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DIARY OF A DYING
PRINCESS
Tony Fernandes
It was more than four years
ago during a storm. After wandering helplessly for a while, I floundered
here just barely half a kilometer from the coast-line. And suddenly to my
astonishment I was beached, landing on a soft and sandy layer of beautiful
white sand. Since then I have been in an unfortunate situation. I do
consider myself very lucky missing the legendary “Chor Bhaim” by a few
nautical miles. My fate could have been permanently sealed had I
inadvertently headed directly towards this fabled “thief of a well”.
Legend has it that this “well in the sea” down below the rocky shores of a
nearby cliff, has devoured many a sailing ship in its heyday. It could
have been an entirely different story that I might not have lived to tell.
Believe me, by modern standards I am not too heavy to be saved. With the
technology and salvage operations available in the world today it’s ironic
that I should be sitting here for such a long time. I am a bit tired now
of the briny-tasting waves lashing at my portside for quite a while and
playing havoc with my tired body.
I have heard that efforts are being made and a lot has been said to save
me by a lot of good people in this community that I have grown so fond of
these last four years. The endless pleas of the local folks have fallen on
deaf years to my great dismay. Last year I heard that major technological
innovations have been made a few nautical miles south-east of where I
helplessly lie. I have heard of the 100 km per hr speeding train, the
innovative sky-bus and the beautification of an already beautiful and
scenic promenade for a posse of film personalities due to arrive in the
nearby city shortly. I am sure they will visit this area to see me.
People will also be
coming to visit in order to venerate and pay respects to the favourite
saint and guardian, considered and held in regard not only by the local
population of this place, but from all over the world and from all walks
of life. But I am not too pleased with this idea of making a
sorry spectacle of myself. My worry is that I will be an eye-sore to
the visiting elite personalities from the world over looking at me from
the shore or through the clear windows of the rooms of sheer opulence from
the beautiful landmark nearby to the aft of me, and to the ordinary
visitor as well who will visit to have a look from the shore. I am
concerned that I will be a disgrace to my community of a beautiful land of
surf, sand, wine, song, dance and folklore.
I wonder who bestowed upon me the title River Princess. I should not have
been lying here in the first place – no, not with a title like that. And
to make it worse ‘river’ precedes my title. Ironically, I missed a
river by a few nautical miles causing embarrassment to the very
title of “Princess”. Had I not missed this beautiful river I could
have probably managed to negotiate to safety. But let’s call it destiny.
Furthermore, what distresses me is the fact that I have neither completely
lived up to the title of a princess nor the river. What a sorry finale to
a brilliant sea-faring career after blissfully riding the ocean waves
during most of my useful life.
Last night I dreamed that tenders were afloat to float me - tug-boats
tending to pull me out. When I woke up I found that there were no
tugs around me, but pieces of paper. I think those must have been tender
papers!
In reality my body has now sunk even further - stuck deep beneath in the
sand under my own weight. I am unable to move. People come and stare at me
once in a while. They must be tourists who have never seen a princess up
close before. You should be ashamed of yourself as to ogle at me as I lie
here forlorn and grieve with pain and anguish, concern and frustration!
My heart goes out to the folks who dwell just beyond the white sands and
the swaying coconut trees one nautical mile away. I pray everyday that
some day soon I will be saved from the perils of destruction that my aging
and corroding body will cause to the environment and to the livelihoods of
the people ashore. What shall say I say? The people in power simply don’t
seem to get it, do they?
Each dawn brings hopes – an expectation of a beginning of a massive
salvage operation or a chivalrous knight in shining armour coming to my
rescue. However, there is one particular person who comes early
morning to the seashore, staring into my direction. I can now recognize
him instantly. He is an aging man, frail, slightly stooped. It is apparent
he is helpless. I can almost read his thoughts. Every time he looks up
into the blue yonder above and then he shifts his gaze slowly downward
into the fine white sand as if looking for an answer. Is he saying a
prayer for me? I wonder. Probably he wants me out of here before he
himself is out. Or perhaps he does not want to me to die rotting
here after he is gone. Will somebody please fulfill his wish? Hello, is
anybody listening out there? Can anyone get the drift of telepathic
communication? I regret I am unable to send an SOS.
On the port-side a glorious sunset bids yet another adieu. The lights of
passing ships in the distance start to shimmer. Turning my gaze aft and
directly southward I see the faint glimmer of the lights of ships berthed
at one of the biggest natural harbours on the western coast. In sharp
contrast to my condition it seems as though those vessels have been well
tucked in for a comfortable and enjoyable evening ahead while I surrender
to another dark night of loneliness. The majestic lighthouse in the
distance flashes its blinding beacon intermittently. But I guess this old
guard and sentinel is as helpless as I am. It cannot guide me anymore
other than brighten up my entire star-board side. As I look skyward in
utter desperation, facing north I see the Pole Star and the mighty
constellation of Ursa Major, The Great Bear. Rising up well before dawn,
preparing for yet another uneventful day I look up to the ‘Southern Cross’
and wish for help.
But no heavenly stars can help
me either when people on earth have abandoned me. Oh Master! Oh crew!
Oh my humble servants! Oh people in high places! Why have you forsaken me?
Sometimes, even though I feel have been abandoned, I must confess that I
have not lost hope completely. Not just yet. I have been the favourite
topic for the last four years. After all, what’s another year? I can
wait. But mind you, not for too long. I will continue even though it means
hanging on to the faintest vestige of a flicker of hope just like the
stars, my nightly companions above – hoping dreams will one day come
to reality.
Tony Fernandes
Author of “Goa – Memories of My Homeland”
MISSISSAUGA. Ontario L5V2C2
Canada
August 28, 2004
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