THE FIRST RAINS IN GOA, India

April and May are very hot months in Goa. Come end of May the folks long for rain to soothe the parched earth. The farmers get ready to cultivate the paddy fields and expect rain by the first week of June. In the old days the rain was not forecasted using weather satellites. The elders merely followed their sixth sense, instinct and past experience, and accurately forecasted the much awaited and longed-for first rains, judged by cloud conditions, colour of evening skies and wind directions, not forgetting to heed the cry of the rain-bird as it flew over the trees in the villages.

These are some of my childhood experiences.
THE FIRST RAINS
As evening fell
Patiently waiting while we prayed
Expecting the first rains
Brilliant rainbow arched across the sky;
Towards nightfall
While cattle and fowl turned homeward
The rain-bird flew eastward
Making its last call.

And finally when the showers fell
Thought our prayers were answered;
Bounced with joy in our hearts
Our thirsts quenched
We sang and played
Fully drenched:

"Pausa, pausa, heo, heo,
Tuka ditam poiso;
Poiso zalo khotto,
Paus heilo motto".

"Hope it rains some more"
So we wished, as little boats from paper we made
Saw them glide through winding streams
Just enough rain for the wells it seemed
To make them fill to their brims
And yearning and hoping to have fun
On the day of the Feast of St. John.

The first showers soothed the earth
So parched from the summer drought,
Roaring thunder, brilliant lightning;
The skies darkened
And the gentle wind
Blew across the land a whiff,
An earthy smell
That till today
I cannot unravel, describe or tell.

At dusk for prayers we heard a call
"Time for Angelus" said grandma
At the distinct chime of the bell
From the steeple of the village chapel.

Intriguing luminescence,
Kaleidoscopic patterns,
The dance of the fire-flies,
Lit up the dark night skies.

As the church bell rang sharp at eight
Grandma said a prayer for the souls in the purgatory,
Then soon gathered us all in the hall for the Rosary
The frogs in the fields with their endless cacophony
Seem to drown our prayers that we said so loudly,
And in the end for her blessing we lined up innocently.

We did later have a reprieve,
A respite from the heavy showers,
An extended interval perhaps;
Then, for many days it did not rain at all,
"God's way to "scare" us all,
That's what my granny thought.

The stretches of rice fields
Once so plush, verdant and green
Almost seemed to beckon the skies
For rain with their silent cries.

While in the breeze the rice stalks
Swerved from side to side
Grandma sensed the horror
That could prevail
Should the crops fail.

So the folks in the village were much concerned too
Grandma had them summoned without much ado
"We have to pray" she said,
"There is nothing else we can do".

On a beaten path
Making a bee-line
Through the fields she led the folks
Carrying a little statue of St. Anthony
Treading their way to the Holy Cross
To sing to her favourite saint a Litany.

While praying and singing in harmony,
In the miraculous cross
And in St. Anthony
Everyone had trust.

The light from the candles
Through the dark night flickered
In a blackened niche
Carved in its pedestal
So lonesome it seemed
While there as a sentinel it stood
The test of many a season,
Time and year.

That same night
Incessantly the rains fell
Had all the wells so swell
Grandma said it was a miracle
Her prayers were answered
God had at last cast His spell!

"The lads would be happy now"
She uttered under her breath
After they had their jumps in the well
And as tradition would have it
She made a vow
To give the boys
A basketful of mangos and jack-fruit
On the day of the feast of San João.

When we woke up the next morning
Everyone was full of glee
The rice fields seem to smile
In all their glory.
There was no doubt,
That it did rain after all;
And as Grandma had said
It pays when you say
At least a short prayer
Or a Hail Mary -
I could surely tell.