‘At least tell me what the matter is! Why is there no kumkum on your forehead? Where’s your galsari? Where is Bhavoji? Hurry up and tell me.’
‘We’ve converted, my brother. We have accepted their religion.’
Shambhu was shocked. ‘But why can’t you use kumkum?’
‘It’s their law. We can’t worship the tulsi plant, married women musn’t wear the galsari. If we disobey them, we’ll be punished,’ she cried.
The young lad had come all this way with much excitement and anticipation, but seeing all this he began to cry like a child. Vitha couldn’t bear to see him weep, she wanted to gather him in her arms and wail aloud too, but her feet seemed weighed down and rooted to the ground. She brought a strip of blanket and tossed it on to the porch.
‘Stop crying, now. We couldn’t change what was written in our fate. You be careful, always be on your guard,’ she said.
Shambhu had calmed down by then. He spread out the blanket and settled down. ‘When did all this happen? How? Why did you…’ he asked.
‘It has been two months now. Didn’t send word to you. What could I say? That your sister was dead?’
‘But why did you do it? Why was it necessary?’
‘We get four khandis of paddy from fields that belong to the Chornem temple. Five generations of our family have tilled those fields and that takes care of our needs through the year. When the temple was destroyed, they came after us. “Become Christians. Or give the land to the church,” they said. We continued with our work and sowed the fields. They came and threatened us again. “Convert at once or we’ll take the harvest away.” Some of the other villagers agreed to take their faith. Then your Bhavoji agreed too. He’d come back from the fields and begin to weep, “If this inheritance that feeds the family is snatched away, we’ll have to go and jump into the river or the well.” His whole life is built around those fields, if they go he won’t survive.’
‘Bai, why didn’t you come to us? We could have seen what to do.’
‘I wanted to. One day, in a fit of rage I picked up the children and decided to go home, but when I got to the edge of the courtyard your Bhavoji called out sadly, “Vithai, are you going to forsake me, too?” I couldn’t bear that!’ She started sobbing again. After a while, she continued, ‘His mother stays with us. She didn’t convert. She says, “Where my son is there I am. Cremate me or bury me, when I’m dead.”’
Bai went in, put on her galsari and came back. She tried to hide it under the folds of her sari. ‘It upsets me when I take it off, my heart beats nervously, so I put it on stealthily in the evening and take it off at dawn.’
Sounds of Bai’s little one crying inside the house were heard. Her four-year-old son, Babuli, kept wanting come out, but each time his grandmother would drag the child in.
‘Bai, have the children also been converted to their faith?’
‘Yes. They were the first to be baptized.’
‘Then I can’t hold them?’
‘No. Don’t take that risk. An evil wind is blowing. Everyone is waiting to cast you out. Your own people have become your enemies. The other day some bones were found floating in a well in Ambode. The villagers decided to ostracize the family. The husband and wife got a priest to perform a purification puja at the bottom of the well after they had emptied it out. When the next day they found bits of burnt cow dung cakes, firewood and plantain stems floating on the surface everyone felt reassured, it seems.’
Shambhu was dejected at the thought that his sister and his nephews were alienated from him. It was as if his very roots had been cut off. He almost broke into tears when his brother-in-law arrived. Shanu went in silently, then came to the door and said, ‘There can be no more coming and going between our houses. Assume that we are dead. Just want to say one more thing – don’t get trapped into anything, don’t stay back clinging to your fields and orchards. If necessary, uproot yourselves and go far away. Don’t do what we have done.’ Everyone remained silent after that. It seemed as though a torrent of words was building up in each one’s mind, but the threads of conversation had been snapped. They were so close physically, but they had travelled so far apart. Darkness was falling and a cold breeze of the Kartick month was blowing across the courtyard. Time seemed to have been flogged out of its normal rhythm.
Bai’s mother-in-law took the children inside and fed them, the others remained hungry. Vithai sat on the threshold staring at her brother. My brother sits outside my door, hungry and shivering, she thought, her eyes flooding with tears. ‘Brother, wrap that kambal around yourself, it’s cold,’ she said.
Shambhu pulled the blanket over his head and ears. ‘Bai, give me some water to drink. Water isn’t defiled by touch,’ he said.
Vithai sat quietly as though unable to decide. Then muttering, he is my brother after all, she picked up the water pot and rope and set off to get fresh water. Shambhu heard dry leaves crackling underfoot as she disappeared into the darkness. For a very long time everything was still. Shambu was beginning to get worried, He was about to call his bhavoji when he heard footsteps and Bai’s voice calling out to him. She poured water into his cupped palms.
When he had drunk his fill, Shambu asked, ‘Bai, the well is right here. Why did you take so long?’
‘The villagers don’t let us draw water from this well, we use the old one outside the settlement, the one that the cattle drink from. The three families in this village who have converted, all draw water from there.’ As she hastened indoors she continued in broken tones, ‘Don’t tell anyone you drank water here. And toss that blanket inside before daybreak.’
Vithai stood by the open door and said ‘You’re hungry. Aren’t you, Shambhu?’
‘Not really. Had payz before I set out.’
‘Shall I ask your Bhavoji to pluck two tender coconuts for you?’
‘No, Bai. Not at night. Let it be.’
‘You’re shivering. And you’re hungry. How can I just let you be?’ She went into the house and brought a large cucumber and a knife. ‘Here eat this,’ she said.
Shambhu was very hungry. He sliced the cucumber and ate half of it. ‘Go, have your dinner, Bai,’ he said.
‘My brother sits hungry at my door, how can I swallow even a morsel?’ she cried, settling down by the wall just inside the house. ‘Shambhu, are Avai and Bappa well? How’s Bappa’s foot?’
‘All right. He hobbles all the way into the forest sometimes.’
‘Why does he take so much trouble? And our neighbour Bhiki who fell off the roof? How’s she now?’
‘She’s dead. Took a turn for the worse around chavoth.’
‘Poor thing. How much she suffered at the end. Will Chandu be tied to the plough this year?’
‘Yes. Bappa thinks he’ll manage to work this year too.’
‘Last year the kukumambo tree didn’t bear any fruit. It will, this year. When the mangoes ripen, get me a basket full of the fruit.’
‘I will.’
‘Don’t forget to bring me those mangoes as long as I live. What else do I have? What else can I ask for?’
‘Bai, can’t you come home anymore?’
‘I’m always worried about you, I don’t want you to suffer because of what I’ve done. Even if I come, I’ll have to sit outside your door. Who will let a convert into the house? Do you see what happens when you give up your faith? Be very careful, Shambhu. Have they reached Adolshi yet?’
‘There’s just one white-skinned padre who roams about the village. He says we should join his faith of our own free will.’
‘That’s not true. Once the forest catches fire it doesn’t matter whether the trees are wet or dry, they’ll all burn. Look at us. When we tilled the fields that belonged to the church, our people shunned us and said we were like those converts. What could we do? If we stopped tilling those fields, the church would have given them to some other new converts. Either way we were doomed.’
Shambhu was very sleepy. He pulled the blanket tightly about
himself and lay on the ground, drawing comfort from the fact that his sister sat so close. Vithai’s husband spread a reed mat and lay down just inside the door while she sat leaning against the wall. Her eyes would grow heavy and every now and then she would begin to nod off. Suddenly, she’d wake up and stare at her brother’s sleeping form, her eyes brimming with tears.
One time when she had dozed off, she dreamt of the sacred niche where the gods were placed in her parents’ home. Suddenly she saw a huge lizard darting about amongst the gods. The lizard then seemed to jump on to her body and she woke up with a scream. She kept falling asleep and waking up in fear right through the night. ‘Shambhu,’ she exclaimed only half awake, ‘when is the astabandhan ceremony at the Ramnath temple? Tell Mhalu ajja I’ll be coming, I’m a married woman, I will take part in the suvashin ceremony…’ as though she had taken leave of her senses. She went back to a fitful sleep, dreaming, waking up, and glancing at her brother to make sure he was all right.
Shambhu got up early and threw the folded kambal into the house. As he sat on the porch hugging his knees, an elderly woman stopped at a distance. ‘So your brother came in the night, Vithai! Where did he eat? Where did he sleep? Did he drink water in your house?’ she asked.
‘No. He stayed hungry. Slept outside the house.’
‘So what if he’s your brother, he’s an outsider now, of a different faith. Why make him sit on the porch? You should have sent him to our house.’
Vithai didn’t say a word and the woman walked on. Turning around suddenly, she asked ‘What name have they given you? I just can’t pronounce it…’
Vithai didn’t reply.
‘Imagine! Giving up your religion just to keep your fields and orchards! One’s faith is most important,’ the woman muttered, walking on.
The family clustered at the door when it was time for Shambhu to leave. They didn’t ask when he’d come again, nor did he ask when they would come for a visit.
It was almost three months since Annu had moved in with Padre Simao Peres, but each time the priest spoke of sending him to Goapattana to be baptized the boy would begin to cry. He would run away and hide amongst the bushes and the priest would have to bring him back. One day the padre sat him down and said, ‘I promised I’d let you stay here for a month. Each time I talk of your becoming a Christian, you draw back. You have broken your word, and that’s a sin. But I’ll give you one last chance. Tomas will take you to Padre Gasper Dias of St Catherine’s Church this Sunday. You’ll get baptized. Or you’ll go home.’
‘Father, will I have to eat cow’s meat?’
‘You cannot say you won’t.’
‘And pig’s flesh?’
‘You cannot say you won’t.’
‘If I refuse to eat it what will happen?’
‘You will be punished, like the others who go against the faith.’
Annu remained silent.
‘You decide. After Sunday you cannot stay here.’
‘Father, let me just stay here with you.’
‘That’s not possible. For various reasons. I won’t let you stay.’
Annu returned home that night and lay down on the floor, next to his brother. When his brother woke up the next morning his eyes fell on Annu and he shouted in joy, ‘Annu! You’re home! When did you come?’ Durpadi, who was going to the well, heard his voice. She saw Annu and began screaming at the top of her voice. ‘Wretched corpse! Worthless fellow! Eats shit all over the village and then comes to sleep in the house … The outcaste has defiled this settlement, defiled the house. He’s a blot on the name of our village!’
Hearing voices some men from the neighbourhood joined her in the courtyard. Purso pulled out a pointed piece of wood from the wood pile in front of Dattu’s house and rushed inside. ‘Get out! We don’t want you here!’ he screamed jabbing Annu with the wood, pushing him out as though he were a wild animal that had wandered into the house.
‘You’ve been eating cow’s flesh, have you?’ Devu aimed a kick at the boy.
‘No. No! I haven’t!’
‘Pig’s flesh, then?’
‘No, no!’
‘What did you eat, then? Mud? Telling lies, after all you’ve done! Go away from here!’ Purso prodded at Annu with the piece of wood while the others beat him with sticks.
Annu wept like a child as he made his way to Simao Peres’s shack. ‘Bappa, they’ve been beating me. I’ll become a Christian. I’ll go to Goapattana with Demu mama on Sunday,’ he sobbed. The priest’s heart went out to the boy whose bare body was swollen and covered with welts. He passed a gentle hand over the bruises and drew the boy into the shack.
Just twenty days after Annu was baptized, old man Manju Nayak arrived at the priest’s shack saying he wanted to become a Christian too. Padre Simao was happy.
‘Christianity has very strict rules. You must follow them. They also have the Inquisition. They will be watching you,’ he warned.
‘I will, Padre bappa. I will follow the rules carefully.’
‘But why do you want to give up your own faith?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been following you around for a month, now,’ he said. ‘I like what you say. I’m sick of life, Padre bappa. I want a new path.’
As Padre Simao wandered about the village delivering his sermons, Manju followed him with a pair of cymbals in his hand. He had a high, sweet voice and he’d burst into devotional songs in a mixture of Konkani, Kannada and Marathi, clashing the cymbals whenever the priest stopped to speak.
The sun was almost overhead and the whole area shimmered in silvery light. Padre Simao stood before his shack, immersed in the beauty of his surroundings.
Tomas, who had just returned from the village with some vegetables, said, ‘Padre bappa, four people have come from Goapattana. Three soldiers and one fidalgo.’
‘Why have they come?’
‘Don’t know. Didn’t reply when I asked. Just swept past insolently.’
‘Come. Give me some payz. I must go to the village.’
‘Why must you go so late in the afternoon?’
‘I have to.’
‘Go then. Go and meet that white-skinned officer. He might be one of your relatives.’
The priest felt insulted by his words. ‘You’re going too far, Tomas. It’s wicked to hurt people. I don’t want any of your payz. I’m going.’
‘Don’t be angry, Padre bappa, forgive me!’ Tomas rushed up to him striking his forehead with his hand. ‘I talk like a mad man sometimes. Padre bappa, won’t my wife become a Christian like me?’
The priest ate the payz and salted preserve in silence. Suddenly he said, ‘Tomas, are you sorry that you became a Christian?’
‘I was sorry at first, Padre bappa, but then I came here to live with you. Now I’m proud to call myself a Christian.’
The priest seemed disillusioned. ‘It’s been a year and a half since I came to this village, but I’ve only baptized six people in all this time. I want to touch people’s hearts and inspire them to become Christians of their own free will, but it is not happening, Tomas!’
‘Six people … that’s a lot, Padre bappa. Besides, these people’s lives have not changed through the centuries. It’s not easy for them to change. And this is a cowardly race. Things will move faster if the power of the sword is displayed.’
The priest dropped to his knees before the crucifix. ‘My Lord Jesus, Son of God, let my heart always be full of love and compassion. I don’t want to use force. You are my refuge, O Lord!’
As Padre Simao crossed the temple grounds, Rayanna Bhat standing at the door, began to mutter loud incantations as though he were abusing the padre. The temple priest had grown old, but he was still as sly and selfish as he had been in his youth. Padre Simao walked on towards the fields when he saw a couple of native sepoys and two foreigners driving a family of four as if they were cattle. The fidalgo, a Portuguese officer of noble birth, walked behind them silently. The young woman had an infant in her arms while the man he
ld the four-year-old boy’s hand. Padre Simao Peres was distressed to see the sepoys beating the hapless couple. ‘Why do you beat these poor people?’ he exclaimed. ‘You go against the teachings of Jesus. Don’t draw the weight of sins on to your heads!’
The fidalgo, silent until then spoke in Portuguese, each of his words striking the air like a sharp blow, ‘This couple is from Hela village. The man got into a brawl with his brother, was arrested and confessed to his crime. He was forgiven when he agreed to become a Christian and the family was baptized at St Catherine’s Church. Each family member received eight xerafins too. Then they fled to an aunt’s house in this village and continued to live like Hindus.’
‘What will you do with them now?’
‘The children will go to an orphanage to be brought up as Christians. The man and woman will face the Inquisition.’
The padre felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He knew what terror the Inquisition had unleashed in Spain and Portugal. It would now be promulgated in Goa. Anyone who went against the tenets of Christianity was sentenced to death. Perhaps this couple too would be tied to a stake and burnt.
‘You force them to change their religion and when they make a mistake you burn them. That is not right,’ the priest remarked.
The officer was taken aback. ‘Criticizing the Inquisition might prove dangerous for you, Padre,’ he said, nervously. ‘Do you know how powerful they are, how high they can reach? They can drag the viceroy to their court and have him punished. They ensure that the Christian religion remains pure and holy, what they do is God’s work. I am a fidalgo, but I am proud to be an officer of the Inquisition. If you speak against the system I will bear witness myself and haul you to court. You know what will happen after that.’
The priest thought it was better not to say anything, and walked on. Appa, the barber, who was coming from Raigali, was talking loudly, ‘Gopika mavshi kept them in her house for three days. How was she to know that they had become Christians? Will people let me and my sons remain in the village, will we be allowed to take part in religious functions, she wails.’
Age of Frenzy Page 5