The Maverick Moral Science Master .....

The Maverick Moral Science Master

The sub junior classes of V and VI are quite daunting on the young minds who come to Sainik School Bijapur from purely Kannada medium background.

On the one hand they are treated with kid gloves by the English teacher who struggles to teach the basics of this alien language with the affection of a young mother, while on the other, the ‘Masters’ teaching science, maths or social  sciences etc  had no such qualms or social commitment. Their main focus being completing the syllabus,  they would often hound on their helpless preys. From a young mind’s point of view, it was like one teacher came to feed you gripe water and lactogen, singing lullabies, while others came to force feed you with bitter gourd, hot potatoes or their ilk turn by turn and period after period, which was relentless and coincided with the precision of Naazar’s bugle. Forget about indigestion, the tiny throats would get slit a thousand times everyday!  I must however admit these masters did switch their roles regularly though not in their subjects or periods but in their attitude and affection !     It was a constant tug of war of love and hate relationship that we shared with these teachers. In the end, fully confused, we landed up loving and hating them simultaneously as per the need of the hour !

Out of all the subjects being taught to us then in Class VI B in 1972-73, Moral Science class was the most awaited one as it was free from exam phobia and hence interesting and exciting. The teacher told us many interesting stories, incidents and life’s experiences. We also learnt some moral lessons which are as strong even today.

 
Our moral science teacher, a young frail looking, slightly dishevelled, bespectacled soft spoken person in fact resembled Newton at that age. Last period of every Friday, he used to enthral us with some  interesting stories adding a strand of moral fibre into us here and there.  It was however the period on last Friday of the month that we used to wait with bated breath for his grand entry into our class.

On that last Friday of the month, it was not the usual text book like stuff he used to bring to the class for so called moral teaching, but a neatly covered register, to refer to,  occasionally, while telling the stories. On this day he used to be a different person altogether. Brimming with confidence, spring in his gait, and excitement while narrating the characters, his intensity of storytelling was all too palpable. His emotions, actions and expressions while telling the story, took us to a different world altogether. All children simply loved this period and wanted it to go on for eternity. One thing he ensured was that he never let any one touch that register, from which his story used to emerge.

Once, on the last Friday of the first month one of us asked him if he used to so painstakingly write stories for us in the month in that register and narrate the same to us on this last Friday. He then just smiled very intelligently nodded and chided us for asking time wasting questions and then  ontinued with the story. The biggest surprise of course came after a week or so, that is, in the first week of next month when we saw the latest issue of Kannada CHANDAMAMA. We were simply stunned that the story our beloved teacher had told us a week or so ago appeared as the cover story of this issue of Kannada Chandamama.. Whether our teacher was writing stories for this most sought after magazine or a writer of this magazine was our teacher we did not know. But our heart swelled with pride that a story which we knew a week back, the entire school and particularly our so called rivals in other section were only privy to nearly a week later. 

As weeks and months rolled, our respect, regard and awe for this maverick story writer cum story teller only grew by leaps and bonds. During one such last Friday moral science class when our sir was in full swing narrating his latest detective spy thriller story, there was a call from the Head Master to see him immediately. Slightly disturbed over the turn of events and the anxiety of meeting the HM, he told the Monitor to ensure sanity in the class and left. Needless to say every class has its share of over enthusiastic over inquisitive bunch of Sherlock Holmes and we were no exception. One such rogue jumped to the table and opened sir’s register to see the next part of the story. Lo and behold, what did we see in that register! The latest, I mean the next month edition of Telagu edition of Chandamama, his personal subscription copy which our beloved sir was referring to! This was how the mystery of our maverick moral science master Mr CVS Rao was busted.

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