Are we really getting the education? A day at Kanya ashram

The kanya ashram

“An ancient Sanskrit saying says, woman is the home and the home is the basis of society. It is as we build our homes that we can build our country. If the home is inadequate, either inadequate in material goods and necessities or inadequate in the sort of friendly, loving atmosphere that every child needs to grow and develop; then that country cannot have harmony and no country which does not have harmony can grow in any direction at all” these are the words from one of our eminent women leader late Mrs. Indira Gandhi addressed in her speech ‘What educated women can do’ at the Golden Jubilee Celebrations Of The Indra prastha College For Women New Delhi, India November 23, 1974. Its 65 years now since India has got its independence, if we look back into women achievements there are women who are now coming up in flying colors in businesses, academics, politics, media etc, women have created there space in society now, having an identity not only at home but also outside the home. But the general question is how far the marginalized group has able to reach the main stream of the society? By marginalized I mean the tribal women group here. The women in tribal society are less literate to reach to the chord of the main stream today, whereas it is less hassle for urban women. This is because she is avail with well equipped resources & massive awareness where gates are open for her to fly & get her an identity. The tribal women are less oriented & lack of resources to reach to the level where she should have been today. I was illusioned by this thought when I saw the ‘Kanya Ashram’ at Gonasika G.P of Keonjhar district. Gonasika G.P is tribal dominated vicinity where ITDA (Integrated Tribal Development Agency) does most of the developmental activities. One of the contemporary initiatives by the ITDA is the preface of Kanya ashram (a residential school for girl child) in Juang Primitive tribal areas.

I was fortunate to visit the Kanya ashram on one of my field visit. The moment we reached there, the entire place was appearing muted. It must be the rain drizzle which was obstructing the children to enjoy the huge play ground in front of the school premises says my conscious mind. As we walked through the school premises large crowd ran towards me. I was stunned by seeing the small girls running towards me to touch the feet. The more I wanted to stop them all they were all seems to be in competition to touch my feet. Was it a way to welcome us? I asked the Juang special development officer, yes madam says the head master of the school. The officer was sitting in a room (a very Bureaucracy manner!!) having two people standing next him, carrying the attendance file & other project related files. He appears to be patronizing in character talking in a very admonishment & horrified manner to the people there. The scene went on for nearly 5-6min till he realized that some visitors are waiting to talk to him. ‘Yes sir how can I help’ says the Juang special development officer to us. As the conversation went further on issues related to forest right & the development in juang pidha, he gave a very sarcastic remark about the Juang tribes ‘no matter how much we make them educate & create development, they will remain addicted to alcohol’ says the officer raising his eyebrow. I was not much convinced to such kind of statement about the Juangs, because to me the development & education programs are not implemented in correct procedure by the JDA for the empowerment of the Juangs. As we walked through the class rooms, I saw a dark room containing 15-20 children sitting three each on the bunk-bed, children half bend & the teacher teaching them. This was something unusual to me I felt so uncomfortable seeing the children studying in such atmosphere. All most all the room was appearing dark having no current and some girls were seen taking rest. When we walk towards the toilet area there were 4-5 toilets having no water facilities. ‘The children here are too stubborn, they don’t listine to us & try to run away from the school when they get angry’ says the care taker. I was not surprise to the care taker reply because I could see the sign of distress on children faces staying away from their community. Our visit to the ashram was coming to the end, when we were about to leave; the children came to wish us back. I felt there is a vacuum in the residential school, with lack of lively & friendly upbringing. While coming back the cheerless faces of the small girls were trying to tell me ‘Ohh stranger take us along with you, so that we could able to enjoy the fresh air, the wet mud, & the rain outside, Ohh Stanger listen to our suffocation inside the dark room & the cemented walls, make us free to breath, take us to our village, yes  the village where we have the hut, manda ghar, grama debi, pet animals, we miss our family & the shouting neighbors.’

The way the children were kept in the residential school was not appreciable; my heart was pondering why the school is situated far from their own community? Why they have to live in this manner? What will be the future of these girls? Will they be able to get good education in such circumstances? 

We don't need more..

A day at Jamungarh village, Simlipal

It was mid afternoon when four vehicles full with people from Jashipur town smartly dress, bag full with files & camera ,reached the green lane of Jamunagarh village in Simlipal core area, Mayurbhanj. Kids with locally made flower/orchids bouquet & cheer full face welcomed us. The place looked all the more green and stunningly beautiful than my last visit. Women, kids and old men are ready to express themselves to us. The green branches, fresh air, the maize field were busy singing their daily songs & try saying something in my ear. My bewilder mind was trying to figure it out what is that I keep getting attracted to the place & the people living here? My heart was half empty listening to the people plight, which was not many “all that we want little peace give us our right in our ancestral place, we do not want to leave our father & mother buried deep under the ground here” says the voices…

The old women gleefully took me around to demonstrate her beautiful kitchen garden, maize field, the tall Sal trees, which were waiting to serve us food on its green leafs. The smell of cooked lentils, mash potato & mushroom curry made me mesmerized. Come sit here madam! says the old men with a very warm voice serving me hand full of warm cooked rice, lentils, mushroom curry, and mash potato all collected from forest & cultivated in their land. With pinch of salt, half cut onion, lemon & green chili... towards the end while finishing the food all I could hear one voice 'WE DON’T NEED MORE….'

This mountain is our home..

“Aie Dongor ta amor ghar”

(This mountain is our home)

It was day light in the month of July five people in a car left from Kenojhar town went towards ‘Juang Pidha’ the homeland of Juang Primitive tribes of Odisha. The hilly tracks were shining with the fresh rain drops. The entire district could be visible from the road, the view was breathtakingly beautiful. The green mountain appears to be like a crown jotted with diamond & gems, green trees all over, while the natural stream quenches the thirst of the soil. I could able to connect my soul with the nature which was so refreshing & limpidness in itself. As the wheel rolled by we reached the lonely lane called ‘Juang Pidha’. A cluster of 5-4 villages coming in one region traditionally termed as Pidha by the Juangs.

The lane was pucca road with few houses in distance, the car stopped next to the sacred tree calledgrama debi in the middle of a village. Voices of people could be heard from little distance, saying welcome to our Guptaganga village says the Sardar (headman) of the Pidha. It was the community hall sometime treated as sacred place during festival time of the village, where 4-5 people were sitting close to the fire burning perpetually in the middle. The room appeared to be spacious, well kept traditional musical instruments made up of deer skins. The instruments were hanged on the wild animal horns attached to the wall of the hall. The instruments were looking reasonably old and unclean; the drums were appearing as though they are ready to play their traditional music. The room was dark and the people were looking less active due to constant rain and cold. About two people came forward to talk to us they called us to sit inside the community hall. As I sat along with them they offered me a handmade wooden stool. It was like as though I was one of them dressed little differently, spoke different language migrated from a different community. The room itself was depicting many folk tales about their life. The utensils lay on the floor, the ropes for daily usage and the hunting & gathering weapons gave me the impression it had many hidden stories embedded in it.

As the time passed by, men folks who appeared to be of age between 60-70 years old communicating in Junag language which was interpreted frequently by the key informant (Bihra bhai). The old men came with traditional cigar in her mouth, fagging with smoke, narrated about their god and goddess, number of Pidha, the type of jungle, forest produces they rely upon, the stream, the mountain that was in use since childhood. I was deeply touched seeing them getting nostalgic, lost in their old memory, as though they were in their youth again and enjoying their freedom to access their own place. The memory captured the mind of the old people where they used to live like king inside the forest where no forest officer to punish them, no one to restrict them to use their own forest produces. Voices came from the group “ame agaru bhal re thilu sakrar asiki amaku alga kari dayechi” the infest of the mining crusher & restricting the Juang from their customary rights on forest are like violating their human rights. The expressions of the people as though they are living like birds caged inside the closed room with no freedom. The hall remained quite towards the end speechless & soundless, but there was silence remark on each one’s wrinkled faces & gloomy eyes. It was trying to convey me a message that ‘aie dongar ta amor ghar, amor janam bhumi’ (this mountain is our home, this is our mother land) …