The Right Choice

By Xlibris US

The year is 1510 and 10 yr. old Krishna and his friends are clamouring through the sand dunes and coastline near their village in the Konkan region of India, called Goa. Suddenly they spy tall, strange ships sailing towards the coast. This is the story of the Portuguese arrival and conquest of this area of India and how the lives of Krishna, his family and friends are affected over the next 60 years, as the Portuguese claim the territory for their own and instill their own traditions and seek to convert the typically Hindu natives to the new religion Catholicism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499067736

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A S THEY CLIMBED the top of the hill, Krishna’s mouth opened in wonder at the sight before him. As far as his eyes could see there was the sea, shimmering in the early morning sun. Before it lay a broad expanse of beach, white sand, dunes here and there and coconut trees at irregular intervals. This was the beach he had heard about and longed to see ever since he had been told of its existence two weeks earlier. His friends, Balaram and Rajendra, were equally amazed and let out whoops of glee. But for Krishna, the sea and the beach seemed divine and he walked to it respectfully and in awe.

Soon the three boys were marching along the beach in the direction of a large hill which seemed miles away but which beckoned mysteriously. Balaram at 12yrs was t he oldest; his brother Rajendra and Krishna were 10. For two weeks earlier in the village of Shivanagar, they had talked constantly of going to the great beach and the huge sea. Finally their respective parents had agreed to let them go with a friend who could accompany them three quarters of the way. They had started out shortly after dawn and walked for over an hour to reach the beach. The March sun had made them sweaty and tired. But now as they frolicked in the water they were reborn. They jumped up and down at water’s edge, running back and forth with the waves. The sea felt cool, soothing and playful. They had never felt so close to the blue sky which seemed to envelop them even at the water’s edge. They walked and skipped in gleeful abandon with the foam between their toes scarcely aware that their ancestors had done the same.

Half an hour later, the mountain came into focus and they began to see its outline more clearly. Almost immediately they noticed a fishing boat edging to the shore and about eight men from the boat jumping out to pull it onto the beach. The men were clad in kashties (loincloths) and were muscular and rough-looking. Some of them smoked cheroots. They rapidly placed small planks of wood under the boat’s keel along the width of the shore to move the boat to higher ground. As they pushed the boat out of the water they cried in unison: Heh Yo, Heh Yo. They also angled their brown bodies in the white sand to provide the maximum thrust to the push and kept changing positions constantly with the first switching with the last. Finally the boat rested on the safe upper part of the beach.

There must have been a village close by because suddenly a group of men, women and children descended on the fishermen and the boat. The catch was now unloaded. The three boys had never seen such a multitude and variety of fish: mounds of mackerel and crab, shrimp and pomfret, bass and showtiyo, a few eels, an octopus and lots of shell fish. Discussions and arguments broke out between the fishermen and the newcomers but gradually the catch was distributed and paid for.

Krishna, Balaram and Rajendra had never seen this process before and were overwhelmed with the way everybody knew what to do and how to act. They understood that if their parents could afford it some of this fish would reach their houses in the village they came from. They marvelled at where the fishermen had fished and how for them this must be a daily ritual that had existed for hundreds of years. They knew this would not happen, but they would have loved to sail with the fishermen when they went out to sea in their lovely little boats.

But for now they still had to get to the hill. After a short walk the beach ended and a creek separated it from the hill. Being low tide the boys were able to wade through but in the middle the water almost covered them. When they reached the hill they found the faint markings of a path − like a goat’s trail that led up the hill. Climbing was difficult because of the loose gravel. At one point Krishna almost lost his balance but Balaram rescued him. There were sheer drops of thirty feet and more to jagged rocks on which the sea pounded mercilessly.

Forty minutes later they were at the top. The exhilaration Krishna felt was even greater than gazing at the ocean for the first time earlier that morning. He felt he was on top of the universe. As far as he could see there was the boundless sea heaving and cresting, waving and inviting. A flock of birds were playing Follow the leader in the distance and racing across the sky in dazzling pattern. The sun was up but not yet high. It was warm, it was pleasant, and it was heavenly. Every now and then a breeze would spring up in one corner of the sea and come rushing at them fanning the boys’ excitement until they thought they would burst with joy. Behind them were strips of land and beaches and then yet another hill in the distance.

It was time for their reward − and they were hungry. Opening the pouches of cloth they had tied round their waists, and which they had held over the heads when wading through the creek, each took out chappatis covered with a light coat of ghee. Carefully they ate every crumb. Next course was the mango which was peeled until the yellow flesh was uncovered. They ate the pulp happily and sucked at the core (seed) until it would yield no more juice. With one accord they threw the seeds into the sea. Surprisingly, Rajendra’s went the furthest. And now for the small piece of jaggery which which their mothers had packed. It was such bliss sucking on that hard piece of natural candy that they instinctively closed their eyes and lay down under a short stunted tree.

Krishna was almost asleep when he heard Balaram say excitedly: Hey, look there. Both Krishna and Rajendra jumped up and looked in the direction of the sea that Balaram was pointing at. They gazed in wonder at the sight of the grandest and biggest boat they had seen. It was colourful, it had flags, it had a lot of equipment and it moved at a good speed. They could barely make out some men on the deck. These men were dressed quite differently from the local fishermen. Whose boat was it? Where had it come from? Where was it going? What did it contain? Would they be able to see it close? Had it come to this beach before? What did the letters on the prow mean? Of course they didn’t know the answers, but it was something to tell their parents and friends. Little did they know the significance of what they had seen. The year was 1510!

CHAPTER 2

W HEN THEY GOT back to the village the sun had set but it was till bright. Their parents, relatives and friends awaited them. The boys could hardly contain themselves in the descriptions of the beach, the sea and the mountain. How they had to pay the ferryman to take them back over the creek because of the hightide. The greatest piece of news, the mysterious ship, they kept for the last. There seemed to be some consternation among the elders when they described the ship. They noticed that Krishna’s grandpa was somewhat upset and kept talking to Krishna’s father in muffled tones.

The village consisted of a hundred or so huts stretched out in no particular order over a kilometre’s distance as close to the main road as possible. The main road which was used by ox wagons was dusty and rutted in parts. It was covered by red mud which was available in abundance from the nearby hills. The main road took them to the big city of Mapusa on the one side and over the hills on the other. After the huts lay the greenest of green fields which belonged to the village community and which they tilled but did not own. Nine-tenths of the harvest belonged to the villager whose family tilled the plot, and one-tenth was given to the village council as rent. In addition each family owned the land on which they had built their houses and also the trees and plots of vegetables and animals they raised. Towards one side of the village the huts were smaller and poorer. These belonged to those who were of a lower caste than the Brahmins, Kshatriyas and Vaishyas who tilled the fields. These lower castes performed functions such as cobblers, toddy tappers, labourers, cleaners and liquour makers. They generally existed to provide service to the other castes, especially the Brahmins.

On one side of the main road stood a temple that was dedicated to Shiva. The temple was generally a lively social centre. The faithful went there every morning to pray and receive the priest’s blessing. They made offerings to their deity and asked for favours. The temple provided great solace and comfort. The priests were always available and offered timely counsel. They seemed knowledgeable about every aspect of the human existence.

Krishna awoke next morning at cock crow and burst out of bed. The beach still filled his mind — the length, the white sand, the dunes, the rushing sea, the swaying palms. He couldn’t believe he could be so happy. To think that that beach, that sea, and perhaps that mountain had been there so many hundreds of years boggled his mind. What had they not seen, what had they not heard? He kept thinking of wars, and fights and arguments and different peoples coming and going, kings, nobles, horses, fighters. There was so much that the beach could tell if it could talk. And the sea, that magnificent body of water which never stopped and had such changing moods, with its long waves, high waves and wild waves. What places did it also visit? What shores did it also wash? Were those other beaches similar to the one he had seen? Did they have different birds, flowers, trees?

His mind raced along as he skipped through his morning chores. He would never forget that sea. As long as he lived he would always want to be near the sea. The sea was his friend, a good friend. It would never let him down. He would always be at peace when near it. It made him happy!

Krishna’s thoughts were interrupted by his father’s voice: Do you want to come to the market with me?

The big market?

Yes. Today is the day it’s open. I’ve to buy a few things and you could give me a hand. That is if you’re not tired after your trip yesterday.

Tired! Who could be tired if there was a chance to see the great big market at Mapusa.

So Krishna sat on the small donkey and his father walked all of the five miles to the big market. It seemed everyone was going to market. From villages Krishna never knew existed, men, women and children came trudging out — on foot, on assorted animals and in oxcarts.

The market seemed so huge; Krishna wondered how anyone could find anything or anyone in the sprawling, noisy, sweaty madness. But his father understood the system and moved from section to section with confidence, buying this and that. How do you know where to go? Krishna asked.

It’s simple when you’ve been here a few times; you see, fruits and vegetables are here: hens, chickens, goats are there. On this side one has pots, pans, dishes and other things for the house. That is a row for cloth and ready made clothes. The next row is for metal instruments, for the garden, for the house, for the fields and so on. Once you understand the system, it’s easy.

Krishna noticed his father seldom paid the first price that was asked and rarely walked away without buying what he wanted. He saw that both buyer and seller used an easy banter as if aware of each other’s game and enjoying it. No one got excited or angry though now and then some one put on an act or show which seemed to cause much hilarity.

At a small restaurant he heard his father mention the ship he had seen the day before and again there was an alarm in the eyes and voices. Others too had seen the ship, some mentioned more than one. They were unlike any they had heard of or seen. Certainly not Arab ships that brought horses and took spice in return. Certainly not the sultan’s ships. Whose were they?

At school the next day Krishna tried hard to contain his excitement about what he had seen on his visit to the beach. School consisted of a number of benches in a courtyard generally under the shade of a banyan tree, though some students had instruction in the verandah of the big hut that was school. After reading passages from the Vedas and the Upanishads the teacher, a middle-aged man, asked questions to see if the boys understood. Some of the tales were full of meaning to the teacher. He grew excited and emotional as he tried to explain words and sentences. Krishna could not quite get the picture that the teacher drew. It seemed so far away. But it sounded grand and Krishna was proud of what his ancestors had written even though he could not visualize the author, and the teacher did not know much about his life except that he had lived a long time ago.

Krishna loved arithmetic. Now the class was doing multiplication. After the teacher explained the steps, each boy was told to work out six problems on his slate. The teacher went around checking the work. Krishna received a pat on his head for his good work and was pleased.

After a recess, the boys were asked to copy a page of text from a big book that the teacher had. There were ten boys who sat or stood around the book to try and copy the characters written in the Halakannada script. The teacher walked around pointing to mistakes. The boy at fault quickly erased it from the slate and recopied to the teacher’s satisfaction.

Finally it was time for gym. Each boy was given an exerciser which consisted of a short piece of bamboo with a chain connected to each end. The boys had to lift the instrument from the ground in unison and then perform rhythmic exercises with it facing one way and then another according to the teacher’s calls. The actions were accompanied by shouts as the chain was pulled from one position to the other. If the movement was done smoothly and in perfect timing it produced a clean strong clanging sound. If one boy was late the sound was not sharp and the teacher looked sternly at the offender. Krishna enjoyed the exercise, the yelling, the smooth movements and the group exhilaration. It made his small muscles tingle and he could feel his chest heaving in the heat of the warm day.

- - - -

It would not be long before the rains came. The village women busied themselves putting aside provisions for the long monsoon months. Spices of all kinds were spread out on mats in the common area in front of a group of houses. The mats, held in place by rocks and stones, contained chillies, nuts, kernels, peels, slices of mango, coconuts and varied skins. The strong sun beat down on the mats and their contents. The curing process went on day after day until the owner felt the job had been done. Amazingly all the women staked out their little piece of the village compound without conflict. They seemed bound by a common good: it was also a necessity if their families were to survive the rainy and winter seasons. One woman generally looked after the items on the mats or in the containers in case any animals got inquisitive or hungry. If the weather should suddenly take a turn for the worse — this happened occasionally — there was a common alarm heard and felt by all the participants who quickly emerged to protect their possessions. All this took place quietly, efficiently and without fanfare. It was a most colourful sight to see greens, browns, blues, oranges and blacks spread out in the blazing sun.

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CHAPTER 3

W HEN KRISHNA WAS 12 he went with his father Vishnu to a meeting of the gaunkars. He had been accepted as a gaunkar having reached the age of puberty and had a vote along with the other gaunkars from the village. He felt very proud and privileged to be a member of this important decision-making body. The meeting was held in the verandah of the temple shortly after the evening meal. The fifty or so gaunkars had gathered with the sole purpose of giving vent to their fury that their ancestral village land was being taken away from them without their agreement by the Muslim rulers who had their capital in Bijapur. The gaunkars felt that it was enough they were paying extra taxes to Adil Shah because of the Muslim conquest. They were now being deprived of choice lands without much compensation through notices issued by the Muslim authorities.

There was a general lack of direction to the meeting even though the chief Gaunkar reminded them on occasion about the purpose of the meeting. No one had a solution. From the information available none of the neighbouring villages had been able to deal with the problem effectively. There were no Hindu rulers nearby that could definitely stop the greed of the Muslims. Someone mentioned that he had heard of foreign ships from Europe, other than those of the Arab traders, coming to Cochin. Nobody had seen the European foreigners personally. There were rumours that they were traders who had powerful ships and able-bodied men and ammunition which would be a match for the Muslims. The raja of Cochin had allowed them to build a fort in Cochin and was happy with the traders. They paid good prices for their purchases and had many new and interesting things to sell to the raja’s court.

What was important was that they had fought for the raja on a number of occasions and had helped him win against nearby aggressors. It soon became apparent to the gaunkars that an effective solution would be to get the feringhees (foreigners) to help them. They agreed that they would do everything possible to get this assistance. Certain gaunkars were asked to make contact with other important persons in Mapusa and in other villages. Money was allocated for this purpose. The villagers who were assigned to act were told to keep their operations secret and to report back in two months. The vote was unanimous.

Krishna was quite excited by the turn of events and by the seriousness with which the ownership of the village lands was being discussed. He was filled with a monumental pride in belonging to the village and these people. He felt their passion in its history and its significance in their lives. He blessed his ancestors who had first cleared the land and made it possible for his forefathers and their families to live there. He resolved that when he grew up he would fight to keep the lands. He felt like standing up and cheering at the determined attitude of the villagers to resist the usurpation of their lands and their rights without adequate compensation and rewards. He remembered the ship that he had seen four years ago and felt that the foreigners would help his village against its Muslim oppressors.

It wasn’t long before the news hit the village. The Portuguese had invaded the island of Goa (Tiswadi). For days the suspense was agonizing. Life was on hold. The villagers grew more and more apprehensive with each report from the capital. The Portuguese had laid waste the fort which guarded the city and were destroying and killing. They were super-charged in their zeal to capture Tiswadi. They seemed like men possessed. They were a frightening, yet dazzling sight. Their uniforms and weaponry more colourful and more potent than those of Adil Shah’s forces. They were unstoppable and they strode like conquerors, their eyes, swords and helmets flashing with fire.

Fire, fire, everywhere. The Portuguese seized and then burnt. For a while it seemed no one was safe. Then it became clear. They were after the Muslims or Moors and wanted to eradicate them. Muslim men, women and children were slain without mercy. It was an orgy of killing. Their fury had no bounds, no compassion. They seemed to feel a divine obligation to wipe out the Moors — something that affected their psyches and had built up inside them for years. There was no stopping the flow of the Portuguese volcano. For three days and nights their soldiers and sailors kept the juggernaut moving. The rivers and lands ran red with the blood of the unfortunate Moors. The Hindus were spared.

One man’s name kept emerging all the time after the great victory when Goa was captured. Alfonso de Alburquerque. The Portuguese soldiers and sailors worshipped him, the natives feared him. He was now the ruler of Goa. The city awaited his every act with bated breath. The villagers cautiously grouped and re-grouped awaiting some indication of their fate. There were meetings and consultations and ears to the ground. Would the volcano strike again? Would their lives be next? What would the Portuguese do now? What did they want? Why were they here? How would this affect their families in years to come?

As the months rolled by, it was apparent the Portuguese were in Tiswadi to stay. They did not hesitate to exercise lordship and were forceful in their control. They could not be appeased easily. They had their way. They made sure that their prize, the island of Goa, was protected and they acted as benefactors to the Hindus.

Very soon the population in the villages in the island became aware of new words, new practices and a new way of doing things. They were also aware of the political changes that were taking place and gradually they came to realize and size up the stranger in their