I wrote this piece as a result of personal experience - any analysis of the events which unfolded must, I feel be left to others.
Definition
“When you love your Chokha,
you love your country. When you love your country, you love your traditions!
The Chokha emphasises I am Georgian. It is a spiritual costume’ - Leader of the
All-Georgia Chokha Society.
The wearing of the Chokha at
great occassions such as weddings and feasts is a way for the Georgian to
express a belief in the traditions of Georgia, the family values, the heritage
of song, wine and traditional dance. It embodies the spirit of nobility,
honesty, intergrity, dedication to country, courage and pride.
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‘Look at them they are so
beautiful.’ David gestured towards the Shavnabada boys who were walking up
ahead. It was as if he was conducting them, his long fingers orchestrated each
movement they made, each step they took. ‘Look at the way the Chokha fits their
shoulders, falls to the waist; it’s the triangle of a man. I am so proud; I
love them especially when they wear it.’
The warmth and admiration in
his voice came from deep within him. She looked at his profile, his eyes the
colour of the rich earth glowed as he glanced at her and they glinted as the
late autumn sunshine caught the silver on the belt holding the Kindjal secure
at his waist.
Walking through Wakefield, on
their way to a Civic Reception hosted by the Lord Mayor, they made an
impressive sight, these 12 Georgian men, all dark haired and broad shouldered
dressed in black woollen overcoats over grey shirts that fell to just below the
knees, held tight at the waist. Soft black leather- knee length boots with paper-thin
soles designed for dancing folded and pleated at the ankle. Sarah noticed how they all stood just that
little bit taller, that little bit prouder, that little bit stronger. They were
just more Georgian. David deliberately slowed and held her hand rubbing her
forefinger gently with his as he stared intently into her eyes. “It is
everything to me, this beauty, it is everything to be Georgian and to wear this
Chokha, the boys sing better, they are stronger, they are proud of it and I
want it too much for them and for all of Georgia that we can wear it with
pride.”
Sarah adored him. She was older,
battle scared and heart weary and had waited many years for this man to come
into her life. She had wished for him and dreamt of him and when he had appeared,
so sure of her kind heart and unafraid it seemed of the depth and sorrow in her
eyes, she had surrendered to him. His passion for the beauty of his song had
turned her head and fed her heart. He worked so hard to bring out the music
that was in the soil and the soul of Georgia’s mountains and plains, in her
vineyards and her people and Sarah would have done anything, anything for him.
Misha turned and shouted and,
as the spell broke she noticed that his Chokha, whilst beautiful was looking
battered and a little on the small side. The boys were growing into men, their shapes
were changing, they were all changing, growing, and it was exciting to be part
of it. She wondered vaguely how she could help them to get the new Chokhas
David had spoken so passionately about.
As Shavnabada walked through
the Town Hall Chambers, they collected admiring glances, whispered comments and
shy smiles from office workers and cleaners clearly impressed. The scent of
linsead and polish drifted and mingled, layered itself on dark oak panelling
and followed them as they climbed the circular stairwell. The rich deeply
patterned carpet imprinted by their solemnity seemed to soak up their songs. When
Shavnabada sang the mood changed, became enhanced and enriched and as mood
after mood unveiled and unravelled, each one became imbued into the memory
of the place. It was, the Lord Mayor said, the first
time in the history of the Town Hall that songs of such dignity had been sung.
Astounded at the beauty of the song, the passion and control, the dignity and
the integrity of the men, the Lord Mayor presented them with a painting of the
Chantry Chapel, a fine watercolour and a fitting memory for Shavnabada who had
sung with such strong heart the songs from their culture, a culture as old as
time.
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Sarah stilled herself. The
setting for their last concert was breathtaking. Wedgwood blue and wedding
cake whites adorned the walls of St. Cuthbert’s in Edinburgh. Shavnabada waited
for their cue, hands rested on daggers, deep black Chokha’s pristine and filled
with pride and expectation. The honey stained door at the rear opened and they
strode, magnificent and commanding to the front and formed a semi-circle all
the while accompanied by raptuous applause normally reserved for after a
performance. A hush fell and Sarah watched them as they grounded, settled, squared
hips, straightened spines and broadened shoulders and then, in unison, on cue,
with no cue, started to sing. The audience were enraptured, captivated, and
entranced. Gurian yodelling, sacred church chants, Zamtari so astoundingly
delivered it stretched up into the heavens to connect with its brother that was
circling and free-floating across the universe playing endlessly, looping and
looping onboard NASA’s Voyager. Jaws dropped, eyes lit up and secret smiles
played on the faces of the audience. Connections across time and space awoke
within them as they listened and felt the love and passion which drew them in
and echoed through and into the spaces inside their souls.
On the short flight from
Edinburgh to London the following morning Sarah asked David about his ideas for
Shavnabada’s new Chokha. He spoke about the colour of the Chokha he wanted. Not quite brown, or ochre but the colour of
Georgian soil, a rich, deep colour that would connect them to the noble traditions
of their past. She could feel the yearning within him and decided that she would
raise the money needed.
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Left alone once again in a
void and a vacuum of loss that was becoming uncomfortably familiar, the bed
cold and empty once again as David returned to Georgia, Sarah set out to
involve as many people as possible to raise the £1000 needed for the cloth for
this new Chokha. She ran a small business and decided to incorporate a raffle
into the classes she gave hoping she could ignite the interest of her clients
enough to raise the amount by the time she went to Georgia in February. Everyone became caught up in her enthusiasm and soon gold
coins built into golden stacks, then stacks became notes, and finally, after
bake sales, and raffles, craft fairs and music workshops there was more than
enough. Swelling with pride and
delighted that so many people in the UK had supported her Sarah carried the
money in an envelope, in her passport, in her handbag, to Georgia. David was overwhelmed and spoke excitedly and
passionately about the texture and weight of the material, of the importance of
the cut, of how he imagined he would feel when he wore it. Their eyes shone and as they walked the
streets of Tbilisi visiting tourist destinations, eating Khinkali and enjoying
one another. Sarah’s heart opened a little more, just a little bit more and she
began to dream her own dreams.
On the second to last day of
her visit, Gaga got married. A key member of Shavnabada with his haunting melodic
voice and his ability to capture sounds inside raindrops that trickled down
clear glass, he was kind and sincere. When Sarah had asked him about his wife
to be, Nino, his voice melted when he said, ‘I adore her’.
Gaga’s Chokha was deep cream.
Heavy butter colour for his wedding day, soft for his intention, pure for his
pride, sweet and strong for his love and gentle for his beauty. His dark hair
and baby face shone and his hands fluttered nervously. The black Chokhas worn
by Shavnabada surrounded Gaga and contrasted against the snow that lay on the
ground. Light and dark, light and dark under snow laden trees along light and
dark avenues inside dark alleyways and blinded by bright light low winter sun
the men blended and moved as one, with this dove central to them, his day, his
declaration, his commitment to love, not only for Nino but for Georgia, her
traditions, and to God.
The journey from Gaga’s parents’
home to Nino’s had been chaotic and Sarah had clung to the seats in David’s car
as he had swerved and woven, raced, parried and thrust forward and back, as was
the tradition through the streets and avenues of Tbilisi to sing at the bride’s
door. There a toast given to her and then both families travelled together, to
the church. Nino, in white, so young and
beautiful wore a white fur coat to protect her from the cold but the sun shone
and halo’d the two of them as if they were messengers of peace. Gaga, his heart
strong in his chest, proud and noble looked up to the heavens and murmured a
prayer of thanks. As he stood with Nino
beside him, they embodied all the hopes and dreams of Georgia’s past and future.
They were beautiful.
In Sameba Cathedral the Holy
Trinity Church high above Old Tbilisi town, Gaga and Nino were married. Both wore the traditional crowns of love,
gold filigree adorned with pearls and jewels, both crowned with a golden crest.
Both walked the circle of love thrice anti-clockwise each time encircled by the
strong ties of love and brother-hood of Shavnabada as they sang holy marriage
songs that echoed and filled the vast space. David kept Sarah close and made sure she was
part of everything, could see everything, could feel everything. His eyes
smiled into hers and as Gaga and Nino
moved towards the sacred steps that women can only climb on their wedding day
he turned to her and said, ‘Please God let that soon be you’.
A tiny cinder glow of love
trapped deep in Sarah’s heart dared to flare. With glowing eyes, she hugged the
knowledge that he wanted to marry her tight into herself, breathed it and felt
it thaw and touch her soul. She felt as if she was flying. Later, in the snow
when his feet, in their thin soled boots, and cold despite the heavy woollen
Chokha, slipped and they fell towards each other laughing he breathed in her
ear, smiled with his eyes and his mouth and his hands and said, ‘Let us be
married late summer-time’
Leaving Georgia was hard, her
life in the UK, her son, her home, all of it waited for her, opened its arms
and beckoned her, welcomed her, loved her, offered her security, sanctuary and
stability. Her heart yearned for David but her heart also yearned for her son
and home. Glowing, flying, shining, ecstatic and hopeful, the flight back to
the UK was punctuated with tears.
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The next few months were frantic
and filled with exciting conversations about their marriage plans and where the
material for the Chokhas would come from, how much material would be needed and
how David felt about how they were being made. It was wonderful to hear about
how he wanted wear it at their own wedding and how important it was to him. Unafraid
of judgement and assured in her love for him Sarah began to dream of wearing a
Chokha too. She felt completely connected with what it symbolised and started
to look at old photographs of Georgian weddings hoping to find one that she
could wear.
Shavnabada arrived in October
accompanied by their new Chokhas. The heavy
wool, mountain soil colour, rich and nourishing, seemed to mold into each form.
Sarah knew their shapes well, she had sketched them, painted each member as
part of a piece she had given David as a gift the previous year and she could
see how they had all grown, had became so much more than the half they were
before. This time they were whole and
these Chokha made them complete. They hung from door-frames, ceiling lamps, were
draped over bed-ends and ward-robe doors. .
Like dark spirits, they swung when brushed against leaving a sense of
the ancient and strong echoes from times past lingered and seemed to call upon
the wearers. Daggers dangled precisely
and the dull mute of the boots were mirrored in the black of the belts, which
secured them in place. Each wooden bullet nestled in its own pocket and was
made of rare Georgian cedar to connect with the ancient warrior’s bow, each one
stood to attention in a row across each chest.
Shavanbada had grown up. These men wore their national costume with
pride and a sense of responsibility. Sarah could see it in the way they walked
and held themselves. Each concert had a maturity to it that had been lacking
before. Everywhere they went they commanded respect and it was clear that this
had been earned. There was clarity in their performance, a deep knowledge of
themselves and a connection to an ancient land that was undeniable. David, when
he wore his Chokha seemed wiser somehow.
It was funny, Sarah thought,
reflecting on the day before when they had been shopping, how David had asked
her for her opinion about different clothes. What did she think about this
style of trouser, did she like this grey waistcoat? This jumper? This jacket? These
shoes? This shirt with a double collar? Not particularly one for shopping Sarah
had said supportive things but without really knowing why as David looked
stylish in anything he wore. He just had that way about him. The last minute
purchase of a long cane umbrella with wooden question mark handle made her
smile. David would look like an English gentleman in his new clothes.
Sarah saw that shirt again
late the following summer. David wore it, as well as the waistcoat, the grey
trousers, the shoes and even though, on the photographs it did not look like
rain, he carried the umbrella. He looked like an English Gentleman.
The photographs were sharp
and professionally done. She saw him through the camera lens, the
photographer’s eye captured the turn of his head, the slight smile of
satisfaction that played around his lips. Friend’s fearful of her emotional state
had tried to find out what had happened and had sent her them via face-book.
She called him every day. He
did not answer.
Then 18 weeks after their own
relationship had cracked but un- aware that it had completely broken Sarah
asked him why he had not worn his Chokha on his wedding day, the most important
day of his life.
‘My wife asked me not to’
Sarah, already sick with
grief and reeling from his lies and deceptions replied, ‘I think you have
married the wrong woman’
Postscript
Received from David Friday 28th
September, via e-mail 27 days after his marriage and immediately after
Shavnabada performed at the 2012 Symposium in Tbilisi:
'hahaha fuck u u are delated from mirandas facebook and a lll from uk sad how ill u are and how it is too much waht u are doing and how funy u are like this. go on go on and people ll be more happy whith u. u must know allso that i m not getting your sms u r bloked just i m getting ring that thomeon sand me sms but i cant read it u r blocked.:) so i do not know wat u ar writting to be but i know that all kike shavnabda was perfect in concert all wos perfekt and all like my wishe and all wos happy so go on pls and lied your salf. by by. sham on u pelple meet me whth big congretulatins and thome of tham present to Natias flowers.com on and stop now shame on you.'
October
20th 2012
