Every year, in the hills of Nepal, the arrival of April and May brings with it a familiar sound—the haunting call of a bird echoing through the forests: ‘kafal pakyo, kafal pakyo.’
This call, meaning ‘the kafal has ripened’ in Nepali, is sung by the short-winged cuckoo (Cuculus micropterus), a migratory bird. The bird’s song reminds locals of the seasonal fruit kafal, also known as the Himalayan Bayberry or Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta), found in the mid-hill forests of South Asia including Nepal.
For many Nepalis, this fruit isn’t just a seasonal delicacy but part of folk memory, culture, and tradition.
One popular Nepali folklore tells the story of two orphan siblings. After their parents died, the elder brother left his younger sister in the forest, pointing to a kafal tree and promising to return when the fruits ripened. Seasons changed, and the sister waited alone, surviving on forest fruits. When the kafal finally ripened, her brother didn’t return. Heartbroken and lonely, the girl eventually died. It’s said that her soul turned into a bird that still sings, ‘kafal pakyo,’ as she searches for her brother.
Another story speaks of two lovers. The boy, before leaving to find work, told the girl he would return when the kafal ripened. But he never came back. The girl, heartbroken, died and became the cuckoo bird that returns every season, reminding the world that the fruit is ready but her beloved is still gone.
A similar tale from India’s Uttarakhand region is equally tragic. It’s about a widow and her daughter. One morning, the mother brought home some kafal after collecting grass and told her daughter they would eat the fruits together in the evening. The obedient daughter waited patiently, never touching a single fruit. But when the mother returned and found fewer fruits in the basket—withered by the afternoon heat—she suspected the girl had eaten some. In a moment of anger and exhaustion, she slapped her daughter. The girl fell, hit her head on a stone, and died.
Only later did the mother discover that the fruit had shrunk in the heat and rehydrated overnight in the cool air. Realizing her mistake, the mother died in grief. It’s believed both mother and daughter became birds. Today, the daughter’s bird still cries out, ‘kafal pako, me ni chakho’ (the kafals are ripe, but I have not tasted them.)
For most Nepalis, the kafal is a fruit to chew, enjoy for its tangy sweetness, and spit out the seed. But beyond Nepal, the fruit has found varied uses. In China, kafal is used for flavoring alcohol, snacks, and other foods. Its red color is also extracted as a natural food dye. The leaves are used to add aroma to soups and broths and are even dried as spices. In Japan, the fruit is preserved in syrup and eaten as a dessert. It’s also used in jams and baked goods.
Realizing the potential of kafal, a resident of Uttarakhand, Deepak Petshali, started experimenting with it. In his village of Petshaal in the Almora district, Deepak created a herbal tea from the fruit under his brand ‘Back to Nature.’
This herbal kafal tea isn’t only tasty but also packed with health benefits. Rich in antioxidants and vitamin C, it’s said to help with anemia, asthma, indigestion, constipation, and common colds. The process includes drying both the fruit and leaves, mixing them with spices like cloves and cardamom, and turning it into a flavorful herbal infusion. Today, Deepak’s kafal tea is gaining popularity not only in Uttarakhand but across India and even abroad.
So the question arises: If others can explore the full potential of this fruit, why not us? Nepal is rich in biodiversity, indigenous knowledge, and seasonal treasures like kafal. But we have often overlooked the commercial and medicinal value of our native plants. While the fruit continues to be consumed casually, its economic and health potential remains largely untapped in Nepal.
With rising interest in herbal products, organic farming, and traditional remedies, now is the time for us to look at our natural resources with new eyes. From Kafal-based tea, juice, jam, and pickles, to herbal medicine and skincare, the possibilities are wide open.
It would not only help preserve our traditions and folk stories but also create income opportunities for rural communities. Local entrepreneurs, cooperatives, and youth groups could lead this movement, turning a seasonal fruit into a source of pride and prosperity.
The next time you hear the bird calling ‘kafal pakyo’ in the hills, pause and remember the stories it carries—the waiting sister, the heartbroken lover, the obedient daughter, the grieving mother.
But let it also remind you of the fruit's unrealized potential. Kafal is not just a memory of spring. It can also be a gift for the future—if we choose to act.
The author is a London-based R&D chef
