This story happened long, long ago. My great-grandmother heard it and 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, brave and strong people lived on the earth. They were beautiful in both soul and body. They called themselves Narts, and the place where they lived bore the melodious name 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 subtle fragrance of 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 marveled 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 hard work, the Master sat down under a tree to rest and, without noticing, dozed off. Through his sleep he heard the sounds of the forest, the roar of a wild mountain river, and suddenly, somewhere high above his head, the chirping of birds. They chirped, interrupting 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 tree branch, judging by their voices, three little birds had settled.
Tweet, tweet, tweet, what beautiful voices our sisters have!” chirped one of the birds.
Yes,” continued another, “we can sing both 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, no!” all three birds agreed, fluttered up, and flew away.
Then the Master woke up. He pondered… The birds' conversation had both troubled and inspired him. Unable to contain the desire to create and make something, he jumped up and set to work.
He climbed a forested mountain on the southern slope, where the sun generously warms everything around. There he saw a large, sturdy hazel bush, 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. The forest and the mountains wept. Out of nowhere, clouds gathered, 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's creaking voice. 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 he 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. It rustled its shaggy branches.
The Master chose a 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, came out. Right in front of the Master, twelve brilliant sunbeams descended to the earth. 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 the 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, not wanting to frighten away the voice: the one that sang scattered 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 skilled musicians!
The Master named the instrument fandyr, which means “music.”
A third instrument came from a reed stalk, in which the Master made small holes, and it sounded music so light and ringing, as if the mountain wind were playing it. The Master named this instrument 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 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 with awe and said: “The sounds of these instruments have brought into our home farn, heavenly grace. So let the magical music of the fandyr always sound!”
From then on, he made his creations to the tune of melodies. And these melodies formed themselves into songs that celebrated everything the Master saw around him: beautiful flowers, crystal mountains, transparent 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 misfortune 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 that there are songs for every occasion in life, and that no person lives without singing a song of their own.
So let the magical music of the fandyr always sound!
