MY VILLAGE AND ITS PRIMARY SCHOOL

MY VILLAGE AND  ITS PRIMARY SCHOOL

Hoshiarpur  of Punjab( India) used to be a backward  district  during seventies and eighties of the last century but educationally it has always been  always a front runner. Even today, though it is not fully developed yet a lot has changed.

My village, Ramtatwali, where I was born in late sixtees, was extremely backward and situated in the foothills of  Shivalik  range of mountains. It had no Post Office. The adjoining village-DHOLBAHA-was our Post office and had a High School also  where I later on joined in Class VI. My village  had hundreds of mango trees, that too, of different hues and tastes. We would carry razors in our pockets or sometimes hidden  in our books to eat raw mangoes with a pinch of salt.  Salt was also carried in a piece of paper which was unevenly folded and kept in our pockets/bags. When mangoes would start ripening-we would collect some and keep in our bags to eat them with our lunch. Koels would also sing melodiously.

This village had scattered habitations-predominantly caste based settlements. Brahmins lived towards jungle near an ancient and popular  temple. A mahant, who once was elected as a Sarpanch  ,sold hundreds of acres of land of this temple and outraged its  sanctity. This temple is now a days being revived by Govt by calling artisans from Rajasthan. A Mela (Fare) on Janam Ashthami was an annual event. Hundreds of people from far flung villages would come and enjoy the events. Some would purchase earthen pitchers and pots and carry them on their shoulders back to their homes. While their young ones would purchase toys and go back blowing the flutes to their homes. For some eating sweets used to be a big attraction.

The roof tops  of the houses of the affluent  were mainly conical shaped fitted with GI sheets. But majority of the houses including that of mine  were mud houses with  conical thatched roofs. There was only one Muslim family which did not leave during partition.

Each caste based habitation had its   own wells.  They  were  12 in number. One well was an abandoned one as it used to be for the Muslims who were forced  to leave their village during partition. The remnants of this well and an abandoned mosque are still witnesses of the fading history of my village. Our  well  was on the bank of a khadd(seasonal water channel) which had a  washroom which  was  constructed by the Panchayat. Now, no one fills water from these wells as the tapped water is available in most of the homes. The wells used to be the  places full of social activity. Ladies would gossip and wash clothes, men would pull up buckets of water and fill the trough of bathroom. When mothers would apply soap on children’s bodies while giving them forced baths-they would cry and sometime weep loudly.

The well of the landlord of the village was called –HALLAT. It had a chain of iron buckets which was pulled by a bull. The adjoining fields were irrigated with its water.

Fetching water in pitchers from our  well  which was nearly 200 meters far, was a normal chore for us.  But the way to this well was not plain. It was uneven and steep. During rainy season it was difficult to move with a heavy pitcher on your shoulders.

Another chore used to be the collection of fire wood from the nearby jungle. We would go in groups, collect firewood and then play hockey on a small open place. Hockey sticks were manually made from the curved branches of trees and a round stone used to be the ball. We would dribble, dodge and score goals. This would give us a great sense of victory or defeat. We would sweat  to our toes and then after taking some rest, normally after sunset, would  move back to our homes with loads of firewood on our heads. There was a tamarind tree in the jungle which would provide us seasonal feast.

It will be a surprise perhaps for most of the people of Punjab to know that the villages in Kandi area of Hoshiarpur have huge areas of land. Each village may have thousands of acres of land both jungle and plain. Most of the hilly part is still a jungle.

My Primary school was almost a mile away. The route to it  was  uneven. We also had  to cross a khadd (seasonal water channel) which only used to be dry in June. During rainy season-it would also get heavily flooded. At times-we had to wait till the receding of water levels to cross it. There was a guava tree in a field adjoining to this Khadd. We never allowed its fruits to get ripened. The owner of this tree was an old woman who would shout at us from a  distance but always failed to stop us from stealing the yield. We  were never caught.

My Primary School was a two and a half room mud house with a verandah attached. It was almost attached with a hill. The roof was thatched. A small room used to be the office and its door had a huge brass lock. The other rooms and verandah used to be our classrooms. It also had a little courtyard with a peepal tree to its corner. We used to clean our school turn wise. The courtyard was also used as  a Morning Assembly ground. All students would wholeheartedly participate in singing morning  prayer and  then national anthem. At times Head Teacher would also address us. Teachers were always greeted by saying Jai Hind. During Winters-the school was shifted to a nearby chuagan(open space) where our teachers would take classes in the sunlight. Daily we used to transport black boards, easels, chairs, jute carpets and a table from school building to this open space and back. This chaugan  was hardly 50 meters away.

My teacher was Mr Ranvir Singh. He is still alive. May God give him long life!! He  was slightly bulky but strong. His eyes were very bright and face was round. He has dark hair  also kept moustaches. The tips of moustaches were always like needles. He would come to school on a bicycle.  Bicycle used to be a luxury.There was a sandy stretch  of nearly 20 meters near the main gate of the school. It was not possible to drive bicycle through that. He would get down and pull his bicycle through it. As a token of respect we would reach there where he would get down   from his bicycle. We would greet him by saying “Jai Hind” and then  catch hold of his bicycle and push it through the sand. He would get relief and we would get enjoyment of holding and pushing a bicycle through sand.

After assembly, he would sit in his chair to take roll call. He would call two of us to press his legs from below the table.  He would get tired as he used to come from a village which was 5 Kms away.With our tiny hands-we would press  his legs. When we would slow down in pressing his legs-he would give a biscuit or a toffee as incentive. This would revive the strength of our tiny hands.

He was a matriculate and JBT. He taught us languages and Maths besides instilling strong social values in us. Till today, whatever I learnt in primary classes, is as fresh as it used to be then. He was really master of his job. He also used to give us corporal punishment which neither we nor our parents objected to.

I was the monitor of my class. Sometimes I was asked to check the sums of my class fellows. Those who did wrong – I was asked to slap them. One day a girl’s sum was wrong. She argued with me that that was correct. I narrated this to my teacher. He said instead of  one  give her two slaps. I did not apply full force in slapping her. This was watched by the teacher. He called me and said that I had forgotten how to slap. Then I was given a  MODEL SLAP which was heard by one and all in the school.I felt as if the sky had revolved like a whirlpool. Thereafter I always  was very  particular in slapping others. When I see present day Primary teachers-very few equal him in his status.

NOW, my village has undergone tremendous change. It has a bricked Primary School building with a huge playground (almost in 2 Acres),  a metaled road, water supply system, electricity, a few big farms, 10-12 tractors, and most of the houses are concrete ones. A couple of students have now done post graduation and one boy is doing M.Tech from IIT Chennai. 40 years ago there was hardly any post graduate.

There are huge farms on which orchards are growing now. Thousands of eucalyptus trees have been planted by farmers. Some people have also migrated and settled in foreign countries. The standard of living of people has gone up but the feeling of oneness, brotherhood and belongingness  has waned away.

Whenever I visit my village I long to meet old friends, see those old mango and peepal trees. I stare on the hill tops. I also visit my primary school which no more exists. Only peepal tree takes my attendance.