14.2.2020
It's Valentine's day. So? Romance is not on my mind.
Alan is spot on time. The trip starts with a visit to Billy's place in Carmona. He is out watering the garden - a combination of a vegetable garden and beautiful flowers. "Welcome to my humble abode", he says with a twinkle in his eye. If this is a humble abode don't ask me what a palace is. A two storey mansion with spacious rooms and original art works collected when he was working for Air India. Billy's sister is there and greets me with a welcoming smile. There is some Goan bread on the table – no escaping the carbs - and enormous corals on the steps leading to the top floors. Billy got the corals from a captain who was not allowed to take them out of India.
Billy explains that there are no
addresses as such in Goa – just say near the fish market or near the church.
Not a lot of good I guess as there are so many churches in Goa. He jokes about
Pakistan airlines – please inform Allah.
There is also a small shrine to an Indian God – God knows which God this is.
It’s a black figure decorated with
bright orange flowers. An Indian couple blow respectfully in front of the statue.
The real fort is the Cabo de Rama fort. In its heyday it must have been magnificent. The vegetation is crawling over the structures but it is not hard to imagine the structure built by the Portuguese.
Shri Shantadurga Kunkalikarin Temple is located at Fatorpa of Quepem Taluka and is one of the oldest temples of Goa. This temple is dedicated to Goddess Shri Shantadurga. Originally from Cuncolim village in Salcete Taluka, the Goddess was removed to Fatorpa in 16th Century during religious persecution by the Portuguese. During the reign of Maratha ruler Chatrapati Shahu, the temple was reconstructed which was previously destroyed by Portuguese invasion. The temple complex is on the foothills of a mountain chain bordered by greenery in all sides. At the entrance of the temple of Shree Shantadurga Kunkalikarin, there is a massive doorway called Mahadwar. The temple has the big gold plated kalash that is built on the main dome with ornamented designs. In the garbhagraha, there are two statues of Shree Shantadurga. One is in a sitting position and the second idol of the Devi is in standing position. The same is the Darshanamurti because the devotees can take darshan of her daily. This statue is made up of the five metals. She is standing on a patt. She holds a trishul, sudarshan chakra and an arrow in her hand.
It’s great there are chairs in the temple. I sit quietly and meditate. Then
I look again at the statues. The eyes seem to be alive with a penetrating gaze
and their own energy.
Alan has gone with my everywhere but he does not go to the temple. “I can’t go there. I am a Catholic,” he says. “We are not meant to have anything to do with idols. “ But aren’t we all children of the same God. Different people worship him in different ways. God is like the thread on the necklace of religions where each different faith is a precious bead.” I don’t think Alan sees it that way but he appreciates my interest in the temple and tells me to spend as much time there as I want.
When I get back to the car he looks at me intensely. “What are you looking at,” I ask. “You are so white he says and I am black.” What can say? “You only exist by virtue of me and I only exist by virtue of you. If there was no white we would not know what is black and if there was no black we would not know what is white.” He says he likes my dialogue.
We head to Braganza House where a film is being made. A guy with a rocket launcher stands at the front entrance and grins at me as if to say it’s not for shooting at people. I go up the old stair case and immediately get the feeling this was not a happy house.
Today the house looks like a disorganised mess. I am dying to go to the
toilet. An old woman is sitting on a chair. She smiles at me takes me by the
hand and says “come”. She is no ordinary woman. Her eyes tell you she can look
directly into your soul. A benevolent white witch perhaps but definitely a woman
with occult powers. I don’t know how she knows I need the bathroom. We walk
down a corridor. A dog is snarling and some other woman tell me the dog is fine.
They lead it away. I pass the old woman
again sitting on the same chair and again she looks into my soul.
Alan remarks I did not spend long in the house. I told him it was creepy. He seems to understand but does not say anything. We drive past a house which belongs to his brother. There is a family dispute about it. Alan wants to use the three shops to make some money with his own business or by renting them. The brother does not want to know. “He won’t make use of them and he will not let anyone else make use of them either,” he says.
Back at the resort I decide on rice and vegetables for dinner. The vegetables are raw not cooked so I pick at the rice and don’t eat the veg. I am super paranoid about getting ill. It is not going to happen.
It’s been a long day. Time to sleep. No leaping about tomorrow.
It's Valentine's day. So? Romance is not on my mind.
Alan is spot on time. The trip starts with a visit to Billy's place in Carmona. He is out watering the garden - a combination of a vegetable garden and beautiful flowers. "Welcome to my humble abode", he says with a twinkle in his eye. If this is a humble abode don't ask me what a palace is. A two storey mansion with spacious rooms and original art works collected when he was working for Air India. Billy's sister is there and greets me with a welcoming smile. There is some Goan bread on the table – no escaping the carbs - and enormous corals on the steps leading to the top floors. Billy got the corals from a captain who was not allowed to take them out of India.
Carmona is situated in South Goa. There is a
famous church in Carmona known as the church of Nossa
Senhora de Socorro, or Our Lady of Help
that is prominently located at the center of the village. Its interior and
exterior design is exceptional and contrasts with the other church designs.
Carmona also has a beautiful beach that is very clean and one of the most
magnificent beaches in Goa.
From Billy’s place we drive to a fish market in
Cortbone. Most of the action is over as the fishermen start at the crack of
dawn. It stinks of fish but all I manage to see is a few little fish. I need a
photo in my new Indian garb and sit on the edge of the wharf. People have been
killed taking selfies. Haven’t heard of anyone drowning posing for their photo.
Alan hates gadgets, he does not have a computer and he hasn’t learnt to use a
smart phone but he manages to take a great photo.
Then we drive to the Baradi Cross. The Holy Cross Chapel at Baradi Cross is very famous
for its miracles. It is very well known for miracles of childless couples,
unhealing wounds and sick infants.
Alan recalls how his father made him walk to the
cross from the house because he had no money. “Now I have money,” he said. “But
I have no father.” His father was a seaman, a poor man.
Next stop is a light house. I am instructed to
give the keeper 100 rupees after he has
let us in. The steps are fine except for
the ladder near the top. I think of chickening out but Alan won’t have it after I have come so far.
The view is magnificent, greenery, palms and sea.
We continue on to Betul fort on the mouth of the Sal River. It was built by King
Shivaji in 1679. Since 1679 in came under the Portuguese and now it is a
tourist attraction. All that is left of the fort is a large cannon. Alan tells
me about the touch me not plant. If you touch it the leaves fold up.
A
walk through a small traditional village at the mouth of the river Sal meeting
the ocean, in the coastal town of Betul, one gets a peek into a the fast
dilapidating Betul Fort. Though private initiative of heritage lovers has
helped to retrieve it a bit from complete obscurity, the historic 17th century
Betul Fort, said to be built by an associate of Shivaji,still faces oblivion
due to neglect. The view from the fort bastion on the southern bank of River
Sal is panoramic. The river empties into the Arabian Sea and the scene extends
from the tip of Mobor beach in the north to the village of Betul in the east
along the extensive bay below the range of hills.
The real fort is the Cabo de Rama fort. In its heyday it must have been magnificent. The vegetation is crawling over the structures but it is not hard to imagine the structure built by the Portuguese.
The fort gets its
name from Lord Rama, the Hindu King from Ayodhya. According to mythology, the
King and his wife Sita stayed here while they were in their 14 year exile from
Ayodhya – story of the Hindu epic Ramayana. So the fort is thousands of years
old, making this one of the oldest forts in western India. This story comes
from the local Soonda rulers, who arrived from the neighboring Karnataka, just
across Goa’s border. The Soonda were the original builders of this fort, and
used to rule over their kingdom from here. There were a few battles between the
local Hindu and Muslim Kings, but the fort finally fell to the Portuguese in
1763. The Portuguese were attracted because the fort offered great views of the
cape region from the top of the hill. It offered a clear view of the coastline
and further into the Arabian Sea, so they could see advancing enemies from both
the land and sea. It was called ‘Rama Killa’ after Lord Rama during the days of
Hindu rule. The Portuguese changed the name to Cabo de Rama. The word ‘cabo’ in
Portuguese means ‘cape’. But the Portuguese rulers lost interest in the fort
after its importance diminished, and abandoned it. The fort was later turned
into a prison, but was abandoned again.
I believe that if you are good with people they
will be good with you. I told Alan he was not charging enough for the tour and
gave him a bit more. He was so happy and now I was not only seeing the part of
the fort that all the tourists see but was going a circular walk of the entire
area occupied by the fort. More magnificent views of the ocean. The other tourists were left by their
driver to explore the fort on their own
while he sat in the car and waited for them to return.
I am drinking like a camel and I can’t get enough
water. It is hot – 32 degrees and rising. What goes in must come out. It comes
out discreetly behind the fort. Pissing on the Portuguese! I ask myself why no
one talks about the Portuguese occupation of Goa or the British occupation of
India. What was it if not an occupation? The Goans now have Portuguese names
and most of them are Catholics. It is
here that the Catholic religion comes alive. There are festivals and feasts and
Jesus smiles from pictures in cars. Alan has his own picture of Jesus and tells
me proudly that he believes in Jesus and Virgin Mary.
Lunch is on Agonda
Beach. The beach front is lined with restaurants and cabins. This is the
ultimate beach holiday. It would have been better to get a cabin on the beach
or a hotel. I eat squid and prawns and Alan asks for rice. I suspect he is
trying to keep the price down for my benefit. The Madeira wine is delicious. I look out on the sea and the sea meets they
sky on the horizon. Infinity. We walk on the beach. I take off my sandals and
dip my feet in the water. I am approached about a trip out to sea for 1000
rupees. I tell the man I get sea sick and all of a sudden the ocean trip
changes to a cruise on the backwaters. Can’t blame a guy for trying.
The next stop is Shantadurga Temple in Fatorpa. There are two temples – the main
temple and a smaller temple for people of a lower caste. In front of the temple
are small stalls selling wreaths. The temple is large with marble floors. Lots
of people sitting on the floor – some praying some talking on their mobile
phones.
Shri Shantadurga Kunkalikarin Temple is located at Fatorpa of Quepem Taluka and is one of the oldest temples of Goa. This temple is dedicated to Goddess Shri Shantadurga. Originally from Cuncolim village in Salcete Taluka, the Goddess was removed to Fatorpa in 16th Century during religious persecution by the Portuguese. During the reign of Maratha ruler Chatrapati Shahu, the temple was reconstructed which was previously destroyed by Portuguese invasion. The temple complex is on the foothills of a mountain chain bordered by greenery in all sides. At the entrance of the temple of Shree Shantadurga Kunkalikarin, there is a massive doorway called Mahadwar. The temple has the big gold plated kalash that is built on the main dome with ornamented designs. In the garbhagraha, there are two statues of Shree Shantadurga. One is in a sitting position and the second idol of the Devi is in standing position. The same is the Darshanamurti because the devotees can take darshan of her daily. This statue is made up of the five metals. She is standing on a patt. She holds a trishul, sudarshan chakra and an arrow in her hand.
Alan has gone with my everywhere but he does not go to the temple. “I can’t go there. I am a Catholic,” he says. “We are not meant to have anything to do with idols. “ But aren’t we all children of the same God. Different people worship him in different ways. God is like the thread on the necklace of religions where each different faith is a precious bead.” I don’t think Alan sees it that way but he appreciates my interest in the temple and tells me to spend as much time there as I want.
When I get back to the car he looks at me intensely. “What are you looking at,” I ask. “You are so white he says and I am black.” What can say? “You only exist by virtue of me and I only exist by virtue of you. If there was no white we would not know what is black and if there was no black we would not know what is white.” He says he likes my dialogue.
We head to Braganza House where a film is being made. A guy with a rocket launcher stands at the front entrance and grins at me as if to say it’s not for shooting at people. I go up the old stair case and immediately get the feeling this was not a happy house.
Located
in Chandor Village, Braganza House was built in the 17th century. This huge
house is situated on one side of the village square. It has now separate
houses, with a common entrance. The east wing occupied by the Pereira-Braganza
family, has a small chapel with a relie of St. Francis Xavier, which is a
fingernail. The artefacts collected by the family over a number of years, have
added to the beauty of the house. There is a Great Salon, a big ballroom with
the floor made of italian marble antique chanderlier from Europe adorning the
ceiling, and heavily carved , ornate rodewood furniture. What stands out among
the furniture is a pair of high-backed chairs, beating the family crest, which
was given to the Perira – Braganza family by King Dom Luis of Portugal. Most of
the furniture dates back to the 18th Century and is made from local seeso
(martel wood), lacquered or inlaid with mother of pearl by craftsman from
Curtorim Village. For antique aficionados, the house holds many delighful
finds. The west wing of the house belongs to the Menezes braganza family. Apart
from its exquuisite furniture and Chinese porcelain from Macau, it also houses
a collection of family portraits, dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries.
The library is believed to be the first private library in Goa .It has almost
5,000 leather bound books collected by Luis de Menezes Braganza (1878-1938), a
reputed journalist, renowned for the part he played in Goa’s independent
movement.
Alan remarks I did not spend long in the house. I told him it was creepy. He seems to understand but does not say anything. We drive past a house which belongs to his brother. There is a family dispute about it. Alan wants to use the three shops to make some money with his own business or by renting them. The brother does not want to know. “He won’t make use of them and he will not let anyone else make use of them either,” he says.
Back at the resort I decide on rice and vegetables for dinner. The vegetables are raw not cooked so I pick at the rice and don’t eat the veg. I am super paranoid about getting ill. It is not going to happen.
It’s been a long day. Time to sleep. No leaping about tomorrow.
