Ozymandias

Visiting Old Goa, once called “The Rome of the East,” is oddly like visiting Rome itself. In this one way: both were once managed by military men, conquerors, famous men of their day, whose business was war, and by merchants who grew spectacularly wealthy. Both cities were once the administrative centres for vast empires.

But now, for both, the empires are gone; the captains and the kings have long departed. And what is left?

The churches. In the case of Rome, though it lost its political and military preeminence a thousand five hundred or so years ago, it remains the centre of a spiritual empire much larger than Rome ever was: the Catholic Church.

In the case of Old Goa, there is almost literally nothing left standing but the churches. Even the governor’s palace is gone—all but one sad doorway. Yet a dozen impressive religious buildings survive, alone in the jungles. Most are still in use. And, while all the other famous men have long been food for worms, even the actual body of St. Francis Xavier is still there, looking not much changed in the past five hundred years.

The moral: earthly glory fades. But religious power, even on earth, partakes of eternity.