DAY TWO AT THE SITE (Feb. 12, 2007)

Following a wonderful breakfast at the farm, we boarded the van, complete with our boots, extra socks, an extra shirt or two, and bottled water. Reaching the village, it is always uncertain what one might encounter. Today was no exception. We followed roads, which in some cases are mere paths through the unforgiving rocky terrain, and down into the village. Along the way, we passed a goatherd with his flock, which served as a speed deterrent – as if that were necessary in the first place! We also passed by mining sites which have been closed within the past year or so. It was determined that not only was such mining damaging the topography, but also possibly altering the water table for this area. An occasional motor cycle would weave around us, trying to stay on the path, avoiding puddles and rock outcroppings. Large dump trucks passed us, sometimes coming dangerously close to our van, filled to the brim with yet more rocks – big ones that had to be pounded and shattered into smaller ones, that could be used at our site, and others.

Probably the most photogenic of all the “vehicles” we encountered along the way was a camel-drawn cart. The driver had stopped the cart along the way, to pick up rocks. All the while, the camel held a rather regal pose for all on our van to admire and snap photos.

Our van rounded the corner in Chahalka, and then turned into the school yard. Already, at the far end of this enclosure, the women and girls were washing their dishes and clothes atop the reservoir cover. Strangely, it was only women and girls who inhabited that space. Not another person was to be seen. However, we took wagers on the van as to how many minutes it would take before word would be telegraphed throughout the village that the Rotarians had arrived, and literally scores of young men and boys would descend upon the school yard, many climbing to the top of the stone wall to serve as “sidewalk supervisors” for our project.

Today, however, there seemed to be a higher level of excitement. There was a pile of reddish sand, positioned close to a pile of crushed stone. Buckets of water had been placed next to the sand pile, and two lads of about fourteen years of age, wearing flip-flops on their feet, climbed onto the sand pile, cut open several bags of cement mix and began cutting the cement into the sand, occasionally adding a bucket or two of water, until the right consistency was reached. In the meanwhile, our group formed a few brick lines, to move the a few hundred bricks from the pile to various strategic points around the perimeter of the washing platform area. A few times we broke into choruses of, “What do we want? MORE BRICKS! When do we want ‘em? NOW!”
or a mostly in-tune version of “I’ve been working on the railroad”, to the delight of the gathered crowd.

One of the local men – Ramesh – joined us, bringing his trowel, his plumb bob and cloth tape measure. He is a Hindu man who lives about three kilometers away from Chahalka, and had been hired as the chief mason to supervise our project. It did not take long for all of us to fall into place, either assisting Ramesh as a tender, passing bricks along to him, as he slopped more mortar onto the top of the wall, of bringing hods of crushed stone and dumping them into the center of the walled off area, to create a stable base upon which we would then dump hod after hod of concrete mix, to form the platform floor. Others of us were back in brick lines, but always being observed by the "sidewalk supervisors" who had gathered on top of the wall, adjacent to where we were working. literally dozens of men, of all ages, sqautted atop the wall, beneficently smiling, but having absolutely NO intention of joining us in our endeavors. I asked Sanjiv if these gentlemen had any idea as to what we were doing, and why. He told me the village elders with whom he and Ravi Dayal had met, indicated they would inform the entire commuity as to our purpose. Culturally, however, imagine how you would feel if ten or a dozen total strangers - many of them white westerners - moved into your village and began passing bricks, carrying hods of sand or concrete, all the while singing songs, such as "I've been working on the Railroad" or "She'll be coming 'round the mountain, when she comes"! Furthermore, at least in this village, the culture was that it was the women and girls who worked, rather than the men. Hour after hour, women and girls came to the reservoir site, climbed atop the cover and either dipped down to fill their jugs (about five gallons each) or their buckets, which they then balanced on top of their heads, to carry back to their houses. Girls, who seemed barely ten or twelve years of age would have at least one, if not two of these earthenware jars balanced on their heads, seldom reaching up to steady them. Many of them had taken fabric or plastic bags and crocheted "doughnuts" to place on top of their heads, where then they rested the jugs or buckets of water, or basins of washed laundry. Again, all the while, the men of the village perched atop the wall, contemplated the ongoing work, pausing only occasionally to answer a ringing mobile phone! In addition, the women or girls, who had water buffalo(s) would bring them over to the reservoir to wash them down and to provide them with a drink from a bucket. A few times, it seemed as though the mother water buffalo got concerned with our close proximity to her calf and swung her hind end around to keep herself between us and her calf.

Today was very successful, in that we finished laying the bricks for the wall surrounding the washing platform, as well as pouring the first layer of the floor for it. Following a very full day of work, only interrupted by traveling back to the farm for lunch, we asked if we might enter the mosque located across the street from our work site. We were granted permission, and as we departed from the site and walked across the street, it seemed as if EVERYONE in the village knew we were going to the mosque, and turned out in force to watch us enter the holy place. An old gentleman proudly described the fact that relatives had paid for the construction of the walls and ceiling. When we entered the grounds, we all removed our shoes or boots and left them outside. This being a totally new experience for most of us, I am sure the occasional doubt entered minds, as to whether or not the shoes would still be there when we departed. No problem! Although these folks might have been a bit stand-offish, they were most likely shy, but all the while maintaining their respect for us.

The children and men were still outside when we departed the mosque, and walked alongside us back to the school yard, and escorted us to our waiting coach. I think as we climbed in, each of us realized we had been using and testing muscles which had not been used for some time. Tomorrow would be a good time for a rest!