Hayk’s Country
Kheridan Kocherian showed up, waving a handful of brochures he’d brought to share with his new friends, Gideon Yellow Thunder, and Secora James. Seamus McGill had also arrived at their hotel room to plan their day.
Keridan exclaimed, “My friends, what would you like to do today?
Gideon, I believe it is your turn to choose.”
Gideon wrinkled his brow, saying, “There are so many caves to choose from.”
Seamus commented, “Wait, is there a place with not just a cave but also a castle or a monastery – and no birds?”
“No need to settle, Mr. McGill, our precious Armenia is literally paved with old fortresses, also parapets and walkways reminiscent of the Great Wall, Stonehenge-like standing stones, cathedrals, monasteries, and other stunning ruins. You could spend three lifetimes admiring their staggering aspects, never fully paying tribute to their memories. However, I think I have the right one for you, and I hope it will make it to the top of Gideon’s list – since this is his day to choose.”
Gideon friction-rubbed his hands together and said eagerly, “I’m ready.”
Kheridan took a long breath. “The Geghard Monastery at the entrance of the Azat Valley contains several churches and tombs. Most structures were cut into surrounding rock during the peak of Armenian medieval architecture, dating from the 4th to the 13th century. High cliffs surrounded its northern side, and a defensive wall encircled the rest like a windowless fortress.” As he pulled out a photo, Kheridan pressed his lips tightly to hold back a grin. “Here’s a picture.”
Gehard Gavit or Navix
“Now THAT looks really interesting,” said Gideon. Seamus said, “Needless to say, I am ready to leave anytime. What about you, Secora?”
She was mesmerized by the photo. “Let’s hear more.”
“It began as a small, hillside Monastery called Ayrivank, meaning ‘Monastery in the Cave, because of its rock-cut construction. According to tradition, it was founded by St. Gregory the Illuminator and built after the adoption of Christianity as Armenia’s state religion, beginning in the 4th century AD. We call it the Monastery of Geghard.
Geghard Monastery Complex
Seamus drooled. “Oh, I’m in love already. Kheridan, I’ll say it again, I might never leave this fantastic area. Gideon, you may be on your own with the Afghani water project.”
Gideon did a double-take, then said, “Everyone should come here to see
this. I can’t wait.”
“Okay, but I was going to tell you about one more possibility. A castle from the Iron Age Armenian civilization, also known as the ‘Kingdom of Van,’ or ‘Urartu’ on the Ararat plain, which thrived from 800 to 500 B.C. Unfortunately, it’s under a lake formed by a volcanic crater after the eruption of nearby Mount Nemrut. But it seems you have made your choice.”
Gideon responded, “That does sound cool, but I still think Geghard is the one we want.”
Kheridan clapped his hands, saying, “Okay then, it looks like we have a winner. We need a plan.”
Seamus suggested, “Step one, let’s dive into the pastries we bagged up last night. The meat and vegetable-filled ones are on the left, and the sweet ones are on the right.” Secora added cheerfully, “The teapot is full of Constant Comment tea.
I’ll grab the cups.”
Kheridan’s tale continued as they traveled. “The Geghard Monastery is cross-shaped inside, and it is sometimes called the Monastery of the Spear, named after the spear used against Jesus while He languished on the cross. Legend has it that this spear, dating to well before ‘The Bronze Age,’ was brought to Armenia after the crucifixion, and is now at the Echmiadzin Treasury.”
Once they arrived, they found so much to explore. The immaculately constructed buildings were filled with special touches like beautiful paintings, icons, and the spectacular play of light through sunlit domes, which dazzled their eyes. Earthquakes had destroyed much over the centuries. Still, the location was nothing short of breathtaking.
While wandering through, Secora connected with a painting of Christ and the spear. She reflected, such complete humility and submission to the will of God, born of the deepest affection for the Beloved.
“Thank you, Lord Jesus Christ, for that riveting example during your last moments in this realm. Bless you and thank you forever.”
When she looked around, she was alone. She could hear voices, but she wasn’t sure from where. Was she imagining the chanting of monks, or the chants of wandering Crusaders from centuries past? She thought she could see them vaguely. Their faces raised, bathed in a light which must have been gifted to them by their savior.
Gideon shook her arm gently and whispered her name. She looked at him, her eyes adjusting to his face in the dark of the chamber. “We’d lost you. Are you okay?”
She smiled. “I am, thanks for finding me.”
After finishing the tour inside the complex and cave, she rested on a set of carved stone steps, smiling and absorbing the sun’s rays while the men continued their excursions through various structures. She closed her eyes, listening to birdsongs and the distant voices of visitors, past or present. She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. The last thing she remembered was a light breeze laden with the fragrance of white blossoms that grew wild among the rocks. By the time Gideon woke her, it was apparent she would soon be dealing with sunburn.
Even though they were exhausted after taking in the astonishing views of the mountain, the monastery, and even the circling raptors above, they felt a deep joy filling their hearts and were then moved to offer a round of prayers. For Secora, this was a healing balm, just what the doctor ordered.
Seamus yawned. “Hey buddy, we would very much appreciate a good meal at your parents’ place after a glorious day like this. Will you be joining us?”
“I’m off shift in an hour. Barring any surprise fares, I could meet you for a bite, and we could chat for a while.”
Gideon groggily mumbled, “Sure, that would be nice.”
“Okay, good then.”
Secora was grateful that Kheridan, in his early twenties, was guiding and driving, as his passengers were drifting off to sleep on the way back to Yerevan. She roused with the bustle of the city traffic and sat up, blinking. Kheridan had parked in front of the restaurant.
She smiled when the young man opened her door. As she stepped down, she thanked him for his efforts in helping them take home a piece of Armenia’s heart…
Diane Olsen Author, Books, & Stories 