The drive is picture perfect, the smooth tarred road curving between the gentle Indus River on one side and the stark brown mountains dotted with apricot trees laden with scrumptious fruit on the other. It brings life to the term "heaven on earth". With the occasional sight of cheerful faces on the roadside, it is easy to envisage a perfect life in this distant region of Kargil in Ladakh, close to the international border.
A closer look and it doesn't take long for the pretty illusion to fade away. Life is harsh for the inhabitants of this region, far beyond the urban imagination can stretch.
Seventy five kilometres from Kargil town lies Garkhone village, blessed with abundant beauty. Be it the awe striking beauty of the 'pure' Aryan descendents who live in this tiny pocket of the cold desert of Ladakh, the vibrant culture and folklore, or the plentiful production of apricots and walnuts, nowhere is the blissful essence of Kargil more evident than in the valley of Garkhone.
However, despite the glory and progress Kargil has basked in the last few years, the peripheral villages have virtually received no share of it. Garkhone village, with its straggling state of basic services, is one of the many examples.
After the war of 1999, Kargil, with its newly donned image as the war zone, assumed one of the topmost positions on the government's strategic To-Do'' list. Social welfare schemes and policies filtered through the State and Centre's machinery into this little town, decision makers became more magnanimous towards its extra vigilant people; councils were set up with the mandate of improving the quality of life of the people. All of which left no reasons for the people of Kargil to complain.
And while the entire town busied itself to delight in its social makeover, villages like Garkhone were, and continue to remain, abandoned in its pre-war era.
Kargil town and the nearby villages have several schools from primary to higher secondary classes and a Government college too that has led to an improvement on the educational front. Garkhone, on the other hand, still struggles over the scarce number of teachers they are assigned. On top of that is the utterly delinquent conduct of the appointed teachers who are often more likely to be spotted outside the village than inside their classrooms.
The zeal of the children of these villages can be gauged from the fact that students of all ages from a village called Yaldodah walk 15 miles everyday to attend school in Garkhone as their own village is bereft of even the primary level facilities.
Making things even more difficult is the exceedingly erratic public transport system. With no public transport facilities these villagers have to completely rely on either private vehicles or the army. The inconsistent transport infrastructure serves as a huge stumbling block not only for education but for health emergencies as well.
Pregnant women and regular patients have to endure hours of uncomfortable road travel to see a doctor as the health centres in these villages remain either closed or do not have adequate facilities to offer treatment. Child and women welfare programmes have proved to be dismally ineffective.
Anganwadi and other health workers appointed through blatant nepotism are completely unperturbed by the plight of their fellow villagers. Anganwadi workers are consistently absent from their duties, neglecting even the most basic task of pre schooling and women and child care.
The midday meals granted by the government are never dispatched to the beneficiaries, with no accountability whatsoever. "There is no pressure from the higher authorities," reiterates Mishkin Tsering, a recently appointed counsellor who has earlier served as the sarpanch of his village, Garkhone.
Tsering has, on several occasions, complained to the Hill Council: only to be reciprocated with severe criticism. He fiercely condemns the nonchalant attitude of the government and also that of the people themselves as he recounts the everyday ordeal his people have to undergo.
Consequently, a majority of the villagers blame appointed members like Tsering for the unfortunate state of development as they are excluded from the schemes and policies they are entitled to receive. They claim to have sought help from the visiting officials but have never been rendered any assistance. For years they have been given nothing but lip service. "Ministers and tourists come watch our children sing and dance and go back," rues sixty-three year old Tashi Palmo from Darchik village, barely five kilometres from Garkhone. Palmo has been striving to get her entitlement (widow/old age pension) from the social welfare department for the last five years.
Despite being sanctioned umpteen grants, the tribe, particularly women and children in these villages, for most part remain forsaken. The Charkha Development Communication Network feels that for the plenitude of rich culture and pulsating folklores it owns, this culturally significant tribe is deprived of much of the basic facilities. Much still needs to be done. (ANI)
(This article has been generated as a part of Sanjoy Ghose Media Fellowship and the views expressed are that of the author Gizala Shabnam)
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