AHMEDABAD - LAKE CHANDOLA - ASLALI - 20km / 13miles
Himanshu has flown down to see us off at daybreak. I had thought carefully about what I would wear on the Walk, for reasons both symbolic and for comfort. A shop in Toronto carried a dress made of 100% Indian cotton, buttons down the front, sash at the waist, modest in length in a variety of solid colours. I bought four of them, completing the outfit with cotton leggings, the closest I could come to wearing khadi. Today I am all in white to honour the Satyagrahis and hoping I don’t appear presumptuous. I’m relieved when Himanshu tells me I look nice. Erico is wearing new boots and carries a new leather satchel for his camera. We meet Tahir, a Gujarati Muslim of 23 years, who is our driver. We have a van and driver because Erico is a professional documentary photographer and needs to be hands free to work unhindered. Our luggage will be transported in the van and Tahir has the task of locating the accommodation for our night halts. Things begin in a formal way as we get acquainted and organize our belongings but the road is beckoning. Tahir drives off and Himanshu joins Erico and me as we take our first steps on the closed Dandi Bridge, trying not to disturb the locals who sleep there overnight. A few more photos of each other then it is time to officially set off. Photos can’t reveal what I am glimpsing at this moment, the 400km (248miles) to Dandi Beach. I vow to take them one step at a time.
Dusty dog asleep on the path
Standing in the corner
Bapu’s* walking stick
*Bapu means father in Gujarati and is the honoured name for Gandhi as the Father of India)
“Come come!” a young man beckons. “I will show you my village!” Erico makes a flash assessment, deciding yes. I’m happy for it, excited to see we won’t be limiting ourselves to the direct route. We follow the young man down a narrow alley, the footpath into his world. He is tall and lean, dressed in jeans and a white and violet shirt patterned with a trellis of blossoming flowers; lilies, roses, forget-me-nots, a string of stars at the inside collar. A parade of village children forms and goats spring to clear the path. He strides with intent as I follow like a novice funambulist over the loose rubble rocking underfoot. Smiles shine up at me from squatting faces framed in the deep shadow of doorways. Something glitters. A small boy shows me his trove of iridescent sequins. Little sister feeds them to her big sisters who stitch them onto the bodice and hem of an elegant brocade gown spread across their laps. I look up for a breath of sky and see the silhouette of a barefoot boy on a corrugated rooftop, his fist raised and pumping, his shredded plastic kite flapping a plaid of yellow and red against the blue beyond. “Lake Chandola!” our guide states proudly, pointing to a stagnant pond covered in a suffocating film of green weed surrounded by rotting trash.
But we must continue on our way. The day has grown very hot and we have another 10k to go before reaching the night halt. He leads us back to the main road where we give him our thanks and say our farewells. “We would be killed entering a slum in Brazil.” I’m jarred by the word “slum” . I associate it with guns and gangs and murders and here were gentle people who welcomed us. But he is correct, Lake Chandola is a slum. As we sit in some shade sipping water on a rest stop, I ponder what it is that enables one group to cope with poverty peaceably and causes another to react with violence.
Come away
To the waters and the wild!
No frothy bubbles *
* re The Stolen Child by WB Yeats
We follow the edge of the highway. We’re silent in our thoughts and the intense heat. I’m still focused on my footing, no stumbling on this first day as I build my stamina. The last 10km goes faster than either of us dared hope and when we reach a bust of Gandhi outside the Gayatri Temple we declare the day’s walk complete and phone Tahir. We have a long wait while we share the shade on a bench with some local men, recovering with a bottle of cold water and a protein bar packed from home. When Tahir does arrive he announces there is no affordable hotel in Aslali. He drives us to Navagam where he has reserved us rooms in the TGB Hotel for 2 nights@ 2,700inr each per night! This far exceeds our budget but assuming we’ll make up for it down the road I feel mildly stiff but very content.