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Who
can resist opening a beautiful chest when one knows that it holds a
rich trove of priceless jewels? For how else can one describe the
fertile repertoire of stories, dulpods and proverbs that are so
indisputably linked with the lives of Goans?
I
found this rich treasure trove of folk-lore while I was searching for
clues to Goa’s rich and vibrant past of a time much before the
Portuguese arrived in 1510. I found to my delight that Goan proverbs,
songs, dance-music and folktales held the key to the social history
of pre-Portuguese Goa. For what could be more touching than the plea
of the desolate Kadamba princess who has been reduced to the status
of a kitchen maid by her captors when she says, “I am the only
princess, daughter of King Vithoba. On my waist I carry a pot of
water, in my hand I hold a broom, on my head I carry a basket. I
dwell in front of this temple. Tell them to come and take me home”.
A high-born princess reduced to the status of a lowly kitchen maid
and carrying the material symbols of a low-caste Mahar girl. Made to
do her captor’s bidding in all the menial tasks set before her
and yet debarred from actually living in the hallowed grounds of the
temple. What a wealth of meaning and history in those few lines of
lament!
In
another story titled The Girl in the Straw Hat, a poor girl is
on her way from her wealthy husband’s house to her grandmother’s
when she is accosted by three water nymphs who give her a grain of
rice each. “Throw this grain of rice on your grandmother’s
hut and it will turn into a palace,” says the forest water
nymph. “Throw this grain into your grandmother’s room and
it will be filled with riches,” says the second water nymph.
“Throw this grain of rice in the kitchen and it will be filled
with a hundred servants,” says the third. What a symbolic
illustration of demonstrating to the young girls of pre-Portuguese
Goa that a good harvest is the only key to a wealthy and prosperous
home.
Supatle
hastat, olletil rodtat says the old proverb in Konkani. “Rice
grains in the winnowing fan laugh; those destined for the pot weep”
is an observation that transcends cultural or political boundaries
and needs no explanation. Kansarachi vatli nay, partum divun nazo
on the other hand is as regional as a proverb can get. “A
daughter-in-law is not a copper vessel that one can take her back to
the coppersmiths and change her for another” speaks of both the
status of women in Goan society and for the high regard that most
Goans households had for the artisans and craftsmen of Goa. One could
(and perhaps still can) take a defective vessel back to its
manufacturer and get it exchanged for a good one!
Perhaps
the most honoured of all artisans in Goa are the goldsmiths. The
belief that the metal is a representation of the Sun is itself
charming enough but the belief that the yellow metal has therapeutic
properties begs credibility. In pre-Portuguese Goa Brahmins,
goldsmiths and merchants were exempted from being flogged even if
they had committed heinous crimes. It is small wonder then that the
goldsmiths of Goa became the butt of jokes in Goan folklore. Sheth
rivna santli kusumna has become to mean more than the overt “The
goldsmith lives in one village but his umbrella lives in another
village”. And despite the honour and the ridicule accorded to
the village goldsmith, it was not diamonds but simple jasmine flowers
that were a Goan girl’s best friends. Mardol village in North
Goa is supposed to be famed for its supply of fresh jasmines. In a
folk song from this region the dancer says to her Lord, “I shall
buy flowers in profusion, I shall deck my hair with them. I shall sit
in front of my Lord. Yes, I shall sit.”
The
coming of the Portuguese and the advent of Christianity in Goa did
not make a dent in the Goan predominantly agrarian lifestyle. Goans
still farmed their land, used flowers and fruits in abundance and
sang and danced to changing seasons just as their ancestors had done
before them. And when they embraced Christianity, instead of
abandoning their folklore, their songs and dances, they adopted the
tenets of their new faith into the time-tested idioms that they had
been handed down through the centuries. So if the dulpod song and
dance routine of the Goan Christian ballrooms resound with the words,
Mari Concessao, Maro Concessao, Assagao is your village, the best
flowers I shall bring for you, my dear Mari Concessao. These
words are echoes of a distant past. A past filled with the memories
of temple feasts, family weddings, dark delivery rooms in ancient
mansions and jasmines in full bloom.
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