Saturday, December 18, 2010

Lesson From Bihar

                  Tihar this year found my family in reunion. My brother had just returned from the US after studying and living there for four years. We were all in Mahottari to celebrate the festival of lights and the Chhath festival too, which was approaching soon. My parents made plans to visit our relatives in Bihar, whom we hadn’t seen for a long time due to our busy schedules. We decided to do the needful and hired an Indian jeep to make the big trip.

Bihar sprung back to my mind from childhood days—I remembered its poverty and backward mindset. Girls were never encouraged to go to school. I used to feel sorry for my cousins who were growing up there.

The jeep arrived at our door the next morning and we started early from Jaleshwor. Upon arriving at the Bhitthamod border, we took an entry pass for the road that would take us to our relatives’ village.

As soon as we crossed the border, we began to feel a big difference. Our bottoms were sore from travelling on the Nepali roads with their endless potholes and uneven surface. The Indian side, however, had us seated undisturbed—their roads were tarred neat and we were hardly even budged. The last time I remember travelling on this road, I had a hard time figuring out the road from the potholes. We would be rattled so hard that our heads would hit the roof of the car. Journeys were nightmarish during the monsoons, when ponds would flood roads, and the village would turn into a big grey pool.

My present journey, however, was going quite well on this newly tarred road and I found the answer to my surprise on roadside propaganda: “Pradhan Mantri Gram Sadak Yojana” (Prime Minister Rural Road Scheme), a signboard said. We stopped for some refreshments and my father asked a person at the tea stall about this new phenomenon. He replied proudly in Maithili, “Aab Bihar ke Halat Pahile jika nahai. Sarkar bahut bikash ka rahal hai (Bihar is no longer like what it was before. The state government has done a lot for its development).”

We resumed our journey and stopped at a village named Pirokhar—the maiden home of my aunt. The place was serene and its cool mango orchards felt heavenly to a city person like me. Buses passed by, unshaken by potholes and my maternal uncle shared how easy life had become after the road project—it had made things convenient for locals to take their agricultural produce to the market.

More tarring of the roads was going on at some points and our jeep slowed down to witness these small steps that had transformed the road to Bihar. I found myself envying Biharis for this facility. A few years ago, I used to tease my relatives there about their poor infrastructure and the corruption that ran deep in their state. But it seemed to me that we had swapped spots this time—I was the one to be made fun of! I dreaded meeting my cousins now and thought it best to keep the truth about Nepali roads to myself.

With these thoughts, fuel ran out and the car came to a halt. We had to wait until the driver got a gallon of petrol from a nearby depot. Meanwhile, school girls in uniforms passed by and looked at us inquisitively. Elderly people and cattle grazers carried pride in their countenance. The sun shone brightly and I thought I saw contentment in their eyes. It certainly was true that when one’s state is developed, citizens live in dignity regardless of income. After paying short visits to three more relatives at different points, we finally reached a town called Pupree. At a railway crossing, I found myself gaping at the train that passed by. It was very well-managed and luxurious compared with our Janakpur-Jaynagar railway which goes off the track several times a day putting hundreds of lives in peril, while during the monsoons, rainwater drips from the ceiling.

We reached Behera around 1 a.m. and had a sumptuous Mithila meal prepared by my aunt. My uncle said that the Bihar government gave every female student a stipend of IRs. 2,000 to buy a bicycle for easy access to school. Books and uniform were free of cost, too. “Even Dalit girls are going to school now,” he added. My uncle’s narration made me marvel at Bihar’s progress. From being dogmatic about girls’ education, this state had gone on to include the Dalits too.

We had to return home by late evening, and could not stay there for too long. Our last stop was at a village called Sahajauli, where my mother’s elder sister lived. It was getting dark by the time we reached there, but the road was good. It took us an hour and a half to come back to the Nepali border and I couldn’t help but have mixed feelings at the point of crossing over—I was happy to meet my relatives after so many years, but my visit to Bihar this autumn blew me over with the transformation it had undergone. Bihar was almost at the point of no return in terms of governance a few years ago, and now it has surprised everyone. If this state can change from being one of the worst in India to an exemplary one, can’t our country do the same?

BY: Prasun Singh