Age of Frenzy

by Mahabaleshwar Sail

  Devrai’s eyes fell on the tulsi as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. If they see it he said to himself, they will punish me. But the plant belongs to the whole community, so what am I supposed to do, he wondered. Devrai removed the plank covering the baskets of paddy and checked if the seeds had begun to germinate. As he turned away, his eyes fell on the tulsi plant once more.

  Devrai went to the haystack in the garden and gathered a large bundle of hay. He spread the hay all over the stone structure in his courtyard hiding the tulsi plant from sight.

  ‘What are you doing? Why are you covering the plant?’ Bhadra Shenai asked, aghast.

  Devrai stared at him for a long time. ‘Uproot it and take it away, then,’ he said, finally.

  Bhadra Shenai was surprised. How did this lame Devrai change so quickly, he wondered. No one protested against this action, people just stopped and stared and then walked away. The Brahmin settlement seemed to be drawing its last few breaths.

  Two men and three women from the colony by the river came to Devrai’s house the next morning. They led the oxen out of the shed, picked up the plough and other farming tools and began to work in his field. The women cleared the moss and debris, while one man yoked the oxen to the plough and tilled the field. The other labourer strengthened the ridges and embankments.

  Bhadra Shenai seemed to have lost interest in his field and Krishna Shenai was working very slowly. It was only Durga and her husband who toiled unceasingly. They had cleared the field over a period of seven days and had strengthened the ridges and embankments. On the eighth day, they led the oxen down and set the yoke upon their backs, but neither of them knew how to assemble the various parts of the plough.

  Chintaman had never bothered with the tasks in the field since his father had supervised it all. Even though his eyesight was failing, the old man would stand on the embankment directing the labourers in the field. Durga knew nothing about farm work either since her father, Ghana Rao, worked in the debt recovery office at the port in Agashe. So she went up to the workers in Devrai’s fields and pleaded with them to show her how to set up the plough.

  ‘If the sharp edge keeps getting stuck in the earth, draw this part up and fix it at a higher notch. If it merely skims the surface, fix it at a lower notch,’ one of the workers explained. As Durga thanked them and turned away one of the women remarked sarcastically, ‘If these Brahmins hitch up their clothes and step into the fields, what will happen to us, how will we keep our bellies filled?’

  Chintaman guided the plough crookedly up and down the field all morning. As the oxen rested in the shade of a tree, he ate his lunch of rice and rossa that Durga had brought him. Durga soaked three khandis of paddy seeds, placed them in baskets lined with hay, and covered them with planks of wood. That night, as Chintaman lay in bed, he began to shiver violently. Durga piled all the quilts she could find in the house on him, but the shivering didn’t stop. ‘Heat a sickle in the fire, plunge it into water and let him drink that,’ her father-in-law said. Durga did as she was told and the shivering stopped in a while. Around midnight Chintaman’s body seemed to be on fire, but after a while the fever abated. A short while later, it grew hot again. Durga sat there anxiously. I’ve soaked three khandis of paddy seeds for sowing, and here he lies, burning in fever! What shall we do, now, Deva! she thought.

  Just two days later, Ghana Shenai, the mhal gaonkar, died.

  ‘Good thing he’s gone. He really suffered the last few days. He was filled with remorse after they forced him to sign away the community land,’ a villager remarked. ‘He went away, just in time!’ someone else said.

  It was only Mungru Shenai and his son, Indra, close relatives of Ghana Shenai, who were inconvenienced by his death. They had planned to get baptized within the next couple of days so that they could get labourers to work in their fields.

  ‘We are going to give up this faith, why should we worry about these funeral rituals?’ Indra exclaimed. ‘He who is jumping into a well doesn’t bother about the cold or the rain. Besides, they don’t have any such rules about mourning. Let us go tomorrow, as planned. The priest will be waiting for us. Otherwise we’ll have to postpone it for thirteen days.’

  They were baptized just three days after Ghana Shenai’s death. Mungru’s wife bound everything in the household shrine as well as the containers of kumkum in a large piece of cloth and tossed the bundle on to the loft. Tulsi, who had been quite delighted all this while, began to weep. She had goaded the family to get baptized as she was eager to do what her parents had done. Yet, now that the moment had arrived, she was shattered.

  Durga sat by Chintaman’s side for seven long days as the fever came and went. The roots and leaves that Tama Mirashi prescribed and the broths and potions that the medicine woman, Shevthu, prepared had had no effect. One night Chintaman broke out in a sweat and his body became so cold that Durga was scared. She quickly gathered hot ash in a rag and rubbed the bundle all over his body.

  Durga was beside herself with worry. They’d toiled so hard, but they couldn’t sow the three khandis of sprouted seeds sitting in the house as the field had not been ploughed. What would they eat next year? How would they pay the land tax? Who could say that the monsoon crop would not fail again? Sometimes she’d be overcome by the urge to set off on her own, to strengthen the ridges, to plough the field. But soon she’d realize that she couldn’t do anything without her husband’s support. All her strength and courage stemmed from his presence at her side.

  The sprouted seeds were beginning to wither. Meanwhile, there was much activity in the fields that belonged to Devrai Shenai, now known as Diego Gracias, and Mungru Shenai who was now Mingel Gracias. Workers urged the bullocks on as the fields were ploughed and spades dug into the moist earth.

  Rudra Shenai’s wife, Sumitra, kept herself busy with fasts and rituals all through the year. She would sing devotional songs to the rhythm of a pair of brass cymbals. There were seventeen idols of gods and goddesses in her household shrine and by the time she finished bathing and worshipping each one of them, the sun would be high overhead. Rudra Shenai was terrified that she would kill herself if he dared suggest that they become Christians.

  Subrai Shenai spent most of his time in the Ravalnath temple, these days. He would repair the wooden beams on the roof and set new tiles. He always maintained that his deepest fears and misfortunes were allayed whenever he took the name of the Lord. These people say, ‘If your gods were powerful, wouldn’t they have struck our hands away when we destroyed them?’ They also say that when their god was nailed to the cross, He forgave those who committed the deed. Deva, perhaps you will also forgive these people – perhaps the gods in the various temples they have destroyed, forgave them too. But Lord, I won’t let them set hands on you. You might forgive them. I will not, he kept muttering to himself.

  When Subrai Shenai got to Rudra’s house, it was time for the lamps to be lit before the household gods. They sat in silence for a while, seeking strength from each other’s presence.

  ‘Can’t think of what to do, Rudra. Now their eyes are on our fields. They will turn to our gods next. We won’t escape their clutches if we stay here. Sometimes I think Mungru and Devrai did the right thing…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sumitra demanded in a shrill voice. ‘Don’t animals fill their bellies? Should we forsake our religion so that we can hold on to our fields and orchards? That would be a sin. A grave sin!’ She remained silent for a while. ‘We’ve decided to leave the village, bhaya.’

  ‘Isn’t it better to move away before they create problems for us? If they take away our gods and our faith, what is left? Let’s take our savings and get out, we’ll keep going till we find shelter somewhere,’ Rudra declared.

  ‘And what about the deity? Who’ll take care of Him?’

  ‘Come with us, Unna, don’t forsake us now. We’ll take the Lord with us.’

  ‘And what will you and I do with this deity?’

  ‘He’ll stay wherever w
e do. If we stay in a shack, so will He.’

  ‘When do you plan to leave?’

  ‘Sometime this week.’

  ‘Bhadra plans to stay at his father-in-law’s place for a while. Let’s ask him to join us. We’ll cross the river to Dwarbhat and hire bullock carts after that.’

  ‘The boatmen charge a lot of money to take people across the river at night, Unna.’

  ‘What can we do, Rudra, we’ll have to pay. These people demand thirty xerafins as the first instalment of the land tax. The boatmen won’t ask for more than twenty xerafins.’ He paused, then added, ‘I don’t know what Chintaman and Durga plan to do.’

  ‘Tell them to come with us. If they stay here, they’ll lose their fields as well as their faith,’ Sumitra declared.

  Subrai set off for Chintaman’s house. Chintaman had lost so much weight that he looked like a skeleton, his skin as pale as the cream on top of milk. He needed his wife’s support to sit up in bed. Durga, who had always been brave and positive, was a dejected woman now. Her ready smile had been replaced by a sorrowful look.

  ‘How are you, Chintaman? You fell ill at the wrong time.’

  ‘I’m going to die, Dada. Better to die than to become a Christian. God is sending me this death,’ Chintaman moaned.

  Durga glared at her husband angrily. ‘Who’s forcing you to become a Christian? You say all sorts of things and then you begin to cry!’

  ‘Look Chintaman, Bhadra, Rudra and I plan to leave the village. Who can pay a hundred xerafins as tax? And even if we do, what guarantee is there that we won’t have to convert later? You can come with us too.’

  ‘And what about the fields?’ Durga asked.

  ‘Fields, she says! These fields have taken control of her life!’ Durga’s husband spluttered in rage. ‘Do you know what a hundred xerafins means? You can buy four oxen for a hundred xerafins. You won’t get so much even if you sell all the grain that you harvest in your field!’

  ‘But we can pay that in three instalments, can’t we?’

  ‘She’s mad, Unna.’

  Durga fell silent for a while. ‘Bhaya, this man can’t stand erect for a moment. Who knows what problems we’ll face once we set out! Can’t take two steps on his own and he wants to tramp from village to village! We’ll see how it is for a week or two. If you can wait for us, very well.’

  ‘There’s danger on all sides, my dear. I’ll speak to Rudra and see.’

  Shef Camil Ribeir summoned Ranu Kenkre to the soldier’s camp and explained the new law in detail. ‘You may not employ a single worker in your field. You’ll also have to pay a thousand xerafins as land tax every year.’

  ‘A thousand xerafins!’ Kenkre was aghast.

  Kenkre was a tall, fair man with a thick moustache on his round face. He wore a dhoti and a shirt beneath a long coat and had a turban on his head. There was a smear of sandalwood paste on his brow.

  ‘How much tax do you pay now?’

  ‘Eighty xerafins.’

  ‘The Brahmins of Raigali, who paid seven xerafins all these years, have to pay a hundred under the new law. You can afford a thousand xerafins,’ the shef said.

  ‘I employ twenty workers in my fields and orchards. I look after them and their families throughout the year. I can’t afford a thousand xerafins,’ Kenkre protested.

  ‘Don’t worry. You won’t have to bother about those workers any more.’

  ‘How will we manage our fields and orchards, then?’

  ‘This law has been formulated for Hindu land owners alone. You know that.’

  ‘I’m a Hindu. I want to remain one.’

  ‘You’ll have to follow the law then. The viceroy is sending a strong message to Hindus – Convert to Christianity or leave Goa. I’m saying this for your benefit … become a Christian at once. You’ll have no more problems. You can pay land tax at the old rate.’

  Padre Paulo Colaso was standing close by. ‘We believe that anyone who stays in Goa without becoming a Christian is insulting our faith. Hindu sinners like you continue to stay in Adolshi only because we are governed by cowardly officials like Shef Ribeir. Go home and decide what you want to do. A new set of brave officials will move into this village to take everyone to Jesus. We will not let you stay here if you insult Lord Jesus and the Christian faith.’

  Ranu Kenkre was intelligent and well-educated, with a warm, open disposition. To this was added the sophistication that comes with wealth. He was hurt and angered by Padre Colaso’s accusation. ‘You know nothing about Hindu philosophy. Hinduism and Christianity teach the same principles, there’s very little difference between the two. You go down on your knees before statues of Jesus, Mother Mary and other saints. We worship idols of our gods. We believe that the body and the soul are separate entities, that the soul is immortal and imbued with divine grace, just like you do. Good deeds take man to heaven and bad deeds lead to hell – we believe this too. There’s just one difference. Our religion does not pardon us when we commit sins so each man has to suffer the fruits of his evil actions. You believe that Jesus is a prophet, who brings the Word of God. We have prophets in our religion too, not one or two, we have ten. Each one came down to earth when the world was full of sin. They came to protect truth and righteousness, to destroy all evil, just like Jesus did. Jesus was an ocean of love and forgiveness and compassion. He could conquer people’s hearts with love. This is why I have faith in Him, I respect Him with all my heart. Padre Simao Peres would talk about Jesus, his words would bring tears to our eyes.’

  Padre Colaso was irritated by this reference to Simao Peres. ‘Enough of your nonsense! Christianity is the religion of the King of Portugal. We have crossed the seven seas with the blessings of the Holy Pope to convert our subjects and spread the Christian faith.’

  Kenkre realized that these people were not interested in tenets or philosophy. They had come here with a mission to increase the number of people who subscribed to Christianity; they were not too concerned about spreading the tenets of their faith. He got up quietly and walked away.

  The undercurrent of tension that had existed between Padre Colaso and Shef Ribeir had become an open dispute in recent times. Padre Colaso believed that it was the shef’s duty to wield the sword on his behalf and enforce his dictates. A padre couldn’t wield the sword as a man of God, but he could issue orders and it was the shef’s duty to execute them, he felt. The shef was a devout Christian, but he didn’t believe in using ruthless means to force people to be baptized. He knew that it would be necessary to use force at some point of time, but the padre wanted to start with using force.

  Ranu Kenkre returned home and lay down listlessly on his bed. His mind was in a turmoil. After a while he summoned his younger brother, ‘Will you become a Christian, Puru?’ he asked.

  Puru stared at his brother’s anxious face. ‘What’s more important, one’s fields and orchards? Or one’s faith, Tato?’

  ‘One’s belly is more important, my brother.’

  ‘Do you really believe that is the truth?’

  ‘What one feels when one is in grave danger, that’s the truth, Puru.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll become a Christian.’

  ‘And your wife?’

  ‘She’ll do whatever you say.’

  ‘Ask her, anyway.’

  Ranu and his wife were carried to the Ramnath temple in their palanquin the next day. After performing the puja, they sat down to talk to the bhat and the other devotees. One of the labourers who often came to work in their house was praying with great devotion. ‘What did you ask for, a male child for your son or a good groom for your daughter?’ Ranu teased.

  ‘I don’t want anything for myself, Dhanaya,’ he said respectfully. ‘Save the temple, Deva, is all I begged for.’

  Suddenly Ranu realized that people had been praying in silence. His eyes were drawn to the four large bells that hung from the roof. The bhat had swathed the gongs in yards of cloth, rendering them silent. Ranu could sense the worry and tension that
filled the shrine – there was no hope or enthusiasm on anyone’s face. His eyes filled with tears as he turned towards the deity one last time. His wife sat by his side, immersed in silence.

  Ranu Kenkre arrived at a decision after thinking hard all night. If the trees and palms in the orchards, the embankments in the fields, the stock of paddy in the granary, were to be saved; if the meals that were served every day to the workers and their families were to continue, he would have to take this decision.

  There was a settlement of Kunbis on the slope just behind his house. The twenty men and women who lived in those shacks worked on Kenkre’s estate, they did the household chores and worked in the fields. They were given their midday meal in Kenkre’s house. Many of them carried the food home for their children.

  That afternoon, twenty-three leaf patravalis were set out in a row on the floor. The bare bodied men and the women who sat before them had been working in the fields since morning and were hungry.

  But before they could start eating, Ranu Kenkre arrived there unexpectedly. ‘Wait,’ he said to them. ‘This might be the last meal you will eat here, so I want to say a short prayer. Listen carefully to what I say after that. Only then, may you eat.’

  He recited a short Sanskrit sloka, but the workers didn’t understand a word. What was the landlord trying to say?

  ‘We’ve worked together for many years, and we’ve eaten together too. But I’ve become a Christian now. I haven’t been baptized yet, but I’m a Christian in thought and deed, so if you eat in my house you will be considered as converts. Those of you who choose to be baptized with me, may eat. Those who do not wish to become Christians, may leave. Remember, I am a Christian now.’

  An unnatural silence settled over the gathering as all eyes were fixed on Ranu Kenkre’s face. Not one hand moved towards the food on the platter, but no one got up to leave the room either. Old man Jugal bent his head at last. He folded his palms reverentially before the food. Dipping his fingers in the rossa that had been poured over the rice, he raised his hand to his mouth and slurped noisily. Seeing him mix his food, the others reached for their patravalis and soon the whole verandah was filled with the noise of people enjoying their meal.