A Revered Teacher

Everyone in my village called him Ani Mastrey, so we too called him by that name, though in his absence. At school, he was ‘Aagyaan’ or ‘Principal Aagyaan’. Shri Aniruddha Sahu was the veteran Principal of Upper Primary (UP) School, Khuntpali when I joined Class 4 in 1962. He was also Principal when Shri Shashi Bhushan Dash of Behera (Principal of George High School, Bargarh when I joined Class 8) had joined the UP school on 2^nd January, 1936. I do not know when Ani Sir had joined the school in my village, but I am told that he spent most of his teaching career at Khuntpali. He retired from service in 1965, I think, in which case his year of birth would be 1907, making him three years older than my grandfather!

Ani Sir was from Kumbhari, a village about 6 kms from Barpali, and about 8 kms from Khuntpali. He stayed alone at Khuntpali, and his family possibly stayed in his own village.

It was a big deal when we joined Class 4, and moved from our Basic School, a modest mud house with thatched roof, to the Upper Primary School, a pucca structure, though with a tin roof. I was the youngest in the class, and several of my classmates periodically reminded me and themselves, too, that a very serious phase of our life had begun as there would be a Board Examination for Class 5 for which we have to go to Bargarh to an unfamiliar school, and our papers would be evaluated by teachers from other schools. Not easy to pass Class 5, they were unanimous in their opinion.

At the Basic School, we had very kind teachers- Arjun Mishra from Kuchinda, Bhagbatia Seth from Burda or Borda (for which he was also called Burdia Master). These wonderful teachers had little need to punish us since a mere raised voice was enough to get all of us to huddle on the mud floor and begin loud recitation of our lessons for the day. Sometimes, when only one teacher was present, all the three classes somehow managed to fit into the small single room, and when all the students began their respective chants, the effect was a strange medley of stereophonic music which lulled the teacher to doze off, not unlike the roaring locomotives comforting platform-dwellers to deep sleep. The idyllic ambience and carefree life of Basic School ended when we graduated to UP School where the teachers gave lessons, homework, and freely used the cane on students who were found wanting.

There was one silver lining in the gathering cloud, though. In July, when our classes commenced, the rains were in full swing and we were thrilled to discover that whenever there was a strong shower, the teacher had to suspend the class as his voice drowned in the din from the tin roof.

Ani Mastrey was a very meticulous and devoted teacher, and during his long and distinguished career he had motivated and guided many students to earn scholarships, which were only a few and hotly contested by the bright students of the entire sub-division. Shri S.B. Dash had joined the school at Khuntpali only because Ani Mastrey was the famed Principal, under whose guidance he hoped to win the scholarship, and he did! Ani Mastrey had been honoured with the Governor’s Award by the State Government for his distinguished service. He had also himself made a map of India with clay which was lauded by all and sundry.

In every class, he would ask several questions to test that the students fully comprehended the lessons he imparted. I sat in the front row, and knew the answers to all his questions not because I was a genius but because my father had also home-tutored me in the evenings and weekends. Parents of most of my classmates were not literate, and it sufficed for them to see that their ward went to school daily and also passed the annual examination. Whenever Ani Sir asked a question, I raised my hand. Sometimes he let me answer, but often he didn’t. He knew I knew the answer, and now I understand that he wanted to test the others in the class. But I thought he had not noticed my raised hand, so I piped in, ‘Sir, may I reply, please?’ Even then he took no notice. I thought he hadn’t heard me, so I repeated my offer. That was when he asked me to stand up in my place and keep standing there for several minutes, as a punishment.

Once he noticed me giggling in his class. A classmate in the back benches and the best artist in our class had drawn a caricature of Ani Sir on a scrap of paper and had passed it to his neighbour. In due course, the cartoon came surreptitiously to me in the front bench, and I too passed it on for further circulation. Yet, even after it had passed from my hand, I couldn’t stop giggling. Ani Mastrey asked me to stand up and tell why I was not mindful of his lessons and was giggling instead. I would not squeal about my friends, so I kept silent. He asked me to step in front of the blackboard, and took up the kaniara cane which he always brought to class but used only rarely. He asked me to put out my left palm (since the right palm was for writing!) and administered five stinging ones. I had never before been caned by Ani Mastrey or any other teacher, and it hurt a lot and was humiliating, too. But what I remember even today is what Ani Sir said while caning me: ‘Puta gadha’. Whenever he caned a student, he invariably ended by saying ‘Puta gadha’. Now, puta is derived from Sanskrit putra, and is a term of endearment when used by an elder for a child. But Ani Sir used it while chastising an errant student who was no less than his son and needed a mild course correction.

Our school had several kaniara (also called kaner; botanical name: Nerium Oleander) bushes. It’s a hardy plant, evergreen, and can withstand intense heat and profuse rains. The pink and white flowers, having no honey or fragrance, don’t even attract bees. Only caterpillars feed on this poisonous plant. This plant is so ubiquitous in several parts of the globe that its original habitat is unknown. In India and elsewhere, this plant is widely used for avenue plantation and can be seen on highways and public gardens.

These bushes beautified our school, and also provided supple and sturdy canes to our teachers. Whenever I see this plant, I remember Ani Mastrey, his caning with his unmistakably affectionate Puta gadha.

“Principal Aagyaan, May Your Soul Rest in Peace. On this Teachers’ Day, I offer my fond regards and respectful gratitude to you.”

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