Sometimes a country is measured by territory, sometimes by gold, sometimes by blood. But the real foundation of a state is measured by a person. By one. First. Stefan Nemanja.
And when I stood in front of his monument in Belgrade, in front of the old railway station, I was not standing in front of a bronze. I stood before the stone-forged mirror of the nation.
It was dusk. The sky was pouring with color, people were passing by, taking pictures, walking. But I was in no hurry. I looked at that giant of metal, standing high above the concrete, peaceful in his gaze and sword in hand. He extends his right hand, as if not commanding, but calling. The left hand holds the charter - the foundation of the state, a word that lasts longer than a stone.
Around him – the space is huge. It's as if Belgrade is leaning towards him, so that he has a place to stop. It's as if the city, where today slogans are shouted and telephones are ringing, decided to keep silent at that place. And to let the past speak for itself.
And Nemanja does not shout. Don't threaten. He is standing. Like a root. Like a pillar. Like a father.
There, in that silence between the trumpet from Terazi and the wind from the Sava, I felt the weight of what it means to create a nation. Not just rule. Already leave a seed that even history cannot suffocate. He was not only a ruler - he was the ground zero of the Serbian state. The father of the dynasty, the foundation of the monastery, the hand that drew the borders, but also the soul that protected them with prayer.
In his view - the Studenica and Hilandar monasteries, in his footsteps - the paths that were later followed by the Nemanjići, the Kings, the Tsars, and the Saints. On his shoulders – an entire nation that, despite the times, has survived.
And there, under his mantle, I felt pride. Not the noisy, empty one, but the quiet pride of the people who know who was their first. And who, in this age of screens and speed, still knows how to bow his head when he sees the one who drew the beginning.
I went further, but I knew one thing - while Stefan Nemanja stands in Belgrade, so does what we were. And what we can be.
Because sometimes just one person is enough to start the centuries.
Stefan Nemanja - the root that does not wither, the ruler that still watches
It was a clear day, the sun was high over Belgrade, and the air was warm and lively, as if the city itself stood up that day, proud of what it protects. I started slowly, step by step, down the noisy streets that lead to Sava square. And there, as if emerging from the soil of history, he stands - Stefan Nemanja.
It was no ordinary monument. No. It's a bronze memory that transcends time, huge and motionless, but somehow alive. Around him - children, tourists, pensioners, couples. Some see it as a tourist attraction, others as a work of art. I looked at him as a forefather.
I approached him slowly, as one approaches something that demands respect, not with looks - but with presence. His right hand raised, not to command, but to point the way. The left holds fast to the charter - just as it held the foundations of the state it created. Nemanjic. The roots of all Serbian steps.
And there, in the middle of the day, while the laughter of children and the chirping of pigeons mingled around me, I felt something quiet. Like a voice inside, hundreds of years old, saying:
"Look. I'm here. I'm not gone. I'm still standing for you."
I remembered that this man united the disunited principalities. That he built monasteries - not as buildings, but as pillars of the people's soul. That he knew when to fight, and when to bow before a greater force - not out of fear, but out of wisdom. He was a warrior, a ruler, a penitent, a saint.
And right there, at noon, while the shadows were sharply outlined around his feet, I stood as someone who had not come just to see the monument. I came to bow to the past.
Time passes around me - cars, passers-by, the sound of the tram. And Stefan Nemanja - stands. Unwavering. As if to say to Belgrade and to all of us:
"I am the beginning. I am the memory. And as long as you remember me, you will know who you are."
At that moment, the day was not ordinary. It became part of the story. A story in which I walk under the sun of Belgrade, and the shadow of a kingdom walks beside me.
