From a Cowshed to a Classroom: The Teacher Who Built a School with Conviction

India’s education system stands in disrepair, despite being a shared responsibility under the Concurrent List of the Constitution by both the Union and State governments. Between 2014–15 and 2024–25, government schools in Assam vanished like magic tricks from 52,927 to 44,741, a loss of 8,186 institutions. 

But we must not be worried; private schools steps in to the public education gallantly rose from 3,954 to 6,480 by 2,926. This inversion shows apparently education now comes at a price tag. The crisis is stark in Assam: 3,159 schools function with only one teacher for over 1 lakh children, and Class X repetition rate is 17.3%, far above the national average of 5.3%. The NITI Aayog reports nearly 94,000 school closures in the past decade, with government enrollment dropping by 2.6 crore even as private enrollment surged. With India spending just 4.1% of GDP on education, Assam matches this level but has not crossed the 6% benchmark recommended by the Kothari Commission and reiterated in NEP 2020, thus,  the constitutional promise of Article 21 A risks becoming hollow unless Union and State governments act decisively.

There is a silver lining in sight with these harrowing statistics. On Teachers’ Day, Uttam Teron’s Parijat Academy reminds us that a teacher does not merely teach children; sometimes, a teacher must first build the very place in which they can learn.

There are teachers who enter a classroom every morning, open a textbook and begin a lesson. While most teachers stroll into ready made institutions, Teron belongs to that rare breed who actually create an ecosystem of learning where none existed.

In 2003, when the idea of a school in Pamohi seemed more like idealism than practicality, a young Teron decided to establish a centre of learning in his village. He named it Parijat Academy, after the Assamese flower. It was borrowed from the Sadou Assam Maina Parijat- children institution founded by the legendary Nalini Bala Devi in 1950 and there are many branches all across Assam over the years. Young Teron volunteered at its village branch, enamoured by its activities. When the parent organisation sought to hoist a jubilee celebration in 1999, when Assam was scarred by insurgency and secret killings, Uttam Teron and local youths boldly insisted that the jubilee celebration of the Sadou Assam Maina Parijat be held in their village, Pamohi. The then Governor, Lt. Gen. (Retd.) S.K. Sinha, consented to attend. His visit was more than ceremonial; it reassured villagers that education could flourish even amidst violence, marking a psychological turning point for the community.

The school began with a meagre amount of Rs. 800/- , four students, and an abandoned cowshed with nothing more than a blackboard and bench-desk. There were hardly any facilities. No imposing walls, sophisticated classrooms or institutional grandeur. Yet Teron understood that a school is not defined by its walls, but by what happens to a child within them.

His parents initially struggled to understand his choice. Like many families, they hoped their son would pursue a secure government or corporate career. They worried how such an enterprise could sustain him. Yet Teron persisted. 

Eventually, his parents offered him their land and even Rs. 50000/- for the expansion of the school as enrollment were rising and gave him advice that mattered more than money: whatever he did, he must do it honestly, work hard, and never hurt anyone. That counsel became the foundation of Parijat Academy.
Twenty three years on, the cowshed has become a school serving over 300 students with 21 teachers, and more than 2,000 children have passed through its doors — many once dropouts who later excelled in board exams. Yet the true story lies in the children themselves: most come from families where education was seen as secondary to daily labour, or from remote forest settlements where reaching a classroom meant crossing difficult terrain. Parijat Academy turned those barriers into opportunities. For children from areas around Garbhanga forest, distance became one of the greatest barriers to education. Teron responded by planning residential facilities so that geography would not decide who gets to learn.

Some children arrived malnourished and unfamiliar with basic hygiene. Yet after spending time at Parijat Academy, they gradually adopted habits of cleanliness and personal care. Months later, when some returned home, their own parents were unable to recognize their offspring and astonished by the transformation not only in their studies but in their confidence also
Teron has always resisted the idea that education exists merely to produce government employees or politicians. For him, education is about self awareness, confidence, independence and empowerment.

At the Parijat Utsav, students organise dancing, singing, anchoring and science exhibitions themselves. Teachers remain mentors while children assume responsibility for making the event work. Then there is the Bala Sabha, where students elect their own Sabha Pati and secretary, campaign, vote and assume responsibility. A child who learns democracy by practising it is likely to understand it far better than one who merely memorises its definition from a textbook.

Parijat Academy also understands that education must prepare children for life, not merely examinations. Stitching and weaving are already part of the school’s skill-building efforts. 

Teron’s ambition is to extend vocational training into areas such as motorcycle repair, plumbing and electrical work. His reasoning is compelling: what happens if a child does not become a doctor, engineer, civil servant or lawyer? The answer should not be unemployment. Education should leave that young person capable of standing on his or her own feet.

The school’s philosophy extends even further. Teron’s wife, Aimoni Tumung, heads the Weaving Centre and has pioneered a true act of women’s empowerment. Known locally as a “Pad Woman,” she led students in producing reusable cloth sanitary napkins, distributing them to communities with limited access to menstrual hygiene. 

What emerges is not merely a curriculum but a culture of learning by doing and learning by serving. There is something deeply Gandhian about this conception of education: the hand, the head and the heart must develop together. Teron now dreams of taking this experiment further by establishing another centre of learning closer to the Garbhanga forest, so that children living in some of the most inaccessible settlements do not have to undertake hazardous journeys simply to sit in a classroom. The academy survives on a shoestring NGO budget. 

The teacher and trainer wages is significantly below the state’s minimum wage for skilled graduates and a fraction of what a regular government school teacher earns. Consequently, the salaries routinely lapses for four to five months at a stretch. Let that sink in! Those teachers who believe wholeheartedly in the Terons’ philosophy, they are effectively subsidizing the state’s constitutional duty to provide free and compulsory education.

The Assam Government should consider supporting Parijat Academy through appropriate institutional assistance, release an emergency grant under the Samagra Shiksha Abhijan, Fast track the academy inclusion in the PM SHRI scheme , extending the National Scholarship for children of Remote areas, vocational infrastructure, hostel facilities, digital learning, health and hygiene programmes and skill developments partnerships. The Skill, Employment & Entrepreneurship Department could explore developing Parijat Academy as a community-based education and skill pilot, connecting its students with vocational certification, apprenticeships and entrepreneurship opportunities. 

Most importantly, the government should study what Parijat has achieved and ask whether its principles can be adapted in government schools across Assam.
Teron himself has reportedly made a simple distinction between appreciation and assistance: he values appreciation, but appreciation cannot pay the salaries of teachers. For behind every inspiring educational institution are teachers who need to be paid, classrooms that need to be maintained and children who need books, food, healthcare and opportunity. Teachers’ Day must therefore be more than an annual ritual of flowers, speeches and social media tributes. It should be a moment to recognise those who make education possible and to ensure that their work can continue.

Uttam Teron’s journey began in a cowshed with four students. Today, more than three hundred children walk through the doors of Parijat Academy carrying something far more valuable than textbooks: the possibility of a different future. The cowshed has disappeared as a symbol of deprivation. The classroom remains as a symbol of hope. On Teachers’ Day, Assam should salute Uttam Teron and their staffs—not simply for the school he built, but for the lives he has changed.


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