such session returned to the village encouraged and strengthened in spirit, with clearer and purer thoughts of wisdom.
Many times during his stay there, the Tukholians, observing from down in their valley how the blue wreaths of smoke from the balsam fir swirled over the tops of the spruces which surrounded the Glade of Light, remarked among themselves, “That must be old Zakhar praying to the ancient gods.” They said this without malice, and without intent of poking fun at him, for Zakhar, though he did not attempt to teach anyone the old religion, nonetheless strove all the more earnestly to teach everyone to respect the religious beliefs and convictions of others.
Here in the Glade of Light the Tukholian elders had assembled to keep vigil in this portentous night. A great campfire burned in the center of the Glade. Surreptitiously the ancient spruces whispered as if recalling old times. From the flare of the campfire the golden image glittered in the ceiling of the open cave shooting out crimson-colored rays. The elders sat in meditation listening to the thump of hatchets within the forest and the tales of ancient times recounted by old Zakhar.
A strange spirit had possessed the old man today. He, who had never liked to talk about the old beliefs, today grew loquacious and talked with such tender pathos as he used only when speaking upon matters dearest and closest to his heart. He spoke of the creator Dayboh, of the defeat of Svitovid, how the three sacred doves, Dayboh, Svitovid and Perun created the earth from a grain of sand; how Dayboh searched for three days in the bottom of the ocean until he found three grains: one grain of wheat, one of rye and a third of barley and gave them to the first man, Did, and his wife, Ladi; how Perun gave them a spark of fire and Svitovid a hair from which, with his blessing, there sprung a cow and a herdsman for it, whom they called Volos (hair). Zakhar went on relating further about the life of the first people on earth, about the flood from
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