In the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, in a large area of the Rio Grande along the Uruguay River, the country of the Guarani Indians, converted to Christianity by the Jesuits, flourished and was called the Mission of the Seven Villages.
One day the day of the patron saint of this people was celebrated with great pomp.
The bells ring solemnly on the high towers of St. Michael's Church. The city wakes up to the beat of drums. A solemn service is taking place in the temple and on the square in front of the temple. The excited Indians kneel, and the white hands of the priest raise the holy gifts to heaven.
In his sermon, Father Valda recalls the legend of Roque Gonzalez, who was the first to bring Christianity to the hills of Caaro and Pirapo.
In the evening, people gather in front of the church for the holiday. Spearmen and archers ride on luxurious horses. These are infidels and Christians. The Indian Sepe Tiaraju leads the warriors. He has a courageous dark face with a high forehead, he is dressed in gold-embroidered trousers and a blue blouse with a black belt and sash, his weapon sparkles in the sun, and in his hands he holds a white shield with a large golden cross.
Opponents rush at each other almost as if in a real battle, but the infidels retreat, and victory remains with the holy cross.
Then the riders line up in one line, and the duels and competitions begin.
Tiaraju manages to defeat everyone: rushing in a cloud of dust, he picks up a golden ring with a spear and presents it to Jusara, a girl from an Indian village who saw his glorious victory.
But the good times will soon come to an end, because according to an agreement between Portugal and Spain, the Indians must leave the mission of the Seven Villages.
Zhusara, who was waiting for Sepe, tells him:
– Today I dreamed of an angel of the Lord with white wings and in a sparkling tunic. He said that the day was coming when sorrow would settle in my young heart.
Padre Valda heard her words and said:
“My daughter, no one can escape sorrow in this world.” Happiness, alas, will not always accompany you. Just don’t lament in advance.
The prophetic words of the girl sank deeply into the heart of Tiaraju, who had not yet completely gotten rid of superstitions. And this time the premonition turned out to be correct.
In the spacious hall of the Cabildo near the church, the elders of the Seven Villages gathered, all of them had stern faces: after all, the fate of the entire people was being discussed. Spanish and Portuguese troops are moving to the Seven Villages in order to carry out by force of arms the diplomatic agreement concluded between Madrid and Lisbon that the colony of Sacramento goes to Spain, and the Seven Villages to Portugal. The priests call on the Indians to peacefully submit and give up their country, while they themselves go in search of new lands.
Padre Wald's words are humble and prudent:
“My children, let us submit to our lot.” Providence severely tests our faith...
Then Sepe Thiaraju jumped up:
– Padre, your words have always been law for us. All of us, who grew up under the shadow of the cross, love and honor you. But now you demand the impossible from us. Let them destroy our cities, let them burn the temples, but our Indian tribes will submit to the aliens only when I fall on the battlefield. Tomorrow I set out with five hundred warriors to meet the enemy. Forgive me, padre, for my disobedience! Guarani caciques, I will return here with my comrades!
Morning found the young leader at the head of his detachment. Tiaraju does not say a word, but his heart burns with love for his homeland. He goes into battle with an enemy who is going to deprive his people and his ancestral lands. But the Viceroy's cavalry surrounds the Indians and defeats them. This attack was too reckless, the Indians flee, and Tiaraju is captured.
News of this soon reaches the Seven Villages. Zhusara mourns Tiaraju, who was captured. The padre consoles her:
“My daughter, Sepe is a brave warrior, he knows every path in these places, he is brave and agile, like a jaguar. He'll be back. The Lord will not leave him - so says my old heart.
Meanwhile, Sepe appeared before the Portuguese commander. The officer demands:
- Kiss your master's hand!
- I will never kiss anyone's hand! Who is the owner of these lands: me or the Portuguese?
“You are simply a savage.”
- You're the savage. I defend my land and my people. And you want to deprive us of freedom, turn us into slaves!
The Portuguese general changes his anger to mercy and offers him a cigarette.
“I don’t need your tobacco, I have my own, and it’s better than yours!”
“Tell us where your horses are, and I will set you free.”
– Freedom is not alms, I will not accept it from your hands. If I want, no one will stop me from finding my will!
- Come on! - the Portuguese soldiers laugh.
- Look!
And, emitting a terrible cry that echoed in the very heart of the jungle, Sepe rushes away, he rushes like an arrow, and no one can catch up with him. On a bareback horse he rushes, as fast as thought, through the valleys and hills to his home. In a cloud of dust he gallops madly. Everyone is excited, a cry rises to the clear sky:
- Sepe! Sepe! Sepe!
Seeing him, Padre Valda exclaims:
“We were all waiting for you, my son, and my heart, which prayed for your release, did not deceive me!”
- Padre, you insulted the Guarani leader! Our people are covered in shame! Although I am hungry and thirsty, I have only one desire: revenge!
- Go to your room, Sepe, and calm down.
Sepe opens the door, and his soul is filled with tenderness. Zhusara is waiting for him, lost in her thoughts. The fugitive embraces her in a warm and at the same time bitter embrace. Zhusara can hardly speak: she is choked by tears...
The Portuguese and Spaniards are meeting each other halfway to finally divide the lands of the Christian Indians.
A gasping soldier bursts into the Portuguese camp, holding an arrow.
Gomez Freire, a Portuguese military commander, examines an Indian arrow and finds a message on the tip. It says: “Sene Tiaraju is ready to meet you at Pinto Bandeira.” This is a challenge. And the Portuguese are waiting for the order to march from the Spaniards. But the Spaniards are in no hurry. Finally the Portuguese receive a letter from them:
“Your Excellency, the Spanish troops remain in their places. The commander-in-chief ordered to inform you that preparations for the campaign will not end this month.”
– What does this Spanish general think about me and Portugal? Pack your tents, we are leaving the camp!
And they returned to the fortress.
The Indians joyfully perceived the return of the Portuguese to the fortifications as their victory.
December began calmly in the lands of the Seven Villages, but suddenly the peaceful silence was pierced by a war cry that echoed in the mountains and forests. Takapa, arrows and feathers reappeared, the ancient power awakened again in the souls of the Indians, who were again attacked by the whites.
For two thousand years the Guaraní have uttered a war cry. It seems that a hundred years of Christianity have left no trace on them.
Impressive and proud, Tiaraju, riding a horse, wearing bright feathers with a three-pointed spear sparkling in the sun, rides up to Zhusara’s hut.
Their gazes meet. Sepe takes the girl’s belt and wraps it around his beautiful, strong body and her trembling figure. Then everything happens as if in a dream.
Banners flutter in the clear morning sky above Fort San Gonzalo, and the sounds of battle echo through the clear, hot air. The Portuguese flag will finally fall over the lands long disputed by the Spanish crown and will flutter on the border of Uruguay.
Gómez Freire de Andrade is vested with power, he is a real conquistador.
At dawn on the twenty-first of March, the combined forces of Spain and Portugal set out along the border river.
In front of them is Santa Tecla, the gate of the Seven Villages. But instead of a fortress, the soldiers see only ruins.
And then it turns out that the Indians set up an ambush, because they know about the superiority of the white troops.
Eight hundred dragoons are marching against the Indians. After the first shots of the Spanish-Portuguese army, a cloud of arrows rains down on the conquerors. The battle is fierce and merciless, and here and there Sepe Tiaraju appears, like the god of war. His blood-stained spear pierces the bodies of the Portuguese. It flutters in the air like a red banner, and the blood of enemies flows down its hilt. The feathers of his dress are spattered with blood, and there is blood on his hands.
Neither the ecstasy of battle nor the desperate battle tires this hero, accustomed to the most brutal battles.
Ten soldiers stand against him. Sepe fights with supernatural courage. But a Portuguese dragoon thrusts a spear into his back.
Sepe wraps his arms around the horse's neck. He is trying to escape his pursuers. But he can no longer hold himself in the stirrups. Blood is gushing from his wounds.
Viana drives up to him and unloads her pistol into the now almost unconscious body.
Night has fallen on the battlefield, the Indians go to their camps and see a ghostly horseman riding a fiery horse with a red spear in his right hand.
The Indians return for Sepe's body. They carry him on their shoulders. The funeral procession in the mysterious darkness of the night marked the beginning of the legend. They bury him, and their grief is equal to the love they had for him.
Sepe's brow is marked by the hand of God,
And with the same divine hand
Sepe was exalted to the heights of glory.
A wounded body lay on the ground,
A hero is slain on the fiercest battlefield,
His soul soared to the throne of God.
The leader Sepe fulfilled his earthly assignment,
And, ascending to the heavenly palaces of glory,
He gave his people a blessing,
As the good heavenly father commanded him.
In the darkness, Sepe's brow is like a silver-headed moon
The Indians are illuminated by the difficult unknown path.
The fight continues, the Indians die one after another. But they die with the name Sepe on their lips.
When their strength is exhausted and the last Indians leave the field of bloody carnage, almost one and a half thousand warriors remain on it, who died defending their native land.
The gates to the Seven Villages Mission are open. Resistance has been crushed. Along the impassable paths of the Serra San Martino, riders bring news of the bloody battle and death of Sepe.
The padre supports Jusara, who sobs bitterly.
– Sepe died as a hero and as a saint! It is he who appears at night riding a fiery horse in heavenly radiance.
“Padre,” says Jusara, dying of grief, “my dream has come true.”
“My daughter,” Padre Valda answers her, “with the death of Sepe, everything is over.” Now we are destined to the bitter and sorrowful fate of fugitives.
But in the stern souls of this people there lives an unparalleled love for their native land, they love it as they love their children. How inhuman are those who forced them to part with their homeland, with the huts built with their own hands, with the arable land, where cotton bolls are now white, white as wheat flour!
But together with the padre, who instills courage in them, they go in search of new lands. A moonless night shrouded the abandoned city. There is deathly silence on the streets, the huts are like lips closed in death.
This is how Sepe died. This is not a figment of the imagination. He is a flesh and blood hero who was the first to give his life for the land of the Rio Grande. A monument should be erected to him.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru