‘Avôi, avôi muj mãe ghê! Arhê Zuzu tek kitt kotai rhê ?’(*My God, my God, my Mother, Zuzu what are they doing to him?) *
‘Tek Polis matta...’(*The policeman is beating him up*...) ‘Polis tek kitea matt rhê ? Anim choi murhê Hoddea, teghê goumtecher paim dovorl murhê Polisin.’(*Why is the policeman beating him up? Hey Hoddea look at that the policeman has a foot on his neck)* ‘Teghem navm Floyd ani thó American...’(*His name is Floyd and he is an American*) ‘American? Thó American? Kit munt rhê tum? Thó American kitt konn zatolo? Ek choi murhê. Tum kitt piss zala rhê?’(*American? He is an American? What are you saying? How can he be an American, look at him? Have you gone mad?)* ‘Arrê mak aik rhê bondea thó American...’(*Hey you listen to me you stupid he is an American)* ‘Tuj padd poddum, thó American kitt khon zatollo, thó kaddé khapri mhure?’ (*You go to hell, how can he be an American, he is a Black)* ‘Kaddé khapri zalear kit zata, thó American!’(*What does it matter if he Black, he is an American)* ‘Saiba choi mhurê, tuk aikpak eina kit rhê? American ghoré paklé, kaddé khapri num.’ (*Jesus Christ look at him, can’t you hear, Americans are white, they are not Black*) ‘Arhê kaddé khapri forem rhê, matt thô American, sang rhê Lukson tum kaddó murhê? Tum kaddé khapri murhê? (*He is black no doubt, but he is an American, tell me Lukson, you are Black aren’t you?) * ‘Anv kaddé zaum rhê, mat aum khapri num.’(*I may be Black in color, but I am not a Black)* ‘Ugdhas há rhê tuka Hoddea, thó khapri oir dongrar, tem Divul raktaló Português tempar?’( *Do you remember Hoddea, that Black up on the hill, guarding the Temple during the times of the Portuguese?)* ‘Oi murhê, Konkani ulloi nasllolo, amim ghorvank raktallé.’(*Yes, I remember, but he never spoke Konkani, we went there to herd our cattle)* ‘Tek thó Portugez soldad kessó mar gatallo...’(*How that Portuguese soldier used to beat him up)* ‘Matt tuk anv sangotam, anv Khapri nim, tengelló kesso vas ieta, xi, xi, xi.’(*But I tell you I am no Black, they smell so bad, xi, xi, xi)* ‘Arhê pixeia tum mughé bav murhé tum muj baxin g@#$i nim? (*You madman you are my brother, aren’t you a g@#$i like me? He uses the word for a low caste tribal*) Carpenter on top of the roof in the middle of summer, heads covered in caps or long pieces of cloth, sweat trickling down their faces and sides... ‘Arhê Quistod, kesso tan lagolea.’ (*Oi Quistod, I am so thirsty*) ‘Tuvem udo arum nha rhê?’(*Haven’t you brought water*?) ‘Tuem hadlam, zalear mak dhi murhê...’(*If you have brought, give me some*) ‘Het, oir udok horpa zata kit rhê? Aghô Rosalin tea Badkaraghellem jardinant nhôramchem ek batli hâr mughô (*Tchaa, can you take water up there? Rosalin get some water from that Badkar’s garden; fill a bottle from the tap*) ‘Xi, xi anv osnam, thó maka havpak ettollo.’ (*Xi, xi I am not going there, he will pounce on me)* ‘Nam ghô... Tum oss ghô Succorine’(*No, no...you go Succorine*) ‘Borem...’(*Ok...)* Sounds of water filling a two litre empty bottle of Pepsi... ‘Kit khort ghô tum...?’(*What are doing?)* An extremely loud shout emanates from inside the palatial house, an angry, tall Bakar rushes out of the house... ‘Kitt khort ghô tum? Tuk loz nam ghê?’(*What are you doing? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?) * ‘Badkara illem udok piupak kadtallem...’(*Badkara I just wanted to drink some...)* Foaming at the mouth, spit flecking his lips, eyes wild almost bursting out of their sockets, veins and arteries tense on the verge of rupturing, a frenzied Badkar screams... ‘Tum udok kaddatalem? Konam sangon ghê? Tughea Paighem bhatt ghê tem, sanghô g#$%iné? (He uses the word for a low caste tribal) You were taking water? Who did you inform? Is this your Father’s property? You g@#$%#e ) ‘Padd podlellem G@#$%rim, choram...’(*Go to hell you G#$$%e thieves* ) ‘Tem udo rokhoi mughê jardinhant...Atam...’(*Pour the water out in my garden...Immediately...)* ‘Ami G#$%rim zalear kit zalem? Tughelea Bamnachem kam kornanv?’(*So what if we are low caste tribals, don’t we do all the work for you Brahmins?)* Succorine begins weeping... Quistod takes stock of this terrible situation. Santan he calls out to his carpenter... ‘Khuim rokhoipachem?’(*Where should we pour it out?)* ‘Etyeah vassan, atam, rokhoi ghê...’(*In that flower pot, pour it out now*) Santan empties the water in the Flower pot... George Floyd’s death brought out outpourings of tremendous grief and heartbreak. How could this have happened screamed people of all faiths and colours. How could it? That’s a strange question... It’s always been there...Always. There is absolutely no doubt about it And it will be there for a long time to come for it lies deep within our hearts and in our blood. Racism and Casteism. https://zorotmorotgoesmyvillage.blogspot.com/2019/07/agho-milagrin-londokarancheo-dhirio.html
