XXXIII. LITERARY
TRAINING
It was seen in the last chapter how we provided for
the physical training on Tolstoy Farm, and incidentally
for the vocational. Though this was hardly done in a way
to satisfy me, it may be claimed to have been more or
less successful.
Literary training, however, was a more difficult
matter. I had neither the resources nor the literary
equipment necessary; and I had not the time I would have
wished to devote to the subject. The physical work that I
was doing used to leave me thoroughly exhausted at the
end of the day, and I used to have the classes just when
I was most in need of some rest. Instead, therefore, of
my being fresh for the class, I could with the greatest
difficulty keep myself awake. The mornings had to be
devoted to work on the farm and domestic duties, so the
school hours had to be kept after the midday meal. There
was no other time suitable for the school.
We gave three periods at the most to literary
training. Hindi, Tamil, Gujarati and Urdu were all
taught, and tuition was given through the vernaculars of
the boys. English was taught as well, it was also
necessary to acquaint the Gujarati Hindu children with a
little Samskrit, and to teach all the children elementary
history, geography and arithmetic.
I had undertaken to teach Tamil and Urdu. The little
Tamil I knew was acquired during voyages and in jail. I
had not got beyond Pope's excellent Tamil handbook. My
knowledge of the Urdu script was all that I had acquired
on a single voyage, and my knowledge of the language was
confined to the familiar Persian and Arabic words that I
had learnt from contact with Musalman friends. Of
Samskrit I knew no more than I had learnt at the high
school, even my Gujarati was no better than that which
one acquires at the school.
Such was the capital with which I had to carry on. In
poverty of literary equipment my colleagues went one
better than I. But my love for the languages of my
country, my confidence in my pupils, and more than that,
their generosity, stood me in good stead.
The Tamil boys were all born in South Africa, and
therefore knew very little Tamil, and did not know the
script at all. So I had to teach them the script and the
rudiments of grammar. That was easy enough. My pupils
knew that they could any day beat me in Tamil
conversation, and when Tamilians, not knowing English,
came to see me, they became my interpreters. I got along
merrily, because I never attempted to disguise my
ignorance from my pupils. In all respects I showed myself
to them exactly as I really was. Therefore in spite of my
colossal ignorance of the language I never lost their
love and respect. It was comparatively easier to teach
the Musalman boys Urdu. They knew the script. I had
simply to stimulate in them an interest in reading and to
improve their handwriting.
These youngsters were for the most part unlettered and
unschooled. But I found in the course of my work that I
had very little to teach them, beyond weaning them from
their laziness, and supervising their studies. As I was
content with this, I could pull on with boys of different
ages and learning different subjects in one and the same
class room.
Of text-books, about which we hear so much, I never
felt the want. I do not even remember having made much
use of the books that were available. I did not find it
at all necessary to load the boys with quantities of
books. I have always felt that the true text-book for the
pupil is his teacher. I remember very little that my
teachers taught me from books, but I have even now a
clear recollection of the things they taught me
independently of books.
Children take in much more and with less labour
through their ears than through their eyes. I do not
remember having read any book from cover to cover with my
boys. But I gave them, in my own language, all that I had
digested from my reading of various books, and I dare say
they are still carrying a recollection of it in their
minds. It was laborious for them to remember what they
learnt from books, but what I imparted to them by word of
mouth, they could repeat with the greatest ease. Reading
was a task for them, but listening to me was a pleasure,
when I did not bore them by failure to make my subject
interesting. And from the questions that my talks
prompted them to put, I had a measure of their power of
understanding.
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