NEW Quest

The following is an excerpt from the author’s unpublished novella, “How Albuquerque Conquered Goa and The Creation of the Griffon”.

as narrated by Jean Baptiste Denis,
physician-surgeon extraordinaire,
formerly of Rouen.

The present story is of the fantasy fiction genre. I must make it clear that it hasn’t any remotest concern with the actual events that took place in Goa at that time or, for that matter, with the real Alphonse De Albuquerque and Jean Baptiste Denis who existed but at different times. My characters are fictional. I must also make it clear that the term Turk I have used in the story is not a euphemism or a synonym for the term Muslim; here Turk means Turk or of Turkish origin. In fact, the Konkani term is “Thurkancho” ⁱ, meaning “of Turkish origin”, though I must admit that later on it did become identified with the term Muslim, but I am not doing that. I have a very genuine feeling for the needless humiliation suffered by the Jewish people, especially at the hands of the so-called enlightened Europeans. The Jews by no means suffered even an iota of it at the hands of the Muslim nations. I hope my Jewish friends will not misunderstand me if and when they read this book. I reiterate once again my great regard for the Jewish people.

I am Jean Baptiste Denis, physician, surgeon, and herbalist. I am a resident of or rather, more truthfully, a former resident of Rouen. For many years I had successfully practised my craft there, but a day came when, to save a man’s life, I fell foul of the law, because to do this I had to do an experiment which ended unfortunately in his death. It was not his death that mattered, but its news which became a sensation and my nemesis. Wait a little and I will tell you all. But first, a few asides from me. Whatever we do at any time, at any place is basically an experiment, because we cannot with one hundred percent certainty predict its results. There is no guarantee that the air that is taken in will be breathed out. Such is man’s life, bad and dark, a groping in the dark void. But God is light and everything is as he wishes. So a person like me who works for the people’s welfare, if with good intentions he takes up an experiment with full responsibility, leaving the results in God’s hands, would he be wrong? And if there be a failure, would he be a defaulter before the law? Why am I telling you all this? Because that exactly was my basic defense when they hauled me up over a man’s death. I kept this before the examining magistrate with all the honesty at my command and also the parable of the lamb, for, in this incident, the

lamb plays a leading part. But his Honour would not bear me out and I was sentenced. Be that as it may, I shall now stretch a bit towards my childhood. From this part of my life onwards I had an immeasurable faith and regard for God. He is our shepherd and however old and wise we grow, we are lambs of His. Without His assent and aye no leaf stirs, He is our haven and float. He is ... but it seems to me I'm digressing a bit. So it all happened on that cold and fateful Wednesday morning in mid-December at eleven o’clock. I was examining and treating my patients when a young man bleeding profusely ran in with a clatter and stood before me. It was obvious to me that he was caught up in a street brawl for the mark of the dagger was on his bleeding chest, which was open and another wound which I judged was on the lower abdomen was under his under-clothes. Two big wounds and may-be many smaller lacerations. I took him inside the inner room immediately, as I judged my first priority was to stitch them up. Leaving other patients in limbo I put this man on the table and single-handedly stitched them. It took me two hours; the bleeding had now stopped but the young man had already lost too much blood and was white as chalk, his pulse was low and faint. He was dying, and theoretically the only recourse was to replace his lost blood. And then, I saw through the window a shepherd going along with his ewes and lambs, and I thought: what blood would be better than that of the lamb for replacement? For if we all are God’s lambs then the true lamb born of the fornication of the ewe and the ram was the truest and nearest to God. And what blood could be better than its blood? Most sinless and the purest and the most innocent. So much so that the lamb had no need of baptisma. That’s what I thought; not reckoning the malevolence of the inquisition, though I did go to our padre M. Rev. Henri Dumas for his advice, but he had already left for his early morning parish rounds, so I took upon my head all the responsibility as there was no time to lose. I purchased a small white lamb from another shepherd who was passing by, and baptized it with the commonest male name in France, Jean, by throwing a few drops of water on its head half playfully as I was no priest. Just a fancy of mine to be playful at a difficult time and don’t we all give names to our dogs, cats, cows and fowl to know them better?

With the help of M. Martin our barber, I tied Jean the lamb’s legs together and its mouth too and hung it vertically from a hook in the ceiling. Climbing onto a tall stool M. Martin, who is also an excellent bloodletter, opened Jean the lamb’s vein and with great skill inserted a long tube of some elastic matter, possibly of hog’s intestine (which is the trademark of these bloodletters) in it. Its lower portion was straggling on the ground; I placed it inside the vein of the almost bloodless young man which I had already opened and kept ready. From the top things find it easy to come down, and so the lamb’s blood flowed with ease into the young man, his white chalk-like face started to take on the colour pink, and when it became a little more pinkish, or, as we call it in France, ’couleur de rose’, I stopped the blood flow, removed the tube and sealed the vein. While doing so I felt his pulse. It had now started to beat! I raised my hands to the ceiling to thank God and saw the lamb hanging from the hook with its tongue out and eyes closed. But I could see from below that it still breathed and I saw M. Martin the barber climb onto the stool and take Jean the lamb down with the tube still in its vein, lay it on the ground and climb up again onto the stool and hang himself on the hook in the lamb’s place by placing the tough leather collar of his upper garment firmly on it, then cutting open his vein and inserting into it the aforesaid tube which was in Jean the lamb’s vein in order to give it his blood, and again I saw the mystic sight: a thing coming from top below. The lamb, which had now recovered a bit, being back on earth, was looking with all innocence at the actions of the barber, but it seemed M. Martin wasn’t an innocent because the moment his blood entered the lamb’s vein it uttered harshly a term of foul abuse (I think mother-fucker and bastard), gave a loud fart, shuddered and lay still. At that very moment the young man sat up wide-eyed and began to bleat in Jean the lamb’s voice, upon which Jean’s mother who must have been grazing nearby came in, answering with loud bleats, and for a while both continued to bleat, looking at each other. The ewe, Jean’s mother, obviously became confused and disoriented, but at one point jumped onto the table where the young man was and put her dugs on his mouth and nose. But the young man continued to bleat. At that moment a middle-aged woman entered crying. It was the young man’s mother. It was with great difficulty that I was able to separate the ewe from the young man so that he could meet his mother, but that wasn’t to be; perhaps the bleating was too much for him or he wasn’t pure enough for the lamb’s blood. He gave a huge fart which nearly lifted him above the bed, shuddered, gave one more fart and lay still. Meanwhile Rev. Henri Dumas had come in with a large wine flask in his right hand, a large flag on his head and a huge ham slung on his left shoulder. A sight to truly rejoice in at most times; but today he was followed by two men with looks of subtle authority combined with cruel, suspicious, venal expressions. There was now a sudden silence in the room. Even the dead young man’s mother and the ewe fell silent. It was the inquisition! It was obvious that in order to please these men our good padre was offering them a binge, because even good padres are fearful of the inquisition. Maybe these men had come to me for free treatment on the house since I was perhaps the best physician-surgeon of Rouen. But now, instead of me, all their attention was turned to M. Martin, who was hanging from the hook. He had however quickly removed the tube from his vein connecting him to Jean the lamb, but since he was now in the process of becoming frightened, he let out many farts and let nature take its own way through the front and the back. So a small blob of his turd fell with a thud on the ham carried by the good father. I got up immediately in deference to the inquisition, and removed the blob with a bandage and made it edible again. Good Father Dumas was also sweating, but he somehow gurgled out his thanks. His position was truly pitiable. Noting all this, the barber got more scared and gave us a benediction through his penis and some more from his backside, proving once again that there is nothing better for constipation and diuresis than a good scare. He tried to hide himself from the inquisition and ultimately rolled himself into a ball on the hook, with his backside to us. The agents of the inquisition were looking at him all the while with the greatest concentration, but without any discernible expression on their cruel and sombre faces. For a moment I thought of making the barber the author of what I did, but the good man in me took over and I refrained. I also reflected that my waiting patients had seen everything and I could be held guilty of perjury. But ultimately it became known through the gurgled words of Father Dumas that the men of the inquisition were in search of M. Martin, the barber because both of them badly wanted to be shaved, along with a hair-cut for both, plus shampoo and a massage. They were least interested in the events at my place since I was well known as a faithful Catholic. But it was with great difficulty that I could climb onto the stool and tell the barber that these men only wanted him professionally, and he could unroll himself now without fear. He himself badly needed a bath, but based on all that I’m told he later did one of his best jobs ever on the agents of the inquisition.

I was charged with homicide and adoption of strange and criminal practices in medicine (amounting to witchcraft)—therefore not by the inquisition but by the ordinary civil and criminal court of the city of Rouen. The complainant was the stepmother of the dead young man. Defending myself, I brought out all the facts of the case; that my qualifications were impeccable, that I was a Sorbonne man with a very high reputation as a physician and surgeon, and that the complainant was only a step-mother, meaning a hypocrite, crooked and ill-intentioned woman, and whatever I did was to serve the life of the young man in question, adding also that perpetrators of falsehoods shouldn’t be allowed to score over those spread the truth. In short, the truth and untruth, the essence and non-essence, love and hate, good and bad, good and evil, compassion and violence, God and Satan were the fundamental conflicts whose contexts I brought to bear on this case. I also brought as my witnesses M. Martin the barber and Father Dumas for my defence, but both were dead drunk that day.

Father Dumas could only gurgle and M. Martin only vomit. As for the two agents of the inquisition whom I wanted to bring as my witnesses, they proved to be impostors who wanted to take advantage of Father Dumas’ fear of the inquisition—which was well known—and enjoy his hospitality. They were now in chains and so my defence, so carefully constructed, fell apart. As a last resort, I told the judge that this must be a Jewish conspiracy against me as I was a faithful Catholic and tried to prove it, but this proved to be my biggest mistake. A woman whom I had once kept but discarded for a younger one, kept her hate intact and became the complainant’s witness. She, under oath, falsely affirmed that in actuality I was a Jew masquerading as a Catholic, that I was circumcised and knew the Jewish prayers backwards. She was a Jewess. It was true that I was circumcised and said the Jewish prayers but that need not mean anything I told the judge was false. But the case became a scandal and then the real inquisition came in with disastrous results. And then someone spread a canard that more than half the population of Rouen were Jews masquerading as faithful Catholics! This was an utter falsehood but it led to a deeper investigation by the inquisition and it was found out that more than one fourth of the males of Rouen were circumcised and knew the Lord’s prayers only faultily and this also his lordship who tried me! This shocked all the Catholics and there was a general atmosphere of fear and mistrust in Rouen. All the masqueraders were paraded in their native state—that is, naked—all over Rouen exhibiting their circumcised penises for the benefit of the gentiles before being sent off to the stake. I was at the head of the parade as I was labeled as the arch-villain amongst the Jews. Nearly ten thousand men, women and children were to climb the stake, when a totally unexpected event saved us. It was Alphonse De Albuquerque’s voyage to India! For his galleys, he needed able-bodied slaves. The women and children were to be sold as and when to the Arab and the Turk. The Portuguese sailors and soldiers were forbidden to touch them on the pain of death as they were Jews, which for a change was a good thing. As I say, out of the bad some times a good thing comes, so be it. Amen. I had often heard a lot about India also known as Hindustan to the Arab and the Turk; about its riches, its splendour and its spices. Its people, in particular those known as the Hindus, were very tolerant of people professing other religions; its strange caste system and the practice of untouchability.

The Jews were the untouchables of Europe, but strangely enough a group of Jews known as the Bene-Israeli were living happily on its west coast. This too I knew. We were five or so in each galley and I was among the galley slaves allotted to the ship of Alphonse De Albuquerque himself. We were put two to each, on each side of the ship and we sailed from Lisbon one fine morning on May the 14th. We, men, women and children, walked from Rouen to Le Havre in an almost half-naked state, with very little food and water and no wine at all, getting all the while the vilest foul abuse from the gentile spectators lining both sides of our route. Since we were now merchandise, they were strictly forbidden from stoning us. Reaching Le Havre we were handed over to the Portuguese who put us on a large cattle ship to Lisbon. We were, however, well taken care of by the Portuguese, except that they left us in our ragged half naked state. We reached Lisbon after a ten days voyage and as I said earlier, we were immediately put on the galleys and set sail. The Jews were very angry with me throughout, regarding me as the author of their misfortune but they could do me no harm, there being strict policing throughout by the guards. But once on the galley, they started abusing me in every way, but, here again they could do me no physical harm; they, including me, were all in chains, the only movement being allowed was minimal and that too was to row well. It was then that I spoke out and said, “Jews it is God who is putting you all to the test. It is also a punishment for denying your God and living falsely as gentiles. Hindustan is not Europe and there you can live openly and without shame as Jews; think now that you are now relieved and free”. “How’s that?” the Jew by my side asked. Then I told him what I knew about India and its uniqueness. Everyone was listening. I told them of the Bene-Israel Jews of the Konkan, of the white Jews of Cochin. “You need not fear,” I told them. “There you have your synagogues and you and your Rabbis can celebrate all your holy days without fear”. “If God so wishes,” said the man by my side. “But, why do you say your synagogues, you Rabbis, and so on? Aren’t you one of us, man?” At that moment my eyes fell below his waist. He was circumcised to perfection, almost a work of art, sculpturesque.

“Me?” I said, “I am a Moor”. “A Moor?” They asked in surprise. “Yes. I am a Moor. In Spain when the Moors were defeated and thrown out many went back to Maghreb, our motherland. But my parents had fallen in love with Europe; they become Catholics and migrated to France because in Spain even converted Moors were not welcome. Before the conversion, they were practising Muslims. I was born a little after their conversions; but my father, perhaps out of belief still retained, in his privacy often used to recite the holy Koran. I, however, was brought up as a Catholic but born with a great memory, I still remember many suras that my father used to recite; in fact, the first sura of the holy Koran is always at the tip of my tongue, listen”. And I recited the Al Fateha also known as Fateha Uthul Kithab, Umull Koran and Shabban Min Ul Mathani and they listened to me in peace.

Bismillahi 'rahhmani 'rrhheem.
El-hamdoo lillahi rabi 'lalameen.
Arrahhmani raheem.
Maliki yowmi-d-deen.
Eyaka naboodoo, waeyaka nestaeen.
Ihbdina 'ssirat almostakem.
Sirat alezeena anhamta aleim, gheri-'l mugdoobi aleihim, wala disaleen.
Ameen.ⁱⁱ

“Then, how are you so well acquainted with the Torah and the Jewish prayers as witnessed by your ex-whore?” A Jew at my back asked. “Because my brother, life is an enigma. I study all religions to find an answer”. “But why go to Hindustan?” “Brother, I am not going there but like you I’m being taken there”. “Sorry brother, I forgot, we are in the same boat, but I was also wondering about your circumcision“.

“Yes, I shall tell you all about that in a short while, God willing. Shalom!” At that all the galley slaves, who only a few days back lived happily in Rouen as Catholics, shouted in one voice, “Shalom! Shalom!”, and began to pull the oars together. A little later, I narrated the story of my circumcision.

I got myself circumcised in my late twenties. Born with a voracious sexual appetite, I could find no fulfillment because of a highly sensitive penis. Therefore there was a huge chasm between my desire and its fulfillment. At that age I was in sexual success meant everything, putting all other success into the shade. Depressed, frustrated and worried, I was sitting in town park one day, when an aged Moor approached me and asked what ailed me. His countenance was of such a goodness that I told him all. He told me that only circumcision would solve my problem and took me personally to Cordova in Spain, which still had a small colony of Moors. They had only an old, half destroyed mosque, wherein an aged mullah was circumcising children. For me, seeing this the first time, it was an horrendous and an astounding spectacle. It was like a very small battlefield with very small naked warriors lying on their backs with their tiny penises bloodied, inflamed and many of them erect. Their shrill tiny cries created a cacophony, which combined with the circumcision scene brought home the evils of battle and war, while the parents, particularly, the mothers in black veils looking at their offspring looked like ghouls. Circumcision is I felt a very painful thing, its memory will last one’s lifetime. The old Moor who was my guide told me, however, that the aged mullah was one of the best and that his handiwork could be recognized anywhere on the face of the earth. “The youth,” he said, “as he develops sees the beauty of his penis and regards it as a God’s gift to be taken care of. And as for the pain, he slowly realizes that any thing worthwhile on this earth can only be built through great pain and effort”. The old mullah refused to carry out the operation on me as according to him I was a Kafir or an unbeliever, and when I told him my full story, he buffeted and berated me to no end for being the son of an apostate. I recited for him the first sura of the Holy Koran and the other suras, which I knew by heart and I told him of my knowledge of all the ablutions including the Wazu; he relented a bit and said that the sins of the father should not be really be forced upon the heads of the children and it was because of Allah’s infinite mercy and blessings that I still retained valuable memories of the past; so I was free to be a Muslim now and according to the rites to be circumcised. So I became a Muslim. After my initiation and circumcision, along with my old Moorish friend, I went on a trip of the great Arab cities. I visited Rabat, Marrakech, Tunis, Algeris, Cairo, Alexandria, Damascus and Baghdad. My penis had now healed and the sexual encounters I had in these cities brought a sea change in me. My penis had become much less sensitive and I much more so to the pleasures of sex. Meanwhile, my old Moorish friend and old countryman passed away after a slight fever at Basrah on the third day of the holy month of Ramzan. I was most sorry to lose him. I completed my Haj pilgrimage without him and returned to Rouen and resumed my old life, and what have you. This dear brother, in short, is the story of my circumcision”. “Oh, I see brother!” they all said in unison.

I spoke again to Shalom my partner at the oar. I said, “Brother Shalom you must have noticed my eyes now and then wandering about your circumcised one?” “Yes brother, I was wondering about that. I hope you are not one of the Sodom?” he replied. “No brother, certainly not; but see mine, do you not see a great familiarity ?” I pointed out. Shalom’s eyebrows were raised in wonder, “Yes brother, it is of the same hand!” “Mine was by mullah Haji Moosa,” I said. “And mine by Rabbi Moshe,” he said. “But unmistaken, undoubted, it is the same hand; as my old Moor said, his work can be recognized anywhere on the face of this earth as only his and his alone!” “Yes,” said Shalom eyeing and comparing the work done on both our organs. “It is Rabbi Moshe’s hand and the same was said of him”. “Brother Shalom what age are you now?” “Forty, brother Jean, if I may call you that”. “You may brother, though the mullah Moosa baptized me Abdellah Ben Abdellah after my father’s old Islamic name Abdellah. I feel that deep down I’m Jean Baptiste Denis the Frenchman anyway. So you are forty, so it’s nearly forty years since your circumcision?” “Yes, we do it almost immediately”. “Do you remember the rabbi’s age at that time?” “Yes brother Jean, my parents used to say about him, that he was nearly one hundred years of age, how old was your man?” “About hundred years according to my dead Moorish friend, brother Shalom, the same age, moreover Moosa had a very clear asterisk-like mark on his mid-forehead, as though there were, as in a book, footnotes to him in life”. “O my God! Rabbi Moshe had the same mark! O my God!”. “Why do you exclaim God!, and invoke him so brother?” “Don’t you see?” “No, I don’t understand”. “Your Moosa and my rabbi Moshe are one and the same!”. “But I got circumcised by him twelve years ago, that means he must have been then, of age one hundred and twenty eight years! Which is far more than the mortal span! How do you explain that brother?” “Simple. He is not a mortal”. “Could he not be a twin brother?” “Twin brother aged one hundred and twenty eight years and whose hand work is the same? Do look at our organs brother”.

“Sorry brother Shalom, it was a very foolish doubt of mine, who is he? Can you tell?” “Yes, that I can tell now”. “Brother, you mean you knew who this man is?” “I thought as much brother, but now I know, I know! He is none other than our first prophet Moshe, Moosa, Moses, who led us across the desert to Israel, who constantly intervened for us with God” “Funny,” I said, “One a mullah and other a rabbi, and both in one man, prophet Moses! Difficult to understand, difficult to believe”.

“True, these things don’t go by our rote. I've been studying the Kabbala for some time and trying to understand it. It tells that our rote is far too simple, while the reality is a much too shaded and complex whole. Wait, I will tell you of my strange experience”. “Yes, I have heard a lot about the Kabbala,” I said. At that moment, our ship began to rock on a huge wave and the whole of the Portuguese fleet too, so our talk was cut for a while and we started observing the sea and the sky. After some time, the waters cooled but at some distance we saw a large mass of black colour in the sky coming towards us.

It was a huge bird and it started circling above us. It had a bearded man’s face and on its head a bishop’s cap. The Jews and the Portuguese started quaking in fear, but the great bird lifting somehow its right wing above the rest of its body, giving thus the sign of reassurance and not to fear and yet keeping its body balanced miraculously in the air said, “I am Cyprian, soon you will come to Carthage on the north African coast; today’s Tunis. Long back I was its bishop and the head of its church. I was martyred by the Romans”. I felt it was talking to me, I spoke, “Is it? But why are you here now?”

“Because this fleet belongs to the Christians, that’s why. Do you have your answer now? Soon the world will be Christian and my martyrdom will now prove its worth. Ha! ha! ha!”. And the great man bird opened its mouth and sang accompanied by the sonorous sounds of organ coming from its stomach, flute from the pharynx, harp from the liver, cymbals from the spleen, lute from the intestines, and from the rectum terminating in the anus sounded the clavichord. The bird’s whole body, I guessed, having no need now of food had become an orchestra, an assemblage of musical instruments, conducted by the soul of the bishop. The Jews and the Portuguese, now relieved that the man bird meant no harm, sang along like an ill assorted chorus, as though giving vent to a deep inner cacophony; after the chorale, the great bird sped off, but not before shedding its droppings on our ship, making me wonder whether the soul too has its defecations and droppings like the body.

Shalom and I resumed our talk. Shalom said, “I am a deep student of the Kabbala but that doesn’t suffice really because the Kabbala has no depth, it is an abyss. Quite often when it baffles I sit tight in thought. Once deeply immersed I heard a great solemn voice telling me with great clarity, “Hindustan Hindustan! Its there your doubts will get cleared. Soon you will be on a ship going there most unexpectedly. And today, a month after that I am a galley slave on a ship going to India!”. And he began to sing loudly, “Row brothers row, brothers row,” and all the slaves followed in unison, singing loudly, “Row brothers, row brothers row”. “And then?” I asked after a good bit of rowing was done. It had become hot and steam could be seen arising from the sea. I was full of sweat. Shalom said, “Three nights after, I had a strange dream. I was in some dark cave, naked. Before me was the flickering light, dim of a small candle, but I could see no candle anywhere, I heard a solemn voice; seemed I had heard it before. I lifted up my head and saw before me the rabbi who had circumcised me, rabbi Moshe, old and with the asterisk on the forehead, as described by my father! It was his voice that had spoken to me three days back! Keeping my hands over my genitals like a fig leaf, I listened to him. O Shalom!, O Shalom! He said: this lights source that you seek is not a candle somewhere in this cave; it is a glow from a mystic stone”. “From a mystic stone!” I said, removing my hands from my genitals and bowing to him, reflecting that the rabbi who had done my circumcision, albeit, in my babyhood, wouldn’t be shamed by my manhood. The rabbi replied, “Yes my child, but the gem isn’t here, it is in the great and ancient land of Hindustan”. “In Hindustan? Then how does its glow come up to here?”
I asked. “All that is mystic is thus my child,” he replied. “I want you to find out that stone for me, my son”. “Where is it in Hindustan, rabbi Moshe? In some mine or outside?” “In a mine, but it is no ordinary mine son, it is inside the brains of a man, in its deep middle, that’s the mine”. That I was flabbergasted and astonished would be to understate; I was speechless. What a man and what brains? And to search the vast land of Hindustan for it! An old and simple saying came to my mind, that when troubles come they do not come singly.

As though reading all my thoughts, the rabbi said, “What troubles you will face are just unimaginable my son. You will have to search and find the man with your very own efforts. I can only tell you this much about him; the man is an untouchable. “An untouchable? You mean he cannot be touched?” “That you will know for yourself when you go to Hindustan. He is not only an untouchable but also suffers from the great disease of leprosy”. The rabbi was now levitating, standing a few feet above the ground.

“O great father rabbi,” I said. “All this for what? I am the simplest of men and not at all brave”. “It, my son, is for the better future of our Jewish people, who are God’s own. Don’t worry, you will know whether you are a brave man or a coward quite soon. Remember the travails of Job and be steadfast in God“ . While saying all this he floated upwards and reaching the cave’s roof, suddenly, wasn’t there anymore. I woke, full of sweat, and screamed. My good wife and children got up, but I didn’t tell them a word.

Hearing the words “untouchable” and “The great disease, leprosy” rang a few bells in my mind and some old thoughts came back. Why should I hide them from you? They were about the various experiments that I had thought out for the benefit of Humanity, which I never could carry out in France for the fear of the church and the inquisition, but India, I had known for long as a land where strange practices are not strange but are of the rote. If it was the wish of Almighty, I would carry out my life’s work in that exotic land! It was an engrossing thought. I must tell you by now that I had become fairly well known, both amongst the Jews as well as amongst the Portuguese as an excellent physician, and already they had started giving me the regards and respect accorded to a doctor of physic. Most of them had started feeling the strains of a long voyage, including even the seasoned sailors. One day, the boat’s captain came to see me and bowing deeply to me started telling me of his woes. I was still chained to the galley. It only shows that distinctions like master, slave, and what have you disappear for the former when the latter has the secrets of well being in his hands. The captain then unchained me and took me aside to the starboard side, where we two were alone; there he slobbered, clobbered, and narrated his woes; he was suffering from one of his worst and common of human afflictions: chronic constipation I asked him when he had last passed his stools. He said, “Not for the last thirty days”. Obviously, his was no simple case. More probing brought out the suspicion that his anus might practically be closed, which meant that his stomach was inflated, which on cursory examination was found to be so. Moreover, I found he had very bad halitosis. I told him of my suspicions and he fell at my feet saying it was true that his anus closed and he was testing my knowledge just now, that God is great and that he was fated to be cured by me and then fell at my feet weeping loudly. I couldn’t very well refuse, but told him his was a difficult case and I should have full freedom in treating him. He agreed. I told him give me two days to think out a solution to his problem. While saying so I heard a voice telling me the biblical sentence, “You are your brother’s keeper! You are your brother’s keeper! If this was learnt and practised all evil would have ceased!”. I looked around, but there was only me and the captain! It was a divine message for me to do my best for humanity, and it was repeated, the large sentence, rather I say dinned into my ears at least five times and then it ceased. With all deference, the captain led me back to my seat and chained me, promising to come back after two days, but he could have come earlier, for within the passing of a day I had reasoned out and solved his problem. It was so simple and straight. His anal opening, I reasoned, was more or less sealed, also there might be a growth, which meant there was a strong tendency for permanent closure in the captain’s anus, therefore there was no point in making surgically an artificial opening there, because it may again promptly coalesce, making the whole operation a waste of time. To my mind there was only one thing to do; so when the captain came on the second day to know his fate, I put him a straight question, I said, “Captain, would you like to evacuate through my bowels?” He didn’t understand, I then explained what I wanted to do as his days of excreting through his own anus were over. First to make an opening at his low back, near the site of the large intestine and then make an opening in the intestine, large enough to fit a tube, which of course would go made opening in the lower back; then I would make an hole for the tube in my lower abdomen joining it to my large intestine, thus, bringing together the two bowel systems, and the working of my bowels being exceptionally strong, it would stimulate peristaltic movement in the captain’s bowels, bringing his waste matter into my large intestine and from there out through my anus, bringing to a close thus, the act of our joint evacuation and making me my brother’s keeper. The captain couldn’t really believe me at first, but at last he understood that he had no choice but to undergo such a conjoinment. He, however, did not want to evacuate through my body as my being a Catholic was doubtful for he was very fearful of the inquisition, but any willing, able-bodied Catholic would do for him he said. To be frank, I was relieved because in the meanwhile due to the horrendous events that happened to me, though I lived as a practising Catholic for enough time to feel like one, I was unsettled in this aspect as the ghost of my old Moor identity came up. These Portuguese consume a lot of pork; I had stopped eating it now and I did not honestly relish the prospect of its waste matter passing through my bowels; even so, overcoming all these obstacles, I had offered to be my brother’s keeper in all honesty. But everything is as God wishes in His infinite wisdom. But the poor captain was not so sure of succor from his own people and he expressed his doubts. I told him not to be perturbed. He asked me what he should do. I told him to call his crew and ask of their help, remind them that all men are brothers and each one of us is the other’s keeper. Some good soul would understand and offer help then. Of course, inducements monetary and otherwise could also be needed for which he should be liberal with his purse. He agreed and went to do that and came next day with a young, well built though, a bit squat Catholic. I asked the young man if his bowels were regular and working well. He said yes and letting out a fart offered to demonstrate. His fart was of a person with good, clean bowel movements, which was good enough for me. I told the captain that the young man would do. He was a poor youth from the northern Portuguese town of Porto. His parents were in deep debt to a usurer and they had mortgaged to him whatever they had. The youth had therefore embarked as a sailor to Hindustan, for there he thought he could earn fortunes through adventures and free his parents and himself of debt and mortgages. He was indeed a lucky find for my poor captain as I also was for him, but while my work would be free of charge, the youth, I learned, had also been lured by a very attractive number of gold dinars offered by the captain in addition to the promise of being promoted and more gold dinars. I, however, told the captain that I would now conjoin his bowels with Lobo’s (for that was the youth’s name) on the condition that both, Shalom and me be released from the galleys. Why Shalom’s release? He asked. Because I wanted an intelligent and an able assistant in my work I said. Shalom had been an highly skilled carpenter in Rouen and in surgery, any skill of hands is of great use. I was also interested in Shalom the man and his quest of the strange mystic stone. The captain, a basically kind man, remembering my offer to be his keeper agreed. He freed us both.

I told the good news to Shalom; though a believer in things fated, he couldn’t now believe his ears. He wept and thanked me profusely but I told him we had work to do and he better set himself right. Our chains were removed to the great surprise and chagrin of our fellow slaves, who thought we had sold our souls. I told them not to be so put out and since they regarded me as responsible for their plight, I would on my word as a man, help them get out of it, if not now, then later, on reaching Hindustan, hearing this they became their usual selves.

Captain Eduardo Manuel Balthazar, for that was the captain’s full name, was also good enough to give us both a small room above the hold which had enough light and was on the lee side. There, on a table, laying a large enough paper, with the help of diagrams, I explained to Shalom the work I was to do on the captain and the youth Lobo and the help I needed from him in that. Being a highly skilled man, Shalom’s grasp of the mechanics of the conjoinment was even better than my expectations, and in fact his suggested angle of joining the tube to the two bodies was more appropriate than mine. While we were working things out, the captain came in. His body odour had now become highly offensive; but then, whose odour will not be so if their bowels aren’t cleaned? I explained to him with the aid of the diagrams what I would do to his body and that as his state of constipation was already prolonged to get the conjoinment done at the earliest. And so it was agreed to carry out the work early next morning at three, latest by four hours. But why so early? Because it had to be done well before the young Lobo’s morning visit to the toilet, which was at eight hours. I gave captain and Lobo enough opium to make them unconscious and performed my work by the light of fire brands. It took three hours and when the joining of the two bowels by the tube was complete the ship’s cock crowed. It was dawn and the cool breezes from the west wind started playing with our bodies and I suddenly realized that it was long since I had played so with a woman. But what could I do? It was now nearly a month since we embarked from Lisbon and before that my arrest, trial and all that; nearly three months since I felt a woman. I supposed that only in Hindustan would I now have this deep enjoyment of my body. Hmmm. I now looked at my two patients; the effect of opium was now wearing off, and their bodies now started making movements. Opium is often very constipating and I thought of giving Lobo an enema to help him make his first bowel movement in this new situation. Another alternative was in the harsh and powerful purgative croton oil, derived from the seeds of the croton tree, but, I learnt it wasn’t on the ship. Both were now waking and soon would sit up. I realized it would be difficult at first, but I also knew that man is a higher creation of God, less than an angel but more than animal and he, therefore, could overcome lesser obstacles on his own. The two were now rubbing their eyes and looking at the morning world. The captain gave a long horrendous yawn, after him Lobo too and he let out a large fart, which, was a good sign for me because it meant that there wasn’t any need for the formalities of an enema. There was confusion now on Lobo’s simple face as he gradually realised the heart of the matter seeing the captain’s back only one hand away from him. He also saw the tube joining him to the captain. I gave his back a pat of sympathy and reassurance. At this he turned and looked at me with blazing eyes. I thought he was holding me responsible for his rather odd condition; but funnily enough as I came to know a little later, it was due to his now being nearer to the captain he had started thinking better of himself and wanted greater deference and respect from people. I remembered the words of Ecclesiastes: “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity,” which sobered me up. The vain youth’s wind was a false signal for there was nothing following that and I would have to give him an enema after all. I told this to the captain which the youth overheard and he loudly began to say “No! No!”. I complained to the captain at which he heaped on the youth all the worst and most colourful abuses and curses used in southern Portugal, for he was from that place. All this was enjoyed by the ship’s crew who had started gathering one by one around the odd couple. The secret which we had managed to keep with success to ourselves was now out; but they all wondered at the work’s purpose. By now some important officials of the king had also come and taking this opportunity, I explained to the most important looking one, the simple purpose behind the work. And then I told him and others listened, that this was the only way or else captain Balthazar would be dead soon with blood impure and poisonous and their ship would be bereft of his guiding hand in the mid-sea. At this, these aristocrats all fell on their feet, with eyes at the sky and hands raised upwards and thanked God for His mercy, for too well they knew the evil that would fall on a ship without a captain. Now the sailors too, seeing their superiors praying and realizing their good fortune fell on their feet and thanked God and there was general rejoicing. They all thanked me too, but I told them to wait, the best was yet to come and that I had to give Lobo enema to set the whole thing working. Some one ran to call the great Alphonse De Albuquerque himself to witness the event. The youth Lobo, who was as I said a very vain person, did not mind the enema now, since he had become the cynosure of all eyes He even had the temerity to tell me to do the procedure without a slip! And the great Alphonse De Albuquerque, he soon came with large steps and with a naked cutlass in his right hand. Behind him, were his two giant-like Ethiopian body guards with drawn daggers. He was a large swarthy, florid man with huge ear-rings and large nose ring as well. He was heavy with rather loose lower garments. The captain introduced me to him. Bowing low, I told him all the details from the beginning. He was amazed and looking at me with respect and regard, signaled with his ring bedecked middle finger to go ahead; he spoke some words in the ear of his clerk who smiled and nodded his head. I got a big syringe and started the enema slowly on Lobo. After it was over, I got up and raised my head, and there was a deep gurgle and a sucking noise inside Lobo’s bowel which found its echo in the captain’s intestines. We could see the immense relief on the face of captain Balthazar. The desired process had started! The turds were received inside a specially brought trough.

Albuquerque clapped at which signal there was a loud noise of cannon and everyone jumped and clapped with joy. The captain shat long and successfully through the youth Lobo. The stink was unbearable but there was a general sense of achievement and relief. Albuquerque called me inside his cabin, congratulated and hugged me. He also asked more details about my past and when it was confirmed that I was a born and baptized Catholic, he again hugged me and appointed me his personal physician. He also officially freed me and upon my request also my friend Shalom from slavery. He gave me gifts of rich apparel and a cask of wine and an invitation to dine that night with him. It was a feast that I often remember, the food, the talk. While taking my leave he said, “Your wondrous joining of our captain Balthazar and Lobo will work miracles for the propagation of our dear Catholic faith my dear learned doctor. Nothing can stop its march now in Hindustan”. “How so senhor?” I asked, bowing. “Because my dear doctor, the people of Hindustan are by nature deeply religious and faith in miracles comes naturally to them. Believe me, they will come to us in droves”.

Albuquerque got himself thoroughly checked up by me. Outwardly healthy, inside he was a sick man with many ailments; chief among them, wind and indigestion. His wind was a constant source of embarrassment, particularly when at court while meeting the royal couple, the king and the queen of Portugal; the queen had an acute abhorrence of flatulent men. Then again, he, Albuquerque, was often the king’s emissary to the pope at the Vatican and there again his fear of his flatulence would be enormous. Albuquerque would often feel, his body was the receptacle of evil forces, which could be met only by external good, for example, an icon kept in his coat pocket, and the ring on his nose suggested by his Ethiopian bodyguards. But, quite often these measures would fail leaving him floating in a flatulent hell. “I needn’t have felt like that,” the great Albuquerque said. “Because there is no evidence to show that flatulence is a sin”. “But senhor, gluttony is,” I said, bowing to him, “gluttony is; it is the younger brother of greed”. “But my learned doctor Baptista ⁱⁱⁱ, I Alphonse De Albuquerque am not a glutton, so I am not greedy either”. As he said this, our ship going to Hindustan went over the crest of a large wave and when she came down much water came on board and the ship’s bells started to ring, ring a-ring-ading-a ring. “But you mean well, learned doctor and I admire your boldness in accusing me of gluttony when I am not, nor am I greedy,” the great Albuquerque said when the bells stopped ringing. “That great senhor is a matter between you and the something deep where your soul is,” I said. “I am only your personal physician”. “Spoken like a true Catholic, Dr.Baptista, I shall try to eat a little less since you mean well”. “I assure you great senhor, I very much do. But since I know from you that you haven’t been taking any worthwhile medicines, how have you managed your wind?” “Managed with the help of these ingenious pantaloons of mine, Dr.Baptista”. Pantaloons, great senhor? You are but making fun of your poor servant” I said, looking closely at his pantaloons which were a little loose, but not much different. “I do not make fun of my servants, but only of those above me; yes. These pantaloons are truly wondrous. They are the handiwork of a very clever Jew tailor of Lisbon, they do not look much different from all others, but are lined inside with a special cloth of Hindustan which absorbs the wind of a bowel; a very costly fabric for which the clever Jew took from me a lot of gold and made me poorer but saved my face. Once in Hindustan, my endeavour will get hold of this cloth, enough to sell and make me rich, riches enough to last me a life time or more, my most learned doctor”. That night after supper I gave him a mixture of juices of ginger, garlic, basil with honey and asafoetida which, he, told me next morning gave him truer relief from wind than he ever had. I also forbade him from excess consumption of red wine, salted pork and beef. Wine was indeed causing a lot of problems since the last three years. In Portugal and Spain, it was overflowing. These years also produced a lot more beef and pork than could be consumed; it was salted, smoked and kept in the mart, wharf and in other places till no abode for it was available; salt became costlier than meat and casks costlier than wine. What better way to expend this excess of wine and meat than on long voyages of explorations, war and piracy to the Americas, the Indies, and Africa? Thus were these things started, and I was on a ship to Hindustan. Because of this wine (which had more vinegar than anything else) and the salted meat, there was more sickness on the ship than normal and was causing a good deal of worry to Alphonse De Albuquerque.

Being a long time now time now at sea all of us felt the need of a woman, including Albuquerque himself, often, during our meets, he, ruffled by wine and lust, would talk of all sorts of devilish and ribald things concerning women and the female of the beasts. What then of lesser men like our poor sailors? They were lusty and did not know what to do. After nearly a month at sea, due to unsatiated lust, salted meat and vinegarish wine, there were frequent quarrels, fights, stabbings, and riots among our crew with fever, diarrhea, vomit, followed by languor. Work on the ship suffered and our voyage was in danger. Albuquerque was troubled and asked my advice and help. I agreed to help. My plan was simple; first to silence their lust with low doses of opium and improve their digestion with ginger, asafoetida, wormwood extract and garlic. These simple and direct remedies worked very well even on men like Albuquerque, who, by temperament were sanguine and bilious.

And soon the crew of the ship were as before. Only with opium, the need per man remained to be fully understood, as with some the amount given caused too much sleep and strange, at times, horrifying illusions, like seeing flying angels and saints revealed later as the devil’s handiwork or seeing one’s own parents assuming inimical shapes and visions such as these. However, once the correct amount of opium for each was known, all these ceased. The difficulties caused by bad wine did remain to some extent, but I solved with great ingenuity the whole lot of them, but more of that later. Suffice it to say, that to me these medicaments brought a lot of respect and gold. Already, the work I’d done for the captain and Lobo had enriched me, and with additional new profits, I had more wealth than I ever had in France. I was a rich man now.

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i. After the advent of the Portuguese in Goa the Turks came also to be known as Mouros (i.e., Moors) as the former mistook them for Moors. In Goa today, Mouros is a common name for the Goan Muslims.

ii. Praise be to God, Lord of the worlds!
The compassionate, the merciful!
King of the day of reckoning!
Thee only do we worship, and to thee do we cry for help.
Guide Thou us on the straight path,
The path of those to whom Thou hast been gracious; with whom Thou art
Not angry, and who go not astray. Amen.

iii. Albuquerque used to call me “Baptista”, a common Portuguese name, as he found my French name rather difficult to pronounce.