An Enigma called 'Padre Álvares'

BOOK REVIEW | Óscar de Noronha

Saint Alvares Mar Julius, by George K. Kurian. Goa: St Mary’s Orthodox Syrian Church, 2013. Pp 168. ₹ 80.

It does not seem like there is anyone today who knew him in person, for he died over a century ago. And those who did, in a not-so-distant past, usually spoke of him in hushed voices, given his anti-establishment posture. But then, even his severest critic would admit that his heart beat for the voiceless in Goan society.

Born António Francisco Xavier Álvares (Verna, 1837 – Ribandar, 1923), he studied at Rachol Seminary and was ordained a priest in Bombay (the episcopal chair in Goa was vacant). On his return, he set up a charitable society to rehabilitate beggars (some of whom lodged with him in his rented apartment in Panjim) and a church-aided school. Quick to reach out, especially when deadly epidemics raged in the capital, he once personally saved labourers trapped in a landslide triggered by hill cutting.

George K. Kurian’s book, however, focusses on the unprecedented entry of a Roman Catholic priest into the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church. Until his early public years Fr Álvares was a conservative and loyalist to the point of defending Portugal’s Padroado rights; so, what really was the tipping point?

Kurian points a finger at Archbishop António Sebastião Valente’s objections to the tenor of Fr Álvares’s writings (pp 53, 81), but stops short of identifying the genesis of his unease, which predated Valente’s arrival. Over a period of 18 years (1877-1895), the cash-strapped Fr Álvares came to be associated with a number of periodicals (A Cruz; A Verdade; O Progresso de Goa; The Times of Goa and Brado Indiano), in different capacities. Whether or not his politically minded associates and/or funders rode piggyback is another matter.

Similarly, the author refers to Fr Álvares’ excommunication (pp 75, 158), but provides no proof. Did it precede his entry into the Malankara church in 1887 or follow it? The nature of the penalty would depend on the specific situation. That’s not all. Fr Álvares was also instrumental in forming the Independent Catholic Mission and the Brahmavar Mission in Karnataka: a response to the Padroado-Propaganda Fide imbroglio?

The rest is history. In 1889, Mar Dionysius, who headed the Malankara church, appointed Fr Álvares to a specially created episcopal post of Metropolitan of Goa, India (excluding Malabar) and Ceylon. Titled ‘Mar Julius’, he still said Mass in Latin (his Syriac and Malayalam were not up to par), catering to the Indian Orthodox Church’s Roman Catholic lay entrants, who were permitted ‘a separate rite and liturgy’ (p. 62). He highlighted the antiquity and authenticity of Antioch vis-à-vis Rome (p. 91) and was critical of Western cultural practices in vogue in Goa as against the preferential status accorded to Indian traditions in Malabar (p. 54).

In the period 1887-1911, Fr Álvares divided his time between Ceylon, Kerala, Brahmavar and Goa (pp 63, 71). Here, in 1890, the police booked him for unauthorised use of ecclesiastical vestments (p. 111), but the court, taking due cognisance of his episcopal status, acquitted him. On a later visit to Goa, he championed the use of indigenous products (‘a forerunner of the great Swadeshi Movement’, p. 95) and was in a spot for denouncing the rulers. Ultimately, he was charged with sedition and arrested for his writings that had allegedly incited the Maratha sepoys and Ranes (p. 113). He was exonerated, and this spoke volumes about the justice delivery system; but Fr Álvares fled Goa yet again, for fear of reprisals.

In 1911, Fr Álvares was at the receiving end of a feud between the Patriarch of Antioch and Mar Dionysius (p. 87). Excommunicated for siding with the latter, it was as though life had come full circle when he relocated to Goa and stayed at the same old, ground-floor apartment off Ourém Street. The big difference in Portuguese India now was that the Republicans were in power; but was this why the Malankara archbishop left his domain in Karnataka?

It would be interesting to know Fr Álvares’ thoughts on that secular (read anticlerical) regime, other than that they left him in peace. This time around he set up an English-medium school and made a plea for primary education in Konkani (p. 78). In the past, his booklets on cholera treatment were well-timed; presently he wrote on Goa’s food production, advocating largescale cultivation of manioc. Then, engaging exclusively in charity work, he himself went out with a begging bowl.

Not surprisingly, the longest of the book’s eighteen chapters is titled ‘A True Missionary’; it covers Fr Álvares’ apostolic work, his associates, and the expansion of the Malankara church in India and abroad. The last few chapters describe the last days of this ‘martyr and saint’ (popularly declared); his funeral; long-standing friendships; tomb at St Inez cemetery; and the formation and working of the Orthodox Church in Goa. Kurian notes that attempts to win Fr Álvares back to the Roman Catholic Church were in vain. The dying priest insisted that, if not the Orthodox Church, his friends alone would bury him (p. 118).

Retired bureaucrat George K. Kurian’s self-published volume, which he wrote originally in Malayalam, is a labour of love. The biography features an Álvares family tree, besides photographs of the subject and of dailies Diário da Noite and O Heraldo that covered the funeral and aftermath. While the topic is engrossing, more rigorous editing would have enhanced clarity and coherence. Instances of repetition, typos and grammatical errors detract from the overall reading experience. All in all, the book provides leads for research that will eventually help better understand the enigmatic figure of Padre Álvares/Mar Julius.