As young lads growing up in the village of Saligao in Goa back in the 1950s, my friends and I were always on our best behaviour whenever we attended a religious service in the Saligao Church or any of the several chapels in the village.

Talking in church was considered bad . . . → Read More: The fiery priest]]> by Mel D’Souza

As young lads growing up in the village of Saligao in Goa back in the 1950s, my friends and I were always on our best behaviour whenever we attended a religious service in the Saligao Church or any of the several chapels in the village.

Talking in church was considered bad manners, and the congregation respected that rule except for a few young adults and crusty old-timers who attended Mass from the choir loft in the back of the nave, away from the disapproving womenfolk downstairs. The women conversed discreetly with their eyes, their pouted lips twitching in silent prayer, as they’d flick an eyebrow to draw the attention of a fellow-worshiper to another female member of the congregation in the Saligao Church who, for example, would have been revealing a lot more than the gold crucifix hanging from the chain around her neck.

My young friends and I would follow the service in the Saligao Church of Mae de Deus from the transept, a step down from the chancel. If we ever whispered to each other or, heaven forbid, chuckled for any reason, we’d be admonished with a sharp cut’to (‘koot-taw’), knuckle of the middle finger, on the back of our head by an elder.

But there was one incident that had all the kids chuckling, and it was not followed by the cut’to. It all happened during the vespers of the Feast of St. Anne, at the chapel in the ward of Mudd’davaddi.

The vespers was a solemn service held on Saturday evening on the eve of the feast day, and it concluded the preceding week of salves. The salve was a service held inside St Anne’s Chapel followed by a display of fireworks outside, and a live band to entertain the congregation against a backdrop of the chapel’s facade illuminated with coloured paper lanterns.

Priests would be invited from adjoining villages to add pomp to the service. They’d stand in two rows along the sides of the chancel, facing each other, each with a breviary and lit candle in their hands, and they’d chant psalms in Latin. The psalms were lengthy, and the priests would often raise their heads to ease the strain on their necks caused by looking down at the breviary.

On this occasion, one of the invited priests had a grey beard that came down to just above his belly. It wasn’t a very thick beard, but it was stiff, making it appear as if it had been starched. Whenever he moved his head, the beard maintained its alignment with the profile of his face.

Now, during the chanting of the psalms, this priest did what every other priest would do. He raised his head to ease the stiffness in his neck, except that the movement swung his stiff beard forward to make its tip come into contact with the flame of the candle. A whiff of burning hair made the priest look down, only to see a small sizzling flame at the tip of his beard. Instinctively, he slapped his beard against his chest with the flat of his hand, smothered the flame instantly, and continued nonchalantly with the psalm. But not before my buddies and I had seen what had happened.

We couldn’t help chuckling, but when we looked over our shoulder in expectation of the customary cut’to, there were none coming; the adults had also witnessed the episode and were having an uncontrollable chuckle, too.

As for the priest, I think the first thing he would have done on returning home was to shorten his beard to prevent himself from being fired up again with religious zeal!

During my childhood in Goa, the village of Saligao was at the hub of three main roads that linked us with the town of Mapuça to the north, Calangute Beach to the west, and the ferry at Betim to the south.

The road going north was a straight 2-mile-long, coconut tree-lined . . . → Read More: Cycling in Goa down the Saligao hill]]> by Mel D’Souza

During my childhood in Goa, the village of Saligao was at the hub of three main roads that linked us with the town of Mapuça to the north, Calangute Beach to the west, and the ferry at Betim to the south.

The road going north was a straight 2-mile-long, coconut tree-lined avenue through a patchwork of paddy fields until it came to the village of Parra where it turned in a north-easterly direction towards the bus terminal in Mapuça.

The road to Calangute Beach led into open country dotted with fragrant cashew trees for about a mile before running over a straight causeway through lush paddy fields towards the imposing Church of St. Alex on the outskirts of Calangute village. After meandering through the village for a mile or so, the road ended at Calangute Beach.

The road to Betim wound its way up a hill to the Saligao Seminary, and down to the village of Pilerne before heading towards Betim through yet more paddy fields. Betim faced Panjim, the capital city of Goa, across the Mandovi River.

The junction where these three roads met was popularly known as “Peggy’s Corner” – named after Peggy Mascarenhas who lived at that spot in a home with a balcão (balcony) which commuters would use as a sheltered bus stop.

Of these three roads, the road to Betim had a bit of notoriety. On the ridge of the hill, near the Saligao Seminary, it ran past a banyan tree that marked the spot where Christalina drowned herself in a nearby well way back in the 1800s (or, as another version of the story goes — was murdered by her husband and dumped in the well).  It was said that this desolate spot was haunted by Christalina’s ghost, and I often wondered if this Goan ghost was not behind some of the brake failures that befell a few Goan cyclists as they coasted down the steep hill, something I experienced unknowingly when I was about ten years old cycling in Goa.

It all happened one evening when my 26-year-old cousin, Santan Vaz, was giving me a cycle ride along the Goan village roads from Betim to Saligao. Santan had me on the crossbar of his bicycle as we were coming down the hill when… you guessed it… the brakes failed!

Santan was a very helpful individual who punctuated his speech with a head movement that made him come across as being a nervous fellow. But he was deliberate in his actions and he didn’t take risks. And he was a man of few words. However, when he realized that his brakes had failed while cycling down the Saligao hill, fear made him lose his voice completely. Meanwhile, as the cycle kept gaining momentum, I thought he was giving me a joy ride, and I kept looking over my shoulder and urging him to go faster.

The road had about six bends in it with a few long straight stretches between them that just made the cycle gain more speed. However, because the surface was not paved, it was marked with scattered sandy spots that Santan would head for in an effort to slow down the cycle while I kept pushing on the handlebar to keep us on the harder surface for a faster ride.

Anyway, after having skillfully negotiated the last and sharpest bend, Santan decided to apply the Goan cycling version of the emergency brake. He slid forward off the saddle, squeezing me against the handlebars of the cycle, and dug his heels into the dirt road to bring the bike to a grinding and dusty halt just before reaching Peggy’s Corner.

I turned around to thank Santan for the best cycling in Goa adventure  I had ever had when I noticed that he had a petrified look on his face and had broken out into a cold sweat. It was only after he had regained his speech that I realized what a close shave we had. But it was a fun ride – I wonder if other people cycling in Goa have had such thrilling experiences!

While tourists visiting Goa are familiar only with the beaches and famous places of worship, local Goans will tell you that many villages of Goa are renowned for a particular produce or commodity.

As we sat one May evening on the parapet of the Saligao church compound, a few of us . . . → Read More: What are Goa’s villages famous for?]]> by Fr. Nascimento Mascarenhas

While tourists visiting Goa are familiar only with the beaches and famous places of worship, local Goans will tell you that many villages of Goa are renowned for a particular produce or commodity.

As we sat one May evening on the parapet of the Saligao church compound, a few of us began to enumerate the Goan villages of our region (Bardez) and what they produced or what they were famous for. Albino D’Souza from Saligao’s Nigvaddo ward said that Moira was famous for bananas. Parra was famous in Goa for watermelons, asserted Justino Fernandes from Grande Morodd. From Cotula was Dominic Andrade, who showed his appreciation for curry and stated that Aldona was noteworthy for its chilies.

Moira bananas are famous in Goa

Salvador Mascarenhas from Mudd’davaddi remarked that Goan village Sangolda was known for its variety of beans. Pomburpa was famous for its fountain, recalled Luis Domingo Dias from Cotula. Duarte Fernandes from Donvaddo showed his inclination towards Mapuça, well known throughout Goa for its weekly Friday market. Adolph Mendonça from Cotula simply said that Nerul was known for its groundnuts and sweet potatoes. Alfred Fonseca, settled in Arrarim, striking his chest proudly declared that his village Assagao was famous for its flowers. Paulito Fernandes from Mudd’davaddi, with a smile on his face, quipped that Calangute is noted for its beach. Feliciano D’Souza from Arrarim, showing his love for Goan village Candolim, remarked that it is famous in Goa for its salted fish. Bernardo da Cunha from Mollembhat spoke about Calvim and said it was known for its crabs. In one voice we ended the list of village names with “Saligao amcho ganv,” renowned in days gone by for sugarcane and belios (a type of candy made from sugarcane juice).

But one among us had remained quiet so far. He was our choir master Eustaquino D’Souza from Pequeno Morodd, who now added that Pilerne and Goan village Arpora were famous in Goa for salt and that without salt our staple food of rice and curry would be tasteless. As we carried on our discussions enthusiastically, a stately gentleman whom none of us knew approached us. He said that he was a ganvkar of Saligao belonging to the 9^th vangodd and that he had come to Saligao to register his name at the Saligao Comunidade Ghor to collect zonn (dividend) and pay his respects to the patroness of the Saligao church, Mãe de Deus. We welcomed him among us as one of our elder ganv-bhav (fellow villager).

Seeing that we were interested  in the affairs of the Bardez villages, Professor Eduardo de Sousa – for that was his name – said that he would relate to us a couple of stories. We sat in silence, eager to listen to what he had to say.

One of the first Hindus, the learned professor said, that converted to Christianity in the sixteenth century, was from our neighbouring village of Pilerne. His Hindu name was Mangapa Sinai or Bhau Sinai. He was a Narcornim de Camara Geral de Bardez (Notary of the Municipality of Bardez). He came to Pilerne from Cortalim. He had come to Goa along with his brother and uncle Balxa or Balkrishna Sinai from northern India. Mangapa was baptised and given the name of Pero Ribeiro by the Franciscan Observants (OFM) who were made in charge of the Christianisation of the people of the Province of Bardez. They began their evangelization from 1555 beginning from Verém. Pero Ribeiro offered his stables for the horses of Adil Khan to stay in Pilerne. He was also given the property Pattambhatt or Pasambhatt. A rivulet at Pilerne is called ‘Rio dos Ribeiros’ which irrigates the fields of Pilerne. One of the Ribeiro descendants went from Pilerne to Nagoa de Bardez and later settled himself in Saligao at Vhoddlem Morodd. His descendant is the late José Ribeiro, whose sons are Tom and Savio Ribeiro. The uncle Balkrishna Sinai was baptised and given the surname Cunha and a property in Arpora.  He is the ascendant of José Gerson da Cunha, the famous author of The Konkani Language and Literature published in Bombay in 1881. We accepted the Professor’s story without any questions or interruptions.

Saligaokars are proud to be referred as kole (foxes), Prof Sousa went on to say. He narrated another story to showcase the shrewdness of the Saligaokar. Once upon a time there was a Saligaokar who owned a leather shop, selling all kinds of items made from leather, including   shoes. When he went abroad he came across a wholesaler of shoes, with a wide range of shoes going very cheap. He bought dozens of them. To avoid customs duty he mailed them in two separate consignments, one containing shoes for the right-leg only, and the other for the left. When the parcels reached Panjim, they were not claimed. After some time they were auctioned. None of the shoe merchants present bargained, because they thought they were useless. The shrewd Saligaokar bought the parcels for a song, through one of his friends, deceiving the customs officers by his cleverness. Whether this story is true or not is of course anyone’s guess!

Though we wanted to hear more stories related to our village, Professor Eduardo had to leave, and we too departed from the scene. Memories linger on in our minds of those old days in our beloved and “porzolit [shining] Saligao”. One can only hope that the present and future generations preserve the sheen of the Goan village of the past.

As a priest on staff at the Holy Spirit Church in Margao, Goa, one of my duties is to visit the parishioners. A few days ago my visits took me to the famous Rua Abade Faria (named for Jose de Custodio de Faria, the colourful and enigmatic son of Goa – . . . → Read More: The vendor of church wine]]> by Fr. Nascimento Mascarenhas

As a priest on staff at the Holy Spirit Church in Margao, Goa, one of my duties is to visit the parishioners. A few days ago my visits took me to the famous Rua Abade Faria (named for Jose de Custodio de Faria, the colourful and enigmatic son of Goa – a hypnotist, priest and revolutionary). A few minutes of wandering along this street presents a kaleidoscope of some of the oldest, most notable heritage houses in Goa, typifying Goan domestic architecture of the 18th and 19th centuries and demonstrating a whole range of styles.

Along the length of the street, no two houses are alike. In one of these houses on Rua Abade Faria lives the 94-year-old Lucas Pascoal Joao Fernandes (nicknamed Lozcar), originally from Donvaddo in Saligao. He was born on 18 October 1915. He lives with his wife Leandra Marta D’Souza e Fernandes. She is from Pirazona, Moira. Lucas and Leandra have four daughters: Lafira Edith Fernandes, Loreta Filomena Perpetua Fernandes, Lidia Carlota Fernandes and Leandra Severina Fernandes. Their daughter Loreta lives with them in Margao.

Casa Lozcar

Lucas Pascoal and his family happily welcomed me into the splendid Lourenco House and all of us were nostalgic of our Saligao connections. Lucas asked me if I knew the Casa Lozcar back in Saligao. My affirmative reply triggered a sparkle in his eye and he was then eager to talk with me. I took the opportunity to ask him why his ancestral family had been nicknamed Lozcar.

He nodded and began by unfolding the genealogy of the Fernandes clan. “My grandfather,” he said, “was Lourenco Caetano Fernandes. He had two sons, Lazaro Joao Fernandes and Pedro Xavier Fernandes.  My grandfather owned a shop on Rua Jose Falcao, in Panjim, vending various types of wine. He also bought four houses in Panjim. Two he gave to his eldest son Lazaro, who married Maria Filomena Lobo. The two houses are still standing and Alba Fernandes, who is a spinster, takes care of them. Pedro Xavier Fernandes, my father, sold his two other houses.”

Church wine

Lucas Pascoal then explained the origin of the nickname: “The loja or shop which grandfather Lourenco Caetano owned at Rua Jose Falcao, close to Panjim Church, was the first one ever owned by a villager from Saligao in the capital city, and it became famous because of a special wine which had a label printed by him and fixed on the bottle and sold as “Vinho Especial do Santo Sacrificio de Missa” (Special Wine of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass). This wine was bought by various churches and chapels to be used for their religious services. His shop in Panjim was known as Lourenco Caetano Fernandes e Filho. His customers nicknamed it “Lozcar” (from loja meaning shop and car meaning possessor; he wrote it as old Konkani, nowadays we would say LOZKAR). He obviously liked the name and imprinted it on the fence of his ancestral house in Donvaddo, Saligao, almost two centuries ago.”

Lucas Pascoal continued telling me about his ancestors: “My grandfather’s son Pedro Xavier Fernandes married Maria Isabel Filomena Lobo from Aldona. They had the following children: Ida Berta Fernandes, Tome Caetano Climaco Mae de Deus Fernandes, Santana Francisco (Frank) Fernandes, myself [Lucas Pascoal], Georgina Laura Fernandes and Maria Carlota Fernandes (who lives in Aldona).”

Though in his nineties, Lucas Pascoal remembers the people of Saligao and facts about the village very well. I was happy to meet him and thanked him for all the information he shared with me. In fact, when I was based at the Panjim church, I had known his brother Frank quite well. Frank and his wife Alcina owned two shops, one in Panjim and the other in Margao, both specialising in selling spectacles. The Panjim shop was known as Frank and Co. and was a partnership, located very near the church. The one in Margao was sold and is now known as Optica.

Both Lucas as well as Frank would come to Saligao for the feasts of Mae de Deus and Saint Anne and took the opportunity to visit their relatives such as Martinho Cordeiro, Dolly and others at Arrarim and also their cousin Carlotina, who used to live in the ancestral Casa Lozcar in Donvaddo. Today the Lozcar house in Saligao has Italian residents, but they have kept the name Casa Lozcar intact on the fence, as it always has been all these years.

Saligao is a well-known village in Bardez, Goa. The people from neighbouring villages refer to Saligaokars as Uxellantle Kole or, nowadays, simply Kole (foxes). How did this nickname originate? Let me tell you the interesting story:

Many centuries back it was rather difficult for people in Saligao to travel from one ward . . . → Read More: The Foxes In The Sugarcane Plantation]]> by Fr. Nascimento Mascarenhas

Saligao is a well-known village in Bardez, Goa. The people from neighbouring villages refer to Saligaokars as Uxellantle Kole or, nowadays, simply Kole (foxes). How did this nickname originate? Let me tell you the interesting story:

Many centuries back it was rather difficult for people in Saligao to travel from one ward to another, especially during the monsoons when the fields were usually submerged in water. In several places there were ponds, streams and even fountains.

No one thought of constructing canoes or other small boats to traverse these water bodies. Perhaps, being agriculturists like most other Goans were, even the knee-deep water in the fields didn’t bother them too much. Rice was the chief crop, and the produce was substantial enough to last through the year. Each family gave a part of their share of paddy to the village association known as the Ganvkari or Comunidade. The ganvkars (village elders) jointly held, administered and enjoyed the produce of the community lands. Through this Comunidade, the villagers gradually took care of building roads, aqueducts for rain water, irrigation, top-draining of marshy land, and other requisite public works.

Besides rice, they also began the plantation of sugarcane in their various fields. When the sugarcane ripened, the foxes from the surrounding hills descended into the plantations and feasted on the sweet bounty. The farmers kept driving them away, but foxes are, well, quite foxy. They seemed to appear from nowhere at night and ravaged the plantations. Exasperated, the villagers had a joint meeting. They decided that they would have to protect the crop by their physical presence at all times.

Groups were formed, with each ward nominating a few individuals for the guard duty at different times. They set up tents called khompteo at various points in and around the fields and manned them day and night, hiding among the stalks, catching by surprise the astonished foxes the minute they entered the fields, and chasing them away with sticks and stones. The shrewd Saligaokars succeeded in protecting their valuable crops by totally outfoxing the foxes. And deservedly earned the nickname Uxellantle Kole – the foxes in the sugarcane plantation!

 “Baba” was a universal term of affection used in Goa to address a little boy or an adult male who was in good standing in the community. The term would also be used, somewhat grudgingly, when addressing the odd individual who was an embarrassment to his family, but whose misdeeds were not . . . → Read More: Our family’s “Baba” Black Sheep]]> by Mel D’Souza

 “Baba” was a universal term of affection used in Goa to address a little boy or an adult male who was in good standing in the community. The term would also be used, somewhat grudgingly, when addressing the odd individual who was an embarrassment to his family, but whose misdeeds were not serious enough for him to be thrown out of the house. I suppose he could be called the ‘baba’ black sheep of the family.

Black sheep were few and far between, but we had one in our family. He was my granduncle and his name was Galdinho D’Souza.

Galdinho was the brother of my paternal grandmother. He was born and raised in our village of Saligao, before moving to East Africa after World War I, as many Goans did, in search of employment in the British colonies. But although it was virtually impossible for a Goan not to find employment almost anywhere in Tanganyika, Kenya and Uganda at that time, Galdinho never held a job. He spent most of his time fishing, visiting the Goan Institute clubhouse in Dar es Salaam, and freeloading off his friends and relatives.

Galdinho’s sole possessions were a few items of casual clothing, a white suit, an old bicycle, and a bamboo fishing rod. When I was a young boy during World War II (the fighting did not come to East Africa), Galdinho would visit us once a month, on dad’s payday, and then treat me to jugu (roasted peanuts) or an ice cream at Pandya’s. Naturally, I considered myself lucky to have such a generous granduncle, not knowing that he was treating me all along with my dad’s money!

In the afternoon on weekends – or weekdays, if the tides were right – Galdinho would be seen on his bicycle, his fishing rod over his left shoulder like a radio antenna, heading for Kinondoni Beach where he would fish in the surf for the silvery “lady fish”. On his way home, he’d give the fish to his friends who, I’m sure, gave him a few shillings in return.

Galdinho was present at every wedding, funeral, and dance wearing his ubiquitous white suit. And, at the Goan Institute, he’d never be seen without a beer in hand although he was never known to buy a drink at the bar. I’m sure he never said “No” to any Goan club members who would have greeted his entrance into the bar with the traditional “Hello Galdinho, have a drink?”

When I went to Goa in 1947 to continue my schooling in the village of Saligao, my grandmother told me that Galdinho was a notorious prankster in his teens, and kept getting into all kinds of trouble. The most audacious prank, she said, was when he climbed unassisted to the top of the steeple of the Mae de Deus church (the only old church in Goa with a steeple) – something that was never done before, and never accomplished since. Apparently, he placed his feet in a loop of coir rope for traction, with another rope around the steeple in a garrote-like grip, and scaled the steeple as would a coconut-tree climber.

When I returned to Dar es Salaam after graduating from high school, it never occurred to me to ask Galdinho for details of this episode. He died a few years later and I didn’t bother to pursue the story any further.

However, it was only recently that I was able to learn more about Galdinho when I met with Lena Remedios-Nunes in Toronto, Canada. Lena not only confirmed that Galdinho had indeed climbed the church steeple, but went on to tell me the story behind the episode.

It so happened that when Galdinho was a teenager in school, he fell madly in love with a schoolgirl named Rosalinda Raymond, from the village of Siolim. Rosalinda was a very pretty girl whose affluent parents had enrolled her in St. Mary’s School in Saligao. Apparently, she didn’t seem to care for Galdinho, and perhaps didn’t even know of his crush on her. On the other hand, Galdinho’s infatuation with Rosalinda was so intense that he used every opportunity to try to gain her attention, evidently without much success. To add to his frustration, his friends would taunt him about the futility of his pursuit saying that Rosalinda considered him a ‘sissy’. One day they suggested that if he really wanted to impress Rosalinda and win her heart, he should perform a spectacular feat that would prove to her that he was the bravest and worthiest of all the boys in the village. And this he did by scaling the church steeple and placing a piece of his clothing on the crucifix as proof that it was he who accomplished a feat that is now part of Saligao legend.

Lena also told me about a romantic ballad – a mando – that Galdinho had written for Rosalinda. Lena recalled all the four verses and sang them for me as I recorded the poignant lyrics on tape.

The sad ending to this story is that Galdinho never won Rosalinda’s heart. Could it be that the impact of his shattered love was so devastating that he never married?

The revelations about my granduncle, Galdinho, make me wonder how many other notable black sheep of the past harboured secrets which, if made public, would make us look upon them sympathetically as romantics instead of rakes.

[Editor's Note: This essay has been compiled by Fr Nascimento Mascarenhas from old documents, magazine cuttings, jubilee souvenirs, and myriad other sources. If you recognize an unacknowledged source, do let us know and we will rectify the lapse.] 

 Engagements and marriages are also tied down by the traditions in . . . → Read More: Customs, superstitions and traditions in Saligao – II]]>

[Editor's Note: This essay has been compiled by Fr Nascimento Mascarenhas from old documents, magazine cuttings, jubilee souvenirs, and myriad other sources. If you recognize an unacknowledged source, do let us know and we will rectify the lapse.] 

 Engagements and marriages are also tied down by the traditions in Goa and surrounded by a cluster of quaint rites and observances. A week before any wedding there is bustle all around in preparation for the Buim Jevon or Bikareanchem Jevon (Beggars’ Lunch) and so called, because all the poor as well as the rich who are invited for it are made to sit on the floor on a mat (souém) and eat.  The menu consists of rice, jaggery, sweet (onn) a mixture of gram and plantain vegetable, puris made of rice or wheat flour and an aromatic curry of all types of spices washed down by a glass of feni (the local brew).  Dessert is bananas, mangoes or jack-fruits.

Elaborate ceremony and protocol precedes the meal. A few days before, an invitation is issued to relatives and neighbours to help in husking the paddy, and everyone who lends a hand is rewarded with pieces of coconut and jaggery. After an interval of two days they are again called to grind the rice, and for their labour are given slices of manos a sweet made out of jaggery, rice and coconut.  The third invitation is to help in grinding the spices for the curry, after which they are treated to pancakes prepared from flour and powdered spices. On the eve of the dinner, the floor is covered with many new bamboo mats and the neighbours all join in to make voddé or puris all night long. While these preparations are on there is constant singing of zottis (love songs).

Here are some examples of zottis sung in Konkani in the Bardez district of Goa; in other districts such as Salcette and Ilhas these may vary slightly. This song is sung while washing the rice, carried in vol’leo (bamboo baskets) to the well. The rice will be the main item served at the wedding and the song invokes God’s blessings on it.  

Santa khursache kurven

Re-Viva nivar amkam Deva

Vora tandul duivta

Besanv ghal ga Saiba.

(By the sign of the Holy Cross

We hail you God

To come bless the rice)

Other zottis

 Bridal attention

 The bride-to-be is the source of much attention too, and is taken by her friends and relatives for the purkondd – a farewell maidenhood party where she is garlanded as queen of the feast and receives all the homage of her admirers.  The blushing maid is bathed in coconut milk to the accompaniment of zottis and then dressed in a gorgeous sari and taken around the neighbourhood under a huge red umbrella, for the blessing of its oldest inhabitants.

 On this occasion, the village bangle seller does brisk trade, as the day before the wedding, the bride’s arms are covered with thirty glass bangles, fifteen on each hand of a mixture of blue, yellow and brown (varies in the Brahmin class).  These bangles, known as ‘chuddo’, are worn to ensure long life for the husband. Regardless of all the gold a woman wears, she will not be without a glass bangle until her husband’s death, as glass is believed to have special properties.

After the engagement, it is customary for the bridegroom’s family to send the bride’s people a gift known as fulam, consisting of sweets, flowers and fruits, most of which will be distributed to the neighbours. On the second or third day of the wedding ceremonies, the bride’s family does likewise, sending the groom’s family ojem, similarly sent around.

Hindu traditions

Among the Hindus of Saligao there is a custom of consulting a priest (bott) on the occasion of any auspicious function, to fix the muhurat (auspicious time).

A child born on Amavasya (new moon) is considered inauspicious. If the death of a person has occurred on an inauspicious star, then the priest (bott) advises that the house where the death took place be vacated by the relatives residing therein, for great harm may come to them otherwise.

Some people have recourse to the ghaddi or panchakshri (witch doctor) for zhoddo performed to get themselves rid of ghosts and possession by them. Some other superstitions still prevalent among people of the Hindu faith in Saligao are as follows:

One should not look at the moon on a Chaturathi day.  No work should be done on a day subsequent to a festival. One should not dig the soil on Nag Panchami Day.  If the Nag (King Cobra) is killed, it should not be burnt, but rather, buried.

Death threats

Death too is shrouded by customs and it is no queer practice to find elaborate meals being prepared and dished out for the souls of one’s departed relatives through out the month of November.  Neglected souls are believed to haunt a house until their demands are appeased.  If you have a death in the family, you are not supposed to cook anything and it is your relations and neighbours who send you food and sweets. While women folks sat around the dead body, close relatives, neighbours and friends occupied the kitchen and cooked food in large quantities to serve people attending the funeral from afar. Thus a funeral almost becomes a party, with plenty to eat and drink. 

After the funeral, in the room of the dead person, a wick light is kept burning under a mat roll for nine days as the soul of the deceased is believed to hover around the place.

When a wife wailed, she never referred to her dead husband by name, but ended each sentence with mai (mother); in fact in the old days the husband was rarely, if ever, referred to by name – when the wife talked about her husband to others, he was referred to as amcho (ours).

Wailing examples: “Don vorsamnim ek paut tum ghara ietaloi ge mai, boreo-boreo saddie ô-vistid haddtaloi ge maim; festank kazarank gheun bonvtaloi ge maim; atam koun mhaka bonvddaitalo ge mai, mai, mai.“  (You would return home every two years; you would bring me good saris, dresses; you would take me to feasts and weddings; who will now take me around … oh mother!)

Professional mourners were recruited to conduct the wailing, which would continue at intervals depending on the need. The woman sitting next to the main mourner would whisper in her ears whenever an important relative or friend arrived.  The mourner would then suddenly burst out into heart-rending wails.

Uttun polle ghe mai.  Moiddea than Jose aila ge maim; tujea gostachim kellim haddtolo munge main; atam koun amkam Moiddea vortolo ghe main.  (Get up and see mother.  Joseph has come from Moira.  He used to bring Moira bananas.  Who will now take us to Moira…)

If a husband died, his wife was dressed like a bride in reddish clothes with flowers in her hair.  The funeral spelt an end to her jolly life.  She was also made to wear the chuddo (coloured bangles), if she still had them; if not, a new set of coloured bangles was bought and placed on both her hands.  As soon as the priest arrived to commence the funeral, everyone would start crying and screaming.  Sometimes it became difficult for the priest to conduct the prayers. One of the elderly persons would then take charge of the mourners and keep them under his control until the prayer ceremony ended.

Once prayers were over, screaming and wailing would resume and it was at this juncture that the wife would throw herself upon her dead husband, bang both her hands on the edge of the coffin and break the bangles, sometimes causing injuries to her arms.  This signified an end to her marriage, and the beginning of her widow-status. As a widow, she would no longer wear coloured clothes or flowers in her hair or don gold.  She would switch to black clothes and wear only silver ornaments.

Although Konkani is the language widely spoken in Goa, in the old days there was a separate vocabulary that was used by villagers to communicate with their pets and domesticated animals in the villages of Goa.

“Bish, bish, bish” was a way of calling out to a dog if one didn’t know . . . → Read More: Animal talk]]> by Mel D’Souza

Although Konkani is the language widely spoken in Goa, in the old days there was a separate vocabulary that was used by villagers to communicate with their pets and domesticated animals in the villages of Goa.

“Bish, bish, bish” was a way of calling out to a dog if one didn’t know it’s name. As soon as the dog got closer, the caller would stretch out the right hand and rub the thumb against the other fingers to simulate a handout of food. Although they understood the call, not all dogs responded spontaneously; they preferred to keep a safe distance from people they didn’t know.

On the other hand, if there was a need to get a dog to go after a squirrel or scare away a bull, the command was “shuga, shuga, shuga!”. The dog would immediately lunge forward, barking furiously to scare away the intruder. When the coast was clear, the dog would do a victory lap and then slink away for a snooze.

Dogs in Goa were reared mainly as guard dogs rather than pets – something I always found hard to understand because crime was almost non-existent in the villages of Goa. Perhaps their bark was meant to alert the lady of the house (who was usually way back in the kitchen) to a visitor. Such dogs in Goa had colourful names such as our next-door neighbour’s Poolees (police), and my aunt’s Tanki (an army tank). They barked loudly, but were not ferocious. They were more ‘chicken’ than dog.

For cats, the call was “bil, bil, bil”. The cat would immediately come to the caller in anticipation of a hand-out of fish bones or other scraps of food. Cats in the villages of Goa never seemed to have names; they were just addressed as “mazor”, which is “cat” in Konkani.

Chickens were a common sight in open spaces as they went about pecking at anything edible on the ground. Once a day, their owners would call out to them with a “bah, bah, bah”, and feed them a fistful of rice grain. At sunset, the chickens would wander grogilly into the kitchen or the shed behind the Goan village house. The owner would then catch them and place them under a large bamboo basket for the night.

As for the pig, that vital garbage disposal machine of every village of Goa in olden times, the call was a loud “yeh, yeh, yeh”. A pig roamed all over the place, but as soon as it picked up the call, you’d hear it grunting in the distance before trotting nimbly towards its stone trough.

And then there was the cow and/or bull. As far as I know, there was no call to get them to come to you. They were just ushered into their stall with a firm pat on the rump by whoever attended to them. However, there was a command to get bulls that were hitched to a cart to pick up the pace. It was “hiri, hiri, hiri”. But the call had to be combined with a sharp twist of the base of their tails by the gariwalla ( the cart’s driver), and the use of his toe to prod the bull between the hind legs.

In the villages of Goa, pets and  domesticated animals were members of the community in that we all spoke the same language. As long as they responded to “bish”, “shuga”, “bil”, “bah” or “yeh”, they were just one of us – like any Tom, Dick and “hiri”.

[This item is from the book Feasts, Feni and Firecrackers by Mel D'Souza. His e-mail is mel.dsouza at sympatico.ca]