Traditional Georgian Views on Childhood Illnesses Called the “Lords”

In old Georgian beliefs, common childhood infectious diseases known as batonebi, or “lords,” were regarded as spiritual entities. They were often described as angels or beings sent directly by God.

Folk tradition held that seven sibling spirits made up this group: measles, rubella, chickenpox, whooping cough, smallpox, mumps, and scarlet fever. When they arrived as illness, the effects could range from serious complications to life-threatening outcomes.

Ethnographic records and folklore provide valuable perspectives on why these lords were thought to visit the earthly world and whether their presence was seen more as punishment or as a meaningful occurrence carrying potential blessing.

According to traditional accounts, the batonebi came from the White Sea, as expressed in songs that begin with lines such as “We have arrived from the White Sea, Iavnanina, we are the seven lords—brothers and sisters.” All such illnesses were said to originate beyond the Black Sea in a realm of endless rivers of honey and streams of milk. These images symbolized rays of sunlight and white clouds or mist.

The lords could appear at any time of year—spring, autumn, or winter—whenever a beam of sunshine broke through the clouds. They were believed to travel along that ray, and outbreaks tended to occur during warmer periods.

Because they were called angels, they belonged to a separate otherworldly domain associated with light and brightness. Georgian folk views also connected illnesses, including the condition known as sakhadi, to a sun deity sometimes referred to as Babar, a name sharing traits with the Sumerian solar figure linked to brilliance and light.

The sender of the lords, Babar, appeared as a fiery, radiant being tied to the color red, and red elements featured prominently in rituals honoring their arrival. Another figure, the goddess Barbare, shared luminous qualities but was understood as female in Georgian tradition, in contrast to certain Sumerian parallels. Barbare was frequently addressed as the “aunt” or mother of the lords, and people prayed to her for healing the sick.

Over time, the roles of Babar and Barbare blended in popular imagination, representing different aspects of a single underlying idea: powerful distant force on one side and close, compassionate mercy on the other. Together they formed a complete cycle in which Babar dispatched the lords while Barbare served as mediator and healer.

The lords signaled their presence through a skin rash, interpreted metaphorically as flowers or the visible result of spiritual qualities that had been neglected. Their visit served as a reminder to practice love, care, caution, responsibility, and selflessness, encouraging families to pause and reflect on these virtues.

For this reason, households maintained calm and quiet during the illness. Loud speech, arguments, gunfire, drinking, and similar disruptions were strictly avoided, as they could offend the lords and worsen the condition. Respect and honor were shown through gentle behavior and special customs, as illustrated in Meskhetian verses that describe spreading carpets and flowers before the lords.

To support healing, a skilled woman known for her sweet singing voice and calming presence was invited to the home. She went by titles such as mebodishe (one who seeks forgiveness), makhvetseli, or gamomlotsveli, and was sometimes called the aunt of the lords. While not viewed as the goddess herself, the name suggests an ancient link. Barbare appeared in songs and prayers either as the lords’ aunt or simply as their mother, always as a merciful female deity who could bring relief.

In certain Iavnana songs for the batonebi, sakhadi was called divine sickness or a duty owed to God—something every person might experience rather than a random affliction. It was treated as an honored visit from spiritual beings.

The rash itself was likened to a flower marking the lords’ entry into the body. Children not visited by them were sometimes considered overlooked or unloved by the spirits. Although the atmosphere was one of reverence, fear remained because the visit could end in tragedy. Biblical references to divine rebuke without wrath underscored the idea that illness could serve to strengthen the soul through reflection and repentance, while disobedience might bring harsher consequences.

At the same time, the lords responded to genuine kindness with mercy. When families demonstrated care and attentiveness, the household filled with peace and mutual support, signaling that the purpose of the visit had been fulfilled. The resulting serene atmosphere was so pure that the spirits were thought to linger in memory even after departing.

This attitude appears echoed in a modern song that playfully wishes for the batonebi to visit and bring beautiful singing like nightingales. The overall respectful mood toward these lords connects to an ancient worldview in which every aspect of life—joy, sorrow, and trials including sickness—fell under the rule of specific deities.

In that era, people valued soulful qualities, self-sacrifice, and protection of others, ideas also seen in tales like Tsikara that emphasize unconditional love. The custom of apologizing to the lords expressed both deep affection for the sick child and humble obedience to higher powers.

When a child’s condition grew critical, the mother might prepare to sacrifice herself in the child’s place. She could first offer an animal at a shrine, then bring the white-clad child to the site and perform a symbolic act of pressing her chest to the earth, offering to enter the ground instead. The white clothing symbolized closeness to the spiritual realm. As a final gesture, the child might be left undressed at the shrine before the family returned home.

These acts connected to the great mother goddess Nana, who embodied natural forces of fertility, death, and rebirth. She was seen as the nurturer who receives the departed back into her embrace, much like a seed returning to soil to grow again. Ancient burials sometimes placed the dead in fetal position inside clay jars, returning them symbolically to the womb. The gentle term iavnana for lulling a child to sleep also linked to prayers to Nana for peaceful rest—temporary in life, permanent in death. Just as flowers accompany farewells to the deceased, Georgians used similar gestures when sending the lords on their way to Nana.

In summary, the arrival of the lords represented a profound spiritual passage that could transform both the child and those caring for them. This tradition of welcoming and respectfully guiding these visitors formed an important link to the unseen world and remained part of Georgian life until relatively recent times.