A ‘VIVA CARNAVAL’ STORY OF ANOTHER ERA
During the pre-Lent celebration of CARNAVAL, three days beginning on Sunday before Ash Wednesday it was fun and frolic at Cumbiem Morod. Young boys and girls clad in various costumes and garbs of every style and colour, roamed the village from house to house showing off their fancy attire. Sometimes they could be your next-door neighbours masked in a costume one would probably not have believed or recognized. But guessing who might the reveller be was part of the fun.
The most common themes bordered on comedy and farce, and the preferred costumes were out of the ordinary - men in ladies skirts or saris; clowns - young boys dressed in over-sized old shirts, trousers, coats, shoes and hats. A common practice by these merrymakers was unexpected sprinkling of white chalk powder on people.
On the first day of this exuberant festival, as noon almost drew near, and the midday sun blazed over, the first ‘moenkar’ would appear at the door in a clown’s or some other funny character's costume. As was expected of this first masked adventurer, the first thing that he or she would do in the front of our ‘balcao’ was sing a song – a popular Konkani, English or Portuguese hit song of the time. My mother’s reward for his genuine efforts would be a meager 25 paise.
Then for another two consecutive days, the typical ‘moenkar’ would roam the village, from house to house singing songs, or display some comedy act, some of them perhaps wearing different masks or attires. Others would come in groups singing Konkani comedy songs. Some groups of 3 or 4 would improvise an impromptu one-act comedy.
On the last day of the carnival, as the evening slowly turned to dusk and the bell rang for Angelus, my mother or my aunt would remind us that the next day was Ash Wednesday. Then suddenly in the twilight far away on the winding path into our village from Sorvem, we could hear the jingling sound of the bells that were tied to the waists of a gang of hooded men, clad fully in black, that were called as “devchar” (devils). As they approached near, they did strike some fear into the kids who searched for a place to hide around the house, or in the storeroom (Konkani: kudd) or in the thatched shed (Konk: khomp) at the rear.
But my grandma was brave, as she had handled many a “devchar” and “moenkar” in her lifetime. She daringly held her ground standing in the doorway. She had probably guessed right who the lads were, but was polite enough in not having them embarrassed by mentioning the names of the faces hiding behind the masquerade. The lads did not utter a single word in fear of blowing their cover. But grandma instead said: “Up there from Vancio Vaddo, I am pretty sure from where you are. So, take this four “annas” young lads, and on your way you better be” she said sternly, adding with a warning, “I hope you know that Lent starts tomorrow, so I hope to see you all you on time in church, and in the first row for sure”.
