To me, Kasur symbolises a lot of things: its proximity to Lahore means that it is bound to share the cultural dynamism that we see in Lahore, it is where Baba Bulleh Shah is buried and revered at his mausoleum, and it is the city where I started my very first job.

I had never actually been to Kasur before starting this job, which involved intensive research on and interaction with low cost private schools in Kasur district. I got the opportunity to travel to Kasur’s rural areas and observe first-hand how low cost private schools have proliferated in the district. I saw hope: in the sheer number of schools that I saw were up and running, in the way parents had a clear desire to educate their children even in the face of financial adversity, and perhaps most importantly, in the way female education was being given just as much importance as male education.

I saw a community and people who had embraced education as an indispensable part of raising their sons and daughters, and who realised the importance of education in shaping a progressive, tolerant society.

Then, the Kot Radha Kishan incident happened.

Unthinkably abhorrent as this incident is, the fact that it took place in Kot Radha Kishan, one of the four tehsils of Kasur district, added considerably to my feelings of shock and revulsion. This was Kasur, where I had interviewed school owners who talked enthusiastically about their mission of changing the lives of future generations, not only by enhancing their earning capabilities but also by making them better human beings. This was a community which had encouraged, demanded and struggled to educate their daughters, a lot of whom would later go on to teach in those very schools.

How then did a Christian couple in Kasur die such a brutal death as a result of mob violence over alleged blasphemy? How is it that the city of Bulleh Shah’s resting place, a symbol of his spiritual philosophy which revolved around humanity, was also where such callous disregard for human lives and the law came to the forefront? Why were Shahzad and Shama deprived of their fundamental right to a fair trial in a court before being declared guilty? Why did the aggressors take the law into their own hands?

I am not going to delve into the very heated debate currently going on over Pakistan’s blasphemy laws, mostly because I feel I currently lack the requisite legal and religious expertise to comment on the law itself. But what I unequivocally condemn is the way the law was taken into their own hands by a mob which decided to mete out to the victims what they themselves decided was "justice", no questions asked, no answers given. Article 295 of Pakistan’s Constitution has been misused in the past against minorities and Kot Radha Kishan is yet another example of that happening. That this vigilante justice and mob frenzy occurred in a place like Kasur is what is most shocking.

So one is forced to ask: how did a district which has exhibited such a staunch belief in the importance of female education simultaneously become the centre of attention for an incident as reprehensible as this one? Isn’t the prevalence of female education a good proxy for progressive thinking and social tolerance? Or is the correlation between education and tolerance not as strongly positive as is widely believed?

For me, the answer to the last question is a resounding ‘no’. I subscribe completely to the view that education most certainly has the power to make us more tolerant simply by expanding our thinking horizon. I admire and wholeheartedly support Malala Yousafzai, the second Pakistani Nobel laureate, precisely because she symbolises what I completely believe in: the power of education to positively change perceptions and make society more accepting of difference.

What then, can explain the gaping contradictions that seem to exist within Kasur? One, quite obvious explanation is that we need to look beyond just the presence of schools and actually scrutinise what exactly is being taught in those schools which are spreading across Pakistan. The need to modify the curriculum taught at schools is not a new idea, but becomes even more urgent in the case of Kasur.

Simply building more schools is clearly not enough: what is just as important is to clearly think about reforming school curriculums to instill in children the kind of values Pakistan really needs: tolerance and respect for and adherence to the rule of law, to name just a few.

Another way to approach this issue is to not view Kasur as a paradox at all, but to simply accept that the effects of education involve a gradual and slow process. An overnight altering of mindsets in society is not something education can be expected to do. This is the very beauty and power of education: its most sought after benefits may not manifest themselves immediately but they appear gradually, and once they do, the impact is potent, long-lasting and even irrevocable.

Kasur then provides reasons for optimism as well as a reminder of how much more still needs to be done to improve the state of affairs in Pakistan. Because the process of education leading to societal change and progress is gradual, Kasur provides grounds for optimism because the process has, at the very least, started. However, this optimism must not encourage any kind of complacency. Just because the process is long and slow, we cannot ignore the loopholes which exist in the process itself, in this case, the urgent need for curriculum reforms.

Recognition of the importance of education, for both boys and girls, was the first step. What is required next is concerted effort to improve the quality of education provided and patience to allow time to gradually create a society premised on the values of tolerance, sustained by citizens who have faith in and respect for the formal legal systems to deliver justice.