CHASOTI (KISHTWAR): The poem began with a warning, a child’s voice — high-pitched, but intense — carrying through the govt-run Chasoti Middle School . The video, recorded hours before the flood, shows Suman Devi, 11, rehearsing ‘Dharti’ on Aug 14 for the Independence Day event — something that didn’t happen. Among the 14 villagers swept away was Arundhati Singh, 11, who studied in Kishtwar and stayed home rather than join school preparations. As the village prepares to observe ‘tehravi’ for their dead on Tuesday, the school’s four teachers and 50 students have resolved to resume classes the day after.
In the 32-second video, Suman speaks about floods that remade lives in Mandi, Dharali, Kedarnath and Katra, her finger pointed, as if addressing not just her peers but the mountain. “Hey manav, sudhar ja, iss laalach ko chhod de; dharti maa ko samaj, prakriti se rishta jod de.” (O human, mend your ways. Cast off this greed. Honour Mother Earth and restore your bond with nature.)
Her cadence rises: “Warna ye prakriti nahin ruk payegi, aur tu jhulas jaayega. Vilukt hote prajati ki hai lagegi.” (Or nature will not stop; you will be scorched. The curse of the vanishing species will descend, again and again upon you.) And then the final one, unblinking: “Phir tera number aayega. Tu bhi vilukt ho jaayega.” (Then it will be your turn. You, too, will vanish.)
The morning of Aug 14 had been ordinary. Children were preparing for Independence Day skits — one group staging Operation Sindoor, others playing freedom fighters and soldiers. Bhagat Singh, British officers, soldiers, terrorists moved on cue, while Suman prepared her poem.
Chasoti Middle School, 15 metres from the torrent’s path, has remained standing. Inside, everyone survived. That survival owed itself to timing. As it was a long break for Independence Day, Janmashtami and Rakshabandhan, children from Chasoti who study in other towns had returned home and were also called in to help prepare for the event. Arundhati was the only one who did not come.
Every family in Chasoti was bereaved — a sibling gone, a grandparent lost, an aunt cremated, cousin missing. Each of the school’s four teachers carries grief. Hukam Chand Rathore, 45, the head teacher who wrote ‘Dharti’, had been in the courtyard when the flood struck; he lost his younger brother, sister-in-law and niece. Deva Ram, 52, mourns two sisters. Pavitra Singh, 31, lost an uncle. “Sometimes I think about those 15 metres,” said Rajendra Singh, 33, a teacher who lost his mother. He pressed his palms together as if measuring the distance. “That’s all it was. A few steps. But if the school still stands, then so must we. If we don’t gather again, the silence will break them.”
In the evenings, the teachers sit on the cracked steps of the schoolhouse, planning how to reopen as its rooms remain occupied by rescue teams. Around them, the noise of 25 earthmovers has quietened as the day’s rescue work winds down, no longer interrupting conversation. Boots stacked in corners; supplies against walls. The timetable rewritten on scrap paper. “If there are no benches, we will sit on the ground,” Rathore told TOI. “If the building’s not cleared, we’ll use a courtyard. If that’s not safe, we’ll sit in someone’s home... even under a tree. What matters is that the children hear each other again.”
The children, too, have begun speaking of little else. Anmol Singh, 11, kept his books close. “I want to study. I don’t want to waste this second chance,” he said. Makkhan Singh, 14, asked teachers if they could start early, even without uniforms or blackboards. His classmate Rashi Devi said she wanted to revise her lessons before school reopens. Bhawna Devi, 13, has returned each day to the edge of the school compound, waiting to learn again.
In the 32-second video, Suman speaks about floods that remade lives in Mandi, Dharali, Kedarnath and Katra, her finger pointed, as if addressing not just her peers but the mountain. “Hey manav, sudhar ja, iss laalach ko chhod de; dharti maa ko samaj, prakriti se rishta jod de.” (O human, mend your ways. Cast off this greed. Honour Mother Earth and restore your bond with nature.)
Her cadence rises: “Warna ye prakriti nahin ruk payegi, aur tu jhulas jaayega. Vilukt hote prajati ki hai lagegi.” (Or nature will not stop; you will be scorched. The curse of the vanishing species will descend, again and again upon you.) And then the final one, unblinking: “Phir tera number aayega. Tu bhi vilukt ho jaayega.” (Then it will be your turn. You, too, will vanish.)
The morning of Aug 14 had been ordinary. Children were preparing for Independence Day skits — one group staging Operation Sindoor, others playing freedom fighters and soldiers. Bhagat Singh, British officers, soldiers, terrorists moved on cue, while Suman prepared her poem.
Chasoti Middle School, 15 metres from the torrent’s path, has remained standing. Inside, everyone survived. That survival owed itself to timing. As it was a long break for Independence Day, Janmashtami and Rakshabandhan, children from Chasoti who study in other towns had returned home and were also called in to help prepare for the event. Arundhati was the only one who did not come.
Every family in Chasoti was bereaved — a sibling gone, a grandparent lost, an aunt cremated, cousin missing. Each of the school’s four teachers carries grief. Hukam Chand Rathore, 45, the head teacher who wrote ‘Dharti’, had been in the courtyard when the flood struck; he lost his younger brother, sister-in-law and niece. Deva Ram, 52, mourns two sisters. Pavitra Singh, 31, lost an uncle. “Sometimes I think about those 15 metres,” said Rajendra Singh, 33, a teacher who lost his mother. He pressed his palms together as if measuring the distance. “That’s all it was. A few steps. But if the school still stands, then so must we. If we don’t gather again, the silence will break them.”
In the evenings, the teachers sit on the cracked steps of the schoolhouse, planning how to reopen as its rooms remain occupied by rescue teams. Around them, the noise of 25 earthmovers has quietened as the day’s rescue work winds down, no longer interrupting conversation. Boots stacked in corners; supplies against walls. The timetable rewritten on scrap paper. “If there are no benches, we will sit on the ground,” Rathore told TOI. “If the building’s not cleared, we’ll use a courtyard. If that’s not safe, we’ll sit in someone’s home... even under a tree. What matters is that the children hear each other again.”
The children, too, have begun speaking of little else. Anmol Singh, 11, kept his books close. “I want to study. I don’t want to waste this second chance,” he said. Makkhan Singh, 14, asked teachers if they could start early, even without uniforms or blackboards. His classmate Rashi Devi said she wanted to revise her lessons before school reopens. Bhawna Devi, 13, has returned each day to the edge of the school compound, waiting to learn again.
You may also like
Whitley Bay funfair incident: Young man dies after suffering head injuries on ride
Jack Draper makes US Open prediction after narrowly avoiding 'very serious' setback
Jack Draper 'blown away' after receiving exciting offer before US Open
Tory councils to fight 'incompetent' Labour with migrant hotels legal action
Punjab News: Akali MP Harsimrat Kaur Badal Urges EAM S Jaishankar To Intervene As US Freezes Work Visas Of Punjabi Truck Drivers
