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Lazar who was resurrected by Jesus Christ lived in Cyprus. The second death of Lazar was after 30 long years of stay at Larnaca. That is a belief of the Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus. The church of Agios Lazaros lies over his tomb. As this church is a great part of the history of Cyprus, I visited that on my second day of stay.
The interior of the church built in the 9th century appears mystical, a unique experience of the splendor of the past by the blending of light and shadows on the stone walls. A magnificent altar with its surroundings decorated with gold, silver and brass.The iconostasis typical of middle-eastern churches is a star attraction to the visitors here.
I started my camera work. Tourists were pouring in to the church. The spectacle of different people with diverse attire in a riot of colors in the historic setting has a charm of its own. I captured the visuals not only those of the tourists but also that of the vendor woman in the corner selling candles.
Enter an old father, fair and rosy in complexion. The aged father was followed by a group of devotees. At the back was a 50-odd year old priest clad in black gown.
I caught everything in my camera. The aged father stood in front of an icon, lighting a candle. Then he soaked a swab of cotton in a viscous balm held in a small silver bow. Believers thronged around him to get it applied on their forehead. They kissed his hand. As the believers gathered in strength, I was excited. I copied every possible visual losing nothing of this mysterious ritual.
At this juncture, the priest in black gown came to me and asked me something in Greek pointing to my camera. I could not make out anything. Was he saying that shooting inside the church was prohibited? That natural doubt sprang up in my mind.
“I know only English. Don’t you know English?” I asked him.
“Anglicano?” enquired the priest.
“Yes, Anglicano’’ I replied.
He led me by my hand to the candles vendor woman and spoke to her something in Greek. She pleaded her helplessness. She does not know Anglicano.
His next act was to take me to one of the chairs in the gallery of the church and make me sit there. Then he displayed a sign language presumably telling me that he would be back soon.
I was under mild distress. Did I do anything defiling the rituals?
I could clearly see the priest frantically searching for some one in the congregation. It is obvious that he is on the look out for some one who knows both English and Greek. He needs an interpreter to talk to me.
The father was out of my sight. He was lost in the crowd. Time ticked by elapsed. I ventured to stand up from my chair and completed my shooting the rest of the church. At the back of the church was a wooden ladder leading to a balcony. I climbed up to track the interior of the church from the balcony. There appeared the priest accompanied by a young lady and with his finger pointing towards me. They rushed to the balcony where I was. I captured that too.
“Are you shooting all these for any television?” The young lady asked in somewhat incoherent English.
“Yes” I said and added “I am making a visual travelogue for a television channel.”
“Excuse me” she said. “Reverend father says that he should not be shown on the television. You can show the church but not him.”
“I have taken visuals of the aged father also as part of this church. Can’t I show him also? ” I enquired to erase my doubt.
After an animated conversation between her and the priest she clarified, “You can show the aged father, the church and all that. But you must not show this priest.” So saying she left us.
All of a sudden, the priest caught my hands and pleaded with me in Greek. Then I held his hands tightly. That grim grasp seemed to soothe him and he appeared satisfied with me.
I spent some more time in the church and shot a few more visuals for the episode. As I was going out of the church through the main exit, the priest again appeared there and clasped my hand.
At a corner nearby there was a museum. No one was there. He took me to that lonely corner. He took out a small photo of Virgin Mary from deep inside of his long pocket and made me hold the picture. Holding my both hands he started speaking to me eloquently in Greek. He was pleading with me not to release his visuals. Tears had welled up in his eyes.
As I left the church and moved forward to the Kabir mosque, the image of the priest in black gown was lingering in my mind. What was his problem? Why was he pleading with me so frantically?
Back from Cyprus at my editing desk the visuals from the church of Agios Lazaros filled the screen. There was the unforgettable image of the priest who begged not to be shown. My memory was getting crowded. I pulled out the brochures collected to aid me in my editing work. Out of the packet was jutting out Virgin Mary’s picture reminding the priest’s relentless request.
To include or not to include those visuals was the question before me. Lovely shots of rich and rare rituals! I slipped into a reverie. I selected all the video clips where the priest appeared and pressed the delete button….
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