Abstract
The voices rose with the sun. It was early morning in an Indian village school. The boys, both yound and old, sat in neat rows behind their palm-leaf manuscripts, commiting their lessons to memory. As Indian boyshad done for thousand sof years, they chanted their grammarc rules, their rhetoric lessons, their logic aphroisms. Each chanted loudly enough enough to hear himself over the next boy, resulting in a big cacophonous assembly of discordant voices.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.