The Scent Of Burning Charcoals

When Arijit Ackroyd Ghose went back to Shimla in 1892, having become a Wrangler in Mathematics and then secured a double first in Greek and Latin from Cambridge, he was asked by the principal of his old school St Paul’s, Kasauli, if he would spend that summer teaching philosophy to students in class ten. Ghose hesitated initially for a few days : to ‘educate’ people by telling them what the right things to do were, to ‘instruct’ them regarding the range of beliefs and actions that was forbidden to them, and to ‘normalise’ those who burst through these bounds, would be a betrayal of his deepest anarchist conviction that what went by the hallowed name of ‘education’ was simply a sophisticated mask through which teachers inflicted their Will to Power on their hapless victims.

And yet three months through the experience, he was glad that he had taken up the principal’s offer, not so much because of what he taught the students but because of the trains of thought that a certain ‘problem child’, Vishal, set in motion within the labyrinths of his mind. Vishal spent much of the time in class alternately staring through the windows, pestering those on the benches in front, or throwing chalks at the empty blackboard. One afternoon, just as the low clouds were lifting from the valley shrouded in mist, Arijit met Vishal as he was going down to the Mall. That was the beginning of a series of extended conversations, of which the following are some snatches.

‘Do you know what true power is?’
‘Standing at the top of a mountain and ordering the people below to follow you.’
‘Power that is, yes, but not true power. That is when you stand at the top of a mountain immersed in your own work, look at the people gathered below but just for a fleeting moment, and get back to what you were doing earlier, oblivious of their existence. Indeed, you are even unaware that you are at the top and *for all you care* you could very well be sitting next to the people at the base. The leader who compels others to follow him is, unknown to himself, completely under the sway of those whom he is trying to lead for his existence becomes dependent on theirs. Have you wondered why no matter how badly a master ill treats, starves or beats his slave, he will never actually kill him? That is because the master’s own existence depends on the slave’s, and consequently the master himself unwittingly becomes subservient to his slave. But think of the other figure placed on the mountain top who remains unconcerned which way the wind is blowing, how many people are with whom, or how many of his followers are not moving astray from his command, because such human allegiances of mastery and serfdom do not touch him.’
‘So what is the point of all this?’
‘Well, if you do not like school, as I never did, you have two options. The first is simply to run away from it all, but that won’t work out in the long run. If you meet the Establishment head-on, you will soon realise that it is simply too powerful for one isolated individual like you. It will catch up with you sooner or later, slowly but unerringly squeeze the life out of you, and pack you to a correction-centre where you shall spend the rest of your miserable life. The second option is to do what I myself did : become a part of the Establishment, but this not because you love it but because you hate it, learn all its rules thoroughly, completely absorb and internalize them, and then slowly turn them against it.’
‘How does one do that?’
‘Well, for a start, never allow yourself to get any rank below the first rank. Fight tooth and nail, and with every ounce of energy in your body strain every muscle in it so that you can stay there. Always remain at the top of the game for you will find that there is more room up there, but this not because you adore the game but because you think it is just that --- a game, a game that some people play to pass their time. So when people come up to you and congratulate you on having achieved the first position, it is you who will have the last laugh.’