7 – 9 March 2025
Returning to Rampura, I felt an unease settle in my chest. I usually thrive in nature—give me a tent, some trees, and the stars, and I’m content. But this place… this was different. The desert felt more draining than nourishing. Hot, dry, and deeply still. Too still.
There wasn’t much to do. We were confined to one thatched hut, surrounded by dust and dry scrub. While I could see how this space might bring peace to Guruji and a few of the girls, it was obvious not everyone was coping. That morning, some of the girls struggled with the task of herding cows, and Lisa and I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Still, the laughter was laced with exhaustion. We were grateful to be welcomed—but both of us were unraveling.
The food was another layer of difficulty. Heavily spiced, oily, desert-style dishes that our bodies couldn’t process anymore. Lisa had been battling with digestion for weeks, and now, my body was beginning to resist as well. I found myself longing for raw vegetables, a salad, or even a boiled egg. It was the first time since arriving in India that I couldn’t find joy in the food.
This morning, Lisa woke up crying, clutching her stomach. My heart broke for her. I could feel that she needed something clean, light, and raw. The girls stood nearby, concerned but unsure. After some translation via Google, I asked for an apple and carrot to be grated—plain, nothing added. She ate it slowly, with deep gratitude. But the relief was temporary. Within hours, she was in pain again.
We had reached our limit.
With Guruji away, the girls did their best to care for us, but we needed more than they could offer. I gently, but firmly, requested a car to take us back to Jodhpur. The drive was long and uncomfortable. When we finally arrived, our hotel turned out to be a scam—nothing like the photos, nothing like what we booked. After 40 minutes of searching, we found the actual location and were shown a dingy, windowless room. We were too tired to argue.
We ordered water, medicine, and plain dal. And for the first time that day, we exhaled.
A fan. A bed. A moment of stillness.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. We could rest. And sometimes, that’s the only thing left to do.
