Surya Yatra

All the seasons that nature has given to India are such a unique rainbow of seasons of all the countries of the world that every Indian is proud of.

Just as the Sahara desert is famous for its heat, in the same way, a large part of Rajasthan and Gujarat in India is a desert, the heat here is enough to counter the heat of any country.

Marwad, where life danced to the rhythm of the seasons, the summer solstice held a special significance. It was the day of the Surya Yatra, a vibrant pilgrimage dedicated to the Sun God, Surya. The villagers, for weeks, had been preparing for this annual celebration. Womenfolk, their colorful ghagras swirling, had spent days grinding spices and kneading dough for the grand feast. Men had repaired the chariot that carried the idol of Surya, its brass surface catching the glint of the unforgiving sun. Anticipation crackled in the air, thick as the desert heat.

As the day wore on, the usually lethargic village began to stir. Children, their dark eyes sparkling with excitement, chased each other through the narrow lanes. Older men, their faces etched with the stories of a thousand harsh summers, emerged from their mud-brick homes, their white dhotis stark against the ochre backdrop. Women, adorned in their finest jewelry, bustled about, their laughter a soothing melody against the harsh desert wind.

As the last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the dunes, the village square came alive. A bonfire, fueled by dried camel thorn bushes, crackled merrily, its flames licking at the inky night sky. The rhythmic thump of the dhol echoed through the stillness, drawing the villagers towards the center of the festivities. Young girls, their hands adorned with intricate mehndi designs, performed a swirling folk dance, their colorful skirts creating a kaleidoscope of motion. The air vibrated with the joyous chants of "Surya Dev ki Jai!" (Victory to the Sun God!).

Amidst the revelry, stood Ashok, a young boy barely on the cusp of manhood. His gaze, however, wasn't on the dancers or the flickering flames. It was fixed on the magnificent chariot, its polished surface reflecting the dancing firelight. Ashok dreamt of being the one to drive the chariot one day, a dream he shared with his late father, the previous chariot driver. A tinge of sadness tugged at his heart, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of determination. He would honor his father's memory, he vowed silently.

The festivities continued well into the night. Elders narrated tales of the Sun God's power, his scorching rays sustaining life even in the harshest of environments. Children, their eyes wide with wonder, listened intently. Later, a grand feast was laid out, a testament to the village's resilience. They feasted on piping hot dal, flaky rotis smeared with ghee, and a sweet concoction of dates and milk – a welcome respite from the relentless heat.

As the first rays of dawn painted the eastern sky a soft orange, the villagers embarked on the heart of the Surya Yatra. The chariot, resplendent with marigolds and bells, carried the idol of Surya. Ashok, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and pride, took his place beside the seasoned driver who had agreed to mentor him. The procession, a vibrant tapestry of colors and chants, snaked its way through the desert sands. Villagers, their faces turned towards the rising sun, offered prayers for a bountiful harvest and protection from the harsh summer months ahead.

The journey culminated at a small temple perched atop a lone hillock. As the golden disc of the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the land in its warm glow, a collective sigh of reverence rose from the gathered crowd. Offerings of fruits, flowers, and sweets were placed before the idol of Surya. The air thrummed with a deep sense of gratitude for the life-giving power of the sun, a stark contrast to its unforgiving nature.

By the time the scorching sun climbed higher in the sky, the festivities began to wind down. The villagers, their hearts brimming with renewed faith and the warmth of shared celebration, started their journey back to Marwad. Ashok, his muscles pleasantly sore from his role in the chariot procession, walked with a newfound sense of purpose. The summer solstice, a day that began with the harsh glare of the sun, had ended with a profound appreciation for its life-sustaining power. It was a day that etched itself deep into Ashok's memory, a day that marked his passage from a boy to a man, ready to carry forward the traditions of his village and honor the legacy of his father.