The Salted Days – Day Ten
Mangrol to Umrachi | 12 January 2026
Early risers stirred in the neighbouring room while I tried to snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag. A moment of mild panic when the water stopped trickling was quickly resolved. Our morning routine has now become almost automatic—wash, pack, check, move. A short briefing followed by puja, and at 7:04 am we stepped out of the Yatri Niwas.
A well-laid, clearly marked village road led us toward Kalam, a village with noticeably larger houses than Mangrol. We welcomed the sun yet again in all its glory. As always, everyone turned in unison to call me out—and at that exact moment, I was ready with my camera. I may soon file for a patent for First Sunrise Photograph of the Day.
The group felt more upbeat this morning. The destination drawing closer has a way of doing that.
A flock of white egrets standing against young green paddy fields was a photographer’s delight as we entered Rohid village. The serene reflection of the temple in the village pond was equally captivating. We stopped briefly for bananas and refreshments, then moved on toward Rayma, turning left at Valner. The road stretched lonely and quiet until Rayma, where we joined the main road once again. By now, the sun was well up—and so was the traffic.
Breakfast awaited us at Copperleaf Garden Resort in Sunev: idli, sambar, coconut chutney, and coffee. I was hungry and gobbled it up, yet for the first time, I found myself missing a strong home-style filter coffee, onion sambar, and tomato chutney.
Soon after, the landscape shifted abruptly. Thorny bushes gave way to a neatly manicured hedge of delicate light-green leaves—a stark contrast. On our right stood Vedik Resort, sprawling and imposing, with its 176 rooms announcing a different world altogether inside.
We passed Sahol village and crossed the Kim River at 11:20 am. An entirely unscheduled halt followed at a brick kiln. The owner explained that between 35,000 and 50,000 bricks are made there every day. We exchanged a few words, bid goodbye, and moved on as the road curved toward Vadoli junction.
The last two kilometres tested us. On a hot day, when one expects the Yatri Niwas to appear at the village edge, walking through a long winding approach with no destination in sight becomes disproportionately hard.
But the reception erased all fatigue.
Tiny tots from the village school had lined up to welcome us, joined by villagers who gathered spontaneously. What followed was an impromptu elocution, song, and dance programme. The children spoke confidently about superheroes—their parents and friends—about the nation and technology, about the environment, pollution, and sustainability. Each child delivered memorised three-minute speeches with ease. The highlight was a young child speaking fluently in English about India as a republic. The pride and joy on the teachers’ faces were unforgettable.
“Simplicity,” I realised once again, has a different meaning in Gujarat. A simple homemade lunch awaited us: aloo-baingan sabzi, dal, rotis, rice, cauliflower salad, tomato and carrot salad, papad, and chaas. The joke of the day was that a medical team had set up a weighing machine right next to the dining area. Without hesitation, every one of us stepped on it—and burst out laughing. Each of us had gained weight. So much for frugality.
The presence of the medical team turned out to be a blessing. One of our walkers developed loose motions during the walk, and the team promptly arranged an IV drip for immediate relief. Meanwhile, I enjoyed a deep, contented nap after that generous lunch.
Fatigue is beginning to announce itself, quietly, through small aches in the lower back and calves, and a pace that has slowed almost without anyone noticing, even as the mind remains steady and willing.
Later in the evening, a retired soldier from Umrachi village came to meet us. He warmly invited us to his home. We first walked past the village pond to a small Hanuman temple and watched the sunset from a quiet vantage point. It felt as if the sun itself was urging us to slow down and prepare for the next day. At the soldier’s home, he served us tea and biscuits with unmistakable pride.
Each evening, as I sit back and replay the day, certain thoughts return again and again—the simplicity of the people we meet, their openness, and their willingness to share both hearth and heart with strangers. It continues to astonish and humble me.
We returned for our evening stretchhhhing session—long, slow, and deeply relieving. Dinner followed, along with some last-minute planning for the next day. Then, I slid back into my sleeping bag.
Day 10 brought us 25 kilometres closer to Dandi. Nearly 300 kilometres walked in this short span—no small achievement. Just for the record: with all the practice I did last year for this march, I clocked barely 900 kilometres in the entire year.
Perspective has a way of arriving quietly—one step at a time.
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