It is an old-old song. It's well known, our beloved sad song. It's one of the "at-a-table" songs (if it makes sense for you. That means: slightly drunken people like to sing these kind of songs during a party). Every Belarusan has ever heard this song. It was my grandmother's favorite song. She was a songstress. And my mother, too. They often were invited to weddings to sing special old-custom wedding songs...

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Here we go! Here is it!

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...(through) A fog-dale, a dale, a valley...

Nothing is seen across the fog.

But only a green oak is seen.

A spring was under this oak.

A girl was taking water from this spring.

She lost her gold pail,

A peace of Kazak's heart was disturbed.

"Ah, that one who will get my pail out,

Will stand with me on a rushnik.

So there was one Kazak volunteering:

"So I will get your pail out,

I will stand on a rushnik with you".

...I'd rather dive into a sea,

Then stand on a rushnik with an unloved one.

I'd rather eat the sand in the sea,

Then sit on a pasad with an unloved one.

...(through) A fog-dale, a dale, a valley...

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rushnik (Bel.) -- special embroidered towel. A bridegroom and a bride stand on the "rushnik" by the old custom.

Kazak (Bel.) -- if you don't know exactly what that means, read simple -- boy, guy, jack... whomever.

pasad (old Bel.) -- throne. That means the place, where a bridegroom and bride are sitting during a wedding party.

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Such nice summary! How do you like it: everybody sings it, no one tries to "take it into his head" to understand...

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* * *

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Where Is The Gold Pail Lying?

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Dedicated to my mother -- songstress and craft expert.

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...It feels so amazing to me: to find myself on the other side of the world, so as to begin to speak Belarusan just here! Easily and fluently, from my soul and the memory of my ancestors. To find friends, as intimate as relatives, and to begin to sing with them, and to meet this strange unintelligible song, that affected us with its anguish. And namely here, suddenly to plunge my head into history, steep it into those grey-haired old times, so as to understand how they lived, our ancestors, what they believed in, what they dreamed and what they wanted to leave for us, their descendants?

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By the way, all this was happening during the autumn Dziady*. Not only do I observe this holiday, but also I believe it to be my nature. A long time ago, my mother (an atheist and a former member of the Komsomol) taught me (a present member at that time) to celebrate respectfully Dziady. Any troubles or disruptions could not destroy this main tradition in the soul of our people. Maybe, our 'national idea' has been preserved just in the custom of commemorating our ancestors; it unites all of us and makes us feel like Belarusans. Even communist's atheism wasn't successful in the persecution of this custom because every year at every Radaunitsa*, it looks like a wave gets up all the people, even the laziest, and no power can hold back this nation-wide march. That's why in Minsk the authorities were forced to give up and to change the schedule of transportation. ...But at one time, my father was fired and almost expelled from the Party -- because he had visited the grave of his mother on the Radaunitsa day.

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* Dziady -- Belarusan culture has three meanings of the word dziady: 1. grandfathers and old men, 2. dead relatives and all ancestors, 3. holiday of commemoration; there are four in the year, the main one is Rada?nitsa -- from word Rod ('kin') -- in the spring, on the 9th day after Easter, and the second one is Dziady in the fall.

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Maybe, our distant ancestors weren't so far from the truth, when they believed in a main god Rod being a living essence, which is constantly being created by human souls, flying away to the stars. And here are the eye-stars of our dziady, looking down from the heavens; perceiving the Cosmos, they are wise now. They have been watching us, helping, directing our thoughts and actions, so as to not allow us, as people, to dissolve between historical hurricanes.

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Well... I, also, appeal always to dziady in my thought and prayers. And it is so particularly important for me because such is my lot: that many of my close relatives and friends are already there, among the stars. Maybe you don't believe me, but I, really, sometimes receive support, advice and answers to my questions from them.

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Just the night before Dziady I was dreaming of my mom. Admittedly, she didn't say anything. She was sitting beside me silently and went away. Only the strong feeling of anguish left behind -- like some kind of presentiment or a question Despite that, I accepted this dream as her support because just at this day I had to give the first lesson at our newly created Sunday school. Of course, I was afraid and worried. But now the fear had gone, because I felt: dziady -- here they are, near.

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On the same day I got a book Belarusan Ornament. Embroidery And Weaving. So! It was just that, what my thoughts had tried to attain! I had already known Belarusan ornament isn't only simple beautiful patterns, squares, rhombs, and hooks. Every sign is a kind of an ancient symbol. In these patterns, the ancient mythology and astrology, the world outlook and life wisdom of the ancient Belarusans were coded. But how I would like to perceive this wisdom, to breath the air of that old time, to find the way to roots, to these springs, that had been filling our people (and the state, too) with life energy for many centuries! This strength could overcome all difficult trials in our history. Ah! Our ancestors -- how smart they were! -- they knew about ephemerality of handmade things, so they kept their knowledge and wisdom in symbols and images and passed the meaning of them to the next generations orally. New generations used these symbols and images again and again creating new craftworks, embroidery, songs and tales. Unfortunately, we didn't take up the torch. Patterns, symbols, and folk work: all are being lost. But suddenly, we rush to find the truth now in western horoscopes, now in the asian philosophy, now in whatever... and don't know that our dziady already had (and still have) all of them. Just at this time, the art-adviser of our folk group Viyaleta brought for our viachorki ("event at evening time" -- the special word means: in old time, people spend the evening time together at someone's house spinning, knitting, doing crafts and singing by that) -- so we call our meeting-practice -- the verses of this old song, "So, let's sing it! It is so well spread, so it would be worth singing it." Yes, it is a well-known song. But I have never been thoughtful about the meaning of it. But now, when I began to sing it to myself, I grasped the idea of every word. And I noticed for myself the oddity of the song, some sort of disparity of its plot, which is a violation of folklore's canons. Is it more lyric or ballad? (At one time I used to study folk-lore at the University) ...Ah, but with what kind of melancholy, this line is breathing: "She lost her gold pail"! Although, what is the trouble because of such trivial hardware?

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Suddenly, one of the girls asks, "But why -- a pail? Why not a ring, or rushnik? It would be more common and poetic!" We began to discuss.

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Then Viyaleta summed up, "But 'pail' rhymes well with 'heart'!"

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And so we agreed to that. ...But why is the 'heart' in itself here? (And not every line is rhymed in this song.) Oh, I feel it is not so simple here! At one time before my university folk-lore practical work, I was taught not to change any word, any letter in a literary work because all things in folk poetry are on the spot, all of them have their own great importance. As every hook is not casual in an ornament, nor is every word -- in a song. But here it looks like nothing is acquainted with logic! Here the song only evokes the same feelings for every one of us: anguish and sadness. And everybody feels like singing, so we mumble it for days.

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About every other week our friend Nadzeya comes to me -- and gets talking to me again about this song, "It's so plaintive, as all Belarusan songs are". But what is the matter with that!? It doesn't go away from your head, either! I disagree with her: we have many cheerful and amusing songs. But really, our hearts are wrung with pity about this one...

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Every other minute Nadzeya says again to me: "Listen, here I am thinking about the meaning of this song: what makes me feel it so wrong! Such mercantilism -- who will get my pail out, so I will marry him, if it is such gold... Doesn't it?" -- "Nadzeya, but how could our girls have gold pails?" True, the Grand Litvanian Duchy was a fabulously rich country, but not to such an extent! ...So here we got this pail for our trouble! But really, why is it specifically gold? "No, Nadzeya, here the 'gold pail' is some kind of image, of symbol".

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But what kind is it? I have never come across it. Even in that book about ornaments -- so many kinds of symbols are there: bees, vases and even horns. But here is no pail mentioned... Where can one find it? How can we understand this strange song, that doesn't leave us in peace? It is, probably, created completely with images. But the meaning of them has been forgotten...

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And I am again appealing to "dziady" in my thoughts: but what have you created here, that we can't comprehend? Come on, help...

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Just the next morning, at dawn, I see in my dream: my friends and I are walking on a street of a Canadian town. Suddenly, we notice between the stores -- hata (Belarusan wood house), it looks like our rural ones. There is a big sign "Belarusan Works" on it. We run indoors. And it is full of all our things: works, crafts, and embroidery. And an old Belarusan woman comes over to us and says: "I have been waiting for you for a long time!" Then we are embracing. Suddenly, I ask her, "Grandma, but what is the gold pail?" And she answers, "And the gold pail is that, which leaves us and never comes back". And she disappeared. Only my thoughts whirled around, breaking into a run. And as if rays-thoughts radiated toward me from near-extinct stars, they interlaced with mine and blazed up as spark-answers to my questions.

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...Leaves us? What leaves us? -- Youth love the motherland... Aha, the motherland! "She lost her gold pail" -- she lost her motherland! She lost that, by which she took the life force from healing springs. And the "spring" in itself -- that is a well-known symbol: the image of our homeland.

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A lost motherland... But why? Where did she find herself? Through "fog", "dale" or "valley"? -- That means: across the steppes So that is in captivity! (There are no steppes in our country). It is well known, how strong our people were hurt by southern and eastern nomads. They ravaged our towns and villages. And their main goal was to enslave and sell our people in distant countries: the boys -- for labour, the girls -- into harems.

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And "oak"? -- I know "oak"; that is the symbol of a forest, a woodland country.

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So we have the clear image of a girl-captive, that is from a land where there are forests and oak woods, where there are springs gushing at every step. (Not otherwise Litvinka, Palachanka or Paleshuchka!*) She is miserable, driven so far away through the steppes -- through "a dale", "a valley"; she misses her motherland that "isn't seen" (has disappeared) through "fog" of distance and of time.

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And the "Kazak"? -- So that is her fiance... Of course! The girl had a fianc?. Now it is intelligible, what "disturbed" the peace of his heart. Well, what next? He "was volunteering" to "get the pail out". Aha! -- To release her from captivity! He rushed to pursue. Here it is! -- The ancient law of our ancestors: to catch up, to get back, to release, to return to the motherland! The main source of the vitality of our people! The holy precept, that became of our sacred Pahonia! (Pahonia -- Pursuit. That is the name of the old Belarusan National Emblem).

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And the "Kazak" wasn't a plain man. Not without reason, "Kazak" that means "free". A Shlahetich or a Kniazź. And the girl was a Kniaziouna**. And they were concrete people with concrete names. And it was a concrete story, and somebody composed a ballad. People sang the ballad, and in due course, the real images were changed for more common, general or traditional ones.

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Time never told what happened to the Kazak. Either he died fighting against great odds, or was taken into captivity also... But here is the lot of the girl made a concrete slip in the song -- the only thing that remained from the ballad (just "a sea" was mentioned not without reason, not "a lake" or "a river" -- there is not a sea in Belarus). The last four lines were left, as they were -- as a tribute to the respect and the glory of the action of the free choice of a free Belarusan girl -- "Rahneda's granddaughter".

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Here is the whole story: believe it or not.

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Well... it never happens to you? It seems like some invisible spirit guides you to the truth, either through an indispensable book, a chance meeting, or some other plan of circumstance.

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You can't always read history in pen and ink.

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* Litviny -- a name of one of Belarusan tribes.

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Palachane -- inhabitants of Polatsak-city.

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Paleshuki -- inhabitants of Palesse-region.

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**Shlahetich, Kniazźź -- the man's noble ranks

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Kniaziouna -- the woman's noble rank

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Toronto.

2001.

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Translated by the author

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