Hagop Oshagan unexpectedly passed away in Aleppo during his visit. Antranig Zarougian was with him throughout his stay. The unexpected death happened on February 17, midnight at 10:30 pm, in Aleppo. Coincidentally Shavarsh Misakian, the eminent editor of Haratch Daily in Paris, happened to be in Aleppo as well. The attached is an excerpt from Antranig Zarougian’s book titled “The Greats and the Others – Մեծերը եւ Մոյսները”, published in Beirut in 1992. The title of the chapter is “The Solitary Giant – Մենակեաց Հսկան»Բնագիրը կցուած է։ Vahe H Apelian
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| Ar Hagop Oshagan's thomstone, in Aleppo. On extreme left Manuel Keshishian (deceased), on extreme right Levon Sharoyan March 29, 2017. Courtesy Levon Sharoyan |
The interment.
We went to the church. Srpazan was hardly awakened from his sleep, his first response was not better than mine when we broke the news to him. He said:
- What are we going to do now?
You will sit and telegram the Catholicos so that he, in turn, may break the news to his family and to the newspapers in Beirut,
He sat at his desk to start writing. Suddenly he put his pen at rest on the table and said:
- No, I cannot write, until I see with my own eyes.
- You are right. Let us go and see with our own eyes.
We started walking on the silent and deserted streets; three of us, without talking. Not a single word was said from anyone of us to another. We could hear our shoes making strange squawking sounds. Especially the shoes Yeretzian wore made a grievous sound on the black cobblestone streets. His shoes had a metal guard nailed underneath his shoes in the front. At times sparks flew as the nailed metal guards of his shoes hit the cobblestones. On our way, we deviated a bit and headed to photographer Kevork Gorarian’s house to have him join us with his camera.
It was early dawn when we entered his room. A white sheet was spread over his body. A gentle breeze blowing through the window was fluttering the sheet. I have written all about what I saw, what I felt, the emotions that overran me at that hour in that place and with pictures. Writing again will be redundant and absurd, especially now, when I try to relive the moment, almost forty years later. The emotions I felt then are not there anymore. However, there is something strange that comes to my mind and it has to do with ……. elephants.
True or false, I have read somewhere the following. The old elephant, when it realizes it is at the last moments of its life, heads far, far into the deep parts of the forest where, behind large trees and dense bushes, finds the clearing where there are skeletons, bones of its kind; settles there and waits until it dies. Among the other skeletons, its remains also become one.
When I removed his passport from his pocket, I saw that he also had a visa to visit France. But he did not go to France. The great “elephant” had chosen to come to Aleppo instead. There, to die in bosom of his nation.
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| March 29, 2017. The late Manuel Keshishian and Levon Sharoyan having students visit Hagop Oshagan's gravesite, in Aleppo. Courtesy Levon Sharoyan |
Srpazan, being in a hurry, had forgotten to bring frankincense with him. I had someone, who like a lightening brough two pieces of incense and a poorvahr (censer). Srpazan’s prayer in silence was followed by us reciting the Lord’s Prayer. We took leave through the smoke and incense. We saw Shavarsh at the door of the social club (agoump).. The expression of his bewildered face was more moving than Oshagan;s lifeless body. He did not say a word. He did not ask question. He had learned.
Three days later in the church, Shahan Berberian gave an eloquent obituary, on behlf of Catholicos Hovsepiants. In the cemetery, at the burial site, Shavarsh Missakian and I were the ones who spoke.
“The ray of light, cannot be interred”, became the team of Shavarsh’s (Missakian) eulogy echoing Bedros Tourian.
I, on the other, much like always, do not remember what said. I know that among the thousands who were looking at me, were teary eyes. When the casket was lowered and the earth covered it, sobbings were heard. It might be that I did not say it, but I surely must have thought of it.
Why are they sobbing? Today, at this hour and in this very place, the first day of Hagop Oshagan the writer’s immortality began.
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*****
Բնագիրը
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