Once, our Village History Team visited Padmapur. Renowned playwright Shri Kesharanjan Pradhan suggested that we should meet the students of the Kanyashram (residential girls’ school) located in Padmapur. Following his advice, we visited the school along with Kesharanjan Sir in the month of December. That day, we met around 400 students of the Kanyashram and introduced them to the “Village history” programme. We were delighted to see the enthusiasm among the girls regarding this subject. Especially, the Head Master of the school and the Social Science teacher, Smt. Sabita Panda showed keen interest and extended their wholehearted support. However, the major challenge was that all the girls lived in the hostel. To write about their own villages, they had to wait until the summer vacation. Before the 2024 summer holidays, in the last week of April, Gopabandhu Sika (a member of our Village History Team) printed and handed over a hundred questionnaire papers to Sabita Madam. Priyanshi Seth is one of the students of this Kanyashram. At that time, she was studying in Class 8. During her summer vacation visit to her native village, she wrote the village history. Her village is Na Gaan (A), a small hamlet under the Nao Gaan Gram Panchayat in Agalpur Block of Balangir District. With just one visit and a brief orientation from our team, Priyanshi managed to write a biography of her village. But it wasn’t just Priyanshi; 83 students from Padmapur Kanyashram sent us handwritten biographies of their respective villages. – Editor (Swayamprava Parhi)
About Priyanshi Seth:
Priyanshi Seth is a young student historian from the village Naugaon (A), located in Agalpur Block of Balangir district, Odisha. Her father’s name is Markand Seth, and her mother is Santoshini Seth. The village falls under the Naugaon (A) Gram Panchayat, and is part of a region rich in local knowledge and lived memory. She belongs to a rural family rooted in the western part of Odisha, India, where every child’s voice carries stories worth listening to.
Our village is called Naugaan (A)
The name Na gaan (meaning “nine villages”) comes from the fact that once upon a time, our area was a cluster of nine well-organized settlements. Over time, these got divided, but the memory of that collective past still lives in the name. That is the story behind how our village got its name. We do not know the exact year when the village was established, but the oldest known residents belonged to the Brahmin and Kuiltā communities.
In my attempt to understand how the environment and climate of our village used to be in earlier times, I spoke to the elderly members of the community. According to them, the village was once lush with greenery and dense with trees. The air was clean, and the seasons followed a predictable rhythm, unlike the unpredictable climate we see today. Rains came on time, and seasonal changes were visible and balanced.
Many elderly villagers say they no longer feel at home in the village the way they once did. In their words, “too much has changed,” but the most visible change, as told by our mothers and aunts, is in the purity of water and air.
One of the oldest residents of our village is Smt. Mayawati Seth, an elder aunt who recalls her childhood with fond clarity. Back then, the village offered a healthy environment, where children played freely along the open village paths shaded by trees. The festivals celebrated in the earlier days included Phagun Puni, Koda Jatra, and Nuakhai. Today, the festivals observed are Raja Sankranti, Dhanu Yatra, and Nuakhai. The village now feels excessively hot, a clear sign of environmental change. She still remembers the taste of jamukoli (wild berries) and amba (mangoes) from those days, memories that stay sweet long after the fruit is gone.
Demographics and Daily Life
Our village has approximately 1,000 residents and around 700 households. The most elegant house belongs to the local landlord, who is a farmer. The smallest house belongs to my uncle, who is also a cultivator, living in our lane. The village hosts a mix of communities: Dhobas, Keutas, Brahmins, Kultas, and Mehers. Everyone here is living in harmony.
People celebrate festivals together, such as Anlanabami, Bhai Jiuntia, and Pua Jiuntia. Our village is known for its cloth and textile shops. We also have skilled artisans who practice weaving and painting. The village is home to three schools, three anganwadi centres, and one college-like institution. Each school has around 200 to 300 students. All children in the village attend school.
In the past, our water sources included rivers and wells. Now we rely on tube wells, ponds, and the remaining river. There are no nearby forests. Children, especially boys, play cricket and football on the village playground. Although there is a playground, the girls of the village rarely play there.
Changing Food, Vanishing Crops, and a Village in Transition
In the past, the people of our village cultivated millets like mandia (finger millet) and various types of paddy. Alongside these, they also grew seasonal vegetables and fruits, ladyfinger, watermelons, and more. But those days seem distant now. The production of these nutritious crops has sharply declined. Most of the food we consume now comes from outside. Paddy is still cultivated, but it dominates the fields, pushing aside the diversity of earlier food traditions.
Yet, some people continue to grow pulses like mung and biri, important sources of plant-based protein. Earlier, these too were cultivated widely, but one of the most nutritious grains, mandia, has all but disappeared from our fields.
Our grandparents speak of their simple yet wholesome diets, roasted millet cakes (poda pitha), rice from kudo (a type of small millet), and lentils made from harad. Today, these have been replaced by oily fried items like bara and singida, which appeal more to the young. During village festivals, dishes like kheer, arisa, rice, and amila are still prepared, especially during Nuakhai. The method of preparing food remains deeply rooted in tradition-boiling water in earthen pots before adding rice, or making pulses by boiling them with turmeric and finishing with a seasoning of mustard, garlic, and dry chillies.
But even food carries the stories of change.
Beneath the Surface: Migration, Illness, and Unanswered Questions
The village today is troubled by deeper issues. The rampant use of intoxicants has become a major problem. A large section of the population works in the fields, while many others migrate to cities like Raipur and even to distant states like Kerala as dadan (seasonal migrant) workers. Unemployment forces them to leave home. The youth, both boys and girls, have no choice but to seek work outside.
Diseases like diabetes are becoming common. People go to the doctor when unwell, and fortunately, we do have a local health centre in the village.
Fading Forests, Disappearing Homes
Earlier, our village had trees like mahul, barakoli, palash, ashwatha, banyan, jamukoli, and krushnachuda, among others, many of which had medicinal value. But the once-common mahul trees are no longer seen. The village animals like cows, goats, sheep, hens, ducks, buffaloes, and dogs, still remain a part of the ecosystem. But old village homes with chatiya (mud or thatched roofs) have disappeared.
I love my village. I love its festivals and community celebrations. But the frequent conflicts sadden me. I often wonder: why is there no opportunity for employment in the village itself, despite the fact that so many people know the pain of leaving for dadan work? Why does the government not ensure jobs in villages or even in Odisha at large? This question lingers in my heart.
After learning so much about my own village and reflecting on its stories and past, I believe every student, just like me, should have the opportunity to explore their village’s history, its cultural practices, and its food traditions. This knowledge is essential for preserving our identity and memory. In the future, I dream of opening a study centre in my village, only if none exists by then, so that other students don’t have to leave to study. I want students in other schools and villages to be given the same chance I got: to know their roots, to study their own soil. Because unless we truly understand the place we were born in, we can never build a meaningful future.
(Translated to English by ChatGPT)
Original Odia publication link: https://samadhwani.com/8937
