In a remote Budgam school, a limping educator with a magic bag becomes parent, nurse and cultural guardian to children who shout ‘Me first!’ for his affection
Got a chance to visit an elementary government school in a remote area of my district, Budgam, as an educator-cum-academic monitor. I met a gifted teacher spreading fragrance amid a bunch of doleful kids at a primary government school. I saw a teacher with a white beard, sitting with one leg stretched out among beautiful kids.
In excitement, I started asking questions to the kids based on FLN—that is my duty. They answered all the questions. The teacher, whom I initially considered a weak and ordinary educator, shouted in amusement, “It is we who taught them!”
Then suddenly, a blooming bud, perhaps from a pre-primary class, started shouting at the teacher in smattering Urdu: “Shar… Shar… Shar… shirt ka button gir gaya!” — “Sir, the button of my shirt fell off.” It sounded so cute.
I carefully watched the situation. Instead of taunting the child, the teacher pulled out a thread and needle from his handy bag and stitched the button back on. I was happy to see the educator in focus with his armoury.
We started walking on the school lawn. The teacher was limping—perhaps suffering from gout, which he was, in fact, when I enquired. On the school lawn, I saw an innocent kid with dust on his face who had fallen down. The teacher rushed towards him, took him to the washroom, pulled off his clothes, and bathed him. He had soap in his handy bag.
I started realising that I had a great opportunity to learn a lot from this great teacher. Therefore, I stretched the discussion longer and decided to stay at this small government primary school located on a hill with lush greenery for the whole day.
There were almost 15 students in the pre-primary classes (nursery, LKG, etc.). Then came lunchtime. The bell rang: Than… Than… Than…
I was curiously watching the scenario, intending to know what next from this great educator. Then came the 15 blooming buds, who sat and formed a beautiful half-moon on the green park. They were served with MDM.
This great educator folded the sleeves of his shirt and started mouth-feeding them one by one. The kids started shouting, “Me first, me first, me first…” It was ecstatic to watch. I was in a poetic frenzy.
They were very happy. How could these kids miss their parents in such a setting with this great educator? I asked myself.
After lunch, the kids started playing, and we began our lunch. All of a sudden, we heard a scream. I smiled and thought—what next?
The great educator left his lunch and ran towards the scream with his handbag. I too followed. A kid had a bruise near his left elbow, perhaps struck by the school fencing.
The educator opened the zip of his handbag and pulled out an antiseptic tube with pure love and affection, covering the bruises of the kid. I was very surprised to see all this. I, as an educator, got to learn so much.
The walls of the school were painted with beautiful colours and pictures depicting discipline, character, and moral behaviour. When I asked this legend about the source of the money used for painting the walls so beautifully, the reply shocked me: “From my salary. Getting 70K, I can afford to spend 10K.”
I could see some kids aged 3 to 4 sitting in his lap, trusting him more than their parents.
The corner of the lawn attracted me. I saw a tin shed of 6 by 8 feet. I was very eager to enter this tin shed. There were Kashmiri cultural items placed so beautifully. The teacher intended to help the kids learn about their Kashmiri culture, to link culture with education. “The articles placed here were collected by me from nearby villages,” he replied.
The paintings of great personalities on the corridor walls were awesome. Each painting contained a brief life history of that personality.
I was intending to spend more time with this great personality to learn more, but the last bell of the school rang: Than… Than… Than…
The legend disappeared. I saw him at the school gate, hugging and kissing these little angels one by one, reciprocating love, wishing them well. It appeared as if the students did not want to leave him. He, too, was going to miss them.
The handy bag was still there, hanging from his arm, ready to come to the rescue of these angels. I was completely moved.
I bid him goodbye. I learnt a lesson to follow.
This all reminded me of Khalil Gibran:
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The Archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.”
The writer is a teacher at the Boys High School, Narbal
Muntashir Kifayat Hussain
mu**************@***il.com