A witness to a troubled past

This fear of revenge infects the rhetoric of Abbot Danilo, who welcomes me to the fourteenth century Banjska Monastery, situated on an elevated plain overlooking the spa town and river of the same name, sheltered by the Rogozna mountain. Banjska was one of the most monumental of all the endowments bestowed by Stefan Uroš II Milutin (better known as King Milutin). It was, according to the Abbot, the fourth of six monasteries deserving of utmost respect and honour.

The troubled past of the monastery, which seamlessly blends Byzantine and Romanesque styles, provides a snapshot of the challenges of life under the Ottomans. Proximate to a main trading route, the Abbot describes how Banjska’s location at a crossroads has meant that it has witnessed ‘all historical events in the region’. Several times gutted by fires to which its frescoes and great library were lost, the travelogues of Benedikt Kuprešić recount how Banjska was all but destroyed in the sixteenth century upon the Sultan’s orders, after he learnt that fleeing Christians had sought refuge here. Only a few leafy fragments of the famous ‘gold of Banjska’ (‘Banjsko zlato’) remain on depictions of saintly existence. A century later, the Church of Saint Stefan here was converted into the Sultan Osman II Mosque. Once fabled for its imposing ramparts—depictions of which are similar to those that still surround Manasija Monastery near Despotovac in Serbia—the monastery was subsequently abandoned to, and ultimately devastated by, the competing Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empire armies. Nonetheless, ‘people would still come to prey and light candles on the ruins of the monastery’, the Abbot explains.

Abbot Danilo speaks compellingly about the very ‘survival’ of the Serb community in Kosovo, and the monastery as a vanguard in this battle; a battle for which he believes there will be no end. Though Banjska’s intertwined, tri-coloured carved stone facade is now fully restored, Abbot Danilo emphasises how ‘a monastery is about the continuation of a way of life, not the very building itself’. Only through the fullness of monastic life, he insists, can spiritual enlightenment be attained. He regrets the loss of the monastery’s once substantial landholdings on which it subsisted. According to its founding charter, a preserved copy of which can apparently be found in Istanbul, some seventy-five villages (most of whose names exist today, such as Rudare, Boletin, Vučitrn, and Zaza) and eight pastures, including in neighbouring Montenegro, came under the monastery’s possession. Banjska was also supposed to serve as a mausoleum for King Milutin, but security considerations led to his relics being transferred to Saint Nedelya Church in Bulgaria’s capital, Sofia, in around 1460. The Abbot has no idea whether they will one day be returned or not. Instead, there is an empty tomb within the church lying in wait.

With his wispy ginger beard and black robe, Abbot Danilo cut a somewhat lonely figure the first time we met; a man seemingly born for a different and bygone era. I later learn that we are about the same age, a fact which appears no truer no matter how often I repeat it. His congregation continues to grow, pilgrims return in increasing numbers each year, and the monastic community is expanding. There is even a new brewery, inspired by ancient writings about the monastery, producing a syrupy, dark, restorative beverage. ‘Beer was produced here before even rakija’, the Abbot proudly boasts; a rarity for this part of the world. Having survived the angst of the ages, Banjska Monastery and its surrounding spas are today a place of recuperation and regeneration, its tranquility safeguarded against the encroachments of civilization.

Banjska is often mentioned by historians as the original home of one of the Serbian Orthodox Church’s treasures, the sculpture of the Virgin Mary (‘Theotokos’) with Christ the Child, which dates back to the fourteenth century. Abbot Danilo tells how King Milutin engaged the best craftsman from Byzantium and Dubrovnik to produce such a sculpture, but is unclear when it was removed from Banjska. It is a hypothesis Mother Makarija, Abbess of Sokolica Monastery, unyieldingly refutes for ‘theological reasons’. Banjska was consecrated for Sveti Stefan (Saint Stefan), not the Holy Virgin, she clarifies; adding that confusion arises because Banjska was modelled upon the twelfth century Studenica Monastery, south-west of Kraljevo, Serbia, which was dedicated to the assumption of the Holy Virgin. The Abbess, her lame right arm propped pensively under her chin, proffers an alternative; namely that the sculpture was housed in one of the churches constructed by the Saxon miners, themselves Roman Catholics, before Ottoman incursions necessitated its removal and safekeeping. Sokolica was an ideal refuge. ‘There is no road leading up the hill, so the Turks were never here’, the Mother reasons whilst smiling sardonically. Its ultimate provenance is unclear; though the Abbess draws parallels with sculptures she encountered during her theological studies in Salonika, Greece; Serbia having apparently lacked the workshops to produce such a masterpiece at that time.

Ian Bancroft is the author of ‘Dragon’s teeth - tales from north Kosovo’ and ‘Luka'.

Ian is a writer based in the Balkans. He is the author of 'Dragon's Teeth - Tales from North Kosovo'. Follow Ian on Twitter @bancroftian.

Currently in: Belgrade, Serbia —  @bancroftian