Arpora is not just a tragedy. Arpora is a mirror. And what it shows us should terrify every Goan who still believes that Goa is Dev Bhoomi – a land blessed, balanced, and protected by a civilisational ethos that respected life, land, and limits. Twenty-five innocent lives were not lost in an accident. They were sacrificed at the altar of greed, corruption, and moral collapse. If this does not wake us up, then nothing will.
Goa was never meant to be a sin city. It was a tapasya bhumi – a land where different faiths coexisted with humility, where nature was revered, and where prosperity was pursued without destroying the soul of the land. What Arpora exposes is how far we have drifted from that civilisational anchor. From a destination of blessings, Goa is being reduced to a playground of vice. From Dev Bhoomi, we are sliding – deliberately – into Shaitan Bhoomi.
Let us be brutally honest. The Arpora nightclub was not an aberration. It was a symptom. An illegal structure, flouting every fire safety norm, operating openly, brazenly, with the silent blessings of those whose duty it was to protect life. Wooden structures, dried grass aesthetics, fireworks in a closed space – this was not negligence. This was criminal arrogance enabled by a corrupt ecosystem. When the fire broke out, it did not just burn bodies; it burned the lie that Goa’s degeneration is accidental.
What kind of society allows illegal clubs to mushroom next to villages? What kind of administration looks away while licences are manipulated, safety certificates are rubber-stamped, and bribes become the currency of governance? And what kind of people stay silent until bodies pile up? Arpora is not just about the Luthra brothers or a single nightclub. It is about a system that has normalised illegality and a society that has normalised silence.
Goans must ask themselves uncomfortable questions. When did we decide that quick money matters more than human life? When did we accept that outsiders can buy our land, bend our laws, and convert our villages into dens of debauchery? When did we stop caring that our children are growing up in a Goa where drugs, prostitution, and lawlessness are marketed as “tourism”?
This is not tourism. This is moral vandalism.
A Dev Bhoomi is defined by maryada – limits. Shaitan Bhoomi is defined by excess without consequence. What Arpora reveals is that Goa’s regulatory institutions have collapsed, and in that vacuum, sin has flourished. Panchayats look away. Police look away. Departments look away, Politicians look away. Everyone looks away – until death forces us to look.
But even after death, what is the system’s response? A cheque. A compensation amount that insults the value of human life. No empathy. No accountability. No urgency to fix the rot. Just transactional governance—as if 25 lives can be balanced in a ledger. This is not governance. This is moral bankruptcy.
The danger is not just illegal nightclubs. The danger is that Goans are slowly being conditioned to believe that this is normal. That this is the “new Goa.” That questioning corruption is anti-tourism. That demanding law and order is anti-business. This narrative is poisonous. It is how Shaitan Bhoomi is manufactured – one compromise at a time.
Goa’s spiritual strength has always come from harmony – with nature, with faith, with community. That harmony is being violently disrupted by unchecked commercialisation driven by greed, protected by corruption, and tolerated by apathy. When forests are cleared, beaches are encroached, villages are overrun, and laws are mocked, it is not development – it is desecration.
Arpora must be our line in the sand.
If 25 deaths do not force Goans to rise above party lines, then we are complicit. If we continue to vote based on caste, favours, and freebies while ignoring corruption, then we share the blame. If we remain silent because “it doesn’t affect me,” then we should remember – evil never stops at one doorstep.
Dev Bhoomi does not remain Dev Bhoomi by default. It remains so because its people defend its values. Shaitan Bhoomi emerges not because evil is powerful, but because good people choose convenience over courage.
Goa today stands at a civilisational crossroads. One path leads to restoration – strict enforcement of law, zero tolerance for corruption, and reclaiming tourism that respects life and culture. The other path leads to deeper decay – more Arporas, more bodies, more blood on our collective conscience.
Arpora is a warning. A final warning.
Sleeping Goans must wake up. Not tomorrow. Not after the next tragedy. Now. Because if we allow this land of blessings to fully transform into a land of sin, history will not forgive us – and neither will our children.
