Tamarind tales

BENGALURU: There is devotional music playing at the Gangamma Devasthana in

Nallur

Kote. A couple of cars are parked in front. Under the majestic banyan tree outside the temple, three teen girls sit and talk and laugh, the way that teen girls do. And on the Nallur Road, there’s a faded signboard saying “Biodiversity Heritage Site” (BHS).

The site in question is the Nallur Tamarind

Grove

– “India’s First Biodiversity Heritage Site”. Look it up on the website of National Biodiversity Authority and you will find this patch of purple prose: “It is popularly believed to be a relic of the Chola Dynasty that ruled nearly 800 years ago, is spectacle of awesome wonder and a freakish site. This BHS spread over 54 acres comprising a population of nearly 300 trees, is a picture of dynamic pattern of plant diversity. The significant component of this popular structure is a group of old plants standing like ageless sentinels, firmly rooted to the ground with their gigantic trunks, along with large picturesque crowns spread very high and aloft like open wings.”

Ugly is beautiful

The writer of those words could be excused for the use of the words “freakish” – because there’s something unsettling about these old tamarinds. The trees don’t have the slender grace of the palm, or casuarina – nor have they the wide ranging majesty of the banyan or the peepal. The trunks, especially of the older trees, are knotted and knobbly, rather like the leg of a patient with filiriasis. But these trees are pitted with holes – and the place is full of life. Woodpeckers and barbets abound. A grey hornbill flutters up from one of the trees. Elsewhere, green bee-eaters and pied bush chats argue with the drone of aeroplanes as they take off from Bengaluru airport. The sinuous form of a snake slides through into the undergrowth. And in this context, the

tamarind trees

become things of beauty.

Holy woods

Sacred groves are as old as humanity itself. Celts revered the ash – refusing to chop it down for firewood even in times of scarcity. Yew trees are still planted in European graveyards and churches. Linden trees were sacred in most Slavic countries. Plato’s academy was originally a sacred grove of olive trees on the outskirts of Athens – a fact that is still referred to in the phrase “the groves of Academe”.

The significance of sacred wood has remained, even in our urbanized world – and shows up every once in a while in popular culture. Oak trees were considered holy by the druids – and the druid Getafix is often found up in one, looking for mistletoe to use in his magic potion that gives Asterix – and the other Gauls – superhuman strength. Harry Potter’s wand is made of holly – a plant that symbolizes both the crucifixion and resurrection in Christian mythology, as well as signifying truth in heraldry. The Elder wand – the most powerful wand in the Potter books – is made from Elder wood – which was supposed to provide protection from evil.

India, of course, has no shortage of sacred plants. From the tulsi in the home to the peepal in temple, to the Ashoka and the Neem, it seems like almost every other plant in India has some religious significance. Karnataka itself was once home to a staggering number of sacred groves, a number of them in Kodanadu. “There used to be many of them in and around Bengaluru as well, but urbanization has destroyed most of them. The grove in Nallur is probably the last of its kind in the area,” says Vijay Thiruvady, the tree aficionado.

Tastes and dates

The tamarind’s Latin name is Tamarindus indica. But despite the epithet “indica”, the plant is not indigenous to India, though it’s been here so long that it might as well be. It finds mention in Valmiki’s Ramayana – where the “light leaves” of the tamarind find their place in the glory of Chitrakoota. It’s mentioned in the Devi Bhagavatham, in the story of the blinding of the sage Chyavana. And in Kalidasa’s Shakuntala, the court jester tells a lovestruck King Dushyanta “You are like a man who gets tired of good dates and longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours, and you want this girl (Shakuntala)”.

This linking of the tamarind with the date seems to have been done by others as well. The Arabs called the fruit “tamr hindi”, or the date of India – from which it became tamarindus in medieval Latin – and from there, it came back to India as “tamarind”.

And the grove in Nallur has around 300 tamarind trees. The oldest, tree 155, has been around for more than four-and-a-half centuries.

Party place

On this day, there’s an old Hero Honda Splendor – with the words “Darling” in bright blue cursive stuck above the light - parked by the fallen fencing. Further into the grove, through an obviously well used trail, there are sound of loud voices raised in argument.

In a small clearing are three young men – with just enough drink in them to get aggressive. There’s the remains of their mid-afternoon party all around. Plastic cups and sachets and empty bottles and paper plates show that the party has been going on a while. But it’s not just these three. The litter is evidence of many a past drinking session.

“What can I do?” asks Muniraju, the grove’s guard. “There are too many of them. And they can get violent. So I usually avoid them,” he says. “But once in a while, you get genuine visitors, and I’m glad to show them around,” he says. Muniraju is 67. He used to be a farmer, but his farmland was acquired by the government because, well, airports needed to be built. He’s been working as guard here for the past six years. “I think the trees are deteriorating,” he says. “Before the forest department took the grove over, the farmers looked after the place. Now, it’s being neglected.”

Even so – there is something about the place – and the twisted trees – that remains deeply peaceful – like the smile on the face of the bas relief of Lord Krishna in the ruins of the Chennakesava temple, at the entrance of the grove.