Before I knew it, I was sailing away from the hills of Mapusa and into Assagao. This time the roads were not familiar and instead of going via the stately St Cajetans Church and into Socolvaddo - the only approach from Mapusa I was familiar with - we entered from (what I think) was the Anjuna side. New life, new roads. Before I knew it, we had overshot.
Assagao was always rustic and beautiful known from the old days as the Valley Of Flowers, but without the thrumming and heartbeat of say a Saligao, Aldona or one of the bigger Bardez villages. I always knew it as gently decayed, like a non-performing but elegant and well-dressed CEO of a large corporate put out to pasture. Not this time though. Assagao has been "discovered" like the rest of Goa, though more so and there is no spare inch of space left unbuilt. I am informed that my ancestral plot and property is one of the very few left vacant. Land in Assagao I am told is at a premium price since the village is close enough but not next to the sea and close enough but not in Mapusa. This is a much better Assagao than the one I know. My neighbor Gerry Peres has given his well-rebuilt and well maintained ancestral house on a fabulous rent and he had the foresight to pick up some large desolate property that nobody wanted, in Maddungo a ward of the village east of Socolvaddo. On it Gerry has built a small Texas town a sort of mini Aramco though he has had nothing to do with oil and everything to do with the high seas. This is today's Goa in action, as well it should be. Gerry was kind enough to take me for a stately lunch in his elegant home and then to my property to introduce me to my Hindu mundcars. They recognized me from my father saying "arre Licardacho re tum" (are you Richard's son?). That was the beginning of a long visit. They took me into their concrete dwellings that used to be mud huts before and made me comfortable with tea and Ganesh prasad while they made their patriarch ready to meet me. Vishnu with his kashti and long flowing white beard looked like some Hindu saint from the Mahabharata. He legs could not support him well but his bearing was still regal, reminding me of many trees climbed and much work done. His mind was razor sharp and he regaled me with stories of my father and grandfather. He told me how my grandfather had taken in his family into the property when he Vishnu was 18 and how he had let them build a house, given them work and allowed them to free-lance for money with all the neighbor's tasks as well. Vishnu didn't know his age when I asked him, but from his tales and the years he mentioned I knew he would be as old as my father would have been. There was no distinction of Hindu or Christian between us. From his recounting, he used to visit the church as often as my family would grace his temples on their respective feast days. He knew a lot about simple undogmatic Christianity (the best kind) and never once made me feel anything but a family member. This is unique to Bardez. The people of Salcete have no such experience, being ingrained with the haughty demeanour in matters of religion by the influence of the Portuguese. I bid Vishnu farewell sadly, knowing that I would not see him again. His last question to me before I enclosed a fistful of money in his hand was what I intended to do with the property. Whatever I do, I will do justice to you and your family Vishnu, I said in parting in Konkani. With him a chapter of my father and his family would forever be closed. Vishnu's memories of my father as recounted to me on that monday Gandhi Jayanti afternoon in a serene village in Goa will forever be reside in my heart. Roland. On 10/13/07, eric pinto <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > We survived three hour long cantara High Mass, in the church on a hill, in > Assagao, a good reason for Roland to visit next year, after we pretty up a > bit. > For a sunday smile, google " HALUR RASHO .," a familiar voice, from the > past. eric.
