even briefly, when the sap was flowing during the hot summer and monsoon months. He got off his cart and watched a climber begin to ascend a palm. The man, short, wiry and almost as black as the trunk of the tree, slipped a short loop of rope around his feet, then took a little jump and gripped the rough, serrated bark with the instep and soles of his feet and his powerful arms on which the muscles rippled like silk. Clasping the tree tightly, he surged upward with a series of smooth jumps, moving as fast as a man walking on level ground. At the top he reached for the fleshy spathe of flowers and made a delicate incision with a small curved knife he carried. From the folded lungi which was the only garment he wore, he took out a small earthen pot. He secured this to the spathe and descended. Every day when the sap was running, the tree would yield three to four litres of sweet toddy. This precious ‘nectar of the Gods’ would either be allowed to ferment to produce the strong country liquor that was the staple of most of the villagers or it would be boiled down in cauldrons by women to make delicious jaggery.
A few of the toddy tappers recognized Solomon and came forward, snatching off their turbans, tying them around their waists and bowing deeply. One of them shouted something and a cup, deftly fashioned out of a palmyra leaf, was deferentially handed to the thalaivar. Another man brought up a pot of freshly milked toddy, unfermented and sweet, and poured it into the cup. Solomon lifted it and drank deeply. The taste exploded on his tongue. He accepted another cup as he talked to the tappers. The sap was flowing strongly this year, they said, but if the rains were poor they couldn’t be so sure about the next harvest. The palmyra was a tough palm (a prerequisite for anything that wished to thrive in the inhospitable wastes of the red teri plain), sinking its roots up to forty feet below the ground to find water, but even it needed rain.
At irregular intervals among the palms, fires winked red; those would be the women boiling the sap to get jaggery. All across his acres, this would be the scene that met the observer’s eye: ill-clad men ascending trees and women assisting them on the ground. Climbing the giant palmyra palm was hard and dangerous work, and falls that resulted in severe injuries were common. Sometimes the climbers were killed outright. Indeed, these were the most wretched of Solomon’s constituents, living far from their villages in little makeshift shacks of mud and thatch during the harvest season, but now it appeared that they were the ones who would see him through what promised to be another lean season.
Solomon spent a couple of hours in the palmyra forest; then he set off for the northernmost of his properties that lay more than half a day away. At noon, the convoy’s route again ran along the river. At this point the Chevathar pooled under tall rocks that soared out of the stony ground. A rough country dam that Solomon had had constructed about ten years ago created an elongated pool in which there was at least six feet of water. A group of laburnum trees leaned over the water, their pendent blooms a blaze of golden yellow.
A herd of skinny cattle had settled down in the shade of the trees, placidly chewing their cud. The boys in charge of them were swimming in the pool like big brown tadpoles. Without pausing to think, Solomon ordered his carts to stop, stripped off his shirt and lungi and ran down to the water’s edge, where he jumped with a huge splash into the deepest part of the pool. The boys showed some alarm at the arrival of this large stranger in their midst; then, all unknowing of his exalted stature, they splashed water in his face, giggled and swam away. Solomon paddled around the pool, feeling his worries evaporate under the strong sun and the cool touch of water. Memories of his childhood flooded him – of swimming in the wells and ponds with the other village boys, trying to
A few of the toddy tappers recognized Solomon and came forward, snatching off their turbans, tying them around their waists and bowing deeply. One of them shouted something and a cup, deftly fashioned out of a palmyra leaf, was deferentially handed to the thalaivar. Another man brought up a pot of freshly milked toddy, unfermented and sweet, and poured it into the cup. Solomon lifted it and drank deeply. The taste exploded on his tongue. He accepted another cup as he talked to the tappers. The sap was flowing strongly this year, they said, but if the rains were poor they couldn’t be so sure about the next harvest. The palmyra was a tough palm (a prerequisite for anything that wished to thrive in the inhospitable wastes of the red teri plain), sinking its roots up to forty feet below the ground to find water, but even it needed rain.
At irregular intervals among the palms, fires winked red; those would be the women boiling the sap to get jaggery. All across his acres, this would be the scene that met the observer’s eye: ill-clad men ascending trees and women assisting them on the ground. Climbing the giant palmyra palm was hard and dangerous work, and falls that resulted in severe injuries were common. Sometimes the climbers were killed outright. Indeed, these were the most wretched of Solomon’s constituents, living far from their villages in little makeshift shacks of mud and thatch during the harvest season, but now it appeared that they were the ones who would see him through what promised to be another lean season.
Solomon spent a couple of hours in the palmyra forest; then he set off for the northernmost of his properties that lay more than half a day away. At noon, the convoy’s route again ran along the river. At this point the Chevathar pooled under tall rocks that soared out of the stony ground. A rough country dam that Solomon had had constructed about ten years ago created an elongated pool in which there was at least six feet of water. A group of laburnum trees leaned over the water, their pendent blooms a blaze of golden yellow.
A herd of skinny cattle had settled down in the shade of the trees, placidly chewing their cud. The boys in charge of them were swimming in the pool like big brown tadpoles. Without pausing to think, Solomon ordered his carts to stop, stripped off his shirt and lungi and ran down to the water’s edge, where he jumped with a huge splash into the deepest part of the pool. The boys showed some alarm at the arrival of this large stranger in their midst; then, all unknowing of his exalted stature, they splashed water in his face, giggled and swam away. Solomon paddled around the pool, feeling his worries evaporate under the strong sun and the cool touch of water. Memories of his childhood flooded him – of swimming in the wells and ponds with the other village boys, trying to
Similar Books
