The Man Who Called His Students Gods: Dwijendranath Ghosh

Dwijendranath Ghosh calls himself ordinary.

But how many “ordinary” people spend their retirement building a school from scratch — with no funding, no government salary, and no promise of support? How many choose to teach every day, without compensation, well into their 70s? And how many refer to their students — many from the most marginalised sections of rural Bengal — as gods?

At 78, Ghosh is the heart and soul of Basantapur Junior High School in West Bengal’s Hooghly district. He opens the gate each morning. He teaches children for free. He never left his village — but his impact now reaches far beyond it.

From Barefoot Dreams to Blackboards

Ghosh’s journey is rooted in personal struggle. Growing up in deep poverty, he had no books, no uniforms, and no certainty. His childhood was spent walking barefoot to school, borrowing textbooks, and studying by the glow of kerosene lamps. And yet, he rose. A master’s degree from Burdwan University followed in 1973.

“The pain of those days still haunts me,” he says. “But it also shaped me.”

That pain turned into purpose. Soon after graduating, he and a few friends began running an informal high school in their village—unrecognised, unpaid, but unstoppable. For nine years, they taught with nothing but commitment. When the government finally recognised the school in 1982, Ghosh had already left to take a government job elsewhere, forced by financial needs.

The Second School

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He retired in 2008. But instead of resting, he returned to his village and found that little had changed. Girls were still dropping out after primary school. Child marriage was common. A generation was fading into invisibility. So he began again. With no funding, no building, and no staff, he worked for five years to create Basantapur Junior High School.

In 2014, the school was officially recognised. But the journey was never about the paperwork — it was about presence. Every morning, Ghosh arrives before the first bell. He teaches, supports, and uplifts — without compensation. Because for him, teaching is service.

A Volunteer Army — Running on Faith

He’s not alone. A team of young, educated, but unemployed volunteer teachers stands beside him. They could have chosen easier paths, but chose this one out of belief, not benefit. They are unpaid. At times, local donors offer small stipends, but it’s inconsistent. Most are struggling, yet they return every day. “They have given the most valuable years of their lives,” Ghosh says.

The school receives only ₹25,000 a year as a government grant. For three years, even that was inaccessible. What kept it alive? Former students, now grown, are donating what they can. The community is pitching in. Alumni returning to teach. When a government teacher recently disrespected the volunteers, the team almost walked out. But students and parents wouldn’t let them. Ghosh stepped in to calm tensions.

“We can’t let one bad moment undo decades of good,” he told them.

A Temple Against Child Marriage

One of the school’s biggest challenges is child marriage. In villages like Basantapur, girls are often married by 14—seen as burdens, not futures. By offering local access to education, the school has become a shield. Many girls have completed higher education here. But the battle continues. “This trend,” Ghosh says, “is like an infection. It keeps coming back.”

At Basantapur Junior High School, learning is about more than grades. Students perform in cultural shows, play football and cricket, and take part in morning assemblies. They learn to speak, to lead, to dream. There’s no structured life skills module—because the school itself is the life lesson. Students know they are seen, heard, and cared for. Teachers know their work matters. And visitors walk away knowing this is not just a school—it’s a movement.

His empathy, his daily discipline, and his belief in every child form the blueprint that his students follow. And his impact lives in their dreams.

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The Final Lesson

What does his family think?

“They worry about my health,” he laughs. “Not about the money.”

His pension is enough for his needs. What he seeks is not comfort — but recognition for his team. “These teachers have earned the right to be made permanent. A hundred times over,” he says.

When asked what keeps him going, he simply says:

“So long as I am in the school, I am alive.”

In an education system obsessed with metrics, Ghosh offers something rare: meaning.

He didn’t build a career.
He built a sanctuary.
He didn’t earn a salary.
He earned generations of gratitude.

And in every child who enters Basantapur Junior High, the final lesson is quietly imprinted:

Service is not sacrifice. It’s grace.