Mango's chemistry and history: what gives it its distinct aroma; its link to the Buddha and Babur

Indian Express

2 days ago

One early summer's day, in the South Delhi home where I lived as a child, a sudden sky-black storm shook the solitary mango tree in our garden, showering a bounty of green mangoes onto the grass below. I, head bowed to shield my face from the big, fat drops of quickening rain, sprinted across, from the sheltered veranda, to gather up the fallen fruit.
At the door, impatiently, my elder sister oversaw my adventure, already planning what to do with the unexpected prize. Mango picking was forbidden till they ripened; a futile rule defeated by the birds that were aplenty in the cities, back then in the 1980s.
My sister stole the peeler and grater from the kitchen, as my middle sister and I washed the mangoes in near silence, for even the faintest betraying clatter in the kitchen would summon our mother's vigilant tread, who would confiscate the unripe fruit and preserve them for a mango chutney.
In a well-practised heist – we had done such things before – the salt and sugar jars, the bottle of mustard oil, and a couple of green chillies were quietly taken to the large bedroom we shared. The green mangoes were peeled and then their white and woody flesh grated, sprinkled with salt and sugar, the chillies broken and crushed, and finally, a generous splash of sharp mustard oil added to the mix, to make an impromptu mango relish, that could only be properly enjoyed when licked off one's fingers.
What we were doing had been done by countless children, in some form or the other, across India's long tryst with mangoes, for we have known mangoes for millennia before most other cultures. The first mango trees are believed to have sprouted in the foothills of the Himalayas, some 4,000 years ago, and then gradually spread to the rest of South Asia. This view is now contested by some scientists based on DNA evidence, which suggests mangoes grew independently in India and the South Asian regions of Sumatra and Borneo.
However, the Western world certainly learnt about the king of all fruits from us, and, hence, bestowed upon it the botanical name Mangifera indica. The name itself originates from the Tamil and Malayalam words – mankay, mannakay. The Portuguese came across it when they landed in India, and took it across the world, calling it manga. It would ultimately become mango in the English language.
The early expeditions of the mango, across the seven seas, required it to be pickled in brine, and it was in this form that the West first encountered it in their homes. So closely intertwined were the fruit and the art of pickling that in some tongues, 'mango' became synonymous with pickle. So, even now, in the West Midland regions of the USA, especially in Illinois, large green peppers, meant for pickling, are sold as mangoes.
In North India, mango was known as aamra to our ancients. It finds many mentions in the later Vedas, Dharma shastras, and the Puranas. The mango has a special place in the Buddhist tradition, too. The Buddha was supposedly born under a mango tree and used the fruit as a metaphor to convey his ideas to people, and his disciples are credited with spreading mangoes to the rest of South Asia, carrying mango saplings with them, on their missions to far-off lands.
Aamra became aam in common parlance, but was equally popular among the khaas people of medieval India. One apocryphal story goes that Babur was lured into the Indian subcontinent when an Afghan warlord promised to gift him a box of mangoes if he defeated Ibrahim Lodhi. The reason why this is unlikely is that Babur himself wrote that, although 'the mango is the best fruit of Hindustan,' and it is highly praised by some, 'such praise outmatches it.' For Babur, the Central Asian musk melon was the king of all fruits.
His son Humayun, however, was as addicted to mangoes as he was to opium. Even when he was in hiding from the armies of Sher Shah, he found a way to get mangoes secretly delivered to him. The Hamam, or Himam Pasand, variety of mango, now popular mostly in the South, is supposed to have been grafted especially for Humayun, and was originally called Humayun Pasand. Humayun is associated with another variety – the Chausa (or Chaunsa) – but this time, in defeat. The name was supposedly given by Sher Shah when he vanquished Humayun's forces at the battle of Chausa.
By this time, Portuguese Jesuit priests had already reached Goa, tasted the local mangoes, and started grafting them to micro-engineer their flavour. Akbar learnt about this and invited them to his court in Agra to train the royal horticulturists in the art of mango-tree grafting. A special mango orchard was set up in Lakhi Bagh, where one lakh trees were planted, and grafting experiments produced over 100 new varieties, some of which survive to this day.
There are many fruits like the mango, which are sweet, tart, firm, yet soft. That the mango commands such a fanatical fanbase comes from its singular 'nose' – the dance of delicate, yet strong aromas that it releases, when one holds an unpeeled fruit to the nose, or lets a morsel yield itself upon one's tongue.
The scent of a mango comes from a vast array of Volatile Organic Compounds (VOCs), most important of which are terpenes, lactones, esters, and aldehydes. The esters impart the sweet, tropical fruity scents, the lactones give it a creamy, earthy undertone, terpenes produce the slightly intoxicating, floral and pinelike notes, while aldehydes provide the grassy, and somewhat 'spicy' feel. While these are the key VOCs that create the 'base' bouquet of mangoes, the distinctive characteristics of individual varieties are determined by the minor compounds present in small amounts.
Mangoes are part of the wider Cashew family, which makes them a distant cousin of the poison ivy plant. Like poison ivy, mangoes contain urushiol-type compounds, especially in the peel, which can cause contact allergies. That is why, sometimes, if you squeeze and soften an unpeeled mango, bite the top off, and then suck out the pulp, your lips start to itch. It might also happen when you eat an unpeeled slice of mango, and your mouth comes in contact with the skin.
The mango, thus, hides a mild sting behind its sweetness. This makes it a perfect political gift, especially in international diplomacy. In fact, there is a proper name for it – mango diplomacy. It has been most notably practised by Pakistan; successive Pakistani heads of state have sent mangoes as peace offerings to Indian Prime Ministers, Presidents, and even opposition leaders.
In Pakistani politics, Mangoes are part of a major conspiracy theory surrounding the death of the former President, General Zia Ul Haq, in a plane crash in 1988. Back then, it was believed that bombs in a box of mangoes, that had been loaded at the last minute, exploded mid-air and brought the aircraft down. It is an allegation that was repeated a few years ago by Zia's son. Incidentally, this theory is a central motif in Mohammad Hanif's award-winning debut novel, A Case of Exploding Mangoes.
Perhaps Zia would have been saved had he not been so partial to mangoes. But who in the subcontinent isn't? In India, most people who can afford mangoes dedicate the summers to gorging on the fruit. It is part of breakfast, lunch, and dinner; not just as a fruit or dessert, but also in pickle and chutney form.
It is also added to savoury dishes, like the meen manga curry, which is a fish curry with green mangoes from Kerala; the Gujarati ripe mango kadhi, made like a regular besan-based kadhi with sweet mango pulp added to it; and the Mangalorean mango curry, made with ripe mangoes, ginger, garlic, jaggery, tamarind, and tempered with curry leaves, red chillies, and whole spices.
Today, I will leave you with a savoury recipe from Bengal, which combines green mangoes and red masoor dal. It is known both as aam dal (mango dal) and tok daal (sour dal). It is a sweet-savoury dish, bordering on a mango chutney. There are many variations to this dish, this is how my mother used to make it.
Red Masoor Dal: 1 cup (190-200 g)
Green mangoes: 2-3 pieces (200-250 g)
Mustard Oil: 2 tbsp
Kalonji: ½ tsp
Black Mustard seed: ½ tsp
Saunf: ½ tsp
Red Chillies (whole): 2-3
Turmeric powder: ¼ + ¼ tsp
Red chilli powder: ½ tsp
Sugar: 4 tsp
Salt: 1 + 1 tsp
Water: 2½ cups (500 ml) + 1 cup (250 ml)
Method
· Wash and soak the red masoor dal for 30 minutes.
· Boil the dal with 2½ cups of water, ¼ tsp turmeric powder, and 1 tsp salt, till it is soft but not mushy.
· While the dal is cooking, peel the green mango, cut it in half, and remove the stone, but retain the cardboard-like endocarp of the stone.
· Cut the green mango into long wedges, about an inch thick.
· Apply 1 tsp of salt, the remaining ¼ tsp of turmeric powder, and ½ tsp of red chilli powder on the mango pieces and keep them covered.
· Heat the mustard oil in a kadhai till it is smoking hot.
· Lower the heat, and add the saunf, kalonji, mustard seeds, and whole red chillies, and stir for a few seconds.
· Now add the mango pieces, cover the kadhai, and cook for 5 minutes on low heat, till the mangoes soften. Stir occasionally to stop the mangoes from burning or sticking to the kadhai.
· Add the sugar, mix and cover and cook again on low heat for another 4-5 minutes, till the sugar melts and the mango releases some of its pulp. Stir occasionally.
· While this is happening, break the cooked dal with the back of a ladle, but don't mash it entirely.
· Add it to the kadhai and mix well.
· Add one cup of water, stir through, cover and cook for 6-7 minutes.
· If the mango pieces are mostly intact, take a few out, mash them, return them to the dal, and cook covered for another 2-3 minutes.
· Taste and adjust the salt and sugar, depending on how sweet you want the dal to be.
The dal is supposed to be sweet, savoury and tangy. It is usually eaten hot with plain boiled rice, but I like to add it straight from the refrigerator onto hot rice.
Be bold, and try it, even if you balk at the idea of a sweet dal.