49certainly aware of their presence on trees, or in the case of ground orchids, among the
forest understorey. However, the Solega have no use for these plants, and as a result,
their language has no name for these species. The group as a whole is referred to by the
terms baccaṇike or mara banja ‘ orchid ’, presumably a generic -level term in Berlin ’s
scheme. No other specifi c-level terms exist in the language.
This situation contrasts sharply with the Solega ethnotaxonomy of aṇabe ‘ mush-
room ’, which happens to be the superordinate term for a handful of lower-level
taxa. One common feature that links these named subordinate taxa is that they are
all edible mushrooms that the Solega harvest from the forest during the rainy season
(Fig. 2.2 ). Once again, the Solega are well aware of the existence of many other
types of mushroom that also sprout in the rainy season, but when asked to provide
names for these species, the reply is often a simple na:vu adava tinnalle ‘we don’t
eat those’, indicating a clear link between edible status and named status.
One of my primary consultants, M. R. Madha, was given a digital still camera
with which to record any mushroom types that I may have missed. On a subsequent
visit to the fi eld site, I was shown dozens of photos of morphologically dissimilar
mushroom species, each introduced with the statement i:ga i: vicitrava:da aṇabeya
no:ḍi ‘Now look at this interesting mushroom!’ Madha, who had been so successful
in locating and photographing these mushrooms , was, however, unable to name any
of them, primarily because they were all considered inedible (Fig. 2.2a–h ). Even the
visually stunning ‘dancing girl’ mushroom ( Phallus indusiatus ), so named by visit-
ing biologists (Fig. 2.2d ), has no name in Solega, although practically everyone had
seen it growing in the forest at one time or another.
On one of our many walks along forest trails, Madha mentioned a plant called
sã:yã (sometimes also called sã:yegã ), which at the time was new to me. When
asked to describe this supposedly common plant, Madha replied, adu road pak-
kadalli ja:sti irutte, ondu cikka giḍa, hu: illa, haṇṇu illa, ye:nu upyo:ga illa ‘it
grows in large quantities alongside roads, it’s a small plant without fl owers or fruits,
we have no use for it’. Madha was free to describe the plant (a fern , in this case) in
any way he wished, but instead of mentioning possible features like the fi nely
divided leaves, or the special way in which the leaves unfurl, he chose to mention
the fact that it was a plant that was, in effect, ‘useless’. As in the case of San Juan
Gbëë Zapotec [ 147 ], fern names are highly under-differentiated in Solega, and, in
fact, all ferns are called sa:yã or sa:yegã , despite highly obvious differences in leaf
morphology. Labels such as aḷḷa sa:yã ‘river fern’ or arre sa:yã ‘rock fern’ may
sometimes be offered as names for particular specimens, but it seems to me that
these are used only for descriptive purposes. Figure 2.3 shows two very different
ferns that were growing on the same hill, but they were both identifi ed as arre sa:yã ,
simply because they were growing on a rocky substrate.
Occasionally a Solega consultant and I would come across a tree that was not
endemic to the local forest. In many cases, these were plants that had been imported
to the region from the lowlands by non-Solega migrants—plants that are otherwise
common throughout India, such as the Gulmohar ( Delonix regia ), as it is known in
the Hindi-speaking parts of the country. As expected, my guide would reply that
there was no Solega name for that plant, and explain that it was a siṭi giḍa ‘city
2.6 Folk Genera, Rank and Nomenclature