This story happened a long, long time ago. My great-grandmother heard it, told it to my grandmother, and she told it to me. Now I will tell it to you, and you may believe it or not, as you wish.
Many years ago, there lived on the earth people who were brave and strong. They were beautiful in both spirit and body. They called themselves the Narts, and the place where they lived bore the melodic name of Alania, a place of magical beauty! Snowy peaks reaching into the blue of the high sky, fairy-tale mountain gorges, emerald hills and turquoise lakes... The air is clean and clear as crystal. It is filled with the delicate fragrance of... mmm... rare flowers: transparent edelweiss, alpine rhododendrons, mountain irises, fresh meadow grass, and an incredible warmth that rises from the very depths of this land.
In such a place lived a Master with golden hands. People marvelled that everything the Master's hands touched turned into beauty as if by magic. He worked hard, helping the young and the old, bringing joy to children and adults alike.
One day, after a hard day's work, the Master sat down under a tree to rest and, without noticing, drifted off to sleep. Through his dream he heard the sounds of the forest, the roar of a wild mountain river, and then, somewhere high above his head, the twittering of birds. They chirped, interrupting one another, as if eager to share something.
The Master, without opening his eyes, listened...
Do not be surprised. Our Master could understand the language of animals and birds with ease, for he loved and protected nature very much.
On a branch of the tree, judging by their voices, sat three little birds.
Tyut, tyut, tyut, what beautiful voices our sisters have,' chirped one of the little birds.
Yes,' continued another, 'we can chirp sadly and we can chirp happily. And also loudly and lightly.
I wonder,' the third one joined in, 'could anyone else sing as beautifully as we do?
Nonsense, surely not!' All three birds agreed, flapped their wings and flew away.
Then the Master woke up. He began to think... The birds' conversation had stirred and inspired him. Unable to hold back the urge to make and create, he jumped up and set to work.
He climbed the forested mountain on the southern slope, where the sun generously warms everything around it. There he saw a large, sturdy hazel tree, and from one thick branch he carved a round bowl. He stretched two strings made of horsehair, and the instrument began to play so mournfully and plaintively that hearts ached. Then the forest and the mountains wept too. Clouds gathered out of nowhere, and tears poured from the sky... The instrument sang so sorrowfully and sadly.
It seemed simple enough: two strings and a wooden body, yet it sounded like a human voice, creaking with feeling. It would not sing in just any hands, only in gentle and kind ones.
For a long time the Master gazed at his creation and gave it a name, as parents name their child. He called it the Kisyn-fandyr (from the word 'kis', meaning hair).
The next day, where three rivers flowed together into one stream at the foot of three mountains, the Master saw a mighty black cedar. It rustled its shaggy branches.
The Master chose a single solid piece of wood and carved a triangular body resembling a bow, and he strung it. Suddenly the sun, which had been hiding behind gloomy clouds, peeked out. Right in front of the Master, twelve brilliant rays of sunlight settled onto the ground. It seemed they had just leapt out of a heavenly 'sun-fall'. Hopping from one string to the next, they began to play...
A melody flowed out, gentle, sunny and shimmering. It sounded so beautiful that everything around fell silent in wonder. It seemed the instrument was playing that incredibly lovely melody all by itself, as if some force were lifting it higher and higher into the clear azure sky.
No one dared to move, lest they frighten away the voice: the one that sang, spilled over the hills and mountains, spread across the emerald grass and rang out in the high sky.
What an incredible miracle!' thought the Master. 'I never imagined that sunbeams could be such skilful musicians!
The Master named the instrument the fandyr, which means 'music'.
A third instrument came from a reed stem, in which the Master made small holes, and it began to sound music so light and ringing, as if the mountain wind were playing it. The Master named this instrument the uadyndz, which means 'breath'.
As soon as the uadyndz began to play, something incredible happened: the rivers overflowed their banks; the mountain slopes were covered with a green carpet; diverse flowers appeared across the meadows, and butterflies and bees began to flutter among them; bears woke from their winter sleep and came out of their dens. True spring had arrived...
The Master watched all this with delight and said, 'The sounds of these instruments have brought to our home the heavenly blessing of the fARN. So let the magical music of the fandyr always be heard!'
From then on he made his crafts to the rhythm of melodies. And those melodies came together into songs, which praised everything the Master saw around him: beautiful flowers, crystal mountains, clear rivers, blue lakes. Everything that lived and grew on the native Alanian land. The music sang of everything that filled the Master's soul.
In the sounds of the musical instruments (the fandyr, the kisyn-fandyr and the uadyndz) created by the Master, people found comfort when trouble came. And when something good happened to them, they poured their joy into the beautiful sound as well.
That is why people began to say there is a song for every occasion in life, and there is no one who has not sung their own song during their lifetime.
So let the magical music of the fandyr always be heard!
