Sorrowing lies my unrivaled Goa

A lament from the jewel of creation, the Comunidade, that has been battered and bruised by greed and selfishness
SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.
SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.Photo: Gomantak Times

I call myself a 'jewel of creation'. Many, many centuries ago, there was the sun and the moon, water and trees, birds and animals who at some point developed into humans. Then, there was no you and me. Everyone lived to enjoy me.

Then, what was sowed was reaped for all, and land was earmarked for dwellings with no one left to live in the wilderness. Pico, the little crow would fly from place to place, carrying tidbits of gossip from one house to another; from one ward to another.

SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.
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In those days, the strong had a sway over the weak, but it was purely to keep the flock under control, to see that there was no looting.

If someone picked a little more, it was OK, but nothing more than a little more, because the laws were pretty defined and, therefore, dignified.

People then communicated through stones, kept history through stones, and as time ticked, sounds became language, and alphabets structured words to create what is now the backbone of education.

Then, the people didn’t know to read or write, but they understood respect.

If someone picked a little more, it was OK, but nothing more than a little more, because the laws were pretty defined, and therefore, dignified.

Now, they know to 'write' love, but before, they knew that love created a bond with something ethereal, which many call Almighty, God for many, all depending on the culture through which the experience has its base.

So, let us say, existence was divine, because in those days, there was a connect between the living and the Almighty in my jewel, and that is why many said, and still do believe, that there is nothing better than having one’s two feet on earth.

SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.
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Through time, as man and divinity bloomed, shrubs of religion began to surface, and slowly began planting itself in different facets of the earth. Being a jewel, I thought that a crown was being made for me, and let it be until I saw different tentacles of religion.

Divinity is beyond human, though an integral part of it, and it is this contradiction that, at times, has left stains on me that can only be removed by the doers.

But, alas, good and bad have always strode side by side, but never been able to gel.

SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.
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Adoring the good in me, Pico once crowed: goodness is the only and closest road to God, and despite looking so easy, is so difficult. But, trying to be good is in itself a road towards divinity. What looks easy is hard, but the effort is worth the trouble.

Today, I find myself being battered and bruised. The birds are disappearing; the habitat for animals is being encroached on by men, and land that was there to be shared by all is being usurped by a few.

The rich are getting richer at the cost of the poor and all this for greed.

My land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon and is now a source of sin – the source of which, in turn, is greed.

People, entrusted to look over the community, are looking down to see where and how to loot my land; the land that was there for all. My jewel was based on community living and that was its allure – goodness cannot be bought, but only gained.

As time passed, the shine of the jewel disappeared with stains. My land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon and is now a source of sin – the source of which, in turn, is greed.

SORRY TALE: The land, which could never be sold, but only shared, is now being trampled upon.
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When language evolved, so did my name, my source of existence and the jewel in me has been guised as a community of sin. The Comunidade was one jewel that was left untouched by whoever ruled Goa for as many years as we know.

The Comunidade was the spirit of Goa, which is being sadly killed by the same sons of the soil who grew on it, fostered by the love of their ancestors.

To crush me may be easy, but to kill will be difficult, because this jewel survives with goodness.

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