisya knows conjurations against all evils. No one besides herself knows that
the kirik stone from the nest of a hoopoe is the best protection against
treason. No one besides herself knows the best time to find this nest and how
to obtain the stone.
She
can tell you how hard are the present times and that you can be saved only by
conjurations. At the present time three conjurations need be remembered:
The
first of them is against enemies, against thieves and evil men. The second—do
not forget it! against mortal weapons. The third—remember sharply! against
lightning, against all thunder of heaven or earth! The thunder of earth
resounds and heavenly forces rise.
Remember
the first one:
“On the sea, on the ocean, on the Buyan
Island, there is an iron chest and in this iron chest there are steel swords.
Ho, steel swords! Approach our enemy! Cut his body in pieces! Pierce his heart!
Until he renounces all evil; until he returns the stolen booty; until he will
surrender all, without concealing anything. Thou enemy, adversary, be cursed by
my powerful conjurations!
Be damned in the depths of hell! Beyond the
Arrarat mountains, into the boiling tar! Into the burning ashes! Into the scum
of swamps! Into the bottomless abyss!
Be you, enemy, pierced by the spike of an
aspen tree!
And be dried even more than the hay!
And be frozen even more than the ice!
Become cross-eyed, lame, mad, armless,
impoverished, hungry, outcast; and perish by another’s hand!”
.
. .
You
see, what strong powers grandmother Anisya possesses! Who can withstand such
conjurations!
And
not only does she speak in a strident voice, but she also holds in her hand a
tiny stick, and as she speaks of the death of an enemy, she breaks this stick,
just as the life of her evil adversary shall be broken. And never shall he know
from what hill, from what mountain, came this unconquerable power.
The
second conjuration is against weapons. Each warrior must know this conjuration.
Hear and remember!
“Beyond the far-off mountains is the sea of
iron. In the sea stands a pillar of bronze. And on that bronze pillar there
stands a shepherd of cast iron. And this pillar rises from earth into heaven.
From the East to the West.
And the shepherd commands his children; he
commands the iron, the steel, red and blue, the copper, the lead, the silver,
and the gold. He speaks to guns and to arrows. He gives to the fighters and
warriors the great command:
‘You iron, copper, lead, go back into your
mother-earth, away from the warrior; return, tree, to the far-off shore, and
you, arrow-feathers, return to the birds! And you birds—disappear in the sky!’
And he commands swords, axes, boar-spears,
knives, arquebuses, arrows and all warriors—to be calm and peaceful!
And he orders every warrior not to shoot at
me from a gun!
But he orders the arbalest and stringbows to
bend and cast all arrows deep down into the earth!
Let my body be stronger than stone. Firmer
than steel. Let my armor be stronger than helmets and ring-armor.
I seal my words with all locks. I cast the
keys under the white Flaming Stone, Alatyr!
And as locks are strong, so strong are my
words.”
.
. .
No
one would care to be in the position of this conjured adversary. What weapons
could avail against this powerful incantation! The White Flaming Stone itself,
Great Alatyr, bears witness to this immutable might! And again, not only words
are projected into the space, but grandmother Anisya has four stones in her
hands and she throws them to the four ends of the earth.
But
the third conjuration is the most awe-inspiring one. This one is against
lightning, against the thunders of heaven and earth:
“Holy!
Holy! Holy! Thou, who dwellest in the thunder! Thou who subduest the lightning!
Thou who floodest the earth with rain! Thou, mightiest Ruler! Thou alone
adjudge the cursed Satan with all the devils!
But
save us, sinners!
“Thy wisdom is incomparable, all-powerful!
All honor from God! From him comes liberation to the motherland! Be it so now,
eternally and forever! Thou, Lord of Terror! Thou, Lord of all miracles! Thou,
who dwellest on the most high! Thou, who movest in the thunder! Mastering fire!
Lord of all miracles! Thyself destroy the enemy, the Satan! Be it so now,
eternally and forever. Amen!”
.
. .
This
is most powerful. The highest, heavenly power is summoned. From the mountain
stream, grandmother Anisya takes a handful of clear water and dashes it into
space. And glistening drops, as heavenly lightnings, surround the conjuror.
The
conjurations are ended. And the power departs from grandmother. She becomes
small and bent. And the small old woman walks away beyond the hill. From
Jalnik—site of compassion—to the lake at the foot of the mountain, through
fields of spring wheat, into a distant village, she goes. Not for her own ends,
did Granny come from afar to invoke the high forces. Grandmother sent out
conjurations for all people, for distant warriors, for a new life. But she also
prayed for the unknown silent ones, who are buried under the stones and roots
of the pine-trees. She brought holy oil for the saints. Because on the highest
pine-tree, in the bark, an old ikon is carved out and it is said that the ikon
appeared of itself.
On
the summits of Altai, on the ranges of Ural, far off up to the very hills of
Novgorod, fir and cedar groves tower high. From the far, far distance one may
behold their dark caps. Under the roots of firs, many stones are gathered
together with great labor. Beautiful sites! Ancient sites! How did they come to
be here? Was it the unknown pilgrims who built them? Was it the Mongols? Was it
the Tzar, the terrible? Or are they from times of unrest? Or from wars and
foreign invasions? All these at one time were here.
And
the silent ones lie buried here. Lie in rest, unknown to all grandfathers. And
thus one prays for them!
For
the known and unknown, for the sung and unsung, for the storied and unstoried…
“Jalniks,”
the sites of compassion, so are called these beautiful sites of silence. They
are also called “divinets,” sites of wonder.
Divinet,
site of wonder, resounds with exultation. But “Jalnik”—site of compassion—is
still nearer to the heart. In this expression lies so much of love and gentle
pity, so much of rest and words of eternity. The giant fir-trees guard this
place with their mighty branches. Only the tops rustle. Below is silence and
shade. The gray juniper. Only two or three dry blades of grass. Everywhere,
blackberries and dried evergreen needles.
High
on the fir tree sits an old raven. He is so old that he has claws, not only on
his feet but even on his wings. As we regarded this raven with awe, as a
prehistoric relic, he fell down dead. The stones are set in rows and in
circles. All of them must remember the moraines of the glacier period. White,
grayish, violet, bluish and almost black. From the East to the West these
stones may be observed, adorned by a white moss. Everywhere, too, is gray moss.
Everywhere there is ancient grayness.
In
grayness, sleep the “calm ones.”
In
white garments, repose the “resting ones.”
Oh,
through what sufferings they passed! Many things they witnessed! Wise and
without doubts is their wisdom!
“As
in heaven, so upon earth. As above, so below. That which was, shall come
again!”
GAYATRI
(This is chapter 12.)
“Ye
Birds, Homas, ye beautiful!
You
You do not love the earth—
Never
will you descend to earth!
Your
birdlings are born in heavenly nests.
You
are nearer the Sun.
Let
us ponder about the sun, the Resplendent!
But
the Devas of Earth are also miraculous.
Upon
the Summits of Mountains, in the depths of seas, seek patiently.
Thou
shalt find a glorious Stone of Lore,
In
Thy heart search for Brindavan, abode of Love.
Seek
patiently and you will find.
Let
the Ray of Wisdom pierce us.
Then
all which moves will become affixed.
The
shadow will become the body.
The
spirit of air will return to land.
The
dream will be transformed into thought.
We
will not be moved by the storm.
We
shall rein the winged steeds of morning.
We
will guide the currents of the evening wind.
Thy
Word is the Ocean of Truth.
Who
turns our ships to the shore?
Do
not fear Maya.
Her
untold might and power we shall conquer.
Harken!
Harken! Have done with dissension and fights.”
Surendra
Gayatri prayed.
From
the stones of the city he went to the shades of Aranyani.
And
in the blissful stillness he rested.
But
the battle began.
Kings
of the ancient lands set plans to shatter the sacred vessels!
Let
the wisdom of Nilgiri perish!
Let
the Ghat and Khunda ranges droop!
Let
Gaya be destroyed.
The
river Falgu shall over-flow!
Naught
can break the terror—
Fire
and arrows,
Poison
and deadly thunders rain from above and below.
Black
birds are flying.
The
people found Gayatri.
The
people approached him.
The
people besought his help.
The
people, in despair, compelled Gayatri to change his good prayers.
“Forget
your righteous prayers, Gayatri.
Search
the mortal word.
Find
the deadly eye.
Pray
for oath of victory.
“Farewell,
Aranyani!
Farewell,
celestial silver and gold!
Farewell,
thou most quiet forest!”
Gayatri
hears the calls.
Gayatri
departs from the forest.
Gayatri
ascends the summit.
Gayatri
is alone.
Gayatri
encircles himself with a Ray.
Gayatri
prays with all his being:
“Lion
and Swan!
Eagle
and deer!
Bull,
lion, eagle!
Ruler
of the World!
Ruler
of the Stars and the Moon!
Ruler
of Light and of the Sun!
Indra!
“Do
not invoke the Black Age!
Our
strength is exhausted.
Asleep
is the sacred jewel!
No
longer it defeats the wandering spirits.
No
longer it stays our enemies.
“Sound
the command for hostilities.
Sound
the command of strength!
A
conjuration for victory!
Let
us defeat the enemy.
Say
the words of Nagaima.
Bestow
the strength of Exola.
Bestow
the deadly word.
Open
the deadly eye.
Rakshasi
conquered the people.
Samyasa,
Leader of the Sons of Heaven, Ruler of the Serpents, also taught Power.
Azaciel
also taught the forging of arms.
Amazaraka
also revealed the mysterious powers of herbs and roots.
They
are dark, evil, insignificant.
But
You are able. You have Power.
Allelu!
Allelu! Allelu!”
The
Supreme hears Gayatri.
The
Supreme shall fulfil Gayatri’s request.
The
Supreme does not admit the destruction of Nilgiri.
Dear
to the Supreme is the wisdom of the summits.
The
Supreme shall set a test:
“I
will not give thee Exola, nor Nagaima.
Neither
against the hosts, nor for success.
I
will not give thee Zaadotota, nor Addivata,
Neither
against enmity, nor for revenge.
I
will not give thee Kaalbeba, nor Alsibena,
Neither
against animus, nor for harm and rupture.
I
will not give thee the deadly word.
The
deadly eye, I will not open.
All
conjurations I will gather.
Alshill!
Alzelal! Alama! Ashmekh!
Kaaldalbala!
Kaalda! Kaldebda!
I
will leave them, will forget them!
Anax!
Aluxer! Ataiya! Atars!
I
will end, will part from them!
I
will bestow another thing—
That
which shall have the power of repulsion—
It
will open the Power to none.
Hear!
There
walks one,
Walks
peacefully.
In
a white garment he walks.
Swordless
he walks.
All
that has been done against thee will turn against them.
All
that they wished against you, they will themselves receive.
Good
and evil.
Who
desired evil—will receive it.
Who
desired good—he may accept it.
All
will receive.
Go.
Do not hesitate.
I
will make an end to the trial.
Alm!
Alm! Algarfelmukor!”
What
passed?
Gayatri
passed on—
In
white and calmly.
Without
arrow nor sword
Without
hatred nor threat.
What
passed?
The
enemies shot their arrows against Gayatri, poisoned arrows.
The
arrows turned and struck those who sent them.
Others
threw spears at Gayatri and fell, transfixed.
Poison
they spilt for him and died themselves terrified.
What
passed?
Hosts
of enemies died by their own hand.
With
hatred their spirit overflowed.
Their
hearts swelled with revenge.
What
passed?
They
destroyed and burned.
They
poisoned rivers and lakes.
They
sped a shower of flames.
They
shrieked their curses.
They
burned and drowned.
They
turned black, convulsed.
They
gashed and strangled—
Themselves.
What
passed?
They
forgot the good.
They
lost the good meeting.
The
good eye darkened.
The
word of caress they deadened.
Thus
it passed!
The
foolhardy perished.
By
the strength of enemies, Gayatri went through the kingdom of the old lands.
Passed
through gates and palaces, bridges and villages.
Quiet
was the old kingdom.
Destroyed
were the foolhardy.
Gayatri
stood still.
To
stay the power, he knew not.
He
could not lay bare the strength.
He
could not dare to turn toward his own.
Gayatri
kindled a fire.
He
bestowed the Power upon the fire.
He
sowed the Power to the winds!
“Sacred
ashes! Light veil of Bliss!
Thou
coverest! Thou cleanest! And liberate!”
But
the Supreme does not pause:
“Do
not ponder over ashes.
Turn
toward your own people.
Meet
the child.
Carry
it before you.
Teach.
In the name of the Highest, two cannot fight.
One
of them is a dark one—
Conquer
the dark.
I
made a test—
Into
the whirlpool I submerged the old land.
I
will overthrow the useless.
I
will again raise the summits.
I
will uplift. I will test. In heaven and on earth
I
fulfil the Law.”
Gayatri
found the child.
Gayatri
raised the child.
And
returned to Nilgiri.
Gayatri
forgot Aranyani.
He
left the forest behind.
Gayatri
prayed for the opening of the righteous eye.
And
to find the righteous word.
Harken,
people!
DREAMS
(This is chapter 13.)
Such
were the dreams before the war: We were traveling through a field. Behind the
hill the clouds rose. A storm. Through a cloud, head downwards, a fiery serpent
pierced the earth. The serpent was double-headed.
Or
another dream: Again we travel over a gray plain. No sign of life. Before us, a
high hill glimmers dark. We look, but it is not a hill; it is a huge, coiled
gray serpent.
And
long before were conjurations. The evil ones were conjured. The untruth was
conjured. Bird and beast were conjured. Earth and water were conjured. But to
no avail. The monsters crept out.
Later
were signs. They did not perceive them. They did not trust them. They did not
grasp them. The crowds stamped upon them.
And
the serpent awoke. The enemy of mankind rose. Attempted by slander to conquer
the world. To destroy cities. To defame temples. Turn to ashes human strivings.
He
rose to his own destruction.
There
were conjurations. There were signs.
Dreams
remained. Those dreams that are fulfilled.
He
laid himself to rest for the night.
He
thought—I shall see great Magi.
There
was desire to see—how they look.
There
was desire to hear—what names they bear.
He
wished to see what is bound to their saddles. What road they take. They should
reveal. Whence and whither.
But
they did not appear, the Magi.
Possibly
it was too soon.
Did
not start out yet.
Instead
of the Magi two others appeared.
One
middle aged in an old blue shirt. In an old dark kaftan. Long hair. In the
right hand three staffs.
He
holds them today with points upwards. Mark, upwards. All has its meaning. But
this is Saint Prokopyi, himself.
He
who saved Ustyng the Great.
He,
who took away the stony cloud from the city. He, who upon high shores prayed
for the unknown travelers.
Marvelous
tidings! Himself came Prokopyi the Righteous.
And
another one with Him—white and old. In one hand a sword and in another the
city.
Certainly
he is Saint Nicholas.
Instead
of the Magi with the star, these came.
Prokopyi
speaks:
-
“Do
not depart from the earth. The earth is red, red hot with evil. But the heat of
evil nurtures the roots of the Tree. And upon this Tree the good creates its
Benevolent nest. Attain the labor on earth. Ascend to the heavenly ocean, the
resplendent, but dark only for us. Guard the Benevolent Tree. Good lives on it.
The earth is the source of sorrow, but out of sorrow grow joys. He who is the
highest knows the predestined date of your joy. Do not depart from the earth.
Let us sit down and ponder about far-off wanderers.”
The
other, the white one, lifted the sword. And people came closer to him. Many
came forward.
-
“Nicholas,
the Gracious! Thou Miracle Maker! Thou, All-powerful! Thou, Holy Warrior! Thou,
Conqueror of Hearts! Thou, Leader of true thoughts! Thou, Knowing heavenly and
earthly forces!
Thou, Guardian of the Sword! Thou, Protector
of Cities! Thou knowing the Truth! Do you hear the prayers, Mighty One?
Evil forces are battling against us.
Protect, Thou Mighty One, the Holy City! The resplendent
city calls wrath in the enemy. Accept, Thou Mighty One, the beautiful city.
Raise, Father, the Sacred Sword!
Invoke, Father, all saintly warriors.
Miracle-maker, manifest a stern face! Cover the cities with the holy sword!
Thou canst, to Thee is given Power!
We stand without fear and tremor…”
THE DESERT
CITIES
(This is chapter 14.)
The
world is described as an old man…
The
people answer for their striving.
Thoughts
grow through striving.
Thought
gives birth to desire.
Desire
has stirred up the command.
The
human structure quivers with desires.
Do
not fear, ancient man!
Joy
and sorrow are as a river.
Waves
are passing, purifying.
The
Czar rejoiced:
-
“My
land is vast. My forests are mighty. My rivers are teeming. My mountains are
precious. My people are merry. Beautiful is my wife.”
The
Czarina rejoiced:
-
“Many
forests and fields have we. Many song birds have we. Many varied flowers have
we.”
An
old man entered the palace. A newcomer. He greeted the Czar and Czarina. And he
sat down exhausted.
The
Czar asked:
-
“Why
art thou weary, old man? Hast thou been wandering long?”
The
old man became sorrowful.
-
“Vast
is thy land. Mighty, thy forests. Teeming are thy rivers. Thy mountains are
unsurpassable. During my wanderings I nearly perished. Yet I could not reach a
city where I could find rest. Few cities hast thou, O Czar! We old ones love
city structures. We love the trusty walls. We love the watchful towers and the
gates, which are obedient to command. Few cities hast thou, O Czar. Thy
neighboring rulers surround themselves more strongly with walls.”
The
Czar became sorrowful.
-
“Few
cities have I. Few trusty walls. Few towers have I. Few gates to encircle all
my people.”
The
Czar commenced to mourn.
-
“Old
man! Wise in years! Teach me how to cover my vast domain with cities. How shall
I set within walls all my people?”
The
old man rejoiced.
-
“Thou
shalt set all thy people within walls. Two lands beyond thine lives a giant
Czar. Give him a great prize. The giants shall bring thee from the Indian Czar,
countless cities. They shall bring them with walls and gates and towers. Do not
spare in rewarding the giant Czar. Give him a great prize. Even if he shall
demand the Czarina, thy wife.”
The
old man got up and departed—as though the passer-by had never been there. The
Czar sent his request into the land of the giants.
The
giant, woolly Czar was laughing.
-
“He
sent his people to the Indian Czar to steal away the cities with walls and
gates and towers.”
And
the giant, woolly Czar did not take a small reward. He took a precious
mountain. He took a teeming river. He took an entire mighty forest. He took
into the bargain the Czarina, the wife of the Czar. Everything was promised to
him. Everything was ceded to him.
The
Czarina sorrowed.
-
“O,
the woolly Czar will take me to please a strange man, an old one! All the
people will be enclosed by heavy gates. O, they will trample all my flowers
with cities. And they will cover with towers the whole starry canopy. Aid me,
my blooms—the underground secrets are known to you. The giants bear the Indian
cities, with walls and gates and towers!”
The
blossoms heard the complaint. They began to wave their flowery heads. From
beneath the world rose their thought. The great thought began to stir beneath
the earth. The forests began to waver with thought. The mountains were
devastated by thought: they crumbled even into small stones. The earth was
fissured with thought. Fissured also became the heavens.
The
thought came flowing across the desert sands. The thought stirred the free
sand. It rose as undulating ramparts. The sands rose against the giant people.
The
giants stole the Indian cities with walls, gates and towers. They drove the
Indian people from their huts. They lifted the cities upon their shoulders.
Swiftly they returned. They went to earn their great prize for the woolly Czar.
The
giants approached the desert sands. The desert sands lifted into masses. The
sands rose like dark whirlwinds. The sands veiled the beautiful sun. The sands
raised themselves into the heavens. And how the sands smote the giant people!
The
sands crept into the broad jaws. The sands flowed into the woolly ears. The
sands obscured the eyes of the giants. The sands conquered the giant-people.
The giants abandoned the cities to desert sands. Scarcely did they escape,
without eyes or ears.
The
desert sands buried the Indian cities. They buried them with walls, gates and
towers. The people know of these cities, even up to the present time. But who
brought the cities to the desert sands, the people do not know.
The
flowers bloom as never before.
From
the flowers the Czarina understood that the cities were razed. And the Czarina
sang a merry song—for honest people to hear, to the glory of the Saviors!
The
Czar heard the song and rejoiced, exulting. And the Czar laughed at the giant’s
misfortune. And the Czar smiled at the cities, hidden in the desert sands. No
longer yearned the Czar for foreign cities.
The
teeming river remained with the Czar. His was the precious mountain. His was
the mighty forest. His, the flowers and singing birds, and all his people. His,
the beautiful Czarina. His, the merry song. Greatly rejoiced the Czar.
Not
so soon shall the old man again enter the Palace.
LYUT, THE
GIANT
(This is chapter 15.)
On
the echoing cape, near the sacred grove,
On
the lake, lived the Giant, Lyut.
A
mighty one, great and good
And
a mighty hunter was he.
The
beard of Lyut had seven tips.
An
hundred foxes made his head-gear.
The
garments of Lyut were of gray wolf.
The
ax of Lyut was of red flint.
The
spear of Lyut was of white flint.
The
arrows of Lyut were black, never-failing.
Beyond
the lake lived the brethren of Lyut.
And
on the mountain site Lyut built his dwelling.
From
the echoing cape he called his brothers—
Even
in a whisper.
To
his brother beyond the lake, he handed his ax.
With
his brother, beyond the lake, Lyut hunted.
With
his brother beyond the lake, Lyut cast his nets.
With
his brother beyond the lake, he brewed his ale.
He
boiled his tar and fetched his forage.
He
lit his bonfires and danced merrily with his sister.
Then
Lyut went strolling beyond the lake.
Ill-starred
was his stride—he sank.
Lyut,
the Giant, sank even up to his chest.
Badly
he fared.
His
dog followed him and sank.
Who
can call the brethren of Lyut?
For
a day’s distance, there is no one in sight.
The
lake splashes. The wind murmurs.
Death
itself walks over the ridge.
Lyut
raised his eyes to the clouds—
Cargoose
flew by. The giant called,
“Do
you see me in the lake?”
“I
see-ee,” came the answer.
“Tell
my brethren—I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-wn!”
Far
flies the cargoose.
Resoundingly
echoes its call: “I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-wn!”
The
cargoose knows not that it proclaims misfortune—
The
lake holds no evil for it.
The
lake is kind.
Only
in the wood the cargoose fares badly, and in the fields.
The
brethren are laughing.
They
do not hear the cargoose.
They
have caught an elk in the marshes.
Finally
the brethren of Lyut arrive
But
Lyut has perished.
A
long mound is built—and a round one for his dog.
Of
sorrow dies the sister of Lyut.
The
giants throw bars into the lake.
They
bury their axes beneath the roots of trees.
The
giants abandon our land.
But
the cargoose lives on the lake since those ancient days.
A
foolish bird. But a prophet bird.
It
confuses the call of the giant
In
fair weather it calls, “I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-w-n!”
As
if drowning, it flutters its wings.
In
foul weather, it calls—”Ho, ho—ho, ho!”
Over
the water, it flies and screams, “See-ee-ee! I see-ee-ee—”
People
remember the lake of Lyut.
People
remember the long mounds.
The
long mounds of giants.
And
the length of the mounds is nine scores of cubits.
The
shores of the lake remember the giants.
The
trunks of the oaks remember the giants.
The
giants carried the stones to the mounds.
The
people remember how the giants departed.
From
ancient time it was even so.
I
so affirm!
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