Khéjur-gur
by Ganesh Mani Pradhan, Kalimpong, West
Bengal, India
Chamaerops No. 43-44, published online
05-08-2002
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(Pictures see below)
In late January of this year my wife Sangita and
I decided to take a holiday from the cold winter of Kalimpong and
spend a week or so in warmer climes. We did not want to travel long
distances and decided to proceed to Shantiniketan in South Bengal.
This would entail driving 3 hours to our nearest railway station
of New Jalpaiguri and catching an overnight train to Calcutta. The
railway station of Bolpur, which serves the Shantiniketan area,
is about 4 hours short of Calcutta. We found ourselves woken up
by a fellow traveler in the sleeper compartment at 4:30 a.m. informing
us that we were about to reach Bolpur station. The train stops here
just for around 5 minutes. Early in the morning Bolpur station is
deserted. Dawn light filtering through the horizon of this flat
land presented a different picture from that of the hills. There
is a definite winter chill early in the morning in these plains
that must be hardly a few hundred feet above sea level. We caught
a rickshaw and proceeded toward the Tourist Lodge where we had made
bookings.
Shantiniketan, "abode of peace", is a
university town, home of Vishwa Bharati University, founded in 1924
by Rabindranath Tagore, a literary stalwart and Nobel Prize winner
for Literature in the year 1913. He was knighted by King George
in 1915 but renounced his knighthood in 1919 following the Jallianwala
Bagh massacre. The University is well known for its excellence in
the departments of Fine Arts, Performing Arts, Music, and Languages,
among other departments. Our idea of this holiday was to be away
from the daily grind and also to study and photograph the process
of manufacturing khéjur-gur, a coarse sugar made from the
sweet sap harvested from trees of Phoenix sylvestris. There are
vast groves of Phoenix sylvestris in the hot flatlands of Southern
Bengal, and manufacturing gur from the sap of these trees is a major
seasonal commercial activity. We had learned from various sources
that villagers in the area around Shantiniketan made good khéjur-gur
in winter. Khéjur is the general Indian term for dates (fruit
of Phoenix dactylifera) and gur is the term for molasses, whether
a by-product of the sugar industry or that made from the sap of
palm trees. Phoenix sylvestris, the plant, is known in Bengal as
khéjur-gach. The term gach means a tree.
After a late breakfast we left the Tourist Lodge
and found our rickshaw man waiting for us outside the gates. During
our ride into the lodge in the morning we had talked to him about
our interest in going out into a village to see the process of making
khéjur-gur. He proved to be knowledgeable about the area
and was to be our guide for the rest of our stay in Shantiniketan.
We were taken to a village about 5 miles outside of Shantiniketan
and the scenery changed as we got out of the hustle and bustle of
a university town. A pastoral ambience pervaded as far as the eye
could see. There were Phoenix sylvestris and Borassus flabelifer
trees everywhere: by the roadside, by village ponds, in the middle
of rice fields, and seedlings all over by the hundreds. On reaching
the outskirts of the village we made enquires as to the possibility
of buying some fresh khéjur-gur. We were directed to the
house of a farmer in the locality. We made our way through the edge
of a pond lined on all sides with massive Borassus flabellifer trees
and the tall but daintier looking Phoenix sylvestris. A surreal
reflection of these trees on the pond surface made us stop and enjoy
the scene. The man, Anand, expert khéjur-gur maker, was having
his morning meal with his family in the small courtyard of his home.
After introductions we were welcomed into his home. No, he would
not mind if we photographed him as he went about his activities,
but the khéjur-gur production for day had finished, early
in the morning, and he was now going into the fields to plough the
land. He did, however, agree to answer some questions.
Anand lives on land owned by a family. He cultivates
the land and the main crop is rice. He gives the landowner a certain
share of the harvest. All the Phoenix sylvestris and Borassus flabellifer
trees in the land are the property of the landowner and the harvest
derived from these trees, whether fresh sap, fermented alcoholic
drink or khéjur-gur, is shared with the landowner. Is he
happy? Can't complain, it is my destiny, he tells us. But I make
the best khejur-gur in the area!
In the evening, as the sun sets, Anand climbs up
the Phoenix sylvestris trees and sets his earthenware pots to collect
the sap. Then, in the early morning before sunrise, he climbs up
again, to bring down the pots filled with sap. The slightest rise
in temperature starts the fermentation process of the sap. If one
wants an alcoholic drink, then this is not a problem. If one wants
to make gur, however, then the sap has to be processed immediately
after harvest. If one wants to drink the sap fresh from harvest,
it is a sweet, wholesome and nourishing drink devoid of any alcohol
content.
During the summer, night temperatures are high and
sap harvested ferments by morning, rendering the product fit only
as an alcoholic drink. The sap during summer is also not as sweet.
Therefore, the sap from Phoenix sylvestris trees is tapped only
during winter, from around November until late February. The sap
during this cold season is sweetest and does not ferment quickly
due to the mild climate.
There is no organized Phoenix sylvestris farm or
plantation. The seeds that the plants bear drop down and germinate,
where goats like to nibble them. Some seeds settle in the thickets
that surround the base of mature trees, where the goats cannot reach
them, and thus can continue to grow. These become future providers
of sap. Anand said he just gets a "feel" when a tree is
mature enough for first harvest. We saw trees with a clear stem
of about 6 ft. that had two or three notches on the trunk indicating
they had been harvested over the last couple of years. The whole
process of harvesting sap from Phoenix sylvestris is told in eloquent
detail in the book The Palms of British India and Ceylon by E. B.
Blatter, published in 1926 (?). The book is a compilation of papers
published in the Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society by
the author during the period 1910 to 1918. I would like to quote
a portion from the book:
"When the tree is ripe the process of tapping
begins, and it is continued each year thereafter. There are in the
Date-palm two series or stories as it were, of leaves; the crown
leaves, which rise straight out from the top of the trunk; being
so to speak, a continuation of it; and lateral leaves, which spring
out of the side of the top part of the trunk. When the rainy season
has completely passed, and there is no further fear of rain, the
cultivator cuts off the lateral leaves for one half of the circumference,
and thus leaves bare a surface measuring about 10 or 12 inches each
way. This surface is at first a brilliant white, but becomes by
exposure quite brown, and puts on the appearance of coarse matting.
The surface thus laid bare is not the woody fiber of the tree, but
is a bark formed of many thin layers, and it is these layers which
thus change their colour and texture.
After the tree has remained for a few days thus
exposed, the tapping is performed by making a cut into this exposed
surface, in the shape of a very broad V, about three inches across
and a quarter or half inch deep. Then the surface inside the angle
of the V is cut down, so that a triangular surface is cut into the
tree. From this surface exudation of the sap takes place, and caught
by the side of the V, it runs down to the angle where a bamboo of
the size of a lead pencil is inserted in the tree to catch the dropping
sap and carry it out as by a spout. The tapping is arranged, throughout
the season, by periods of six days each. On the fist evening a cut
is made s just described, and the juice is allowed to run during
the night. The juice so flowing is the strongest and best, and is
called jirran juice. In the morning the juice collected in a pot
hanging beneath the bamboo spout is removed, and the heat of the
sun causes the exuding juice to ferment over and shut up the pores
in the tree. So in the evening a new cut is made, not nearly so
deep as the last, but rather a mere paring, and for the second night
the juice is allowed to run…."
I had carried this book with me and read out relevant
portions and translated it for Anand. He was not very impressed.
He did not follow a fixed pattern in letting the trees rest during
the harvest season. He said he just had a "feel" of a
particular tree's productivity and would skip harvesting from it
and would resume again after a few days. I gathered that this "feel"
would come to Anand when he climbed the trees to hang up the pots
and studied the flow of sap as he scraped and pared the cut on the
tree and also from the quantity of sap the tree produced.
* * *
Surreal reflection on pond of surrounding scenery
dominated by stands of Borassus flaberllifer and Phoenix sylvestris
trees leading to the village.
A stand of Phoenix sylvestris belonging to Anand's
landlord.
Anand and family having their morning meal when
we went to meet him. Anand left to work in his field. His wife offered
us fresh Phoenix sylvestris juice from the harvest brought down
by Anand in the morning. The sap in the narrow mouthed earthenware
pots had started to ferment as was apparent from the froth on the
surface. It was a pleasant tasting drink, but fresh in the early
morning it would have tasted fabulous. Now, around 10 a.m., it tasted
like a sweet but light beer.
We were asked to come over the next morning at 7a.m.,
when Anand would start making khejur-gur from the morning harvest
of sap. In order to photograph him putting up the earthenware pots
for the night harvest we arranged to come in the evening around
4 p.m. whilst I would still have sufficient light to take the photographs.
Usually, he would do this job late in the evening, almost at dusk.
When we reached the village in the evening, Anand's
wife had cleaned the earthenware pots in the pond and was tying
them together with coconut fiber rope. The ropes were of an exact
length that fitted around the neck of the pot in a loose loop.
Anand was examining his instruments necessary for
the job. These consisted of two sickles, which he honed on a log
over which he sprinkled sand from the ground, and a flat wicker
basket, which he tied around his waist with the basket resting on
his lower back and buttocks. The outside portion of the basket had
a small iron hook attached with thin coconut rope. He also carried
a piece of stout split bamboo with a coconut fiber rope tied in
the middle with a loose end about 3 ft. in length, which was attached
to the hook on the basket, and a length of strong jute fiber rope
which he tied loosely around his waist.
This rope loop on the earthenware pots served the
purpose of hanging the pots on either end of a bamboo staff, which
Anand carried on his shoulder. It was also used to hook the pot
on to the wicker basket when Anand climbed the tree. Six pots each
on either end of the staff was a heavy load and the pliant bamboo
staff on Anand's shoulder worked like a leaf spring keeping time
with his gait as he walked toward the Phoenix sylvestris trees.
On reaching the grove, Anand unloaded the bamboo
staff from his shoulder and gently lowered the pots to the ground.
He went about his job with swift precision. First he removed a pot
and hooked it on to the back of the wicker basket tied around his
waist. He then untied the jute fiber rope from his waist, slipped
it around the trunk, and tied the two ends in a knot. Leaning against
the rope and adjusting the length a couple of times, he proceeded
to climb the tree with agility, despite all the paraphernalia dangling
from his back. He slid the rope up the tree trunk and hoisted himself
in an incredibly fast gait. He stopped about 5 ft. below the crown
of the tree and tied the stout bamboo stick horizontally to the
tree trunk with two equal halves jutting out on either side. Stepping
on the bamboo, first with one foot and then the other, he stood
up, eyes flush with the tapping point just below the crown of leaves,
leaning at an angle from the trunk on the rope that went around
the tree trunk and his waist.
Reaching out for his honed sickle he proceeded to
scrape the surface of the cleft cut into the trunk. The V shaped
groove was also cleaned and the pot was placed on the tree with
the rope, the bamboo spout just above the mouth of the pot. Anand
reached for a leaf on the tree and curled the tip of the frond around
the neck of the pot. The leaflets formed an ideal mesh cover over
the open mouth of the earthenware pot. This done, Anand backed down
the tree trunk, again using the rope around the tree trunk and waist.
Anand put up pots on 16 trees that evening and the light intensity
had mellowed into dusk by the time he finished and we took our leave,
promising to be with him early next morning.
During the couple of days we spent talking to him,
in between climbing trees and fixing pots and general conversation,
we were able to find out the general procedure of preparing a Phoenix
sylvestris tree for harvest of sap.
On average, Anand harvests about 20 litres of sap
each day, out of which about 5 litres is left to ferment for consumption
as an alcoholic liquor, while the rest is processed into gur. We
couldn't quite make it at 7.a.m. the next day, and so by the time
we got to the spot near the pond, Anand was already on the job.
Over a simple hearth dug on the ground a fire of dried reeds had
been lighted. About three feet away, through a tunnel connecting
the fireplace was the outlet for smoke. A large, black iron vessel
sat smug on the mouth of the hearth blocking out all escape of flames
and smoke. Phoenix sylvestris sap was boiling in the vessel and
Anand was skimming out the white froth that formed on the surface.
The ladle he used was ingenious, made out of a half of a hard coconut
shell and a piece of bamboo pushed through two holes carved out
at either end. For removing the froth from the boiling surface a
common flat ladle with holes was used. The hearth seemed extremely
efficient and small amounts of dried reeds kept the fire burning
and the liquid boiling. After about 10 minutes of boiling, the frothing
decreases and the liquid starts to take on a dark colour and begins
to thicken. The boiling sap is stirred continuously and when the
liquid had thickened considerably, the vessel was removed. Anand
removed a couple of ladles of this liquid into a receptacle. As
this liquid cooled it turned into a dark burgundy colour. Phoenix
sylvestris sap treacle had just been made! It tasted very sweet
and wholesome and generously poured on to fluffy pancakes it would
have been a treat! This treacle is known as jholér-gur. Jhole
(pronounced as in "mole") is a term used for thin gravy.
Jholér-gur is eaten with rice and village-made rice crispies,
or with unleavened bread (chappati for those familiar with Indian
food). The children, of course, love it as it is, fingers dripping
with the sticky stuff.
The iron dish with darkening treacle went back into
the fireplace and soon it started to boil. Further boiling reduced
the contents and the treacle started turning yellowish and thickening
considerably. The stirring was taken over by Anand's wife while
he moved a little distance away and started to make an oblong mound
of the sandy soil. On this mound, suitably leveled with his hands,
he proceeded to make depressions with the bottom of a steel tumbler,
in neat little rows.
Anand's wife and a cousin spread a colourful cotton
cloth over this mound while Anand removed the dish from the fire.
The treacle had now turned a golden yellow on the surface. Anand
started to turn the coagulated treacle slowly with the ladle. The
swirling motion of the ladle increased and the viscous liquid started
to become thicker. Periodically, Anand scooped out a ladle full
of the thickening treacle and poured it back, testing its viscosity.
Finally, when Anand sensed that he had the right
viscosity, he started to ladle portions of it on to the cloth covering
the depressions on the sand mound. Within about five minutes of
pouring into these simple moulds, little round khéjur-gur
cakes had formed. We tasted some and it was of a crumbly texture,
very sweet. It would not be out of place to say that they simply
melted in the mouth. The khéjur-gur cakes that had set were
tenderly lifted and placed on a basket lined with straw and covered
with cloth. When the whole process had finished, Anand's wife scraped
the iron dish to pick up the khéjur-gur crumbs which she
passed on to the children, We bought the khéjur-gur production
of the morning, which weighed a little less than two and a half
kilograms. At Rs.65.00 per kilogram it was about £2.50 or
US $3.70 for the lot. What about the landlord's share? Anand had
already taken a few pots of the sweet sap to the landlord's house
early in the morning and the khéjur-gur that we bought was
his share of the produce.
Anand went off to plough his fields and we said
our goodbyes to the family. Looking back at Anand's khéjur-gur
production center we saw the iron pot resting on a stone, mounds
of dry reeds, an open hearth, and a goat kid foraging for scraps
of sweet khéjur-gur.
Some questions answered:
From around March when the weather in the plains
of Bengal starts to become hot, the harvesting of Phoenix sylvestris
sap for khéjur-gur production is terminated. Thus khéjur-gur
is a winter delicacy not available during other seasons.
Old trees that have grown very tall and are a hassle
to climb are left alone. Very old trees would start losing their
crown. These are felled and the trunks used for fuel or posts for
huts.
In some Phoenix sylvestris trees we noticed two
things. (1) Plastic water bottles in place of earthenware pots on
the trees during the daytime and particularly on young, short trees.
Local drunks raid these trees during the daytime and put out their
own plastic bottles after scraping the "V" cuts. The warm
daytime temperatures give them warm fermented hooch. This does not
seem to be much of a problem as there are plenty of trees around.
(2) Some trees seem to overflow with sap and during the daytime
and we saw white patches along the tree trunk starting from the
harvesting point on top of the tree trunk. Yes, some strong trees
are over productive and the sap keeps on flowing after the pots
are removed in the morning. This sap ferments on the trunk and starts
frothing, but the sap stops flowing soon. Anand also taps Borassus
flabellifer trees for sap. As opposed to drawing sap from the trunk
of Phoenix sylvestris, the sap of Borassus flabellifer is harvested
from the peduncle of young inflorescences. In the Shantiniketan
region, sap harvest of Borassus starts from May and Anand asked
us to be with him in June. May/June is also one of the hottest periods
in that area and researching Borassus Palm gur at around 40 - 43ºC
is not a very exciting prospect. Maybe next year?
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