Chapter 13: The Spark

After my mother married, aside from a difficult mother-in-law, my father wasn’t much trouble.

She laughed, remembering Dadi’s sharp tongue and endless complaints. “Your father, though, was easy enough to manage. He was so used to obeying orders in the army, he barely noticed what I was up to.”

She gradually gained a measure of freedom.

With time, she earned their trust. She managed the accounts, supervised the staff, and handled the guests. No one questioned her comings and goings.

She used her dowry to open this school, outwardly calling it a charity trust.

She was clever—on paper, it was a simple trust, just like the others in the city. But its true purpose was known only to a select few.

In the city, many rich families ran charity trusts, distributing food during festivals to display their benevolence.

Every Diwali, the newspapers would be full of photos: wealthy families handing out blankets and sweets, hoping for praise. My mother’s trust blended in perfectly.

So my mother’s little trust on the outskirts didn’t attract attention.

No one suspected that it was more than a place for poor children to get a meal and a lesson. The authorities turned a blind eye, content with her annual donations.

She took in homeless beggar children and poor kids who couldn’t afford school.

Every morning, a new batch of children would arrive—some with tattered clothes, some barefoot, some clinging to younger siblings. She welcomed them all, no questions asked.

No matter if they were boys or girls, clever or dull, anyone could study here.

She made sure everyone had a chance. No one was turned away for lack of money or looks. Even children with disabilities found a place in her school.

She even found some elderly teachers whom no school would hire, paying them a hundred rupees or so a month.

The old teachers, once respected, now forgotten, found purpose again. They taught with devotion, grateful for a second chance.

Everyone’s meals were free, and those who wanted to stay had only a communal bed.

The food was simple—dal, rice, sabzi—but there was always enough. The sleeping quarters were basic, but clean and safe. For many, it was the first time they had slept without fear.

But for those beggar children who usually only had a roof for shelter, this was already heaven.

Their faces glowed with hope. Laughter returned to lips that had forgotten how to smile. They learned, played, and dreamed, just like any other children.

When the students grew up, they could leave to make a living.

Some went on to become clerks, shopkeepers, even schoolteachers. They returned, sometimes, to thank my mother and touch her feet in gratitude.

Those who excelled could stay and teach.

The best and brightest became teachers themselves, passing on the torch. The circle continued, growing stronger with each generation.

Some were placed in our household as gardeners, odd-job men, or accountants. Counting on my fingers, I realised most of the real power in the house was in my mother’s hands.

It dawned on me how cleverly she had woven her network. Most of the household’s loyal staff had come from her school. They owed her everything, and she could trust them completely.

Truly worthy of being my mother—she was skilled at mobilising the people.

It was like watching a master strategist at work. No wonder the household ran so smoothly—Ma was the true power behind the scenes.

Some graduates had even been sent out of the city to open branch schools.

She encouraged them to start small, even in the face of opposition. Some failed, but many succeeded, carrying her vision forward.

There must have been several thousand students over the years.

The numbers astounded me. Thousands of lives changed, futures rewritten, all from one woman’s stubborn belief.

A single spark can start a forest fire.

The proverb felt truer than ever. My mother’s spark had grown into a blaze, lighting up dark corners everywhere.

My mother said what she wanted to do was be that spark, to ignite the flames.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with fierce pride. “Even if I cannot see the end, I must light the way.”