RobertElsie

Albanian Literature

Oral Verse

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"Shepherds in the Mountains" by Danish Jukniu

The Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh) are the best-known cycle of northern Albanian epic verse. Still sung by elderly men playing the one-stringed “lahuta,” these epic rhapsodies are the literary reflections of legends portraying and glorifying the heroic feats of warriors of the past. The main cycle, that of “Mujo and Halili,” preserves much of the flavour of other heroic cultures such as those mirrored in Homer’s Iliad in Greek, Beowulf in English, El Cid in Spanish, the Chanson de Roland in French, the Nibelungenlied in German and the Russian Byliny. The leaders of this band of thirty “agas” or warriors are Gjeto Basho Mujo and his brother Halili, who inhabit a frontier region between the Ottoman Empire and Austria-Hungary. The Albanian songs of Mujo and Halili parallel the Bosnian versions of the cycle sung in Serbo-Croatian, or more properly, Bosnian. This heroic and epic verse occurs in both oral literatures and cultures, since the singers in southern Bosnia, the Sandjak, and Montenegro at the time were to a good extent bilingual, i.e. reciting alternatively in Bosnian and Albanian.

While the Bosnian Slav epic seems to have died out as a living tradition, the Albanian epic is still very much alive. Even as the twenty-first century marches on, one can still find a good number of “lahutars” in Kosova, in particular in the Rugova highlands west of Peja, and in northern Albania, as well as some rare souls in Montenegro, who are able to sing and recite the heroic deeds of Mujo and Halili and their thirty “agas,” as part of an unbroken oral tradition. One can safely assume that these elderly men constitute the very last traditional native singers of epic verse in Europe.

The Source of Mujo’s Strength

Young Mujo is sent to work as a cowherd in the high mountain pastures. There in the night, he comes across two infants in cradles. He rocks the cradles to comfort the children. Two zanas appear before him and grant him a wish for having cared for the infants. Mujo wishes for strength to overcome the other cowherds who tease him. The zanas give Mujo milk from their breasts until he is strong enough to raise a heavy boulder to his shoulders. Mujo then returns home to teach the other cowherds a lesson.





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Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
When Mujo was little, when he was a youngster,
His father dispatched him to work for a rich man.
The rich man did give him a job as a cowherd.
Day after day Mujo roamed the high pastures,
Day after day he would drink at the fountains,
Day after day in the shade took his leisure,
Not a trail or a pathway did he leave untrodden
To lead his herd onwards to new mountain meadows.
But one night the cowherd lost sight of his cattle.
As he was unable to go home without them,
At the foot of a cliff he was forced to take refuge.
Here the young lad fell asleep for the nighttime.
Not far from the lad there were two cradles lying,
From both of the cradles emitted a whining.
Mujo approached to see what was inside them,
Mujo approached now to comfort the infants,
To comfort the infants by rocking their cradles
And lulling the little ones back into slumber.
Shining like lights stood before him two zanas.
“What are you doing?” they said, asking Mujo,
“Whatever compelled you to take this direction?”
Mujo then turned and to them gave his answer:
“I make my living up here as a cowherd,
Roaming for days on the high mountain pastures,
But this very day there occurred a misfortune,
My cattle have vanished and I cannot find them.
When darkness descended, I lay down to sleep here
But my eyes never closed because of the whining,
It was the whining I heard of two infants,
No peace of mind did their whimpering leave me,
Touched as I was, I got up to console them,
And giving them comfort, I got them to sleep.
But who are you beings in all of your splendour?”
“We are the zanas, Mujo, on our journey,
Giving to mankind our help and assistance.
And what favour do you ask of us, oh Mujo,
For rocking our infants to sleep in their cradles?
Do you want strength, Mujo, to put up resistance?
Do you want might, Mujo, to fight in pitched battle?
Or do you, Mujo, desire goods and possessions?
Or do you want wisdom, to speak foreign tongues?
Tell us your wish and to you we will grant it.”
Listen how Mujo then turned and responded:
“The shepherds on many occasions have teased me,
For me they have only shown ire and derision,
Just give me strength so that I can outdo them.”
The zanas took counsel at this and decided:
“Some milk from our breasts will we give unto Mujo.”
And milk of their breasts they did give him to drink of,
Three drops were sufficient to nourish the young lad.
Such was the strength that the Lord did accord him
That he had the force to make lofty cliffs tremble.
“Take hold of that boulder,” commanded the zanas,
A boulder that weighed more than one thousand okas.
Taking hold of the boulder of one thousand okas,
With his hands did he seize it and lift it a little,
Up to his ankles, no more could he raise it.
The zanas took counsel at this and decided:
“More of our milk we will offer to Mujo.”
Mujo was given more milk and did drink it,
Again with his arms did he tackle the boulder,
And up to his knees this time managed to raise it,
And then to the ground for a rest let it plummet.
Listen how nobly the zanas then offered:
“Let us again give our breasts unto Mujo.”
Again from their breasts did they give milk to Mujo.
Such was the strength that the Lord did accord him
That the boulder once more with his arms he did grapple
And up to his waist did he manage to raise it.
The zanas were studying him and observing,
Again they took counsel at this and decided:
“Once more must we offer our breasts unto Mujo.”
Mujo was offered their breasts and took milk there.
And such was the strength that the Lord gave him this time
That he seemed to acquire the strength of a dragua.
Mujo again with his arms seized the boulder,
And up to his shoulders did manage to raise it,
Holding suspended the one thousand okas.
And what did the zanas then say to each other?
“No more shall we give of our breasts unto Mujo.
For if we once more should accord them to Mujo
He’d likely take hold of the planet and squash it.”
The zanas began to converse then with Mujo,
Speaking to him in their voices so gentle,
While over their heads shone the moon who observed them,
And shadows were lengthening under the rock cliffs.
In cordial tones did the zanas address him,
Hear what the zanas did say unto Mujo:
“We wish you, oh Mujo, to be our blood brother,
Speak up now, oh Mujo, and give us your answer.”
“Whenever I need you, oh zanas, assist me!”
The Lord brought about the return of the daylight,
And Mujo awakened from out of his slumber,
And, finding his cattle, he drove the beasts homewards.
When Mujo got back to the Plain of Jutbina,
He noticed the shepherds had gathered together,
Preparing as always, as they were accustomed,
To make sport of Mujo by using their muscles.
Listen this time to how Mujo reacted.
Himself he began to make sport of the shepherds,
The mightiest one by the hand did he tackle
And into the air five good lengths did he hurl him.
None of them ventured to utter a protest,
For had he but touched them with his little finger,
They’d have been smashed to the ground and have perished.
Mujo abandoned the charge of his master
And, leaving his master, he turned and departed.
To his home he then travelled to visit his mother.
There, so they say, did Mujo start working,
There, so they say, did Mujo start fighting,
And from every battle that Mujo was part of,
He always emerged as a hero victorious.

The Marriage of Gjeto Basho Mujo

Mujo sends wedding attendants to the Realm of the Christians to pick up his bride, warning them not to stop and make merry on the high mountain pastures, these being the home of the zanas. On their return journey, the attendants do stop and make merry, and are turned to stone by the zanas, who kidnap and enslave the bride. Mujo manages to find the bride at a fountain and tells her to ask the zanas about the source of their power. The zanas reveal to the bride that their power lies in three wild he-goats in the Green Valleys. Mujo and his hunters capture the animals. When the zanas arrive in Jutbina to beg for the return of their goats, they not only give back the wedding attendants, but also promise to serve Mujo in the future whenever he should be in need.





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Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
Daylight arrived and the sun began shining.
What was Gjeto Basho Mujo now doing?
Mujo had been to the Realm of the Christians
And there for himself a bride he’d selected,
It was the king’s daughter whom Mujo had chosen.
When Mujo thereafter returned to Jutbina,
Three hundred wedding attendants he gathered,
With swords all glowing and with gilded garments,
With arrows and lances, in gold they were glinting,
Dapple-grey gleaming were all of their horses,
The attendants themselves were all youthful Agas,
With one exception, the old man who led them,
Called by the name of Dizdar Osman Aga.
“Hear what I say now, oh wedding attendants,”
Mujo arose and did speak to them, saying:
“When you get up to the high mountain pastures,
There you will find three broad shady meadows,
You must take care on them not to make merry,
You must take care not to strike up a carol,
You must take care not to lie down upon them,
For this is the home of the three fearsome zanas
Who surely have come to repose in the shade there,
To lie at their leisure amongst the cool breezes.
Well and alive they will let no one pass them!”
The light of the sun did come out the next morning,
The wedding attendants did saddle their stallions,
And getting up onto them, struck up a carol,
And they did make merry, while riding their horses,
There on their journey did sing and did revel,
Taking the road to the Realm of the Christians.
And when they got up to the high mountain pastures,
There they fell silent and held back their singing,
Gripped the reins firmly and guided their horses,
Nowhere did they stop but continued their journey,
None of them ventured to drink the spring water,
Nor did they rest in the shade of the meadows.
On to their host did they hasten their journey.
How warmly and heartily did the king greet them,
Food and drink did he bring forth so to feed them.
They struck up a carol and revelled till midnight.
When, once again, as the dawn came upon them,
They put on their boots and they put on their buckles,
The bride with them now, they set off on their journey,
Departing once more on the road to Jutbina.
Nowhere on their way did they silence their singing,
Nowhere on their way did they pause in their prancing,
Until they got up to the broad shady meadows,
There the old man to them spoke out, addressing:
“Hear what I say now, oh wedding attendants.
For many a bride have I been an attendant,
And with all the brides have we always come hither
And taken our rest on these broad shady meadows,
The steeds every time we have put out to pasture,
And here in the shade have we struck up a carol,
And in these cool springs have we sought our refreshment,
Not once has a man of ours suffered misfortune!”
Then they altogether dismounted their horses,
No longer sallying forth on their journey.
There did they stretch themselves out on the meadows,
There they made ready and struck up a carol,
There they began to make merry and revel,
There did they churn up and muddy the waters,
And all of their lances did launch at the targets.
Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
While round about them the mountain peaks thundered,
The wind now did wail, through the beech trees it whistled,
And all of a sudden, in less than a second
Appeared there before them the three fearsome zanas,
Showing their teeth, they were snapping and snarling,
And out of their mouths there spewed fire and brimstone.
Then catching sight of the scene on the meadows,
At once did they turn to stone all of the revellers,
And all of their horses were turned into tree trunks,
All were transformed, just the bride was uninjured.
Grasping her arm did the zanas abduct her,
And seizing her, off to their cavern did steal her.
Nevermore was she able to sit or to rest there,
She cooked all their meals and fetched them their water.
Then of her plight heard Gjeto Basho Mujo,
Great was the fury that took hold of Mujo,
Onto the back of his courser jumped Mujo
And set off at once for the high mountain pastures.
When he arrived and was up on the meadows,
Thirty men frozen were what he discovered,
Turned there to stone were all thirty Agas
And all of the steeds had been turned into tree trunks.
What pain and affliction now overcame Mujo!
Wasting no time, he then turned and departed,
Giving his courser no rest on the journey.
All by himself on the high mountain pastures,
Up at the springs did he search for the zanas,
Seeking and searching all over the meadows,
But nowhere was Mujo there able to find them.
Finally he looked in a forest of beech trees,
Where darkness holds sway and the light never enters,
Where no beam of sunlight is ever encountered,
There he discovered a fountain of water,
Sparkling and clear it was just like a teardrop,
Stopping there so he could find some refreshment,
Mujo jumped off of the back of his courser,
Casting his eyes at the grove all around him,
Nowhere was there a pathway to advance on,
Over the forest rose only the bare cliffs,
Below it were strewn naught but boulders and rubble,
So thick were the beech trees with all of their branches,
That no ray of sunlight had ever intruded.
Mujo then turned and did speak out, proclaiming:
“This surely must be the home of the zanas.”
Putting his steed in the grove out to pasture,
He sat himself down by the fountain and tarried,
Waiting to see when the zanas fetched water.
Later, when three days had passed and were over,
There journeyed a woman, a jug she did carry.
Mujo then pondered: Why, who is this woman,
And what is she doing in this lonely place here?
“Good day to you,” did she then say to Mujo,
“Good day to you, too,” did Mujo give answer.
“What are you doing with the water?”
Inquired Mujo of the maiden.
“I don’t know how to tell you, young man.
The wedding attendants came to fetch me,
And at a pleasant site we rested,
When there appeared three fearsome zanas.
For we’d been sitting at their tables,
Or from their sleep the Agas woke them.
God knows what happened. I know only
The mountain peaks began to thunder,
The wind howled through the beechwood forest,
And three fearsome zanas stood before us.
In the shade they breathed upon the Agas,
And made the horses into tree trunks,
All were turned to stone abruptly.
Seizing me, they took me with them
To make their meals and fetch their water!”
“To whom, oh maiden, were you promised?
What’s the name they use to call him?”
“I left my father, I left my mother,
I left my sisters, I left my brothers
To take as husband a great hero,
His name is Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
Straight-faced, Mujo then responded:
“If you saw him, would you know him?”
The maid replied again to Mujo:
“Wretched me, I would not know him,
For with my eyes I’ve never seen him,
From what I’ve heard, though, of the gossip,
You look like Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
How loudly Mujo burst out laughing:
“It’s me, oh bride, who’s here before you,
How easily you recognized me.
But, if you are a noble woman,
You’ll listen now to what I tell you.”
“By God, o’er sun and moon presiding,
I swear by the Lord of earth and heaven,
By him who brings us clouds and sunshine,
I will obey your words, oh Mujo,
Though well I know they’d chop my head off!”
Mujo then began instructing:
“When you go back home this evening,
Approach, inquire of the zanas:
‘By the meadows where you linger,
Where is it you get your power?’”
“Of their power will they tell me?”
Said the bride to Mujo, asking.
Mujo turned to her, responding:
“Do exactly as I’ve told you.
Behind the peaks the sun is setting,
The moon is shining through the beech trees,
In the moonlight will the zanas
Gather by the spring for dinner.
At the table they’ll assemble,
But you must refrain from dinner.
The zanas will take pity on you.
Without you how could they eat dinner?
Use your wiles now and address them
And of their power they will tell you!
‘By this meal,’ you tell the zanas,
‘By the peaks where you spend summer,
By the meadows where you linger,
By the fountains in your languor,
So much time I’ve spent now with you,
Won’t you tell me of your power?’
If you survive, if they don’t freeze you,
By your oaths, they’re bound to answer.
You’ll find me at the spring tomorrow.”
The bride returned home through the forest,
Mujo left for the Green Valleys,
The maiden went back to the zanas,
“Where’ve you been so long?” they asked her.
“The waters at the spring were muddled,”
Murmured the maiden to the zanas.
They set the table, started eating,
The drinks were brought, they set to drinking.
She sliced them bread and brought them water,
But the bride refused to join them.
The little zana asked: “Oh sister,
Why are you not supping with us?
Are you ill and thus not hungry?”
“I shan’t join you, little zana,
Nor will I share dinner with you
Unless you tell me of your power.
For an oath I now swear to you,
Though I’m a slave and you’re the zanas,
And you can freeze me if you wish to:
By the peaks where you spend summer,
By the meadows where you linger,
By the fountains in your languor,
Tell me where you get your power.”
Springing to their feet, the zanas
Pointed to the bride to freeze her.
Swiftly rose the little zana
And between them did she venture:
“May God damn you, oh great zana,
Let us rather tell the maiden.
How could she do any damage?
Listen to me, human maiden,”
To the bride she turned, revealing:
“We rule over three wild he-goats,
On their heads are horns of ducats,
They inhabit the Green Valleys.
No one’s ever caught the he-goats,
If they were to, would the power
We dispose of swiftly vanish!”
Down to dinner sat the maiden.
Sunlight did disperse the darkness,
The maiden set off for the fountain,
At the fountain she found Mujo.
Mujo gave a hearty chuckle:
“I see that you survived unfrozen.”
“I survived, but all for nothing,
‘Twas in vain you sent me to them,
From our dispute you’ve no profit,
They thus stated: ‘We’ve three he-goats,
On their heads are horns of ducats,
They inhabit the Green Valleys,
No one’s ever caught the he-goats.
If they were to, would the powers
We dispose of swiftly vanish!’”
Mujo turned to her, responding:
“You must go back to the zanas,
And pretend that nothing’s happened.
Safe and sound will Mujo take you
Home with all the frozen Agas!”       
Up onto his steed he clambered,
Turning, set off for Jutbina,
Coming to Jutbina market,
He proclaimed to the krahina:
“All men here who count as hunters,
Take your hounds and get them ready,
Hasten to my house this evening,
Food and drink I’ll furnish for you
And tomorrow we’ll go hunting.”
Three hundred hunters soon assembled,
With seven hundred hounds and further,
Three hundred hunting dogs were with them,
They all arrived at Mujo’s doorway.
Mujo welcomed them and fed them.
When the light of dawn rejoined them,
Mujo turned to them, proclaiming:
“Listen to my words, oh hunters,
We must take alive the he-goats.
There must be no mistake about it,
For if they’re hunted down and slaughtered,
Will no one ever see Jutbina!”
With Mujo leading, they departed,
Journeyed up to the Green Valleys,
Round the valleys did they circle.
So Mujo was the first to enter
Three hundred hunting dogs were with him
As were the hounds, as were the hunters,
The other men arrayed in ambush.
Three full days and nights they hunted.
And when three days and nights were over,
The animals alive they’d captured.
Returning with them to Jutbina,
In a pen did Mujo keep them,
And he gave the hunters presents.
Thus vanished was the zanas’ power,
They’d sought the goats but could not find them,
To the valleys they lamented,
To rocky cliffs loudly they cried out,
But nowhere could they hear their bleating.
Thereupon surmised a zana:
“Someone’s robbed us of our he-goats!”
“Listen to me, mountain zana,”
Spoke the maid to the great zana:
“Mujo sends his greetings, saying:
For the bride you’ve stolen from me,
For the wedding guests you’ve frozen,
Search no more for your wild he-goats,
Mujo’s holding them as hostage!”
When the zanas heard this message,
They departed for Jutbina,
Right to Mujo’s door they journeyed.
“Have you taken our goats, Mujo?”
“I’m indeed the one who took them,
And in my pen have I confined them!”
The mountain zana now addressed him:
“We give up, Gjeto Basho Mujo,
Either in your home now slay us,
Or return to us the he-goats,
For we cannot live without them.
We’ll unfreeze all the attendants,
We’ll remit to you the horses,
Your bride we’ll send to you by carriage.”
Mujo cut them short, responding:
“The attendants that you mention
Do not really matter to me,
Nor do I long for the maiden,
In no time I’ll find another,
But the goats I cannot give you
For such beasts I’ve never captured!”
At this they set about lamenting,
Gnashed their teeth and started weeping,
The very trees and rocks took pity.
But Mujo did remain undaunted.
To them turned the little zana
And with the hair upon her forehead
Wiped her tears and then touched Mujo.
A solemn oath she made him, swearing:
“Whenever you should go bride-hunting,
Whenever you should fight a baloz,
When you set off with your fighters,
When you revel on our pastures,
When you wish to sing a song there,
When you shoot there at a target,
And use our springs for your refreshment,
Reposing in our shady meadows,
A solemn pledge do we now give you,
We’ll say nothing to oppose you.”
Such a promise melted Mujo.
Wasting no more time to ponder,
Mujo gave them formal answer:
“You are zanas, you’ll be zanas,
Words are words and pledges, pledges.
I’ll return you your wild he-goats.
Pluck them from the pen, Halili,”
Ordered Mujo of the youngster.
How the zanas changed expression
When they saw him free their he-goats!
In a twinkling they had vanished
Back up to the mountain pastures,
Finding there in the Green Valleys
All the petrified attendants,
And the horses turned to tree trunks.
Then they turned back the attendants,
Brought to life again the horses.
The maiden they put in a carriage,
And returned her to Jutbina.
When they reached the Plain, Jutbina,
All the maidens started singing,
The attendants started dancing,
All the mountain peaks resounded.
From cliff to cliff proclaimed the zanas:
“We are zanas, we’ll be zanas,
Words are words and pledges, pledges,
We’ve brought back your bride and Agas.”
From one cliff sang the great zana,
Little zana from another,
Hand in hand proclaimed the zanas:
“We are zanas, we’ll be zanas,
Words are words and pledges, pledges,
A woman’s a woman and a zana’s a zana,
A zana’s the sun and a woman’s the moon.
Woe to the one who puts faith in a woman!”

[Sung by Mëhill Prêka of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Hylli i Dritës, Shkodra, 1924, p. 414 sq.; Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 1-10, and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 51-59. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo’s Oras

The Slavic warrior Paji Harambashi sets out to do battle with Mujo. Searching for him in the mountains, he comes across three white oras who present themselves as Mujo’s protectors. In his fury, Paji mishandles the oras, who later go and ask Mujo to avenge the deed. Mujo sets off, refusing the request of his young brother Halili to accompany him. Halili is insulted and departs on his courser to see his blood brother in the Realm of the Christians. An ora appears and tells Halili how to overcome Paji. Using magic herbs, he gets into Paji’s mansion, where he captures the warrior’s father and the fair maid Januka. Paji returns home with Mujo and the thirty Agas as his prisoners. Halili lays in waiting and slays him. When he leaves the mansion, Halili sees his brother and the thirty Agas in chains, and triumphs in the knowledge that he has saved them. All return victoriously to Jutbina.

 





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Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
The darkness of night had now bathed the beech forest,
Only the moonlight did shine through the beech trees,
Giving them colour with their golden shimmer,
Turning to silver the high mountain pastures,
Leaving the chasm walls veiled in darkness,
An awesome sight such it was to be witnessed.
Never by night may your road bring you hither.
For on such a night did Paji Harambashi
Seek to meet Mujo on the high mountain pastures,
To chop off his head in a duel at nighttime.
The shkja in his helmet and steel-plated armour,
Mounted the back of Curani, his courser,
And turning, set off for the high mountain meadows,
But nowhere upon them was he to find Mujo.
Anger and rage of the shkja took possession.
There in the moonlight at the edge of a fountain
Did he encounter the three snow-white oras.
In the light of the moon did they seem to be playing.
He then approached and inquired of the oras:
“Who are you creatures who revel and frolic?”
“We are the ones called the Blithe of the Nighttime.”
“May the Lord give to your frolic his blessing!
Oh oras, to whom do you render assistance?”
One then strolled near him and spoke to him, saying:
“The oras we are of the great earthly hero,
We give our aid to Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
Great was the rage that the shkja felt for Mujo!
Seizing the arm of one of the oras,
He clenched it and squeezed it and crushed it to pieces.
All of the oras at this were dumbfounded.
“What man is this who thus handles the oras?”
Enraged at the shkja, hissed the oras like vipers:
“To this very day we’ve not seen such a person!
We’d turn you to stone on the spot if we wished to,
But instead, to Jutbina we’ll now make our journey
And tell of our woes to dear Mujo, and ask him:
‘Are you, oh Mujo, prepared to avenge us?’”
On a beech tree reclining, weighed down by his armour,
In obvious pleasure the shkja then responded:
“You may have Mujo for you to do battle,
But from nowhere on earth will he ever escape me.”
The oras departed, set off down the mountain,
Another day dawned and the night had descended,
Nowhere did they stop on the course of their journey
Except at the fountains to drink of the water.
On the Plain of Jutbina did night overtake them,
In the midst of the plain did they spend the dark hours,
In the shade of a linden, in rays of the moonlight,
In the shafts of the moonlight they laid down to slumber,
Two of them slept, one kept guard by the water
Till morning approached with the first sign of sunlight.
Mujo was early to get up that morning,
He put on his boots and his belt and his buckle,
And then in the fireplace a fire did he kindle.
Placing his coffee pot over the flames and
Lighting his pipe with the help of a firebrand,
He turned to one side and he opened the window,
Casting his eyes to the plain down below him.
There in its midst he espied three white oras.
Two had now started a game and were playing,
The other one, sick, lay beside them observing.
Mujo was startled at what his eyes showed him,
Taking no time now to savour his coffee,
Leaving behind him his steed and his sabre,
Mujo then turned and set out through the doorway,
Crossing the length of the plain he proceeded,
Marching along till he came to the oras,
“To you I bid welcome,” he greeted the oras.
“Welcome and greetings we bid to you also,”
Responded to Mujo the two healthy oras.
But what did the sick one reply then to Mujo?
“Never could worse have befallen me, Mujo,
When last night on our pastures the shkja did approach us,
There did he find us and there did affront us,
And, having approached, he then of us inquired:
‘Oh oras, to whom do you render assistance?’
I alone ventured to give him an answer:
‘We only give aid to Gjeto Basho Mujo!’
Great was the rage he displayed for you, Mujo!
With the grasp of a brute, my arm he then grappled,
Unyielding, with what brutal force did he hold it,
And as he was clenching it, crushed it to pieces.
Confronting the shkja, spoke to him, saying:
‘We could turn you to stone on the spot if we wished to,
But for the moment we won’t try to touch you,
Instead, our complaint we’ll deliver to Mujo,’
Will you, oh Mujo, thus take up the challenge?
Will you, oh Mujo, now take for us vengeance?
Your honour has never been damaged so badly.”
Mujo did moan and in great lamentation
He turned to the oras and gave them his answer:
“Were I to let this deed pass without vengeance,
I’d forfeit my right to exist any longer!”
Mujo then turned and moved back to his mansion,
He saddled and mounted his steed, hence proclaiming:
“Abide with me now, will you, high mountain oras!”
“Hail to you, Mujo, and where are you off to?”
Sokol Halili inquired of him saying.
Mujo began to recount what had happened:
“Paji Harambashi has set out a-wandering,
Appearing at night on the high mountain pastures,
And, meeting the Blithe of the Night, he assailed them.
Themselves, the white oras, arrived to inform me.
My thirty great Agas I’m off to assemble,
To meet with the shkja on the high mountain meadows.
And there to take vengeance for all the white oras.”
How did Halili respond then to Mujo?
“Mujo, I too will set off with your çeta!”
Rallying his steed round, thus Mujo responded,
And this was the answer he gave to Halili:
“I don’t want to take you with me on the çeta,
If I sent you with goats, in the hills you would lose them.
You’d have no idea, if sent with the çeta,
What a band of brave fighters for you’d be implying.
Much gruesome fighting will likely take place there,
In pools full of blood will there be bodies floating,
In blood will the horses be drenched to their bellies.
The fighters will grapple and choke one another,
A man young as you are is bound to go crazy!”
With no further ado Mujo whirled and departed,
Leaving Halili embittered behind him.
With his hands on his hips, he mounted the staircase,
Back up in the shade of the mansion to linger.
There at the hearth he hunched down in a fury.
To him turned his mother and asked him a question:
“Why such a rage? What is wrong, my Halili?”
Halili then gave his reply to her, saying:
“Mujo has left with his çeta of fighters,
Refusing my quest to let me go with him,
Mujo offended me when he addressed me:
‘If I sent you with goats, in the hills you would lose them.
And with Paji Harambashi you want to do battle?’
Mujo’s thirty Agas, the ones he took with him,
I’m certain, oh mother, are weaker than I am.”
The mother then turned to her son and addressed him:
“Check your anger, my son, for I don’t want to lose you,
Your father, you know, has bequeathed you his courser,
And with it, his sharp-bladed sabre has left you.
But listen now first to the words of your mother,
You must not depart thus to ride after Mujo,
Mount rather your courser and take to the highway
That carries you off to the Realm of the Christians.
Once over the mountains, the Realm you will enter,
Release, when you get there, the reins of your courser,
For the courser itself will now know the direction,
Your father’s the one who had taught it the way there,
For your father selected for you a blood brother,
A rayah who lives in the Realm of the Christians,
Begu Ymer Beg is the name that they call him,
And this man will teach you to deal with the shkja men.”
His mother stood by and the steed did make ready.
Halili received and took hold of the sabre,
Halili climbed onto the back of the courser.
“A safe journey to you,” did wish him his mother.
With his steed at a gallop he spun and departed,
And took to the road of the Realm of the Christians.
Only at Zogaj in the Realm when arriving
Did he let slacken the speed of his courser,
Which led him straight forth to the house of this brother.
When the hero got near to his blood brother’s doorstep,
His host hurried out and took charge of the courser.
He led it away, ‘cross the length of the courtyard,
And down at the stable he tied up the courser.
He welcomed Halili into his stone mansion.
There did they speak and begin to palaver:
“Have you ever been here in this land, oh Halili?”
“Not to the Realm have I been since the cradle.”
Halili continued then to his blood brother:
“Great is the need that has brought me here, brother,
I have come hither, with you to take counsel,
Do not leave me alone, whatever should happen,
For I am resolved to slay Paji Harambashi.
You must please tell me where he has his kullas,
That I, not delaying, can burn and destroy them!”
Swearing by God, did the blood brother answer:
“I cannot go with you, oh brother Halili,
For nine years ago did Paji take me prisoner,
And only three years ago did he release me!
If ever were Paji to find out about me,
He would never release me again from his prison!”
Halili was hurt and irate at this answer,
A solemn oath did he take by God, swearing:
“I can permit you no other salvation,
For either you promise that you will come with me,
Or we must do battle and fight on the war grounds!”
What fear and what anguish then seized the blood brother!
Because of the shkja he could not depart with him,
But nor could he set out to duel with Halili.
“We may never, Halili, do battle as brothers,
And so you’re compelling me now to go with you,
But may you well know, if the shkja ever takes us,
We will not survive it or see again sunlight!”
“Do not be afraid,” did Halili then answer.
They flew to their feet and they mounted their coursers
And, taking their leave, cantered off down the highway.
In front of Halili appeared then an ora,
And when she approached him, she turned to him, saying:
“Take on your journey these herbs that I give you
And, on your route, you must do as I tell you.
When you arrive at the shkja’s stone-clad mansion,
Towers of nine hues and colours he has there,
The shkja, you will find, has set off to go raiding,
Leaving the mansion alone to his father,
A man they call Trashi, the son of Marjani,
A most aged man, living long years, nine hundred!
Take there these herbs and leave them at the doorway.
Before you know it, the door will fly open.
Then you advance and proceed through the doorway,
But you must take care to let no one else enter!
Once inside the room, lock the door well behind you,
And take up position yourself by the doorway.
When Paji Harambashi thereafter comes homewards,
He will approach and cry out to his father:
‘Rise to your feet, come and open the door now!’
But no one will venture to give him an answer.
Then will the shkja break into a great fury,
He’ll take off his helmet and steel-plated armour,
With a blow from his foot he will kick in the doorway.
In one thousand pieces the door will be shattered,
And then at that moment he’ll come forth and enter.
You must be seated and armed with your cudgel,
Besetting the shkja just as soon as you’re able,
You must deal death to him without hesitation!”
The lad went his way when the ora had vanished.
Before the shkja’s mansion he soon reached the doorway.
And there did deposit the herbs at the entrance.
All of a sudden the doorway flung open.
The father, nine hundred years old, he discovered,
“How do you do?” he then greeted the old man.
Amazed at his presence, the old man inquired:
“How did you manage to get yourselves in here?
You must not remain with me here in the mansion,
For if ever my son should discover you with me,
Finely chopped mincemeat he’ll then fashion of you.”
Hear what Halili then said to the old man:
“Stand up, old man, now and open the chambers.”
Swearing by God now, the old man responded:
“I have for myself not the slightest intention
Of opening up for you all of the chambers!”
Halili, then taking off one of his sandals,
Hit the elder man’s head and gave him a thrashing,
“Open the chambers now quickly, I tell you!”
How nimbly the old man then rose to obey him.
And started to open up all of the chambers.
There they encountered three tools used for minting,
Used for the stamping of much golden coinage.
“Now, old man, open the last of the chambers!”
“Oh, God forbid you should ever go in there!
I cannot unlock this one chamber door for you,
For in it’s residing the fair maid Januka
Whom, when she was three, my son had abducted.
Never, ever has she been outside of her chamber,
Nor all of this time has a man ever seen her!”
Halili again beat the man with his sandal:
“Either you straightaway get that door open
Or the light in your eyes will grow dim and grow sombre!”
Sorely pressed now, the old man acceded.
The moment Halili walked into the chamber,
Possession he took of the fair maid Januka,
Possession he took of the three tools for minting,
And placed them all onto the back of the old man.
“Keep ahead of me now,” did he say to the old man,
And moving them, did he withdraw from the mansion,
The maiden wept tears and the old man lamented,
Far into the heart of a beech grove he took them,
Leaving them there in a cave in the forest.
Thereupon turning, Halili departed,
Leaving Januka there with his blood brother.
Taking the nine-hundred-year-old man with him,
Halili set off and returned to the mansion.
Ranting and raving, the old man protested,
Up to the parapet dragged him Halili,
A slight, gentle push did he give to the old man,
Who plunged down the wall and crashed onto the pavement.
Halili descended and blocked up the doorway.
Behind the doorway he waited in ambush.
When Paji Harambashi arrived at his home there,
With Mujo and all thirty Agas his prisoners,
All covered and loaded in chains, like the horses,
He called in a loud voice, addressing his father:
“Open up at once, Trashi, son of Marjani!”
But no one from inside would give him an answer.
“Come and open the door, oh you fair maid Januka,
Or I’ll take off my helmet and steel-plated armour,
In one thousand pieces I vow I will chop you!”
But no one from inside would give him an answer.
He took off his helmet and steel-plated armour,
He then gave a powerful kick to the doorway,
Hurling it, broken in two, through the chamber.
Inside, there lay Sokol Halili awaiting.
Upon the shkja he came down with his cudgel,
Smashing him lifeless onto the bare floorboards.
Halili then left, walking out of the mansion.
Taking a glance at the Agas thus loaded,
Halili by God took an vow then, proclaiming:
“Never again will I go out a-duelling,
I think driving wagons for work would be better,
For who else could ever possess such fine palfreys?”
He turned to the Agas and then he released them,
But took no great notice of Mujo, his brother.
He turned to the road now to make his departure
For the fair maid Januka and for his blood brother.
Mujo then fell at the feet of his brother,
Begging:”Halili, come back and release me.”
Shaking his head, turned back Sokol Halili
And offered this answer, so knavish, to Mujo:
“May God never leave you bereft of your brother!”
And then only from his chains did he release him.
Thus for Jutbina they made their departure,
Crossing back as they did o’er the high mountain pastures.
There the white oras descended to greet them,
The most aged ora did shake their hands kindly:
“Listen to me now, Mujo and Halili,
Brothers you are and will be so forever.
May neither alone ever set out for battle.
Forlorn will the one be, bereft of a brother.”
When in the end they arrived in Jutbina,
For three long weeks did they feast at the wedding.
So we are told, for we could not be present,
So we are told, for much time has gone by now.
And so may the grace of our God be upon us.

[Sung by Lulash Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 11-19; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 60-67. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo Visits the Sultan

Mujo and Halili receive a letter from the Sultan, summoning them to the court in Istanbul. They fear they are to be executed, but their mother persuades them to obey. When Mujo arrives in Istanbul, the staircase and the doorway of the palace are too small for him and must be rebuilt to let him pass through. Mujo has an audience with the Sultan, who is simply curious to meet the hero in person. When Mujo takes his leave, a hook on his trousers snags on the imperial throne and he drags the Sultan himself across the hall to the doorway.

 





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Such brave young men were Mujo and Halili,
So rough-and-tumble, so brave and so young!
Never did they leave a highway unambushed,
Nor did they shrink from a baloz in duel,
Nor did they leave maids in peace to get married,
Nor did they give other lads time to grow up.
Complaints by the rayah were lodged in Istanbul,
Who, prostrate in front of the Sultan protested:
“You are the Sultan, of the whole world the father,
Your reign you’ve extended in every direction,
We beg you, reign over Mujo and Halili,
Or they will expel us from off of the planet.”
The Sultan then drafted a subtle epistle,
Which he gave to the trust of his Tartary bondsman,
For him to transmit to Mujo and Halili.
The letter received, Mujo opened and read it,
Into a frown sagged the brows on his forehead,
And tears from his eyes dripped all over the letter,
“Mujo, my brother,” Halili addressed him,
“Many a letter have I seen you reading,
But never such tears on your cheeks have I witnessed,
What? Has a friend, has a brother now perished?
Or have you been called to duel with a baloz?”
“No, hold your tongue now, Halili, God damn you!
None of our friends and no brother has perished,
Nor’ve I been called to a duel with a baloz,
You know me well, I shrink not from a challenge,
The rayah have lodged a complaint in Istanbul,
And the Sultan has summoned us in his epistle,
I know not, Halili, what fate now awaits us!
Should we head for the hills leaving no trace behind us?
Or hurl ourselves into the river and perish?
Should we climb up a cliff and then throw ourselves off it?
Or take to our kulla and hole up inside it?”
How did Halili respond then to Mujo?
“Let us go to our mother and ask for her counsel,
There will we follow whatever she tells us!”
So they met with their mother and asked for her counsel,
And sagely the mother did answer them, saying:
“You’ll not take to the hills leaving no trace behind you,
Nor hurl yourselves into the river and perish,
Nor climb up a cliff and then throw yourselves off it,
Nor take to your kulla and hole up inside it.
Gird rather the saddles upon your fine horses,
And set off, my lads, for the Sultan awaits you!”
And when the first rays of the sun began streaming,
The lads set the saddles upon their fine horses,
Their heads they did cover and hide in their raincoats,
And secretly twirled down the tips of their whiskers.
With their horses now girded, they turned and departed.
During their trip they met up with the rayah.
“Where are they off to, those gypsy-like rayah?”
Halili inquired of Mujo, his brother.
“Why should we hide on the day we’re to perish?”
Removing the raincoats which covered their bodies,
They openly twirled up the tips of their whiskers.
In the dust and the smoke their horses stampeded,
With froth at their mouths, at their feet were sparks flying,
Setting on fire the oaks in the mountains,
And veiling in smoke all the high mountain pastures.
Hear what the men of the Sultan now uttered:
“What is that thunder and what is that quaking?
Cannon balls shot from the Realm of the Christians?”
The Sultan himself swore by God and responded:
“That is no thunder from out of the heavens,
No war cry from out of the Realm of the Christians,
But instead the approach of Mujo and Halili!”
Mujo arrived at the gates of the Sultan,
He proceeded within and he mounted the staircase,
But the stairs of the Sultan they could not support him.
At once did the Sultan then call for his builder,
Who shored up the staircase with no hesitation.
When they got to the doorway and wanted to enter,
The door proved too small to let Mujo pass through it,
The builder thus altered it straightaway for him.
The Sultan gave Mujo a seat right beside him.
“Oh Sultan, oh father,” said Mujo, inquiring,
“Your Moors, are they coming to take me to prison?
Are they going to chop my head off in an instant?”
The Sultan himself, quite astounded, gave answer:
“By God I swear to you, Mujo and Halili,
To chop off your heads, this is not my intention.
I simply was told of your great reputation,
And was seized by a longing to meet you in person!”
Mujo reflected a while and responded:
“Allow me to take my leave of you, oh Sultan.”
But then on the throne snagged the hook of his trousers,
And the moment our hero stood up for departure,
He dragged to the doorway the Sultan himself!

[Recorded in Kosova. Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 20-22; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 68-70. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

The Marriage of Halili

The Agas ask Mujo why his brother Halili is not married. Halili protests that he will have no one but Tanusha, the daughter of the king of the Christians, whom he met during a truce. When the snows melt, Halili sets off for the Realm of the Christians. On his journey, a mountain ora shows him some tents at a riverbank. Halili steals into one of the tents and encounters Tanusha. In order to escape with him, Tanusha dresses Halili up as a maiden. The king and his cortege then set out for New Kotor, taking Tanusha and the disguised Halili with them. In the meantime, the queen has had a nightmare of a black wolf among the sheep and insists on going to visit her daughter, now in a fortress by the seaside. Halili is discovered and captured and Tanusha is thrown out onto the streets. With the help of Jovan, however, she manages to send Mujo a message. Mujo and the Agas arrive in New Kotor and save young Halili from the stake.





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May you be blessed, oh our God Almighty!
The sun it shone forth but wan warmth did it offer,
The wind it whistled through Jutbina’s plane trees,
Heavily weighed the deep snow on the beech trees,
Bending them down as if breaking their branches.
Only the tips could be seen of the spruces,
To the echo of snowslides resounded the valleys,
Snowslides which plummeted into the chasms.
Down to the river the maids drove the cattle,
But the river was frozen, with ice it was covered,
On to the springs did the maids drive the cattle,
But the springs they were frozen, in hoarfrost were covered.
To one another they turned and lamented:
“By the time God has melted the ice and has freed them,
Our cattle, I fear, will have perished and left us.
But look over there, there are travellers coming,
As gentlemen dressed in fine footwear and garments!
Are they perchance fighters now out on an exploit,
Returning back down from the snow-covered passes?”
Jera then turned and did speak to them, saying:
“They’ve surely not come as our wedding attendants,
For the nymphs have departed, plunged into the river.
Mujo has set out with all of his kreshniks,
Off to the mountains, for game he is looking.”
But what, in the name of the Lord, has now happened?
How swiftly the clouds have now hidden the sunshine!
How swiftly they’ve spread, like a shroud have extended!
Veiling and blocking the peaks all around them.
Just as the warriors got to the river,
A gale wind blew over the powdery snowdrifts,
The warriors in them lost sight of their fellows,
The heroes were frozen, their bodies were rigid,
But down at the river they saw Mujo’s kulla,
Mujo invited them in to have dinner,
Warmly Gjeto Basho Mujo received them:
He threw on the fire a huge armful of kindling,
Enough there to warm up the three hundred heroes.
Then did the warrior bring out the barrels,
Then did the warrior bring out the wine kegs,
Barrels he served them replete with strong raki,
Kegs, too, he opened, with wine they were brimming.
How soon did the men all recover their breathing,
How soon did it warm up the blood of the fighters.
At once they all started to talk and to chatter,
With joking and laughter the fighters made merry.
The warriors then turned to Mujo and asked him:
“We’ve come here to visit as guests in your household,
Do not be offended by what we now ask you,
We beg of you, Mujo, in God’s name to tell us,
Why’ve you not found a fine bride for Halili?
All of the rest of his peers have now married.
On them the Lord has bestowed sons and daughters,
Out and about are their sons, making merry.
Is it the cost of the wedding you shy from?
Are you afraid of the work of a wedding?
We fear for the lad, for they’ll lead him astray,
He’s often been seen on his way to New Kotor
And sooner or later they’ll take him still living,
Your household will certainly still have descendants,
But, Mujo, our tribe, it will suffer dishonour.”
Retaining his calm then, the hero responded:
“Be of good cheer now, my fellow companions,
It’s a problem indeed that I have well considered,
The cost of a banquet is of no concern to me,
Nor do I fear all the work of a wedding.
Who, oh my good friends, would shrink from the burden?
Who would refuse his own brother a wedding?
He’s no petty thief after all, my companions,
He is, and you know him, full well a fine hero.
But should he perchance bring on us dishonour,
Then let the Lord snuff out his portion of sunlight.
And should he cause shame, distress to our tribesmen,
May storm clouds gather and strike him with lightning
And the earth where he lies, out of his grave then spew him.”
Swearing by God, the young man protested:
“All of you here are my brothers and sisters,
I’d rather perish than have to get married
For all of the women here in the krahina,
All of the girls to be found in Jutbina,
All of these women to me are like sisters.
May the earth cover me over unmarried
Unless I can wed the king’s daughter, Tanusha.
For I by myself caught a glimpse of Tanusha
During our truce with the Realm of the Christians,
No man has ever beheld such a vision,
The brows of her eyes are as straight as tree branches,
The line in her forehead’s a path up the mountain
Lit by the bright golden beams of the moonlight,
Both of her eyes are like ripening cherries,
Her eyelids resemble the wings of a swallow,
Her face, when she blushes, is like a red apple,
Her nose is as straight as a rifle by Tusha,
Her mouth which is small is a blossoming flower,
Her teeth are as white as the rocks in the river
Just after rainfall when sun begins shining,
The nape of her neck, oh, a dove’s does resemble,
Her figure is slender as that of a spruce tree,
The skin of her hand is as sleek as is boxwood,”
Carried away with himself, he continues.
With a hand on his mouth, Mujo puts him to silence.
All the more now is the young man indignant:
“Leave me alone, for I speak now or never.”
“We’ll have our word, Mujo, one after the other,”
Cried out Basho Jona, the grand aged hero,
“I don’t have a bride for not being able,
I don’t have a bride for not having money,
I don’t have a bride for not having found one,
It’s simply that I did not want to get married!”
“Listen, oh young man, to what I advise you,”
Responded the hero, the old Osman Aga,
“Tomorrow we’re holding a great celebration,
Tomorrow the thirty Agas will take counsel,
And thirty maidens for you they will gather,
You will select there the fairest among them,
And the thirty Agas will wish you good fortune.”
The young man protests, interrupts Osman Aga,
“May God strike you down, oh Agas of Jutbina!
Where between heaven and earth has it happened
That a man should e’er take for his bride his own sister?
For all of the girls to be found in Jutbina,
All of these women to me are like sisters.
I swear to you now as I stand here before you,
I swear to you now in the name of the great Lord,
To the Blessed One who makes the rain and clear skies,
To the one who holds sway over earth and the heavens,
That I’ll only marry the earth and a tombstone
If I cannot have from the Realm my Tanusha,
Mark you my words, oh Agas of Jutbina!
Wait may I until the night of my funeral,
But in the krahina I never shall marry!
A curse be upon you, oh high mountain pastures,
For making impassable all of the pathways
For me to cross into the Realm of the Christians,
A trick I would use, if I had but the power,
And cause the high seas to flood over the passes,
And with it would dissipate all of the snowdrifts,
So I could cross over and wed my beloved.”
His friends and companions all burst into laughter,
And called him the ‘steer of Kotor’ in their teasing,
A young boy who’d never shown proof of his valour.
But how well the high mountain pastures did hearken,
How swiftly the ocean did heed the boy’s curses,
And sent forth a windstorm up into the mountains,
Up to the high pastures it sent a sirocco,
Covering everything in sombre rain clouds,
Snowslides did plummet down into the chasms,
And once more, as always, the mountains resounded,
For three full days, and it lasted no longer,
The snow was now gone, melted into the river,
For three full weeks, and it lasted no longer,
And what did the river now do with the snowfall?
The snow from the mountains it drowned in the ocean.
May you be blessed, oh our God Almighty!
The nightingales warble now up in the mountains,
Children are playing in all of the valleys,
Quick, let us go to the high mountain pastures,
For the beech forests have burst into blossom,
Now the young man turned to Mujo, requesting:
“Mujo, my brother, do lend me your courser!”
But Mujo refused to accede to his brother,
So Halili mounted his own horse and, turning,
Set off by himself to recover Tanusha.
Mujo then harked to the words of their mother,
With what words of wisdom did she now address him:
“Oh dear son of mine, what have you accomplished
By refusing to give to your brother the courser?
Should the boy ever meet with misfortune or danger,
Should something occur in the Realm of the Christians,
For the rest of your life you will always regret it.”
Mujo looked back on the spur of the moment,
“Stop, oh Halili,” he cried to his brother,
Mujo approached and then gave him his courser,
And with it he proffered a piece of good counsel,
“I wish you, to start with, good journey, my brother,
When you cross into the Realm of the Christians,
Let the steed choose on its own the direction,
The courser will take you to Vukë Harambashi,
The Vukë Harambashi who is my blood brother,
Give him my thanks, tell him Mujo has sent you,
Tell him, ‘Oh brother, I need your assistance,
I need your assistance with money and weapons,
I need you to help me win over Tanusha.’”
The young man then mounted the back of the courser,
“May you be well,” and took leave of him Mujo,
Set off on the road of the Realm of the Christians,
Nobody saw him for more than an instant,
On through the mountains and valleys he journeyed,
Though desolate places and through the beech forests,
He journeyed by daytime, he journeyed by nighttime,
And nowhere did he come across other people,
The sun now proclaimed:”He is under my aegis,”
The moon now proclaimed:”He is under my aegis,”
The oras proclaimed:”He is under our aegis,”
Even a goat cried, oh Lord, in the mountains,
Yes, ‘twas a goat that spoke out in the mountains,
And what did the goat in the mountains then utter?
“As long as it’s daytime, the sun will protect him,
And during the nighttime the moon will protect him,
The arms in his belt will be watched by the zanas!”
But then something moved, caused Halili to tremble,
“What is that voice I can hear in the bushes?
Are goats in the mountains now able to speak out?”
“We are much more than mere goats in the mountains,
We’re a trio of wild goats, the cliffs we inhabit,
And on them together we live with the zanas.”
So how was it then that the young man responded?
“It’s good that I’ve come to the home of the zanas,
For confidence do I have in your assertion,
As to my two eyes, the sun will protect them,
As to my two legs, the moon will protect them,
And my weapons’ honour belongs to the zanas,
And, when I die, will the oras be with me.”
Onwards he climbed to the high mountain pastures
And there he espied such a broad flowing river,
From ocean to ocean it stretched, the long river,
Out on the river there lay a thick fog bank,
He led forth his courser to drink of the water,
But the animal quivered and moved three steps backwards,
For there at the foot of the cliff was a being.
An ora looked at him and asked him a question:
“Where are you going, lad, where are you off to?”
The young man then turned to the ora and answered:
“I’m on my way to the Realm of the Christians,
There to encounter one Vukë Harambashi.”
The mountain ora then burst into laughter,
The young man himself was perplexed and did wonder
What kind of being was standing before him.
The ora turned now and began to inform him,
“Listen to what I am saying, oh young man,
I know very well the direction you’ve come from,
I’ve been observing you in the Green Valleys
And cherishing you as I would my own eyesight,
Day and night was I there so to protect you,
Just like your shadow, I stood right behind you,
Vukë Harambashi you’ll never encounter
For the Realm of the Christians he’s long since departed,
But come over here, young man, in my direction,
Can you distinguish the broad flowing river?
The Danube’s the name that they give to the river,
On yonder bank have a look, fix your eyesight,
Cast your eyes over there into the shadows,
The white encampment, can you perceive it?
And in its midst see the scarlet pavilion?
Set out now, and give free rein to your courser
And right to the princess the courser will take you.”
The ora was gone, vanished into the mountains,
The young man continued his ride to the flat land,
The golden rays of the sun were now setting.
The day was now spent, there was everywhere darkness.
May you be blessed, oh our God Almighty!
You who have granted us daylight to work in,
You who have granted us nighttime to rest in,
“But where is the moon, and why’s it not out yet?”
The nightingales up in the mountains did wonder.
“Listen, oh birds of the mountains, be patient,
You have but one duty, and that is to warble,
The moon for its part is tonight very busy,
For it has the duty, the task to protect him,”
Responded the goats on the cliffs in the mountains.
The young man arrived at the bank of the river
And tied up his steed in the midst of a thicket,
In the midst of a thicket, a grove of young beech trees,
He then went in search of the tents in the twilight,
And when he discovered the scarlet pavilion,
The young man stood back and did ponder a moment
And behind an oak tree he took up position,
The roots of the oak tree spread down to the river,
After some time he grew weary of waiting,
What were his thoughts then and what did he utter?
“Oh hour of midnight, you take your time coming!”
When God finally put forth the hour to midnight,
The young man advanced both with skill and with cunning,
He drew his sharp dagger from out of its holder,
Towards the pavilion he crawled now on all fours,
There he cut into a piece of the canvas
And through it his hand stretched to feel what was inside,
Here the young man made a most serious error,
For groping about, touched his hand on a forehead,
And the forehead he touched was of the king’s daughter.
Dazed, a vociferous cry she did utter,
And startled, sat up in her bed, now awakened.
Three hundred handmaids, on hearing her, gathered,
And asked of Tanusha whate’er was the matter,
A scream of such strength they had never heard from her.
Gently she turned to her handmaidens, saying:
“You may go back to your beds, my companions,
I had a dream of a vampire approaching
And woke from my sleep, I was trembling and shaking.”
The maidens sashayed on the spot to their chambers,
The girl went to bed to resume her sweet slumber
When beside her a ring did roll over the floorboards.
Tanusha rose swiftly and stood there bedazzled,
The face of the young man now seeing before her,
“This face, oh my God, where on earth have I seen it?
It reminds me alone of the face of Halili.”
The boy couldn’t hold back his tongue any longer,
“Oh God Almighty,” he said to Tanusha,
“Are you a person who will not betray me?”
“How could you say such a thing to me, young man?
But how did you trespass into my pavilion?
Even with three hundred souls in your body,
You will not survive, you’ll see no more daylight,
Come into the tent, boy,” insisted the maiden,
“For either this moment we’ll perish together,
Or otherwise will we both find our salvation.”
But the young man was not to be pressed and did tarry.
“Wait but a moment,” he said to the maiden,
And then from its sheath did he draw forth his scabbard
And, lying in wait at the path by the entrance,
He looked all around him and studied the courtyard,
But no sign of life, no one there could he make out,
Then did the young man return to the chamber,
The maid grasped his hand and she led forth Halili,
Without hesitation a room they did enter,
There the trousseau of the maiden was spread out,
There she selected the best of her costumes,
All of them shimmering, the gold-threaded garments,
She laid them out, showed them off to Halili,
“Be quick now, Halili, and put on the garments,
Because if they find you as such in the morning,
The king will command that the two of us perish.”
The boy was transformed and looked now like a maiden,
Then came forth the daylight which scattered the darkness
And faintly appeared now the first rays of sunshine.
What are the maids of the king, oh Lord, up to,
Why have they risen from slumber so early?
Wool they are piling as much as they’re able,
And, burdened, they carry it down to the river,
Spreading it there on the rocks and the boulders,
On the rocks and the boulders the maids do their washing,
Sometimes they’re scrubbing and sometimes they’re singing,
Tanusha appears at the bank of the river,
Hand in hand with her another girl follows,
They take up their place at the rocks by the river,
The other maids turn and of her do inquire:
“May we inquire of you, oh Earthly Beauty,
Who is the maiden whose hand you are holding,
Whose outward appearance is fairer that ours is?
Her eyes do resemble the eyes of a zana,
Her brow is like that of the man in the moon,
Her figure is that of a pine in the mountains,
None of us under the sun do look like her.”
“How can you say that, oh three hundred maidens,
There is nothing on earth which is lacking an equal.
This maiden, it turns out, is poor and unlucky,
Promised she’s been to the Pasha of Dumlika
But it’s her trousseau, her dowry, that’s missing,
Her father is dead and lies under his gravestone,
Her mother, who wanders the streets, is a pauper,
For this she has come to my father’s royal palace
To see if there’s anything he could accord her,
Now go back to your washing,” responded Tanusha,
“Wash all of your woollens in silence, no gossip.”
None of the maidens asked any more questions,
But washed all the wool at the rocks by the river,
Some of them scrubbed, while the others lamented.
May you be blessed, oh our God Almighty!
What is the queen getting up to in Kotor?
For she has suffered a terrible nightmare.
She dreamt of a great herd of livestock before her,
A herd full of sheep, oh, three hundred in number,
And right in their midst, there loitered a black wolf,
And a big black ram the wolf did resemble,
The queen now she stood up, in fear she was shaking,
And forthwith off to the king did she hasten,
“Rise, oh my king, do stand up or God damn you,
For God has graced you with only one daughter,
Children no more can there be in your family,
And in this last year you’ve not even seen her,
Quickly now, ready the best of your coursers,
For I have suffered a terrible nightmare.”
“So let it be,” did the king reply to her.
“I saw a wolf on his way from Jutbina,
Who’s spirited off all the three hundred maidens.”
Without delay the king took action,
And his war horse he made ready,
Donning his fine coat of armour,
He set off for the Danube river,
There he counted all the maidens,
And discovered one too many,
The one left over was the fairest.
“Oh Tanusha,” asked the father,
“Who’s the maid whose hand you’re holding
Who on earth is without equal?”
“Poor, unlucky is this maiden,
Dear her father, mother homeless,
The Pasha of Dumlika wants her,
But with no dowry, he’ll not take her,
She has come for your assistance,
For anything you could accord her.”
With ease was the king outwitted.
“Now we’ll set off for New Kotor,
You will take the maiden with you.”
The king gave orders with his trumpets
Three hundred maidens to make ready,
The grooms soon got them on the horses,
And the cortege left for Kotor,
In the last row rode Tanusha
Hand in hand still with Halili
She on bay horse, he on courser,
Closely guarded by the army
They’d no chance for an evasion.
In three days and nights of travel
Did the cortege reach New Kotor.
All maids were put up in manors,
Tanusha chose the finest kulla,
On the cliffs above the ocean,
Twelve floors high arose her kulla,
In the world no other like it,
Wide it was, three hundred paces,
Its outer walls were made of stonework,
The sides were covered in smooth tilings,
The cliffs themselves were made of marble.
For refreshment, flowing water,
For diversion, there were gardens
And for sailing, there were sailboats,
Sailboats there to cross the ocean.
Whosoever saw the fortress
Would believe he was in heaven.
There she settled with Halili,
Days and nights three they remained there
Without eating, without drinking.
“How can we get to Jutbina?”
Wondered to herself the maiden,
“O’er the waves we’ll send our courser,
We ourselves will row a rowboat,
We ourselves will sail a sailboat,
The sail I’ll trim, you try the rowing,
And should a fresh breeze we be granted,
Our boat will cross to the krahina
And on the bank will bide our courser,
But I’m afraid to tell my mother!”
O’er the waves they sent the courser,
The Slavic queen of Kotor saw it,
And wondered what the steed was doing.
To the king did she now hasten,
“Damn you,” to the king she cursed. “Our
Daughter’s been three days in Kotor
And neither of us e’en has seen her.”
“If you want, pay her a visit,
I’ve no time, it doesn’t suit me.”
Without delay, the queen made ready,
And departed on her journey
To the coast to see the kulla,
There she found locked up the kulla,
The Slavic queen now feigning kindness,
Cried out, “Mummy’s here, Tanusha,
Open up so I can see you,
Or I’ll simply die of longing.”
Behind the door the maiden quivered,
“What am I to do, Halili?”
“Open up the door for God’s sake,”
But to do it she was frightened,
Thinking hard, she found a pretext,
“Listen to me, dearest mother,
I can’t come out, I cannot open,
I’m indisposed, my body’s weakened,”
“Listen to me,” said the mother,
“Dearest, I myself when little,
Often suffered from such illness,
I give you now my word of honour,
I can heal you of your illness,
Open up, don’t keep me waiting,
I will be a mother to you.”
Thus deceived, her heart still pounding,
Down the staircase to the doorway
Came, with ropes she still was holding
And the sails she should have hidden,
Let her mother through the doorway.
But the mother was no mother,
She was a dragua-slaying monster.
The Slavic queen espied Halili,
And hissed, recoiling like a serpent:
“Daughter mine no more, I curse you!
What, you’ve filled the house with brigands?”
Slamming then the door behind her,
Off back to the king she hastened,
“Oh, Captain King, we are defeated,
The brigands now’ve come from Jutbina,
Have taken over all your kullas,
Your honour’s blemished, maids are ravished.”
“Silence, woman, what is all this?”
Cried the Slavic king of Kotor,
And his face was flushed in fury,
Swiftly did the king make ready
And by force took all the coastline,
Invading on the cliff the fortress,
No way could the boy resist him,
By the arm the king did seize them,
“How you’ve shamed your dad, Tanusha,
Shacked up here with all Jutbina.”
In a jail he plunged Halili,
Threw into the streets Tanusha,
“The streets shall be your home, my daughter,
That’s the road that you have chosen,
In other homes may you find comfort,
Your own with thorns is blocked forever.”
The maid sat weeping by the roadside,
With tears and cries of lamentation,
All took pity when they saw her.
Family members watched her wailing,
But none dared approach to aid her,
For the king had set up watchmen.
When she reached the end of Kotor,
Jovan stopped and kindly asked her:
“Why the weeping, my Tanusha,
We have never heard such crying,
Stop a while and come on in now,
For something must have happened to you.”
“Never can I go back, Jovan,
Halili has been taken prisoner,
Into the streets my father’s thrown me,
Saying to return home never!”
“Who has done this to you, maiden?
“Would that I’d ne’er been born, Jovan!
My mother brought forth the accusal,
With one last wish do I now leave you,
To Mujo’s doorway bear this message,
He must save Halili, tell him,
For otherwise he’ll rot in prison.”
To her Jovan answered wisely:
“I know not the way to Mujo’s,
But there’s a girl from the krahina
Whose kulla’s at the end of Kotor,
A new one built and this year finished.”
Jovan took her to the tower,
And at the doorway met the woman
Who from the fountain was returning.
“What’s the matter, my Tanusha?”
“Let no one suffer what I’ve suffered!
Into the streets my father’s thrown me,
No more may I knock and enter
Home, and they have jailed Halili,
I fear that he’ll not survive it
If Mujo does not come and free him.”
The woman was of noble bearing
And forthwith she consoled Tanusha:
“In three days, if Mujo’s living,
He’ll unite you to get married.”
She hired a messenger so trusty
And sent him overnight to Mujo,
The lad arrived there in the morning,
And all events explained to Mujo,
Then the hero burst out laughing:
“Oh, steer of Kotor, did I not warn you,
The men of Kotor are going to get you.
Were there not Jutbina’s honour,
I’d not move a finger for you.”
From the parapet let out the hero
A battle cry for all Jutbina,
“For the shame that we have suffered,
I summon you to arms, my fighters.”
At once the heroes did assemble,
“We greet you, Mujo,” cried the Agas.
“How to tell you of it, Agas,
I’ve been shamed, Sokol Halili
Has been captured in New Kotor,
I’d not move a finger for him
Were there not Jutbina’s honour,
Arm yourselves as best as you can, men,
A worse day’s ne’er stood before us.”
Three hundred Agas then took to their weapons,
When they departed, the beech trees resounded,
When they departed, the rivers boiled over,
When they departed, their coursers then took flight,
And like a shot in New Kotor they landed.
When they arrived in the reeds on the coastline,
Mujo positioned his men by the water,
“Let me not hear, men, a single sound from you,”
How well the men hid there, silently waiting.
Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty,
That so many men have collected together
And here in New Kotor seen fit to assemble.
The king with a battle cry called to his people.
The whole population of Kotor did gather
In front of the church for the day was a Sunday,
In the midst of the square a young man was now standing,
His hands were in irons, his feet were in fetters,
Indeed, ‘twas none other than wretched Halili,
All of the people of Kotor did mock him,
The Captain King then did come forth and inquired:
“Can you see death in your eyes, oh Halili?
Have you e’er encountered a worse situation?”
In the words of a true man, the young lad addressed him:
“Hark, Captain King, to what I will tell you,
A man’s never lost until he has perished,
But far worse than death is betrayal of friendship,
Far worse than death would be breaking a promise,
Worse is no food for your guests when they visit.
Whenever, oh King, in dire straits I have fallen,
The Lord has bestowed on me strength to be free.”
“If you have last words, it’s time now to speak them,
For your life at this stake will be snuffed out forever.”
“May the Lord curse and revile you, King Captain,
Only God knows who this stake is designed for,
Give me, I beg you, five minutes of freedom,
Bequeathed from our fathers, we have a tradition,
To perish in bed we must not while we’re sleeping
But rather while brandishing swords, loudly singing.”
The king acceded to him nobly:
“Take your time to sing, Halili.”
From the shackles did they free him,
Gave Halili his lahuta.
No one understood him, singing
In the tongue of his forefathers.
“My final hour’s now upon me,
The sun has set, the peaks in darkness,
Where, oh sun, is your protection?
Where, oh zana, did you leave it?
What of promises you made me?
Send me now, oh sun, an answer
By the light upon your forehead,
One last wish do I now give you,
One last time I ask you, help me,
Return to cliffs and mountain pastures,
Return to all the shady meadows,
Set aflame the beechwood forests,
Wake from sleep the mountain oras,
To the great zana speed my greetings,
Tell her Halili has perished.”
A bird flew down from the high mountains
And on a beech tree branch it landed,
“Oh, bird of the mountains, tell me,
Do you still have wings to fly with?
By the branch you take your rest on,
Send word to Gjeto Basho Mujo.
Should he at this time be sleeping,
May alive he never waken,
Should he hunt there in the mountains,
May he never find his way home,
Should he be near, should he hear me,
Tell him it’s my worst dilemma.”
Mujo had now reached the flat land,
And a strident shriek he uttered,
The kullas crashed to their foundations,
The ocean overflowed the dry land,
The mountains roared as in a tempest,
No one could hide from the heroes,
Such the horror of their onslaught,
With their teeth they ripped into them,
With their teeth did chomp the coursers,
Corpses flowed out to the ocean,
Warriors waded through the bloodshed,
Naught wearied Gjeto Basho Mujo.
Ever closer came the hero,
“Touch not the king, he’s mine, oh Mujo,”
Cried aloud Sokol Halili,       
“Free my limbs from these iron shackles,
For I’ve sworn by God Almighty
At this stake the king shall perish.”
Mujo freed him of his shackles,
The boy assaulted with a fury,
He alive the king did capture,
And caused him at the stake to perish.
The warriors were fuelled by frenzy
And very soon the town was burning,
Torched till it was turned to ashes.
Such was Mujo in his anger,
Enraged, the hero showed no pity,
Neither for the burning towers,
Nor for all the blackened bodies,
Nor for all the dying children.
Three times did the sun go under,
Three times did the moon rise shining,
Before the flames could be extinguished.
When the hero’s time to leave came,
He turned, looked back upon New Kotor,
“Listen now, oh ravaged landscape,
Which from land and sea one reaches,
By land and sea they’ll come and ask you,
Why the Realm has been so ruined,
‘A mother,’ say, ‘betrayed her daughter’?
Mujo well did save his brother,
Halili wed the orphan maiden.

[Sung by Mëhill Prêka of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 23-41; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 71-86. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Gjergj Elez Alia

The hero Gjergj Elez Alia has been on his deathbed for nine years, tended by his faithful sister. A baloz emerges from the ocean, demanding tribute, including Gjergj’s sister. Gjergj awakes from his slumber, sends his sister to have the warhorse shod and challenges the baloz to a duel. Gjergj slays the baloz with his cudgel and saves the country. Brother and sister then die in each other’s arms and are buried in a common grave under a linden.





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Gjergj Elez Alia, the greatest of heroes,
For nine years now on his bed has he languished,
Night and day one sister stays at his bedside,
Cleansing his wounds for nine years with spring water,
Cleansing his wounds all the time with her teardrops,
And wiping the blood with the locks of her long hair,
She bound his wounds in the shawl of their mother,
Their father’s old garments protected his body,
Down at the foot of the bed hung his weapons.
Each night when tucked into his bed by his sister,
He weaned his thoughts off of his body’s discomfort,
But writhed with the pain he had caused to his sister.
Rumour was spreading and it became known that
A swarthy baloz had emerged from the ocean.
The monster was evil and bent on destruction,
From all of the regions he claimed heavy tribute:
“Each household shall give me a whole roast of mutton,
Each household shall render to me a fine maiden,
Day after day a kreshnik must be slaughtered,
And week after week must be ravaged a region.”
Soon it was Gjergj who received the injunction,
The cheeks of her brother were covered in teardrops,
How could he cede to the baloz his honour?
Now did the sister start keening and wailing,
With tears in her eyes, then to Gjergj she lamented:
“Death, my dear brother’s forgotten to take us
With mother and father lying far ‘neath a linden,
And you for nine years have been chained to your bedstead?
Your sister, must she to the baloz be ceded?
Why doesn’t the kulla collapse and destroy us,
Why doesn’t our tower turn into a tombstone,
Protecting and keeping your honour untarnished?”
Gjergj was heartbroken at hearing her grieving,
And opened his eyes, contemplating his sister.
The cheeks of the hero were streaming with teardrops,
And speaking out now, did he rage at the kulla:
“Oh, fortress of mine, may you blacken, grow dismal,
And may you be rotten from top down to bottom,
May you for tenants have serpents and vipers.
How have you let the floors dampen with raindrops?”
“No, my dear brother,” responded the sister,
“You don’t understand, the fever’s confused you,
It hasn’t been raining at all, my dear brother,
It’s simply the tears of your sister you’re seeing!”
Gjergj took the hand of his sister and squeezed it,
Stroking her arm with his firm solid fingers,
He looked at his sister, her eyes full of sorrow,
With words clear and lucid did he now address her:
“My good sister, why the weeping?
Why do you tear my heart asunder?
For nine full years now have I quivered
Like the beech trees in the sunlight,
No respite have I been given,
But tell me, has your brother ever
Of clothes, food, water e’er deprived you?
Has your brother ever cursed you,
Or let his anger out upon you
That you’d rather leave and marry?”
How well answered now the sister,
While his hand was on her forehead:
“Why do you speak so, my burgeoning beech tree?
Perchance has the fever got hold of your senses?
I’d rather be buried alive than be married,
You’ve never deprived me of food or of water,
And never begrudged me fine garments and footwear,
And never more harshly than now have you spoken,
Other than you I’ve no father or mother,
I beg you, my brother, do not be offended
By all of the worries I’m to you confessing.
Nine springtimes have passed and your body remains here,
You’ve never got up and gone out of the doorway?
And not a complaint have you heard from your sister,
But should I thus give myself now to the baloz?”
The hero then rose to his feet and gave orders:
“Go and fetch my warhorse, woman,
And make your way straight to the city,
Find the farrier, my blood brother,
Tell him Gjergj does send him greetings,
Let him ready brassy horseshoes,
And with nails of steel do fit them,
For the baloz shall I challenge!
And should the farrier not be willing,
Take it to my friend, the blacksmith.”
The maid then set out for the city,
To find the farrier, his blood brother:
“Success and greetings to you, brother!”
“And to you greetings, distant sister!”
“To you does Gjergj convey his greetings,
And begs you fit and shoe the courser,
Do make ready brassy horseshoes,
And with nails of steel do fit them,
For the baloz he will challenge.”
Slyly spoke the farrier brother:
“If you give me, maid, your favours,
I’ll ensure your brother’s triumph
And wings to fly I’ll give his courser!”
Oh, what fury seized the maiden:
“How dare you, man, may your tongue wither,
I thought I’d come to our blood brother,
The steed’s not been here for nine years now,
And you behave like some lewd gypsy,
For I’m devoted to my parents
Who are rotting in the graveyard,
And to poor Gjergj, gravely weakened!”
To the blacksmith rode the sister:
“To you does Gjergj convey his greetings,
It’s his turn now to do battle,
As best you can, please shoe the courser,
Do make ready brassy horseshoes,
And with nails of steel do fit them,
For the sea baloz he’ll challenge.”
As if ‘twere his, he shod the courser.
Returning home, the maiden found him
Waiting, shaded by a linden.
What of the hero, Gjergj Alia?
He’d sent his greetings to the baloz,
To meet him early at the war grounds.
“I’ve no maiden for you, baloz,
My sheep have not been fattened for you,
I’ve but one sister, not to give you,
Who else would bind my injured body?”
When the dawn first lit the mountains,
To the war grounds came the heroes,
And began exchanging insults:
“From the grave, Gjergj, have you risen?
Why’ve you called me to the war grounds?”
Wisely did the hero answer:
“I well understand, haughty words have you spoken
Nine years have gone by that I’ve been on death’s doorstep,
But you have revived me now with your arrival.
You demanded my sister before doing battle,
You wanted my sheep without asking the shepherd,
Now I have come to the war grounds to teach you
An ancient tradition we’ve from our forefathers,
Without rendering arms there is nothing we’ll give you,
Never to you will I render my sister,
Without doing battle before on the war grounds,
Your day has come, baloz, so make yourself ready.”
Thus spoke his challenge Gjergj Elez Alia,
They spurred on their steeds and they rushed into battle,
The baloz stormed forth and attacked with his cudgel,
Down to its knees tumbled Gjergj’s swift courser,
And over their heads did the cudgel spin past them,
Twenty-four yards flying into the valley,
Twenty-four yards in the air rose the dust cloud,
Now it was his turn for Gjergj to do battle.
Skilfully pivoting, he hurled his cudgel,
Through the air did it hurtle and struck down the baloz.
The baloz collapsed and the earth gave a shudder.
In barely a moment did Gjergj draw his sabre,
And heaving it, severed the head from the body,
The torso he dragged by the feet then behind him
And hurtled it into a lake with the courser,
The river flowed black with the blood of the monster,
And for three whole years it infested the region.
The victor then turned and went back to his kulla,
And there he assembled all of his companions,
“Take counsel, companions, in what I now tell you,
To you do I offer my tower and fortress,
To you I bequeath and bestow all my money,
All my belongings and all of my cattle,
And assign you the sister of Gjergj Elez Alia,”
The hero then turned and in one final effort
Threw his arms round the neck of his unlucky sister,
At that very moment the two hearts ceased beating,
Dead to the ground fell both brother and sister,
No better spirits have ever been rendered.
His friends began mourning in great lamentation,
And for the two siblings a wide grave dug open,
For brother and sister, their arms round each other,
And over the grave did they make a fair tombstone,
That brother and sister would not be forgotten,
And there, at the headstone they planted a linden,
A place of repose for the birds in the summer.
And when in the spring the hills broke into blossom,
A cuckoo flew by and reposed on the gravestone
And found that the twigs of the linden had withered.
Then it took flight to the tenantless tower,
And found that the rooftop had fallen to ruins.
Winging, it landed on one of the windows,
And called from its perch to a wanderer passing,
“Oh, wanderer passing by into the mountains,
Should you be singing, cease here for a moment,
Should you be crying, then mourn and lament here,
For I have searched o’er the high mountain pastures,
For I have flown o’er the low winter meadows,
For I have wandered from house to house weeping,
I nowhere could find him, Gjergj Elez Alia!”

[Recorded in Nikaj (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 42-48; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 87-91. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo and Behuri

Mujo summons his thirty Agas to assemble for a raid in the mountains. Halili and his bosom friend, the young Zuku Bajraktari, hold vigil all night while the Agas sleep. The next day, a dispute arises among the Agas and the çeta is divided into two groups. Halili is separated forever from his beloved Zuku Bajraktari. Up in the high pastures, Mujo catches sight of the daughters of the Slavic warrior Behuri, guarded by thirty pandours. He and his warriors ambush the pandours and seize the maidens. Later, Mujo, in search of a forgotten lance, meets an ora who tells him he must slay Behuri. Mujo secretly enters Behuri’s mansion, there to find the severed heads of the other half of the çeta. Setting a wick to the sacks of gunpowder, he blows the mansion up. Mujo and Behuri duel in the mountain pastures. With the intervention of an ora, Mujo slays his rival. All return home to Jutbina and celebrate a wedding.





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May you be blessed, oh our God Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
Mujo was early to rise in the morning,
He put on his boots and his belt and his buckle,
And turning, he built up a fire in the fireplace,
He poured himself coffee and added some sugar,
Then did he turn and cry out to Halili:
“Rise now, oh Halili, get up now or never,
A full thirty days have now passed, oh Halili,
Since we’ve been out on a raid with the çeta.
Halili, rush off and go down to Jutbina
And ask all the thirty Agas to assemble,
For we will go raiding today with the çeta.”
See how reacted now Sokol Halili,
In less than no time did he sprint up the staircase,
And out on the parapet cried from the kulla,
He roared a command for the men of Jutbina,
To call them to arms from throughout the krahina.
Responding to Mujo, they sent their best greetings.
Swiftly did Halili muster the horses,
And skilfully, too, did he manage to shoe them.
When he was finished, he went back to Mujo,
The warriors put on their clothes and their footwear,
And each of them girded his sabre for fighting,
Taking up with them their arrows and lances,
As this was their custom when out on a sortie,
In no time at all, in a dash were they ready,
The thirty Agas had arrived at the doorway,
“Good evening, oh Mujo and Sokol Halili!”
“You are most welcome here, men of Jutbina!”
“Where are we off to today on our sortie?”
“The right hand of God will point out the direction.”
Departing, they made their way into the valley,
All the time singing, they rode through the flat land,
And there did they meet with Dizdar Osman Aga,
He too had thirty Agas in his party,
With a kindly selam did they offer their greetings,
And the Agas saluted them even more kindly.
None of the men deigned to dismount their coursers,
But high on their steeds did they hail one another,
Some of them greeted, some played with the horses,
And others rode down to the river for water,
“Lead us, oh Mujo, noonday is upon us,”
Muttered the old man, Dizdar Osman Aga.
Onward they ventured, rode up through the valley,
The great Gjeto Basho Mujo was their leader,
Behind him there followed Dizdar Osman Aga,
Two of the lads with their steeds did make merry,
Who with their frolicking lingered behind them,
Bajraktars both of them riding their coursers,
One of them, he was named Sokol Halili,
The other one, Zuk Bajraktari, they called him.
Band upon band of the Agas now followed,
Continuing forth, they rode down to the river.
There they arrived and did water their horses,
Leaving no water to flow down the valley,
Onward they rode to the high mountain pastures,
But none of them managed to find any game there,
None of them there caught a glimpse of a çetnik.
All day did they wander the high mountain pastures,
And landed at dusk at the foot of a fir tree,
Its branches as thick as a high mountain beech tree,
Nine hundred men in its shadow could shelter,
There did the men make their camp for the nighttime,
Putting their steeds by a grove out to pasture,
Grazing, the coursers erred up through the meadows,
The Agas themselves then sat down to their dinner,
Splendid the feast that the Agas partook of,
And when they had eaten, had finished their feasting,
Among them arose and spoke out two young kreshniks:
“Listen to us, oh Agas of Jutbina,
Here are your beds and your places for sleeping,
Take your rest now with no care and no worry,
For we will watch o’er you all through the nighttime.”
The Agas were guarded by Sokol Halili,
And watching nearby, too, was Zuk Bajraktari,
In the beech forest made merry the coursers,
Next to the water were singing the zanas,
The song of the nightingales set them to dancing.
The Agas slept tight in the shade of the fir tree,
None saw the zanas but Zuk and Halili,
The two of them heard them, the two of them watched them,
They watched how the zanas did sing and did frolic,
And how in the meadows they went to pick flowers,
Watched how they lured the goats out of the pine trees,
And how they disrobed and did bathe in the sources.
The night of Saint Andrew seemed to them an instant,
As the moon was descending behind the beech forests,
And quickly endeavoured to make its departure,
Despite the appeals of the young men to keep it.
When declining, the moon it did sink o’er the hilltops,
Spoke out the great zana and called to it, saying:
“The dew has now fallen, the sun has not risen,
Linger, oh moon, do not hasten to leave us,
Only at night are the waters refreshing,
The breezes delight us as never beforehand,
Cast your light still on that double-peaked mountain,
Keep up your vigil, watch over the pine trees,
Linger, oh moon, and take time in your setting.”
How well did the moon hear the words of the zana,
And hovering over the hills took position
Until the sun made its ascent o’er the mountains,
Spreading its sunbeams of white and magenta.
And when the Almighty consented to daylight,
The moon finally set and sank into the pine trees,
And the zanas abandoned their springs and departed,
And the nightingales broke off their song and fell silent.
The two lads got up and returned to the campsite.
Asleep there like logs they encountered the Agas,
All resting like tree trunks spread out in the clearing.
At the top of his voice cried out Sokol Halili,
“Arise, oh good men, for the sun is now shining!”
They woke up the Agas one after the other,
All of them slumbering in the high pastures.
The men, sitting down, took their place by the fire,
Sullenly scowled the old man of the çeta,
And, not a word to the others did mumble.
Sulking he sat plucking grass from the meadow,
And only much later did he begin speaking:
“Listen to me now, my kreshnik companions,
Together have we many exploits accomplished,
But Mujo has stolen the praise and the honour,
Our ways must now part, oh Gjeto Basho Mujo,
You have no more need for this old fellow’s çeta.”
Gjeto Basho Mujo at this was offended:
“May the Almighty curse you, Dizdar Osman Aga,
As long as the sun shines we’ll not split our çetas.”
In anger the old man turned back to him, saying:
“Let him curse if he will, oh Gjeto Basho Mujo,
Our çetas are split now, we’ll ride back divided.”
“A curse be upon you, you grey-headed Aga,
You’re destroying yourself and destroying me, also,
It seems to me now that you’ve lost all your reason,
Unyoking the oxen and letting them wander.”
Mujo then rose to his feet and departed,
Left in a huff to be near to his courser,
There did he find that his horse had been weeping,
Shuffling about with its front legs a-pawing,
The courser, it seemed, had shown pity on Mujo.
At once he returned to the camp of the Agas,
“Do you hear me, oh men,” did he cry to the Agas,
“We must never divide them, no, çeta from çeta,
For from a signal my courser did give me,
We will not reach our houses alive if divided.”
In reply did address him Dizdar Osman Aga,
Speaking in words full of scorn and derision:
“It looks to me, Mujo, as if you are aging,
If it’s but a few Slavic fighters who scare you.”
At this interrupted him Sokol Halili:
“We haven’t set out, men, to fight and to quarrel,
We’ve set out together to go on a sortie,
And in all our raiding we’ll travel the highways,
And çeta from çeta we’ll not be divided.”
In anger replied then the grey-headed Aga:
“What could you know as Mujo’s little brother?
I wish you fair journey, be off now without me!
Sufficient in width for us both are the highways,
Each of the çetas will now go its own way,
The route to New Kotor is what I’ll be taking,
Perchance for some booty will I go marauding,
Perchance I will chop off a head with my sabre,
Perchance I’ll be able to capture a maiden,
And with her make happy some boy in Jutbina.”
With these words of farewell did he make his departure,
Onto the back of his horse jumped the old man,
And following him did embark thirty Agas,
Who with him set out for the town of New Kotor.
Last in the party, a young lad looked backwards,
Just as the coursers were crossing the beech groves,
Through the beech forests and harsh rocky valley,
Gazing in longing was Zuk Bajraktari.
His eyebrows were raised as he searched the horizon,
Searching to find his one friend and companion,
Hoping he’d see his friend, Sokol Halili.
With a lance in his hand was Halili now standing
At the edge of the beech grove, on his steed was leaning,
Watching his friend disappear through the beech grove,
Watching his friend vanish into the woodlands,
And when their eyes met in despair and in longing,
When their eyes met through the trees of the forest,
When their eyes met in one last contemplation,
In sombre affliction tears streamed down their faces.
Behind the tall peaks now the sun was fast setting,
The çeta continued its way through the mountains,
Thirty Agas stayed put and accompanied Mujo,
Among them reigned silence, not one word was spoken,
Mujo then turned to his friends and suggested:
“Let us return in good health to Jutbina,
But from a signal my courser did give me,
We’ll never succeed in uniting the çetas.”
Following him spoke up Sokol Halili:
“Listen to me now, my dear elder brother,
If they return home in such arrogant humour,
Never will we have respite from their bragging!”
They made themselves ready and saddled their coursers,
And spent the day searching the high mountain pastures,
Nowhere at all was there game to be sighted,
Nowhere were çetniks to combat and vanquish.
They spent the next night at the foot of a fir tree,
The coursers were put out to graze in the meadows,
The Agas refreshed themselves near the cool fountains.
Alone at the fir tree paused Mujo and pondered,
Watching the steeds as they played in the meadows,
How splendid the Agas looked eating their dinner,
Then, later on, when the feasting was finished,
Mujo addressed once again his companions:
“Hear me once more, oh Agas of Jutbina,
I shall look out for your safety this evening.”
Mujo held vigil for all his companions,
Who slept safe and sound until dawn in the morning.
The Agas were washing in springs and the fountains,
A bonfire was set ablaze under the fir tree.
Mujo arose and went up the hill, climbing
Through the beech forest he hiked to the hilltop.
There he surveyed the whole Realm of the Christians,
Casting his eyes on the roads and the highways,
Nowhere at all was there game to be sighted,
Nowhere were çetniks to combat and vanquish,
But when his eyes met the Peak of Mount Xhuri,
There, at a crossroads right under the summit,
Under the summit up in the high meadows,
Did he catch sight of the maids of Behuri.
They had gone up to the high mountain pastures
To cool themselves off in the springs and the fountains,
Thirty pandours were with them to guard and protect them.
Losing no time, he returned to the Agas,
In less than a moment they made themselves ready,
His band of companions he led to the fountains,
And there in the haystacks he set up an ambush,
Fifteen companions he hid on one roadside,
Fifteen companions he hid on the other,
Placing himself in the midst of the highway,
To Sokol Halili he turned and did ask him:
“Will you chop off their heads, or would it be better
To capture the pandours and make them our prisoners?”
“Chop off their heads, may the devil dispatch them,
I’ll capture the maidens and make them my prisoners!”
In no time at all, in a flash they were sighted,
All thirty pandours the trap were approaching,
Mujo then aimed and shot one of his arrows,
Hitting the first one who fell and was slaughtered,
All thirty Agas sprang out of the ambush,
Killing and slaughtering all of the pandours,
Many a head there was chopped off by Mujo,
And the maidens were taken by Halili prisoner.
Then they returned to the high mountain pastures,
There did they rest at a site in the meadows,
Mujo gave a slap to his thighs as he sat there,
Causing Halili to cry out and ask him:
“Why are you slapping your thighs, brother Mujo?”
“My lance and my arrows I left at the fountain.”
“You can forget them,” Halili advised him,
“Lances and arrows are easy to come by,
And many a rifle we have in Jutbina.”
“Of many a weapon we’ve taken possession,
But I’ll not go back to Jutbina without them.”
“I will then go,” said Halili, “and find them.”
But Mujo would not let his brother depart, and
Instead, he got up and he mounted his courser,
And off at a gallop he rode down the mountain,
The arrows he found at the side of a beech tree,
His lance was still lying not far from the fountain.
When Mujo bent over to drink of the water,
He turned his head sideways and noticed an ora,
“Do not, for God’s sake, partake here of the water,
Till you fell the head of Behuri the Captain,
Where are you going, what is your direction?”
“Back to Jutbina, if it be the Lord’s pleasure.”
“And what if they happen to ask in Jutbina
How the kulla is doing of Behuri the Captain?”
“May God give increase to your dance-line, oh ora,
Well have you spoken,” replied to her Mujo.
“Drink, oh Mujo, to your fill,” said the ora,
But Mujo refused to partake of the water,
Neither would drink nor give drink to his courser.
Mujo swore an oath to the Almighty, saying:
“I shall set off and go straight to his kulla!”
Onto the back of his courser climbed Mujo,
Not one command did he bother to utter,
The courser itself knew too well the direction,
Out of its mouth there were yellow flames spewing,
Billows of smoke and of dust rose behind it,
As if it were flying, from hillside to hillside,
The courser continued apace towards the kulla.
The gate to the courtyard did Mujo find open,
And on his steed did he venture to enter,
With two keys of steel had the ora supplied him
And, leading his courser down into the stables,
He passed through the doorway and entered the parlour.
There he discovered a gold-handled sabre,
Much finer it seemed to him than any other,
And into one thousand small pieces he broke it,
Then to another room did he continue,
The walls of the chamber, in blood they were covered,
There thirty heads he found hanging around him,
He knew who they were, “they’re my Agas, commanders!”
Seeing the heads, Mujo grew pale in horror,
No longer could he withstand it or stay there
And without delay a new room did he enter,
There lay the sabres, full thirty in number,
He knew them full well, they belonged to the Agas.
Next was a hall which he opened and entered,
It was the warehouse for storing gunpowder,
Piled high with powder sacks, up to the rooftop.
Mujo got a long wick ready,
Placed it in the sacks of powder,
Then he hastened to the courtyard,
To listen to the earth exploding,
But then he saw Behuri coming,
Watched him go down to the gateway,
And call out for his missing daughter,
But no one to his call responded.
To a vantage point he clambered
And gazed at the view around him,
There he glimpsed his only daughters
At a beech tree by a fountain,
To their knees Halili forced them.
Behuri, two heads beside him,
Hurled them out into the courtyard,
In an instant Mujo knew them,
One was Dizdar Osman Aga,
The other one Zuk Bajraktari,
Mujo was profoundly shaken,
Behuri set off up the mountain.
To himself did Mujo ponder,
“Should he reach the mountain pastures,
Like lambs will he dispatch the Agas.”
Hastily Mujo departed
Nowhere did he rest his courser.
When Mujo arrived at the head of the valley,
Behuri was nearing the side of the valley,
When Mujo arrived at the heart of the valley,
Behuri had already reached the high pastures,
Mujo then turned and he asked of Behuri:
“Who is this man riding through the high pastures?”
Behuri then turned and to Mujo gave answer:
“Is it you my eyes see, Gjeto Basho Mujo?”
“Yes, I am Mujo,” he told him, responding,
“I have been looking for you in the heavens,
But, thank God, here on the earth have I found you.”
Behuri turned back and rode down to the valley,
Down to the war grounds for them to do battle,
Behuri then gave to his rival the option:
“Will you take flight, Mujo, or first attack me?”
“Whenever I come for a duel on the war grounds,
I prefer to take off, let the rival attack me.”
With this did he turn and take flight in a gallop.
Behuri advanced and caught up with his rival,
Hurling his thin lance in Mujo’s direction.
Down on its knees did fall Mujo’s swift courser,
And over their heads did the lance whistle by them.
Behuri then took out his cudgel and hurled it,
Up on its hind legs jumped swiftly the courser,
Under its jaw did the cudgel streak by them.
Behuri then turned and took flight at a gallop,
Mujo called out to his courser, proclaiming:
“Rise, for the day is upon us, oh courser,
For you now to act, for restoring our honour!”
How swiftly the courser caught up with his rival,
Mujo approached, riding quickly behind him,
And hurled his thin lance in Behuri’s direction,
Onto its girth fell the dapple-grey courser,
And the lance, flying by, was unable to graze them.
Mujo then took out his cudgel and hurled it,
But to one side sprang the dapple-grey courser,
And the cudgel flew by, was unable to strike them.
Then did the heroes assail one another,
And sabre to sabre did fight in a battle,
The sabres lost half of their length in the fighting,
Dismounting their horses, now on the ground standing,
The warriors tackled the belts of each other,
And in man-to-man combat were turning and twisting,
Neither was able to toss down the other.
The sun was descending in gold hues and colours,
Vaunting, the warriors sang out their praises,
As they were wrestling and grabbing each other,
Of all of their feats and their deeds were they bragging.
Then to Mujo did Behuri turn, saying:
“I’ve chopped the head off of so many an Aga,
Thirty of their heads do I keep in my palace,
Severed I have all their heads from their bodies.”
“But where, tell me where, are your pandours awaiting?”
Mujo then turned and of him did inquire,
“And I’m in possession of both of your daughters,
Bereft of their heads are now all of your pandours,
I left them behind on the high mountain pastures.”
Taken aback by the challenge of Mujo,
Behuri repeated his vaunting by saying:
“But thirty Agas I’ve slaughtered, oh Mujo,
And chopped off the heads of the two of their leaders,
One of their names was Dizdar Osman Aga,
And the other one was known as Zuk Bajraktari.”
Then on the spot, in no time whatsoever,
Did they hear a thunderbolt echoing distant,
Like a storm on the sea bringing frightening weather,
Like a storm in the sky with the flashing of lightning,
The warrior paused, Mujo turned to Behuri:
“Can there be thunder when skies are uncovered,
Or is it the sea which we seem to hear roaring?
There can be no thunder when skies are uncovered,
Nor is there a storm on the sea which is roaring,
For it is the din of your kullas, Behuri,
The earth is now quaking, they’re falling to ruins,
For while you were out in the courtyard, Behuri,
It was I, it was Mujo inside of your manor,
It was Mujo who broke down the door of your stables,
It was Mujo who ransacked the rooms of your kulla.
A wick did I put to the room with the powder,
And see, I have razed to the ground your fine palace!”
Mujo had vented his spleen with perfection.
Behuri in rage now railed out at him, saying:
“If I am alive and am able to do so,
I will build in its place yet another one, better,
And your head’ll be planted right in the foundations,
Be careful, Mujo, for your downfall’s approaching.”
With forearms ramming one another,
They hurled each other at the beech trees,
Their flesh all torn among the sharp rocks,
The coursers took off for the valley,
Set aflame were all the oak trees,
Singed the beech trees, all did wither.
And what gasping as they grappled,
From the meadow to a clearing
In which stood a blackened tree stump,
Mujo tripped upon it, stumbled,
The shkja got Mujo to the ground now,
Pinned him down with both hands captive,
To the mountain oras Mujo
Cried out: “Can it be you’re sleeping?
Where’s the promise that you made me?
I’ve never been worse off, oh oras.”
In flight an ora hastened to him
And into Mujo’s ear she whispered:
“Have you forgotten what I told you,
Not to start a duel on Sunday?”
“I know it well, but I was forced to,
It wasn’t me who started fighting.”
Never did he listen better:
“‘Oh look, the sun!’ shout to Behuri,
And when he turns his head to see it,
Put your hand in his left pocket,
There you’ll find a poisoned dagger,
And if you skilfully manoeuvre,
The shkja will look at you no longer.”
The ora flew off to the mountains,
How well had Mujo listened to her!
Skilfully did he address him:
“Look, we’ve stopped the sun, Behuri,
We’ve been duelling since morning
And not an inch has it moved forward.”
The shkja then turned his head to see it,
And Mujo rammed the dagger in him,
To the ground fell dead Behuri,
With Mujo lying caught beneath him.
Mujo called his steed in Turkish,
“Neath the dead shkja I’m caught lying.”
Neighing then, approached the courser,
And rolled the Slavic fighter over.
To his feet jumped Mujo, bloodied,
And chopped the head off with his sabre,
And by its whiskers he attached it
To the pommel of his saddle.
Mujo went back to the mountains,
There to find his thirty Agas,
Behuri’s girls were with Halili.
Seeing Behuri’s head was with him,
Did three Agas faint in horror.
Mujo turned to them and stated:
“Curse you, Agas of Jutbina,
How you’ve all turned into cowards,
Had alive you’d seen Behuri,
You would all have died in horror.”
Behind the peaks the sun was setting,
The moon was beaming through the beech grove,
Glowing on the mountain highway,
A wedding procession was on it,
All the escorts were on horseback,
With only one on foot, Halili,
Loudly were the maidens weeping,
The stars looked at the moon and asked it:
“Cast your light, the Earthly Beauty
Looks as if she’s lost her way now!”
Cleverly, the moon responded:
“We’re too far off to view them clearly,
But they are not the Earthly Beauties,
They’re the daughters of Behuri,
See the head at Mujo’s saddle.
They’re on the highway to Jutbina,
I who shine will be first bridesmaid,
The second bridesmaid is the ora
Who guards Halili’s foot from slipping.”
When they finally reached Jutbina,
Did they hold a celebration,
Finely feasting at the wedding,
With brides the fairest ever seen there!

[Sung by Lulash Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Hylli i Dritës, Shkodra, 1924, p. 257 sq.; Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 49-62; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 92-103. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo’s Courser

A splendid foal is born to Mujo’s mare. The Captain King is jealous and offers a reward for its capture. Arnaut Osmani betrays Mujo for the money, and the courser is spirited off to the Kingdom of the Christians. In his search for the courser, Mujo comes upon the Slavic shepherd Raspodini, whom he slays. Dressed up in the shepherd’s clothes, he receives the king’s permission to train the wild courser. Thus Mujo manages to steal his horse back. On his way home, he reflects on the injustice of the theft he has committed and returns the courser to the king. The king then commands the shepherd to escort his daughter to her wedding. During the journey, Mujo removes his disguise, captures the three hundred other escorts and the king’s daughter, and takes them back to Jutbina. The king, waiting alone in his palace, receives a letter from Mujo, and resigns himself to having a new son-in-law.





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Night was passing, moon not risen,
Mujo in his sleep was dreaming,
Dreaming that his mare was foaling,
And this foal was white as snowflakes,
A star God left upon its forehead,
Like the mountain crest its nape was,
Like a deer its legs were slender,
Woollen yarn its mane resembled.
Mujo then spoke to Ajkuna:
“Rise, Ajkuna, quickly go down
To the stable, I’ve been dreaming,
Dreaming that the mare is foaling,
And the foal’s as white as snowflakes,
A star God left upon its forehead.”
To her feet did rise Ajkuna,
Quickly taking a torch with her,
For that night the oras wandered.
When she set foot in the stable,
A foal was neighing there inside it,
When the light fell on its body,
The foal shone like the mountain snowflakes,
A star was shining on its forehead.
“Thanks to Allah,” cried Ajkuna,
Then she turned and left the stable,
Locked the stable door behind her,
And returned to Mujo’s chamber.
“I’ll be damned,” she said to Mujo,
“It’s true, the vision you saw dreaming,
Go and see it with your own eyes!”
To his feet then jumped up Mujo,
Down he hastened to the stable,
There he saw the foal in splendour,
With what pleasure did he stroke it!
Then he locked the door behind him,
And went back to see Ajkuna,
To his wife he turned and spoke out:
“Take good care of it, I beg you,
Give it wheat instead of barley,
And give it wine instead of water,
You must feed it three times daily,
For three years must keep it inside,
For three years to see no sunlight.”
Good care of it took Ajkuna,
She loved the foal and well did treat it,
The foal accepted all its fodder,
Soon thereafter was it grown up.
But in the end it grew uneasy,
And when the three full years were over,
One fine day did Mujo get up,
And go to set the saddle on it.
Talking to it in the stable:
“Come along, foal, come out with me,
And let us stroll down to the fountain,
Across the fields, across the meadows,
And over to the Christian Kingdom,
Leading Agas from Jutbina.”
Then he took the horse’s bridle,
But on the head he couldn’t get it,
The bridle was too small to fit it,
Then he took the horse’s saddle,
But on the back he couldn’t get it,
The saddle was too small to fit it.
Mujo stood there and reflected,
But very soon found the solution.
With his hand he led the foal out,
To the market did he take it,
A bridle there was made to fit it,
And for its back a fitted saddle,
The bridle was of patent leather,
Of silky threading was the saddle,
All of it was diamond-studded,
Nine belts of fine Italian metal,
Made of gold were all the horseshoes,
And all with nails of steel were fitted,
But the steed would hold no rider.
“God be with me,” he cried, mounting,
But the foal was not for taming,
Through the town it galloped wildly,
Raising dust and stones behind it,
All the townsmen were in panic,
They slammed their doors and bolted latches.
But in the end he broke the foal in,
Up the mountain paths he rode it,
Thereby tearing up the paving,
To the valley did he lead it,
In order there to better tame it,
To lie upon the ground he taught it
And then into the air to leap up,
At once to skip five ropes he taught it,
Three full hours went the lesson.
When Mujo had then finished teaching,
The foal could even saunter sideways.
To the Kingdom did he take it,
The shkjas did see them and were frightened,
Since the horse was trained and skilful,
Six feet high it jumped the hedges,
And in two leaps crossed the river.
The Captain King was told about it
And with a war cry called his people,
Turning to them, he addressed them:
“To the war ground’s come a fighter,
On a mad but comely courser,
Is there any lad among you,
Who will deign to fight a duel?”
Then spoke Galiqe Galani:
“Majesty, he is no fighter,
Mujo’s only tamed his pony,
We will easily take him prisoner.”
What was now the king’s decision?
With his army in a circle,
Did he close in upon Mujo,
Saying:”I alive will catch him.”
Mujo saw through his intention,
And started calming down his courser,
Stemming all its flame and frolic.
When the courser had stopped playing,
He turned its head towards Jutbina,
And set the foal off in a gallop,
Leaving smoke and dust behind them,
All the shkjas were in a panic,
All their traps did they abandon,
Safe and sound he reached Jutbina.
What was it the king now wanted?
“Who among you’ll catch that pony?
Three hundred purses do I offer!”
God curse him, Arnaut Osmani,
When he heard the proclamation,
Slipped at night into the Kingdom,
To the king’s door did go knocking,
Lying prostrate did he greet him,
And looking at the king, addressed him:
“I’m humbled by your reputation,
A great reward they say you’ve offered,
To him who catches Mujo’s pony.
If you offer me the money,
I’ll show you how to catch the pony.”
What was it the king now answered?
“Yes, I’ll offer you the money,
If you catch me Mujo’s pony!”
Then replied Arnaut Osmani:
“A week from now I’ll cut my son’s hair,
In front of Mujo, his godfather,
Mujo’ll canter to the courtyard,
I’ll go out as host to hail him,
I’ll take the pony by the bridle,
And lead it down into the stable,
Leaving on it reins and saddle,
Ajar will be the stable doorway.
You, oh king, must too be present,
But take good care that no one sees you.
When Mujo lifts and holds his godchild,
I will break out into laughter,
You, oh king, will rise and steal forth,
And the stable you will enter,
Seize the pony by its bridle
And take it with you from the courtyard,
Turn its head down towards the Kingdom,
And set the foal off in a gallop,
Safe and sound you’ll reach the Kingdom,
Should even all Jutbina follow,
None of them will ever catch you,
Farewell, Captain King, I wish you!”
“And you, farewell, Arnaut Osmani!”
When seven days had passed thereafter,
The king then donned his robes and footwear,
And took the road up to Jutbina,
To Arnaut Osmani, hiding.
At early dawn before the sunrise
Mujo rose from bed that morning,
The foal he saddled and got ready,
And when done, the foal he mounted,
Departing for Arnaut Osmani.
Arnaut went out to greet him,
And took the pony by the bridle,
How he loved it, how he stroked it,
And led it down into the stable,
Leaving on it reins and saddle,
And ajar the stable doorway,
Then they sat down on the matting,
Had their coffee and tobacco,
Then spoke up Arnaut Osmani:
“Oh, great Bylykbashi Mujo,
Won’t you come and hold your godchild?”
Mujo turned to him, responding:
“As you wish, I’m at your service,”
And Mujo took and held the godchild,
Then laughed out Arnaut Osmani,
The Captain King could hear him clearly,
And rising, went down to the stable,
There he found the pony saddled
And led it out into the courtyard,
With a leap the king did mount it,
And turning, set off for the Kingdom,
Leaving smoke and dust behind him.
The pony set off at a gallop,
Mujo saw what viper’d bit him,
From the room he’d noticed noises,
And laying on the floor the godchild,
Mujo looked out of the window,
But not a thing did Mujo see there,
The pony leaping had long bolted,
Leaving smoke and dust behind it,
Dust which covered hills and valleys,
Whitening them as does a snowstorm.
In panic was Arnaut Osmani,
Mujo hastened to the stable,
And searched through it for the pony,
Was distressed to find it missing.
Mujo set out for his courser,
Calling to it in the valleys,
Calling to it in the mountains.
He climbed to the mountain pastures,
And there he came across a shepherd,
He was shepherd Raspodini,
“Greetings to you,” spoke out Mujo,
“Greetings,” replied Raspodini,
Then the men sat down together,
Mujo turned to him, remarking:
“I’ve long heard of you now, Raspo,
They say we look like one another,
Will you lend me now your shishak?”
The shkja to Mujo gave the shishak,
In return got Mujo’s headpiece,
Now he looked like Raspodini.
Mujo then took out his sabre,
He struck the shkja and chopped his head off,
Then he grabbed from him his garments,
Taking them, he dressed up in them,
How well they fitted him, the garments!
Mujo looked like Raspodini,
Taking up the staff and crook now,
He went off, the king to visit.
Lying prostrate did he greet him,
Looking down, the king addressed him:
“Why’ve you left your herd, oh Raspo?”
What is it that Mujo answered?
“I’ve heard, oh king, of your great exploit,
You stole the foal away from Mujo,
And I have come to praise, commend you.”
What was it the king now answered?
“The pony is of no use to me,
But I wonder how he does without it,
Ever since the day I seized it,
It’s been kept down in the stable,
No one is allowed to enter,
For the pony has been raging,
With its hooves it kicks out wildly,
And with its teeth its gnaws and gnashes,
We throw fodder through the window.”
What is it that Mujo uttered?
“Give me, oh king, your permission,
To go down and to see the courser,
With star and moon upon its forehead.”
The king did grant him his permission,
Mujo opened up the stable,
And slapped the pony on its buttocks,
“Patience, or the wolf will get you!”
He put his arms around the foal’s mane,
And led the pony to the courtyard,
To the king he turned and uttered:
“In the name of God Almighty,
Give me, king, the reins and saddle,
So that I can tame your pony.”
The king was in agreement, saying:
“Let him saddle up the pony.”
Mujo jumped onto the pony,
But fearing he’d fly to Jutbina,
The king went out and locked the gateway,
Placing bodyguards before them.
But his care did not avail him,
Mujo forthwith spurred his courser,
And with a leap, they scaled the courtyard,
Escaping into the wide valley,
He set the foal off in a gallop,
Leaving smoke and dust behind them.
What was now the king’s reaction?
To the tower roof he climbed up,
Took in hand his field glass with him,
And with it searched the wide valley,
Intent he was on finding Mujo.
How the king was now regretting
That he’d given him the pony.
On what was Mujo now reflecting
When he reached Jutbina’s borders?
His actions, he thought, had been shameful,
“I stole the foal, it was dishonest.”
Once again the horse he guided,
And to the king did he remit it,
To the king he turned and stated:
“You’ll ne’er find a better pony,
Now it’s yours, may you enjoy it,
To my herd will I now hasten.”
The king inclined to him and uttered:
“To your herd you’ll not return now,
May the wolf devour them, Raspo.
You know my daughter’s to be married,
And we maintain an ancient custom
To find the best man as an escort,
I’ve the shepherd Raspodini,
A man who’s skilled in words and fighting.”
The shepherds wrote their king a letter,
But first of all did Mujo get it,
Mujo took it and he read it,
What was written in the letter?
“Oh Captain King, we send our greetings,
Watch out for Gjeto Basho Mujo,
For he is in disguise and dressed up,
Wearing Raspodini’s garments,
And Raspodini did he slaughter,
Now he’s off to steal your courser
And perchance to chop your head off.”
With what care he read the letter!
And after reading it, he burnt it.
The shepherds then wrote other letters,
Which Mujo once more intercepted,
Read and threw into the fireplace.
The wedding day was now approaching,
With heralds did they call the people,
Three hundred guests they hand selected,
Got three hundred saddled horses,
Got three hundred martial sabres,
All had now made themselves ready.
What did the king then say to Mujo?
“Stand up, shepherd Raspodini,
Gird on your armour and make ready,
Put on other, finer garments,
Put on Mujo’s steed a saddle.”
In an instant jumped up Mujo
And set a saddle on the courser.
The king did give him arms and sabre,
Mujo seized them with his right hand,
And for his size did he adjust them,
Then among the shkjas he swaggered.
The king now spoke out to his daughter:
“Arise, my Rusha, family’s honour,
Arise and don your bridal garments,
And swiftly come out to your escorts.”
Rusha did obey her father,
Going in, she donned her bride gown,
And swiftly did she join the escorts.
Forthwith set out the procession,
Mujo Gjeto Basho led it,
Right beside him the king’s daughter,
On the road straight to the bridegroom.
There they sat down on the matting,
And with food and drink were welcomed,
Mujo slowly sipped his coffee,
Closely watched by the shkja mother.
Sitting, she observed the party,
And to the escorts turned, proclaiming:
“God damn it, men, do you not see him?
Don’t you know Gjeto Basho Mujo?
Much dispute have we had with him
And with him you now eat dinner,
Sitting right beside him, escorts?”
The escorts turned to her and answered:
“Come on now, you silly woman,
Of a shkja you make a Muslim?
He’s no Turk of Turkish mother,
He’s a shkja of Slavic mother,
He’s the shepherd Raspodini,
Who tomorrow’ll wed your daughter.”
The Slavic woman then desisted.
They took to eating, took to drinking,
Struck a song up, started singing,
Rose to dance and started dancing,
Took to games and started gaming,
Making merry till the sun rose.
The escorts girded on their armour,
370      At the lead Bylykbashi Mujo,
Hand in hand with the king’s daughter.
When they reached an ample meadow,
There did Mujo turn and halt them,
With his spurs he spun the courser,
And stood before the Slavic fighters,
Scanning them, did he address them:
“Oh three hundred Slavic fighters,
The day has come to show your courage,
Either fight me on the war grounds,
Or I’ll force you to Jutbina,
For I’m not the goatherd Raspo,
I am Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
The shkjas all bowed their heads in silence,
None of them did dare to speak out,
None did dare accept the challenge,  
None was willing to do battle.
Mujo had them march before him,
Three hundred escorts taken prisoner,
And two maidens had he captured,
For himself was the king’s daughter,
The other maiden for Halili,
Off he took them to Jutbina.
The king was waiting in his palace
For the arrival of the escorts,
Dark and gloomy was that feast night,
Not one escort did arrive there.
In Jutbina was the wedding,
And all Jutbina was invited,
Nine days and nine nights the feasting,
Once nine days and nights were over,
What was Mujo contemplating?
Cunningly he wrote a letter,
To the king’s hand did he send it,
The king, receiving it, did read it,
And what indeed was in the letter?
“Oh Captain King, I send my greetings,
Three hundred shkjas I’ve taken prisoner,
And two maidens have I captured,
I wasn’t Raspo of the Kingdom,
I was Mujo of Jutbina.”
“I’ll never have,” the king said sighing,
“A son-in-law more sly than this one.”

[Recorded in Shala (District of Shkodra). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 70-80; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 109-118. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Young Omeri

A baloz challenges an old man to a duel. He has no sons, so his daughter offers to fight on his behalf. Dressed as a boy on her way to the war grounds, she visits the home of Ali, to whom she is betrothed. Ali is agitated at the beauty of the boy and asks his mother for advice. The mother suspects that the visitor, calling himself young Omeri, is indeed a girl and has her son test him with musical instruments and games. But the girl does not betray her true gender, even when they spend the night together. The love-struck Ali proposes to make young Omeri his blood brother. The girl refuses, saying she must fight a baloz first, but will then return. The girl slays the baloz and returns to her father. Time then comes for her to marry and she is escorted to her husband’s home. Ali is distraught that his blood brother has not returned. The bride appears at the door and explains to him that she is young Omeri, and everyone rejoices.





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Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
Once there was a man so old that
No more sons were in his household,
He was challenged by a baloz
And received from it a letter,
The old man read out the epistle,
From his eyes streamed tears of sorrow,
“A week from now I must go duelling,”
His daughter turned to him, inquiring:
“For God’s sake, father, what’s the matter,
What’s in the letter you’ve been reading,
That makes your eyes stream tears of sorrow?”
“Nothing, maid, may God protect you,
We have fallen into danger,
Since my birth the worst I’ve been in,
For I’ve been challenged by a baloz,
But I’m too old and too forsaken,
I can no longer go out duelling.”
His daughter turned to him, responding:
“Don’t you worry now, oh father,
May the dawn bring luck tomorrow,
You put on your shoes and garments
And see the Agas of Jutbina,
The Agas will not let you suffer.”
Did the dawn bring luck the next day?
The old man put on shoes and garments
And set off early for Jutbina,
There, assembling thirty Agas,
He explained the situation:
“I’ve been challenged by a baloz,
And must fight with him a duel.
What am I to do, oh Agas,
For I’m too old, too forsaken?”
Not a word the Agas uttered,
Not a glance did he get from them,
Even when he offered money,
They refused and would not touch it.
The old man, to his feet arising,
Left them and mounted his courser.
When he got back home and went in,
His daughter asked him what had happened:
“How was it, did you find the Agas?”
“No one listened to me, daughter,
No one deigned to take my money,
None would help me with the duel.”
“Come now, father, don’t you worry,
I’ll be your son and face the baloz,
I’ll not let you go, oh father.”
“No, my girl, may God protect you,
In two weeks you’re getting married,
How could you now go out duelling,
How could you take up the challenge?
If you’re beheaded by the baloz
Twice would be the shame I’d suffer,
At my age I’d be dishonoured,
So I’ll go, gird on my armour,
It’s no loss if I should perish.”
But the daughter wouldn’t listen,
Quickly to her feet arising,
Did she dress and don her armour,
Setting off then for the barber,
Like a boy she had her hair cut,
Now a boy her face resembled.
The old man could not stop his daughter,
And so he started to instruct her:
“On the road that you’ll be taking,
Is the home of your new husband.
When you finally reach that village,
You will find there many houses,
And you’ll see the whitest of them.
Three floors high within that manor
Is your future husband living,
So keep away, you must not enter!”
The maiden then did mount her courser,
And like the wind in flight she set off.
When she reached the other village,
With her field glass did she spy it,
With her hand upon her forehead,
For ‘twas dusk, the sun was setting.
With an oath to the Almighty,
Swore the maid and was determined
That she’d see her husband’s manor.
There dismounting, she approached it,
On the door she knocked and shouted.
Hearing, Ali came to greet her:
“Who are you, lad, at the doorway?”
“May I have your leave to enter?”
“Come right in, you are most welcome.”
They led the courser to the stable,
And then they went into the manor,
Her host made for her sweetened coffee,
Gave it to her and she took it.
There he sat and watched her drinking,
Noticed how she sipped her coffee.
Now profoundly agitated,
He arose to see his mother.
When he found her, Ali uttered:
“Listen, in God’s name, oh mother,
We’ve a guest who’s now arrived here
With skin so white to my amazement,
I noticed how he sipped his coffee,
I’ve never seen a fellow like him.”
To him replied the worried mother:
“Maybe he’s in fact a woman,
Give him a flute and let him play it,
And also hand him a lahuta,
Roll the rug out, play the ring game.”
When they finished food and drinking,
He asked the lad:”Where do you come from?”
She replied:”I’m young Omeri.”
They gave the lad a flute to play on,
And beautifully performed she on it,
How quickly did her fingers scale it,
Skilfully she breathed and blew it.
Then they gave her a lahuta,
And beautifully did she now stroke it,
Striking up a tune and singing.
They rolled a rug out, played the ring game,
But Ali was all three times beaten.
Again profoundly agitated,
Ali rose to see his mother,
When he found her, did he utter:
“I was in the game thrice beaten,
And he plays well the lahuta
None at fluting could be better,
I shall make him my blood brother!”
Mindful did the mother listen
To her son and then instructed:
“Retire together to the bedroom,
If she’s female, you will know it,
For she’ll find no sleep beside you.”
Together they went to the bedroom,
The bedding was laid out before them,
All night slept soundly the maiden,
With the boy beside her watching,
Not once did she even wake up.
When dawn drew near, the sun arising,
The boy went to his mother, saying:
“By God I swear to you, oh mother,
He went to bed and slept profoundly.”
The mother turned to him, responding:
“Go down to the master’s store now
And a brass flute purchase from him,
And also buy a gilded distaff.
Place the two things at the doorway,
If she’s female, you will know it,
She’ll cast her eyes upon the distaff.”
Without delay the boy departed,
And to the master’s store he hastened,
Purchasing both flute and distaff,
Flute and distaff did he pay for,
And turning, to his home departed
To place them at Omeri’s doorway.
The maid put on her shoes and garments,
And went out swiftly to the doorway,
First she kicked the distaff over,
And with her white hands took the flute up,
No one could catch up that maiden.
Then they drank their sweetened coffee,
Exchanging words of conversation.
Listen to what Ali uttered:
“Omeri, come, be my blood brother!”
“By God I swear,” replied Omeri,
“I do not wish to make you suffer,
For I must leave to fight the baloz,
And only God knows how I’ll manage,
And what if I should be defeated,
And with my head chopped off be vanquished,
You’d be left to grieve in sorrow.
But if with luck I do survive it,
I will turn up at your doorway.”
Ali then did bid her farewell,
Shaking hands, the maid departed,
Swiftly did she mount her courser,
And giving it the spurs, she set off.
Very soon she reached the war grounds,
And dismounting, took her rest there,
To God she prayed for his assistance.
The sea baloz appeared before her,
And shouted forth: “Damn you, Omeri,
Why did Mujo let you come here?
You’re far too young for me to slaughter!”
“No one’s frightened by your bragging,
Whose turn shall it be, oh baloz?”
They sat poised upon their coursers,
“You flee first, boy,” said the baloz,
And set off in pursuit behind her.
With what speed the coursers galloped!
How fiercely did they hurl their cudgels!
And yet the maid remained uninjured,
Then they battled with their sabres,
And in the clashing of the metal
The monster’s sabre broke to splinters.
The maid then struck him with her sabre,
And lifeless to the ground did launch him,
From her steed she sprang and slew him
But the head could she not tackle,
For the skull was so enormous.
Then she shouted to her courser:
“You get back here now, God damn you,
Or I’ll sell you as a workhorse,
And loads of coal will you be lugging!”
Carting coal dismayed the courser
Which to its knees fell in a hollow,
And as it rested on its knees there,
The maiden rolled the head up to it,
Casting it onto the courser.
Heading towards the road she set off,
Returning to her home she journeyed.
She stopped en route to see her husband,
And there with song and drink made merry.
They set the table, ate their dinner,
Then played games with one another.
When the sun came up the next day,
Did the maid prepare to leave him.
Ali spoke to stop her leaving:
“Where are you going now, Omeri?
Today we will become blood brothers!”
“I swear,” replied to him Omeri,
“That I’ve brought no money with me,
But, giving you my word, I promise
In a week’s time you’ll be married,
And in a week’s time I will meet you,
Then will we become blood brothers!”
Ali trusting her, acceded,
And she made her homeward journey.
The old man at the door did greet her,
It was her father who, delighted,
Summoned all Jutbina to him,
One whole day did they spend feasting,
Then came the time for her to marry.
Ali sent one hundred escorts,
The flautists with their flutes made music,
The horsemen fine upon their coursers,
All day long were heard the singers,
With rifle shots and drums a-beating,
Until they got to Ali’s manor,
A thousand escorts altogether,
For all of them there was a banquet.
Ali looked out all around him,
Nowhere seeing his blood brother,
Nowhere in the crowd did find him.
“Stop the drums and songs,” he shouted,
“I see that my brother’s perished,
A week has passed since he was guest here,
And gave his word of honour, saying:
If alive, I will be with you,
Among the first guests you will find me.”
The singing stopped, they all stood rigid,
And no one whispered to his neighbours.
The bride then spoke to her new mother:
“Summon Ali to the doorway!”
Ali went out to the threshold,
Then the young bride spoke to Ali,
Then the young bride promised, swearing:
“Slay me if you wish, oh Ali,
It was I, your guest of honour.”
“Come then, join the celebration!”
Ali went back to the guest room,
“Let us drink, friends, and make merry,
For my brother’s finally with me!”
Or so they say, for I was not there.

[Sung by Mirash Ndou of Shosh (District of Shkodra). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 81-88; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 119-125. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Zuku Bajraktar

Zuku Bajraktar captures the Slavic warrior Baloz Sedelija and takes him home as his prisoner. His mother secretly falls in love with the baloz and offers to free him. The baloz is afraid of Zuku’s strength, so the mother offers to blind her son. The mother taunts Zuku, telling him his father was stronger and could burst ten ropes tied around him. Zuku lets himself be bound and is thus captured by the mother, who blinds both him and his courser. Wandering aimlessly in the mountains, the blind Zuku is met by an ora who restores his sight with some herbs and tells him to take vengeance. A friend of Zuku’s advises him to dress as a beggar and steal his way into his mother’s home. At midnight, Zuku slays the baloz and reveals himself to the horrified mother. In the forest, Zuku ties the mother to a beech tree, covers her in pitch and burns her to death. “May God give no one such a mother.”





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When Zuku Bajraktar was living,
What a splendid lad he looked, and
Strove to be just like his father.
The lad, they say, got up one morning,
Saddled his horse and girded on armour,
He seized his rifle, took it with him,
He snatched his cudgel and his sabre,
And turning did he mount his courser,
To hunt up in the mountain pastures.
Through many pastures did he wander,
But nowhere was there game to shoot at,
No shkja fighters for the slaying,
Zuku cursed the mountain pastures:
“May no game graze on these pastures,
And may no çeta come here raiding!”
But there beside him was his ora,
She’d been watching out for Zuku,
The ora turned to him and spoke out:
“Do not curse the pastures, Zuku,
Have a look into your field glass,
There, you’ll see the game for hunting,
A band of shkjas out on a sortie.”
Zuku looked into his field glass,
There he saw the game for hunting,
Saw the shkjas out on a sortie.
He went riding to pursue them,
And came upon two great shkja fighters:
One was Smilaliq Alija,
The other Baloz Sedelija.
God did grant the lad good fortune,
He slaughtered Smilaliq Alija,
And captured Baloz Sedelija,
And then returned home with his prisoner.
He locked his prisoner in a chamber
Hands and feet bound, with a trap door.
Zuku turned to his mother, saying:
“These nine chambers may you open,
But the last one do not enter.”
But what did mother do, the poor thing?
She watched the baloz through the closet
And staring at him, did desire him,
Approaching, she addressed the baloz:
“Shall I open up the chamber,
Shall I free you from your shackles?”
The baloz turned to her and answered:
“By the grace of God be quick now,
Swiftly open up the chamber,
Swiftly free me from my shackles.”
The bitch, addressing him, responded:
“Give me first your word of honour,
That you’ll take me for your wife now.”
So said Baloz Sedelija:
“I can’t take you for my wife now,
For your son is a great hero,
I am far too frightened of him,
For he’ll seize us both and slay us.”
The bitch, addressing him, responded:
“With my son we’ll have no problem,
I can easily deceive him,
I’ll then tie his hands and feet up,
Then I’ll blind him, gouge his eyes out,
And carve the eyes out of his courser,
I’ll put the boy onto his courser
And send him off into the mountains
Up there he will be abandoned,
And the bears and wolves will eat him.”
The baloz gave his word of honour:
“I will take you for my wife now.”
To her son returned the mother:
“God damn you, little son, my Zuku,
You’re no hero like your granddad,
Nor as strong as was your father,
He could knock down ancient beech trees
And could lift up weighty boulders,
No work did he leave unfinished,
He slaughtered lads before they grew up,
Kidnapped seven-year-old maidens,
Often did he go to battle,
And never left his prisoners living,
When with ten ropes they bound and tied him,
All ten ropes at once he ruptured!”
The boy now trembled and responded:
“I will be just like my father,
In fact, I’ll be a greater hero.
Though I’m only thirteen years old,
I sliced down three shkjas with my sabre,
And made a prisoner of a baloz.
Take ten ropes and tie me with them,
And ten ropes I’ll break like father.”
The mother took ten ropes and bound him,
Little Zuku could not break them,
The more the boy now strove to rend them,
The more his skin was lacerated,
And in pain he started screaming,
But the mother did not free him,
Rather weighed his feet in shackles
And his hands she bound in fetters,
Then she went to see the baloz,
Taking with her wine and raki,
Well with food and drink they feasted.
And when midnight was upon them,
What was Zuku’s mother doing?
She heated pokers in the fireplace,
And with them she put his eyes out,
And with them the courser blinded,
She placed the boy onto his courser
And bound his legs under its belly,
And sent him off into the mountains,
There to leave the boy abandoned,
So that the bears or wolves would eat him.
Oh, have mercy, God Almighty,
How the boy wept and lamented,
How the courser shrieked and cried out,
“What’s wrong, courser, why the howling?
If I had the eyes I once had,
We’d do many deeds of daring,
But now my mother’s gouged my eyes out,
And I don’t know where to take you.”
To the boy replied the courser:
“How can I find drinking water,
How can I get leaves as fodder?
I’m so weakened by my hunger
And can’t see where I am going.”
How the courser kept on neighing,
Making deaf the mountain pastures!
But the mountain oras heard it,
And heard Zuku and approached him,
And of Zuku they inquired:
“What is all this noise here, young man?”
“I can’t speak to tell you, oras,
For my mouth is blocked by foaming,
For my tongue has now been shortened,
For my mother, she did blind me.”
The oras turned to him, responding:
“You must give your word of honour,
To take vengeance on your mother,
We’ll restore your eyesight to you,
And make your eyes as you once had them.”
The boy gave them his word of honour:
“I’ll take vengeance on my mother,
Who dares treat her son as she did,
Shan’t remain among the living,”
The oras, having heard him speaking,
Left to find a mountain flower,
There they plucked an alpine blossom,
And on the boy’s eyes did press it,
Three drops alone were quite sufficient,
Then they washed and cleansed his eyes out,
And to him restored his eyesight,
Made his eyes as he’d once had them.
The oras left, the boy departed,
To go and see his one companion,
There ten days and nights he rested,
Until his body’s strength is recovered,
To his friend he turned and uttered:
“I gave the oras my word of honour
That I’d take vengeance on my mother.”
Zuku’s friend was of great wisdom,
And did teach him what to do next:
“Put old clothes and shoes on, Zuku,
Carry a ragged sack now with you,
So you’ll look just like a beggar.
Walk the road and see your mother,
And try to get in through the doorway.”
The boy then put old clothes and shoes on,
He took a beggar’s staff to lean on,
And a sack for round his shoulders,
This he filled with several wheat corns.
To his courser did he speak then:
“You go your way, I’ll go my way,
For today I must take vengeance
No one else has ever taken,
Did you hear me, my good courser?
Wander freely, my white courser,
For when at last the day is over,
Searching door to door, I’ll find you.”
Zuku, dressed up like a beggar,
Appeared before his mother’s doorway,
The mother looked but did not know him.
She cast some grain into his old sack,
Full of holes through which it tumbled,
Zuku bent down to collect it,
Picking until night stole on them,
Then he turned and asked his mother:
“I beg you, let me spend the night here!”
This is what the mother answered:
“No, I cannot let you enter.”
Once again Zuku implored her:
“I beg you, let me spend the night here,
For the steep hill to this kulla
Has been too much for my kneecaps,
And I fear the wolves will eat me
Before tonight I reach the village.”
The baloz shouted to the mother:
“Why not let the beggar enter?
You’ll put me otherwise to shame here,
For I’ve never left a guest out,
Rise and open up now quickly!”
So they opened up the doorway,
And set the boy beside the fireplace,
Bread and salt they offered Zuku,
But he refused to touch his dinner,
Fearing some trick from his mother,
When at last came time for sleeping,
Did they give him little bedding,
A bit of straw served as a mattress,
And as covers served the house beams.
The baloz retired with the mother,
Well with food and drink they feasted,
And the two of them made merry
Til they fell asleep together,
And when midnight was upon them
The boy rose to his feet, awake now,
There the wooden chest he opened,
Dressed in his Hungarian garments,
Girded on his golden sabre,
The blade he sharpened, dipped in poison.
With a kick he broke the door down,
But neither of them was awakened,
Then he pounded on the floorboards
And this time did wake the woman.
The mother saw her son before her,
The viper sprang forth to embrace him,
“You have no son to kiss,” cried Zuku,
“Go and kiss the man you’ve taken,
Had you wanted to embrace me,
You’d have looked me in the eyeballs,
For I’m not a beggar begging,
Your first-born son now stands before you
Whose father’s dead and mother’s evil.”
Hastily he drew his sabre,
A mighty kick he gave the baloz,
And with his voice let out a war cry:
“Rise, oh shkja, may God confound you,
Whose eyes did you once dare to gouge out?
Whose hands and feet did you once tie up?
Know who Zuku Bajraktar is!”
To his feet now jumped the baloz,
Only twice did Zuku strike him,
Causing head and arm to plummet,
The head, he seized it by the whiskers
And hurled it bumping down the staircase,
He fixed his eyes then on his mother,
“Don’t be like that,” said the mother,
“For he’s not been a bad husband,
A friend he was of your forefathers.”
“Wish you’d never been my mother!
What kind of friend of my forefathers
Would shame my father in his coffin?
But you’re, woman, like all women,
Put no store in what you utter,
You had one infant, your own son,
And him you blinded for a lover.
Tell me, mother, one thing only,
How is it you wish to perish?
Covered up with tar and brimstone,
And your two feet set on fire?
Or shall I tie you to my courser
For, may you know, I’ve my horse back,
And, as you see, I’ve my eyes back,
These my eyes which you did gouge out,
The oras gave me back my eyesight.
The earth cannot bear such a mother,
For as long as there’s been sunlight,
Son by mother’s ne’er been blinded.”
“If that’s the way you treat a mother,
You will put yourself to shame, son.”
“What you did will be done to you,
You to me and I to you now,
Think and choose the death you wish for.”
The mother took flight to the neighbours,
And told the people of her trouble:
“Farewell to you, friends and neighbours,
For ne’er more will I now see you.”
All the neighbours fell before him
And begged the boy for mercy, saying:
“Do not do this to your mother.”
“It’s no more than she did to me,”
Said the boy and would not listen.
Instead, he took with him his sabre,
And in the forest felled a beech tree,
Two hundred years old was the beech tree,
And chopped the tree into four pieces,
At the crossroads did he plant them
And to them did he tie his mother,
Set her up as an example,
For dealing with such crime and evil.
With tar and pitch did Zuku paint her,
And at her head and feet laid fire
So that her soul would flee such evil.
Ten days and nights he left her burning,
May God give no one such a mother!
And may the world be as it once was,
And may God grant our salvation.

[Recorded in Shala (District of Shkodra). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 89-96; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 126-132. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Arnaut Osmani and Hyso Radoica

The Slavic warrior Hyso Radoica is determined to have Arnaut Osmani’s wife for his bride. In the spring, he steals over the mountains to Jutbina and captures her at the fountain. Arnaut Osmani sends the king a message written in blood, demanding that he order Hyso to the war grounds for a duel. The two men fight savagely until they can no longer see anything through all the blood. During a pause, they begin talking and discover that they are brothers, separated in early years during a raid on their native town of Zahara. Hyso proposes that they ride to Zahara in search of their mother. The long-suffering mother, seeing her two grown-up sons before her, dies from the shock and is buried. The two men and the bride then return to Jutbina to celebrate their reunion.





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Thirty captains were assembled,
At their feast did they start drinking,
Drinking red wine and white raki,
With red wine their cheeks were flushing,        
And their tongues did raki loosen,
Thirty captains were conversing,
Teasing Hyso Radoica:
“Damn you, Hyso Radoica,
Why don’t you get married, Hyso?
All your peers are wed already
And you haven’t found a bride yet,
Are you afraid of the expenses,
Afraid to hold a wedding banquet?”
Then spoke Hyso Radoica:
“I’m not afraid of the expenses,
But I don’t want just any maiden,
I’ll have no bride outside Jutbina,
I’ll have Arnaut Osmani’s maiden
Or I’ll stay unwed forever.”
Thirty captains then did speak up:
“Damn you, Hyso Radoica,
Grave the words that you have spoken,
They’ve placed a heavy burden on you.
Before you, we had all endeavoured
But could not marry in Jutbina.
Should you seize the bride and get her,
You’ll not keep her more than one day,
Twenty-four-years-old’s her husband,
He’s been victor in three battles,
And three fighters did he slaughter,
You are thirty-years-old, Hyso,
You’ve not fought a single battle.”
Then spoke Hyso Radoica:
“Listen to me, thirty captains,
Now it’s winter, spring is coming,
When the trees bud in the mountains,
Fields are full of grass and flowers,
I’ll leave my black horse on the meadows
Several days for it to graze there,
Then one day I’ll rise and catch it,
Put a saddle on the black horse
And a harness and then, mounting,
Will I ride off to Jutbina.
I give you, men, my word of honour:
I’ll have Arnaut Osmani’s maiden
Or leave my head back in Jutbina.”
Then they got up from the meeting.
Winter passed and spring was coming,
The trees were budding in the mountains,
Fields were full of grass and flowers,
What of Hyso Radoica?
He left his black horse on the meadows,
Several days for it to graze there,
Then one day he rose and caught it,
He put a saddle on the black horse
And a harness and then, mounting,
Rode up to the mountain pastures,
And the pastures left behind him,
Rode down to Jutbina’s flat land,
Across the broad plains did he journey,
Til he reached Jutbina’s fountain,
There encountered thirty maidens,
“Greetings to you, thirty maidens.”
“Greetings to you also, stranger.”
“Excuse me, may I ask you, maidens,
Where’s Arnaut Osmani’s kulla,
For the lad is my blood brother,
Long have I not been to see him.
Many kullas have been built here
I don’t know which one’s my brother’s.”
Then the thirty maidens told him:
“His kulla’s easy to distinguish,
It’s the one beside the river,
All around it there are gardens,
You will see how fair they blossom.”
“Excuse me, may I ask you, maidens,
Who’s Arnaut Osmani’s bride here,
For I’m not sure if I’d know her?”
The thirty maidens then responded:
“His bride is easy to distinguish,
She’s the fairest one among us,
Never has a word she spoken,
Nor lifted up her eyes to goggle.”
Then spoke Hyso Radoica:
“Who’s the bride of my blood brother?
Such a long way have I travelled,
I am parched from the long journey,
Give me water, bride, to drink of!”
The bride refused to give him water.
The thirty maidens cried out to her:
“Damn it, maiden, don’t you see
The lad before you is a stranger?
If we do not give him water,
We will shame all of Jutbina.”
The bride acceded to the maidens
Went and filled a jug with water,
And she held it out to give him.
What now Hyso Radoica?
With his fist her hand he grappled,
Seizing it, he raised her to him,
Set her on the black horse with him,
And with a belt he tied her to him.
The captive bride was caterwauling,
The thirty maidens loudly clamoured,
And all Jutbina was in an uproar.
When Osmani heard them screaming
He was then without his courser,
To his feet he jumped and, shouting,
Set off for the mountain pastures.
On a hill among the pastures
Did he sit and take position,
Then his field glass did he fetch, and
Looking through it did he study
All the highway to the Kingdom,
But nowhere got a glimpse of Hyso.
The lad was in a state of anguish,
For he couldn’t capture Hyso.
Racing through the mountain pastures,
Almost out of breath and panting,
From his mouth the blood was streaming,
All the oak trees smeared in scarlet,
One large oak leaf did he pluck off
And with blood did he inscribe it,
To his knees the lad descended,
Sent a prayer to the Almighty:
“Raise a wind, Lord, and a cyclone,
Raise and send this oak leaf flying
To float down to the king’s chamber,
May the king then find and read it,
Sending Hyso to the war grounds.”
God raised a wind and raised a cyclone
Sent the oak leaf off a-flying,
It floated into the king’s chamber.
The king was sitting on his sofa,
Saw the oak leaf’s sanguine writing,
Quite astounded, did he catch it,
Took the bloody leaf and read it,
“Arnaut conveys his greetings,
For you’re ruler of the Kingdom,
Send me Hyso Radoica,
For my bride today he’s stolen.
I’ll be waiting on the war grounds.”
The king called out and summoned Hyso,
To great Hyso did he cry out:
“Damn you, Hyso Radoica,
I told you not to steal his maiden,
Not one day will you retain her,
He is waiting on the war grounds,
Since his bride you’ve taken from him.”
What of Hyso Radoica?
Swiftly did he write a letter,
Gave it to a Slavic runner,
Sent it to Arnaut Osmani,
When the shkja got to the mountains
Did he find Arnaut Osmani,
Who shouted to the runner, saying:
“What’s your business in the mountains?”
“I seek Arnaut Osmani,
As I have a letter for him.”
“Come, for I’m the one you’re seeking.”
He took the letter from the runner,
Got the message and did read it,
Greetings were there in the letter:
“You are Arnaut Osmani
Waiting for me on the war grounds,
I’m not ready for the duel,
You will have to wait till Sunday,
Sunday I’ll come to the war grounds
And bring the bride up to the pastures.
The one who, fighting, slays the other
With the bride will be rewarded.
For her safety do not worry.”
Hyso sent his word of honour
That he’d treat her like a sister.
Arnaut was very happy,
Pondered to himself, deciding:
“I’m as happy as I would be
If my bride were right beside me.”
Stuck his hand into his pocket,
A tip he gave the Slavic runner,
And turning, went back to Jutbina.
Friends and comrades came to see him,
To console him for the lost bride,
But not a word he said about it.
Came the long-awaited Sunday,
In a pensive mood he wakened,
Put his clothes and shoes and arms on,
His steed tied to posts, he saddled,
Climbed the stairs up to his kulla,
Wandered through the many chambers,
Taking leave of his dear kulla,
He closed the door behind him, saying:
“Fare thee well, oh home, my kulla,”
Then onto his steed he clambered,
Rode up to the mountain pastures,
And when he reached the highest of them,
He found no one on the meadows,
There he finally stopped, dismounting,
Took a look round with his field glass,
Seeing Hyso Radoica,
Who was riding on his courser,
And a little way behind him
The bride a saddled mare was riding.
To himself said Arnaut Osmani:
“A man of honour, this shkja hero,
Since he came up to the war grounds.
Had he been a thug or gypsy,
He’d lie with the bride to spite me,
He’s indeed a man of honour.”
Shortly, very soon thereafter
Came forth Hyso Radoica.
“Greetings, Arnaut Osmani,”
“Greetings, Hyso Radoica,
Dismount, Hyso Radoica,
You are tired from your journey.”
Then spoke Hyso Radoica:
“I haven’t come to sit here with you,
Rise, let’s be off to the war grounds,
Today you’ll see a man before you,
You’ll know Hyso Radoica.”
Then cried Arnaut Osmani:
“I wanted you to rest a little,
For when we meet upon the war grounds
You will see this lad before you,
You’ll know Arnaut Osmani.”
He rose and jumped onto his courser,
They started fighting with their cudgels,
But their cudgels snapped asunder,
Then the two men drew their sabres,
Fought and lunged at one another,
Both were hurt, in blood were covered,
But their sabres soon were broken,
Then they jumped down off their horses,
Seized the throats of one another,
The heroes wrestled in the meadow,
Digging with their boots upon it,
Till the meadow was all ploughed up,
Blood bespattered the two heroes,
And their eyes with blood were streaming,
But more the eyes of Radoica,
Both his eyes with blood were streaming
So that he had lost his vision,
Thus spoke Hyso Radoica:
“Hear me, Arnaut Osmani,
Both my eyes with blood are streaming,
So that I have lost my vision,
Let us talk to one another,
Let the bride bring us some water,
So that we can wash our faces,
Wipe the blood around our eyes off,
So we can again do battle.”
So they talked to one another,
And the bride brought them some water,
So that they could wash their faces,
And wipe the blood around their eyes off.
There they sat with one another,
And while sitting started drinking,
As they drank they started talking.
Thus spoke Hyso Radoica:
“By God, Arnaut Osmani,
Let me ask you, you must tell me
What your tribe is, where you come from?
When you set off for the war grounds
Who was left back in your household?
Did you leave a friend or brother?”
Then spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“Of my tribe will I now tell you,
I myself am from Zahara,
I was of a widowed mother,
My mother was a wealthy woman,
She herself owned half the city
Till Mujo came and sacked Zahara,
And while Mujo led the fighting
Did he burn down all the city.
Mujo found me in the churchyard
And, taken by my infant beauty,
Set me on his saddle with him
And brought me back home to Jutbina,
There he raised me and did feed me
Till I grew up, reached adulthood,
Mujo bought me fields and meadows,
And did build for me a kulla,
And this bride did he find for me,
All Jutbina honoured, loved me,
Invited me to all their weddings,
And put me at the place of honour.
But when I set off for the war grounds
I left nobody in my household,
Not a soul I left behind me,
Leaving neither friend nor brother.
I took leave of my dear kulla,
Then I closed the door behind me,
And then departed for the war grounds.”
Once more spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“And you, Hyso, may I now ask you,
What your tribe is, where you come from?
When you set off for the war grounds
Who was left back in your household?
Did you leave a friend or brother?”
Hyso’s eyes were filled with teardrops,
“Of my tribe will I now tell you,
For I am also from Zahara,
I was of a widowed mother,
My mother was a wealthy woman,
She herself owned half the city
Till Mujo came and sacked Zahara,
And while Mujo led the fighting
Did he burn down all the city,
Held my little brother hostage.
My mother, to the king indebted,
Said she could not pay the loan back,
As a pawn the king then took me,
There he raised me and did feed me
Till I grew up, reached adulthood.
The king did grant me fields and meadows,
And for me he built a kulla.
When once before the king we gathered
Did the thirty captains tease me:
Why don’t you get married, Hyso?
I swore to the thirty captains
I’d have no bride outside Jutbina,
I’d have Arnaut Osmani’s maiden
Or leave my head back in Jutbina,
For I knew of your reputation,
Heard of you and of your bride, too,
Now the will of God has chosen
That we as brothers be united.”
From their eyes the tears were streaming,
And the two embraced each other.
Then the bride came forth to serve them,
Taking Hyso as her in-law.
Then spoke Hyso Radoica:
“Shall we go back to Zahara?
Go and try to find our mother,
And if she’s living, take her with us,
If she’s dead, her grave we’ll visit.”
Then spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“The city has been reconstructed,
I was little when I left it
And there’s nothing I remember.”
Again spoke Hyso Radoica:
“I was nine years old and though
The city has been reconstructed,
The church road do I well remember,
So let us go and seek our mother.”
To their feet arose the heroes
And did hop onto their horses,
Set on a saddled mare the bride and
All three took off for Zahara.
Through the whole town did they gallop,
Till the church road they encountered.
At the roadside in a corner
Did they find a poor old woman,
So the two jumped off their horses:
“Greetings to you, poor old woman,”
“Greetings, lads,” she gave as answer.
“I beg your pardon, poor old woman,
May I ask of you a question?
Were you beforehand ever wealthy?”
Loudly sighed the poor old woman:
“I was once extremely wealthy,
I myself owned half the city,
God bestowed two sons upon me,
Till Mujo came and sacked Zahara,
And while Mujo led the fighting
Did he burn down all the city.
Took my little infant hostage.
To the king I was indebted
But I couldn’t pay the loan back,
As a pawn he stole my first son.”
“Here we are, your sons, oh mother.”
Such emotion seized the woman
That a flood of tears did choke her,
From the longing and the worry
Was the woman breathless, panting,
And on the spot did she fall lifeless.
The lads then took, buried their mother,
Paid their last respects and, turning,
Rose and jumped onto their horses,
The three departed for Jutbina.
To their feast came all the people,
For the brothers were united!

[Sung by Palë Buli of Selca (District of Malësia e Madhe). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 97-107; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 133-141. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Ali Bajraktari or the Word of Honour

Ali Bajraktari is caught by the king’s Hungarian guards and is put into prison. In order to get his hands on Ali’s bride, the king sends back a double, but the plot fails when the bride recognizes that the man is not her husband. The king then writes her, telling her that Ali will remain in prison forever. She resolves to wait for him for three years before remarrying. Three years pass and Ali receives word that his wife is about to marry Halili. He begs the king for six days’ leave from prison, giving his word of honour that he will return. The king’s daughter offers to stand bail for Ali if he should not come back. Ali returns home looking like a poor beggar. His wife, living with Mujo and Halili, recognizes a mark on his forehead and the two escape through a trap door. Mujo follows them, but since Ali had only taken what rightly belonged to him, they make peace and hold a six-day celebration. On the sixth day, Ali announces that he must go back to prison and sets off for the Kingdom. The king, seeing that Ali has kept his promise, then gives him his freedom to return home.





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Once there was a widowed mother
God bestowed a son upon her,
A fair name his mother gave him,
Called him Ali Bajraktari.
With great trouble did she raise him,
Fed him, begging at the doorsteps,
In rags she dressed him, found on bushes.
Twelve years old the lad had turned now,
Herds God gave him and possessions,
A fair bride did his mother promise,
In three weeks would be the wedding,
Three full weeks came and departed,
To fetch the bride she sent attendants,
Who brought this fairest maiden with them.
The husband had one special feature:
He did not leave his house for three years,
His mother turned to him and wondered:
“Imprisoned you’ve been since you married,
You never go and see your friends, son,
Neither do you see your uncles,
Your father’s friends you have forgotten.”
The lad turned to his mother, saying:
“Damn you, hold your tongue now, mother,
All the problems, you have caused them,
My bride was too young when you found her,
My house, you know, is on the border,
And I’m afraid if I should leave it,
The shkjas would come here and destroy it,
They would take my bride and steal her,
And throw me out onto the highway.
Give me now your word of honour
The door to no one must you open,
Unless your son, Ali, is knocking,
Then I’ll visit friends and go out.”
The mother vowed her word of honour,
The door to no one would she open,
Unless her son, Ali, was knocking.
Ali donned his shoes and garments,
And turning, clambered on his courser,
Setting out upon his journey,
One last time he turned and, looking
At his home, began to curse it:
“May you, home, enjoy no fortune,
May the king’s crowbar thus destroy you,
Scattering roof tiles to the Kingdom.”
Then he set off on his journey,
And when he reached the mountain pastures,
In the shade near springs he rested.
Ali found a spot for sleeping,
Water from the springs he drank of,
His heart rejoiced in the cold water,
And at the spring sleep overtook him.
The king was hunting in the mountains,
And came upon the sleeping Ali.
To his Hungarian guards he spoke out:
“Look, a Turk’s come to the fountain,
And he has not even seen us,
Time has come to hold him hostage,
And of his bride to take possession.”
The Hungarian guards rode down the meadow,
Tied up Ali as he slept there,
Threw poor Ali into prison,
There to be in jail forever.
Now, see what the king is doing!
All his subjects he assembled,
Chose a lad who looked like Ali,
Made him clothes like those of Ali,
Gave him Ali’s horse and sabre,
To the lad he turned, proclaiming:
“If you can make the bride your hostage,
I will make you rich forever!
The lad rode off to Ali’s mother,
And at the doorway called out, knocking:
“Come at once, unbolt the doorway
For your son, Ali, is back now.”
The matron did rejoice and call out:
“Go and open up the door, bride,
For my son, Ali, is back now.”
The bride was of a well-bred family
And put her head out of the window,
Right away, the shkja she saw through,
Calling up to warn the mother:
“It’s not your son and not my husband,
It’s a shkja of Slavic mother,
Who has come to take me hostage.”
To the shkja the bride then called out:
“Be off, shkja of Slavic mother,
For I see you’re not my Ali,
But a shkja of Slavic mother,
Who has come to take me hostage,
For your voice than his is rougher
And much paler is your courser.”
The shkja looked up at her, responding:
“Come and open up the doorway,
My voice is rough from the cold water,
And beech leaves have turned pale my courser,
Open or I’ll kick the door in,
And tear you into little pieces.”
The bride at this was slightly frightened,
What did she answer to the lad now?
“I will first ascend the tower,
With a rifle fire a warning
To tell Jutbina, the krahina.
All to gather and assemble,
Then I’ll open up the doorway.”
What did the lad then say, responding?
“Not even once since I’ve been absent
Have Agas come on time to see me,
All Jutbina’s not at home now.
They would only ridicule us
If you locked the only son out.”
At this the maiden was deluded,
Went and opened up the doorway,
Then she slipped back up the staircase
But the shkja was right behind her,
Caught the bride on the veranda,
“To arms, oh warriors!” did she cry out.
The shkja was awed and panic-stricken,
And, though his hand was on her ankle,
Did he turn and leave without her.
To the king the shkja proceeded
And to his lord he swore, asserting:
“My hands in fact I had around her
When she called out to the warriors,
I was awed and panic-stricken
And I turned and left without her.”
To the king he went on, swearing:
“I’ve ne’er seen a fairer maiden.”
The king inclined to him, responding:
“Come on, lad, now don’t you worry,
Slowly, surely will we get her.”
Then the king wrote an epistle
And to the bride did he transmit it,
What was written in the letter?
“You may be the bride of Ali,
But choose yourself another husband,
For your Ali’s in my prison
And he’ll be in jail forever.”
In her hand she held the letter,
The poor girl’s tears were dripping on it,
The mother turned to her and asked her:
“What, oh bride, is in the letter?
I’ve seen you reading many letters,
But never seen them make you cry, dear.”
The bride turned to her mother, stating:
“It says that they have captured Ali,
And into prison have they thrown him,
He will be in jail forever.
For three full years will I await him,
For three full years I’ll write him letters
And try to free him if I’m able,
It’s a challenge for us, mother.
But if in three full years I fail to,
I will choose another husband.”
For three full years she wrote him letters,
And never did she get an answer,
Then the bride did choose another,
Marry she’d Sokol Halili.
One last time she wrote a letter.
What was written in the letter?
“If you’re still alive, oh Ali,
Let me quickly have your answer,
Mother’s died and I have waited,
Now I’m taking a new husband,
In three weeks they’ll come to get me.”
Ali did receive this letter,
And did open it and read it,
What a scream did Ali let out,
How the palace bricks did tremble!
The king went down to him and asked him:
“Why the screaming, what’s the matter?
Is your uncut beard the bother,
Or the knee-deep mud you stand in,
Or your shirt, that you’ve no clean one?”
Ali turned to him and answered:
“No, king, none of these afflict me,
It’s not my beard that is the bother,
Nor the knee-deep mud I stand in,
Nor that I can’t change my garments.
I left behind my aged mother,
At home alone was she abandoned,
Now I’ve learned that she has perished,
Who will dig the grave for mother?
They’ll eat her up, the birds and ravens,
I would ask you now to trust me,
Though I have no bail to give you,
But I can give my word of honour.
By God I swear upon my honour
That in six days I will return here.”
But the king refused to trust him
Till his daughter spoke out, saying:
“I will stand as bail for Ali,
I will take on all his sentence,
If in six days he’s not back here.”
The king agreed then to release him,
Ali set off for his home, and
When the hero finally reached it,
He found Bylykbashi Mujo.
“Greetings to you, nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to the house, poor beggar,”
Answered Mujo and inquired:
“Where’re you from, where are you going?”
Ali turned and said to Mujo:
“Today I was released from prison.”
“Have you anything to tell me
About Ali Bajraktari?
Three years back, the king did catch him.”
Ali turned to him and answered:
“I was with that man in prison,
And in prison Ali perished,
I threw his bones out of the window,
For in the cell he’d started rotting,
But one final word he told me
And to his bride am I to tell it.”
Tears streamed down the face of Mujo,
He put his hand into his pocket,
Pulled out a hundred golden orums,
“Take this for the soul of Ali,”
Answered Mujo and continued:
“Thirty maids the bride are clothing,
And if they do not open for you,
Cry out ‘Mujo’ in a loud voice.”
When Ali went into the courtyard
There he met Sokol Halili.
“Greetings to you, nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to the house, poor beggar,”
Said Halili and inquired:
“Where’re you from, where are you going?”
Ali turned and thus responded:
“I have come back from the Kingdom,
Today I was released from prison.”
“Have you anything to tell me
About Ali Bajraktari?
Three years back, the king did catch him.”
“I was with that man in prison,
And in prison Ali perished,
I threw his bones out of the window,
For in the cell he’d started rotting.”
Tears streamed down Halili’s face now,
He put his hand into his pocket,
Pulled out fifty golden orums,
“Take this for the soul of Ali.”
When he got to the veranda,
There he met his aged mother.
“Greetings to you, aged woman.”
“Welcome to the house, poor beggar,”
Said the mother and inquired:
“Where are you from, where are you going?”
“I have come back from the Kingdom,
Today I was released from prison.”
“By the God who made you, beggar,
Have you anything to tell me
Of my son, Ali Bajraktari?”
“You must live alone now, woman,
For in prison Ali perished,
I threw his bones out of the window,
For in the cell he’d started rotting.”
Tears streamed down his mother’s face now,
She put her hand into her pocket
And pulled out of it coins uncounted,
“Take these for the soul of Ali.”
Ali walked up to the bedroom,
But the maids refused to open,
So he called out in a loud voice.
Mujo rushed up to the bedroom,
Threw out all the thirty maidens
And allowed Ali to enter.
The bride then bowed and did inquire:
“Where’re you from, where are you going?”
“I have come back from the Kingdom,
Today I was released from prison.”
“Have you anything to tell me
Of my husband, Ali Bajraktari,
Whom three years the king’s held prisoner?”
“I was with that man in prison,
And in prison Ali perished,
I threw his bones out of the window.”
Tears streamed down the bride’s face also.
There was a mark on Ali’s forehead,
His long hair had kept it covered,
Ali brushed his hair aside, so
Then the bride could see his broad brow.
Thus the bride did recognize him
And sent him to the bath attendant.
Ali washed and changed his garments,
With the bride stole through a trap door,
Then they mounted Mujo’s courser,
And the two of them departed.
They were noticed by Halili
Who met Mujo and informed him:
“No poor beggar was that fellow,
He’s a shkja of Slavic mother,
I don’t care about the maiden,
How will we get back your courser?”
Mujo then said to Halili:
“Off with you, you foolish devil,
He’s taken back his own possessions.”
Mujo mounted Halili’s pony,
And spurred the foal into a gallop,
On the mountain pastures caught him,
Ali then cried to him, saying:
“By the Lord who did create me,
I’ve taken only my possessions.”
Mujo turned to him, responding:
“Let us hold two celebrations,
For the bride you have regained now
And another for your safety.”
For six full days they celebrated.
But when the six full days were over,
Ali to his bride lamented:
“I must go back to the kingdom,
I gave the king my word of honour,
That in six days I’d be back there,
But the king refused to trust me
‘Til as bail stood up his daughter,
Then the king agreed to free me,
I cannot deceive the maiden
Though ne’er more I’ll see Jutbina.”
Ali jumped onto his courser
And rode apace back to the Kingdom,
Out came the lackeys to receive him,
To take and care for Ali’s courser,
Thinking him their guest of honour.
Ali then informed them, saying:
“I am not a guest of honour,
Tell the king that I have come back.”
The king descended to the doorway,
Saw before him Ali standing,
And to Ali said, proclaiming:
“Best wishes for your homeward journey,
I see that you have kept your promise.”
Ali to his home then journeyed.

[Sung by Palok Ujka of Kastrat (District of Malësia e Madhe). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 108-117; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 142-149. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Arnaut Osmani

Having been sentenced with his companions to years in prison, Arnaut Osmani devises a plan. He pretends to have died in his cell. His companions scream and wail in lamentation. Awakened by the noise, the king sends his daughter down to the dungeon. She sees the dead Arnaut, who had been her lover, and begs her father to bury him. The king is suspicious and first subjects the body to all sorts of tests and tortures. Arnaut resists unmoved, but manages to let the daughter know he is alive. At her insistence, the king finally removes his shackles. Arnaut jumps up, seizes a sword and slays the king and his entourage. Then he frees his companions and they all set off for Jutbina, taking the king’s daughter and thirty other maidens with them.





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May you be blessed, oh God Almighty!
What news of Arnaut Osmani?
The hero gathered twelve companions
And set off for the mountain pastures,
The shkjas did capture his twelve Agas,
Round their feet did they put shackles,
Left them for nine years in prison.
What did the king then turn and ask them?
“Which of you burnt down my palace?”
Then spoke up Sokol Halili:
“I was not part of that çeta.”
Then spoke the young lad, Osman Aga:
“By the God, king, who did make you,
Do not let the others suffer.
I myself burnt down your palace,
I myself tore down your kulla,
And did I chop down your forests.”
Hear how the Captain King did answer:
“Alright then, you burnt my palace,
But what of the herds and my possessions?”
“I took them all, king, to Jutbina.”
“Alright, you pilfered my possessions,
But what of father, what of mother?”
“I took the two down to Jutbina
And handed them to the town crier,
I couldn’t get a penny for them,
And as I knew no other answer,
Painting them with tar and feathers,
I put a torch to them and burnt them.
You know that wartime has its customs.”
How was it the king reacted?
“Let me, Agas, pay you an honour,
For I shall throw you into prison,
No more will you see the sunlight.”
Round their feet did they put shackles,
Only six years did they give them.
When twelve days and nights had passed by,
Osmani spoke to his companions:
“May God slay you, my companions,
Time is passing, our strength is waning,
We are old, our minds are failing,
We are old and filled with horror,
Which clever lad of you can tell me
How to escape from this dark prison?”
The men replied well to Osmani:
“Time’s not passing, our strength’s not waning,
We’re not old, our minds are with us,
We’re not old, nor filled with horror,
But none here has a trick to offer,
The king will undertake great action,
They’ll nab us by our necks and hang us.”
By God swore Arnaut Osmani:
“Were I stuck in seven ovens
Blazing, I’d not bat an eyelid,
You know what I’ll do, companions?
I will lie tonight pretending,
That death itself has come to get me,
They’ll bury me alive, God willing.
When the midnight hour approaches
You must scream and you must clamour,
When the morning light approaches,
You must howl and you must holler,
Wail in pain and lamentation,
That the king in his palace hears you.”
Arnaut Osmani lay down,
On his chest his arms were folded,
All his comrades did assemble,
In one line were his companions,
All were screaming, all were keening,
Shrieked in pain and lamentation:
“Woe now to us for our brother.”
When the third lament was over,
Did the king wake in his chamber,
Did the king wake up and ask them:
“What’s the matter, forlorn prisoners,
Can it be that you are homesick,
Are you longing for your loved ones,
Do you miss your father, mother,
Do you miss your brother, sister,
Are you missing blithe Saint George day?
Is your uncut beard the bother,
Or the knee-deep mud you stand in,
Or your shirt, that you’ve no clean one,
Or is it daylight that you’re missing?”
What did the captive Agas answer?
“None of these, king, are we missing,
But one of us is dead, departed,
Who will dig a grave for him now?
For in the prison cell he’s rotting.”
But the king did not believe them,
Instead he called upon his daughter,
The keys he gave her for the prison
And told the maiden in a whisper:
“Go down to that sombre dungeon,
Go and see now what has happened.”
The maiden took the keys and went down,
Twice she turned them in the doorlock,
When she set foot in the dungeon,
There she saw Arnaut Osmani,
He’s the boy who’d been her lover.
To the king went back the maiden,
Turning to him did she utter:
“None of the Agas are revolting,
But Arnaut Osmani’s perished,
Dead’s the young lad, Osman Aga,
May I dig a grave for him now?
If you give me him to bury,
I promise to obey you, father.”
But the king did not believe her,
To the jail sent a hundred soldiers,
The ten best entered the dungeon,
Saw dead Arnaut Osmani,
Took him so the king could see him,
But the king was very clever,
And began to test the body.
Nine serpents in the sun he gathered,
Around the hero’s neck he laid them.
Badly bitten by the serpents,
Though alive, he did not show it.
Two great bonfires did he kindle
And Osmani set between them,
His skin on back and front did rupture,
Though alive, he did not show it.
But the king did not believe him,
Twenty nails, all sharp, he gathered,
Drove them into toes and fingers,
Until all the blood had left him,
Though alive, he did not show it.
But still the king did not believe him,
And, exceedingly suspicious.
One more test did he insist on,
Thirty fair maids he selected,
Gave them comely shoes and garments,
Around the dead man’s head he placed them,
Around the body they moved, dancing,
Around the body they made merry,
Around the body they sang fairly.
At his head stood the king’s daughter,
Well Osmani did observe her,
With one eye at her was peering,
A smile so slight did cross his lips now,
With one side of his whiskers moving,
This she noticed, the king’s daughter,
His face then with the shroud she covered,
But the maidens turned, remarking:
“By the Lord who did create us,
The lad has smiled, this Osman Aga.”
“Damn you, maidens,” said the daughter,
“For this lad is dead already,
Of his sins has he been pardoned,
His soul’s in rapture, left the body.”
What did she say to her father:
“By the God who did create you,
With sin will you now be burdened
If you keep torturing this body
With many trials and tribulations,
He has perished, is long dead now,
Can’t you see the corpse is stinking?
For three days he’s lain unburied!
Have you no fear of a body?
Take the bonds from off his feet now,
From his hands remove the shackles!”
But still the king did not believe her.
He called a baloz with a sabre
And with it watching, freed Osmani,
He took the bonds from off his feet now,
From his hands removed the shackles,
Above his head was poised the sabre,
How well did Osmani watch it.
To his feet he sprang and, jumping
Through the air, he seized the sabre,
Slew the baloz like a madman,
No one ventured to resist him,
Thought the dead had been awakened,
All of them were filled with horror,
And every one of them was slaughtered.
Of the king he gouged an eye out,
Of the king he cut an arm off,
Razing to the ground his palace,
The hero freed the dozen Agas,
Gathered all the thirty maidens,
And took them all back to Jutbina,
Making wives for thirty lads there,
And for himself he kept the daughter.
There was feasting, there was music,
Nine days and nights did last the wedding!
Although myself I was not present,
So I heard it, so they told me,
Very ancient stories these are,
May the grace of God be with us!

[Recorded in Shala (District of Shkodra). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 130-135; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 161-165. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Zuku Captures Rusha

Provoked by Mujo, Zuku Bajraktari declares he will go and capture the king’s daughter Rusha. He first asks his mother for advice. She fears for his life, but gives him a strong courser for the journey. When Zuku reaches Rusha’s kulla, he calls out to her. She is afraid and asks him to show her his sleeve and the ring she had given him before she opens the door. The next evening, the two return to Jutbina. Mujo sends Zuku a message, saying that Rusha belongs to him. After much dispute over the maiden, the two warriors go to the cadi, whom both threaten to kill if they do not win the case. The cadi decides that the matter must be settled on the war grounds. The first on horseback to reach Rusha will have her. Mujo is faster but, through divine intervention, his horse shies away at the last moment. Zuku thus wins his Rusha.





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Thirty Agas were assembled,
And in the meadow lit a fire,
At their feast did they start drinking,
And the drink their tongues did loosen,
They were talking and conversing,
Mujo, turning to them, stated:
“Let me spice your conversation!
No lad’s been born here in Jutbina,
No sister’s ever rocked a brother,
No mare’s produced a foal for duelling,
That I could mount at night and ride on
To the Kingdom of the Christians
To go and visit Rusha’s kulla,
And with my hand approach and touch it.       
Listen to me, my companions,
Let us make a plough and ploughshare,
Go and work the land as farmers.”
Then spoke Zuku Bajraktari:
“By the God who made me, Mujo,
I was born here in Jutbina,
And my sister rocked her brother,
My mare produced a horse for duelling,
That I did mount at night and ride on
To the Kingdom of the Christians,
To go and visit Rusha’s kulla,
And three nights I slept with Rusha.”
What did Mujo say, responding?
“By the God who made me, Zuku,
If you had but seen the kulla,
You’d have been three years in fever,
For three years it wouldn’t leave you.”
Swiftly to his feet jumped Zuku,
With what fury did he speak out!
“By the Lord who made me, Mujo,
Were you not the greatest of us,
I’d not tolerate your talking,
Either I will have my Rusha
Or leave my head back in Jutbina.”
Zuku to his home proceeded,
And there he went to see his mother,
He ascended to her chamber,
There she made him sweetened coffee,
The mother swore by God to Zuku:
“I’ve never made a better coffee.”
But the lad refused to drink it,
His mother turned to him and uttered:
“Has a friend died, or blood brother,
Has a baloz come to fight you,
Are you destined for the war grounds,
What fury, son, has now assailed you?”
To his mother answered Zuku:
“By the Lord who made me, mother,
No friend’s died and no blood brother,
No baloz has now come to fight me,
I’m not destined for the war grounds,
But I’ve sworn before my comrades
Either I’ll have royal Rusha
Or leave my head back in the Kingdom.”
Hear the answer of the mother:
“By the breasts that I did give you,
By the greatness that I lent you,
Avoid, my son, vain earthly pleasures,
Avoid, my son, deceitful counsels,
God’s bestowed on us such riches.
Your mother now will write a letter,
From village to village will she send it,
From town to town will she transmit it,
A nice girl will your mother find you,
A girl of lineage and breeding,
And pay for her with bridal money.”
Then spoke Zuku Bajraktari:
“By the God who made me, mother,
Either I’ll have royal Rusha
Or leave my head back in the Kingdom.
Go to the dark cellar, mother,
And choose for me a comely courser.”
Tearful did depart the mother,
The horse turned to her and lamented:
“For seven years I’ve been a prisoner,
Never having seen the sunlight,
Never has the rain leaked in here,
But today, the cellar’s dripping.”
The mother turned to it, replying:
“The cellar has not started dripping,
It’s me, oh horse, who’s begun crying,
For Zuku’s destined for the Kingdom,
Soon, I fear, they’ll cut his head off
And you, steed, they’ll also capture,
And they’ll put a saddle on you,
Make you carry heavy luggage,
All your hooves will fall off, courser.”
The courser turned to her, replying:
“If we have luck as we used to,
We’ll get safely to Jutbina.”
The mother turned to it, replying:
“If you’ve luck and get back safely,
I’ll feed you rice instead of barley,
Give you wine instead of water.”
The mother saddled up the courser,
Set on it a golden saddle,
Tightened straps of patent leather,
Added reins of silken threading,
And led it up the stairs to Zuku.
How loudly did the courser whinny,
Neighing, deafened all Jutbina.
When the dark of night had fallen
Where was Zuku Bajraktari?
Swiftly did he mount his courser,
Behind them smoke and dust were rising,
In the night they reached the Kingdom,
Arriving then at Rusha’s kulla,
Knocking there at Rusha’s kulla:
“Open, Rusha, let me enter!”
“I can’t open up the doorway,
You might be Gjeto Basho Mujo.”
“Open up and let me enter,
For I’m not the one you mentioned.”
“I can’t open up the doorway,
You might be young Halil Aga.”
“Open up and let me enter,
For I’m not young Halil Aga,
I am Zuku Bajraktari.”
“If you’re Zuku as you’re claiming,
Raise your hand up to my window,
I will recognize your coat sleeve
I will know the ring I gave you.”
He raised his hand up to the window,
Well she recognized his coat sleeve,
Well she saw the ring she’d given,
Then she opened up the doorway,
Led his courser to the stable,
Led him up into her chamber,
Where she made him sweetened coffee.
“I’ll not drink it,” uttered Zuku,
“Til you give your word of honour
That you’ll do just as I tell you.”
Rusha gave her word of honour,
And he deigned to drink her coffee,
A day and night did Zuku stay there,
Then next evening, when the night fell,
Zuku climbed upon his courser,
Rusha donned fine shoes and garments,
With ducats did she fill her pockets,
Zuku set her on the courser,
Behind them smoke and dust were rising,
And at dawn they reached Jutbina,
When Gjeto Basho Mujo heard them,
He was filled with rage and anger.
A message did he send to Zuku,
Saying she was his possession.
Many councils for her gathered
But no one dared decide the matter,
To the cadi went the rivals.
“Do you know,” they told the cadi,
“Many councils have gathered for her,
But no one’s dared decide the matter,
God made you a man of reason,
You must make the big decision,
Or we’ll break your neck asunder.”
To their homes returned the rivals,
Mujo hatched another plot though,
And went back to see the cadi.
“Do you know,” he told the cadi,
“Do you realize, dear cadi,
It’s for me that Rusha came here.
If you give the bride to Zuku
I will break your neck asunder.”
Zuku, too, went to the cadi   
“Do you realize, dear cadi,
Back for me did I bring Rusha,
Much I suffered to obtain her,
If Gjeto Basho Mujo gets her,
I will break your neck asunder.”
The cadi was now filled with horror.
Were the matter undecided
The two would jointly cut his head off,
And if he gave the bride to Zuku,
Gjeto Basho Mujo’d slay him,
If Mujo Bylykbashi got her,
Zuku Bajraktari’d kill him.
Three days and nights the cadi puzzled,
Not a moment did he slumber,
Then God sent him the solution,
He sought and summoned the two rivals.
Turning to them, spoke the cadi:
“Go and take your Rusha with you,
Take her with you to the war grounds.
With coursers at an equal distance,
Let them gallop off together.
The one who’s fastest to the maiden,
He shall have as bride to marry.”
The heroes went back to their houses,
Brought the bride and took her with them,
Travelling upon their coursers,
Did they ride up to the war grounds,
At one end they set up Rusha,
At the other they made ready,
Set their steeds at equal distance,
And let them gallop off together.
Mujo was the first to get there,
And as he lunged out for the maiden,
God Almighty did confound him,
Taking fright was Mujo’s courser
Shied away and turned back from her.
Zuku came and caught the bride then,
Set her up onto his courser,
What of Gjeto Basho Mujo?
They heard him sing a little carol:
“What has happened, oh dear courser,
Many a baloz have we slaughtered,
Many daring deeds accomplished,
But whoe’er betrays his comrades,
He will be by God forsaken.”
That is what I heard them tell me,
For myself I was not present.

[Sung by Dedë Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 140-145; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 169-174. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo’s Wife is Kidnapped

The Captain King boasts of his wealth and possessions, but his wife tells him he is nothing compared to Mujo. The king then trains three hundred roughnecks and with them, he burns down Mujo’s kulla, captures his wife, the Turkish Mehreme, and seizes all of his possessions. Returning home, he marries Mujo’s wife and makes a servant of the first wife, who had offended him. The Agas offer to build Mujo a new kulla, but for him it is a matter of honour. He sets off for the Kingdom, but is betrayed there by Mehreme, who gets him drunk and ties him up. The king grants Mujo one last request before execution – time to play his lahuta. The mountain zanas hear his song and inform Halili. Halili sets off for the Kingdom, slays the king and frees his brother. Mujo slays the wife who betrayed him and returns to Jutbina.

 





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We worship you, oh God Almighty!
For we were nothing ‘til you made us.
Look what the Captain King was doing,
A good man did the Lord make of him,
The king constructed a fair kulla,
Had twelve master masons build it,
Twelve years gave them for the building,
Oh, how spacious was the kulla,
In it were three hundred chambers,
All with gold did he adorn them,
Of steel made the doors and ceilings,
Twelve floors high did he construct it,
The king made it a work of beauty,
In an upper room he rested,
With royal sofas was it furnished,
His coffeepot hung in the fireplace,
Loudly to his wife he called out:
“Come up quickly to my chamber!”
The wife came quickly to his chamber,
Hear now what the king said to her:
“Among men I have no equal,
And you’ve no peer ‘mongst the women,
No one has an equal kulla,
Nor like mine is there a sabre,
None possess a steed like I have.”
Hear now how his wife responded:
“Give me leave, oh king, to answer!”
The king allowed her leave to answer,
And so the woman turned and stated:
“No one is without an equal,
If you saw Gjeto Basho Mujo,
You’d be happy as his cowherd,
Two black rams wide are his whiskers,
His arms are like two trees with branches,
To see Mehreme, his Turkish woman,
To be her maid I’d be unworthy.
If you were to see his sabre,
Yours would look more like a breadknife,
And if you were to see his warhorse,
Yours would look more like a donkey,
If you saw his kulla and palace,
Yours would look more like a pantry,
If you met him on a hillside,
You’d have your arms and legs all broken.”
How these words the king afflicted,
For an hour he was silent.
When he turned and set to speaking,
Did he swear an oath and utter:
“By the God who did create me,
I’d slay you, were there not my subjects,
When the spring comes, may it blossom,
I will search through my three kingdoms,
Three hundred roughnecks will I rally,
None possessing land or pastures,
None with father or with mother,
None with brother or with sister,
None with nephews or with uncles,
None of them engaged or married,
With pity none for Turk or Christian,
With no family, no dependants.
I will give them shoes and garments,
I will shave them, change their clothing,
I will feed three hundred of them
Steer meat for a hundred days and
Then they’ll harry Mujo’s kulla,
Destroy his kulla and his palace,
To the ground they’ll raze his kulla,
Leaving but a withered tree trunk,
On it there will sing a cuckoo,
I’ll take Mehreme, his Turkish woman,
Take his sister and his daughter,
And I’ll capture Mujo’s sabre,
And his throne of golden ducats,
And I’ll seize his copper vessels.”
At this the lady did retire.
Then the spring came and did blossom,
With leaves and grass he fed the courser,
The king then searched through his three kingdoms
And assembled all the people,
Three hundred roughnecks did he gather,
None with father or with mother,
None with brother or with sister,
None with nephews or with uncles,
None of them engaged or married,
With no family, no dependants,
With pity none for Turk or Christian.
The king brought each one to his kulla,
Fed them and he changed their clothing,
How well did the king then arm them,
A hundred days long did he keep them,
And with steer meat did he feed them,
Meat and wine he gave them daily,
They praised the strength of one another,
The king did give them shoes and garments,
Gave them further arms and weapons,
Then he jumped onto his courser,
Taking all three hundred with him,
And did lead them to Jutbina.
It was Mujo’s great misfortune
To be staying with his uncles,
Leaving all alone his kulla.
The king destroyed and burnt the kulla,
To the ground did he then raze it,
Leaving but a withered tree trunk,
On it there did sing a cuckoo,
He took Mehreme, the Turkish woman,
Seized his sister and his daughter,
And his throne of golden ducats,
And captured his copper vessels.
He took the road back to the Kingdom,
Safe and sound did he reach home and
Then prepared a celebration.
Having gathered all his people,
Did he welcome them and feed them.
For his safe return they praised him
And for taking Mujo’s woman:
“Long live the Captain King,” they shouted.
What now was the king preparing?
He had gone back to his palace,
Loudly to his wife he called out:
“Come up quickly to my chamber!
Remember what you told me last year?
What proved true is what I told you,
As Captain King, I kept my word well.
The Lord bestowed on me strong fighters,
Does Mujo know what I’ve done to him?
My housemaid I’m resolved to make you.
You must rise and wash my feet now,
And then I’ll have you drink the water,
Whenever we sit down to dinner,
Between your teeth you’ll hold the firebrand,
To provide illumination.”
The king then married Mujo’s woman,
And of his own did make a housemaid.
It was Mujo’s great misfortune
To’ve been staying with his uncles.
Mujo got up in the morning,
Mujo still was very sleepy,
He called out loudly to Halili:
“Rise, Halili, now or never,
Halili, I have had a nightmare,
A big wolf pack came down the mountain,
And it devoured our two coursers,
Boy, we’ve left alone the kulla,
I fear the king has burnt and razed it.”
Halili turned to him, protesting:
“It’s too cold out in the mountains
Now that all the leaves have fallen,
Perhaps the nightmare has no meaning.”
Mujo turned to him, responding:
“If this nightmare has no meaning,
I’ll believe my dreams no longer.”
The kreshniks washed their hands and faces
And, jumping then onto their coursers,
Took the road off to Jutbina.
When they’d covered half the journey,
They could smell the burning kulla.
Hear what Mujo told Halili:
“A smell of smoke is in the air now.”
What did Halili say to Mujo:
“Yes, I smelled that smell beforehand
But I dared not talk about it.”
Behind them smoke and dust were rising.
The steeds were at the point of bursting,
Both the horses’ mouths were foaming,
Both their hides with sweat were soaking.
Then, by God, there was a wonder,
Opening its mouth, the steed spoke:
“I will burst, it’s pointless, Mujo,
That you keep me at this gallop,
For the shkja’s attacked your kulla
And to ashes has he burnt it,
And your wife has he now captured.”
When they stood before the kulla
They saw it had been burnt to ashes.
Such despair now befell Mujo!
Thirty Agas did assemble,
Coming forth, they spoke to Mujo:
“Welcome, Gjeto Basho Mujo,”
The thirty Agas did salute him
And good health they wished the heroes.
“Don’t despair or be discouraged,
We’ll build an even better kulla,
And a better wife we’ll find you,
A better throne for you to sit on,
New copper vessels will we buy you
And give you new herds and possessions.”
What said Gjeto Basho Mujo?
“Honour to you, oh my Agas,
You may build a better kulla,
May prepare a better wedding,
Get a better throne to sit on.
But even if you build my palace
And return my copper vessels,
How will you restore my honour?”
The Agas bowed their heads before him,
And around him stood in silence,
For with his words Mujo had shamed them.
Embarrassed that they hadn’t helped him,
They were angry now with Mujo,
And all departed for Jutbina.
Mujo then addressed Halili:
“Curse you, young lad, Halil Aga,
I must leave you back at home now.”
To Halili’s home he brought him,
Though a broken man, he set out.
The weary kreshnik’s only thought was
How to kill himself by poison,
Ne’er enduring all the insult.
He took along his warhorse with him,
How well the courser had been armoured,
Took with him his fighting sabre,
Took his cannon and his flintlock.
Hear what he said to his courser:
“Damn the mast food that I gave you,
Damn the fodder that I fed you,
If you should fail me in the Kingdom!”
Then he climbed onto his courser,
Behind it smoke and dust were rising,
Mujo rode into the Kingdom,
To the Captain King he ventured.
The king was in the mountain pastures,
The king himself had set out hunting,
Three hundred shkjas did he take with him,
And many bears alive he captured,
And much game did the king slaughter.
To his palace did come Mujo,
Mujo’s wife laid eyes upon him,
She was thrilled with joy to see him.
But look and see how she betrayed him!
Down her face the tears were streaming
As she met and talked with Mujo,
Wanting only to betray him,
Nine-year-old raki did she bring him,
Mujo fell asleep from drinking,
From his sleep he could not waken,
Every time the hero breathed out,
Shot from him a blazing firework,
Making quake the very palace.
Every time the hero breathed in,
Were the palace doors blown open.
See now what his wife was doing!
Mujo’s arms she put in irons,
To his feet she added shackles,
How well did she bind and tie him,
In steel padlocks she confined him.
To her eyes she put the field glass,
Gazed up to the mountain pastures,
Seeing that the king was coming.
When the king got to the palace,
“Welcome, king,” she cried out to him,
“What game did you hunt and capture?”
“Five bears all alive I’ve captured,
Thirty wild goats have I slaughtered,
Ten wild roebucks have I snapped up.”
“What a lot of game you’ve captured,”
Said the woman, laughing loudly,
“But I’ve caught some game that’s bigger!”
Hear now how the king responded:
“May God damn you, Turkish woman,
Shameless are the words you’ve spoken,
I’d slay you, were there not my subjects,
When have women caught game indoors?”
Turkish Mehreme then answered:
“I caught Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
“Damn you, woman, for your prattle,
Do you even know who’s Mujo?
Nowhere’s there a man who’s stronger,
Never could I take him hostage,
You could never capture Mujo
Unless you managed to deceive him.”
“Come, oh king, into my chamber,
Mujo’s hands and feet are fastened,
Do with him what you desire now.”
The king then went into her chamber,
To her bedroom did he venture,
In the bedroom he found Mujo,
With his hands and feet all fastened,
Sound asleep had Mujo fallen,
The king called loudly out to Mujo,
But the hero went on sleeping.
How then did the king continue?
A heavy kick he gave to Mujo,
Mujo woke up from his slumber,
To him did the king give notice:
“Do you know what’s happened, Mujo?
Do you even know who I am?
I’m the Captain King before you!
I’m the one who razed your kulla,
And to ashes did I burn it,
I’ve Mehreme, your Turkish woman,
I’ve your sister and your daughter,
I’ve your throne of golden ducats,
I have all your copper vessels.”
The king called Mujo’s wife to come forth:
“Come in quickly to the chamber!”
The king now put his arms around her,
On her eyes did he then kiss her,
Love play did they start before him.
Mujo clenched his teeth so tightly
That the very palace trembled.
Then what did the king say to him?
“Mujo, shall I chop your head off,
Or would you rather have me hang you?”
Mujo, when he heard the challenge,
Was envenomed like a viper,
To his feet the hero struggled
But was held back by the shackles.
Then spoke Gjeto Basho Mujo:
“God damn you, king,” the hero shouted,
“I am not some cow you’ve stolen,
I am Gjeto Basho Mujo,
I want to die upon the war grounds
Where Seven Kingdoms fight the sultan,
For God made me a man of justice,
The planet knows my reputation.
How can I die without witness?”
The king was stricken and started fuming,
Rolled his eyeballs round in circles,
But he knew not what to answer.
Hear what Mujo then said to him,
When he asked a favour of him:
“My great desire is the lahuta.”
The king invited in the people,
Gave, the hero’s hands untying,
Him a maple-wood lahuta
In a donkey hide enveloped,
Its bow was of cornelian cherry,
Its string was from a horsetail taken.
Mujo took up the lahuta,
Took and tuned the string to play it,
How nimbly did his fingers scale it,
And with a fair voice to go with it,
For three hours did he sing out.
So loud and clear was Mujo’s singing
That the mountain zanas heard him.
Hear what Mujo told the zanas:
“I’ve been captured, sister zanas,
Never in a worse position,
My hands and feet are all in shackles,
Tomorrow I’ll die on the war grounds,
Where Seven Kingdoms fight the sultan,
I beg you, take word to Halili.”
Listen to what the zanas did then,
They went off to see Halili,
Knocking at his door at midnight,
And they called out to Halili,
But from him they got no answer,
Though they had been shouting loudly.
The zanas then began to worry,
Hear now what the zanas wondered:
“Could it be Halili’s gone out,
Could it be he’s out a-whoring?
May God make his night a failure!
Or could it be he’s out a-thieving?
May God make his night a failure!
But if to God he’s busy praying,
May Halili’s prayers be answered.”
How well Halili heard them talking,
And when with praying he was finished,
Did he run down to the doorway.
The zanas gave word to Halili:
“Tomorrow he’ll die on the war grounds,
Where Seven Kingdoms fight the sultan.”
Listen to what Halili did then,
The lad put on his shoes and garments,
Took with him his fighting sabre,
Took his cannon and his flintlock,
Took and readied Mujo’s courser,
Then he set off for the Kingdom,
Behind him smoke and dust were rising.
In the mountains of the Kingdom
With the Captain King he met up,
Swiftly did they start their battle,
What a din and what an uproar!
Well Halili led the battle,
Being helped by Mujo’s courser.
See what Mujo’s courser did then,
With its teeth it ate a soldier,
And behind it, kicked out wildly,
Left the king with many corpses,
Halili slew the king’s whole army,
The king then fled in trepidation.
And Mehreme, the Turkish woman?
She ran up swiftly to the tower,
Took the field glass and did look out,
To the king’s first wife she uttered:
“May God damn you, my companion,
Do you want to see a white dove
With a raven right behind it?”
To her then the wife responded:
“May God damn you, Turkish woman,
Don’t you know or don’t you want to?
That is not a dove you’re seeing,
Nor a raven right behind it,
What you see’s Sokol Halili
And the Captain King he’s chasing,
At him now to chop his head off,
God has sent forth bolts of lightning!”
The two were in the palace gardens,
By the arm the king he seized and
Chopped his head off with the sabre.
See how Mujo now reacted,
His steed was at the palace gateway,
Mujo shouted in a loud voice,
The courser, hearing, recognized it,
With its legs it kicked the doorway,
Though the door of steel was fashioned,
With ease was it torn asunder.
Halili then climbed off the courser
And to Mujo did he hasten,
Finding Mujo bound in shackles,
Swiftly did he untie Mujo.
See how Mujo’s steed reacted,
How loudly did the courser whinny,
For its master was it worried.
What was Mujo’s next reaction?
He slew Mehreme, the Turkish woman,
Slew his sister and his daughter,
Took the king’s wife for himself now,
And his throne of golden ducats,
Took with him his fighting sabre,
Burnt the kulla and the palace,
To the ground he razed the kulla.
Safely they rode to Jutbina,
And all Jutbina feasted with them.
God bless those who’ve heard this story,
So they say, I was not present.

[Sung by Mëhill Prêka of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Hylli i dritës, Shkodra, 7 (1931), p. 621-634; Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 159-169; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 188-198. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo and Jevrenija

The maidens of the Kingdom are talking about their boyfriends. The king’s daughter Jevrenija is silent at first, but finally speaks of her love for Sokol Halili. Her mother is horrified that she is in love with a Muslim and demands that the king execute her in order to preserve his honour. As punishment, the king decides instead to give his daughter in two weeks’ time to the black gumans. Jevrenija writes a letter in blood to Mujo. Mujo and the Agas of Jutbina resolve to dress up as gumans and save the maiden before the real gumans arrive. When they arrive, the king puts them to the test, forcing them to say mass and to slice a candle in twain without making it flicker, something which only real gumans can do. They succeed and set off home with the maiden. Only when it is too late does the king realize that he has been deceived.

 





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We worship you, oh God Almighty!
The sun came up, the moon was golden,
What were the maids of the Kingdom doing?            
Thirty maidens had assembled,
Having left their mothers’ kulla,
Left behind their grannies’ spindles,
Left the lambs on noonday pastures,
In the shade were sleeping shepherds,
On the peaks stood guard the zanas,
The nightingales sang in the beech trees,
What is it they turned and said now?
“Where’ll we rest, oh Earthly Beauty?”
“Under the plane tree in that meadow.”
They spread out ferns and sat upon them,
Took out drinks and started drinking,
Each one talked about her lover,
Each one did commend her lover,
Jevrenija did stay silent,
With her head bowed did she sit there.
The maidens mocked and ridiculed her:
“You who are the fairest of us,
Are like a tree trunk now abandoned,
Why do we hear nothing from you?
Woebegone is your expression,
You don’t even look up at us,
Won’t you tell us of your lover,
Is your boyfriend some relation,
Is your boyfriend from your in-laws,
Is your boyfriend’s head all scurfy,
Does your honour keep you silent?”
“May God slay you, my companions,
If I had no mouth for speaking,
You’d force me through my ribs to tell you,
I’m no tree trunk now abandoned,
Far away’s Sokol Halili,
All day long he’s doing battle,
I know not if he thinks of me.
Whenever I now think about him,
If I’m eating, I stop eating,
If I’m drinking, I stop drinking,
If I’m sleeping, I go sleepless,
For three days I haven’t spoken.”
Then her mother did approach her,
Slapped the maiden’s face and uttered:
“How could you e’er love a Muslim?
Of our faith you’ve soiled the honour.”
To the king rushed off the mother:
“Which is it, king, your child or honour,
Shame or honour on your doorstep?
If you’d rather keep your honour,
Take a rope and hang her swiftly,
For your daughter loves a Muslim.”
What did the Captain King do now?
He locked his daughter in a chamber,
Sent the black gumans a message:
“I’m going to give my daughter to you,
In two weeks’ time you’re going to take her.”
Despair and horror seized the maiden,
She found paper for a letter,
But to write she had no ink, so
With her blood she wrote the letter,
The maiden prayed to the Almighty,
That the swiftly flying letter’d
Fall into the hands of Mujo.
A bird alighted at her window,
Saw the letter in blood written,
Saw the maiden there lamenting:
“Will you, bird, take pity on me
And bear this letter off to Mujo
So he can free me from my suffering?”
Quickly did the bird dispatch it,
Even quicker Mujo read it,
But he did not understand it,
So he ran up to his tower,
And with his rifle gave a warning
To call the Agas of Jutbina.
Arnaut Osmani with them
Took the letter and perused it,
Read the contents of the letter:
“This is from young Jevrenija,
Please inform Sokol Halili
I spoke of him to my companions,
My father’s locked me in a chamber,
To the black gumans he’ll give me,
In two weeks as a bride they’ll get me,
My body’ll find no rest among them,
Halili, don’t desert me. Save me!”
The Agas searched for a solution,
Then spoke Gjeto Basho Mujo:
“The black gumans, we’ll attack them,
Thirty gumans will we slaughter,
And dress ourselves in guman garments,
Teach our steeds to ride like Tatars,
Sheathe our swords as do Crusaders,
On our heads we’ll put their headgear,
Reach the king before the deadline,
And be the ones to get the maiden.”
A wise old man spoke up and countered:
“I’m afraid the king will know us
And will lead us to perdition,
For he’ll send us off to mass, and
There will make us say a blessing,
These are things we can’t do ever.
He’ll put a candle on the table,
Will not let it flame or flicker
While we slice the thing asunder,
Only gumans have this power.”
Then spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“Do not fret about the matter,
At saying mass I’m quite an expert,
And won’t let the candle flicker
While I slice the thing asunder.”
The black gumans, they attacked them,
Thirty gumans did they slaughter,
And dressed themselves in guman garments,
Taught their steeds to ride like Tatars,
Sheathed their swords as do Crusaders,
On their heads they put the headgear,
To the king did they then travel.
“God slay you, gumans,” did he utter,
“Why’ve you come before the deadline?”
Well spoke Gjeto Basho Mujo:
“We’ve come here, king, ‘fore the deadline,
For if the Agas of Jutbina
Heard the deadline you had set us,
Mujo would have tried to stop us.
He’d have got the bride and escorts,
He’d have taken us his prisoners.”
The king believed they were the gumans,
He placed a candle on the table.
What of Arnaut Osmani?
He did not let the candle flicker
While he sliced the thing asunder.
Well they drank and well they feasted,
Well they spent the night there sleeping,
When the day broke, bringing fortune,
The king to mass did send the heroes.
Mass said Arnaut Osmani,
And the Muslims said the blessing,
The heroes left when mass was over,
Taking, too, the maiden with them.
To see them off the king did follow.
When they reached the guman highway,
They took the road off to Jutbina.
“God slay you, gumans,” did he utter,
“Since you forsook the guman highway,
You took the road off to Jutbina!”
Then spoke Gjeto Basho Mujo:
“Oh Captain King, God damn and slay you,
We, my lord, are not black gumans,
We are Agas of Jutbina,
Look, we’re Mujo and Halili,
And here is Zuku Bajraktari.
By the God, oh king, who made us,
If it were not for your daughter,
I would make you one head shorter,
For you’ve caused much pain and trouble.”
To them the king lied: “Pleasant journey,
May we all be friends and allies!”
But really, he did not forgive them.

[Sung by Dedë Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 170-174; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 199-202. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Halili Avenges Mujo

The Agas in the mountains send Dizdar Osman Aga to fetch Mujo, their leader. Mujo has been ambushed by King Llabutani and lies in bed gravely wounded, attended by an ora, a serpent and a wolf. Dizdar is horrified at the wounds he sees on Mujo’s body. Mujo sends young Halili to replace him, but the Agas make fun of the lad. In his fury, Halili sets off by himself for the Kingdom to avenge the attack on his brother. There he captures Rusha, the king’s daughter, and spirits her off to a cave in the mountains. The king and his shkja warriors besiege the cave. Halili slays the king with his cudgel, but is encircled. The zanas, seeing Halili’s plight, hasten to Mujo, bind his wounds and restore his health with herbs. Mujo comes to Halili’s rescue and the shkjas take flight. It is only when Mujo tells him, that young Halili realizes he has slain the great Llabutani.

 





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Blessed we are, thanks to the Almighty!
For nothing we were until God did create us.
A windstorm did roar and did rage through Jutbina,
With billows of dust like the clouds through it swirling.
Where were the three hundred Agas now off to?
Where were the three hundred coursers now riding?
Kunora they reached in the high mountain pastures,
And there did the Agas espy a fair clearing,
A clearing surrounded by larches and beech trees,
In the midst of the clearing were fir trees and pine trees,
A thousand years old was one of the fir trees,
And three thousand years old was one of the pine trees.
There did the Agas climb down from their coursers,
The heroes sat down to give rest to their bodies,
All of the men were now tired and exhausted,
None of them there had a mind for conversing,
Nor in spring water did they seek refreshment.
Freeing their steeds, which they put out to pasture,
Themselves in the shade of the beech trees they gathered.
First of all spoke out Bud Aline Tali,
Spoke in amazement while watching the Agas:
“Good that we’ve come on a çeta, companions,
However the best man among us is wanting,
To shatter the earth we are lacking a hero,
For here Gjeto Basho Mujo is still missing.
Mujo has always been first in the çeta,
For this is his talent, his skill and profession,
Mujo knows well every inch of the Kingdom,
What will we do on our çeta without him?
With him in the çeta can no one attack us.
Whom will we send off to go and get Mujo?
Let’s send the old man, Dizdar Osman Aga,
Mujo’s his nephew, and very fond of him,
He will bring Mujo back into our çeta.”
To his feet clambered Dizdar Osman Aga,
He shook himself off and he buttoned his trousers,
Two or three times did he twirl up his whiskers,
And without delay did he call for his courser:
“Let us be off, oh good steed, for Jutbina.”
The courser then neighed, the whole clearing did tremble,
It was a fair courser that God had created,
The hide of its body all patchwork resembled,
With blotches of white and of black and of crimson,
Much like the flowers that bloom in the meadows.
“Hey, fellow,” shouted Dizdar Osman Aga,
Putting onto the courser the harness and bridle,
“You’ve eaten enough from the grass in the meadow,
Make yourself ready, we’re off to Jutbina,
To find Gjeto Basho Mujo and return him.”
The courser then neighed, with its hooves it was stamping.
“Calm down now, courser,” the old man did thunder.
Like a twenty-year-old did the old hero mount it,
Turning and taking the road to Jutbina.
Dizdar Osman Aga and his ten companions,
When all of them got to the meadow of Mujo,
There they encountered the mother of Mujo,
She was out washing the clothes at the fountain,
All of the stones there, in blood they were spattered.
The courser it neighed, with its hooves again pawing,
The old man then frowned and his eyebrows were sagging,
“Mother, good God, what is all of this blood here,
What unfortunate çeta, good woman,has caused it?
Nothing of this have we heard or been told of.”
Valiantly answered the mother of Mujo:
“When I awoke and got up in the morning,
Did I look out at the plains in the distance,
Did I look out at the green mountain meadows,
Did I look up at those dark mountain pastures,
Did I look out at the valleys and sources,
But Mujo was nowhere at all to be sighted.
In front of the gateway did I see two coursers,
Mujo’d gone raiding up in the high pastures,
There did my son come upon the king’s çeta,
And there did the shkjas slyly wait and surround him,
With their thirty spears all at once did they chase him,
Ten of them hit him, bored into his body,
Thanks be to God that the courser did save him,
The courser, good beast, did bring back to me Mujo.”
Weighing his words, did the old man address her:
“God would now seem to have willed our destruction.”
Then did he turn and did spur on his courser,
Grieved were the heroes and grieved were the horses,
Straight down the road, riding off on their journey,
Right to the door of the manor of Mujo.
Mujo himself stood and opened the doorway,
Barely erect, he returned to his bedside.
Dizdar Osman Aga inquired of Mujo:
“What’s going on here, Gjeto Basho Mujo?
All of these wounds, good man, where did you get them?”
With a smile on his lips did Mujo give answer:
“Up in the mountains had I gone out hunting,
Secretly did the king’s çeta surround me,
Thirty arrows did I see streak towards me,
Ten hit my body, my kneecaps the others,
Three of them injured my heart in the centre,
But thanks be to God that the courser did save me,
And managed to bring me somehow to the manor.
Up to that time I had never been injured,
But this one attack has indeed overwhelmed me,
For a sick person’s home may well be his graveyard,
A burden he is for himself and his family.”
Mujo crawled under the bedding and cowered.
Tears swelled the eyes of Dizdar Osman Aga,
But Mujo, despite this, would get up no longer.
Now began speaking Dizdar Osman Aga:
“Woe upon woe’s overtaken us, Mujo,
Three hundred Agas I’ve left in the mountains,
They were the Agas who sent me to get you,
None of the Agas had even imagined
The danger, the mishap that you have encountered,
Now we’ve no way to escape from the mountains!
Do me a favour, oh Mujo, I beg you,
Lend us your brother, young Aga Halili,
That with us he come when we raid in the Kingdom.”
Faintly did Mujo respond to the old man:
“I can’t give Halili, Dizdar Osman Aga,
For he’s never been on a çeta without me,
Should anyone there ever deign to insult him,
He’d fly off the handle for he is too young still.”
Dizdar Osman Aga did now interrupt him:
“Your protest, oh Mujo’s of no great importance,
For you must this moment accord me Halili,
Should anyone there ever deign to insult him,
I promise you, Mujo, that I will protect him!”
Mujo did pivot and spoke to Halili:
“Stand up now, my boy, go and saddle your courser,
So you can go on a raid with the kreshniks,
Gird on your weapons as best you can manage,
You don’t need to fret or to worry about me.”
Then turned Halili, replying to Mujo:
“I’m thrilled to set out, oh Mujo, with the çeta,
But don’t want to leave you in bed gravely injured,
I do not know, brother, who caused you the injury,
So by the Almighty who made us, oh brother,
And by our dear mother who once rocked our cradles,
Tell me, oh Mujo, who caused you the injury,
For I won’t know otherwise how to avenge you.”
“I’ll tell you now, brother, who caused me the injury,
It was Llabutani, a man from the Kingdom,
His palace is found at the end of the Kingdom,
At the end of the Kingdom is found his white kulla,
Be off with you now and godspeed to your çeta!”
Then spoke up the old man, Dizdar Osman Aga:
“Mujo, we’re ready to leave on our çeta
Now that Halili has girded his weapons
And now that Halili has saddled his courser.
Show us the wounds on your body now, Mujo.”
Mujo then pulled back a bit of the blanket,
And showed to the old man the wounds on his body.
The old man took note of the terrible lesions,
The blood and the pus there had covered his body,
A wound on his chest was as big as a fist is,
And all of his lungs were exposed by the lesions.
The heart of the man which continued its beating,
Was one full of knots and of knolls which deformed it.
Mujo pulled back even more of the blanket,
The old man was shaking in dread and in horror.
At the head of the hero there cowered an ora,
In grief and affliction she studied the hero,
On one elbow she rested, her eyes did not leave him,
The ora, though she was a figure so tiny,
Had eyes on her forehead that sparkled like lightning,
The old man could not even view her twice over.
Then did the old man see coiled up a serpent,
The skin on its back was all covered in spirals,
And under its head there stretched two little paws out.
The old man then looked at the feet of the hero,
Curled up in a ball was a wolf there before him.
When the eyes of the two beings met one another,
The wolf bared its teeth, gave the old man a snarl,
Slowly it rose, one paw stretched out before it,
And arching its back as the wolf is accustomed
Whenever the beast is about to attack you.
The old man was shaking in dread and in horror,
He took a step backwards and lunged for his sabre,
Desiring to slaughter the wolf to save Mujo.
Loudly, however, the hero did cry out:
“Whatever you do, do not hurt them, oh Dizdar,
For none of these beings are present to harm me,
Indeed they provide me with help and assistance.
Look at the ora who lies at my head here,
By day and by night is she here to protect me,
And the serpent now slithering over my lesions
Was given by God as great help and assistance.
Under its tongue there are nine types of ointments,
Three times a day does it cleanse my wounds with them,
And whenever the aching is too great to suffer,
The serpent begins then to sing me a carol,
A strange type of carol that I’ve never heard of.
My pain I forget and I sink into slumber.
Then do I see myself once more out hunting,
See myself resting again in the meadows,
Sometimes I hunt the wild goats in the mountains,
Sometimes I swim in the rivers and oceans,
When I wake up from my dreams is the pain gone.
Here at my feet is a savage wolf guarding,
No one is able to pass or approach me.”
The old man desisted and set down his sabre,
Mujo he took by the hand and responded:
“Don’t worry, my good friend, Gjeto Basho Mujo,
From what I have seen here, you seem to encourage
Our çeta to raid in the high mountain pastures.”
To the high mountains then set off the heroes,
And when they had climbed to the loftiest pastures,
There did they meet with the three hundred Agas.
Halili they greeted with open displeasure:
“How are things coming, men?” did they salute them,
“Slowly but surely,” they heard as an answer.
Badly then spoke out Bud Aline Tali,
Turning, he spoke to Dizdar Osman Aga:
“We sent you, oh Dizdar, to go and get Mujo,
What shall we do here with Halili Aga?
He is too young, of no use to the çeta.”
The old man was taken aback and insulted.
Then turned Dizdar Osman Aga, replying:
“Greetings does Mujo send to you, companions,
And wishes you fortune while off in the Kingdom,
But wounds now are covering all of his body.
Mujo was up in the high mountain pastures,
And there in an ambush the shkjas did attack him,
He does not remember what then happened to him,
But somehow was brought home by his faithful courser,
To those of his friends setting out on the çeta
He wishes good fortune, success in your raiding,
And upon you bestows the young Aga, Halili.”
Halili himself was no more to be seen there,
Such was the fury the young lad was seized with,
Three times did he venture to pull out his sabre,
But then he remembered what Mujo had told him:
“Never must weapons be drawn on the meadows.”
Leading his steed by the reins to the sources,
He started to let the beast drink of their water,
And there did he put on its saddle and armour,
And in sweet, friendly tones did he talk to the courser:
“Heard you with what words, steed, Tali did rile me?
Let us now swiftly depart for the Kingdom,
We will take vengeance for my brother Mujo,
Though we may both perish today on the war grounds.”
The courser then neighed and the trees gave a quiver.
Onto its back jumped young Aga, Halili,
The flames that the courser emitted were yellow,
Angry the steed was, more angry the rider,
In fury the two did set off on their journey,
The beech trees collapsed as they rode through the forest,
Dust clouds arose as they rushed up the valley,
Until he arrived and espied the white kulla,
There did the steed put an end to its gallop,
There, right before him, arose the king’s palace,
And there Llabutani’s three-storey high kulla.
Walking his courser, Halili now entered,
“Who are you, boy?” did inquire a maiden.
“Who are you, maid?” did reply young Halili.
“I’m the king’s daughter, and what do you want here?”
“To pay off a debt have I come here, good maiden,”
Did he give answer and captured the maiden.
A vociferous scream was let out by the maiden.
“It’s now or it’s never, good steed,” cried Halili,
And rode in a lather right through the town centre,
Leaving the townsfolk all crushed on the pavement.
The maiden did weep while Halili was shouting:
“Thus the young Aga, Halili, takes vengeance!”
The young man rode off to the high mountain pastures,
Leaving the shkjas in distress and confusion,
Aware they weren’t even of what had just hit them.
Groups of them gathered and started to wonder:
“What was the shout that we heard in the Kingdom?”
“They say it was that of young Aga, Halili.”
Shortly thereafter, in less than a moment,
Arrived Llabutani in front of his kulla,
Looking for Rusha, but she was not present.
There he inquired of two old women weeping,
One was a shkja, seven hearts she had in her.
“Whose head did you chop off, my good Llabutani,
That Mujo has come and has stolen the maiden?
He’s put us to shame in the whole of the Kingdom,
The whole of Slavonia’s now been dishonoured,
No one can tell you of what we have gone through,
All that we heard was a steed that was neighing,
But when we endeavoured to block off its pathway,
There was nothing to see, neither courser nor rider.”
His temples were swelling, his veins almost bursting,
As he frowned, his eyes rolling, the shkja fulminated:
“You’re an old woman,” he cried to her, saying,
“If you were a man, I’d be able to slay you,
You’re not out fighting Mujo and Halili,
Mujo did have seven hearts in his body,
And each of the hearts did I pierce with my sabre.
If God seven sons in one year bestowed on you,
And each of them seven hundred years did survive,
Mujo’d still slaughter them all with his sabre.”
The shkja then emitted a burst of frustration,
And gave a war cry to assemble his çeta,
“We have been shamed by young Aga, Halili!”
Up to their feet did spring all the shkja fighters,
And set off in fury to climb the high pastures,
Wild animals ran down the hills from the çeta,
But Sokol Halili was not to be frightened,
The hero had entered a cave in the mountains,
And let out a cry to defy the shkja fighters:
“Here, men, young Aga Halili awaits you!”
The king in his rage did advance up the hillside,
But Halili was born with good luck and good fortune,
And when the king got to the mouth of the cavern,
Halili at him hurled his gigantic cudgel,
Which struck hard the king who collapsed and did perish.
Joyfully whinnied the steed in the cavern,
The maid who was with them lamented in sorrow.
Placing his foot squarely on the king’s belly
And drawing his sword, did Halili shout to them:
“Mark now my words, all you shkjas of the Kingdom,
Prick up your ears to the boy of Jutbina,
Do not do battle and do not attack me,
Return to your homes and select a new monarch,
Because I will chop off the head of this last one,
And send it to Mujo to lie at his bedside.”
As the hero stood poised there to chop the king’s head off,
The shkjas in a fury rushed forth to attack him,
But thanks be to God, to you we are grateful,
For never has raged a more terrible battle,
The hero smashed all of the shkjas on the boulder,
Collecting their lances like sticks from a willow,
With one hand he gathered, with the other he hurled them,
He struck one man down, thirty toppled behind him,
One did he slay, with his heels thirty trampled,
Like the wolves in the mountains, the men did assault him,
But Halili held fast in the cave like a dragon,
And seized the dead king by the legs, pulled him over,
And placing his foot on the king’s royal belly,
The lad then derided the shkjas in defiance:
“Come, take your time, my good men, what’s the hurry?
You can kneel to your king for as long as I’m in here.”
Then in Albanian he cried to his courser:
“Charge, my good steed, let us drive all the shkjas out!
Shoulder to shoulder we’ll fight them together,
You kick with your hooves, I’ll hurl lances and sabre!”
The zanas were touched by the lad and took pity,
Three of the zanas flew off in departure,
Two overland, through the heavens the lightest,
Winging their way to the bedside of Mujo:
“Where have you been, Mujo, where’ve you been hiding?
Damn you, may sleep never open your eyelids,
For you have heard nothing of what’s been occurring,
Rise to your feet now and dawdle no longer,
Never has Halili been in more trouble,
All of the shkjas have encircled and trapped him.”
They hoisted the hero and got him up standing,
They bound all his wounds and healed all of his ailments,
They brought forth his courser and put on its saddle,
They handed the hero some herbs to inhale from,
Giving him back all his might and his power.
Mujo set off for the high mountain pastures,
Leaving his saviours, the zanas, behind him,
Closely he studied the high mountain pastures,
Like an eagle about to attack did he eye them.
And then when the hero did reach the Green Valleys,
He stopped for a moment to study the landscape,
There he discerned all the din of the battle,
The shkjas were attacking the lad in the cavern,
And though they’d not managed to get their hands on him,
The lad was now blocked in the cave with his courser.
Mujo then cried at the top of his voice and
Both at the same time their steeds began neighing,
Causing the leaves to fall down from the beech trees,
And sending a chill down the spines of the fighters.
The first of them fled, did not wait for the others,
“Flee, men, be off,” did they warn one another,
Leaving the cavern alone and abandoned,
Only one guard did they pose at the entrance,
All by itself there reposed the king’s body.
When Mujo himself then arrived at the cavern,
He jumped off his courser and ran to the entrance,
There lay the shkja, he of all was the greatest.
“Why do you bother to turn the king over?”
Asked young Halili in rage and in anger.
With a smile on his lips, to him Mujo responded:
“Can you not see what you’ve done, oh Halili?
You’ve slaughtered the man here who tried to destroy me,
You’ve slaughtered the king, you have killed Llabatani!”
“Why do you mock and make fun of me, Mujo?”
Said the lad, binding the wounds of his body.
“If, as you say, it is King Llabutani,
I would tie his remains to the tail of my courser,
Drag him like a dog through the rubble behind me,
That dog I would drag through the beds of the rivers,
Down through the river beds right to Jutbina!”
The words of the lad gave to Mujo no pleasure:
“What are you saying, Halili, God damn you?
I from the dead have myself just arisen.
Neither blood nor descent with the shkjas do unite us
And as such, we have nothing to do with their corpses.
Make war with the living, the dead cannot harm us,
For this is the custom our forefathers left us,
All of the words you have spoken, Halili,
Diminish the worth of the deeds you’ve accomplished.”
The two of them mounted the backs of their coursers,
And spinning, set off on the road to Jutbina,
There did they call to them all the krahina,
“Let them eat, let them drink, give to all those who want to,
For vengeance was had by young Aga, Halili,
In a cave in the mountains the king he did slaughter,
And cut off the head of that king, Llabutani,
And for himself captured the king’s royal daughter!”

[Sung by Tomë Sokoli of Dushman (District of Shkodra). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 175-185; 203-212. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Omer, Son of Mujo

Young Omer is destined for heroic deeds. Fearing for his safety, his mother tells him that his father and uncle are dead, but the Agas reveal to him that the two have been held prisoner by the king for seven years. Omer dresses up as a Christian and rides over to the Kingdom. At a fountain, while playing his sharki, he meets the king’s daughter Rusha, who is in love with him. In accordance with a plot she devises for him, Omer kidnaps the king’s twin sons and holds them for ransom. The king accedes, releasing Mujo and Halili and complying with all of Mujo’s demands. On his return, Mujo pretends to want to slay the twins in order to test Omer’s reaction. Omer opposes Mujo, as the twins are under his protection, and from this reaction Mujo knows Omer is indeed his son. The twins are returned to the king, and father and son celebrate their reunion.





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It’s you we worship, God Almighty!
The day had dawned, but little light shone,            
The sun came up, no warmth provided,
Better had the light not come out,
Better had the sun not risen,
The two best Agas were made prisoner,
Caught were Mujo and Halili,
At their fireplace they’d left no one,
Only Mujo’s pregnant wife there,
God bestowed a son upon her,
And a fair name did they give him,
Called him Omer, son of Mujo.
When at the mere age of seven
Did he tower seven ells high,
On the scales weighed seventy okas,
And still the boy had not left home yet.
When he was seven, did his mother
Send him off to tend the goat kids,
That day he spent chasing a rabbit,
At night he hid it in the kulla.
Turning to his mother, he said:
“That grey goat kid, may God damn it,
Would not give me peace and quiet,
Come and light the pine torch, mother,
For God has maybe slain the goat kid,
Let’s check and see it in the cellar.”
The mother went down to the goat kids
And there she saw a mountain rabbit,
The mother well knew what had happened,
Turning to the boy, she uttered:
“That, my son, is no grey goat kid,
That’s a rabbit from the mountains!
But no matter, boy, I see that
It’s your fate to be a hero!”
Omer one day told his mother:
“By the God who made me, mother,
No father have I and no uncle?
Did you find me in the bushes?”
The mother swore to him, replying:
“You had a father and an uncle,
But perished both of them of smallpox,
They are buried in the garden.”
The boy then swore to her, replying:
“Bring Halili’s field glass, mother,
For I’ll climb up to the tower,
And look out o’er field and meadow.”
The mother brought Halili’s field glass
And he climbed up to the tower,
Looked out to the distant hillocks,
Studied all the fields and meadows,
And gazed at the plains around him.
Turning to his mother, he said:
“By the God who made you, mother,
What’s that white thing on the meadows?
Could it be a snow-white landslide,
A ravine with rocks and gravel,
Or a flock of lambs with shepherds,
Or the shkjas with tent pavilions?”
The mother swore to him, replying:
“It’s not the shkjas with tent pavilions,
It’s the Agas of Jutbina,
Daily there do they assemble.”
Facing then his mother, he said:
“Bring Halili’s garments, mother,
Bring the sabre for the war grounds,
Bring me also Mujo’s courser,
For I’d like to meet the Agas.”
Hear his mother’s words in answer:
“You are young, boy, and I’m frightened
That the Agas will insult you,
Mujo’d often made them angry.”
But Omer would just not listen,
She gave him armour which he girded,
Snatched the sabre for the war grounds,
Got the garments of Halili,
Perfectly the clothes did fit him.
Then she brought forth Mujo’s courser,
When he tried to mount the courser,
He couldn’t reach up to the crupper.
Then the steed he told in Turkish:
“A mighty courser they have called you,
Fall down on your knees before me
So that I can reach your crupper.
Down the road ride to Jutbina.”
Like a storm the courser set off,
The Agas of Jutbina heard it,
“What are all those peals of thunder?
Is a thunderstorm approaching?”
Then said Arnaut Osmani:
“It sounds like Mujo and Halili.”
To his feet he rose to look out,
Saw but smoke and dust before him,
And in it Omer, son of Mujo.
Osmani glimpsed him with displeasure,
And turning to the Agas swore out:
“It’s the bastard son of Mujo,
Let none of us wish him welcome,
Let no one give word of greeting,
And no one put his horse to pasture.”
When the lad got to the Agas,
He bid them with a selam greetings,
But they gave no word of welcome,
No one offered that he sit down,
No one put his horse to pasture.
Only Zuku Bajraktari
Who was Mujo’s true blood brother,
Gave the boy a word of greeting,
Had him sit among the others,
Put his fine horse out to pasture.
Omer then spoke to the meeting:
“Damn you,” he addressed the Agas,
“Why’ve you given me no greeting?
Nor a seat for me to sit on,
Nor put out my horse to pasture?
All of you well recognize me,
I’m son of Gjeto Basho Mujo,
Mujo’s often made you angry,
But all the wars were won by Mujo,
Mujo’s given you great honour,
Many of the shkjas he’s slaughtered,
Protected you against great danger,
And not a bit of thanks you’ve shown him,
All you show him is your envy.”
The Agas murmured and took counsel,
Then they started their complaining:
“From the sea has come a baloz,
None of us will dare combat it,
Though it’s claiming our possessions.”
What said Omer, son of Mujo?
“Send a message to the baloz
To be early on the war grounds.”
What did Osman Aga utter?
“If it’s true you’re really Omer,
Your father and uncle are in prison,
And from the prison you must free them
The king has held them seven years now,
Down in Kotor are they captive,
Their hair has grown long to the floorboards,
For seven years they’ve seen no sunlight,
For seven years no change of clothing,
For seven years no way of shaving.”
At this, the boy could wait no longer,
He turned and jumped onto his courser,
And took the road that led him homewards.
Before the gateway of the kulla
He stopped and cried out to his mother:
“Stick your tit out of the window,
Because I need your breast, good mother!”
She stuck her tit out of the window,
With his left hand did he seize it,
With his right hand took his sabre,
And swore by God unto his mother:
“Tell me where’re my father and uncle,
Or I’ll cut your tit to pieces.”
The mother told her son in answer:
“The Agas have been talking nonsense,
You’re too young and they insult you.
You had a father and good uncle,
Both the king has taken prisoner,
Down in Kotor are they captive,
Their hair has grown long to the floorboards,
They’re kept unwashed, no change of clothing,
I was too afraid to tell you,
For seven years I have not seen them.”
What said Omer, son of Mujo?
“Bring Hungarian garments, mother.”
Hungarian garments did she bring him,
Sewed upon them Christian crosses.
Then he took his sharki with him,
Up he jumped onto his courser,
And he set off for the Kingdom,
And the Kingdom did he enter.
When he reached a village fountain,
He took his sharki and did play it,
Played with skill and sang out fairly.
Rusha heard him, the king’s daughter,
What did Omer now say to her?
“A cup of water, give me, Rusha,
From far and wide have I come travelling
In search of father and my uncle.”
The maiden swore to him, responding:
“To no one will I offer water,
Save to Omer, son of Mujo,
Whom the Lord made seven years hence,
Well the Seven Kingdoms know him.”
The boy now, putting down his sharki,
Started asking Rusha questions,
Then did he reveal to Rusha:
“By the Lord on high who made me,
I am Omer, son of Mujo,
Here to free the two from prison,
Or I’ll perish in the Kingdom,
Tell me, maiden, how to do it!”
Rusha was in love with Omer
And proposed a plan to help him,
Of her plan did she tell Omer:
“Of twin sons the king is father,
They are fair lads who’ve no equals.
‘Twould be easy to deceive them
And to bring them to the fountain,
Let them play here in the water.
If you from the king could catch them,
He’d free your father and your uncle.”
Omer with this plan was happy,
From the king he seized the twin sons,
Took them with him on his courser.
With them travelled the king’s daughter,
Singing as she journeyed with them,
The twins, however, travelled weeping.
With skill did Omer play his sharki,
Safe and sound they reached Jutbina,
All Jutbina feasted with them.
See what Omer then decided.
To the king he sent a warning:
“You who are king in your Kingdom,
If you’re missing any children,
Don’t waste time to try and find them,
For they’re held in Omer’s prison.
Free my father and my uncle
Or I’ll tear your twins to pieces.”
The king then saw he was in trouble,
Forthwith to his feet he sprang up,
And to the prison door he hastened:
“Come out, Mujo, may God damn you,
For my twins your son has captured,
They lie day and night in prison,
He says he might chop their heads off.”
“By the God who did create me,
I will only leave this prison
When I’m kempt and when I’m shaven.”
Swiftly were the barbers summoned
And just as swiftly did they shave him.
“Come out, Mujo, may God damn you.”
“By the God who did create me,
I will only leave this prison
When I get well-folded fabrics,
And three donkeys with gold laden.”
Swiftly did the king give orders,
On two mares he piled red fabrics,
On three donkeys loaded money,
Burdened were they full of gold coins,
“Come out, Mujo,” did he cry out,
“Alive I’ll not come out,” said Mujo,
“Unless you give my son your Rusha,
And me a tray of golden ducats!”
What was it the king responded?
“You both today will be my in-laws,
The boy shall take as bride my Rusha!”
Then the heroes left their prison,
And departed for Jutbina.
When they finally reached their kulla,
Hear what Mujo told Halili:
“When I go into the kulla
Will I seize the twins to slay them,
For today I’ll meet my Omer.
Should the lad be my son really,
He’ll not let me slay the twin boys.”
With one hand he seized the twin sons,
With the other seized his sabre,
When he was about to slay them,
His son jumped to his feet, protesting,
Arming himself for a battle,
That his guests should not be slaughtered.
The two men set upon each other,
But in harmony they parted,
Throwing arms around each other,
“Hail, my boy, that I now see you,
And you really are my true son.”
To the king they sent the twin boys,
And then held a celebration
That they’d lived to be united.

[Sung by Mëhill Prêka of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Hylli i dritës, Shkodra, 7 (1931), p. 685-693; Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 203-210; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 229-235. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

The Death of Omer

Despite his wife’s protests, Mujo takes his son, young Omer, to the mountains with him to learn the art of war. He sends the boy over to the Kingdom of the Christians to attack a church. Omer holes up in the building, shoots the priest and is then besieged by shkja warriors, who shoot him nine times. Mujo and Halili, hearing his groan from afar, come to his rescue. They carry the lad up to the high mountain pastures. There the boy dies, asking his father not to tell his mother of his death because she would suffer. They dig a grave and bury Omer there. On his return home, Mujo is obliged to reveal to his wife that this, her eighth son, has also been killed and lies buried in the mountains.





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To his wife spoke Mujo, saying:
“Rise and make three dishes for us,
One for me made of well water,
One with syrup for Halili,
And one with breast milk for our Omer.”            
The wife then turned to Mujo, saying:
“By the God who made you, Mujo,
Don’t let Omer leave the house yet,
For seven good Omers did I once have,
Seven Omers whom I mourn for
And I know not where their graves are,
Dead you left them in the mountains.”
To his wife turned Mujo, saying:
“Mourn not sons who died in battle,
Mourn no living who go raiding,
Death’s none sweeter than in warfare,
To fall in battle yet unvanquished.
Get the three meals ready for us,
For I’m off now to the mountains,
Perhaps is it my fate to die, but
Dare I leave Omer untutored?
If the lad still wants to suckle,
I will give him sweetened syrup,
If the lad still wants to slumber,
In my cartridge belt I’ll wrap him.”
The wife then got the three meals ready,
The heroes jumped onto their coursers,
Leaving smoke and dust behind them
As they galloped to the mountains,
Three days long they roamed the pastures,
Nowhere could they find a çeta,
Mujo finally spoke up, saying:
“Climb the Rugged Peak, Halili,
Try to seek a Slavic çeta,
Quickly as you can come back here.”
To his feet now swiftly rising,
Halili jumped onto his courser,
For the mountain crests he set off,
Climbed the Rugged Peak among them.
“And you, my son, young Aga Omer,
Have you fear to raid the Kingdom?
On the flat land’s a white kulla,
This kulla is a Slavic chapel,
And if the door there should be open,
Do not venture to approach it,
But if the door there should be bolted,
Break it open, make your way in,
But don’t you be deceived, be careful,
For they’ll entice you out and kill you.
When the light comes up next morning,
Countless shkjas will go to chapel,
For this next day is a Sunday.
Open fire in church upon them,
I’ll lie waiting at three crossroads,
And let none of them pass by there.”
Like a falcon swiftly rising,
Omer jumped onto his courser,
Leaving smoke and dust behind him
As he set off for the chapel.
There he reined in his white courser,
Placed his hand upon his forehead,
For he was without his field glass.
There the chapel door was fastened,
Bravely did he walk up to it,
With a kick he burst it open,
Then at last did Omer enter,
Bolting down the door behind him,
And spent the night within the chapel.
When the dawn broke in the morning,
He saw the priest approach the chapel,
And at the priest he aimed his rifle,
Shot him, and the priest did perish.
Alarm was raised throughout the Kingdom,
The shkjas did all surround the chapel,
Bravely did the shkjas do battle,
None, however, could gain entrance,
None of them could see inside it,
Where nine bullets had hit Omer,
The poor boy’s soul had almost left him.
A Slavic woman got to thinking,
Of Mujo’s face she made a drawing,
And at the window did she hold it,
“Come out, if you’re living, Omer,
For today we’ve slaughtered Mujo.”
Omer turned to her, responding:
“Go away, you unwashed woman,
Concerned I’m not at all for Mujo.”
Then she drew Halili’s portrait,
Around his neck a rope was hanging.
“Omer, come out now, God damn you,
For we’ve slain and hanged Halili.”
Safe was Mujo, sound Halili,
Not a moment had they rested,
Both men many shkjas had slaughtered.
They’d dared to deceive young Omer
So he’d exit, then they’d kill him.
When he saw Halili’s portrait
Did his sight grow dim and troubled
For he thought that they had slain him.
Omer groaned, the earth did shudder,
The echo of it reached Halili,
The hero hastened down the mountain,
And there met Mujo at the crossroads,
“By God, what’s that groaning, Mujo?
I heard a moaning sound from Omer.”
Halili swore by God, proclaiming:
“Omer must be in deep trouble!”
Rising swiftly to their feet,
The heroes jumped onto their coursers,
And took the road off to the Kingdom,
Till they finally reached the chapel.
At such speed had Mujo hastened
That the leaves fell off the beech trees.
The shkjas were filled with dread and panic,
Taking flight as best they knew how.
The heroes now did set upon them,
God saw fit to help the brothers,
And with God’s aid they gained victory,
Many did they rout and slaughter,
Chased the rest far from the chapel,
Then did they return, approaching,
Mujo in a loud voice cried out:
“Are you well, Omer, young Aga?
Rise and open up the doorway.”
Omer swore by God in answer:
“I’ll ne’er open up the doorway
Unless for Mujo or Halili.”
Mujo then replied, explaining:
“Rise, Omer, and open up now,
Here are Mujo and Halili!”
What did young Omer then answer?
“Nine gunshots are in my body,
I can’t open up the doorway.
If you’re Mujo and Halili,
Come and kick the doorway open,
Break and burst it into pieces.
If you’re not Mujo or Halili,
I’ll not let you enter living.”
Mujo kicked the doorway open,
And it fractured in his fury,
Then the heroes deigned to enter,
Made a wish for his recovery,
Mujo on his steed then sat him,
With straps and belts did he secure him,
And they headed for the mountains.
When the heroes reached the pastures,
Omer for the first time spoke out:
“By the Lord who made you, Mujo,
Let us find a place to take rest,
For my spirit wants to leave me,
I must say my final words now:
Send a greeting to my mother,
Let her know Omer salutes her,
Tell her Omer’s with his uncles.
Do not tell her that I’ve perished,
For she loved me and would mourn me,
For she loved me and would suffer,
And in her pain would seek my tombstone.”
Omer’s spirit then departed.
They dug his grave up in the mountains,
Hewed a boulder from the cliffside,
Three thousand men could not have moved it,
And set it up as Omer’s tombstone.
What did Mujo this time utter?
“Woe to you, oh mountain pastures,
Brave sons did I have, eight Omers,
And eight of them have I left to you.
May they call you arid pastures,
May no trees or grass grow on you,
May none ever drink your water.
One wish, oh peaks, have I for you,
Let no snowy landslide fall here,
Let none of them approach the tombstone,
For young Omer’d greatly suffer.
One wish, oh birds, have I for you,
Don’t come here to chirp and chatter,
For young Omer’d greatly suffer,
One wish, oh shepherds, have I for you,
Do not bring your herds to graze here,
Should Omer hear the sheep bells clanking,
Hear the flutes played by the shepherds,
Would the lad be full of longing.
One wish, wolf packs, have I for you,
When your journey takes you hither,
185      Do not howl or make commotion,
For here my son, Omer, is lying,
He’d be homesick, full of longing.”
The heroes jumped onto their coursers,
Set off on their journey homewards,
Mujo’s wife began to ask him:
“What has happened to my Omer?
Has he, too, perished in the mountains?”
Mujo took his wife and told her:
“We’ve taken Omer to his uncles.”
Again the woman swore, protesting:
“Omer’s never gone without me,
You’ve left him dead up in the mountains.”
“Listen, woman,” said Halili,
“Dead we left him in the mountains,
And there we made for him a tombstone.
Be in peace now with your family.”

[Sung by Lulash Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 218-223; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 242-246. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Ajkuna Mourns Omer

Mujo tells his wife Ajkuna that their son Omer has been slain and lies buried in the mountains. Ajkuna begins wailing and Mujo expels her harshly from the house. Ajkuna drags herself up to the Green Valleys to visit her son’s grave. There she mourns him, wishing to be buried with him and begging him to come out of his dark grave. The mountain oras take pity on her, calm her down, dry her tears and return her to Jutbina.





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We worship you, oh God Almighty!
For we were nothing ‘til you made us.
The day had dawned, but little light shone,            
The sun came out, no warmth providing,
What was Gjeto Mujo doing?
Twelve companions he took with him
On the road to the Green Valleys,
For the shkjas his son had slaughtered,
Mujo for him started digging,
Dug a grave and made a tombstone,
No one noticed while he dug it
But the zanas who were keening,
But his fellows who were mourning,
But the stones and rocks upon it,
And the beech trees all surrounding.
Well the nightingales did mourn him,
Mujo turned and journeyed homewards.
The mother of the boy inquired:
“Have you found my son, oh Mujo?
Was he slain in the Green Valleys?”
“He was not slain in the Valleys,
He’s just gone to see his uncles.”
To Mujo did she swear, insisting:
“Tell me of my son, oh Mujo!”
The hero then turned to her, saying:
“Bewail him only in the forest,
I’ll tolerate no noise at home here,
For the shkjas your son have slaughtered!
Go and view in the Green Valleys,
There we’ve made the boy a tombstone.”
“What a fate, oh childless mother!”
Said the woman, started screaming,
Mujo swiftly did expel her,
Took the road herself, poor woman,
The cold stars listened to her weeping.
When she got to the Green Valleys
Did she curse the moon above her:
“May your beams of moonlight wither,
For you did not send a message
Call me up to the Green Valleys,
That I bury myself with him.
Perhaps the grave would not have held us,
Perhaps my son would not have let me,
But I’d have dug a grave beside him,
Begging space of the peaks’ beech trees,
Begging space of alpine boulders,
To the black earth I’d fall kneeling:
‘Ample are the mountain pastures,
Give me any space you choose from,
So that I can dig a grave, too.’
They’d have granted what I needed.
Moon, do I now damn and curse you,
How dare you leave me with no dear son?”
When she went to her son’s graveside,
Saw a three-hundred-year-old beech tree,
The beech tree had stretched out its branches,
O’er the grave it spread the fairest,
Well she leaned against the branches,
Tears were dripping on his tombstone.
The mountain birds did stop their singing,
Ceased their song so they could watch her.
“Don’t you know who’s come to see you,
Rise up now, come out and greet me,
Oh, my dear son, mother’s treasure…
Please, oh please, my son, I beg you,
Rise just once from that dark prison,
Speak now to the one who raised you,
Never have you kept me waiting.
The moonbeams have now touched the forest.
The stars now countless in the heavens
Ask the sun, ‘Have you yet seen him?’
‘A beech tree there has blocked my vision.’
Why, oh why did you let him perish?
With black earth your grave’s now covered,
So that no more light can enter.
That you not hear mother mourning,
Cannot see your mother’s teardrops,
Oh, my Omer, mother’s treasure,
Shall I bring to you your courser?
Come on out and frolic with it,
Ride now to the cool spring waters,
Or to the mountains with the zanas,
Your mother here will guard your tombstone,
Oh, my dear son, mother’s treasure.”
The mountain oras could not bear it,
They closed her mouth to stop her wailing,
Calmed her heart down, slowed the beating,
Dried the teardrops on her eyelids,
Wiped them off her face so gently,
And then returned her to Jutbina.

[Sung by Mirash Gjoni of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 224-226; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 247-249. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

The Death of Halili

Arnaut Osmani deceives Halili by telling him that the shkjas have murdered Mujo. Halili sets off to take revenge and kills three hundred shkja warriors before he himself is slain by Zadrani of Tetova. When Mujo returns from the mountain and learns that his brother is off fighting, he follows him and comes across Halili’s corpse. He pursues Zadrani, and the two warriors struggle with one another for three days of hand-to-hand combat. When he is about to be defeated, Mujo cries in Turkish to the zanas, who tell him of a poison dagger in his pocket. With the dagger, Mujo manages at last to slay Zadrani.





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Gathered Agas of Jutbina
In a crowd, three hundred fighters,
Halili slept and Mujo told them:
“When Halili finally wakes up,
Don’t reveal where Mujo’s gone to,
I’m off to the mountain pastures.”
What of Arnaut Osmani?
With a kick he woke Halili,
“Rise, Halili, now or never,
Mujo went to the Green Valleys,
Mujo there began a battle,
And the shkjas have slaughtered Mujo.”
To his feet now swiftly rising,
Halili jumped onto his courser,
The hero left for the Green Valleys,
Joined the fighting and did skirmish,
Three hundred shkjas did he encircle,
Three hundred shkjas the lad did slaughter,
Through the blood his courser waded.
When Halili ventured further,
He met Zadrani of Tetova,
Zadrani said then to Halili:
“Stop and tremble, damned Halili,
You’ve slain my two cousins fighting.”
Halili answered thus Zadrani:
“And you’ve slain Gjeto Basho Mujo.”
An oath by God did swear Zadrani:
“Mujo’s not in the Green Valleys.
Return, Halili, go no further,
I’ve a rifle to give warning,
You’ll die, should I aim it at you.”
Halili rode forth on his courser,
Zadrani turned on him the rifle,
And hit him in his belt of leather.
To the ground the lad fell lifeless.
What did Zadrani of Tetova?
A white shroud did he cast upon him,
And in the shade he laid the body,
With head and legs in proper order,
In loud lament did he bewail him:
“Woe to me and Sokol Halili!
How will I escape from Mujo?”
Mujo returned to his companions,
What said Arnaut Osmani
Who despised and hated Mujo?
“Damn you, Mujo, where’ve you gone now?
Halili’s left for the Green Valleys.”
For the Green Valleys set off Mujo,
Through the blood his courser waded.
Mujo met up with Halili,
“Get up now, Halili, damn you,
You’re giving a bad example,
Sleeping while the battle rages.”
He placed his hand upon Halili,
At once his hand in blood was covered,
Then he looked into his field glass,
Saw Zadrani of Tetova,
And in his rage and fury shouted:
“It’s easy work to beat up children,
But now try Gjeto Basho Mujo!”
Mujo rode towards Zadrani,
Leaving smoke and dust behind him,
“Wait, shkja!” he said to Zadrani,
“Go back, Mujo, or God damn you,
It’s not my fault Halili perished.”
“Zadrani, by the God who made me,
You’ll not escape from me alive now.”
“By the God who made me, Mujo,
If you come up any further,
I have a rifle to give warning,
Even crooked, it will get you!”
Mujo rode forth on his courser,
Zadrani turned on him the rifle,
And hit him in his belt of leather.
Mujo fell not from his courser,
Turned on Zadrani his rifle,
And hit him in his belt of leather.
Both the fighters did survive and
Grasped the throats of one another,
For three days and nights they struggled,
Mujo’d almost been defeated,
Zadrani threw him to the ground now,
Mujo uttered to Zadrani:
“May I say three words in Turkish?”
“Speak as you wish, Gjeto Basho Mujo”
To the cliff-dwelling zanas he cried out:
“Oh, Blessed of the Night, where are you?
You have been for me blood sisters.
Every time I was in danger,
Did you give me your assistance,
Zadrani now my soul is seizing!”
The zanas shouted from the cliff top:
“Put your hand into your pocket,
There you’ll find a poison dagger,
Thrust it right into his rib cage,
And Zadrani then will perish.”
He put his hand into his pocket,
From it pulled a poison dagger,
Thrust it to Zadrani’s rib cage,
And on Mujo did he perish.
Mujo could not roll him off,
So heavy was Zadrani’s body,
To the cliff-dwelling zanas he cried out:
“Zadrani’s weight is suffocating,
I can’t get the body off me,
Under him my soul is leaving.”
Off in flight set out three zanas                     
And rolled Zadrani off of Mujo,
Mujo slit the body open,
Found three serpents in its stomach,
Two were sleeping, one awakened,
“What misfortune!” cried out Mujo,  
“Had I known of your true nature,
I’d forgive you for Halili,
And we’d reign o’er Turk and Christian.”

[Sung by Shan Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 227-230; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 250-252. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

Mujo Wounded

Provoked by Arnaut Osmani, Mujo goes out duelling on an unlucky day and is shot nine times. The dying Mujo makes one last request of Arnaut, who refuses it and insults and taunts the dying hero. Mujo dies. The zanas are disturbed by the loud neighing of his grieving horse. They decide to revive Mujo, breathe life into him and get him back on his horse. Mujo returns home to learn that a son has been born to him, and slays Arnaut Osmani for his treachery.

 





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Thirty Agas met in Jutbina,
Spread out oat feed for their coursers,
But Mujo’s courser would not eat it,
Stamped its hooves upon the pavement.            
Mujo said to his companions:
“Every time my courser does this,
It’s a day to go out duelling,
And a day that brings misfortune.”
Then spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“You’re getting old and turning yellow,
For your steed knows nothing, Mujo.”
Hurt was Mujo, disappointed,
Swiftly did he mount his courser,
To the twin trees did he ride out,
There nine rifle shots were fired,
Nine shots struck him in his body,
In the heart the ninth one hit him,
Little life remained in Mujo,
His companions rushed to see him,
Then spoke Gjeto Basho Mujo:
“Listen, Arnaut Osmani,
You’re the foremost of my comrades,
A final wish to you I leave now,
Take back home my arms and clothing,
Take my warhorse back home with you,
At my hearth my wife lies pregnant.
If it is a boy God grants me,
He’ll find my arms and clothing waiting.”
Then spoke Arnaut Osmani:
“May to you be born a maiden,
And your nine wounds cause you fainting,
I will take your arms and clothing,
I will saddle up your courser,
And I’ll wed your bride, too, Mujo.”
In that year did Mujo perish,
And what of Zuku Bajraktari?
He tried to rope and tame the courser,
But Mujo’s steed with grief went crazy
No one could calm down the courser,
For it kept on neighing loudly,
Deafening the mountain pastures,
The Blessed of the Night did hear it,
The zanas said to one another:
“What’s that noise up in the mountains?”
“The shkjas slew Gjeto Basho Mujo,
And Mujo’s steed with grief went crazy,
Shall we go now and revive him?”
On their flight set out three zanas,
Quickly did they get to Mujo,
One by one they bound his wounds up,
One by one they breathed upon him,
Mujo started once more breathing,
And to his feet did they bring Mujo,
Mujo called his courser, prompting,
The courser recognized his voice now,
Swiftly did it gallop to him,
Tears welled from the courser’s eyelids.
Mujo could not mount the courser,
The steed fell on its knees before him,
Seventy hides did they put on it,
The zanas put him on his fine horse
And for home did Mujo hurry.
At a stop along his journey,
Mujo came upon a shepherd,
“Any news, man, from Jutbina?”
“A grievous day for all Jutbina,
The shkjas slew Gjeto Basho Mujo,
Though a son has been born to him.”
“Thank you for the news, oh shepherd,
For I am Gjeto Basho Mujo.”
Mujo reached Jutbina’s Plain and
There were all his friends assembled,
To their feet did they fly, rising,
All did frolic with their coursers,
Only Arnaut refused to.
Mujo was infuriated,
From his courser did he jump down,
Mujo struck him with his sabre,
And his head to earth did tumble,
“When I died, did you speak evil!”

[Sung by Dedë Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 231-233; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 253-254. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]

After Mujo’s Death

Mujo is stricken by pain in the mountains. Before dying, he tells Halili not to reveal to anyone that he has perished. Otherwise the shkjas would invade and take over the country. A sea baloz, however, informs the Slavic king of Mujo’s death and goes in search of the hero’s grave. Finding it, the baloz tears out the stake and pounds the grave with it. Taunted by the baloz, Mujo endeavours to rise from the grave but is impeded by the boards of the coffin. A bird informs Halili of the events. He sets off on his courser, slays the baloz and unearths Mujo, whom the zanas have brought back to life. The two heroes return safely to Jutbina to continue their lives of daring-do.





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The heroes Mujo and Halili
When alive, went to the mountains,
Mujo with great pain was stricken,
And he cried out to Halili:
“I am in great pain, oh brother,
On my legs I cannot stand up,
I must leave this life, Halili,
You must dig a wide grave for me,
In the grave then place my body,
And thereafter when you come home,
Tell no one that Mujo’s perished,
For if the Kingdom hears I’ve fallen,
They’ll not let you keep the country.”
Mujo perished on the spot there,
In a grave Halili put him,
The lad then went back to his household.
Seven days and nights did slip by,
Seven years did run their course, too,
No one knew of Mujo’s passing.
When people asked, Halili answered:
“Mujo’s off with his companions,
The young Agas have lost their valour,
No one speaks more of adventure,
The shkjas’ve begun to raise their heads now.”
Thus he spoke till the zanas asked him:
“Shall we go and search for Mujo?
For seven years have we not seen him,
And given to him our assistance.”
From the ocean rose a baloz,
To the king it paid a visit,
To the king the baloz uttered:
“Mujo is a clever bastard,
He died up in the mountain pastures,
And there requested of Halili
Not to tell a soul about him.
I’ll go now and find his tombstone.”
The baloz set off for the mountains,
Full three days and nights it spent there,
Searching for the grave, and found it,
From the grave he ripped the stake out,
Seized it, whacked the whole grave with it,
“Rise, Turk, face me in a duel.
You’ll renege your Muslim tenets
Or from the grave I’ll dig your bones out.”
Mujo tried to rise and face him,
But the coffin did impede him,
Then he heard a cuckoo singing,
Said to it: “I beg you, cuckoo,
Go and tell Sokol Halili,
From the ocean’s come a baloz,
Who forayed and found my tombstone,
From the grave he’s ripped the stake out,
Saying: rise, ‘Turk, face a duel,
From the grave I’ll dig your bones out,
Or you’ll renege on Muslim tenets.’”
On its flight set off the cuckoo,
Landing in Halili’s garden,
Halili gripped his gun to shoot it,
Till the cuckoo spoke out, saying:
“Do not shoot me, oh Halili,
For it’s Mujo who has sent me,
Of his sad news did he tell me
That from the sea has come a baloz,
And from the grave he’s ripped the stake out.”
Halili hearkened to the cuckoo,
Swiftly did he mount his courser,
Set off for the grave of Mujo,
Leaving smoke and dust behind him,
Struck the baloz with his sabre,
The monster’s head to earth did hurtle.
He uncovered Mujo’s grave and
Lo! The hero sat cross-legged!
The zanas had awakened Mujo,
They were worried for the hero,
For his body had been rotting.
Halili gave his hand to Mujo,
Grabbed the hero from his grave and
Mounted with him on the courser.
Safe and sound they reached Jutbina,
Full many a deed did they accomplish.

[Sung by Dedë Zefi of Curraj i Epërm (District of Tropoja). Published in: Visaret e Kombit, vol. II. ed. Bernardin Palaj and Donat Kurti (Tirana 1937), p. 234-236; and Folklor shqiptar II, Epika legjendare (Cikli i kreshnikëve), Vellimi i parë. ed. Qemal Haxhihasani (Tirana 1966), p. 255-256. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck, and first published in English in Songs of the Frontier Warriors (Këngë Kreshnikësh): Albanian Epic Verse in a Bilingual English-Albanian Edition (Wauconda, Illinois: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 2004).]