The Armenian Disney Princess Anahit
The Tale of Anahit (by Ghazaros Aghayan), rewritten in the style of a Disney movie.
Once Upon A Time there was a prince.
But that isn't the way of Disney fairytales, is it? No, Once Upon A Time there was a shepherd's daughter. She was wise and cunning, teaching others in the village to read and write as they grazed their sheep, and possessing of a beautiful skill in weaving carpets. But even more than that shone her spirit, the quickness of her tongue, and a sharp mind that understood not only her own self, but the country she lived in. And this is her story.
OoOoO
"And then little Emin knocked over the fence!" Kohar exclaimed, pointing an accusative finger at the small dog by her side while her friends laughed. The puppy looked up with an innocent expression and Kohar narrowed her eyes at him, but relented when he lolled out his tongue with a grin.
"Little scoundrel," she said exasperatedly, hefting her water jug on her side. "Anahit, do you have time this evening to show me again the stitch you taught me last week? I tried to use it in my embroidery yesterday but messed up somehow."
"Of course," Anahit replied with a smile for her friend. "I can show you after we fetch the water, if you'd like."
"Can I come, too?" Nazani piped up, and the other two girls turned to her.
"It's a difficult stich," Kohar temporized, but Anahit cut her off.
"Of course you can, Nazani," she smiled at the younger girl. "You've gotten so good with the simpler stitches that I'm sure you're ready to learn the more advanced ones."
Before the beaming girl could reply the sound of riders approaching cut them off, and two young men rode into view.
"Hey the ladies!" one called, reigning in his horse. "I see you carry water jugs – is there a spring nearby at which we might drink?"
"There is one just ahead," Kohar replied, keeping her puppy from dashing forwards with a foot and a sharp glance.
"Then we will accompany you," the man replied, dismounting along with his companion. "From which village do you come?"
"From Atsik!" Nazani said, blushing when the hunter turned to her.
"You have come a ways, then," he smiled, and Nazani happily chatted with him until they reached the spring.
"Let me offer you a drink," Kohar said, filling her jug at the spring, but before she could hand it to the riders Anahit snatched it out of her hands and poured out the water.
"Look how hot they are still," she scolded the other girl. "Give them time to cool off, first, or the cold water might harm them." And, looking entirely unconcerned with the thirsty men, she filled the jug and set it aside.
The men blinked in surprise, but only traded a glance before sitting on a nearby boulder.
"What is your name?" the leader – for he did all the talking – asked.
Anahit flicked a braid over her shoulder before bending to fill another jug. "Anahit," she replied simply.
"And who is your father?"
She turned her head to look at him, then. "My father is the shepherd of our village – Aran. But why do you ask?"
"Is it a sin to ask someone's name?"
"Certainly not. But say then who you are and from where you come."
The young man paused. "Should I tell the truth or a lie?"
Anahit narrowed her eyes at the question. "Whichever you think better matches your own dignity," she said, leaving the choice to his own conscience, and respect stole over his face.
"Then I shall tell the truth, and the truth is that I may not yet say who I am. But I give you my word that I shall soon tell you."
The shepherd's daughter regarded him levelly for a long moment before nodding and handing each man a water jug. "Very well."
OoOoO
Back at the palace, the young hunter burst into his parents' room (and into song, because it's a Disney movie) proclaiming that surely he had found the most lovely maiden in all of the Caucasus. Servants swept in to help him into more appropriate clothing for his status, the Prince hindering them all the way with his effusive gestures, but finally he was dressed and grasped his parents’ hands.
"I must have her for my wife!"
The King and Queen shared an alarmed look. "Son," the King began, but the Prince overrode him with another exclamation of how clever the girl was, the servants scurrying away. The song went into the slow middle eight as the Queen stepped forward and laid a hand on her son's arm.
"You are a prince," she said gently. "A King's son must select a Princess for his bride, or a woman of rank, but not a simple peasant girl. The King of Georgia has three daughters; the Prince of Gugar has a beautiful daughter, the only heir to his rich estates! And the daughter of the Prince of Syunik is beautiful, too. What fault do you find in her?"
The music picked up its earlier pace and the Prince shook off his mother's hand. "All the princesses you list are beautiful, rich, refined – but none are as clever, none as forthright as Anahit! Where they would curtsey and do whatever I say, Anahit would shake back her hair and tell me I was acting a fool, and speak to me as an equal. Mother," he grasped her hands with a pleading look, "she is like YOU! A woman fit for a Queen, not just a simpering girl born to the position!"
"Even so, son..."
The prince whirled around and stalked out of the room. "My mind is made up!" Behind him, his parents traded worried looks.
OoOoO
So it came that some time later, the Prince's trusted servant Vaghinak was sent with two important noblemen to Atsik to ask for the hand of Anahit. They were welcomed there by the shepherd Aran and took seats on the carpet Aran laid out for them.
"What a wonderful carpet!" Vaghinak said, running his hand over the sturdy fabric. "It was woven by your wife?"
Aran demurred, "My wife died ten years ago. The carpet was woven by my daughter."
"In the palace there are carpets of greater beauty," one of the noblemen sniffed, "but I suppose it is good that your daughter has such a skill." He was elbowed by the other nobleman, who continued somewhat more diplomatically.
"Word of your daughter has spread even to the palace itself, and we come at the order of the King. He wishes to have your daughter's hand in marriage for his only son, the heir to the throne." Despite the polite tone, it was obvious that the nobleman didn't approve of the King's son marrying a shepherd's daughter, and Aran looked down at his hands.
"Why are you sad, Brother Aran?" Vaghinak asked in concern. "It is joyous news we have brought you, not news to cause sorrow. We do not wish to take your daughter by force. If you wish, you will give her away; if you don't – you will not."
Aran sighed and met Vaghinak's confused gaze. "I will not constrain my daughter; the choice is hers. If she consents, then I have nothing to say against it."
Just then Anahit walked in carrying a basket of fruit, and, after bowing, served the guests in silence. Then she sat down to work at her loom, the swiftness of her fingers surprising even the noblemen.
"Anahit, do you often work alone?" Vaghinak asked, breaking the silence. "I have heard that you have a number of pupils."
"They have gone to help with the grape harvest," Anahit replied simply, her fingers never pausing in their movements.
"I hear you teach your pupils to read and write?"
Anahit glanced over at that.
"Yes," she answered. "All the village knows to read and write. The shepherds teach each other while grazing their sheep, and there are words carved into all the tree trunks in our forests. Stones and rocks have been written on with coal, and letters scratched into the earth. By now, all our ravines and mountains have become full of written words."
"Impressive," Vaghinak nodded. "There isn't so much respect for learning in the city; you are more cultured than most city dwellers. But leave off your work for a moment and see the gifts the King has sent you," he beckoned, and Anahit frowned as the noblemen brought out silk dresses and precious jewelry.
"How have I deserved such favor from the King?"
"You might remember two hunters joining you for a drink at the spring," he grinned, "and giving the Prince and his companion water from your jug. The Prince was most impressed with you, and the King has sent us to ask your hand in marriage for the Prince. This ring, these necklaces, these bangles – they are all for you!"
"So the huntsman accompanying you was the King's son?"
"He was," Vaghinak agreed.
"He is a man of great beauty," Anahit said, looking levelly at the other man. "But does he know any trade?"
The nobleman on the left scoffed. "He is the son of the King! All his subjects are there to serve him. What use has he of a trade?"
"That's all very well," Anahit turned her gaze on the man, "but a ruler may become a servant. Everyone should know a trade, whether he be king, servant or prince."
Her father looked down at the carpet, a smile playing on his lips, but the noblemen were less impressed.
"You – a peasant girl – are refusing the Prince because he does not know a trade?"
"Yes," Anahit said simply. "Please take back all the things you have brought with you, and tell the Prince that while he seems a good man, I will never marry a man who knows no trade."
The noblemen traded disdainful glances and rose to leave, but Vaghinak bowed to shepherd and daughter before leaving. The King and Queen were glad upon hearing his report, believing that Vachagan would give up and marry according to his status, but instead the prince nodded firmly.
"Anahit is right; I should be master of some trade as everyone else is."
And so the King and his council decided that the most suitable trade for a prince was the weaving of brocade, and brought in a skilled master from Persia to teach the Prince his craft. Over the course of a year Vachagan wove a length of brocade for Anahit, using fine golden threads and expressing his hopes through the patterns, and when Anahit received it she sent back a carpet as a gift of agreement. (Needs scenes from the intermittent year, of other peasant girls goggling over the fact that not only had they spoken with a prince, but that he wanted to marry Anahit and she had turned him down; fathers pointing her out to their sons saying that if she was considered desirable for a prince they might care to woo her, and clips of the prince pausing over his work to look out the window to the distant mountains, and Anahit looking up from her loom in a similar manner.)
And so it came that Prince Vachagan and the shepherd's daughter married, and it was celebrated for seven days and seven nights. Prince Vachagan and Princess Anahit came to be much loved by the people, and the subsequent years are shown in a song by the people of the city telling of the prosperous years under King Vacha and Queen Ashkhen, their death at a ripe old age, and the ascent of Vachagan and Anahit to the throne.
Soon after assuming the throne, however, Vachagan's most trusted advisor and friend went missing, and though they searched for Vaghinak far and wide, he was nowhere to be found. In his grief King Vachagan retreated into himself, interacting less with his people, until Anahit sighed and took him to task.
"Oh King, I see that you lack knowledge of your realm. I hear people say that all is well, but how can you be sure that this is true when you have lost touch with your subjects? I suggest you walk through your kingdom for a time dressed as a merchant, a beggar, or a workman, and see whether things are truly as well as they seem."
Vachagan looked up at his wife in silence for a long moment before nodding. "You are right as always, my love. Before, when I used to go hunting, I knew the people better. But tell me, how can I go away now? My father is no longer here to rule the kingdom in my stead."
"You have a queen," Anahit raised an eyebrow at him. "I will rule in your absence. You have been so removed from the court that no one will notice an excursion of a few days."
Vachagan slumped slightly, knowing the truth in her words. "All right; I'll set out tomorrow morning. If I don't return within twenty days you will know I have met with some misfortune," he said dramatically, grabbing Anahit and bringing her into a close embrace.
Anahit rolled her eyes, but a smile played upon her lips. "I will be quite cross if you let something happen to you," she said primly, and her husband grinned and ducked his head to give her a kiss.
The next day the prince, dressed as a simple peasant, set out to rediscover his realm. It reminded him much of his younger days riding with Vaghinak, and talking to the people as just another man was satisfying in a way he had forgotten. Though he missed his clever wife, he wandered on, seeing and hearing much about the state of things in his country.
Finally he came to the town of Perozh, and saw a market with stalls laden with the work of tradesmen, but as he browsed the stalls he noticed a large party approaching and people clearing the road. At the head of the group was an old man who walked very slowly, with members of his entourage setting down brinks for him to step on (note: have here a song about the market and the high priest who is so holy that he won't step on the ground in case he might accidentally crush an insect), and when the priest sank down on a carpet that was spread out before him, Vachagan made his way forward to hear what the priest might have to say.
The high priest looked around the crowd and caught sight of the stranger. "Who are you and what brings you here?"
"I am a workman from another land," Vachagan replied, "and have come here seeking employment."
The old man nodded. "Good. Come with me; I will give you work and pay you well."
Vachagan agreed, and once the great priest's attendants had gathered their purchases the disguised king followed the group back to the city gates. There the high priest blessed the people and left with his priests, the porters, and Vachagan, walking away from the town until they reached a great wall. Entering through the gates, they beheld the temple rising from the center of a spacious square, and the porters put down their loads where the priests bade them to.
Opening an iron door on the side of the temple, the high priest waved in the porters and Vachagan. "Go in; you will be given employment here."
The small group found themselves in an underground passage, and walked for a long time before emerging into a cave where emaciated, starving and dying men lay. One such person neared, and Vachagan asked in horror, "What are you, man or devil?"
His face that of a corpse and each bone on his body visible, the man turned a dead look on the group. "Follow me; I will show you everything," he said dully, and shuffled down a narrow passage. They found themselves in another cavern, where many people labored: some embroidering, some knitting, others sewing.
Gesturing weakly, the corpse-like man said, "The devil priest who enticed you here will never let you leave, and woe if you don't know a trade. I do not know how many years I have been here, for here there is only eternal, unending gloom. They bring people here, those who know some trade and those who do not; the first are made to work until they die, while the second..." he trailed off with a violent shudder and some in their group blanched.
"I don't know a trade," one man began to panic, and Vachagan stilled him.
"Then you shall be my assistant, and anyone else who knows no trade besides. Have no fear."
The corpse-like man turned away, shuffling to a loom where he began his slow labor, and Vachagan watched him go. Even though the man looked nearly like a skeleton, Vachagan had recognized his old companion, Vaghinak, but had said nothing in case the revelation might harm the man. Seeing him now, hunched before a loom when he had believed him dead all these years...
Vachagan shook himself when he noticed a priest approaching, and moved to stand as the leader of the group.
"You're the new arrivals?" the priest asked curtly, and Vachagan bowed.
"At your Grace's service," he replied.
"Which of you knows any trade?"
"We all do," Vachagan said. Behind him his companions said what trades they knew – weaving, tailoring – and once they fell silent Vachagan concluded smoothly, "and the rest are my assistants; we can weave precious brocades worth a hundred times more than gold!"
The priest eyed him skeptically. "Is your cloth really that fine?"
"Certainly," the disguised king replied, drawing himself up. "I do not lie; and you can always put it to the test."
The priest snorted. "That I'll do. Tell me what instruments and materials you need and choose a spot; I care not which."
And so it came that Vachagan wove a length of splendid brocade in that underground chamber (insert song of laborers here), covering it with patterns that would convey a message only to those who knew the art. The priest was astounded at the quality, and Vachagan smoothly set his trap.
"You will remember, I told you that our cloth is worth a hundred times more than gold – but know that its real value is double that again, because of the talismans we wove into it. No ordinary person could appreciate its true value; the only person who would know its true worth is the wise Queen Anahit!"
The priest's eyes lit up with greed, and Vachagan bowed before retreating, hoping that his plan worked out as he hoped it would. As long as that brocade reached his wife, they would be saved. If not...
OoOoO
Back at the palace, the Queen had been ruling the country well, with none the wiser that her husband was missing. But Anahit herself was beside herself with worry, for it had already been thirty days since Vachagan had left, and while he had spoken in jest about some misfortune befalling him she couldn't help but feel that his joke had come true. Nightmares plagued her, and she was distracted and on edge.
On one such day she was informed of the arrival of a foreign merchant bringing precious merchandise, and so distressed was she that she nearly sent him away. But she was a queen, and had appearances to maintain, and so she had the stranger brought to her.
In came a man with an obsequious manner and an unsettling glint in his eyes, and Anahit wanted nothing more than to send him away, but he bowed low and held out a length of golden brocade on a silver tray. She took one glance at it, noticing it was indeed quite fine but not really caring, and asked, "What is the price of your brocade?"
"Gracious Queen, it is three hundred times as dear as gold, made by a master of the art with the finest materials, and only such a high one as you could possibly appreciate such a work of art!"
Anahit raised an eyebrow, well used to such fawning displays but still unsettled by the greed on the man's face.
"Is it really so very dear?"
"Most gracious Queen," the man said with an oily smile, "there is a priceless virtue upon it! See the patterns; they aren't simple patterns, but talismans that I was told only the wise Queen Anahit would know the true value of!"
"Really?" Anahit asked, now mildly intrigued. Opening the brocade, she viewed the patterns – and realized that they weren't talismans, but a message from the maker.
My darling Anahit, I am in grave danger, and he who brings you this brocade is one of my jailors. Find me east of Perozh, beneath a walled temple. Without your help we here shall all perish. Vachagan.
Frozen, Anahit's eyes flew over the brocade a second and a third time, then she smiled brightly.
"You are right, merchant, the patterns of your brocade have a power for courage and comfort: Only this morning I was sad and now I am hopeful and light of heart. I would not hesitate to give half my kingdom for such a brocade. Bring me the man who made this cloth; he must be rewarded alongside you."
"Gracious Queen," the greedy priest replied, "I do not know who made it. I bought it from a Jew in India, and he bought it from an Arab, and as for the Arab – who knows where he came by it?"
"And yet I know where you came by it," the queen answered coldly. "Guards, seize him! Throw him into prison and sound the alarm!" Striding away while trumpets sounded, Anahit called her handmaidens to dress her, and then appeared on the balcony in full armor to address her people.
"Citizens!" she called. "The life of your King is in danger! Let all those who love him and to whom his life is dear follow me, for by midday we must be in the town of Perozh." The crowd roared their approval and within the hour the whole town was in arms, every person with a mount ready to follow their Queen where she may lead. Swinging astride her horse, Anahit yelled, "Forward! After me!" and set off at a gallop for Perozh, a mass of people at her heels.
"Where is your leader?" Anahit demanded as she cantered into Perozh, the inhabitants falling to their knees before her.
"I am the leader here, Your Grace," said one man, and Anahit reared her stallion back onto his haunches.
"You careless steward! You do not even know what goes on under the temple of your Gods!"
"Your humble servant knows of nothing," the quaking leader agreed, and scurried off when she commanded he lead the way to the temple. There the priests opened the gates thinking them come to pray, but when Anahit rode straight at the temple they tried to stop her – in vain, for so many people had followed the queen that none came even close to Her Majesty.
"Come closer!" Anahit cried, "See what is hidden in the sanctuary of your Gods!" Rearing her stallion again, his mighty hooves broke down the doors of the temple and stirred up dust to envelop them. And from within the dark depths of the passageway came crawling people like specters from beyond the grave, blinded by the light and shaky on their feet, and behind them Vachagan and Vaghinak with tears in their eyes.
"Vachagan!" Anahit cried, swinging down from her horse and into her husband's arms, and breaking the stunned shock of her citizens who reached out to help their weakened countrymen. Vaghinak, clutching Anahit's hand against his cheek, burst into tears at the sight.
"Incomparable Queen, you saved our lives!"
"Yes, she did," Vachagan agreed, pulling back to look into his wife's eyes. "But she set the basis for it long ago, on the day she asked: 'And does the Prince know a trade?' And everyone wondered how I could want to marry the shepherd's daughter."
The wise Queen smiled up at her husband, loyal Vaghinak by their side and their subjects all around, helping and being helped in the midday sunlight.
Author’s Notes: There already exists an animated movie on Anahit and Vachagan, and you can find the information about it on IMDb! Also, read the original fairy tale on Google Books – I took a few creative liberties with my version and the original is quite nice. (Slightly more gruesome, also.) (PS: "Anahit" is pronounced "Ah nah HEET"!)
