Singing the Laudainha by Tony Fernandes
As a young boy of about seven years of age, I joined other children along with the elders in singing the 'Laudainha' (Litany) at the various feasts, functions or events, and somehow in my innocence, I could not help but think that the "the laudainha" was to pray not only for our own good health, wealth and prosperity but also for the well-being of the village people. Some of the people from our village worked in Goa and others were employed in Bombay, Karachi, Arabian Gulf, Aden or East Africa. I thought that thinking about them and praying to God at the same time by including their names in the litany itself was a novel and awesome idea. There couldn't have been a better way devised to remember these kind folks. Believe me, I am not making this up or pulling a fast one. The only reason I did not write about this all this time is because I thought God would punish me for making fun of the 'Laudainha'. But I say this in all sincerity, and He may still punish me, but the fact that I thought about my neighbours and others at home and abroad when I was that young, must be commended, especially when I prayed for the good of everyone. Nowadays, we hardly sing the Litany that often, let alone think of anyone else but ourselves. I hope that perhaps singing the Litany in the near future will absolve me, and in addition I will be reciting the 'mea culpa'. As a young lad, I knew that the "Laudainha" was sung in Latin language, and that it was dedicated to Our Lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary and also recited after completion of the five decades of the Rosary, but then I thought it was so appropriate to think of our own village people, neighbours, relatives, friends and those who worked abroad while having the joy not only in singing, but also being rewarded with'ukoddlele chonem' (boiled gram) in the end. The richer the celebrant, better the chances were of being handed out with two or more types of snacks. A celebrant returning from Africa or Kuwait would mean 'bolinha', sweets or biscuits and 'tambdo soro' (red wine) too being generously distributed. The description below may sound akin to the famous narration of the 'Deck of Cards" by T. Texas Tyler, but in a different sort of way. My thought was that our rendition was unique in the way. Real people from our community were involved. What was amazing to me were the similarities between what we sang and the names of the people around us, involved in different trades and professions. Take for instance my godmother. Her name was Virginia, her sister was Maria; Assumption was my godfather; Christie, Bonnie and Rosario were my classmates, Rosa and Gracy were my cousin's neighbours in Siolim where I went to spend my summer holidays, Conception was my aunt, Salvador was my uncle, Violant was the strict lady in the next village on the way to the church in Guirim (we jumped over the high stone compound wall to savour some of the exotic fruits that she grew), Prudencia was the woman who came over to grind curry masala for my grandma, Leticia was my paternal grandmother, Consulem was the one who had petty fights with everyone in the village, Esperança was my next door neighbour and the oldest surviving lady in the village, Pidade worked at the batkar's place, Clement worked in Vasco de Gama and Remedios worked for Obras Publicas (PWD) in Panjim. These guys seemed to have lived up to their names too. Sucur was the village handy-man and Salvador was an expert and an authority in house roofing. Benedict worked in Kuwait. Fidelis had spent 20 years in far away East Africa and was now our village leader. David was my uncle who worked in Bombay, Stella was my cousin who taught Cathecism, Salu was the famous 'caçador' (hunter) from Parra who often passed by our house with his rifle on the way to the hills of Bastora and beyond, and Agnu owned a motor-repair workshop in Ahmedabad. His brother Vaz was a well-known tailor, and Aura was my class-teacher in the village Aula. And as if that was not enough, as a bonus prayer, I also thought we were invoking the blessings of the Angels, Patriachs, Confessors, Apostles and Martyrs and Saints. As an extra bonus even the famous 'advogad' (lawyer) from neighbouring Parra wasn't left out. So, you see, all the names of people mentioned above are included in the Litany in some form or another, and now as readers are fully convinced, I guess I will be pardoned. Even 'doce' and the jack-fruit were included when we sang "Rogai por nos". (Honestly, 'doce' was often served too after the Laudainha, and what sounded like 'ponos', I thought we were praying for a better yield of the fruit). The Litany is also still sung in the homes or in the village chapels in Goa, prior to a member of the family, a husband, a son or a loved one leaving in search of greener pastures for employment abroad, or those returning to work abroad after spending their holidays in Goa. A sung Litany or Ladainha is also held in honour of a saint for favours granted or prayers answered. It is customary to invite all the village folks around, sometimes for adjoining villages, relatives and friends. Beside this sort of a prayer meeting also serves as a social gathering, a convention, a reunion or a farewell, thereby preserving the social fabric. The village chapel served also as a community centre. Immediately after the Litany was completed and the final blessing granted by the village elder, the benches would be brought out from the inside of the chapel and all the children and village folks would sit, awaiting their hand-out - their share of boiled or roasted gram, biscuit and "Branco", Portuguese wine. For me the 'ladainha' will remain as one of the best-loved and most well-known sung prayers of all time. It still remains very much as a part of the Goan culture. I am trying to paint that picture through my poem below that conveys and summarises those eventful and fun-filled days of yore. THE SUNG LITANY IN THE VILLAGE. Early in the hot afternoon sun Two young lads come over to our home "We have come to invite you for the ladainha" They falter as they announce. "In our chapel, eight o'clock sharp it will start" "You must come along" they insist "And bring your son too" says the other I will, I promise, says my mother. Later in the evening that day I hear the sound Of the triple chimes of the village chapel bell As firecrackers accompany They beckon the folks To join them for the sung litany. The violinist and his son decide On the key and pitch; The elders among the folks Strike the initial chords; As quite eager are the youngsters To join in the chorus Full of hope, without any hitch. The kids sang in perfect unison And in choral harmonization Their high-pitched voices Were heard at their loudest Specially with the "Ora pro nobis" One young lad keeps dozing; But the thought of sweets and boiled gram kept me waking When it was time for the village elder To recite the final prayer at the finale of the litany He complied with a special request in honour of St.Anthony. Have I to say any more special prayer? Asks the village elder of the celebrant As the burning candles grew smaller "Yes, please" the replies the lady Could you please say one more "Amchea Bapa" For my son's safe departure? The ladainha was finally over Bringing the youngsters much relief; The "branco" wine spilled As the greying elderly man In his shaking hand held up for the saud the tiny cup. Someone behind in the congregation Was quick to mention without hesitation "This is the best ladainh by far" "No comparison whatsoever to the one before". To the family and the host To their son wishing a safe journey in his homily, Full of praise was the village elder with his toast And for his eventual successful return Was his earnest prayer. Almost with a skill honed with words specially chosen The "Saude" was complete in the briefest time having done his best To cover as much he could, His wits were put to a real test. And before he could tip The contents of the tiny glass over He was stopped short in the nick of time By the local village crooner With a timely start of "Uddon guelem parveanchem birem." Some said "Good-night", Others wished "Boa Noite" But the evening was not complete, Not quite, without those words so memorable That still in my ears linger In a language like no other: "Deu Bori Rath Dhium". "Meuche Ami Faleam". Tony Fernandes Author Goa Memories of my Homeland http://www.goanet.org/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=290 Poems & Short Stories http://tonferns.blogspot.com/2009/02/singing-laudainha.html
