Shooting the teacher.

 

 I was just three or four years old. We were staying in a city and my maternal grandparents stayed at a village some sixty kilometers away. My cousin sister, who was elder to me, stayed at the village and I was always eager to go there since I loved my sister a lot.

Her school was just in front of our house and whenever I was there, I accompanied her to the school. The teacher never objected as I was not very naughty. She, in fact loved me, offering me chocolates, which was very rare during those days. I also had the liberty to leave the class whenever I felt bored and come back as per my wish.

My sister always amazed me with her stories and in the classroom and when she repeated what the teacher taught , I looked at her with awe. I never understood what was taught in the class. Nevertheless, I was extremely happy for being with my beloved sister.

Then it happened. One day the teacher shouted at my lovely sister. That was a huge shock for me since I had never seen the teacher shouting at anyone. I had not even seen anyone scolding my sister. I saw my sister’s eyes getting moist. Even at that age I could not tolerate it. I was extremely hurt and upset and I just hugged her to make her comfortable. I heard her silent sobs. Remotely I could feel something simmering deep within me. Though I was just four years old, an inexplicable rage was brewing from within.

Impulsively, I ran home, grabbed my toy gun and came back. I stood at the door of the classroom and shot at the teacher thrice. The teacher was taken aback for a moment, but the whole class erupted in laughter at my silly gesture. But I was still raging. It was as if I will never be at peace unless and until I took revenge to the injustice done to my sister. I don’t even mind taking weapon to protect her from any harm.

My anger subsided only when I saw my sister also laughing at my bravado. She came and gave me a tight hug. I was relieved and thus avenging the wrong doer, went back victorious, holding the gun on my shoulders.

I have always wondered what triggered that impulsive act. Was it the basic instinct to protect a fellow human being? Or is it my deep love for my sister? Can it be the primitive urge to take weapon whenever we want to avenge anyone? Was it my natural response against injustice?

Before trying to get an answer for these questions I need to describe another incident that happened later in my life.

I am almost 4 years elder than my brother. When we are young this difference of four years matters a lot. I was stronger than him and could dominate him in all ways. This advantage made me arrogant and I always found reasons to bully him and even physically overpower him.

One day we had a fight and I pushed him to a corner and started kicking him mercilessly. He could not prevent of protect himself since he was very small and weak. He cried silently and begged me to spare him. Fortunately, I felt pity and left him.

Later in life this incident always tormented me. The thought that, even after being his elder brother, I treated him so pitilessly troubled me. He was defenseless and had no other way but to suffer my atrocity. 

So, who am I really? The one who took gun to protect my sister or the one who ruthlessly kicked my brother? At the age of four when I took the gun, was the oppressor or aggressor in me being evident? If given enough power, will I again turn ruthless? If the situation warrants, will I, under the pretense of helping someone, take weapon in my hand?

Has my love for my sister drained completely?

Since then, I have spent many wonderful moments with my brother. However, I still do not have the courage to ask him whether I have improved from the tyrant I was years back.