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Time
Erodes Memories: Rediscovering The Goa We All Forgot
victor.h.gomes@hotmail.com
By Victor-Hugo Gomes | From:
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Sent: April 12, 2009 12:04:31 PM
The author is in the process of setting up a new
museum in Benaulim, called the Goa
Chitra. It looks at the Goa of the yesteryears, and
what made it so different.
While collecting the agricultural implements that
forms the
major display at Goa Chitra, I realized that Goans
were
losing much more than historical artifacts -- they
were
losing evidence of their forefather's wise
lifestyles.
Our heritage, just not our culture, had a system of
self-rule
called the gaunkaris, which is thought to have
originated in
the 1st century B.C. These were primarily agrarian
societies.
The principal role of these local governing bodies
was to maintain and upgrade land quality, protect
fishing ponds and waterways, and maintain an
intricate system of embankments (bunds) that
protected reclaimed land known as khazans, from
inundation by saline tidal waters.
This system produced not only an effective means to
administer the communal lands but developed
intricate and
ecologically sound system of agriculture. It
utilised both
fertile and barren lands for the benefit of its
people.
Farming methods were based on the prevailing season
and the
quality of the soil. Agricultural activities and
techniques
were adapted to suit the soil, rainfall, level of
solar
radiation and other elements of nature, a process
referred to
as gott and loosely translated as photoperiodism.
Farming implements were carefully and intelligently
developed
to suit soil types and with a healthy respect for
the
environment and animals that ensured that the system
was
sustainable and ecologically sound.
Over the years the gaunkari institution went
through various phases of transition and its
evolution in each phase was dependent on the ruler
of that time. But never in our history was this
system ever tampered with. During the Portuguese
colonization it came to be known as Communidades.
Being part of this rich heritage, it saddens me that
today
the Communidade system is completely undermined.
Land
conversions both illegal and legal have led to large
development projects with scant regard for
sustainability and
severe degradation of the eco system. Lesser
recognised but
equally devastating is the loss of hundreds of years
of
accumulated wisdom in agrarian practices, the rich
tradition
of implements, tools, arts, crafts and heritage of
our
ancestors and their sensitivity to the environment.
The conception of Goa Chitra -- a museum that is
currently
taking shape in Benaulim -- is based on many
dynamics. One
amongst them is my love for Goa. The other is
combating daily
criticism whether my investment has been futile.
What
energies the project are stories that I encountered
while on
this sojourn. Each implement has a tale woven with
the fabric
of our rich history.
FROM THE DHANGAR OF NETURLI
On my many visits to Neturli (Netravali), I
encountered an
implement with the Dhangar community that looked
like a
sieve. It was beautifully crafted and had seen many
years of
work. It lay in a corner near the Gotli, a fence
made from
sticks called Corvam.
I was instantly drawn to it. I wanted to acquire it.
Following my gaze, the dhangar Baburam, who was
proudly
displaying his herd, seemed reluctant to part with
it. On
inquiry I learnt that the cane woven basket was
known as
Dhali that was used to heat Nachni (Millet) during
monsoon.
It was kept on a wooden frame called Ottu to heat
nachne
before processing. This implement was last used in
the early 60's.
Dhangars are nomads who travelled and camped near
hilly
areas. They would clear a 50 to 100 sq mts patch of
natural
forest and then burn it on site to provide natural
manure.
The land was then cultivated, usually with coarse
grains like
zonlle and nachne (millet), their staple food, for a
period
of one to three years. Than it was abandoned and the
cultivators moved on to another patch of forest.
They would return to cultivate the same area only
after a period of 15-20 years, which would give the
land sufficient time to regenerate. This is
referred to as kumeri farming. Many of the
implements they used for such harvest were
indigenously designed keeping in mind the land,
environment and their animals.
Though the Portuguese wanted to stop this practice
in Goa,
their policy remained largely on paper as no
alternative
arrangements were made for the rehabilitation of the
kumeri
cultivators.
Kumeri was banned again after Liberation in 1961 but
the
government then decided to allow the practice in
certain
areas of forest because it had no alternative
livelihood to
offer the cultivators.
In 1964, the government banned kumeri altogether
without making any alternative arrangement. The
government felt that such farming was a devastation
of the environment and they banned it under
anti-deforestation law. The government also felt
that in order to protect the environment this land
would be best given for mining, making a few people
very rich and other hopelessly poor. Of course,
excavations due to mining would mean that there
would be less land to protect!
What I saw in Baburam's eyes that day was hope that
someday
the law may get reverted and they would cultivate
again. I
travelled back to Neturlim many times before finally
convincing Baburam to sell me his implement only
with a
promise that if ever he needed the implement, it
would be
immediately returned to him.
Incidentally nachne is no longer cultivated in Goa
and what is available in the market today comes
from outside the state, grown with chemical
fertilizers.
DATA AND FACTS
While collecting and later restoring the implements
and
artifacts on display at Goa Chitra, I realised the
need for
collecting data and facts to support my histology as
there is
a dearth of research on our ancestry.
Changes in the Goan economy and society had rendered
them
obsolete. All this information, knowledge and wisdom
of our
ancestors were going unrecorded. I was scared of the
threat
that these implements were being replaced by things,
modern
or imported, as being true depiction of Goan
material culture
for posterity.
So, I consulted elders, some of whom were familiar
with some
of the implements and had actually seen them being
utilised.
These trips also helped to widen and complete my
collection,
especially of farming and household implements.
Our ancestors had a keen knowledge of indigenous
materials, and were self sufficient using material
found in the vicinity of their settlement. Each
implement was premeditated keeping in mind
suitability of the substance which was
environmentally friendly.
Most of the ropes used in agriculture have a
distinctive
feature of being woven using various natural fibers
of trees
like kivann, sutachi/redeachi-anas (wild pineapple)
and a
medium sized evergreen tree known as komai, kombio
or komyo.
This tree is found in shade and wet sites near
streams in the
forest, up to 500 mts in elevation. The trunk is
often fluted
with smooth or rough and scaly bark, crown conical
with
spreading branches and leathery, dark green leaves.
Leaves
were used to make rain covers called kondo.
The fiber of this tree is soft and cooling and is
woven to
design ropes for different tasks; shale used by
fruit
pluckers, davon used during thrashing, canni used to
tie
paddy sheaves, davem and zupni used as a halter and
collar for animals.
This craft is almost extinct and I was thrilled when
one of
the Dhangar demonstrated his skill at making ropes
with these
natural fibers.
One theory why kombio and not coconut fiber was
used to make rope could be, simply unavailability
of the coconut tree in these parts; coconut
proliferated more along the western coast. Today
this fibre has been replaced by coir made from the
coconut tree and more recent the invasion of
plastic culture, the nylon rope, that has wiped out
eco-friendly technology, thanks to hard core
promotion by the nylon lobby.
While I was gathering pictorial evidence of the
kombio tree
in Sanguem Taluka, I could hear at a distance
enchanting
music that felt very soothing. Some moments in your
life are
unforgettable; this was one such moment in mine. I
followed
the sound and was pleasantly surprised at what I
saw.
A Dhangar named Zumo Dhaku Varak, in his 80's, was
gathering
his herd playing on something that looked like a
huge
up-right flute. It is made from a hollow velu
bamboo, having
a reed made from shirat (a small hollowed bamboo
branch).
The notes have a calming effect on the listener.
This instrument is known as konpavo and is
indigenously designed to calm aggressive and
disturbed animals, or to gather the herd. Today
there is a lot of research evidence (Peretti &
Kippscludi, 1991) to point that certain pitch and
sounds effect animal behavior, something that
Dhangars knew a long time ago!
It is not just love. This knowledge comes from an
understanding about animal behavior and their
sensory
perception. Dhangars were inventors; they tilled,
toiled,
lived and loved their land, their flock and their
material.
Thanks to Zumo Dakhu, the konpavo, davon, cannio,
kondo,
davem or zupni and shale, are prized pieces on
display at Goa
Chitra. But it is all fast dying. What I saw
perhaps, are
the last lucky glimpses of the Dhangar way of life.
Today, their mainstay, the cows and buffaloes and
goats have depleted in numbers. Their grazing
grounds are being either cleared for developments
or have been converted into mines. A dear friend
who visited us at the museum opined that we should
not hope to go back in time instead move to the
future. The essence of Goa Chitra is to highlight
the wisdom of the ancestors that we have taken for
granted. It's not about retreating but using this
storehouse of knowledge to answer questions that
are of global concerns and leading a healthier
lifestyle.
ARTIFACTS, NOT ANTIQUES
Benaulim's Goa Chitra museum does not contain
antiques but
artifacts that manifest the social creativity of
skilled
groups to contemporary society. Most of the
implements at Goa
Chitra have stories woven around them. These are
tales of a
bygone era. An era when wisdom accumulated over
generations
were passed on and evolved. Every skill was a
specialization
with trade secrets and respect!
For instance, the jaggery implements on display at
Goa Chitra
have one such tale:
Once on my way to Agonda, I met an interesting
personality, a
70-plus Amaral Pereira, at one time a much sorted
after
jaggery producer. He seemed excited with my project
and
shared with me valuable information that would
otherwise have
gone unrecorded like most trade secrets.
He would go from ushel (sugarcane plantation) to
ushel with
his gano (sugarcane grinder), a bodvonno, a heavy
wooden
hammer used for installing the gano, and other
implements
used for making jaggery. They worked on site till
the
completion of production. Often they would camp on
site.
They found indigenous methods to cope with various
hazards.
For instance, when there was no crockery, they would
take
fresh banana leaves, warm them over a fire, then dig
a hole
in the ground. This pit was layered with these
banana leaves
and used as a canso (bowl). The pez (rice gruel) or
ambil
(nachne dish) was eaten from this pit!
Jaggery production is a lengthy process. Freshly
extracted sugarcane juice is filtered and boiled in
a wide cail, a shallow iron pan. It would be
continuously stired with a dhai (spatula).
Simultaneously soda or bhindi juice is added as
required. While boiling, the brownish foam coming
on the surface is incessantly removed with a chalno
(sieve) to get golden yellow colour of jaggery.
After the juice thickens it is poured into a bed
called van, a shallow square pit lined with lime
and rammed with a wooden bat called a petni.
The thick jaggery paste is spread with a small
wooden spade
called pavdi and after sufficient drying, it is cut
into
small blocks with the help of a wooden trowel called
a
thappi. This van was later replaced by small or
medium sized
iron or aluminum cans where blocks of jaggery are
formed
after cooling. Size of the blocks varied from 1 kg.
to 12
kgs. Finally, these blocks were packed in gunny
bags. From
100 kgs. of sugarcane, approximately 10 kgs. of
jaggery was
produced.
Getting clean golden yellow ushichem godd (sugarcane
jaggery)
is an art. Since every occupation was a inherited
specialization, most of the trade secrets were
handed over
from generation to generation. A trade secret
developed over
years of working with given material.
So what was Amaral's secret? It is not easy for a
man whose
livelihood had to be given up for love, to smile so
very
often, but his eyes sparkled as he said, "While
boiling the
juice I would drop a couple of sea shells into the
pan. It
helped to draw dirt and brownish foam in one place
to make it
easier for scooping."
That same year, he lost his wife. An accident before
his very
eyes took her away. He quit jaggery production. She
was his
greatest support. The demand for jaggery declined
since sugar
replaced it. Simultaneously most sugarcane farmers
fell for a
false dream sold to them by the palm oil lobby.
Ushels became
palm oil farms....
Every implement now on display at the Goa Chitra --
gano, bodvonno, cail, dhai, petni, thappi and
chalno -- has a tale to tell. I saw myriad memories
in the tears which trickled down Amaral's face
while parting with those implements. I promised him
that I would keep his implements and his vast
knowledge for posterity as a testimony to the
agonies and ecstasies of the simple jaggery
producer from Goa.
THE HOWS OF COCONUT FENI
The sap is extracted and collected by a tapper.
Typically the
sap is collected from the cut flower of the palm
tree. A
container is fastened to the flower stump to collect
the sap.
Palm toddy also forms the base for a drink popular
in Goa, known as Goan Feni. In Goa, toddy (sur),
the sap of the coconut tree spadix, is distilled
into liquor, made into vinegar or used for making
jaggery. One coconut tree yields about 432 litres
of toddy a year, and collecting it was the chief
occupation of the Bhandaris, Komarpaik and toddy
tapper (rendeir) communities.
Tapping toddy involves various stages and
implements. The sap
of the coconut palm is collected in an earthenware
pot called
zamono or damonem, which is fitted over the spadix
(poi) that
grows out of the base of each coconut leaf. In order
to
produce toddy, the spadix is tightly bound with a
rope
(gofe/gophe) made from filaments (vaie) cut with a
small
knife (piskathi) from the base of the leaf, while
remaining
attached to the pedicle.
The spadix must then be tapped all around very
gently with
the handle of the kathi (a flat semi-circular
sickle) every
alternate day, until it becomes round and flexible,
a sign
that the sap is ready The tip of the spadix is then
cut off
to let the sap ooze out into the damonem.
Toddy is collected from the damonem in the morning
and
evening and carried down the tree in a gourd-shaped
container
called dudhinem, before being poured into a clay pot
called kollso.
The spadix is sharpened at noon by slicing a small
piece
horizontally off the top, called cheu, so as to
reactivate
the flow of sap.
Incidentally, the kathi was sharpened on a plank (follem)
of
eround wood with marble powder.
My collection of toddy-tapping and distillation
implements was incomplete since I had trouble
tracing a dudhinem, also called dudhkem.
Originally made from a konkan dudhi (sponge gourd),
like so
many other implements over the years it has
disappeared and
been replaced by containers made from
non-biodegradable plastic!
I grew up in the neighbourhood of many toddy tappers
but my
search for an original dudhinem took me far from
home and all
along coastal Goa, once the habitat of toddy tappers.
No one had preserved a dudhinem nor knew how to
make one. This bothered me because it meant that we
had lost yet another piece of traditional
knowledge. I was finally lucky enough to not only
acquire a dudhinem but also find out how they were
made, thanks to an accidental encounter with Baba,
a farmer in Sanguem.
I met Baba while documenting a metal-smith's tools
in
Sanguem, a taluka where many toddy tappers had
settled from
Canacona specially Agonda. Agonda is known for the
best
quality of distillation of palm feni or madel.
When Baba showed up to have his plough repaired I
asked him
about possibly finding a dudhinem in the area, and
he told me
of his experience years ago while ploughing his
fields.
"Very often," he said, "my plough would get stuck in
gourds
that were buried in the fields." By chance I had
stumbled
upon a trade secret! In the olden days you could
tell a toddy
tapper's house by the dudhi creeper growing over the
roof or
on matov, a bamboo framework.
It seems that once the dudhi had matured and dried,
they were
buried in the fields till the inner flesh rotted
away and
only a hard shell remained -- and this was used as
the
receptacle for toddy.
This is part of a series that the author has been
writing for
the Weekender/Gomantak Times each Sunday.
The writer, Victor Hugo Gomes, can be contacted at
House No.
498 Pulwaddo, Benaulim Salcete, Goa 403716 M: +91
9850466165
P: +91-832-6570877
victor.h.gomes@hotmail.com |
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