Little Gandhi (A Story)

A Story

"Please... attention..."
Everyone turned his eyes toward the teacher, and their faces made it seem they were listening to him. His voice rose high and ringing, to overcome the sound of the raging winds and the tapping of the snowflakes against the glass.

"Imagine, boys: that scantily equipped army, surging out of the heart of the desert, was able to smash the gates of Khosrow and Heraclius and deal them a crushing blow to......."

Ha, ha, ha — laughter rang out, and uproar took over. The teacher stood for a moment open-mouthed, snowflakes scattered over his hair and his face.

"Who... who is the bold one who did this?"

"Sir, it was Samir — no, no, that was Sahir — believe me, sir, it was Jihad..."

★

"What is all this commotion?"
Everyone froze in his place; they had been expecting anything but this. The principal had not come that morning — perhaps he was ill!? What a splendid chance, then, to give the honorable history teacher's face a washing. And how could it occur to them that the principal would come and surprise them at that very moment?

The principal shut the door and stepped quietly a few paces inside.

"I know you were not expecting my coming, but I have come. And I saw what happened. I did not hope that boys of your age and your ability would do such a thing; I expected students at the secondary stage to respect themselves. I cautioned you from the beginning of the school year, and I warned you again and again to change this reckless course you are following. And now I shall give you a lesson which I want each of you to engrave upon his breast and remember forever. The lesson may be harsh — very harsh indeed — but I believe it will make men of you.

Life is not a game. Yes, it is earnest and play both; but we do not play before we know our duties and fulfill them.

Who is the one who threw the snowball? Before I know him, I wish to tell him that I wish him from this moment on a life of earnestness and toil; perhaps society and its harshness will teach him why he lives and what his duties are. Let that brave fellow kindly step forward

and leave the school at once..."

★

Hearts pounded, faces went pale, glances wavered. A dreadful silence closed over the room. For the first time in the history of the school, a student had dared to do such a thing; and there was no doubt the principal would not go back on his word — when he spoke, he acted. Perhaps it was this trait that had made his institute a perfect model.

— "I did not know that man's boldness shows itself before some people and hides before others. Let me believe that in the soul of that student there is at least one trait to be praised: boldness. Let him step forward!..."

The students exchanged frightened, bewildered glances. Which of them would dare to say "I"? But one of them dared, and stood up straight.

— "I did, sir!"

— "You?!! It never once crossed my mind that it was you, Ahmad — you who were the model of the perfect student. I have no doubt your comrades led you astray. But... so that you may learn, Ahmad, how to walk alone in life, strong — very strong — not led about by foolish others, I shall carry out what I said. I am sorry for this; and it will please me, once you have come to think as a reasonable man thinks, that you visit me and count me your friend."

★

Along that long road, flanked by trees on either side, where at some of its bends the snow still lay untouched by the mischief of children, a road empty of any human being, Ahmad walked.

"How shall I face my parents with the truth? What shall I say to them? And how? How, O Lord? Let people say what they will — I am sure of myself. I know the principal expelled me unjustly. If only he knew that I was the only one who tried to turn the students from their idea. But they would not listen to what I said, and they mocked me. He thought one of us threw the ball; he did not know that all the students had agreed on it, and he would not have hesitated to expel us

all. So there was nothing for it but to sacrifice myself to save my comrades. I have committed no offense — let people think of me what they will. But... my mother and my father... will they appreciate my stand... or... will they believe me?..."

★

"Hurry, hurry, Ahmad — Mama is waiting for you; she has made you hot tea."

"Y-y-yes, Papa, here I come."

Ahmad stood near the outer door of the house, as though he had wakened from a deep sleep. How had his father not noticed that he had come back before school let out? Ahmad looked at his watch: it pointed to half past three, the natural hour of dismissal. So there was no doubt he had spent those two hours walking aimlessly.

Before he entered the house, his glance

happened to fall on his father, and he saw him walking with quick steps, the brown scarf wound as usual about his neck, his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat. Poor father! He was going to his work, as was his habit in the early morning and in the afternoon of every day. Rain and snow did not mean even a temporary excuse from work, or from the twenty minutes' walk to reach the office. With what words would his only son — his hope in life — say to him: "I have been expelled from school"?

★

"Thank God — I am free at last."
Ahmad drew a deep breath, and threw himself violently onto his bed. All the household was asleep — all except Ahmad.

"I am a coward. I am a coward..."
He sprang from his bed and began pacing the floor of the room, nervous and agitated.

"Why did I not face my father with the truth? Why? Why was I too cowardly to speak? And how did I dare look into his eyes as he said to me before he slept — Good night, Ahmad — good!! Ha... what a good night indeed. I, who was the victim, who offered myself as a ransom for my comrades. I, who tried at every moment of my life to be a model of perfection. I do not remember ever wronging a human being. I — I am no longer Ahmad, that model student, in the eyes of people. But... is God not pleased with me? Am I not pleased with myself? No — perhaps I am not? No, no — I do not know."

Suddenly he stopped pacing, and his right hand clenched inside his pocket. What was there?

He drew out his hand, and behold, it held the great trust the principal had handed him at the start of the school year, saying: "I know, Ahmad, that you are the best one to take charge of the library, and the best one to know the value of a book. Here are the keys. And my wishes for your success." A new worry — one that would force him to go back to the school, to return the trust to the one who had handed it to him.

"What wretched luck! Facing my father is a thousand times easier than facing the principal. And what would my father do? He flares up; he may punish me and threaten me. But the principal — if only he would do something of the kind. He does not flare up, he does not rage; he only looks at me with those calm, deep eyes of his, and his glances pierce to the depths of my soul.

O Lord, what have I done, to be tormented with this torment? I meant well, and I met with misery."

★

Gandhi!!!

Yes — it was Gandhi. There he was, gazing with his merciful, deep eyes; and his lips — no doubt they were smiling, as usual.

Ahmad walked forward, still dazed, staring at the picture before him — the picture he had hung on the wall four years ago, so that he might see it whenever he woke or went to sleep. He drew nearer, and could read the number clearly.
"2338." Yes, it was true.
"2338" days Gandhi had spent in prisons. Was that a little?
— How beautiful it is for a man to suffer for the happiness of others —
Ahmad's lips parted in a smile of contentment; he laid the keys with all deliberateness on the table, put out the light, and slept.

★

"Come in."
Ahmad opened the door of the room and entered. The principal raised his head and said:
— "Oh — Ahmad? Welcome, welcome; come in and sit down."
— "I do not wish to trouble you, sir; I have only come to return the trust to you. Here it is."
And with a trembling hand he laid the black keys on the desk before the principal.
— "Ahmad — listen, my son. You know very well that I have no children. And I thank God in any case. But you may not know that you... I mean that you were the noblest and finest student I have seen in my life. I always watched over you, and kept a wakeful eye on you. I hoped that in the future you would become a great man — for you are great by nature. I hoped that after some years I would be able to boast and say: this is the student — or rather, this is... my son whom I raised. And... the thing I wish to tell you is that that hope is still in my soul.

There is no need for us to mention what happened yesterday. I know you did not throw the ball. But... listen, Ahmad.

It is very beautiful for a man to rise high in his thinking, and more beautiful still that he turn his thinking toward others before turning it toward himself. But life, however wide its reaches, those reaches have limits, Ahmad.

Ahmad, I want you to be a shining lamp, lighting the way for others. But I want you to remember always and always: if you raise the heat beyond its bound, there is no doubt the lamp will burst one day.

And now, please remember, on your way home after lessons are over, to buy a new glass for your lamp whose glass was shattered yesterday. And I do not believe I shall ever, any day, find anyone more fit than you to keep this trust. Go along — and do not forget, before you go into class, to open the library room; some of the teachers may be needing it."

Bayan Nowayhed
Ramallah — Jordan