Anait

In ancient times, there lived a king and a queen. They had an only son named Vachagan. His parents adored him and never took their eyes off him, day or night. Servants followed Vachagan in crowds, anticipating his every wish. By the age of twenty, the prince was frail and delicate, like a flower that had grown without sunlight.

One day, an old physician named Lokhman, whose fame for skill had spread across the world, came to the king and said:
- O King! If you wish for your son Vachagan not to descend prematurely into the grave, do not keep him within four walls. The green steppes are vast, and the mountains of Aghvan are high. They are filled with wild beasts and birds. Let Prince Vachagan take up hunting.

The king heeded the wise Lokhman. And so, the prince, dressed in simple clothes, would ride out to the mountains each morning with his faithful servant Vaginak. The prince became so engrossed in hunting that often night would catch him by surprise, and he would have to rely on the hospitality of kind peasants, who often shared a piece of bread and a jug of milk with the weary travelers.

Vachagan listened keenly to the needs of the people, and more than once a corrupt judge ended up in prison. Widows and orphans, without even telling the king of their troubles, received money from the royal treasury, and poor communities received help from unknown sources. One day, Vachagan, heated from the hunt and accompanied by his servant, galloped into the village of Atsik and stopped by a spring. At the spring, a group of girls had gathered with their jugs to fetch water.
- Give me a drink, girls! - Vachagan requested.

One girl filled a jug and handed it to another. Instead of passing the jug to Vachagan, the second girl poured the water onto the ground. Then the first girl filled the jug again and handed it to her friend. The girl poured this jug onto the ground as well.
- My throat is parched from thirst, give me water! - exclaimed Vachagan.

The girl laughed and once again poured the water onto the ground. Vachagan grew angry, but the girl paid no attention. She seemed to be amusing herself—filling the jug under the stream and then pouring it out again. Only on the sixth attempt did she hand the jug to Vachagan. After quenching his thirst, Vachagan asked the girl:
- Why didn’t you let me drink right away? Were you joking, or did you want to anger me?
- We have no custom of joking with strangers, - the girl replied sternly.
- I saw that you were heated from the hunt, and the water from the spring is as cold as ice. Even a heated horse is not given cold water by a good owner.

This answer astonished Vachagan, but even more so did the girl’s beauty.
- What is your name, beauty?
- Anait.
- Who is your father?
- My father is the shepherd Aran. But why do you need to know our names?
- Is it a sin to ask?
- If it is not a sin, then tell me your name and where you are from.
- Should I lie to you or tell the truth?
- Do as you find worthy for yourself.
- I find the truth worthy. But I cannot reveal my name to you.

Anait took her jug and left. From that day on, Vachagan lost his peace. The image of Anait haunted him day and night. He began to visit the village of Atsik more and more often, if only to catch a glimpse of the beauty. His faithful servant Vaginak reported this to the king and queen. The king called his son and said:
- My son Vachagan! You have turned twenty. You are my only hope, the support of my old age. It is time for you to marry.
- I have already chosen my bride, father.
- Who is she? The daughter of which king? - the father asked joyfully.
- She is the daughter of a shepherd from the village of Atsik. Her name is Anait.
- This is impossible, - the king waved his hands. - Forget her quickly. Remember, a king’s son must choose either a princess or a noblewoman as his bride. The Georgian king has three daughters—choose any of them. The prince of Gunar has a beautiful daughter.
- No, - replied Vachagan.
- Well, then marry the daughter of the commander Varsenik. She grew up before our eyes, a beauty, and will be a faithful wife to you and an obedient daughter to us.
- No, father! If you want me to marry—know this: there is no other bride for me but Anait, the shepherd’s daughter.

The king tried to persuade his son for a long time, but Vachagan stood firm. Then the king selected rich gifts, called for the faithful Vaginak, and sent him, accompanied by two nobles, to the village of Atsik to propose to Anait, the shepherd’s daughter.

Old Aran warmly welcomed the guests and spread out a carpet for them.
- What a marvelous carpet! - the guests marveled. - Is this the work of your wife?
- No, I am a widower! - replied Aran. - My wife died ten years ago. This is the work of my daughter Anait.
- Such a carpet is not even found in our palace. Your daughter is a skilled craftswoman.

Word of her beauty has reached the palace. The king has sent us to negotiate. He wishes to take your daughter Anait as a wife for his son. The nobleman expected Aran to either not believe his ears or to dance with joy. But the shepherd continued to sit silently on the carpet and showed no sign of happiness.
- What is wrong, Aran? Are you not pleased with such a high honor?
- Dear guests, - the old shepherd smiled. - I am grateful to the king for the great honor of taking from the home of a humble shepherd an ornament for the royal chambers. I can gift the king this beautiful carpet, but my daughter herself decides her fate.

The nobles exchanged glances. Anait entered the room, bowed to the visitors, and sat down at her embroidery frame. Her delicate fingers fluttered like white butterflies.
- Look, Anait, what rich gifts our king has sent you, - said Vaginak, pulling out silk dresses and precious jewelry. Anait glanced briefly at everything and asked:
- For what reason am I being shown such kindness?
- The king wants you to marry his son, Vachagan. You gave him water from the spring. And along with the jug, he gave you his heart.
- So, that handsome youth is the king’s son? – Anait was surprised. – But does he know any craft?
- Why would a king’s son need a craft? – Vaginak laughed. – All his subjects are his servants.
- Today’s master may become tomorrow’s servant. Everyone should know a craft, be they king or servant.

The nobles exchanged glances.
- So, you refuse the prince only because he doesn’t know a craft? – the nobles asked again.
- Tell the prince that he is dear to me, but I have sworn to marry only a man who knows a craft, and I cannot break my oath.

The envoys returned to the palace and told everything. The king and queen rejoiced, thinking that now Vachagan would abandon his intention.
But Vachagan said:
- Anait is right. Even a king is a man. And every man should be a master of some craft.

And so, Vachagan decided to learn how to weave brocade. A master was brought from Persia, and within a year, Vachagan surpassed his teacher. With his own hands, he wove a wedding dress from the finest golden threads and sent it to Anait. The girl admired the marvelous pattern for a long time and gave her consent to marry Vachagan.

The wedding feast lasted seven days and seven nights. The king was so pleased with Anait that, in his joy, he exempted all peasants from taxes for three years. And in the land, they composed this song:

The golden sun rose on Anait’s wedding day,
A rain of gold poured on Anait’s wedding day,
All the fields turned to gold, all taxes were forgotten,
All the barns were filled with bountiful grain.
Honor and glory to our wise, golden-haired Anait!

Soon after the wedding, the king sent his faithful servant Vaginak on a mission to a distant part of his kingdom, and he vanished without a trace. Years passed, the king and queen died, and Vachagan ascended the throne.

One day, Anait said to her husband:
- Vachagan! I notice that you don’t know what is happening in your kingdom. The people you summon to council do not tell you the whole truth. To reassure you, they say everything is fine. But is it really so? Shed your royal robes for a while.
- You’re right, Anait. But who will govern the kingdom in my absence?
- I will! And I will do it in such a way that no one will know you are gone.
- Very well, Anait. Tomorrow I will leave the palace, and if I do not return in twenty days, it means something has happened to me.

In simple peasant clothes, Vachagan set off on a long journey. He saw much and heard much, but the most extraordinary thing happened to him on his way back, in the city of Perozh. One day, he sat in the city square and saw a crowd following a gray-haired old man. The old man walked slowly, and people cleared the path before him, placing bricks under his feet.
- Who is this old man? – Vachagan asked.
- He is a great priest, so holy that he does not step on the ground for fear of crushing some insect.

At the end of the square, the old man sat on a spread-out carpet and began to preach. Vachagan pushed forward to see and hear the old man. The old man noticed Vachagan and called him over.
- Who are you, and where are you from?
- I am from a distant, foreign land. I came to your city looking for work.
- Come with me. I will give you work and pay you generously for it.

Vachagan followed the old man. At the edge of the city, the old man dismissed the crowd that had accompanied him. Only the priests and porters, laden with heavy burdens, remained. They were all foreigners. Soon, a temple surrounded by a high wall came into view. The great priest stopped at the iron gates, unlocked them with a large key, and, after letting everyone in, locked the gate again.

Vachagan saw before him a temple crowned with a blue dome, surrounded by small cells. The porters unloaded their burdens near these cells, and the great priest led them into the temple. Deep inside the temple, near the altar, the great priest pressed a hidden spring, and the wall split in two. Behind it was another iron door. The great priest opened this door and said:
- Enter, people. Here you will be fed and given work.

Before anyone could utter a word, the iron door slammed shut, and all was plunged into darkness. Stunned, Vachagan rushed to the door and pounded on it with all his might:
- Open! Open!
But only his own echo answered him.

Dazed, Vachagan silently trudged forward, toward a faint strip of light. The others followed him. Stumbling and falling, they reached a dimly lit cave, from which pitiful cries echoed. A shadow darted toward them. Vachagan straightened to his full height and shouted loudly:
- Who are you, man or devil? Come and tell me where we are!

The shadow approached and, trembling like a leaf in a stormy night, stopped before him. It was a man with the face of a corpse. His deeply sunken eyes gleamed with a hungry light, his cheeks were hollow, and his blue lips revealed a toothless mouth. He was a living skeleton, covered in skin.

Stammering and weeping, this living corpse said...
- Follow me, and you will understand everything.

They walked down a narrow corridor and emerged into another cave, where the same naked, barely stirring skeletons lay on the cold ground, huddled together, vainly trying to warm themselves.
The guide led Vachagan further, through another cave where enormous cauldrons stood in orderly rows, and the same shadowy figures bustled around them, stirring some concoction with long sticks. Vachagan peered into the cauldron and recoiled in horror. Inside, human flesh was boiling.

Vachagan said nothing to his unfortunate companions and followed the guide. The guide brought them into a vast, dimly lit cave where hundreds of deathly pale, exhausted people were embroidering, knitting, and sewing. The guide led them back the same way to the first cave and wearily sat down on a stone.
- The same old man lured us into these caves as well. I have lost track of time, for there is neither day nor night here, only endless twilight. I only know that everyone who arrived with me has perished. If a person who ends up here knows a craft, they are forced to work; if not, they are taken to the slaughterhouse, and from there, they end up in those terrible cauldrons you just saw. The old devil is not alone; all the priests are his helpers.

Vachagan, without taking his eyes off the speaker, recognized him as his missing servant, Vaginak. Vaginak did not recognize his master, and Vachagan, fearing that the joy of the reunion might snap the thin thread of Vaginak’s life like a sword, did not reveal himself.
- My strength is leaving me, and then I will be sent to the slaughterhouse, - Vaginak said sadly. - And the same fate awaits all of you.
- No! - Vachagan exclaimed angrily. - Stay with us; I believe we will escape this hell alive!

Vachagan questioned his companions about their crafts. One turned out to be a tailor, another a weaver, the third an embroiderer, and the rest knew no craft.
- You will be my assistants, - Vachagan declared to them.

Soon, the iron doors creaked open, and a priest entered the cave, surrounded by guards.
- Are these the newcomers? - he asked.
- Yes, we are your humble servants.
- Do any of you know a craft?
- We are skilled artisans. We can weave precious brocade. It is worth a hundred times more than pure gold.
- Can there truly be fabric worth a hundred times more than gold? - the priest marveled.
- I do not lie, - Vachagan replied proudly.
- Very well, - the priest believed him. - Tell me what tools and materials you need, and go to the common workshop to work.
- No, my lord! Strangers must not see our work. Allow us to stay here and order that bread and fruit be sent to us as food. We do not eat meat, and if we taste it, we will die immediately, and you will lose a great profit.
- Very well, but woe to you if you deceive me. I will send you to the slaughterhouse and, before killing you, subject you all to terrible tortures.

That same day, the priest sent the necessary tools and materials. Vachagan set to work, teaching his unfortunate companions the craft. Every day, the priest’s servants brought bread and fruit to the captives. Each tried to spare a little for the unfortunates languishing in the neighboring cave. Vaginak gradually began to regain a human appearance. When the foundation of the brocade was ready, Vachagan said to the priest:
- We cannot continue working in semi-darkness. Order that fire be brought to us. The priest granted Vachagan’s request and brought a resin torch and several lamps.

When Vaginak saw Vachagan illuminated from head to toe, he let out a wild cry and collapsed unconscious to the ground.
- What’s wrong with him? - the priest asked, surprised.
- The brightness of the torch blinded him, my lord. He will come to his senses and work calmly, - Vachagan said with a bow, and the priest left.

Soon, the brocade was finished. It sparkled and shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Along the edges of the intricate pattern, Vachagan had woven a tiny-lettered account of his captivity.
When the priest saw the marvelous brocade, he was ecstatic.
- You truly are a master, - he said graciously to Vachagan.
- I told you this brocade would be worth a hundred times more than gold. Know that it is worth even more! It is woven with magical talismans. Alas, they are not accessible to everyone. Only the wise Queen Anait can read and unlock their secrets.

The greedy priest could not take his eyes off the wondrous brocade. He decided not to show it to the high priest, intending to keep the generous profit for himself.

Meanwhile, Anait ruled the country so wisely that the people were unaware of Vachagan’s absence. Twenty days passed—the agreed-upon time—and Vachagan did not return. The queen grew deeply troubled. At night, she had terrible dreams. Vachagan’s dog, Zangi, howled day and night, threw itself at her feet, and, whimpering, tugged at her dress, trying to lead her somewhere. Vachagan’s horse refused to eat and neighed like a foal that had lost its mother. Hens crowed like roosters, and roosters, instead of crowing at dawn, sang in the evening with the voices of pheasants. The brave Anait fell into despair.

She sent messengers to all corners of her kingdom, but Vachagan had vanished like a needle in a haystack. One morning, she was informed of the arrival of a foreign merchant with goods.
- Bring him to me, - the queen ordered. - Perhaps he has encountered my dear husband on his journey.
The servants brought in the priest. He bowed deeply to the queen and presented the golden brocade on a silver tray. Anait glanced at the brocade and asked:
- Have you encountered King Vachagan on your journey?
- No, - the priest replied.
- How much is your brocade worth?
- It is worth three hundred times its weight in gold. That is the price of the masters’ work.
And the material. As for my diligence, judge it yourself, oh mistress!
- This is an unheard-of price for brocade.
- This is no ordinary brocade, Queen. It is woven with magical talismans that heal sorrow and grief.
- Is that so? – Anait was surprised and unfolded the brocade again.
“Beloved Anait, I have fallen into a terrible hell. There, I met Vaginak. The one who delivered this brocade is one of the demons of this hell. Seek us east of Perozh, under the walled temple. To the left of the altar, the wall splits in two. Hurry, we are in mortal danger. Vachagan.”

Anait’s heart fluttered like a trapped bird. Over and over, she reread the dreadful words. Summoning all her strength, Anait smiled and said:
- Yes, you are right! The patterns of this brocade have a wondrous property. Just yesterday, I was consumed by sorrow and grief. But now, as you can see, I am smiling.
This brocade is priceless. But a dead creation cannot surpass its creator, can it?
- You speak wisely, Queen.
- Bring me the master who wove this brocade – I wish to see him.
- Wise Queen! I have not seen this master. I am a merchant, and I bought this brocade in India from a Jew. He, in turn, bought it from an Arab. And from whom the Arab bought it – I do not know.
- But you said that the work and material are worth three hundred times the weight of gold. That means you commissioned it yourself.
- Wise Queen, that is what the merchant told me from whom...
- You lie! – the Queen cried out in anger. – The talismans have revealed your vile secret. To the dungeon with him!

The servants seized the priest and led him away. Anait ordered the alarm to be sounded. The anxiously whispering crowd filled the palace square, asking each other what had happened. Anait, armed from head to toe, stepped onto the balcony.
- Citizens! – she said. – The life of our King Vachagan is in danger. Whoever loves the King, whoever values his life – follow me. By noon, we must be in Perozh. Within an hour, all who could bear arms were on horseback. Anait mounted her fiery steed, rode around her army, commanded “forward,” and raced to Perozh, raising a cloud of dust behind her. Anait’s army was left far behind when she halted her fiery horse in the middle of Perozh’s square.

The townspeople, mistaking Anait for a deity, knelt before her.
- Where is your leader? – Anait asked proudly.
- I am your servant, – said a gray-bearded old man, rising from his knees.
- What is happening in your temple?
- A holy man resides there, revered by all our people.
- A holy man?! Take me to him.
The leader led Anait to the temple, followed by a crowd. Seeing their approach and mistaking them for pilgrims, the priests opened the first iron door. The high priest came out to meet the crowd, singing a prayer with his hands raised high in blessing.

Anait rode her horse into the temple. She galloped to the altar, found a hidden spring in the wall, and the wall split in two, revealing heavy iron doors before the astonished crowd.
- Open this door, – Anait commanded the high priest.
Instead of obeying, the high priest and his armed servants attacked Anait.
- She has desecrated the temple! Death to her! – the high priest raged, inciting the townspeople to vengeance.

Anait’s intelligent horse trampled him with its mighty hooves, while the brave woman fought off the surrounding priests. Her army arrived just in time and annihilated every last enemy. The people watched in fear and bewilderment.
- Come closer and see what is hidden in the depths of your temple! – Anait said.

When the doors of the cave were torn from their hinges, a terrible sight met the people’s eyes. From the hellish dungeon crawled people – not people, but shadows. Many were on the brink of death and could not stand on their feet. Others, blinded by the light, staggered and crawled like ants. Last to emerge were Vachagan and Vaginak, shielding their eyes so the daylight would not blind them. The soldiers rushed into the dungeon and carried out the bodies of the dead, instruments of torture, craft tools, and cauldrons of human flesh. Ashamed, the townspeople helped them dismantle and cleanse the temple. Only after this did Anait enter a hastily erected tent where Vachagan and Vaginak awaited her.

The King and Queen sat side by side, unable to take their eyes off each other. Vaginak, weeping, clung to Anait’s hand.
- Wise Queen! It is you who saved us today!
- No, Vaginak! It was not today that wise Anait saved you, but back when she asked, “Does the son of your King know any craft?” Remember how he laughed then?
Ashamed, Vaginak silently lowered his eyes. Many years have passed since then, but the glory of wise Anait lives on to this day.

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Anait

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