Noon - the hour of observance - a yellow frenzy spreading over the neighboring hills - zourna bellows wildly in a coarse duet with the dhol, as dancing arms and feet form tightly knotted circles of loud human carousels.
Enters the bride, timidly hiding her face in a veil, white and translucent, then successively - the groom - young man with rosy cheeks holding a silver dagger in his hand -
hooked to its point is a red flushing apple - the luscious fruit - a symbol for virginity of the nubile bride.
This tradition, faithfully kept from generation to generation is the core of the dance, threading a contagious smile throughout the Urartian faces of the pagan crowds.
Then, the trays of food, and smell of barbecued meat trailing into the streets - the feast is at its climax - wine and toasts spill everywhere - filling the air with a happy drunkenness. Everyone is talking, laughing,
except for the bride - frightened and shy she sits quietly at the table - her eyes fixed to the ground.