By Ayshat Abdurzakova
In puddles and wells, in horseshoes hidden in the grass, and in her dreams, the white horse remains a prominent symbol throughout her story, returning when she needs to see it. In Ghost School, directed by Seemab Gul, Rabia is faced with the reality of a corrupt government rather than supernatural forces. There are no Jinns or ghosts in this hauntingly rural village in Pakistan—the paranormal activity is a cover story for inadequate power systems.
Accompanied by Urdu dialogue, the story follows Rabia, a ten-year-old girl, who is heartbroken and confused by the abrupt closure of her local school. With rumours surfacing about the closure, a popular theory in the community is that a Jinn, a spirit from Islamic folklore, has possessed the last and only teacher.
With no one left to teach and the superstition of haunted halls, some students begin attending an all-boys school in another village.
And so, Rabia has no choice but to try to discover the truth and, hopefully, find a way to reopen her beloved school.
She pleads to everyone she believes has the power to fix things. People she views as having the authority to put everything back together. Her encounters with these figures reveal that there is more to worry about than just ghosts. The systems of corruption and bureaucracy go beyond the school grounds, causing them to forget their position as educators. Her principal, for instance, fosters the belief that not everyone is meant to pursue a formal education. The principal believes that some people are meant to be farmers and merchants, while education is reserved for a select few.
The ghost story Rabia is told through rumours that collapse under the weight of the real-world truths. Rabia discovers her supposedly possessed teacher is completely unaltered, except for the evident sadness and guilt. His decision to leave was based solely on inadequate pay, making it clear that the government would much rather close a valuable community institution than provide its teachers a livable wage.
Rabia then confronts the reality of a corrupt government rather than supernatural forces. As viewers, we slowly discover with Rabia that there are no Jinns or ghosts—that at every turn, the paranormal activity is actually a cover story for inadequate power systems.
The film focuses on realism, but there’s one fantasy element that is sprinkled throughout. We see imagery of a horse to represent Rabia’s lucky charm and beacon of hope.
In Rabia’s moments of weakness and the feeling of hopelessness, she finds a link to her courage. After she is failed yet again by another empty figure of power, she walks through dry grass on a quiet path. She approaches a well and watches as the water slowly ripples. Around the well, she catches a glimpse of a horseshoe and raises it to the sky. In a way, it gives her hope that she can continue to find a solution.
Throughout the film, we encounter characters who aid Rabia along the way. After receiving a ride from a humble coachman holding the reins of a white steed, she innocently asks him if horses have wings. In which he replies in a simple yet assuring way:
Horses have wings, but they only come out when they need them.
With every new avenue of potential triumph, Rabia finds herself going in circles, wondering who is in power. It seems as though everyone has a tired, rehearsed dialogue meant to diminish community outcry and to keep residents in a state of helplessness.
As she journeys through her community, a slight air of eeriness follows, though what is presented to us is a hushed countryside shot through a soft yellow lens, making the film feel like a memory. This film evokes nostalgia for a life you never lived, even as the looming presence of supernatural entities heightens the feeling.
Still, Rabia consistently finds no evidence of the supposed paranormal activity, and as the mystery unfolds, all signs point towards something more unsettling. Something that doesn’t respond to villagers’ prayers or go beyond worldly rules.
Corruption is insidious, alive but unchanging, persistent yet stagnant. The individuals wielding power may change, but the actions remain the same.
The once-frozen-in-time classrooms are left ablaze. Her classmates’ work, still decorating the walls and organizing the shelves of well-used books, has now become the fuel to keep the fire alive. Rabia finally realizes she is faced with an impossible task, and her dreams of the school become too far-fetched to hope for.
In the final scene, Rabia’s hair is getting cut short into a boyish style while her mother repeatedly asks if she is sure about her decision. With Rabia’s new look, she puts on a school uniform, one meant for the all-boys school. Her mother reminds her that this can only be for a short time. As she steps outside, ready to go on another journey, she sees a glowing white horse with wings. She, like the horse, got her wings when she needed them.
Ghost School is more than Rabia’s quest to find answers about her supposedly haunted school and reopen it. It’s about how she did everything she could, but the corruption’s strength outweighed her efforts. This reflects the reality that many girls around the world face when trying to access education. For Rabia’s story, we get a somewhat happy ending, but she had no other choice but to conform to get what she wanted—even if she could further her education for only a fleeting moment.
She had to sacrifice a part of herself, but perhaps that’s what bravery really means: the willingness to give up a piece of yourself for a chance to grasp what you truly desire. And in that moment, she truly found her wings.
Riadh Magazine 
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