March 9, 1998

Desperate for an education, 23 children from a remote tribal village journey 66 km to complain about their crumbling school

By Smruti Koppikar

Pandurang Lahare had a dream. Not to become a doctor, not an engineer, not even a bada saab (top official). In his tribal world, where the matriculation rate is less than 3 per cent, children have a simple ideal: to be "tenth pass". For Pandurang -- a Class VII student whose whole world was Rayate, a remote tribal village in Maharashtra's Nashik district -- there was only one path to his field of dreams: the village ashramshala, a government-run residential school for tribal children.

But a school it wasn't. For days together, teachers failed to turn up; the principal was mostly conspicuous by his absence; there was no drinking water for the children and food served to them had plenty of stones and worms but little rice. "Things were so bad in the ashramshala that we had to do something," says Meera Rautmale, a Class VII student of the school.

On February 13, Meera and 22 other adivasi children, who had never ventured beyond the 10 km radius of their home and school in the district's Peth taluka, decided it was time to chase their dreams. So, they set out on foot to meet the bada saab in Nashik, nearly 66 km away. Their journey over hills and dales and jungles created history of sorts -- and shook the state administration right up to Mantralaya in Mumbai.

The band of enterprising 10-to-13-year-olds travelled three days and nights to find their way to the tribal development office in the heart of Nashik city, where they met A.N. Chandratre, tribal project officer. "For the whole year, we haven't had a teacher," complains Pandurang. Adds Hira Bhoye of Class V, the youngest of the protesters: "We can't study on our own and if we don't pass, we won't be able to get into higher classes." Most students didn't get their set of two uniforms last June, and they complained that the chowkidar -- now suspended -- would beat them for flimsy reasons. The journey began with perfect timing -- their teachers were away on election duty -- and just Rs 70 between them; no spare clothes, food or even drinking water.

Pandurang and Meera, who emerged as leaders of this unlikely group, say they didn't even know where Nashik was. All they knew was that the bada saabs were based there. "We had heard of Nashik; we thought we would reach it by the evening," laughs Jai Maule, who was instrumental in mobilising the girls. "We sang along the way, we told each other stories, held hands and simply kept walking," she says.

And so they walked, for over 10 hours, in the blistering heat, across the hills and through the sparse forest. For food, they had tamarind fruit and berries that they plucked along the way. As night fell, ("It was biting cold, and the noises made by wild animals scared us") they slept off their weariness under a tree. The next day, they continued the trek till they reached Kone village, nearly 26 km from Rayate.

Fortune seems to have favoured these brave kids throughout. At Kone, one of the girls found a relative who gave them food and shelter for the night, and the next morning a van driver agreed to drop them further up -- for a price. "We gave him Rs 50, our pocket money saved over years," says Meera. At Girnare village, they chanced upon someone who employed them for the day on daily wages and then packed them off for the night to a zilla parishad school. Distant Nashik now seemed nearer. They boarded a state transport bus and by the fourth morning, reached the city and the bada saab's office. "It was such a strange sight. I've seen many protests, but this was most unusual," says a shocked Chandratre. He gave them a patient hearing, lunch and packed them home in an official van.

The Rayate ashramshala with 251 students is, in many ways, typical of the 410 such schools in the state. Set up exclusively to teach and feed tribal children, most of the ashramshalas are poorly run and have inadequate resources. Difficult terrain, inhospitable living conditions, isolation from the mainstream -- all compound administrative apathy. S.L. More, principal of the Rayate ashramshala, was nowhere to be seen for weeks last year and B.C. Shirsat, appointed four months ago to succeed More, hadn't shown up for duty till the children drew everybody's attention to the village. "I have health problems and my wife is a polio victim. We can't stay in a place like this," says Shirsat. On paper, the ashramshala has eight teachers, but two posts have been vacant for some time now and those on the rolls often don't show up for work.

Rayate is among the most inaccessible tribal areas in Nashik district. There is no regular bus -- one bus leaves Nashik every two or three days and after jolting along a kuccha road for 45 km, the passengers have to trek the remaining 20-25 km. At the best of times, it is an arduous task. During the monsoon, Rayate is virtually cut off from the rest of the state by the rivers and streams in spate. There are no bridges that can withstand the rising waters, so the odd public distribution outlet remains mostly closed, or if open, doesn't have any grain stocks. And at the primary health centre, there are neither doctors nor medicines. It's not as if the district administration was unaware of these problems, but the children's gutsy mission has suddenly drawn attention to forgotten issues.

That the teenagers conveniently found such cooperative people along the way, who didn't report them to the school or police, has led at least some people to believe that their mission was pre-planned and had the backing of some influential persons. Village elders still cannot stomach the fact that the 10-and 12-year-olds could have organised the march entirely on their own. "Some of our leaders want the ashramshala shifted 4 km away. They must have helped them," says Sakharam Bhavar, former panchayat samiti member. The teenagers however resist all pressure -- even the toughest official scrutiny -- to talk about the plan. Meanwhile, tribal development officials and school inspectors have suspended the chowkidar, inspected the stocks and ensured that all teachers are there. "But the terrain makes it difficult, almost impossible, for us to keep regular vigil," says R.B. Kulkarni, additional tribal commissioner. The administration has only one inspector to oversee 120 schools in the region. In the given conditions, a committed principal can make all the difference to a school, say officials.

The ashramshala at Devargaon, about 40 km from Rayate, is one such school. Here too, there aren't enough rooms or water and stocks arrive late. But the school's 300 students are largely satisfied. "It's a question of managing well within what we have," says Pushpa Bhoye, acting principal. Two of her students won the state-level tribal scholarships last year. Naturally, they can't comprehend why their colleagues from Rayate did what they did.

But for Meera and Pandurang and their friends, the long march has paid off. Unknowingly, they've made the authorities sit up. Suddenly, there's a flurry of activity in the department; ashramshalas can't be ignored or pushed down the priority list any longer. The kids from Rayate have ensured at least that much.

Write to us | Subscriptions

© Living Media India Ltd