For centuries, the tall palmyrah trees have dominated the Northern skyline. The resilient palmyrah tree or panaimaram in Tamil, is a tree that sustains life for many Tamil families residing in Jaffna and its surrounding villages.
Almost every part of this tree can be gainfully used by humans. This life-giving attribute made ancient poets to recite that the forest deity, Talavassini, roamed amidst the palmyrah clusters, which seemed to reach into the very sky. To those from Colombo, the tree is simply connected with thal raa or palmyrah toddy. Perhaps it is one of nature’s own eco-friendly beverages. Toddy tapping happens in many provinces of Sri Lanka. The sap is extracted from coconut trees and palmyrah trees. The coconut sap in its more refined form comes as arrack. However, the toddy from palmyrah trees has remained a ‘virgin brew’ because of being consumed in its natural state, within two days before it transforms into vinegar.
The men who risk their lives every single day to climb these trees and gather the sweet toddy are still segregated by a cruel caste system that sadly prevails in the Northern Province. These fathers and sons also have dreams and aspirations like all other men. I cycled along with my kind host Terry from the quaint village of Araly towards the village of Vaddukodai searching for these men who always work alone. The sight of these majestic trees accentuates the charm of the Northern Province.
After a while, the first person we spotted around 7 am was a robust young man in a blue sarong. He was pouring toddy from a plastic bottle into a gallon. He eyed me cautiously, until I greeted him in Tamil. Balasingham turned out to be a decent chap. He explained, “This is a hard life that we have endured. Every day is a challenge. I am 34 years; I climbed my first tree when I was 12 years still going to school. I could not study further due to poverty. This was the trade thrust on us, as it was on my ancestors. I start my work at 5.30 am and work till 7.30 am, before the sun becomes hot. The glare of the sunlight at this height is very difficult on the eyes. Each tree varies from 60 to 80 feet in height. As you can see we do not wear safety shoes or helmets.” I looked at his strong arms stained black from rope burns and direct contact with the rough palmyrah tree bark. In the Northern Province, these marks are the signs that immediately relegate the hard working toddy tapper, which is a sad phenomenon.
A few cyclists passed by with big gallons on the luggage rack, as people go to fetch drinking water from a clean well. Balasingham continued, “In the morning I climb about 20 trees and rest. When you are tired, you make mistakes and it is dangerous.
Once again, in the evening, I work from 4.30 pm to about 7 pm and climb another 15 trees, when it is much cooler. I do not take a flashlight, having 20 years of experience I can climb in the dark, with the faith that God will protect me, as we have no one.”
Indeed these poor folk place their trust in divine hands. During the monsoon period, there is rain with high velocity winds. The rain is joyfully welcomed by paddy farmers and vegetable growers, but dreaded by the toddy tappers. The rain tends to spoil the toddy and makes the tree trunk dangerously slippery. Bala who is married and has a daughter owns a sturdy bull which is his only earthly possession. I walked to his mud hut to meet his family. He uses the bull to take part in the village bullock cart races, where he had secured first place, an achievement that gave him temporary triumph within this self-righteous caste-dominated society. We cycled back in the noonday sun, taking a break by a lotus-filled pond.
The next morning after eating some succulent hoppers and fish curry, we began cycling again. Terry spotted an old man climbing a palmyrah tree, and we waited patiently for him to come down. He had a rope on his waist and a wooden sheath with knives. He had the traditional clay pots suspended on the crown of the palmyrah tree. After about 15 minutes, he climbed down. His name is Paramaguru (60). His body was in good shape but his eyes were tired. His feet were covered in varicose veins. The humble man said, “When I was young I would climb around 25 trees every morning. Now I can manage to climb only eight trees. I dedicated my entire working life to this job. I wonder what would happen to me when I cannot climb anymore.”
Paramaguru carefully poured the white liquid into a gallon. The tappers select male and female trees during different seasons. They sell their toddy to locally-licensed taverns, and receive about Rs. 40– Rs. 55 a litre. The toddy tapper must pay Rs. 250 per tree per year to the landlords who own the large acres of land containing about 60–100 palmyrah trees. When I asked him about the use of plastic bottles, he commented, “In our days, we used clay pots. This was our Tamil tradition. Today young tappers use plastic bottles to collect the sap claiming it is easy to use. It is the trend but I do not know if this affects the freshness of the toddy.”
That same evening I walked into the local toddy tavern. This was my second visit to a Jaffna tavern. The presence of a ‘Colombo man’ sparked some interest among the regulars, mostly old garrulous men. Once again, I broke the ice, talking in Tamil. I was soon offered a three-legged chair, which I positioned against a block of cement. The old men were engaged in village gossip. I was served a glass of toddy (served in a jam bottle to be precise). The aura of deep fried dried fish permeated the air. A rotund woman multi tasked as cashier and waitress. One of the sober seniors lamented: “Last month a young toddy tapper fell from the tree, a height of 80 feet. He was unconscious, sir. We had no vehicle or ambulance. By the time we managed to stop a vehicle, the man was already dead. He has two children.” There was a powerful silence for two minutes. This is the harsh reality of this marginalized community who are rejected in every sphere of life.
The sun receded and a cool breeze filtered in. The men voiced their opinions. Toddy is perhaps the beverage of the Northern Province in a traditional sense. For decades, it has been sold in taverns, but they think it can be bottled in a commercial manner and made available for sale. These humble men have not tasted Western wine, but pointed out how it is sold as an opulent beverage. They agreed that toddy is still relegated to cheap taverns and labelled as a low caste drink, although men of all walks enjoy it in secret including visitors from Colombo.
If nelli crush, another Northern Province beverage, is sold in European mini-markets why not sell toddy at least in other parts of Sri Lanka, they asked in annoyed unison. This is a way to enhance Northern tourism. I have come across one private business selling bottled palmyrah arrack. The toddy tappers survive overcoming many challenges. They struggle to pursue happiness. Let’s remember the words of Scottish writer Frances Wright “Equality is the soul of liberty”. All men are equal. Though the resilient palmyrah trees will stand for decades, the fate of these humble toddy tappers is precariously suspended amidst the tall palmyrah trees.
