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It had me on tenterhooks all through, as I knew the whole story in detail; most Goans of my age do.

The whole thing ‘flash-backed’ in my mind as I watched. And it made me roll back the years to 1991.

That was no ordinary year in my life.

No WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook, Reels, or mobile phones those days.

But it was a time when I was high-flying – playing, eating, reading and lazing around. My thoughts were all James Hadley Chase novels, and Maradona, Beckham, Zidane and the superstars of that era.

1991 wasn’t just the year of Michael Jackson's Black or White, or Operation Desert Storm bombing of Sadam Hussein’s Iraq in the Gulf War or a peak time for intervillage floodlight football.

For Goans, it was the year of an infamous crime that shook Goa – the killing of big man Churchill’s brother, Alvernaz Alemao.

The day was May 16 – a weekday.

A mega birthday celebration of Churchill was planned that evening at the Varca football grounds along with the wedding celebration of Churchill’s younger brother Kennedy Alemao.

Just a year ago, Churchill Alemao had toppled Pratapsingh Rane government to become the CM of Goa. Although short lived, it had brought enormous fame to the Alemao family.

𝙈𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝘼𝙔

The day was hot as hell.

It was my first off-season break from football after my team Salgaocars FC were crowned champions of Goa Football League.

I was lounging at home, sipping what could only be described as a ‘questionable lemonade’ (an iconic Rasna drink that was clearly left in the sun too long), when my cousin Marshall barged into my room.

Marshall, the self-proclaimed master of espionage (which was mainly based on watching too many James Bond and Amitabh Bachchan’s Don type movies), had heard about the ‘kirm’ when he was returning home from work.

At that time, he was working for Cavelossim’s Leela Kempinski (now St Regis Goa Resort) and had many friends in that belt, and knew the area well too.

“You are NOT going to believe this!” he announced dramatically, causing me to shuffle in my ‘Voltaire’ rocking chair, and almost fall off.

“New movie in Blue Pearl?” I asked, referring to the famous Cinema of our times in Margao.

“No, no,” my cousin continued, his voice hushed, “The Churchill family is in BIG trouble. Alvernaz Alemao is dead! Just an hour ago. He got involved in some gold smuggling operation, and now everyone’s talking about it!”

I asked him blankly. “Gold? Smuggling? What’s that got to do with us?”

Marshall’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Everything! If they were actually smuggling the gold, they might be hiding it everywhere before the police come. Like, everywhere. Am thinking... we should go looking for it!”

It looked like Marshall had more information than the ‘informer’ shown in the Costao film.

The idea of stumbling upon hidden gold was irresistible.

After all, who could resist being rich? So, we embarked on a quest that was supposed to be a high-stakes treasure hunt but quickly turned into a series of hilarious mishaps.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝘽𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙎

Together we traced the path of the punctured Contessa and the Hero Honda motorcycle which was evidently dragged a distance.

But we headed straight to Fatrade beach where the smuggling supposedly took place.

Earlier, we had passed the decorated ‘matou’ on the football ground.

The decision to continue with the wedding celebration despite the tragedy, was widely criticized those days, and has since been a ‘part of the larger narrative of Churchill's legacy in politics and football.’

On the beach, we spent hours digging in the sand, using nothing but a screw driver and a plastic spoon from Marshall’s Vespa scooter dicky.

“If anyone questions, tell them we are looking for conch shells for whistle-blowing,” my cousin warned.

“Whistle-blowing? Hey, this word could become famous in future!” I exclaimed. Marshall was not interested.

After what seemed like days of digging, we found absolutely nothing except a very angry crab that decided to pinch my poor cousin’s toe. He screamed like a girl, which made me laugh to no ends.

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Marshall said, wiping away sweat.

I was hungry with crows crying in my stomach but Marshall wouldn’t give up. It was around 3.00 pm when we finally chose to pack up. On the way we stopped at the famous Pinto Bar.

𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙂𝙂𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙂𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝘼𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝙍

“I’ve seen enough films to know that shady deals usually happen around shady places,” Marshall said as we entered the bar.

The bar had more flies than customers that particular afternoon.

“Looks like the whole village is engaged in the smuggling,” Marshall remarked.

According to my cousin’s totally reliable sources (which mainly consisted of overhearing conversations at the Hotel he worked), the bar could have been a smuggling hotspot.

We sat at a corner table, pretending to sip on coconut water that tasted more like tap water. We tried to act casual, but our discomfort was so obvious that the bartender began eyeing us suspiciously.

“Are you guys... tourists?” the bartender asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Na re Saiba, ami Goenkar -- from Navelim,” my cousin said smoothly, “We’re just... uh... investigating... the gold smuggling operation.”

The bartender stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Patrao, you think you will find gold sitting in a run-down bar? The only thing you’ll find here is cheap rum and the occasional rat in the corner.”

“What do you think of the smuggled gold,” Marshall asked him.

“Arre, it is already ‘tackled’ by Churchill Brothers ‘backie’ Roy Miranda on his bike,” the bartender replied.

“We don’t believe that!” we said in unison.

“Did you see him?” Marshall asked.

“No. But I heard everyone talking.. ..”

“People talk shit when they get drunk in bars. Did he come here?” Marshall was investigative.

“Not today, but he comes occasionally to play Rummy, they have a table behind.”

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙇𝘿 '𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙔'

Determined to find some clue, Marshall began snooping around the back of the bar. That’s when he tripped over a pile of crates which deceptively looked like car batteries, and landed on something hard.

“Ow! What the—” Marshall grumbled as he tried to stand up, only to find that his hand was now stuck under a heavy crate.

Eyes wide, I asked him pointing to an object, “Is that... is that gold?”

Marshall squinted. It was a shiny metallic object, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a gold-plated empty lighter that someone had thrown away.

“Let’s... let’s just say we found something,” I said to Marshall. “Maybe we can tell people we solved the case... you know, before they find the actual gold.”

𝘽𝙊𝙇𝙇𝙔𝙒𝙊𝙊𝘿 𝙎𝙏𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙎 𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙎𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙋𝙏

There is no doubt, the Costao film script is about the story we know.

The case remains one of the most discussed cases in Goa mainly due to its links to gold smuggling and the Churchill family.

The film, however, portrays a damaged version of Costao’s life, depicting his ‘personal’ struggles in the aftermath of the incident, personalizing Costao caught in a web of duty, crime, and politics.

It is truly a Goan subject, ‘smuggled’ by Bollywood, ‘bio-pic’ked to rub salt to wounds?

𝘼 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙂𝙂𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙋𝙏, 𝙏𝙒𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙋𝙇𝙊𝙏

If the film was made in Konkani, our Goan filmmakers could include Chris Perry songs in it. And it would never be against Churchill, cause Konkani films and tiatrs, as we know, are vastly financed by Churchill.

As such, it would be Churchill’s side of the story – Not Guilty Until Proven, which is India’s custom rather than law.

Well, the case eventually faded from public attention as the courts cleared the Churchill family for lack of evidence on the whereabouts of the1500 kilograms of smuggled gold biscuits.

And rightly so. Or else, my cousin Marshall being the hungered ‘unidentified informer’ would have surely found the gold long ago.

He used to scan OHeraldo newspaper for years to find some news and clues to the hidden gold, and I too continued to dream of hidden treasures since those days!

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗜 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱, 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 ‘𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿’ 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀—𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟭, 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗹𝗱-𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝘂𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴.