Brahmin Girls is a superb poem composed by Joseph Furtado and it is a reality that we do not find a poet of his caliber frolicking and mimicking in his way, striding and gliding as a merry-go-lucky man, oblivious of the this world of care and anxiety, daily humdrum and frivolity, monotony and din and bustle, lost into the world of his own. A great poet of comics and caricature, he is a master of humor and joke and to joke and make fun is his job, the hidden literary forte of his which he has accomplished with so much of dexterity and excellence. A great poet of Goa, we could not admire his poetic talent as he was ahead of time, no less than Rudyard Kipling. One of the Portuguese descents, he has a stock of caricature, humor, and poetry comes to him as a mumble and fumble of words and letters. Just like the pied piper of Hamelin he keeps piping and playing but in a different role here. The desire to have a talk with the then time Brahmin girls is the crux of the matter said in a different social context. A forgotten master, who could not get his due in his lifetime, is without any doubt one of the makers of Indo-Anglican poetry and will remain unforgettable into the chronicles and annals of it as long as we are here. Actually, humor we could not clutch it along as India was so much ismic then, caste, class, creed and community based and all-encompassing humanism.

Be sure that the Brahmin girls are so cute to look at, is but the truth whether you accept it or not. The poet has seen the East and the West as well, but not the girls like the Brahmin girls. Imagine if he marries the Brahmin girl, she may ask him to get the hair shaven barring a tuft of it hanging onto. The jasmine is stuck in the hair and a pearl is on the nose-ring she is wearing on. The Brahmin girl wins over the heart.

Western girls, European hi-hello-ta-ta-bye-bye-doing girls in the tight clothing and the goggles, appearing to be happy-go-lucky maidens, he does not want to refer to here, but the Brahmin girls representing Lakshmi, Saraswati, Champa, Chameli, Belli and so on in an Indian costume. Goan Indo-Portuguese girls not, but the Goan or Poonawalli Brahmin girls he talks it about, his inclination, inner yearning for them, infatuation with them. Maybe she is Menaka, Urvasie, Rambha. But leaving the discussion, be sure of it that she is none the else but Mohini, Manmohini.

At Nashik fair he meets her, and she smiles on seeing him as if were greeted by her. But on the condition of anonymity, she whispered about the toughest rituals to undergo and the social customs to follow.

The blue-eyed, golden-locked European beauties and blondes, lasses and darlings he does not talk it here, coming from far as visitors and strangers, but Indian Brahmin girls from Maharashtra. The poet talks about Kamayani. The long-haired Indian beauties symbolic of the priestess in love are the choices of his beating heart, from whom the melodies of satyam, shivam, sundaram keep breaking in a vocal form, enlivening the aesthetic sense.

Furtado is no lover or liker of Laura, Jean and Kate, but Mohini, Indian Mohini. She has won his heart and is on his mindset. He cannot think of anyone else rather than Mohini. It is a beauty to see her maintaining her clothing folds and to see her going with the anklets sounding beautifully.

I’ve seen the East, I’ve seen the West,
And truth it bids me this declare —
Of all the girls the Brahmin girls
Are fairest of the fair
The Brahmin girls, the Brahmin girls,
The Brahmin girls so fair,
Upon their nose the ring of pearls
And jasmine in their hair
 
No more your Lauras, Kates or Jeans,
Your eyes of blue and locks of gold;
Mohini sweet, a girl as sweet
I never shall behold,
Mohini sweet, Mohini neat,
So madd’ning to behold,
With kinning chinning round her feet
And fas fis of the fold.
 
I met a girl at Nasik fair,
A Brahmin girl of beauty rare,
She smiled so sweet when I did greet
As bade me not despair;
But said all rude— confound the prude,
She’ll drive me to despair—
“ Before I wed go shave your head,
All save a tuft of hair.”