Today is Rabindranath Tagore's death anniversary.
This story written by him as a satire on the education system is sadly relevant
even today.
THE PARROT’S TRAINING
Once
upon a time there was a bird. It was
ignorant. It sang all right, but never
recited scriptures. It hopped pretty
frequently, but lacked manners.
Said
the Raja to himself. “Ignorance in
costly in the long run. For fools consume
as much food as their betters, and yet give nothing in return.”
He
called his nephews to his presence and told them that the bird must have a
sound schooling.
The
pundits were summoned, and at once went to the root of the matter. They decided that the ignorance of birds was
due to their natural habit of living in poor nests. Therefore, according to the pundits, the
first thing necessary for this bird’s education was a suitable cage.
The
pundits had their rewards and went home happy.
A
golden cage was built with gorgeous decorations. Crowds came to see it from all parts of the world.
“Culture,
captured and caged!” Exclaimed some in a rapture of ecstasy, and burst into
tears.
Others
remarked: “Even if culture be missed, the cage will remain, to the end, a
substantial fact. How fortunate for the
bird!”
The
goldsmith filled his bag with money and lost no time in sailing homewards.
The
pundit sat down to educate the bird.
With proper deliberation he took his pinch of snuff, as he said:
“Textbooks can never be too many for our purpose!”
The
nephews brought together an enormous crowd of scribes. They copied from books, and copied from
copies, till the manuscripts were piled up to an unreachable height.
Men
murmured in amazement: “Oh, the tower of culture, egregiously high! The end of
it lost in the clouds!”
The
scribes with light hearts, hurried home, their pockets heavily laden.
The
nephews were furiously busy keeping the cage in proper trim.
As
their constant scrubbing and polishing went on the people said with
satisfaction : “This is progress indeed!”
Men
were employed in large numbers, and supervisors were still more numerous. These with their cousins of all different
degrees of distance, built a palace for themselves and lived there happily ever
after.
Whatever
may be its other deficiencies, the world is never in want of fault-finders; and
they went about saying that every creature remotely connected with the cage
flourished beyond words, excepting only the bird.
When
this remark reached the Raja’s ears, he summoned his nephews, what is this that
we hear!”
The
nephews said in answer: “Sir, let the testimony of the goldsmiths and the
pundits, the scribes and the supervisors, be taken, if the truth is to be
known. Food is scare with the fault-finders,
and that is why their tongues have gained in sharpness”.
The
explanation was so luminously satisfactory that the Raja decorated each one of
his nephews with his own rate jewels.
The
Raja at length, being desirous of seeing with his own eyes how his Education
Department busied itself with the little bird, made his appearance one day at
the great Hall of Learning.
From
the gate rose the sounds of conch-shells and gongs, horns, bugles and trumpets,
cymbals, drums and kettledrums, tomtoms, tambourines, flutes, fifes,
barrel-organs and bagpipes. The pundits
began chanting mantras with their topmost voices, while the goldsmiths,
scribes, supervisors, and their numberless cousins of all different degrees of
distance, loudly raised a round of cheers.
The nephews smiled and said: “Sir,
what do you think of it all?”
The Raja said: “It does seem so
fearfully like a sound principle of Education!”
Mightily
pleased, the Raja was about to remount his elephant, when the fault-finder,
from behind some bush, cried out: “Maharaja, have you seen the bird?”
“Indeed, I have not!” Exclaimed the Raja, “I completely forgot
about the bird.”
Turning back, he asked the pundits
about the method they followed in instructing the bird. It was shown to him. He was immensely impressed. The method was so stupendous that the bird
looked ridiculously unimportant in comparison.
The Raja was satisfied that there was no flaw in the arrangements. As for any complaint from the bird itself,
that simply could not be expected. Its
throat was so completely chocked with the leaves from the books that it could
neither whistle nor whisper. It sent a
thrill through one’s body to watch the process.
The time, while remounting his
elephant, the Raja ordered his State Ear-puller to give a thorough good pull at
both the ears of the fault-finder. The
bird thus crawled on, duly and properly, to the safest verge of inanity. In fact, its progress was satisfactory in the
extreme. Nevertheless, nature
occasionally triumphed over training, and when the morning light peeped into
the bird’s cage it sometimes fluttered its wings in a reprehensible manner. And, though it is hard to believe, it
pitifully pecked at its bars with the feeble beak.
“What impertinence!” Growled the
kotwal.
The blacksmith, with his forge and
hammer tool his place in the Raja’s Department of Education. Oh, what resounding blows! The iron chair was soon completed, and the
bird’s wings were clipped.
The Raja’s brothers-in-law looked
black, and shook their heads, saying: “These birds not only lack good sense,
but also gratitude!”
With text-book in one hand and baton
in the other, the pundits gave the poor bird what may fitly be called lessons!
The kotwal was honoured with a title
for his watchfulness, and the blacksmith for his skill in forging chains.
The bird died.
Nobody
had the least notion how long ago this had happened. The fault-finder was the first man to spread
the rumour.
The
Raja called his nephews and asked them:
“My dear nephews, what is this that we hear?”
The
nephews said: “Sire, the bird’s
education has been completed.”
“Does
it hop?” The Raja enquired.
“Never!”
Said the nephews.
“Does
it fly?”
“No.”
“Bring
me the bird,” said the Raja.
The
bird was brought to him, guarded by the kotwal and the sepoys and the sowars. The Raja poked its body with his finger. Only its inner stuffing of book-leaves
rustled.
Outside
the window, the murmur of the spring breeze amongst the newly budded Asoka
leaves made the April, morning wistful.