What
Is The State Doing
For Orphan Girls In Doda?
By Yoginder Sikand
20 September, 2006
Countercurrents.org
Ever
since the outbreak of militancy in Jammu and Kashmir, several thousand
children have been orphaned as a result of the ongoing conflict in the
region. The state has done little for these children, who have, by and
large, been left to their cruel fate. The plight of orphaned girls is,
obviously, even more precarious than that of boys.
Nari Niketan ('The Women's Home'), in Doda town, is the only state-funded
orphanage in the whole of Jammu's conflict-torn Doda district, which,
in terms of area, is larger than the whole of the Kashmir Valley or
of the remaining districts of the Jammu province combined. Established
in 1983, it was meant, as its name suggests, for destitute women but
it now houses 25 orphan girls. These girls have all lost their fathers,
although some of their mothers are still alive. The girls come from
miserably poor families from far-flung villages in the mountainous and
impoverished Doda district. The youngest of the girls studies in the
third standard, and around half a dozen of them are doing their matriculation.
The girls are all enrolled in government schools in Doda, and their
living and other expenses are taken care of by the Nari Niketan.
Located in a narrow, slushy
lane at one end of the town, the Nari Niketan has a sullen, depressing
look. There is no garden or playground, and the rooms inside are bare,
damp and dimly lit. The girls live in a large hall, and each of them
is provided with a bed and a steel trunk. This is where they sleep,
dine, play and study. The orphanage does not have a library and the
only provision for recreation that it possesses are a carom board and
some badminton rackets. The television has not been working for a year,
and complaints made to the concerned authorities have made no difference
at all.
The girls giggle and crowd
around us when we enter. They proudly display samples of intricate embroidery
and clothes they have stitched, which they have learnt to do from the
amiable Zahida Begum, the crafts teacher who is like a foster mother
to them. They excitedly tell us about their studies, but the heavy sadness
that they carry deep inside is painfully evident. They complain of fever
and rashes and the lack of amenities. They tell us that local people,
even women living in the neighbourhood, rarely, if ever, come to meet,
teach, play or just interact with them. 'Once or twice a year some people
send us food on festivals', a chirpy girl tells us. That, it appears,
is possibly the only interest that the denizens of Doda take in these
hapless children.
'Why should we expect the
government to do everything? Why cannot local people also help out?',
asks a staff member when we discuss the problems that the Nari Niketan
faces. The local press, she tells me, has not written anything about
the institution and the problems of the girls who reside therein. 'The
only time they do write about us is if and when a chance VIP pays us
a visit. That too they write about the visit, not about the problems
of the institution', she laments.
The girls at the Nari Niketan
come from different communities. They are Kashmiri Muslims, Hindus,
Dalits and Gujjars but this seems to matter not at all, for they all
seem friendly enough with each other. 'We all celebrate Eid and Diwali
together', says one girl, 'and religious differences are not a problem'.
The girls have their dreams
and ambitions for the future, which they excitedly share with us. Some
want to become teachers, others doctors, journalists and social workers.
They tell us of two girls from the institution who are now in the Jammu
and Kashmir Police and a dozen-odd girls who are now Anangawadi workers.
'Maybe we too can get good jobs like that', says a bright girl with
an endearing smile, and her friends nod in agreement.
'There are several hundred
girls in Doda district who have lost their fathers in the last fifteen
years of conflict in Doda, and to add to that is the number whose fathers
have died from other causes. So, clearly, our present in-take of just
25 girls for the whole of the district is pathetically low', says R,
who works with the District Social Welfare Department (DSWD), in Doda.
'We've been sending representations every year to the government that
the in-take of the Nari Niketan be increased to at least 50 and that
at least one such institution be established in every of the seven tehsil
headquarters in Doda district, including the newly-created Kishtwar
and Ramban districts, but our pleas have gone unanswered'. This owes
to bureaucratic indifference, and the apathy and misplaced priorities
of the government, R explains. 'The government says that it does not
have the funds for this. But the state is spending hundreds of crores
every year on the army and police, so isn't it its duty to allocate
at least a couple of lakhs every year for institutions for these children?',
he asks in anguish.
The Nari Niketan, R tells
me, receives more than a hundred applications each year, but every year
only 4-5 girls are given admission. That means, he explains, only a
little more than a hundred girls have benefited from the institution
since it was established over two decades ago. Less than half a dozen
girls in the Nari Niketan, R tells me, are victims of the ongoing armed
conflict in Doda, even though the total number of such girls is staggering.
The New Delhi-based National Foundation for Communal Harmony (NFCH),
he says, provides each of these children a sum of Rs. 750 per month.
Some 470-odd children in Doda in all receive this sum, which is, as
an official report of the District Social Welfare Officer of Doda explains,
the only government scheme for orphaned children in the district. 'There
are several hundred more children in Doda whose fathers have been killed
in the violence, but I have no idea what the state is doing for them',
R says.
The difficulty in accessing
these limited facilities is, R explains, compounded by the fact that
women whose husbands have been killed by militants or in cross-firing
between militants and the Army who want to avail of such forms of state
provision have to complete numerous complicated bureaucratic formalities,
which few of them are in a position to do. They have to procure a copy
of the First Information Report from the police station, an income certificate
from the tehsil or revenue authorities, a school certificate countersigned
by the Zila Educational Officer and so on, and then, R says, the NFCH
can turn down the requests on the basis of minor technical faults such
as unclear photocopies or unfilled columns in application forms.
The way its rules have been
framed makes the Nari Niketan less effective than it could be. Once
girls finish their matriculation they have to leave, thus making it
almost impossible for them to carry on with their education. Girls who
fail their examinations at any level cannot stay on.
A girl whom I met when I
visited the Nari Niketan had failed to clear some of her papers in her
matriculation examination. From an extremely poor family, both her parents
were shot dead by militants. 'I want to carry on with my studies, to
do something useful in life', she says' and the only way for me to do
so is to enroll in a government school in Doda town and stay on in the
Nari Niketan'. 'But' she says, 'the rules say I cannot stay here any
longer, so what can I do?'. 'I've thought of approaching the District
Collector to ask him, but he's a big man, so maybe I be I won't be allowed
to meet him', she whispers in anguish.
The staff at the Nari Niketan
seem dedicated enough and concerned about the children under their care.
The major problem is bureaucratic inertia, lack of imagination and neglect.
Why, I asked a man I befriended at the DSWD office, is it that the Nari
Niketan does not have any even something as basic as books for the children.
'Lack of funds', he answered.
'But', I responded, 'surely
a cupboard with a couple of dozen children's books would hardly cost
more than a thousand rupees'.
'We are constructing a second
floor this year, which will have space for a dining hall, a room for
relatives visiting the girl and for a library', he replied.
But, why, I pressed on, is
it that for the last twenty-three years that the Nari Niketan has been
in existence the authorities had not thought of installing a little
cupboard with books, newspapers and games for the children. To which
the well-meaning man simply shrugged his shoulders and said, 'What can
I tell you, brother? You know how government departments function'.
The man went on to tell me
about how all of the seven posts for social workers for the seven tehsils
of the erstwhile Doda district have been lying vacant for several years,
an indication, he says, of 'governmental apathy'. The DSWD, he said,
provides grants-in-aid to just one NGO in the entire district, a school
run by a Buddhist in Paddar in Kishtwar. The reasons: there are hardly
any sincere NGOs here, most of the existing ones being money-making
rackets; lack of awareness of government schemes; and the fact that
most organizations working in the field of education and health in the
district are run on a commercial basis. There are several people in
Doda district, he tells me, who have done their graduation or post-graduation
in social work, but almost none of them has set up a social work organization.
'Most of them have done their degrees simply to get a government job',
he rues.
'Yes, the governmental authorities
are to blame for doing almost nothing for orphans here', he says, 'but',
he quickly adds, 'civil society organizations, too, are doing little.
Such children seem not to matter at all to the powers-that-be'.