The markets of this ‘Rome of the Orient’, described in wide-eyed detail by Francois Pyrad in his travelogues, were as integral to the landscape as the churches. The markets are not part of the main Velha Goa avenues now, but even in their new avatar they do much to create the atmosphere that one associates with Goa.
From the lovingly restored Lady of the Mount, one can see the plan of the town, and an exercise of imagination will complete the scene. It represents the exuberance of a new Empire, the zeal of the victorious. Obviously, the Portuguese were spent by the time they moved to Panjim, the new capital which has few signs of the grand vitality that is typical of Velha Goa.
Somewhat fittingly, in this abandoned town it is the churches that have survived. These acts of faith dwarf everything else. Today, tourists, and locals walk through the Arch of the Viceroys, which at one time was the Sultan Adil Shah’s gateway into his city.
It is easy to miss the houses that dot the lanes leading into Velha Goa; some of them hide a mansion behind unassuming doorways. Some of the newer houses also sport the white and red facades. People address each other in easy familiarity, and conversations happen easily. The old habit of integration of diverse influences remains, and the only restaurant open very early in the morning is a Punjabi Dhaba that serves Portuguese pav.
All great civilisations have been at the banks of a river, and Velha Goa is not an exception. The Mandovi river has been a safe harbour for several birds, a harbinger of prosperity, an artery that connects the many towns and villages on its banks. It is a reassuring sight, never completely out of view, appearing and disappearing around bends and curves.
There are many cities that one can live in, but very few that live in us. Velha Goa is a city that stays with you, lives in you – with its people, its music and its faith echoing long after you have walked out of it.
Text: Savita Rao