It was the time of the Saptha, the seven days of celebrations devoted to God Damodar, when I would meet my cousins and their families. Like every other group of kids, we too were mischievous and curious.
It was that time of the year when my great great aunt would visit us in Vasco. All of us kids called her Ayi. She was really old, had a face full of wrinkles, but sharp eyes and a voice that held command. Nobody spoke against her, her word was final; but with us kids she was always very friendly. Despite being so old she stood in a queue with us, she wore a cotton saree in the kashti style. She would talk for hours together. You might say she would get tired because of her age, but no, she was always ready with an argument or discussion when anything came up. I was way younger then. It was a tiring and boring task to just stand in the queue, as we kids would be very fidgety. We tried to run, but with her heavy voice she'd say, 'If you run again, you won't get any of the sweets or presents I brought for you. This is a sacred temple of Lord Damodar. You should stand in a queue and thank God Damodar for protecting us from all evil.' That's when it started. I got more curious, how was He protecting us? Is there magic in the air or was He watching us? Like, if I ran and fell on the ground, would he avert the fall? Or would he make my wound disappear? These were the questions I fired off to Ayi when we got back home. It was dinner time when we all sat together and ate in peace. The questions were still going around in my mind and I could not help but place them before Ayi. She called us all to the balcony where we spread a mat and sat on it. Usually this setting was more for stories and games. Even this time, Ayi was about to tell us a story. We waited in anticipation. She always had such awesome stories, ones that even lasted weeks. She sat on the wooden armchair which had an extended arm. She sighed and told us to huddle closer and listen to what she was saying. 'Tonight, I'm going to tell you something very interesting, so listen carefully. Do you remember Ramesh from our vaddo (hamlet)? Well it's about him.' Ramesh was a constable. So he usually reported for night duties. A very cunning fellow he would take bribes. To top it all, he was a bully. Once, he was at his night duty, chatting with his friends. It was around midnight. He found himself all alone and everything had gone quiet. He saw an old man in a bright white dhoti, a black kurta and white cloth around his neck, passing by. He had a thick stick and it had a bunch of ghungroo (small metallic bells strung together) attached to it. With every step, his ghungroo would make a sound. He wore Kolhapuri chappals. With every step, the chappals would make a creaking sound as if he had been walking for a long time. Ramesh saw him and simply went behind the old man. He used his stick to bang on the ground in a classic, constable way and said, `Hey, who are you? Go away from here'. The old man stalled for a few seconds, but he did not turn to look back at Ramesh. Very rudely, the constable called him names, but the old man did not respond; he just continued walking. It was about time for Ramesh to be relieved of his duty. He went inside the station and packed his bag. When he sat on his bike, his eyes itched a lot. He couldn't figure out why. By the time he reached home, his eyes were bloodshot and red. Sleep might cure it, he thought. On the next day, when Ramesh opened his eyes, it was dark. He thought he was dreaming but he could feel his eyes blinking. Suddenly he realised the horrible reality. He screamed continually for he had lost his eyesight. Nothing had changed, yet I felt the atmosphere changing. Ayi didn't stop though. She started with her next story. So this one was about Ignacio, whose house was near the church. Remember the person whose son would bring us chocolates? Many years back, they had a tragic incident in their family. His daughter had been admitted to the hospital. Ignacio and his wife would stay in the hospital with his daughter, but sometimes he had to go back alone at night. On such days, he would walk all the way from the hospital to his house. Once, on such a night, he was walking along the road. That night he was feeling uneasy. With his carrybag clutched close to his chest, he was walking in the dark. He continued to walk a short distance further and then stopped. He felt as if someone was following him. Again and again, he would walk and stop to confirm that nobody was behind him. After a few steps, he heard a motorcycle coming but he refrained from asking for a lift. Ignacio heard its horn and the vehicle stopped. The bike stopped right beside him. He could not see its rider's face properly in the dark. 'Hey Ignacio, are you heading home at this hour?' the stranger asked him. Ignacio was startled and confused. He said 'Uh... Y-yes. Who are you and how do you know my name?' The stranger answered, 'Oh, I am your brother's friend, Sammy. I'm headed the same way. Hop on, I'll drop you.' Ignacio was relieved and yet didn't know whether to take help from the guy. Suddenly he became very much aware of his own tiredness. He accepted the lift. Sammy dropped Ignacio at his place. Ignacio said a `thank you' and went in his house. On the next morning he wanted to give something as a token of gratitude to Sammy, Ignacio had some handicrafts, with those he also packed a small cross with rosary. He took his packed gift to his brother and said, 'Hey will you give this to your friend Sammy? Tell him it's from me.' His brother stared at Ignacio and said, 'Umm, Sammy who?' 'Your friend Sammy helped me last night. I was coming back from the hospital and he gave me a lift on his bike. Such a nice person, so I'm giving this gift to show my gratitude.' He extended the gift towards his brother. His brother sighed and said, 'Naz, I don't have any friend named Sammy. Maybe you're mistaken. Perhaps be thankful to whoever he was, he helped you.' Ignacio was stunned into silence. Soon, his daughter started recovering. We all sat there staring at Ayi as she was reminiscing. 'Who was he? That man?' we asked, and now we were all curious to know. Ayi looked at us and she gave us her beautiful smile which made her look like she was going to share candy with us. 'He has no name, but we call him the Rakhandar.' Her response carried intense weight; we all waited for her to continue. 'In our Goa, it's a belief that the gods are watching over us. But they can't be everywhere, so they have the Rakhandar — the guardian — to protect the people of Goa.' This knowledge was intoxicating. 'Our ancestors believed that no man could go hungry on the streets of Goa and people would always stay safe. Nothing was greater than the faith of the simple people of Goa.' Ayi spoke with such fondness and confidence that it didn't feel right to question her again. Her words filled me with peace. I still believe there is a Rakhandar, or guardian spirit, out there always watching over me. -- Damini Mane, 24, is from Vasco, and completed her MA (English) from the Goa University. An Assistant Professor, she loves to write poetry and short stories. Hobbies include reading, dancing, acting and singng (`though my voice is terrible but I like to believe I sing well'). She loves all kinds of literature, especially the travel genre (`a window to a world full of surprises, cruel reality and culture shocks. Through this genre I was exposed to Ernesto Che Guevara.') Books changed her as a person and gave her a broader perspective of the world. She wrote this article long back `because I did not want to compromise on my memory. I heard so many of these stories from my father who had himself experienced a positive presence around him.’ This is an excerpt from All Those Tales (Nellie Velho Pereira & FN, Eds). Goa,1556 ISBN 978-93-95795-65-4. 2024. Pp242. Rs500 (in Goa). See cover here: https://groups.google.com/g/goa-book-club/c/wkYAQ4D2VA0 or http://t.ly/kan08 If you'd like to join the Tell Your Story group that offers mentoring in writing, click on the WhatsApp link below https://chat.whatsapp.com/C5ge87N4WeJAW54oUXqnBO *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- Join a discussion on Goa-related issues by posting your comments on this or other issues via email to goa...@goanet.org See archives at http://lists.goanet.org/pipermail/goanet-goanet.org/ *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-