On a cloudy December morning, we visited the premises of the ancient Panangateeshwar temple in Panaiyapuram in south-eastern Tamil Nadu. Panai is the Tamil word for the palmyra palm (Borassus flabellifer) which is the sthala vriksha (temple tree) of this late Chola period Siva temple, that even finds mention in the verses of the 7th-century Saivite saint Tirugnana Sambandar. Amidst the devotees arriving to worship at this 1,300-year-old temple, a few swaying palmyra trees caught our attention. We could see that one of the trees bore the weight of several sacred requests, such as bangles, small cradles and paper notes, that were hanging on its lower branches. “Devotees believe that a prayer to this tree will bless them with an offspring,” the temple priest informed us, as he began his morning rituals. In fact, the palmyra palm is the sthala vriksha of nine temples across the state.
As much as it is revered, palmyra - the state tree of Tamil Nadu - is also part of the lives of many families here. As we drive down 20 km south to reach the abode of palmyra tree climber T. Pandian in Narasinganur, we see street vendors selling the famed panai kizhangu (palmyra tubers) in baskets lined up on the sides of the state highway. When we reach his home, Pandian offers us some rice gruel and tells us that we have arrived just in time for his first visit to the panankaadu (palmyra groves).
“The recent cyclone (Fengal) has flooded our fields, and our vegetables and crops were all destroyed,” he points to the lifeless farms on our way, while speaking. However, at the edge of his farm, his palmyra trees stand tall like a formidable army, undeterred by the ferocious cyclone. He deftly climbs up a 20-feet tree and hones the inflorescence of the palmyra. Pandian tells us that he will have to do it thrice a day for the next 5 days to collect pathaneer or neera (a sweet palmyra drink) in his pots. These pots are all coated with lime to prevent fermenting of the raw sap. A portion of this palmyra drink is boiled and stirred in large vessels for hours to create palm jaggery or karupatti. For the next five months, production of palmyra jaggery will sustain his family. “The tree will always give us something to rely on - be it jaggery, pathaneer or neera. The tubers during the first three months of the year, the fruit or ice apple during summer, and even its leaves that are used for handicraft items, provide us with income,” says Pandian. It is perhaps for its nature to give across seasons that the palmyra is also called kalpataru (or the celestial tree).
Pandian’s words find an echo in the ancient Tamil literary work of Puranaanuru (200 BCE – 100 CE). The lines below elucidate how the Chola army was so large that when they marched, its length spanned across the various stages of a palmyra’s life cycle. But it also shows how the palmyra never failed to give.
Listen O dear! Those in front of the army ate palmyra seeds, those in the middle ate sweet palmyra fruits, those at the end split and ate roasted tubers, such was his army of raised spears that it destroyed the pride of kings and circled the wide world with might.
Palmyra researcher Rev. Godson Samuel observes that the tree’s uses extend far beyond its fruits and sap. He points out that many communities, apart from the toddy tappers, have relied on the tree and its products for centuries. For instance, he notes, “The pastoral community in Tamil Nadu uses a palmyra enclosure to safeguard their livestock, the prawn fishers use palmyra baskets for traditional fishing, the Chettinadu traders too used colourful palmyra baskets called kottans for their storage, etc.” And, historically, mature palmyra leaves were used in ancient times to record Tamil literary works.
The Holy Trail
The palmyra tree also plays a key role in rituals across religions in Tamil Nadu. While tree tappers pray to their beloved palmyra every time they begin tapping, the occasion of Karthigai Deepam, the Hindu festival of lights, is an even more special. The whole family comes together to cook panai olai kozhukatai, which is a sweet dish made of rice flour and palm jaggery, steamed in palmyra leaves. During the festival we watched the hot sweets disappear before us, while the children were excited to fire up the maavalis, or handcrafted eco-friendly crackers made with palmyra flowers. Pandian tells us that this indigenous firecracker had almost disappeared into oblivion. But in this neighbourhood, the Deepam festival is incomplete without swirling these starry maavalis.
During Deepam festival, Chokka panai is another common tradition across the state, where a hollow palmyra trunk is decked like a temple tower with palm leaves and lit up. This bonfire is lit before temples to pray to the Lord Shiva, who is revered in the form of light. According to devotees the palmyra is chosen since it is seen as a tree that is useful throughout its life, and worshippers seek to be as helpful to others in their lifetime.
Rev. Samuel tells us that palmyra is a tree that cuts across religions. For instance, he shares how the Christians in Tamil Nadu use its leaves during Palm Sunday and palmyra leaf bowls are often used to dish out porridge in the church. Muslims too use a plank made of palmyra called neethan palagai for their burial rites. With over 51 million trees in Tamil Nadu, it is no surprise that the palmyra is omnipresent in both usage and rituals.
The Climate Champion
உத்தமர்தாம் ஈயுமிடத்து ஓங்குபனை போல்வரே
Uthamarthaam Eyamitathu Ongupanai Polavarae
– excerpt from Neethi Venba (12th century Tamil poem)
The above line roughly translates as:
Noble is the one, who helps others without expectations,
Like the palmyra that yields fruits, even when no one waters it.
Tamil literature showcases not only the presence of the palmyra palm across the state, but also its resilience through various seasons and environments. With its deep roots, it is able to sustain water for a longer duration and is often referred as panjam pokki (the one who removes famine). Till date, it is a common sight to find palmyra trees near water bodies across Tamil Nadu. Elderly fishermen near Chennai still remember how palmyra was the only tree that fed them during the drought of 1968, when the sea was too rough to fish and lack of rain had wiped the farms clean. In fact, Pandian himself hadn’t paid much attention to the palmyra trees in his farm until the drought of 2016. “Though I came from a family of toddy tappers, I had never climbed a tree till then,” he says. “But when all my crops failed, I had no choice but to go back to the tree that my ancestors embraced every day.”
The relationship between the palmyra climber and this tree has always been very unique and sustainable. For instance, while the white sugar industry uses various chemicals and machinery, the palmyra sugar is a cottage industry that uses only human energy and is completely natural. “Even when we take leaves to craft a sambu (palm coat) or palmyra box, we take out only leaves that we need,” shares Pandian. Palmyra climbers ensure that the photosynthesis is not disturbed and they never harvest tender shoots. Even while tapping the sap or toddy, they leave out the last palai or spathe for pollination.
Toddy Tappers and the Palmyra
As a child, Pandian had watched his father and uncle climb trees, but he never intended to be associated with it. “After the toddy ban in the1980s, many started doing it illegally. And anyone who climbed a palmyra was seen as a criminal. I have seen even elderly palmyra climbers fall on the feet of policemen to climb this tree. It was like we were refused our right to work.” he sighs.
At the centre of this controversy is kallu or palmyra toddy – a native alcoholic beverage made by fermenting the sap of the palmyra. The alcohol content of kallu varies from a mere 4 to 9 per cent. Ancient Tamil literature points to the fact that kallu was once consumed by both men and women. The Indian census of 1901 shows that production of toddy alone supported 263,052 people in the Presidency of Fort St. George (in present day Chennai). It was regularly used to ferment traditional foods like appam, and is often given as an offering to the gods in various ceremonies.
The British regulated the drink with taxation, and after independence the state government of Tamil Nadu banned this traditional alcohol for decades, even while selling stronger alcoholic drinks in state-owned shops. This ban has led to a stalemate between the traditional toddy tappers and the state, as toddy remains the most profitable business for them. They hope that regulation, instead of a total ban, would be the solution. Currently, the social ostracization and arrests of toddy tappers has led to many giving up the profession, and many say that their generation may be the last.
Rev. Samuel concludes, “We may plant these trees, but without protecting the palmyra climbers, we cannot protect the tree.” But can we find a way to protect this tree and its climbers before they become a footnote in history?
Edited by: Sheema Mookherjee