silent-battlefield

 

Title: In Rural Life, A Teacher Is the Name of a Silent Battle

Twenty-two years have passed. I have been teaching children in a small village school—completely free of cost. No admission fee, no monthly fee. I even provided textbooks. For orphaned children, I’ve been covering their daily pocket money and additional stationery expenses myself.

This work may seem simple from the outside, but in truth, it is a constant struggle—a war where there are no applauses, no rewards, and no recognition.

I sacrificed my own comforts, gave up personal desires, saved every rupee. Sometimes borrowing, sometimes giving cash myself. Day and night blended into years, each year bringing new challenges. Walking a rough and thorny path, twenty-two years have gone by.

When I saw my innocent child suffering from a deadly disease, I suddenly woke up to the fact that I was still surrounded by mud houses and broken roads. The world around me had changed—paved streets, concrete homes, and every house a hub of social media and science. But I was still standing in the same place.

The clouds of hardship hovered over me. I knew nothing about saving. I looked into the mirror, dizzy, almost collapsing. My child’s illness—Nephrotic Syndrome, an incurable condition—shook me to my core. What to do? How to arrange the money? I was lost in thoughts, as if a terrible nightmare was wrapping itself around my soul.

Being a teacher in a village is not just about teaching from books. Here, a teacher means:

Understanding the pain of a barefoot child

Giving life to the dreams of a mother who sees her future in her child

Holding up a broken slate and inspiring hope

Explaining the value of education to a mother drowning in poverty

That mother—her eyes full of countless dreams—once played carefree with her friends under the shade of trees, unaware of life’s trials. She didn’t even realize when her aunt told her mother, “Your daughter is seventeen. It's time to marry her off.”

A village teacher doesn’t just teach. He carries the burden of such parents’ ignorance like a medal on his chest year after year. He moans in restless sleep, burns his heart’s blood to light candles of awareness. But who has ever truly understood Teacher Majid’s grief?

The world flows backwards—no one sees him as a savior, only as a troublemaker. People throw cruel taunts and sarcastic remarks. And he lives each day sacrificing his own basic needs.

Here, people value fields more than schools, money more than knowledge, and politicians more than teachers.

And yet, I go to school every morning. Because I believe—education is the only light that will illuminate these dark alleys.

My heart has broken many times. Many times, I’ve thought of giving up.

People ask mockingly:

“What have you gained in all these years?”

I stay silent. Because what I’ve gained isn’t money—it’s the light in hearts. It’s the brightness of souls.

My salary is low, but my faith is high.

I truly believe:

If I can change even one child’s life, that will be my success, my name, and the very purpose of my life.

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🌾 In the End:

This blog is not a complaint—it is a tribute to all those teachers who quietly spread light, without medals, without applause.

> If you know a rural teacher, say thank you to them today.

Because that person might be silently changing an entire generation.