When I reached Government Primary School Mehloo Wala, I was lost in memories of the past. I was taken back to 1975 and 1976, the years when I studied at this very school.
As I stood there, a man stepping into his fifty-sixth year suddenly became an eight-year-old boy again. I remembered a scorching day in May. I saw some boys from my village quietly slipping out of the school gate, carrying their bags and trying to avoid the teachers’ eyes. I understood that they were running away from school.
It was break time, and the teachers were busy in one of the rooms. Seeing them occupied, I too felt tempted to go home during the break. I picked up my bag and left the school. The boys who had gone out before me stopped when they saw me coming and took me along. Together, we set off towards our village.
To reach our village, we had to walk through difficult paths and across rice fields. The village was about one kilo metre from the school.
When we reached the village, I noticed something that stayed with me for years. Whenever a child reached home, his parents would embrace him, kiss him, and lovingly tell him that he had done the right thing by coming home early in such terrible heat. They would proudly take their children inside, seat them in front of the fan, and give them cold water to drink.
My house was in the middle of the village. When I reached home, however, my mother and father became furious as soon as they saw me. Instead of embracing me, they scolded me harshly and told me that running away from school was wrong. Rather than letting me sit in front of the fan and giving me cold water, they sent me straight back to school. They warned me never to return home before school was over.
I was exhausted from the heat. As I walked back through the tall rice fields under the blazing sun, I was also frightened. I kept wondering why the other children’s parents had welcomed them with so much affection, while my parents had sent me back into that unbearable heat. Did they not love me? Why had they never sheltered me in their cool, comforting embrace?
I reached the school while cursing my fate and, for a moment, even my parents. The break was over, and the teachers were busy teaching in their classrooms. When I entered my class, my teacher became angry with me for returning late after the break. He told me to hold out my hand.
I closed my eyes and stretched out my hand. The cane came down hard on my palm. The pain was so sharp that I immediately pulled my hand back and held it against my side. A cry escaped me.
That cry made me tremble, and suddenly I returned to the year 2026.
I was crying, not because I could still feel the pain of that cane on my palm, but because I was remembering my mother and father.
They were the ones who never allowed my connection with school to break. Despite extreme poverty, they continued to educate me. Today, I am a successful lawyer, while some of the children who used to run away from school now earn their living as labourers and struggle with poverty.
At that moment, I finally understood my parents. They had not chosen to shelter me in a cool embrace. Instead, they had chosen the harder path for me: discipline, perseverance, and hard work. They pushed me towards a life of struggle and education because they wanted a better future for me.
Today, whatever I have achieved is because of the sacrifices, hard work, and guidance of my parents. What I once believed was a lack of love was, in fact, their deepest expression of love.
