Prof Sebastian returned home from college, weary, clutching a scroll that had been given to him by a student on his last working day at the college where he taught math. Students had lined up in a kind of guard of honour for him, as he left the college premises with mixed feelings.

Prof Sebastian sank into the sofa and uncoiled the scroll. It read:

Prof David Sebastian
Scholarly teacher and a friend to all
The class of ‘95 will never forget the lines of great humility
you recited often:
It's a very ancient saying,
But a true and honest thought,
That if you become a teacher,
By your pupils you'll be taught.
Bless us, Sir, to live with the same humility in our lives.

The scroll bore the signatures of several students.

David had heard these lines in the very first movie he had watched in England nearly 50 years ago, ‘The King and I’. Deborah Kerr, the prim, beautiful and attractive governess, sang those words to the children of the King of Siam (Yul Brynner). He recalled why these lines left their imprint on his mind even at that time.

In the 9th standard mid-term examination at school, David had fared badly in the math paper (and in other subjects). He was supposed to get the marks card signed by his Dad, Vincent, but was petrified at the prospect of Dad’s reaction when he saw the math score – 30 out of 100. Would scribbling an undecipherable signature, or getting his Mom to sign, be a solution? Then his younger brother advised that it was better to be honest with Dad, and ask for tuition. So David went nervously up to Dad, clutching the marks card in sweaty hands, and said ‘D…Dad, please don’t be angry for my poor marks – I am always confused with my lessons, I really will study hard for the finals. Arrange a tutor for me, please?’

Vincent took a look at the marks and screamed ‘My God! Do you call these marks? You will never amount to anything. Cricket, cricket, cricket! That is all you think about! No question of a tutor, struggle and make good by your own efforts, you fool!’ With that he signed the marks card and flung it at David.

The next day, his close friend, Rajaram, caught up with David at the school gate. Rajaram’s face was swollen, his eyes distraught. David sensed that something was seriously wrong. Rajaram took him aside and broke down, before removing his shirt and showing severe welts all over his back and across his chest.  ‘David, I scored only 18 out of 100 in the math paper and fared badly in other subjects too. My father was furious when he saw the marks card. He hit me with his belt mercilessly. Only when Mom screamed at my Dad to stop, did he let go of me. Mom consoled me and asked me to take the help of any of my classmates to improve my scores, since we cannot afford to engage a tutor’.

‘Good idea’ said David. ‘My Dad was mad at me too, but not as much as your Dad. Who will be your tutor?’
‘You!’ said Rajaram.

David was stunned. ‘Me?! Look, Rajaram, my math score was 30%! Why don’t you ask some bright boy like Upendra or Kaushik? What can I teach you?’

‘No, David. They are too arrogant and contemptuous. Please don’t refuse. Moreover 30 is better than 18, isn’t it so? You know, my mind blanks out whenever I open any textbook and I am so afraid of math’.
There was something in the pleading eyes of Rajaram, which David could not ignore. ‘Okay’ he said ‘but don’t blame me if you flunk again. Maybe I too will improve my score, by studying with you. Let us study math together at your home for an hour every evening till the exam.’

David told his Dad the next day of his intention to ‘teach’ Rajaram which instantly drew a derisive response - ‘Ha! You teaching Rajaram? You want him to get a big zero? Ask him to find someone else!’ David’s face fell, but he mentally resolved to prove his Dad wrong.

David kept his word and studied math seriously in order to be able to teach Rajaram. The memory of the welts Rajaram had suffered kept haunting him; he was determined that his pal would never have to undergo such torture again. He went over every math chapter with Rajaram, repeating till both of them were able to solve the end-of-the-lesson problems with ease. Both realised they were gradually developing genuine interest in not only math, but in other subjects as well.

During the final exam David found all papers, math in particular, extremely easy to answer. David left the room ten minutes early, much to the surprise of the invigilator and talented boys like Kaushik. As he left, David gave Rajaram an inquiring look and received a smile in response.

A few weeks later, when the results were announced, David was thrilled to find he had topped the class! Hundred per cent in math! A greater thrill for him was that Rajaram too had scored excellent marks. Some days later when David’s family met Rajaram’s folks, Vincent proudly proclaimed ‘I always knew David is solid stuff! He is actually an all-rounder, good at studies, and in sports.’  ‘What hypocrisy, Dad!’ thought David, but said nothing.
David took Rajaram aside and said, ‘Thank you, Rajaram, for helping me to learn math. But for you, I would not have got this far. You are actually my teacher’.

David continued to do extremely well in his studies and won a scholarship to study in England. He was impressed profoundly by Prof Colin Adamson, who was not only a delightful teacher but, when confronted with a problem he could not solve, would promise the student a solution soon, and would guide the student to reach the solution. He never failed to thank the student who had posed the problem, for enhancing his own knowledge.

David eventually returned to India to enter the world of academia and in due course made a name for himself. He, like Prof Adamson, encouraged students to apply knowledge in solving problems, rather than spoon feed. Dr Santhanam, the Dean, once jokingly remarked that Prof Sebastian was the most serious student in the college!
When he saw The King and I, David realised how much Rajaram and others were responsible for his own learning. Were there some ‘Rajarams’ in Prof Adamson’s life too?