Echoes of Sanguem and Tar: My Mother's Stories

 

Echoes of Sanguem and Tar: My Mother's Stories

John Aguiar

Some of my earliest memories are not my own. They are stories lovingly narrated by my mother—stories of people, places, customs, and beliefs that belonged to a Goa of another era.

She often spoke of her ancestral connections with the Rao Valaulikar family near the Vithoba Temple in Sanguem, the Nadkarnis of Benn, and the years she spent with her parents at Kapileshwari. Yet among all these places, it was her mother's ancestral home at Tar, Mapusa, that occupied a special place in her heart.

As a child, she spent many happy days there, playing with cousins and friends in the spacious compound of Milagres Church. Tar was more than a village; it was a world of family bonds, religious traditions, and childhood adventures. The Bhobe household, to which her mother belonged, was a respected Vaishnava family and often hosted distinguished religious personalities.

Among them was His Holiness Shrimad Indirakant Swamiji of the Partagali Mutt. My mother would recount with reverence how Swamiji regularly visited the Bhobe residence. These visits were important occasions marked by Padya Pooja ceremonies and Mudra Dharan rituals. Devotees gathered in large numbers to seek blessings and participate in the sacred observances.

The Saraswat Brahmin community has historically been divided into two major religious traditions—Smartha and Vaishnava. My grandmother belonged to the Vaishnava Bhobe family but had married into the Smartha Valaulikar family. In those days, sectarian distinctions were observed more strictly than they are today.

One incident remained etched in my mother's memory. During one of Swamiji's visits, a Mudra Dharan ceremony was in progress. Being a young girl, she innocently approached the Swamiji along with the other children. Swamiji applied the sacred mudra to her, but shortly thereafter realized that she was the daughter of Anande, who had married into a Smartha family. According to the prevailing customs, she was not expected to participate in the Vaishnava ritual. Swamiji immediately questioned the family and sternly reprimanded them for allowing her to come forward.

My mother never narrated this incident with bitterness. Rather, she remembered it as an illustration of the strict discipline and observance that characterized religious life in those times. She often said that Swamiji Indirakant Maharaj was a highly disciplined spiritual leader and that simply being in his presence was considered a blessing.
She also spoke of a time when many ascetics and spiritual leaders preferred traditional methods of healing and spiritual acceptance of life's final stages. In popular memory, saints were often believed to embrace their destiny with detachment rather than rely extensively on modern medical interventions.

Her stories of Sanguem were equally fascinating. She recalled learning the local Bhati dialect from her childhood friends and spoke affectionately about the cultural diversity of the region. There were tales of the Valaulikar household, stories associated with the Nadkarni family of Benn, and numerous local legends passed down through generations.

Among these legends was the enduring belief connected to the Sangam River. Villagers would often say that the river claimed a life every three years. Whether fact, coincidence, or folklore, such stories formed part of the collective memory of the community and reflected the deep respect people held for the forces of nature.

Today, many of the people who populated my mother's stories are gone, and much has changed in Goa. Yet through her recollections, a vanished world continues to live on—a world of ancestral homes, temple bells, village friendships, religious traditions, and family histories intertwined across generations.

These stories are more than memories. They are fragments of Goa's social and cultural heritage, preserved not in books or archives, but in the living narratives passed from parent to child. Through my mother's voice, the Sanguem of the Valaulikars and Nadkarnis, and the Tar of the Bhobes, continue to remain alive in memory