Fifteen or sixteen men emerged slowly from the seven houses and gathered in the courtyard. This was the first time that they set eyes on the white-skinned foreigners. These are men like us, they too have eyes and noses, hands and feet!
Everything was quiet and still for some time. As the tension began to ease, Shantu Shenai said in a low voice, ‘No messenger from King has ever threatened us like this. They have always treated us with respect.’
‘Don’t talk of the other rulers. We are the strongest. We snatched Goa from Adil Shah. Six thousand Moors were massacred and their blood flowed all over Goa. We have come here today to get an assurance that you have accepted the King of Portugal as your sovereign. All the revenues and taxes will have to be deposited with us from now on.’
‘We want nothing to do with you. You take everything by force. You killed the Moors and forced their widows to convert to your religion and marry your soldiers. You built your places of worship as soon as you arrived. And now you force Hindus to eat all sorts of things and make them join your faith,’ Saptu Shenai protested.
‘You are the ones who drive people to our faith. If someone eats something we offer, you disown him. He is cast out of his home, he can no longer practise your religion so he comes to us.’
‘If you assure us that our gods and our religion will be protected, we may agree to do what you say,’ Gharso Shenai stated.
‘Viceroy Alphonso de Albuquerque has already given such an assurance to Mhala Pai, representative of the Hindus of north Goa, but it has not been ratified by the King of Portugal yet. Let me tell you this, the King has to follow the policy dictated by the Pope, who says that the King’s religion is the religion of his subjects. At the moment, however, we will abide by the assurance given by the viceroy.’
The group of Brahmins seemed quite confused by the captain’s words.
‘I’m Appu Shenai,’ said an elderly gentleman from the group. ‘I am the village kulkarni. I look after the accounts and handle the taxes and revenues paid to the government. Tell us, how did Goa come under your rule?’
‘Appu Shenai, remember you have been dealing with the Portuguese King for three years now. How much revenue did you collect over the last two years and where did you deposit it?’
‘I paid the last instalment to Abdul Ghani, the patedar in the Adil Shah raj two years ago.’
‘How much?’
‘Three hundred and thirty two xerafins, three tangas and twelve reias.’
‘And last year?’
‘No revenue was paid last year. We didn’t know who was ruling the place, no one from the new king’s government came to collect it. So no money was set aside from our common village funds. The council of village elders declared that they wanted to see the corpse before they begin the mourning rituals.’
The captain was enraged. ‘Kulkarni! You are dealing with the King of Portugal’s regime, now. We dropped cannon balls all over Goa and conquered it. We overthrew the Moors, thousands were massacred, countless others fled in fear. And you say your village didn’t know that we had come?’
‘You are foreigners who’ve sailed across the seven seas. We thought you’d gather all the loot and go away after one or two months. How were we to know that you would stay on?’
‘Senor Albuquerque has set up this colony permanently. Our rule extends across the ocean and over this land. We will stay here and carry out our trade and business from here. We will fight wars and expand our territories. Kulkarni! How many people live in this village?’
‘There are fifty-one houses. Seventy-two families live here. Six hundred and nine people in all.’
‘You must give us the revenue for the last two years. Dasu Pai, the collector from Kalapur will be here in eight days to collect the money. At the same rate as before.’
‘We can’t give you last year’s tax! All the paddy and grain set aside from that harvest was used up last year itself,’ Appu Shenai said. His nervousness had ebbed a little and there was a new strength in his voice.
‘Who is the mhal gaonkar?’
‘Khapru Nayak of Shirvaddo.’
‘Summon a meeting of the village council and decide on a higer rate of tax. Take the money from your common village fund.’
‘How can we increase the rate?’ old Adu Shenai interjected. ‘The expenses of the annual temple festival and other rituals are drawn from that fund. Much of it goes in paying taxes anyway,’ he said shrilly.
‘Do whatever you want. Collector Dasu Pai will gouge the money out of this village, let me warn you. We’ll set the rates from now on. And the currency in use will be the cruzado, our currency.’
‘Your money can only be used in Goa. We use the reais, tangas and xerafins to trade with outsiders, we bring bales of cloth and other items from outside.’
‘All right. Both types of currency will be in use,’ the captain declared. ‘I expect that all of you will accept the sovereignty of our King. Henceforth your day must begin with salutations to the King of Portugal.’
Bhavani Shenai was a hot-headed young man. Hearing these words he shouted, ‘You are an impure race come from across the sea. We have nothing to do with your King, we will not offer salutations to him or to any of you. Our heads will only bow before our gods.’
The captain’s nose quivered in anger, his breath caught in his throat and his blue eyes turned bloodshot. He grabbed his baton and rained blow after blow on Bhavani Shenai who fell to the ground writhing in pain. ‘We can bear blows of a sword. We cannot bear any insult to our King. This man deserves to be killed!’ the captain announced as the horrified group looked on mutely.
‘If you do not accept our rule peacefully, we shall force you by spilling blood,’ he added, grabbing the handle of his sword. At once the other soldiers pulled out their swords and the Brahmins, who had never seen so many naked swords dancing before them, recoiled in fear as though confronted by poisonous serpents.
The captain leapt on to his horse. ‘Have you heard of Jesus, Son of God?’
The people shook their heads.
‘Jesus, the Son of God came down from heaven to give us Christianity. That is the religion practised by the King of Portugal. If you were asked to give up your faith, what would you do?’
‘We’d kill ourselves,’ a few voices declared, fervently.
‘If someone forced you to eat meat and the flesh of cows, what would you do?’
‘We’d fast to death,’ the same voices said with conviction.
‘And if someone offered you land and wealth in exchange?’
‘Even if all the wealth in the world were spread at our feet, we’d spurn it. We will not forsake our faith.’
The captain smiled wickedly. ‘One last question, then. If someone comes with a sledgehammer in one hand and a naked sword in the other and sets about destroying your temples and your gods, what will you do, then?’
A chill descended on the group. They stared at each other silently. Finally someone said, ‘God will see what needs to be done. He will punish the guilty.’
The captain spurred his horse and the group of soldiers rushed through the orchard towards the Ravalnath temple on the hill slope. This was a simple open structure with a sanctum, a tiled roof and a dung smeared floor. The white-skinned soldiers dismounted in front of the temple and walked in, still wearing their knee high boots.
‘Senor, senor, your boots. If outsiders enter their temples they feel that they have become unclean…’ the local soldiers protested, but the foreigners paid no attention. They tramped about for a while and then sat on the stone seats. There were five white-skinned foreigners in all. The two local soldiers stood outside, their faces dark with foreboding.
At this point, an old sadhu entered the temple. The hair on his head, his long flowing beard and moustache were all completely grey. Quite taken aback at the sight of the foreigners, the old man began to scream, ‘Get out! Just get out! You’ve made the temple impure. You’ve sinned! You’ll turn to ashes!’
Th
e soldiers didn’t move. The sadhu rushed out of the temple, ‘Look what’s happening here … some unclean men have entered the temple with their shoes on. They’ve destroyed the sanctity of the place! Come drive them out!’ But no one responded to his cries. Not one man emerged through the trees in the orchard.
The captain mounted his horse again and the group set off leaving the settlement quiet and peaceful. There was nothing to indicate that such a storm had swept over the settlement just a while ago, nor was there any turbulence left in its wake. Only the sadhu stood there waving his hands and screaming incoherently in the direction of the settlement. It seemed as if he was invoking curses on their heads.
The white-skinned soldiers had killed a huge boar in the hills that morning and had covered it with leaves and branches. One of the local soldiers went up to the Ramnath temple and addressed the priest, ‘Bhatto! We’ve killed a wild boar on the hill slope. I know that you don’t eat meat, but can you tell us who will skin and cut it up? We will give the villagers part of the meat.’
‘Jivu Mesta will do that. But Shiva Mirashi has to make the first cut in the flesh. He performs the sacrifices at the Purus, the Payak and the Betaal shrines,’ the priest said.
The captain dismissed the priest’s statement. ‘We are the ones who decide how things should be done,’ he declared. ‘We killed the boar. We’ll make the first cut.’
The number of wild boars in the hills had increased in recent times. They trampled the crops and grazed with the cattle on the slopes. The villagers organized hunts to tackle this menace. They dug pits in the ground and covered them with leaves and branches. When a boar fell into the pit the villagers rained blows with an axe and broke its backbone. When they heard that the white-skinned foreigners had killed a boar with just a shot from a gun they were amazed and filled with admiration.
Jivu Mesta sat alone in his forge. The man who pumped the bellows and the helper who smote the hot iron had fled as the white-skinned foreigners approached them. The group stopped a short distance away and a local soldier asked Jivu to accompany them with a sharp knife.
‘Has the Mirashi come?’
‘No. They say they are the new rulers. They will make the first cut themselves.’
The blacksmith went inside and brought a long, sharp-edged knife. He called out to the two helpers who were hiding behind the house and the three men followed the soldiers into the hills.
‘A large wild boar has been killed. If you want the meat come up to the hills,’ the local soldier announced whenever he saw signs of human habitation on the way.
They pushed aside the leaves and branches that covered the animal and Jivu plunged his knife into the carcass as though possessed. He skinned the animal and removed the entrails which he tossed on one side. He cut off the legs and the snout with the help of his two men while the captain and his soldiers watched closely. ‘This animal grew up wild and was sustained by the Lord, it belongs to the whole village, so everyone has a right to the meat. That’s why the Mirashi performs rituals and offers the first cut,’ Jivu babbled. ‘I am committing a sin and will have to answer to the Lord,’ he kept repeating as though he had gone mad.
The soldiers soon realized that some villagers were hiding behind the bushes and peeping at them from amongst the leaves. The soldiers wrapped the choicest pieces of meat in large leaves for themselves. Jivu hacked the rest of the flesh into twenty portions and the local soldier called out to the villagers, ‘Come, take your portions away.’ One by one the villagers emerged, nervous and hesitant. Each man crept up like a thief, picked up a portion and rushed away.
Captain Figredi was astonished. What a peculiar culture this was! Some of these people eat only fruits and vegetables. Others eat meat. They don’t eat the flesh of the pigs they raise, cow meat is taboo and one who eats it becomes an outcaste. They worry about the caste and religion of the one who offers them food. Some things are fit to be eaten, some things are taboo. Everything is complicated! And except for the Brahmins, if you ask anyone if they’re Hindus they say they don’t know!
Fifty years later.
Adolshi was a small village about sixteen miles from Goapattana, the main township. Few people ventured as far as Adolshi since it was tucked away in the countryside and yet a sense of fear pervaded the village. In fact, these were troubled times and there was a feeling that danger lurked in the background. The body of the outcaste Ganaba – Tilai mavshi’s nephew – still lay buried within the village. During the temple festival, the deity used to be taken to the sacred deva kond, for the ceremonial bath. But this time, the palanquin was placed at a distance from the pool, the idol given a quick dip and returned to the temple. There was no music, no flowers were offered, no rituals performed. Nor did cries of ‘Har Har Mahadev! ’ rent the air as in earlier times.
Bad news filtered in from the surrounding villages. The foreigners had barged into Kalapur and Merces, Palem and Agassaim and other villages on the Goan mainland with their religion. New rumours floated around every day … Those people fed the villagers cow meat saying it was deer meat. The unfortunate ones who ate it became outcastes. The bones of a cow were found floating in a well in Merces. The well was emptied and purification rituals conducted at the bottom of the well. When the well filled up at night, another large bone was found in it. Soldiers with guns and whips picked up people from the wayside and drove them along the road to the place where these foreigners worshipped their gods…
Once, there was news that all the thieves in Goa’s jails had been converted to Christianity and were set free. Now they were going about breaking into people’s homes, and defiling them. Someone from Adolshi who had gone to Goapattana had seen men and women tied together, and driven to the market place like cattle and sold to the highest bidder. When he came back and reported this, the people of Adolshi were terrified. Each man began to keep his eyes peeled to protect his family.
One day, a white-skinned padre in a flowing white ankle length coat was seen wandering around the village. Tall and well-built, with a ruddy complexion and long golden hair on his head and in his flowing beard, the man seemed well over fifty. If one looked into his large dark eyes that seemed full of tears one felt as though one were gazing into a deep, bottomless lake. Who was this fearless stranger who had come from across the seven seas to wander about the village all by himself?
Padre Simao Peres went to every settlement each day and delivered his sermon in a loud but mellifluous voice. As he spoke he seemed to be transported to the realm of the gods. The qualities of love, pity, forgiveness and service to fellowmen infused his very being and this was reflected on his face and in his voice. He spoke fervently of the greatness of Jesus Christ, although for the first few weeks everyone ignored him. There was too much bad news trickling in from all sides to pay attention to a foreigner’s sermons!
Yet the padre wandered from one part of the village to another preaching and reciting his prayers. His strong voice carried from house to house. Who has cast a spell on this man, why does he wear himself out in this way, people asked themselves.
One day four or five youths from Shirvaddo hailed Padre Simao Peres from a distance, ‘Hey you! Don’t come here ever again. We don’t need you. If you’re seen anywhere around we’ll break your legs and drive you out!’ they yelled.
However, the following morning the priest appeared as usual, recited the Rosary and started his sermon. ‘Jesus, Son of God, born of the holy Virgin Mary, came to this world to spread compassion and bring happiness and joy. His heart overflowed with love and compassion. He said love your family, love your neighbours and most important, love your enemies too. Forgive your enemy for what evil he has done to you and he will become your dearest friend. Jesus said, if someone strikes you on one cheek turn the other towards him. Even your worst enemy will not strike you again. Spread the message of love all over this world. The love in your hearts and the tears of compassion in your eyes will bring peace and goodwill on earth … Amen.’
Just t
hen, someone threw a stone at the priest. It hit him on the right temple and blood gushed forth. The priest fell to his knees and prayed to god to forgive the assailant. Then, without another word, he went away.
The next morning Padre Simao Peres was back at the same spot beneath the banyan, the wound on his temple still fresh. ‘As Jesus was hoisted on to the cross he prayed to the Heavenly Father to forgive those who were doing this, “Lord, forgive them, they know not what they do.” He is the Son of God, the Heavenly Father. Born of the virgin womb of Mother Mary. His heart is as vast as the heavens, as deep as the ocean. He is the King of the whole universe, the ruler of men’s hearts…’
After a while, the padre noticed that a few men and women and some children stood huddled together on one side. He continued with his sermon, ‘Accept Jesus as your Lord, believe in Him. Tell Him all your sorrows and your troubles will vanish. We commit sins in life, and we are punished for them. Have faith in Lord Jesus, open your hearts to Him and confess your sins. He will forgive you and make you good men, you will not feel the need to sin again. He brings good fortune, this Son of God. Each plant that He touches bears flowers and fruits, He makes sick men whole again. Jesus took the whole world’s sorrows and the weight of man’s sins upon His own shoulders. He went to the cross of His own free will, so that mankind would be free of sorrow. Accept the Lord, He will deliver you from all problems … the gates of Heaven will open to you.’
Annu, who was standing on one side darted forward in a fit of emotion. ‘Is all that you say true, O stranger?’ he cried, throwing himself at the padre’s feet.
The priest’s eyes filled with tears, ‘May Lord Jesus bless you and save you from all harm.’
Guna, who was standing behind a bush came forward angrily. ‘We hear that your people are converting men forcibly in Goapattana and other villages, that the Chamundeshwara temple on Chornem island has been destroyed. Your soldiers beat up people who try to resist and throw them into prison. So what is this act that you are putting on here? They’ve sent you here first to win us over, that’s why you are accompanied by that man with a sword in his hand.’
Age of Frenzy Page 2