The Salted Days - Day 8

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The Salted Days – Day Eight

Samni to Ankleshwar | 10 January 2026

It had been chilly in the large room where the three of us slept, but my sleeping bag worked its quiet magic. I slept like a baby — warm, cocooned and protected. I remembered my wife telling me that sleeping early makes waking early effortless. It has begun to happen. Most days now, I wake up before the alarm.

We stepped out under a dark sky and very soon joined the Dandi Path. Very soon I realised how broken the concrete Dandi path could be. Flashlights came on. Heads bent low, we navigated cow dung and deep cracks while bhajans and patriotic songs floated out of a small Bluetooth speaker. Spirits lifted, pace quickened. Dawn broke as we crossed Kelod village.

The sun rose and as usual stopped us mid-stride. Photography erupted: selfies, group shots, candid moments. Like a family watching its firstborn, every moment felt worth capturing. The sunrise is doing it to us everyday.

We passed beneath the Bharuch–Vadodara highway and entered a cotton field. For the first time, I saw a cotton plant closely—green pods, one freshly opened, another bursting into a soft white bloom. Standing on dark clay soil, it became clear why Gandhiji insisted on khadi spun from cotton grown around us. The philosophy was rooted, literal, and alive.

Today truly felt like haveing walked the Dandi path. The first ten kilometres were on broken tracks through fields and villages—no highways, no trucks, no buses. Just villagers beginning another hard day’s labour. It was humbling. Sitting in brick houses, wearing designer cotton shirts, eating arhar and moong dal in ceramic plates, we often forget how much unseen toil sustains our comfort. Gratitude for those who were working in brick kilns and farms under the unrelenting sun.

Breakfast at Tralsa was served on a large local cricket ground — thepla, pickle, chutney, boiled eggs, jaggery, dates, dry-fruit laddus, and endless hot tea. Tummies happy, we resumed, still off main roads, crossing beneath the Bullet Train line and an old railway track. Tractors and motorbikes passed occasionally; otherwise, it was a relaxed, meditative walk.

At the 15-km mark, just before touching the highway, another surprise awaited us. A farmer and his wife welcomed us at a small outhouse near their tubewell. Young girls dressed traditionally applied tilak and garlanded us. The farmer proudly explained his crops—arhar, mango, castor, cotton. Then came today’s unexpected delight: arhar dal barfi—soft, fragrant, utterly unforgettable.

We paused under a rail bridge adorned with beautiful murals. During our recce we had promised ourselves we would stop here. Minutes later, a train thundered past and the child in me smiled uncontrollably.

Kanthariya village offered brief shade under a tree before traffic surged. The outskirts of Bharuch arrived with full force—honking autos, wrong-side motorbikes, dust, smells, impatience. The Jambusar–Bharuch road skirts the city, but chaos still danced around us. We squeezed through traffic, grabbed quick khaman dhokla, and navigated the rail underpass before entering the serene precincts of Gurudwara Chadar Sahib.

The story is simple yet profound. Guru Nanak wished to cross the Narmada River at night, but the king had forbidden crossings due to wild animals. When the boatman refused, Guru Nanak spread the chadar (sheet) he carried, on the river, asked his disciples to sit on it, and crossed safely. The boatman rushed to the king to tell him about the miracle. The next day, the king approached Guru Nanak, paid his obeisance and gifted the land where the Guru had stepped ashore. The Gurudwara stands there today.

The quiet atmosphere of the Gurudwara cast a spell on me. I covered my head with a patka as per the culture, walked around watching the mighty Narmada flow by and entered the sanctum. Stepping inside felt like being drenched in cool, invisible rain. I sat, closed my eyes—and five minutes vanished. Tiredness dissolved. Bliss needs no explanation.

Langar followed. If humility has a classroom, this is it. Simple tawa rotis, kala chana, matar-gajar sabzi, boondi raita, served with devotion. Opening your palms to receive food teaches gratitude better than sermons ever could. A brief visit to a gurudwara is an education in being human.

As we stepped out, NCC cadets met us at the gate. Calling them by name, shaking hands, seeing their smiles, it took me straight back to my own NCC days. They are the future, and they carry themselves well.

We left at 2 pm, climbed forty steps onto the Mumbai–Ahmedabad highway on to the main river bridge across the Narmada and faced the harsh sun. The final stretch tested us. After lunch walks always does that. The next 3 kms were on the main highway itself with cars and motorcyclists slowing to watch a group of senior citizens trudging along. Just short of the RMPS school, which was to be our night halt, the Principal and staff revived us with chilled coconut water. Greetings and light chatter was exchanged as we walked the last few hundred metres to the school. Naval cadets in pristine white received us at the gate with all fanfare.

34.5 km today. Nearly 250 km in total.

I thought the day had ended but it seemed that it had just begun. For the first time on this march, all ten of us were housed together—in the school’s dance room. A program for the evening had already been shared with us. A quick bath, a short rest and a change to some formal clothing later the colourful evening began.

 

The school trustees had invited us to the Annual Day of Flying Kids, their pre-nursery. They had planned the date to coincide with our arrival. Hand-made cards, badges, thoughtfully wrapped gifts followed. We were all individually called on to the large stage and felicitated. The program was mind blowing to say the least.

The entire event of more than 3 hours was anchored entirely by four-year-olds. Children performed dances and songs without teachers on stage. The Annual Report itself was presented by preschoolers. I watched stage fright take flight. This was a true form of education which I wish is replicated. It seemed as if the day was refusing to end quietly. 

Tomorrow is a shorter walk—but after witnessing such confidence, joy, and innocence, we will walk stronger, lighter, and closer to Dandi.

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