Education is the best friend. An educated person is respected

Host: The morning sun hung low over the dusty village road, spilling a golden glow across the old tea stall. Birds fluttered in the trees, their calls mixing with the faint crackle of an oil stove. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of boiling tea and the echo of distant school bells. Jack sat by the window, his elbows resting on the wooden table, eyes lost in thought. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea, the steam rising like a ghost between them.

The villagers outside were starting their day, children in uniforms running past, books clutched to their chests like treasures. Jack’s gaze followed them, a faint smile crossing his lips—half tender, half skeptical.

Jeeny broke the silence.
Jeeny: “Chanakya once said, ‘Education is the best friend. An educated person is respected everywhere. Education beats the beauty and the youth.’”
Her voice was soft, yet it carried an undercurrent of conviction. “It’s still true, isn’t it, Jack?”

Jack looked up, the sunlight cutting a sharp line across his face.
Jack: “True? Maybe once. But now?” He gave a small, dry laugh. “In this world, money and appearance open more doors than books ever could.”

Host: A motorbike roared past, scattering dust through the open air. Jeeny blinked as the particles glimmered briefly in the sunlight, then disappeared.

Jeeny: “That’s not the world’s fault, Jack. It’s ours. We’ve forgotten what education really means. It’s not just about degrees or jobs. It’s about understanding—the mind’s awakening, as Tagore called it.”

Jack: “And yet, tell that to the thousands of graduates driving delivery bikes in the city. Tell that to the teacher who can’t pay her rent, while an influencer earns ten times as much for smiling into a camera.”

Jeeny: “You’re confusing the value of a person with the price of their fame. Education doesn’t guarantee wealth, but it gives dignity, judgment, and freedom.”

Jack: “Dignity doesn’t feed a family, Jeeny. Freedom doesn’t pay the bills.”

Host: The tension in the air was almost visible—two souls, drawn together by the same fire, but standing on opposite shores of belief.

Jeeny: “You always measure everything in currency, Jack. What about respect? Don’t you see how even the poorest man bows before the teacher, or how a community listens when an educated voice speaks?”

Jack: “Respect fades when the stomach is empty. And besides, have you seen how easily people are manipulated now? Education hasn’t made us wiser; it’s made us more efficient at lying, selling, and surviving.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes darkened, her fingers gripping the edge of her cup. The tea had gone cold, but her conviction burned hotter than ever.

Jeeny: “You talk as if knowledge is to blame for what people do with it. That’s like blaming fire for burning. It’s not education’s fault—it’s how we’ve used it.”

Jack leaned forward, his voice low, almost intimate.
Jack: “Used it? We’ve weaponized it. Look at how the smartest minds design ads that make children crave junk, or algorithms that keep us addicted to screens. If that’s the fruit of education, I’d rather stay ignorant.”

Jeeny: “And yet you read, you question, you argue. You are educated, Jack. You just refuse to admit what it’s given you—the power to think freely.”

Host: A moment of stillness. The wind shifted, carrying with it the distant sound of a temple bell. The world outside seemed to pause, as though listening to the battle inside that small room.

Jack: “Thinking freely hasn’t done me much good. I studied, I believed in merit. But when I lost my job, nobody cared how much I knew. All they cared about was who I knew.”

Jeeny: “That’s not the fault of education; that’s the fault of a corrupt society. But even then—education gives you the tools to fight it, to rebuild, to rise again.”

Jack: “Or to realize how broken everything really is.”

Host: His words hung in the air like smoke, dense and heavy. Jeeny looked at him, her eyes softening.

Jeeny: “Do you remember Malala Yousafzai?” she said quietly. “A girl who risked her life for the right to learn. She didn’t fight for beauty or youth or money—she fought for the light of understanding. That’s what Chanakya meant. Education outlives the body; it’s the soul’s armor.”

Jack looked away, his jaw tightening.
Jack: “Maybe. But not everyone is Malala. Most people are just trying to survive, not become heroes.”

Jeeny: “And survival without awareness is just existence, Jack. Animals survive. Humans learn.”

Host: The silence that followed was deep, almost sacred. The clock on the wall ticked, slow and deliberate. Jack tapped his finger against the table, a rhythm of frustration and reluctant recognition.

Jack: “So you think education is the answer to everything?”

Jeeny: “No,” she said softly. “But it’s the beginning of everything. Without it, there’s no question, no progress, no empathy. Even love, without understanding, becomes blind.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered—something in her words pierced through his armor. The light shifted, casting a long shadow across the table, dividing them like a thin line between belief and doubt.

Jack: “Then why do the most educated nations still wage war? Why do professors invent bombs?”

Jeeny: “Because education without wisdom is like beauty without soul—empty, dangerous, fleeting. But that’s why we need it all the more. To teach values, not just facts.”

Host: Her voice rose—not in anger, but in passion, trembling with the weight of her faith. Jack watched her, his own defenses slowly crumbling.

Jack: “You really believe it can change the world?”

Jeeny: “It already has. Every revolution began with a teacher, every freedom with a lesson learned. Think of Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Mandela—all educated minds who used their learning to awaken hearts.”

Host: A faint breeze entered the room, fluttering the pages of an old newspaper near the window. Jack’s gaze fell on it—headlines about corruption, conflict, confusion. Yet amid the noise, Jeeny’s words echoed quietly.

Jack: “Maybe education doesn’t make us saints,” he murmured. “But maybe… it makes us less blind.”

Jeeny smiled—a slow, knowing smile that carried both sorrow and hope.
Jeeny: “Exactly. It doesn’t erase the darkness, Jack. It just teaches us how to see in it.”

Host: Outside, the school bell rang again. A group of children passed by, their laughter bright and boundless. Jack watched them—faces full of dreams, hands clutching worn books like sacred promises.

Jeeny followed his gaze. “That’s the future,” she whispered. “That’s why education will always beat beauty and youth—it never fades.”

Host: The sunlight shifted once more, falling on Jack’s face—soft, reflective. He gave a small nod, the kind that carries both defeat and understanding.

Jack: “Maybe Chanakya was right after all,” he said quietly. “Education is the best friend. It doesn’t leave when time steals everything else.”

Jeeny: “And it never grows old,” she replied.

Host: The tea stall grew quiet. Outside, the world continued—no louder, no wiser, but touched, somehow, by the echo of their words. The sun climbed higher, spilling light through the dusty window, as if to bless the truth they had found between them: that beauty fades, youth dies, but understanding endures—like an eternal flame within the human soul.