ANOTHER EDUCATION (Fiction)

The applause was half-hearted andgrudging. Muffled sniggers and annoyed grumbling filled
the still air of the auditorium. "Really, the Vasisht Educational Society could have
selected a better Principal…what does this Sasidhar know about education?" "He's only
an MA and has no educational qualifications." Only one gentle but continued clapping
indicated support. "Bravo," Mahant said as he rose and mingled with the departing
crowd.

Mahant had spent his childhood in Rastapur, a small village in the Rasoolabad district of
R.P. The eldest son of the largest landlord, he had been dismayed but unable to prevent
his being married before he had completed school. His father had allowed him to
complete school from the Rasoolabad District High but had said categorical "no" to
college and Mahant had fled from home. Mathematics was his passion and he managed
small tuitions by lying about his qualifications. But qualify, he felt, he had to and moved
Vikeshnagar securing for himself a scholarship to study History. Here he remained for
many years until he had completed his M.Phil while supporting himself.

He gave up a job at the Vikeshnagar High School when he was selected for a temporary
post as lecturer of History at the Vikeshnagar college. When the permanent post was
advertised he applied and was confident of selection on account of his excellent
qualifications and well appreciated teaching. When he learned that the post had already
been filled by the son of a local politician, he was disappointed but only in himself for he
had taught the boy. It was he who had failed to teach his student what he considered
more important than employment. The Head of the Department called Mahant and
excused her part in the non-selection. "I'm only one-fifth responsible and would like you
to continue to be associated with the faculty. Do write for the journal." Mahanta
regretfully declined. "You know that I am jobless, Madam, and must now write for
money," he said politely.

Although a member of the outlawed UGM committed to ending landlordism, Mahant

made it a point to visit his family in Rastapur once every year. Perhaps, he thought to
himself, they would have rather he didn't for when his father fixed the marriage of his
fifteen-year-old sister he prevailed upon them to postpone it until she was older and had
studied. He took her with him back to Vikeshnagar and was happy when a UGM
member, Vimala, accepted to have her stay and see her through her education. When she
did marry ten years later, she married into wealth and prosperity -- the son of a business
magnate whose most successful ventures were in the liquor business and Mahant mused
about the opposition he had to her early marriage. It didn't prevent him, however, from
intervening once again when his brother was being dissuaded from going to Vikeshnagar
to do his M.A. That Kishwar became a successful property agent didn't dismay Mahant
either. He saw for himself that certification and qualification didn't educate. Not too was
their absence forgivable.

For his own part, Mahant continued to support himself by writing and translating. He
would have liked to do a doctorate but teaching and academics had become a part of his
personal history. The UGM collapsed. Vicissitudes parted comrade from comrade --

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"We fight each other over no issues and ideals. This is inevitable in politics.", he'd say,
but we continue to be friends.". Times changed and although Mahant could do nothing to
change with them he never did despair or feel a pinch. His desires and needs he limited.
He earned what he could and in time brought his wife and two sons to live with him in
the city. "I had to accept that even though child marriage is not what I would have
wanted, Sajji is my wife and Ashok and Somi my sons." He would say. "They must
grow with me."

As a principle, however, he kept his mouth shut on matters that were personal and spoke
little about himself so he was surprised when Vasisht, the local grocer visited him one
evening to ask him to be Vice Principal of the College he proposed to start. "It's good
business," Vasisht said, "naturally I will be Principal but Sajji tells me that you have
taught in schools and in colleges and that you continue to teach mathematics every
morning." "One school and one college," Mahant corrected gently, "and I stopped
teaching many years ago. Maths is only a morning pastime."

"I need a person of your academic qualifications to add prestige to the institution."
Vasisht persisted, "and we will pay you well."

Do feel free to send children to work here in the morning between 4 am and 6 am," said
Mahant, firmly declining the offer.

"It would have been permanent job." Sajji admonished after the grocer had left, but
Mahant knew for sure that being wrong had been the right choice.

A week later at 5 am there was a hesitant knock at the door. "I'm Sasidhar" the young
boy introduced himself. "Vashisht told me to come to you for maths. Will you teach
me?"

"No I won't teach you," said Mahant,"but I work at Mathematics myself every morning
and you can join me and do your own."

Sasidhar seemed a little unsure as he entered, Mahant shut the door quietly behind him
and led the was to table and chair on the eastern balcony. Sasidhar sat around and
fidgeted. Towards the end of an hour he opened his textbook and wrote out a problem.
The sum had risen and Mahant rose and left to begin the day. "Already?" Sasidhar was
bewildered but he too rose and started to leave.

"Do feel free to come tomorrow," Mahant said encouragingly waving good-bye. The
next morning the doorbell rang and Sasidhar walked in confidently armed this time with
books and slate. A week later, there were two of his friends with him. Within the year
six children waited on Mahant's landing for the door to open. They had started staying on
to the simple hot breakfasts that Sajji provided and Ashok and Somi had joined.

"What do you do?" friends asked. "We talk to the morning light and the language is
mathematics."

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One day the flood gates broke. The language of mathematics was interrupted that of
decision. "Rather than go to the school we'd like to learn and we're sure we can earn", the
children chorused at breakfast.

Full-time schooling they had concluded was not necessary for them to learn and if it was
a question of passing examinations and qualifying they had discovered that they could do
that "privately". They also analysed that earning was possible through production,
services and trade and wondered if Mahant and Sajji would negotiate with their parents or
their schools and help them. Breakfast time became discussion time. "Learning the skills
involved for production may be the most useful --- to make things or provide services in
the community," they speculated. Trade they felt was last option; in their opinion the
least useful education and learning.

Mahant was not certain about what to do. He couldn't help but agree with the arguments
that the children were putting forward and yet he knew the responses with which he
would meet. He decided to meet Vasisht and broach to him the need for real education.
Vasisht could if he wanted, re-orient his new educational institutions and these he would
agree to work - centres that would enable young people between the ages ten and
eighteen to learn and earn while making it possible for them to qualify. Vasisht, now sure
of his standing as one of the city's leading educationists, was scornful. "That's not
education," he pronounced pompously. His society was registered and successful and he
has no wish to associate himself with activities that would be unacceptable.

Mahant went to the poor and uneducated -- to the mochis, zardoziz and kumbhars of
Vikeshnagar. He visited the nearby carpet factory that employed children. He went to
the mechanics and carpenters. Would they apprentice children from middle class homes?
Reluctant to do so on a routine basis as part of their daily work, they suggested the
possibility of writing up a project that would give them financial benefit for it --- "There
has to be something in it for us." Mahant was silent. He became resolute. Sajji and he
would teach household skills --- cooking and needle-craft and perhaps in time even
organize it as a service, he thought and went to meet the parents of the six-some. They
were horrified. Take the children out of school and put them into the hands of a wastrel
who was now out to exploit child labour? Never!

For Mahant it was not an experiment. Somi was removed from school and apprenticed to
the cobbler for three years and the zardozi for four. Ashok who was older took his school
final examination and spent the next four years at the same places of employment. After
that he decided to enroll at the ITI in Rasoolabad. Somi went on to do his MA and was
sure that he would find the time some day to do research in advanced mathematics. Their
academic work was, for the most part, their major household activity.

The years passed and the family set up, with government and bank schemes, a work and
service centre for leather and needle - work. Roaring business they did not do but there
was in their daily activity a courage of conviction, a feeling of satisfaction and a

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continuous and conscious effort to make education a part of life -- their own and that
those with them. Some of the children who come to work were eager to learn how to
read and to write and to count. Most were not but almost all needed health care and
nutrition. The resources that could be mustered were stretched for the maximum benefit
of the maximum numbers. The numbers were small and availability minuscule but life
went on.

Mahant and his sons continued to welcome the mornings with mathematics and reading.
Mahant missed his group of young mathematicians and wondered where they were. The
poor, they mused could within the given system, at best, strategize to be less poor. It was
the middle class that was schooling itself into miseducation. They would learn but
education and learning were a generational commitment. He often remembered the day
when Sasidhar had suddenly looked up from drawing lines on his slate and said, "It's
when two straight lines never meet that they are called parallel," and returned to reading
from his textbook about them.

At 5 one morning, there was a quiet knock. A young man, stood at the door holding by
the hand a lad not more than seven. I'm Sasidhar and this is Mahant, my son. We have
decided to return from Delhi to Vikeshnagar. May we begin?" Mahant stepped aside and
opened the door wider. Young Mahant, clutching his books and slate ran towards the
eastern balcony.