Magical Monsoons of Goa

While most of the world knows of Goa in the ‘season’ from September to April, the monsoons which start in mid-June lasting till October weave a spell-binding magic of their own. Amrutacho Pavs, the rain of nectar, as the beloved Goan writer Shenoi Goembab lyrically describes it, creates an enchanting mellow mood.

A pearl of water indents the earth, having briefly latched onto the tip of an expectant leaf before its plummet. Before long, cascades of glimmering silver descend, turning terracotta tiled roofs a deeper shade of rust.

Intermittently through the day and into the night, the rain goes through its many avatars. From a gentle pitter-patter of tear-drops, it can turn into a pounding force that washes across roads and feeds the paddy fields. It is a wild symphony that plays through the night - rolling thunder, exploding lightning and a roaring storm.

The first showers slant into this exotic sliver of a state from the Arabian Sea around Easter, when the mango, the sapota and the cashew flower and bear fruit. By late May and through June, the fruits are ready for harvesting. The fields are ploughed, the tiled or thatched roofs are repaired and fisher folk drag their boats onto higher ground and cover them with tarpaulin.

By mid-June, the south-west monsoon explodes in all its magical diversity in Canacona down south and arcs across Quepim, Salcete, Bardez and Pernem up north. Church bells toll and temple bells ring as Goans pray for a good rain.

Before the red orb of the sun rises over the village church and awakens sleeping denizens, bullfrogs and cicadas create a symphony of croaking and chirping with myriad birds contributing to the a cappella chemistry. The breeze blows hard from across the horizon and dark cumulonimbus streak towards the shore. Red-wattled lapwings sense the coming rain and flap noisily over the swaying coconut and pine trees, with their repetitive shrieks of “Did-he-do-it?”

The monsoon is especially exciting because the earth yields its bounty. Within hours of the first monsoon shower all manner of plants spring to life. The long leaves of the lilies spring from bulbs that have lain dormant through the summer months and within days burst with yellow, pink, red, and even blue flowers. Shrubs and ferns and creepers explode out of every crack and cranny in the compound walls and orchids peep from between the gnarled branches of old mango and sapota trees. The laterite land is packed with grasses and weeds studded with little flowers. Drongos and mynahs, parakeets and partridges flap around on ungainly wings, feeding on the berries and insects. Snails crawl at a leisurely pace and occasionally one spots a 12 ft long rat snake looking for a new burrow, now that its home at the edge of the paddy field is filled with water.

Farmers bring oxen to plough the field. Egrets follow in their wake pecking at the insects and the grubs. The dry canals have filled up with water and everywhere one hears the gentle rush of springs and brooks all leading to sprawling man-made lakes. These reservoirs built during the Portuguese reign open out their old iron sluice gates to let water into the irrigation canals in the hot summer months. In the monsoon, the lakes are covered with pink and purple lotuses. Blackish-grey wild ducks float on the waters diving into the murky depths and surfacing with a twitching silvery fish in their beaks.

Catch those first raindrops as they pirouette and fall. Step out and let the irresistible monsoon wash over you.

Text: Sandhya Mendonca