On Thursday morning, we left the hotel grounds for an outing to Gokarna village, a 15-minute ride via tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled motorized rickshaw. Our guide, Matthew Raj — who doubles as SwaSwara’s art teacher — led us to Mahabaleshwar, a sacred 4th-century Hindu temple and pilgrimage site; to the Koti Tirtha, a sacred water tank used for ritual bathing; and to some shops where we could buy mala bead necklaces, traditionally used in prayer and meditation, and pretty fashionable in yoga and meditation circles.

Thursday is market day, and we joined the meandering cows and throngs of locals, perusing the fresh fruits, vegetables and mounds of ginger piled atop tarps on the ground. Mr. Minhas Singh gave each of us 100 rupees (about $1.50) to buy some fresh ingredients, which the SwaSwara chef would use later that afternoon in a cooking demonstration. I spent 60 rupees on a kilogram of purple eggplants, and the rest on crisp, white daikon radishes. Nicole and another guest, Dana Rhoden, a publicist from Miami, pooled their cash to buy some cauliflower, a pricier choice than mine, costing about 150 rupees, or $2.30.

After our morning in the crowded village, returning to SwaSwara was a chance to fall back into serenity. That afternoon, I was scheduled for a rejuvenation body treatment, with the addition of murivenna oil, made from a blend of herbs, which Dr. Varun selected because, he said, it increases circulation, and would help heal my muscle and joint soreness. All three of my treatments were given with four hands by Anchu Ajikrishna, a petite 20-year-old massage therapist, and an assistant. I held in my laughter as the assistant farted loudly — in ayurveda, passing gas is encouraged for colon health — while heating herbs and oil over a small flame. Ms. Ajikrishna tied a disposable undergarment around my waist and guided me to sit on a stool, before placing her hands over my head to chant a Sanskrit prayer, which, translated by Dr. Varun, asks “the unknown supreme God and great physician to heal the body from all miseries, body and mind.”

The four hands swept in unison up and down my body — front and back — in what felt like a choreographed dance during each treatment. Once the oil rubbing or salt scrubbing part was over, Ms. Ajikrishna instructed me to wash my face and body in an outdoor shower with green mung bean powder, an herbal exfoliant used to cleanse the skin without removing the oil’s benefits. Dry and wrapped in a green robe, I was led back to the stool where Ms. Ajikrishna had recited the prayer. While I sipped a cup of herbal tea with honey, she rubbed rasna churna powder — a mix of plant roots and herbs — into my scalp to maintain the temperature of my body. To finish off the treatment, she placed an orange bindi (a dot, in Sanskrit) made from sandalwood paste, at the center of my forehead, an additional ayurvedic strategy for cooling down the body in the summertime heat.

Our group had its final gathering in the meditation hut on Saturday afternoon, where Ms. Carlson asked us to reflect on our experience and share what we hoped to take home with us. “I’d like to make regular space for a yoga practice that is gentle and nurturing, and not one where I am pushing my body too hard,” I said. A few of us shed tears, touching on feelings of loss and resilience. “As the baby of the group, I’ve gained so much from the wisdom of these women who have shared some of their life experiences with me,” said Nicole, the youngest guest by nearly two decades.

On the morning of our departure from SwaSwara, I unintentionally woke up at 4:30 a.m. Like the dolphins who leapt from the water earlier in the week, I felt some sort of magnetic pull from the outside. Trying not to awaken Nicole, I put on clothes, grabbed a flashlight and made my way along a path in the darkness to Meditation Hill, an open-air cliffside structure with straw mats and a view overlooking the Arabian Sea and Om beach. I sat down, closed my eyes, and listened to the waves, thinking of my brother, and the healing and nurturing this place provided. I opened my eyes and the morning light was just beginning to shine.