The life of a 'gachi' in days of Nipah virus

Abdur Rahim has been a 'gachi' his entire life. He was 12 when he started harvesting date palm sap (DPS). Now a father of four, Rahim has been carrying on with this profession for about 35 years.  

Starting from Agrohayon (mid-November), Rahim harvests the DPS till Falgun (mid-March). In summer months, starting from Chaitro (mid-March) till Joishtho (mid-June), he harvests saps from the palmyra palm trees, locally known as taalgach. 

Traditionally a low-key remote profession active only in certain months of the year, the gachi professionals live a quiet life. For starters, the word gachi is derived from 'gach', which means trees, and the gachi is the person who climbs the trees. In our context, it means the person who climbs and scrapes date palm and palmyra palm trees for the sweet liquid saps.

You could say that they live a life as quiet as the trees, shying away from any kind of national attention – until of course the Nipah virus was first detected in Bangladesh in 2001. With a mortality rate of over 70%, there have been 240 fatalities and 339 infections so far in Bangladesh. 

The Institute of Epidemiology, Disease Control, and Research (IEDCR) said that in 2023 Bangladesh had recorded 14 infections and 10 fatalities from Nipha virus. This year, the country has already recorded its first death from Nipah virus on Sunday, January 28. 

Rajbari recorded one of the highest fatalities, with three deaths from four infections last year. And hence we visited Abdur Rahim gachi from Kuti Pachuria in Rajbari to learn his story, and how exactly the increasing fear of the virus might have impacted his livelihood. 

The day we met Rahim, we travelled with Ruhul Amin from Rajbari, whose brother-in-law had abruptly died with some Nipah virus-like symptoms last year. The virus symptoms include fever, unconsciousness, breathing difficulty, vomiting, convulsion, stiff neck etc. 

"He drank the sap before revealing the symptoms and dying abruptly. We don't know if he was one of the three Nipah victims, because the authorities didn't reveal the names," Ruhul said. "But ever since, I am very scared of the sap, even though I loved it before." 

Almost every Bangladeshi who has lived in villages likes this drink in shivering cold mornings, just like many also like to vibe with 'tari', made from palmyra palm sap in summer months. 

Photo: Masum Billah

The DPS is sweet, but not just plain sugary. The sweetness tastes wild, sharp, almost pungent; like a numbing sensation. As the wild sugary sap freshly cut from a date tree drips into the earthen pot, the freezing winter mist slowly enters the pot and stews with the date palm sap the entire night, perhaps adding to its crazy appeal.

To feel the real magic of the dripping sap, it has to be tasted raw, because after you boil it, the original taste is replaced with a tired smell of unprepared jaggery. 

But that is exactly where the conundrum begins – with deaths and tragedy. 

Abdur Rahim in Kuti Pachuria was waiting for us to arrive, as we had asked him to take us to work with him. He turned out to be a friendly man, while his wife and daughters appeared proud of him, as he had suddenly become important enough for a journalist to follow him to work in the remote fields. 

"Harvesting saps is not the only thing I do. I also work in agricultural fields and do woodwork. I do farm work to put food on the table for my wife and kids. But you may call me a professional gachi, since I have been harvesting sap since I was a kid," Rahim said. 

His livelihood circles around trees for around seven months, and he pursues other careers the rest of the months. 

"Although I start scraping [the top of date palm with a sharp blade] in Agrohayon, the first 15 days are spent preparing the trees," he further explained. 

By preparation, he means to scrape at regular intervals while the winter knocks, cutting out extra branches and setting up safety materials where necessary. For example, if the trees are too long, he may fit it with bamboo support [a sort of kanchi-stairs attached] to make the climb easy. 

The juice increases as winter settles in, with chilly winds and fog. With increased production the demand also multiplies, as intense winters wake up an inner thirst in Bangladeshis. 

"I have lines of customers. People drink them and also take them home to make pitha, payesh etc. The sap that remains unsold, I make jaggery with it. I also have many customers for palmyra palm saps too," Rahim said. 

As Bangladesh was reeling under a cold wave during the second week of January, Rahim became optimistic about more sap in the coming days. 

"Income is better now," he said. "After feeding my family, I can save some money, you could say." 

He sells around four to five hari (pots) of saps every day, while two pots are boiled to make jaggery. Depending on the size of the pots, sap costs around Tk300 to Tk400. 

Rahim scrapes around six to seven trees a day. Each tree is scraped twice every four days. If it is not cold, the trees are scraped once every four days. 

This year, Rahim has taken around 40 such trees on lease from land owners in his village. As payment, he has to share a certain amount of sap with land owners. 

Photo: Masum Billah

"Once there were many date palm trees. You would find them everywhere. The price of jaggery used to be very low – around Tk10 to Tk12 per kg, while the DPS was about Tk4 to Tk5 per pot," he said, sitting in front of a date palm tree by the vast mustard fields on both sides of the muddy village street. 

Rahim regretted how the trees have vanished over the years. And he blamed the gachis from Jashore for the disappearance of date palm trees. 

"They used to buy the trees for Tk50 to Tk60 [a season]. They would create a deep gorge with their batal [a kind of razor/blade] and wound the trees," Rahim said. "If you scrape my forehand and make a gorge like this, I will lose my life. They killed the trees like this." 

"I say 90% of the trees are gone. These streets used to be full of trees. Look how far from my home I have to come to find these trees." We were sitting around one kilometre from Rahim's home. 

Rahim said the jaggery he makes is also in high demand.  

"My jaggery is taken to various countries by migrant Bangladeshis. I make them myself; it means I don't adulterate them. It means you may have to spend a bit more, but the product is authentic," he proudly added, showcasing the jaggery that he sells for Tk500 per kg. 

In the market, you might get them for between Tk300 to Tk500, depending on where you are purchasing it from.

As the sun got weaker with the afternoon approaching, his work for the day was about to end. 

We asked him our last question – do you drink the date palm sap yourself? 

"I have sold thousands of pots but I don't drink them. It does not sit well in my stomach. I cannot stand it," Rahim replied. 

"But my kids drink sap. My son doesn't like it much. But my daughters do," he added. 

The next morning 

It was one of the few cold waves that Bangladesh has witnessed this year so far and our bike was running at nearly 70 kph. We saw a few people, heavily dressed yet overwhelmed by the shivering cold, going to the mosque to attend the Fajr prayers in the foggy morning.  

The chilly wind pierced through our jackets, mufflers and shoes. Yet, we had no option but to speed up further, to catch Abdur Rahim harvest saps from the pots he had set up on the trees the day before. We wanted to see him take down the sap-filled earthen pots. 

Navigating through the foggy streets to Kuti Pachuria, we finally caught him in action after nearly half the pots had already been brought down. The sun was not out yet, or even if it was, the fog had no intention of allowing it to come through. 

Rahim, wearing a lungi and some ropes swinging around his body, was hurriedly taking the pots down as he had started late - for we had asked him to wait till we arrived. 

"All you need is a strong heart – courage. I need to have the courage to climb all the way up these trees," he explained when we asked him how he climbs in such shivering cold wearing a lungi. 

And he was proud of this get-up – lungi, jumper on top, with a chuddar wrapped over it.  

"You won't find gachis in this style anymore," he said with pride. 

Early that morning, we saw customers line up even before he took the saps back home. 

One of the customers expressed worry about Nipah virus while buying a pot. 

"We cannot drink it raw," a worrying, elderly woman said. 

"So many people drink it; nothing happens," replied Rahim's wife, who was helping him by transferring the harvest into a jar from his earthen pots. 

"Nothing will happen, drink it saying Bismillah," Rahim said. 

Back in Rahim's house, several younger customers were already roaming around, waiting on the drink. 

As soon as Rahim reached home, they bought a litre of the sap for Tk80 and started drinking it immediately. The taste of the raw sap is hard to resist for all. 

Rahim and his wife were true to their word of not being scared of the virus, as we spotted their little daughter drinking the raw DSP with great pleasure. 

Rahim said he covered the date palm trees with 'chala' last year, but stopped doing it this year because he believes nothing happened to any of his customers. The news of three deaths from Nipah virus that occurred in Rajbari last year didn't reach him. 

"My customers are not scared of the virus. They are regularly drinking [raw DSP]. Many are drinking from me, but no one showed any symptoms," Rahim said.