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Together with Alizbar and Gennady Lavrentiev

Celtic harp - Alizbar;

Hang dram, Tampur, Shaker, Wood, Kanzhira, Jamba - is correct;

violin - Gennady Lavrentiev

The legions around the impregnable mountains closed the gold chain. Thousands of warriors, guns, chariots, hymns, banners: siege on the highlight. Nobody has yet kept the pressure of this famous army. And the emperor arrogantly remarked: "This Bharata-Wars will be ours, Aria will die!" He was beautiful and young, fabulously rich, shrouded in glory. The favorite of the crowd, arrogantly smiling, he drank fame excitedly, he swam in her. “The whole planet is from now on”- his voice thundered like lightning. The wind fluttered his wonderful wheat hair and there were no limits to his pride. He washed with fire and sword from the face of the earth and entire nations fiercely. He ruined the ancient temples, leaving the peaks into the gray-lilac sky. And he laughed at women who prayed to the Creator in blood and ashes. “Where is their caring god?!” He spoke with caustic irony to his priest. But once, walking through the forest along the surface of juicy green carpets, he saw a shining old man, and around him seven sacrificial bonfires. An unknown, frantic miraculous force emanated from the saint. He radiated boundless happiness, it was deeply struck by the king. “Who are you and why with you so calm and easy for me?” He asked the old man. "Let's take you with you, you will become my right hand and you will live in abundance. Blooming women, venerable horses, precious stones: I will drown you into luxury. Just open my secret to me, well, what do you want?" And the sage illuminated by the light of knowledge, as an universal beggar, did not expect respect. Hiding the placers of spiritual wealth under the cover of canvas humility. And he answered, looking with genuine compassion at the impudent God -fighter: "I do not need anything, the king, although, I ask: go away, you block the sun." Tired of wandering through mountain passes, forests, deserts and wild prairies, the Lord of the world to the sounds of pipes and Litaur returned to the capital of his empire. The commanders rested, enjoying the sophisticated dishes and goeters. And he was considering a new campaign that would make his name unqualified time. The king was sitting on the throne, squeezing the thin, pale fingers of the map of rebellious lands. He lost all his charm - it was a shy corner driven into a corner. Doubts-ammunitions penetrated the mind. Glory no longer captivated him, an explosive force shone once. The short -lived flattery of vassals. The blind passion is false, the conspiracies of the court dogs of the fortune -telling. Greed moves the minds of people. The bumped army was mired in debauchery and riots. And everyone strives to stick a knife in the back and take possession of immeasurable power. There are so many things around and everything is available to the emperor, but there is no happiness. Only the emptiness inside is cold, apathy and indifference, all life for itself. The past is burden, the present melts, the future scares. And there is no one to admit that you are Faritan Fortune, defeated by loneliness. There is no one to hug, not afraid that he will push him away, there is no sincerity behind the screen of honors. And so he was still very young for a gray -haired man on his deathbed. And his death, indifferent to the greatness of the king, hissed on his shoulder with a fierce cobra. At the last moment, he remembered that sage, looking at the red -hot sun. And on the same day, without hesitation, he said in the throne room to his commanders: “I am leaving, and here is my last will: when the sun is hidden behind the clouds, bring me on the last journey on your shoulders with outstretched arms. To see everything, to see everything, I did not take anything with me from here, although I owned many. We are children of a different world, all wealth and happiness there, with God! ” Do not look for happiness in the outer vain noisy station. Take a look, your consciousness is a golden rune, a stone of Chintamani, a bowl of the Grail. Right in the waiting room I will drop my bag and openly smile at eternity. My destination is the monastery of joy, love and inexhaustible tenderness.