‘Yag’ is the Romany word for fire. As you would expect, an open fire would have been incredibly important in the traditional Gypsy lifestyle.
Anyway, to get to the real point: I want to tell you the story of Yag which comes from a Gypsy folk tale about how mankind attained the gift of fire. Here it is:
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, the gods still believed that fire was much too dangerous to be used by man. This meant that, although there was no problem in the warm summers, when the Rom (male Gypsy) travelled the roads in the winter months it was cold and miserable. It is, therefore, no surprise that many Gypsies on a sunny day, feeling the warmth of the sun against their skin would dream at the idea of being warm all year round.
Harness the sun
On one such day, while the tribe was at an atchin’ tan (stopping place), the puridai (wise woman) of the tribe looked towards the sun and declared “If we had even a small piece of that, we would be warm all through the year.”
At this, young Bokka, the youngest son of the wagon wheel maker, declared “I will go and ask the gods for a piece of the sun.” The puridaisolemnly said that it would be good but she knew that the gods were unlikely to help. Bokka’s older prals (brothers) just laughed at him.
Despite this, Bokka had made his mind up. He was going to make the journey in his quest for a piece of the sun. His mother gave him some good, but obviously unbaked, bread and he set off. Bokka travelled for days and days, over hills and through valleys, across rivers and through forests. One day, while walking across some fields, he heard a small voice call out from a barn just as he was passing, “Good sir, please help me!
A Black rat named Yag
Bokka stopped walking and peered into the building. The barn was just about filled with corn and nuts which the farmer was storing. In front of these were a number of very large traps and in one of these was a large, black rat.
“Did you call out to me?” asked Bokka.
The rat nodded and cried “I am caught in the farmer’s trap. Please help me. You are a Romany; you know what it is to be free. Just imagine how you would feel if you were caught in a trap!”
“I wouldn’t like it at all,” replied Bokka, “but I wouldn’t have got caught in the first place!” He glanced at the plentiful supply of corn and nuts. “Were you taking the farmer’s grain?”
The rat replied “Grain is free. There is plenty for us all and it is given to us by the gods. The farmer should not begrudge me my tiny portion.”
Travelling companions
Bokka, seeing the similarity between his own quest for a very small part of the sun and the rat’s attempt to get a small portion of the grain, said “I agree with you”. He knelt down and released the black rat from the trap. The rat ran out.
“Kind Rom, I thank you. My name is Yag and I am forever in your debt.” Said the rat. “Let me ride on your shoulder so that I may help you in any way I can on your travels.”
Bokka picked Yag up and placed him on his shoulder. As he walked along the tracks and lanes, Bokka told Yag of his quest to find the gods and ask for a piece of the sun so that mankind could keep warm. Yag vowed that he would help Bokka.
The Gods’ atchin’ tan
Many more days of travelling ensued until late one evening while journeying through a wood, they came across a large clearing in which Bokka saw bright and colourful vardos (Gypsy carved wagons) pulled up together in a circle.
Bokka and Yag drew closer to the very edge of the wood until they could see that this was the atchin’ tan of the gods. Bokka sat down, made himself comfortable and observed. Within the circle of vardos the gods were sitting, eating and drinking, singing and laughing.
Right in the middle of the circle was something that really caught Bokka’s attention. It was a piece of the sun on the ground radiating both heat and light all around. Above it, the gods had placed a pot, suspended from a tripod, filled with bubbling water.
Next to it were sushis (rabbits) and hotchiwitchis (hedgehogs) on long skewers being slowly cokked by the heat. The aroma was delicious and Bokka’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled in hunger and desire. The cold night air was at his back but, even from the distance he was away, he could feel the warmth emanating from the piece of sun.
Don’t ask, don’t get
Bokka said to Yag “This is what I came for. I must ask the gods to give me a piece of the sun to take home to my tribe .” Yag laughed at this. “The gods will not give any of the sun to you!”
“The sun is like the corn and the grain and the nuts and the berries and all the fruits of the trees. It is there for everyone!” exclaimed Bokka.
“So why do you not already have a piece of the sun?” asked the rat but Bokka could not come up with an answer.
“I suppose there’s no harm in asking,” cajoled Yag, “the worst they can do is say no!”
Bokka sprang to his feet and marched forward into the area of light. The gods were surprised and looked up as he approached.
“Greetings, oh mighty ones,” Bokka said confidently, yet bowing his head respectfully, “I have come to ask for a piece of the sun to take home with me. All in my tribe are cold and in desperate need of warmth. They would dearly love to have its heat.”
The Gods must be crazy!
The old puridai of the gods looked ancient, a wizened old woman many centuries old. She looked at Bokka and said “You may eat and drink with us but you are forbidden to take anything away with you.”
Bokka was not allowed what he had come for but he was very hungry. He had eaten very little for weeks so he sat and ate. Yag climbed down from his shoulder and found some vegetable roots to gnaw on. The gods looked upon them in silence. When Bokka had finished eating, he stood up and questioned hopefully “You are absolutely certain that I may not take even a tiny piece of the sun with me?” The old woman responded “We are certain.”
Dejected
Bokka had tried and failed. He turned to leave feeling rather depressed but Yag seemed only interested in eating. The rat scurried across from a now heavily gnawed vegetable root to a length of fennel stalk which lay at the edge of the ashes by the piece of sun. He clasped it in his teeth and scampered off into the woods much to the amusement of the gods. “Your little friend must be hungry” they laughed. “Let him keep the fennel stalk.”
The young man trudged ejectedly back into the woods and away from warmth and light of where the gods were gathered. Even Yag had deserted him, being more interested in food than their friendship. Bokka’s mind settled on his return to the tribe. A tear ran down his cheek. He was a failure. He had set off on his quest in high spirit and full of hope but now he was broken. How would he be received by the tribe? His brothers would mercilessly taunt him and he would be faced with a barrage of sneers and derision.
Back to the tribe
After many long, tiring days of travel, Bokka eventually found his way to the ring of vardos that belonged to his tribe. He could see the familiar faces of his family and friends. This was going to be tough! They were relying on him but he would have to admit his failure. He took a deep breath and was about to speak when he heard a small but familiar voice slightly behind him. “Give them this.”
Bokka looked down to see Yag at his feet still gripping the fennel stalk that he had picked up at the god’s atchin’ tan. “Why would I give them an old piece of fennel stalk?” Bocka exclaimed.
“Just do as I ask” said Yag quite firmly.
Bokka took the stalk as Yag gently released it from his mouth. He headed towards his mother and father, his brothers, the puridai and the rest of the tribe who had seen him coming and now awaited his good news.
Yag saves the day
“I have brought you this” he said and held out the fennel stalk. He now noticed a small trail of smoke curling up from the end of the stalk. What Bokka hadn’t thought about was that Fennel, despite its sturdy outer casing, has a soft pith core and the core was still smouldering with the fire from the sun from when Yag had picked it up.
Soon after the rejoicing started. The smouldering fennel was blown upon to get a nice glowing ember that was then used to light straw and then small pieces of wood. Shortly afterwards a great pile of sun fire was blazing away in the Gypsy camp.
“How can I ever thank you?” Bokka asked his rodent friend.
“You do not need to thank me”, Yag replied, “I have simply helped you in your time of need in return for you helping me in my time of need.”
Ever since that day, in honour of the king of rats, the Romany word for fire has been yag.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Note:
Traditional folk tales were generally passed on by word of mouth and this was very much the case with Gypsy culture. Although many such tales are now documented, I cannot recall where I first came across the story of Yag. I have searched the internet and books of Gypsy folk tales but with no success.
