The story of village school in Punjab that existed in the first two decades after independence may sound like a piece of fiction born of a mind obsessed with the past; past that has no contemporary relevance and thus offers nothing to our young generation. The story needs to be narrated precisely for the reason that it has no relevance to the school being run these days by the government in rural areas.

During 1950s a primary school used to be equidistant from two villages in Vehari, the then one of the most backward sub-divisions of Multan district in South Punjab. The school was spread over more than two acres. It had a mud boundary wall with two gates in the middle. Three mud rooms served as classrooms. The open space was neatly divided into assembly ground, playground and two types of sitting areas for students; one for the summer season with lot of shady trees and the other for the winter that allowed sun all the day. The compound had two wide brick-lined paths that formed a cross. Along the paths one could see riot of colours throughout the year as the carefully marked and nurtured flowerbeds gave you a sense of being in a sort of garden.

The morning in the school would always start with dusting the ‘Taat’, the jute mats the students sat on. The school for some moments would look as if wrapped in a mini dust storm. After the settling of the dust and with mats in place, the students would gather for assembly, a kind of daily ritual observed religiously. A senior student would recite a prayer followed by recitation of some poems. The headmaster would say a word or two if and when needed. The students not in school uniforms (dark grey shirt and baggy trousers made of cloth called Malayshia) were reprimanded. The teachers would always be punctual and take their classes regularly. If a teacher was on leave, the headmaster would direct another teacher to take care of his class making sure that no student could slip away. The teachers were strict but caring and always went an extra mile to help the students who lagged behind. They were very particular about the class discipline and were not shy of using ‘soti’, the stick. ‘Chalk and talk’ was the teaching method usually employed. The syllabus was liberal. History had not yet been murdered by ideology. There was no concept of ‘home work’ as the parents, most of them illiterate, could not help or guide their children in the matter of education at home. Recess called ‘tafrih’(entertainment/fun time) at mid-day was a moment of excitement when students would raise a joyful noise while having their lunch wrapped in cloth called ‘pona’ a simple bread wrapper.

Another delightful sight was the ‘karah’, a large round shallow pan. The gardener would pour dry milk into it. He would add a lot of water and shake it with a wooden ladle till it was ready to serve. Each student would get a glass of milk just before the recess was over. The students would make faces while having it as they were used to having fresh or boiled buffalo milk at home that tasted quite different from what they got at the school.

Every three or four months would come a special day; the day when everything had to be spick and span; compound clear of litter, walkways properly marked with lime-ash, colourful charts and painted objects of clay made by the students on display. The teachers and the students would wait with baited breath for the arrival of someone out of this world, a feared alien in shirt and trousers accompanied by one or two guys. This alien was in fact inspector of education department who descended on the school with the intention of doing a ‘muaiyna’ (inspection). He would inspect classrooms, playgrounds and also would ask the students questions to gauge whether they were being taught properly or not. Future of the teachers depended on the report he submitted to his superiors in education department.

Once or twice a year, there used to be another unusual event. The students would be scared like freshly caged birds when a small team carrying strange looking boxes entered the school. ’Oey loday walay (vaccination team) young children would whisper among themselves with grinning faces. The team comprised paramedics who vaccinated the students. They used simple cut or scratch for smallpox inoculation (variolation) that caused itching pain frightening the children out of their wits. But the pain ensured the pleasure of smallpox free life.

Visit any primary village school in a far-flung area of Punjab these days. You will not find anything there mentioned above. Punctual teachers, clean grounds, flowerbeds, glass of milk for each student, yearly vaccination and regular inspection were surely the vestiges of colonial rule which we have proudly scraped from our village school’s palimpsest. And what now stares us in the face is the inscribed absence of a dream that haunts the ‘children of lesser god’ found in millions in the countryside. — soo­fi01@hot­mail.com

Published in Dawn, November 21th, 2014