Village Information
Gulmohar Gaon was not marked on most maps. Nestled between sugarcane fields and the fading echoes of forgotten dynasties, it was a place where modernity arrived slowly, like a shy bride peeking from behind her veil. The village breathed in rhythms older than memory—of morning temple bells, oxen hooves on sun-baked mud, and the steady thrum of wooden chakkis grinding wheat before the world had even stirred.
The houses, built of cow-dung plaster and loyalty, stood close enough for secrets to travel but far enough for dreams to be buried unnoticed. Every corner of the village carried the weight of customs passed down through generations—some like warm shawls, others like heavy chains. Men held the reins of land and law, while women moved like quiet shadows, never too loud, never too seen. In Gulmohar, a girl’s virtue was guarded like grain in the monsoon—protected from storms, from outsiders… and especially from books.
Education, particularly for girls, was seen not as a blessing but a risk—an unpredictable thing that could give rise to questions, to choices, to flight. There was one primary school, where boys learned enough to count sacks and read election signs.
The girls, if lucky, studied until menstruation, then were taught recipes instead of arithmetic.
In Gulmohar Gaon, education was a luxury, not a priority—especially for girls.
The village, steeped in old traditions, believed a girl’s true duty was to learn household chores, not textbooks
Still, in hushed corners and under neem trees, there were whispers—of pages turning in secret, of chalk against mud walls, of futures imagined just beyond the boundary of what was allowed. Gulmohar Gaon was old, yes—but even the oldest trees sometimes hid new roots beneath the soil.
Most families struggled to make ends meet, so sending children to school—especially daughters—was seen as an unnecessary expense.
Why teach a girl to read when she’d be married off by sixteen? That was the question whispered across courtyards and shared between elders like an unquestioned truth.
Schools were far, teachers were few, and support even fewer. For boys, basic reading and math were enough to manage land or labor.
But for girls, education was often viewed as dangerous—something that might make them question customs, dream beyond boundaries, or worse, refuse a match arranged by their families.
So books were hidden, knowledge exchanged in whispers, and girls like Priya learned to read not with permission, but with quiet rebellion.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Comments