The monsoon rains had arrived on time this year, so that walking under the blazing sun now was bearable, and the flat, open plains around us had turned vibrantly green. A few farmers were still out in their fields, standing firmly on the crossbeams of their handmade wooden ploughs to push them into the dark soil as their bullocks pulled them along. Most fields were already planted, some with robust cotton seedlings and others with millet and corn that had yet to sprout. A distant clinking of hand cymbals cut through the wind in the trees and the cheerful banter of the pilgrims as we walked. We had just departed from the ancient town of Paithan in the west-central Indian state of Maharashtra. Eighteen days and 150 miles lay ahead of us, due south, before we would reach our destination – the Viṭṭhal temple in the town of Pandharpur. There, the pilgrims would stand before the stone image (mūrti) of the god, looking at him as he looked back at them – the basic Hindu act of darśan. Pilgrims make this journey from Paithan to Pandharpur every year, as their ancestors have been doing for centuries. New, however, was the tall, pale foreigner who was going along this year to ask questions, take notes and experience the pilgrimage himself.

I had studied, packed and prepared as much as possible, but I still felt more than a little anxiety when I thought about what might lie ahead.