The earliest
memory I have of pain is from when I was around six or seven years old. I was quite unwell with what was probably a
really nasty case of tonsillitis. What I
remember most about the pain is how it felt like someone had poured shards of glass
into my throat and even the slightest of movements led to the most excruciating
pain. Even now, four decades later, whenever I am down with a cold and a sore
throat, I often, instinctively compare the pain I have to the pain I had during
that particular episode. I was probably laid up in bed for a week at most but
for a six year old for whom movement is life, it felt like an eternity. Even though I remember the distress that had
taken hold of me, there was also relief. Every hour or so she would bring a small cup
filled with a translucent, golden amber coloured liquid. Even before she had walked in, I knew it was
kehwa – a drink made by boiling cinnamon and cardamom until it turns a beautiful
golden colour and it is sweetened with sugar or honey. As the mixture bubbled
away on the stove, the scent of cardamoms
and cinnamon would waft through the entire house. Kehwa has a very distinctive scent, the
most beautiful love child of cardamom and cinnamon. She would bring a small cup of kehwa
and spoon the mixture into my mouth.
Sometimes she would add a couple of peppercorns and sometimes a sliver
of ginger – both a remedy against colds in particular, and misery in general. As
she fed me the soothing mixture, she would often tell me the story of how kehwa
came into existence.
Many, many
centuries ago, before time was something you could trap into a clock, there was
a land where all living beings existed peacefully. In this world there was a
gentle forest where all manner of things grew and in the heart of this gentle
forest beneath the shade of a beautiful cinnamon tree, a cardamom plant grew. As it grew, nourished by the gentle forest, it
became more and more aware of cinnamon, without whose shade it would perish. He would spend his days looking up and
admiring her beautiful ovate leaves and her tiny blood red flowers. Though they both spent considerable time
together, it was cinnamon who plucked up the courage and confessed her love for
the tender hearted cardamom. Cardamom upon
hearing cinnamons declaration of love was so overcome with emotion that he
spread his roots closer towards hers and over time, their roots became so
intertwined that you couldn’t tell one from the other. They lived together in love for centuries. One day when time had finally been trapped
into clocks, a witch arrived at the forest, looking for herbs and medicinal
plants when she noticed the pair. After investigating
thoroughly and taking home some of the fruit that both offered, she decided
they were worth taking home and growing on her farm. She knelt down to try and take each one out
with the root still intact, when she discovered they were so intertwined that
if she tried to separate them, both would perish. Now she was a good witch, the kind who knew
that you did not split what nature had brought together, so she did what every
good witch does, she spoke to them. She
told them of the healing properties each held and asked for guidance. They told her to come back after sometime.
This was something they needed to decide together. For days they conversed
until they both agreed upon a solution.
‘You may take
us but whenever you use our fruits, they must be used together – that is the
only condition we have’, Cinnamon said.
The good witch
agreed and assured them that their wish would always be honoured. They told her to come back in some time. They bid each other goodbye and made promises
that would meet again and again and each time it would be more beautiful than
before.
When the good
witch came back and dug up the cardamom plant, she found that he had moved his
roots away and they were no longer intertwined with those of cinnamon. She took them both home and planted them
separately. They took root where they
were planted and they bloomed. The good
witch used their fruits and invented concoctions and mixtures which became
famous for their healing properties. One
of those concoctions was kehwa.
It cured colds, upset stomachs, agitated minds and broken hearts. Her
fame grew and people from all parts of the world travelled to be healed by her
mixtures. The recipes travelled but in
every recipe she kept her promise. Every
mixture she made, she kept them together.
That was how it came to be that you used both together. It became a sacred covenant between the
lovers and the healer and even today it endures.
‘So you see’, my
mother would say, spooning the last bit of kehwa into my mouth, ‘it is
not just a healing mixture you drink, it is a testament love between cardamom
and cinnamon’.
It is story I
have loved the most, of all the stories I have heard as a child and as I grew
different parts of this story stood out at different times in my life. As a child I loved the idea of talking
plants. As a teenager the love story became more relevant and I too would pine
for a love like that. Now, as a woman of
a certain age, the healing that comes from faith bring me immense joy and
sometimes nowadays when I too spoon some kehwa into the mouths of my
little babies, I tell them not just about the love between cinnamon and
cardamom but the grace, compassion and healing that has continued ever since.
Bio for the blog - Saba Mahjoor is a freelance
writer. Her column 'A Little Life' is published by The Hindu. She lives
in England with her husband, two children and an army of rogue squirrels.
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