Hayme Sultan

It is the year 1258. Springtime in Domaniç is as beautiful as heaven. Its vast meadows, like spacious palace ballrooms in green, are surrounded by tall plane trees and even taller hornbeams. The nomads have set up their tents near the creek.

Hayme Sultana, sits under the huge oak tree that has grown out of all proportion on the fertile ground. This young grandmother rocks the cradle that she has set on a branch of the oversized oak. Her grandson Osman Gazi lies awake in his tiny cradle, so fragile and vulnerable in its gigantic setting. She is murmuring a lullaby.

When the royal baby cries, she sings “Do not lament, my baby boy, do not have any fears...” The sweet song seems to please all who hear it: the bright sun, the flowing creek, the blooming fields