Finding ‘Panihari’

A long bus journey through the Indian Thar desert heading in the direction of the border with Pakistan. It is scorching hot, and I’m surprised to see the occasional bush dotting the desert landscape. They’re thorny bushes that I often find myself entangled in, giving the Rajasthani women the pleasure of freeing me, yet again. Patiently, they pluck the sharp thorns from my clothing and sometimes my skin. They show me how their feet are calloused, that they can withstand a thorn or two after so many years. And the goats! How they daintily select something edible, navigating the thorns I fail to avoid. The bushes are essential for these animals — they provide just enough nourishment to survive and produce the bare minimum amount of milk. I sit with the women, drinking sweet goat’s milk from cups that have long since lost their handles. As evening falls and the air turns cooler, the setting sun enhances the golden hues of the desert. From far away, we hear girls’ voices approaching. They burst into the compound in a cloud of dust and head straight to the water pitchers. First, the herders drink, then the goats.