SUDEEP DALVI | I met Father Bismarque for the very first time on 13th of January, 2013 in Panjim, outside Kamat Hotel near the Church. The occasion was that of the launch of my first social Campaign in Goa after coming back from Aurangabad, where I was serving at Mylan.
In the very first meeting, I clearly made out that behind his eternally smiling and jolly face, there remained concealed a hardcore and equally eternal rebel. I had already known about his rebellion against the church hierarchy, but life would let me know many more things about this eternal revolutionary in coming times.
As our friendship strengthened along with the number of court cases, RTI applications and runs to government offices and courts, I started learning more and more about his philosophy and spirituality. I call it Bismarquism.
During the last years of his life, it looked to me like he was on a “giving up” spree. A hurry to shed all the burden in order to make space for those attributes that he nurtured and loved most.
He had given up his belief in organised and institutionalised religion. According to him, religions are like used diapers. Their need is over. Twenty first century human being wearing religion was for him like a man wearing diapers over a wedding suit on his wedding day.
Considering himself no more a Christian, he even gave up his visits to the church, belief in Mass and reverence to the Communion. So much so, that when I asked him to bless my new flat in Mapusa (I dearly wanted him to do some mumbo jumbo and make me feel good), he replied, “Every object automatically gets blessed the moment creator creates it. Nothing in this world requires to be specially blessed. I love Christ, but do not love Christianity.”
“Organised and institutionalised religion is the poison of masses, not their opium. A dose of opium just takes one high for some time and later brings him down. But religion? It murders one’s spirit, destroys one’s mind, and takes him away as a zombie towards those struggles which have nothing to do with his spiritual emancipation and purpose of life. Every religion is a bunch of bullshit.” He once told me during a recorded interview, and later many times.
Later I found out that he had invented his own spiritual philosophy for his needs. He did freely talked about it, but was not at all interested to spread it to others by preaching it, the way some devout Hindus or Christians do.
He had discovered his mother in Mother Earth, “Bhoomi Mai” he called her, and believed himself to be attached to her with an undestructible umbilical chord. Colourful flowers, lush green leaves, gush of flowing water of Mandovi at Cupa, mountains and hills seen from the top of “Christ the King” were his friends. So were the fishes and birds.
He had a deep reverence for Christ, and equally deep love for Ravalnath and Parvati, the village deities of pre-Christianity Saint Estevam.
Once, when we both were on the top of “Christ the King”, he went into an ecstatic state of spirit and climbed up the pedestal to hug his best friend. “Father come down, people won’t take it easy…” I shouted from below. “I give a f**k to the people,” was the reply.
He loved Mother Nature, lived with her, struggled for her and ultimately died for her.
He was his own Guru, his own follower. A stubborn eternal rebel who never compromised, never relented, and never accepted defeat, that too while maintaining a sweet smile full of mischief, and a heart full of humility.
He lived and proved “Bismarquism”.