Making of a road in my village

Written by my father, Shri Prem Chand Singla, at the age of 77 on 10th August 2024, while reminiscing about his childhood days. I think the content has come out as a beautiful story of a progressing India wherein the common man of a village in India, stepped up and worked hard for the upliftment of his community. His story touched my heart and I believe, it has the right ingredients to make it to many other hearts. Thus, I am publishing it on my blog and wish it reaches the hands of those kindred spirits who find solace in the echoes of the past and cherish the memories that shape our present

 

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The Road to Thikriwala: A Path to Progress 

When I look back on my childhood in Thikriwala, I remember it as a time when life was simple, and the world was no bigger than the fields that stretched out in every direction. It was the mid-1950s, and India was finding its footing as a new nation. We’d listen to Pandit Nehru’s speeches on the old radio, crackling with static, about how India was marching towards progress. It all sounded very grand, but to us, progress was a concept as distant as the moon. That is, until the day we decided that Thikriwala needed a proper road. 

Now, Thikriwala was a village that thrived on routine. The men tilled the fields, the women managed the households, and we boys—well, we got into trouble more often than not. There were three of us: me, Prem, the one with all the bright ideas (most of which were questionable); Gauri, my best friend, who was as sharp as they come and always had my back; and Maggar Singh, the tallest of us all, with a grin that made you wonder what he was plotting. Together, we were an unstoppable force, or at least we liked to think so. 

Our village was a picturesque place, with mud-brick houses that huddled together like gossiping old ladies, and fields of wheat and sugarcane that seemed to go on forever. But there was one thing that Thikriwala lacked—a decent road. The path to Barnala, our nearest town, was nothing more than a dusty trail that turned into a river of mud every monsoon. Many a time, I’d seen bullock carts stuck in the mire, the drivers cursing their luck and the village in equal measure. 

 The idea of building a road wasn’t exactly new, but it wasn’t until Sarpanch Heera Singh Bhattal got wind of Nehruji’s vision for a modern India that things started to change. Heera Singh was the kind of man who looked like he’d been carved out of the very earth he tilled—tall, strong, and with a beard that seemed to have its own personality. He gathered the entire village one day and, with a voice that could make mountains tremble, declared, “Brothers, sisters, it is time Thikriwala stepped into the future. We need a road to Barnala!”

There was a collective gasp from the villagers. A road? To Barnala? It was like suggesting that the village should have its own cinema hall. But Heera Singh was persuasive, and he painted a picture of a future where our village was connected to the world, where farmers could sell their crops in the markets, and where the children—like me, Gauri, and Maggar—could actually make it to school on time instead of arriving with shoes full of mud.

I was hooked. “We have to be a part of this!” I whispered to Gauri and Maggar as the crowd buzzed with excitement. Gauri, always the sensible one, raised an eyebrow. “Prem, you do realize they won’t let us anywhere near the shovels, right?” Maggar, who was already imagining himself as the hero of the village, scoffed. “Who needs shovels when we’ve got brains? We’ll find a way.” 

And find a way we did. The next morning, as the men of the village gathered with their tools, ready to start the monumental task of building a road, we were ready with our plan. If we couldn’t dig, we’d do the next best thing—keep the workers fed and watered. It might not have been as glamorous as wielding a shovel, but it was just as important. Plus, it gave us the perfect excuse to be in the thick of the action. We set up our own little operation on the sidelines. Gauri, being the one with the sharpest mind, organized everything down to the last detail. Maggar was in charge of carrying the heavy stuff (which he enjoyed way too much), and I, of course, was the self-appointed leader of the whole affair.

 We brought trays of steaming tea, plates piled high with rotis, and earthen pots filled with lassi. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like the sight of a burly villager, wiping the sweat off his brow, and then smiling like a child when you hand him a cold lassi. 

 One day, as we were serving tea to Heera Singh, he looked down at us with that twinkle in his eye that always made me a little nervous. “So, what are you three rascals up to?” he asked, taking a long sip from the cup I handed him. I puffed out my chest, trying to look important. “We’re helping, Sarpanch ji! This road is going to change everything for us. We’ll be able to go to Barnala whenever we want!” Gauri, never one to let me hog the spotlight, chimed in, “And our parents won’t have to worry so much. They’ll be able to sell their crops, and we’ll all be better off.” Maggar, who couldn’t resist adding his two cents, grinned and said, “And who knows, maybe we’ll get to see Nehruji himself one day, driving on our road!” Heera Singh chuckled, a deep, hearty laugh that made me feel like I’d just won a prize. “You boys have the right spirit,” he said. “But remember, it’s not just the road that matters—it’s the fact that we’re building it together. That’s what’s going to take us forward.” I nodded sagely, pretending to understand the full depth of his words. But honestly, all I could think about was how great it was going to be to ride my bicycle on a smooth road, without worrying about hitting a bump and flying over the handlebars—something that had happened more times than I cared to admit. 

 The road-building was tough work, but it was also the most exciting thing that had ever happened in Thikriwala. The men dug and leveled the ground, while we boys ran around, delivering tea, fetching tools, and occasionally “supervising” the work, as we liked to call it. Gauri even managed to convince one of the older workers to let us try our hand at laying a few stones. It was backbreaking work, and by the end of the day, I had a newfound respect for the men who did this day in and day out. But I also had a newfound appreciation for a good cup of lassi. 

 As the weeks went by, the road started to take shape. It was a slow process, but every day, we could see the progress. The path that had once been a treacherous trail was now becoming something real, something solid. And with each stone that was laid, we felt a little more connected to the world beyond our village. Finally, the day came when the road was complete. It wasn’t just a road to Barnala—it was a lifeline, a symbol of everything we’d worked for. The entire village gathered to celebrate, and for once, the air was filled with laughter and not just the sound of hammers and spades. We boys ran up and down the new road, our feet flying over the smooth surface, no longer worrying about tripping over rocks or getting stuck in the mud. 

 Heera Singh stood before us all, his eyes shining with pride. “Today, we have taken a step towards the future,” he said. “This road will bring us closer to Barnala, but it will also bring us closer to each other. We’ve built something together, something that will stand the test of time.” The villagers cheered, and even though I was just a kid, I felt like I was part of something big, something important. Gauri, Maggar, and I had done our part, small as it was, and that road was as much ours as it was anyone else’s. 

 As the sun set that evening, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we sat on the side of our new road, sharing stories and dreams. Gauri and Maggar were already talking about the trips we’d take to Barnala, the adventures we’d have. I just smiled, knowing that whatever the future held, we’d face it together. Looking back now, I realize that road was more than just a path to Barnala—it was the start of a journey for all of us. It connected us to the world, but it also taught us the value of hard work, of community, and of dreaming big. 

Even though I’ve traveled far since those days, a part of me is still that boy, running down that road with my friends, full of hope and excitement for the future. Thikriwala might be a small village, but it’s a place where big dreams were born. And that road? It’s still there, a reminder of the day we decided to step into the future, one stone at a time.