TREES AND MY CHILDHOOD

The very thought of settling in a lesser known village of Southern Kerala was a shock for a young fourteen years old boy brought up in the urban and semi-urban backdrop of Nashik in Maharashtra. The inevitable shock finally struck on 18^th April 1996 when we boarded the Kanyakumari Jayanti Janata Express from Mumbai CST (the then Victoria Terminus) to Kerala along with whatever we could carry with us. Missing the friends with whom I had grown up in school and at home was sad enough, though the assumption that new friends would be as good as the old ones gave some solace. Vacations spent in the past at home village Pullad in Kerala weren't bad either.  The long rocking journey of two days took us to the dusty platform of Thiruvalla railway station – the nearest ‘town’. The station with two tracks and low height mud filled platforms looked deserted contrary to Nashik Road Railway station with concrete platforms, overhead roof, the crowd and ever screaming vendors. It seemed that very few trains stopped at this small discrete railway station. Pullad is situated a pretty twelve-kilometer bumpy drive along the curved roads - autorickshaw was the preferred mode of transportation then. With all his hard earned savings, our father had purchased a piece of land with a small tiled-roof house in it where me and my elder sister would be raised and groomed to grow into ‘responsible’ human beings. I started going to a new school – Mar Thoma Senior Secondary School, Kozhencherry. New place, new neighbours, new school, new friends, new surroundings and new bicycle – childhood days at Pullad was livid, though not extraordinary. All these factors fused together in varied proportions to shape a childhood that generations to come would never get the privilege of living it.

Garcinia in the play ground

Somehow, trees occupy an important space on the canvas of my childhood memories in Pullad. The lone Garcinia tree standing tall at the edge of the school playground acted as a dug-out or pavilion for the students playing cricket. The other edge of the ground had a stream lining the boundary with crystal clear water that joined the Pamba river may be half a kilometer downstream. The batsman who hits the ball into stream must buy a new ball for the next day..….that was the rule! Late evening cricket matches during a one month long private bus operators hartal was a norm followed by snacks and cold drinks at St. George Bakery in Kozhencherry town. We would pool all the coins and small denomination notes for the refreshing visit to Bakery. Now the huge playground stands reduced to a mere courtyard with the school developing more concrete infrastructure over a period of time.

Fruits of passion
Back at home, the anjili trees (Artocarpus hirsuitus) were my favourite, though my house did not have a full grown tree. There were plenty of these magnificent lofty trees in the locality laden with sweet ‘mini jackfruit’ like fruits – twice the size of a cricket ball. The ripe fruits would fall down just to split and get crushed on the soil from May to July, just when monsoon is around. One of my elder cousins – an expert tree climber - would climb the tall trees and disappear into the crown whilst I stood beneath holding a lungi as safety net assisted by another cousin or a friend. One by one, the half-a-kilogram fruits fell into the lungi safety net. After a while, the expert on the tree would descend down and all of us would cherish the sweet fleshy part of the ‘mini-jackfruit’ often spitting out the peanut sized seeds. A few years later while pursuing graduation in Forestry Science, I learnt that the anjili trees were indeed endemic to the southern Western Ghats. The pink bunches of rose apple fruits (Syzygium jambos) was yet another fruit that tickled the tongue with its tangy sour sweetness eaten best with salt. Every household had at least one tree of rose apple which were raided by birds, squirrels and school children on their way back home. Similarly, the small plum like red globular lovi-lovi fruits (Flacourtia inermis) were cherished for its blissful sourness when eaten with salt and tightly closed eyelids. Occasionally mother would prepare lovi-lovi fruit pickle - a recipe unique to her own intellect. Much of our time was spent on the branches and under the shade of these trees. On certain other days, cashew trees would be my favourite. The cashew fruit – technically swollen and juicy thalamus – would make for a good snack and entertainment as well. The nuts were not of much interest for us. As all of us boys feasted on the cashew fruits, each 

Rose apple

one of us would occupy a branch as our individual niche. All the cashew on that branch belonged to the boy sitting on the respective branch – an example of niche partitioning and community feeding! We would carry with us some salt packed in a newspaper, thrusted into the pockets.  Biting into the juicy cashew fruits with a tinge of salt is an experience I would cherish forever. A cashew tree that extended its slanting trunk over a pond was the best site me and my friend (also named Abhilash!) would idle out during humid holiday afternoons. The pond surrounded on one side by many trees like kodam puli (Garcinia gummi-gutta), teak, cashew, seema-konna (Glyricidia sepium), vayana (Cinnamomum zeylanicum) and groups of screw pine (Pandanus odoratissimus) to mention a few and the other sides were surrounded by productive paddy fields water-logged above knee height. Tummy now full of cashew nectar, we would dive into the pond straight from the cashew tree. My friend Abhilash was a good swimmer too and he tried his best training me to follow suit, which I never did till date! This is the very pond where I learnt the skill of catching fish using rod and hook and sometimes with bare hands from cracks and crevices in the walls of the pond. The entire area was criss-crossed by several small streams and channels across paddy fields, coconut groves and plantains. We played cricket in these very paddy fields when dry and and bare foot football when water logged.  Local folklores associated some of the water bodies to holy spirits and a few to scary evil spirits too. Now, the pond has almost disappeared due to a flourishing real estate business, concretization and eutrophication. The trees and paddy fields have disappeared as they gave way to modern housing societies and real estate sharks. The much loved anjili trees have disappeared while cashew trees have dwindled down to negligible numbers.

Raju achayan's vegetable shop and our homestead
There were not many vegetable sellers in Pullad except for one small shop run by Raju “achayan” (a way of addressing elder men with respect) wherein he sold a very few vegetables like onion, tomato, beans and green brinjal. The weekly vegetable market was the only other source of buying the most common vegetables. The reason, probably, was every household had homesteads that supported a self-reliant and sustainable living. My home was also adorned by such homestead consisting of a multi-layered combination of trees, vegetables, spices, herbs and shrubs integrated with livestock comprising cow, goats and free ranging poultry. Ecologically, each component favoured the other while they supoorted the family socio-economically. There were trees like teak, jack fruit (Artocarpus heterophyllus), Kodam puli (Garcinia gummi-gutta), a small anjili, vatta (Macaranga peltata), cashew, coconut palms, arecanut, vayana to mention a few. Then the interspaces were tightly occupied by tapioca, plantain, curry leaves, hibiscus, crotons, ginger, turmeric, different varieties of colocasia, elephant’s foot yam, cowpea bean, lady’s finger, green brinjal, bitter gourd, snake gourd and many others. I was astonished to see atleast 7 – 9 varieties of banana growing on our own small piece of land! The red banana (chenkadhali) and chaara poovan varieties were my favourites. As we whole heartedly ate the bananas and distributed lavishly among neighbours and relatives, the surplus would be sold to Raju achayan. Inflorescence of banana after fruiting was a regular dish at home. 

Vegetables in our homestead

The raw jack fruits often formed an integral part of our lunch in the form of chakka vevichathu – steamed jackfruit flesh mixed and mashed with spices, grated coconut and green chillies – served with fish curry from the nearby pond or mackerel. Chakka vevichathu had lip smacking taste when served on the big round leaf of vatta tree along with coconut chutney. The seeds of jackfruit were also savoured as curry and side dishes. Now, I learn that jackfruit has high nutritional value being rich in vitamins C, B6, potassium and carbohydrates. Another relative of jackfruit is the kada-chakka botanically christened as Artocaprus integrifolia (also known as breadfruit) was very often cooked as an accompaniment with rice. Stems of the large colocasia variety, plantain and elephant’s foot yam were often cooked as local delicacy. No wonder why vegetable shops did not flourish in Pullad during those days. During a recent visit to Pullad, I could see a proliferating vegetable business with the shopkeepers selling vegetables like cauliflower, capsicum, cucumber, broccoli – which hitherto were unknown just a few years back. To my dismay, I couldn’t find Raju achayan and his small shop that has now been engulfed huge buildings. Neither could I find those intricate self sustaining homesteads!

Mango trees, snake and the coconut palm tales
Many parts of Pullad were covered by rubber tree plantations. One such plantation in the neighbourhood of my cousin shall always be remembered by men and women of my generation in the area. Mother along with aunt and cousin sister would go to the rubber plantation to fetch fodder grass and firewood. I too would follow their steps just to hang on the branches of another cashew tree or pick the fallen ripe mangoes. The rubber plantation also had scattered cashew and mango trees – some mango trees were wild while a few were of recognized varieties like kilichundan and moovandan. It was during one such mango picking event that I came across a slithering two-metres  long snake that just bumped into me accidentally. Terrified, I ran with all my might and speed, screaming for help dropping down all the mangoes picked up earlier. Unaware of my slippers that slipped off my foot during the run, I was left with cuts and bruises on my foot. That was the first time I saw a snake in the ‘wild’ though in the evening uncle declared it to be a harmless rat snake, probably.

Having a cow at home was something new for me though the streets of Nashik were full of wandering stray cows. The pillars and poles of cowshed were made of whole trunks of coconut palm while the rafters were made of sawn coconut trunk. The roof cover was nothing but woven coconut leaf-frond mat. By now, the multiple uses of a coconut palm had earned a huge respect in my mind - a true kalpvriksha. After, using coconut and coconut oil generously in almost every dish that got cooked in kitchen on crude stove that used coconut leaves, fronds, shell and stem as fuel, the fibrous coir was used as a traditional loofa for bathing! Every rope in the house was made of coconut coir fibres!  One fine morning, I decided to scale the height of a coconut palm. The shortest palm just next to the roof of our house was shortlisted and selected. I had seen my uncle and cousins climb towering coconut palms with elegance and ease. Hugging on to the rough cylindrical trunk, I tried climbing and crawling – once, twice, thrice – and every time I failed. Story of King Bruce and the spider was my motivation. Sweating it out, finally I made it to the top. It was like conquering the peak of some important Himalayan mountain. Getting down wasn't as easy as climbing up. Legs started shivering and every inch of strength and courage drained out. I wouldn't be able to make it down to ground. Yelling out loudly, to father who was somewhere around, I sought immediate rescue support. As angry as he could be, he picked up a bamboo ladder and guided me down the palm with a stern warning to be disciplined. Down on earth, I promised I would never climb a tree!

Fodder on the cycle

Evenings were full of fun with friends – playing cricket or football, cycling to the market junction on the State Highway, talking non-sense squatting on a culvert were few of the evening activities. A little later, I would ride the cycle to cousin’s home where they would have kept a huge bundle of fodder grass and leaves. Manju – my cousin - would load the bundle on to the cycle carrier and tie it with a rope meticulously winding it around the cycle seat and carrier. I would religiously ride the cycle home, grumbling with myself for not being able to play with friends anymore till late in the evening. The bundle on cycle had leaves from trees like vaaka (Albizia procera), jackfruit and Leucaena that are now recognized as excellent fodder and agroforestry species.

Cinnamomum tree and the mongoose trap

One small animal that caught the mystery of my thoughts was the mongoose. I thought several mongooses stayed right in our back yard and beyond where the ground was covered with thick grasses and bushes. They could be seen very often almost every day scrambling from one bush to another. Though many people approved the presence of good number of snakes in the area, the mongoose kept snake population under control. At least twice I have seen people not belonging to our place setting traps for mongoose. One such trap was laid beneath a vayana tree a few metres behind my house in our neighbour’s land. Midnight, some animal helplessly cried, desperately loud as if it has been painfully trapped in something. Next day morning, I walked up to the tree only to find, a small wooden peg on which the wire trap tethered. The hunters had taken away their bounty early before sunrise. It was sad and disappointing to be helpless. It took me several years to understand the ecological significance of mongoose and that it was hunted not only for meat, but their hair that was used for making the best fine art brushes used by professional artists for their priced paintings. By the time I graduated, it was too late as there were no more mongooses left in the vicinity of my house. May be the last mongoose was hunted down or it just disappeared due to the fear of being decimated. And then snakes were frequently sighted on roads, inside houses and every other place where it is not expected to show up. Perhaps, the mongooses were much more than just animals……they were an important link in the ecological fabric.

Growing around trees and with the trees, played a major role in shaping my way of life. A childhood full of joy, down to earth lifestyle and nurtured by the bosom of nature are perhaps few things that childhood at Pullad has gifted me with. Thanks to the inventors of smart phones and digital gadgets for inventing these modern necessities much after my childhood!