Since I was five years old, people in my family have been scaling palm trees. Even the family I married into did the same work. There are no waterbodies in our regions to support agriculture; engalukku marathu thozhil dhan (Working the palm tree is our only job). That’s why I want the ban on toddy removed. No one should question me if I were to climb a tree and get toddy. Engalukku itha vitta vera thozhil illa (We have no other job other than this),” declares Anjalai from Jayankondan village in Villupuram. Such sentiments and varying degrees of dependence is not surprising among the thousands of agrarian families, who’ve banked on the palm tree to sustain their lives.
What is surprising is that the state continues to hold on to a British era ban on the palm’s yield, ignoring the big blow it’s dealt the rural economy and the vicious cycle of poverty and urban migration it’s resulted in. With yet another election season upon us, the call to remove the ban on toddy has gained more fervour — thanks to the Tamil Nadu Toddy Movement, which has been waging this battle for years, finding support in the grassroots organisation of Tamilnadu Kal Kootamaippu. Despite the years of work these organisations and its members have put in to clear the air around the controversial drink and educate the public and government of the perilous consequences of inaction, they find themselves having to go through the rigamarole all over again.
Challenging the ban
S Nallasamy, Tamil Nadu Toddy Movement’s coordinator, who has spent his life trying to get the ban removed, is quite aware of what they are up against. Speaking at a recent press meet called to declare their collective plans for the next couple of months, he began the announcement with “The government, the political parties and the public — none of them has any understanding of toddy. It is not an alcoholic or intoxicating substance that has to be banned; it’s food. There are 108 countries in the world that have palm trees and in none of them is there a ban on the extraction or consumption of toddy, except for Tamil Nadu.” What followed was an argument he’d delivered hundreds of times and could now probably do in his sleep — references to couplets from Thirukkural that pointed out the absurdity of politicians who have allowed the ban to continue, examples of fellow states that left the toddy untouched even as they put up restrictions on hard liquor, the many other food items that we consume every day that hinges on the process of fermentation, and the Movement’s long-standing open challenge to any person/politician to prove him wrong on the toddy debate. But, this time around, with him were farmers and palm workers (panai yerigal), narrating the day-to-day consequence of this prohibition.
Run-ins with the law
Challenging toddy’s unsavoury reputation as an intoxicating substance was Shivakumar, head of the Panai Vellam Kooturavu Sangam, Villupuram. “Even a toddler in our house drinks toddy when he gets thirsty. If it were intoxicating, it should have landed the kid in the hospital by now, right? Yet, we’re all fine; it only nourishes us,” he points out. There are four-five communities in Tamil Nadu that have toddy as their primary means of occupation. While the ban on toddy does not restrict them from selling neera (pathaneer) or using the sap to make karupatti vellam or panam kalkandu, cops can come knocking on their doors, he says. “The sap extracted early in the morning holds good for only a few hours. By 10 am, it would have turned sour — into toddy. If the police see this, they would declare that we are extracting toddy and file cases against us,” explains Anjalai. Most often, these cases are not registered under the proper sections pertaining to toddy prohibition, they allege.
Deepan, a lawyer and member of the Kootamaippu, explains how that happens. “Possession of fewer than 50 litres of toddy is a bailable offence. But, the cases are not always registered as such. Either the amount is shown in excess of what’s in possession or it is filed as saaraayam (illicit arrack). This means they are remanded in jail for 14 days. When this is challenged in front of the magistrate, the next thing they go for is the tools the palm workers use to extract the sap; the police say that they (the workers) use this to threaten them or harm them,” he details, adding that panai yerigal themselves are ignorant about the law and their rights.
This effectively means that their guaranteed source of alternative income (given that agricultural activity has been the most undependable source in the past few decades) is shot. Battling criminal cases (especially dubious ones like these) means spending money they do not have in the form of bail charge or bribes. Anjalai had to sell the paddy she had in store — what was supposed to tide them through the next few months — to generate the money needed to get her husband out of jail a few weeks ago. And this was not the first time he has been arrested and it’s not likely to be the last.
While toddy has held the labels of kulir baanam, food and even divine drink (having been offered to deities) for ages, the one thing it has not been called is ‘intoxicating’. But, beyond this, there is a need to look at the livelihood it can generate for the people dependent on it, suggests Deepan. “In self-reliant economics, people use the resources at hand to earn a living and this would keep them from leaving the village for the cities. Now, because of the ban and the false cases, people are resorting to kooli velai; migration is increasing. Two years ago, I met a group of 30 cleaning the drainage at Taramani. One of them has around 100 palm trees in his hometown. Because of the trouble he had with the cops, his kids didn’t want to take up the work; the degree-holders are now employed as drivers. The older man himself was arrested; he made his way to the city in search of a job. This, when 100 palm trees could have fetched the man nearly Rs 70,000 a month,” he recounts.
M Selvaraj, head of Satta Vizhipunarvu Amaippu, has done his best to educate the farmers, toddy tappers and authorities in his region around Coimbatore about the legal aspects and rights of the toddy drawers. “What we’ve been seeing is the misuse of The Tamil Nadu Prohibition Act 1937. In Coimbatore, we have managed to stop this. When we see cops misusing the provisions of the Act, we inform the higher authorities and file complaints; requesting that they only take action as provided by the law. More than 150 cases were filed on behalf of the farmers and tappers. At the end of the process, no one was found guilty in Kongu region. And the same Act has provisions for punishment of the authorities found to be harassing the public,” he explains.
Toddy economics
This meant that people in Coimbatore have been able to extract toddy for their livelihood. Toddy tappers are advised to tap less than 50 litres to stay in the ‘minimum offence’ bracket. Even if they were to sell only 20 litres a day, they can make Rs 500-Rs 1,000 per tree. This extra income allows the farmers to weather the vagaries of agricultural trade, says Selvaraj.
“When they get an extra Rs 1,000, those who have cattle will be able to take care of it better, hire two-three labourers, spend on pesticides, get provisions for the house and whatnot. This does not greatly change the face of agriculture; it merely saves them a little even as farming is in the decline,” he says.
Now, there’s much else to be gained from the state tree. Karupatti vellam certainly has more takers now than ever before; there’s a whole range of creatives you can make from palm fronds. There’s nearly 800 of them, says Deepan. Even as the fight for toddy holds strong, a quiet movement in pockets of the state has been trying to empower villagers by tapping on the potential of these value-added products. Selvaramalingam of Edappadi in Salem district is responsible for one such pocket.
“When we visited the districts affected by Gaja cyclone, the only tree left standing was the palm. We wanted to do something for the villagers with the help of palm. That’s how Panaivaram started. We had trained a few artisans in palm-related handicraft. With their help, we trained a hundred women in Nagapattinam’s Vedaranyam. So far, they have been able to earn a steady income with this skill, making baskets, garlands and such and selling it in the local market. When required, we step in to sell it for them. This also particularly helps widows, women abandoned by their husbands/families, and physically-challenged people earn a living,” he narrates.
Even as there seems to be a legal alternative to toddy in the world of palm economics, it all rides on the acceptance of toddy. Banning toddy is akin to depriving the sale of rice for paddy farmers, while expecting them to work with what they get out of the hay. If that were the case, who would raise paddy was the question raised by Hima Kiran of the Kootamaippu months ago. That’s exactly what the palm work has witnessed in the past couple of decades. Selvaramalingam has the numbers to show for it. “According to the recent count, 80 per cent of the workers in the field are above the age of 55 years; another 20 per cent is made up of people between 40 and 55 years,” he lists.
“There are fewer young people coming into this line of work. You see the involvement of youngsters only in the districts where toddy is being extracted — even if it’s by bribing the authorities. Elsewhere, you only have people above the age of 50 years doing this job. Ten years down the line, they will retire and you will have no one to do the work even for your karupatti and kalkandu. What will then happen to a tree that has no benefit? It would be destroyed,” surmises 41-year-old Pandiyan of Narasinganur, Villupuram. If the palm were to go, it would not only be a massive blow to what could be a robust rural economy,it would also mean losing a natural wind barrier (proven time and again during cyclones and storms) and water retainer (as evidenced by the wisdom of placing palm trees around farmlands and waterbodies), points out Selvaramalingam.
Demands from workers
Hence, the renewed pitch to remove the ban on toddy. Older participants of the fight are familiar with toddy’s checkered history with politicians. The late DMK chief M Karunanidhi had promised to do the best by toddy; the late AIADMK leader Jayalalithaa too had announced that she would recall the ban. Reality has been far from it. What more, a study commissioned by the DMK government in the late 2000s on toddy is said to have ended on a positive note, with the team exonerating the substance of the alleged maleficence. Yet, the report was never published.
Now, picking up where they were forced to leave time and again, the Tamil Nadu Toddy Movement and Tamilnadu Kal Kootamaippu have a list of demands. “The main demand is that the ruling party announce the removal of the ban on toddy. Or the chief opposition party should include it in their manifesto (with the assurance to act on it if they are elected). The second demand is to end the false cases piled on panai yerigal. We are also addressing this with legal teams in every district. Lastly, like the Paal Valathurai (Dairy Development Board), the government should form a Panai Valathurai (Palm Development Board) and oversee the production and sale of palm-related products. If the ban is removed, this Board would also be able to help export toddy (like it’s done in Sri Lanka, for example).
There’s a Kal Viduthalai Maanadu in the works. In the months leading up to the election, the two organisations plan to protest by extracting toddy in different parts of the state — for one, to educate the palm workers on the legalities of it and two, to show the government just how many people are dependent on this line of work. A signature campaign too is coming up. There’s much ado and it’s all just getting started.
What the Ban means
Banning toddy is akin to depriving the sale of rice for paddy farmers, while expecting them to work with what they get out of the hay. If that were the case, who would raise paddy was the question raised by Hima Kiran of the Kootamaippu months ago.