I SHALL GO INTO THE ALTAR OF GOD

Photo: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo

"Gone are the palaces of the Viceroys and the garden-houses of the merchants; gone are the busy streets and market-places and the clamouring camps of armies. Of all that stood in the olden days on this once densely populated spot, only the church of our Lady of Rosary survives."

This church, which F.B. Bradley-Birt - author of The Romance of an Eastern Capital (published in 1906) - visited and wrote about, is none other than The Church of the Holy Rosary in Tejgaon. Located near Holy Cross School & College, the church is often claimed to be the oldest existing one in Dhaka. Officially, as is inscribed in the building, it was established in 1677.

Reflecting its age, the church hosts several old graves and memorial tablets. The idea that the church was originally smaller in size and that people were buried in the churchyard may be a theory explaining why, today, there are graves inside the building: as the boundaries of the church were extended, these graves became part of the building itself!

Today, the commemorative tablets are affixed on the walls; the floor is now tiled. Engraved on some of the gravestones are epitaphs written in English, Portuguese, etc., complete with decorative and symbolic art, such as figures of angels blowing trumpets.
One of the oldest Christian tombs, which date back to 1714, is here. If you go to the church today and spend time reading the inscriptions that are in English, you will discover that today it is the death anniversary of one Ritta Rebello, who passed away on 25 December, 1806. What a sad Christmas that must was for the deceased's acquaintances! On her 209th death anniversary, we pray for her soul. Amen!

At its present condition, if the church building fails to bedazzle you, these gravestones will not.   

One rainy day, over a century ago, when Bradley-Birt visited the church, he too was fascinated by the antiquities. And he was a keen observer, leaving behind even a vivid description of some of the worshippers, like in his encounter with a timid girl:

"Along the path the quick patter of bare feet comes hurrying out of the rain, and the figure of a girl stands framed in the great stone doorway, her steps arrested, her large dark eyes widening at the unfamiliar sight of a stranger in the familiar place. Her spotless sari, white, neat-bordered, drawn gracefully over her head, clings to her slim body, heavily soaked through with the rain…she hastily draws the veil across her face and, dipping her finger in the stoup, makes the sign of the Cross and moves noiselessly to her place before the altar of the Virgin… Absorbed in her devotion, she kneels, oblivious of all else."

The girl, whoever she was, haunts my soul. In the modern 21st century, as I look upon the tombstones she had likely once seen and, as I walk about roughly the same place she had once visited, I can imagine her startled 'large dark eyes', her sari and her veil, and her praying to the Lord.

I could also hear the 'hushed voice' of the priest, as heard by Bradley-Birt. Beginning the service, he had said in Latin, "Introibo ad altare Dei": I shall go into the altar of God.