¶
CHITRAL, Pakistan — During a grand gathering of tribal elders in this
rugged and remote mountain district recently, one guest of honor stood
out: an elderly Englishman in a suit and polished shoes, his snowy hair
carefully combed, the morning newspaper folded on his lap.








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Max Becherer for The New York Times
Geoffrey Langlands, 94, is leaving the school he founded.






¶
That man, Geoffrey D. Langlands, has had a front-row seat on Pakistan’s
many dramas since he arrived, at the country’s chaotic birth, 65 years
ago. He has taken tea with princesses, dined with dictators, been
kidnapped by tribesmen and scraped through several wars. ¶
Now, at 94, Mr. Langlands, a former British colonial officer who retired
with the rank of major, and a lifelong educator, is striking out on a
fresh adventure: retirement. ¶
For the past quarter-century, his home and work have been in Chitral, a
sweeping district of snow-dusted peaks at the northern tip of Pakistan.
The institution he founded and ran here, the Langlands School and
College, has become a watchword for excellence; each year, the best of
the school’s 1,000-plus students, one-third of them girls, go on to
universities in bigger cities, the United States or the United Kingdom.
¶
That success is all the more startling for its setting in a region awash
with violence and intrigue: to the east of Chitral is the Swat Valley,
where Pakistan’s army fought Taliban insurgents in 2009; to the west
lies the Afghan province of Nuristan, where American troops have seen
some of their toughest combat. Some years ago mysterious Americans
turned up in town asking questions about Osama bin Laden; locals said
they worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. ¶
But for “the major,” as he is known, this has been a cherished chapter
in a life that has mixed adventure and arithmetic in his adopted
homeland. He is turning to the next one with a discernible touch of
reluctance. ¶
“Time to take life a little easier, I suppose,” he said, sitting on a
terrace overlooking a broad valley dotted with modest, tin-roof houses.
Then he sat up. “But there’s still so much to do.” ¶
Doing nothing has never been an option for him. ¶
Mr. Langlands fought in a commando unit during World War II,
assaulting German defenses on the French coast. In August 1947, he was
stationed in British India, where he witnessed the bloody partition of
the subcontinent at close quarters. Stuck at station on a train filled
with Hindu refugees, he came under fire from Muslim gunmen; farther down
the line, he saw Sikhs attack a mosque. “It was terrible,” he recalled.
“Nobody knew what to do.” ¶
After the other British left, Mr. Langlands stayed on, taking a teaching job at Aitchison College
in Lahore, Pakistan’s most prestigious boarding school. Over a
quarter-century there, he imparted algebra to the offspring of the
Pakistani elite, some of whom went on to lead in politics, sports and
the military. Former charges include Zafarullah Khan Jamali, who was
prime minister between 2002 and 2004, and Imran Khan, the cricket hero
turned politician. ¶
“He stood out,” Mr. Khan said. “He had this mixture of being firm yet compassionate.” ¶
In 1979, he moved to North Waziristan, in the tribal belt, to run a
school in a district that is today better known for American drone
strikes — Al Qaeda’s deputy leader was reported killed there on Monday. ¶
Mr. Langlands, however, remembers the tribesmen as rascals more than
villains. At one point, he said, tribesmen held him hostage for six days
in a bid to overturn an unfavorable election result. It did not work,
but his captors treated him decently, even insisting he join them for
some rifle practice. ¶
“It wasn’t so bad,” he said with a soft chuckle. “They were very polite
once they found out I was 71. And before I left, they insisted on having
their photo taken with me.” ¶
In Chitral, life is quieter. In the northern corner of Khyber-Pakhtunkwa
Province, it has escaped the Taliban firestorm thanks to its geographic
and cultural isolation. The spiked peaks of the Hindu Kush are a
formidable palisade, although an insurgent attack on the Afghan border
last year jangled nerves. Unlike most of the surrounding region’s
people, the Chitralis are not ethnic Pashtuns, and their passions lie
with playing a rambunctious version of polo (imagine rugby on
horseback), educating their children and cutting loose. ¶
During the recent gathering to install a hereditary tribal prince,
things became typically raucous: tipsy young men danced wildly in
celebration as they took gulps from a bottle of moonshine, watched
quietly by police officers. ¶
Mr. Langlands is in some respects the quintessential Englishman of old, a
living relic of the Raj. He lives in a ramshackle little cottage in the
town center, where he rises every morning at 5:40. Exactly 40 minutes
later, a servant appears with breakfast: oatmeal, a poached egg and two
cups of tea, always. Mr. Langlands flicks through the latest newspaper,
which, given the valley’s erratic plane service, may be several days
old. ¶
Then an assistant, who answers his phone and juggles his e-mail, turns
up to take him to work. Famous visitors watch from dust-smeared
photographs on the wall: Diana, Princess of Wales, who visited Chitral
in 1991; and Gen. Mohammad Zia ul-Haq, the Islamist dictator, whom Mr.
Langlands knew well. “Once,” he says in a stentorian voice, “General Zia
kept Henry Kissinger waiting so he could see me.” ¶
Behind his chirpy laugh lies a cool intelligence and a diplomatic
reserve. It is an old-fashioned, low-key style at odds with the
multimillion-dollar budgets and media-driven philanthropy of modern
development aid. He pays himself a $270 monthly salary — paltry even by
local standards — and travels on public buses. He knows Urdu but
declines to use it: “I’ve always felt my job is to improve the level of
English,” he said. Not much of his family remains: he was orphaned at
12, he never married, and his twin brother, who lives back in England,
has visited Chitral just twice. ¶
“I just take life as it comes,” he said when asked about his philosophy. ¶
Chitralis consider him one of them. “The major is invaluable,” said
Multan Mehmood, a local development worker. “We cannot replace him.”
¶
But replace him they must. A minor stroke a few years ago left his hands
trembling; doctors worry about the effects of another freezing winter
in Chitral. A current of worry courses through local conversations: when
the major goes, will his proud school survive him? ¶
The answer, they hope, is another English principal — but this time a
female one. From September, the Langlands school will be run by Carey
Schofield, a writer who has published books on French gangsters, Mick
Jagger and, mostly recently, the Pakistani Army. Ms. Schofield, 58,
admits to no teaching experience, but says Chitralis were insistent on
another “Britisher.” ¶
“They have so much respect for Major Langlands that I think they wanted to clone him,” she said by phone from London. ¶
Urgent work awaits. As Mr. Langlands has slowed in recent years,
problems have piled up: unpaid school fees, lagging teacher wages, a
lack of computers, organization and money. Already, Ms. Schofield has
raised $55,000 to improve the bumpy track that curls up a steep slope to
the senior school: last year a school bus with 14 students on board
tumbled over the side; miraculously, no one was badly hurt. ¶
Mr. Langlands, meanwhile, will move to Lahore, where his former students
have arranged a small apartment for him on the magnificent grounds of
his old school, Aitchison College. He has also, quietly, chosen his spot
in one of the city’s Christian cemeteries: near the gate, he says, so
friends can visit. ¶
But first, he says, there is more work to be done: a memoir to write, a
95th birthday to share with his brother and more fund-raising. His
dream, now, is to build a proper dormitory in Chitral, creating an ever
better academy. ¶
“I refuse,” he announces firmly, a gimlet sparkle in his blue-gray eyes, “to sit back and do nothing.” ¶













A version of this article appeared in print on June 9, 2012, on page A1 of the New York edition with the headline: Briton There at Pakistan’s Birth Stays at 94, a Living Textbook.


http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/09/world/asia/formidable-pakistan-school-losing-its-founder.html?_r=1&;pagewanted=all