School incharge’s inspiring lessons

Last month, we, as a group of two couples, went on a three-day trip to the Jim Corbett National Park in Uttarakhand. We were disappointed to learn that the jungle safari remains closed during the monsoon season.

Left with no option, we chalked out an alternative plan of long excursions along the village roads and tracks, streams and rivulets and enjoying the beauty of nature. On the second afternoon, as we were trudging along a village track through the jungle, we met a middle-aged man with a backpack and an umbrella. He was followed by a group of three ladies, who were also carrying backpacks. He greeted us with a broad smile and introduced himself as a school teacher in the village about 3 km inside the jungle.

The ladies were his colleagues and addressed him as Joshiji. He was in charge of a middle school in the forest settlement. All four were returning home after the school hours.

We decided to walk back to the road along with them. We soon realised that Joshiji had a remarkable passion and understanding of the various forest and wildlife legislations, apart from the rights of forest-dwellers. He rued the lackadaisical and improper implementation of these regulations and diluting of provisions. “Is it very difficult to identify as to who is a forest-dweller and who is not?” he resented.

“How big is your school?” I tried to change

the topic.

“It is a small school. We used to have 140 students, but now we are left with only 80. Since there is a restriction on recruitment in forest jobs, the population of our settlement is dwindling owing to migration of the jobless to the big cities, and we are losing students,” he said.

“How long have you been teaching in this school?” my friend asked Joshiji.

“I just completed 11 years in this school.” Joshiji offered his umbrella to us as it started drizzling.

“For 11 years, you have been you walking up and down on this treacherous path?” I was astonished.

“No sir, it is much better now. A road has come up; earlier, we used to walk 5 km one way, now it is only 3 km,” he said.

Joshiji can easily seek a transfer closer home, but he refuses to leave this remote school as he fears the government will close his school and merge it with another one 3 km away. Small children in the wildlife-infested forest, he feels, cannot be put to such a risk. “I have only five years’ service left, so let me try to save my school till my retirement,” he said.

Joshiji’s resolve belied any bitterness.

It was still drizzling when their mini-bus arrived. Joshiji, along with his colleagues, quickly boarded it. As the mini-bus sped away on the winding narrow forest road, I could sense the spirit of a tiger in Joshiji, protecting his wards in the forest settlement and school.

Where was the need to go on a jungle safari when I had sighted the tiger!