Vlatko Nemanjić, better known in epic folk poetry as Jug Bogdan, was a Serbian duke, prefect and prince from the middle of the 14th century. He is descended from the Nemanjić's, and his daughter Milica married Lazar Hrebeljanović around 1353. He was buried in the monastery Davidovci near Brodarevo, while according to the folk tradition from the song "The Death of the Mother of the Jugović", he died in the Battle of Kosovo in 1389. In Prokuplje and its surroundings, based on folk tradition, it is believed that Jug Bogdan ruled Toplica district based in Prokuplje, in which he built a new fortress, and that he took part in stopping the Ottomans in the battle of Pločnik, which took place near the village of the same name in 1386. This tradition is preserved today in the central city street named after him, as well as in coat of arms of the city, and not far from it is located the village Jug Bogdanovac.

The pupil's parliament of the agricultural school "Radoš Jovanović Selja" invites you to listen to an instrumental song by the group "Hazari" called "Jug Bogdan", which takes you very vividly to ancient times.

Also, we present you one of the most beautiful Serbian epic songs in which Jug Bogdan is mentioned.

The Death of the Mother of the Jugović

Lord of Hosts, how passing great the marvel!

When the army camps upon Kosovo
In its ranks the Jugović--nine brothers,
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.
Unto God then prays the agéd mother:
"Give me, God, the keen eyes of a falcon,
Give to me, oh God, the swan's white pinions;
I would seek the wide plain of Kosovo,
I would see the Jugović--nine brothers,
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father."

Thus she prays to God--her prayer is granted.
God gives her the keen eyes of the falcon
And He gives to her the swan's white pinions,
And she seeks the wide plain of Kosovo.
Dead she finds the Jugović--nine brothers
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.
At their sides nine battle-spears are lying,
On the spears are perched nine keen-eyed falcons,
Round the spears stand nine good battle-horses,
And nine lions lie beside their masters.
And there roar their grief the nine grim lions,
And there mourn the nine good battle-horses,
And nine keen-eyed falcons scream in sorrow.
But the mother's heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother's heart, and dry her eyelids.
And she leads away the nine good horses,
Leads away with them the nine grim lions,
Calls to follow her nine keen-eyed falcons--
Thus returns she to her fair white castle.

From afar her sons' nine wives beheld her,
As she nearer came they walked to meet her--
Cried aloud to God the nine fair widows,
And there wept with them the nine young orphans,
And there mourned their grief the nine grim lions,
And nine keen-eyed falcons screamed in sorrow.
But the mother's heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother's heart, and dry her eyelids.

When the night is at the hour of midnight
Whinnies low the battle-horse of Damian,
And the mother asks of Damian's loved one:
"Oh my daughter, thou belov'd of Damian
Wherefore whinnies Damian's horse thus sadly?
Doth he hunger for the silver wheat-fields?
Doth he thirst for Zvečan's cooling waters?"
Slowly answers her then Damian's loved one:
"Oh my mother, mother thou of Damian,
Not for silver wheat-fields is he hungry,
Not for Zvečan's waters is he thirsty
Long since learnt he from his master Damian
Until midnight on fine oats to feast him,
After midnight many roads to travel;
Therefore now laments he for his master
Sorrows that he left his lord behind him
There upon the wide plain of Kossovo."
But the mother's heart is hard within her,
Hard the mother's heart, and dry her eyelids.

On the morrow as the dawn is breaking,
Lo, there fly two ravens, two black ravens;
Bloody are their wings up to the shoulders,
From their beaks the blood-flecked foam is falling.
'Tis a hero's severed hand they carry,
On the hand a golden ring is shining.

See, they drop it in the mother's bosom,
From her bosom then the mother takes it,
Turns and turns it slowly as she gazes.
Then again she calls to Damian's loved one:
"Oh my daughter, thou belov'd of Damian,
Tell me, whose this hand that I am holding!"
To the mother answers Damian's loved one:
"Oh my mother, mother thou of Damian,
'Tis our Damian's hand that thou art holding,
For I know the golden ring, oh mother,
This gold ring I gave him at our marriage."
And the mother holds the hand of Damian,
Turns and turns it slowly as she gazes;
To the hero's hand the mother whispers:
"Thou dear hand, oh thou my fair green apple,
Where didst blossom? Where has fate now plucked thee?
Woe is me! thou blossomed on my bosom,
Thou wast plucked, alas, upon Kosovo!"
And the mother's heart swelled big with anguish,
Swelled the mother's heart, and broke with sorrow
For her dead, the Jugović--nine brothers
And the tenth, the Jug Bogdan, their father.

Play the song and enjoy.