Jenifer Fernandes
Joseph@herald-goa.com
ALDONA: In a fast-changing world where tradition is often traded for modern convenience, 60-year-old Vishnu Matonkar of Quitla stands as a living testament to a way of life deeply rooted in the soil — and in the soul. For nearly five decades, he has quietly upheld the legacy of his forefathers, tending to his fields and caring for cows with unwavering dedication.
“My father lived here since the Portuguese era,” says Vishnu. “Our family’s livelihood revolved around farming and cow rearing. We had six zoths — traditional wooden ploughs — and my parents worked in the fields daily. I started by simply watching them. Slowly, I began to do everything myself.”
That childhood admiration turned into a lifelong commitment. After his father passed away, the weight of responsibility fell on his shoulders. “I had no choice but to work harder,” he reflects. “There were mouths to feed, fields to till, and cows to care for. But despite the hardship, there was happiness. A good crop brought immense joy.”
Vishnu begins his day at 6:30 am milking the cows and taking them to graze in the open fields. “They know the way home,” he smiles. “But I still accompany them. It’s part of my routine, especially during the monsoon when I have to work both in the fields and with the cows.”
His cows, he says, are not just animals — they’re family. “They recognise me. When I enter the shed, they rise. They know I’ve either brought them food or it’s time to go out. There’s a strong bond. I haven’t bought a single cow — they’re all descendants of the ones my father cared for.”
In the dry season, Vishnu also cultivates local vegetables. He feeds his cows only grass, strictly avoiding chemical supplements. “When they’re unwell, I call the vet and ensure their shed is clean. I’ve learned everything just by observing — not through books or classes.”
Despite studying only up to Class 6, Vishnu possesses a deep, experiential wisdom that’s hard to come by. “Farming is an art. Planting sprouted seeds (row), applying manure — it’s all about technique. The whole field must be evenly covered.”
But Vishnu is worried. “Goans are moving away from farming. Most of the laborers in our fields are now migrants. The traditional korgut rice has vanished. Fields are left barren, and many are being taken over for construction. Sluice gates are broken, poims are clogged, and mangroves are invading our fields.”
Vishnu has tried to involve his children. “They help occasionally, but they have their own jobs. They don’t have time for this life. And I don’t blame them — today’s generation prefers clean jobs. They see this work as messy. But for me, it’s life.”
He warns of a future where children may only see cows in photographs. “No one wants cows at home anymore. One day, if my body gives up, I don’t know who will take care of them. We’re losing a way of life.”
Still, Vishnu remains committed — waking up early, milking his cows, walking them to pasture, returning to the fields. It’s a cycle he’s repeated for 45 years, driven not by duty alone but by love.
“To the younger generation,” Vishnu says, “I urge you — step into your own fields, not just when you’re free, but as a way of life. Our traditions are slipping away. If we don’t act now, soon there will be nothing left.”
In a world racing forward, Vishnu Matonkar’s story is a gentle reminder that true progress lies not just in what we build — but in what we choose to preserve.
“Don’t wait for a free day or a holiday to connect with the land,” Vishnu Matonkar urges. “Start with your own field. Touch the soil your ancestors once tilled. Don’t see this life as backward or messy — see it as meaningful. Farming may not bring instant wealth, but it brings peace, purpose, and pride. If our generation walks away from it, the next will only know our traditions through photos and stories. The land remembers those who love it. Let it remember you.”