The maulvi was sitting in his usual place near his desk. There was another young boy in his office. He was older than me, around 12 or 13 years old. I had never seen him before but he was wearing a topi just like mine. He was a student, just like me, who had gone to discuss a problem with the maulvi just like I had.
Only after a week of my joining, we heard that some other Qaari Sahab of the same madrassa had beaten up a child so badly that his leg had been fractured. That day I decided to meet the student who was beaten. I wanted to ask him what it was he did so wrong that ignited this sort or wrath.
“We have 30-35 online students, mostly from the UK and the US. The students pay 60-100 dollars on average a month, depending on their level,” said Rashed Akhtar Khan, the owner of the academy.
That day I went home, not uttering a single word to anyone. I was sure of one thing; I was never ever going back to that madrassa again. When my mother asked me why I was not going to the madrassa, I lost my nerve and shot back:
By then I had understood that every Qaari Sahab and every employee of that madrassa had a good rapport with each other and they all “had each other’s back”. So if the Naib Nazim enjoyed sexually abusing young boys then the remaining Qaari Sahabs would play dumb as they were all friends with each other.
And thus, I was given my first cell phone. I was puzzled. Why would my mother send stuff to my Qaari Sahab just because he wanted it? We are not obliged to be his servants by any means. But when I asked the question, my mother advised me not to question elders.