With no offence to gypsies , the name reminds me of some below-the-belt curse in hindi or Malayalam or tamil . some bad name ! but that particular fact would make me not forget this name. it’s stuck to my mind.
The story starts with Makar , an aged gypsy conversing with the author. It is dark , the wind is heavy , the campfire is blazing furiously ..yet Makar , smoking his huge pipe , was unfazed. It was as though these heavy conditions never affected him.(reminds me of Vikram-Betal stories of chandamama ! it was dark , the night was heavy , yet Vikram was unfazed. He climbed the tree , pulled the corpse out . as he started walking away with it , the corpse on his shoulder came to life !!!) .
Makar is of the opinion that people are born to travel; that there is nothing better than traveling. “A curious lot people are ; they herd together trampling on each other when there is so much of space-” . he asks why a man should be ploughing a field . “A man who ploughs land pours his strength into the land. He not only loses his strength but also his freedom. He is tied to the soil. I have traveled so much , seen so much and learnt so much that you would require a 1000 bags of paper to put them all in.”
Wait , wait ! what’s happening ? is this the story of an old gypsy and his philosophy ? dear pal , it certainly is not. who , in reality is he in the story ? No one. He is less significant that the phone operator in my office who connects me to some important person outside whom I wish to speak to . The story belongs to the fearless youth Loiko Zobar or does it belong to the beautiful but vicious Radda ? Let us pace towards them.
The talk stops when they hear Nonka , Makar’s daughter singing. The author looks at her and is fascinated by her beauty. Makar says “you would like to have a beautiful maid like her to fall in love with you . wouldn’t you ? No good for you. Put no faith in women. Once you kiss one , all your freedom is gone. You will come to ruins. Let me tell you a story -”
Loiko Zobar was a fearless youth who was famous across the whole of steppes. If he ever took fancy to something , it was his . He traveled hither and tither as he pleased. There were at least 10 men in each village who had sworn to take his head. But they couldn’t even touch a hair on his head. It was said that he could even knife the devil if he came in his way.
“His moustaches swept down his shoulders , where they mingled with his hair; his eyes shone like two bright stars, and his smile was sun itself. ..When he looked into your eyes, your soul surrendered to him, and instead of being ashamed of this, you were proud of it. You seemed to always become better in his presence.”
(Though I see Richard Grenvile in every brave man whom I read of , if I were to write about Richard , the description would match the one above – word to word.)
Radda was the queen among beauties. A man could not but be rooted to the place where he stood if he saw her. “No words could ever describe Radda’s beauty. Perhaps it could be played on a violin , but only by one who knew the instrument as he knew his soul.”
Many many men asked for her hand but she refused. A rich man was so dumbstruck with her beauty that he was ready to give away everything for her sake. But she was too haughty. To the rich man her reply was “if the eagle’s mate went into the nest of a crow of her own will, what would you think of her ? ”. Likewise she mocked at everyone who asked her hand.
In one of his travels , Zobar chanced to come to the camp that Radda was in.
….
The story starts with Makar , an aged gypsy conversing with the author. It is dark , the wind is heavy , the campfire is blazing furiously ..yet Makar , smoking his huge pipe , was unfazed. It was as though these heavy conditions never affected him.(reminds me of Vikram-Betal stories of chandamama ! it was dark , the night was heavy , yet Vikram was unfazed. He climbed the tree , pulled the corpse out . as he started walking away with it , the corpse on his shoulder came to life !!!) .
Makar is of the opinion that people are born to travel; that there is nothing better than traveling. “A curious lot people are ; they herd together trampling on each other when there is so much of space-” . he asks why a man should be ploughing a field . “A man who ploughs land pours his strength into the land. He not only loses his strength but also his freedom. He is tied to the soil. I have traveled so much , seen so much and learnt so much that you would require a 1000 bags of paper to put them all in.”
Wait , wait ! what’s happening ? is this the story of an old gypsy and his philosophy ? dear pal , it certainly is not. who , in reality is he in the story ? No one. He is less significant that the phone operator in my office who connects me to some important person outside whom I wish to speak to . The story belongs to the fearless youth Loiko Zobar or does it belong to the beautiful but vicious Radda ? Let us pace towards them.
The talk stops when they hear Nonka , Makar’s daughter singing. The author looks at her and is fascinated by her beauty. Makar says “you would like to have a beautiful maid like her to fall in love with you . wouldn’t you ? No good for you. Put no faith in women. Once you kiss one , all your freedom is gone. You will come to ruins. Let me tell you a story -”
Loiko Zobar was a fearless youth who was famous across the whole of steppes. If he ever took fancy to something , it was his . He traveled hither and tither as he pleased. There were at least 10 men in each village who had sworn to take his head. But they couldn’t even touch a hair on his head. It was said that he could even knife the devil if he came in his way.
“His moustaches swept down his shoulders , where they mingled with his hair; his eyes shone like two bright stars, and his smile was sun itself. ..When he looked into your eyes, your soul surrendered to him, and instead of being ashamed of this, you were proud of it. You seemed to always become better in his presence.”
(Though I see Richard Grenvile in every brave man whom I read of , if I were to write about Richard , the description would match the one above – word to word.)
Radda was the queen among beauties. A man could not but be rooted to the place where he stood if he saw her. “No words could ever describe Radda’s beauty. Perhaps it could be played on a violin , but only by one who knew the instrument as he knew his soul.”
Many many men asked for her hand but she refused. A rich man was so dumbstruck with her beauty that he was ready to give away everything for her sake. But she was too haughty. To the rich man her reply was “if the eagle’s mate went into the nest of a crow of her own will, what would you think of her ? ”. Likewise she mocked at everyone who asked her hand.
In one of his travels , Zobar chanced to come to the camp that Radda was in.
….
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Makar
Makar mean Bard in Celt
Makar means Blessed in Ukrainian
It is both a given and family name: Makar Makarovich Makar is perfectly possible.