The treasure trail at Sangla

Himmat S Dhillon

ONE of the many things that were way ahead of its time at Sanawar was the immense learning that took place on our sylvan campus in natural surroundings. Nature was our unstated curriculum and the great outdoors our syllabus. Truly, it taught us lessons for life. And, of course, we had an array of stalwarts whose very presence was a life lesson. Shomie Das was one such legend.

One of the events in the calendar was hikes and camps. The students would travel with their tutors to the pristine, unspoilt interiors, and even to the remote, high-altitude wilds of Himachal Pradesh. This took place in early April, when the severity of winter was replaced by a cool breeze that preceded the summer. Indeed, this was one of those pillars of the Sanawar experience that everyone seemed to take for granted, until one left the school.

We would go out into the wild as a group with our tutor. So, here we were clambering onto a bus at first light. As the first cold light of dawn broke, we found ourselves amidst a host of seniors, and not just any senior, these were the prefects and led by none other than the formidable Shomie Das, our Headmaster. Truth be told, the Headmaster’s group was most kind. Apparently, our tutor had requested to let us ride along and the large-hearted gentleman had acquiesced.

We reached the Sangla forest rest house late in the evening and our group was billeted in an outhouse. The next morning, we discovered that the HM’s group had left for their next destination at the crack of dawn. That meant that we lesser mortals could move in and occupy the rest house. It was a grand old building, embodying the best facets of colonial architecture. Most of us had never seen such a large expanse of space at our tender age, let alone had the luxury to occupy such an expansive lodging. Like excited little ferrets, we made a foray into every room, and in one enclosed verandah, we happened to chance upon some cartons, and being curious, we proceeded to rummage through them. Lo and behold, not all were empty. In one carton we came across a treasure — cans of tinned fish in tomato sauce and, thereafter, every meal became a feast fit for a king.

It was a blissful time spent exploring streams, quaint villages, hiking up hills and trekking to forts and temples. Alas, even before we had comprehended the treasures that were laid out before us, it was time to head back to civilisation and school. When we reached back, we were filled with a sense of trepidation centring on the tins we had stumbled upon. However, the denouement could not have been better—our HM maintained a stoic silence and there was no inquisition. In fact, there was no mention of the windfall at all. I guess what happens in Sangla, stays in Sangla.