Trifter

‘Romancing the Isla Verde’

Goa, Kadamba bus stand, there stands a mini bus, waiting for its share of people, destination ‘Saki-chem Juem’, to be precise Santo Estevam, ‘Cupa’, -Cloud if you literally translate it into English. How far is Cupa you may ask? If it was during the yesteryears people would say thirty-five decades of the rosary or an upstream ride on the reliable canoes, now it’s forty-five minutes by the mini bus or twenty-five minutes by a private vehicle if you decide to take the ancestors path. This is not the story of the beach and exotic cuisines, resorts and nightlife. It’s much more than that, a romance with nature, of the people who love to live with nature and care for the tiniest things. If you are a nature lover to the core you may skip the car and take a ride on the minibus, seating can support one and a half person, its not a complaint but all about space management and adjustments, towards people with umbrellas, bags full of groceries, baskets of fresh veggies or fish. The mini bus would gleefully speed along the tarred roads, have a little race with others of its clan, and abruptly come to a halt at the next bus stop, this time allowing its competitor an edge teasing the other for the prize catch of three persons. This is all about the well-trodden ways.

This village is a tiny island, populated by almost 5000 people, mostly females and the elderly, as the male member of the family would be working abroad or on board a cruise liner. Occasionally you may spot a pensioner walking slowly towards the bustling village market called ‘Tinto’. Women ready for a juicy gossip. Tulsi seems to have a monopoly at the market because her home protrudes into it and has helped her to convert it into a grocery shop, she would have people poring into the dark interiors of the shop, her home made samosas and home grown plantains are a hit among all who visit Tinto. This very place would be deserted towards evening and the familiar sounds of the market dies down.

At noon in the month of May brings along with it from the westerlies, making their way towards the westernghats, strong winds sweeping across the fields and straight into your home. Noon may sound lazy in Goa, not so for the villagers, who enjoy an hour or two of siesta, or prepare for the rains by drying coconuts, chillies, spices and sausages. Then there is the familiar horn by the ‘Podher’ – Baker, who manages to wake people just on time, to purchase a freshly baked ‘Povio’ or ‘Kankao’, Both are kinds of bread, eaten during supper time.

Walking eastwards towards Tonca Bridge, by the way there is only one bridge and two ferry crossings that connect ‘Juem’ to the outer world, closer to this area you have the indigenous Goan called Kokonos staying, out here the festivals would make the streets colorful with paper decorations, sand dealers, village artisans and farmers live here in harmony with rest of the population. The curiosity of the village girls are set ablaze when an outsider visits, most of the villagers are relatives as they believe that weddings within the village would help build a stronger community. It could be superstition or a reality, the ghost stories always tops the imaginary charts, when the men get together for a game of carom or cards at the Manus, this is a dam that regulates water inlet from the river Mandovi during high and low tide, in the bargain irrigating the paddy fields maintained diligently by the Konkonos.Sightings of mysterious gigantic crabs and the dead are a part of life, people fear for a while and then carry on with their lives. Occasionally a crocodile in the midst of floating canoes could be sighted in the calm backwaters stirring the interest of the villagers.

An enchanting hour would be the twilight, when the big black buffaloes scurry back home, a little piglet would stare from the comfort of a bush before dashing towards the next hiding place, a bunch of shippie-guys as they are called some lay on their bikes and some squatted on the rough tar road, looking towards the horizon, which has traces of sunset. A little away from this road lies the ‘Udo’ – Island of trees, a haven for young couples waiting to tie the knot. Its just a one mile long road connecting the habitat of men to a hillock that nestles Santo Estevam Church, What’s so special about this road, no buses ply here, it’s a raised flat road, flanked on either sides by fields, But special to the villagers of Santo Estevam, It used to be one decade of rosary to the church during their days, as one gentleman narrates to me, eighteen decades of the rosary to old Goa Church by foot. Many of the grooms would have taken this road before tying his matrimonial knot, many a funerals would have embarked on their last journey, All the mornings would have witnessed a faithful lot visiting the Church. Feast days would be buzzing with people wishing each other with the words ‘Boa Fest’. A Village named after its patron Saint Stephen. On this road you can view Christ the King Statue, Usually called the ‘Dongor’ – Hill by villagers.

A climb to this highest point in the village gives you the sense of belonging to Santo Estevam. Not a house in view all camouflaged with shades of green. All you can see is greenery, the blue rivers snaking around the beautiful ‘Isla Verde’ – Green Island. The hills of Bicholim and Konkan railway & Amona bridge far beyond. Maintaining a fair distance form this green maiden. The Portuguese, Sambaji and Adil Shah would have felt the same way, and wanted this strategic point for themselves.

Goa has an affinity toward water bodies, a small inlet of water, and lapps at the paddy fields, like a little puppy, Mandovi always graceful allowing the busy barges to transport precious minerals. The dull hum of the barges, groaning under the weight of what it carries. The smell of fresh river air kissed by Palm trees. The houses barely peeping through the foliage. Looks something like a video clip from Good morning, Vietnam. What’s missing is the song by Louie Armstrong….

I see skies of blue….. clouds of white
Bright blessed days….dark sacred nights
And I think to myself …..what a wonderful world

A place that survived many battles. A place that’s so well cared for, never failing to raise their voices against injustice, taking pride in their rich culture. The romance with nature carries on.

Photos – Courtesy www.DaijiDubai.com