"Try to have no expectations," they told me. Volunteering is never what you think it will be. Sure enough, rather than teaching English and crafts in a classroom for the Sambhali Trust, in Jodhpur, India, I spent the first week of September walking in the Thar Desert. Most mornings we woke while it was still dark and walked a few kilometers before sunrise. After sun up, in a sort of plodding race against the clock, we tried to cover as much ground as possible before 11am when the heat became unbearable.Each year over a million Indians take part in the Ramdevra Pilgrimage. They walk from all over Rajasthan (and sometimes further afield) to the temple where Baba Ramdev Ji, a Hindu saint and incarnation of Krishnu, is buried.
Peter and I were accompanied by an entourage of twenty Dalit (Untouchables caste) girls and women from Sambhali, the charity's founder Govind, three other Western volunteers and a support team of a few drivers and cooks. Hundreds of thousands of people traversed the same route that week. We walked 165km in just five days. One day we walked more than the distance of a marathon, only to wake the following morning and walk another 30km.
It was exhausting, exhilarating, hauntingly beautiful and remarkable.
We followed the road past pastel scrubland and through rural villages. Lunch, often in the company of goats and transfixed children, consisted of delicious dhals and curries. We relaxed in the shade or washed ourselves and our single change of clothes at water pumps. Around 3pm, though the heat was still powerful, we were able to start walking again. We exchanged warm greetings with old women, families and children, all on foot. We had started our journeys from different towns, but we were all headed to the same place. As the sun grew low in the sky, the colours of the Thar Desert began to intensify. This was one of my favourite times of day. In terms of sheer beauty it was rivaled only by the vast, starry night sky.
We five foreigners were apparently the first to ever make the pilgrimage in its five-hundred-odd year history. It's hard to believe, but everyone we met enroute attested to this, including a kind doctor who had made the trip for the past fifteen years. Consequently we received a lot of attention, both from the media (we were interviewed by a number of newspapers and TV stations) and from the people we encountered on the way. Although most were simply curious, sometimes we were given a little too much attention. Once when we stopped in a tent for chai, a crowd gathered around us and a few men leaned so far in to get a better look that they nearly fell on top of me. In these instances Govind and the girls snapped into action and shooed the men away with wonderful Hindi witticisms such as, "Yes, they drink tea too just like you," before telling them to get lost and give us some privacy.
It was this protectiveness from the girls which I found particularly endearing. Although they had only met me a few days before, they were brilliant at carefully guiding us through crowds and loudly telling off leering young men. I was grateful to them for helping me navigate this at times bewildering environment. Also I was delighted by their boldness. They never hesitated to stand up for us and showed phenomenal strength of character. Sambhali aims to empower girls and women. It is clear to me it has been doing its job.
Over the course of the pilgrimage the contingent of Westerners fell foul of a variety of ailments from massive blisters and sore legs to hurt knees, knotted stomachs, sunburn and colds. We loudly discussed our latest debilitating pain and generally moaned a lot. The Sambhali girls on the other hand put us all to shame. The walking wasn't easy for them either, but they didn't complain, at least not to us. Additionally many were fasting, eating only one small meal a day. The girls were stoic, but at times I worried for their health, particularly when one started throwing up. Dehydration in a desert is a serious cause for concern. After a little bullying, she agreed to drink rehydration salts and fortunately was alright.
Incidents like these made it clear that although we were walking to Ramdevra together, we were on a very different path. For our little group of largely secular foreigners, it was about taking part in a distinctively Indian experience, spending time with each other and the girls and testing ourselves physically. For the girls and indeed the million other Ramdevra pilgrims, it was about faith. This was the largest display of faith we had ever seen. Although we were taking part, we also stood apart.
This was clearest to me when we finally reached the temple at Ramdevra. At this point everyone was exhausted, including the girls. We walked through the town barefoot, sidestepping mud and filth. Due to Govind's connections, we bypassed the hours' long queue and went straight into the temple. Inside we were whisked from one room to another. It was frenzied and confusing. I remember a baby's cradle and people offering alms for a personal wish. Immediately outside by a holy lake, we splashed ourselves with water. Our newly painted bindis ran red down our noses. A true religious fervor overtook the girls. Their aches and pains forgotten they formed a circle and began chanting. Yelling. Singing. Suddenly I really was just a spectator. They were experiencing something I can't understand. The temple, the lake and indeed the previous five days of walking meant something to them of which I was not a part.
We drove to Setrawa, Govind's hometown and the village where Sambhali's other project is based. It felt strange and good not walking. Utterly worn out, we laid our blankets on the roof of the Setrawa school. One last night sleeping under the stars.
- Jodhpur, India
