Gradačac // Burninating All the Peoples in Their Thatched-Roof Cottages
© John Bills
It didn’t seem possible to me until recently, but I’ve met people in the last few months who have never seen Jurassic Park. Of course, like any good citizen, I have immediately attempted to rectify the situation by imploring them to watch the film, absolute masterpiece that is. On every occasion, the person in question has smiled, maybe even chuckled, promised me they’ll watch the film. The way of the world, the way of the world.
For the purposes of this piece, I’m going to pretend that you’ve all seen Jurassic Park. If you haven’t, make a point of doing so as soon as possible.
It was raining in Gradačac. I’m not talking a light drizzle either, I’m talking full-on Jurassic Park rain, from the eaten on the toilet scene. Sheet rain, smashing against anything in its path, from buildings to vehicles to increasingly drenched four-eyed Welshmen. Ideal travel conditions, these were not. Is it always raining when you visit a town for the first time? No, don’t be insane. Next question.
But, my lord, it was raining in Gradačac. The sort of rain that drives people indoors, others to the arms of weaker ideas. For whatever reason, I do okay in the rain (Ja sam iz Velsa), so I wandered around Gradačac. Close to the bus station was (is) a shop called Semen. Sometimes, low-hanging fruit is best left behind.
Besides, I was searching for a dragon. Not an actual dragon, that would be insane, but the story and legacy of Bosnia’s most famous dragon. Gather round, faithful readers, for it is time to tell the story of the famous Zmaj od Bosne — the Dragon of Bosnia.
© John Bills
Rewind the clock back to August 31, 1802, in this very town. Was Gradačac raining then? I don’t know, I am neither a weatherman nor a time traveller. The Gradaščević family were the veritable big dogs in these parts, and young Husein Gradaščević was about to top the lot. As in, he was about to become the most famous, he wasn’t going to kill them all. Yikes.
By age 19, he was a respected military voice in the town, a clear indication of a very impressive young man. He was a man of the people, albeit a man of the people who wasn’t a man of all the people, such is the albatross around the necks of 19th-century military men. That would come back to bite him on the tail, by which I mean kill him. Gradačac developed under his watch, but there were bigger fish out there to fry.
The rain was relentless, to the point where I half expected some large fish of my own to make themselves known. One espresso later, I was in a small park, looking up at the Dragon’s Lair. Okay, reader, keep with me here, the ‘Dragon’ in question isn’t a real dragon because they aren’t real. He was just called ‘Dragon’. You know, a nickname. A moniker. The Edge isn’t really an edge. Elvis wasn’t an actual king. Tomáš Masaryk wasn’t the Grand Old Man of Europe, although I guess he was? Still, you don’t need me to explain this.
With ambition in his eyes, Husein Gradaščević spread his wings and flew throughout the villages of northwestern Bosnia, burninating all that lay before him. Yes, he burninated the countryside, burninated the peasants, burninated all the peoples in their thatched-roof cottages. Husein was a man. I mean, he was a dragon-man. Maybe he was just a dragon? But he was still Husein. The land was in ruin because burnination had forsaken the countryside. Only one guy remained. My money is on Husein.
None of that is real. He wasn’t a dragon.
He was becoming more popular though, building support throughout the region as more and more Bosnians grew unhappy with planned reforms from the Ottomans. They had fought, they had given up the lives of their sons, but still, the rewards were few and far between. Whispers of autonomy were spreading through the empire. Bosnia wasn’t ignoring them. Husein was listening closer than most.
© John Bills
Somehow, the rain got heavier. I was soaked, but you should have enough ability to make that leap for yourself. Heavy rain leads to things being wet. Parroting the phrase “Ja sam iz Velsa” doesn’t create a forcefield around you, Sonic shield style, saving you from the rain. No, it means you are wet, but at least people know you are from Wales. She bought you an umbrella for a reason, John.
An uprising was soon becoming inevitable. Are such things always? I’d argue not, but I’m not the argumentative type. Husein Gradaščević was making friends all over the place, bringing together people from all classes and strata, all confessions and ideas. He treated Christians as, you know, ordinary people. Husein was responsible for building the first Catholic elementary school in the area, a big ol’ church, a parish rectory and more. He didn’t bother to get the Sultan’s permission for any of this, which was pretty brave but par for the course for the dragon (not a real dragon). We can go to the dragon himself for a direct quote on the matter;
“I have little fear of God, of the Sultan nothing at all, and of the Vizier, I am afraid as much as of my own horse.”
© John Bills
Tell us how you really feel, Dragon. With that mindset front and centre, he took thousands of men and marched towards Kosovo, joining a rebellion underway. Somehow, Husein Gradaščević found himself as the de facto leader of a Bosnia nominally free of Turkish dominion.
Rain. Rain. Rain.
Alas, enter Herzegovina. The Herzegovinians weren’t overly fond of Husein and sided with the Sultan in this particular battle. Husein’s final defeat was handed to him in 1832 by the forces of Ali Aga Rizvanbegović, he of angry dogs in Stolac fame. Husein was kicked out of the Empire before returning and settling in Constantinople, dying in murky circumstances in 1834.
Not that I garnered any of this from my trip to Gradačac. I took refuge in the dragon’s lair, the Dragon’s Tower, Kula Zmaja od Bosne. The views across the town were a delight, albeit obfuscated by rain and fog. My socks were wet. What would the Dragon of Bosnia have done in such circumstances? Would his fire have also been extinguished by the mizzle? Was he even a real dragon? Some dragons are misunderstood.
