Romancing the Wild Mangoes

For centuries, the valley of Doon remained on the edge of civilisation and for cartographers and explorers it was ‘terra incognita’. Though geographically it was the domain of the Garhwal Rajas, albeit at times contested for by the rulers of Sirmaur, it was only due to the Mughal Imperium and the practice of its state craft that the Valley was drawn into the main current of Indian political processes.

But, with the military expeditions under Shah Jahan and then by Aurangzeb, the remarkable isolation of the Valley came to an end. While, from the perspective of empire building of the Mughals, the Gurkhas, and finally the East India Company, their activity is traceable from the middle of the last millennium, but before that the daunting wilderness was pierced by men of God, the sages, fakirs and the spiritual mendicants. These ascetic minded wanderers had their hermitages and retreats deep in the forests of the Siwaliks and despite the severe terrain and hostile environment of Eastern Dehradun, these seekers of a deeper meaning preferred this part of the Valley for their pursuits.

These peripatetic other-worldly men have left a unique legacy in the depths of the Sal forests of Eastern Doon and also visible along several rural paths and lanes that they traversed. The ubiquitous wild mango trees are a gift of the holy men that one often passes by without a glance, but not when the very same trees are laden with exotic unnamed varieties of ripe mangoes.

Though planting of mango orchards was a known practice yet it remained a preserve of the elite and transgression was indeed costly. Thus, for the toiling peasant and bedraggled pilgrims of summer months, these wild mangoes gave not just shade but some succour as well. The fruit, eaten raw, semi-ripe or replete with juicy pulp, was within easy reach of a hand stretched up to pluck, or the group that shook the boughs.

Though Eastern Doon was blessed with an amazing variety of seasonal fruits like jamun, anwla, ber, grapefruit, bel, pachnaala, dhehu, shehtoot, etc., but nothing was more sought after than the wild mangoes. The fruit excited, both, passion and appetite on hot summer afternoons when hunger for cooked food was far away. Children could hardly be restrained from plunging their hands into buckets of water in which the mangoes had been soaked to cool their inner heat. Even adults considered gorging on mangoes as a meal that was completed with a draught of buttermilk. Even the afternoon siesta was often under the shade of a mango tree.

Mirza Ghalib who penned his verses in the twilight of the Mughal Empire was a devotee of the fruit. He famously quipped: Mangoes should be sweet and should be plenty. (Aam meethey hone chahiein or bahut hone chahien). Again, while corresponding with a friend he wrote that the Creator be praised as he had filled liqueur in these decanters without a drop spilling out. While none may equal Ghalib’s pen, however, they may certainly outdo him in appreciating the mango.

Strolling in the forests of the Valley is no longer possible, both, as there are restrictions and the preferences of the present generation are for jungles of brick and mortar. But in days gone by, one could collect a bunch of friends and set out for the forest and hunt for wild mango trees which were often laden with fruit for anyone who cared to reach them in their remoteness. But you also had to get lucky that these trees dotting the wilderness were not reached before you by mango sellers who plied a plucky trade by finding wild mango trees and harvesting them and then trudging from village to village. They carried their fragrant loads on baskets slung across their shoulders balanced on specially made wooden splints. Their approach to the village was anticipated with much curiosity as no two lots were ever similar in size, shape or taste. Sold by ‘dhadis’ (approximately 5 kgs), the fruit was purchased at times in a single session of bargaining. If it failed, you got only the fragrance of the mangoes that too receding with the footfalls of the seller.

Like the Sal tree under which Gautam Buddha’s mother gave mankind a most remarkable person who sanctified this country and gave mankind a way to nirvana, the mango tree also has an indelible connection to the sage of the Sakyas. Gautam Buddha once satisfied his tortured body by eating a ripe mango but out of gratitude he dug out some earth and planted the seed of the mango and washed his hands over it to water it. The tree centuries later continued to bless visitors with its fruit. And, so is perhaps the legacy of the wild mango groves of Eastern Doon.

Solitary Wild Mango Tree, Suswa Valley, Dehradun

The high-water mark in the romance of mangoes in Doon was reached in the decades between 1750 and 1770s due to the energetic actions of the Rohilla chief Najib ud Doula also at times referred to as Najib Khan. This enterprising chief had a checkered career during the sunset years of the empire of the Great Mughals, and while holding administrative charge of Saharanpur sarkar he expanded the influence of the empire by annexing the Doon. As one of his measures to monetise the addition of new territory he encouraged colonisation of the Valley through grant of nearly five hundred estates which had extensive mango orchards and groves. But vagaries of history ended this progressive initiative with the death of Najib and subsequent expelling of the colonisers whose estates of mango orchards went unattended and we’re engulfed by the ever present jungles that defined the Doon. However these now forgotten mango topes gave birth to numerous yarns and adventures of people who were lost or rambling through jungles stumbled upon these ancient groves laden with fruit. The seeds of these fruit were transported by man and beast to different corners of the Valley by design or accident and thus you have stalwart solitary trees that add peculiar character to the Valley’s landscape.

Unless grafted, as was the practice introduced by the Portuguese and the Mughals, every mango growing out of a seed was a veritable variety of its own and quite distinct in its attributes from another mango. Thus the mystique of mango proliferated with time and spoiled the locals for choice even if they had to walk good distances to find these flourishing mango trees in wilderness.

From my personal experience and from tales passed on from elders in the family tree I learned that gaining knowledge of this king of fruits was a lifetime pursuit and better if done with passion and devotion as the resultant rewards were indeed juicy and sweet. Trees around farms and humble dwellings too had a personality and character that was respected by those who lived in their benign presence. Not only did these nature’s wonders give you bountiful harvest in the bumper year, which was usually the third year, but even in the lean year it gave you something to tease and appease your palate.

On my great grandfather’s farm there was one gigantic solitary mango tree that towered over the surrounding fields. In a year of full glory of its abundance a cart load of ripe mangoes was brought to the house every day! And what was strikingly unique about this tree was that from its very branches came three distinct types of flavours in the fruit. Thus for generations it served the family and the farm- hands till calamity came with its going dry of some disease but not before its wood itself was sold for nine hundred rupees, a huge sum a century ago.

The charm of wild mangoes was not just a passing fancy that one got over when these delights went out with the monsoons. Thus one recounted the raptures of the huge Gola variety of which a single fruit was a challenge to any healthy appetite or the other un named ones that had fine juice and no pulp or the fibrous variety that defied the sharpest knife and could be enjoyed only by peeling of the skin.

The all knowing grannies and aunts were often the ones who took a keen interest in the progress of the trees that dotted the farmland. They knew intuitively and of course through informers when a particular tree was ready for plucking its fruit. Trusted servants were sent to bring in the lot that was sorted in the courtyard, the ripe ones eaten the same day while the others were stashed carefully in hay to ripen over the week. Another task for the servants was at the bidding of the ladies of the house to go and bring in unripe, small fibrous and sour mangoes that were processed skillfully into pickles and chutney to assuage the palate or a sluggish digestion of the monsoon months. On hot summer afternoons ripe or semi ripe mangoes were cooked to make aam – panna with sugar, cumin seeds and mint leaves or the more thick gud – amba made with jaggery and strips of raw mangoes. Since raw mangoes were in abundance they were cut up and dried for weeks in the sun to make khatai that for the rest of the year was the magic ingredient in arhar dal eaten with the staple basmati rice.

The basmati rice has become a faded memory in the Valley and so have faded the recipe books of the the matriarchs and the very trees of wild mangoes have been felled to their extinction and the fruit now known to us comes in cartons with labels but no legends to go with them.