Morgay and I

“There was I-standing in front of Ibrahim, Sultan Suleiman’s friend, waiting for my harsh punishment with my younger brother, Morgaj. Okay, I’m from Belgrade, my name is Blaj and I was one of the many men fighting against the Ottomans for my own land but apparently once they’ve taken Belgrade so the whole country will be taken and it will become a province just as they did with Bulgaria and Macedonia. Oh, dear God, what am I supposed to do? Oh, dear land, you who milked me, oh mother, you who rose, I’m going to die for the land I grew up in.” I was staring at the mountains and the Dnieper and Danube Rivers, and the sun over the Danube River- “this is my last time seeing the Carpathians and the rivers and the sun over the Danube Valley most probably this was my brother’s last day of life too”.
Ibrahim asked us out of curiousity, “Why did you give up but continued fighting?”
Morgaj responded calmly while I continued looking at the Sultan’s friend disrespectfully and with almost tears in my eyes staring at the view, “We never gave up. We fought for Belgrade as long as we could.”
“You failed to protect it. Did you really think that several hundreds of unarmed men could keep the city of falling into thousands of well-armed soldiers?”
“ Why does the number of people matter? We protected our city as much as we could but we failed,” said my younger brother. I continued looking at the greenery and the view which I knew I was seeing for my last time. I knew we were going to die just like my grandfather and father, just like my cousins and friends- all killed in different areas throughout the country.
As I was staring intenttally at the skies, my brother was waiting patiently to know our severe death, Ibrahim got up and said, “ For being non-Muslims and refusing to let us capture Belgrade, I sentence you death,” the whole counsel applauded only the Sultan stayed motionless and emotionless- he had enough of this or was in his own world- I couldn’t figure him out.
Ibrahim continued, “You wanted to die protecting your own land, in the city itself, but you failed, were captured by us and now you’re going to be sentenced to death. You’ll dig your own graves. What a disgrace for two brothers patriots to die in their own land digging your graves.”
“No, we won’t. We, the Slavs, will never dig our own graves.”
Ibrahim laughed evilly, “You’re right. You won’t dig them but my people will. You, like all Slavs, are patriotic and stubborn, maybe hot-tempered as well.”
Suddenly, all of the Sultan’s slaves, who he brought, started digging a huge pit not far away from the place where we were standing.
Suleiman’s friend, called his soldiers and told them in Turkish, “I want all citizens to come here and see what will happen to them if they go against Suleiman Sultan’s power once again.”
After several hours, the grave was dug. All of the captured Belgradians were gathered to watch our death. Before my brother and I jumped I called to them, “You can kill us but you won’t kill the Slavic hot-tempered, patriotic blood,” and we were pushed.” I wasn’t scared of death anymore. I knew I did all I had to protect my own land; now it didn’t seem a big deal that I am dying. As they were throwing soil at us, I could see the women and the kids crying, the men were just watching and even though I couldn’t see their faces, I felt they were scared, confused, mad and ready to revolt against the Ottoman Empire. My only wish while dying was that Belgrade becomes free once again as it used to be soon even though without my friends, cousins, many known and unknown men, boys, girls, women, my brother and me. Everything went black and I closed my eyes forever.”