The mulberry stick

R.S.Dalal

Master Bodh Raj was a much feared but highly respected teacher in the town. He was widely known for his skills in teaching English grammar and mathematics. My elder brother who studied under him was already showing sparks of brilliance in maths and English writing.

So I was taken out of a private public school, which had just about started sprouting then, and admitted to  8th class in 1964 under Master Bodh Raj's care and strict control. I was shaken up by the change in environment. Teachers in the public school were kind and pleasant  and  there were just  twenty  students in the class. Here, there were seventy of us and many from poor and very poor families. My benchmate only had a vest and a long underwear (kachha) to wear.

We were of many shades and temperaments. One group was of intelligent types that would occupy the front desks, and promptly raise hands to every question asked.   Another set was of those who had no interest in studies and occupied the back benches.  Some were timid and average in studies and lived in constant fear of master Bodh Raj, a domineering personality — tall, stocky build, with big hands and a thick resonating voice.

Master Bodh Raj firmly believed in the adage "Spare the rod and spoil the child". Corporal punishment came naturally to him. The back-benchers were his main target. One day he came to school before time and filled the huge blackboard with chalk-written “active-passive’ and “direct-indirect” sentences. We knew, at once, looking at the blackboard that aaj shamat  aa   gayee.  Obsessed with showing 100% pass result, he couldn't accept even a single failure — a diehard perfectionist! 

The poor back-benchers had to bear the brunt of his obsession. He entered the class his hands having visible signs of chalk dust. He pointed to a boy at the back with his ruler and asked him to convert the first sentence from active to passive voice. And, as expected, he was clueless. He was brought before him. Then the spine chilling action started. He gave a tight slap with his heavy hand but our back-bencher friend ducked in a flash, leaving him furious. (The back-benchers had devised clever survival tactics.) He pulled him closer and gave him a harder one. Instantly his arms were up and clasped the face in a protective shield like a professional boxer dodging a heavy punch. Masterji was red with anger and tried pulling his arms down but again didn't succeed. Some students giggled. He couldn’t take it anymore. He took the ruler and hit him hard and the ruler broke into two. He called aloud his favourite student and asked him to run and pluck a mulberry stick from the tree at the main gate. The green mulberry stick being flexible worked like a whip. 

This was the most hated old full grown tree at the main school gate entry and everyday while coming in and going out, we kicked it hard. Now there was no escaping the lashes but the fourteen-year-old took the beating with fortitude and calmness, befitting a biblical hero. We held tightly to our benches with bated breath and fearful eyes. Finally, when his anger subsided, he said that since he loved us all, he wanted us to learn and do well in the exams. But I couldn't muster courage to go to school for days together.