It was a lazy afternoon. One could feel the presence of the warm summer winds in the afternoon. Kishan Singh, the peon working in the Government Primary School in the small village of Ugrahoo, located on the outskirts of Saharanpur, was sitting leisurely in the front veranda of the school and smoking a beedi. The last period was running and there still was about an hour for him to ring the final bell for the school to be over for the day. Cupping the beedi in his hand, he inhaled a deep puff and slowly blew the smoke out, his eyes half closed with boredom. Suddenly, the purring sound of an engine at a distance drew his attention. Curious to explore the source of the sound, he slowly stood up and stretched himself. At a distance, he spotted a white Ambassador car moving towards the school. Finding it rather unusual, he kept staring in that direction inquisitively.
“Who could be coming to this side of the village in a car? Rather unusual. Nobody ever comes here,” he mumbled slowly as he squinted his eyes to have a better look at the car. As the car moved a little closer, he was able to read the bold identity of the occupant painted on it. The car of DISTRICT MAGISTRATE, SAHARANPUR was moving towards the school. Startled, he threw away the beedi and dashed hurriedly towards the Head Master’s room.
Getting out of breath from excitement and panting with the unprecedented exertion from this unusual activity, he announced incoherently “Sir!.... Sir! ….Sir!.....DM saab!!!…. DM saab is coming to the school.”
Tula Ram, the headmaster, who was leisurely sprawled on an easy chair in his room, his face covered with the local Hindi newspaper to ward off the flies, was half asleep. Looking at Kishan Singh with disbelief, he got up with a jerk and moved hurriedly towards the entrance of the school.
By this time, the car had already entered the premises of the dilapidated village school and the young District Magistrate was alighting from the car. Dressed casually in a grey pant and half sleeved white shirt, he was looking at the school building critically, noticing its poorly maintained premises. The Headmaster rushed to him with folded hands and bent forward to touch his feet but he stepped backwards.
“Hey! What are you doing? You are a teacher and teachers are the incarnation of God. You should not kneel at anybody’s feet,” he folded his hands respectfully towards the Headmaster.
Embarrassed with this unexpected humility from such a high-ranking officer in the feudal state of Uttar Pradesh, the Headmaster Tula Ram stood transfixed until the District Magistrate smiled impishly at him, “You are Tula Ram ji, aren’t you? The Head Master of this school?” Was there a sense of recognition in his eyes?
“Yes, yes, yes Sir,” Tula Ram uttered nervously. His throat was parched with tension on meeting such a senior official for the first time in his life.
“How does he know my name?” he wondered silently.
“Will you not show me around your school, sir?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Sure, sure, sure Sir,” the Headmaster led the way nervously and the young head of district administration followed. The Headmaster was now speaking non-stop trying to portray a good picture of the school which was obviously below standard, to say the least. He was indulging in self-projection as well as boasting of the school’s performance. The young officer was listening to him but his mind appeared to be somewhere else.
“How long have you been here in this school, Tula Ram ji?”
“Sir, almost all my life except for a few years when I was transferred to Kailashpur. I am going to retire in another two years,” he added quickly fearing that he may not be moved from there.
They had now reached class sixth where a few village children were seated on the floor and a teacher was teaching them English alphabet.
“B..A..N…Ban,” the teacher said and the children repeated after him, “B..A..N…Ban.”
“M..A..N.. Man,” and the children repeated after him M..A..N.. Man. Noticing the Head Master escorting some dignitary towards his class, he abruptly stopped the spelling session and came out folding his hands deferentially. Amused, the District Magistrate prima facie listened to this mindless chanting of spellings by the children, but mentally he had already drifted into the past.
About twenty years ago, when he was barely ten years old, he used to sit in the first row of this very class room. Nothing had changed in the last twenty years. Not even the method of teaching. The entire sequence of events of that day, which had been so vividly etched in his memory, came rushing back.
“B A N Ban.” The young teacher in the class was teaching spellings to the students of the sixth standard.
“B A N Ban,” he had repeated after him.
“M A N Man,” the teacher announced the next spelling.
“M A N Man,” all the students followed in a sing-song voice.
“C A N San,” the teacher was even louder this time.
“No! C A N is not San. It is Can. CAN!” the class was interrupted by the loud voice of a young woman who had just walked into the classroom to hand over the lunch box to one of the students who had forgotten to bring it with him that day.
Incensed at the audacity of the woman, the teacher screamed at her, “C A N is San and NOT Can. Do you know better than me Nirmala?”
“I do not know that Masterji but I do know that C A N is not San. It is definitely Can,” she was assertive and appeared to know what she was saying much to the chagrin of the teacher.
“You! Illiterate woman! You know nothing and are going on arguing unnecessarily. Which idiot has told you that?” the teacher went wild with anger and lost his cool.
“Yes, yes. I am illiterate and you are educated but it looks like I know better than you do. My elder son is studying in a college in the city. I have heard him saying C A N Can and not SAN,” she did not hesitate at all before countering him boldly.
Offended and humiliated in front of his students, the teacher could not take it anymore and screamed on top of his voice, “In that case Nirmala Devi, please take away your son from this school. I refuse to teach him. Take him to your city school. There is no place for him here. Take him away, right now!”
Furious at Nirmala’s intervention, the teacher had pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and pushed him forcefully towards her. He had lost his balance but Nirmala held him midway saving him from falling on the floor.
Despite being frail and petite, Nirmala was bold and fearless. She stood straight, “Yes! I also do not want my son to sit here in this school and learn wrong things from a stupid teacher like you. It is better to remain uneducated than being taught wrong things. Come with me, son,” and she whisked him away holding the hand of the nervous ten-year-old teary-eyed boy.
Taking a few steps, she had stopped at this very spot where he was standing now, turned around and shouted back at the arrogant teacher, “And I will see to it that one day this son of mine will become a big government officer and dismiss you from the service. That day, you will kneel at your feet and beg for mercy Tula Ram. Mark my words, you swollen-headed idiot!”
“Go! Go! Go! Get lost, you haughty woman,” he called her a few names before turning his face away in disdain to light a beedi before resuming his spelling session with the rest of the class.
The ugly happenings of that day and the insult inflicted on him and his mother, which got etched in his memory for life-time, had suddenly come alive once again.
His fleeting reverie got disrupted hearing the babbling of Tula Ram who was talking non-stop to cover his shortcomings, “Sir, we start teaching our children English from class sixth itself and he is a new teacher who has joined us last month only. Before that, this post was lying vacant for many months but Sir I used to take classes although it is not part of my duty.” Rubbing his palms, he laughed nervously.
“After all, we old-timers do understand our responsibility much more than the youngsters of today. I have personally trained this young teacher in how to teach English to the students,” Tula Ram was self-eulogising non-stop.
The District Magistrate interrupted him, “And Master ji, tell me how do you pronounce C..A..N? Can or San?”
Tula Ram was stunned. On the day of that unfortunate verbal fight with Nirmala Devi, the first thing he had done on coming out of the class was to check the dictionary for the correct pronunciation of Can. He was aghast to find that Nirmala, whom he had called names and had dismissed as an uneducated woman, was right. He had felt ashamed of himself but his false ego did not allow him to accept his mistake.
Being from the same village, he got to know later that Nirmala had taken her son for admission to a school in Saharanpur which was quite some distance away but he had kept quiet. How could he admit that despite being a teacher, he was wrong?
His head spun as he said, “Sir! You? You…you are that boy? Oh my God! I am so sorry for that day,” saying so he fell at the District Magistrate’s feet.
Bending on his knees, Tula Ram was repeatedly seeking forgiveness. “Please forgive me sir. Where is Mataji? Is she with you? I will come and seek her forgiveness too.” The rest of the staff was wondering what had suddenly come over Tula Ram and why he was behaving like this. Nobody had been able to make out what the DM saab had asked him.
The District Magistrate held him by his shoulders and lifted him. He remembered his mother’s pledge of that day and smiled at him benignly, “Oh! So, you remember that day? Let’s go to your room and I will decide your punishment there only.”
By the time he reached the Headmaster’s room with all the teachers of the school tailing behind him in shocked silence, the old Head Master had regained his composure. He humbly requested, “Sir, I will be extremely grateful, if you accept to have a cup of tea with all of us. Please do not say No Sir. Otherwise, my heart will break.”
The District Magistrate pulled a chair and sat down, looked at the Headmaster pointedly, “Tea? Ok sure I will have it but only on one condition.”
Looking at all the teachers in general and at the Headmaster in particular, he asked, “This school has always been in such a shabby condition. Even your results are not up to the mark. In how much time do you think you can convert it into the best school in the District?”
All the teachers looked at each other, not sure what they could do to improve the infrastructure of the building and the quality of teaching.
“The best school in the District, sir? How is that possible? That can happen only in a dream,” Tula Ram uttered with hesitation, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“What do you need for doing so in terms of manpower, resources and financial budget? How long will you take? How soon can you prepare a plan for achieving this target?” He suddenly shot a volley of questions at him.
“Yes. I want this school to become the best school in the district,” his energetic voice sounded very positive but the teachers did not appear optimistic at all.
Gulping the last sip of tea from his cup, he looked at the Head Master in a comforting tone, “It is my dream to make this the best school. I would suggest that you sit with your team and do some brainstorming before you prepare a plan for the improvement of the school’s infrastructure and the performance. Nothing is impossible if you have a will to achieve it. Please come to my office next Monday with your full plan and we will take it forward. I am sure you can do it.”
Saying so, he stood up, shook hands with everyone and left the room. The teachers followed him up to his car and stood there with folded hands until his car disappeared leaving behind a cloud of dust wondering why out of all the schools, this young officer chose this school to become the best school in the district.
Tula Ram was the only one who knew the answer as well as why he had been awarded this challenging and arduous task. This was actually his punishment. He recalled clearly the events of that day twenty years ago when he had kicked this boy out of his class and the school. He also remembered the face of Nirmala Devi the mother of the scared child who had cursed him, “… one day this son of mine will become a big government officer and dismiss you from the service. That day, you will kneel at your feet and beg for mercy Tula Ram. Mark my words…..”
So this was the punishment, the District Magistrate had mentioned when he had fallen at his feet.
Ding dong…. ding dong…. ding dong…. Kishan Singh was sounding the bell. The school was over for the day. Suddenly, Tula Ram called Kishan Singh, “Go quickly and tell all the teachers to not to go home. Ask them to come to my room immediately. We are going to have a meeting right now.”
The revenge of Nirmala Devi had started taking effect. But he was thanking his stars that he was not dismissed from the service as cursed by her that day. No doubt, the District Magistrate had assigned him an extremely difficult task but if this was a revenge, it was a sweet revenge.
“Who could be coming to this side of the village in a car? Rather unusual. Nobody ever comes here,” he mumbled slowly as he squinted his eyes to have a better look at the car. As the car moved a little closer, he was able to read the bold identity of the occupant painted on it. The car of DISTRICT MAGISTRATE, SAHARANPUR was moving towards the school. Startled, he threw away the beedi and dashed hurriedly towards the Head Master’s room.
Getting out of breath from excitement and panting with the unprecedented exertion from this unusual activity, he announced incoherently “Sir!.... Sir! ….Sir!.....DM saab!!!…. DM saab is coming to the school.”
Tula Ram, the headmaster, who was leisurely sprawled on an easy chair in his room, his face covered with the local Hindi newspaper to ward off the flies, was half asleep. Looking at Kishan Singh with disbelief, he got up with a jerk and moved hurriedly towards the entrance of the school.
By this time, the car had already entered the premises of the dilapidated village school and the young District Magistrate was alighting from the car. Dressed casually in a grey pant and half sleeved white shirt, he was looking at the school building critically, noticing its poorly maintained premises. The Headmaster rushed to him with folded hands and bent forward to touch his feet but he stepped backwards.
“Hey! What are you doing? You are a teacher and teachers are the incarnation of God. You should not kneel at anybody’s feet,” he folded his hands respectfully towards the Headmaster.
Embarrassed with this unexpected humility from such a high-ranking officer in the feudal state of Uttar Pradesh, the Headmaster Tula Ram stood transfixed until the District Magistrate smiled impishly at him, “You are Tula Ram ji, aren’t you? The Head Master of this school?” Was there a sense of recognition in his eyes?
“Yes, yes, yes Sir,” Tula Ram uttered nervously. His throat was parched with tension on meeting such a senior official for the first time in his life.
“How does he know my name?” he wondered silently.
“Will you not show me around your school, sir?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Sure, sure, sure Sir,” the Headmaster led the way nervously and the young head of district administration followed. The Headmaster was now speaking non-stop trying to portray a good picture of the school which was obviously below standard, to say the least. He was indulging in self-projection as well as boasting of the school’s performance. The young officer was listening to him but his mind appeared to be somewhere else.
“How long have you been here in this school, Tula Ram ji?”
“Sir, almost all my life except for a few years when I was transferred to Kailashpur. I am going to retire in another two years,” he added quickly fearing that he may not be moved from there.
They had now reached class sixth where a few village children were seated on the floor and a teacher was teaching them English alphabet.
“B..A..N…Ban,” the teacher said and the children repeated after him, “B..A..N…Ban.”
“M..A..N.. Man,” and the children repeated after him M..A..N.. Man. Noticing the Head Master escorting some dignitary towards his class, he abruptly stopped the spelling session and came out folding his hands deferentially. Amused, the District Magistrate prima facie listened to this mindless chanting of spellings by the children, but mentally he had already drifted into the past.
***
About twenty years ago, when he was barely ten years old, he used to sit in the first row of this very class room. Nothing had changed in the last twenty years. Not even the method of teaching. The entire sequence of events of that day, which had been so vividly etched in his memory, came rushing back.
“B A N Ban.” The young teacher in the class was teaching spellings to the students of the sixth standard.
“B A N Ban,” he had repeated after him.
“M A N Man,” the teacher announced the next spelling.
“M A N Man,” all the students followed in a sing-song voice.
“C A N San,” the teacher was even louder this time.
“No! C A N is not San. It is Can. CAN!” the class was interrupted by the loud voice of a young woman who had just walked into the classroom to hand over the lunch box to one of the students who had forgotten to bring it with him that day.
Incensed at the audacity of the woman, the teacher screamed at her, “C A N is San and NOT Can. Do you know better than me Nirmala?”
“I do not know that Masterji but I do know that C A N is not San. It is definitely Can,” she was assertive and appeared to know what she was saying much to the chagrin of the teacher.
“You! Illiterate woman! You know nothing and are going on arguing unnecessarily. Which idiot has told you that?” the teacher went wild with anger and lost his cool.
“Yes, yes. I am illiterate and you are educated but it looks like I know better than you do. My elder son is studying in a college in the city. I have heard him saying C A N Can and not SAN,” she did not hesitate at all before countering him boldly.
Offended and humiliated in front of his students, the teacher could not take it anymore and screamed on top of his voice, “In that case Nirmala Devi, please take away your son from this school. I refuse to teach him. Take him to your city school. There is no place for him here. Take him away, right now!”
Furious at Nirmala’s intervention, the teacher had pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and pushed him forcefully towards her. He had lost his balance but Nirmala held him midway saving him from falling on the floor.
Despite being frail and petite, Nirmala was bold and fearless. She stood straight, “Yes! I also do not want my son to sit here in this school and learn wrong things from a stupid teacher like you. It is better to remain uneducated than being taught wrong things. Come with me, son,” and she whisked him away holding the hand of the nervous ten-year-old teary-eyed boy.
Taking a few steps, she had stopped at this very spot where he was standing now, turned around and shouted back at the arrogant teacher, “And I will see to it that one day this son of mine will become a big government officer and dismiss you from the service. That day, you will kneel at your feet and beg for mercy Tula Ram. Mark my words, you swollen-headed idiot!”
“Go! Go! Go! Get lost, you haughty woman,” he called her a few names before turning his face away in disdain to light a beedi before resuming his spelling session with the rest of the class.
The ugly happenings of that day and the insult inflicted on him and his mother, which got etched in his memory for life-time, had suddenly come alive once again.
***
His fleeting reverie got disrupted hearing the babbling of Tula Ram who was talking non-stop to cover his shortcomings, “Sir, we start teaching our children English from class sixth itself and he is a new teacher who has joined us last month only. Before that, this post was lying vacant for many months but Sir I used to take classes although it is not part of my duty.” Rubbing his palms, he laughed nervously.
“After all, we old-timers do understand our responsibility much more than the youngsters of today. I have personally trained this young teacher in how to teach English to the students,” Tula Ram was self-eulogising non-stop.
The District Magistrate interrupted him, “And Master ji, tell me how do you pronounce C..A..N? Can or San?”
Tula Ram was stunned. On the day of that unfortunate verbal fight with Nirmala Devi, the first thing he had done on coming out of the class was to check the dictionary for the correct pronunciation of Can. He was aghast to find that Nirmala, whom he had called names and had dismissed as an uneducated woman, was right. He had felt ashamed of himself but his false ego did not allow him to accept his mistake.
Being from the same village, he got to know later that Nirmala had taken her son for admission to a school in Saharanpur which was quite some distance away but he had kept quiet. How could he admit that despite being a teacher, he was wrong?
His head spun as he said, “Sir! You? You…you are that boy? Oh my God! I am so sorry for that day,” saying so he fell at the District Magistrate’s feet.
Bending on his knees, Tula Ram was repeatedly seeking forgiveness. “Please forgive me sir. Where is Mataji? Is she with you? I will come and seek her forgiveness too.” The rest of the staff was wondering what had suddenly come over Tula Ram and why he was behaving like this. Nobody had been able to make out what the DM saab had asked him.
The District Magistrate held him by his shoulders and lifted him. He remembered his mother’s pledge of that day and smiled at him benignly, “Oh! So, you remember that day? Let’s go to your room and I will decide your punishment there only.”
By the time he reached the Headmaster’s room with all the teachers of the school tailing behind him in shocked silence, the old Head Master had regained his composure. He humbly requested, “Sir, I will be extremely grateful, if you accept to have a cup of tea with all of us. Please do not say No Sir. Otherwise, my heart will break.”
The District Magistrate pulled a chair and sat down, looked at the Headmaster pointedly, “Tea? Ok sure I will have it but only on one condition.”
Looking at all the teachers in general and at the Headmaster in particular, he asked, “This school has always been in such a shabby condition. Even your results are not up to the mark. In how much time do you think you can convert it into the best school in the District?”
All the teachers looked at each other, not sure what they could do to improve the infrastructure of the building and the quality of teaching.
“The best school in the District, sir? How is that possible? That can happen only in a dream,” Tula Ram uttered with hesitation, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“What do you need for doing so in terms of manpower, resources and financial budget? How long will you take? How soon can you prepare a plan for achieving this target?” He suddenly shot a volley of questions at him.
“Yes. I want this school to become the best school in the district,” his energetic voice sounded very positive but the teachers did not appear optimistic at all.
Gulping the last sip of tea from his cup, he looked at the Head Master in a comforting tone, “It is my dream to make this the best school. I would suggest that you sit with your team and do some brainstorming before you prepare a plan for the improvement of the school’s infrastructure and the performance. Nothing is impossible if you have a will to achieve it. Please come to my office next Monday with your full plan and we will take it forward. I am sure you can do it.”
Saying so, he stood up, shook hands with everyone and left the room. The teachers followed him up to his car and stood there with folded hands until his car disappeared leaving behind a cloud of dust wondering why out of all the schools, this young officer chose this school to become the best school in the district.
Tula Ram was the only one who knew the answer as well as why he had been awarded this challenging and arduous task. This was actually his punishment. He recalled clearly the events of that day twenty years ago when he had kicked this boy out of his class and the school. He also remembered the face of Nirmala Devi the mother of the scared child who had cursed him, “… one day this son of mine will become a big government officer and dismiss you from the service. That day, you will kneel at your feet and beg for mercy Tula Ram. Mark my words…..”
So this was the punishment, the District Magistrate had mentioned when he had fallen at his feet.
Ding dong…. ding dong…. ding dong…. Kishan Singh was sounding the bell. The school was over for the day. Suddenly, Tula Ram called Kishan Singh, “Go quickly and tell all the teachers to not to go home. Ask them to come to my room immediately. We are going to have a meeting right now.”
The revenge of Nirmala Devi had started taking effect. But he was thanking his stars that he was not dismissed from the service as cursed by her that day. No doubt, the District Magistrate had assigned him an extremely difficult task but if this was a revenge, it was a sweet revenge.
***
2 comments:
very well worded. Village came in front of my eyes. Good story.
Very nice story. Village came in front of my eyes.
Post a Comment