The story of Rehbar-e-Khel teachers in Jammu and Kashmir is not just a profession—it is a silent scream hidden deep within them, buried behind tired smiles, chalk-dusted hands, and eyes that shine with hope yet brim with silent tears. As they enter their seventh year of service, these teachers remain temporary employees, earning only six thousand rupees a month. Their hearts are crushed under a mountain of pain, fear, and hopelessness that words struggle to describe. This seventh year was supposed to be the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel—the year when their endless waiting would finally end, and they would be made permanent employees, granted the dignity, security, and respect every human deserves. Yet each day feels like punishment written into their fate. Every morning, they wake up wondering how much longer they must endure this cruel test. These teachers have given the most precious years of their youth to the department, working tirelessly in classrooms and playgrounds, guiding children with love in every village and town. But inside, it feels as though they stand trapped in darkness with no way out. Every day, they carry wounds unseen, praying that somehow the darkness will lift and that their silent cries will finally be heard. Islam teaches that the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: “Give the worker his wages before his sweat dries.” (Ibn Majah). The Qur’an declares: “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.” (2:286). Yet these teachers feel burdened far beyond their strength, drowning in endless trials. Across the world, everyone knows teachers build nations and deserve respect and fair livelihoods. Yet these teachers, who hold the chalk of knowledge and the whistle of discipline, remain neglected, earning so little that they cannot cover even the most basic needs—food, medicine, or the education of their children. From the United Nations, which speaks of “decent work and economic growth,” to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which insists on fair and favorable conditions of work, the world agrees that no worker should suffer as they do. Their pain is not only financial—it cuts into their hearts and souls. Each day, they bear the silent wounds of humiliation: highly educated yet invisible, respected only in words but forgotten in action. They pray every night for relief, hoping their cries will reach those in power. They long for the day when their hard work, qualifications, and sacrifices will finally be seen, and justice will replace despair. For now, they continue teaching, pouring love into the children who look up to them, while hiding pain behind weary smiles, praying that their silent screams will finally be heard. These teachers hold advanced qualifications. They have worked relentlessly and sacrificed the golden years of their lives to earn degrees like B.P.Ed., M.P.Ed., M.Phil., Ph.D., NET, SET, and JRF. They poured their youth into books, journals, research papers, and endless nights of study under dim lights, while their families waited, believing these achievements would open doors to respect, good jobs, and a secure future. They dreamed of lifting their families from hardship, giving their parents comfort in old age, and becoming role models for children in their villages and towns. But today, it feels as though all those degrees—all the letters behind their names—have been reduced to mere paper, worthless in the face of cruel reality. Despite their high qualifications, they remain temporary, earning salaries so low it feels like an insult to years of dedication. Six thousand rupees a month cannot even feed them properly, let alone pay for their children’s schooling, their parents’ medicine, or simple needs like electricity, clothes, and travel. It is heartbreaking and humiliating that people with Ph.D.s, NET, SET, and JRF must worry about how to buy food, pay school fees, or afford bus fare to reach work. It feels as though they are being punished for daring to dream of a better life through education. Islam teaches that “The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.” Yet here they are—scholars with ink-stained fingers and weary eyes—treated as if their sacrifices mean nothing. The Qur’an commands justice and fairness: “God commands justice and the doing of good…” (Qur’an 16:90). Yet justice feels so far away from their doors. Across the world, from the halls of the United Nations to the words of human rights charters, teachers are honored as builders of nations, deserving respect, fair pay, and dignity. Yet these teachers, who hold such high degrees and who shape future generations, stand neglected. Society believes that because they are government teachers, they must live comfortably. But in truth, they carry the shame of empty wallets, the guilt of failing their families, and the burden of explaining to their parents why they still struggle despite their qualifications. Their parents, who once told neighbors proudly that their son or daughter held a Ph.D. or had cleared NET or JRF, now look at them with silent tears and questions they cannot bring themselves to ask. How can these teachers look into the eyes of their families and explain why all their hard work has left them empty-handed? How do they tell their children that despite their education, they cannot afford new clothes for Eid or Diwali, or even a small birthday cake? How do they convince themselves that all their degrees were not a mistake? It feels as though the world has forgotten the worth of knowledge, the value of sacrifice, and the dignity every human soul deserves. They stand there, highly qualified yet invisible, waiting desperately for the day when justice finally reaches their doors and silent suffering turns into dignity and hope.
“Rehbar-e-Khel teachers are expressing their exhaustion from maintaining a facade of strength while facing significant emotional and professional challenges. They are calling on the government to fulfill its commitment to provide them with permanent employment, equitable salaries, and the respect they deserve for their hard work. The teachers are reaching out to key officials, including Minister of Youth Services and Sports Satish Sharma, Commissioner Secretary Sarmad Hafeez, and Director of Youth Services and Sports Anuradha Gupta, with a heartfelt plea for support. As they approach the completion of seven years in their roles, they are advocating for a one-time regularization of all Rehbar-e-Khel teachers to alleviate their ongoing struggles and improve their circumstances.”
Behind the brave faces they show their students lies an ocean of pain, fear, and silent tears. Every day, they step into classrooms and sports fields, teaching children about discipline, health, dreams, and hope, while inside they are breaking into pieces. Their smiles are masks hiding storms raging in their hearts. Their minds drown under the crushing weight of financial troubles, unpaid bills, and a future that looks more uncertain with every passing day. Many spend sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, thinking about unpaid rent, how to buy medicine for sick parents, and how to keep their children in school when even the smallest fees feel impossible. This life has drained not just their pockets but also their health, their spirits, and sometimes even their will to go on. Teachers among them have suffered heart attacks, fallen into deep depressions, and become physically ill under unbearable tension and wounds that come from feeling forgotten. Even worse, some of their colleagues—people who once laughed beside them, shared burdens, and dreamed of better days—have died because of this relentless stress. These are not just names on a list—they were real people, their brothers and sisters in struggle, who carried the same heavy burdens these teachers still carry today. Islam teaches profound truths about justice and compassion. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: “Whoever relieves a believer’s distress, Allah will relieve his distress on the Day of Resurrection.” (Sahih Muslim). The Qur’an declares, “And do not deprive people of their due…” (Qur’an 7:85). Yet these teachers feel deprived of their rights and dignity. They are scholars and teachers left unseen and unheard, crushed under financial and emotional burdens. They have witnessed teachers who once were strong and full of life suddenly collapse with chest pain. They have seen once-vibrant souls retreat into silence, shutting themselves away, losing their laughter and light. They have stood beside coffins, choking on grief, burying teachers who should have been standing in classrooms, smiling and teaching, but whose lives were stolen by endless stress and hopelessness. Each funeral feels like burying a piece of their own hearts in the cold ground. With every prayer they whisper for the souls of the departed, a part of them cries out for justice, for dignity, and for an end to suffering that has already claimed too many. May Allah see their pain, heal their wounds, and bring justice swiftly—for He is the Most Just, the Most Merciful. And may the world remember that teachers deserve not only respect in words but dignity, fair wages, and a life free from silent torture. Their families suffer silently beside them, carrying wounds unseen but deeply felt. Parents who once proudly told neighbors of their child’s high degrees now sit quietly with heavy hearts. They no longer ask when their child will be regularized because their eyes already say everything. Their spouses manage homes on meagre salaries, sacrificing their own needs to keep families afloat. Even innocent children have begun to notice what’s missing, wondering why friends have new clothes for Eid, why they go on picnics or have birthday cakes, while they stay home in silence. The Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said: “Each of you is a shepherd, and each of you is responsible for his flock.” (Sahih Bukhari). These teachers feel that responsibility burning inside them. They have the degrees, skills, and dedication. But what they lack is opportunity, justice, and the fair system they were promised. The government must not let their suffering stretch into an eighth year. Enough lives have been lost to stress and heartbreak. Enough tears have fallen behind closed doors. Enough families have been torn apart under the weight of shame and hopelessness. Rehbar-e-Khel teachers are tired of pretending to be strong while silently crumbling inside. It is time for the government to keep its promise and grant them permanent jobs, fair salaries, and the dignity they have earned with their sweat and tears. They appeal with humble yet desperate hearts to Minister of Youth Services and Sports, Satish Sharma, Commissioner Secretary Sarmad Hafeez, and Director Youth Services and Sports, Anuradha Gupta Madam. Now that seven years are about to be completed, they plead that all Rehbar-e-Khel teachers should be granted one-time regularisation together, so that they may be lifted from this endless hardships. Many teachers have suffered heart attacks during these seven years. Some have even lost their lives from the relentless tension and sorrow. They have endured unimaginable suffering and hardship. They deserve not only permanent jobs but the dignity, security, and respect that come with them. May Allah grant them relief, for He is the Most Just, and may the world remember that justice delayed is not only justice denied—it is lives destroyed. The silent cries of the Rehbar-e-Khel teachers must be heard, before any more lives are lost, and before hope fades forever.
(The author a teacher by profession is a freelancer. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
Dr Aftab Jan
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