PROSHONNO FROM THE village had had ‘Gurumoshai’ appended to his name for as long as people could remember, for he had been the only teacher in Contentment for years. His school was run from behind the tills of his little grocery shop at one end of the village. In the absence of any real ability to teach, Proshonno Gurumoshai relied chiefly on his bamboo switch. He had great faith in the power of pain, and so did the parents who deposited their children in his care.

‘Just make sure that they’re not blinded or lamed, and we’re fine,’ they assured him. With this licence, Proshonno Gurumoshai used his switch with such abandon that all too often, his students escaped blindness and lameness purely by chance—and that by a hair’s breadth.

It was a cold morning in the month of Poush when Shorbojoya woke her son up with a bright cheerfulness.

‘Wake up, darling! You’re going to start school today. Isn’t it exciting? You’ll have so many new books. And a new slate! Baba will drop you off himself!’

Opu thought at first that his mother was playing a trick on him. Why would he have to go to school? Only really bad children—the ones who broke things, didn’t listen to their parents, and fought with their siblings—were sent to school. It was a way of locking them up for the day. So he turned over in the bed and went back to sleep.

After a few minutes, Shorbojoya popped her head back into the room. ‘Get up and wash your face, Opu. Baba’s waiting. I’ll tie you a big bag of puffed rice, all right? You can eat it at school. Wake up, my sweet golden boy. It’s getting late.’

Opu peeped from under the blanket and stuck his tongue out at his mother. She was being extra persistent in tricking him today, but he wasn’t going to fall for it.

It was only when Horihor came indoors and asked what was keeping his son that Opu realized it wasn’t a prank. He was actually being sent to school! Disbelief and betrayal battled for room inside his head. What had he done to deserve this?

When his mother came to give him his packet of food, he could barely hold back his tears. He was never going to trust his mother again! She was letting him go to school!

‘I’m never coming back to you,’ he choked.

Shorbojoya was busy making sure that her little boy had everything he needed. ‘Aww, don’t say such things, sweetheart. You’ll be home before you know it,’ she said. Then she raised his chin with her thumb and forefinger, and kissed him on the forehead. ‘May you learn a lot. May you grow up to get a great job, and make lots of money. There’s nothing to be afraid of . . . My dear, it’s his first day—please tell Gurumoshai to go easy on him.’

And with that, father and son were off.