Have you ever heard of a festival where the devout plait guavas, grapes, hibiscus, carnation into a crown, wear them as a proud king would and then jump into wells and rivulets with coconuts and feni in hand? A festival where finery is shunned and the pious amble around in shorts and vests? A festival where the fave sweetmeat’s name is a tongue-twister – the pataleo made of rice powder, jaggery, grated coconut steamed together in turmeric leaves.
A day where merrymakers eat and drink in the wells. And do not be surprised if you find an entire musical band chest-deep in water breathing into the clarinets and beating the drums into a crescendo? If you are ever in Goa on June 24 and see hordes of men and women walking round with flower/fruit kopels (crown), you’ll know it is the Sao Joao festival (the feast of St John).
It was aboard Santa Monica boat that I first leapt in joy. Quite like St John, the Baptist, who leapt with joy in his mother Elizabeth’s womb when Mother Mary came visiting. The jumping into wells is symbolic of St John’s still-in-the-womb leap of joy. The saint jumped in the womb, the pious in wells. And the crown? That’s to remind revelers of the crown of thorns that Jesus wore. The kopels also hark back to the old tradition of a newly-wed groom being welcomed into his in-laws house with a crown of flowers and fruits.
This unique Goan festival is celebrated across the state but nothing beats the Sao Joao celebrations at Siolim. I joined the crowd gaping at the decked boats. On one boat a fiber-glass crocodile lay with his mouth agape. Another had peacocks and mushrooms atop an anthill while a papier mache girl in itsy-bitsy green dress was sprawled in a flower forest.
Cardboard musical notes were swaying in the breeze and a mermaid was drowning in the muddy water. In Campal, I saw a bald man with roses covering his mowed scalp screaming Viva San Joao jumping into a dug pit filled with water. A young girl dangling in her boyfriend’s arms was splashing water.
A couple with Mr Awesome and Ms Awesome tees held hands. And a man dressed in red with a garden on his head. Literally. A crown of hibiscus. Palm leaves. Pink roses. White champa. Ornamental foliage draping his forehead. Suddenly, everyone leapt head first into the well. The crowd cheered. The music grew louder. Camera shutters went berserk.
During Sao Joao, piety melds with merriment. Flowers turn into crowns. Pineapples hang as chandeliers. And wells and rivulets double up as dance floors. Viva Sao Joao.
Preeti Verma Lal