Ramya: That sounds incredibly difficult. How did you manage to support the community during this time?
Vanya: To develop this project, a contract was set up between the Forest Department, the Women’s NGO, and FRLHT. FRLHT funded the women’s wages and some project costs. I was able to get separate funding to support the NGO and project.
After a year or so, the Forest Department let me stay in one of the Forest Guard’s houses. I hadn’t brought much with me from England—no books, no music—because it just didn’t feel appropriate given the conditions the villagers were living in. I was sleeping on a mat, and I remember waking up one morning with a really bad cough and fever, to find half the village in my room, making tea, with children playing around. And they brought me a bed and a mattress!
Towards the end of the project, we had set up a market with the Spices Board, and the villagers were distilling oil—they were really good at it. They bottled, boxed, and sold it locally.
I thought this might be the end of my work because the people were doing well and managing independently. I returned to England and stayed back until after my mother passed away, and then I stayed another year.
During that year, I kept waking up at night, thinking about a woman I had held as she was dying. The image of the earth—dead and shocked by the environmental damage—kept coming to mind. Something about the land spoke to me profoundly as if it was reaching out from a distant past.
Eventually, I realized I had a connection to that place and its people from another lifetime. I discovered that I had been there before, during a time when patriarchy was starting to suppress matriarchal traditions. I was involved with a goddess temple there—a beautiful and sacred experience. Returning there felt like reconnecting with something very ancient and significant.
Ramya: Your life has been marked by visceral experiences with powerful coincidences. How did these experiences shape your decisions as you continued your work in the Nilgiris, especially when faced with challenges like funding and community needs?
Vanya: Yes, very visceral experiences that felt almost fated. They deeply strengthened my connection to the land and the people. When I returned for my second project, I remembered the young woman who had died and felt compelled to help not to fix things but to empower people to heal themselves and manage sometimes horrendous situations.
I was incredibly fortunate to have had the support of people who cared deeply about this land and its people. One such person was David Pople, whose help was instrumental in getting organic farming off the ground in the Nilgiris. Over the years, he supported tree planting, school gardens, and healthcare programmes, raising significant funds for those in need. His work lifted so many people up. David and Patricia, his wife, dedicated their lives to the Nilgiris, and their love for this place will always be part of its story. His passing has left me deeply bereft, but their legacy remains in the people and the land they cherished.
The success of our organic farming project, which people could no longer dismiss, led to creating a women’s organization focused on healing people and the earth. The idea was to replicate this success in other villages, providing women with tools of resilience. However, when I sought support from the trustees, they had questions about funding. At the time, I was living on emergency credit with no financial backup. Although a Quaker organization had initially funded me, I had no plan for future funding, which ultimately limited the support I could receive.
That was a powerful reminder that vision often comes before finance. People tend to think you need money first, but sometimes, having a clear vision attracts the necessary resources. It’s not just about finances or lists in accountants’ books; it’s about connecting with people’s lives, their happiness, and their creativity—much like what you’re doing. So, when the trustees said they couldn’t support me due to funding, I just went on. I met someone running a biodynamic centre for growing vanilla near Mysore, he offered me the chance to run a nursery up in the hills. We drove around looking for land, and I felt a strong connection to a particular place.
One of the trustees from the original women’s organization had some land by that road which he rented to us. This led to setting up training programmes for both women and men, for organic farming and a women’s health programme. I then moved into a room over a cowshed in the village, where a friend and I made some basic living arrangements.
Eventually, a wonderful woman named Jenni Sangster reached out. She was a craniosacral therapist, a professional nurse working in a hospital neonatal ward in the U.K . She left her job to set up a village Primary Health Care programme with support from the funders, and I began connecting with some of the village people and young individuals interested in their cultural heritage.
Ramya: I’ve always felt a profound connection to the earth and have sensed energy fields in my own way. I’ve noticed it in indigenous communities worldwide—they seem to have an innate intuition for selecting sacred lands, often linked to these energy fields. When you first became aware of these energy lines in the Nilgiris, especially drawing from your experiences in Wales, what was that like for you?
Vanya: I had heard stories about Shiva at Rangasami Peak, where he was said to take three steps south or southwest to visit Parvati. A pool there was believed to be Parvati’s bath, and some footprints were thought to be hers. This got me thinking about the energy lines in the Nilgiris, much like ley lines, which can sometimes become fractured. There was something amiss between Rangasami Peak and another significant location where the Goddess Hethe festival occurs. We started to identify key spots in the landscape.
Ramya: That’s just fascinating. How did you discover these spots in the landscape?
Vanya: I’m a dowser, so I can track energy. A local young man from the community and Jenni (Sangster) helped me too.
Ramya: Did the villagers understand the significance of what you were doing?
Vanya: I didn’t talk about it much, but I did tell them they were killing the Goddess by poisoning the earth and, in doing so, poisoning themselves and their children. I also said you are the people who can now heal the Grandmother and Mother Earth. But I couldn’t speak about my personal involvement because it would have been improper as an outsider. Yet, many of them had great affection for me, and even adopted me as a member. I was so fond of them and loved their stories. Some stories had never been shared before because the younger generation were beginning to lose touch with their traditions.
Ramya: Yes, I’ve seen this too—when stories start flowing, they gush out.
Vanya: Exactly. There was one lovely time when I returned from a Benedictine ashram near Tiruppur for Christmas. An Irish fiddle player had come along with me. She played Irish dance music and traditional songs, and I suggested she share her music with some of the indigenous communities in the Nilgiris. We visited the Droog communities of Kurumbas and Irula with her fiddle. At first, there seemed to be no one around, but then people slowly emerged, and their boys brought out their drums. An old man, sitting on a step, began singing—it was like hearing something from the dawn of time. It was such a moment. Such a privilege.
Ramya: Was it also around this time that you started working with the other indigenous people?
Vanya: Yes, I had been visiting their temples and meeting with them. One day, I was invited to a Toda funeral—a life-changing experience. The connection they had with the earth and the spirit of the person who had died was incredibly sacred. I wanted to be part of that and learn from it.
I was introduced to their embroidery, almost forgotten when I arrived. Only a few elderly women knew how to do it, and their eyesight was failing. It encouraged us to think about setting up an income generating project with sewing and knitting for the village women. The Toda embroidery was carried forward by the remarkable Vasamalli and another Ooty professional called Lydia who both worked to preserve and develop it.
Ramya: What led you to establish The Earth Trust?
Vanya: As I continued my work, I realized the need for a more structured approach to support the communities and the environment. That’s how The Earth Trust was born, starting from a simple cow shed. We set up programmes across nearly 200 villages before I left, focusing on sustainable agriculture, health, and education. As the organization expanded, I had to shift more into administrative work, managing funding and regulations. I found myself missing the grassroots involvement that had originally inspired me to start this journey. I missed the root-level involvement that had initially drawn me to this work.
Ramya: What was that transition like for you?
Vanya: It was difficult. In 2012, Other people took over, and by 2013, I realized that Admin was not what I was best served to do. My work so needed to be aligned with the village people. The politics and administration of a large project were not my strength or my joy.
Ramya: And what about the Nilgiris now? How have you felt about the sustainable agriculture practices there since you left?
Vanya: Unfortunately, many of the projects couldn’t survive long term. Without the same level of support and experience, many people gave up. But some kept going out of love for the land. They weren’t driven by money but by a deep connection to the earth. Seeing those who continued the work is so inspiring because of their courage and dedication.
Ramya: Your connection to the land and the people has been central to everything you’ve done.
Vanya: Yes, it’s all about the love for the land and the people. One of the things I loved most was being with the indigenous people and playing a part in restoring their indigenous knowledge of medicinal herbs and the village health project with the midwives and village health workers. I’ve been privileged to be part of their lives and their stories.
Ramya: What advice would you give to someone aspiring to contribute to sustainable farming or community development in rural areas?
Vanya: I truly believe that we make a spiritual contract before we come to Earth—we choose the challenges and desolations we’ll face. It’s all part of our growth, our learning. Life is like a powerful spiritual school, and every difficulty we encounter teaches us something we need to know, whether it’s compassion, healing, or just understanding the deeper truths of our existence.
In these troubled times, it might seem like there’s a lot of desolation, but I see it as fate. It’s not random—it’s part of our journey. When you’re doing your work, whether in sustainable farming, community development, or anything else, you have to move from your heart. That’s where your true strength lies. I’m 90 now, but I feel as strong as I did at 70, and I believe that’s because I’ve always stayed connected to the land and to the love that people carry for one another. Everything else—money, success—will follow if you’re on the right path and true to your purpose.
Ramya: Vanya, I’m at a loss for words to express how deeply touched I am by your stories and the warmth you’ve extended today, especially the things you mentioned sharing for the first time. Thank you for your time and the gift of your wisdom.
Vanya: Ramya, blessings to you. Thank you.
