“… The next morning, the forest dwellers came as a whole tribe. There were now women with small children and teenagers. Only Gabriel did not notice the old people among them. This time the forest people took Gabriel with them, brought him to their camp, which consisted of several reed huts. They treated him very kindly …"
We will tell you an absolutely incredible story that happened over 80 years ago. The protagonist of her shore is a record of the incident for over 30 years. The papers have turned yellow with age. But these are genuine records of a person who really experienced amazing adventures in his youth. Nobody believed in a humble and devout person. It is a pity that in our time there are fewer and fewer researchers who would risk penetrating into the inaccessible jungle and get original information, for example, about primitive tribes or about exotic animals and plants. Therefore, more and more romantic stories come to us from abroad. It is easier to publish such materials, the main thing is that there is less responsibility.
In September 1986, the candidate of biological sciences Pyotr Leonov came on vacation to his native place, where the parental home is still preserved - to the former blessed Tsar's Wells, the name of which has now been repainted in a bright color - Red Wells, as if the springs were really red. Since this romantic settlement, which grew out of a mighty Russian military fortification, was located in the east of the ancient Georgian land - in Kakheti, the distorted name was also translated into Georgian and made geographical - Poteli-Ikara … How could something incredible not be born in such a place?
This is what Pyotr Alexandrovich said.
- So, I'm in my parents' house, breathing the air of my ancestors. A few days later we were visited by my old and good friend and mentor, local historian and ethnographer I. M. Menteshashvili, and even with a stranger of a very old age. We greeted each other after a long separation, the historian introduced me to a stranger - Gabriel Tandilovich Tsiklauri and said:
- How did you arrive on time, this man with an old folder in his hands recently told me an amazing story about forest people, it cannot interest you as a biologist?
I was agitated by this message:
- When did this story happen?
“A very long time ago,” the historian continued, “whoever Gabriel did not tell about this, everyone perceived her with a smile or with some kind of confusion …
I perfectly knew the character of my friend Menteshashvili, so I immediately got down to business. The old men came to me with the hope that I could move this cart, so I could not hesitate and resort to a trick when they refer to the lack of time. I immediately brought the table into the garden, we settled down under the vines and began to talk.
I did not reread Tsiklauri's yellowed notes - they will not go anywhere, especially since Menteshashvili threatened to place them in his home museum of local lore among the swords of Roman commanders and mammoth tusks. I saw deep wrinkles on the face of an old man, who was already getting close to the nineties. Before it was too late, it was necessary to record the story from the mouth of an eyewitness.
Tsiklauri turned out to be an excellent storyteller, but his speech was heavily equipped with archaisms, and my knowledge of the Georgian language was clearly insufficient. We invited our dear neighbor Rita, who was fluent in both Russian and Georgian. So the four of us spent more than one evening. Gabriel Tsiklauri told us an ethnographic story. I wrote it down in the first person - the narrator, I would like to convey it in its original form, but who will give so much space? Therefore, I tried to present the story briefly.
In 1914, an illiterate fourteen-year-old teenager Gabriel Tsiklauri was expelled by the prince from his native village of Natbeuri, Mtskheta district, Tiflis province. Not finding shelter in his native places, the boy joined the purchasers of cattle for the military department. These people, together with the boy, walked from village to village to Azerbaijan. There they assigned the teenager to bey as a shepherd boy. The new owner turned out to be a very noble man - he dressed and shod the boy.
One spring, a shepherd drove the herd to the shore of the Caspian Sea. The weather was warm, the sun was shining brightly, the boy was distracted and looked into the distance of the blue sea. Suddenly he saw two people not far from the shore doing something near the boat. A few days later, the boy drove the herd here again. Now a strong wind was blowing, the waves rolled towards the shore with a terrible noise and rocked the lonely boat. And not a single soul around. Out of curiosity, Gabriel climbed into the boat and, wanting to sway on the waves, pulled out the crowbar to which it was tied. The little boat immediately drifted off the coast. The boy realized himself late - there were no oars in the boat. What to do, there is already a deep sea around, but he did not know how to swim. The boat was carried to the open sea …
One can imagine with what horror the boy looked at the seething waves, experiencing his complete powerlessness. But the loser was still reassured by the fact that he had with him a shepherd's bag with supplies, a chair, a dagger, a needle and some other little things.
The boat was in the full sense of the word in the open sea, for the outlines of the coast disappeared over the horizon. Worried about the loss of land, the lack of food in the bag, the boy fell into prostration and lost track of the days. How long the boat was carried on the sea, in which direction it drifted - he knew nothing of this. And suddenly the waves drove the decrepit boat to the shore. They drove and threw it so that it stuck securely among the huge boulders. Exhausted from hunger, Gabriel crawled out of the boat with difficulty and walked along the steep bank. Soon he saw a large forest, green grass under the trees. Having reached her, he clung to the grass and began to chew it greedily, in order to at least quench his thirst. This gave him strength. Now he was already in the forest, found mushrooms on a tree trunk, ate them, everything turned out well. Then he found water. But what to do and where to go? First of all, he went down to the boat, cut a piece of tin with a dagger, made a primitive bowler hat out of it. This vessel turned out to be the main salvation for him. There is a chair, you can strike a fire. So the boy began to cook the grass and the bark of trees in a kettle, and soon became completely strong. However, the thought of where to go did not leave him. And he decided to go into the depths of the forest, hoping to stumble upon at least the footprints of people there.
Huge gloomy trees, entangled with vines, caused both fear and reassurance. On the one hand, he was overwhelmed with horror at the possibility of perishing because of a meeting with some wild beast, and on the other, in the trees he found many bird nests with eggs, which he drank with gusto. The main thing is that on the mighty trees, among the branches it was possible to arrange a comfortable and safe bed for the night.
So the boy gradually got used to the unusual situation. He adapted to weaving ropes from wild hemp, which served him as reliable tackle for catching animals on the trail. He met hares, wild goats, birds in the forest. Once even a huge bull attacked him, from which he had to staunchly defend himself. It was not a deer or a buffalo, but a humpbacked bull. The huge ferocious animal was gray in color, like an ordinary domestic bull, only a very large and fat hump was visible on the withers. “I noticed that the animal intends to attack me, press me to the tree with its horns. And before he knew it, the bull chased after me with a heavy groan; I don't remember how I managed to hide from him behind a tree. Gathering my courage, I began to think about how to slay this bull. And so, as soon as the bull made another attack on me,I quickly hid behind a tree again and again. Once the beast stopped as if in thought. At that moment, I drove a dagger into his hind leg. Roaring in pain, he began to pounce on me with even greater fury. Having contrived, I struck him in the other leg with a dagger. After that, the warlike fervor of the enraged animal died out. The bull groaned, slowed down and after about half an hour fell ill. When he lowered his head, I left this place, but returned here the next day - the bull was already dead. "I left this place, but returned here the next day - the bull was already dead. "I left this place, but returned here the next day - the bull was already dead."
This is how Tsiklauri drew a live scene of a fight with a bull. This was a particularly bright moment for him, for the boy not only tested himself for courage, but for the first time in his entire journey, he ate his fill of meat.
One day he came across a vast clearing, in which he noticed fossilized earth. Someone here was clearly picking earthen pears. Great food, just build a hut here, settle down and wait for people to appear, thought Gabriel. Several days passed, but people did not appear, although traces of a man's bare feet loomed near the loosened earth.
Once our hero went out into the clearing to collect earthen pears. At that moment, a huge bird of prey began to dive at him. The narrator called her an eagle, who do not dive at people at all. Then I interrupted Gabriel and brought him a book, which contains drawings of birds of prey of the Caucasus - show, they say, dear, what "eagle" that bird looked like. Gabriel pointed to the bearded lamb without hesitation. At that moment I felt joy, I was completely disposed to the narrator, for only a bearded man could dive at a man, but not an eagle …
So, the bird haunted the boy. Gabriel was in a sheepskin sleeveless jacket, a lambskin hat, and was all overgrown. Maybe this was the reason for such an attack? The boy decided to get rid of it: he put a spear in the clearing, and next to it he attached a stuffed animal made of goat skins, tied a string to it, hid and began to move the stuffed animal. The formidable bird swooped down on the bait and was fatally wounded by the spear.
After some time, the boy came to his victim to cut off a piece of meat. Then some unknown force made him look around. He saw people running towards him with sticks in their hands. Gabriel was dumbfounded with horror: the approaching people were naked, with lush beards. There were no women among them. Here the strangers stopped near the boy, put pointed sticks against him. Making sure that he was not going to attack, they lowered them and began to mutter something in an incomprehensible language [I mean speech - an ability inherent only in humans. (Hereinafter, ed. Note.)], Then they surrounded the remains of the killed bird and began to look greedily at it. Here one of them lifted a sharp stone from the ground and began to cut off pieces of meat from the carcass. Having stocked up on food, the strangers made attempts to take the boy with them, timidly grabbed his hands. Frozen with surpriseGabriel refused to go after them. They left without doing him any harm.
The next morning, the forest dwellers came as a whole tribe. There were now women with small children and teenagers. Only Gabriel did not notice the old people among them. This time the forest people took Gabriel with them, brought him to their camp, which consisted of several reed huts. They treated him very kindly.
On the very first evening, Gabriel was assigned to sleep in a hut with an unmarried woman who had a son and an adult daughter. They all settled down without blankets and mattresses right on the dry grass, which served as a bed. The mother put everyone to bed herself: on the one side she put Gabriela, next to him her son, and on the other side her daughter. The next morning, an unexpected marriage for our hero took place. Two girls were brought to him - the daughter of the widow who took him in, and another. The girls stood on either side of him. Our boy had no idea how to behave, so he stood like an idol. Then the widow went up to them, took her daughter's hand and threw it around the shoulders of the groom, then put his hand on the shoulders of … as it turned out, the bride. Only now did Gabriel realize that he had been married [This is a ritual; this indicates that Gabriel was among the people.].
Here is the problem fell on the head of our hero! But he did not have to experience any difficulties: he immediately felt cared for, they helped him build a hut.
These peaceful forest people lived in the full sense of the word in the Stone Age. Apart from sticks and stones burnt at the stake, they did not use any tools. They fed on the gifts of the forest, the animals were driven into dead ends and killed with sticks. Meat was dried over a fire, laying it in pieces on a goat skin … Descriptions of hunting wild animals, funerals of young children - all this would take up a lot of space.
Gabriel noticed that there were no elderly people among the forest dwellers. They, undoubtedly, did not survive in such conditions, although there was practically no winter in this zone, the weather was good all year round without frosts.
A year later, Gabriel had a son, who was named Naked. The spouses understood each other well, although it was impossible to master the languages without an intermediary. So he lived for two years in the forest. And then misfortune happened.
One day Gabriel went to the animal path to place loops there. Returning, he saw a terrible picture: the camp was completely crushed and burned, several corpses of men beaten with stones were visible near the extinct fire. Not a single living soul was left around. Where his son and wife had gone, Gabriel could not imagine. He shouted for a long time, but there was no answer from the depths of the forest.
Having finally lost hope of meeting his family, he again headed to the sea. A few days later I reached the shore. There I found a huge tree with a hollow and settled in it. But the hollow turned out to be cramped, I had to throw branches there, set it on fire in order to expand it a little. Black clouds of smoke poured from the hollow. They saved our wanderer: they were noticed from a Russian warship sailing nearby. A boat moored to the shore and took the "savage" with it. Judging by the clothes and incomprehensible speech, the sailors really took Gabriel for a primitive forest man, but treated him kindly, fed him, dressed up and put him in the hold.
Mooring to the shore near some small town, the sailors handed Gabriel over to the local residents, who turned out to be businessmen: they put him in a cage and began to carry him around the auls, collecting handouts from the rotozees.
Only thanks to one Russian merchant named Peter Gabriel was finally saved. Fortunately, this merchant knew Georgian and immediately realized that the dealers, instead of the savage, were showing a young man who was overgrown and tattered. He took Gabriel and took him home. So our narrator began a new life, even learned to read and write again, started a family and finally told the world his story …
After thinking about the notes, I came to the conclusion that there are so many ambiguities in Gabriel's story that the story itself may seem like a hoax to some. But I, who saw the sincere eyes of a devout and honest storyteller, simply had no right to give this material into the hands of indifferent people.
I immediately began to speculate on the topic: how did people with articulate speech end up in a deep forest and why did they retire, break away from civilization?
After all, it was about real people belonging to the genus Homo sapiens. Judging by the description, Gabriel ended up in the subtropics, and they begin at the border of Azerbaijan with Iran. So where did the tribe live - in Iran or Azerbaijan? This is completely unclear.
At first, I had the idea that these people were once driven into the woods by some circumstances. For example, in the XIV century, during the invasion of Tamerlane, the aliens mistreated the local population of Transcaucasia. For which, in turn, local militias drove entire groups of conquerors into the forest jungle. There is historical evidence for this. The hordes of Tamerlane were followed by rich harems, so that women could also fall into such circumstances.
With this information I returned to Moscow. I visited the editorial office of the magazine "Vokrug Sveta", and it was not difficult for her to attract specialists. And naturally, disagreements arose between scientists - some attached serious importance to my notes, while others regarded them as a fairy tale. Well, I was very pleased when my supporters turned out to be specialists: a researcher in the Caucasus sector of the Institute of Ethnography of the USSR Academy of Sciences, Doctor of Historical Sciences V. Kobychev, as well as a fairly well-known expert on relict hominoids M. Bykova, whom everyone knows well from numerous publications. In a polemical form, the magazine "Vokrug Sveta" published in 1988 an essay about the adventures of Gabriel Tsiklauri. And thus he did a great job - he involved readers in polemics. Letters were sent, and so meaningful that they allowed to outline the ways of answers to riddles,associated with the wanderings of Tsiklauri in the wilds.
In short, the readers, mainly from Azerbaijan, identified everything - and the place where our wanderer got to, and named these forest people, said what language they spoke, how their relations developed in the old days with the local population of Azerbaijan, what is heard about forest people now and much more … When I got acquainted with these letters, I had a desire to travel through Azerbaijan, see the places where the events took place, talk with living people …
And in 1988 my dream came true. As before, in September I came to my native place. The next day I went myself to Joseph Menteshashvili. We started talking about Tsiklauri and immediately decided to visit the old man in Zemo Kedi. The path is not long, only a few kilometers. So, under the bright midday sun, the gate of a modest estate with a shady garden and a luxurious vineyard opened before us. We approached the porch of the house and saw our Gabriel coming down the stairs with a stick in his hands. Noticing us, he threw the stick aside and rushed into our arms. Having greeted Menteshashvili, he squeezed my shoulders with his weakening hands and muttered through tears:
- God, God, how painful it is for me to meet such guests with a stick in my hands, why is human fate so cruel …
“Why be sad,” I reassured him, “is it worth it to be ashamed of a stick at this age, the main thing is that your mind and thoughts are bright, as in your youth…
I asked Gabriel:
“What's new happened over the past year?
- There was nothing particularly new, only three scientific workers from Azerbaijan came to me a month ago. They did not name themselves, but they were very interested in the exact place where the boat threw me in those distant times on the Caspian coast, begged to name the forest where I ended up … But wouldn't I have told you about this earlier if I knew exactly where I was that dense forest? How could I as an illiterate teenager, scared and not knowing the Azerbaijani language, not knowing a word of Russian, understand the geographic subtleties? And the guests kept repeating - maybe I ended up in Iran? Maybe I got it, but I don't know about it …
We talked with the owners for about an hour, the wife fussed about with treats. Gabriel put together an impromptu verse about our meeting. Their meaning was bright and beautiful: “Under the cover of the blue sky of Georgia, under the gentle rays of the setting sun, the poet welcomes Joseph Menteshashvili from Poteli-Ikar and Petr Leonov from Moscow to his house, promises them peace and luck, blesses the warm human relations that they nourish to each other for so many years, despite the different national origin and age difference …"
Then we said goodbye to our good Gabriel, promising to visit him again. Meanwhile, in Poteli-Ikara, the chairman of the district executive committee M. Gunchenko and the first secretary of the district committee of the Komsomol D. Gudushauri were bothering about our trip to Azerbaijan, because upon arrival from Moscow I asked them to help me. So, on September 14, at 9 o'clock in the morning, an UAZ was waiting for me near the district committee. Then I met and got acquainted with the driver Brauni Kokiashvili, an inquisitive person who loves nature. And when I was introduced to another fellow traveler - the head of the organizational department of the district committee of the Komsomol Temur Tavadze, I immediately became convinced that I was lucky. Temur turned out to be an extremely erudite young man.
And so our car drove south-east along a wide road. Soon the asphalt ran out, we turned to the Mirzaan gorge.
Several kilometers of the way, and we ended up as if at the bottom of the earth. The blue mountains parted, and between them a deep, narrow rift blackened, descending, wriggling like a snake, to the open Tariban steppe. Here we didn’t have to think about road comfort, our car was galloping from stone to stone along a dry, furrowed bed of a once fast stream that descended along the gorge during heavy rains. To get to the blue sky along the banks of this abyss in places is unthinkable even for the most courageous climber. The banks are either too steep, or are entangled with thorny shrubs - a grizzly tree, interspersed with thickets of algunnik, or pomegranate bush. In some places, the attention was drawn to the squiggly junipers hanging from the ledges, fragrant with an intoxicating ethereal aroma. A line of bare sandstone blocks with narrow cracks appeared ahead,bizarre lizards peeped out of them - the Caucasian agamas of Eichwald.
We drove almost in silence, admiring the surrounding wildlife. But then the gorge began to part, as if it became easier to breathe with the feeling of spaciousness, - We are approaching the Wolf Gate, - Tema announced unexpectedly. - Do you know this place?
- How can you not know, - I answered him, - as a teenager, how many times at sunset we approached him with his father in a van in the good old days. The horses' hooves began to knock on the stones sharper and more distinctly, the horses twitched, snorted, at times pressed their ears, the wagon was shaking violently. Here the van was being pulled into a narrow clearing between the huge clay hills and in an instant went out into the open. Here they always stopped for the night after a tiring journey, following from the Tsar's Wells to Ganja, and the wolves were right there. At night, slowly, stealthily, they tried to beat off a weak horse or foal from the group. So many years have passed, and the appearance of the Wolf's Gate has not changed at all, only those wolf packs are gone …
From the Wolf Gate, along a dusty, slightly rocky road, we headed towards the banks of the Nora. Probably, they were shaking for half an hour, bending around loose hills and low green hills. Ahead, a river bank hidden by dense reeds appeared, flowing smoothly over a quiet plain. With difficulty we found a narrow iron bridge and soon found ourselves in the first Azerbaijani village of Kyasanam, buried in pomegranate gardens. The pomegranates were just in season, and the gardens were covered with attractive red-sided fruits. We stopped near the teahouse, talked with the Azerbaijanis, maybe some of them heard about the forest people? But, alas, no one had a clue about them.
