Sorrowing Lies My Land - Revisited

 Ben Antao

Sorrowing Lies My Land, the first novel by Lambert Mascarenhas, was published in 1955, when the author would be about 41, but I didn’t get to read it until the fall of 1961 when a third reprint was brought out by the publisher Hind Kitabs Ltd. of Bombay. It was a time of great ferment among the Goan freedom fighters in the city. Lambert was the editor of Goan Tribune, the fortnightly dedicated to the cause of Goa’s freedom from the Portuguese rule, and he had hired me to do the sports page on a freelance basis (I worked full time for the Bombay Port Trust).

In October, when I went to the Tribune’s office in Ballard Estate with my copy, I saw the secretary busy opening a carton of books. Lambert was in his little glass-partitioned office, happily editing some copy. I stood at the door, reluctant to interrupt him.

Presently he looked up and said, “Hello Ben, come in, what’s new?”

“I have done the sports page.”

“Good,” he said and lowered the knot of his tie. It was three in the afternoon and the ceiling fan was whirling at slow speed. “Have a seat. Do you have some time? I need you to do something.”

“Sure,” I said and deposited the envelope containing my copy in the tray.

“Just give me a minute, I’m just about finished,” he said and pushed the Capstan pack on the desk towards me. “Go ahead, have a cigarette.”

I had my own crush-proof pack of English cigarettes, gold filter tipped 555, a gift of a carton from my cousin who was a chief steward on board the ship. But I took one of Lambert’s and lit up.

When he was done, I said, “I noticed you have fresh copies of the novel. Can I have one?”

He smiled graciously and said, “Go ahead, pick one up.”

Immediately I stood up, went into the outer office, and picked up a mint copy from the box. “Could you autograph it for me?”

His blue suit jacket was on a hanger against the wall and he had rolled up the cuffs of his white shirt a couple of times in Goan style. He had a fine physique, well toned and compact. And his high sloping forehead matched his sloping shoulders. He beamed again, pushed up his right sleeve, took the copy and wrote on the flyleaf.
“To Ben 
Hope you catch the spirit of this novel.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Goan Tribune began publication in 1956, first under the editorship of A. Soares, whose manifesto A Blueprint for Goa was widely acclaimed. The magazine also achieved literary success with high quality writing from contributors among whom were university profs, such as Lucio Rodrigues, Francisco Correia-Afonso, Frank D’Souza, Armando Menezes, and poet A. Mendonza. I looked forward to it every fortnight and read it from cover to cover from the very first issue.

Agnel D’Souza, former badminton champion and veteran sports writer with The Indian Express, was its first sports editor. At this time, I was dying to break into journalism and just waiting to get my foot in the door of any newspaper. Through a hockey player, I contacted Agnel who spoke to CSA Swami, sports editor of the Express, and I began to do freelance sports reporting for the newspaper in 1959 and 1960. There was prohibition in Bombay, whose chief minister was Morarji Desai. Once, after a quick one at a speakeasy in Chira Bazaar, Agnel and I got off the bus in the Flora Fountain area and Agnel, seeing Lambert near the Jehangir Art Gallery, introduced me.

Towards the end of 1960, Agnel called it quits at the Tribune and Lambert sent me a note at my home address asking if I’d do the sports page. Lambert knew my address from the covering letter to an article “Fear God, not Man” I had sent him earlier, and which he had published.

Not only did I do the sports page but I also wrote profiles and news stories for the Tribune. Seeing my keen interest, Lambert gave me opportunity to do some editing and general reporting. On that afternoon he gave me his novel for free, he had wanted me to interview Bishop Willy Gomes for a profile.

After Liberation, he invited me to join the Navhind Times in Panjim, where he was appointed a joint editor. He came to Bombay in November 1962 and came to my residence in the Fort area to tell about this. And I, who had all along wanted to go into journalism fulltime, declined his offer on the pretext that I had to write my final MA exams in the spring of 1963. Imagine that! Navhind Times began publishing on February 1, 1963, the first English daily launched by the Dempo Brothers, the mining industrialists.

I agreed to be the paper’s Bombay correspondent. I sent sports news and features and wrote a major article on Francis Newton Souza, the London-based Goan painter who held an exhibition at the Taj Gallery in February 1963. Francis, born in Assolna, was in Bombay and I interviewed him at the Taj Mahal Hotel and later sent him a copy of the article in the Navhind Times. Francis wrote back to congratulate me on the piece.

I dilly-dallied for a few months, then quit my job at the BPT, and went to Goa in May, 1963. In June, I joined the Navhind Times. I worked closely with Lambert at the paper where I was the chief reporter. In December 1964, I went to Bombay to see the Pope and cover the XXXVIII Eucharistic Congress and did not go back. In April 1965, I joined the Indian Express as a general reporter, after writing my MA exams, which I passed. 

All of the above is by way of background to my association with the author of Sorrowing Lies My Land.



Now I’ll discuss the novel.

I finished reading the novel in a couple of weeks, liked it immensely, and told Lambert so.

Now, I want to confess my bias, both as a writer and as a reader. Ever since the age of seventeen, I have been looking at the style of writing more closely than the content. Language and diction--the medium of the writer’s craft--engage me more completely than the message, theme, plot, and characters.

In 1961, when I was 26, I liked Lambert’s style, and I was impressed with his novel, but didn’t think much of the grandiose title or its implication.

Before going to Goa, I had loaned the novel to my friend from the Siddharth College. And after I returned to Bombay I lost contact with my friend and so lost the book. I mentioned this fact to Lambert in a letter, a few years ago, and he replied that he had no more copies. The eight or so copies he had, he said, he had donated to Goa University, where his novel was part of readings for the MA course in English literature.

Lately, there have been comments on the Goan Forum, alluding to Goa as Sorrowing Lies My Land. Since I left India in 1966, I have been back to Goa in 1973 for three weeks and in 1984 for two weeks. Of course, I’ve been on the Goa-net since 1995 and now on the Goan Forum and from what I read I gather that the quality of life in Goa is not all that great. I became curious as to why the commentators would borrow Lambert’s title and label Goa so.

Last year Lambert’s novel was reprinted by the Other India Press of Mapusa and I was able to get a copy to read from my friend Silviano Barbosa, who had returned from Goa last December.

And last week I finished reading Sorrowing Lies My Land again.

Sorrowing covers the time span from roughly 1910 to about 1950. It is a political novel whose message is that the people of Goa under the Portuguese rule were denied basic civil rights such as freedom of speech and assembly, and those who protested were quickly punished or imprisoned.

The first part of the action covers the period when Portugal was a republic and life in Goa was reasonably tolerable. The story revolves around Tobias, a batkar, and his family of nine. Tobias is unlike other batkars in that he loves to work in his fields. The story is narrated from the point of view of his youngest son Babush, who is six at the beginning of the story. The setting is not specifically stated but is close to Margao. Lambert is from the village of Colva, four miles west of Margao, and having seen his house, I could see the action unfolding from his balcao. The village life is captured with a felicity of expression and a genuine love for the people.

The second part begins from 1926 when Portugal introduced the Colonial Act and Salazar became its dictator. Like a moth to the flame, Tobias is drawn to the growing struggle to seek civil rights, which culminates on June 18, 1946 when Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia, the Indian socialist, comes to Margao to defy the ban on public political assemblies.

Following this episode, the government sends military forces into Goa and the regime becomes more oppressive for the freedom fighters. 

The idea of sorrowing appears at this juncture. “The sight of European and Negro troops parading the streets in battle dress frightened our people indeed, and made them lose heart. Thus, helpless and sorrowing, lay my land.”

I was a student in Margao and can relate to several incidents in the novel. In 1950 I felt sorry for the African troops after I heard the story that they were being flogged every morning at the garrison in Aquem because they were lazy and needed whipping to prime them up. I found this a vicious and slanderous rumor designed to put the Africans down. But what can you expect in a caste-conscious society? I used to bicycle to Aquem every other day for a bath at the spring there and often saw the troops whipping up clouds of red dust in their jeeps.

I had also heard stories of the pakhles and their debaucheries with Goan women. Incidents of rape mentioned in the novel are also corroborated by Lino Leitao in his novel The Gift of the Holy Cross. 

Still, I couldn’t say, in all truth and honesty, that the people in Goa lay sorrowing. Not at all! Not by a long shot!

The image of sorrowing is a figure of speech called hyperbole and springs from a mind oppressed. There is no doubt in my mind that Lambert felt strongly about the denial of civil rights in colonial Goa and his heart beat ceaselessly for freedom and liberation. As a writer in exile in Bombay after 1948, he articulated the hunger for freedom budding in a section of the people of Goa. That he loved Goa with a passion there is no doubt in my mind.

The limitations of the first person narrative, especially from the point of view of a young boy, dilute the dramatic impact of the action in the second part. Although the reader is aware that it is the author speaking in the guise of the boy, the conflict is rendered less acute, nonetheless.

The first part dealing with village feasts and other events would have come alive if the author had shown the story and not told it. Where Lambert has shown the story by dramatizing the action, he has proved effective in engaging the reader and his sympathy.

Lambert’s forte is his sense of humor and the novel lights up every time the protagonist Tobias is given a scene to display his wit and repartee. Readers of Goan Tribune, The Navhind Times, and Goa Today will recall with appreciation his column Musings, Moods and Memories by Lamas. Through this column he brought cheer and sunshine into the life of many a reader. In this, his talent was unique and he remains quintessentially a Goan humorist. Sorrowing is worth reading for the lush display of humor and laughter on its pages.

As for his messages, here is a sample.

1. Says Tobias: “Yes, son, it is awful. It has been like this, these past years, young people packing up their kit and quitting their homes and their loved ones a perpetual exodus.  That’s the tragedy of Goa, son. Neither the freedom to write or speak, nor the opportunity to earn a living. Husbands and sons must roam the world over in search of work so that they can send money home to keep their families alive. Roaming is our birthright, roaming, roaming and roaming, son, and so long as the Portuguese are here, we shall remain a tribe of vagabonds!”

Today, after nearly 40 years of freedom, Goans continue to roam because it is our destiny, in my view.

2. Tobias talking to his wife Ema: “Don’t you know, Ema, that I loathe rich people and abhor bureaucrats, especially Portuguese bureaucrats? Rich people produce misery and bureaucrats perpetuate it!”

Take it as you like it, reader! To each his own!

3. Says a character (doctor): “This indifference to people’s hunger makes me mad. Yet, mind you, there is plenty of rice in the blackmarket! Plenty of other things, too. These merchants and officials are hand in glove with each other the swines er pardon me, sir. I really lose my temper when I think of all that is happening around us. The fellows should be whipped! What’s the use of such a government?”

4. Towards the end, Tobias, now 68, is questioned by the police commandant for his involvement in the freedom movement. He tells the police: “If the others only demanded their civil rights and nothing else, that is their business. I want the Portuguese to get out from here, lock, stock and barrel, and leave us to try and bring prosperity and joy to this land of ours. Even if we fail, it will be our own business. What’s more, even if troubles do beset us, believe me Senhor Tenente, we shan’t be worse off than we are today.”

Luis de Menezes Braganza, reputed to be a formidable journalist and debater, wrote scathingly against the Acto Colonial. The protagonist finds inspiration and hope in the great journalist and goes to Chandor, 20 miles east of Margao, to see him. But when he arrives there by train, he finds out that Menezes Braganza has suffered a stroke. Menezes Braganza was only 60 when he died in July 1938 in his palatial mansion near the church.

In life, perception is often reality and so it is with the author and his novel.

Toronto
April 23, 2000
c2000 Ben Antao

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