The Indefatigable Crusader

By Royston Fernandes

The Indefatigable Crusader takes you through an inspiring journey of struggles and battles that Eric Ozario fought, for the lesser privileged and the downtrodden. It begins with the arrival of European Missionaries in Mangalore, and the socio-cultural and economic impact of their religious conversion of the locals. Eric’s life is an interesting mix of the appalling poverty and social isolation that he had to endure in his childhood, and the colourful larger than life persona that he displayed as he grew. His bitter experiences helped him analyse the true colours of this society and its unjust model, which he chose to oppose all his life.

Eric’s crusades as a young man campaigning for the people of his ghetto, is electrifying, hair-raising, stimulating and motivating. His fight, leading the Christian workers against their employer – the church, is definitely emotive to many and may even be scandalous to a few. All his struggles particularly in Christian establishments blatantly expose the duplicity of organised religion.

But what may surprise many readers is the fact that Eric, despite leading the agitations, is also, a celebrated composer and singer par excellence. He is not only a distinguished artiste, but also is a creative innovator, an excellent organiser, an eminent educator, an admired leader and an illustrious, untiring Konkani activist who through his organisation Mandd Sobhann, has rejuvenated Konkani language and culture.

Eric’s life is a perfect blend of the brave tiger that fought for the people and the flamboyant peacock that performed before the world – a rare combination that only a few celebrated and accomplished personalities in the history of this world possess. His stimulating and saluted life will, without doubt, inspire and awaken the revolutionary in you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notion Press
• Release date: Oct 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9789384049553

Book preview

My First Encounter

It was a weekday in August 2009. The weather was dull. I was back home, in Mangalore after nearly a year. And as usual during my vacation– I volunteered at the St. Vincent De Ferrer Church (the Valencia parish) as an organist for the choir. It was a service that I loved to render; more for the satisfaction it gave me than for what others would generally call ‘God’s blessings’. And plus with working parents, a younger sister going to school and no friends to hang out with, what better could I do at home?

That morning, as always, I locked my house at 9:30. On my way out I wished the gurkar (headman) of my ward (a sub division of the parish), who was washing clothes in his back yard. After that, I visited another neighbouring, an old and grumpy retired sailor who had poor relationship with the world outside. For some unexplainable reason, he liked me and expected me to visit him every day. I felt sad for the man. On the one hand, his poor health kept him from going outside, and on the other, he was a recluse. Therefore I felt good about my daily visit to the lonely soul.

After that, my next pit stop was the Church. I used to keep my head down and walk at a brisk pace, intentionally avoiding everyone who was likely to greet me along the way. I never liked people generally. They were rather very intrusive. ‘When did you come down?’ ‘How are your studies going on?’ ‘Which college do you study in?’ ‘How is your mother?’ were the normal charade of questions that greeted me on my way to the Church. I had become so annoyed with them that I usually ran away or changed my path the moment I saw anyone familiar, just to avoid any conversation.

That particular morning things were different. The roads were rather empty. It was quiet and peaceful. I put my head down and merrily started pacing towards the Church. It was a ten minute walk from my house. Half way through I had to pass by this plant nursery called Kings Garden. I was never fond of the ornamental plants that were displayed outside, but was rather fascinated with the heap of red soil that was parked right outside the gate. My thoughts always wandered, searching for the source of this soil. Red soil was common to Mangalore but this soil was different. It was rather too red. I always thought of some conspiracy theory behind the colour of the soil. This particular day, again my mind was absorbed in thought about the red soil when a voice startled me. It said, "you must be Royston?’

For the nervous and reserved person that I was, the voice sent a cold shiver down my spine. My vocal chords had deceived me yet again and I had to nod my head in a rather embarrassing manner. I slowly lifted my head and turned right from where I heard the voice. A man in his early sixties sat on a porch in the veranda of his house. As he looked at me eager for me to respond, I recognized him as Eric Ozario. My whole generation had grown up hearing the name of Eric Ozario. He was a legend living next door. His musical brilliance was par excellence and I had special admiration for a few of his unconventional compositions. He was widely feared especially by children for being a strict disciplinarian who never tolerated mistakes. And the most popular story that parents in my community often told children to make them fear God is that Eric once in a fit of rage and arrogance, stopped the bishop’s mass and even in a separate incident called the Cardinal Internuncio (Vatican’s diplomatic envoy to India) a ‘bastard’. As a result, God punished him by dismissing him from his bank job and ostracizing him from the Church. And for every child that grew up with me, this story forced us to worship and adore God.

To simply put it, the man was a living scandal – something for people to talk about and debate. And while I was busy organizing these thoughts in my mind, I could only think of one thing, What does he want from me?

The moment I responded and started walking towards him, he greeted me and enquired about my book ‘Shall We Save The Earth?’ In the year 2007, I had written this book with the intension of changing the world and making it a better place, a dream too big even for a dreamer. The book flopped, sales closed after a few days and nobody spoke about it after that. And to hear its name being uttered outside the walls of my house – was a shocker in itself! While I was dazed trying to make sense of what was going on, Eric surprised me by requesting me to provide him a copy of the book. Confused, I agreed and continued walking towards the Church. It took me another two hours to make sense of the encounter with the man. It was as though I had entered a different world for those three minutes.

After completing my commitments at the Church, I rushed to my mother’s school, which was about three kilometres from the Church. I was in a trance, could not think straight and had no clue why I was going there, to meet my mother. The bottom line was that Eric Ozario had asked me a copy of my book! It was not something that happens every day. It was as though the sun had risen from the west and the winds of change had arrived!

That afternoon I convinced my mother to take the rest of the day off and take me to Ideals – a popular ice-cream chain of Mangalore. The whole time we were there, I went on bragging about my three-minute encounter with the man. My mother too was interested and excited that I was being recognized by a man of that calibre. But after a while, even she was irritated. By sundown, the excitement faded away and I was struck with reality. I had to arrange a copy for Eric.

It was two years since the book had been published. Arranging a copy overnight for him seemed like a ‘Mission Impossible’. The problem was this book was published in London and it was not available at any local book stores. But then there is always a solution to life’s problems. And for this seemingly insurmountable task, the simple solution was to give him the only ‘Author Copy’ I had. It seemed the right thing to do. And without any second thoughts, my mother neatly dusted the book and put it in a hand cover.

I couldn’t sleep the whole night. Many questions kept pounding me. ‘Will he like it?’ ‘What will he comment?’ ‘Will he simply read it and return it without reacting?’ ‘Will he shout at me for the poor language?’ I was more scared than nervous.

The next morning I was anxious to be on time. He had given me an appointment at 8:00. And being late was not an option, especially after the numerous stories I had heard about him reprimanding people for being late! I left home half an hour early even though he lived around 15 houses away from mine. A paranoid person that I was, taking chances was a strict no.

I reached his house, handed over the book and without talking much, quickly raced back home. The rest of the day was normal. I went about my usual routine.

That evening, when I saw Eric walking through the gate into our yard and towards the door, I panicked. I quickly cleaned the living room, took all the stuff lying on the sofa and dumped it in the bedroom. He came in, firmly shook my hand, hugged me and proclaimed his admiration for my book. The next few minutes he sat there praising me and congratulating me on my achievement. Before leaving he invited me to spend the next day with him. I do not recall anything he said during those few minutes, again I was in a trance – just nodding my blessed head to everything he said, acknowledging every gesture he made.

The following day I reached on time to meet him. We sat in his car. He said to me, Listen to me, and just listen and went on to tell me the story of his life, his fights and struggles, his movements and campaigns, his ups and downs.

After 3 hours of continuous listening, I silently exclaimed, wow! I was impressed. I was mesmerized. Those three hours changed my life. I was inspired. I was transformed!

After that there was no stopping us. Our journey for the last 6 years has been remarkable. I went on to conduct numerous environmental awareness campaigns, initiate movements and even write another book titled, ‘Wake Up Mangalore… Or Be Damned!’– All thanks to his diehard patronage and support.

And then, one evening as I was thinking about this journey, it occurred to me that if those three hours that I spent with him could inspire me to achieve so much in just 6 years, how many more would it not inspire, if his life story was told?

With this intention in mind, I unfold before you – the life of my mentor and guru Eric Alexander Ozario.

Hope it inspires you too.

Royston Fernandes

Mangalore, May 18, 2014

Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Grateful Acknowledgements

My First Encounter

Map of the Jeppu Compound

1. The Ghetto Diaries

2. Prospero & Bernadetta The Tulu Parents

3. Pangs Of Hunger

4. In Search Of Life’s Mission

5. The Peacock Matures.... A Tiger Emerges

6. The Crossing Over

7. The Litmus Test

8. Dharna At The Bishop’s House

9. That Christmas, Eric’s God Died!

10. And Then, An Angel Appeared

11. Charity! Robbing Peter, To Pay Paul?

12. One War, Many Battles

13. The Innovative Struggle

14. Religion v/s Workers

15. Both Sides Up The Ante

16. The Word That Clinched The Issue

17. Who Owns The Jeppu Compound?

18. All For An Opportunity…

19. Workers Of The World, Unite!

20. The Second Crossing Over

21. Music, Eric’s First Love

22. The Birth Of The ‘Mandd Sobhann’ Concept

23. Eric Ozario – The Innovator

24. Eric Ozario – The Organiser

25. Eric Ozario – The Campaigner

26. Eric Ozario – The Musician

27. Eric Ozario – The Leader

28. Eric Ozario – The Fighter

29. Eric Ozario – The Teacher

30. Eric Ozario – The Promoter

31. And He Dreams On…

32. Impressions…About Eric

Royston Fernandes – The Author

1) SHANTI KENDRA / HOTEL MANGALA BUILDING

2) MARIA JAYANTI HALL /COCONUT-BANANA GROVE

3) SEMINARY PIGGERY / HOUSE WHERE ERIC WAS BORN

4) ST JOSEPH’S SEMINARY & CHURCH / JEPPU SEMINARY & CHURCH

5) BOYS ORPHANAGE / NOW DEMOLISHED

6) SEMINARY GROUND / FORMERLY ORPHANAGE GROUND

7) ST JOSEPH’S ASYLUM INDUSTRIAL WORKSHOP / JEPPU WORKSHOP

8) BOY’S SCHOOL /NOW DEFUNCT

9) DESTITUTE HOME / KORAGA CHAPEL

10) SISTER’S CHAPEL

11) PRASHANT NIVAS / GIRL’S ORPHANAGE

12) INFANT MARY’S SCHOOL

13) OLIVET MANSION

14) THE FIRST WALL / ERECTED-DEMOLISHED-REERECTED

15) THE SECOND WALL

16) THE THIRD WALL

17) THE COMPOUND GROUND

18) ST JOSEPH’S NATAK SANGH /JEPPU CLUB

The Ghetto Diaries

Please refer to the map to visualize and place the geography of the Jeppu Compound.

What makes a man?

Ever since I started writing professionally at the age of 17, I have been around people – who have made a name for themselves in society. They include philanthropists, businessmen, planters and activists – all successful men and women, who have been kind to me and my cause – the environment.

When I took up the task of writing this book, I was confronted with a very strange but important question – What makes a man?

Curious, I went around, asking my successful friends as to what made them the personalities they are today. I got diverse answers. Few claimed to be ‘self-made’, a school of thought that I did not subscribe to; a few others owed everything to their parents and a few more attributed it to their Alma Mater. But, I was not convinced. I am 23 now, quite successful with two published books to my credit and two more in the pipeline, but even I was baffled with this question.

After a few days of pondering, I gave up and approached Eric, the protagonist of this book and asked him – ‘What made Eric Alexander Ozario?’

He answered, My genes, the circumstances I was born into, my surroundings, the influences, the experiences – have all made me what I am.

The ‘Jeppu Compound’ is a 40 acre hillock, overlooking the slopes of Majila. It is bordered by the Silva Road (Hotel Mangala road to those familiar with Mangalore) to the north, the Nandigudda Hindu Cemetery to the south, Father Muller road to the east and the Bishop Victor road to the west. Historical documents state that a rich Jain landlord donated this piece of property to European Carmelite Missionaries who wanted to start an asylum and related charitable institutions for the upliftment of the deprived and the downtrodden of society.

At the centre of the compound stands an imposing landmark of Mangalore – the St. Joseph’s Inter-diocesan Seminary building (popularly known as the Jeppu Seminary). Built in 1879 by the Italian Jesuits, when they took over the compound from the Carmelites, this iconic building is an example of genuine Italian architecture.

The Jeppu Compound essentially consisted of the following sub entities – (1) the Jeppu Seminary, (2) the Jeppu Ghetto (popularly known as the Jeppu Compound), (3) the Boys’ Orphanage run by the priests and the St. Joseph’s Asylum Higher Elementary School, (4) the Sisters of Charity run Girls’ Orphanage (now called Prashant Nivas), Infant Mary’s Higher Primary School, a Convent, Destitute/Old Age Home, two Chapels – one for the sisters and the other for the destitute and ‘Koraga’ (Dalit) converts and (5) the St. Joseph’s Asylum Industrial Workshop (Jeppu Workshop) run by the priests.

On either side of the Jeppu Seminary were housing blocks that formed the Jeppu Ghetto. To the left of the Seminary building, literally abutting this complex and up to the Seminary gate, stood long parallel rows of houses with bamboo supported tile roofs which due to ageing bent to form a wavy shape.

These poorly maintained mud houses sheltered the families of people who were converted to Christianity, on the pretext of saving their souls. Many families living in the Ghetto were the result of marital alliances between a girl from the girls’ orphanage and a boy from the boys’ orphanage. Most belonged to the lowest sections of society and came from impoverished backgrounds.

The housing blocks further continued to the right of the Seminary, where there were mostly independent houses. On this side there were far lesser houses compared to those to the left and this area was thickly wooded, boasting of a rich biodiversity.

But today if you take a walk here or zoom in on this area using Google maps, you would be shocked to see that there no longer exist any long lanes of houses, except for a few independent ones to the left of the Seminary complex or any trees to the right!

What happened to these houses and the hundred odd families that once lived here?

What led to the destruction of this biodiversity?

These were precisely the same questions that I asked myself when I noticed this anomaly between the past and the present.

As a prelude to answering this question, there is one more question, the answer to which would help understand the entire scenario of the Jeppu compound:

Who has authority over the Jeppu compound?

The houses inside the Jeppu Ghetto were built as a part of the rehabilitation process for the converted families and were owned by the Manager of the Jeppu Workshop (who was always a priest). He collected a monthly rent from its inhabitants. Therefore, legally, the Manager has jurisdiction over the Ghetto. The Workshop which stands inside the compound comes naturally under the authority of the Workshop Manager. The Boys’ Orphanage and School too were presided over by the Manager of the Workshop.

The Sisters’ of Charity have authority over the area in which their institutions – the Convent, the Destitute Home, two Chapels, the Girls’ Orphanage and the Infant Mary’s School stand. The Seminary comes under the jurisdiction of the Rector.

The entire history of the Jeppu Compound can be divided into four phases. The first phase was the Carmelites receiving land from the Jain landlord and starting a seminary and the orphanages. The second phase is the Italian Jesuits taking over from the Carmelites and setting up the Ghetto and the Workshop. The third phase is the Indian Jesuits inheriting the mantle and continuing their priestly authority over the area. The final phase -and to be honest, the decay phase - of the compound is when the Diocese of Mangalore and its priests under his ‘lordship’ the Bishop of Mangalore took control and slowly started shutting down various charitable institutions and converting the set-up into a commercial establishment.

The people of the Jeppu compound came from an economically and socially marginalised background. But their condition wasn’t any better inside the Ghetto; it remained pretty much the same except that now they had a roof over their heads, had fancy names and surnames, and were called ‘Christians’.

In the early 20th century, poverty was a starkly painted portrait all over the place. It was a God-forsaken place – dirty and rotten. An unbearable stench from human excreta and hog faeces that littered all over the place, greeted anyone who entered the Ghetto. Pigs roamed freely and merrily feasted on human excrement and the ‘dadd’ddal’ fruit (a large green fibrous fruit that was found in abundance in the Ghetto). It was a horrid place to grow up in. Alcoholism and domestic violence were rampant. People were cantankerous with fights, assaults and abuses being a daily affair.

Joyce Ozario (Eric’s wife) who grew up inside the Ghetto says, It was horrible growing up there. I was shielded by my brothers who forbade me from interacting with others. I am grateful to them for doing that. Today, even if someone gave me a crore of rupees I will not go back into the compound. It is not just Joyce, but a few more of my sources shared the same disenchantment about the compound with me.

Though the Manager of the Workshop was the sole authority who presided over the affairs of the Ghetto, different Church offices have exercised their right over the compound from time to time.

The Ghetto that stood, abutting the royal premises, to the left and the front of the Seminary, was an eyesore to a rector of the Seminary. His reign can be traced to the 2nd phase of the compound’s history. He was so disgusted with the picture of a putrescent Ghetto in front of his regal complex, that he ordered its immediate removal. Upon his orders (which the Manager of the Workshop did not question, even though it overrode his jurisdiction), a large portion of the erstwhile long rows of houses were cleared to make way for what now stands in its place – the Mariya Jayanti Hall, the coconut / banana grove, the piggery and the cowshed. In fact the house that Eric was born in was where the Seminary piggery is now.

What happened to the scores of families that lived here? – Not much is known, but there are many conflicting stories concerning their displacement and lack of resettlement.

Every orphan that was brought into the premises of the Asylum was baptized and given a western Catholic name (many of which, their bearers couldn’t even pronounce). The Catholics who then lived in Mangalore sported Portuguese surnames such as Albuquerque, Fernandes, Dcruz, Pereira, Pinto, D’Souza, Rodrigues etc. The Jesuits who converted these orphans assigned Italian and Spanish surnames – Fontes, Ozario, Rebimbus, Netto, Spinoza, Ornello etc. which were quite different from those of the Catholics living outside the Ghetto.

These ‘strange’ and ‘funny’ surnames given to the residents of the Ghetto (listed in the box below), turned out to be easy identification of their background and were the butt of ridicule. Thus two new terms were coined and two sections demarcated in the apparently ‘casteless’ Catholics of Mangalore – ‘porno kristanv’ meaning old Christian and ‘novo kristanv’ meaning new Christian. Such distinction and discrimination continues even a century later to this day.

In Mangalore, there thrived a unique tribal community called the ‘Koragas’. They are known to be the aborigines of the locality. They belonged to the lowest caste of society, spoke their own language and had their own culture, quite unique and different from those around them. Traditionally they were basket weavers. Culturally they were rich and practiced their own form of folk art – dancing to the beats of a dhol (a big drum). The missionaries who observed their plight felt sorry for them, and in the name of stopping their ‘devil’ worship and saving their souls, converted them to Christianity.

They were removed from their natural surroundings and relocated to the Jeppu Compound. Now the priests started playing foul. They built a separate Ghetto within the Ghetto for the Koragas. They were forbidden from attending prayer services at the Jeppu Church and a separate Chapel was built for them (this Chapel exists even today, situated within the Destitute Home and is used by the inmates of the home). As if that was not enough, they were barred from playing and dancing to the beats of their drums and were prohibited from speaking their tongue.

For the ‘Koraga Christians’, Christianity was just a nametag. They remained Koragas in the eyes of the world. While the rest of Mangalore’s Christians discriminated against those from the compound calling them ‘novo kristanv’, those within the compound discriminated against the Koragas. Quite pitiable as it sounds, this practice of discrimination continues unabated. An entire tribe uprooted from their language, culture and traditions; not rehabilitated economically or culturally, lost everything they stood for, expressed their disenchantment in the form of alcoholism and drug addiction, which is rampant among them, even today.

The Italian priests converted the old seminary building (in which the Carmelites first ran the show) into the boys’ orphanage. It stood to the right of the towering new seminary complex. The entire set up was multipurpose – served as both the orphanage and the school for many years. Behind the building was a well that bore unusually sweet water. An old source of mine, who studied at the orphanage school, stands witness to this fact. He says, Never have I, in my whole life, drunk water that was so sweet

Behind the orphanage was a large ground used by inmates to play games. The orphanage complex was later expanded to house a larger school complex – with the influx of students from outside the orphanage (mainly from the Ghetto). Sadly none of this exists today. The Diocesan priests who took over the compound during the fourth phase quietly shut down the orphanage and the school. The orphanage building has made way for a ground which is used today by seminarians to play volley ball. A small portion of the erstwhile school complex that stands in ruins is the only indicator of the once busy school that thrived here. The major portion of the orphanage and school building is today used by a private company to run their automobile service station. The playground once used by the orphanage children is today rented out for commercial purposes by the Seminary.

The Sisters of Charity built the girls’ orphanage and started a school for the girls around the same time. Both these institutions established for the orphan girls, have withstood the test of time and continue to provide their services to this day.

During the third phase of the history of the compound, came a period when the entire situation deteriorated rather rapidly. It was a period of extreme frustration and chaos within the compound – a catalyst to what otherwise until then was a slow degradation process.

Fr Manuel, a Jesuit priest, was posted as the Parish Priest of Jeppu. Manuel had quite a reputation and character – a paradox to the priestly duties he executed. He was more like an irresponsible prince who had suddenly inherited the throne.

Though the Parish Priest of Jeppu had no authority over the properties of the compound, Manuel, an ambitious fellow, smelt easy money in the large timber reserves of the Ghetto, and cleared much of it. My sources tell me that most of the money through the sale of this timber went into his private coffers. He levelled a large portion of the once bosky land and sold portions of the compound to outsiders. He even planned to further develop the compound as his private realty venture and dumped truckloads of stones on the levelled land. The people of the compound, who until then, were silently watching him illegally grab their land, launched a daring agitation against his villainous authority and saved this property – which today is known as the ‘compound