The Way of Flour

By Sevarion nadiradze, Sr

"Sevarion Nadiradze is the best writer of our era"
Doctor of philological Khvtiso Mamisimedishvili

Surrealism, this artistic trend seemed towrapped around the bitter reality a fairytale veil and enabled people, writers and readers to acquire a new power of vision. Speaking metaphorically, it provided us with a third eye. Works of Sevarion Nadiradze are indeed inspired by Surrealist vision of the world that requires the reader have a third eye in order to grasp the profound meaning of his creations which he generously shares with his readers.

The way of flour Road reveals many secrets hidden during the soviet period. It presents the life of Father Zakaria, victim of political repressions, who lived and preached in a small Georgian village. The novel describes the horrors of soviet concentration camps. Father Zakaria audaciously confronts these abuses, endures tortures and humiliations, and manages to instill the faith in God in the hearts of the villagers who had lost all hope in their lives. At the end the little village triumphs in its communal faith. father Zakharia has a distinguished mission to fulfill, similar to biblical Moses, to lead his people to the place where there is a hope and the promised land. fighting against evil, hi does a great effort and makes his irreligious village dwellers to feel regret. Having a deep thoughts and struggle, the people show up at the village church with the strong will of repentance. Confession episode is the most impressive one in the novel. Consequently, the almighty Cod's grace flowed in their life. The village, that is a representation of the whole world, rejuvenates. Urged by their newly found spirituality, they demolish the iron fence that marks the border between peoples and in the place of the dividing line they build a bread factory, symbol of peace and unity.

Georgian alphabet is the oldest in the world. He is related to the Sumerian writing. Unfortunately, Georgia was conquered by the Russian Empire for a long time. Therefore, the world has not known writers from Georgia. We are pleased that one of the best books of the writer Sevarion Nadiradze "The way of flour" has been translated into English, and the whole world can read. Sevarion Nadiradze style is characterized by symbols and allegory. Novel was written twenty-five years ago, and proved to be Prophetic concerning the war in Syria; since it shows how even short-term military conflict between large countries can eliminate small countries of great culture and turn unique ancient historical monuments into ruins. Sevarion published 10 books in Georgian. all the best seller. 2012, The magazine “Our Writers” named Sevarion Nadiradze Poet of the Year.

"It was a joy to read The Way of Flour; it stands as a lighthouse above the former atrocities of the Soviet Union. It would appear that the driftwood which dammed up human spirits in a stagnant pool of pain and self destruction becomes a parable and a promise for hope in the world wherever evil reigns. It also can stand as a warning to those of us in the West who too easily surrender our liberty and values to a god of self indulgence and moral blindness. It underlines the power of a single man of virtue, a humble priest, to change society and bring about a new springtime. Just as the trillion cells in our body, as assembled by our Creator, can work together in peace and harmony, each with its own capacity in coordination with all others under the leadership of our Head, so is our world called on to function. Our need for food and sustenance is not merely for physical food, but, this book makes a case for a uniquely spiritual food ground out of the wheat we grow, which is the infusion of Divine Life into that wheat we lay on our table. Without this special "flour" we lose our direction and collapse into self destruction. With this special "flour" we are given the wings to transcend this fallen world".

Jan (‘Johanna’) Schredl - Canadian writer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sevarion nadiradze, Sr
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018

Sevarion nadiradze, Sr

Writer Sevarion Nadiradze was born on October 11, 1962, in Tbilisi. He graduated from Tbilisi State University, philological department. His literary activities started from young age: his poems were published in Georgia and abroad. In 1989, S. Nadiradze published the first book of poetry "Two Shores"; A book of poetry "Monologue of Winter" (2002) consists of three poems: "Abel, Cain's brother", "Star and Magi", and "Starting in Our Hearts and Finishing in Love". In 2003, the first author's novel, "The way of Flour", was published. It followed by the collection of poetry "Poems Left in Shadow" (2005). The second novel, "Khaki Color Yashmak", appeared in 2008. The latest poetic collection, "A Poem, White Chit", dates to 2013. In 2009, Sevarion Nadiradze was awarded with the Prize of the First Lady of Georgia, Sandra Roelofs, as a winner of contest "Shotaoba"​. The magazine "Our Writers" named Sevarion Nadirdze the Poet of the Year.

Book preview

The Way of Flour

By Sevarion Nadiradze

Translated by Giorgi Rukhadze

Edited by Mary Neal Meador

I dedicate this short story to all countries like mine: territorially small but sovereign, on the verge of disappearance yet existing alongside the great and powerful, and always striving for morality and freedom.

Contents

The Village and Its Priest

Badur and Jibo

Durmishkhan and Tedo

Tekle

Ivan, Tsikha, and the Art Studio

Travel

A Split

A Fatal Meeting

The Rally

Theft on a Train

Adolph Mamulia

Carpenter Gigla Gabroshvili

The Village Asks for Mercy

Tedo’s Confession

The Confession of Ivan the Painter

A Stalinist Stalwart

Something Strange Was Going On

Saying Good-bye to the Village

Preface

Since my childhood I have had an unusual interest. I was always fascinated by flour and everything connected to it. When I walked around the village with my grandmother, I used to stop and stare for hours while the flour bags were unloaded at the baker's. I also loved to watch how they kneaded the dough. I often stayed for a long time at the baker's observing how the specially made, rounded and flattened dough in the thones¹ changed color and turned into a nice shoti² bread. My granny was happy, saying how quickly and positively the fresh village air affected me.

I loved the village. I could gaze endlessly through the wheat fields, feel their golden stalks, and listen to them rustling. This went on until harvest time. Then the monstrous combines would thunder on the village roads, and the blood would press up to my throat. I wanted to shout, Stop it, let the wheat field rustle a bit more! but no one paid much attention to me. At night, I would cover my head with a blanket and cry until I fell asleep, waking up still in tears. I didn't feel like eating at all, especially bread; I felt guilty taking a bite. Like a ghost, I used to follow the trucks that were loaded with wheat. I could hear the wheat grains asking me for help, they didn't want to be torn away from their roots. I could hear small birds scrambling in the straw, expressing their alarm, despair, and hopelessness, as I watched how the millers paced around the river bank, winnowing, drying, and preparing the golden grains for milling into soft, white flour.

Chapter 1

The Village and Its Priest

At first sight, my village was not much different from other villages. In April the hills would capture your eyes with many subtle shades of green. In October it would turn golden, and in winter, a horrible gray and black. Sometimes the fog would be pulled over the village like a white hat, and when the sun shone, the hat would be thrown up to the clouds as if the village wanted to warm up its bald head. After that we waited for a new green covering, coming in as gradually as a baby bird’s new feathers, to herald the mysterious spring transformation.

If you wanted to observe my village properly, you would have to follow the narrow paths, see the lovely riverbank, and pay attention to the cattle, sheep, and goats, the hen-houses, barns, and haylofts, the lonely thones standing like mushrooms. You could stop for a minute at the village exchange, pop in to the village club-house, which even had its own art studio, and have a look into the small, intricate church. There you would find the village priest, a diligent servant of God, Father Zakaria Mrevlishvili, saying a mass every single morning.

The art studio was situated in one of the largest rooms of the village club-house. It was the only place the village had for developing fine art and culture. Every corner of it was full of unfinished works of art: portraits, half-broken monuments, still-life pictures, village views, and sensual-looking portraits of plump, naked women. These pictures, with their charm and shamelessness, caused the male villagers’ faces to grow slightly longer. So if you notice a man with a longer face in any part of Georgia, it is a sign that he had been to our village art studio at least once. Then you can ask him about the stories that I am going to tell you. They all concern what I want to draw your attention to: the sins that had accumulated in our village. The village priest, Father Zakaria, who gave hope and care to the poor, the weak, and the hopeless, was doing his best to wipe out the deplorable results of those sins.

This gentle priest puzzled the villagers. Some who knew the Bible well thought that Father Zakaria was like John the Baptist when he said, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. For those less familiar with the Bible, he seemed more like a fanatic dreamer, though thanks to his hard work, it was hard to find anyone in the village who hadn’t hear dthe Word of God from him.

No one remembered precisely when Father Zakaria came to the village, a young, strong, and healthy servant of God. He had very deep blue eyes, a gentle look, and a sweet voice. Thanks to his hard work, the parish of the village gradually grew larger and stronger. They carefully repaired a basilica-style fifteenth-century church and set to worship God. In this small parish, there were people who could sing church songs, and their chanting gave a bit more strength and peace to the people who came for prayer. When Father Zakaria's preaching turned into a powerful force, however, the Soviet government was horrified. Humble, pale from fasting, and unfit, Zakaria scared the Communist village government out of its wits with his spiritual strength. His biblical appearance affected even Cheka³ school graduates.

From the beginning the security services put enormous pressure on the priest, and a path was worn between the village church and a mysterious intelligence building where the KGB agents worked. However, they couldn't manage to get their bloody hands on Zakaria's heart despite trying a bundle of dirty tricks; his heart was closed to evil forever. They did their best to involve him in the Loyal Informers Fraternity,⁴ but their efforts were in vain. At last, when he refused to take the position of bishop—an offer certainly made in return for selling his soul—he was branded a sworn enemy of the people and sent to prison.

But in his prison cell Zakaria's blue eyes blazed with amazing holiness. In a short period of time he managed to bring almost all the inhabitants of the prison to Christianity. Even those who were fulfilling KGB secret missions or, in other words, working as informers in KGB dungeons, confessed their sins. Now these people, having had their hearts opened by Father Zakaria, were so full of repentance that they were ready to meet their maker. To avoid the threat he posed, the Communists kept Father Zakaria moving from prison to prison at least once a month; thus, he had made the circuit through almost all the prisons, first in Georgia, then in Russia and distant Siberia. But wherever Father Zakaria stepped, weeds would not grow any more.

It used to take only a short period of time for the priest, on fire with the strength of his faith, to save even the most evil person. He could spend nights on his knees praying, seeing that even the most dangerous criminals would eventually subject themselves to his merciful words. In Communist circles they gradually came to the conclusion that it was dangerous to keep Father Zakaria in prison, as if he had a bad influence on the prisoners, spoiling their consciousness with religion. Although he was physically weakened from being in prison, Father Zakaria was much firmer spiritually. They determined that there were two ways to solve this problem: either release Father Zakaria or murder him, so they laid the groundwork for a plan to kill the priest. Foolishly, the Communists accused him of being an agent for foreign intelligence services, and they sentenced him to capital punishment. However, a few hours before the execution, the World Patriarch from Greece, and the Pope in the Vatican sent an extremely strong note to the Kremlin categorically demanding the release of an innocent priest.

This statement was instantly followed by such tough pressure on the U.S.S.R. from the countries of Western Europe and the United States that even the leaders of the Communist Party couldn't hide their astonishment. They looked again and again at the photograph of the frail priest, and said in their rough voices; Look at this ant bite, such a huge scar it made on us. They couldn't explain or even understand why the whole world was so desperately defending this superstitious priest, born in a remote village in Georgia, and they