Dasu’s mother rushed up too, but Dasu paid no attention as he climbed the steps and stood on the porch. Demu Gurav lost all control. He grabbed the sickle that was lying on one side and pierced Dasu’s chest, slicing down through his abdomen, spilling his guts. Dasu collapsed on the threshold as blood gushed out.
Demu Gurav sank to the ground. He seemed to have lost all power of speech. Dasu Gurav, newly christened Jose Barosh, lay on the floor, in a pool of blood.
Since he was a Christian, none of the villagers who had gathered there stepped forward to touch him to check whether he was still alive. The body lay on the threshold all night. Only the mother’s wails broke the stillness. Demu sat with his back against the wall, motionless.
Someone informed the soldiers the next morning and a few of them arrived at Demu’s house. Constable Remet Noronha sat on a bale of hay and noted down the details. One of the new converts who carried Dasu away was Sukhdo’s son, Molu. Dasu was buried according to Christian rites. This was the third burial at their new cemetery.
Constable Gaspar Pinto and three soldiers took Demu Gurav to the prison at Goapattana. After eight days, Pinto accompanied Padre Colaso to Demu Gurav’s house.
‘If all of you convert to Christianity, your husband will be pardoned and your household will be spared. You will learn about a great religion full of love and compassion. Only Christianity has the power to pardon sins,’ Padre Colaso said to Demu Gurav’s wife.
The woman was filled with joy at these words. Demu Gurav’s wife did not regret the fact that she would have to give up her religion. She was distressed because she could not mourn the son she had given birth to.
One day, Padre Paulo Colaso returned from Goapattana with the news that the Portuguese King had given the Viceroy of Goa the authority to formulate laws with regard to conversion. ‘Viceroy Constantin Braganza is the pillar of strength behind this movement to Christianize Goa. He has passed a new law which ensures that fields which are not tilled by the landlords themselves, can be confiscated by the State. Most Hindu landowners employ workers to till their fields. Henceforth, only Christian land owners may do that. Besides, Brahmin landlords will have to pay at least a hundred xerafins as taxes every year.’
The shef was very pleased. ‘These Brahmins own fields and cattle, but they employ others to do all the work. They lead an easy life!’ The shef had been annoyed for a long time by the arrogance of the Brahmins who, he believed, were the force behind the village. Their influence must be curbed or they will prove to be impediments in the future. We must attack them right at the start, he thought.
While Ramnath was the gramdev, chief village deity, and the kuldev, family deity, of the Nayak and Gurav communities, it was Ravalnath the Brahmin families worshipped in the shrine at Raigali. They did not participate in the rituals and sacrifices to the lesser gods and spirits. The Shenais owned fields on the slopes below the settlement at Raigali. These were low lying fields that remained waterlogged during the rains, often resulting in the loss of standing crops at that time. So the Shenais preferred the more productive kharif crop that was harvested in autumn, and it was time now to start tilling the fields.
Shef Ribeir then turned his ire on the Shenais and their family deity Ravalnath. That temple must be destroyed along with the Ramnath shrine, he said to himself. The next day he went to Goapattanna and gathered details about the new law. It was designed to ruin the Brahmins and destroy their influence.
Shef Ribeir and his band of soldiers rode to Raigali the next morning and summoned the men of the village to the pathanshala, the place for reading scriptures near Subrai Shenai’s house.
‘Those of you who do not work in your own fields and orchards will lose those tracts of land. You may not employ labourers in your fields. Besides, wealthy landowners in the village will have to pay a hundred xerafins annually as land tax. This will be payable in three instalments and will be applicable to each of you,’ he announced.
The blow was enough to break every back.
‘What about those who are crippled and weak and cannot do any work? Should they starve to death?’ Subrai Shenai asked.
‘You know what they can do, Shenai.’
‘You want all of us to become Christians?’
‘Yes. The King has declared that only Christians will be allowed to stay on the Goan islands. Christian subjects of a Christian King.’
‘Why don’t you tie us all up and convert us forcibly, all at once?’
‘There are laws in this land. The King has appointed judges. We abide by those laws.’
‘First you pass such terrible laws, and then you talk of justice!’ Mangru Shenai muttered.
‘Laws are laws. We shall execute them with all our power. You may not employ a single worker in your fields. If you do, you shall be bound by ropes and thrown into jail in Goapattana. Your lands will be confiscated.’
The shef rode away.
People from the Phadti community who lived on the river bank, some Kunbis from the hills as well as people from the Gurav and Devli communities who used to work in the Brahmins’ fields began to feel threatened. Would they be beaten up if they continued to do so, they wondered.
The Brahmin settlement was also steeped in worry. Their fields were still water-logged, the moss and algae that had formed on them had to be removed, ridges and bunds had to be strengthened. The fields had to be ploughed three times, the seeds set to sprout and then the exhausting process of sowing. Though the Brahmins did have people to work for them, it wasn’t as if they did nothing themselves. They pulled out the weeds, watered the trees in their orchards, tended the cattle and cleaned the cowsheds. What they never did was plough the fields. There was a belief that Brahmins should not tear open the earth’s belly, they should not touch the plough which was the Kshatriya’s implement. Those who chose to work in the fields were taunted and looked down upon.
A cool wind was blowing in from the water-logged fields and Chintaman Shenai, who was sitting by the fire, said to his wife, ‘I don’t know what to do. The coconuts in the orchard are barely enough for our needs. We make some money by selling the areca nuts, but how will we manage without sowing the autumn crop? We can’t depend on the monsoon crop, what if the plants rot in the fields? What shall we do?’
‘We can sow the autumn crop. We’ll do the work ourselves,’ his wife, Durga, said in a flash.
‘What do you mean, all the work?’
‘We’ll do what we can.’
‘I’m scared of the plough. They say it is the demon’s weapon. How can we pierce the earth with it?’
‘It’s better than becoming a Christian.’
‘How can we be sure that we won’t be forced to?’
‘If it comes to that, we will leave this village and go away.’
‘Do you think you can manage the work in the fields?’ Chintaman asked.
‘We’ll do what we can,’ Durga repeated.
Durga was slender, but her limbs were full and fleshy. Her face looked pinched, but her nose was long and sharp. Chintaman, by comparison, was quite sturdily built. The next morning, Chintaman, with a spade in hand, and Durga, carrying a hook and a scythe crossed Ghana Shenai’s orchard and descended into their field. Much of the monsoon crop they had sown the previous year had rotted in the field. The hired labourers had merely harvested whatever could be saved, but had left the stalks and roots in the ground. They stuck out in clumps, covered with moss.
Chintaman tucked the cloth about his waist and between his legs and wound the sacred thread round his neck, so it wouldn’t get caught in the spade handle while he was digging. Shoving the spade with all his strength into the earth, he scooped up small mounds of clay which he placed along the edge of the field to form a bund.
Durga hacked at the long grass and moss floating on the water and dragged them to one side. Her feet sank into the soft mud as she moved back and forth piling the slimy tangled mass in a corner of the field. Every now and then Chintaman squatted on the edge of th
e field and let out his breath in long, loud sighs before he set to work again. Durga’s back and arms ached and though she longed to rest, she hid her exhaustion from her husband.
The other Brahmins and their wives stood by the hedge staring at the couple. ‘What sort of madness is this! Will all this effort yield anything?’ they muttered.
By the evening, Chintaman and Durga had managed to clear two large sections of the field and build ridges around them. When they got home, Durga collapsed on a reed mat, too tired to move. Her nine-year-old daughter lit a fire in the hearth and cooked the evening meal. Her father-in-law, whose failing eyesight confined him to the house, lamented, ‘Our women folk didn’t step beyond the orchard, but what is this we are seeing today! The daughter-in-law of the house toiling in the fields!’
They set off again the next morning, but no one else joined them. Indra Shenai inspected the broken embankments in his field and stared at the grass and moss floating in the water. ‘So much work!’ he muttered as he walked away.
As the sun rose higher, Bhadra Shenai and his younger brother Madu walked past their field. ‘Let us remove the moss and clean up the place. We’ll do what we can’ he said.
No one else came there that day. Durga and Chintaman worked hard all day. If Durga found her husband sitting for too long she would urge him on.
Krishna Shenai, his wife Satvati and their son stepped into the field on the third day. They worked very slowly, bending down and straightening up to rest every few minutes. Seeing this Durga, wondered how their fields would ever get ready for the ploughing and sowing. All the others simply watched. What were they waiting for, what was going on in their heads? No one knew. Maybe they had other plans which would be simpler to carry out, which wouldn’t tax their bodies like this. Each man struggled to find a way out of this predicament. It was a matter of life and death. They owned land and orchards, yet their families would remain hungry. Anxiety and despair descended on the settlement.
On the third evening, all the Brahmins assembled in the pathanshala and the womenfolk huddled outside the door. The members of this community were quite civil to each other, they didn’t let personal frustrations and bitterness affect their behaviour.
‘For four generations now, the Brahmin community has not worked in the fields. They have hired labourers to do all the hard work. We cannot cope with it. And now these demons demand a hundred xerafins as land tax,’ Mungru Shenai exclaimed.
‘Let us do what we can…’ Chintaman said in a low voice.
‘What do you mean? Your wife is strong, so you can afford to say that!’
Durga, who was standing at the door, was quick to respond. ‘What do you mean by “strong”? That’s not why we are doing all this. If the monsoon crop fails again, what will we eat next year? Can anyone depend on the monsoon crop?’ she exclaimed.
‘All right. We’ll toss seeds into our fields and live on hope. Or we’ll beg for food. But who will pluck the coconuts and areca nuts? Each of us has ten or twenty cows in our sheds, who will tend them?’ Bhadra Shenai asked.
The problem seemed to be getting even more complex. Subrai Shenai suddenly said, ‘Let’s become Christians. We’ll go there and let them pour water on our heads. We can’t perform any rituals outside our homes anyway. They’re going to destroy the temples, too.’
‘We won’t become Christians. We’ll work in our fields, even though people look down upon us. Let them destroy the temples,’ Durga fumed.
Mungru Shenai was irritated by Durga’s attitude. ‘Chintaman, have you given your silver waist chain to your wife and exchanged them for her bangles? Why does she intrude when men are discussing important matters? Women have no place here,’ he declared.
Durga didn’t say another word.
‘All of us have some money. Let’s leave Goa and settle down somewhere else. We can buy fields and orchards, or cultivate fallow land. Each family can take a couple of labourers to carry their belongings. We’ll drive our oxen along and carry whatever we can,’ Mungru Shenai continued.
Krishna Shenai wanted to say something, but Mungru didn’t let him utter a word. ‘I tell you, they won’t let us stay here if we don’t convert. If the situation improves later on, we can return to our homes. Let our things remain as they are in the village. Let’s just look for shelter outside in these difficult times.’
Krishna Shenai was furious. ‘Let our things remain as they are in the village, he says! The moment they see us go they’ll take over all our property. We won’t get a clod of earth when we return. We’re not going anywhere till death looms before us. We won’t step out of this village!’
‘Shall we spend all our savings, our money and gold coins even as we sit in the village? And after that, if we are forced to leave Goa, shall we beg? Think about this carefully – how shall we give them a hundred xerafins as land tax every year? Can we raise that much even if we sell all the coconuts and areca nuts in our orchards?’ Subrai Shenai asked.
Devrai Shenai pointed to his lame foot and cried, ‘A cripple like me, what am I to do? I cannot work in the fields, nor can I leave Goa and hope to set up fields and orchards all over again. Where will I get the hundred xerafins to pay the tax?’
No one had an answer. What does it matter whether this cripple belongs to this faith, or that? Let him become a Christian. At least one man will remain in the village, the others thought.
Rudra Shenai had been silent all this while. ‘Subrai tato and Mungru anna are right. Let us go and set up a base outside Goa. We can move back and forth after that,’ he said.
Krishna’s protruding lower lip quivered in anger. ‘You are placing your feet in two boats; and if they move apart you lose everything. I will remain here till I die. Whoever wants to go, can go.’
‘We won’t leave either,’ Durga butted in again. ‘If we must die, we’ll die here.’
The men looked at her angrily, but no one said anything.
‘We must also decide what to do with our gods,’ Subrai Shenai said. ‘The village deity has been given time till the Shigmo festival, after that they’ll destroy the temple. Next, they’ll turn their evil gaze on to our shrine. We must remove the idol from the shrine.’
Devrai, Krishna and Chintaman immediately protested, ‘The deity will remain where He is, we’ll look after Him. You can’t just walk away with our god,’ Devrai screeched.
‘Devrai, if you become a Christian tomorrow, what will you do with this god?’ Subrai Shenai asked.
‘I’ll worship both gods, their one and ours. Will I become a Christian just because they make me take a dip in a pool? I’ll remain a Hindu in my mind. A Hindu Brahmin or a Christian Brahmin. They can’t take my caste away.’
‘You’re mad, Devrai. If they hear that you are worshipping a Hindu god, they’ll burn you to death. Remember how they dragged that padre away and killed his guard?’
Even after much deliberation, the assembly couldn’t come to any agreement and therefore each man was left to choose his own path. But Krishna, Devrai and Durga were agitated by their decision to take the deity away. They didn’t say anything at the meeting, but the very next day Krishna went about the village expressing his views. ‘Whatever happens to our gods should happen right here. In this village. Let them remain here with their devotees. If there are no devotees left, what is the point in having gods? I will stand at the door of the shrine with a stick in my hand. If anyone tries to carry the idol away I shall break his head!’
A dark cloud of gloom settled over the Brahmin neighbourhood, stifling it, holding out the threat of an imminent downpour.
Mungru Shenai’s daughter-in-law, Tulsi, hailed from Raibandar village and her family had become Christians three years ago. Her father visited her every month to check on her welfare. ‘Everything is burning now, there is no distinction between what is wet and what is dry,’ her father, who was on a visit, declared. ‘Where will you go, if you leave this village? You will stop somewhere, uproot yourself and move on again, like those wa
ndering performers who set up thirteen camps in twelve months. I know that new law targets Brahmins. I also know that they hold Brahmin converts in high esteem. Many youngsters in Raibandar have been given important government jobs.’
Mungru Shenai was sitting close by. ‘It’s hard to give up my faith. Just want to get up and go away.’
‘Where will you go? Those who have gone away are in a wretched state. When they try to settle down somewhere, the local residents attack them and drive their cattle away. A landlord in your own village, but a wandering minstrel elsewhere…’
Indra Shenai, Mungru’s son, was sitting there too. ‘We can go away for some time and return when things are more settled. This can’t continue for long. Things have to improve,’ he said.
‘Forget it. Once you leave, they’ll confiscate your property and give it to the new converts. If you return, you’ll find some Kshatriyas or some other lower caste in your house. He won’t let you touch a single coconut on your own palm tree.’
Mungru Shenai let out a deep sigh. ‘Can’t decide what to do,’ he said sorrowfully.
‘Get baptized and lie low for some time. Don’t worship Hindu gods and don’t make a big show of worshipping Christian gods either. Forget religion, just concentrate on your fields.’
Devrai dragged his lame foot and met the village padre on Saturday evening. He sent a message to some labourers from the Phadti community, ‘Come and sow the autumn crop in my field. Everything has been settled now.’
Devrai and his wife woke up early the next morning and Devrai’s wife sprinkled water on two large baskets of paddy seeds setting them to sprout. Then, the couple and their three children accompanied Padre Bernadet Ferrao to the church at Kalapur to be baptized.
They returned as Christians that evening and quietly entered their home. A Christian household now existed right in the middle of a purely Brahmin locality. The large tulsi, worshipped by the whole community on ceremonial occasions, stood in Devrai’s courtyard. The ridge in his courtyard had collapsed during the previous year’s rains and he had left it alone. But what was he to do about the large stone structure bearing the tulsi plant?
Age of Frenzy Page 14