My Brothers
They had eyes dark as night, my brothers,
As if cut in black diamond

They had moon-woven hair, my brothers,
Glistening blue in endless mist

And teeth like wolves' teeth, my brothers,
Joyous teeth clenched tight on their hungers

The voice they had, borne it was from the stars,
Fascinating and misunderstood

the hands they had, fearsome hands, my brothers,
And the world was drunk at their fingertips

Gone are they on all the paths, my brothers,
They were warm like fire, and fresh like the wind

Let me touch your hair your brow your lips,
Scrutinize the palms of your hands

I'm only searching for my brothers everywhere around,
To live is to know how to love

Gone they are on all the paths, my brothers,
But in every mirror, I find them again!

Tchalai


In the Beginning...

In the beginning was one word,
And this word was ROM
and this word was in the Rom
All that came
came from this word
came from this Rom

... ...

That which people know is this:
That we are the Rom
That we roam along the roads
accomplishing our Tzigane things
and sleeping out of doors at night

... ...

That which people do not know...
Land of the culture of old!
India! Where is thy sun?
Covered with the smoke of centuries
We have lost thee left thee behind!
Countries and sovereigns were changing all around...
Roads wagons and horses go by
Through meadows sands and woodland...
O history! Like in the cauldron
Where peoples are cooked
You have thrown the Tzigane family!
You have burnt their heart in the fore...

Leska Manush
Department of Linguistics
Institute of Social Sciences
USSR Academy of Sciences



That these explanatory notes should begin with a poem originating from the USSR Academy of Sciences is absolutely intentional, for there is nothing esoteric about It. The nostalgia it conveys Is familiar to you. It evokes history more than anything. It carries enough meaning for you to be able to sense the powerfully magnetic and strong yarn of a world and a way of life, piercing through this nostalgia: Tightly Interwoven events, customs, images, mental structures totally unknown to those who are not Rom. Unknown, but not unknowable. Safeguarded, but not inaccessible. Sheltered by a screen of false truths. Concealed behind a huge misunderstanding.

Fifteen times or so in the course of many years, I refused to write the "definitive book" on the Tsiganes. And even a great number of articles, in spite of the intense and candid desire that I had to correct the astounding errors of everyone around, to wipe out the irreparable stigmas of racism, indeed to redress the misjudgments of History! I knew that everything would be restricted and distorted by the very formulation it would receive, shrunk to the level of the picturesque - much to the advantage of the violin/wandering people/kidnapper image, and what not.

And how difficult to make encounters between Tziganes of different background fruitful! Working once for France Culture (French Broadcasting Corporation), I remember having recorded a discussion between "the Indian", famous guitarist Manitas de Plata's "alter ego", and Sita Reinhart Campane, grandniece of Django, on the subject of wedding customs. A treasure of ethnology that was, and at the same time an exceptional testimony on the vitality of our traditions. Well, this was of no interest whatsoever to non-Tziganes. All this passage was scratched and did not go on the air. The misunderstanding goes far. Some years ago, on a Sunday afternoon, a group of us had congregated at the home of Stevo Demeter, one of our Sages. A "Gypsyologist" came with his notebook in order to ask us questions. He spoke softly, articulated his phrases distinctly, using simple words, with a patient and direct look in his eyes. Poor man. Among us were a renowned lawyer, a physician, a company manager, the Director of an Insurance Firm, and even a general (In civilian clothes). Plus myself, who at the time often wrote the front page of France-Soir, due to a certain way of tackling important news-in-brief. He took us en bloc for illiterate people. Good savages whose aggressivity had to be tamed, and fantasies handled tactfully. And when we try to show who we are, we cease to be credible, because the idea Is deeply rooted that we are a roving race, untamable, outside the norms, and ILLITERATE.

Another aspect of the misunderstanding: These authors - non-Tziganes, of course - who will write four or five books in a row without scruples where they deal with our mores and customs, or what they think our mores and customs are - in good faith, we hope. They are regarded as "initiates" except among us, where they are lampooned in racy improvisations. But our action goes no further. We do not ask denial, nor claim a right to answer.

And all these marvelously dedicated people who want to help us, to teach us how to wash, or to pray, to make us "settle down", to channel our charisma, to group us into orchestras or communities. The misunderstanding Is total. If the name "Tzigane" is still surrounded with a halo of mystery and romanticism, it comes from the fact that even today it is hard to penetrate Tzigane families and observe how they live, or better still, to have Tziganes speak about themselves. We are an old people. An ancient people. A people who has no need to prove anything, no aspiration to conquest, no vocation for tragedy. A people who flows blissfully into the mold of new forms from time to time, as long as there is enjoyment in doing so. And then who will flow out of that mold with cohesion, and no one will understand how and why.

Multidisciplinary works dating back to thirty years, like the studies by Vania de Gila for the UNESCO or by Grattan Puxon in England and Yugoslavia, or by the Komiati Lumeaki Romale (I had the honor of belonging to Its Management Committee) have all amply exposed the origin of our people to the non-Tzigane world, with sufficient authority and an expertise that meets the requirements of historical methodology. Yet some cranky individuals are still to be found, who will have us descend from the blacksmith who prepared the nails for the martyrdom of Christ, or from Egyptian embalmers, and other things. Witness the fine squabble I had with my dear friend kabbalist A.D. Grad who wanted to prove to me that we were the thirteenth tribe of Israel.

The more I realized the extent of the misunderstanding, the more I hesitated to launch into this famous"definitive book". It should comprise as many volumes as the history of the world. It should call up millions of testimonies, resort to depth-psychology as well as geopolitics, anthropology, Sheldrake morphic resonance theory as well as researches on the Vedas, and hundred others.

At the same time, I could see supple unification formulas develop within the Rom people. Eight million fervid individualists, obstinate ritualists, were learning to form associations of non-Tzigan type -of "Gadjo" type, as we say - in order to survive after two million of ours had disappeared in the vivisection houses and ovens of that mad man. And also in order to save our ancestral heritage, what some other people call "culture". Yet, something in us opposes a "cultural survival", which would have something artificial to it. Out of Intelligence of things, we are fatalists, having been bound for centuries to time which flows and imposes its modeling force upon life.

We do not desire to be dinosaurs, survivors, escapees from history. We have brought our essence everywhere. We have married it to the places and customs of others, but we have never compromised it, because we un-marry it as soon as the slightest threat of sinking appears, leaving dazzling fossils behind us, like Tzigane music in Hungary, for example.

We have learnt a great deal, in a painful act of balance between maintaining and blending in. Between self respect and survival. Add to this that there remains in our chromosomes the old conviction that, having descended from the stars, we shall go back to the stars.

No one will ever be able to translate the profound melody of blood and memory. It has to be shared. It cannot be MADE to share. I have never written the book, I shall never write it. WE are the book, all of us together. And after all, who are WE ? One should rather think - the Rom peoples the same way people say "the Indian nations", and not "the Indians". Besides, we have invented no alphabet, no religion (we acknowledge the one God in all the images of God. Christ moves us but Krishna enchants us). We have borne no great heroic poet, no great lawgiver, no sovereign peacemaker, no war leader -at least since we have left India. No universal myth (but we are the myth), no exemplary social structure which would be strictly ours. Nothing ! No tangible trace.

We pass like the wind on the lake of the world without leaving a mark. And yet, without us nothing would be the same. Always thrown out, always hunted. Despised and envied. And always unknown...

The Information we receive from our elders is carefully, meticulously un-formal. They nourish us with formulas that give us structure but without providing explanations. "Make the spoonful in proportion to the size of your mouth....", " all you can see you possess .... ". Who knows that we even have a birth-control method, of the most ancient tradition ? Something superb, and so simple to make love without taking one's eyes off each other, and in full light, my Grandfather said to me. And It works !Some images dwell In us and shape us. They direct our ways of being and seeing from far behind us and from deep down. Besides, some historical facts, more or less well known from some of us, have force of myth for us all. As far as the rest is concerned, a tale which enchants families in Central Europe conveys nothing to a Tzigane in New Zealand, and the problems of the wandering Irish which rock political life inside Eire are of no import to a Texan Kalderash. Freedom of spirit and movement is so strong among Tziganes that thoughts and beliefs may appear extremely varied, depending on families and individuals, but the underlying tradition endures.

These essential Images are what, ultimately, I have tried to make accessible through the cards of this Tarot. They are symbolic images: being more an evocation than a description, they will carry the message better, I hope, and leave a stronger imprint than a book would do, as a book would not fail to be controversial and boring.

We Roms possess Tarots which have come to us from the "Chaturangas" that our ancestors the Rajput Princes had painted on round pieces of mother-of-pearl or leather. We draw them for one another following our elaborate and familiar laws which make life so livable. The present one was made for a brother, or a non-Tzigane cousin, who humbly wishes to forsake his prejudices and ready-made ideas (for which he naturally bears no responsibility), and open his mind to our true story, our true inner landscape, to our people as a whole. For this reason, the Tzigane Tarot is termed "ethnological game".

But these images, coming as they do from another world and another thought-system, carry an extremely strong archetypal charge. Interpretation of the draws is very simple. This Tarot is not polluted by centuries of erroneous interpretations like most others. This is why it has great precision at divinatory level. Originating in the age old wisdom of the Roms, its indications are vigorous, simple, easy to apply.

Four methods for drawing the cards are exposed, at the end of this booklet (however, do read the explanations concerning the cards before). For this reason, the Tzigane Tarot Is also called a "divinatory game".

Tchalai


...from the preface to Instructions for TZIGANE TAROT by Tchalai
completed July 22, 1984 at the Old Rectory, Ath Chill Mahntain, Eire
Translation by Josee Noel

... reproduced with the gracious permission of the author.
Copyright 1984 Tchalai... all rights reserved