I casually zoomed in on google maps one day and stumbled upon a small green island near Bogmalo beach in South Goa. On a whim, my husband and I decided to check it out, without much more than a passing glance online. São Jacinto Island is a charming little fishing island shrouded in local legends. Situated at Marmugao bay near the city of Vasco, the island has roughly 200 houses and countless stories echoing through its shores.
A completely paved causeway connected the island to the mainland. I was expecting to cross an old rickety structure. The island itself exuded an old-world charm, its entrance adorned with a beautiful church dedicated to St. Hyacinth (St. Jacinto). The landscape - much like Goa’s - was a juxtaposition of time, quaint Portuguese houses interspersed with newly renovated three-storey buildings.
We passed a charming, unoccupied Portuguese-style house and started romanticising a peaceful island life. A friendly villager disclosed that the island residents were forbidden from renting or selling properties to non-villagers, Goan or otherwise. I snapped out of my reverie, strangely comforted by what I had just learned. At a time when Goa is losing itself to commercialisation, this firm rule could offer a hopeful respite - if only for this island. The bearer of this information might have been a proud islander, but he was genuinely happy to share his island with us for a day. He beamed as he showed us an old freshwater spring that the islanders use for drinking water and pointed us towards a heritage chapel on the hilltop.
We arrived at the island without prior research, which rarely happens in this age of Google where no place feels unfamiliar anymore. This time around we were discovering São Jacinto Island the good old way - by talking to the locals. A neglected staircase, covered in weeds and littered with plastic wrappers and glass bottles, guided us to the hilltop. The untamed path underneath a thick canopy only enhanced the island’s rustic charm, garbage aside. An Indian Pitta hopped across at a distance. After a short hike we reached a large clearing, possibly a playground, with the old chapel standing across the ground.
I noticed a tower to the left and walked towards it. It was a light house built in the year 1900. Weathered by time and the elements, the tower still stood tall and unyielding. Had it been restored and maintained, it would have been a remarkable site with breathtaking views of both the Arabian sea and Zuari river. But abandoned light houses and ruins have a way of capturing our imagination with their mysterious pasts and haunting beauty. We continued to follow the untrodden path that curved ahead of the tower. It brought us to the bottom of the hill near an old cemetery blanketed in thick tall grass. Oddly, this little spontaneous hike felt more authentic and adventurous than some of the more well-planned treks I had embarked on.
The evening air was settling in as we found a quiet nook in front of the St. Hyacinth’s church overlooking the river. Perched on the parapet, feet dangling above the waters, we reminisced about stories and lives from a time beyond our own. A few meters to our left a busy pied wagtail and a focussed common kingfisher scanned the rocks and the murky waters. Unusual long eel-like creatures, some tiny and others slightly longer, slithered in the water beneath our feet. We learned that those creatures were a fish called barracuda, or tonki in Konkani, supposedly a delicious treat. An islander on his evening stroll educated us with quivering lips as if he was holding back laughter. The elongated body of the fish gave it an eel-like appearance from above. He also whispered about an underground tunnel that connected the chapel on the hill to an old chapel in Siridao - talk about being mysterious!
Once a fisherman, the middle-aged islander had now lost his ability to fish post a series of strokes. He shared the sombre truth rather nonchalantly with a silent remnant of the stroke on his quivering lips. A wistful look flickered in his tired eyes as he recalled the days when the bay had been a haven for clams and oysters. It used to be a breeding ground for a variety of shellfishes, making it a vital resource for the village. Apparently, since 2021 the bay and the island has been struggling to hold on to its shellfish legacy. The shellfish numbers have enormously dwindled due to factors like over-fishing, climate change, pollution and unsustainable construction projects. These issues are damaging the fragile ecosystem, threatening livelihoods and stirring deep emotions.
“They are building bridges while destroying livelihoods and lives”, he remarked grimly.
We returned to the parapet and watched the tonki swim one last time, wondering what the future had in store for them. As we drove off, I held onto the hope that an island so fiercely protective of its own would stand a fighting chance in safeguarding its bay and the shellfishes.
(The writer is a freelance film producer based in Goa.)
