Aalthara, Tuesday Chantha and the Ash Gourd..

The 'arayalu maram' (Sacred Fig / Peepal / Arasu maram) is a common sight in the villages.  Every temple will have a huge arayalu.  And, quite often, there would be a massive one in the village center too.  They were so huge and tall that you could see them from a distance.  There generally will be a platform with stones at the base around it and the tree would cast a huge shade from the sun.  Many birds lived on these trees and people congregated under it in its shade.  Politicians and evangelists chose the platform to broadcast their propaganda and beliefs to attract following.  The head-load workers would sit in a group playing cards while waiting for the next bus or truck to arrive.  Those waiting for a bus to travel would be sitting underneath while a wary traveler, walking to an unknown destination, could be taking a nap on another side.   All the buses passing through the village would stop there.  The 'Aalthara' (platform around the peepal tree) was a happening place.  It was a landmark and a destination.  It was part of our life and one could never imagine the village center without that majestic tree.  (Sadly enough, that tree has been now cut to make space for road and shops.)  The Aalthara singularly defined the village center.

Tuesday mornings would find the place crowded and busy, with the local small farmers selling vegetables and produce spread on the ground in small heaps.  One would bargain endlessly and get great deals.   It was the weekly 'Chantha' or farmers' market.  Actually, it was a combination of a farmers' market and a flea market.  A wide variety of stuff would be available in the market that day.  They would include locally grown seasonal vegetables, yams, pulses, grains, coconuts, snacks, pappadams, fruits, gooseberries, different kinds of lemons, seeds, genuine honey, knives, sickles, spades, axes, mud and stone pots, woven bamboo baskets and various other small things.  The vendors would start setting up their 'stalls' as early as 7 in the morning and those who go early to the market will get the freshest of vegetables and fruits, albeit a bit more expensive.  Those who go late (around 12 noon) will pick up great bargains on the left over items.

During school vacations, I would accompany father to help carry the things he gets from the chantha.  I have never seen father spend more than a couple of Rupees, nor have I seen him bargain heavily.  While the income levels were very low, the purchasing power of the rupee was quite substantial.  And, we would easily end up with two or three large bags full of fresh vegetables and fruits.  I observed the activity around and made mental notes of opportunities that father might have missed.    And soon enough, I felt that I had enough skills and experience to navigate through the 'Chantha' by myself and get some good deals for the family.  Mother and sisters sniffed and sniggered at me when I told that I would go to the Chantha by myself instead of with father.  And, after ignoring my requests a few times, father finally agreed half-heartedly and, with extreme reluctance and apprehension, he gave me a five rupee note (unfortunately, he did not have a two rupee note) and told me that I could buy things for only two rupees.  He was probably feeling happy inside that his son was mature enough to pitch in with household responsibilities.  Whole of 12  and a half years old, that day I felt really grown up, with a five rupee note in my half trouser pocket (which everybody in the house checked to make sure did not have a hole).

Holding my head high and with two large cloth grocery bags in my hands, I set off towards Althara, the venue of that Tuesday's chantha.  The market was full of vendors and buyers.  Varieties of vegetables were on display and I moved from one vendor to the other, looking serious (and checking the pocket for the five rupee note every once in a while), while the vendors scarcely noticed me.  I took one round of the entire market and marked the things that I planned to buy.  Timid as I was, I would wait for the vendors to be alone and free before initiating the bargaining process.  Hmmm...  no one was ready to let a puny little kid bargain with them.  The prices were fixed.  Take it or leave it.  The vegetables looked fresh, green and attractive.  But, proud as I was, I would walk away when the vendor would not even hear my offer.  After half an hour, I was still holding two empty bags and the five rupee note still rested uneasily in my trouser pocket.  No brinjal, no ladies finger (okra), no snake gourd, no bitter gourd, no beans, no NOTHING!!  It was as if I did not exist for the small time vendors in the Chantha and the fiver started getting heavier and heavier in my pocket as each minute passed.  It was like 'water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink'.  My ego would not let me buy anything without a bargain. 

The prospect of returning home with two empty bags and the whole five-rupee note to the jeers and ridicules of mother and sisters was daunting.   And, that would mean losing father's trust and confidence.  Nearly in tears and with a heavy heart, I decided to face it and turned back home, already making up plausible excuses for the empty bags. I spied an old man sitting in one corner with a few very large 'Kumbalanga' (elavan or ash gourd or winter melon).  These were really huge and each one would weigh easily about 20 kilograms.  We never bought kumbalanga since these grew wild in our yard and there will be one or two in the house always. I went and asked the price for the vegetable.  The old man said, 3 rupees each, without even raising his head.  Out of spite, I offered a rupee and a half for one.  He said no and I walked away, sighing with relief.  And then it happened.  The old man called me back and said yes, but only if I bought all the three Pollachi Kumbalangas.  It was a deal.  The best one could get.  I said fine and gave him the five-rupee note.  He returned a 50 paise coin and walked away with his empty gunny sack.  And I was standing in one end of the market with three humongous ash gourds.  They would not fit into my grocery bags nor could I carry them all together.   I found one known head-load worker standing around and struck a deal for getting the three ash gourds delivered at home for 50 paise.  

Three very very large ash gourds for 5 rupees was a great deal still.  I reached home, with the load carrier behind me.  First, father and mother thought that this person was there to sell the ash gourds and told him they were not interested.  When I told them that I had already bought the gourds and it was ours, their jaws dropped... in total disbelief.  My sisters were in splits as I explained how I got this great deal.  Father wanted me to return them, but that was not possible.  Finally, everyone settled down and accepted the reality of three large Kumbalangas and the vanishing of a five-rupee note.  Needless to say, I was never allowed to go to the Chantha on my own thereafter. 

We were only four of us at home (one sister was visiting when I had bought these lovelies) and we could eat only that much.  There was no fridge and so, when we cut these huge kumbalangas, we needed to use them up as fast as possible before they got spoiled.  Mother would make varieties of dishes with this single vegetable for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a couple of weeks.  Sister would try out exotic recipes and sweets.  All our neighbors got a piece of this white fleshy vegetable, whether they liked or not.  The ripe whole gourds would store for a very long time and were stored hanging in a net or swing made of ropes.  And, curiously enough, they still kept growing bigger and bigger.  It took over 6 months for us to use up all the three ash gourds.  I was relieved.  We were all literally 'fed up' of this vegetable and were glad that we need not plan anything before cutting the next one.

You would think that the story would end here.  It did not and the monstrous ash gourds would haunt me for a long time to come...

Obviously, the vegetables were of a good breed from a place called Pollachi, which is known for growing these giant gourds.  We had thrown the seeds around in the yard and they sprouted at random spots during the rains the next season.  Quite a lot of them, actually.  We let a few of them grow and spread on the house roof without giving much thought.  They started flowering profusely and suddenly the roof was full of huge ash gourds!  At least 40 of them!!  We had a bumper harvest of giant ash gourds.  We stopped giving cut pieces of ash gourd to our neighbors.  Instead we gave them huge whole gourds.  Those who knew about it were cautious when they came visiting.  We cooked a few, sold a few and gave away a lot.  This time around, we were careful as to how we disposed of the seeds and were successful in preventing the next generation invading our yard.  But, that was only us.  Our neighbors were not aware of the need for seed discipline.  The next two years saw the neighborhood overflowing with ash gourds and we were at the receiving end.  Nobody ever suspected a 12 year old's misplaced feeling of maturity for the unexpected ash gourd prosperity in the neighborhood.

Now you know why I am so attached to this vegetable.  Yes, we go back a long way.  I liked the vegetable then, and I like it now.  One dish that we made frequently with ash gourd was the delicious but simple Olan.  This is a side dish that goes well with any sour dish like sambar, morukootan, pitlai, vathakuzambu, etc.  It is also one of the dishes in any feasts/sadyas, especially for Onam. 

Olan -

- Remove skin and seeds from the ash-gourd piece.  Then cut it into thin (1/2 cm) flat slices of about 1.5 x 1.5 inch.

- Similarly, cut same quantity of slices of yellow pumpkin (optional)

- Cook these two vegetables together with little water and salt

-  Separately pressure cook a small quantity of red eyed peas/cow peas, with a dash of salt added (optional)

-  Once the gourd is cooked, add the cooked peas to it. 

-   Optionally, add half a cup of coconut milk and let it come to boil  (don't let it boil since the coconut milk will disintegrate)

-  Remove from the heat and add a few slit green chillies.  Then season with a couple of sprigs of curry leaves and a spoon or two of coconut oil.

-  Keep closed for some time before serving.

Have it as side dish for sambar/morukootan/pitlai and rice. 

(Pictures from internet google search.)