Day 5. We met the sun that morning on a bed of clouds. An orange searing red flame; the day's orb caught between the gossamer tails of passing sky. All of us, peace-walkers in heart, felt the surrealism of reality, its magic and its unbelievability. It was a bridge, a long bridge, crossing the Mahi River which divided two districts of Gujarat. And it was Day 5, day five out of seventeen, on the Dandhi Yatra, a peace walk retracing the steps of Mahatma Gandhi's Salt March. Here, on this bridge we witnessed another morning begin. And together with the passing cyclists, lorry-drivers, and white kadhi-clad Jain pilgrims, our group of forty rediscovered Gandhi in the presence of the sun's soft smile. This was one out of many experiences that white-washed the superficial pains felt from
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