A PAKISTANI CHARACTER

SUB TITLE

A PAKISTANI CHARACTER (2)

A TEACHER AT HIS BEST

Teaching and teaching to the poor children was his profession and he adopted it out of sheer love for it. He sometimes, when asked, used to call it his second nature. Whenever he was seen there in the village, he was always with or among the children. Children of every age were his students, his friends, his sons and everything. Master Sharif was his name and he was always called so. He was the teacher of generations. Some of his students were the grandsons and their fathers and grandfathers were his students once. He mildly slapped them on their cheeks as he had slapped their fathers, grandfathers and perhaps would-be sons.

Master was a young man of medium height, prominent nose and shining black beard. His beard was quite thick as thick as the roots of some oak tree and by chance there was an oak tree in the school in which he was going to teach. He was a man of sophisticated nature and always kept him neat and clean. He trimmed his moustaches and beard daily and oiled his hair after having a bath. His own village was exactly on the right bank of the canal and he daily used to have a walk on the canal bank. While coming back from the walk he used to cut a twig of some tree and brushed his teeth with it. Then he came home to have a shower and readied for school.

Located in the central Punjab, the village school was near two canals and there the village was close to school. Master Sharif was teaching there from the last half century. It was quite a sight to look at for one of the canals was on the right side and one was on the left. Tall pines and junipers with some occasional stretches of acacias were adding to beauty of this plain. In the middle of the field was school and near the school was the graveyard of the village and nearby villages. The school consisted of only one room that was the office, the classroom, the hall and everything. Master Sharif was all in all there. He was principal, physical instructor, class teacher and all rounder. There were five classes and more than forty students. But his influence was so strong that mere lifting of his eyebrow or his stick could make the whole school as silent as a graveyard.

There was a tale behind his coloured stick. One of his students, Yar Mohammad made a fine and colourful stick to please his teacher for his father was a carpenter of the village. And he was the only student, who was thrashed with that stick and his son too, after more than twenty years. It was full half century ago, when he joined that school, when it was no more there. It was just established before he was appointed. It was the era of the President Ayub and bicycles were a rare commodity then. Before purchasing a bicycle, he used to go to his school on foot about three miles away from his village. With the very first salary he got, he bought that new bicycle and made it to the school on that very day, he bought it. When he was about to leave his house on that day he was dressed in white shalwar kameez and black waistcoat. When he sat on the seat of his bicycle, his wife Mariam carrying his daughter came and he asked her as how he was looking and she smiled out of shyness that he was looking a Pakistani boy. At that time he was quite young and looked a young man. Then she added that he was like a white swan flying in the background of dark clouds. He paddled his bicycle in full excitement. After all there was the only school in the whole area and he was the sole teacher there.

There was a big oak tree in the school and all the village children were to sit under its cool shade in hot summer season and out of its shade in the open sun in winter. The children of the village got up in the morning, went to that oak tree, cleaned the soil with their sacks they brought for sitting and put the chair of their master on the cleanest spot. They used to make a lot of hullabaloo, and played different rural games till he was spotted from a mile coming on the canal bank. He looked like a black and white dot, moving slowly at snail’s pace on his bicycle that shone in the morning sun. When he was spotted by all, it seemed there crept a silence among the boys. The noise, the games and hullabaloo gradually gave way to order and discipline. If the dot happened to be some other person, the games restarted and the noise again originated. But if it was Master Sharif, all the students assembled under the shade, stood in their respective lines and began to sing the national anthem. When he arrived at the school, one of the boys ran to him to catch his bicycle as if he was going to let it go and made it stand near the stem of the tree. This was a mark of respect and master enjoyed it. He let his students do his work for they became happy. Then all the students stood up to greet their teacher. He responded them with his usual slogan “Long Live Pakistan” and went straight to the chair. His students mimicked his way to greeting with this slogan and it became a catchword. Then he picked up his register of roll call and finished it in just five minutes for he knew every boy by name, face and family. They his routine began and he went to every class and taught all the classes one by one. He was in fact jack of all trades. Before noon, he finished most of his work and used to ask two boys to clean his bicycle and bring two or three acacia twigs to brush his teeth. In the afternoon, he went to the nearby mosque to say his prayers and after this the school was off. Wind or rain, frost or sizzling weather his routine remained same for the whole year, except some occasional holidays and summer vacation. Even in the summer vacation he could not sit still and used to visit his school and called for some of his students to ask them about their summer vacation homework.

By remaining so long in the same school, now it was his habit to go to his school even if there were no classes. Sometimes he was seen on Sundays when usually the school was off. He became a household name and his slogan of “Long Live Pakistan” as well. But only mentioning of his name was enough in every house for the children to make them do whatever their parents wanted them to do. He was much respected for when there was a quarrel in the village over some property there was master and when there was a decision to be taken, there was master Sharif also. His presence was felt in every house in the matters of marriage and death. His opinion was given proper respect. Many of his students had been married and it was he who solemnized their marriages. Many of his students were buried in the graveyard and he led their funerals. He smiled with the people and wept with them. Even if he failed to come on some occasion, he was always conspicuous by his absence for every visitor asked about the master first and anything afterwards.

But the school was always there and master Sharif was always present in the school. During fifty years he had seen and taught one generation taking the place of the other generation. He had seen many of his students becoming grey haired but it seemed to he had defeated the time. Except one or two white, almost all the hair of his beard and head were black. His teeth were quite all right. There were a few wrinkles on his forehead. It seemed that every thing was subject to time, but time was subject to him or perhaps time was also his student for he was so regular, punctual and organized. The people of the village used to correct their old watches and clocks with the arrival and departure of master. He was there alarm clock.

But now after so many years, he felt that he was slowly and steadily loosing strength that was his hallmark. Few people knew about his family; one ailing daughter and one son. Nobody had asked him about it and he had never mentioned it. His face had never shown his inward worry. He kept himself busy with his job and job was his duty. Though he had spent a lot of money to get his daughter cured, but the unknown disease got the better of her. She was severely ill from the last three months and he was busy in taking her to hospital. Then one day the whole village heard an announcement on the loud speaker of the mosque used for such purposes as well that master Sharif would not come to school. It was also announced that his daughter passed away at night. There was only one graveyard for three or four villages. Hence she was to be buried in the graveyard near the school. Her dead body was brought. Master himself led the funeral prayer. Tears welled up in his eyes and the villagers saw master weeping first time in their lives. After burying his daughter, everybody of the village went to him and expressed his sorrow. As usual he said that the will of God was done and “Long Live Pakistan”.

On the other hand his young students were sitting under the oak tree for no holiday was announced and they came straight to school from the graveyard. They were half in sorrow that the daughter of their mentor was no more, and half in secret happiness that at last they would have a holiday. They looked to the people coming from the graveyard. Master Sharif was among them. His eyes were read and he seemed somewhat old and tired. They thought that he would announce leave that day due to so much grief. When he came near the school, he permitted the people to go to their homes and turned to his students. He took out his register to call the roll of every class and started his daily routine. There was no mention of any leave and the students were busy in their work again. Soon the whole school was reciting tables in unison, and master Sharif was proudly looking at them standing near the chair. His eyes and face were showing his grief he went through on the death of his only daughter but here was his duty waiting for him. One of the village elders happened to pass by the school with his distant relative, greeted him to which he got usual response of “Long Live Pakistan” from the master. But the tone was different. It was said in guttural voice. The relative of the village elder looked at him quizzically to whom he told that master’s only daughter had passed away and he was just coming from the graveyard after her burial. He did not have a holiday even on the death of his daughter. “How unusual”! Said his companion. “Yes, unusual but truly Pakistani character, with his slogan of “Long Live Pakistan”.

Master Sharif was soon busy in his work after a couple of days and his sorrow was muffled by his love for teaching. He was again greeting his students and people with his “Long Live Pakistan” in his melodic sound.

BY

MAZHAR ABBAS BHATTI
Lecturer in English

ADDRESS:
ISLAMABAD MODEL COLLEGE FOR BOYS F-11/1 ISLAMABAD

CONTACT:
OFFICE#0519266169
MOBILE#03005274245

All the characters and places in this story are based on reality but purely changed. Any resemblance to that will be purely incidental.

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THAT IS ENOUHGH.