It is not the times of Thomas Arnold and his son, Mathew
Arnold. In the age of Charles Dickens and the Arnolds, a second saying also was
practiced. That was ‘children may be seen not heard’. Brute force was used
then. However, in the 20th century, a gentleman, a colleague, had a
set up time in which are children may see their father.
One day, my late father was basking in the sun in our
lawn. He saw a young lad about 14 was running towards the commercial market
followed by a bearded man. When that man reached the lad in front of our gate,
the man laid the latter on the ground, picked up a brick and starting the boy’s
ear onto the brick. My father rushed to rescue from the clutches of the man. He
explained to my father that the boy was running away from the madrasa. My
father scolded the man saying teach the young through love, otherwise, the
children would run away.
I saw beatings of lesser mortals a few times. Once I saw a
father beat his son by throwing the latter onto a cement floor again and again
totally oblivious of my presence. The son was asking more pakoras which his
mother was frying.
I was lucky both at home and at school. My late father’s
weapon of mass destruction was scolding at which I had more than my share. At
school, I was a timid boy and I did my homework regularly. Besides, I used to
come to the school punctually .So I gave no complaints to the teachers.
However, sometimes my luck ran out and I was at the end receiving. Once I
committed an error in solving an Arithmetic sum. Mr. Siddiq Akbar, the teacher,
gave me a blow with his heavy hand on the back of my neck. It was not a painful
blow. But whenever I am reminded, I could feel the impact of the blow.
Once again, in the Cadet College, Hasan Abdal, my English
teacher caught me talking to Mr.Tariq Ikram, a former State Minister and the
Chairman, TDAP. He hit me at the back of my head with a thick book of comics
that I was holding.
However, I felt the impact of capital punishment when my
class teachers were Father Mccain and the late Mr. Mushtaq Rasheed in the Saint
Mary’s Cambridge School, Murree Road Rawalpindi. In this School, most teachers,
foreigners and local, were kind. However, once the latter caught our class
makes a noise. He called the class monitor and gave me three kicks in his
back and three blows on the scruff of his neck alternatively in front of the
class. I was trembling in my shoes.
There were two Father Mccain in our school: Father Mccain
Senior was kind .However, Father Mccain Junior was very rough with boys.
He was altogether a different cup of tea. I felt that he had a great dislike
for the café au lait of our complexion. He wielded the cane like a machine gun
and fired a burst of fifty or sixty blows per second. At School, the caning was
called benders. Once a boy was beaten mercilessly that he could not sit down on
his seat the whole day. He attended the class while standing.
When we were informed about my selection to join the Cadet
College ,Hasan Abdal , I begged my father to pay all dues to the School at once
to enable to stay at home for the of fifteen or twenty days prior to my joining
to escape Father Mccain .
That was the situation in one of the most prestigious public
schools in Rawalpindi. Neither the parents nor the children dared to protest.
However, in Singapore four boys were caught damaging somebody’s private
property and were punished with ONLY four blows of a cane. Matters became worse
and a diplomatic row between the Governments of Britain and Singapore
erupted.
Once in Cadet College, Hasan Abdal, I got 58 out of 100, two
marks less than the required percentage of 60%. A dear friend of mine, Aftab,
had 59 %. Together we were called by the Principal, Mr. Hugh Catchpole, at his
house situated on the campus at 4 PM that day. We both thought that we had been
invited by him for tea. His house was the last one. I was the bolder of the two
.I knocked at the door. A servant appeared. Now I realized that the servant was
aware of the purpose we had come for. Many others came and went through the
same portals .He bade us to sit in the drawing room .In the drawing room; there
was a small glass paneling in the opposite wall through which everything was
visible. It was through this glass panel I saw what turned out to be my
greatest fear that the Principal was choosing a cane to beat the poor boys. I
was watching his every action from my vintage point. He raised his right hand
and I could see the glistening cane in the late afternoon sunlight. And then a
yell “ahh” pierced the daylight out of me.
That done, Mr. Catchpole appeared in the doorway to beckon
me. When I entered the Principal’s study the other boy had vanished into the
air. The same routine was followed and the cane was chosen to hit my derriere.
He threw a biscuit on the carpet and asked me to pick it up. I bent down. The
cane hit my bottom with a lightening speed and I was only able to exclaim
“ahh“. He again told me to pick the biscuit. Again the rod hit me. He was
well satisfied that he did not need me further. He opened the other door to let
me go warning me not to tell the others what happened to me.
At least Mr. Catchpole had the realization not to hurt the
boys self esteem. However, brute force is used with the students irrespective
what age group they belong elsewhere in Pakistan. Now that the media is free,
more and more incidents of violence are appearing regularly. I am reminded
of an incident, which took place at the Islamabad Model College for Boys,
F-8/4, Islamabad. A boy, my friend’s son, challenged the pronunciation of the
teacher when he pronounced the name of ‘New Guinea’ as ‘New Guineaa’. His
teacher got offended and beat the poor boy black and blue.
The topic is debatable. However, no Government regulations
can force the teachers or parents to cease applying violence. However, sanity
may prevail with more Education.
Mahfooz ur Rahman
rahman.mahfooz.pk@gmail.com
rahman.mahfooz.pk@gmail.com
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