Mukta Joshi 1 The sun had not yet risen over the vast white plains of the Rann of Kutch, but the world was already glowing. A ghostly sheen hung over the salt flats, where the land met the sky in a silent, horizonless stretch of emptiness. Abdul Rehman Shaikh squinted into the distance, the crunch of salt beneath his sandals breaking the stillness. He had walked this path for over thirty years, guiding workers and checking the progress of the salt beds, but this morning something was different. There was an unnatural stillness near the third trench—where the water had…