Excerpt from Bazar Amanov’s Play Magic Patterns

Dashkesen:
Behold these patterns, truly enchanted. One’s gaze cannot turn away. A craft such as this demands devotion… Ene jan, what tales lie within these weavings?

Nagshy:
They are the marks of our tribes—the signs of Beshir, the emblems of Salor. Carpets grace our festivals and dwellings; they speak of friendship. The warp threads bind the smaller tribes, the weft threads unite them into larger tribes… My mother once told me a wondrous legend, whispered by her own grandmother in days long past.

Aisha:
A legend? Pray, what legend is this?

Senevar:
Speak, Ene jan…

Nagshy:
Long ago, upon the lands of wandering nomads, there dwelt a masterful craftswoman named Tadji-Jahan. A young shepherd, at every meeting, offered her a small tuft of wool. When he departed with his flock to distant pastures, his falcon bore the wool back to her feet. From this humble gift, the maiden wove a splendid bag for the shepherd, wondrous in beauty.

The ruler of Aratsian, beholding the bag, fell enamoured with the maiden. Yet she spurned him. In wrath, he imprisoned her within a dungeon beneath the lofty minaret. The shepherd sought her in vain. “This wool belongs solely to Tadji-Jahan,” he thought, when lo, a sudden gust swept the wool from his hands, carrying it skyward. The falcon soared after it, but as the wool vanished through the minaret’s open window, the bird, wary of its wings, circled thrice and returned.

From that day, the falcon left a measure of wool each morn at the open window. One day, the maiden climbed to the minaret’s summit, and beheld wool of every hue draping the earth around her. Straightway, she began her weaving. As the end drew near, her supply ran scarce. Distraught, she fled to the highest point, when suddenly a wounded falcon fell at her feet like a stone. She clasped it to her breast, placed it upon the carpet, and drew forth the arrow lodged within. The falcon gave its final breath, its blood staining the carpet’s field a crimson as brilliant as spring’s poppies. The maiden’s tears, like scattered jewels, fell upon the weave, glimmering as they settled.

In that instant, the carpet bore Tadji-Jahan aloft, soaring level with the palace. The arrow she had loosed found the eye of the treacherous ruler… Through clouds, over mountains, rivers, forests, and deserts, the enchanted carpet flew, finally descending at the shepherd’s encampment. The lovers were reunited, and their days were long and joyous. Their descendants dwell even now upon the shores of the Red Sea…