The Midnight Reader

"Grampa, have you ever been in danger?"

"Well, an old man did lock me up and wouldn't let me go till I taught him reading!"

The Midnight Reader

Subir Shukla

July, 2023

Rompu closed the book with a thump. This was a third time he had read it. He liked how in the last page,  Tamgu Master,  his favourite character,  managed to turn the tables on the villain,  the nasty Doom Prasad. He would have opened the book again,  just for that dialogue when that Doom Prasad discovered he was suddenly not able to move his arms as Tamgu emerged from the shadows to save his grandfather.

Grandfather! Rompu rose with a start and ran to the balcony to find his grandfather sitting on his favourite chair, gazing at the low hills in the distance.

‘Grampa! Grandpa! Have you ever been in danger? Did any villain ever try to catch you and make you a prisoner?’

‘Well, no villain ever did, but a nice old man did lock me up once!’

‘Lock you up?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He said he would not let me go until I taught him to read.’

‘Teach him to read?’

‘Yes, there was a book he wanted to read but was unable to.’

‘There’s a story there, isn’t it Grampa?’

‘Well… yes.’

‘Did it end well?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then tell me, tell me,’ begged Rompu.

Grampa heaved a sigh. He gave a last look to the hills.

‘It was in the 1980s and I was a young man at the time. I had just finished college and was waiting to get a job, when I found there was an opening for an Adult Education Instructor, not too far from my place.’

‘What’s this Adult Education Instructor?’

‘Well in the 1980s there were a large number of adults who did not know how to read and write?’

‘Really? I thought everyone can read.’

‘No, no, even now there are people who cannot read. But at that time, the number was really huge.’

‘How huge?’

‘So huge that the government decided something must be done about it or the country would simply not progress. So they launched a national programme to teach adults to read and write. That was why the Adult Literacy Program.’

‘So what did you have to do?’

‘Well, they opened tens of thousands of small centres, a little like your school but much smaller. There, especially in the evenings, adults or young people would come and they would be taught reading, writing and a little arithmetic.’

‘Why evenings, Grampa?’

‘Well most people worked in the day. They were labourers or ran a tea stall or worked in someone’s home or shop. So they were free only in the evenings.’

‘I see – but you’re not getting on with the story!’

Grampa grinned a little and tapped Shompu on the head. ‘So it was a small room, painted yellow. It had a window with thick bars and you could see rail tracks from that window, about a hundred metres away. Every time an express train passed, the noise meant we could not hear ourselves speak.

‘I usually wound up around 10.30 pm. One evening as I was putting away the books and other materials into the cupboard, I heard someone call out to me through the window.

‘“Psst, mart-saab, mart-saab!”’

‘What’s mart-saab?’ asked Rompu.

‘It’s what people called teachers, that is – master-sahab.’

‘Oh, what did they want?’

‘I went over to the window and saw an old man. Well, he looked old to me but must have been in his fifties.’

‘That’s old.’

‘Yes. He was a little bent over, had a cloth wound around his head, a white stubble over a haggard face. But his eyes, brown and burning, bore into me as I moved to the window.

“Mart-saab, you have to teach me to read.”

“Teach you to read? That’s what this centre is for. Just join, you can come any time after six.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. You close this place before I get free.”

“Well, you’re free now.”

“No I’m not free. I just asked my gang to let me come here for an hour.”

“Your gang?”

“Yes, I’m on line maintenance duty.”

“Oh, you’re a railway worker.”

“Yes, and I get free only at midnight when my shift gets over.”

“Oh, but the centre is supposed to be open only till 10 pm.”

“And you start only at six. When my shift is already running.”

“But I can’t keep waiting till midnight.”

“Yes you can. It’s only one hour.”

“But I have to get home.”

“No, no, you have to teach me.”

“Listen, I cannot help it if you’re not able to come.”

Suddenly, the man vanished from the window. I heard the door rattle as if it was being pushed but in a moment he was back at the window. 

“Now you can wait,” he said.

“What do you mean, now you can wait?”

“It means you cannot leave.”

“Cannot leave? I’ll show you.” I moved quickly to the door and pushed it. But it would not budge. It had been latched from outside.

“See what I mean?” he called out from the window, still serious but sort of laughing.

“How dare you lock me up! I’ll call the police.”

“Call the police – how? There’s no phone here. And no one is moving around. Shout as much as you want.”

“You…!” I was sputtering with anger.

“Wait a minute,” he called out and vanished.

He must have been away for a few minutes.

When he returned he had a cup of tea and a bun in his hands. “You must be hungry,” he said and passed these to me through the bars of the window. “Please, teach me to read, I really need to learn.”

“OK,” I said, softening a little. But I was curious. “You already have a job. In a few years you’re going to retire. What do you need to learn reading for?”

“That I cannot tell you. You’re too young to understand.”

“On the one hand you think I’m too young to understand, on the other hand you want me to be your teacher. Make up your mind.”

“As I said, you’re too young to understand. Some things reading does not teach you. And some things you can get only if you read.”

I had to accept he was right but kept quiet. I went to the cupboard and took out the primer.’

‘Primer?’ asked Rompu.

‘Yes, that’s what the books were called that we used to teach people the alphabet and the basics of reading.’

‘OK, go on.’

‘ “Well, you can come in now,” I told him. “No, I’m not going to run away when you open that door.”

I heard the latch being drawn and he was in the room. From the light of the single bulb hanging overhead I saw he was not very tall, had a khaki kurta-like top and a dirty dhoti below.

“I thought you have to work in the railway uniform when on duty.”

“This is the uniform,” he said, taking off the head cloth to reveal stark white hair. He had a wiry frame and seemed strong without being bulky.

I gestured to the mat and he sat down cross-legged.’

‘On the mat? You didn’t have chairs and tables?’

‘No there were only floor mats for people to sit on. There was a table in the centre and a stool I could use.’

‘Oh, very poor type of place.’

‘Yes. We were a very poor country at the time.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Well, I took the primer to him, talked about his work, wrote down the names of things he used, places he worked in, asked him to follow my fingers as I read those aloud. Then I showed him the letters in the primer.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him stories? That’s what our teacher used to do when I was in class 1.’

‘I used the method I was told to use. Anyway, he turned out to be an eager learner, quickly figuring out the first few letters, and even mentioned a couple of signboards where they were used.

After half an hour of this, I asked him to come again the next day.

“But only at 12! I bunked today to come early,” he said.

“One and a half hours! That’s a long time to wait.”

“I’ll have to lock you in again, then, and come back at 12.”

I laughed. I liked his deadly serious desire to learn and decided to bring some food with me as well as books so I could read or do my work till he came.’

‘So did he turn up the next day?’ asked Rompu.

‘Oh yes, he did. And for the whole of the next month and a half. He didn’t miss a single lesson and made really rapid progress. The midnight reader, I began to call him. But the way he took to those lessons, the questions he asked, made me feel he had some sort of target.

“You’re doing all this so you can read something special to you, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s true…”

“So what is it?”

“No, I can’t tell you.”’

‘He didn’t tell me more but talked often about how this area had been when he was young, hardly a village with nothing else around for miles except the rail line that passed through. There had never been any school in the entire area till he was already a grown man, and how lucky he was to have got a job in the railways. “Or I’d be in someone’s field weeding his crop or driving a rickshaw in the city,” he said. 

He talked of his wife, who had died some years ago and mentioned is daughter but never talked much about her. He would clam up if I brought her up.

But one day he surprised me by saying, “Tomorrow will be my last class. I’ll bring a book I want to read aloud to you.” I was taken aback. By now I was used to my evening routine, working peacefully for an hour or so before he arrived and then begin our lively sessions. “Oh, I’ll come and see you now and then, but if I pass my test tomorrow, then I won’t need more literacy classes.”

“Test?”

“Yes, if I can read the book I bring tomorrow.” 

And he would not tell me what that book was. Or why reading it would be a test.

The next day was a bit of a drag for me as I went through my evening classes wondering what lay in store with my midnight reader.

My other students, most of whom were older women, were a little worried. “What is the matter, mart-saab? You’re not your usual self today.”

“Yes, yes, sorry, I get like this when I’m anxious.”

“Don’t worry, mart-saab,” said an elderly lady. “Everything will be all right.”

After they all left I found myself unable to do my study and went over to the railway stall for some tea. 

It was nearly midnight when I returned but he was already there. He had spruced himself up a little, I saw. The dhoti looked washed and a comb had run through the hair. His eyes were on fire with excitement but also some sort of sadness, though I could not be sure.

We sat down, and from a cloth bag he took out a book. It had black and white pictures on many pages, of children of different ages.

“Oh, this is about children who received the bravery awards on 26th Jan.”

“Yes,” he said sombrely.

He turned the pages till he came to the picture of bright girl and began to read aloud. A little shakily at first but picking up pace as he went on.

The real-life story described how an 11-year old girl, Ummeed, had seen a woman with two young children trying to throw herself before a speeding train. In an incredibly brave act, she succeeded in saving the three, but had hit her head on some part of the train. After three days struggling for her life in hospital, she had passed away, but had saved three lives. She was given the award posthumously. That is, after her death.

The old man had tears running down his cheeks as he completed the story, but his back was straight.

“That was my daughter, mart-saab,” he said, as I could not hold back my own tears. “All these years, I had this book but I could not know how brave she was seen to be, or how much she was valued. I just could not read her story.”

He was silent for a moment.

“But now I can.”

A word about the 'Book Stories'
These are stories that have books or reading at their centre. They're for children who've begun reading - that is, say, from class 3-5. They're also longer to offer them a substantial piece of reading to work with. If you enjoyed this - or feel it's a waste of time - do let me know in the comments. Thanks!