Watering a Thirsty Village

The wooden handle of the heavy pickax jabs my shoulder as I begin the short trek to my group’s designated soon-to-be-dug ditch. In the soft pre-dawn light, my group of urbane city dwellers looks very out of place in the barren, parched lands of the village of Waravdi.

Still, the fact that genteel urban folks volunteered to dig ditches in the middle of a sizzling summer is commendable in itself. After all, we were doing it for a greater cause; the Paani Foundation, which sponsored the day’s Mahashramdaan, recruited volunteers to help make drought-affected regions of Maharashtra turn green again. In spite of Waravdi’s proximity to the Sanhyadri Mountains, the landscape is completely barren, save for a lonely tree.

As we approach our designated area, I see that the outlines of the ditches to be dug have been clearly marked everywhere. I am impressed — Waravdi has clearly done its homework. A coordinator guides us to the section furthest out; we are the first group to begin. “Dig long the white lines, and
make it no more than eighteen inches deep,” he instructs — and leaves us to our wits.

Um, okay?

As the rest of us think about how exactly to begin, a volunteer in my group takes a pickax, raises it high, and brings it down with full force. The soil is loosened. He does this a few more times with fast, confident strokes. He grins at our expressions. “I used to live in a village in my childhood, though I work in IT now,” he explains. “Want to try?” he asks, handing the pickax to me.

I grip the handle with both hands, my left in front of my right, positioning my feet the same way. The implement is clearly new, the wood clean and metal polished. Again, I am impressed. The Paani Foundation has done its job well. I see that there are two points to the pickax, one each on the front and back. Holding it so the thinner point faces the earth, as the man before had done, I raise the tool heavenward. I aim for a point slightly ahead of my feet, and bring the pickax down. I miss, but the soil is somewhat loosened where it strikes. “Well done!” the first volunteer says. “But you have to bring it down harder and faster.”

I remember a line that is a favorite of fitness instructors around the globe — engage your core! I raise the pickax again and try implementing this. It’s a bit easier, but my heartbeats accelerate in no time. Passing the pickax to another group member, I pause to regain my breath. If you want a chiseled body of the likes of Bollywood A-listers, no gym is necessary — a few weeks out here, doing this work, would do just fine!

As loosened soil piles up, it’s time to start moving it out of the way. I take a shovel and a ghamela, which is a wide, rounded plastic container used to hold loosened soil. Balancing the ghamela against my legs, I rake the soil inside. When it is full, I realize the ghamela is surprisingly heavy. Engage your core! I take the load and throw it to the side of our ditch. We arrange the soil in a neat line to the ditch’s side.

The sun has risen properly now, and I pause to wipe my brow. A bit of haldi and kumkum rubs off my forehead. Before we started, some girls and women from Waravdi had greeted us with this gesture of thanks, positivity, and good beginnings. Their enthusiasm surprised me; dressed in their best, offering haldi, kumkum, and sugar to all the volunteers was a pleasant sight.

Even now, some local women have offered to help with our ditch. They dig at a quick, practiced pace, giving us city dwellers some much-needed breaks. I strike up a conversation with a lady in a yellow sari who works particularly tirelessly. “Would you like some sherbet?”

She declines at first, but takes it when I insist.
“So are you a farmer too?”
“Yes,” she responds.
“Nice,” I say. “What do you plant in your fields?”
“Rice, mostly. The indrayani type.”
“Do these ditches really make a difference to the water levels here?” I ask.
“The Paani Foundation volunteers say so!”
“Well, I’m glad.” I smile and take up the shovel again.

As the sun begins its journey upward in earnest, our work in the ditch comes to an end. We happily survey our handiwork and take the obligatory group photo, as well as Instagram-worthy selfies with the pickax and shovel. But it’s just shy of 8 am — we have two entire hours left. “Let’s do another one!” another group member enthuses.

A couple of hours later, we are standing at the edge of our second completed ditch. One of the ladies in my group is ecstatic. She traveled first by taking a PMPML bus as far as it would go, then hitchhiking to Waravdi. “It’s a morning well spent, in service of a noble cause,” she says with a smile. I couldn’t agree more.

Hot and tired now, we head back for breakfast. A dish of rice is waiting for us in a gigantic steel pot. It’s the biggest I’ve seen in my life! As the morning concludes, the coordinator thanks us for our time, specially mentioning the enthusiasm of the lady in my group as well as that of another who traveled from Mumbai specially for the event. He mentions various IT companies who have participated today as a part of Corporate Social Responsibility.

Tired but happy, we head back to the car, already planning a trip to Waravdi during the monsoon to see the results of our work. I had never thought that I would be one to dig ditches in the middle of summer in a nondescript village in rural Maharashtra, but on May 1 (Maharashtra Day and International Labor Day!) I was glad to have proven myself wrong.

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