Age of Frenzy

by Mahabaleshwar Sail

  ‘You might, at times, use your first names as before, but the old family name must not be used. Dias is your surname now. I shall visit you tomorrow to teach you about Christianity and to bless your home,’ Padre Paulo Colaso said as they parted ways.

  Their mother, Mhalkum, who was sitting by the shack outside the house, wailed out loud when she caught sight of them.

  ‘Why do you behave as though someone is dead?’ her husband snapped.

  Who is it that has died? And who has been born anew, Ramkushta wondered, for something as momentous as birth or death had certainly occurred in their lives. Mhalkum had taken a pot, a ladle and a plate and built a small hearth within the shack. ‘I won’t step into that house. It’s a Christian’s house, now,’ she said.

  The family bathed at the old broken well and returned home in wet clothes. They were scared that the villagers would attack them with sticks if they drew water from the new well.

  ‘That old broken well is what you’ll have to use, your bangles won’t tinkle at the new well any more,’ the mother-in-law called out to the women as they entered the house. ‘Vasu, my son, I’d hoped that you would cook for me when I fell ill, but they’ve made a Christian of you too. You can’t even cremate me when I’m dead. I’ll go to Pandharpur for the festival and throw myself into the Chandrabhaga river,’ she said.

  Parvati lit a fire in the hearth and slumped beside it, her head in her hands. Gopika, meanwhile, was stringing the beads of her galsari on to a thread by the light of the lamp. With the kumkum freshly applied on her forehead and the strand of beads about her neck, Gopika seemed more in control. ‘Why do you sit there listlessly? Don’t we have to prepare food? They haven’t eaten anything since morning,’ she said to Parvati who stared at her blankly.

  Padre Paulo Colaso and two soldiers came to their house early next morning. They brought a labourer from Shirdone, a new convert, who nailed two long branches to make a rudimentary cross which he stuck into the ground. Every devout Christian must have a cross by his front door. It protects the house, the priest explained. The labourer uprooted the tulsi plant in front of the house and Sukhdo’s sons were told to flatten the low ridges at the edge of the courtyard.

  Parvati lit a lamp as the priest entered the house chanting Latin prayers and sprinkling holy water to bless the household. All the members of the family, except Mhalkum, were gathered in the hall. ‘This house is now the abode of Lord Jesus and His mother, the compassionate Virgin Mary who shower their blessings on you. Whenever you are in danger, call out to them and all your sorrows will vanish, your troubles will recede…’ He began to pray, ‘Lord Jesus, Master, these people have been born anew and have entered your fold. Bless them. Make their hearts clean and pure so that they may love each other as well as their neighbours and those less fortunate than themselves. Give them the strength to abide by your teachings and be good Christians. Amen!’

  Sukhdo, meanwhile, was whispering to those around him, what does it matter whether it is this religion or that one, all of them say the same thing. Toil and eat the fruits of that toil.

  When the priest reached the edge of the courtyard he paused, ‘That lady, the one named Isabel … she’s wearing a chain of beads and has vermilion on her forehead. This goes against the rules. You have sworn to be good Christians, remember.’

  The priest turned around and stepped back onto the porch. ‘The Council for Religion in Goa has drawn up strict rules for new converts. If you disobey these, the officers of the Inquisition will throw you in jail. If found guilty, you will be burnt at the stake on the Day of Judgement of the Faithful. Let me briefly run through the rules:

  ‘You will not grow a tulsi plant at your front door. The courtyard will not have the decorative ridges of Hindu households. Coconut and banana trees will not be grown beside the house. Women need no longer bathe and wear fresh clothes before entering the kitchen, they can add salt to the rice when it is cooked. Rituals like the thread ceremony for young Brahmin boys and the phal sobaan for pregnant women must not be conducted. Women must not wear blouses fastened by knots, men must not wrap dhotis about their waists. Men must not sport the sacred thread or tie their long hair in a knot at the back of their heads. Women must not wear the galsari or sport kumkum on their foreheads.

  ‘Ceremonies like the satti and the barso must be stopped. You needn’t invite the whole family and others who belong to the same gotra to a wedding, nor must you break a coconut on the occasion. There should be no practice of smearing turmeric, oil and coconut milk on the bride and bridegroom before the wedding. Ovis will not be sung, betel leaves will not be offered to show respect, nor will rice grains be showered on the young couple in blessing. The couple need not visit the bride’s house five days after the wedding. The practice of fasting on Ekadashi and performing rituals on the night of the full moon will have to be discontinued. No worship of Ganesh on Chavoth, no dancing at the Shigmo festival, no lighting of lamps at Divali.

  ‘When someone dies, don’t throw his bedding behind the house, don’t smear cow dung where the corpse was placed and don’t keep a lighted lamp at the spot. Do not call the bhat to perform the twelfth and thirteenth day ceremonies after death, don’t let the dead person’s sons shave their heads or offer food to crows. Do not keep holy books of Hinduism in your houses or consult the vaij when ill. A Hindu midwife should not assist your women at childbirth. The joish and the ghadi should not be consulted about getting rid of evil spirits. You must not listen to devotional songs sung by the wandering Buas. In short, follow none of the practices that were sanctioned by your old religion, do nothing that goes against the rules of Christianity,’ he said.

  The priest and his companions moved away. Mhalkum had screamed loudly and fallen to the ground when the tulsi was uprooted and still lay on the ash-strewn floor. Ramkushta charged into the shack, ‘Why do you writhe on the floor as though your sons are dead?’ he screamed. He picked the old woman up and carried her into the house. ‘Lie here. Die, if you must. Cremation or burial, why should you worry? We’ll carry you to church and have you baptized, at least we’ll get four cruzados!’

  The neighbours had been staring silently from a distance all this while. How did this whole family give up their faith, were they mad, people whispered.

  ‘You’re talking like Sukhdo. Must have got a lot of money for this shameful act. To think that a family from our settlement just goes and converts to Christianity without a word to anyone! Deva, what will happen to this village!’ one of the onlookers declared.

  This was the first family in Shirvaddo that had converted to Christianity and people were enraged. The next morning their neighbour, Jana Nayak, emerged from his bath and watered the tulsi at his door with a great show of devotion. Chanting the names of the gods and muttering loud prayers he walked around the plant. ‘It’s fortunate that the breeze doesn’t blow from that direction, or we’d be defiled by that outcaste’s touch!’ he said to his wife.

  Five days after was Amaas, a day when Hindus symbolically offer food to their forefathers who, they believe, accept these offerings in the guise of crows. Jana Nayak placed a plantain leaf laden with food in his courtyard and made noises to attract the birds. Sukhdo turned away silently and went indoors. The old priest, Somanna, always said that the spirits of one’s ancestors hung there in space craving the food and water that would be set out for them on Amaas and Punav. Deva, what will my parents’ spirits do now? And when I die, my spirit will also wallow in misery, craving a mouthful of water, he thought. A strange fear took hold of him, and suddenly he seemed to lose interest in the strip of land that he had been given.

  For the past three months, Guna Nayak’s spirit had convulsed with rage every time he thought of the shef lashing him with his whip at the last gaonki. But whenever he expressed his thoughts, the others silenced him, out of fear. ‘Quiet! Don’t speak so loudly! Who knows where they’ll appear from, the devils from across the seven seas! Not a drop of pity or kindness in them.’ And then they w
ould all fall silent.

  Guna had two friends, Raya and Shabi, a few years younger than himself. They were devoted to him and listened to everything he said with full attention. Sometimes his words frightened them, but they were always loyal to him. Guna was quick to flare up whenever he thought something was wrong, but people ignored that because they knew he meant well. After all, who could forget the care and devotion with which he had tended to a crippled uncle who had fallen from a tree. Even a son born of your own womb wouldn’t lavish so much care on you, they said.

  The news of Sukhdo and his family’s conversion, and the reward he had received, soon spread through the village. Guna was furious. He vowed to teach the traitor a lesson. He rushed to Raigali and went straight to Ghana Shenai’s house and found the chief gaonkar ill in bed. The spirit had been wrung out of the old man and he was just a skeleton.

  ‘Why have you come here, Guna, what can I do for you now? The villagers blame me and look at me with contempt…’ Ghana Shenai said wearily.

  Tears sprang into Guna’s eyes when he saw the emaciated Ghana’s grey and unkempt hair, but his voice was firm. ‘I didn’t get upset when they forced you to give them the land … but now Sukhdo has become a Christian and in return accepted the community land. But I won’t let him set foot in those fields,’ Guna said.

  ‘Don’t get agitated, Guna. It’s an ill wind blowing. Sukhdo should not have accepted the land. It should have been left fallow. We could have shown that the village was united against them.’

  Guna walked away, still fuming. Not a single member of the Brahmin community could be seen anywhere around. The labourers in the orchards went about their work with bowed heads. Guna saw some movement by a window of one of the houses. ‘You Brahmins demanded respect and honour at the village meetings,’ he yelled out, ‘but now that the village is faced with a calamity, why are you hiding?’

  When Guna raised the topic with the Nayaks of Shirvaddo, they pleaded helplessness. ‘The King’s officials got the mhal gaonkar to sign the agreement regarding transfer of land. They have given a part of it to Sukhdo. What can we do? If we object, it will lead to unnecessary bloodshed. We can’t match their strength.’

  The next afternoon Guna, Raya and Shabi approached Sukhdo’s house. He was in the yard twisting coir fibres into a rope.

  ‘Sukhdya! You thief! You traitor! Took part of the council land and became a Christian, did you? We won’t let you step into those fields. We’ll break your legs. Strew your corpse in those fields!’

  The strength seemed to ebb from Sukhdo’s body as he rose to his feet and tottered out. He was aware of Guna’s strength and knew that he had to make peace at once. ‘Guna, you are like a brother to me. But this house is in a corner of the settlement, you don’t know how they would come and threaten us at night. They would press swords into our bellies, threaten to set fire to the house or hang us from the trees if we didn’t convert,’ he whimpered.

  ‘That’s a lie! Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you ask for a gaonki?’

  ‘Didn’t you see what happened at the last gaonki? They hit the mhal gaonkar, they beat you with their sticks. And then they said the new Christians would make decisions at the meeting.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll make you mhal gaonkar now!’ Guna burst out angrily. ‘Your house will be thatched first, you’ll get the first cup of toddy. But Sukhdo Nayak, if you step into that field, I’ll dig a grave right there and bury you and your three sons in it!’

  Sukhdo’s older son stood silently by his father’s side, but the second son, Ramkushta, grabbed a stout stick and charged forward. ‘Who are you abusing, you bastard? We’re not afraid. Tomorrow we will plough that field. Let’s see what you do.’

  Calmly Guna walked up to him, wrenched the stick from him with one hand and slapped Ramkustha with the other. ‘You want to plough that field, do you?’ he asked threateningly. Sukhdo rushed to help his son, but Guna pushed him aside. The old man fell down and hurt his head. By this time, Raya and Shabi also jumped into the fray. The women of the household rushed out screaming.

  ‘I tell you again, those fields belong to the whole community. If you step into them there will be more bloodshed.’ Guna warned them and walked away.

  ‘The village is aflame, Guna. You will be charred in that fire and reduced to ashes. You hit my brother. I curse you, you will not remain a Hindu, nor will you be a Christian. Your spirit will hang between two worlds,’ Molu called out.

  The neighbour, Jana Nayak, watched all this with great pleasure. But he did not come out of his house.

  Sukhdo and his family spent the next day in fear and apprehension. It felt as if a clump of prickly thorns were pressing into their bodies.

  Finally Sukhdo said to his sons, ‘They gave us the fields. Let us fix the boundary stones and stake our claim while they protect us. Then we can start ploughing the fields.’

  ‘The villagers will be all set to fight. Guna will instigate them,’ Molu muttered.

  ‘Let them try. I’ll break their heads, every one of them. Won’t let anyone go,’ Ramkushta was defiant.

  Hearing this, Gopika rushed out. ‘What, are you talking of breaking people’s heads! They’ve taken our galsaris and wiped the kumkum off our foreheads making us look like widows. Now someone will break your heads and we’ll actually become widows!’ She clutched at the strand of beads in her fist.

  ‘Nothing of the sort will happen, child. Don’t get involved in men’s affairs. We will go to the fields with the soldiers,’ Sukhdo tried to pacify his daughter-in-law. Then he said with resolution, ‘Such fertile fields, will keep our bellies filled for six months at least. We mustn’t give them up, no matter who objects. That Guna must be taught a lesson. We have become one of their faith, now. They will protect us.’

  ‘Maavva of mine, ask them how he managed to beat us when they had promised protection. Is this what we get for becoming Christians?’ Parvati asked her father-in-law.

  Early the next morning Sukhdo went to the soldiers’ camp. The Betaal shrine had been converted into a dwelling place with a proper wooden door.

  ‘I want to meet the person in charge. I am one of your faith, you promised us protection,’ he said to the soldier on guard.

  Padre Paulo Colaso emerged from the camp. ‘Good Christian, did you pray to Jesus this morning?’ When Sukhdo remained silent, he made Sukhdo kneel before the cross and repeat the morning prayer.

  ‘O God, my Father, I bow before you.

  O God, my Father, I love you.

  O God, my Father I thank you for all that I have received.

  My Lord, fill my heart with Love for you and for all mankind.’

  Shef Camil Ribeir, clad in a wet loincloth, emerged from the temple pond. ‘They say that water in that pond has become impure because of us. The temple priest doesn’t use it for his rituals. The deity will not take a dip in it. How can air and water be sullied, tell me,’ he said, quite amused. He saw Sukhdo standing there with folded hands and went inside. A few minutes later Shef Ribeir came out dressed in his uniform. Sukhdo bowed low before him and said, ‘We became Christians because we needed food in our bellies, we believed that you would protect us.’

  ‘Our words are the King of Portugal’s words, we will never go back on them. We are bound to protect the interests of all good Christians. But what happened to you? Why are you here so early in the morning?’

  ‘We are being spurned by the villagers because we have become Christians. They will kill us if we step into those fields, they say. Yesterday Guna Nayak brought some villagers and beat us up so badly that my son lies injured in bed and see, they’ve broken my head,’ Sukhdo complained.

  ‘Who is Guna Nayak?’

  ‘A very, wicked man, always ready to pick a fight. He fought with your high officers at the last gaonki. He incites people against you, says you must be beaten and driven out of here. Don’t become Christians, he tells them.’

  The shef was furious. ‘Must teach him a lesson, I’ll
break that fellow’s bones! He dares to lay his hands on a Christian?’ He turned to Sukhdo again, ‘Go home now, don’t worry. You are a good Christian and no Christian needs to fear anyone in this kingdom.’

  The shef summoned constable Remet Noronha and said, ‘Go to Shirvaddo and arrest that wicked fellow Guna Nayak. Tie him up. Drag him here like an ox, beating him along the way so that the villagers hear his screams and know what happens to those who plot against us.’

  Constable Remet Noronha and six soldiers set off for Guna’s house. ‘Guna Nayak, come out. No use hiding inside like this,’ Noronha called out.

  Guna’s father, mother and younger brother emerged from the house. ‘Where’s Guna?’ the constable asked.

  ‘He’s gone to the forest. To split palm trunks.’

  ‘Lies! He must be hiding in the house!’

  Everyone was terrified. ‘No … no … he’s not in there…’ Guna’s father stammered as the constable swung his whip. The old man recoiled from the lash.

  ‘Where’s Guna?’ the constable turned to the young boy.

  ‘Not here. He left at daybreak.’

  The noise of the whip slicing through the air carried to everyone’s ears. The young boy screamed.

  ‘Beats up a follower of Jesus, a good Christian, and then goes into hiding!’ Noronha directed two of his men to enter the house and look for Guna, but as they turned to do so the two women, the mother and her daughter-in-law blocked the door. ‘Deva! These Christians will pollute our house. We will be ruined, we’ll become outcastes!’ they wailed.

  Cabo Remet told his men to draw back. He turned to their neighbour Ravlu Nayak, ‘Are you Hindu?’ Ravlu nodded. ‘Chaddo caste?’ When Ravlu nodded again, the constable sent him to check if Guna was hiding inside. ‘They’re my enemies. How can I enter their house?’

  ‘Just go in. They won’t mind an enemy setting foot in their house, but they don’t want a Christian in there. A slimy, poisonous snake will not make their house impure but a low caste Mhar will. They’ll sprinkle dung water seventeen times to purify the place. Ignorant, ungrateful people! Go, look in every corner, and if you dare to lie I’ll beat you to death!’