The Salted Days - Day 4

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The Salted Days – Day Four

Anand to Kankapura | 6 January 2026

We were up like larks. Three of us sharing a room, to be precise—each quietly timing our wake-up between 4:30, 5:00, and 5:30 am. There was no rush, no alarm-induced irritation. Just early-morning stillness and an indulgent stretch of “me time” before the day announced itself. By 6:32 am, we were walking again.

Something subtle has shifted. The vocabulary has changed. “Tomorrow is a light walking day—only 22 kilometres,” someone remarked casually. We laughed. Distances that once felt formidable are now spoken of lightly. The body adapts faster than the mind realises.

We settled into a relaxed pace, needing less water than earlier days. The first halt was at the Primary Health Centre in Napa—fully functional, handling around seventy patients a day. The staff were delighted to host us in the open space outside. Breakfast was simple and perfect: thepla, pickle, and mirchi chutney. As we crossed Napa junction, familiar landmarks from our recce—Jolly Point, Golden Tea, and the pan shop—flashed by like old acquaintances.

Just short of Borsad, we stopped at Café 3 PM. The halt wasn’t planned or needed, and for the first time, I sensed mild irritation within the group. A five-minute pause stretched into twenty-five. On long walks, even small deviations begin to matter—another quiet lesson in group dynamics.

Borsad itself surprised me. What looks like a modest town on the map revealed pockets of affluence—large bungalows tucked inside gated communities. Appearances, once again, proved unreliable.

At Hanifa School, the experience rose several notches. NCC cadets stood in immaculate lines stretching nearly half a kilometre along the main road. Discipline, pride, and enthusiasm radiated from the students. We were received by Director Zubairbhai and Principal Mrs Dhillon. Interactions followed—questions about the NCC, about life choices, about joining the armed forces. Lunch was wholesome and thoughtfully prepared: rotis, cauliflower-potato sabzi, dal, rice, salad, and a delicious custard. As we resumed our walk toward Kankapura, Zubairbhai caught up with us on the road, seventeen kilometres short of our destination, just to present mementoes. A small gesture, heavy with warmth.

A coconut water break near Ras refreshed us before we turned onto a quieter, single-lane road. Nature suddenly felt abundant. Nilgai appeared in the fields, langoors in groups, peacocks and birds everywhere. It felt like the countryside was reclaiming the road.

The day wasn’t without its reminders of fragility. On the narrow stretch between Ras and Kankapura, a learner driving a van clipped one of our walkers on the elbow. Thankfully, the vehicle was slow—no injury, only a collective intake of breath and release.

Soon after, an old banyan tree beside a small irrigation canal drew us in. We sat on the culvert, took an unscheduled but welcome break, clicked photographs, and let silence do its work. We choose some stops and some pauses choose you. This was one of them.

At Amberavpura Primary School, the welcome was childlike and pure—tilak, flowers, smiles. One young girl demonstrated a flawless Surya Namaskar. Prompted by a walker, she effortlessly joined him in a yoga pose. The children then sang a bhajan for us. It was brief, unscripted, and deeply touching. Every interaction on our way to Dandi has been amazing. The last two kilometres were walked briskly to beat fading light. At 5:31 pm—eleven hours after starting—we reached the Dandi Yatri Niwas at Kankapura. 

Young girls in local attire welcomed us at the gate, followed by a dance performance. Around sixty to seventy children watched eagerly. As planned earlier, we organised snacks for them—a small way of giving back.

The Yatri Niwas was large, and for the first time in days, we were allotted individual rooms. A hot water bath felt luxurious. Dinner—steaming hot khichri and kadhi—was simple and perfect. Despite the aches, there was quiet pride in the group. We had walked a marathon and more—over forty-three kilometres.

As I turned in for the night, the next day beckoned differently. A tidal river awaits, to be crossed by boat at 9 am. Just five kilometres to the riverbank, and another on the other side. Plans dependent on tide and timing. Once again, the road reminds us: dreams don’t always arrive on land. Sometimes, they float toward you.

Excitement was in the air.

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