<p>Prosopis Juliflora, locally known in southern India as Ballari Jali, earned its regional name from its point of introduction: The ceded districts of Bellary (today’s Rayalaseema), where the British first planted it in the mid-19th century. </p><p>This thorny, medium-sized tree can grow up to 12 feet tall and can be seen across the Deccan Plateau. The semi-arid climate of the region offers a near-perfect environment for it to flourish — a botanical match made in heaven, though with devilish consequences. </p>.<p>Armed with a deep taproot system, the tree monopolises underground water, crowding out native flora and stunting the growth of surrounding vegetation. Its traits, drought resistance, rapid growth, and swift spread, have earned it a dreaded spot on the IUCN’s list of the “Top 100 Worst Invasive Species.”</p>.<p>The rationale for its introduction is historically controversial. British colonial authorities asserted that the primary purpose was environmental: To curtail sand dunes and combat desertification. But Indian nationalists viewed this claim with skepticism. To them, this was no act of benevolent environmentalism but rather a tool of ecological imperialism. </p>.<p>They argued that its presence reduced crop yields, placing increased tax burdens on already struggling peasants. When peasants failed to meet the soaring tax demands, their lands were taken over under the draconian colonial policies, such as the Ryotwari system. A tree became both the symbol and agent of systemic disempowerment.</p>.<p>Despite its damaging legacy, Ballari Jali did offer modest benefits. It did provide an affordable source of firewood for the poor. However, these short-term gains were vastly outweighed by their ecological impact. By the late 19th century, the tree had invaded croplands in Bellary (Ballari now), affecting the region’s staple crops — cotton and paddy (rice). Cotton, the backbone of the region’s industrial activity, became increasingly scarce, dealing a blow to both agriculture and industry.</p>.<p><strong>The famine </strong></p>.<p>Then came the famine of 1878, one of the deadliest in Ballari’s history. At least 5,000 lives were lost. It was during this catastrophe that public perception of Ballari Jali shifted dramatically. Farmers reeled from poor harvests, and industrialists groaned under the weight of diminishing cotton supplies.</p>.<p>Enter Rao Bahadur A Sabhapathy Mudaliar — the region’s first native industrialist. Recognising the grave threat posed by the tree, he launched a zealous campaign to eradicate it. By employing hundreds of labourers to cut the trees down, he turned eradication into employment, transforming adversity into opportunity. He also developed an ingenious hand-operated machine capable of shredding the tree’s formidable thorns and foliage to produce cattle feed pellets. His initiative was not just innovative, but sustainable.</p>.<p>He established mini depots throughout the district to distribute firewood to the poor and pellets to cattle owners. His efforts brought measurable relief to both farmers and industrialists alike.</p>.<p>And yet, a century and a half later, Ballari Jali endures; unyielding, unchecked, and still encroaching upon native landscapes. The question now lingers in the air: will this invasive intruder ever truly disappear, or are we destined to coexist with the consequences of colonial ecological experiments?</p>.<p>Among his many contributions, Sabhapathy Mudaliar is fondly remembered in Ballari for donating 21 acres of land to establish a hospital.</p>.<p>Originally named the Sabhapathy Mudaliar District Hospital and run by a trust, the institution went under a hostile takeover by the state government. Tragically, the name of the hospital was stripped by Ballari iconoclastic politicians, leaving behind a void in honouring his legacy.</p>
<p>Prosopis Juliflora, locally known in southern India as Ballari Jali, earned its regional name from its point of introduction: The ceded districts of Bellary (today’s Rayalaseema), where the British first planted it in the mid-19th century. </p><p>This thorny, medium-sized tree can grow up to 12 feet tall and can be seen across the Deccan Plateau. The semi-arid climate of the region offers a near-perfect environment for it to flourish — a botanical match made in heaven, though with devilish consequences. </p>.<p>Armed with a deep taproot system, the tree monopolises underground water, crowding out native flora and stunting the growth of surrounding vegetation. Its traits, drought resistance, rapid growth, and swift spread, have earned it a dreaded spot on the IUCN’s list of the “Top 100 Worst Invasive Species.”</p>.<p>The rationale for its introduction is historically controversial. British colonial authorities asserted that the primary purpose was environmental: To curtail sand dunes and combat desertification. But Indian nationalists viewed this claim with skepticism. To them, this was no act of benevolent environmentalism but rather a tool of ecological imperialism. </p>.<p>They argued that its presence reduced crop yields, placing increased tax burdens on already struggling peasants. When peasants failed to meet the soaring tax demands, their lands were taken over under the draconian colonial policies, such as the Ryotwari system. A tree became both the symbol and agent of systemic disempowerment.</p>.<p>Despite its damaging legacy, Ballari Jali did offer modest benefits. It did provide an affordable source of firewood for the poor. However, these short-term gains were vastly outweighed by their ecological impact. By the late 19th century, the tree had invaded croplands in Bellary (Ballari now), affecting the region’s staple crops — cotton and paddy (rice). Cotton, the backbone of the region’s industrial activity, became increasingly scarce, dealing a blow to both agriculture and industry.</p>.<p><strong>The famine </strong></p>.<p>Then came the famine of 1878, one of the deadliest in Ballari’s history. At least 5,000 lives were lost. It was during this catastrophe that public perception of Ballari Jali shifted dramatically. Farmers reeled from poor harvests, and industrialists groaned under the weight of diminishing cotton supplies.</p>.<p>Enter Rao Bahadur A Sabhapathy Mudaliar — the region’s first native industrialist. Recognising the grave threat posed by the tree, he launched a zealous campaign to eradicate it. By employing hundreds of labourers to cut the trees down, he turned eradication into employment, transforming adversity into opportunity. He also developed an ingenious hand-operated machine capable of shredding the tree’s formidable thorns and foliage to produce cattle feed pellets. His initiative was not just innovative, but sustainable.</p>.<p>He established mini depots throughout the district to distribute firewood to the poor and pellets to cattle owners. His efforts brought measurable relief to both farmers and industrialists alike.</p>.<p>And yet, a century and a half later, Ballari Jali endures; unyielding, unchecked, and still encroaching upon native landscapes. The question now lingers in the air: will this invasive intruder ever truly disappear, or are we destined to coexist with the consequences of colonial ecological experiments?</p>.<p>Among his many contributions, Sabhapathy Mudaliar is fondly remembered in Ballari for donating 21 acres of land to establish a hospital.</p>.<p>Originally named the Sabhapathy Mudaliar District Hospital and run by a trust, the institution went under a hostile takeover by the state government. Tragically, the name of the hospital was stripped by Ballari iconoclastic politicians, leaving behind a void in honouring his legacy.</p>