My school days

    My school days
                             

                  - Dr Raj Bahadur Yadav

 It was July 1969. Having spent my summer holidays in our native village, I got into the bus alongwith my father to reach the railway station in Kunda town in Pratapgarh district to catch the train for Delhi. The country road was narrow and muddy and the bus was moving at snail's pace. I don't know still how it happened but I found myself  violently thrown out of the emergency window in a few seconds. Luckily, I did not fall under the tyres but on the cuchha road with puddles of water. Yet I  could see my knee bleeding and my back marked with serious cuts and bruises as the sharp-edged "patthar rodi"[broken pieces of stone] lying on the road had pierced my soft skin everywhere. By now, the driver had applied the brakes and the bus had halted with a screech a hundred meters ahead of me. My father was shouting at him,"Did you bolt the emergency window properly?" He got down  from the bus and gently probed my injuries with his  fingers. He postponed his return journey,took me to the local "doctor" who was actually a village barber who  kept the first aid box also and some fresh brandy to infuse life into accident hit victims. My physical condition was like that of a young mango sapling which gets very badly hurt in a wind storm.

                                                   Within a week of this unfortunate bus mishap, my father left for Hisar leaving me behind in the village under the personal care and guidance of my grandmother and uncle. My heart had  leapt to my mouth when I saw my father walking out of the village periphery, bowing down to his elder brother and touching the feet of my grandmother. He requested them," Look after your calf as I am hard-pressed to go away for doing my government job". After a few days, I was admitted to the government primary school located at Gopalapur, three kilometers away from my own village. Having passed through a few  "on the spot" written and oral tests, the Head Teacher was kind enough to allow me to sit in the fourth standard. I still remember his name-Pandit Saryu Prasad Shukla, a middle-aged Brahmin who was always dressed in spotless white kurta and dhoti with a Gandhi cap on his head. He appeared quite photogenic in his looks,neat and clean. He was faithfully followed by his other colleagues like Chandika Prasad Saroj and Babu Lal Yadav. They taught us under the thick shadows of mango, mahuwa and neem trees. They kept a knife on a small table with which they sharpened the 'kalams"[reed-pens] of students who usually kept half a dozen of them into small envelopes in their school bags. They had instructed us to use only "kalam" to improve our handwriting. If anybody was seen using a fountain-pen, he was strongly reprimanded not do so in future. When Shukla Saab got up with his cane in his hands,   I could notice a pin-drop silence among the students.  I studied only for two years in this primary school but I still feel greatly indebted to these teachers who taught me to compose and express myself in Hindi, solve simple   math sums and  understand  the basics of science. In those days, schools were popularly known as "madrasas'' in Uttar Pradesh and most of them had only makeshift buildings which were seldom used by the students as they found themselves more comfortable under the trees. During the rainy season, the school was closed for days together because the small rivulet near the school would be in spate. When the rainy season came to an end, the mornings were heavenly. In the local ponds, I could see thousands of white and pink lotus flowers blooming. In my mind's eye, I can still recall those mesmerising moments when I felt intoxicated with their sweet smell. In those days, passing the fifth class was considered a big achievement among the illiterate villagers. Like my teachers, I also supported a white Gandhi cap on my little head, span khadi and used a spade to participate in the agriculture-period just like Mahatama Gandhi who had experimented with his lofty concept of "basic education' at Sabarmati and Vardha "ashrams" in the thirties of the 20th century. We school boys were quite eager to  learn at the feet of our devoted teachers who were actually like the hardworking gardeners.And we small boys were like fresh rose buds which were carefully tended and watered by our teachers. I can still recall the noble gesture of  Chandika Prasad Saroj  who helped me  a lot by providing me  timely medical help when I had  developed an eye-flu during my annual fifth class exams in the summer of  1971. He gave me his own "angochha":[waist-cloth" ] to wipe the flowing water from my eyes. I can never forget such humble yet very humanistic teachers. I salute them from the core of my heart.

Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV