Hovhannes Tumanian: Parvana

Translation of poem by Hovhannes Tumanian
1902

I

The high-throned Abul and Metin mountains

Back-to-back in proud silence stand,

Holding high on their mighty shoulders

Parvana—a beautiful ancient land.

And people say that there in his castle

Over the steeps, next to the sky,

Lived a king, the hoary lord of the mountains

Who ruled Parvana in days gone by.

The king had a daughter, and such was her charm,

That no one ever in his life did meet,

Hunting among the lofty mountains,

A doe so beautiful and so sweet.

His gray old age and his mountain realm

With her childish gaiety she adorned

And the old but happy King of Parvana

His darling daughter simply adored.

The years to come promised still more joy;

She came of age, and, legends report,

The king despatched his ambassadors

To every castle and to every court.

“Where is, he inquired, “the courageous youth

That can win my daughter by main and might?

Let him don his armour and mount his steed

And come to take my daughter by right.”

II

Their sabres clanged and clattered,

Their horses pranced and reared

When before the castle

Those brave young knights appeared.

In front of the grand white castle

Of Parvana’s hoary king

All waited in impatience

For the contest to begin.

Folk from all the neighbourhood

Had left their hearth and home

To see who wins the maiden

For his very own.

The trumpet echoed. All the court

Assembled in the square.

Then came the gracious hoary king

And his daughter fair.

Her father came like a gloomy cloud

And like a moon came she

Arm-in-arm, they were a sight

That all eyes were glad to see.

And all who gathered were amazed

That such a maid could be.

The brave young men stood silently

In spellbound reverie.

“Now look you at these splendid knights

All come to seek your hand.

Prepared to fight in contest fair,

Upon the square they stand.

“One will display his manly strength,

Another his skill with arms,

A further one his horsemanship,

Still another his grace and charm.

“And when the contest comes to end,

And they come to claim their prize,

And when the bravest of them file

In parade before your eyes,

“Then throw an apple to your choice,

The champion of the day,

And let the whole world envy you,

So happy and so gay.

The king was about to raise his hand

That the contest may begin

When the princess set the apple by

And thus she spoke to him:

“What if a mighty-muscled knave

Beats a gentle-hearted dove?

He may be champion of the day

But never win my love."

Then asked the rivals gathered

Around the royal stand:

“What would a champion have to do

To win your heart and hand?”

“Is it wealth you want? We’ll get you boats

With gold and silver laden.

Or is your wish a shining star?

We’ll bring it down from heaven.’’

“No need have I for silver,

No need have I for gold.

And though you bring me gems and pearls,

You still may leave me cold.

“The man that is to be my lord

Must find undying fire.

Whoever brings the fire to me

Will have his heart’s desire.”

The gallant knights then took to horse

And gallop off did they.

Each chose himself a different road

And followed each his way.

They rode to fetch the princess fire

That would forever burn.

But though many years rolled by,

Not one man did return.

III

“Oh, Father dear, where are the knights,

Why do they not return?

Perhaps it can’t be found at all,

Fire that will always burn?”

“Yes, daughter dear, they sure will come

And bring undying fire.

But the roads and ways of dauntless men

Are full of dangers dire.

“They have to pass through evil ground

And in evil water swim,

And clash in deadly battle

With the spiteful Jinn.”

Year after year went by again

But no one brought the flame.

“Look from the window, Father dear;

It’s surely time they came.

“More and more often in my dreams

My faithful knight I see,

Holding the fire, he gallops up,

But I wake, and gone is he!”

“Be patient, daughter, he will come!

In seeking for the fire

He who goes after it himself

May oftentime expire.”

Again the years go rolling by.

The princess waits in vain.

The horsemen never came in sight

On the mountains or the plain.

“Oh, Father dear, I fade with grief,

Sorrow burns my soul.

Can it be there is no such fire

In the world at all?”

But nothing could the mournful king

To his dear child reply.

Black doubt besieged his hoary head

And sorely did he sigh.

IV

Year after year sped past again.

His daughter watched in vain

The melancholy neighbourhood:

No horse nor rider came.

At last the princess lost all hope,

And sad tears did she weep

And soon the castle lay beneath

A lake both vast and deep.

The princess vanished in the lake

Whose source were her sweet eyes;

Since then among the mountains tall

Clear as a tear it lies.

Beneath the lake’s transparent waves,

In the shadowy, green deeps,

The castle of the luckless king

Its haughty look still keeps.

And now, as soon as twilight falls

And windows come alight

A myriad moths as if possessed

Begin their nightly flight.

And people say those luckless moths

That perish in the flame

Were once Parvana’ s gallant knights

Whom passion made insane.

Turned into moths upon their way,

Whenever they see fire

They fly to it from far and near

And in the flame expire.