All language subtitles for Molba

A GEORGIA-FILM Studio Production

The beautiful nature of man
can never die.

Vazha Pshavela

O Lord, my plea, I pray, please heed,
The only one I'm affecting:

I beg, don't let me just live and breed,

Betraying you, myself rejecting.

May madman's temper be wild and
crude

And soul know but the miracles' rule,

Appealing and thirsting for the good

May never be quenched to the full.

The prudence and the piece of mind

May never come to me, not ever.

And only in the throes of night

To grow the sprouts of joy may I
endeavor.

Whenever my soul is afire,

My mind at once would spread its wing,

And only then freedom will triumph

In me and celebrate its win.

May Your all-powerful hand

Protect me, keep me in Your fold,

Until my way misfortune is sent

And punish me with the graveyard cold.

And only when your peace you'll find,

Return a star to the firmament,

Fish - to the whirlpool of a river
bend,

Return my dust to earth,

My spirit to eternity,

To father and mother - their child!

THE PLEA

Based upon the poems of
VAZHA PSHAVELA

Screenplay by A. SALUKVADZE
R. KVESELAVA, T. ABULADZE

Directed by
Tengiz ABULADZE

Director of Photography
Alexander ANTIPENKO

Production Designer
R. MURZASHVILI

Music by
N. GABUNIYA

English Subtitles by
T. Kameneva

Cast:

Khvtisya - Spartak BAGASHVILI

Maiden - Rusudan KIKNADZE
Matsil - Ramaz CHKHIKVADZE

Aluda - Tengiz ARCHVADZE
Mutsal - Geidar PALAVANDISHVILI

Dzhokhola -
Otar MEGVINETUKHUTSESI

Zviadauri - Zurab KAPIANIDZE
Agaza - Nana KAVTARADZE

Master, give me shelter.

Give shelter to a traveler.

A lonely, homeless traveler.

Come in, come in, good soul.

Help you God.

How can I refuse you shelter?

Oh God, who are you?

I know you.

I talked to you many times,

but I've never had the honor

of seeing you.

You're my earthly God...

Am I worthy

of your attention, of your love?

No, I am not,
yet I'm happy about it.

What do you want, you damned one?
What do you want from me?

Why are you poisoning
my heart and soul?

Go away, get out.
I don't want to see you.

You're evil, you're the devil.

You may say what you like.
Your cursing doesn't bother me.

My nature
is strong and unchanging.

Didn't you understand yet
that you'd never win over me?

Life is like a good lump of fat.

Cut off a piece and enjoy it.

Don't forget, nothing is permanent
in this world, everything ends.

But... man's aspirations,

his thoughts,

feelings,

love,

hate - everything
life consists of,

lull the realization of a near end,
of the fact that all is vanity.

But you can't understand that.
What you're about is poison.

There it goes again: Whenever
I tell the truth, you think

it's poison.

You're mine. Mine.
Only mine.

No one will ever tear you off
from these strong paws.

I'm alive as long as you're alive.

If everything you're
telling us is true,

then how is our community going
to live?

You say that killing animals and
felling trees is a sin.

Why consider it a sin
if God has given it all to man?

Cutting trees, picking grasses,
killing cattle - you feel sorry for it,

but you don't feel sorry when killing
a man, even if he's your enemy?

What shall we do, then, to those
who trample on our land,

kidnap our wives
and debase our holy faith?

A horseman burst into their stead,
And shouted:

"The Kistins, scoundrels,
They plunder our land

And take our horses to the mountains!"

Aluda of the family of Ketelauri,
By nature was a fair man,

Besides, he was a Khevsur man,
Brave and enduring.

No few Kistins he caused to miss
A hand on the battlefield.

A coward, he has no enemies.

It's only a hero has of them
a whole guild.

Well, how about it, you treacherous
dog?

He holed my chest, the treacherous dog.
And soon my life will wilt.

O, woe is me, in the prime of the day

My life Aluda has got,
My brother and myself he's slain.

Is that the justice of the Lord?

Alright, have it, the treacherous dog,
It doesn't belong to any other.

But, Lo! The Khevsur looks so glum,
He won't even look at the gun,

He sheds a tear with a feeling.

And though his booty's worth a lot,
To disarm his enemy he's unwilling.

He won't cut off the man's right hand,

He whispers to the corpse: Mutsal,
A hero you in battle fell,

Your hand was steadfast.

I'd better have it turn to ash
At rest on your so mighty a body,

Instead of being your foe's fetish
Nailed in his mountain aboding.

The one who holds enmity supreme,

Who sows ruin everywhere,

Let him in his hut obscure and dim

Have a pond of human blood to bear.

Let him imbibe it from a cup,

And eat in bread; and as if in a shrine

The sacred thing he'd worship and
praise up,

Making a cross with bloody hands of
crime.

Let him, the generous bridegroom,

Receive his guests coming in flood,

Invite them to the table in his room

And entertain them in a pool of blood.

And let him make his bed in it,

Where he will lie down with his wife,

And he'll beget himself many a kid

And live a happy family life.

And, finally, he'll lie, the doom of
death fulfilled,

Into his bloody coffin funereal.

If you have killed, you'll also be
killed,

His family won't forgive you,
the killer.

After the Kistins at daybreak
I went across the mountains gray

And, noticing a fresh-made track,
I caught with them by cutting my way.

There were two of them to make my goal,
One infidel I struck down hard.

But Mutsal, God may save his soul,
He had the iron in place of his heart.

You mean in heaven he may rest?

I value prowess and zest,
One cannot buy it at the market place.

Three times Mutsal fired at me,
it was three times that I shot back.

My third shot killed him nearly
And made the hero a wreck.

He stopped his wound up with the grass
And in a frenzied fit he spoke,

Losing his strength, passing out fast,
Was naming me a treacherous dog.

We're always prone to believing
That we're worthy of salvation,

For infidels, that breed of evil,
We prophesy the hell's damnation.

All that we just repeat in vain

The sons of God should better know.

Those who often invoke His name
May not reveal the whole truth though.

It dawned on me that to cut off

His gallant hand would be unfair.

I may be losing fame and worth,

But listening to the voice of heart
I'd rather dare.

You'd better die without a word
Than lie to us about that horror.

You might as well take off your sword
And lay it down for women to borrow.

Your shield they may find also a fun
And use it as a weaving tool.

And it is easy to turn your gun
Into a spindle, to spin wool.

You've run away from Kistins, dog!
Worse than a woman. You killed Mutsal.

Why didn't you bring his hand along?
Why were you chasing them at all?

And all of them turned their backs
On Aluda, filled with contempt.

And they all went to their shacks

And left the village deserted, empty.

Aluda's standing all alone,

Hurt by disdain, malevolent and cold.

Never before, in word or tone,

He's been despised by the young and
old.

I'm alive against my will.

Stab me with a dagger
With all your zeal.

Just pierce me through,
For me to get rid

Of life so cheerless and appalling,

So the villagers would feed
On cruel enmity and warring.

Aluda, eat at least a crumb.

Why at the sight of a corpse you droop?

The guest must go home full,
Pour Aluda some more soup.

Aluda, since the time of your granddad

We cut off hands of the Kistins.

Alas, Khevsurs, the law is bad

That bears the mark of old sins.

I will be fighting, but never again

Shall I disgrace the dead.

You will! Since the time of your
granddad

We cut off hands of the Kistins.

I could do it too, or could I not?

But what on earth do I need it for?

It can't be used instead of a sword,

It's no good as a shield any more.

Aluda, since the time of your granddad

We cut off hands of the Kistins.

Alas, Khevsurs, the law is bad

That bears the mark of old sins.

Tell me, Aluda, who's it for
That you make a sacrifice today?

Our ruler is the Gudan Cross,
Its hold over the village is impressing

And all its slaves all over across
Are strong by only its blessing.

The lord loves Khevsurs, it is known.

Believe me, you're not alone
Who is loved by powers of heaven.

Our ruler is the Gudan Cross,
Its hold over the village is impressing.

Tell me, Aluda, who's it for
That you make a sacrifice today?

Today this sacrifice I make
For Mutsal who was never christened.

Bless it, I beg, for heaven's sake,
For the hero's honor not be treasoned.

Please, Verdiya, perform the rite,
To give away a steer I'm willing,

So that Mutsal wouldn't go right
To hell, like a thief or a villain.

What? To honor an infidel
You're willing like a Christian?

You must have gone insane as hell
When killed that foul Kistin!

Your ancestors of bygone era
Were proud of all of their victories.

You have no fear of God, you hero?
Don't heed the Devil's whisperings!

Is it the first time that you killed
Our vicious enemy, the Kistin?

Your ancestors of bygone era
Were proud of all of their victories.

You have no fear of God, you hero?
Don't heed the Devil's whisperings!

Don't turn me down, old man,

If you're a true believer in God.

I'm a slave of the Gudan Cross,
A Khevsur devoted to the faith.

You wag your tongue all just in vain,
There's no point in dissolute talk!

You wag your tongue all just in vain,
There's no point in dissolute talk.

Please, don't see it as a mortal sin,
The sacred sacrifice for Mutsal!

Look, people, here's your neighbor

Has no respect for our faith.

He sacrificed with his own hand

A steer for a lowly Kistin!

What does he think, that bragging
fiend?

That our community will spare him?

May he be damned by the Creator!
He does not deserve our pity!

Come close up around me,
The Khevsur sons, unless

We set the fire go free
Aluda won't come to sense!

Let's go burn and pillage
His home, and henceforth,

Exposed by the whole village,
He'll seek his haven by a foreign berth!

Destroy the scoundrel's tower,
Burn his supply of wheat and rye!

May our hearts exult over the flower

Of fire rising to the sky!

His sheep and goats we'll make to
Our communal property.

May he be damned by the Creator!
He does not deserve our pity!

May he be damned by the Creator!
He does not deserve our pity!

Where's our home? Our things?
There, only crows flap their wings.

They haven't left a stone standing.

Wait, son, I'm tired, be so kind.
I can't keep up that weary stride.

Lela, your wife, has fallen behind.

The kids are hungry without food,
Their feet are frozen from cold.

Why, getting up at such altitude,

We trudge in snow, with no road?

And on his dear native land

Aluda cast a final gaze.

Farewell, farewell, my dear home,

Farewell, my hunting roaming,

Where at daytime the sun to me shone,

Where at night the storm was roaring.

Farewell, my Cross, my ruler supreme,

The source of all my strength and
courage.

Here. Here.

What is it?

It's what you love.

What? What?

Life.
A human life.

Who are they burying?

Dzhodaroz. Dzhodaroz himself.
The great Dzhodaroz.

Can it be that
such an almighty man,

who had so much
power and authority,

has been conquered by death?

Was the life of such a man
but a phantom?

Has Dzhodaroz himself
become a ghost?

He was, and he is no more,
and will never be.

Did he ever think that
just like that, in an instant,

he would disappear forever,
disappear like a ghost?

Perhaps he did, or the man wouldn't
have achieved such glory and greatness.

That's how it has always been and
will be,

it will be so forever.

Winter will remain winter,
spring will be spring,

and summer will be like it was
before, like it is now.

But we'll be gone.

We'll leave this life,
turning to dust.

Only nature will never change,
it will always be like it is now.

Earth to earth,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

I did catch you,
you vile man,

you sordid soul.
Now I've got you.

Which grave have you
plundered today?

Answer me,
or I'll knock you off!

What are you talking about?
Why did you get that idea?

Besides, what fool would dare
to rob in the middle of the day?

Then why are you here? What have you
lost here? What are you looking for?

I'm a pilgrim, brother. A pilgrim.

Got tired of walking and sat down
to rest.

God preserve me
from stealing.

Do they rob the deceased too?

Are there such godless people on this
earth?

As many as you can imagine.

It can't be.

What do you mean, can't be?
It's the absolute truth.

But the thief
will die some day, too.

Yes, he will.

Then what are you worrying about,
old man?

It means the time will come when
the thief is robbed too.

Maybe it's so. But I won't let anyone
rob the dead. It's a sin.

All this are just visions.

And you and I are but apparitions
in this world.

So there's no point in exaggerating
your own importance.

Perhaps you're really an apparition,
but I am not.

I have a house, I eat, drink,
sleep, wake up, walk.

I'm no apparition.

Tomorrow someone else will take your
place and live in your house.

My house was burning

and people just stood watching.

And no one would even move
to try to stop the fire.

For them it was just a spectacle.

And only she

did not stand aloof.

She tried to save my house,
but the people didn't see her.

If they could see her,

they might have tried
to do something.

Only she was
trying to save my house.

The fire was devouring everything.

It was raging with such a malice

as if it was taking revenge on me.

It raged with an increasing vigor,

not suspecting that
it is not everlasting either.

It burned as long as there was
something to burn.

And when it went out,
only black coals and ashes

remained from
its recent power.

Yes, the power and greatness of
fire was illusory.

And only she,

the child of heaven, is not illusory.

Only she doesn't change,

forever beautiful,

forever sublime,
and forever human.

Pale-faced and sunk in silence dense,

All covered with nocturnal greens,

On the throne of a mountain expanse

Was seen the land of the Kistins.

Why do you wander here, son of sin?

I'm a hunter, as you can see,
But no trust I may have in you.

Why such a doubtful admission?
Why say such things just time to kill?

Or can't you meet without suspicion
A fellow traveler on the hill?

I'm a hunter too, but for now
I got no catch, for better or for worse.

All is in God's hands, you know,
At least you didn't suffer any loss.

My only loss - it was so stressing
To get to this here place, by George.

Today I climbed over every crossing,
I rummaged over every gorge.

And suddenly the gloom of night
Set in, the wind began to tear

And howl in the mountains, as might
A hungry wolf in his lonely lair.

To find a path so far from home
Was hard, at night I couldn't see.

I never had a chance to roam
Those parts, they're unknown to me.

Well, greetings, brother.
Why are you standing so far?

You had no luck today -
You'll have it tomorrow.

Greetings to you, too.
I wish you always had good luck.

Let's share, like good brothers would,

My hunting bag that I've got today.

Aren't you a Khevsur, by any chance?
What do they call you?

My name is Nunua.
My hut is in the village of Chiz.

Reveal to me your name as well.

I'm Dzhokhola Alkhastaidze.

My village is just within a stone's
throw.

If you're looking for a lodging,
We'll go there, you and I.

I don't know if it'll be to your liking,
But you're welcome in my shack.

After a good sleep you'll awaken
And can set out on the road back.

He's a fool who never sowed
To hope to reap a harvest's wealth.

You've cut the throat of the goat,
And you should have it to yourself.

I'll spend the night until daybreak
And help you carry home the game.

But sharing with you your take,
A man must have some sense of shame.

A Kistin village looks from the high,

Like an eagle preparing for its dive.

Its sight is gladdening his eye,

As would the breasts of his beautiful
wife.

There, here's our simple hut,
Our ancient family abode.

A guest is always welcome here,
Come, feel at home after a long road.

Open up, Agaza dear,
A guest's been sent our way.

There must be no doubt in believing
That our house has been blessed.

Let's see how good are you at receiving
A new acquaintance in your nest.

Peace to the comer under our roof.

Peace to you too, and may in truth
You prosper with your husband and kids.

Kistins, our blood enemy
Is taking lodging with Dzhokhola.

Of our hills the worst highwayman,
The bloodsucker of our peaceful land,

It seems Dzhokhola, our tribesman,
Has never seen him in our highland.

Now he's in our grip, warmonger,
For old hurts we'll pay him tough.

We'll now see whose hand is stronger.
Hasn't he had our blood enough?

The neighbor killed by him last spring
Demands an act of vengeance.

Kistins, our blood enemy
Is taking lodging with Dzhokhola.

But we have not been weakened yet,
We'll have the enemy's blood yield.

If not, let women, not men at that,
Take to carry our sword and shield.

Kistins, our blood enemy
Is taking lodging with Dzhokhola.

The neighbor killed by him last spring
Demands an act of vengeance.

If we respect our fathers' behest,
How can we just forget and rest?

Kistins, our blood enemy
Is taking lodging with Dzhokhola.

The neighbor killed by him last spring
Demands an act of vengeance.

But we have not been weakened yet,
We'll have the enemy's blood yield.

If not, let women, not men at that,
Take to carry our sword and shield.

Kistins, you've all gone mad or so?

Whose guest is lying here tied and
tame?

Why, in contempt of the old law,
You've put me to such shame?

I swear by Mohamed's faith
That hospitality is our honor.

If you forgot it in your rave,
I've got my gun, you know.

Oh, fool, just stop your blabber.

Who'd dare raise his wretched hand

At his own mother,
A bloody enemy to defend?

Come to your senses, oh, my foot!
Whom do you shelter in your home?

This guest and his host to boot
We'll push the highest mountain from.

How can you be such an oaf, truly?

In our mountains any kid

Can recognize Zviadauri.

But he has tricked you. Yes, he did.

Was not it him who plundered here?
Was not he hiding in the bush?

Like a beast, so cruel and severe,
Attacking us from his ambush?

Dzhokhola looks, and a hint of doubt

Crept in his heart for just a second.

And lost in thought, before the crowd

He hung his head, he stood and
reckoned.

Didn't he, the wild beast, on another
Occasion hid in our wood,

And then he killed your own brother,
And rode away with a winning hoot?

That's what I'm like, Zviadauri! -
The mountains echoed his rhyme.

How vicious a man is that Khevsuri
We have known since that time.

He grazes on his Khevsur grass
The cattle, which is ours by right.

He carried a fierce war with us
And roused the enemy to fight.

Why d'you disgrace, you poor wretch,
Yourself, your wife, your homestead,

And in your blindness of no match
You share with him your bread and bed?

You may be right, it may be so,

But what you say is not the cause

For taking in your hands the law.
You're twice as villainous, of course.

Kistins, he's my guest today,
And even if he has amassed

A sea of blood, there's no way

That a highlander betrays his guest.

Let go, Musa, and step aside,

Don't torture him, you killer.

As soon as he goes outside,
Then do what you like, whatever.

Neighbors, it's not on the high road
You threaten the enemy with strength.

What answer, standing in my abode,
You're going to give to our hearth?

O, woe is you, Kistins, what for
An unarmed man are you so bold

To overwhelm and scorn the law
Of our fathers centuries old?

You'll get it too. What d'you expect?
Tie up the scoundrel right away,

As long as he does not respect
The tribal order we obey.

Since we've laid hands on the Khevsur,
We don't blame you lock and stock.

Yet on account of that giaour
You fight your brothers like a dog.

What? Me dog? How dare you, slave,
Call me a dog, you dirty rat?!

Go, damned dog, to the grave,
To spare me further snarling at!

What has he done!

The man must be at his wit's end!

You have been dragging through the mud
All that I hold sacred, sons of Kistin.

I'll kill, as Allah is my God,
You all, although you're my kin.

You've smeared our laws of shelter.
May you be damned for eternity!

They beat Dzhokhola with all might,
And rounded up, prostrate and trod,

He was bound with a rope tight,
Before he managed to draw his sword.

Beaten up and thrown on the straw,
He, like a corpse, is lying by the door.

We fear death,

But whenever there is a chance
To see the other's end in full,

To the execution one would prance

And just enjoy it, a stupid fool.

Oh, how many monsters do I know

Who have only sin as their worth,

Yet they emit of innocence a glow

And walk in peace on our earth.

What does Zviadauri really want

As he whispers many an indistinct word?

The Khevsur's blood is running hot,

But in his hand there's no sword.

Yes, it is your day of luck.

Alas, you've got me in your hole.

Already the people in the dark

Drag him somewhere with a frenzied
howl.

It's time for the murderer obscene

To go down to the dark of coffin.

And please the dead by fetching them in

The water, to the otherworldly din,

Or weave the sandals for them from
bark.

There's a gloomy hill in the village's
enclaves,

Burnt by the sun to the very ground.

There, lying deep in their graves,

Sleep lionhearted bodies under a mound.

The water washed their remains,

The hill provided a clay shroud.

Under the vault of a stone tomb

The brave men's heartbeat has been
ceased.

The earth's insatiable womb

Eats up the bones of the deceased,

Obliterates the human face

Of all who were furious and bold,

Who didn't lose heart in the fighting
race,

Who didn't waver with a sword in hold.

It is the fatal sin of nature

That saddens me and makes me cry:

Whether good or evil you may be
a creature,

Your time will come and you will die.

As every sailor will be swallowed

By water if his ship overturns.

Darla, forget you ever suffered.
Darla, look up and you will see

The whole village here gathered,
As did the villain who killed thee.

As sacrifice to the other world
We'll throw him to lie beside you.

Darla, forget you ever suffered.
Darla, look up and you will see

The whole village here gathered,
As did the villain who killed thee.

As sacrifice to the other world
We'll throw him to lie beside you.

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!
Become a sacrifice for our Darla!

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

The damned now sees the door of coffin,

But he doesn't want to be sacrificed!

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!
Become a sacrifice for our Darla!

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

The damned now sees the door of coffin,

But he doesn't want to be sacrificed!

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!
Become a sacrifice for our Darla!

Darla, forget you ever suffered.
Darla, look up and you will see

The whole village here gathered,
As did the villain who killed thee.

As sacrifice to the other world
We'll throw him to lie beside you.

Darla, forget you ever suffered.
Darla, look up and you will see

The whole village here gathered,
As did the villain who killed thee.

As sacrifice to the other world
We'll throw him to lie beside you.

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!
Become a sacrifice for our Darla!

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel!

Look, people, at his hour of death
He didn't even bat an eye.

It's time for the murderer obscene
To go down to the dark of coffin.

If only an ax I managed to find,
I would've killed those villains here

And freed the prisoner without fear,
My relatives I would've defied.

But has a Kistin woman ever
Had any power over men?

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!
Become a sacrifice for our Darla!

A dog will be a sacrifice to
the infidel.

Darla, forget you ever suffered.
Darla, look up and you will see

The whole village here gathered,
As did the villain who killed thee.

As sacrifice to the other world
We'll throw him to lie beside you.

It's time for the murderer obscene
To go down to the dark of coffin!

Acknowledge your master, foul dog!

Become a sacrifice to our Darla!

A dog will be a sacrifice...

A dog will be a sacrifice...

His woman's life was sweet and quiet
Under the shelter of her husband,

When in the stillness of the night
She lay beside him in their bed.

So close together were their breasts
At midnight hour.

Who would have guessed
That people make her forget him now.

His life slips away, his blood is
spilling.

Zviadauri was dying, no doubt.

But his courageous heart the killer

Could neither subjugate nor rout.

Allah is our witness, don't we know

That he hasn't smeared his soul with
sin.

He fought with us like a tiger though
And fallen for the land of his kin.

We wouldn't even touch the Khevsur
If our foes hadn't beaten us.

But foes are there to fight them.

To be a sacrifice he did not want,

So let him lie in the cold and dark -
It is his well-deserved lot.

The Kistins hadn't attained their goal,

Though they cut the brave man's head.

And, as they planned to, they failed
to dole

A generous dinner to the dead.

The night was falling once again.

The last sunray had left the slopes.

And dark, reclaiming its domain,

Clouded the mountains' high tops.

With inexplicable distress,

The proud cliff at the graveyard peers

And pours over feeble universe

The slow-flowing streams of tears.

The graveside stillness calls for grief,

A brother's remains for a sister's
weeping,

The woods at night for a deer's gallop
swift

And feasts of wolves, rapacious and
sweeping.

Death on the battlefield is fitting

For one who holds a sword in his hand,

For a fight - the enemy being smitten

And the hero's triumph in the end.

But who is going to mourn

Zviadauri's body though?

Only the tempest's wailing drone,

The waterfalls' thunder, the mountains'
sough.

Whenever I see only good done,

The judgment I'm not to pass.

To mourn over a fallen hero

Befits any woman, any lass.

Lord, join together the newlyweds!

Lord, join together the newlyweds!

Lord, join together the newlyweds!

Lord, join together the newlyweds!

Hear!
Hear! Hear!

Kursika Chalkhoshvili
sends his greetings to you.

I was called a thief, he says.

My good neighbors are
accusing me of stealing mules.

I swear by God, he says,
I am a thief, and I'm proud of it.

He presented gold to the newlyweds.
Praise and honor to him!

Praise and honor to him!

Sending their greetings to you
from the upper villages are

Boigar, Parangoz, Buchliya and Gelika.

From the lower villages - Antimoz,

Dzidzilo, Zviada,

as well as Tedua,

and also Givi and highlander Chalkhia.

We will spare nothing, they say,
for such a bridegroom.

We only want to drink and eat to our
heart's content at the wedding.

We'll give our Matsil whatever he
wants: Pastures and rivers,

our valleys and mountains,
everything he likes.

Praise and honor to them!

Praise and honor!
Praise and honor!

Also sending his greetings is our
Khvtisiya.

I've got beggarly, he says, in my
constant caring for my neighbor.

I have neither gold nor silver.

Nothing but this weapon
inherited from my forebears.

And I'm giving it to the bridegroom.

Praise and honor upon him!

Praise and honor!
Praise and honor!

Put the child
in the bride's lap.

May the Lord send you happiness
and such sons!

O Lord, lay to rest Thy servant.

O Lord, lay to rest Thy servant.

O Lord, lay to rest Thy servant.

O Lord, lay to rest Thy servant.

They're digging graves again.

New graves for people.

Oh, God! I cannot
see any more graves.

Show me something else,
good and joyous.

Show me this meadow with flowers.

Show me these same people
looking happy and cheerful.

I can't see gravediggers anymore.
I don't want to see graves anymore.

I'd rather jump down the precipice
or get drowned, only not to see this.

I don't want to look back.
I don't want to see this world.

Where shall I go? Where?

If You strike me with a lightning,

Lord, before You I'm standing,

With my hands true to the good,

With my soul, never bending.

No hardship will ever break me,

I abhor filth and decay.

Even if I get a sea of misfortune,

Faith in the truth will never die!

The End