Borbhata Bet - Sajod - Mangrol - 12 km / 19 miles

The morning plan is to drive across the Golden Bridge - there is no pedestrian path- then walk to Ankleshwar.  Again I’m pleased when Erico has another quick change of heart and we reroute down the bumpy roads of yesterday. I don’t think Tahir’s boss would be happy if he knew his van was taking these roads not just once but four times! Today we are successful in locating Borbhatha Bet where we hop out and take photos looking across the Narmada River towards Bharuch shrouded in a haze of pollution. Tahir is feeling more of a team after yesterday’s adventure and it’s fun to see his personality relax and become less formal. We part with him and begin our walk back towards the highway. The area is lush with the banana fields I had admired from the window of a bumpy car but I realize the area is not so isolated as I had thought when I see high school students in their tidy uniforms walking to a beautiful school. A tall chimney of a brick works attracts our attention but no one seems to be working there. We enter the grounds heading toward the piles of brick but suddenly a security guard approaches and tells us that photographs are forbidden and to leave the site. He isn’t rude, just firm, and I’m only surprised that this has not happened anywhere before. We have met with such open reception. After a few peaceful hours we are back walking the highway avoiding the trucks in unbearable heat. I’m cheered at the sight of schoolgirls waiting for their bus, their hair neatly tied in looped braids with ironed ribbons, gingham shirts under tan tunics. We are also bemused by all the people honking and waving to us as they pass by in their vehicles as this is a new phenomenon. While Erico checks his phone for messages he discovers he has received a copy of the video of our interview with the journalists in Jambusar. We now realize the television and newspapers have been carrying the story and we have gained a little celebrity status as the Dandi Pilgrims! We are completely shocked however when a young man pulls up behind us on a motorcycle bearing a bottle of cold water and a bowl of fresh pineapple slices. It is exactly what we are in need of and in no hope of finding. He is a handsome young man in a sunny yellow cotton shirt, black jeans with an orange belt and a generous warm smile. It is obvious he is excited to be providing this surprise for us and explains that he was riding in the opposite direction and spotted us walking in the heat. Once home he could not stop thinking about us and wondered what he could do and decided to bring us refreshments. “I knew you wouldn’t want anything spicy!” he tells us. Right you are!

Sajod feels deserted but that’s just fine after the busy highway. We seat ourselves on a bench in the shade, still marvelling at the morning miracle of pineapple and water. Just as we’re wondering where everyone is we are greeted by a voice in the window above our heads.  A man is leaning on the sill enquiring where we are from and where we are headed. We tilt our heads up and after a short exchange he invites us into his home and gives us a tour. A swing hangs in the living room and a television sits on a table tuned to a Bollywood movie but what I notice most is the cool relief of the tile floor on my bare feet. He begins the tour by taking us to his carport where he has a couple of cars carefully stored under tarps. We express some enthusiasm as this must be a hobby of passion for him as well as a display of considerable disposable wealth. He then takes us up a set of stairs to show us his daughter’s room. We’re escorted by his little grandson and little girl friend that look excited to explore what might possibly be an off-limits room. It’s a lovely space but what I keep observing in India is how free and happy the children seem to be and how their grandfathers play a significant role in their care. This is the Chauhan household where we are provided a generous lunch and meet mother, daughter Vandana, son, home from his morning farming, and daughter-in-law- then led to rest on the charpoy in the “relaxation room”. The son confides he prefers a charpoy to the mattress he and his wife now sleep on and I think to myself, ”Right.Stick with what works and is better for the environment.” After a rest we depart to wander the streets among herds of goats and cows and fields of sugarcane in search of the peepul tree and plaque that marks where Gandhi spoke.

As we continue our walk along the hot and busy highway another man on a motorcycle approaches us, a child straddled on the seat behind him. In a friendly manner he asks if we are headed for Mangrol. We reply yes and looking pleased, he turns around and zooms back from whence he came. Very strange! We carry on and soon we pass a pair of women sitting on the ground at the edge of the highway. Unconcerned by the traffic racing by they are quietly stripping the greenery off of cut branches others have brought them from the nearby fields. They each have a kind of hobo’s pack to transport these clippings but I don’t know if it is feed for livestock or more toothbrushes. Suddenly a little girl is scurrying towards us. She is cradling a baby goat in her arms while trying not to trip over a second kid and its mother keeping pace at her feet. We interrupt her and ask to take photos. She pauses, obliging us, but seems anxious until we’re shocked into realizing these are two newborns with their mother and she is delivering them to her own mother who we had just passed with the twigs. Mother goat is distressed, wanting only to clean and feed her infants. We move on feeling somewhat boorish. The road eventually becomes a quiet path again and at last we arrive in Mangrol, hot and sweaty and quite ready for Tahir to drive us to our night halt.  He is waiting for us by the van but he is not alone. The man from the second motorcycle is standing proud and next to him a row of children who, based on their resemblance to him, must be his own. They are holding bowls of rose petals and garlands of marigolds. He is the sarpanch, administrator of the village, and he places a garland over my head while everyone beams with pleasure. He is anxious to show us the newly built dharamsala and Tahir does take us there with him. I can appreciate how proud he must feel to have this facility in his village however we don’t stay long. The sun is low and we long to rest. Before returning to our hotel in Ankleshwar we promise we will meet him there in the morning.