- I -


The Path is open. It lies before you. It runs through stars...

The pages are sails, full of wind, carrying through the Time Eternal. Hark, the hooves of the Stardeer, clattering through the skybridge... It's Path of Knowledge. The Book of Stars. We trod it for millenniums. And when the Night fell, we skipped off silently.


This great knowledge, the Vedas, was parted to the Roossis, the grandsons of Dazhbog, by the Almighty Himself.

Thrice He descended to us since the Great Day of Swarog. At the eve of the Epoch of Aquarius (27 thousand years B.C.) He descended as Krishen. One of the days in the Era of Cancer (7 thousand years B.C.) - as Kolyada, Son of Dazhbog. At the commence of the night between Eras of Aries and Pisces (4the century A.D.), as Boos Beloyar, the King of the Aants.

The Almighty appeared in other parts of the world as well, e.g. in India as Krishna, In Palestine as Jesus Christ, in celtic Europe as Aesus.

The Roossis keep the Knowledge, which He parted to them. And it is the essence, the blood of Roossia. It is our Path.


We saw the Path clearly in the daylight. We remembered the Law of the Rightious, parted to us by Kolyada, and we firmly knew the precepts of father Aries, the son of Dazhbog.

And we remembered that the Vedas were parted to us by Kolyada in the Era of Cancer, inbetween the Spring and Summer of the Great Swarog Year.

And before the Swarog Winter started, at the commence of the Swarog Night, Boos Beloyar, the King of the Aants, revealed to us, what awaits us in the future. And we came to know that the death is coming to us from the Serpent, creeping from the South.


But the day will come and the Wheel of Swarog will turn. This hightime will come after, when Mother Swa will sing her song. And we shall recall the precepts of Father Aries in green emanation, the source of life to us.


And, lo, our temples are burnt to ashes. The Black Crow is hovering during days, the Wolf is prawling at nights.

And our land is destroyed, the Night threats with eternal darkness, Mother Earth moans. The forests decay, and decay our fields. No more songs. No more brewing of honey beer. Roossia is asleep.

Mother Volga, the holy river of Roossia, is poisioned. Her waters bring only death, and no life. Vaalu has blocked its flow with boulders, as in the era of Indra. Naav demolishes life with its dark breath.

The Death threats man's race. And there are only two roads left to us - to Light, or to Darkness. What we choose, belongs to us.




And here I perceive the Light. And with Light the soul is poured with peace and delight. The world is getting tinged in blue.

And the Path lies before me, glittering with silver... I hear a lofty voice, and to his command, I step on the road and enter the bright sphere...

And lo, here, all at once, I am walking and standing. I am soaring and falling. Seeing everything and at the same time - nothing. Hearing and not hearing. Uttering and keeping silence. I am in the past, present and future. And all this lasts for a moment, and for eternity...

The silver path curls under feet... And before me opens a door into Past. Seems, I stand between two mirrors, and see a long train of my ancestors. They were priests of orthodox church, but, before, they were Magi, wise sorcerers.


They gave me flesh and soul. Me, Alexandr Asov, born in the twentieth century, they gave flesh, and soul of Boos Kresen, who lived long before the beginning of our era.

At that time man was nearer to earth, he felt his kinship with the world around him, he knew better the Laws, which governed him. The Laws were given to him in the same way, as to all other beings - animals,

plants, stones and Elements.

This was the time when man received the great Knoledge - the Vedas. And it was given to him in a form conceivable to him. In the form of myths, legends, fables, parables. The hidden meaning of this Knowledge was known in the past, as well as at present, only to the ordained.


Much changes have been since then. The black forces of Darkness (Navs, as we name them) have done all to destroy this knowledge. And the majestic palace of Vedas, erected by many peoples, now is melt in ruins.

Now the day has come when we must restore the palace, carefully and thoughtfully restore the Vedas.

And I took to the job... Particle by particle from the folklores, old chronicles and apocryphas I gathered the myths of the Kiev branch of the vedic religion: "The Songs of the bird Gamayoun". I translated into modern Russian a book of the Novgorod magiis of the IX cntury, preserved by some miracle only: "The Book of Veles".

The restoration of the holy texts as if opened a door to me into a tunnel behind mirror. I walked through the shimmering with blue light, through the tunnel, and stepped in a world of ancient vedic culture of the people of ancient Kitchezhgrad whence I never found the way back.

They opened my eyes and showed the way. I see a valley, and at the end of it - a hill with two peaks. And between the peaks, the Light.

I find myself in the temple of the Almighty. I stand before the Teacher. He opens the box made of birch bark. It conceals songs transcribed in thread-balls. On the top of the box the time waned colours display a demihuman-demibird figure, with an amazing title under it: Gamayoun. He chants a song over the box:


"Come flying, Gamayoun, the wise bird,

Over the high mountains, the Oceans vast,

The neat fields, the forests dark.

Sing, Gamayoun, the wise bird,

On the steep hills at bright morn,

on bush of broom, on twig of rasberry shrub."


The Teacher opens the box, takes out a ball and along a wooden frameon unravels the thread with different knots representing words, words of a song. The teacher knows the secrets of the holy knot-script, and he reads them chanting aloud...







The weather strolled distressed, the massive clouds thickened low in the sky. The oaks bowed and rustled annoyed, the feather-grass fluttered dread in the fields. It was Gamayoun, the wise bird, flying from eastward, raising storm with its wings. She flew from the mountains high, from the forests dark, soaring under the clouds, stirring the depth of the weather's soul.


She hopped across the blue sea, crossed the Sarachin fields afly, and swift like the riverlet Smorodina, alighted in the garden of Ira, on the apple tree, which stood by the white stone altar. As she sat, she lowered its feathers down to the damp Earth, and began her song.


At the foot of the stone Altar there gathered fourty menacing tsars with their tsareviches, and fourty grand knyazes with their knyazeviches, and fourty mighty knights with fourty Magi of all dynasties. They came and gathered, and sat around the Altar in concentric rows. They turned their humble faces to the singing bird and asked her with great respect:


"Wise Bird, you know a lot, you have seen a lot... Tell us, Gamayoun, tell us in your songs... How the World full of light came into existence? How the Sun, the Beauteous, was born? How were born the Moon bright, and the crystal clear stars? How appeared the wild winds? How was lit the light of Morn?"


"I won't hide what I know..."




It's song in praise of You, O Father! Dear folks, listen to the song of the bird!


Before the Light was born, in deep darkness the World was wrapped. And in the depth of the darkness dwelt lonely Roathe, our Father, Roathe, the source of the Universe, Father of gods.


In the beginning Roathe was confined in the Egg, He was a Seed ungerminated, a bud unsprout. But the end of the confinement came and Roathe bore Love - Mother Lada.


Roathe demolished His prison with power of Love, and Love permeated the World.


And He created the Kingdom of Heaven, and underneath created the World-under-Heaven. He separated the blue Ocean from waters of the Heaven with help of rocky stronghold. He separated the Light from the Darkness, the Truth from the Lie.


Roathe spilled the Milk over the Heaven's doom and created a stone Altar. And with the Altar He churned the Milk, and out of the butter bore mother Earth. As mother Earth, Sira, was born, she retired to the dark depths of the bottomless Ocean and hid herself.


Then the Sun came out of His mouth, the mouth of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The bright Moon came out of His boosom, the boosom of heaveny Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The crystal clear stars - from His eyes, the eyes of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The glow of the dawn - from His brows, the brows of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The wild Winds - from His breath, the breath of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The Rain, Snow and Hail - from His tears, the tears of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


The Thunder with Lightening - from His voice, the voice of heavenly Roathe himself, the Progenitor, the Father of gods!


Thundering Groam, the god of voices, seated in a blazing chariot. The beauteous Sun - in the golden boat, and the Moon - in the silver boat.


For Love Roathe bore the Heavens and the worlds-under-heaven. Roathe, Father of gods, is Mother of gods too. Roathe is born of himself, and will be born again.


Roathe himself is all the gods, and Heavens, and all the worlds-under-heaven. Roathe is what was ever, and what is destined to be. Roathe is what is born. He alone is what is yet to be born.




Roathe bore heavenly Swarog and gave him four heads, so that he could view the four directions and nothing could be hidden, so that he could keep a watch on the world-under-heavens.


Swarong broke through the blue firmament the way for the Sun, for his horses to rush along, from the dawn, to lit the day. After day is over, twilight alighted the night.


So Swarog walks along the Sky and from there looks at his kingdom.


Swarog sees - there shines the Sun, glows the Moon and twinkle the Stars. And under his feet stretches the vast Ocean, the waves splash and foam with foam. Swarog viewed the world-under-heaven, but didn't see mother Earth.

"But, where is mother Earth?", thought he sadly.

Suddenly he marked a black point on the sea. It was a small grey she-duck born of the grey foam. She swam in the sea as spins a needle, vanishing under the yarn, appearing again, restless, running in one direction, and in another.


"Do you know, little Duck, where Earth is lying?" Asked her Swarog.


"She is underneath me", said she, "buried in the depths of the Ocean..."


"By the will of heavenly Roathe, by the desire of Swarog, fetch the Earth from the depths of the Ocean!" - Swarog asked her.


Without saying a word, the Duck plunged into the Ocean and disappeared. In the end of the year she rose from the depths of the Ocean.


"I couldn't keep my breath. I was at hair-thickness distance from Earth, I couldn't swim the last bit, just a hair-thickness distance..."


"Help us, O Roathe!" - Prayed Swarog.


Wild winds blew and the blue sea foamed... Roathe breathed strength with the winds in the Duck.


And Swarog commanded the grey Duck:


"By the will of heavenly Roathe, by the desire of Swarog, fetch the Earth from the depths of the Ocean!"


Without saying a word, the Duck plunged into the Ocean and disappeared. In the end of the year she rose from the depths of the Ocean.


"I couldn't keep my breath. I was at hair-thickness distance from Earth, I couldn't swim the last bit, just a hair-thickness distance..."


"Help us, O Father Roathe!" - Cried Swarog.


This time the storms rose, thick dark clouds covered the sky, thunder, the heavenly voice of Roathe shook the world and a lightning struck the Duck. With the lightning Roathe breathed the strength of the storms into the Duck.


And Swarog bewitched the grey Duck:


"By the will of heavenly Roathe, by the desire of Swarog, fetch the Earth from the depths of the Ocean!"


Without saying a word, the Duck plunged into the Ocean and disappeared. In the end of the year she rose from the depths of the Ocean.


She brought a clad of earth in her beaks.




Swarog took the clad of earth and kneaded it between the palms.


"Warm it, beauteous Sun! Light it up, bright Moon! Blow it, wild Winds! From this damp clad we shall make Mother Earth, the Breadwinner."


The Sun warmed the Earth, the Moon lighted her up, the Winds blew her. At last the Winds blew it off from the palms of Swarog and she fall on the vast Ocean. The Sun heated it and Mother Earth was baked with crust on it. The Moon cooled her.


Thus Swarog created Mother Earth. He placed under it three underworlds, three hellish kingdoms.


To prevent the Earth from running away again in the depths of the Ocean, Roathe born beneath her Yousha, the mighty Serpent. His fortune is hard - he had to hold Mother Earth through years, through centuries and milleniums.


Thus, Sira, Mother Earth, was borne. Thus she rests on the Serpent. When the Serpent moves Sira, Mother Earth, shakes.





"Tell us, Gamayoun, the wise bird, how is the world under heaven is created? How were the heavenly forces borne, how was born bright Swarozhitch? And tell us of the black forces! And of the first fight of Good with Evil, of the victory of Truth over Lie!"

"I won't hide what I know..."




The Duck bathed in the sea, the grey one washed her in the sea and came to the banks. She Ruffled herself on the steep bank and cried out:

"O, thee, the dear sea, the blue sea! O, thee, mother Sira, the Earth! I am in pain, I feel dizzy - two forces are hidden in me, in my eggs there rest Yav and Nav."

And the Duck laid her eggs, not simple eggs, but magical eggs. One had iron shell, the other - pure gold shell.

The golden egg, filled with the mights of Yav, broke up and therein flew away the Eagle and raised high heading to the Sun, the beauteous.

And Alkonost, the bird of dawn, which lays her eggs where the Earth ends and begins the sea, flitted to follow it. And they were followed by the strong-winged birds Stratim. When these birds ruffle, the blue sea sways, the winds blow wild and the great waves raise one after another.

And then, there, in the blue sky, rose the wise word, Gamayoun.

But what are those birds, soaring over the fields? Those are falcon flocks - Finnist and Rarog, the grey bluish falcons. They hover over the fields.


Suddenly the winds wailed and the thunder deafened the breaking of the iron egg. From the egg filled with the miight of Nav there appeared the black Raven, son of the grey Duck. The raven soared over the Mother Earth, brushing against her with edge of its wings. Where it brushed against her, there appeared cracks forming deep ravines. Where it shed its feathers there rose ranges of mountains, unsurmountable.

And a back flock of birds followed the Raven, the birds, born of Nav: the swans Ovida with mournful faces, and thereafter the strong-winged Grifons and Magurs, and thereafter - the sweet voiced Sirins, whose sad songs intoxicate the mind and magically call to the kingdom of death.

The Sun was clouded with the birds. The fields were filled with crow and cry of them.




Here Swarog struck with his heavy hammer on the hot Altar stone and the sparks flew off to the sky. Thus Swarog created the bright forces and his heavenly army.

One of the sparks fell on Sira, the Mother Earth. The Earth caught the it, lit a fire and blew it to the blue sky. In this whiirlfire, in its bright cleansing flames, there appeared light-giving bright Semargl, the Fire-god. The bright god like Sun the Beauteous, lights the whole Universe.

Semargl, the Fire-god rides on silver-white horse with golden mane.

His flag is smoke, his horse is fire. When he passes through the wide fields, he leaves black scorched tracks behind.

Then suddenly wailed the wild winds and from its whirl there appeared angry Air-god, the mighty Swarozhitch-Ctribog.

He blew over the mountains, blew over the houses. He flit out underneath the clouds, fell on the Earth and again rose high, inflating the great flames.


There creeped the Black Serpent to that stone and struck the Altar with hammer. And there flew black sparks over the World-under-Heaven. Thus the black forces were borne - the fierce multiheaded serpents, and all other evil spirits of waters and Earth.




What's the noise in the sky like thunders? It is the birds that have come flying in the sky, they have gathered to batte. It is the battle of Truth and False. The forces of Nav is fighting with Yav, the very Life fighting with the Death.

The bright flocks have seen the black flocks. They see: The black force has flocked near the Altar stone. With fierce screeches and screams they fly down to attack the black birds.

Below, the falcon Finist came afly to the stone, to the nest of the Black Raven. Finist caught it by the wings and blood dripped down. The Raven prayed:

"Have mercy upon me, the bright Falcon, leave me to my helpless youngsters."

"I would let you go, when I would pluck your wings and scatter your feathers in the wind.

A young gray bluish Falcon saw the lonely Swan swimming in the blue sea. The Falcon attacked it, killed and tore in pieces. It drained the blood from the wings, scattered feathers in the winds; fluffs flew off to the sky and bones fell on the sea-bottom.

Thus the bright birds fought fierecely. The Truth fought with the False. The False wanted to win the Truth but the Truth won the False. The Truth rose to the Heavens, to the heavenly Great Ancestor. The False alighted to the Earth.


In a clean wide field two forces combated face to face: god Semargl with its heavenly mights and the monstrous Serpent with its black mights. It was not just a whirl-fire rotating in the sky, it was Semargl himself, the heavenly might against the fierce Serpent.

Swarozhitch was burning the black might, treading the black serpent, stabbing it with its spear, throwing its heads in the blue sea. The son of Swarog burnt the Evil spreading everywhere in form of fire.

He came to the fierce Serpent, the black Serpent with multiple of heads, with multiple of tails. But Swarozhitch too had thousands of firy eyes, thousands of firy teeth.

The combat broke out dreadfully, the black clouds covered the sky. The son of Swarog and heavenly Roathe burnt the black Serpent. Semargl turned into the bright falcon, the bird of Rarog with firy feathers, and attacked the enemy. The Serpent called for the black forces, covered the world with darkness, extinguished the fire.

The Earth shook under the combat. The mighty Serpent Yusha singed under it. The blue sea stirred. The whole World-under-Heaven was horrified.

The bright falcon flew far, to the blue sea. But he couldn't retain his his might. And then Sun the Beauteous faded and sank into the dark sea. The Black Serpent drove him back and covered Sira, the Mother Earth, with darkness.

Then Swarozhitch rose to the Heavens, to his father Swarog. The fierce black Serpent chased him and shouted like thunder:

"I have conquered the Earth, I have conquered the World-underr-Heaven!"

In the heavenly blacksmith's shop there was fire. But it was not ordinary fire. It was god Swarog himself dancing in the furnace. Stribog blew through the skin mighty winds and the heavenly flames rose, sparks scattered in the winds and fell like thunders. The twelve helpers of Rebei were striking on the anvil, making a might steel plow.

They answered the black Serpent back:

"Thee, the fierce black Serpent, the lord of darkness, lick up the three heavenly firmaments, all the three gates into the blacksmith's shop. Then we shall sit on your tongues and you will become the king of the Universe."

The Black Serpent licked the three firmaments, llicked the three gates. By this time the mighty plow was ready.

Swarog with his son Swarozhitch caught him with tongs by his tongues and harnessed him in the heavy plow.

And they said to the black Serpent:

- Now we shall devide the World-under-Heaven, the Earth, among us. On the right from the boundary will be the kingdom of Swarog, and on the left - the Serpent's.