"მდგმური" ჯემალ ქარჩხაძე "Mdgmuri" Jemal Karchkhadze

“Mdgmuri” was written by the peerless Georgian author and playwright Jemal Karchkhadze. The work was published in 1979 and immediately earned unanimous acclaim. The author explores themes so profound and rooted in life that neither the passage of time nor the circular motion of existence can wear them away. Adorned with brilliant artistic elements, allegorical dimensions, psychological nuances, and the charm characteristic of the writer’s vision, the narrative, touching upon metaphysical concepts of love, time, choice, and spirituality, runs through the work like an uninterrupted melody. This book is an unvarnished reflection of human existence, the finite nature of time, and the vices of life, in which we gaze at ourselves and realize that we came into this world as lodgers, and that the charm of life lies precisely within the shadowed contours of transience.

Karchkhadze offers an innovative and allegorical narrative archetype. Real, imaginary, and allegorical elements are organically synthesized in the novel. Here, Egypt is conceived as the promised land, while Queen Nefertiti represents an irreplaceable ideal. Notably, the protagonist’s name is never mentioned. This seemingly insignificant detail signifies the great author’s mastery: whoever finds a kindred spirit in this character may name him as they wish. One could say that “Mdgmuri” is a portrait of the reader, every feature of which Karchkhadze paints with great precision.

The background of this aforementioned portrait is formed by the constant struggle between moral values and material wealth: at one point, Mdgmuri decides to buy a car and begins saving money. Not a day goes by without him checking his possessions at least once. To make a game of it, he even sets a record: “If I saved a bit more in a given month, that month would be declared a record, and then the following months would have the opportunity to fight to break that record.” This highly simulated process so exposes the helpless and whimsical nature of humanity that it inevitably begs the question: is it possible to gain worldly treasures without drowning spiritual values in devilish mud?

Another captivating color brought to life on Karchkhadze's palette in this grand portrait is the illusion of a goal. “A goal is seductive, gentlemen. Until you reach it, you think it is yours; only when you reach it do you realize it belonged to someone else. A flock of sheep returns bleating from the pasture and enters the fold as if moving toward its own goal. But behind them follows the shepherd, whip in hand...” the author writes. Thus, dear reader, it is essential that we internalize that the main thing is not the dry result, but the winding path traveled to achieve it. Our personhood is shaped by what we have lost and found again along this way.

Mdgmuri’s seemingly harmless financial operations continued until a chance encounter with a golden-haired girl at a crossroads and the un-dusted Nefertiti in his room made him think about something far greater than setting penny upon penny to achieve a futile goal. In his consciousness, Nefertiti is a sort of icon before which the golden elixir of dreaming about earthly possessions instantly turns to bitter poison. “You cannot sacrifice everything to technical progress,” he says. Meanwhile, Maka, a girl with hair gathered like a bouquet of primroses and straight, slender shoulders characteristic of Egypt, appears like a fairy of goodness, illuminating his grey, mechanical existence. It is they who push the man toward a spiritual metamorphosis. A disgust for material possessions awakens in the protagonist, freeing him to an extent from his earthly fetters.

The author’s artistry is also reflected in the formation of predetermined and well-conceived characters. Maka, as an attribute of higher matter, stands in opposition to Aunt Mariam and Irine - symbols of carnal pleasure and fleeting desires. As soon as Irine appears, the lodger’s inner world becomes murky, his mind grows clouded, and his consciousness begins to swing like a pendulum between the poles of reality and imagination. Despite the battle waged within himself, the hero chooses Irine, whom he calls the axis of the world, swapping true love for carnal passion. With this decision, he steps into a surreal world of sorts, where he is met by a round house, a round garden, a circular movement with no beginning and no end, worn-out dreams, and a life remaining only as tattered fragments of illusion.

In this otherworldly realm, by superficial standards, Mdgmuri has everything that makes a man happy: food and drink, carnal pleasure, warm clothing, and an obedient wife. Yet he has lost what is most valuable: freedom and reason. After some time, a process of self-discovery begins within him: he realizes he wants something, but he does not know exactly what. He transforms through this struggle: he no longer likes Irine, he sees all her flaws, feels pity for her, and realizes he does not love her. He does not love her, because rays of love can by no means penetrate a room darkened by the curtain of pity.

After a while, Mdgmuri decides to climb a mountain, driven subconsciously by an unquenchable thirst for freedom. He ascends, yet even there he is haunted by the ghosts of earthly bliss - should he return to where warm milk, a warm house, and a caring wife await, or remember to the end something covered in a familiar film of vagueness? This struggle ends with the hero killing his carnal self, and the clouds of half-waking dreams slowly clear from his mind. He returns to the city and realizes he has lost his one true love and naive dream.

In the end, the protagonist sells the picture of Nefertiti - not for material gain, but because he does not deserve it. On the wall, where the portrait used to hang, a clean, white space remains, just like the single bright spot in the lodger’s damned soul - Maka and her sublime love.

Karchkhadze's perception of time is exceedingly interesting: “No one knows what time is. Whoever talks about this incomprehensible phenomenon as if speaking of their next-door neighbor does not know their neighbor either. Time is beyond the reach of the mind. It can neither be understood nor measured,” he says. Time passes; we grow, change, take shape, and acquire knowledge that settles on our bodies in thin layers, later showing itself in our expressions and attire. Time passes, yet behind the layers of education, clothing, sheer social status, and vanity, we all remain mortals cast in the same mold—still learning, exploring, and helplessly trying to navigate through the storms of life. The young lodger is a wonderful example of this, so let us not judge him too harshly.

Dear reader, we are on a road that has neither a beginning nor an end - only what we create ourselves. Do not be unsettled, and remember that there is a book that bears your name.