It’s 6.45 am in the morning and Murlidhar has already reached his workplace – Kaushalya Prathamik Vidya Mandir. He is the peon of this primary school.
Everyday morning, it is he who arrives the school compound first, sweeps the entire school, which includes the principal’s or Head sir’s (as he is called here) room. Hariprasad Jha is the principal of this school. Murlidhar was very young when he had lost his parents. An orphan, he used to beg at the railway station. Hariprasad, then a senior teacher had given had spotted this boy at the station, felt pity at his sorry state, gave him shelter and later on this job. Today Murli is a man of worth, earns bread for the family and father of 2 sons, both of whom study in this school. And he owes all of iy to his Hariprasad. Whenever he speaks of his “masterji” his eyes well up in gratitude. “Had masterji not been there in my life, all of us would have drowned in the sea of life.” He would philosophies to his sons.
Like all other days, today too, Murli has reached his work on time but the regular zeal is missing today. He generally begins his sweeping work from the Head sir’s room which is the first in the row of rooms followed by 4 classrooms and a staffroom in the end. However, today he chose to sweep the staffroom first, quite the opposite of what he has been doing for these years.
After sweeping all the other rooms, Murli finally reached his “masterji’s” room with his broom. He stood at the threshold of the door. His heart heavy with the thought of the ‘new’ person who would be coming today. Hariprasad Jha has retired yesterday. A farewell ceremony was organised in the school premises. Murli was shedding tears as his favourite ‘Masterji’ gave his farewell speech. There were others also who felt sad at his exit, but none was affected like Murli. Hariprasad had affectionately put his palms over Murli’s head and said ‘Murli, nobody can stay here forever. Each one who comes has to go one day. Whoever comes in my place, be good to him. Help him whenever he needs you.’
In between copious tears, Murli had said “Masterji, I hear from other teachers that this new Head Sir is very rude and moody. I am a mere peon, I don’t think he will ever speak to me the way you did. No one can take your place Masterji.” He had cried.
A drop of tear welled up around the corner of Murli’s eyes thinking of his dear Masterji. He stared at the room. The table was kept neat by Hariprasad for the new Principle. The wall hangings of Rabindranath Tagore, S. Radhakrishnan and Swami Vivekanand were securely placed just as usual. Nothing was different from other days, yet a huge unfamiliarity struck him deep. He entered the room. Infront of him ‘that chair‘ stood erect. The chair that seated his Masterji, his saviour, his idol for all these years, is now lying vacant. Murli looked at the vacant chair, something sharp pricked his insides. His Masterji will never sit on this chair ever again.
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