Kutch a beautiful place

Kutch derives its name from the Kutchi word Kutchbo, which means turtle. This exotic stretch of land in the western tip of India is shaped like a turtle. And like its namesake, it is amphibian in nature. Land by summer, and an island during the monsoons. It extends from the arid  deserts of the Great Rann and the Little Rann to the sea-front in the Gulf of Kutch, bustling with life.
My friend from college, Manilal, his teacher-wife Heena, and their son Parju were waiting for us at Bhuj. We got into the mini-bus they had brought along, and started on our journey into Kutch.
Parju, a 10-year old who was home schooled by his parents, regaled us with Kutchi folk songs about the valorous deeds of erstwhile kings. He narrated a story about how Kutch came into existence.

How a saint created Kutch
Once upon a time, the people of Kutch had no land of their own, and they requested a saint of the Nath sect, named Dhoramnath, to give them a place to live. Being a saint, he had no land in his possession, but he promised to help them. On a bare hillock next to his ashram, he meditated, standing on his head for 12 long years. His severe penance created so much kinetic energy that when he opened his eyes the sea submerged and the whole of Kutch dried up, leaving behind a barren landscape dotted with sparse vegetation, and lined with endless, white lines of the dried-up salt.
Ruminating on this fantastic tale, we reached Kaala Dungar (the Black Mountain) by dusk. Dumping our rucksacks in the dormitory of an ashram, we rushed to witness a legend that was to unfold in a few minutes in front of our disbelieving eyes.

The night of the jackal
We climbed down a steep hillside and hid behind thick shrubs. Our eyes were riveted on a raised platform at a distance. Soon, eight people carrying a vessel passed us by, shouting loudly, “Lo-ang, Lo-ang, Lo-ang!” When they reached the platform, they set the vessel down and overturned the contents, which turned out to be khichdi. Slowly, from behind the bushes now blackened by the night, glowing eyes appeared in pairs. There were at least two dozen pairs. As they came closer to the platform, we realised they were wild jackals coming from the mountains in the distance. They climbed on to the platform, and took disciplined turns to finish off the food served. Then, slowly, they went back, their luminous eyes glancing back one last time.
Parju explained the goings on. Many centuries ago, there lived a Sufi Saint in the ashram on Kaala Dungarcalled Panchmai Pir. A compassionate man, he insisted that the jackals in the neighbourhood be fed before he was given food every night. And that was the practice every day, till one day they ran out of provisions. The Pir realised that no dinner could be cooked that day. But less concerned about himsself or the inmates of the ashram; he was worried that his jackals would go hungry.
When the jackals came at the appointed hour, he walked towards them and did the unthinkable: he chopped off his hand and threw it to the jackals, saying “Lo-ang”. It meant, “Eat a part of my body”. From the next day, the inmates made sure that khichdi was served every day, and on time, to avoid any untoward incident. And to this day, the ritual of ‘Lo-ang’ continues. And no one in the ashram, eats till the jackals retire to the forest, satiated.

Women in black
On our way to Banni, we met the wandering tribe of Rabaris, originally from Rajasthan. During the Mughal period, they escaped to Umarkot to avoid persecution by the Muslim rulers. Here they were protected by a valiant Hindu king called Sumro. Then a battle ensued between the Muslim rulers and the Hindu king where Sumro diedfighting for the Rabaris. On his death, the Rabari women were so forlorn and inconsolable that they decided to wear the black robe of widows. Even today  every Rabari woman dresses in black, a sign of perennial mourning.

Where we drank dish water
After we had our lunch at Manilal’s friend’s house in Banni, the lady of the house said, “Wash your hands in the plate.” Reluctantly, we followed her instruction. Then she asked us to wash the plate with that water, after which she said, “Drink it.” We were repulsed. Guessing there must be a valid reason, I ventured to drink the water. And when I did, she smiled at me approvingly. In her smile, I saw the meaning of conserving resources. By washing my hands with water, and then washing the plate with the same water and then drinking it, I fulfilled three tasks in one go. And helped her conserve the most precious thing in the barren land: life-giving water. Is there a lesson here for mankind? Then we proceeded to the Little Rann. At the last village before Rann, we met an old man of the desert, who offered to be our guide.

Wild asses on non-existent water
As our vehicle entered the endless stretches of parched earth, we saw the amazing sight of water that didn't exist. The sun beating down mercilessly on the desert sand had created waves of water vapour on the horizon that looked like shimmering water. Slowly, there emerged some eerie forms in those non-existent waters. Our guide told us that they were the elusive, asiatic wild asses, known locally as ‘Khurs’. These animals looked as if they were floating above the waters, adding to the enchanting quality of the landscape.
Speeding through the pathless land of Rann, we soon reached the spot where the wild asses were; but the mirage of water once again retreated to the distant horizon. When we were too close for comfort, the asses started running, picking up speed to cruise at 50 km per hour. The shutterbugs among us clicked away till we had captured them in every possible galloping pose. Suddenly a booming voice woke us up: ‘Bahut photo liya na, ab bas karo, thak jayenge woh log!’ That was our guide, a son of the soil who was living in perfect harmony with the other living beings who shared his  habitat.
Our guide went back to his salt pan and we proceeded to a place that doesn’t feature on the map of Kutch: the Mardak Bet or the Mardak Island. There we  learnt the art of conserving water in a desert. When thirsty, don’t take swig after swig. Just take a small sip, roll it in your mouth and then gulp it. The punishment for running out of potable water was a 3km walk to the nearest pond. 

God in the middle of nowhere
We pitched our tents in the vast desert, at a spot that had large crusts of salt to prevent snakes from slithering in. Then we cooked a spartan supper on a campfire and retired early. The sunset had brought out the stars one by one, till the entire stretch was covered with thousands of twinkling stars. There was not a single house for kilometres on end, not a single soul, except for us. We were lying there on the desert sand, under the ultra-marine sky, an insignificant speck in the infinite cosmos. But a speck that was blessed with the ability to be aware.