Seated on electrical cables in small groups, they went ‘ki ki ki’ all morning. “The karichan (drongo) were having a serious conversation about something,” says Tamil writer Cho Dharman. He noticed the birds on his usual stroll in Kovilpatti where he lives, and they flutter about in the pages of Sool (Adayalam Publications), the novel that won him the Sahitya Akademi Award for 2019. The novel, in fact, features a lot of birdlife Dharman has been documenting, as well as beliefs people associate with birds. But at its core, are man-made water bodies in villages that were chiefly used for irrigation.

“Commissioned by kings, and protected in their later years by zamindars, and then by the British, these water-bodies are now in the control of government departments such as Public Works, Forest, and Mineral Resources,” says the author, who was recently in the city for an event organised by The Hindu and Kovai Nanneri Kazhagam. “Sool talks about how we have failed to protect these water bodies, whose numbers stood at 39,640 as of 1947 when the Britishers handed them over to us.”

There were several kinds, meant for several purposes. “Neeraavi were used to store drinking water and men were designated to watch over them at night,” says the 67-year-old. Then there were oorani that people used for bathing their cattle; and kanmai were used for irrigation. These systems ensured that water was stored and used optimally, which was extremely important in Southern Tamil Nadu, where “there was no life without rains.” Dharman says that farmers used traditional wisdom to survive even in the toughest of times. “But somehow, we have failed to utilise this in its entirety,” he feels.

If our kanmai were in working condition, farmers today would have been in a much better position. “They would never have been forced to let their lands fallow and move to bigger cities for a livelihood. I myself gave up farming on my 10 acres of land due to lack of water,” he says. “Our kanmai are all covered by thorn bushes now,” he rues. The word ‘sool’, he says, is from ‘sooli’, that denotes a pregnant woman. “The novel’s title stands for life water nurtures,” he points out.

Woven along the storyline, are myths and stories from the farming community of the Southern districts. “For instance, something as crucial as which monsoon will reward them that year, was predicted based on the direction of the exit window of a weaver bird’s nest,” says Dharman. “And they always got it right.”

The work of fiction took him 10 years of on-field research. “But I wrote it in a year,” he says, adding, “I needed information directly from the farmers themselves,” he explains. “I also studied birds and have documented those that were once seen, but have gradually disappeared due to changes in the landscape they frequented.” His neighbourhood, for instance, is now full of sunflower and corn fields. “What can birds feed on? Farmers have stopped cultivating millets, a major food source for birds.”

Dharman is drawn to the natural world and enjoys talking about it, especially to college students. “I travel through the year for lectures since my works are part of the curriculum of Tamil Literature students,” he says. “I would call my times with students ‘Zen moments’. I cherish them, for I didn’t get the chance to go to college myself. I discontinued my studies after Class X.”

The author, who has written four novels, two anthologies of short stories, novellas, and essays, has been writing for 35 years now. He gave up a comfortable job in a textile mill to take to writing full-time. “I was 43 years old then. My wife and I had a discussion as to what I should give up on: my writing or work at the mill,” he says. His wife is no more now, and Dharman lives alone in an old house, and spends most part of his days writing with his fountain pen.

“My day starts at 4.45 am,” he says. “I usually don’t have breakfast and write for five hours in the morning on an empty stomach.” He then walks to A1 Hotel down the road, and has a simple vegetarian meal. Dharman spends his evenings chatting with his writer friends at their usual hangout on a playground behind the Shenbaga Valli Amman temple. But his most precious hours of the day are when he does a spot of fishing by a kanmai nearby. “This is when I meditate over my stories,” he says. “I may appear to be sitting all by myself, but in fact, I will be surrounded by my characters.”