A simple roadside cross becomes a symbol of enduring faith, childhood bonds, and village unity, as old friends return home to restore not just stone and paint, but shared memories and grace
In the quiet, verdant landscapes of Goa, where the Mandovi River winds gently and coconut palms sway in harmony with the breeze, lies the village of Tonca in Marcela (also known as Mashel). Nestled near the serene island of St Estevam (Santo Estevão), Tonca is a place where time moves slowly, and faith binds people closer than blood.
At the crossroads where the paths from Tonca and St Estevam meet stood an old holy cross a simple stone crucifix weathered by monsoons, sun, and the footsteps of generations. For decades, it had been more than just a religious symbol; it was a silent witness to the village's joys and sorrows. Children played in its shade, lovers whispered promises beneath it, and many paused to offer prayers during the Litany of the Cross.
Among those who grew up under its gaze were a lively group of boys who called themselves the "Super Stars" a name born half in jest, half in pride during the formation of the football team. There were dozen of them who had chased kites, stolen mangoes and cashews and dreamed big dreams together by that very cross.
As boys, they remembered the evenings when the whole village gathered for the Litany of the Cross. Lanterns flickered, voices rose in harmonious Konkani hymns, and the cross seemed to glow with a quiet light. Those memories stayed etched in their hearts like the carvings on the ancient church walls nearby.
Years passed. The Super Star Boys grew into men and left Tonca for distant lands—Abu Dhabi, Kuwait, London, cruise ships, chasing opportunities to earn a better living for their families. They sent remittances home, built houses, married, and raised children. But the pull of the village never faded.
One December, many years later, they began returning for good—retired, seasoned, with silver in their hair and stories in their eyes. They all met again, they walked to the old crossroads. The holy cross looked tired: its paint peeled, the base cracked from roots and rain, the once-bright flowers faded. It still stood proud, but it needed love.
That evening, over drinks and sorpotel the idea was born.
"We can't let our cross fade," they said, in one voice. Let's bring it back—make it beautiful again, the way we remember it."
There was no debate, no hesitation. Brotherhood, forged in childhood games and shared faith, made the decision easy.
Word spread quickly. The Super Star Boys formed a small committee. Collecting funds from households was effortless. Even the Hindu brothers came forward with humble donations. "It's not just your cross," one said with a smile. "It's our village's heart."
Work began on a bright December morning. The boys—some of them grandfathers now volunteered their time and skills.
They worked shoulder to shoulder, young and old—laughing, singing old mandos, baking mackerels under the coconut trees. There were no bosses, only brothers. When the sun grew hot, when hands tired, stories of childhood mischief revived them.
After weeks of dedicated effort, the day came. The restored holy cross stood transformed—clean, vibrant, adorned with fresh flowers and a new garland of lights.
That evening, the village gathered once more for the Litany of the Cross. Voices rose stronger than before, lights glowed brighter, and the cross seemed to shine with a deeper light. Children ran around it, just as the Super Star Boys once had.
It was a small venture, perhaps—only a roadside cross in a quiet Goan village. But in that act of restoration and beautification something greater was renewed: the spirit of unity, the warmth of brotherhood the quiet power of shared faith and devotion. In a world that often divides, Tonca reminded everyone that little things—a cross, a few willing hands, a common love—can bring joy, gratitude, and the grace of the Almighty to every heart that passes by.
