Grandma Hamest

And again we are in Artsakh with Tigran Shahbazyan, the head of Armenian Geographic. For me this is a land of brave, strong and beautiful people, who live free and wide, though the situation in borders is not quiet. In this article we’ll talk about people of Artsakh.

There is a village Arachadzor not far from Gandzasar. We went there to meet Grandma Hamest. She was nearly 90 years old, she had seen 2 wars, her hands baked bread, her hands hold children and a gun. The neighbors said that just several years before grandma Hamest could shoot a cigarette with a gun from a great distance. And why am I wondering? She is a Varashilov sharpshooter, she even had a sign on her chest.

Hamest’s house is big, beautiful and hospitable. There are many rooms and a lot of people. From the terrace you can enjoy the view of mountains and forests, where bears live. And I’m thinking- where does the name of the village come from? Does it come from the word “araj” (the first), or from “arch” (bear) ? There is a big table on the terrace, which is always full of delicious dishes and there are always a lot of people around it.

Her grandson Suren tells, that they moved to that house in 1960, the date is carved on the stairs. He led me to the tonir (tandoor) , from where you can feel the smell of Artsakh bread. He told that his grandfather loved grandma Hamest very much, he made tonir up high intentionally, so that she did not have to bend…

Then we went to an old house on the mountain, where he used to live as a child. That place is called Yeshmelatekh, which in Artsakh dialect means “a place to see”. There is a basement in the house, which leads to the other side of the rock. These kinds of strategic moves were needed, because these places have always been attacked. The road is old, paved, and it leads to the mountain peak. That road was made by great grandfather Misha Bekzadyan. He paid a gold coin for each meter.

Then Suren took me to the family cemetery. From a distance I noticed a beautiful monument, unusual for the Armenians. It was his great grandmother’s grave. Her name was Khorash (1847-1910). The monument was ordered by Michael Agababyan in Germany. During the war in Karabakh (Artsakh) it was destroyed by the Azeries, but the great-grandsons rebuilt it.

Suren kissed Khorashe’s photo. I stood still near the monument. On the monument was written, “Let my breast milk seethe in you and become a spring, and let the passersby say “Rest In Peace”.

The quietness of the cemetery kept us there a bit longer. Even the rain didn’t stop us. Suddenly the phone rang; it was grandmother Hamest, she was worrying about us, the food was already on the table…It was raining cats and dogs, and we all soaked to the skin. On the way, after the rain we met grandfather Arshavir and his donkey. Grandfather Arshavir tried to take us to his house for a cup of tea by all means. We found out that Arshavir was a witness at grandma Hamest’s wedding.

At the entrance of the house we felt the smell of chimney smoke. Wood was crackling in the fire, we took off our wet clothes and wore Hamest’s clothes from her old box. In that box she kept the clothes of her sons, daughters and grandchildren…Suren’s mother made tea with honey from their bee-garden, grandma Hamest was talking to Arshavir on the phone, and it was funny, they were 90 years old, but they could use cell phones. To my remark, Suren replied, that Hamest always sent messages to him and added that Hamest had perfect eyesight.

When Hamest learned that I wanted to take photos of her, she went to change her clothes to have a good look. Though she looked great anyway. When a person is clear, bright, kind, surrounded by loving children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he should certainly be wonderful even in his old age. And it is true for Grandma Hamest, she is kind, beautiful, grateful, with lively eyes, where the fire of life still keeps burning.

First I took her photo near the ancestors’ corner. I gave the little table this name, as there were the photos of the ancestors’ and relatives, important documents, and books. Above the table, of course, the bright faces of icons. Hamest’s day starts with a prayer for peace and health. Then I took a photo of her and her great-grandchild, one-year-old Valerka, on her hands, who was her the 20th great-grandchild.

By the way, Hamest is a doctor, she had been working in a hospital for 48 years. She was a nurse during World War 2, provided medical care during the war in Karabakh. She tells how her brother Gurgen and her father Arshavir met by chance at the front in the 40s. Her husband also passed through the war. During the war in Karabakh, though he was not young, together with his horse Jeyran he went through mountains, escaping all the posts of Azeri’s , he was carrying food and weapon. During the war, when there was nothing to eat, 13-year-old Suren took sugar from home on the sly, to feed the brave Jeyran. The little boy wanted to leave the house and go to the front to fight for his land, but he tells, that his mother with tears in her eyes, didn’t allowed him to do that.

On the terrace a young lady is busy with her job, it is Vahagn’s wife. Both of them are officers. The woman’s T-shirt is with Avo’s picture, the hero of Karabakh War.

No meeting in Artsakh is held without barbecue and mulberry vodka. At the head of the table is Hamest’s place, grandmother, great-grandmother. Everybody is listening to her slow speech, in which every word is gold.

I was surprised that people of Artsakh rarely go to work abroad. There are two possible reasons: They know that it is wrong to leave their children and wives alone for a long time, or they understand that too much blood was spilled to leave this land even for a short period of time. Such are people of Artsakh.

Yelena Shuvaeva-Petrosyan

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