Goa Diaries 1
© Souza & Paul (Central Library Archives)
Being in Goa in the monsoons is always uplifting. The pouring rain every few hours, the luxuriant greenery growing wildly, the sea all grey and foamy and the absence of shacks and tourist paraphernalia makes it my favourite time of the year to visit.
The village I live in Goa is Reis Magos, a short stretch of homes and a village square with the Mandovi and Nerul rivers bordering it. The Reis Magos Fort sits at one end of the village next to the Three Kings Church. The coastline faces the Mandovi as it pours into the Arabian Sea.
This stretch is my favourite walking spot, when I am in Goa. In the winter the sea sparkles in the morning sunrise or turns magically golden in the evening. In the monsoons it’s a painting of grim, poetic clouds and lashing waves. I walk or jog almost every day — seven kilometres from home to the fishing village at Coco beach and back and even after eight years of living in this neighbourhood, I haven’t tired of the road, the waterline, the dogs who chase me (now I have learnt to look menacing with a stick in hand) and the quiet of the neighbourhood.
When I walk here, I meet local ladies returning from church, the odd fisherman carrying a stingray, clusters of amateurs trying their luck with their fishing lines and Sunday trucks parked at the corner, selling fresh beef. I love watching the ritual of Goans buying their Sunday beef cuts after church, followed by newspaper wrapped warm poi-bread from the cycle-mounted poi-vendor. Most of the avenue is deserted and I can run or walk at my pace, happily distanced from most human beings. The sleeping dogs get used to me after the first few days and can barely be bothered to cock an ear as I jog by. Some days I run up the slopes onto the ramparts of the Reis Magos Fort and can get a squirrel’s-eye view of the water and the church cemetery next door. It seems idyllic and dream-like to be in a place like that — the city slicker that I have always been and I never forget to send up a prayer of gratitude to Whomever has facilitated my periodic migration to these areas.
The historical landmarks of Reis Magos have interesting stories attached. The Fort, now beautifully restored and conserved, dates back to 1551, built by the Portugese after they conquered the area — Bardez, in 1541. Its older than Fort Aguada, the laterite walls rising almost on the banks of the Mandovi estuary. In fact the fort was constructed to protect this entry into the estuary and is the narrowest point at the mouth of the Mandovi. In its heydays, viceroys and other VIP’s who arrived from Lisbon were hosted here. Apparently the Reis Magos Fort was crucial in defending the area from the relentless Maratha onslaught and it remained unconquered. There were 33 guns on the premises, some still on display, that defended the fort.
Originally, the fort used to be a small military outpost built in the 15thcentury by the King of Bijapur, Adil Shah. In 1510, Afonso de Albuquerque tried to capture it but failed. Later with the help of the Portugese, he succeeded and went on to build the fort in stages.
After the Marathas were thwarted the British army took over the fort. They had captured Goa from the Portugese and Reis Magos Fort became a garrison, housing British soldiers between 1798 and 1813. From 1900, it became a jail till 1993. For the next few years the fort was completely abandoned and the elements took over. The structure started crumbling ignored till 2008, when the government decided to restore it. Architect Gerard da Cunha provided the redesign and the former Portugese bastion was converted into a cultural centre.
I have wandered inside this fort in my neighbourhood a few times and it’s a little gem hidden on this headland. Overlooking the estuary which is dotted with rocks and has the occasional barge or cruise ship floating by, the view from the terrace is splendid. Panjim is right across and the new bridge is vissble. In the distance one can spot the outline of Fort Aguada and the waves crashing in the sea across. If you are lucky (its easy to be, here), and your eyesight is sharp you could see dolphins playing in the waves.
Inside the fort there are some startlingly unique things. At the entrance is a banyan tree that initially grew symbiotically on a coconut tree, later killing the host plant. The banyan was stabilized by the local government with steel ropes and now it stands on its own strength. Above the entrance gate, a hole in the floor opens up to the upper floor. Purpose? To pour hot oil on intruders.
Several rooms in the fort are now galleries with art works of Goa’s favourite cartoonist Mario Miranda. These halls are washed with natural light pouring in from the windows and if you step out onto the terrace a beach-view awaits. Afternoons will slip by easily wandering these halls and laughing at Mario’s cartoons on the white walls.
A silly sidebar — often, while watching crime dramas on Netflix, I imagine myself as a criminal, arrested and thrown in jail and then I wonder how I would deal with prison life. Would I be happy to be isolated with a routine of knitting carpets and rolling out pappadums or will I cry every day? The answer to this weird puzzle lies in the Reis Magos Fort. It’s the best jail ever. Cells with views. I would survive my sentence happily if jailed at Reis Magos.
At the base of the fort are small open cells called Gun Loops which look onto the sea. These were used to monitor boats that passed by and probably housed cannons or guns to fire at invaders. Today, pleasurably — the Gun Loops display Mario’s artworks. An appropriate retrofit of tools of pointless warfare.
On Sunday mornings I usually pop my head into the church next to the fort. I mostly end up listening to the Konkani service and hymns being conducted by the congregation and the pastor. Sitting in the last row, I am as drawn to the service as I am to the church building.
The words ‘Reis Magos’ means the King’s Magi in Portuguese. Hence the alternate name for the church is Three Kings Church.
The Reis Magos Church has the distinction of being one of the earliest churches in Goa and the first church to be built in Bardez. It was constructed in 1555 by the Franciscan Friars and has a whitewashed gabled facade. The interiors were renovated in 1171 and the towers were put up by 1776. A beautiful, steep flight of steps lead up to the church doorway from the road below. As with everything else, I have an odd story associated with these steps.
My Nike running shoes had been showing wear and tear for a while. But I had put off replacing it. One morning, while trotting along on my walk, the sole of one shoe quietly slipped off. Not in any hurry to return home, I ripped off the other sole too, and wearing shoes which had become socks, I ran up the church steps and sat in the hall for a while before returning home in my modified footwear. It’s the closest I have come to walking barefoot on the street.
At the base of the steps is a shrine. I often see it being washed and decorated with flowers. Before Christmas, like many churches in Goa the shrine gets painted too. I am told that this was erected to commemorate the victory of Afonso de Albuquerque over the outpost in 1510.
The Reis Magos Church was constructed shortly after the fort was built and is dedicated to St. Jerome.
The width of the façade of the church has five doorways with Corinthian columns. The gable above bears the insignia of the Portugese royal coat of arms. The cemetery in the adjoining plot is the burial ground of two of Goa’s former Viceroys, a mark of an important church. The main hall of the church is impressive too. A multi-coloured wooden relief depicts the Three Magi offering their gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh to the infant Jesus and his mother, Mary.
On the 6th of every January, there is an annual festival celebrated called the Fiesta de los Tres Reis Magos, which marks the journey of the Three Kings who went to worship the baby Jesus. During this feast, local youth of the village play the role of the Three Kings. The believers commence the procession from the church and go around the village celebrating with every household. The street leading up to the church converts to a street fair with small food stalls and toy shops. The village participates quite heartily. I see the Feast celebrations every year and on that day, my quiet walking trail buzzes with activity for a change.
Having spent months at a stretch in Goa, for several years, I now know that Goa is much more than the beaches, sea and food. Its heart lies in the villages. The local panchayats are powerful governing bodies. The Goan communities are close-knit and hospitable. The crab curry and fish fry that come out of a Goan kitchen have flavours which are unmatched by any shack. When the rain pelts down for days at a stretch, during the monsoon months, I stretch out on my bed with a book. Mostly I stare distractedly at the rain falling in buckets over my little garden. There is an emerald green halo in the air of Goa in those months. And often, during my walks, my mind wanders — thinking of the history that the hamlet of Reis Magos has witnessed over the centuries. The ghosts of Portugese and British soldiers, Konkani fishing-folk, Maratha invaders all parade down those roads I take a casual stroll on. As I run along I breathe in the smell of the sea, the flowers, the dry fish and the spirit of long ago.
