By Neel Kumar, Grade IX, Vice Head Boy, Laurels International School
When India became independent in 1947, Himachal Pradesh was a land of breathtaking mountains and quiet valleys, but its people faced a challenge that was even bigger than the steepest cliffs—illiteracy. At that time, only about 7% of the population could read and write. In other words, out of every hundred people, only seven could pick up a newspaper, sign their names, or read a simple letter. For a society, this meant limited opportunities, poor awareness, and slow development.
Today, Himachal Pradesh presents a completely different picture. With a literacy rate of 93%, it proudly stands among the most educated states of India. This remarkable transformation did not happen overnight. It was the result of vision, commitment, and the collective will of both the government and the people.
Inside the “Cave-School” Story: Shastriji’s Unseen Classroom
In the rugged Sainj Valley, nestled within the Great Himalayan National Park, lies a tiny hamlet called Shakti—around 20 clustered homes, tucked away from roads and routine. In October 2016, Avay Shukla, a retired IAS officer turned environmentalist and trekkers’ chronicler, journeyed there on a foot inspection. What he discovered was a story so simple and so rare, it felt almost like folklore—but it was real.
Shukla arrived in the evening, weary from a 22 km trek. By the firelight, a man in modest kurta-pyjama and a woolen vest appeared. He introduced himself as the primary school teacher of Shakti—and offered freshly cooked siddhus, a regional delicacy, to the group. The next morning, he led them to his “school.” There was no brick wall, no roof—only a cave, half a kilometre from the village and perched 200 metres above a river. Inside, a simple curtain separated the “classroom” from the teacher’s living area. Under the dim light, about ten children sat on a ledge, studying with eagerness and trust. Hill Post
The teacher, respectfully called “Shastriji”, had been posted to Shakti under a policy that promised a school whenever there were at least twenty school-age children in a cluster. Yet, upon arrival, there was no building—even no roof to shelter them. The villagers, wary and distant, refused to let him use a home. But Shastriji was undeterred. “I WILL teach them,” he told himself. And teach he did—from a cave, in all seasons, for years—until a proper school building could be sanctioned.
On returning to Shimla, Avay Shukla informed the Education Minister about this cave-school tucked away in his own constituency. The result was swift: a proper school was built. Shastriji stayed until the new building was ready—and then quietly requested a transfer. His mission was done.
About the Author Behind the Account
Avay Shukla—the author of the cave-school account—is a retired IAS officer (Indian Administrative Service), who stepped down in December 2010. Beyond his administrative career, he’s known as a passionate environmentalist and trekker, deeply familiar with Himachal’s wild heart and its hidden stories. He’s published a book on high-altitude trekking in the Himachal Himalayas and various collections of stories and commentaries, reflecting his love for the region and his sharp, observant mind.
Credits : Hill Post, Oct 10. 2016
One of the first steps was making education accessible to every child. The rugged terrain and scattered villages made it difficult for children to walk long distances to school. Recognising this, the government worked steadily to set up schools even in the remotest areas. The guiding thought was simple yet powerful: “If the child cannot reach the school, the school must reach the child.” This approach slowly began to break the barriers of geography.
Equally important was the role of the local communities. Villagers often came together to donate land, labour, and resources for building schools. Education was not seen as someone else’s responsibility; it became a shared mission. When people invest their sweat and spirit into something, they naturally value and protect it more.
Another turning point came with the focus on female education. For generations, women had been left behind, but Himachal understood that if you educate a girl, you educate a family. Once mothers became literate, they ensured their children were not left behind. The ripple effect of this decision is clearly visible in the state’s social progress today.
We must also not forget the teachers of Himachal Pradesh, many of whom worked in extremely difficult conditions—trekking through forests, crossing streams, or living in faraway villages. For them, teaching was not just a job; it was a mission. Their dedication gave hope to thousands of children who might otherwise have been denied a future.
The story of Himachal Pradesh is a shining reminder that geography is not destiny. A mountainous state with scattered villages and harsh winters could have easily given excuses for why education was impossible. Instead, it chose determination over despair, effort over excuses, and vision over obstacles.
As a student, I find this journey deeply inspiring. It tells us that progress is always possible, no matter how small our beginning may be. If Himachal Pradesh can climb from 7% literacy to 93%, then each of us can also rise from where we are today to where we dream to be—through learning, persistence, and hope.