Mudassar Aslam came from a place where the pursuit of a dream is a rare privilege. A decent meal is as good as it gets on most days. However, at 14, he may have been on the brink of hope; or onto a map of a better future for himself and his kin. But we will never really know. Young Mudassar lost his life to the most brutal corporal punishment the country has ever known. Mudassar’s dark fate is perhaps enough to compel many in his underprivileged bracket to turn away from institutions that promise brighter horizons. And although his poor, fraught family may have laws to turn to, there is little hope for justice.

It all happened on a regular day in school when, on the pretext of playing truant too often, Mudassar’s teacher Buland Iqbal not only took a stick to the boy but also forced him to perform a 100 sit-ups after a severe beating. Following the ‘punishment’, Mudassar complained of intense abdominal pain and asked to be sent home -- a request that was denied by the principal. He eventually left without permission shortly before school ended. When he arrived home, his brother has been quoted as describing his belly as a “balloon.” He was then rushed to the Civil Hospital in his town of Hyderabad, where the doctors detected severe intestinal injuries and performed two operations on him. Reportedly, one of the doctors said that “his intestines were jumbled and had turned black.”

The tragedy extends beyond losing Mudassar; as life and time stand excruciatingly still for his hapless family, it is business as usual at Himayatul Islam High School. The absence of a fully effective, all-inclusive law for the security of a child is any tormentor’s greatest escape. Therefore, Buland Iqbal’s suspension seems price enough for the blood on his hands. Although an inquiry is in progress, only three students have stepped forward to record statements, calling Iqbal “humane” and “highly polite.” However, some students, who dare not testify, do concede that other than Mudassar, there were 20 others who were given ‘mild punishment’. The victim’s father asserts that his son was subjected to corporal punishment of varying degrees for four days that culminated in his breakdown. On the other hand, rumour has it that the accused has wielded tremendous influence through an ‘intelligence’ official to quell the matter.

Unfortunately, Pakistan’s predicament does not arise from lack of legislation but is rooted in inadequate and inefficient implementation machinery. Take India’s example, where stringent measures ensure that corporal punishment is abolished on a state by state system. It was banned in Delhi in 2000, Andhra Pradesh followed two years later and then in 2004 it was forbidden in Orissa and West Bengal. Slip-ups do abound but nothing compares to Mudassar’s end; a report published in an Indian daily last month revealed that shops in Hyderabad Deccan still have punishment canes on sale with various schools as their faithful buyers.

Although Pakistan has a juvenile justice system to speak of, it is alarming that aside from Karachi and parts of Punjab, it is virtually unheard of in Balochistan and NWFP — this is where we stand 60 years after the British abolished caning in 1947. Interestingly, on Children’s day in December 2004, 32,000 postcards from children across the country landed at President Musharraf’s doorstep and most pleaded for an end to punishments in schools. However, Society for the Protection of the Rights of the Child (SPRC) maintains that the most common argument against this atrocious crime is that a child’s upbringing is the responsibility of the family and not the state’s. The organisation maintains that the habit of punishment is so deeply engrained in the collective psyche that teachers feel ‘powerless’ without this ‘right’ and, surprisingly, so do most parents who see it as a tool for control; refusing to discover other avenues to discipline. A survey conducted as far back as 1999 revealed that as many as 15 per cent of students between the ages of 10 to 18 had left school and most cited corporal punishment as the cause. Despite the fact that statistics of corporal punishment cases remain scarce, it is more than certain that they stand at epic proportions today.

It is indeed time to treat an incident as grave as Mudassar’s as a generation’s cry for help. Reform can only begin with the promulgation of specific edicts for corporal punishment, which should include something as mundane as public insults. Legislations can only impact real life through regular inspection and official training of teachers, especially those outside urban centres, in government-run and low-end private schools and in madressahs, followed by imposition of penalties, which are likely to serve as major deterrents in an already low-paying profession. Indeed, this is the only profession that must speak the language of compassion and conviction.