Raju peeped in through the window, crouching
as far low as he could to avoid being caught, again. His eight year old mind wrestled with the
addition problem on the blackboard, the difficult-to-grasp words in English,
the piercing pain of the gravels scraping his bare knees and the constant fear
of being caught. The last time masterji had seen him stealthily attend his
class while cleaning the bookshelf at the end of the room, Raju had gotten his
palms destroyed by masterji’s dreaded walking stick. He absently clenched his
still tender palms when dried leaves crunched behind him.
A whisper, “What are you up to, young lad?”
Raju turned, dreading whatever was about to follow. His scared eyes, too big
for his pale, yellow face looked at the tall, bespectacled man in kurta
pyajama. It was the new English teacher at school. He had come from Kolkata,
Mr. Ankan Bandhopadhyay.
“Ankan babu, these green chilies fell, I was
picking them up. Suresh kaku sent me to buy them. I work at the school canteen.
I am sorry. I should hurry now or lunch will not be prepared today.”
Raju dusted away leaves and dirt off his
brown shorts as he ran off towards the kitchen building. He did not look back,
scared that Ankan babu might see it as guilt and ask more questions or worse
still, complain to masterji or Suresh kaku. He neither wanted the walking stick
thrashing his palms nor the red hot tongs to burn his flesh.
As he stepped in the kitchen, the bellowing
began. Suresh kaku had an incredibly thunderous voice for his frail body at
seventy-three. “You rascal, were you growing the chilies? Will I serve it raw
with the curry, or should I have waited for maharaj Raju to waltz in to begin
cooking?”
“I am sorry, kaku. Ankan babu was lost, he
was asking for directions. I helped him with that.”
“These city people. They are good for
nothing. Lost. Hmph. You get to work, chop those onions and then heat the oil.
Also, if I catch you sneaking off or day dreaming, I will pour that same oil
over your empty head, do you understand?”
Raju nodded and ran to his workstation.
Designed for a much taller person, he had to balance himself on a rickety old
stool to reach the platform. Tears began rolling down his dust stained cheeks,
for the onions or for the unfairness of it all, it was difficult to tell. Raju
never complained. He didn't complain when ma had to take him out of the
make-shift school near his house because baba left them and married Bubai’s
mother. He didn't complain when Bubai, Bubai’s mother and baba threw ma and him
out of their own house. He didn't complain when masterji beat him for trying to
learn multiplication instead of cleaning the bookshelf and he didn't complain
when he had to help Suresh kaku cook for the entire school, and not get a
single bite of that meal. He had to eat the thicker, insect manifested rice and
water that he prepared himself. Raju didn't complain about any of it, because
Ma cried all the time for him. He couldn't make demands or pleas to her, he
couldn't bear to see her cry. Ma seemed to have become half of what she used to
be, what if more crying made her melt away completely? Raju learned to lie to
save his skin, he learned to steal whatever snatches of education he could. His
teacher from the old school had suggested it to Ma to let him work here. He had
said that Raju would get free lunch and fifty rupees a month, also, he would be
with boys his own age that attended a good school and might pick something from
them. Everything was right, he was trying to learn, but not from the boys. They
never spoke with him, some tried to but masterji or Suresh kaku always shooed
them off, and he had to bear the brunt of their anger.
“You will not speak to them and try to teach
them your lowly ways. You are their servant and should not even look into their
eyes, not even to ours.” This was followed by a slap. Raju wasn't sure who had
said this, maybe Suresh kaku or maybe masterji, or perhaps both.
“Are you done chopping onions maharaj? Will
you please begin frying the luchis? Or should I come fry you?” As Suresh kaku
was barking his usual threats, Raju heard a throat being cleared. He looked up
to see Ankan babu walk into the kitchen. Had he come to complain? Why did every
man in this school hate him so much? Raju stopped chopping as his heart began
to race, he looked from Ankan babu to Suresh kaku, who seemed irritated, yet
had to begrudge his respect; after all he was the cook and Ankan babu a
teacher.
“Suresh da, I am Ankan. I have recently
joined this school as a teacher. We met the other day, remember?”
“Yes teacher sir, I remember. Are you hungry
already? Lunch will be served in an hour.”
“No dada, I want to speak with this boy here.
Can I borrow him for a few minutes? I promise, I will help with the cooking if
I delay you.”
“No no sir, you city people are so funny. You
can take the boy, let me know if he has bothered you. He is one lazy worker,
but a very enthusiastic mischief maker.” Suresh kaku toyed with the tongs as he
looked at Raju.
“He has made no mischief, none that I know of
yet. I just need him for five minutes, thank you. Boy, can you come outside
once?”
Raju trudged down the stool. It was going to
break one of these days, Raju wasn't getting any heavier, but everything always
seemed to be crumbling to pieces around him. He followed Ankan babu outside the
kitchen.
“What is your name little mischief maker?”
“My name is Rajbir Mondol, but everyone calls
me Raju.”
“Ok, Raju. I really don’t know how the
chilies landed there, but I did see some writing on the wall below the window.
It seemed to be the solution to what masterji was teaching at class. Did you
happen to see the person who solved that?”
Raju looked at his feet. He knew where this
would go. His sweaty palms began to throb in sync with his pounding heart. The
problem hadn't been that difficult, why did he have to write it on that wall?
Raju had wanted to practice his writing too, that is why. It was becoming more
and more difficult for him to read, or recollect the spellings and symbols.
There were times when he would know the answer to a seemingly difficult problem
the moment it was asked, but struggle to read it if it was written on the
blackboard. He simply nodded at Ankan babu.
“Raju, did you write that?”
Something in that tone was amiss. Ankan babu
was not waiting to explode like masterji, neither was he threatening with
accusation like Suresh Kaku. He seemed to be curious and, something that
bordered on being pleased. Like his teacher at the old school. Yet, he couldn't
bring himself to trust this city man. He only trusted ma. Baba, masterji,
Suresh kaku, all of them hated him. Why would this man be different? He seemed
a bit kinder, so Raju tried pleading. He seemed too smart to be lied to twice
in the same day.
“I did babu, I am sorry, I just got
distracted. It will not happen again. Please don’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Ankan babu regarded this little, trembling
boy from over his lowered spectacles. His fingers fidgeted with his kurta
sleeves as he stood cross-armed and mulled over something in his mind. After
what seemed eons to Raju, he spoke.
“Raju, I will not complain to anyone, but you
must come to the staff room after lunch, you will be free then I suppose? I
need to speak with you about something and you must not worry. Is that OK? Will
you be able to make it?”
“Yes babu, I usually go home after lunch, but
I can go a little later. Ma won’t be back from her job until evening. masterji
will be there in the staff room though, won’t he? He doesn't like me being
anywhere other than the kitchen, unless I am cleaning something.”
“Don’t worry about that, masterji will be
leaving after lunch today, it will just be me. Now off you go, I am a terrible
cook and I will not be able to fulfill my promise to Suresh da in helping you
with the cooking. Shh, don’t tell him that.”
Ankan babu winked at Raju as he said that,
and Raju felt as if something wonderful had happened to him. The last time a
man had smiled at him, it was his teacher, when he said goodbye to Raju on his
last day at school, and that had made him sadder than the anger and spite he
dealt with every day. It was a long back, a year almost, but felt like another
life.
The next couple of hours passed quicker than
usual, Suresh kaku kept cursing and probing about the exchange with Ankan babu.
He wasn't really interested in Raju’s answers, since all he wanted to do was
curse the both of them, so Raju let him speak, and worked harder, lest he made
a mistake and was unable to meet Ankan babu on time. The way Ankan babu had
confided in him, the way he had joked with him it had made him smile, if not on
the outside, he had felt a warmth spread inside him that people had stopped
triggering in him.
He knocked at the door of the staff room,
Ankan babu was bent at his desk, busy writing something, he looked up at Raju,
“Come in Raju, you’re a punctual one. Take a seat. No… not on the ground, in
front of me.”
Raju climbed the chair, it wasn't like the
rickety old stool. It was steady, sitting there made him feel nervous, because
it felt stable, he wasn't used to that feeling. Ankan babu turned the notebook
towards Raju, it had three mathematics problems in a neat scrawl.
“Can you read that Raju? I apologize for my
handwriting, it isn't pretty, but I did try to make it legible.”
Raju looked at them for a couple of minutes
and said, “The answer is ten apples, two hundred and seventy nine rupees and
thirty-one books.”
Ankan babu had an expression somewhat similar
to what babies have, an expression of permanent surprise, as if they haven’t
quite figured out how to work the eyelids. He looked from the notebook to Raju,
back to the notebook. He scribbled a tougher problem, in a somewhat shabby
scribble and looked at Raju expectantly. Raju pointed to a word he couldn't
understand.
“Babu, what does this mean, i-n-t-e-r-e-s-t?”
“Interest. It has a many meanings, it is a
feeling that makes you want to know more about something. You seem to have an
interest in mathematics, and I seem to be developing one in you. In this case
however, it means extra amount of money you need to pay me, if you borrow some
from me. For instance, if you borrow a hundred rupees from me for two years at
the rate of ten percent per annum, you will be paying twenty rupees extra to me
when you return the amount. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes, mother had borrowed five hundred from
lalaji last year, she had to pay him extra this year. I think I understand. In
this case, we have fifty rupees at a rate of five percent for two years. So the
interest for one year will be fifty times five by hundred, so for two it will
be twice that. The answer is fifty-five rupees babu.”
Ankan babu looked like a man who’d found a
magic lamp. His excitement kept growing as he kept presenting problems to Raju,
who asked whatever he needed to and answered within seconds. The interview went
out of mathematics into problems of logic, into exercises in grammar. An hour
went by, as the clock struck four, Raju realized he had to be back home, he
didn't want to worry ma. He didn't want to stop, but he couldn't wait to tell
this story to ma either.
“Babu, it is getting late. I must return home
before ma does. Thank you so much for the wonderful things you taught me. I was
worried you would be angry at having caught me outside masterji’s classroom. I
was wrong and I am very lucky to have been so.”
Raju wanted to ask if he could come tomorrow,
but he didn’t want to jinx this unexpected happiness by asking. The last time
he had asked God for his baba to return, baba had returned with Bubai and his
mother and thrown them out. He was scared to wish for things, incase God
misunderstood him like last time.”
“Sure Raju. I didn’t realize how time flew!
Will you be able to come again at the same time?”
Raju tried not to jump in his seat or to
burst out in tears. “Yes, babu, I would love to.”
Ankan babu smiled at Raju as he scrambled
down the chair and almost skipped as he went outside the door.
