The pages had a beautiful Yellow tint to them, as most books do when they have enriched the minds of hundreds, passed from generation to generation. The artistic cover called out to him. He reached out to touch it, his fingers only a couple of inches away, when suddenly, a sound louder than thunder destroyed his fictional paradise.
The words; “Bēṭā, jēgē uṭhō tōmāra bābā māṭhē tōmāra darakāra āchē.“ (“Beta, wake up your dad needs you in the fields.”), Anil heard on a daily basis, but especially today they seemed harsh, bringing him back to the reality he so often found himself hating. With a rather comical thud, Anil fell out of bed. Still confused with respect to what was happening, the long list of chores being dictated by his mom made him feel like he was drowning in quicksand.
“Clean the house, husk the corn, chop the tomatoes, water the plants, take lunch out to your dad in the fields, help him there, and for god’s sake get that stupid look off your face.”
The last one particularly stung, but like an obedient well-behaved boy, Anil set out to complete the daunting tasks his mother had set out for him.
Anil’s father was a migrant from Bangladesh and had settled in India when the political situation there became unstable. He had never encouraged his children to study or go to school because of the scarcity of money and resources. Despite starting off with the dream of someday owning a business, as time passed, he slowly submitted to the possibility that his family would forever be doomed to be famers with a meagre income.
And so it was for Anil; waking up and toiling in the fields all day, only to be greeted at home by his angry mother who was discontent with how little money they made. However, every day, there was one thing he looked forward to: sleep. Even though most people thought of sleep as a little recluse from the ordinary world, but for Anil, it was so much more. He had a little secret. Every night when he got into bed, he dreamt, not of open skies, or a lot of money, but tons of books. Some about the moon, others about why the world existed. He would just sit in his library, staring at the books, because he feared if he ever tried to read them, he would wake up, and the magnificent spectacle, recreated from his only visit to Kolkata, would be gone. Every night, he became a bit alive. Every morning, it died a little.
As time went on, the world wore away at Anil. The workload kept increasing, and he would often ponder upon why he even dreamt about something he could never attain. His little library kept getting bleaker, until one day, it was gone. That night, Anil tossed and turned in bed, not being able to sleep. The next morning, he got out of bed before his mom could scream at him, not having slept the night before. He quietly put on his khaki shorts, grabbed his sickle, and stepped out of his house. It was just another day.
“Books let you travel without moving your feet. The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.” Education symbolizes the last match on a dark night, last drop of water in a desert, and the only hope when you’re lost in the darkness of dismay. But thousands of children like Anil who are deeply rooted in living in penury, are not even provided with their fundamental ‘Right to Education’. This only takes them miles away from achieving their goals, as their options are limited and covered with adversity. Books are the sole medium to transmit the light of education to the young minds and also a medium to keep that ignited light from flickering. When a child loses the will to read, due to the disparities present in the society and lack of availability of books, he sinks into the vicious circle of illiteracy.
Let’s come together and work for the education of these young minds by contributing to our fullest.
– Vernica, Avyayas, Aastha