'Prize Day at Caveryhalli'
Unicef/ IETS
Translated into Kannada and Hindi for first-generation rural learners
16
pages
Paperback
2006
My original story in English:
Prize Day at Caveryhalli
By Aditi De
“Oh no!” said Pankajamma, clutching
at Amreen’s elbow as they turned into the long school corridor that led to the
assembly space beyond Std. X. “I don’t think our Prize Day is going to be the
best ever.”
“I doubt it, too” echoed Amreen,
breaking into run. “Why are these senior boys fighting now?”
By the time the Std. IX girls
arrived there, Sangamesh had Balukrishna by the collar. He was shaking his best
friend violently.
“Ganesha Sir said I was to make the
welcome speech for the chief guest, Abdur Raheem Sheikh” yelled Sangamesh,
crossing his arms over his chest seconds later. “Not you!”
“But I’ve always won the elocution
and sports prizes!” Balukrishna screamed back, his clenched fists on his hips.
“Sheikh anna is an important
politician today. I’m sure it’s because he won the Caveryhalli school elocution
prize ~ like me. Not some silly best student award like you… Why can’t you tell
Ganesha Sir that I’d do it much better? That’s not fair….”
“I’ve topped our class ever since
Std. I. Don’t you ever forget that!” retorted Sangamesh, as four of his
classmates gathered around him. “That takes brains, you know. Who cares about
reciting like a parrot? Or running faster than the rest of the school? Nobody
who’s clever needs those skills…”
“I don’t know why I ever thought
you were my friend,” yelled Balukrishna, even louder, as his friends tugged at
his shirt. “You can’t even be on the winning side in our kabaddi matches
against the Doddahalli school. I hope you forget your speech on stage today. I
hate you…”
“Calm down!” panted Pankajamma,
reaching the boys. “Remember, Ganesha Sir said all of us have to work together
make our Prize Day wonderful.”
All she got in return was an ugly
glare from Balukrishna ~ and a knock on her head from Sangamesh.
“Ganesha Sir is a wise man. We have
to listen to him,” added Amreen. “He is our principal, after all.”
As Amreen separated the warring
boys, Pankajamma observed, “I like Balukrishna because he’s the best speaker in
school. And I admire Sangamesh because he always tops his class. But each of
them is so busy talking all the time that they never ever listen to anyone
else….”
Over the next two hours, there was
no time for small talk. Amreen helped her classmates Ramya and Mary Joseph to
string bright marigolds and mango leaves across the blue cloth backdrop to the
stage. In another corner, Mamatha rehearsed the bhajan that was to set the mood
for Prize Day.
But they could see that all was not
well amongst the boys. “Balukrishna looks like he’d like to punch Sangamesh on
the nose,” whispered Pankajamma to Ramya. “What can we do to make them friends
once more?”
Before they could discuss a plan, a
huge car drew up to the school gate. Sheikh emerged, dressed in a white outfit,
starched like a crisp paper dosa. Ganesha Sir and the senior teachers rushed to
welcome him.
Sangamesh, who had been asked to join
them as the school’s top student, ran towards the car. Suddenly, he stumbled
over a broken brick. Red-faced, he rose to his feet. Behind him, he heard a
titter of laughter. It had to be Balukrishna’s gang!
He tried to ignore them, but it was
difficult. Would he fall from favour with Ganesha Sir? These troubled thoughts
whirled through Sangamesh’s mind as the assembly settled down. Soon, he heard
the principal call on him to welcome Sheikh.
“Our honored Chief Guest, we are
proud to have you with us on this special day,” Sangamesh began, after changing
his dusty shirt for a clean one borrowed from a classmate. “As an ex-student of …”
He found he could not recall the
name of the school he had belonged to for ten years. He tugged at his shirt
sleeves. That didn’t help. He looked at the clock on the wall. His mouth felt
dry. His palms were sweating.
“As a student of ….” Sangamesh
tried once more. He felt as if a million eyes were drilling into him. He
couldn’t go on. He wished he had allowed Balukrishna to make the speech
instead.
“We’d like to welcome you, Sir,” he
said hurriedly, unusually lost for words. Then, he ran off-stage as fast as his
feet would carry him.
Over the next hour, Sangamesh found
his way to the stage in a daze. He had won prizes for top scores in maths,
science and history ~ and a large cup for topping his class yet again. But
somehow, none of these cheered him up. He felt as if the whole world was jeering
him.
That’s when Sheikh went to the
mike. He began, “Ganesha Sir, boys and girls, it seems as if I was here just
yesterday ~ as a student. Those were the best years of my life…”
Pausing, his eyes rested on
Sangamesh’s downcast face. He took in Pampanna’s triumphant look, his arm
around Balukrishna’s shoulder. He noted how they looked at Sangamesh with cold
eyes.
Sheikh continued, “But I’d like to
share another time with you. I’d just joined the government when a flood hit a
village, 50 km. from Caveryhalli. Thippeswamy, who was our boss, took hours to
explain how relief efforts worked best. How we could get cooked food to the
stranded villagers. How they would need blankets, homes, new clothes very soon…”
But young Sheikh did not like Thippeswamy.
Not one bit. Why? Perhaps because his boss was a very short man with a
pencil-line moustache, which he found funny. His voice was slightly squeaky. He
usually wore safari suits and thick chappals, which smartly-dressed Sheikh
found comic. He disliked the way Thippeswamy’s arms hung limp as he spoke, the
way he tugged at his well-oiled hair, even his constant nods as he
listened.
“I didn’t listen to Thippeswamy’s
instructions. I didn’t understand why he insisted that the rice, palya and
sambar should be plastic-sealed in small packages,” Sheikh told the audience.
“I had thousands of kilos of cooked food and drinking water packed tightly into
cardboard boxes. Our helicopter flew high, high, high above the waters. The
marooned villagers below looked like ants. Some were on rooftop islands amidst
the floods. We airdropped the food supplies…”
This sounds like a film story,
thought Pankajamma. Was Sheikh a hero in this story, like Rajkumar or
Vishnuvardhan in the movies?
But his voice boomed on: “To my
horror, I found that the heavy boxes, filled with food, dropped past the
starving people below. The tiny heads we saw dived into the water. But when
they came up five, ten, then fifteen minutes later, they were empty-handed….”
Sheikh stopped. His eyes met those
of his listeners. He spoke as if he was reaching out to each of them, one to
one. In a gentler tone, he said, “I should have listened to Thippeswamy. I
should have had the food packed in plastic bags, so that the flood waters couldn’t
get into in, so that it would stay afloat….”
What happened then, Amreen asked
Mary Joseph, who shrugged.
“At that moment, I realized how my
young son and daughter would feel if they had to starve while good food was
wasted,” said Sheikh. “I should have listened to Thippeswamy. I knew it was all
my fault. ….”
Once the chief guest came off the
dais, the Caveryhalli students flocked around him.
“Sir,” said Balukrishna, “why do
you feel it was your fault?”
“If only I had listened closely to
Thippeswamy, I would have respected his experience,” replied Sheikh, stroking
his greying beard. “I know now I was only part of a team needed to get that
food safely to the flood-hit families. It wasn’t important whether I liked my
boss or not. What mattered was whether I got his message right, both through
his words and gestures…”
Pankajamma’s hand shot into the
air. Frowning, she said, “I don’t really understand, Sheikh sir…”
Smiling, he asked, “Can I ask you
all a question? Did you have a fight while working together on Prize Day?”
“Yes, sir,” said Balukrishna,
sneaking a look at Sangamesh. “We didn’t know that we needed to play together
like… like a cricket team! But… how did you guess?”
“I could feel the tension while
Sangamesh was speaking,” said Sheikh. “I know how smart he is. So, it had to be
something else…”
The boys shuffled their feet. They
looked at the ground. Within moments, the story of the morning’s rivalry was
out in the open. They felt as if Sheikh was a favourite anna in their midst, not a chief guest any more.
“Did you know how to read people
even as a schoolboy?” asked Mary Joseph.
“When we were in Std. VII, my
classmates and I could figure out whether Ganesha Sir was in a good mood or
not, the minute he stepped into our room,” Sheikh said. “Do you know how?”
“No! How?” asked Sangamesh, not
wanting to be left out.
Looking at Ganesha Sir, who was
grinning by now, the chief guest continued, “Sudhir, Saleem and I would watch
as he came in. If he whistled under his breath, that was a good sign. If he
rocked his chair as he took the roll call, that was even better. On such days,
we knew we could throw chalk at each other, munch on murukku behind our books. Or even tie the girls’ plaits together…”
“That sounds like a lucky day!” giggled
Pankajamma, stroking her own glossy plaits.
“Of course,” said Sheikh. “But not
all days were so easy. On some days, Ganesha Sir would come in frowning. Even
as he sat at his desk, his foot would move up and down restlessly. We learnt to
be very quiet at such times. If we were noisy or forgot our answers, he would
send us out of the class. Or even off to the principal’s office for a
scolding….”
On stage, Ganesha Sir was listening
to them. He looked at the ceiling, then burst into laughter.
“The principal’s in a good mood
now,” said Pankajamma to Lalitha.
As Sheikh left at the end of a long
Prize Day, the girls came upon an unusual sight.
“Look, I think Sangamesh and
Balukrishna are friends again,” said Amreen to Pankajamma. “Balu’s just handed
over his favourite blue marble, the one his Mama from Chikmagalur brought him.
He promised not to part with it all his life.”
Pankajamma agreed, “I think that
means Balu will get to make a speech on Sports Day next month…”
“And Sangamesh will cheer when Balu
wins medals for the 100-metre dash and the high jump,” said Mary Joseph,
nudging Amreen. “They’re even looking at Sangamesh’s prizes shoulder to
shoulder.”
Just then, Sangamesh and
Balukrishna strolled past them. They were sharing a jalebi from the snacks
handed out to the students to mark the occasion.
“We can do anything we want, as
long as we work together,” said Sangamesh. “We can go into space together. Or
find out all about the first animal that ever lived around Caveryhalli. It should
be fine ~ as long as we can figure out how Ganesha Sir’s moods are, or those of
our families at home…”
“This morning’s fight was so
silly,” added Balukrishna, his arm about his friend’s shoulder. “You speak
almost as well as I do in public. Honestly, I mean that…”
“If you teach me how to speak even better,
I promise to learn how to play kabaddi brilliantly enough to be on the school
team that you captain,” grinned Sangamesh.
“That’s a great idea. You could be
the Rahul Dravid of Indian kabaddi,” replied Balukrishna, as they shook hands.
“How about a lesson right now?”
