Jyotsna and the ghost of the lost traveler

It was mid-April in a small village in Bengal, some forty kilometres from Kolkata. Jyotsna Sharma was sitting in one corner of a classroom, overlooking the field outside. Purple flowers adorned the grass here and there and a small sparrow sat in ambush, perched atop a small bush, waiting for the juiciest grasshopper to wander its way.

Jyotsna was a regular eleven year old and was as white as marble and as thin as a twig. Her father had a day job and was a part time community priest. An eternal Brahmin, he was proud of his ‘Gotra’, the lineage. They descended from the great seer, Rishi Kashyap in whose honor the Indian state of Kashmir was named.

Jyotsna lived in a small industrial village of Kaligram where her father worked as the testing supervisor in the factory. They lived in the company quarters that had a huge playground, a temple and a small shopping corner where you could buy groceries, stationary and other essentials. School was a block away, just around the corner. It was a 168 year old building from the British Raj era. Jyotsna was fond of her school, its castle like edifice with many secret doorways and hidden corridors. She roamed around the grounds and whenever she discovered a particular classroom locked away or a corridor cordoned off for being too old, she would run down to her friend Anwar and brag about it. Over the years, she had traipsed all the three floors and four hundred rooms with Anwar.

The Sharma’s lived next to the Mr. Jawed and family in the company appartments. Mr. Jawed was the factory supervisor and his twelve year old kid was Jyotsna’s classmate, Anwar. They were inseparable since the first grade. They went school together, ditched classes together, went fishing in the pond next to the school grounds and ravaged the litchi orchards.

Something hit Jyotsna on her forehead and brought her back to the classroom. It was a piece of chalk. The teacher, Mr. Mukherjee was sleeping on his desk, legs atop the table, his white shirt, unbuttoned and sailing in rhythm with the ceiling fan. She looked around and saw Anwar sitting atop his desk with a slate in hand, rocking back and forth, a wide grin on his face biting his lower lips waving at her.

“What?” She jerked her head.

Anwar waved his hand and pointed the sparrow outside. “Let’s go”

“No”, she nodded and pointed to the sleeping master and made a gesture of hitting her hand with a finger.

Master ji had given the responsibility of keeping the class under control to Mahadev. Anwar had failed a year to continue in the sixth standard and was naturally older than the rest. But Mahadev was the only one whom he feared. Or rather, resented, as Jyotsna knew well. Jyotsna and Anwar’s father worked in the factory under Mr. Nandy, Mahadev’s father and he never failed to mention it. Every kid in school knew Anwar feared Mahadev, and kept looking for excuses to put him in trouble.

Mahadev was sitting on the first bench right under Master Ji’s nose, dozing slightly. He jerked his eyes open and saw Jyotsna waving her hand to Anwar. He stood up and walked briskly towards her.

“Show me your slate”

Jyotsna lifted her slate but paused hiding it on her bosom. She was a tiny little thing. Like one of those picture children on popular product packaging. But her eyes were fiery, soft green and gave the impression of glass marbles.

Mahadev stretched his hand and stanched it. There was a lotus on the top left corner and a very flowery J in the middle. Nothing else.

“Where is the solution?”

“I couldn’t do it. It’s so complicated” she raised her hand in agony.

“Four apples are for two rupees. And six oranges are for six rupees. Can’t you figure how much is the cost of three apples and an orange?”

“If it’s so easy you do it then!”

“It’s easy-peasy. I’ve already done it”

“You’ve not!”

“I have!”

“Show it!” Jyotsna said grinding her teeth.

Mahadev threw away the slate and pushed her hard. Jyotsna tumbled and hit her head on the wall. Her eyes welled up with tears and she buried her face in her palms.

Watching this, Anwar jumped down the desk and dropped his slate. He ran toward Mahadev and shoved him. Four of his friends gathered round and they tugged at his school pants. It ripped apart with a sharp whirr and revealed his red shorts. The class burst into a laugh. Anwar stood with a piece of his pants and grinned like an insolent dog. The noise made the masterji reel and fall down his chair. All Anwar’s friends rushed back to their benches while the Masterji staggered with gritted teeth and pounced on Anwar, who was busy mocking Mahadev.

“Aha! I caught you red handed today” he shrieked and pinned his tiny arms.

“He started it!” Jyotsna stood up on her seat and pointed to Mahadev as the other kids circled him giggling around with covered faces. “He pushed me first!”

“Silence!” Masterji screamed, a drop of spit hung on his bushy moustache as he prowled in front of the class. He let Anwar go. He looked down at the little child, small, not more than three feet, thin with red hair which was uncommon in these parts, looking at him with huge eyes and a drooped face.

At that moment, a bell rang in the distance and everyone looked around. Outside, kids of all sizes rushed out of every door and a tumultuous chatter drowned the school. The class bolted suddenly, with a noisy pitter patter of tiny feet, out of the open door and emptied like ice on a stove. Masterji had once again been thwarted by the recess bell.

Once outside, Jyotsna ran around the students teeming in the corridor and grabbed Anwar’s hand. He turned around.

“Why did you push him? Now Mahadev will complaint to baba.”

“No he won’t”

“He will! And he will cry and say everything to your abba too”

“Who cares? I’ll say he’s lying”

“And who will believe you?”

“Everyone believes me”.

After a second’s pause, he added “Wanna go fishing?”

Jyotsna’s face lit up and she nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to face Mahadev again. And she had screamed at Master ji. He’ll be angry too. Better to bolt today. If he complaints I’ll cry and baba will forgive me as usual.

They hopped across the school grounds towards a boundary wall that had lost a few bricks in the heavy rains last year and a gap presented between the wall and the earth big enough to squeeze through. After all they were just eleven year olds.

Back in school, master ji and Mahadev decided to pay Anwar’s father a visit. It was eleven thirty in the morning. Mr. Jawed was on the factory floor, supervising the intricate details of a miniature circuit breaker. He saw the master and Mahadev walk in.  Mahadev had swollen eyes and a torn pant dangled as he walked past him. The master ji ignored the supervisor, walking briskly and entered the managers’ cabin straight. The manager was an amiable man. Wise, old and with a grey moustache, he looked like a walrus.  A few moments later, Jawed was summoned.

The manager came to the point straight away, “Jawed, your son did this to Mahadev! Please take action before he falters his way” he said in a calm voice.

Master ji turned around and said, “He might end up a thief, It’s horrible. The way he disrespects us”

The manager raised his hand and made a noise with his tongue, disapproving master ji’s comment.

“They are eleven year old! What do you expect?”

The door opened and Pandit ji entered.

“Your daughter and Anwar did this to my son, Mr. Sharma. Its time you teach your children some discipline” Said the manager turning around in his plush officer’s chair.

“I’ll take care of it sir” Answered Mr. Sharma and Jawed nodded.

“Don’t be too harsh on them. They are, after all, kids. But discipline them.” He said.

They went back to work.

Mr. Sharma told Mrs. Sharma all about Jyotsna and Anwar, the next door kid.

“Jatindra babu said she keeps staring at the grounds outside, with no interest in school”

Mrs. Sharma offered him a chilled glass of water. Mr. Sharma tried to gulp it down in one go but the water was cold. Pausing, he said “I know! But I want her to focus, not squander her time with him! What if she goes missing? Like Nelson, our accountant’s kid!”

“She doesn’t bunk classes does she?”

“Not yet, but this Anwar, he’s no saint. Too many kids have gone missing and if they end up…”

Mr. Sharma slumped on the divan and Mrs. Sharma sat beside him gently.

“I want her to be safe and focus on her studies”

“Tut, you don’t expect her to be the prime minister now, do you? We will get her married when she’s of age anyway” said Mrs. Sharma, “Now get a shower, go on! And don’t worry about her.”

Across the thin walls of the quarters, Mr. Jawed was having a furious row with her wife.

“I’ll break his legs today. That boy…” he roared with gritted teeth, “He must be on his way home, I’ll fetch him myself” and he dashed out, his eyes popping out, a vein in the temple threatening to burst.

She rushed to her neighbour. Mr. Sharma was still sitting on the small makeshift divan in their one hundred fifty square feet living room.

He looked at her and told her what happened. Mrs. Jawed sank on the divan next to Mrs. Sharma as she listened to his retelling. She had a nasty feeling Anwar had a good kick coming up for his posteriors.