Deep inside camel country

DH reporter Satish Jha follows a nomadic community looking for water and camel feed in a remote grassland in Gujarat

It was already dark when I started the last leg of my journey from Nakhatrana village, about 50 km from Bhuj city, to the Rann of Kutch.

The road was dusty and rough, and the night became darker. We passed through various villages. The sky above was studded with stars. I followed our hosts on a motorcycle. They were riding motorcycles, leaving plumes of dust in their wake.

I soon saw blinking red lights across the horizon, visible from the peaks on the hilly route. They looked like the eyes of giant cyborgs seen in science fiction films. I later gathered they were lights from the thousands of windmills that dot the Great Rann of Kutch.

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After riding for nearly an hour on the dirt path, the journey ended abruptly in knee-high, pale brown grass. Some camel calves made clumsy moves, alerted by the piercing headlights. My host, Salle Jat, was preparing a bonfire.

I tried camel milk

It was a peak winter night, and the winds made it even colder. In no time, Salle offered me chapatis and a bowl of spicy garlic chutney. The chapatis were dry, stiff and cold, but the taste was a pleasant surprise. Vegetables aren’t part of the diet here — where will veggies grow in a desert?

What came after the meal was warm camel milk. It was the first time I tasted it, and with apprehension. The milk was smooth, thin, and refreshing. Camel milk is central to the lives of pastoral communities here. They make tea frequently. They mark special occasions like marriage and annual pilgrimages with camel milk kheer.

I got ready to sleep in the open. My bed was by the side of the bonfire. I snuggled into my sleeping bag. Using two blankets, I tried to block every crevice from which the nasty, cold winds could sneak in. Soon it was all quiet, but for the wind in my ears and the distant howling of foxes. I heard a rustle. Was a nocturnal animal lurking nearby? I was thinking of snakes and scorpions when I casually looked up from the opening of the sleeping bag. The sky was clear, and teeming with bright stars. I won’t ever forget the grand spectacle.

Banni, welcome home

I was sleeping in the Banni grassland, a protected wetland and grassland ecosystem spread over 2,400 sq km in the Rann of Kutch. It is one of the largest seasonal salt marshes in the world. It has a unique ecosystem with its own wildlife (wolves, jackals, foxes, desert cats, hyenas, and wild boars), salt-tolerant plant species, migratory birds, and pastoral communities. The grassland has been designated a protected area under The Wetlands (Conservation and Management) Rules, 2010.

It is home to two major nomadic communities — Jats, and Maldharis. They rear camels, buffaloes, goats, and sheep. According to Kachchh Unt Ucherak Maldhari Sangathan, an association of camel breeders, the Jats came to Kutch from Baluchistan about 500 years ago. They have been surviving here by rearing camels and migrating seasonally in search of feed and water.

But Banni, their home, has undergone a lot of changes. The average rainfall has increased over the last
couple of decades, leading to an increase in farming. That threatens desertification. Besides, the grassland is also under threat from industries, particularly salt making, blocking the flow of natural streams and creeks.

Salle, in his early 30s, woke up at the crack of dawn and the first thing he did was light a bonfire. He put a pot on it and started making tea from camel’s milk. It was overly sweet, but otherwise, tasted quite like any tea made with full cream Amul Gold milk. No one here uses water to make tea because it is scarce, so scarce that they usually clean their utensils by rubbing them with soil.

I saw at least five families living around where we were camping. Some had tarpaulin sheets for roofs, others slept in the open. Aluminium utensils, heavy blankets, bundles of clothes, water cans and 20-30 camels was what they had in terms of belongings.

Out with the herders

The sun rose on the vast horizon. The grassland was never ending and looked the same in all directions. It was a picturesque morning. Four men carrying sticks, jerry cans, and utensils in cloth bags began
marching out.

“Do you want to see where they are going?” Salle hollered from a distance. We followed them. It was the start of the day’s work for them. They were tall, wore Pathan suits, and had kohl in their eyes. The women in veils remained where they were, tending to their children and cooking.

Every morning, the men go to the interior grassland to collect their camels because the animals graze at night. The men shepherd their camels towards a nearby water source in the morning. They travel 5 to 10 km in search of water. This takes up the first half of the day. They then walk back home with the camels before it gets dark.

Alana Jat, who looks like he is in his early 20s, has no idea about his age. He has travelled to Ahmedabad a couple of times but hates it for its filth, traffic and noise. Banni is still untouched by waste. The only thing out of place is the tarpaulin being used as roofing.

Guided by stars

“It’s easy for me to get lost in the city but here in this vast land, I always find my way back home,” said Alana. On a couple of instances, the camel owners have lost their way, but they have eventually made it back home, he informed.

Salle has lost count of the number of times he has roamed the 2,400 sq km of the Banni grassland. “We don’t plan anything. Where we go completely depends on the availability of feed and water. We keep looking for these two resources throughout the year,” he explained. The stars guide the camel owners.

A few years ago, one of Salle’s relatives was stopped by soldiers guarding the border. Another time, armed forces crossed over to the grassland for training. “They gave us water after their training was over. Water is something we would die for,” Salle added. People here drink the same water as their camels.

Faint tinkle of bells

After walking for about 5 km, the group halted at a spot with cracked soil. One of the men gathered dry twigs and lit them, while another vanished behind the shrubs and came out with a bucket full of camel milk. It was time for a tea break.

Across the horizon, all I saw was shrubs and grass. I heard faint tinkling sounds. “It comes from the bells tied around the neck of the camels,” Salle said. Every camel owner can identify his animals by the sound of their bells. I couldn’t make out the difference. After the tea break, the men disappeared from view, only to come back later, shepherding their camels in herds.

The camels appeared from nowhere one by one, lumbering and munching on the leaves of khari jhad (Salvadora persica). This grows on trees as tall as the camels. The species is salt-tolerant, and a favourite among the camels.

Access to the trees is becoming restricted because of conservation rules. Salvadora persica is a protected species under the Indian Forest Act, 1927. Camel breeders are not allowed to venture into reserved forests where the native grass is found in abundance.

Industrialisation in Kutch was rapid after the 2001 earthquake. Special economic zones came up, grasslands were demarcated, and pastoralists got into agriculture.

As we followed them, the men led their camels towards Chhari Dhand, a wetland reserve known as a bird watchers’ paradise. They walked behind the camels, cracking jokes and making strange sounds to command the camels to fall in line.

I came away from the group on the way back. I returned to where I had slept the previous night. I packed my stuff and drove towards the wetland.

No formal school

Salle lives in the grassland with his wife and four daughters. His daughters don’t go to school, neither do they study at home. No member of the family has ever gone to school. The nearest school is about 20 km from their current camp. Education is not a priority, though Salle wishes schools would move along with the community through the year.

“Travelling in the jungle is our degree and it teaches us survival. It is like the degrees in the cities that give you jobs. We know the jungle better than anyone else. But sadly, governments think we are a threat to its existence,” Salle lamented. The community likes to move around and is not keen on settling in one place. “We love our culture and want to stay like this as long as we can,” he said.

Making phone calls, streaming Gujarati folk songs over YouTube, using WhatsApp for banking, holding Aadhaar cards and voting are signs that modernity is making inroads here.

Water at last

A strong wind turned the dust into a small whirlwind at Chhari Dhand. Herds of buffaloes were entering the wetland. This water source is not just important for the cattle but also for their masters, the pastoralists, who
also drink from it. By peak summer, the water turns saline and unfit for drinking, forcing both the humans and their animals to migrate to some other corner in search of greenery and water. This time, they won’t be moving anywhere for two more months.

Saavan Jat was herding his camels away, about 50 of them. “Chai piyoge (Will you drink tea)?” he asked as I followed him. He likes his life, trudging with the camels, and taking his family from one place to another. But the emergence of camel milk as a source of income means he will have to go to the edge of the grassland to sell milk every day. That’s not something he looks forward to.

Milk market
According to Ramesh Bhatti, programme director of Sahjeevan, an NGO that supports nomadic pastoral communities, the camel milk business started in the region about five years ago. Because of the milk business, most camel breeders have motorcycles, mobile phones and bank accounts, a distant dream earlier.
Amul procures their camel milk through Sarhad Dairy, a co-operative of milk producers. The milk procurement shot up from 2.81 lakh litres in 2019 to 5.42 lakh litres in 2021.