Sprouts of Hope: Building John Martin Memorial School

Have you ever seen a silkworm? If you have, that is great; it will help you understand my point more quickly. But even if you haven't, don't worry; you'll still grasp the essence of what I'm saying.

Life's significance doesn't lie in the span of time, contrary to what many people think. Rather, it is found in the richness of experiences that envelop our existence, much like silk encases a silkworm. In this analogy, the silkworm itself, destined to be discarded, is of little importance. It is the silk—the experiences that weave around our lives—that holds actual worth. Engaging deeply with these experiences, incorporating them into our conscious and subconscious minds, and deciphering the lessons they impart is an intricate art. This process is vital as it cultivates wisdom, which is then passed down through generations, animating cultures across the globe.

Let me share an incident. The story is old, but its essence is timeless.

The Doon School decided to support a small school in Purkul village, Dehradun, under the 'John Martin Trust.' At that time, I was the master-in-charge of 'Gramya-Vikas' or 'Village Development,' so I would visit Purkul with the students twice a week. There, we helped construct the school building, which was slowly taking shape, and sometimes taught classes in a small tent while waiting for permanent rooms. Construction continued for months, but progress was painfully sluggish - as slow as molasses in January. We grew weary of the incomplete, desolate school. It felt like it would never be built, and we were wasting our time and effort. When hope fades, enthusiasm dies with it, and we felt just that.

It might have been the last week of April or the first week of May 1992. One day, while biking towards 'John Martin School,' I saw some people diligently cutting dry sticks into small pegs and burying them in the ground in the hot afternoon. Bundles of barbed wire lay nearby. Upon inquiry, I learned that someone had bought the land and was fencing it. Dry wooden pegs were being driven around the plot that had turned brown from the heat.

A student walking along remarked, "Sir, it would be great if work progressed as quickly at our 'John Martin School.' Our work has stalled. Nothing is happening." He smiled sadly. As usual, we returned in the evening, finishing our tasks, and the matter was soon forgotten.

The holidays arrived in June. All the students went home, and I went on a school-organised mountaineering expedition to Stok Kangri and Gulep Kangri.

Two months passed without me realising it. As the time to return to school approached, Dehradun had been drenched in heavy rains. The earth was fully satiated, and a bright green cloak covered the entire Doon Valley. Creepers had grown all over, and the footpaths were red with fallen rotten leeches. Meeting everyone at school was a joy, especially seeing the boys with rosy cheeks and fuller bodies. Some had suddenly grown taller, while others had a soft moustache line above their lips. The unintentional change in some voices was noticeable. It felt good to be back.

In subsequent days, I met everyone involved in 'Rural Development.' When we discussed visiting John Martin School, the students were hesitant. They were frustrated and doubtful about the school's progress. Some wanted to leave 'Rural Development' and join another activity. After much persuasion, they agreed to visit Purkul the following Wednesday.

Coincidentally, just before reaching the school, we found ourselves at the very spot where hands had driven dry wooden stakes into the ground months earlier to set up a wire fence. Suddenly, it began to rain heavily, and we took shelter under a large tree at the edge of the land fenced using the stanchions. The rain of Bhadon came down fiercely, only to stop just as abruptly. As we prepared to continue, a boy's excited scream broke the silence. His voice was a symphony of surprise, disbelief, joy, and speechlessness—a chime of life echoing the fountain of hope. I turned to see him pointing at one of the half-buried wooden pegs. Amazingly, two shoots had sprouted from its upper part. This once lifeless stump was now transforming into a green, living tree. Indeed, the flow of life is unstoppable, always finding a way, even in the most unexpected places. Here, too, life had taken its course. 

The entire group gathered around those two shoots, captivated by the sight. Silence enveloped us, yet it felt as though an unspoken message resonated deeply within each heart. It was as if a profound new meaning of life had suddenly revealed itself. Smiles began forming on everyone's lips, radiating a sense of renewed hope. The sun, now peeking through the orange evening clouds, seemed to echo our newfound optimism. Buoyed by this extraordinary scene, we eagerly made our way to John Martin School, each step lighter with the belief that the first permanent room would soon stand tall.

- Arvindanabha Shukla