Pakhangba Monastery: Lectiones de rudimentis

Korou believed in the human will to overcome adversity. His first paper, published by the Royal Asiatic Society, appeared in his third year of matriculation, and his second was a year later. The wiry-haired scholars of Academia could hardly validate his success, while his peers found it markedly vexing. Some praised his sagacity. Others ignored his tenacity. But none acknowledged his voracity. The rustling of sheets, the cold sweat, swollen fingers punching every letter, a lingering worry, with only a clenched jaw, mugs of coffee and hope for his name on print.

Thus, tribulations were nothing new. Contrary to it, it was his playground. Yet, his legs trembled, his chest ached, his breath ragged, huffing with every step.

"Who keeps class at dawn?" Korou complained as Atla prodded him up in encouragement. "Not to mention at the top of a fucking mountain peak."

"Language, Korou," She cast him a tight-lipped glance. "You don't want the Athongbas to hear that."

"I don't care, Atla," He held his knees. "I just want to study, not run over a thousand steps to learn rudimentary teaching."

"Take the complaints to the head priestess," Atla sighed. "I will have to leave if you don't hurry up."

"I hate this."

"You will get used to it."

"No, I won't."

The first class was a brief respite to his playschool days, the Athongba—Master started with a class of introduction. For all the staged fear the head priestess had illustrated a week prior, the lesson imparted was disappointing.

"Silence," Athongba Leina bellowed, her voice raspy yet commanding. Rapping her knuckles over the board, she pointed at the girl in front. "You, state your name and dream."

The classes were being held in the monastery's central Pagoda. A five-storey building, each denoting an element. The ground was earth, and the top, heaven. Each floor was used for classes, with the lowest being years one and two, while the others house years three up to seven. In Lamphi, adulthood was attained at age thirteen; thus, the education stopped there. You had to start earning and provide for yourself and a family; if you wished to have one.

"My name is Iromi Pakhangna Lamphi," The girl curtised with an elegant bow. "I am the daughter of the village chief. My goal is to ace Parīksā and join the military ranks of Ukiya. All for the sake of purging Demiurges."

There was a silence. The children who had been chattering amongst themselves had their gazes peeled at her. Korou, too, was amazed. For her age, she had spoken with an elegance and command that only a few, even as adults, can.

From under her scrutinising gaze, Athongba Leina shook her head. "Another child with barely any knowledge of the world spouting nonsense." She waved, gesturing for her to sit and moved on.

By the time it was Korou's turn, an hour had already passed. His fingers traced the letters on his slate as the voices around him had drained. He had been scribbling the seventy-five alphabets of Lamphi lon. It was exhausting to mentally speak each letter with the accurate tonality. And despite his disdain towards this class, Korou wouldn't bring himself to disrupt it. That was a principle he carried from his previous life.

Someone grabbed his shoulder as he slid the chalk in a perfect arc. It was sudden, he jumped. There was a thud as the slate fell over the creaking floor.

"If you can't heed my calls, you are free to leave," The towering Athongba crossed her arms with a scowl. Her choppy, short, forest green hair skittered, draping the glare. "Our sanctorum has a copious collection of tomes; you are free to drown within them if this class is not to your taste."

She pulled up the sleeves of her chuba and leaned over his low table—Phungba. "But if you desire to be here, I recommend paying attention to my words, and not scribble profusely a language still years away from your mastery." She pulled his slate away and rubbed away its content. "Now give your introduction."

"Korou." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Pardon?"

"Korou Kouburu Kshetriba, son of Nongyak Kouburu Kshetriba, the warrior chief of the village." Korou snapped with a hiss. "Also, with all due respect, Athongba, it's not the class, but the conduct. If an educator forgets as much as to introduce themselves first, what kind of attitude shall the students take away?"

The Athongba raised her brow in a hushed snicker. "You are exactly as Naobi described, arrogant."

"I would prefer you know your student before concluding them to a mere word." He tapped at the table. "It is called good manners, I am sure you know at least that much."

Heads were rolling their way; many gasped. Korou was sure he had crossed the line here. As a professor in his past life, he was well aware of the respect a person taking on the master role deserved. But she, Athongba Leina, was just a measly teacher of kids. Not a fellow scholar in pursuit of knowledge. Thus, it was aggravating.

"Are you implying I don't know my job?" With taut restraint, the Athongba shot him a strained smile.

"No," He gave her a smile. "You did."

Korou spent the rest of the lecture by himself in the Mandala Garden. It was an act of punishment, but it was a therapeutic experience for him.

The buzzing of the bees and Crownbill's chirp were a better sound than Athongba Leina.

Next was an introduction to the language. The Athongba here was pleasant, his voice was soothing, and his care imminent. Korou could see the experience of decades behind the composure.

"Lamphi Lon, despite its complexity, is straightforward to understand." He had drawn the first five letters of the script. There were a hundred of them. Korou had mastered seventy-five so far. "Each symbol is a sound, Aa, Uu, Oo, Ca, Da, and more. I don't want you to memorise these words, even a monkey conditioned enough could do that. I want you to inhibit them, speak the sound, connect it to the symbol and repeat it."

"But sir," Iromi, the village chief's daughter, asked with a poised gesture. "Isn't memorising faster? If I can remember the letters, it would be easier to compose the words. And as for the sounds that can always come later."

"Fair misconception." The Athongba smiled. Korou, who sat beside the girl, couldn't help but praise her eye for intricacies. It was hard to come by, at least in her age.

"How?" Iromi tilted her head to the side. Her braided dark hair grazed the low table.

"Because the sounds help memorise faster," Korou interjected. "The letters are just composite geometry err... I mean symbols without the sound. What makes them special is how you say them. Sometimes with a rolled tongue, while others with a huff. And our mind remembers those better; once we are used to it and its association with the symbol, we never forget it."

Iromi glanced at him with a scowl, while the Athongba looked astonished.

"Am I wrong?" Korou asked quietly.

"No," The Athongba nodded. "That was fairly accurate. What was your name again, child?"

"Korou."

Third was maths. Korou dreaded it. If language was his most planned, then maths was a study in imagination. Simply put, impossible. Even in his previous life, he had barely passed the high school modules, and then, in matriculation, he ended up with one calculus course due to a series of bad choices. He had failed it twice and only got through it on his third attempt under the provision of auxiliary exams. Although his professor had praised his analytical mindset, he could never come around to liking this subject.

"I am sure most of you have been given preconceptions about the complexity of numbers." The lady, relatively young compared to others, paced over the board with a gentle smile. She was clad in a white chuba, as her shoulder-length magenta hair was left open. "But my job is to make you love them. My name is Mekpi, and throughout this year, I shall teach you not only how to solve sums—that's a part of it—but also how to love numbers. Stay with me and I promise you shall never fear this course again."

Mekpi began by explaining rudimentary sums, subtraction, tables, and her love for them. Korou, who was well versed with this course's initials or basics, found it fascinating how much effort Athongba Mekpi was putting in.

In the two hours they spent with her, she had personally walked up to every student, individually helping them with the most basic doubts. And through it all, she never made a face.

"Athongba," Iromi, who had insistently sat beside Korou again, struggled with tables of nine. "Athongba?"

Mekpi was over the last row, her knees bent as she leaned over explaining sums to the freckled, amber-eyed kid.

"Not Ibo again," Iromi muttered, tapping her slate.

Korou leaned in slightly; Iromi tried adding the numbers to get the product. It was a neat trick, or rather a learning method. The sum of the products in the table's numbers gives you the next one. Two plus two is four. Now, add two to four, and you get six, the next one on the table.

"You have done the sum wrong," Korou pointed at nine multiplied by nine. "Nine multiplied by eight is seventy-two, that is correct." He started scribbling on his slate. "But when it comes to nine times nine, you got eighty, and then by ten it was eighty-nine."

"I can see that." Iromi flipped her braid and crossed her arms. "I am aware of sums, thanks."

"You most definitely are, however," Korou, ignoring her remark, continued. "You see, instead of adding up nine here, you did eight; it was a silly mistake, and it's all right, we all make them." He rubbed off her answers and corrected them. "Here we go, now it's eighty-one and ninety. Don't try to speed up the process; mistakes happen then. You are already smart enough, better than most kids here."

For the remainder of the class, Iromi didn't speak with him. But Korou could feel the murderous intent through it all. As someone used to being praised by Atla and his mother for explaining hard things, Korou found this treatment oddly nostalgic.

It was after the three echoing chimes from the wind bell that gave the students a much-needed respite. Korou walked out of the low vaulted hallway and into the cloisters. Others followed behind him. It was time for lunch.