Moral Short Story – THE PROFESSOR’S CHILD
Photo credit: allyeargarden from morguefile.com
It is midnight as I sit to express my unrevealed ‘self’ virtually(on my PC). Rehman must have finished all the necessary rituals that will mark the upcoming wedding of his sister- a Hindu sister named Rashmi.
My readers may wonder why I chose this time of the night to write this strange story and I might answer that ,I feel ,my sincere tribute to humanity may not find any other suitable time when I can actually experience the moisening of my eyes from time to time. My family is in deep sleep and without expecting any interference from anybody,here am I, my dear Rehman, to tell the world about you.
I met Rehman 20 years ago when I had joined a private college as an Assistant Professor of Science. I had planned about my career much before I completed my Post Graduation. I always believed that teaching was actually an art and meant much profound meaning than what was actually practiced in many of the institutions. I had decided that I would be different in taking teaching as a challenge rather than a profession.
I grew up observing various faculty members in my schools and colleges wherever I studied. I found each one unique in his or her art of tackling the work pressure and displaying meticulous knowledge of their specialised subjects, as well. Some of them were above expectations and others were trying to create a mark among the students and the peer group. I never realised, when I grew up and became a woman of 26, ready to take up the challenge myself.
It was my first day as a faculty member in the college and it began on a slightly disappointing note as I happened to come across a 5 ft. 10 inches man with a red tie and mistaking him to be my colleague, wished him good morning and found others in splits. Later I was told by a good samaritan that the man happened to be actually a post graduate student who was taking part in a seminar. I too laughed inwardly at my ignorance and kept faking a smile at the passers- by which could actually save me from the disappointment that I had just experienced in the college premises.
I look at the big clock in my study room which has been gifted to me by my two children Shweta and Arvind. It is going to be 2 a.m and the next day being a National Holiday, I decide to continue with my story.
‘ Madam ! Rehman is the only boy who has not submitted his assignment.’ Rehman often inhabited the last bench and this statement by his classmate jerked me.
‘ Ok fine. Who is this Rehman ?’
He stood up half-heartedly and everyone laughed. My irritation at his gesture prompted me to call him to front , face the class and give the reason for not writing the assignment. Of course it was a first year class. By now it was clear to him that I was going to be a tough nut to crack that day and in future too till he completed his studies in that institution.As he came and stood in front of the class, I saw him shuddering which he tried hard to retain unnoticed by keeping his hands at the back. I gave a thorough look at the boy. He had a sleek body , stern face and was very ordinarily dressed in a pale white shirt and a worn-out jeans. Below he wore a pair of chappals which had shabby straps and were supposed to be discarded.
My gaze at him was interrupted as he, in his breaking tone, explained his inability to submit the assignment on time.
Yes. It was not an explanation which anyone could believe but the sincerity that lied in the words moved me to the depth of my sentiments.
He said, “ Dear Friends and Madam! I do 4 part- time jobs to financially help my family. My mother is no more and my father is a full-time drunkard. I have two younger sisters who consider me as their only parent. I work in a star-hotel as a room boy after going back from the college and return home at 9 at night. I cook for my sisters and put them to sleep and early morning at 3 a.m , I prepare the day’s food for them, followed by selling flowers on my cycle. Then I sell newspapers and after finishing that task, I assist a tea shop owner before coming to the college.”
Everyone was quiet. The ‘affluent’ in the class moved their heads here and there as if the truth of a particular life was choking them and creating unrest in their sitting postures. I saw them all and once again looked at the boy. This time , I observed a deep scar on his left cheek which was facing me. He turned to look at me and said, “ Sorry Madam! My sister is in the hospital and I have to go to her after this class.”
Neither he nor did I mention anything about the assignment and I permitted him to go.
Dear God! please give me the courage to tell my readers that the same day, when Rehman left the class, two tragedies embraced him and filled his life with everlasting remorse and insecurity. The same day, he lost his sister in the hospital and at home, his father, in one of his drunken spree, bashed up the other girl and sold her to a rich man who immediately took her away to another city. All this happened when Rehman was in the hospital with his sister’s dead body.
I have read in a book that God gives sufferings only to those whom HE knows can bear them in peace. And Rehman was one such kind. Today Rehman came to class after 10 long days. His face was calm and he was normal. None in the class, including me, dared sympathizing with him. The class went on as usual like the calm after the storm. In order to ease the tensed atmosphere of the class, I narrated a joke and to my surprise, Rehman laughed the most. Poor boy! For I knew how much pain was apparent in that loud laugh!!!!!!!!
Shweta has woken up and I realize it’s 6 in the morning. Today Atul, my husband, has promised the kids that he will take them to the newly constructed water-park in the town. That means, I have the whole day and the evening to complete Rehman’s real- life story. I am excited to see Atul and kids off.
Once I asked Rehman about the scar on his face . He hesitated to reveal the truth to a stranger like me but after some initial hiccups, he told me everything. A man called Raghav lived in the neighbourhood of Rehman. He abhored Rehman to the depth of his heart. The Reason???? Rehman was a hard-working boy and did everything to save his sisters from the tentacles of poverty.
Raghav was a vagabond and soon his hatred towards Rehman found its way to unleash in the form of the communal riots that had broken out in the city. At that time, Rehman was just 11 years old. Under the pretext of the communal violence, he caught hold of Rehman and injured his cheek with a sharp weapon. After that day, Raghav was never seen in the neighbourhood but Rehman’s scar was going to be seen everyday by everyone throughout his life. Later Rehman found that it was Raghav who was responsible for the selling of his other sister.
My actual friendship with Rehman began when he was in the second year of his college life. As I was walking towards one of my classes in the afternoon, I saw him running towards me , with his face glowing like a fresh dew-dipped rose.
He stopped me and said, “ Madam! I have to give you a very good news.”
I had never before seen him so happy and content as he was today. His face was brimming with joy. Anticipating that the boy might have got a good job with a good pay, I too expressed my eagerness to know the matter.
“ Madam! Raghav is in the hospital and he is about to die due to brain tumour. I am so happy . Atlast God has heard my prayers and revenged my sister’s ruined life. I am going to distribute sweets to all.”
I stood still for a moment there. Suddenly my eyes brimmed with tears at the saddism of a teenager. I caught his hand and said, “ Rehman! If ever you respected me and felt that I have given my heart and soul to develop the values in my students, then please BUY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS ALONG WITH A SWEET PACKET and visit Raghav as he is dying.”
After that day, Rehman did not speak to me and I realised that he avoided me. Was I oblivious to his sorrows and agony????????????????I did not know.
One evening as I was with my family , conversing over tea, I heard the doorbell. It was 7 in the evening . I opened the door and to my surprise , found Rehman at the door with a girl, may be aged 9. I asked him to come in but suddenly Rehman broke into a loud cry and fell at my feet. I took him inside the living room and offered him a glass of water.
Later Rehman told me that after meeting Raghav in the hospital, he was shocked. As he offered the flowers and the sweets to him, Raghav broke out and hugged him. Both wept for a long time and in those tears, all the hatred towards each other melted. Rehman promised Raghav that after his death, he would take care of his younger sister Rashmi, throughout his life.
There is no other punishment in this world than the punishment of humility, love, compassion and benevolence……
Rehman could draw and paint with both his hands simultaneously and this hidden talent was located by a cinematographer at a cultural event. He met Rehman and offered him a job as his assistant at a popular studio.
Today Rehman himself is a successful cinematographer and only some of us know his journey towards his success. Rashmi is marrying a businessman from Italy who has also invited Rehman to open another studio there.
I hear some noise outside. Oh! My family is back from the water-park and so am I from the memory lane. Almost 20 years have passed and my student- friend Rehman is almost a part of my family now. He has settled down in America but whenever he visits India, he is with us……….my child……….THE PROFESSOR’S CHILD.
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