The fight for Shushi liberation started long ago, when in the middle of XVIII century the alien element Panah-Ali Javanshir located the Stone taking that as natural fortress. But the Stone which was able to provide security couldn’t become a Motherland of nomad element, even if that nomad was walking in the shadow of Iranian shah. Only Armenians could live in Shushi – the nation that cloud plough up the stone and grow bread there, to survive in rough mining storage of arable land. That’s why Shushi didn’t become a monastery of nomads, and step by step had been again settling in by native for him Armenians.
A lot of water had flowed from Kar-Kar River since then, generations had changed, but Shushi kept faith to his native nation. The city turned into the one of the largest settlements of Transcaucasia. There were operating theatres and museums, publishing newspapers, working schools. It seemed that Shushi would have a bright future. Seemed… Till damned 20-ies of last century, when in three years the city had survived in three catastrophes.
First, it was a faithless attack of Turkish regular subdivisions and a troop of Wild division of Transcaucasian Turks, where in two days were killed more than three thousand people, almost all Armenian population of Shushi. The second catastrophe happened in 1921, when communist organisatiion of distant Russia made a decision to include Artsackh into confines of Azerbaijan SSR. And the third catastrophe: in 1923 Azerbaijan by acclaiming Artsackh an Armenian autonomy dispossessed Shushi of the Artsackh capital status. The city which was weirded by destiny and geography to become a glory of Armenian nation, and which had already been such, was forced to be a armed fortress against Armenians. The city which was a binding cultural urological link between parts of the Armenian people has suddenly turned a fortress dividing these parts of the unified people.
Shushi, which generated Aram Manukian and Nelson Stepanian was disproved of ethinc wisdom and mighty wings. The rock that for many centuries been proud of Armenian youths dancing Circular dance (Shurjpar) on it, had to suffer for decades listening wistful sounds of mugam.
Shushi was suffering, and each Armenian, who had misfortune to be there that times felt the suffering of the captured city. Shushi suffered mutely and proudly in any way not showing pain to Transcaucasian Turks pottering about on it, nomads, who didn’t managed to realize greatness of a city in which they were ordered to live. They didn’t love Shushi, Shushi despised them.
He despised dependants who lived on the Stone for sensation of satiety in their stomach, reached by the food delivered from Baku. Shushi inexpressibly suffered, recollecting hardworking, wizard hosts, who were building with love houses and churches in the city. Shushi suffered, for he hadn’t heard the Armenian ploughman’s song "Orovel” for decades.
Shushi, where were born famous patrons and philanthropists T. Tamiriants, M. Amiriants, Arakelian brothers, I. Zhamgariants and others, had to suffer dirty freeloaders and dependents. Shushi, presented to the world of great historian Leo (Arakel Babakhanian), violently had lost his own history.
But Shushi suffered the most when Azerbaijan began to deliver the weapon in a city: tanks, guns, armored cars, when numerous not clear armed people began to come to the city with the weapon. Shushi realized: all this weapon is directed against Armenians. Shushi suffered when taken places on it askers opened killing fire against Armenians, ruthless and without analysis destroyed the Armenian houses in Stepanakert, Karin Tak, Shosha, Bardadzor…Is anybody able to imagine the suffering of Shushi, turned up into fiery point vomiting death and sufferings?
I testify: any Armenian did not take offence at Shushi, any word of reproach to a native city hadn’t been pronounced by Armenian. Everybody realized: Shushi is not guilty in crimes committed from its height that Shushi is suffering not less then people on whom the shells sent from the captivated Armenian city fall.
"Stick it, Shushi, we’ll come and release you, – I had to hear not once in Stepanakert after another bombardment from captured Shushi, – Stick it, Shushi, just like we are sticking. We have the same destiny!”
And Shushi bore. It’s impossible to imagine what was feeling our city, when in its heart, majestic Ghazanchetsots Cathedral, Azeri askers stored in many hundreds of two-meter shells intended for BM-21 Grad. Killing shells in Ghazanchetsots Cathedral! Infernal creation of a devil in the cleanest spring of philanthropic belief and philosophy. Only the Turk is capable of similar sacrilege, only in a Turkish head can arise such plan.
The enemy kept in his mind, that the Armenian Soldier will never lift a hand on the Temple even if it turns back his or his comrades’ destruction.
He had only forgotten one thing: what pain he causes to Shushi. Even if he remembered nothing would be changed. When asker didn’t a mean hand stop before sufferings of people and cities? Asker can only cut and mince by axe helpless people, destroy cities, burn plantings, steal cattle.
Shushi joyfully and happily started, when 8th May of 1992 at the night Soldiers of the Country Armenian had risen on its suffering breast. Each stone, each hollow on wounded breast of Shushi covered the liberators, Shushi took up each drop of the spilt Armenian blood, and Shushi mourned each fallen Soldier. Shushi fearlessly was at war with his liberators, Shushi rejected the aggressors, who had been causing suffering him seven decades. Shushi had a presentiment of freedom.
Nomads had been living in Armenian city Shushi for seven decades. And for all these long years even Shushi couldn’t clear their soul from impurity. Probably Shushi didn’t aspire to it? Whether it is possible to wash white a black ram? Whether it is necessary to preach to the Satan love, or to cast pearls before swine? Whether it’s probable to explain to the hereditary robber plowman’s satisfaction? Whether eunuch will understand the sweets of love?
In the morning on 9 May Shushi was smiling. He was smiling for the first time in seven decades. He was feeling a pain of the Armenian Soldiers who had fallen on his breast, his wounds hadn’t healed up yet, but he was smiling. He was hearing native speech, everybody were speaking the language that he had been dreaming silently for seventy long years of captor. His children and owners had risen, climbed on the Stone, rushed into the city and expelled from it hateful nomads. Courageous faces of Armenian Warriors were shining with happiness, their fiery eyes were full of love and pride.
You taught us to love, Shushi. To love rocks, trees, springs. To love each modest blade that has found a place under the sun in mountains, to love the proud hills of Kirs. To love wise mountains, mossy rocks, transparent water of the Country Armenian. You taught us to love and … hate enemies. For the love to the Native land without hatred to its enemies is impossible. The combination of belief, love and hatred has helped the Armenian people to come back to you, Shushi, to go on knees to your wounded feet. Boundless love to you and the realized hatred to the enemy, Shushi.
We swear you, Shushi, you will never be captivity any more. The sonorous children’s voices and courageous faces of the Armenian Warriors in your streets will be warranty of that. We have forever reunited with you, Shushi.