Glenis D'Souza describes her visit to the cosy, humble hamlet of Cacra, a stone's throw away from the temple of learning called the Goa University atop the Taleigao plateau.

THE humble village of Cacra beckons us with the ethereal ambience of a rocky, palm-fringed coastline, spanning nearly a kilometer, where a gregarious lot of enterprising Cacracars dwell peacefully.

The tile-roofed, close-knit houses accommodate nearly 700 people of simple, hardworking origin. The houses huddle together as if for warmth and support, in case of any eventuality. Wooden canoes and fishing nets are seen all over the place. The alluring waves of Dona Paula break gently, or with force depending on the time and tide, a few steps away on the sandy beach. From here the Mormugao Harbour is visible faintly across the azure aquatic expanse.

The hardworking fishermen in their vhoddim (boats) and pageram (fishing nets) form silhouette which bob gently on the waters, hunting for their day's catch. The toddy-tapper is busy monkeying up the ubiquitous palm tops. The energetic youth, back from school or from work, gear up for a game call "narl fodnnem " (coconut-breaking competition).

We could go on describing the charming vignettes of the idyllic beachside that Cacra is. The simple-minded fisher folk dwelling here are indeed closer to the soil and sea than the post graduates rummaging through the piles of geology and marine science books at the nearby Goa University. While got its much wanted university and a vast campus, it didn't come without inflicting suffering on the unobtrusive people of Cacra. The University itself has been responsible for flicking them away as if they were specks of dust.

Before the university stepped on the green hill, they grew vegetables like tambddi bhaji, mashmelons, cucumbers, nachnnem and other dry crops on this farming ground. The villagers were mercilessly torn apart from their farming practice as the University took away their lands. "Amchea pottar khontt marli tannim," (they kicked us is in the belly), says 'Vhoddlo' , the village elder, with a distrait look in his eyes.

Today the Cacracars are left with just a single occupation - fishing. They harvest a catch of xinnaneo (mussles), sungtam (prawns) and pomfrets, the magnitude of the catch varying with the season and climate.

The bulk of Cacracars, nearly 75 per cent, dwell side by side with their Christian neighbours. But it would be difficult to judge them by their tone or accent or even name. Their names range from Vithal Pereira to Surya Barretto, revealing the scars of the torment they bore stoically since conversion and shudhikaran, which helped some of them to return to the faith of their Hindu ancestors. But almost every house sports a scoop in the wall, where a crucifix and the statue of St Francis Xavier is placed alongside the one of goddess Laxmi. The Cacracars celebrate both Ganesh Chaturthi and Christmas with equal zeal and fervour.

'Vhoddlo', the 85-year-old Tome Pereira, reveals that the Cacracars originally migrated from Fatorpa. For years together, they dwelt along the coastline, eking out a living by the sweat of their brow and observing quite rigidly the customs and folklore of their ancestors. Before venturing out at sea, for example, for an early morning catch, they are still in the habit of place a coconut and some flowers as a gesture to ward off any evil. "Devcharachea navan ximer ami kiteim dovortanv," Vhoddlo remarks.

For them, the traditional cultural fest called 'Zagor', a sort of folk dance-drama, in early May, on the Sunday following the feast of Calapur, is a time of immense joy and merriment. Ladainhas too are held one a year at the village cross.

There is not much in terms of entertainment for them. The customary sport of coconut-breaking, as and when it is held, attracts youth from the neighbouring hamlets of Nauxe and Odxel, to participate in the exciting rustic sport.

What if they fall sick? There is neither a doctor nor a dispensary anywhere in the vicinity. They wouldn't need them once. Tulsi, a 90-year-old woman from the village, told us that they cured virtually every illness with local medicines, made of herbs and cooking items like onions, garlic, etc. The elders still resort to such age-old treatment in times of sickness. She, however, bemoans the fact that the modern generation resents such local, effective remedies, and rush to the 'voiz' ' in the city at the mere sign of any sickness.

Merely two boys from the villages are graduates. Otherwise, the bulk of the village youth comprises of dropouts from school; there must be a mere handful who have reached the SSC class. The girls generally work as peons or helpers at the University; some of them work as maids in the nearby resorts. Very few of them are government employees.

Amidst the cluster of houses, one suddenly comes face to face with a small one-room government primary school, which caters to nine students (Std I to Std IV), all taught under one roof by a single 'guruji' (teacher). When we reached there, we heard the little students recite a Konkani verse:

We wondered why such smart and enthusiastic buds were confined to a small ill-equipped dingy classroom. Couldn't the Cacracars unite to demand better health and educational facilities from the government?

Hardly had they recovered from the shock of having lost their farm lands, the Cacracars were visited by another threat, and this time round to their only remaining means of livelihood - fishing. A noted Goan industrialist thought of leaving their shipwrecked as flotsam on the Cacra seafront. But having suffered bitterly in the past, the villagers go together under the banner of the Cacra Nagrik Samiti and opposed the malevolent move.

Being less education or even uneducated, they are still vulnerable to threats from the industrial tycoons who have put up post bungalows atop the Cacra valley. The construction of houses has led to massive deforestation and harmed the once idyllic environs of the locality. Tulsi puts it aptly: "He dongor ghetle ani buildingam bandhlim. Adim ami don khanddio tanddull viktaleanv. Atam ami tandul bazaransun vikte haddtanv ". (The hills have been disfigured by buildings. Not very long ago, we harvested enough paddy, but now we buy our grain from the market.)

Cacra's new generation couldn't keep away from the Coke-culture. The elders, however, still stick to the joys of the traditional xit-koddi for lunch and ambil (a rich pudding made of nachnnem flour, cooked with rice), instead of morning and evening tea.

The villagers are sufficiently industrious and enjoy the balmy breeze of the sandy, palm-dotted coastline. The romantic setting wrought by the swaying palms, bright sunshine and several rocks to relax comfortably, student couples from the University guest house, stray into Cacra, finding the setting ideal to share some intimate moments togetherness.

A lot of big-shots cast a greedy glance on Cacara but the villagers, well seasoned by now with several agitations behind them, are prepared to confront any challenge posed to their survival. "Amcho atam ekvott asa! " (We are united now.) they say with surging self-respect. They have come a long way from the time they witnessed the Portuguese frigate "Infante D. Albuquerque" strafing the village during its swan song at Liberation time. Several of the aging coconut palms bear tell-tale shell marks of the firing, with big holes bored through the stems of the tall trees. Cacracars are cocksure that a like contingency, which made them run helter-skelter in such of shelter then, ain't likely to recur anymore.

So, the villagers live on, hoping for happier days to dawn.