Fiction

Backbone of a Nation

Tanvir Malik

Zahid hesitated a moment before finally opening the envelope. It had been in his hand for sometime but he just could not bring himself to see what was inside. He felt, as if, the printed papers would conspire together to betray everything he had been promised a few days back; days of anticipation and planning had preceded their actual falling into his hands and that could vanish in a moment's notice! Is it fear? he asked himself. Well, not exactly but it was nothing totally divorced from it either.

The envelope had become a bit moist in his palm. He turned it over and tore one corner it was stapled. There, the two-page appointment letter greeted him with lines arranged into paragraphs: serried bunches of academic gobbledygook. He turned the first page and tried to read but could not. Only the phrase “the university is glad to have you among its faculty…” met his glance. He folded it in two hurriedly and inserted where it had come from, exhaling. He would read it later.

The very thought that someone would hire him for a salary and that too in a university like UAST was too much for him to take in. He remembered how it had all begun. He had dropped in to see one of his former teachers Dr Mashrur Zakaria and the current Vice Chancellor of UAST Dr Shawkat Elahi and they had asked him to drop his CV. A month or so later they called him for a presentation. It went very well he could see it in the eyes of the people sitting in a half-circle. The interview was a breeze too. Everybody from the Vice Chancellor to the Registrar looked impressed and a lady with a heavily painted face and manicured nails said smiling : “We'll contact you”. And contacted he was. A meeting with the Vice Chancellor himself later cemented his appointment. He was lucky.

He had always idealized Dr Zakaria. In his student days, he used to be charmed by his personality. His delivery of lectures punctuated by his signature wit was a guarantee to attract every student's attention. He was the role model for scores of aspiring young men and women who wanted to serve the country by teaching.

“Never forget your countrymen…”, he would say, “the poor masses who can't even eat two meals a day. You have to serve them, educate them and thus contribute to society. Money's important but it never comes anywhere near professional integrity…be honest because it pays to be so…”

Zahid had taken these words to heart like thousands more.

The University of Advanced Science and Technology (UAST) campus sprawled over an acre on the outskirts of the city. The name appeared in big letters over the roof and under it ran the university's motto : “The Best Education Money Can Buy”. The university had just moved into these vast grounds abandoning the earlier rented campus in Bananidhara. The main building boasted eight floors and the annexe, five. The canteen was an architectural feat the huge metal-wrapped pillars held the glass-roof which had been made in the shape of a geodesic dome. It was always abuzz with students' chatter and cutlery's clatter. The enormous underground car park could accommodate two hundred cars. At 16, the university had come of age.

Getting out of the lift, Zahid headed towards the Faculty of Business Studies. Housed on the fifth, sixth and seventh floors, it was the biggest faculty and, head and shoulders above others as far as reputation went. Mercury-coated glass walls occupied its one side, making everything outside visible through a tint. The neatly-trimmed hostas on the terrace appeared rather gloomy but the slums in the distance had taken on a rich hue Zahid wondered why. Artificial ferns in corners could not supply oxygen to the humans but were subjected to vast amounts of emitted carbon dioxide ; perhaps that was why their fronds looked a tad blighted.

“Z-a-h-i-d! Come on in.” Dr Zakaria said cheerfully. “Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable.”

Zahid did his bidding.

“Have you got your cubi--- oh….excuse me…” He received a phone call.

Two students were standing at the back of the room.

“Sorry”, the Department Chair apologized, finishing his talk.

“No, Sir. it's ok. I understand.” Zahid answered.

“Sir!” one of the students called.

Dr Zakaria looked up over his gold-rimmed glasses. His expression betokened an unspoken distaste.

“Sir, it's about the waiver. My course advisor's saying it's not possible because of one course only. I have to do this one first and only then…” He handed him some papers.

“Oh yes, you two are a credit transfer case…” He riffled through the papers. “Let's see…er…the course you did at UITB is called Business Ethics in the Workplace but ours is called Business Ethics and the Workplace. They're not the same.” He threw them a questioning look.

The students looked at each other.

“They're not the same thing ours is different in that it situates the ethical perspective vis-à-vis the professional milieu and thereby it induces the incumbent to execute his duties punctiliously in the workplace whereas the UITB course merely muddles through the codes of conduct expected of an individual when pitted against a host of ethical issues in the office gulf of a difference. Excuse me”, his mobile rang again.

It was not clear if the students had a handle on what the teacher was getting at.

“But sir, we've seen the booklists of both the courses. They're very similar”, the other student said.

“Similar, may be, but not the same. No, never! And I don't suppose you want to say the quality of teaching is the same at these two places tch, tch !” Dr Zakaria shook his head vehemently.

The students looked despondent.

“Sir, if I have to do that course again here…the per-credit payment is a problem. My father may not…”, the first one scratched his head.

“I have the same problem too. Sir, if you considered ”, the second one appealed.

“Sorry. Rules are rules. Besides, every semester we reject lots of students. If the tuition is a problem, I suggest..er..I suggest…, you know”, he shrugged his shoulders and looked the students in the eye.

Crestfallen, the students salaamed him and turned round to leave.

“Sorry young man, I have to deal with cases like these all the time. Can you imagine? Ha, ha, ha. By the way, did you see your cubicle?”

Zahid shook his head.

“I'm calling Nazmul right now you know our department secretary, right? Ok, he'll arrange everything for you. Welcome to the department!” he extended his hand.

Zahid got up, thanking his new boss profusely. As he stood up, his look went out again to the terrace. The sun had become hotter and the hostas looked altogether different this time they were giggling, as it were, decked in their yellows and greens. By contrast, the faint contour of slums was not faint anymore the holes in their roofs, the muddy winding alleys, the pot-bellied naked children appeared hideous through the glass wall.

The cubicle Zahid sat in was among a cluster of them. The frosted glass walls showed a dim outline of human activity outside at all times. Currently, a blur of a printed kameez steadied itself and a moment later came a rapping.

“Come in!” Zahid answered.

The door slid open and a face smiled peeping.

“Aishah. Come in!”

Aishah entered. She had a quiz paper in hand.

“S-i-rr, I wanted to talk to you about the quiz. Why did I get 3?” she raised her brows.

Zahid looked down in discomfort .Her orna was coiled round her neck and her cleavage was showing from the plunging necklines. Putting the paper down on the desk, she tautened her torso; the latter action accentuated the curvature of her bosom. Her polished nails were at the paper's edge.

“Oh t-that…t-that q-quiz…” he tried to concentrate on the flatness of the paper in question.

Aishah sat erect scrutinizing every contraction on Zahid's face.

“Here, the principles of management aren't written …and two other questions aren't answered at all.”

“But sir-r, my friend Tasmia got 8”

“She must h-h-have written well t-then….”

“But she and I've always got similar scores on quizzes for other subjects…”

“But your paper's almost blank?” Zahid regained some confidence.

“Can't you do anything about it, please s-i-r-r ?” Aishah clasped her hands resting her elbows on the desk.

“I…I'll check the p-paper again and see if I can do anything.”

“Thanks a load, s-i-r-r…you're an a-n-g-e-l! I knew it, thanks!” Aishah bowed a little.

Zahid gave a nervous smile and immediately looked away.

***

The downpour came out of the blue, although the weather forecast had guaranteed a sunny, cloudless morning. Pedestrians scampered on to pavements to take cover in shop-fronts where hordes were already drying themselves and open-air vendors began saving their wares rather than their own skin. The plant kingdom bowed heads in the wind so they could dodge the cascading waters, though in vain. Roads sucked in the chunky drops hurriedly as if to keep up their dry appearance.

Zahid was sitting in the Department Chair's room. He had been sent for along with another lecturer Tonima Tasnim. Both being new, they wondered what the cause might be. No satisfactory answer could be arrived at and, on their way to the Chair's room, Tonima's smiling face gave Zahid some confidence.

Dr Zakaria entered after finishing his class, deposited his books on the desk and smiled: “It's just a small matter. I'm sure you'll understand. Two students…er…they're complaining they haven't been given deserving marks in mid-terms.”

The two novices started to see the light.

“The students are let me see…er…yes, Aishah binte Mashreq and Saad ibne Sharif”, Dr Zakaria looked up.

“But sir, I mean…Aishah didn't write much. If I show you her script”, Zahid said.

“Are you sure? She's not a bad student as such”, the muscles on the Chair's right cheek twitched abnormally.

“In the quizzes too she did poorly. She came to see me once but I just couldn't pull her marks up.”

“You know, at times you have to consider. I'm not asking you to be ---, you understand not at all but it will boost their self-respect a lot he, he, he.”

“Sir, Saad's case is the same. I keep telling him to write relevant answers but he never does!” Tonima sighed.

“I understand your concern and dedication young blood like you. But think of this too: if you just considered them, just be a bit more flexible, it could give them the confidence they need. Recheck the scripts and see if you can do something. After all, er…their parents sent them to us in good faith and they spared no expenses in doing so, he, he, he we should keep that in mind.”

The two young teachers understood well what the Chair was hinting at. Their outer aplomb perfectly camouflaged the inner surprise. Zahid wanted to say more things to bear out his stance but then thought better of it.

“Ok, Sir. I'll see what I can do”, he uttered. They stood up.

The superordinate did his best to galvanize the young ones into action: “That's the spirit! You won't regret this.”

***

The traffic had stilled a good half hour earlier and showed no sign of moving. Sitting in the CNG auto-rickshaw, Zahid was thinking of his brief spell at UAST. Three and a half months was not a long period but he had learnt a good deal. He had learnt that there were indeed differences between his experience as a student and the students' at UAST. Students had the right to go directly to the Vice Chancellor and complain about a teacher if anything was amiss. Accountability had been given priority over everything else something he had never witnessed in anyone during his university days and that remained as the corner-stone of UAST's strong reputation.

“Baba, can you help me?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

A middle-aged man was clasping the grill of the vehicle. The vest he was wearing must have had a hundred holes and the lungi was so grimy that the checks on it were almost invisible.

“Baba, my son's going to sit the es-es-cee exams next year and I'm short of three hundred taka for his exam fee can you help me, baba!”

The deep-set eyes of the man reflected a despair which might have been the cause of unfulfilled parental encumbrances.

Zahid took out three hundred takas from his wallet. The man's eyes lit up and as he was handed it, he said: “God bless you, baba. God'll definitely fulfil your desires”. As the man walked away, Zahid observed him closer; may be he had lied or may be he had not but the overwhelming feeling of helping the unfortunate father took his breath away. It felt like he had made himself useful at least once.

As soon as Mizan saw Zahid open his cubicle, he came to him running.

“Chhar, Vee Chee Chhar wants to see you right away. Zakaria Chaar's also there.”

Zahid lost no time. Throwing in his attaché case, he locked the door and scooted to the Vice Chancellor's office.

Dr Elahi was seated in his leather swivel-chair.

“Salamuwalaikum, sir.” Zahid greeted him.

“Walaikum. How are you, Zahid?”

“Fine, sir.” He sat down.

Dr Zakaria waved from one corner.

“Zahid, I don't know how to tell you this but we have a situation here”, the Vice Chancellor had no time to kill with a preamble.

“Two students of yours have got B in this semester in Principles of Management. May I ask why?” he took off his glasses.

Zahid's throat felt dry. “Sir, can I know which students you're talking about?”

Dr Zakaria rattled off the names.

“Oh, these students actually deserve a poorer grade, sir. I think I've rather overmarked them.”

“The students think not. They say you're holding out marks from them on purpose.”

Zahid's parched throat could use some icy cold water as could his head. “Sir, obviously I'm not. Why would I do that?”

“One of them went to see you after a quiz and mid-terms but you refused to cooperate with the Department Head.”

Dr Zakaria had just gone out to talk on his mobile.

“Sir, these students, as I said earlier, don't deserve ”, his voice trailed off.

“Leave it to us, young man. Let us do the worrying for that.” Dr Elahi cut him short and smiled curtly.

Zahid kept mum.

“We must remember that these students have come to us to get the best education and we try to help them achieve their goals. When you're depriving him of his grades, it's contrary to what we stand for here we're working on creating opportunities.”

“But, Sir, it doesn't mean we give them the moon should they ask for it”, Zahid found words to say.

“I admit the system is not perfect but what's the harm if you give them marks a notch better than they really deserve? It couldn't possibly harm anyone! It would rather be like encouraging them…”

Dr Zakaria entered and apologized for his phone-call.

“Sir, talking of what they deserve, on my way here I helped a man pay his son's exam fee. He was short of three hundred takas only and when I gave him the money, it felt so good. Now think of them who can't even pay their exam fees and here we're…we're…”

“Here what , Zahid ? Why did you stop? You're still wet behind the ears.” Dr Elahi smirked and looked at Dr Zakaria.

“So far as I'm concerned, the man lied to you and tricked you into robbing you blind”, Dr Zakaria opined.

“Exactly! These beggars will go to any lengths to earn money no conscience or shame. This is disgusting!” the Vice Chancellor gave a bitter expression.

“Sir, in our classes in the university you used to say it was our duty to…” Zahid reminisced.

“Yes, and I still stand by what I said then. However, the two places are different you have to give me that. When you invest a lot, you should at least be rewarded accordingly. It's the nature of this world. The system's such ha, ha.” He looked into the young teachers' eyes piercingly. “Students here come with some expectations and some just some may not be as deserving as others but that doesn't mean we should discourage them.”

“That's what I told him”, Dr Elahi nodded.

Zahid did not feel like saying anything further. He looked resigned to the truth.

“Here's two grade-change sheets for you. Take them and pull up their grades, at least to respectable positions”, Dr Elahi pointed.

Sharmin, the personal secretary opened the door panting: “Sir, Mr Wilson and Mr Petersen are here.”

“Oh, wonderful ! Show them in.” He turned to Zahid and said : “Ok , Zahid, the sooner it's done, the better”. He patted his back. “And now if you'll excuse me, I have some diplomat guests I must meet. Dr Zakaria, I want you to stay it's about the American and Danish guests we're expecting for next month's international seminar.”

Zahid crept out silently. On the way to his cubicle he did not feel sad. A profound understanding had just settled upon him instead. Apparently he was mistaken when in the morning he had thought of accumulating a lot of experience in the previous three months. This past half-hour's learning had thoroughly eclipsed everything else. Funny how everything works, he chuckled.

Submitting the final grades that day, Zahid came out of UAST. He had a fortnight off before the next semester began. Once outside the campus, he thought for a while with his back to its gate and then, turning round and looking back at the blazing motto of the university, gave a snort.

Tanvir Malik teaches English at Eastern University, Bangladesh. His short story collection 'Stories from Bangladesh' was published by Leadstart Publishing Pvt Ltd, Mumbai, India.