JAAMKOLI

In the Continent of the Jamun Trees, where the land of India lies . . .

~Indian ritual invocation.

The ripening fruit of the jamun tree signals the approach or summer, a time when children and parakeets battle over its heavy purple berries and every mouth is stained with juice.

Old men with long staves patiently knock the berries onto cloths spread on the ground. Beneath the flesh of the berries lie pits, which are crushed into flour for treating diabetes. The juice itself is an excellent liver stimulant, while decoctions from the bark are used to cure mouth ulcers and for strengthening the gums. The powdered bark is commonly used as a tooth powder.

A generous plant that fruits abundantly, the jamun is described in The Mahabharata as a cosmic tree standing to the south of Mount Meru, the axis or the universe. When the ripened fruit of this gigantic tree burst, its juice fell in waterfalls, making a river which becomes the boundaries of a land known as jambu-dvipa, or the Continent of the Jamun Trees, populated by epic heroes who gained immortality by drinking the juice.

What probably began as a boastful traveler’s tale or nomadic road directions became somehow the name by which ancient Indians identified their location in a mythic space and time, so although the jamun tree receives no ostensible

worship, it is still invoked at formal Indian rituals, which always commence with the words: “In the Continent of the Jamun Trees, where the land of India lies . . .”

Excerpted from The Garden of Life by Naveen Patnaik.

Illustration: Painting titled The Duhat tree by Rev Cruz, from his blog The Perelandran Chronicles. The author says “Every year our house is blessed with an abundant supply of giant duhat (jamun or java plum). Never has our duhat tree failed to produce extremely sweet and dark pulpy fruits. I often wondered how could such a small tree create an overflowing amount of fruits! And not just quantity, but the quality is so excellent you can swear it tastes better than any market can sell. My dad gave me an explanation, but it was never direct. He just told me, “Ever wondered where I buried all our pets who died?” I remembered all the dogs and cats we cried over when the life left them, but we never asked our dad where he buried their bodies. I look at the duhat tree and from the trunk I trained my eyes to the ground, and though I couldn’t actually see what’s under, I imagined the roots trailing deep under and around the corpses of our pets long gone. It’s almost sacrificial in the manner that the bodies each root has taken hold of has given life to the tree and the seasons of bounty it has endured. I eat the duhat fruit as a tribute to each of the pet our family has loved and taken care of.”