Mukkani Payasam

The royal trio of fruits in Tamil Nadu are called the mukkanikal: மா (maa, mangai—origin word of “mango”), பலா (palaa/jackfruit), வாழை (vazhai/banana), a ceremonial offering to Kings and Gods alike. Their coincidence makes the blaze of the summer blindingly golden, rich, and sweet and this time we got them all from the trees in our garden.

For those who think we have a farm, we don’t—it’s just a backyard garden big enough for a handful of trees, and bigger somehow in the imagination of the man who thought he could plant five mango varieties here and somehow not crowd out his wife’s kitchen garden, which already had its share of shade from a towering kadamba tree.

That jackfruit has to go, she had said, heartlessly, early in the year when they were walking about and planning garden work for the months ahead.

Wait till this summer, he had begged.

The jack tree had been listening, clearly, and it knew the way to this woman’s heart was through its pala-chulaihal (many arils), which it delivered in such impatient rush as one would if one knew one’s trunk was on the chopping block. The woman’s heart melted. But no more mango trees, she threatened, or it’ll be a choice: me or the tree.

He ignored her, mostly, and went about tending those trees with neem cakes and hosts of other precautions. But the rains came wrong and though the dozen banana varieties weren’t complaining, mangoes suffered. Nearby chikoos were sacrificed to squirrels so they’d leave what was left alone. What came home was considerable, but the bugs and fungi came with, and even after this method and that used to curb stem rot, we’ve had to share what we grew with all else that wants to eat what is rich and golden and sweet in this world. Chem-free gardening for you.

But, they say, those who have these three trees in their homes won’t themselves go hungry, and that is not a lie. In gratitude, as a tribute to all that garden gold and all that magnificent sweetness: mukkani payasam.

Stories about the meaning of “mukkani” abound, including explanations for why we say maa-pala-vazhai and not pala-vazhai-maa, for example. Maa is synonym for mother, I saw somewhere; the banana is the father, and the palapazham, why that is everything, the multitude, Brahman Himself. Sounds a touch Freudian to me, but believe what you will. Although this trio is revered and used much in ceremony, although gifts of these fruits at the height of the season are considered rich presents, I’ve not yet come across credible sources for any further symbolisms.

In our case, the jackfruit was under-ripe and needed cooking down a little, but the mango (we used banganapalli) and banana (we used poovan pazham) got added in raw, a little thickened milk, a bare sprinkling of caradamom, and some ghee-roasted nuts. A precious, rescued cornucopia in a single small bowl.

Any mango and any banana variety can be used for this payasam, which turns out quite pleasantly different each time thanks to the variations in the fruits being used. Elakki bananas will be harder to mash, but will be lovely. Poovan pazham will be a touch sourer, but soft and mushy. Kesar mangoes if you can get any from Gujarat will turn things saffron and intensely flavorful. The possibilities are endless and each time is a surprise.

Enjoy it!