At the end of October 2024 I was supposed to be in the US, not India. My plan was to cover the US elections but the logistics obstacles turned out to be insurmountable and, having already a 5-year Indian visa, I started looking for a combination of photographic subjects. Having been to Ladakh in the last two years and considering the Himalayan areas as the best India had to offer, it was obvious that the first subject would be mountains – Spiti Valley in Himachal Pradesh or Sikkim. Then I saw that if I hurried I could actually catch some of Diwali, the festival of light. Digging a bit into the various interpretations of the tradition I saw that Diwali has a particular manner of celebration in Goa, where effigies of the evil demon Narakasur are burned at sunrise. With greedy eyes sliding across the Indian subcontinent map I weighed alternative plans encompassing Cochin, Trivandrum, Madras, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Kolkata, Andaman and Lakshadweep Islands and everything I could set my eyes upon in that wide neighbourhood. But in the end moderation and sobriety prevailed and I decided upon Goa, Kolkata and Bangladesh.
The roughly 6-hour flight from Istanbul to Mumbai felt like one hour, having slept uncomfortably with my chin hitting my chest for more than half of the time but when I arrived in Mumbai in the wee hours of the morning I felt surprisingly awake.
I met brother Ajay before 6 o’clock in the morning, in a queue of hundreds of people waiting to have their boarding passes and IDs checked at the entrance of Terminal 1, and with a flight to Goa scheduled in an hour and half I felt I shouldn’t worry about missing it, although in retrospect I should’ve. From behind a portly gentleman addressed me in fluent English: “Excuse me, I have a flight at 7:20. Could I pass, please?” “I also have a flight at 7:20” was my rapid reply. “Going to Goa too? Then come with me.” I didn’t need much encouragement to follow in his wide wake and soon I was inside. We lost each other from sight in the interminable controls until we were inside the plane where we exchanged a couple of pleasantries, but this was enough for him to take me under his wing after landing. On business auditing a hotel he partly owned in Goa, he felt at home there and told me which taxi to take, following me to the taxi stand and instructing the taxi driver, not before giving me his business card and telling me I could call him any time.
It took a good hour and a half to get to my hotel in the centre of Panaji, Hospedaria Abrigo de Botelho, a 150-years old, restored house with high ceilings with wooden beams, patterned tile floors, in the Portuguese architectural style matching the environs of the Fontainhas precinct. I barely had time to take a shower, plug in my phone and laptop, add Ajay on my WhatsApp when he messaged me, asking if I had any lunch plans. “Why don’t you come for lunch at my hotel? You have the address on the business card.” Who would refuse a free meal, so I ordered an Uber scooter and after a walk in the charming neighbourhood I set off towards Ajay’s hotel in Candolim, some 25 minutes away. I mentioned the free meal for the readers’ entertainment but in reality I was looking forward to being enlightened about this part of India that I knew very little about. A Portuguese colony for about 450 years until 1961, Goa still has about 25% Catholics, 149 churches, and Portuguese names are frequent on the streets of Panaji. Also the concept associated with the relaxed, laid-back attitude specific to Goa “susegad” has its roots in the Portuguese term “sossegado”, translated as “peaceful, calm”.
The ride took me along a road snaking through the countryside displaying a luxurious vegetation and some beautiful but grimy and mouldy colonial architecture, and my heart started beating faster when I saw giant effigies of a devil-like character springing up along the route. It was for this character that I came to Goa and in front of an elegant, immaculate table, while waiting for a meal of tandoori chicken, Ajay told me that the monster was Narakasura (or Narkasur), a demon who at a point ruled over the three kingdoms of underworld, earth and air, and who managed to trick Lord Brahma into making him almost immortal, the only person who could have killed him being his own mother, Satyabama. After conquering all the kingdoms of the earth Narsakura attacked the heavens and took as prisoners 16,000 women. After an epic battle between Narakasura and Krishna, when Krishna had fallen unconscious due to a trident thrown by Narasakura, Satyabama threw an arrow which pierced Narasakura’s chest and killed him.
We finished the meal with the typical masala tea and then I was offered a grand tour of the hotel that started with one of the three villas inside the compound. I could see from the first step inside the hotel that it was a classy one. Very modern, with huge windows, stylish furniture and tasteful paintings, but the villas were something else. Suffice to say, both the lavish interior with canopy beds and balconies ending in infinity pools, and the views from the wide roof terraces to the lush greenery undisturbed by traffic din were probably the most luxurious accommodation I had ever seen. Also the most expensive, at over $350/night/room or $1000/night/villa …
Tired after the night flight and curious to photograph the Narasakura demons along the road and near my hotel I had to say goodbye to Ajay and return to Panaji. It was hard not to stop all the time and wonder at the inventiveness of the Hindus. The tradition of burning the effigy of Narasakura, specific to Goa, is only 80 years old, and it would’ve been interesting to see the shape of the earlier demon shapes. Now Narakasura effigies seems to take inspiration from the Marvel comics pop culture rather than the old religious paintings. Their grotesque appearance, with burning eyes, huge ears, protruding fangs and oversized arms carrying tridents, axes or daggers, can hardly induce fear when you’ve seen 6-year old kids happily building Narakasura effigies from the scratch in their backyards.
Back at the hotel I wished I could get a good sleep but I still needed to know exactly where the effigies were and, to my surprise, the fluent Portuguese-speaker owner, Roy, invited me on his scooter to show me the exact locations. It would’ve been a short, 10-minute, relatively straight walk in a very safe neighbourhood, but I really appreciated his care. To my satisfaction I found out that the immolation of the Narkasuras would occur at different times in the morning, so I could photograph all three events. I fell into a deep sleep until 7, then had a curry and another walk around Fontainhas. In front of the most remote, and most impressive, Narakasura effigy raised by the Prince of Mala Sports & Cultural Club, there was a big party going on, with deafeningly loud techno, trance, psytrance music blasting out of sound trucks. Mostly young Goan men in crimson T-shirts were raising their hands in the air to the frantic beat in an alcohol-fuelled frenzy.
If somebody was curious to see a Goa disco party here was the real deal on a street corner and not in some fancy bar. That was after sundown. I expected the youngsters to be wasted in the morning but at 6 am they were still dancing with the same energy. Some of the Prince of Mala members approached the papier mache monster and started pouring gasoline over its legs, the fire engulfing the rest of the body in a chaotic cacophony of mad beats, piercing shouts and crackles of the firecrackers flying through the air in all directions, including on my head, clothes and camera. The fire lasted for about 20 minutes and people started leaving the crossroads moving to the next Narsakura in a side street nearby.
Published: https://www.dilema.ro/la-fata-timpului/diwali-in-goa-arderea-demonului-narakasura