The Salted Days - Day 1

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The Salted Days – Day One

Sabarmati to Navagam | 3 January 2026

The journey had technically begun the previous day — a flight from Bangalore, familiar airport rituals, bags opened and repacked, some last-minute coordination, final checklists, a quiet dinner, and early sleep. But none of that felt like the walk. The walk would only begin in the morning, when the body stepped out and the mind stopped rehearsing.

Sleep came in fragments. I checked the time twice at night before finally giving up and rising at 5 am. By 6 am, the eleven of us were ready and moving towards Sabarmati Ashram. The morning there carries a stillness that resists haste. The Sabarmati River flows quietly beside the simple buildings that once housed a man who altered the moral geography of the world. It was from this very place that Mahatma Gandhi, accompanied by 78 satyagrahis, stepped out on 12 March 1930 to begin the Salt March — an act of quiet defiance that shook the foundations of an empire.

On 3 January 2026, we gathered at that same spot to begin our own walk along the Dandi Path, retracing the first stretch from Sabarmati to Navagam. Nearly a century separates the two journeys, yet the intent felt unmistakably connected. We were not attempting to reenact history, but to retrace the path and experience it for ourselves.

The NCC cadets were already lined up — disciplined, eager, quietly proud. We exchanged smiles and a few words. 

At 6:45 am, the puja began, in front of a statue of Gandhiji seated in meditation. There were no speeches, no slogans. Just a shared understanding that this was not a routine march, but a conscious act of remembrance and a reaffirmation of simplicity and frugality. At 7:05 am, we stepped out of the Ashram gates and into history.

We walked along the Sabarmati riverfront promenade for nearly nine kilometres. Modern life flowed around us — vehicles slowed, passers-by watched, phones were raised. I tried imagining the walk 95 years back. What would been here? Fields, hutments, fewer people, probably very few vehicles. Gandhi’s walk was never about speed. It was about visibility, discipline, and moral clarity. We tried, in our own small way, to honour that spirit.

We halted at Manav Sadhana, an NGO working closely with children from nearby slums. Breakfast was simplicity itself: thepla, pickle, chilli chutney — and something far more nourishing — a hot cup of tea served by the staff, many of them women, with quiet affection. It set the tone for the day.

Ahmedabad slowly gave way to open roads and villages onto the highway near Narol junction. A volunteer on a motorcycle shepherded us safely across crossings, never once drawing attention to himself. We paused briefly for tea before Aslali, where a band with drums and a bugle welcomed us. At Jetalpur, the school principal stood with his students at the gate and walked with us towards Bareja. Each welcome felt spontaneous, unforced, deeply human.

Lunch in Bareja was slightly heavy and a little spicy, but welcome. The post-lunch walk, however, was the toughest — a long, straight stretch towards Navagam that tested both legs and patience. Somewhere along that road, an elderly man on a scooter stopped in front of us and tried to touch our feet. He said he had urgent work and could not receive us properly. That brief, unexpected gesture stayed with me far longer than the kilometres that followed.

Navagam greeted us with colour and sound. Flowers, tilak, villagers dressed in their best, and a young boy dressed as Gandhiji — perhaps the most photographed person of the day. We walked behind two drummers through the village to a school ground where Gandhiji is believed to have halted for prayers on 13 April 1930. From there, we reached the Yatri Niwas at 4:45 pm — thirty-five kilometres done.

Elderly women showered us with flowers and placed khadi thread garlands around our necks. Evening prayers followed, along with short talks — on being better human beings and on paths of service, including the armed forces.

After a cold-water bath, the Yatri Niwas in-charge took us to a relative’s home for dinner. What awaited us was humbling: an eleven-course meal, served by three women of the household, eaten sitting on the floor. Strangers opened not just their doors, but their hearts and hearths. In a world where we so easily judge, this unfiltered generosity quietly rearranged something inside me.

Later, a relative of a freedom fighter shared stories of Gandhiji passed down from his uncle. One small detail stayed back with me: Navagam and nearby Naika have no tea shops — by choice — to avoid gossip, credit, and wasted time.  It is a legacy left behind from 1930.

We returned late, stomachs full and hearts fuller. While 7 of us fitted into two rooms, 5 of us were given mattresses which we placed in a large hall. I pulled out my sleeping bag and snuggled in. Lights went out at 10 pm. I lay awake, aches moving gently across my body, a smile refusing to leave my face. 

My lesson for the day was simple and personal: Plan broadly, but walk lightly. Let the road and circumstances decide the finer details.

Tomorrow, we walk again — towards Santram Mandir at Nadiad close to 40 kms away.

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