The forest that came back: How Pitchandikulam revived land, water, and community

Walk a little way into Pitchandikulam at Auroville in the South of India and the land begins to change. What starts as dry laterite soil soon turns into cool Earth under the  canopy of kadamba, neem, and the rare species of the Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest (TDEF), where birds call and roots weave across the path. This transformation is no accident. Fifty years ago, the 60 acres on Auroville’s plateau were a barren desert, stripped of trees and life.

Joss Brooks, a Tasmanian-born ecologist, made India his home and has spent over 50 years coaxing the Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest, one of India’s rarest ecosystems, back to life with patience, science, and community trust. Today, Pitchandikulam forest holds more than 600 plant species including some endangered and medicinal, water-harvesting ponds, and a vibrant network of schools and villages learning from its revival. This is not just the story of trees returning, but of how water, soil, and community knowledge can bring an entire landscape back to life.

This is Pitchandikulam Forest, a name that means “Pitchandi’s Pond” in Tamil, recalling a healer who centuries ago performed rituals near its central water body. Today, it is not only a forest but also a living archive, a school, a sanctuary, laboratory, a community hub, a research and education centre, and a symbol of what patience, science, and human commitment can achieve.

The lost landscape: Before Auroville

When Auroville was inaugurated in 1968, its dream of a universal township for human unity was overshadowed by a stark ecological reality. The plateau was devastated by decades of deforestation, grazing, and soil erosion. The once-thriving Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest, a rare ecosystem unique to the Coromandel Coast of South India and northern Sri Lanka, had shrunk to tiny fragments of scrub jungle as trees were felled to drive away tigers during the 1820s.

“By the 1960s, the land was dead. There was nothing left but a red desert. The soil had washed into the sea,” recalls Brooks. This was not hyperbole. Historical records note that the plateau’s trees had been systematically felled for firewood and shipbuilding during colonial times. Rain stripped the unprotected soil; tanks and eris dried up; agriculture collapsed. The Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest, which had once covered thousands of hectares, survived only in small temple groves in villages like Alankuppam and Puthupet. A study by Elisabeth Andriopoulou of Wageningen University (2011) estimated that less than 0.01% of the original cover remained. 

The arrival of Auroville, an experimental township in Viluppuram district, mostly in the state of Tamil Nadu, with some parts in the Union Territory of Puducherry, India brought with it both a challenge and an opportunity. Founded in 1968 by Mirra Alfassa and designed by architect Roger Anger, Auroville, to realise its ideals needed to restore the very land it stood on. The work began with water and trees.

From barren desert to living sponge: Joss Brooks’s early struggle and hope for Auroville’s forests

In 1970, a young man from Tasmania who had been working on wildlife conservation projects in Australia found himself drawn to Auroville. Joss Brooks came not as a planner or a politician, but simply as someone who loved the earth.

“When I first came here, it was heartbreaking,” Brooks remembers. “But I also felt a strange sense of possibility. If this was a desert created by human neglect, maybe it could also be reversed by human care,” he says.

The early years were punishing. Volunteers lived in huts without electricity or running water. Brooks and his companions began with soil restoration, using techniques such as planting green manure crops to fix nitrogen, and erecting live fences of thorny species to keep out grazing cattle. Pioneer trees like acacia auriculiformis and gliricidia were introduced to provide shade, stabilise the soil, and create microclimates.

At the same time, Brooks and others sought out seeds from the surviving forest groves. Species like manjal karai (Albizia amara), magizham (Mimusops elengi), and pungan (Pongamia pinnata) were painstakingly collected, germinated in small nurseries, and planted back on the land.

“We were learning by doing. There was no blueprint. Every plant we nurtured was an act of faith,” Brooks says. The forest took years to establish, but gradually, the soil returned, birds nested again, and water began to seep back into the ponds.

A great example is how, in 2015, when Chennai was flooded, no water left the Auroville plateau. It was a sponge. This wasn’t just a poetic image. “By restoring vegetation, Pitchandikulam forest and other green belts of Auroville had literally rebuilt the land’s water-holding capacity. What had once been runoff-prone wasteland now acted as a buffer, protecting villages downstream,” says Dr. Abdul Kareem, a conservationist and ethnobotanist and now an Associate Professor, TransDisciplinary University, Bangalore. By restoring vegetation, the forest acted as a natural sponge, absorbing and slowing down rainwater runoff. This reduced the volume and speed of water reaching downstream villages, protecting them from flash floods and erosion.

Early struggles that rooted a community forest movement

The story of Pitchandikulam forest is not a fairy tale of instant green revival. It was a battle against climate, animals, and skepticism. “Those early years were full of frustration,” Brooks recalls adding, “We would plant hundreds of saplings, and the goats would eat them overnight. Or the rains would fail, and they would dry up. We had to start again and again.”

Yet there was also a growing recognition that ecological restoration could not happen in isolation. Villagers, whose cattle grazed freely, saw little benefit in protecting saplings. “To succeed, the project would have to integrate community needs with forest restoration. This realisation paved the way for what would become the defining feature of Pitchandikulam: its blend of ecology with education, livelihoods, and culture,” says Dr. Kareem. The essence of Pitchandikulam was not just an ecological site, but a philosophical experiment, rooted in memory and imagination, constantly reaching for a future where humans and nature coexist.

Workshops were held in schools, teaching children how to plant trees, identify herbs, and understand ecosystems. Women’s groups were trained to prepare herbal products like oils, balms, and teas, drawing from the forest’s 340 medicinal plant species. These became the basis of small enterprises under the Sustainable Enterprise Development in the Auroville Bio-Region (SEDAB) project, giving women both income and confidence.

Such initiatives turned the forest into a social ecosystem as much as an ecological one. For Brooks, water and trees are inseparable: “You cannot talk about forests without talking about water. The two are part of the same cycle.” Community nurseries were established, linking conservation with livelihoods. The forest became a meeting place where science, traditional knowledge, and enterprise converged.

Restoring Naganthagal Eri from neglect to a living lake

In 2022, the organisation launched a major restoration project at Naganthagal Eri, a lake in Upparapalayam village, Pothur Panchayat under the project “Nanneer” (meaning good water). Once a critical source of clean drinking water and a vital groundwater reservoir for the community, the lake had been neglected and was choked with silt and weeds. It had completely lost its ability to retain water. The effort involved desilting, creating islands for birds, planting thousands of saplings, and involving local communities.

Its location on the outskirts of Chennai, just above Puzhal Lake, made it an essential water body for urban flood control during monsoon seasons. The project, named “Nanneer” (meaning "good/safe water"), was a partnership between Pitchandikulam, Pothur Panchayat, and Tata Communications Limited.

Before starting the restoration, the team conducted a detailed biodiversity survey to document the existing flora and fauna, which would guide efforts to reintroduce native species. The restoration plan for the 15.01-acre lake included carefully designed land-shaping features, such as platforms, an island, and two small hills with walking paths.

The land shaping phase began with careful excavation and desilting of the lake. The extracted soil and silt were repurposed to create the hills, islands, and bunds, which were all designed to revitalize the lake's ecosystem. More than 5,000 native plants were strategically planted on these new landforms. In a key moment of community involvement, Tata Communications Limited (TCL) employees volunteered for the planting, which helped raise awareness about water conservation and the importance of native flora among urban professionals.

After a secure fence was built to protect the newly planted vegetation from cattle and other threats, essential facilities like water taps, toilets, huts, and benches were added for visitors' convenience.

A dedicated "Blue Green Center" (BGC) was also established on-site. The BGC serves as a hub for environmental education for students, youth, and anyone interested in conservation. This program builds on the "School in Action" initiative, which previously educated students in Chennai schools about local plants and animals at the Adyar Poonga. Now, local students are invited to the BGC at Nanneer to learn about the environment.

The project concluded with the BGC's inauguration and was officially handed over to the district government, which has jurisdiction over the lake. The restoration efforts were recognized with a prestigious TCL award and positive results from the biodiversity and environmental impact assessments, confirming the project’s success.

A living laboratory: Science, education, and art

By the early 2000s, Pitchandikulam had become a living laboratory. The site expanded to include a bio-resource education centre with herbal gardens and seed banks, a museum showcasing the biodiversity of the Tropical Dry Evergreen Forest, an art and design studio, integrating ecological storytelling into visuals, theatre, and installations, and residential facilities for volunteers and researchers. School children visited regularly, taking part in ecological education programs. Artists collaborated with botanists to create murals and exhibits. Researchers documented rare species and tested reforestation techniques.

“Pitchandikulam forest is more than trees,” says Joy Ganguly from Svarnim Puducherry, Sri Aurobindo Society. “It is a place of learning, a place where our culture and nature come together.” Pitchandikulam’s expertise eventually reached the city. In 2008, Brooks and his team were invited to restore the Adyar estuary in Chennai, a degraded wetland choked with garbage. Over several years, they transformed it into Adyar Poonga, an ecological park with indigenous plants, water channels, and educational trails.

Challenges and continuity

Like all long-term initiatives, Pitchandikulam faces challenges. Funding is inconsistent, dependent on a patchwork of grants, volunteers, and small enterprises. Climate change threatens rainfall patterns, making restoration harder. Urbanisation and land pressures loom. Brooks admits: “It is a constant struggle. But what we have shown is that restoration is possible. Once you see that, you cannot go back.” 

Pitchandikulam Forest stands today as one of the most successful examples of community-led ecological restoration in India. From barren land to living green, from forgotten herbs to thriving enterprises, from despair to hope, it is a forest reborn. And in its rebirth lies a lesson for the world: that with patience, humility, and collective effort, even the most degraded landscapes can heal. And in healing, it teaches us how to heal ourselves.