Naseer Ahmad Khan
Assistant Professor and Head,
Department of English
GDC ChrariSharief
What should be the accurate title that would better describe the place and school children we met? I wish I could hit the head of a nail and get a suitable for my write-up. It was journey to the school amidst woods and wilds of Yousmarg. It was on a murky sunny day. The sun was like the lamp seen through a certain thickness of an oily paper. First came Frantz Fanon and his famous epithets ” The wretched of the Earth”. The work describes the b humanizing effect of Colonization on socio political and cultural structures of a society and the evolution of social movements. – it is like a metaphoric phrase for suppressed communities who are deprived human essence and derogated to a level of an object. In specific context, it related to the people of Algeria who bore the brunt of Colonization. The other title, that hit my mind while visiting this place and these children was the Children of a lesser God — the title from a play by Mark Harwad Madof, who, wrote the same for dumb heroine figuring as a star actress for the audience that had the sense of hearing intact. Henceforth, the term is used for lesser privileged children or people gagged by communication barrier or non-visibility of culture or identity. Then came to my mind, the title of this piece —The Children of Nature- the title is reminiscent of a romantic Icelandic film figuring Their, a retired farmer and Stella his childhood love. The old man in his fallen age turns towards his daughter and son-in-law but gets fed up and retires back to meet her love in wilds of ice land. It is film about love, nostalgia, melancholy and choice…. Choice to die in peace. I stuck to this title because of its suggestiveness and familiarity, as well as, the correlation it draws between nature and children.
Let me first build a context for you. It was an extension activity in our neighborhood. Acting upon the role as premier institution of higher education and in view of the social responsibilities and the debt we owe towards the downtrodden destitute, we were on , one of our reach out NSS programs under the banner “Daan Utsav”. Our college has the privilege of a benign lady at helm of affairs, who has a heart and space for such extension and activism. And she does it with the gladness of heart that encourages us to act more independently and vigorously. It was a group of NSS unit of Model Degree College Charer-i-Shrief along a bunch of faculty members who were the part of this party carrying some stationary for distribution and yummy fresh burgers to be distributed among such remote children. We had heard about them from the local sources that they definitely deserved an attention because they lived extreme financial struggle. We were happier having chosen this place – a village called Nagbal at the far end of the famous town chari- Shrief.
The journey to this place comes with abundance recompense ( as Wordsworth would put it) and with more serene blessings that open up the eye of the mind and acts as a food to soul. We too were moving with this feeling in the plentitude of nature. We were greatly rewarded by bucolic scenery as we trekked through the serpentine cuts on a brown weird road in landscape of deep gorges and fading green pines under the hazy sunlight. Autumn appeals to my heart more than any other season for many a things. It appeals to me for the order it brings post-harvest – a feeling for joy for reward and contempt towards after putting in so much labor. The dry fields with a stunt maize was like a picture painting more than words that the hard work here had gone begging, because a dry spell has prevailed over the hope of reaping the benefits of harvest. Nonetheless, autumn appeals. It appeals for ripeness- the mellowness and stillness of things. It strikes the alarm bell for a battering winter that would shortly lay open the snares and nets of sluggishness. It strikes, because of, the fire in the leaves of chinar and yellowness around the vegetable world… It moves us for its paleness and stillness that reflects the emptiness of heart allured by the mountain heap of hope. One of the fascinating feel is the felling of leaves as natural as their coming like the coming and going of humans. The road cuts through the mountains. The evergreen alpine climbing on the slanting slopes claim to been the prime ancestors. The road is fissured. The dust accumulates alongside the trees. The leaves smell of dust. Yousmarg, as one of local labor said, is the forgotten valley. It fetches a little attention, probably, because it has exhausted human steps. The road is not well maintained p. At places, the trees are hanging like doors on broken hinges. In a matter of time, they will fell . One of the mighty pines is denuded and eroded and looks like a lamb whose throat bears open the jugular veins. Who would care for these felling trees and fading forests in an age of anthropocentric capitalism and corporate tourism? It took us some fifty minutes to reach to the Government High School Nagbal. The school has been upgraded but were the infrastructure and student facilities upgraded too? Let’s see .
They stood before us in utmost reverence – the school children bemused by the possibility we were bringing to the them; exporting their dreams and bringing to them the possibility of their fulfillment. One of the boys, sits knee crossed, in the quietness that was compelling-‘ The normalized quiet of unseen power ‘, as Edward Said would put it. He appears different from others yet many a ways one among them. His clothes are neatly arranged, a creamy white shirt under mouse- skinned slippers. His pants touch the ankles unlike many of his like, whom, it looks have purchased the uniforms a few years ago and battling with poverty wear it beyond school hours. They have a discipline – a type of natural disciplines learnt from the elements of nature. How ill tamed our children look before them? The private school culture looks flat before them. The Children of corporate schools, who are exposed to things beyond their age. I heard out a mother, worried about how his kid was running crazy after brands.. a vicious type of overexposure, the big private schools give, a sense of elitisms, a feeling of being Uber rich, a fondness for the luxurious cars and spicy foods…one of my fast friend grumbles against my holding back my kids and admitting them in of the local schools instead of moving to city and getting them the top class education in an advanced updated technocratic school where children get a great exposure. He quotes the demand of his four year daughter… Mam has asked for Italian Pizza! How much advancing happens in such posh schools and you like an old plodder and naive chum, your children can learn all these things in Bandipora; such a ill-suited place to keep kids competitive in an age of artificial intelligence? His logic is not absolute rubbish but reflects a genuine fornication for future ahead. I know, he is right in his own place but I have different woes! I don’t want my children to be overgrown and loss much of that innocence.
Coming to this place and watching children of an impoverished community putting up such a composure albeit the want of material properties have a lesson for such children who live and grow as strangers to nature. They hope offer hope to my children. How to keep things simple and natural and learn from the laws of nature. They learn from the motion of nature. The seasons educate them about fluctuations. The autumn reminds them of labor and reward. The winter makes them to batter their heart when chill settles in. They learn rhythm from sweeping breeze. They have a fondness for roots and grass that is getting alarmingly lesser under the barrage of barracks and prefabricated huts. They are the victim of tourism and marketing. All push under their nose to a catastrophic effect. Around them , small magnates flourish their business at the cost of their locality. They are the ones who are bringing coke, rap and pop to the places known for milky water, verdure meadow and saintly solitude… They are under the fire of mercenary opportunism . And the places they traditionally inherited like the massive fir, Spruce, yew, kail . they are what Rob Nixon calls “strangers in an echo village”.
These children are so innocent and don’t foresee the design behind these roads, macdams and machinery. They are on the moon when the people from cities and towns come to them. They trust them whosoever, comes to them because nature has taught them to be steadfast in faith and never betray the heart that love it( Wordsworth) since they are the children of nature. Their eyes truly reflect their heart and they don’t wear it under the sleeves. They think, we bring visibility to them , a sense of privilege when we make a reach out to them. These little children walked in a file with an amazing level of self restraint and discipline… Nature is that genial spirit that effects there motion and modifies the behavior. They sat on the uneven ground that looked to have been chopped off the greenery by sheep. Around them was serenity and blessings of fresh autumn breeze and expansion of faint green forests – the mystery of woods and tapestry of nature. The trees have a great symmetry like the friends in a group snap arranged in the order of heights. The symmetry in the nature ricochet in the housing structure on the slopes- plain one storied houses and an occasional goat bleating. What strikes heart is amazing similarity and simplicity both in structures and these little children implying ” no man is a poor here because no man is rich here’ . What an ideal Fabian distribution of wealth and probably of health or physique too. When I asked one of teachers( who was introducing his school children; a man who according to him has an MPhil degree from Kashmir University and takes pride in being a part of this community (sic)) about the weak physique of these school children? Poverty, he said but promptly withdrew his remark as if his tongue has made a Freudian slip. At the drop of a hat, he added…’ no sir, they are not weak.. they look skinny yet they are agile and can walk a long distance. They can run the whole mountain slope. Yes, they will astonish you by their out of box thinking. They don’t consume fat but roots , wild vegetables and occasional meat. “. While he saying it, my eyes stumbled to behold one of little boys . He was definitely weak, an unfed child, tidy enough but broken , his expressions reflecting a profound somberness, his moods wanting playfulness of children in his age, his boot stripped at many spots, his shirt hanging on his skeletal, a skeletal sans muscles, his shoulders almost invisible, his facial expressions agonizing, his hair mowed like the grass around the ground he was sitting, his ear raised like a lamb caught in the pack of wild dogs, his ear bigger or looking bigger in a square face that lacked any traces of happiness . I placated him, placed my hand on his head asked him his name, he didn’t not answer but looked up like a fawn who had lost his clan. ” Manual labor, he used to be. My father before he broke his leg as he slipped from a rock said Iqra while piling up a log- a girl in the eighth class but apparently looking to be a student of fourth class. I was shocked by the brevity of expression as if she had all the grief’s in a single breath
‘Come here sir, you will be pleased to Converse this one . He has a knack of asking scientific questions..O , yes.. Trying to retune me back from the shock and the misery of the siblings. The teacher took me to another boy, brighter in prospects- a young boy in third primary, better built with a shade of faint golden complexion. His eyes like green marbles , his forehead raised and he seemed to be in a thought process.” He is a real gem if polished well” said the teacher beaming out enthusiasm. Just talk to him , and him too , he pointed towards the next to him. “They make us feel our earth is fertile’, interrupted another senior teacher, who patted the back of this boy. I felt odd because the other children watched this special favor and attention. However, this boy was a precious too. So I asked,” what you aspire to be? ” A scientist, he said crisply and the next one besides him said…I want to read and read.” We decided we have a library in the college and labs in department. Why we can’t invite these children there? Hearing it from us, the boys put up a sad reflection. Between their lips I could imagine a sardonic laughter, promises broke here like twigs to the winter snow.
We provided them the burgers . They kept the food in reverence and waited in patience. It was more astonishing. There quietness was amazing and powerful. They didn’t fell ravishingly on it- a better restraint and control on huger in sharp contrast to our college going students noisily fell to any refreshment. When we asked the headmaster about the immediate problems the school faces, he preferred not to waste his breath, knowing well we had no mandate to ask such questions and even if he would unveil his bosom, we had no remedy for him. I guessed the reason behind his hesitation. I said, if you tell us we are going to write a story.
” Does writing bring any change? Do people who matter read?”
” I don’t know. But I can write because there is no option. May be some philanthropist will read and react”.
” Write then, we had the problem of staff. The shortage of space and furniture we can manage. But can your philanthropist send us the staff?” Six posts are vacant including a games teacher.
” A games teacher, chanted children excited over the games teacher. Do send us a games teacher.
Gusted by their hope and the limits of position, I felt I was like a monkey player who was showing an un-rhythmic performance with no clue of what I was up to. Caught between expectations and our inability to deliver, I thought it is time to move away from these wonderful kids because they would wrongly perceive things. I immediately wanted to leave so I pointed to my friends – ‘ let’s leave. Our stay is increasing expectations. Let’s wrap up here! .
In a while, we were moving away from them. We need to be careful, not to break their expectations . We will permanent adopt this school… We shall move the proposal?
Days after this visit, I wrote this piece for any philanthropist public representative that if he or she is on some noble mission to such a like Yousmarg… Just at the entrance gate is the high school of village Nagbal while he/ she can serve a more deserving community of school children who shall reward his / her gesture with abundant gratitude. This school deserves a special attention because weaker and voiceless people invest their dreams here and their credits must not go blank in a welfare democracy. Their need is greater than mine, their rights more sacred and their desires are too humble to be ignored. Meeting and talking to them is a great discovery how there is a bond between the human heart and nature. Not only the people who depend on nature are threat but so is the nature under the explosion of polyethylene, plastic and axe of corporate tourism – that wants a heavy footfall irrespective of if the ground can hold on?
