In the Sāṃkhya school of Indian philosophy, the unfolding of matter from spirit gives rise to the senses and to the five elemental manifestations of the material world. From space, emerges air, the principle of movement, and fire, the principle of transformation. Then comes water, carrying flow, continuity, and the subtle pulsations of energy through matter. From the settling of this movement is born earth, the solid ground where life takes form and rests in its full potential.

Farming is an interaction of all these elements—an ongoing exchange between soil, water, light, air, and the consciousness of the one who tends them. While the Sun remains the primary fire and source of energy, we now also work with another form of fire: electricity, which powers pumps, motors, vehicles, tools, and the quiet machines woven into daily life on the farm. Similarly, rain brings water in its natural rhythm, but we have also learnt to draw from the rainwater stored underground. The farm has three borewells, each serving a specific area and purpose. In this way, the ancient flows of fire and water manifest today as the flows of electricity and irrigation lines across the land. These flows move together; they remain the source of energy for all work on the farm.

Over the last fifty-eight years, these flows have gradually expanded to cover a large part of the farm. But further extension is needed to serve areas still cultivated sub-optimally. One might ask: why expand this infrastructure at all? Shouldn’t some parts remain free of artificial flows? Aren’t the Sun and the rain enough? Isn’t natural vegetation sufficient?

These questions are part of an enduring dilemma in human life. Our footprint on the planet is large; the footprint of farming especially so. Agriculture is the world’s largest consumer of water, a driver of deforestation and biodiversity loss, a source of carbon emissions, and—in its industrial form—the cause of immense ecological, animal, and human suffering. In such a scenario, it is natural to think that the solution lies in withdrawal: if only humans stepped back, perhaps the earth would regain its balance. We witnessed glimpses of this during the Covid pandemic, when air grew cleaner and wildlife briefly reclaimed spaces near cities.

But this brings us to a deeper question: what then is the role of humanity at all? It cannot be inaction. And as our experience shows, even the smallest human action today has ecological and social consequences. Integral Yoga would tell us that our role is not domination but participation—a conscious collaboration with the creative force of nature for mutual growth and progress. Agriculture is one of the clearest expressions of this human–nature participation.

Thus, expanding human activity on the farm can arise from two very different impulses–domination, colonisation, and control, or service to the land and to the community—enhancing the ecosystem, the soil, the earth, and producing food for the people we serve. We strive (with successes and failures) toward the latter.

In the coming year, we aim to expand our micro-irrigation network as we establish new orchard blocks and diversify existing fruit areas. This year we have learned how communities of crops support one another and reduce the overall water footprint of the farm—simply because the soil remains densely covered with vegetation: some plants grown as food for the farm, others as food for the soil, insects, bees, and birds. Our primary focus will be the mango and cashew orchards, the oldest sections of the farm, which at present are monocultures. Our experiments with cultivating pineapple, ginger, turmeric, yam, and taro within existing orchards have given remarkable results, and we hope to continue this diversification. And water needs energy to flow. As our irrigation network expands, so does the need for energy—whether through electrical connections, lines, or solar-powered pumps. Meanwhile, some of the existing infrastructure, built over many decades, now needs repair and renewal.

These are our goals for the coming year—to tend to the flows of fire and water on the farm, the two essential elements for movement and transformation without which both the earth and human consciousness remain sterile. And given the changes the farm (and Auroville) has witnessed in the last few years,  it is evident that the psyche of the farm too needs a movement and transformation, as it goes through a radical transition socially, politically and economically.