Eid with the Fakirani Jats

"We are not wealthy, as you can see, but we do know how to take care of our maheman [guests]. So, please come," says Karim Jat of Mori Village in Lakhpat taluka. In his mid-forties, he is among the many Fakirani Jats whose lives I have documented for PARI over the years. He was saying goodbye to me as I left Lakhpat after the Savla Pir fair and was also inviting me at the same time to celebrate Eid al-Fitr with them. That was March 2024, this is March 2025. I am once again on my way to Mori in Kachchh, Gujarat. Honouring Karim Bhai’s invitation.

Karim Bhai is waiting to welcome me with a hug. "I'm so happy you came,” he says, with palpable excitement and affection in his voice. “Let's take a stroll as I still have time for this year's final namaz of Ramadan.” Mori has its own beauty – a barren region where nothing but a few cacti line up at the horizon. It is evening but the sun is still up. The breeze from the Gulf of Kuchchh, however, sends a shiver down your spine.

Standing at the edge of a little pond we watch the stunning sun. “I've sold the carts,” whispers Karim Bhai. “I still have about 200 camels that my younger son grazes. But the income is going down and so are the grazing grounds.” He pauses and then clearing his voice, says: "It's almost time for the evening namaz. Tomorrow is Eid. There is no point complaining. Let's enjoy everything together."

The celebrations in this remote village are peaceful and joyous. People dressed in their finest attire gather for prayers at the local mosque, meet each other with warm embraces and festive greetings. The namaz starts at 9 p.m. and lasts for an hour.

In the makeshift kitchen, Karim Jat’s wife Shamaani is making a special dish, rather sweet pooris, for the guests, which appeals to my Bengali palate. The air is filled with music and laughter of children playing games around us. “You better finish the full bowl of poori. Only then you can go to other villages,” I hear Shamaani Jat’s voice. She has been keeping an eye on the plates of her guests from her kitchen.

This strong sense of community and quiet festivity was perhaps unique to Mori. Because in Chirai Nani, another village in the desert over 200 kilometres away in Bhachau taluka, the mood is a little more subdued. "Earlier, Eid was enjoyable. All the family members came together to celebrate. However, things are different now,” says 60-year-old Ayub Ameen Jat. He is on his annual migration route with 80 Kharai camels, passing though the worst part in Kachchh district where the marine mangroves his herds feed on have almost run out.

The National Green Tribunal took notice of the destruction of mangroves in the taluka in 2018. And even after that salt has illegally made inroads, destroying the natural ecosystem of the place. Now there’s little scope left for camel owners like Ayub Jat to graze their animals in the area. "The water in this area has become so saline that it's difficult even to find some for me to drink, forget the camels,” he says. “I would have liked to spend Eid with my family in Vondhada village, but here I am. The mangroves here are so few but I cannot abandon my herd, so we keep going farther. I hope things improve next year," he adds. “In any case, I will definitely attend namaz at a local mosque tomorrow,” says Ayub Jat.

I was in Lakhpat taluka on the final day of the holy month of Ramadan. Nasibibai Shermamad Jat, affectionately known as Nani in Dhrangavandh hamlet, is the first one I meet. "Forest officials are not allowing my camels to swim to the nearest creeks to eat mangroves,” she is telling someone on the phone, “but let me speak to you later, I have got a guest here,” she says and disconnects the call on seeing me. She owns about 40 Kharai camels. "Eid mubarak,” forgetting her own troubles for a while, she greets me with a smile and a question. “How long will you stay this time? I believe you would stay in Lakhpat for a year this time!" "Eid mubarak!” I return the greeting with a promise to come again to Lakhpat, soon.

That evening, I take leave of Karim Jat and his family too. "The way Kachchh is getting industrialised, there won't be much left for my camels to graze in the years to come. But you should never forget that you will always have a home here. Do come to Lakhpat again next year," he says. I see the radiant light of the setting sun reflecting in his eyes as I leave.