In the polarised climate of post-riot Muzaffarnagar, it is hard to imagine that the village school was a unifying force, where children of Jats and Muslims studied together. But today, those schools have emptied out of Muslim children, who are now huddled in the freezing cold of a refugee camp, with no access to modern education, and to the shared childhood they left behind.
At the Malakpur refugee camp, outside the tent that serves as his house, we find Amir, 12-years-old, and his brother Samir reading from textbooks from the school they attended, at the village of Lank, which their family fled three months ago.
Malakpur is one of nearly a dozen refugee camps, home to roughly 4000 Muslim families that escaped the violence that broke out in Muzaffarnagar and the neighbouring districts of Shamli and Baghpat, in Western Uttar Pradesh in early September this year.
Despite a promise by the government, there is no school for them, and for the nearly 1000 young people of the refugee camps. There is only a madrassa, in keeping with the strong role of Islamic charities in the running of the camp.
This is unsettling for Amir, whose school in Lank, the Modern Public School, was run on modern lines, where his friends came from all castes and all faiths.
But Lank witnessed brutal violence. 7 people were killed as Jats stormed the Muslim enclaves. Amir says he cannot go back.
The options are limited. Amir's parents say the local school near the refugee camp, located in a Muslim dominated area, is far too Islamic in focus. They say the emphasis is more on studying the Quran and training students to become clerics.
We visited the village of Lank, an hour south of Malakpura, to find Amir's old school. The principal, Amit Kumar, tells us that not a single Muslim student is left.
"At one time, out of 265 students, 88 were Muslims. They have all gone after the riots began in early September. We feel bad," he says.
In every class, are traces of a shared childhood. We spoke to Swati and Chhavi, students of Class IV. They said their best friends were Heena and Parveen. "We want them to come back," they said.
In Amir's class, we find his friend, Shubham Malik. He takes us to Amir's house in the village's morgue-like Muslim quarter, where broken and locked homes are only further proof that Lank's Muslims are not coming back.
"I want Amir to come back and finish his studies," Shubham told us.
The sentiment, though heartfelt, is unlikely. Instead if Shubham came to Malakpur, he would find Aamir, who at his parents prodding, chants for us 'Ae Malik Tere Bande Hum', a verse he learnt in his old school that unconsciously signals a shared history, perhaps lost for good.
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