Ashok Sharma
ashoksharma23may@gmail.com
Long before printed books, mobile screens and formal classrooms entered the lives of Dogra children, wisdom travelled naturally from one generation to another through the spoken word. Knowledge was not confined to pages; it lived in voices, gestures and shared moments. Among the most engaging and intellectually nourishing forms of this oral tradition were Dogra riddles, locally known as pahelis, falonian or bujhaartan. These riddles were far more than simple word games. They were instruments of learning, entertainment, moral instruction and social bonding, deeply woven into the cultural fabric of Duggar.
In Dogra homes, especially in villages spread across Duggar riddles were once an inseparable part of everyday life. Winter evenings, when elders sat around the chulha warming their hands or summer nights under open skies, often echoed with playful questions posed to curious children. A grandmother would ask a riddle, children would guess eagerly, argue animatedly, laugh at wrong answers and finally rejoice at the correct one. In this seemingly simple exchange, logic, observation, imagination and language skills were quietly sharpened.
These riddles draw deeply from rural life and natural surroundings. Objects used daily-earthen lamps, hand-mills, sickles, cattle sheds, rivers, fire, shadows, shoes, vegetables and crops-become the raw material of poetic puzzles. This rootedness in lived experience makes Dogra riddles immediately relatable and intellectually stimulating. They train young minds to observe their environment carefully and to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.
For instance, the riddle ‘Nikki aari kudi, gaj pranda leyi turi’ (needle and thread) personifies a tiny girl walking with a long braid, beautifully capturing the image of a needle pulling thread behind it. The simplicity of language conceals a sharp visual metaphor, encouraging children to connect words with images. Similarly, the riddle ‘Nikka jiya kaka, gharre da rakha’ (lock) presents a small child as the protector of the house, subtly teaching the importance of security and the usefulness of seemingly insignificant objects.
Some riddles go a step further, gently introducing abstract thinking. The evocative line ‘Do talayian shambu shayian, pani ae par peena nayin’ (eyes) likens eyes to two ponds full of water that cannot be drunk. Such imagery not only delights children but also expand their ability to understand metaphor and symbolism-skills essential for higher thinking and literary appreciation.
Unlike many modern puzzles that rely on complex wordplay or external knowledge, Dogra riddles are simple in language yet profound in thought. Their beauty lies in metaphor and personification. Everyday objects are personified as heads, feet, shoes, vegetables and even emotions. Consider the riddle ‘Ma pattli puttar chott, nayein chonda te punjhaan sott’ (vine of pumpkin), which vividly describes the thin vine carrying a heavy fruit. In just a few words, children learn about balance in nature and the wonders of growth.The riddle ‘Olni molni, buye agein kholni (shoes) describes footwear that is opened outside the house, reflecting local customs and daily habits. Another, ‘Hari dandi sabaz dana, lod pawe mangi khana’ (ajwain), highlights the medicinal use of ajwain during stomach pain, subtly passing on traditional health wisdom. Through such riddles, practical knowledge is transmitted alongside poetic expression.
Domestic activities too find a lively place in riddles. ‘Kala ghora chitti swari, ek utriya duye di tiyari’ (tawa and roti) paints a vivid picture of rotis being cooked one after another on a black tawa. The riddle ‘Niliya talliya til badhe, dinein guache raatin labbe'(stars) encourages children to visualise the night sky, noticing how stars disappear by day and reappear at night. Such riddles nurture curiosity about nature and cosmic rhythms.
Beyond intellectual development, Dogra riddles, in the past, played a crucial social role. During marriage ceremonies, festivals like Lohri or gatherings after community labour, elders often posed riddles to lighten the atmosphere. They acted as ice-breakers, creating laughter and collective participation. Sometimes riddles were even directed at newlyweds or guests, adding humour and warmth to social interactions. In a society with limited material entertainment, riddles offered mental recreation at no cost, strengthening bonds among people.
Importantly, Dogra riddles are inclusive and democratic. They do not discriminate between educated and uneducated, rich or poor. Anyone with sharp observation and presence of mind can attempt an answer. This makes them a powerful cultural equaliser. For children who never entered a formal classroom, riddles served as informal education, nurturing reasoning ability, memory and verbal expression.
Another remarkable aspect of Dogra riddles is their linguistic richness. Embedded within them is the natural rhythm of the Dogri language-its earthy expressions, rural imagery and musical cadence. Many riddles employ rhyme, repetition and alliteration, making them easy to remember and transmit orally. Through riddles, children absorbed vocabulary, idioms and sentence structures without formal grammar lessons. Long before Dogri found recognition in textbooks and universities, riddles played a vital role in preserving and enriching the language.
However, like many other forms of folk heritage, Dogra riddles are today fading into silence. Nuclear families, fast-paced urban life and the dominance of digital entertainment have drastically reduced spaces for oral storytelling. Children now solve riddles on mobile apps, often in English or Hindi, disconnected from their cultural environment. The village gatherings where elders once tested young minds with witty questions are becoming increasingly rare.
This decline is,in fact, the erosion of a cultural memory system. Riddles carried within them information about traditional tools, occupations, food habits and values. When riddles about hand-mills, oil lamps or cattle sheds disappear, familiarity with those objects also fades. Cultural continuity weakens quietly, without attracting immediate attention.
Yet, all is not lost. In recent years, there has been a growing awareness about the need to preserve Dogra folk traditions. Cultural activists, writers and educators are beginning to document riddles, songs and folktales. Including Dogra riddles in school activities, language classes and cultural programmes can rekindle interest among the younger generation. Radio talks, local newspapers and social media platforms dedicated to Duggar heritage can also play a crucial role in bringing these riddles back into public consciousness.
Dogra riddles deserve to be seen not as relics of the past but as living pedagogical tools. Even today, they can stimulate curiosity, sharpen thinking skills and reconnect children with their roots. In a world overwhelmed by information and instant answers, these small verbal puzzles teach the art of pause, reflection and imagination. They remind us that learning can be joyful, communal and deeply rooted in one’s surroundings.
Preserving Dogra riddles, therefore, is not only about saving words; it is about safeguarding a way of thinking shaped by land, labour and lived wisdom. They remind us that intelligence does not always wear the cloak of formal education-sometimes it sits quietly by the hearth, asking a simple question with a hidden answer.
As Duggar marches forward in time, it must carry along these humble yet powerful fragments of its soul. The survival of Dogra riddles will ensure that future generations do not merely speak Dogri, but think in Dogri metaphors, keeping alive the spirit of a culture that taught wisdom through play.
(The writer is a retired Senior Lecturer from the School Education Department, Government of J&K.)
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