“How do you see me being a player in this dangerous world?” Kadir asked. “Belgium has remained neutral for now, not alienating the Germans. Our royal family is of German origin, descendants of the princes of Saxon-Cobourg. I know they have maintained their ties with the aristocracy in Germany since the first King Leopold I ascended the throne in 1830. Some of the aristocrats in Europe are sympathetic to Hitler’s policies.”
Voroshilov was quite excited to hear Kadir’s information, wanting to know more about his royal connection. “My friend, this information is of great importance to me. As you can see, my housekeeper has set the dinner table.” Kadir wondered what he had up his sleeve, knowing as he did that Russians prefer to have serious discussions over a glass of vodka. After consuming several drinks, Voroshilov loosened up.
“Look, to show you how confusing the situation has become, two months ago, four Germans paid me an unexpected visit. They made no bones about the intent of the visit. They informed me that they had determined that the Aryan Race had originated here in the Northern Caucasus. I thought it was utter nonsense until they told me about their intent to conduct excavations at our dolmen, our ancestral gravesites. I became outright angry. I have no idea where they came up with the historical evidence showing that there were Aryan settlements in Circassia dating back thousands of years.”
Kadir shared his anger. “Are the dolmen sites not considered sacred, as is written in the Book of Sagas?” Kadir asked.
Voroshilov, with rage in his face, growled like a bear and pounded his fist on the table. “Of course they are! I objected to any digging around the gravesites of our ancestors, however, to no avail. They threw their official papers on my desk and commanded that I sign them. I looked at the signature on the bottom of the document and was appalled to see Himmler’s handwriting. To me, it was an unbelievable sight to see a letter from the head of the SS on my desk. The letterhead showed the swastika and skull and detailed the official authorization order to research evidence of the Aryan Race in the Northern Caucasus, by any means. When they produced another document with the sickle and hammer symbol on the letterhead, it became clear that someone in the Kremlin had authorized a permit to start digging immediately. I was appalled at this turn of events and felt defeated. After two weeks, they returned jubilantly to my office, announcing the results of their digs. They displayed pieces of pottery bearing the swastika symbol. I was about to belittle their finds. Any pottery with swastika symbols found here originated in India and was transported on the Silk Route from Asia. Hitler made the swastika the symbol of German Nationalism. The visiting German researchers seemed desperate to come up with proof of the origin of Aryanism. They aren’t aware that Indians used the swastika to signify only ‘goodness,’” Voroshilov explained.
“Soon we will find out how truthful they plan to be to this mantra. The use of the swastika is nothing more than a ruse to convince the conquered people that Germany has come as a savior.” Voroshilov was anxious to address the true reason for meeting with Kadir. “One year ago, I founded the Adygha Intelligence Organization, headquartered here in my office. Our secret organization consists of a network of intelligence units established in Germany, Italy, France, and Holland. Belgium is particularly important because of its neutrality status in Europe. Collecting intelligence for the Allied is a lot safer than working for the ‘Axis Alliance’ countries. Kadir, you are uniquely positioned to be our Belgian liaison officer for Adyghe. We know of your unique position with the royals in Brussels. The ties of the Belgian Royal Family with the Germans are well known and are a critical liaison to our intelligence organization,” he said, relishing over the possibilities that Kadir presented.
At this point, Kadir was not sure whether he should be worried or flattered by the mention of the royals. He started to sweat heavily, partially from drinking too much vodka, but also out of fear of what he might learn in his role with the intelligence organization. He decided to ask for an explanation of exactly what his role would be in intelligence gathering.
“Why are we, as Circassians, involved in intelligence gathering against Germany?” Kadir asked. “Russia is occupying our homeland now.” Voroshilov pondered this vital question before answering.
“Circassians have debated for months about what can be done to start the process of regaining Circassia as our homeland on the Black Sea. Before starting the organization, we realized that if we are to re-establish our homeland, our priority is to keep Germany from occupying our territory. At high-level meetings with Russian officials, I received assurances that an independent Circassia is part of postwar planning. In return, I pledged to share our intelligence data with the Russians. The Russians were anxious to find a spying organization. They explained their reason as follows: In the 1860 war with Russia, Circassians proved themselves as skilled intelligence workers, operating in top secrecy. Stalin himself recognized their unique ability and decorated no less than sixty Circassians with the Soviet Medal of Honor for Bravery. Many of the decorated intelligence warriors were women, who led secret raids and operated with the greatest of stealth. The authorities specified that we must deploy as many of our women as possible in our intelligence gathering.”
It became clear to Kadir that Voroshilov had given this matter a lot of thought. He knew he could not return home without committing to help the Adyghe Intelligence Organization. “I will be proud to serve Adyghe in Belgium,” Kadir declared. “I expect my influence with the king and his entourage will prove to be helpful.” Boris felt satisfaction at his success in convincing his visitor to agree to his plan. Kadir had almost forgotten why he had taken this trip to the Black Sea.
“I came to visit you to discuss my daughter, Danya. She is now sixteen, and I would like your advice on how best to raise her as a Circassian. I cannot imagine a more suitable place to have a heart-to-heart talk with a Circassian still living in the homeland, about a family matter that I am trying to resolve. How should I bring up my girl in the alien world of Belgium and still educate her about our customs and traditions? Will she have the strength to develop as a young woman with the courage of a Circassian? Every day, during my morning walks, I ask myself this question.” Raising his right hand, Voroshilov interrupted.
“Look, there is no need to torment yourself about your daughter’s future. You suffered the loss of your little boy. However, you have Danya. You have passed your Circassian genes to your girl. Do you remember the story of Satanaya, queen mother of all Circassians? She will grow up drawing on her power, as all Circassians. She You have passed your Circassian genes to your girl. is the progenitor of all Circassians, the original daughter of the oldest descendants of the tribe of Eve. She endows us with our personal values and tradition, with the book of wisdom in one hand and the sword in the other. Trust me, on the wings of Satanaya, Danya is destined to heroic deeds,” Voroshilov prophesied. Kadir felt better about his daughter’s future.
“When I set foot here in our motherland, I started to feel a special bond to our people and their tradition and principles of life. I am thankful to you for reconnecting me with the mystique of our ancestral lands. You have opened up my heart to the soul of this beautiful region,” Kadir told him, wanting to share his own experience. “May I tell you something I experienced back home, during my walk in the forest?”
Voroshilov was curious. “Of course, as Circassians, we are accustomed to sharing our deeper feelings.” Kadir expressed his feelings about his lost son.
“In the distance of the woods, I heard Danya’s name called as I was reminiscing about Sergey; an owl swooped overhead and perched on a high branch in a Linden tree. Through the owl, I have heard my boy Sergey calling Danya. He will live in my daughter; he asked that I bring up Danya as a courageous Circassian woman, Now I learnt here with you how courage runs through our veins through genealogy,” Kadir explained as Voroshilov gazed at him in wonderment.
The next morning, the rain had stopped, but a mist
remained. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass. Voroshilov and Kadir rode in silence in the car along a ravine with steep rock formations on both sides of the river a thousand meters high that had been carved out over the millennia by the roaring Kuban River. The morning sun pierced through the cracks and crevices, where moss bedecked the rocks, creating the mystique of the Kuban Valley.
Boris looked at Kadir and could not help borrowing from the Sagas. “Danya will grow up as a girl in whose heart lays the valor of a hundred heroes,” Voroshilov said, stopping the car to give Kadir a last look at his beloved Circassia before returning home. In the distance, he saw a flock of Demoiselle cranes flying low over the river. “They are the most endangered cranes in the entire world, found only in the Northern Caucasus. The hundred breeding pairs still found here on the Kuban River carry on to preserve through their genealogy their species of the state bird of Circassia,” Boris said with a tear in his eye. As they disappeared around the bend in the river, their sad cries faded into the mists, calling on Satanaya to save them from extinction. Their plea symbolized the call of these unique people who, although lost in history, have never forgotten their dream of returning to the homeland one day.
Chapter 1
The Mandraskit Family
In the spring of 1935, in the town of Brasschaat, a suburb of Antwerp, the dormant trees came to life. Behind the ornate wrought iron gate stretched a lane of stately Linden trees as far as the eye could see. Like the pillars in the nave of a Gothic cathedral, they stood thirty meters tall and straight, reaching into the heavens. The canopy created a tunnel of foliage so thick it blocked the sunlight in full summer.
To the town’s people, the Mansion Adyghe had the mystique of a hidden castle, located at the end of a long tree-lined lane. The sign above the gate entrance displayed a strange looking, but artistically ornate wrought iron cutout with the word “Adyghe” in the center. Symbols surrounded this coat of arms from the “Nation of Circassia” as if it were a consulate. Nobody knew where Circassia was. Few had ever set foot on the domain where the inhabitants lived in their secluded world. People in town had little contact with this mysterious family that lived behind closed doors most of the time.
Antwerp was home to the diamond center of the world, where Kadir Mandraskit was a partner in the diamond brokerage firm Zalinsky & Co. He had made a fortune in diamonds.
Kadir’s daughter attended a private school in Brasschaat. Danya was reserved and never spoke of her family. She tried to be congenial but kept her distance from her classmates. With that forlorn and sad expression on her face, she could not bring herself to share her feelings of loneliness with anyone at school. As for any sixteen-year-old girl, not belonging to her age group caused an unbearable hardship.
Her parents often reminded her not to talk to anyone in school about her Circassian background, keeping it a secret. There was no need for outsiders to know they were descendants of a faraway people. They would not understand. However, Danya longed for her family to be like those she saw in town, where everyone seemed to get along so well. Without real friends in her young life, she wondered where she could turn for help with finding her way as a teenager.
That evening, when she returned from school, Danya went upstairs to her father’s study, as usual. She liked to talk about schoolwork with him.
When Danya went to bed that night, she could not sleep. Perhaps she sensed that tonight would bring change. Things would be different after this night. She would remember this moment in her life forever.
Nowhere was the quiet more noticeable than in Mansion Adyghe. Tossing around like a rag doll, Danya rolled from side to side, with dreams of flashing images she had never seen before racing through her mind. Finally, she fell into a deep sleep.
In the middle of the night, the song of a nightingale in the forest woke her up with its melody from Toselli’s Serenade, which she had heard many times before. In the dark of night, she tiptoed to her father’s study on the second floor. All was quiet in the old mansion, except for the tick-tock of the grandfather clock downstairs in the foyer.
She had to open the door without making a noise, so as not to awaken her parents. She entered the room in total darkness, except for a beam of moonlight hitting the walnut paneling in the far corner of the study. She could hardly see where she stepped. Opening the drapes just wide enough to let in a streak of bluish moonlight, she groped around the office in the half dark and found her father’s overstuffed leather chair. Sinking into the soft cushions, she felt the warmth and coziness envelope her like a cocoon.
The wood-paneled walls, made from the wood of walnut trees from the Northern Caucasus, cast a feeling of mystery upon the young girl. The dark knots and burls were like strange and shadowy images moving in the forest. The wall panels were so rare that Stalin, the dictator of Russia, placed an embargo on the exportation of this commodity from the Caucasus region.
In the corner of the study, a beam of moonlight pierced through an opening in the brocade drapery, illuminating a deep mountain gorge bounded by a sheer rock wall. The mighty Kuban River rushed the waterfalls in the mountains to the Black Sea. She heard the music of the “Song of the Volga.” She saw a tiger, poised to jump from behind a boulder and deer peacefully grazing in the valley. Deeper in the forest, angels floated on clouds of mist. Then, out of nowhere, dressed in a flowing white dress, Satanaya appeared through the curtain of Spanish moss to slowly reveal herself in her full majesty as queen of Circassia.
Danya could not take her eyes from the goddess-like figure slowly emerging into her world of youthfulness and uncertainty. She trembled with exhilaration and reached out to the mysterious figure of her ancestors. “It is you, Satanaya … the one I have read about in the Book of Sagas, queen of Circassia,” whispered the young girl.
Slowly, the queen approached Danya, clutching the book of wisdom in one hand and raising the sword in defense of the women of Circassia in the other. Danya succumbed to the spell of the goddess, to which her family belonged, awestruck by her presence.
“So often you are in my dreams. Tonight, at last, you are here with me. I am no longer alone,” Danya continued. A shiver of excitement bolted through her young body. Euphoria pushed her into the realm of the queen.
In a deep, mellifluous voice, Satanaya spoke. “Danya, you must trust me. I will guide you with wisdom. I will be by your side to give you the strength to be courageous. From here on, you will no longer be alone. You will witness war and famine, maiming and killing. At the bridge, you will toss your tulips in the bloody river. Have no fear I will make sure you have the courage to stay on the path of your destiny. You will drive out the enemy from your homeland. In the end, the liberating forces will hail you for your heroic deeds. Remember, as a child of the Nation of Circassia, courage is always with you.”
With the sound of the nightingale barely audible, the image of Satanaya vanished into the mists of Circassia.
Danya sat quietly, enveloped by the scenery of the forest. She worried that Satanaya was no longer there and tears trickled down her beautiful face, as she sat wondering if it had all been just an illusion. How could she be sure that Satanaya had talked to her?
All remained quiet in the mansion as she returned to her bedroom. She pulled the duvet over her head and nestled in for a good night’s sleep, dreaming about Satanaya and her birthday party next week.
On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Danya woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the century-old Linden tree outside her window. She decided to rise earlier than usual and looked outside at the expansive manicured lawn of the mansion. In the distance, she noticed how the trees were in full bloom. For the young girl, springtime was the most beautiful time of the year. She recalled the fun she’d had during the fall season when the Linden trees sent their winged seeds twirling slowly to the ground like parachutes. Children loved to catch them, and their mothers made a fragrant tea from the seeds.
“Good morning, Danya! It’s a wonderful day! Happy birthday!” Her mother rushed in with the unique dress she had picked out for this occasion. It was the traditional costume worn by Circassian girls on their sixteenth birthday. Keeping the tradition going was extremely important to her mother. Danya had difficulty following “old Circassian” customs. Fatima was about to learn Danya’s true feelings.
“Mother, I am not wearing that outfit tonight. I know how much you want me to wear this dress, but I have another dress in mind, so I don’t look so different from the other girls,” Danya insisted. Her mother had seen this coming.
“Your grandmother has sewn this outfit for your birthday party. I wish you would wear it,” urged her mother. Danya cared little about being a descendant of a faraway people living on the shores of the Black Sea. She could not understand why all the secrecy surrounded her ancestors.
She started to sob. All this controversy was drawing a dark cloud over this critical day. Her mother came over and hugged her.
“Oh, sweetheart, all right then, wear whatever you want; it’s your birthday.” Relieved, Danya dressed for school. As she left, she saw her mother standing in the hallway with a handkerchief to her face, wiping away tears. Danya changed her mind. The heartache she was causing was not worth it.
“Okay, tonight I will wear the outfit.” She smiled at her mother. All was well for now.
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