And the Raj could not afford to ban its own future clerks. The Rex Vijayan Scholarship College still stands today (now a coeducational engineering college), but its 1870s golden age remains a legend. Of the 143 scholars who passed through its gates that decade, 41 became district judges, 22 were elected to provincial legislatures, and 9 were hanged by the Crown for sedition. All of them, the hanged men included, continued to pay their 20% tithe until the trust was dissolved in 1947.
3:00 PM: English Literature. We read from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest.’ But Mr. Vijayan (who visits unannounced) crosses out ‘Caliban’ and writes ‘The British Resident.’ No one laughs. No one ever laughs. rex vijayan scholarship college 1870s
The monsoon lashes against black granite walls that should not exist in this fishing village. Inside, by the light of a single Petromax lamp, thirty-seven boys—untouchables, orphans, the sons of debt-ridden toddy tappers—recite Sophocles in Attic Greek. Their headmaster, a renegade English botanist turned pedagogist, taps a mahogany cane not to punish, but to conduct them like an orchestra. And the Raj could not afford to ban its own future clerks
This is the , the most improbable educational institution of the 19th century. Founded in 1872 by the eponymous Rex Vijayan—a shadowy Chettiar merchant prince whose fortune came from cinnamon, opium, and a scandalous partnership with a deposed Burmese king—the college was not a missionary project. It was not a colonial copy. It was a weapon. All of them, the hanged men included, continued
He liquidated three ships and bought an abandoned Dutch fort on a mosquito-haunted spit of land near present-day Kannur.
And the Raj could not afford to ban its own future clerks. The Rex Vijayan Scholarship College still stands today (now a coeducational engineering college), but its 1870s golden age remains a legend. Of the 143 scholars who passed through its gates that decade, 41 became district judges, 22 were elected to provincial legislatures, and 9 were hanged by the Crown for sedition. All of them, the hanged men included, continued to pay their 20% tithe until the trust was dissolved in 1947.
3:00 PM: English Literature. We read from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest.’ But Mr. Vijayan (who visits unannounced) crosses out ‘Caliban’ and writes ‘The British Resident.’ No one laughs. No one ever laughs.
The monsoon lashes against black granite walls that should not exist in this fishing village. Inside, by the light of a single Petromax lamp, thirty-seven boys—untouchables, orphans, the sons of debt-ridden toddy tappers—recite Sophocles in Attic Greek. Their headmaster, a renegade English botanist turned pedagogist, taps a mahogany cane not to punish, but to conduct them like an orchestra.
This is the , the most improbable educational institution of the 19th century. Founded in 1872 by the eponymous Rex Vijayan—a shadowy Chettiar merchant prince whose fortune came from cinnamon, opium, and a scandalous partnership with a deposed Burmese king—the college was not a missionary project. It was not a colonial copy. It was a weapon.
He liquidated three ships and bought an abandoned Dutch fort on a mosquito-haunted spit of land near present-day Kannur.
Basketball Games
Football Games
Hockey Games
Rugby Games
Boxing Games
Golf Games
Tennis Games
