This tale happened a very long time ago. My great-grandmother heard it and told it to my grandmother, and she told it to me. Now I shall 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 fearless and strong. They were beautiful in both soul and body. They called themselves the Narts, and the place where they lived bore the melodious name Alania, a place of magical beauty! Snowy peaks soared into the blue of the high sky, mountain gorges were fairy-tale lovely, and there were emerald hills and turquoise lakes... The air was clean and clear as crystal. It was filled with the delicate scent of rare flowers: transparent edelweiss, alpine rhododendrons, mountain irises and fresh meadow grass, and with the wonderful warmth that rose 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, and 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, dozed off. Through his sleep he could hear the sound of the forest and the roar of a swift mountain river, and then, somewhere high above his head, the chirping of birds. They chirped over one another, as if eager to share something.
The Master listened with his eyes closed...
Do not be surprised. Our Master could understand the language of animals and birds with ease, for he loved and protected nature dearly.
On a branch of the tree, judging by their voices, sat three little birds.
Tyut, tyut, tyut, what beautiful voices our sisters have,‘ twittered one of the birds.
Yes,‘ continued another, ‘we can sing sadly and joyfully. And also clearly and lightly.
I wonder,‘ added the third, ‘can anyone else sing as beautifully as we do?
Nonsense, hardly anyone!‘ all three birds agreed, fluttered up and flew away.
Then the Master woke. He fell to thinking... The birds' conversation had both troubled and inspired him. Unable to contain the desire to create, he leapt up and set to work.
He climbed the wooded mountain on its southern slope, where the sun generously bestows its warmth on everything around. There he saw a large, sturdy hornbeam, and from its thick branch he carved a round bowl. He stretched two strings made of horsehair across it, and the instrument began to play so mournfully and plaintively that hearts ached. The forest and the mountains wept. Clouds gathered from nowhere, and tears fell 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 and aching. Only gentle and kind hands could make it sing.
For a long time the Master gazed at his creation and gave it a name, as parents name their child. He called it Kisyn-fandyr (from the word ‘kis’, meaning hair).
The next day, where three rivers merged into one stream at the foot of three mountains, the Master saw a mighty black cedar. Its shaggy branches rustled.
The Master chose a single solid piece and carved a triangular body resembling a bow, and he stretched strings across it. Suddenly the sun, which had been hiding behind gloomy clouds, came out. Right in front of the Master, twelve brilliant sunbeams settled on the ground. It seemed they had just leapt out of a heavenly ‘sunfall’. Hopping from one string to another, they began to play...
A melody flowed out, tender, sunny and shimmering. It sounded so beautiful that everything around fell silent in wonder. It seemed the instrument was playing that incredibly lovely melody by itself, as if some force lifted it and carried it higher and higher into the clear azure sky.
No one dared to stir, for fear of frightening away the voice. It 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 fandyr, which means ‘music’.
The third instrument came from a reed stalk in which the Master pierced little holes. Its music was so light and ringing, as if the mountain wind itself were playing it. The Master named this instrument uadyndz, which means ‘breath’.
As soon as the uadyndz began to play, something extraordinary happened: the rivers overflowed their banks; the mountain slopes were covered with a green carpet; diverse flowers appeared on 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 fharn, heavenly grace, into our home. So let the magical music of the fandyr always sound!’
From then on he made his creations to the tune of melodies. These melodies gradually formed themselves into songs that praised everything the Master saw around him: beautiful flowers, crystal mountains, clear rivers, blue lakes, and everything that lived and grew on the native Alanian land. The music sang of all that filled the Master's soul.
People began to find comfort in the sounds of these instruments (the fandyr, the kisyn-fandyr and the uadyndz), made by the Master, whenever misfortune came. And whenever something good happened to them, they poured their joy into their beautiful playing.
That is why people began to say that there is a song for every occasion in life, and that there is no one who has not sung a song of their own.
So let the magical music of the fandyr always sound!
