Articles
A Journey to a Catholic School
Opinion | Articles | John S. Shilshi | 15-Apr-2021
I was not born in a Christian family, but in a pagan family that believed in animistic and the supernatural gods. My father was a Thimpu, in Lamkang dialect, which loosely means a pagan priest. Lamkang Khunthak, the village where I was born being a small village tugged away in a far flung corner of Vomku Sub- Division of the erstwhile Central district, Christian foot print, including that of the early Baptists, never found this little Hamlet. It was only in the early sixties that Catholic missionaries made foray into Lamkang Khunthak and other neighboring villages. Hence, when I was finally taken in to the Catholic fold and baptized, I was already in my prime six/seven years, capable of running around in the jungle that surrounded my picturesque village.
The first Catholic priest I saw in life was Rev. Fr. Joseph Mattam, the bearded soft speaking missionary, who is still strong and kicking. His visit to my village was like the Pentecostal Holy spirit dawning. It came with Parish – appointed local teacher who taught us how to read and write - classes held in the same shed which was used as a Church. Years after his visit, Rev. Fr. K.C. George came to my village and as kids, we were completely perplexed and confused because we thought all (fathers) were supposed to have long beards as Fr. Mattam had. Even as we tried to unravel this mystery nagging our minds by questioning our teacher, who we were given to understand got employed for a monthly salary of Rs. 20/-, Fr. K.C. had already made up his mind about some of us and he was bent upon on seeing us land in the newly established St. Joseph’s School in Sugnu.
Thus in 1966, one of my cousin made it to the St. Joseph’s, and another cousin and I were left out because our parents were unable to mobilize the meager admission fee of Rs. 120/-. Rev. Fr. K.C. George was disappointed because we couldn’t make it, but in those days there was no quick means of communication, therefore he communicated to our parents after a good six months gap, telling them that the following year he would like to see us in Sugnu School, come what may. He had also conveyed to my Dad that he would exempt my fees provided the initial requirements of admission fee and expenditure for purchasing uniforms etc. were met. This probably motivated my father further and a firm decision was taken that I should be sent to St. Joseph’s the following year, and in preparation sold one of his buffaloes.
The following year (1967), both I and Kh. Behon also went to St. Joseph’s School boarding, joining our cousin, Kh. Besui, who went a year earlier. The road to the Sugnu boarding school was a long one for us. We had to walk from Lamkang Khunthak to Pallel, the last point from where one could catches a passenger bus in those days. The sent off from our village was so memorable, with every member in the village shouting wishes for safe journey in Lamkang. The walk to Pallel weren’t easy because we had to lend helping hand to our parents in carrying our beddings and trunks on our heads, though with assistance from our elder cousins who had also travelled with us.
In that first journey to St. Joseph’s School, both of us developed serious blisters above our heels while walking till Pallel, because it was the first time ever we wore proper Canvass shoes and shocks. By the time we reached Kakching Bazar escorted by our parents, it looked as if our world had completely changed. We felt elated and were oozing with confidence, not knowing that a tough life awaited us at the St. Joseph’s boarding School. We both fished out 25 paise each from our pockets and bought ourselves some edibles in celebration. They were the same stuffs we often consumed in the village whenever some Meitei Imas (Mothers) came to sell, but on that day they seemed to have tasted better – may be because both of us were in extremely positive mood.
Finally it was time to catch the bus to Sugnu, and our mothers stayed back after bidding us tearful farewell, while our Daddies accompanied us right up to Sugnu. The new world began when it was time for the two elder men to leave us. We felt morose and lonely, as we suddenly realized that our life in the village was now a thing of the past. We therefore started missing every bit of our village lives. The more we thought about them, the more it became poignantly tormenting. So, after our fathers left us following long session of exhortations with litanies of dos and don’ts, we moved into a blind corner where no one could see us and started to weep inconsolably. Our sobbing session ended only after I cried out loud enough, and he being the elder of the two of us, had to console me for fear of being heard by others!
With boys coming from all over Manipur, the boarding was jam packed and there weren’t enough space as the new dormitory building was still under construction. In the space available, coats were placed at palm’s length from one another, some from same villages even sharing beds. With the boarding Prefect and the Monitor so strict on maintaining silence, we could not even wake up our snoring bedfellows to stop them from disturbing. In this milieu of all these scampering for space, three senior boys were seen roll their beddings and moving out every night. On quiet enquiry, we were told that they normally go to Fr. K.C. George’s room to sleep while Father slept sitting on his chair in the office. That was the level of space constrains and resultant unparalleled sacrifice made by the priest. With completion of the new dormitory, conditions improved and space was no longer an issue.
Life in St. Joseph’s boarding and School began bit by bit – slowly but systematically. The daily routines were so well set, starting with the wake up bell, subsequent freshening up, followed by the morning Church service/Mass, then to study and the morning meal. This was followed by a reluctant sauntering to the Class rooms. Besides the classes, the days were packed with different activities till we had the dinner, night prayers and retire to bed. For all practical purposes, St Joseph’s boarding was a place of actual formation in life. The boarders were taught to handle various activities and trades that made them independent person. We were taught how to farm, rear different types of animals, fishery, poultry, mechanical works, house-keeping so on and so forth and in the process many became experts in these areas at a very young age.
English was naturally the lingua franca, while speaking in any other language was a strict no! So most boarders who had newly joined were like dumbs, restricting themselves to signs and gestures. The brothers designed a unique system of catching people talking in language other than English. They told us that “your best friend could be reporting about you, so you better report when your friends break the rule to save yourself”. So for fear of being reported, everybody started speaking in English no matter how incorrect grammatically, and that helped us picked up the language faster. I remembered, one of my Anal friend telling me, “today in the football field, I was little more to kick you” What he actually meant to convey was that he almost kicked me in the football field that day. Anyway, the intended message was conveyed, and most importantly, it was understood.
The feasts of the Patron saint, Saint Joseph, were big occasions. A pig from own piggery farm was invariably slaughtered for the burra khanna, therefore everyone looked up to the calendar for the big day. On such occasions, the bigger boys (not by class but by size) were much envied lots because they invariably form part of the butchering, cutting and cooking squad. We really didn’t know whether they enjoy that extra edge we suspected – the opportunity to manipulate some extra meat while cooking. But we would always presume they did and envied them no end. In many ways, the stint at the St. Joseph’s Boarding School was the defining moments of our lives. Apart from the formal education, everyone walked out fully equipped to face challenges ahead. Unfortunately, at that time, the School had classes only up to standard VIII. Therefore, despite the longing to continue in this amazing Amla Mater, students were compelled to move out and look for other Schools.
(The Author is a retired IPS officer, and the Editor of NECARF Review. The stories narrated are his own)
Leave a comment
