Frederick Noronha
Last week, we visited, through words, the village of Chicalim on the outskirts of Vasco. This time it’s a shift to coastal Salcete and the village of Betalbatim. The Goan village is indeed is fascinating kaleidoscope of history, geography, peoples, cultures, traditions and more.
Afonso Botelho, a longtime resident of this village whose roots lie in Tiswadi and a professor at Mapusa, takes a look at the place’s history, colonial era background, and its diverse diasporic from the region.
For understandable reasons—that is, the author’s background in sociology—this book is different from the other village-focussed tomes you might have seen. Arossim was written by a history-focussed U.S.-based scientist (the late Dr. Themistocles D’Silva). Cuncolim’s books (in multiple languages) date back to another era, authored by Adv R. Dalvi and late Fr. Planton Faria. Chicalim’s is a compilation of essays by contemporary denizens of the area. There are, of course, many more such books.
Botelho tells the story of how this one came about, and about his earlier work too. He writes, “The book offers details of the process of abandoning the traditional occupations belonging to the primary sector in preference to occupations and jobs in the secondary and tertiary sectors of the changing rural economy.”
Early on, many terms and sobriquets come up to describe Betalbatim. Sleepy little seaside village. Gorgeous beach. A place to relax and unwind. One with the most hyped seafood restaurant, Martin’s Corner. A village that retained its beautiful rural flavour of a village despite the arrival of tourists.
This village is believed to have derived its name from the pre-Hindu deity, Betal, the fiercest of the Goan gods, that presided over the village and ‘bhatt’ (land). Chapter II gives a good overview of the village, topics which are developed in more detail on the latter pages.
In nine chapters, the book looks at many different aspects of Betalbatim. This coastal village in South Goa’s Salcete is located between Colva and Majorda and along the sea and is largely Catholic. It is dotted with some elegant ancestral homes and the 17th-century Church of Our Lady of Remedios.
Tourism, fishing, and small-scale farming sustain its residents. Today, there has been a shift-over to homestays and guesthouses.
Published by Notion in 2024, the book is priced at Rs. 500. ISBN 979-889277493-2. Natasha Gomes, assistant professor of French at Goa University, says that the book “unravels the connections of emigration, tourism and cultural influences that define the village’s identity.”
Some lesser-known facts sprinkled across its pages: the ancestral Fernandes palatial house (at Nagwaddo) dates back to 1680 and features in films like Frank Fernand’s ‘Nirmonn’ (1966) and the Hindi
film ‘Simba’.
Likewise, beliefs about the Apostle Bartholomew, how he supposedly reached the west coast of India, and how he was seen by locals makes for interesting (if hard-to-believe) reading. It must be clarified that Botelho is quoting the views of others here, without going into the historical probability of the same.
Given the author’s earlier involvement with the subject, the issue of education, languages and migrant students also figures in passing.
Botelho also focuses on the migrant-oriented nature of parts of Goa, especially the coast. He sees out-migration happening for a number of reasons. More than religion and economics, it’s the “desire for personal development, enhancement of skills and talents, higher education and employment” outside of Goa. In a word, Goans are looking West.
One fascinating section includes details on, and a photo of, the Betalbatim ‘kudd’ in Mazagaon, Mumbai, formed in 1845! Individual stories of migration also add to
our understanding.
Of the many other accounts of Goan migration one comes across elsewhere, the version here makes one think. Did Goa’s social stratification lead to higher levels of out-migration (considering that there were glass-ceilings on growth beyond a point here, generation after generation)? How did village elites and subalterns fit into the migration ladder in ways that didn’t tally with the hierarchies back home?
Given the sociology background, one can also expect insights into tourism here. Lovers’ Beach and Sunset Beach might be new to people outside the area. We are reminded that coastal Salcete has had “long strips of sand dunes, some as high as eight metres”. The section on Goa’s anti-tourism protests—similar instances emerged with varying coverage in the headlines in Spain, Venice, Hawaii and Barcelona, among other places—seems to be covered only cursorily.
Getting almost-journalistic inputs from people in the area gives a contemporary insight into the area. Together with this, citing figures and offering contrasts helps complete the picture. For instance, across India, 31.1% of people migrate because of marriage. In Goa, marriage as a reason for migration accounts for only 17.5%. Some 27.6% move to Goa ‘with the household,’ while 27.3% move for work and employment.
Botelho looks at migrant networks and remittances to the native place. Migrants keep to themselves, mingle and interact with their kind, and rarely integrate with the mainstream. A migrant from Jharkhand said they meet one another while attending the Hindi Mass at church but otherwise have few opportunities or reasons to meet up.
Employment and micro-enterprises in the village are also looked at. Botelho looks at businesses and personalities who changed the face of Betalbatim. Among these
Nanu Enterprises.
From bullfights to politics, traditional bakers and noted restaurants all feature in this 292-page book. The story of how the Konkani language was sustained when it was not taught in schools is an interesting one.
Tiatrists and the popular Konkani voice of our times, Cielda Pereira, are also featured here. One local section deals with today’s clubs from the village. It’s hard to avoid making such a section a long listing of names. A small section looks at how caste plays out among Catholics.
Time was when so many Goan coastal villages had their own networks of ‘rampon’ (beach-seine) giant fishnets, stretching many hundred metres. Today, that’s just a
fading memory.
Bothelho writes, “There used to be a lot of toddy tappers in Betalbatim, but today not even a single toddy tapper is seen around.” Others are quoted saying their children probably won’t follow their cattle-rearing enterprises. It’s easy to romanticise the past, but as this book reminds us subtly, these occupations also went along with low social status and poor earnings.
Botelho is a professor and head of the Department of Sociology at St. Xavier’s College, Mapusa. He had authored, co-authored, or co-edited books on language in early schooling, tourism movements in Goa, socio-economic inequities and the health sector, and another called ‘The Light Within’.
All in all, a must-have book not just for someone from the village and its surroundings, but for those from Salcete as a whole. For readers in the rest of Goa, it offers a template of what an interesting book-length village profile could be.
