Redemption

 When I was in 12th grade, my class teacher, Mrs. Nisha Thomas, was absent for three days in October. No one knew the reason for her absence, and during that time, my class became noisy and disruptive. Despite several teachers from nearby classes coming in to warn us, the noise continued.

Word of this reached our class teacher, and she was deeply upset. She informed us that her husband had been unwell, and she had taken leave to care for him. I saw tears in her eyes as she shared this with us. Despite her emotional state, some students were inattentive and continued with their own activities. Hurt and insulted by this lack of respect, she left the classroom abruptly.

Our class leaders went to the staff room to console her, but I could feel a heaviness in my heart, knowing that the situation was far from resolved.

During the fourth period, Father Geevarghese entered our classroom and announced that he wanted to check our bags. He noticed one of the students trying to hide something, which raised his suspicion. Upon investigation, he found drugs in the student’s bag. Furious, Father Geevarghese escorted the student to the principal's office.

I knew what was coming next.

Like a storm, Principal Father C.C. John stormed into our classroom, ordering us outside. He was livid and even struck some of us with a stick. He then instructed the teachers to search our bags, and we were told to remove our shoes and socks. The search revealed more drugs and several mobile phones, which were prohibited in our school at the time.

As the search continued, I noticed our class teacher standing silently in the background. We had only added to her pain. Eventually, four boys were suspended from school, leaving the class in a state of disappointment and silence. Our reputation as a class had taken a severe hit.

I must confess that I knew some of my classmates were using drugs and bringing mobile phones to school since 11th grade, but I had chosen to ignore it, focusing only on myself.

That night, I couldn’t study. The events of the day kept replaying in my mind. I closed my books and lay on the bed, feeling overwhelmed. Suddenly, my mother called out to me, saying that Mrs. Nisha Thomas was on the phone and wanted to speak with me. I was surprised, and a flood of thoughts ran through my mind—why was she calling me?

I picked up the phone and said, "Hello, teacher, this is Aswin."

She replied, "Aswin, this is Nisha. I trust you. Please tell me what exactly happened. Do you know that your friends have been using drugs and bringing mobile phones to school? I trust you, Aswin. Please tell me the truth."

For a moment, I hesitated. She had already gone through so much pain and trauma. But then, I decided to confess everything. I told her that I had witnessed everything that had happened in the class. I admitted that I knew some students were using drugs and bringing mobile phones to school and even named those involved. I also mentioned that the class leaders were aware of it all.

When I told her the truth, she was shocked. She asked, "Then why didn't you tell me all this in the first place?" I remained silent. However, after confessing, I felt a sense of relief, as if a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

Despite the relief, I lost all confidence to face her the next morning. It was the first time in my life that I truly understood the power of truth.

The next day, when I entered the classroom, everyone was silent. I braced myself to face the consequences.

Mrs. Nisha Thomas entered the classroom and began to speak. "In this class, I don't trust anyone. No one is trustworthy." She went on to criticize each one of us, including the class leaders. "When your friends are going down the wrong path, it’s your responsibility to guide them back. That’s the quality of a good friend. But you all turned a blind eye while your friends were heading in the wrong direction. What kind of friends are you? No one had the courage to inform me. If we had acted earlier, we could have saved our friends from drugs. Now, I don’t know if it’s too late. You are all responsible for this."

Before leaving, she added, "Living well is the best revenge."

During the third period, our Zoology teacher, Mrs. Helen, came to the class. She said, "A teacher is like a mother. Mrs. Nisha Thomas cared for you like her own children, but you all betrayed her trust. A teacher's curse will haunt you for the rest of your life. Please don’t repeat this mistake."

At that moment, I resolved to always tell the truth and support those in need. Mrs. Nisha Thomas had trusted me, and that trust motivated her to call me that night.

Truth is like surgery: it hurts but ultimately heals. A lie is like a painkiller: it offers temporary relief but leaves lasting side effects.