The Pantheon of Khojivank
As Nasrosoltan and Irina hurriedly said their farewells outside the reception room, he kissed her hand and urgently told her, “My dear, I thank God that kismet was our friend today. I was truly fearful when I saw you in distress, crying at your uncle’s feet. I still cannot believe how events unfolded in our favor. Thank you for the words you spoke in defense of our love. I solemnly vow that you, my lovely princess, are the permanent priority of my life. But my darling, I must ask why you divulged our liaison to your family before I had a chance to speak directly with the grand duke? If you had not said anything, the matter might not have been elevated to involve His Imperial Majesty.”
Princess Irina replied, “My dearest, I am also amazed and thrilled that Uncle decided the issue in such a surprising manner. Before you arrived, they made me feel terrible, and I expected a dreadful outcome. I do not want to tempt fate with disturbing thoughts of what might have been, but I only want to cherish this moment and appreciate the beginning of a beautiful future with you. I am so grateful that our love is no longer to be hidden.”
Irina then added with a slightly defensive tone, “But it was not me who told my parents, my love. It was Nana who alerted them! She found my diary and read it to Mama. I just found out this afternoon and had no way of getting word to warn you of what they planned. I regret that our secret was revealed in this fashion, but I am not sorry for the consequence, which turned out to be a blessing. As for Nana, I will never forgive her for trying to ruin my life with her betrayal!”
Nasrosoltan tried to console her. “My sweet Irina, don’t be too harsh with Nana for what she considered her duty, which is your protection. You should ignore the sin of her deed and forgive her. If Nana had not done what she did, even though I don’t condone her having shared your private thoughts, the situation might not have turned out so favorably for us.”
Worried that the royals would soon come out of the reception room, and not wishing to be there when they did, Nasrosoltan quickly promised to write Irina every day, and she vowed the same in return. They promised each other they would never forget their love for one another, no matter the circumstance.
Irina kissed him softly on the cheek and bid him a safe journey until they would meet again. She said a traveler’s prayer for him as Nasrosoltan departed the palace for what was to be the last time before his return to Persia.
As the carriage carried him back to his apartment, he could not contain his excitement. If not for fear of embarrassment in the company of the carriage driver, he would have certainly let out an exhilarating shout of delight to celebrate his unexpected change of fortune.
What had initially seemed to be the edge of an abyss with no escape had suddenly transformed into a bridge, leading to a future of joy with his lovely Irina. There was nothing to fear any longer, no more doubts, no more secrets, no misery, only happiness—that is all he felt.
Later the next day, as he prepared to leave his apartment to collect his things at the conservatory and bid adieu to his peers and professors, he was surprised at the sound of someone banging at his door. He rushed to open the door and found an irate and anxious Madame Lazar on the other side.
Nasrosoltan invited her in, and without a greeting, the Madame angrily blurted out, “Monsieur, what have you done? Your indiscretion is appalling! Nana informed me of what transpired last evening at the palace, in the presence of the tsar. My reputation has now become tarnished for having introduced you; you have ruined me. I wish I had never referred you to this noble family. I am terribly disappointed in you and in myself!”
Nasrosoltan slowly calmed her down, offered her some tea, and once she regained her composure, he explained to her that perhaps Nana was still not aware of the glorious outcome of the whole saga. That in the end, the tsar had not disapproved, pending his going back to Persia and settling affairs to prepare for Princess Irina to join him there.
Madame Lazar listened with intense curiosity to the details Nasrosoltan shared of this harrowing tale. She could not help but notice his beaming with an aura of elation at recounting the incident and the fortuitous end result. As a savvy lady familiar with the ways of the royal court, Madame Lazar sensed that something did not add up in the story. She wondered whether Nasrosoltan was being sent on a fool’s errand. However, if this was the case, she saw no reward in downing his happiness and decided to say nothing further except to offer him congratulations on the news.
Nasrosoltan responded, “How can I ever thank you? If it were not for your introduction, my dear Madame, I would have never been so fortunate. May God bless you!”
The next day, while finalizing his travel arrangements, Nasrosoltan recalled the grand duke’s touching words upon hearing of Rustam’s death, that people only die when you forget them. With that thought in mind, Nasrosoltan wanted to honor the memory of his dear departed friend. He decided to pass through Tbilisi on his way home to visit Rustam’s family and pay respects to him at his gravesite.
When he contacted Rustam’s business manager, the man informed Nasrosoltan that Rustam’s wife had left Tbilisi and was on an extended stay in Batumi on the Black Sea with her parents. He then gave Nasrosoltan the location of his friend’s final resting place, the Khojivank Pantheon of Tbilisi. Khojivank was where many Armenians of great stature, including intellectuals and artists, were buried.
Nasrosoltan spent his last few days in St. Petersburg attending to his affairs, and just before leaving, he asked one last favor of Madame Lazar. Not satisfied with his rushed farewell with Irina, Nasrosoltan requested that the Madame deliver a note to her. He wanted to reassure Irina of his love with words he borrowed from Hafez:
Look upon all the gold in the world's mart,
On all the tears the world hath shed in vain;
Shall they not satisfy thy craving heart?
I have enough of loss, enough of gain;
I have my Love, what more can I obtain?
Mine is the joy of her companionship
Whose healing lip is laid upon my lip
This is enough for me!
On Friday, October 3, 1913, Nasrosoltan climbed aboard a train bound for Persia, an entirely different man than the one who had arrived in St. Petersburg only one year earlier. He now departed with a transformed heart and soul, reveling in all that was delightful. He had a fixed purpose and intended to reach his destination as soon as possible, to prepare for the eventual welcoming of his true love.
As he left this imperial capital city, Nasrosoltan had no idea that barely ten months later, the Great War would erupt and drag Russia into unprecedented destruction and loss of life. Nasrosoltan could not have known that this conflict would affect the futures of many he had become acquainted with during his time in St. Petersburg.
On his journey home, he took a detour to visit the grave of his late friend in Tbilisi. He arrived in the picturesque capital city of Georgia, straddling the banks of the Mtkvari River, a few days later. At the train station, he hired a carriage and proceeded to the pantheon. When he got there, Nasrosoltan was surprised to see the vastness of the cemetery. He later learned that there were over ninety thousand graves in this pantheon, in an area surrounded by a massive boundary wall. This wall also enclosed a beautiful garden and a magnificent church.
Nasrosoltan noticed that most graves had granite and marble sculptures with short, inscribed notes and poems. These engraved words revealed much about the Armenian population of Tbilisi and about their families, their heritage, and different aspects of their social life.
He quickly realized that to find his friend’s gravesite, he would need assistance from the keeper of the pantheon. After he spent quite a while searching for him, Nasrosoltan finally located the keeper, who had been busy tending to the expansive grounds, and he introduced himself. In return, the man introduced himself as bat’ono Grigoryan (bat’ono in the Georgian language being the equivalent of monsieur). The keeper was a young and robust man but appeared distracted and aloof.
Nasrosoltan explained, “I have come all the way from St. Petersburg to pay respects to a dear friend, Monsieur Rustam Somkhishvili, who is buried here. Can you kindly direct me to where he rests?”
Nasrosoltan was surprised that just upon hearing Rustam’s name, Grigoryan gestured to him to come along, and in a low, gravelly voice and talking dead slow, replied, “Follow me…I know where he lies.” Nasrosoltan found it remarkable that the keeper could direct him to his friend’s resting place without searching the records.
The keeper escorted Nasrosoltan to Rustam’s gravesite. Along the way, upon learning that Nasrosoltan was Persian, the keeper shared the history surrounding this cemetery. He spoke so slowly that it seemed as if it took ages for him to complete each sentence. “As a Persian…you may be interested to know…that the pantheon is built on land given to the Georgians…by one of your kings…Shah Abbas, in 1612.” After sharing this historical tidbit, the keeper stopped talking. But because of how Grigoryan lingered over every word he spoke, Nasrosoltan was unsure if it was just a pause or if he had completed his thought.
After a few moments of silence, the man continued where he had left off, once again dragging out each word. “My ancestor was the first keeper…and for generations since then…the eldest son of the Grigoryans…has always held the position. This is something our family…is immensely proud of. People …soon forget the dead…but we take care of them…even when their own families and friends forget them.” After another long pause, the keeper continued, “That is why…it is refreshing to see…you have come all this way to pay respects to your friend.”
Surveying the multitude of gravestones, Nasrosoltan reflected on the truth that no matter who they were or what they did when alive, they were now all equal. It amazed him that these different lives were now all summed up in the dash etched in stone between their birth and death dates.
Nasrosoltan stopped for a moment, contemplating, but then quickly moved on to where Grigoryan had stopped ahead, waiting for Nasrosoltan to catch up. When he got to the keeper, he noticed a massive marble stone with the inscription, In memory of our dear husband and cherished father, Rustam Somkhishvili, but nothing else, except for the number thirty-two chiseled underneath.
A surprised Nasrosoltan turned to the keeper and asked, “Bat’ono Grigoryan, I knew this man! He was much older than thirty-two when he passed, so why did they etch this number on his gravestone?”
Grigoryan became a bit more lively and responded with a laugh, “Oh no, Monsieur…this is not his age. His wife told us…when we inquired…that it had been his wish to have a reminder…on his gravestone.”
A puzzled Nasrosoltan questioned the keeper, “A reminder of what?”
Grigoryan grinned. “A reminder of…how many years he had been…happily married to her.”
Nasrosoltan laughed and said, “Yes, I can see that is something Monsieur Somkhishvili would have done. Even in death, he makes me laugh when I am supposed to be sorrowful, just as he did in life; God bless his soul!”
The keeper, as if suddenly pierced by sadness, added with a groan, “He was lucky to have had…that many years.” After letting out a deep sigh, he continued, “I fear…I will not be…that fortunate.”
The keeper’s unexpected comment seemed strange to Nasrosoltan, especially from a man younger than he was. Hearing Grigoryan’s unsolicited remark, Nasrosoltan sensed he wanted him to ask the reason, and so he inquired, “Bat’ono Grigoryan, why do you say such a thing?”
With waves of swelling grief engulfing him, Grigoryan’s face shriveled with anguish as he once again slowly answered, “Because the only woman I ever loved…the woman I knew for many years…and was going to marry…left me for another!”
As tears welled up in the keeper's eyes, he drawled, “We were planning our marriage…when suddenly my father died…and when she learned of our family tradition…that I was to be the next keeper…of the pantheon…she begged me to find other work…since she thought it morbid…that I would be dealing with the dead.” He stopped to collect himself before he continued on with his sad tale. “The last time we spoke…was the day… my heart broke forever. She told me…You stay with the dead; I choose life…I do not want to be known as the wife…of the keeper of coffins.”
Grigoryan turned away as he strained to compose himself under what seemed to be the weight of the world. Once he felt he could continue speaking without choking up, the keeper turned toward Nasrosoltan and confessed his innermost feelings. “But now…I feel like one of these I have laid down…to sleep in the dust of the earth; the only difference is…that I am dead on the inside…and will forever be.”
Nasrosoltan pitied the poor man since it seemed the telling of this tale had left him without soul or strength. He felt incredibly blessed that, unlike the keeper, he was instead enlivened by Irina’s love.
Nasrosoltan, aiming to lift Grigoryan’s spirit, said to him, “But you are a young man. You have much time left. Do not despair. Surely you will find a new love that will surpass the one who broke you.”
The dejected keeper, mired in sorrow, seemed annoyed at this frivolous comment. He dismissed Nasrosoltan’s attempt to comfort him and retorted bitterly, “Sir, if you believe that…then I assume…you have never really been in love. How can a love that never went away…ever be replaced?”
Then after another lengthy pause, the keeper made his final pronouncement. “Monsieur…pray that you never have to endure such pain. What I had with her…I have not forgotten…It lives in my spine!”
As the keeper left him to spend a few moments to reflect in solitude at the foot of his friend’s grave, Nasrosoltan wondered to himself about the vagaries of life. That, if not for a stray bullet, the number inscribed on Rustam’s headstone would have surely been much higher.
Nasrosoltan then posed a question to the heavens: If I can make the necessary arrangements to prepare for Irina, how many years of living happily in love with her will be engraved on my tombstone upon my passing?