A conversation with Deghóm, a teenage priestess who sang cave-songs to Déya (the bright sky) in the village of Dókhali, high up the river Nistra, 9000 years ago. It is preserved as a fragment of spirituality from her world in the time before history.
Stephen:
Why do you sing songs to the sky?
Deghóm:
Everything I know about Déya – the sky – I learned from my milk-mother Pérha. When I was a little girl, playing on the grass with the sun on my face, she told me that the blue shining sky with its warm, bright sunshine was lovely, like a father to me. I did not have a father, only Pérha and my milk-brother Láko. When dark clouds gathered and rain began to patter on the roof, she would take me by the hand and we walked down to the sky-cave together. There, in the firelight, I learned the songs, especially the song about Lubadéya supáta (beloved sky, father above).
When I was old enough not to chatter and giggle, Milagówa took me to the cave too. He told me that my name was very special: Deghóm. Nobody else in the whole world had the same name as me. I thought it was an ordinary name, it just means the earth under my feet, but Milagówa said no, it is special. Déya loves Deghóm, he would say. She is very dear to him. Then I said ‘But I am Deghóm!’. He only winked at me and said ‘yes you are’. He is our village elder, but to me he was like a lovely old grandfather.
When the priestess died I was only fourteen summers, too young to be a priestess. After that there was no-one to lead the songs. I used to go into the cave sometimes, not during a storm, just on my own, and sing. When I sang loud and high, the cave sang back to me. One day Pérha told me everyone had decided I was ready to lead the songs, so the next storm-visit I went into the cave and sang with the whole village while it thundered outside. Everyone loves to sing, and I love the bright sky, so singing to the sky seems the most natural thing in the world.