Gikor

What a profound blessing it is to translate a masterpiece that many Sri Lankans have never heard of—one rich with emotion, beauty, and timeless meaning. Today, I have the privilege of sharing that joy.

Ask any Armenian who the greatest writer of their land is, and without hesitation, the name Hovhannes Tumanyan will echo from their lips. In every corner of Armenia, from the bustling cities to the quiet mountain villages, the spirit of Saint Hovhannes lives in the hearts of the people.

Born on February 19, 1869, in what was then the Russian Empire, Hovhannes Tumanyan rose to fame as a beloved literary giant through his magical fairy tales—stories that have shaped the imagination of generations. There isn’t a single Armenian child unfamiliar with his tales. They are cherished from early childhood and remain beloved well into adulthood. Like sunlight on the soul, his stories are timeless, joyful, and deeply human.

But Tumanyan was more than just a poet and storyteller—he was a humanitarian, a voice of conscience, and a defender of peace. During the Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict between 1905 and 1907, his outspoken anti-war stance led to his imprisonment twice. Despite his illness, he never stopped advocating for the oppressed. He passed away on March 23, 1923, but his legacy lives on, vibrant and undying.

The book you now hold, Gikor, is a jewel of Armenian literature. Just as Europeans read Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol during the holidays, Armenians gather around the warmth of Tumanyan’s Gikor—a tradition passed from one generation to the next.

But Gikor is more than a story. It is Armenia’s sorrow. The saddest tale ever written by an Armenian. The ache you feel in your heart as you turn its pages is the same pain felt by thousands of Armenian children and adults over the last century. It is a mirror reflecting a past filled with hardship, poverty, and resilience. Yet, within its sorrow, it plants seeds of compassion in the hearts of young readers, teaching them empathy, kindness, and the importance of standing by one another in times of grief.

Hovhannes Tumanyan is no longer with us. One day, I too—the translator of this work—will be gone. But this story, Gikor, like a teacher’s lullaby, will live on in your heart. It will whisper to you quietly, in moments of stillness, reminding you of the power of compassion and the beauty of shared humanity.

And that, I believe, is the true gift of literature.

Translating this book is not just a task—it’s a rare privilege.
To bring to Sri Lankan readers a literary gem that has never crossed their path before, to share its flavor and soul, is a joy beyond words.

In Armenia, Hovhannes Tumanyan is more than a writer—he is a national treasure. Born in 1869, Tumanyan became the voice of a nation through his heartfelt poems, fairy tales, and stories. His works are etched into the Armenian soul, passed down through generations like sacred heirlooms. He was a humanitarian, a fearless advocate for peace, and a man who paid a price for his beliefs—twice imprisoned during turbulent times.

Among his many works, “Gikor” stands apart. It is Armenia’s most tender sorrow. A story that aches with emotion, yet speaks with the innocence of a child’s heart. It is read during holidays, at family gatherings, and moments of quiet reflection. Like Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Gikor is a national tradition. It teaches compassion, love, and the weight of poverty through a child’s eyes.

Though Tumanyan is no longer among us, his words remain alive. And though I, too, will one day be gone, this story will live on—echoing in the hearts of those who read it. Gikor is not just a book. It’s a piece of Armenia’s soul, now offered to yours.